<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573</id><updated>2012-02-13T09:32:04.082-08:00</updated><category term='beer'/><category term='sad'/><category term='hard times'/><category term='heaven'/><category term='death'/><category term='loyalty'/><category term='prose'/><category term='marriage'/><category term='nature'/><category term='floozie'/><category term='growing old'/><category term='half of what&apos;s yours is on the front lawn'/><category term='home'/><category term='bird watching'/><category term='memories'/><category term='hiking'/><category term='whisky'/><category term='family'/><category term='Algonquin Park'/><category term='longing'/><category term='Canada'/><category term='friend'/><category term='guilty pleasure'/><category term='young'/><category term='heartache'/><category term='friends'/><category term='do it? cold rain'/><category term='splitting up'/><category term='young at heart'/><category term='cold rain'/><category term='longevity'/><category term='lonely'/><category term='supper'/><category term='diner'/><category term='divorce'/><category term='humour'/><category term='camping'/><category term='dream'/><category term='laugh'/><category term='alone'/><category term='hurtin&apos; big time'/><category term='imagination'/><category term='passion'/><category term='friendship'/><category term='bar'/><category term='it don&apos;t git worsen this'/><category term='priorities'/><category term='food'/><category term='pain'/><category term='Lake Superior'/><category term='live small'/><category term='hockey'/><category term='the poorhouse'/><category term='stupid me'/><category term='love'/><category term='love-life'/><title type='text'>...Hit Singles by G. Harrison</title><subtitle type='html'>a work in progress. songs and prose added fairly regularly. please, maintain a sense of humour.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>58</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-8360977704794202974</id><published>2011-11-24T12:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-24T12:19:46.854-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hockey'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='young at heart'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><title type='text'>Prose: good defensive hockey</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Dw7kTjQkWeQ/Ts6mZ8Qss9I/AAAAAAAANj0/SSBuAt3MNfI/s1600/IMG_6024.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 374px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Dw7kTjQkWeQ/Ts6mZ8Qss9I/AAAAAAAANj0/SSBuAt3MNfI/s400/IMG_6024.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678659144763880402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;[The following was inspired by the excellent display of defensive hockey by Tyler Ferry of the London Knights (OHL) when he shadowed Nail Yakupov of Sarnia Sting on Oct. 30, 2011. A fellow I regularly play hockey against said the game was less enjoyable to watch. I heartily disagreed. gah]  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;good defensive hockey&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;stay on him&lt;br /&gt;like dirt on an old dog&lt;br /&gt;like the sticky on warm tape&lt;br /&gt;stay on him&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;coached repeated his plan to me&lt;br /&gt;stick to him, that number 10&lt;br /&gt;like spit on the sidewalk&lt;br /&gt;like smell on your old man’s shirt&lt;br /&gt;and I stuck to 10 that night&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;near the end of the first&lt;br /&gt;he hacked my ankle and was sent&lt;br /&gt;to the penalty box - I guess so!&lt;br /&gt;but my team failed to capitalize&lt;br /&gt;and my ankle tightened up&lt;br /&gt;while I shook my head&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;period one ended, score one each&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XF7uXFvKvQQ/Ts6mZxrR6CI/AAAAAAAANj8/30SkItiDwYc/s1600/IMG_6023.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 333px; height: 296px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XF7uXFvKvQQ/Ts6mZxrR6CI/AAAAAAAANj8/30SkItiDwYc/s400/IMG_6023.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678659141922580514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;back on the bench coach leaned in&lt;br /&gt;you keep on him&lt;br /&gt;like burrs on an itchy sock&lt;br /&gt;like gum under a kitchen table&lt;br /&gt;and I did, sore ankle and all&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stayed on 10&lt;br /&gt;like grease on a bike chain&lt;br /&gt;like sweat under a leather helmet&lt;br /&gt;and though he managed&lt;br /&gt;two weak shots on net&lt;br /&gt;I got a good one off myself&lt;br /&gt;and I looked dangerous&lt;br /&gt;like I was the one to watch&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;period two ended, score two each&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BYSRJ5po3y4/Ts6mZ1E49XI/AAAAAAAANkE/gnpZJ5pBeHU/s1600/IMG_6025.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BYSRJ5po3y4/Ts6mZ1E49XI/AAAAAAAANkE/gnpZJ5pBeHU/s400/IMG_6025.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678659142835303794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;in the dressing room coach said&lt;br /&gt;stick on 10 some more&lt;br /&gt;you’re doing good out there&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but out there, on the ice&lt;br /&gt;I wanted more&lt;br /&gt;I wanted 10 to pay for my ankle&lt;br /&gt;to stick to me for a change&lt;br /&gt;I got my one chance&lt;br /&gt;a minute remaining in the game&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;as 10 raced down the ice&lt;br /&gt;I leaned into him low&lt;br /&gt;and he lost his quick stride&lt;br /&gt;near the empty penalty box&lt;br /&gt;and though I wanted to&lt;br /&gt;dump him right in it&lt;br /&gt;I stabbed at the puck - got it!&lt;br /&gt;I sent it across ice to my winger&lt;br /&gt;already heading the other way&lt;br /&gt;go! I hollered go! &lt;br /&gt;and then turned and chased the play&lt;br /&gt;with 10 hot on my tail&lt;br /&gt;I felt rather than heard the words&lt;br /&gt;catch me if you can&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;after a good deke or two&lt;br /&gt;my winger shot high on net&lt;br /&gt;the puck caromed off the glass&lt;br /&gt;and bounced toward my stick&lt;br /&gt;I felt a sharp tug at my waist&lt;br /&gt;but it didn’t stop me &lt;br /&gt;from slapping at the puck&lt;br /&gt;or following it into the net&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4-4aPgyTJII/Ts6maPE52xI/AAAAAAAANkY/9xnyDEQYrhk/s1600/IMG_6026.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 277px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4-4aPgyTJII/Ts6maPE52xI/AAAAAAAANkY/9xnyDEQYrhk/s400/IMG_6026.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678659149814684434" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heard the final buzzer&lt;br /&gt;I heard the hoots and hollers&lt;br /&gt;and I screamed too&lt;br /&gt;a throaty yell of youthful&lt;br /&gt;jubilation and relief&lt;br /&gt;and I saw, framed by &lt;br /&gt;goal posts slammed off their moorings&lt;br /&gt;number 10’s back as he stepped&lt;br /&gt;through the gate to his bench&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was glad to see the back of him&lt;br /&gt;but happier still to be gripping&lt;br /&gt;a puck under a leather glove&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please click here to read prose entitled &lt;a href="http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/11/prose-she-and-me.html"&gt;‘she and me’&lt;/a&gt; by G. Harrison.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-8360977704794202974?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/8360977704794202974/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2011/11/prose-good-defensive-hockey.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8360977704794202974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8360977704794202974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2011/11/prose-good-defensive-hockey.html' title='Prose: good defensive hockey'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Dw7kTjQkWeQ/Ts6mZ8Qss9I/AAAAAAAANj0/SSBuAt3MNfI/s72-c/IMG_6024.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-5720236261606613593</id><published>2011-11-15T07:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-15T07:54:12.360-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='death'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dream'/><title type='text'>Prose: slow ride quick death</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;[“I don’t usually sleep very well when I’m away from home. One morning, during a recent trip to visit my son and his family in Fenelon Falls, I awoke with a start.” gah]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;slow ride quick death&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dpU_kfI-NS8/TsKK5jolD-I/AAAAAAAANb8/Oc_VSXPnD7g/s1600/SuperStock_1838-1212.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 345px; height: 137px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dpU_kfI-NS8/TsKK5jolD-I/AAAAAAAANb8/Oc_VSXPnD7g/s400/SuperStock_1838-1212.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675251201862864866" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;in a flash I was awake&lt;br /&gt;in a dark room - still alive&lt;br /&gt;I felt a warm bed cover&lt;br /&gt;on my shoulder&lt;br /&gt;but a hot question&lt;br /&gt;on my startled mind&lt;br /&gt;what happened? I said&lt;br /&gt;perhaps aloud&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I closed my eyes&lt;br /&gt;thought backward cautiously&lt;br /&gt;to the scene of the explosive crash&lt;br /&gt;to the sound of my heart&lt;br /&gt;beating in my ears&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;only seconds earlier I’d been dreaming&lt;br /&gt;driving my car up a small hill&lt;br /&gt;and the only other passenger,&lt;br /&gt;my wife, was making small talk&lt;br /&gt;as we neared the crest&lt;br /&gt;a car appeared &lt;br /&gt;full speed ahead&lt;br /&gt;in our lane, a wide chrome grill&lt;br /&gt;aimed at my eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xwMZCdRJ_x8/TsKK56w7nHI/AAAAAAAANcI/uECRnRoATM4/s1600/bigstock_Car_Crash_22739.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 319px; height: 164px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xwMZCdRJ_x8/TsKK56w7nHI/AAAAAAAANcI/uECRnRoATM4/s400/bigstock_Car_Crash_22739.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675251208071912562" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;one second left of life&lt;br /&gt;one thought - this is it&lt;br /&gt;one scream - oh no&lt;br /&gt;one impression - surprise absolute&lt;br /&gt;the surprise of arriving&lt;br /&gt;at an unexpected destination unannounced&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I opened my eyes&lt;br /&gt;stared at the wall -&lt;br /&gt;still alive&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope this won’t be a recurring dream whenever I visit Fenelon Falls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please click here for &lt;a href="http://itstrikesmefunny.blogspot.com/2011/10/workshop-getting-down-to-nubs.html&lt;br /&gt;"&gt;wee prose more cheerful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-5720236261606613593?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/5720236261606613593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2011/11/prose-slow-ride-quick-death.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/5720236261606613593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/5720236261606613593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2011/11/prose-slow-ride-quick-death.html' title='Prose: slow ride quick death'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dpU_kfI-NS8/TsKK5jolD-I/AAAAAAAANb8/Oc_VSXPnD7g/s72-c/SuperStock_1838-1212.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-1592284784088894910</id><published>2011-11-14T08:39:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-14T08:41:22.276-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Canada'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nature'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>Prose: Nature’s solace, alone time</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-obDmjVGCuLw/TsFEX467C2I/AAAAAAAANaE/XbOJwPxxmH0/s1600/IMG_7056.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 113px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-obDmjVGCuLw/TsFEX467C2I/AAAAAAAANaE/XbOJwPxxmH0/s400/IMG_7056.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674892182670740322" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7 a.m.&lt;br /&gt;this morning one duck sails south&lt;br /&gt;past the dock, so quietly&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;last night&lt;br /&gt;a group of seven&lt;br /&gt;a tight-knit band &lt;br /&gt;plied the same waters&lt;br /&gt;and earlier &lt;br /&gt;eleven braved the channel &lt;br /&gt;alive with motored crafts at the time&lt;br /&gt;all shapes and sizes&lt;br /&gt;but none as at home&lt;br /&gt;as this lone duck&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:02 a.m.&lt;br /&gt;it's time for quiet thoughts&lt;br /&gt;time to listen to a line&lt;br /&gt;or verse of nature's prose&lt;br /&gt;writ upon a breeze&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6Q_eE5WQLcE/TsFEX5HMyeI/AAAAAAAANaM/OzrtHGQ1GkM/s1600/IMG_7059.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 294px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6Q_eE5WQLcE/TsFEX5HMyeI/AAAAAAAANaM/OzrtHGQ1GkM/s400/IMG_7059.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674892182722234850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;["It's time for quiet thoughts... writ upon a breeze": photos GH]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;more fishermen will start&lt;br /&gt;their engines soon and rattle by&lt;br /&gt;then the daily din&lt;br /&gt;of more human enterprise&lt;br /&gt;will hold sway and chase&lt;br /&gt;the wary ducks away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but now, with one duck&lt;br /&gt;disappearing from view&lt;br /&gt;it's time for nature's breath&lt;br /&gt;to tell another tale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please click here for a &lt;a href="http://itstrikesmefunny.blogspot.com/2011/07/londons-trees-thames-park-is-home-to.html&lt;br /&gt;"&gt;closer look at a few trees.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-1592284784088894910?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/1592284784088894910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2011/11/prose-natures-solace-alone-time.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1592284784088894910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1592284784088894910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2011/11/prose-natures-solace-alone-time.html' title='Prose: Nature’s solace, alone time'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-obDmjVGCuLw/TsFEX467C2I/AAAAAAAANaE/XbOJwPxxmH0/s72-c/IMG_7056.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-7654475752890125964</id><published>2011-11-14T08:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-14T08:30:00.463-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bird watching'/><title type='text'>Prose: Come to me, old barn</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oF2SXsTVKLI/TsFBWatcTKI/AAAAAAAANZs/Zmx9jxRcj3o/s1600/IMG_7343.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 244px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oF2SXsTVKLI/TsFBWatcTKI/AAAAAAAANZs/Zmx9jxRcj3o/s400/IMG_7343.