It was a thorough exhibition of the jean-ealogy.
But I'm going to need a minuet to get a Handel on things, so please Holst on. There's no Haydn from reality, even if I can't stanza much more. I'm guessing the current madness originated in Britten - possibly during the Brahms age. Alas, I'm so Bizet writing my Chopin Liszt I will have to get Bach to you later when I'm Abel to compose my thoughts on how to overcome. GRRRRR.... I keep forgetting to purchase rainbow Schubert and must write that down. I also have to fix my microwave which Baroque earlier today when my son tried to Satie some vegetables. I do wish he would've refrained. Oh, I still have to go to the Barber as well. But, I digress... Once the madness calms down I hope y'all can Ravel in the moment. If you don't understand it, though, that's okay - it's all Grieg to me and I don't want to cause y'all any additional Strauss.
So I decided to just go Bach home.
A Christmas Poem
by Dad (1952β2009)
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the shack,
Not a creature was stirring, we was all in the sack;
Our mugs were placed on the mantle with cheer,
In hope that Saint Nick would bring us a beer;
And me I was tucked up all snug in my bed,
But strains of sweet music still danced through my head;
So I sprang from my bed with a crash and a clatter,
And off down the hall with bare feet did I patter;
There on the chair sat my musical pipe,
So I sat down to play without fanfare or hype;
Come Mozart, come Hayden, Stravinski and Strauss,
And write me some music to bring down the house;
When down from the chimney appeared with a crash,
A strange little man in the smoke and the ash;
He wiggled and jumped and got up like a shot,
Came over and said, "Man those cinders are hot!";
His stomach it shook like a bowl full of jelly,
For a moment I thought it was dear old aunt Nelly;
His nose like a cherry, his ears like two jugs,
I was worried that this guy just might be on drugs;
His language was foul, his jokes they were crass,
So I opened the door and threw him out on his ass;
But then as I turned, boy was I ever surprised;
I saw what he'd bought me, or so I surmised;
For there in the corner right under the tree,
Was some brand new sheet music and a case of O.V.;
I turned to say thank-you but found he had gone,
He was not in the garden and not on the lawn;
And just when I thought that he couldn't get far,
I realized the old goat had stolen the car;
Off in the distance he said with a wheeze,
"I hated to do it but you left me the keys!";
I smiled and laughed for this much I could savour,
For I'd just sold the car to my idiot neighbour;
And once more he called as he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and don't drive when you're tight!"
Thank you for everything, Dad. We love and miss you.
Feeling Straussed?
Have you heard about the new opera that Johann Strauss wrote, it is called
Die Flederballs
