video by Ensemble D.E.U.M

Ave verum corpus, natum de Maria Virgine

Vere passum, immolatum in cruce pro homine

Cujus latus perforatum unda fluxit sanguine

Esto nobis praegustatum in mortis examine.

O dulcis, O pie, O Jesu Fili Mariae,

Miserere mei. Amen.

Hail, true body, born of the Virgin Mary,

which in anguish suffered on the cross for men,

from whose pierced side poured water and blood,

be our consolation in our last hour.

O sweet, O kind, O Jesus, Son of Mary,

Have mercy on me. Amen.

So, what did you do with your Sunday night last? We went to a concert of 16th century vocal music sung by the Tudor Choir, where we heard William Byrd's Ave verum corpus and other rockin' hits of the day. Sublime it was.

photo by Ballard Avenue

If you're an old-timer around here, you'll remember Choo Choo, who was hanging out around the Laupahoehoe Train Museum back in 2005. Well, Choo Choo and this photographer now enjoy 15 seconds of fame at something called Schmap. It's an online travel guide that wanted to use Choo Choo's maniacal grin to illustrate their entry on the museum. But sadly, when we visited the museum in 2007, Choo Choo was gone, and no one there knew what had happened to him. 

photo by Ballard Avenue

I don't know what they're growing in this field northwest of Snohomish, but it was a welcome flash of color on a gray July afternoon.

It's been a while since we checked in with the Greatest Tenor of Them All. Here Fritz Wunderlich sings lieder by Schubert, Strauss, and Wolf. Ludwig Kusche tickles the ivories.

photo by Ballard Avenue

Mephista has taken over Callie's perch for the day.

photo by Ballard Avenue

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.

It was over to Woodland Park the other night for Hamlet, presented by the worthy company of players GreenStage. Shawn Law was an excellent Hamlet and it was a fine show.

photo by Ballard Avenue

Christina and Amber have about a zillion cherries on their tree, which means they have about a zillion crows, starlings, and raccoons hanging around the house. Everybody loves cherries! Yum!