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674888858846383266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Come to me, old barn, and I’ll build you a house,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cozy and warm and fit for a mouse&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;or family of finches or sparrows dressed brown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come to me, old barn, you may soon live in town.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bDpGw0C-Rfg/TsFBWYyBWmI/AAAAAAAANZ0/XWaN1XwDbRI/s1600/IMG_7344.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 223px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bDpGw0C-Rfg/TsFBWYyBWmI/AAAAAAAANZ0/XWaN1XwDbRI/s400/IMG_7344.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674888858328717922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;["Note the light blue trim from barn board": photos GH]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please click here to read &lt;a href="http://itstrikesmefunny.blogspot.com/2011/10/workshop-getting-down-to-nubs.html&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&gt;the post that inspired the prose.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-7654475752890125964?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/7654475752890125964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2011/11/prose-come-to-me-old-barn.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/7654475752890125964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/7654475752890125964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2011/11/prose-come-to-me-old-barn.html' title='Prose: Come to me, old barn'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oF2SXsTVKLI/TsFBWatcTKI/AAAAAAAANZs/Zmx9jxRcj3o/s72-c/IMG_7343.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-85069398228446044</id><published>2011-11-14T08:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-14T08:09:51.139-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nature'/><title type='text'>Prose: “First ice is on the pond”</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CpInD6_PSLg/TsE89lg5caI/AAAAAAAANZU/kcmbDtCtcug/s1600/IMG_7376.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 319px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CpInD6_PSLg/TsE89lg5caI/AAAAAAAANZU/kcmbDtCtcug/s400/IMG_7376.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674884034203316642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I slip on rubber boots, the grass feels wet and cold&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I step around dry leaves, crisp edges in a fold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Colours, the oranges and reds, of which I’m fond&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are now subdued, and first ice is on the pond.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AcNqgPiDtjg/TsE895C13bI/AAAAAAAANZg/KPlntNWZH3k/s1600/IMG_7371.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AcNqgPiDtjg/TsE895C13bI/AAAAAAAANZg/KPlntNWZH3k/s400/IMG_7371.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674884039445962162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;[Prose and photos by GH]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please click here for &lt;a href="http://itstrikesmefunny.blogspot.com/2011/10/zoom-w-view-can-you-spot-wee-difference.html"&gt;Zoom w a View.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-85069398228446044?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/85069398228446044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2011/11/prose-first-ice-is-on-pond.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/85069398228446044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/85069398228446044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2011/11/prose-first-ice-is-on-pond.html' title='Prose: “First ice is on the pond”'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CpInD6_PSLg/TsE89lg5caI/AAAAAAAANZU/kcmbDtCtcug/s72-c/IMG_7376.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-5839898883296763725</id><published>2010-12-20T10:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-20T10:19:22.849-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bird watching'/><title type='text'>Prose: One little junco, so quiet</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TQ-cKCwoFVI/AAAAAAAAJ8I/8yPVZc7wQ9o/s1600/IMG_4181.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 337px; height: 286px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TQ-cKCwoFVI/AAAAAAAAJ8I/8yPVZc7wQ9o/s400/IMG_4181.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552828561924560210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;One little junco, so quiet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One little juno&lt;br /&gt;sitting on the line&lt;br /&gt;in a puffed-up jacket&lt;br /&gt;and quiet, passing time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;soon the sparrows exit,&lt;br /&gt;no more time to dine.&lt;br /&gt;then the junco says,&lt;br /&gt;“now the seeds are mine.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;as well, one blue jay came today.&lt;br /&gt;all the other birds flew away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More &lt;a href="http://itstrikesmefunny.blogspot.com/2010/12/bird-watching-male-cardinal-too-quick.html&lt;br /&gt;"&gt;Bird Watching here.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-5839898883296763725?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/5839898883296763725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/12/prose-one-little-junco-so-quiet.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/5839898883296763725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/5839898883296763725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/12/prose-one-little-junco-so-quiet.html' title='Prose: One little junco, so quiet'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TQ-cKCwoFVI/AAAAAAAAJ8I/8yPVZc7wQ9o/s72-c/IMG_4181.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-8880625364382945906</id><published>2010-12-19T11:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-19T11:04:34.812-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='death'/><title type='text'>Timely Prose: fire</title><content type='html'>together, we&lt;br /&gt;can walk through fire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;alone, oft times&lt;br /&gt;not,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;because the strike &lt;br /&gt;of a match&lt;br /&gt;alone &lt;br /&gt;can be too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-8880625364382945906?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/8880625364382945906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/12/timely-prose-fire.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8880625364382945906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8880625364382945906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/12/timely-prose-fire.html' title='Timely Prose: fire'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-48439654318896570</id><published>2010-07-12T10:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-12T10:27:44.127-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='splitting up'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heartache'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='it don&apos;t git worsen this'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sad'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><title type='text'>Your Shadow’s at My Side</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“Marriages and relationships certainly go through hard times, don’t they? Hopefully, bad times are followed by good times and a couple doesn’t reach the kicking stage in verse 3.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Your Shadow’s at My Side&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Late at night I think of you.&lt;br /&gt;Late at night I dream of you.&lt;br /&gt;Late at night I yearn for you,&lt;br /&gt;Your shadow’s at my side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Hard times from the start,&lt;br /&gt;Hard times broke your heart.&lt;br /&gt;Hard times tore us apart.&lt;br /&gt;You have left my side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TDtQbsfU8FI/AAAAAAAAHws/XGdl9r6q5fA/s1600/IMG_1739.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TDtQbsfU8FI/AAAAAAAAHws/XGdl9r6q5fA/s320/IMG_1739.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493072607237697618" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;["Sail through tough times": photo GH]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Good times will come again,&lt;br /&gt;Good times will ease your pain,&lt;br /&gt;Good times will be our last refrain.&lt;br /&gt;But I need you at my side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Verse 3 is optional: Depends on the mood around the campfire!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Last chance came and went,&lt;br /&gt;Last chance you got to vent,&lt;br /&gt;Last chance you said, “Get bent.”&lt;br /&gt;You kicked me in my side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-48439654318896570?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/48439654318896570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/07/your-shadows-at-my-side.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/48439654318896570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/48439654318896570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/07/your-shadows-at-my-side.html' title='Your Shadow’s at My Side'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TDtQbsfU8FI/AAAAAAAAHws/XGdl9r6q5fA/s72-c/IMG_1739.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-5638279195676419487</id><published>2010-07-03T09:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-03T09:09:13.714-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='splitting up'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hurtin&apos; big time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>Get Off of My Porch</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“I’m very, very surprised someone has not written a song exactly like this because terrible things - like those in the song - happen every weekend, if not every single day of the week. Not at my house, mind you, but somewhere. Use my porch if you need to brush somebody off.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Get Off of My Porch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You said that you didn’t love me,&lt;br /&gt;You said you found someone new.&lt;br /&gt;You said ‘cause I was your best friend&lt;br /&gt;I should be happy for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get offa my porch, stop your knockin’,&lt;br /&gt;Nobody’s home, go away.&lt;br /&gt;Leave me alone, I’m hurtin’,&lt;br /&gt;(Or... lights are down low for a reason.)&lt;br /&gt;I’ll come outside another day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TC9fhXUo_-I/AAAAAAAAHr8/Nd_kRPMgOmE/s1600/IMG_0518.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 227px; height: 227px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TC9fhXUo_-I/AAAAAAAAHr8/Nd_kRPMgOmE/s320/IMG_0518.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489711497588834274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;["Hey. You. Get off-a my porch!"]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I said you were sadly mistaken,&lt;br /&gt;‘Cause I wasn’t happy at all.&lt;br /&gt;I said, “I’ll be pining away, Dear,&lt;br /&gt;All summer and into the fall.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. You said the first kiss was pleasure,&lt;br /&gt;You said the last kiss was fun.&lt;br /&gt;I thought the first kiss was treasure,&lt;br /&gt;The last kiss - my heart came undone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyday something exactly like this happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I'm just the first one to sing about it - happily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-5638279195676419487?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/5638279195676419487/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/07/get-off-of-my-porch.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/5638279195676419487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/5638279195676419487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/07/get-off-of-my-porch.html' title='Get Off of My Porch'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TC9fhXUo_-I/AAAAAAAAHr8/Nd_kRPMgOmE/s72-c/IMG_0518.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-8066175165125232881</id><published>2010-06-26T16:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-26T17:03:43.347-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='splitting up'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heartache'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='it don&apos;t git worsen this'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='whisky'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>Sorry I Kept You Waiting</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“I’d like to say that this song was 100 per cent from my imagination, but I’d be lying. I used to like to stay late at parties, be the last one to go, not think too much about my wife’s feelings. I’m almost cured of all my bad habits, thanks to lessons learned along the way. (Though I still have  a few big bad habits to work on still.”&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;gaharrison&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Sorry I Kept You Waiting&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You said, “Let’s be home by eleven.”&lt;br /&gt;You had work the next day.&lt;br /&gt;I had several too many,&lt;br /&gt;usually that is the way.&lt;br /&gt;We got to the car after midnight&lt;br /&gt;and after I shut your door,&lt;br /&gt;I said, “Gonna go get my jacket.” &lt;br /&gt;I meant, gonna have couple more.&lt;br /&gt;I said, “Gonna go get my jacket.” &lt;br /&gt;I meant, gonna have couple more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TCaVP3OyomI/AAAAAAAAHos/QYSzmx8y52Q/s1600/broken-heart.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TCaVP3OyomI/AAAAAAAAHos/QYSzmx8y52Q/s320/broken-heart.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487237295754093154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry I kept you waiting,&lt;br /&gt;sitting alone in the car.&lt;br /&gt;Sorry I kept you waiting,&lt;br /&gt;I stayed for last round at the bar.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, I’ll try to be more reliable,&lt;br /&gt;I’ll try to be more aware.&lt;br /&gt;Sorry I kept you waiting,&lt;br /&gt;I came out and you weren’t there.&lt;br /&gt;Sorry I kept you waiting,&lt;br /&gt;sorry I kept you waiting, &lt;br /&gt;sorry I kept you waiting.&lt;br /&gt;I came out and you weren’t there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. You waited for over an hour,&lt;br /&gt;hopin’ I’d show up real soon.&lt;br /&gt;You listened to music ‘bout lovers,&lt;br /&gt;while watchin’ the silvery moon.&lt;br /&gt;You thought of workin’ next morning,&lt;br /&gt;called a cab on your cell.&lt;br /&gt;You thought about having a future,&lt;br /&gt;rather than livin’ in hell.&lt;br /&gt;You thought about having a future,&lt;br /&gt;rather than livin’ in hell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I finally staggered outside, Dear,&lt;br /&gt;I knew I’d be facin’ some heat.&lt;br /&gt;Found your door was wide open,&lt;br /&gt;my jacket was thrown in the street.&lt;br /&gt;You listened to radio music,&lt;br /&gt;so my battery’s dead for the day.&lt;br /&gt;But more than my car needs a rescue,&lt;br /&gt;and a boost from ol’ Triple A.&lt;br /&gt;More than my car needs a rescue,&lt;br /&gt;and a boost from ol’ Triple A.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-8066175165125232881?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/8066175165125232881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/06/sorry-i-kept-you-waiting.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8066175165125232881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8066175165125232881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/06/sorry-i-kept-you-waiting.html' title='Sorry I Kept You Waiting'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TCaVP3OyomI/AAAAAAAAHos/QYSzmx8y52Q/s72-c/broken-heart.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-1707571859615817411</id><published>2010-06-24T14:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T14:33:36.782-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='splitting up'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heartache'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love-life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>Weezie's Love Was Easy</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“While travelling north to Espanola several years ago with friend Don Kelly, I spotted ‘Weezie loves Jennifer’ spray-painted on a rock face near the edge of Highway 6. Soon thereafter I saw Weezie’s name again with another girl’s. Then again. Settle down, Weezie, I thought. Or leave town.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Weezie's Love Was Easy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Driving north on Highway Six, &lt;br /&gt;Little Current's just the same,&lt;br /&gt;Miles of granite, piles of stone, &lt;br /&gt;and kids like to paint their names.&lt;br /&gt;Rock flies passed, I see the paint, &lt;br /&gt;read a name or two,&lt;br /&gt;read a boy has loved and lost. &lt;br /&gt;I'm sure this story's true.&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure this story's true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TCPO-5P40gI/AAAAAAAAHm8/hZVCuBQcAqc/s1600/everything_monsters_weezie_shirt-p2351104301546997283y_325.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 158px; height: 142px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TCPO-5P40gI/AAAAAAAAHm8/hZVCuBQcAqc/s320/everything_monsters_weezie_shirt-p2351104301546997283y_325.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486456350982066690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;["Why does everybody love Weezie?"]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Weezie's love was easy,&lt;br /&gt;cold granite never lies.&lt;br /&gt;Five girls in love with Weezie, &lt;br /&gt;but it doesn't pay to advertise.&lt;br /&gt;First time that you paint the stone &lt;br /&gt;love surely feels so fine.&lt;br /&gt;By the time you paint number four, &lt;br /&gt;love has lost its shine.&lt;br /&gt;Love has lost its shine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I saw "Weezie loves Jennifer" &lt;br /&gt;sprayed with hearts and flowers.&lt;br /&gt;I soon thought that love ran cold, &lt;br /&gt;suffered rain and showers.&lt;br /&gt;'Cause farther down Highway 6&lt;br /&gt;I saw Weezie's name again.&lt;br /&gt;A different rock, a different girl.&lt;br /&gt;Jennifer was gone (repeat).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I saw "Weezie loves Lorraine"&lt;br /&gt;sprayed with bright red hearts.&lt;br /&gt;I soon thought love had hit the skids,&lt;br /&gt;suffered fits and starts.&lt;br /&gt;'Cause down the road, upon the stone,&lt;br /&gt;saw Weezie tried again.&lt;br /&gt;Another rock, another girl. &lt;br /&gt;There was no Lorraine (repeat).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I saw "Weezie loves Beth Anne"&lt;br /&gt;sprayed with blue and gold.&lt;br /&gt;But one more mile, one more name,&lt;br /&gt;Weezie's love got old.&lt;br /&gt;I then recalled the loves I lost&lt;br /&gt;I never wrote in stone.&lt;br /&gt;And though he painted several names, &lt;br /&gt;Weezie's all alone (repeat).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-1707571859615817411?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/1707571859615817411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/06/weezies-love-was-easy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1707571859615817411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1707571859615817411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/06/weezies-love-was-easy.html' title='Weezie&apos;s Love Was Easy'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TCPO-5P40gI/AAAAAAAAHm8/hZVCuBQcAqc/s72-c/everything_monsters_weezie_shirt-p2351104301546997283y_325.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-1760500212827663216</id><published>2010-03-26T09:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-26T09:14:44.758-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='splitting up'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heartache'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hurtin&apos; big time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>Lovers Stand On Every Corner</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“I don’t have a recollection of any incident that sparked this song. Maybe my wife didn’t pay for coffees one morning at The Little Red Roaster in Wortley Village and I got all pouty and hurt. Maybe I have an over-active imagination.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Lovers Stand On Every Corner&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Verse 1. Saw you walking passed my door, &lt;br /&gt;went to call but then I swore,&lt;br /&gt;we can’t return to where we’ve been, &lt;br /&gt;and life’s too short to open up that wound again.&lt;br /&gt;Saw you at our old café,&lt;br /&gt;couldn’t find the words to say,&lt;br /&gt;like, let’s just have an easy talk and not get close&lt;br /&gt;and open up that wound again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S6zdS7dQ_vI/AAAAAAAAGow/ETXYVqQho78/s1600/lovers+12-02-09.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 292px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S6zdS7dQ_vI/AAAAAAAAGow/ETXYVqQho78/s320/lovers+12-02-09.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452976566106652402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lovers, stand on every corner, &lt;br /&gt;remind me of what might have been.&lt;br /&gt;Words I’ve never said&lt;br /&gt;have opened up that wound again.&lt;br /&gt;Alone now, my head is on your pillow, &lt;br /&gt;knowing there’s no answer&lt;br /&gt;to things that I’ve done wrong.&lt;br /&gt;Mistakes that I have made&lt;br /&gt;have opened up that wound again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Walked behind you to your street,&lt;br /&gt;inched along on silent feet.&lt;br /&gt;I practiced words, found a few. &lt;br /&gt;But can words help us open up our hearts again?&lt;br /&gt;Shuffled home, went to the phone. &lt;br /&gt;Could one call just bring you home,&lt;br /&gt;and stir our minds to better times? &lt;br /&gt;But can words help us open up our hearts again?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saw you walking passed my door, &lt;br /&gt;went to call then I swore,&lt;br /&gt;we can’t return to where we’d been, &lt;br /&gt;life’s too short to open up that wound again.&lt;br /&gt;Saw you at our old café, couldn’t find the words to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://beta.thelondoner.ca/SearchCat.aspx?cid=4186&lt;br /&gt;"&gt;Please click here&lt;/a&gt; to read this week’s column.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-1760500212827663216?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/1760500212827663216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/03/lovers-stand-on-every-corner.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1760500212827663216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1760500212827663216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/03/lovers-stand-on-every-corner.html' title='Lovers Stand On Every Corner'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S6zdS7dQ_vI/AAAAAAAAGow/ETXYVqQho78/s72-c/lovers+12-02-09.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-1431966085443228877</id><published>2010-03-04T18:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-04T18:56:14.518-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heartache'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='it don&apos;t git worsen this'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='longing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dream'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>You Got Away</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“This song was written about ten years ago and was inspired only by my imagination. My wife likely wondered at the time why I would ever go to a laundromat because we had a perfectly good washing machine and dryer in the basement. I think it’s the kind of song Roy Orbison would have enjoyed singing.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;You Got Away&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Verse 1. I saw you first time at the laundromat,&lt;br /&gt;I was a bit too nervous to start to chat.&lt;br /&gt;But our eyes held while you folded sheets,&lt;br /&gt;My shirt got damp from my body heat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I spoke to you first at the corner store,&lt;br /&gt;You’re arms were full so I held the door.&lt;br /&gt;I asked if you’d like a coffee one day.&lt;br /&gt;You said, it’s hard, then you walked away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S5Bys060kAI/AAAAAAAAGYs/xgw91c_IiDU/s1600-h/laundromat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 270px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S5Bys060kAI/AAAAAAAAGYs/xgw91c_IiDU/s320/laundromat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444978063936098306" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I was trying real hard but you got away,&lt;br /&gt;I’ll try again soon some other day.&lt;br /&gt;It’s so hard to act cool when my hands get hot,&lt;br /&gt;You’re tougher to forget than I ever thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. When I saw you next you were with a guy.&lt;br /&gt;You said, it’s still hard, if I read your eye.&lt;br /&gt;At the laundromat I saw you fold his shirts,&lt;br /&gt;Don’t know why but that still hurts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I can’t help but keep watching you,&lt;br /&gt;You’re everywhere, on my mind it’s true.&lt;br /&gt;I keep rehearsing romantic scenes,&lt;br /&gt;And you’re the main star in my nightly dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://beta.thelondoner.ca/SearchCat.aspx?cid=4186&lt;br /&gt;"&gt;Please click here&lt;/a&gt; to read my latest column.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-1431966085443228877?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/1431966085443228877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/03/you-got-away.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1431966085443228877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1431966085443228877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/03/you-got-away.html' title='You Got Away'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S5Bys060kAI/AAAAAAAAGYs/xgw91c_IiDU/s72-c/laundromat.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-8115132849773863792</id><published>2010-03-02T13:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T13:14:21.244-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='young at heart'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laugh'/><title type='text'>The Bucksnort Café</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“While driving to a fire fighter college in Texas a number of years ago, in order to visit my oldest son, I spotted a road sign in Kentucky directing traffic to the town of Bucksnort. Shortly after telling my wife we should retire to Bucksnort and open a coffee shop, this song followed.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;The Bucksnort Café&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m going to the Bucksnort Café,&lt;br /&gt;I’ll have my first cup of the day,&lt;br /&gt;I’ll talk to my pals, joke with the gals,&lt;br /&gt;Life is good at the Bucksnort Café.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S41-uJ9IkTI/AAAAAAAAGW0/Dy8BqFLFxwQ/s1600-h/Cowboy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 160px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S41-uJ9IkTI/AAAAAAAAGW0/Dy8BqFLFxwQ/s320/Cowboy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444146855972213042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;["Yup, I could drinka cuppa coffee 'bout now"]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Verse 1. I’ll get toast and thick marmalade,&lt;br /&gt;The cranberry scones are homemade.&lt;br /&gt;Two packets of sugar, some cream, and a stir,&lt;br /&gt;Life is sweet at the Bucksnort Café.&lt;br /&gt;I’ll pull out my Free Coffee card,&lt;br /&gt;To get eight holes punched ain’t too hard.&lt;br /&gt;First eight there’s a fee, the ninth cup is free,&lt;br /&gt;Get a deal at the Bucksnort Café.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m going to the Bucksnort Café,&lt;br /&gt;Their coffee gets me going each day,&lt;br /&gt;I’ll talk to my pals, joke with the gals,&lt;br /&gt;Life is good at the Bucksnort Café.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. We’ll talk ‘bout the issues at hand,&lt;br /&gt;Solve problems afflicting the land.&lt;br /&gt;If politicians were smart, they’d take us to heart,&lt;br /&gt;And drop in at the Bucksnort Café.&lt;br /&gt;The price of eggs is too high,&lt;br /&gt;But my wife will be rich when I die.&lt;br /&gt;We talk ‘bout this stuff though life ain’t too rough,&lt;br /&gt;Life goes on at the Bucksnort Café.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m going to the Bucksnort Café,&lt;br /&gt;Buy me a refill – I’ll stay,&lt;br /&gt;I’ll talk to my pals, joke with the gals,&lt;br /&gt;Life is good at the Bucksnort Café.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://beta.thelondoner.ca/SearchCat.aspx?cid=4186"&gt;Please click here &lt;/a&gt;to read my most recent newspaper column.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-8115132849773863792?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/8115132849773863792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/03/buck-snort-cafe.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8115132849773863792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8115132849773863792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/03/buck-snort-cafe.html' title='The Bucksnort Café'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S41-uJ9IkTI/AAAAAAAAGW0/Dy8BqFLFxwQ/s72-c/Cowboy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-7296437397191295348</id><published>2010-02-22T14:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-24T10:18:19.344-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heartache'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='camping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='growing old'/><title type='text'>I am a Lonely Cowboy</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“I camped with the same circle of friends for many years and one fellow always brought a guitar and a new homemade song for the campfire. This is one of my attempts to come up with what i would call a campfire song.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I am a Lonely Cowboy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Verse 1. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lost my wife early in life raising kids high on this mountain.&lt;br /&gt;Long hours every day I thought life was okay, &lt;br /&gt;But my heart now feels like it’s aching.&lt;br /&gt;My heart it feels like it’s breaking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a lonely cowboy riding my old gray horse.&lt;br /&gt;I am a lonely cowboy riding my old gray horse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S4MEs3rJT3I/AAAAAAAAGQs/lM5VRHSIV4c/s1600-h/Cowboy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S4MEs3rJT3I/AAAAAAAAGQs/lM5VRHSIV4c/s320/Cowboy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441197943699361650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;["I thought life was okay": &lt;a href="http://themetered.com/"&gt;photo link&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I lost my sons to jobs needing done, they rode down off this mountain.&lt;br /&gt;They said, “See you again.” Now I look down the lane,&lt;br /&gt;And my heart now feels like it’s aching.&lt;br /&gt;My heart it feels like it’s breaking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I lost my girls, they entered your world, moved away from this mountain.&lt;br /&gt;They both used to write, but they live out of sight,&lt;br /&gt;And my heart now feels like it’s aching.&lt;br /&gt;My heart it feels like it’s breaking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I lost my friend, came to his end caught in a storm on this mountain.&lt;br /&gt;Lost in the snow he had no place to go,&lt;br /&gt;And my heart now feels like it’s aching.&lt;br /&gt;My heart it feels like it’s breaking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I lost it all, there’s no one to call, I’m living alone on this mountain.&lt;br /&gt;This farm is all mine, but we’re both lost in time,&lt;br /&gt;And my heart now feels like it’s aching.&lt;br /&gt;My heart it feels like it’s breaking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://beta.thelondoner.ca/SearchCat.aspx?cid=4186"&gt;Please click here&lt;/a&gt; to read my last weekly column.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-7296437397191295348?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/7296437397191295348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-am-lonely-cowboy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/7296437397191295348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/7296437397191295348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-am-lonely-cowboy.html' title='I am a Lonely Cowboy'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S4MEs3rJT3I/AAAAAAAAGQs/lM5VRHSIV4c/s72-c/Cowboy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-3104487781103622804</id><published>2010-02-12T08:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-12T09:02:46.180-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>How Are You Still in Love with Me?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“After listing two songs in a row that were pretty darn sad (see below and pass the tissues), I thought I’d better dust off an old love song from my ‘singing around the campfire’ days. I hope you feel better now.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;How Are You Still in Love with Me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Verse 1. I know some about the rivers, how they flow out to the sea.&lt;br /&gt;Because I’ve seen them rushing by in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;I kinda get to wondering, what I’d see from way out there.&lt;br /&gt;There’s mysteries that are deeper than the sea, than the sea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder, yes I wonder,&lt;br /&gt;About some mysteries of life,&lt;br /&gt;But I wonder more how you’re still in love with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S3WJn5EVsPI/AAAAAAAAGKs/VJwCnkQL6jk/s1600-h/prod15031_lg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S3WJn5EVsPI/AAAAAAAAGKs/VJwCnkQL6jk/s320/prod15031_lg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437403443546665202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I know some about the prairies, how they stretch out to the sky.&lt;br /&gt;Because I’ve seen them reaching out in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;I kinda get to wondering, what I’d see from way out there.&lt;br /&gt;There’s mysteries that are wider than a mile, than a mile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder, yes I wonder,&lt;br /&gt;About some mysteries of life,&lt;br /&gt;But I wonder more how you’re still in love with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I know some about the eagle, how they fly up in the sky.&lt;br /&gt;Because I’ve seen them circling round in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;I kinda get to wondering, what I’d see from way up there.&lt;br /&gt;There’s mysteries that are higher than the sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder, yes I wonder,&lt;br /&gt;About some mysteries of life,&lt;br /&gt;But I wonder more how you’re still in love with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I know some about the mountains, how they’re too bright for my eye.&lt;br /&gt;When I seen them flashing white in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;I kinda get to wondering, could I see from way up there?&lt;br /&gt;There’s mysteries that will blind you for awhile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder, yes I wonder,&lt;br /&gt;About some sweet mysteries of life,&lt;br /&gt;But I wonder more how you’re still in love with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://beta.thelondoner.ca/SearchCat.aspx?cid=4186&lt;br /&gt;"&gt;Please click here&lt;/a&gt; to read my latest brilliant column in the Londoner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brilliant?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey, it could happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-3104487781103622804?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/3104487781103622804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/02/how-are-you-still-in-love-with-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/3104487781103622804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/3104487781103622804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/02/how-are-you-still-in-love-with-me.html' title='How Are You Still in Love with Me?'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S3WJn5EVsPI/AAAAAAAAGKs/VJwCnkQL6jk/s72-c/prod15031_lg.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-4316458792407668319</id><published>2010-01-22T08:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-22T08:08:21.381-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='splitting up'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heartache'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hurtin&apos; big time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>Since You Left Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“I’ve been married for almost 40 years and can only imagine what it would be like living alone after a breakup. I think it would be pretty tough, even for a day. And that’s all the time considered in this song - one day - from sun up to sundown, from the time coffee was turned on until dirty boots were kicked off.” &lt;/span&gt;gah  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Since You Left Me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Verse 1. There’s no one around as the sun’s coming up,&lt;br /&gt;Nobody stirs when I drink my first cup,&lt;br /&gt;Nobody joins me as I’m washing up, since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;There’s no one around since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;There’s no one who asks, is that a smile or a frown?&lt;br /&gt;Nobody asks, can’t you put that job down?&lt;br /&gt;Nobody says, hey, let’s head into town, since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;Not much goes on since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m ready to listen and hear what you say,  &lt;br /&gt;Since you headed straight out the door.&lt;br /&gt;And I’m ready to stop having all my own way&lt;br /&gt;since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;It’s one empty house since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S1nMhMDUzuI/AAAAAAAAF3s/4c9ow2WF5d0/s1600-h/brokeheart.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 292px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S1nMhMDUzuI/AAAAAAAAF3s/4c9ow2WF5d0/s400/brokeheart.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429595696314765026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. There’s no one around while I throw in some hay,&lt;br /&gt;Nobody cooks when I stop at noonday&lt;br /&gt;Nobody hollers, cold drink’s on the way, since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;There’s no one around since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;There’s no one who says, you’ve been working real hard,&lt;br /&gt;Nobody says, I put gas in the car.&lt;br /&gt;Nobody says, you should call your Pa, since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;Not much goes on since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. There’s no one around as the sun’s going down,&lt;br /&gt;Nobody turns when I throw my boots down,&lt;br /&gt;Nobody laughs when I act like a clown, since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;There’s no one around since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;There’s no one who asks, how’s it going out there?&lt;br /&gt;Nobody reminds me, put a comb through your hair.&lt;br /&gt;Nobody sighs, don’t you love that fresh air, since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;Not much goes on since you left me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-4316458792407668319?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/4316458792407668319/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/01/since-you-left-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4316458792407668319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4316458792407668319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/01/since-you-left-me.html' title='Since You Left Me'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S1nMhMDUzuI/AAAAAAAAF3s/4c9ow2WF5d0/s72-c/brokeheart.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-8857808441990283477</id><published>2010-01-21T10:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-21T10:20:22.467-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the poorhouse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='death'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='whisky'/><title type='text'>I Won’t Be Drinking Whisky Anymore</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“Boozers ran in my family. Most are now dry or passed away, but I am filled with sadness when I recall my mother’s story about the day she lost her father due to his years of hard drinking. I lost a few school and work days as a young man due to terrible hangovers - and that was enough for me. ‘Everything in moderation,’ as my mother used to say.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I Won’t Be Drinking Whisky Anymore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Verse 1. I won’t be drinking whisky anymore.&lt;br /&gt;I won’t be drinking whisky anymore.&lt;br /&gt;I’ll put my glass down and head into town and try to find a job.&lt;br /&gt;I won’t be drinking hard whisky anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S1ia0iar3pI/AAAAAAAAF3c/XZx0rmpQRh0/s1600-h/Empty_whiskey_bottle.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 132px; height: 195px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S1ia0iar3pI/AAAAAAAAF3c/XZx0rmpQRh0/s400/Empty_whiskey_bottle.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429259578177740434" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I won’t be singing songs all through the night (repeat).&lt;br /&gt;I’ll put my glass down and head into town and try to find a job.&lt;br /&gt;I won’t be singing my sad songs all through the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I won’t be yelling words that cuss your name (repeat).&lt;br /&gt;I’ll put my glass down and head into town and try to find a job.&lt;br /&gt;I won’t be yelling loud words that cuss your name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I’ll try to bring you home a steady pay (repeat).&lt;br /&gt;I’ll put my glass down and head into town and try to find a job.&lt;br /&gt;I’ll try to bring you home some steady pay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I’ll save up hard, buy you a summer dress (repeat).&lt;br /&gt;I’ll put my glass down and head into town and try to find a job.&lt;br /&gt;I’ll save up hard, buy you a new summer dress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I won’t be drinking whisky anymore (repeat).&lt;br /&gt;I’ll put my glass down and head into town and try to find a job.&lt;br /&gt;I won’t be drinking hard whisky anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-8857808441990283477?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/8857808441990283477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-wont-be-drinking-whisky-anymore.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8857808441990283477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8857808441990283477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-wont-be-drinking-whisky-anymore.html' title='I Won’t Be Drinking Whisky Anymore'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S1ia0iar3pI/AAAAAAAAF3c/XZx0rmpQRh0/s72-c/Empty_whiskey_bottle.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-3561447200069738985</id><published>2010-01-15T09:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-19T09:04:30.126-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='death'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='growing old'/><title type='text'>Hit Singles: Down I Lay Me Down</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“This song was written several years ago in the months before my father passed away. When he learned his cancer had returned he decided against any further operations and treatment. I admired his bravery, his clarity of mind and wrote this in his voice as if he was looking back over his lifetime.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Down I Lay Me Down&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Verse 1. I’m getting old, my hair is gray,&lt;br /&gt;I may not have too many days.&lt;br /&gt;My mind can’t help but turn around &lt;br /&gt;to see my footsteps on the ground.&lt;br /&gt;I’m looking back over all my years,&lt;br /&gt;reaching for what I hold dear,&lt;br /&gt;My arms are full, my family’s near. &lt;br /&gt;Down I lay me down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S1Ck3NkwGnI/AAAAAAAAFzs/PllZXxI0Lag/s1600-h/Uncle+Doug.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 263px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S1Ck3NkwGnI/AAAAAAAAFzs/PllZXxI0Lag/s320/Uncle+Doug.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427018819425016434" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;["G.D. Harrison - his younger days"]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;‘Down I lay me down to sleep,&lt;br /&gt;pray the Lord my soul to keep.&lt;br /&gt;If I should die before I wake, &lt;br /&gt;take me home, (take me home).&lt;br /&gt;If I should die before I wake,&lt;br /&gt;bless my soul for Jesus’ sake.&lt;br /&gt;Take me home, (take me home). &lt;br /&gt;Down I lay me down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Storms of life, my wife faced a few,&lt;br /&gt;we had doubts at time, but then we grew&lt;br /&gt;To understand love’s our goal&lt;br /&gt;to work for over time I’m told.&lt;br /&gt;I guess with age we wiser get,&lt;br /&gt;pay our way, leave no debt.&lt;br /&gt;Try to live with no regret.&lt;br /&gt;Down I lay me down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I always felt most at rest&lt;br /&gt;down country roads, they seemed the best&lt;br /&gt;place to watch birds catch the breeze.&lt;br /&gt;They always put my mind at ease.&lt;br /&gt;I traveled down many roads,&lt;br /&gt;from wander-lust, a thirst to roam.&lt;br /&gt;All those roads led back to home. &lt;br /&gt;Down I lay me down. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S1Ck3cHhr_I/AAAAAAAAFz0/eooPHVkvoBQ/s1600-h/IMG_9215+(1).JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S1Ck3cHhr_I/AAAAAAAAFz0/eooPHVkvoBQ/s320/IMG_9215+(1).JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427018823328968690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;["Five chips off the old block"]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Made a home, my wife and me,&lt;br /&gt;kids a-plenty on each knee.&lt;br /&gt;Lives to share, hands to hold,&lt;br /&gt;they were my help as I grew old.&lt;br /&gt;No worries now, no doom and gloom,&lt;br /&gt;I know I will see you soon,&lt;br /&gt;I’ll just be in the other room. &lt;br /&gt;Down I lay me down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-3561447200069738985?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/3561447200069738985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/01/hit-singles-down-i-lay-me-down.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/3561447200069738985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/3561447200069738985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2010/01/hit-singles-down-i-lay-me-down.html' title='Hit Singles: Down I Lay Me Down'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/S1Ck3NkwGnI/AAAAAAAAFzs/PllZXxI0Lag/s72-c/Uncle+Doug.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-1117251454833641515</id><published>2009-11-19T08:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-28T07:32:23.624-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the poorhouse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hurtin&apos; big time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='it don&apos;t git worsen this'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='food'/><title type='text'>The Poor Boy Blues</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;"The following song came to me while watching the local news last Tuesday night. I must have been suffering a fever because while nursing verses together my wife heard me cry out, where's Kate Young? Where's Kate Young?"&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Poor Boy with The Poor Boy Blues&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I’m tired of buying groceries&lt;br /&gt;from the ninety-nine cent aisle.&lt;br /&gt;I’m tired of buying canned goods&lt;br /&gt;that been dented for awhile.&lt;br /&gt;I’d like to buy some new shoes&lt;br /&gt;that seem to fit my feet.&lt;br /&gt;I’d like folks to smile at me&lt;br /&gt;like I’m on Easy Street...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...But I’m a poor boy, &lt;br /&gt;But I’m a poor boy,&lt;br /&gt;But I’m a poor, poor boy,&lt;br /&gt;And I’ve got the poor boy blues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SwV6O0aXyvI/AAAAAAAAFJA/LIau67TP_pw/s1600/bennetbuggy-dark-reverse.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 373px; height: 205px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SwV6O0aXyvI/AAAAAAAAFJA/LIau67TP_pw/s400/bennetbuggy-dark-reverse.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405861322734160626" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I’m tired of eating wieners&lt;br /&gt;without a shred of beef.&lt;br /&gt;I’m tired of eating cabbages &lt;br /&gt;with holes in every leaf.&lt;br /&gt;I’d like to eat a slice of bread&lt;br /&gt;that's not from the bargain bin.&lt;br /&gt;And I’d like to eat a supper&lt;br /&gt;that's just not a can of beans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I’m tired of getting stuck in line&lt;br /&gt;at each recession sale.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I feel as useless&lt;br /&gt;as a mop without a pail.&lt;br /&gt;I’d like to trade my low-wage job&lt;br /&gt;for one that is full time.&lt;br /&gt;And then I’d buy a piece of steak&lt;br /&gt;an’ not the Salisbury kind...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I’m tired of buying packages&lt;br /&gt;someone else has opened first. &lt;br /&gt;I’m tired of buying the cheapest beer&lt;br /&gt;to help me quench my thirst. &lt;br /&gt;I’d like to buy some new jeans&lt;br /&gt;with a well-known label on,&lt;br /&gt;And I’d like to have an extra ten&lt;br /&gt;and a girl to spend it on...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-1117251454833641515?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/1117251454833641515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/11/poor-boy-with-poor-boy-blues.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1117251454833641515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1117251454833641515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/11/poor-boy-with-poor-boy-blues.html' title='The Poor Boy Blues'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SwV6O0aXyvI/AAAAAAAAFJA/LIau67TP_pw/s72-c/bennetbuggy-dark-reverse.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-1725026175962015597</id><published>2009-11-04T07:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-04T07:07:33.238-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='longevity'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='loyalty'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>Prose: she and me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“Two weeks ago my wife and I drove to Fenelon Falls together - a four-hour drive - to help take care of new twin grand-daughters. Shortly after arriving my wife of nearly 40 years was elbow-deep in diapers, bottles, formula, and lovely chatter with our son, daughter-in-law and Anna and Ella. I couldn’t help but think of our life together.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;she and me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the whine of the bandsaw&lt;br /&gt;the smell of fresh-cut cedar&lt;br /&gt;and fine sawdust in his hair,&lt;br /&gt;I notice them all&lt;br /&gt;when I step into my&lt;br /&gt;old husband’s workshop.&lt;br /&gt;check under your hood, lady?&lt;br /&gt;he says after he looks my way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SvGYXVFTMcI/AAAAAAAAE_4/ZLPAqnA_tms/s1600-h/IMG_2977.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 177px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SvGYXVFTMcI/AAAAAAAAE_4/ZLPAqnA_tms/s400/IMG_2977.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400264954757722562" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;he always says that&lt;br /&gt;he always says that&lt;br /&gt;he always says that and&lt;br /&gt;means the same thing&lt;br /&gt;as when he first said it&lt;br /&gt;forty years ago.&lt;br /&gt;he smiles and trips&lt;br /&gt;a familiar switch&lt;br /&gt;inside my chest - &lt;br /&gt;he and me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;she always knocks &lt;br /&gt;on the screen door of my shop&lt;br /&gt;before she steps inside.&lt;br /&gt;she always knocks and&lt;br /&gt;sometimes I jump - startled -&lt;br /&gt;lost in thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SvGYXk1S2cI/AAAAAAAAFAA/iHdoAvsMRK4/s1600-h/IMG_2980.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 166px; height: 202px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SvGYXk1S2cI/AAAAAAAAFAA/iHdoAvsMRK4/s400/IMG_2980.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400264958985558466" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;check under your hood&lt;br /&gt;seems the right thing to say&lt;br /&gt;before she smiles and asks&lt;br /&gt;if I’d like to stop for tea.&lt;br /&gt;my throat is dusty,&lt;br /&gt;tea would be fine,&lt;br /&gt;I nod.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;later, we spend time together.&lt;br /&gt;we sit in comfortable chairs&lt;br /&gt;inside my workshop,&lt;br /&gt;we talk almost a perfect shorthand&lt;br /&gt;and with rhyming tones.&lt;br /&gt;we almost breathe as one&lt;br /&gt;we almost breathe as one&lt;br /&gt;she and me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;gah&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-1725026175962015597?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/1725026175962015597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/11/prose-she-and-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1725026175962015597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1725026175962015597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/11/prose-she-and-me.html' title='Prose: she and me'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SvGYXVFTMcI/AAAAAAAAE_4/ZLPAqnA_tms/s72-c/IMG_2977.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-4522053935299666448</id><published>2009-10-20T06:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T06:25:18.175-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heartache'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hurtin&apos; big time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='it don&apos;t git worsen this'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>My Restless Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Background:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“After I learned a fourth chord on my guitar I branched out, got all fancy., and wrote a few songs a travelling man might sing. With my voice it’s important to know the way outta town.” &lt;/span&gt;gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;My Restless Heart&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I took a job in Kansas City,&lt;br /&gt;I swept some floors and motel halls.&lt;br /&gt;I soon moved on to better times,&lt;br /&gt;I cleaned some basements, painted walls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But when I earn a million dollars,&lt;br /&gt;My restless heart will take some rest.&lt;br /&gt;Might get it in my mind to come back home,&lt;br /&gt;If I could settle down with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I took a job in Colorado,&lt;br /&gt;I packed some bags and cut some hair.&lt;br /&gt;I soon moved on to better times,&lt;br /&gt;I sold some brooms and cooking ware.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I took a job in California,&lt;br /&gt;I washed up dishes at a bar.&lt;br /&gt;I soon moved on to better times,&lt;br /&gt;I pumped some gas and sold some cars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I travelled back to where I started,&lt;br /&gt;I took a job just down your street.&lt;br /&gt;I’ll soon move on to better times,&lt;br /&gt;Don’t think there’s any chance we’ll meet.&lt;br /&gt;But when I earn my million dollars,&lt;br /&gt;My restless heart will take some rest.&lt;br /&gt;Might get it in my mind to stay at home,&lt;br /&gt;If I could settle down with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-4522053935299666448?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/4522053935299666448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/10/my-restless-heart.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4522053935299666448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4522053935299666448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/10/my-restless-heart.html' title='My Restless Heart'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-4904744115992216000</id><published>2009-10-14T08:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-14T08:42:43.592-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hurtin&apos; big time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='it don&apos;t git worsen this'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>Another Hit Single: Life in the Great Big City</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“I wrote this one so long ago I can’t recall if there was an incident I was witness to (or involved in) that prompted me to write this brilliant piece. However, after listening to a CBC Radio program yesterday re behaviours that occur on Toronto’s mass transit system I thought I’d dust it off.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Life in the Great Big City&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. My first trip to the city, got off the train,&lt;br /&gt;Two guys said, “Can you spare a dime?”&lt;br /&gt;I bent right down to open my pack,&lt;br /&gt;Woke up next day flat on my back.&lt;br /&gt;A policeman said, “Don’t look for pity!&lt;br /&gt;Welcome to life in the great big city.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I lost my pants and my underwears,&lt;br /&gt;I got roughed up, thrown down some stairs.&lt;br /&gt;I lost my watch, some hard-earned money,&lt;br /&gt;I’m almost naked, it ain’t even funny.&lt;br /&gt;Policeman said, “Don’t look for pity!&lt;br /&gt;Welcome to life in the great big city.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I went to a movie, sat in the front row,&lt;br /&gt;my neck was stiff after the show.&lt;br /&gt;Went outside, could only look down.&lt;br /&gt;Those two guys came back, throwed me around.&lt;br /&gt;I cried for help, the crowd cried at me,&lt;br /&gt;“Welcome to life in the great big city!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Took a city bus, in Good Will pants,&lt;br /&gt;spoke to a girl, thought I’d take a chance.&lt;br /&gt;“’Scuse me, Miss, you got the time?”&lt;br /&gt;She stole the rest of my stuff, left me one thin dime.&lt;br /&gt;Yelled at the driver, he yelled at me.&lt;br /&gt;“Welcome to life in the great big city!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I used my dime, and phoned my Dad. &lt;br /&gt;I heard his voice, I was really glad.&lt;br /&gt;“It’s tough up here. What will I do?”&lt;br /&gt;“It’s not my call. What will you do?”&lt;br /&gt;I went for a walk, it dawned on me.&lt;br /&gt;“Welcome to life in the great big city!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-4904744115992216000?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/4904744115992216000/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/10/another-hit-single-life-in-great-big.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4904744115992216000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4904744115992216000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/10/another-hit-single-life-in-great-big.html' title='Another Hit Single: Life in the Great Big City'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-8429408721707891680</id><published>2009-09-28T10:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T10:39:53.186-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stupid me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='guilty pleasure'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='it don&apos;t git worsen this'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love-life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laugh'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>I Was the Last One To Go</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“I like cleaning up after parties and am usually the last one to go home. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I Was the Last One To Go&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You called me last week, said, “Come over at nine.”&lt;br /&gt;And if I had time, call a few friends of mine.&lt;br /&gt;We planned to stay in, maybe watch some TV,&lt;br /&gt;But after my friends left, I said, “Please dance with me.” &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was the last one to go, I was the last one to go,&lt;br /&gt;We had the house to ourselves, no more movies to show.&lt;br /&gt;You said, “Sure, we’ll dance when we put things away,&lt;br /&gt;I was the last one to go, after you had your way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SsD00aEeHxI/AAAAAAAAEt0/akzDE5AVld8/s1600-h/IMG_1298.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 359px; height: 359px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SsD00aEeHxI/AAAAAAAAEt0/akzDE5AVld8/s400/IMG_1298.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386574335523561234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. We cleaned up the kitchen and filled up the sink,&lt;br /&gt;These dishes won’t take long, I started to think.&lt;br /&gt;But for each one I washed you brought even more,&lt;br /&gt;Then you found all the dishes I hid behind the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I poured more hot water and started to clean,&lt;br /&gt;I rolled up my sleeves, I was a scrubbing machine.&lt;br /&gt;You said you’d be waiting for me to get done,&lt;br /&gt;But I found you asleep as up came the sun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I gave you a shake and you looked up at me&lt;br /&gt;And said, “Who are you?” I said, “Hey, it’s me.”&lt;br /&gt;“The last dish has been washed, and of that there’s no doubt.”&lt;br /&gt;“Thanks a heck of a lot,” you said. “Now let yourself out.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was the last one to go, I was the last one to go,&lt;br /&gt;We had the house to ourselves, no more movies to show.&lt;br /&gt;You said, “Sure, we’ll dance when we put things away,&lt;br /&gt;I was the last one to go, after you had your way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-8429408721707891680?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/8429408721707891680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-was-last-one-to-go.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8429408721707891680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8429408721707891680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-was-last-one-to-go.html' title='I Was the Last One To Go'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SsD00aEeHxI/AAAAAAAAEt0/akzDE5AVld8/s72-c/IMG_1298.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-5790286800976261636</id><published>2009-09-21T07:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T07:23:09.418-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the poorhouse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='live small'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='it don&apos;t git worsen this'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laugh'/><title type='text'>I Ain’t the Bank</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt; “All my cracks about &lt;a href="http://itstrikesmefunny.blogspot.com/2009/09/why-build-999-sq-foot-home.html"&gt;The Small Economy&lt;/a&gt; actually led to a brilliant song. No, my lovely wife doesn’t spend all my money. Some days it just enters my mind that we should buff up our savings account.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I Ain’t the Bank&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Don’t spend my money, honey, I ain’t the bank.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t spend my money, honey, ‘cause I’ve got you to thank...&lt;br /&gt;For driving us to the poorhouse, straight down the 401.&lt;br /&gt;You bought a big car, an SUV, you thought it’d be great fun.&lt;br /&gt;Payments bigger than my cheque, well, this ain’t fun for me...so...&lt;br /&gt;Don’t spend my money, honey, this ain’t fun for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SreMG59npXI/AAAAAAAAErk/i4hbOPsgJvs/s1600-h/IMG_2693.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 171px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SreMG59npXI/AAAAAAAAErk/i4hbOPsgJvs/s400/IMG_2693.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383925929811092850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;["Even our cows look poor": photo GAH]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Don’t spend my money, honey, I ain’t the bank.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t spend my money, honey, ‘cause I’ve got you to thank...&lt;br /&gt;You drove my credit rating, straight down the 402.&lt;br /&gt;You bought a house, with four bathrooms, less would never do.&lt;br /&gt;I really never pee that much, you have spelled our doom...so...&lt;br /&gt;Don’t spend my money, honey, you have spelled our doom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Don’t spend my money, honey, I ain’t the bank.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t spend my money, honey, ‘cause I’ve got you to thank...&lt;br /&gt;You drove my little nest-egg, straight down the 403.&lt;br /&gt;You filled our house with so much stuff, four big-screen TV’s.&lt;br /&gt;I work so hard, no time to eat, you’re making my life rough...so...&lt;br /&gt;Don’t spend my money, honey, you’re making my life rough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Don’t spend my money, honey, I ain’t the bank.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t spend my money, honey, ‘cause I’ve got you to thank...&lt;br /&gt;You drove my small inher’tance, down Highway 404.&lt;br /&gt;You bought new carpets and new drapes, I’ll have to work some more.&lt;br /&gt;Can’t keep up with what you buy, our bank book’s in bad shape...so...&lt;br /&gt;Stop spending money, honey, my bank book’s in bad shape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Stop spending money, honey, I ain’t the bank.&lt;br /&gt;Stop spending money, honey, ‘cause I’ve got you to thank...&lt;br /&gt;You drove us to the poorhouse, down Highway 405.&lt;br /&gt;You had another spending spree, I won’t get out alive,&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if you’ve ever heard, that the best in life is free.&lt;br /&gt;Stop spending money, honey, the best in life is free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-5790286800976261636?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/5790286800976261636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-aint-bank.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/5790286800976261636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/5790286800976261636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-aint-bank.html' title='I Ain’t the Bank'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SreMG59npXI/AAAAAAAAErk/i4hbOPsgJvs/s72-c/IMG_2693.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-8804653406222137244</id><published>2009-09-14T10:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T10:26:00.070-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hurtin&apos; big time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='it don&apos;t git worsen this'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='do it? cold rain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love-life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='whisky'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>Yet Another Hit Single: Fetch the Wild Turkey</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“My oldest son and his wife are expecting twins at any minute. Thinking about the changes that they’ll face reminded me of a song I wrote years ago for times when guitars and camping whisky were present at a campfire.”&lt;/span&gt; g.a.harrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Fetch the Wild Turkey&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I lived in the city, I owned my own house,&lt;br /&gt;The only thing missing was a wonderful spouse.&lt;br /&gt;You lived in the country, we met at a dance,&lt;br /&gt;After the hoe-down, we both took a chance.&lt;br /&gt;I'll fetch the Wild Turkey, I'll pour you a drink,&lt;br /&gt;It's out in the kitchen, it's under the sink.&lt;br /&gt;Since I first met you my plans are all new,&lt;br /&gt;No one in the country is prettier than you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I sold my possessions, and moved to your farm,&lt;br /&gt;Bought cows for your field, a horse for your barn.&lt;br /&gt;We'd pick the wild lilies and drink from the creek,&lt;br /&gt;We'd talk about babies, stay in bed for a week.&lt;br /&gt;Let's fetch the Wild Turkey, let's pour us a drink,&lt;br /&gt;It's out in the kitchen, it's under the sink.&lt;br /&gt;Since I first met you, been changes in me,&lt;br /&gt;But you're certainly pretty in your red negligee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sq58Wvec7hI/AAAAAAAAEls/X51sWzJnCUg/s1600-h/wild_turkey.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 175px; height: 175px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sq58Wvec7hI/AAAAAAAAEls/X51sWzJnCUg/s400/wild_turkey.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381375334897479186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Got three kids in diapers, twins on the way,&lt;br /&gt;We’ve had one each year, it’s tradition you say.&lt;br /&gt;To have lots of children to inherit the farm,&lt;br /&gt;Extra hands at the harvest to fill up the barn.&lt;br /&gt;You fetch the Wild Turkey, you pour me a drink,&lt;br /&gt;It's out in the kitchen, it's under the sink.&lt;br /&gt;Since I first met you my money's gone down,&lt;br /&gt;But you still look real pretty in your purple nightgown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Now we got four dogs and a house full of cats,&lt;br /&gt;My allergies have come back, the corn's full of rats.&lt;br /&gt;The house needs a new roof, porch leans to the ri-eee-ght,&lt;br /&gt;The crickets are so loud I can't sleep at night.&lt;br /&gt;Go fetch the Wild Turkey, I'll have us a shot,&lt;br /&gt;Having too many is better than not.&lt;br /&gt;Since I first met you my fortunes are down, down, down,&lt;br /&gt;But you look kind of 'purdy' in that ratty nightgown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. The kids are all dirty in hand-me-down clothes,&lt;br /&gt;We only get water 'fit rains or it snows.&lt;br /&gt;The well it run dried, the crops blowed away,&lt;br /&gt;The cows are all scrawny, the dogs ran away.&lt;br /&gt;Fetch the Wild Turkey, I need me a shot,&lt;br /&gt;Having too many is better than not.&lt;br /&gt;Since I first met you my bankin’s a wreck,&lt;br /&gt;But in that old night gown you're prettier 'an heck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. My spellin' is bad, my grammar am rotten,&lt;br /&gt;Please don't complain, from you it's been gotten.&lt;br /&gt;My troubles are all big, my money is small,&lt;br /&gt;Please stop complainin' 'cause you spent it all.&lt;br /&gt;*Fetch the Wild Turkey, I need one more shot,&lt;br /&gt;Having too many is better than not.&lt;br /&gt;Since I first met you my life has gone black,&lt;br /&gt;Now the front of your nightgown looks the same as the back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life don’t git that bad, do it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-8804653406222137244?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/8804653406222137244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/09/yet-another-hit-single-fetch-wild.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8804653406222137244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8804653406222137244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/09/yet-another-hit-single-fetch-wild.html' title='Yet Another Hit Single: Fetch the Wild Turkey'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sq58Wvec7hI/AAAAAAAAEls/X51sWzJnCUg/s72-c/wild_turkey.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-2902481368257914421</id><published>2009-08-21T05:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-21T05:52:50.267-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='splitting up'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='divorce'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stupid me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='half of what&apos;s yours is on the front lawn'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>Come On Over, I'm Over You</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“My wife and I have gone through hard times but never hard enough to end in divorce. Thirty-nines years later I still say, she’s a keeper. Her thoughts on the matter? I’m not exactly sure, but I bet it's half good. This song was written as a bit of fun about an unfunny topic.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Come On Over, I'm Over You&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get the pet dog, you get the cat,&lt;br /&gt;I get the pet mouse, you get the rat.&lt;br /&gt;I get the parakeet, you get the cage,&lt;br /&gt;I get the parsley, you get the sage.&lt;br /&gt;I get the whiskey I like to drink, &lt;br /&gt;You get the Tupperware under the sink.&lt;br /&gt;I packed all our stuff, divided by two.&lt;br /&gt;So, come on over, I'm over you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come on over, I said we’re through.&lt;br /&gt;Come on over, it’s sad but true.&lt;br /&gt;I'm over you and your cold embrace,&lt;br /&gt;I'm over you and your hard-luck face,&lt;br /&gt;Come on over, see my new place.&lt;br /&gt;And, pick up your boxes, I need the space.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get the car, you get the truck,&lt;br /&gt;I get the chicken, you get the duck.&lt;br /&gt;I get the pots, you get the pans,&lt;br /&gt;I get the blue box, you get the cans.&lt;br /&gt;I get the couch with the pull-out bed,&lt;br /&gt;You get the twelve-speed we kept in the shed.&lt;br /&gt;I packed all our stuff, divided by two.&lt;br /&gt;So, come on over, I'm over you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/So6YWE3AJgI/AAAAAAAAEXM/M-Hg-Rg3_Mk/s1600-h/junk+pile.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/So6YWE3AJgI/AAAAAAAAEXM/M-Hg-Rg3_Mk/s400/junk+pile.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372398910528562690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;[“Halfa this is yours too. Come on over”]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get the coffee, you get the tea,&lt;br /&gt;I get the radio, you get the TV.&lt;br /&gt;I get the shoes, you get the clothes,&lt;br /&gt;I get the garden, you get the hose.&lt;br /&gt;I get the dress shirts and all of my pants,&lt;br /&gt;You get the song, you get the dance.&lt;br /&gt;I packed all our stuff, divided by two.&lt;br /&gt;So, come on over, I'm over you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get some money back, you get your purse,&lt;br /&gt;I get my freedom, you get the curse.&lt;br /&gt;I get the roof tops you get the floor,&lt;br /&gt;I get my leg room you get the door.&lt;br /&gt;I get the high road, a bottle of wine,&lt;br /&gt;You get the low road and half of what's mine.&lt;br /&gt;I packed all our stuff, divided by two.&lt;br /&gt;So, come on over, I'm over you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Optional - &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get the helo pad, you get the yacht,&lt;br /&gt;I get the gold bars, you get the stock.&lt;br /&gt;I get the time-share in Boca Raton,&lt;br /&gt;You get the mansion, the five acre lawn.&lt;br /&gt;I get the Bentley, the cottage in France,&lt;br /&gt;You get the beach house, the long picket fence.&lt;br /&gt;Whatever we dreamed I divided by two.&lt;br /&gt;Now, come on over, I'm over you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, like the Bentley is ever going to happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://beta.thelondoner.ca/SearchCat.aspx?cid=4186"&gt;Click here&lt;/a&gt; to read my latest column in The Londoner&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-2902481368257914421?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/2902481368257914421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/08/come-on-over-im-over-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/2902481368257914421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/2902481368257914421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/08/come-on-over-im-over-you.html' title='Come On Over, I&apos;m Over You'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/So6YWE3AJgI/AAAAAAAAEXM/M-Hg-Rg3_Mk/s72-c/junk+pile.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-4882534079503480869</id><published>2009-08-10T22:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T22:04:24.041-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hurtin&apos; big time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stupid me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='priorities'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>Blue Moon</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“I wrote this song while going through a ‘Bill Monroe bluegrass’ phase. All I need to do now is learn how to play the mandolin or banjo.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Blue Moon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Borrowed two dollars from my mother,&lt;br /&gt;borrowed five dollars from my pa.&lt;br /&gt;Said the money was for groceries.&lt;br /&gt;Instead, I spent it at the mall.&lt;br /&gt;Borrowed ten dollars from my sister,&lt;br /&gt;borrowed twenty from my gal,&lt;br /&gt;Said the money paid my heat bill.&lt;br /&gt;Instead, went drinking with a pal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Blue moon shining in my window,&lt;br /&gt;blue moon shining on the wall.&lt;br /&gt;I’m sitting all alone at midnight,&lt;br /&gt;Wondering why folks never call.&lt;br /&gt;Blue moon shining in my window,&lt;br /&gt;blue moon shining on the wall,&lt;br /&gt;I lay down thinking of my loved ones,&lt;br /&gt;they don't pay me mind at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SoD7nkdzz3I/AAAAAAAAEQ0/Z1UE9zzjCis/s1600-h/IMG_0518.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 159px; height: 159px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SoD7nkdzz3I/AAAAAAAAEQ0/Z1UE9zzjCis/s400/IMG_0518.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368567413047807858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;["Blue moon shining in my window...": GAH]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Borrowed fifty from my brother,&lt;br /&gt;borrowed a 'C' from Uncle Jack,&lt;br /&gt;Said I had to buy a new suit,&lt;br /&gt;had a job down at the track.&lt;br /&gt;Borrowed two hundred from my grandma,&lt;br /&gt;the same from a guy I met,&lt;br /&gt;Said I had a sure-fire venture,&lt;br /&gt;Translated means one final bet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. That last guy came back for his money,&lt;br /&gt;I said, "I'm tapped out, my son."&lt;br /&gt;He tapped me once, he tapped me twice,&lt;br /&gt;he tapped me three times with his gun.&lt;br /&gt;Borrowed two dollars from my mother,&lt;br /&gt;borrowed five dollars from my pa.&lt;br /&gt;Said, "I need a blood transfusion."&lt;br /&gt;Haven't seen them since the fall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Optional:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I lay here thinking of my loved ones,&lt;br /&gt;they haven’t come by for awhile.&lt;br /&gt;The nurses think that I’m an orphan, &lt;br /&gt;they don’t ever see me smile.&lt;br /&gt;I guess you shouldn’t borrow money,&lt;br /&gt;not if you want to have a friend&lt;br /&gt;When you’re walking through the valley,&lt;br /&gt;when you’re getting near the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-4882534079503480869?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/4882534079503480869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/08/blue-moon.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4882534079503480869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4882534079503480869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/08/blue-moon.html' title='Blue Moon'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SoD7nkdzz3I/AAAAAAAAEQ0/Z1UE9zzjCis/s72-c/IMG_0518.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-4891408766064568328</id><published>2009-08-04T11:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T11:19:05.757-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sad'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='whisky'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>A Dark, Cheap Motel</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“A lot of people seem to write songs about drinking too much whisky or beer. Why is that? I can’t speak for the others, but over the years I’ve learned that heavy drinkers spread a lot of pain around.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;A Dark, Cheap Motel&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1, I spent the night in a dark, cheap motel&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I lost the keys to my house.&lt;br /&gt;Once I stayed three days at a strange trailer park,&lt;br /&gt;I forgot the name of my spouse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I don't drink lots but I sure pick my spots,&lt;br /&gt;That's why I ended up here.&lt;br /&gt;I must confess I should drink a lot less,&lt;br /&gt;Or switch to low alcohol beer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Snh67kqwptI/AAAAAAAAEMk/d7zsq13nzOc/s1600-h/cheapmotel.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Snh67kqwptI/AAAAAAAAEMk/d7zsq13nzOc/s400/cheapmotel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366174119885842130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I spent the night in a dark, cheap motel,&lt;br /&gt;For awhile I slept out in the hall.&lt;br /&gt;I'd ordered a round, had the cash in my hand,&lt;br /&gt;That's the last I seem to recall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I spent the night in a dark, cheap motel,&lt;br /&gt;I think on the downside of town.&lt;br /&gt;A new friend from the bar took care of my car,&lt;br /&gt;Which someday still may be found.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I spent the night in a dark, cheap motel,&lt;br /&gt;I paid with my new Mastercard.&lt;br /&gt;When I finally get home no more will I roam,&lt;br /&gt;I sure make this life so hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-4891408766064568328?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/4891408766064568328/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/08/dark-cheap-motel.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4891408766064568328'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4891408766064568328'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/08/dark-cheap-motel.html' title='A Dark, Cheap Motel'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Snh67kqwptI/AAAAAAAAEMk/d7zsq13nzOc/s72-c/cheapmotel.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-4371050082981896042</id><published>2009-08-02T10:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-02T10:10:09.690-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sad'/><title type='text'>Bowling Shoe Blues</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“I think this is the first rhyming poem I put together that I intended to sing publicly. I can still remember the tune. As a participant in a summer course for teachers I had to come up with a short presentation for some reason or other and Bowling Shoe Blues was born. I think I ended up standing in front of a class in my Speedo singing Yellow Submarine with three other guys. Truth be told, we didn’t win any prizes.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Bowling Shoe Blues&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;1. Why just the other day I went bowling with Ray,&lt;br /&gt;We met a couple fine ladies and I knew right away,&lt;br /&gt;That one girl was for me, I fell in love don’t you see,&lt;br /&gt;Now every Tuesday night I like to bowl with Lucy.&lt;br /&gt;I put both shoes in the closet. One’s gone - I musta los’ it.&lt;br /&gt;I got the black and white, one red stripe bowling shoe blues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got the bowling shoe blues, I got the bowling shoe blues,&lt;br /&gt;I got the black white red stripe bowling shoe blues.&lt;br /&gt;Bowling shoe blues, bowling shoe blues,&lt;br /&gt;I got the black white red stripe bowling shoe blues.&lt;br /&gt;I put them both in the closet. One’s gone - I musta los’ it.&lt;br /&gt;I got the black and white, one red stripe bowling shoe blues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SnXITsAf99I/AAAAAAAAELU/_B7JUXWQueM/s1600-h/bowling+shoes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 249px; height: 247px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SnXITsAf99I/AAAAAAAAELU/_B7JUXWQueM/s400/bowling+shoes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365414771638138834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Ray is honking at the gate, he doesn’t like to be late.&lt;br /&gt;He’s got a girlfriend too and so he doesn’t want to wait.&lt;br /&gt;Oh what can I do? I’m starting to stew.&lt;br /&gt;I’m going to miss my girl ‘cause I can’t find my shoe.&lt;br /&gt;I put them both in the closet. One’s gone - I musta los’ it.&lt;br /&gt;I got the black and white, one red stripe bowling shoe blues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I picked one shoe off the floor and I ran out the door,&lt;br /&gt;I want to see my Lucy so can’t look anymore.&lt;br /&gt;Ray had left with his truck I got such terrible luck,&lt;br /&gt;So I ran down the block in one shoe and one sock.&lt;br /&gt;I put them both in the closet. One’s gone - I musta los’ it.&lt;br /&gt;I got the black and white, one red stripe bowling shoe blues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Finally got to the lanes, Lucy started to complain,&lt;br /&gt;“I don’t like getting stood up,” she said, “I hope that is plain.”&lt;br /&gt;Then she looked at my feet, I told the story complete,&lt;br /&gt;And now she’s hugging me and saying, “Hey, ain’t he sweet!”&lt;br /&gt;I put them both in the closet. One’s gone - I musta los’ it.&lt;br /&gt;I got the black and white, one red stripe bowling shoe blues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No great loss, eh? Yellow Submarine wins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-4371050082981896042?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/4371050082981896042/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/08/bowling-shoe-blues.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4371050082981896042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4371050082981896042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/08/bowling-shoe-blues.html' title='Bowling Shoe Blues'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SnXITsAf99I/AAAAAAAAELU/_B7JUXWQueM/s72-c/bowling+shoes.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-6104153695653186129</id><published>2009-07-28T11:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T11:44:51.210-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='young'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='longevity'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='loyalty'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='whisky'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='growing old'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='home'/><title type='text'>Are You a Rich Man?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“This song was written about seven years ago but is definitely linked to experiences from the sixties. I read and wrote poetry then, listened to Bob Dylan, enjoyed single malt whisky (beer just wasn’t hip enough for me) and fell in love about every three days. After 39 years of marriage (Aug. 8 anniversary) the answer to the question is yes.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Are You a Rich Man?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. We met at some party of an old friend of mine,&lt;br /&gt;I was off in a corner just putting in time.&lt;br /&gt;When the smell of perfume, the warm brush of skin,&lt;br /&gt;Awakened my senses, I was glad she walked in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She thought I was special, more than I was,&lt;br /&gt;The first time we met she was feelin’ the buzz,&lt;br /&gt;From a single malt whisky that I had supplied.&lt;br /&gt;“Are you a rich man?” she asked.&lt;br /&gt;“Yes I am,” I replied. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sm9GfWMnnDI/AAAAAAAAEJM/i284XJE3dzo/s1600-h/IMG_0784.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 326px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sm9GfWMnnDI/AAAAAAAAEJM/i284XJE3dzo/s400/IMG_0784.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363583185569946674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;["Peace and love from the sixties": photo GAH&lt;/span&gt;]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. We went to the kitchen, she was looking for ice.&lt;br /&gt;She asked, “Would you like some?” I said, “You smell nice.”&lt;br /&gt;She laughed at my answer, so I chuckled right back,&lt;br /&gt;If she’d wanted refinement&lt;br /&gt;I would have tried some of that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. We were soon tangled up on a warm pile of coats.&lt;br /&gt;She asked, “Are you serious?” I was thinking wild oats.&lt;br /&gt;But we made an excuse, took a cab to my place,&lt;br /&gt;Though I felt my apartment&lt;br /&gt;would be a disgrace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sm9GfIyZJ0I/AAAAAAAAEJE/VuDYV8G8-GI/s1600-h/IMG_0777.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 396px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sm9GfIyZJ0I/AAAAAAAAEJE/VuDYV8G8-GI/s400/IMG_0777.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363583181970286402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;["I like Dylan, do you?": photo GAH]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. After seeing my bookcase she said, “You like poetry too.”&lt;br /&gt;“Have you any good music? I like Dylan, do you?”&lt;br /&gt;We spent the night on the couch with the stereo on.&lt;br /&gt;Got married that summer&lt;br /&gt;and the riches live on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-6104153695653186129?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/6104153695653186129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/07/are-you-rich-man.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/6104153695653186129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/6104153695653186129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/07/are-you-rich-man.html' title='Are You a Rich Man?'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sm9GfWMnnDI/AAAAAAAAEJM/i284XJE3dzo/s72-c/IMG_0784.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-8212790217134474706</id><published>2009-07-23T11:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T11:42:45.202-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='guilty pleasure'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love-life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sad'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laugh'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>She Had a Safety Pin</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“This song was inspired by a movie about a May - December romance. At least, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Anyway, the song isn’t about me and a younger woman because I’ve never worked for ‘Al’s Plumbing’. And I don’t bowl five-pin anymore. But if I did...”&lt;/span&gt; G.A. Harrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;She Had a Safety Pin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. She saw me sitting at the bowling alley&lt;br /&gt;and aimed her question at me.&lt;br /&gt;"Do you make house-calls this time of night?"&lt;br /&gt;"For you ma'am, yessiree."&lt;br /&gt;I paid my tab, she tugged my arm&lt;br /&gt;and asked me about my fee.&lt;br /&gt;"I had some luck at five-pin tonight&lt;br /&gt;so for you ma'am, tonight is free."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had a safety pin stuck in her cheek&lt;br /&gt;and I had a rip in my jeans.&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to say it was love at first sight&lt;br /&gt;but I don't know what that means.&lt;br /&gt;She had a safety pin stuck in her cheek&lt;br /&gt;and I had a rip in my jeans.&lt;br /&gt;And I'm going to say that I had more fun&lt;br /&gt;than a boy who was in his teens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Smiu5TsZVvI/AAAAAAAAEHs/MU7bv1jksrw/s1600-h/BowlingAlley2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 239px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Smiu5TsZVvI/AAAAAAAAEHs/MU7bv1jksrw/s400/BowlingAlley2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361727655946835698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I grabbed my keys, we left Fleetwood Bowl,&lt;br /&gt;and I offered her a ride.&lt;br /&gt;"I only live, like, two blocks away.&lt;br /&gt;We can walk there fast," she sighed.&lt;br /&gt;She set a quick pace, I followed behind.&lt;br /&gt;"Why don't we run?" I cried.&lt;br /&gt;I took the lead for about thirty steps&lt;br /&gt;but my lungs almost burst inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. She said, "Over here, you crazy old man,&lt;br /&gt;this is my place on the right."&lt;br /&gt;My neck was hot and my shirt was wet,&lt;br /&gt;I must have looked a sight.&lt;br /&gt;But she said, "Come in, I'll lead the way,&lt;br /&gt;first I'll just get the light.&lt;br /&gt;My bathroom's down this narrow hall,&lt;br /&gt;and, man, I need a bath tonight."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I was about to say a bath was okay&lt;br /&gt;when she pointed to the drain.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm glad you plumbers were bowlin’ tonight&lt;br /&gt;‘cause for these things I have no brain."&lt;br /&gt;I recalled then the ad on my shirt,&lt;br /&gt;'Al's Plumbing', of local fame.&lt;br /&gt;I rolled up my sleeves, gave the plunger a heave,&lt;br /&gt;that was the end of the game.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-8212790217134474706?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/8212790217134474706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/07/she-had-safety-pin.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8212790217134474706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8212790217134474706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/07/she-had-safety-pin.html' title='She Had a Safety Pin'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Smiu5TsZVvI/AAAAAAAAEHs/MU7bv1jksrw/s72-c/BowlingAlley2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-4691203060424286891</id><published>2009-06-22T20:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-22T20:44:04.099-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='young'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heaven'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='loyalty'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='growing old'/><title type='text'>I Could Search the World Over</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;"An older friend of mine almost didn't make it out of the hospital recently, so I wrote a song for "next time." I'm pretty sure there will be a next time for him and all my other friends. And when I search for them - they'll be somewhere else."&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I Could Search the World Over&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I could search the world over but won’t find my friend.&lt;br /&gt;I could search from the front door and right to the end.&lt;br /&gt;I am sad to be told that he’s gone from the land.&lt;br /&gt;I could search the world over but I won’t find my friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. The thoughts of my friend fill up my head.&lt;br /&gt;I wish in his place it was me who was dead.&lt;br /&gt;I feel in my mind it was too quick an end.&lt;br /&gt;I could search the world over but I won’t find my friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SkBNuPogCyI/AAAAAAAAD9I/rH4UhQdHNW8/s1600-h/England-London-Kingston-Reflex-nightclub-men-dancing-interesting-light-posterised-mono-4-DHD.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 239px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SkBNuPogCyI/AAAAAAAAD9I/rH4UhQdHNW8/s400/England-London-Kingston-Reflex-nightclub-men-dancing-interesting-light-posterised-mono-4-DHD.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350361814181874466" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I will look to the heavens and call out his name.&lt;br /&gt;And from a high hill he will answer the same.&lt;br /&gt;He will show me the place where he lays down his head.&lt;br /&gt;He will tell me we’re brothers and that he’s not dead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. We will sing as we did when we were both young.&lt;br /&gt;We will dance to the music from dusk until dawn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SkBPXYu7h8I/AAAAAAAAD9Q/1GG4nbsG9UY/s1600-h/oldMen.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 262px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SkBPXYu7h8I/AAAAAAAAD9Q/1GG4nbsG9UY/s400/oldMen.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350363620511025090" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We will clap both our hands and raise up a cheer.&lt;br /&gt;We never lose good friends and those we hold dear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I could search the world over but I won’t find my friend.&lt;br /&gt;I must look to the heavens where he lives to the end.&lt;br /&gt;* We lose and we win in the wink of an eye.&lt;br /&gt;We never lose good friends they wait but on high. (* repeat)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-4691203060424286891?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/4691203060424286891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-could-search-world-over.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4691203060424286891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4691203060424286891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-could-search-world-over.html' title='I Could Search the World Over'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SkBNuPogCyI/AAAAAAAAD9I/rH4UhQdHNW8/s72-c/England-London-Kingston-Reflex-nightclub-men-dancing-interesting-light-posterised-mono-4-DHD.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-8597408800540796995</id><published>2009-06-18T17:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T17:14:48.650-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Canada'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='camping'/><title type='text'>Prose: backpack canoe: conclusion - ‘North Tea reflections’</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“Three days and nights on North Tea gave birth to countless memories. When our group gets together to talk about past trips the stories spill out of us in handfuls, like beans from a burlap sack.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;North Tea reflections&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;coffee in the morning&lt;br /&gt;has a heightened taste&lt;br /&gt;brought to boil&lt;br /&gt;over an open flame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;after a sound sleep&lt;br /&gt;on a pine needle mattress&lt;br /&gt;cold clean water cuts&lt;br /&gt;short the morning dip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tarp water is turned aside&lt;br /&gt;by a hastily dug&lt;br /&gt;shallow trench&lt;br /&gt;around my tent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;adult loons&lt;br /&gt;patient and protective&lt;br /&gt;are wise diving instructors&lt;br /&gt;for their eager young.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;wooden box crappers&lt;br /&gt;havens for hardy mosquitoes&lt;br /&gt;open to the elements&lt;br /&gt;and passing paddlers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SjrYFj_5NKI/AAAAAAAAD8I/LJSXGn3z08g/s1600-h/IMG_1808.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SjrYFj_5NKI/AAAAAAAAD8I/LJSXGn3z08g/s400/IMG_1808.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348825097530061986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;crows as big as barns&lt;br /&gt;chatter loudly for hours&lt;br /&gt;to pass the time&lt;br /&gt;in the treetops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;chicken noodle soup&lt;br /&gt;four for a dollar&lt;br /&gt;a satisfying noon meal&lt;br /&gt;on a cool rock bench.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fajitas, steaks, salads,&lt;br /&gt;store-bought lasagna&lt;br /&gt;catch jealous eyes&lt;br /&gt;and take the culinary prize.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;on warm evenings&lt;br /&gt;we scout for moose we tip canoes&lt;br /&gt;and lanterns left in trees&lt;br /&gt;guide stragglers home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SjrYFa4B5AI/AAAAAAAAD8A/jD8Mdr_BnAs/s1600-h/IMG_1805.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 398px; height: 265px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SjrYFa4B5AI/AAAAAAAAD8A/jD8Mdr_BnAs/s400/IMG_1805.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348825095081157634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SjrYF9S1CQI/AAAAAAAAD8Q/otaX1uUdG2c/s1600-h/shooting+star.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SjrYF9S1CQI/AAAAAAAAD8Q/otaX1uUdG2c/s400/shooting+star.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348825104320366850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Catch more posts at &lt;a href="http://www.itstrikesmefunny.blogspot.com/"&gt;It Strikes Me Funny by G. Harrison&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-8597408800540796995?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/8597408800540796995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/06/prose-backpack-canoe-conclusion-north.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8597408800540796995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8597408800540796995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/06/prose-backpack-canoe-conclusion-north.html' title='Prose: backpack canoe: conclusion - ‘North Tea reflections’'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SjrYFj_5NKI/AAAAAAAAD8I/LJSXGn3z08g/s72-c/IMG_1808.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-1504014764520537319</id><published>2009-06-17T06:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T10:34:47.948-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Canada'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nature'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lake Superior'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='camping'/><title type='text'>Prose: backpack canoe, more than a trilogy part 3 - ‘moose at Manitou’</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“While camping near North Tea Lake in Algonquin Park several years ago I saw my first moose. Don tried to shoot it (with his camera) but lost his balance and camera equipment during the process. I wrote about the event and still describe moose as very agile for their size.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;moose at Manitou&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SjjqPzRjwHI/AAAAAAAAD64/noSK9IBT9aA/s1600-h/bull_moose.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SjjqPzRjwHI/AAAAAAAAD64/noSK9IBT9aA/s320/bull_moose.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348282114685255794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;first lone moose&lt;br /&gt;spotted near a cedar shore&lt;br /&gt;head visible above water&lt;br /&gt;leisurely tearing leaves&lt;br /&gt;from a fallen branch.&lt;br /&gt;the canoes drifted too close&lt;br /&gt;and the moose soon bolted&lt;br /&gt;on long black legs&lt;br /&gt;into safe scrub brush.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;second sighting, on Manitou Lake&lt;br /&gt;huge muscular unassuming beasts&lt;br /&gt;perhaps near-sighted&lt;br /&gt;but so alert - &lt;br /&gt;twitching ears caught every sound.&lt;br /&gt;two stood knee deep&lt;br /&gt;in long marsh grass&lt;br /&gt;five canoes, silent, still,&lt;br /&gt;approach cautiously&lt;br /&gt;‘til the spell is broken&lt;br /&gt;we exchange stares&lt;br /&gt;with odd silent creatures.&lt;br /&gt;did they hear us breathe?&lt;br /&gt;only a few agile strides needed - &lt;br /&gt;the two disappeared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More posts about daily life at &lt;a href="http://www.itstrikesmefunny.blogspot.com/"&gt;It Strikes Me Funny&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My last moose encounter occured in 2007 while motorcycling on the Trans-Canada highway between Wawa and White River. A lone moose seemed to be the only inhabitant of that lonely stretch of highway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you enjoyed a moose sighting lately? Where?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-1504014764520537319?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/1504014764520537319/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/06/prose-backpack-canoe-more-than-trilogy_17.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1504014764520537319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/1504014764520537319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/06/prose-backpack-canoe-more-than-trilogy_17.html' title='Prose: backpack canoe, more than a trilogy part 3 - ‘moose at Manitou’'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SjjqPzRjwHI/AAAAAAAAD64/noSK9IBT9aA/s72-c/bull_moose.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-8808906056892584398</id><published>2009-06-09T05:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-09T05:12:01.174-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Canada'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Algonquin Park'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nature'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='camping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hiking'/><title type='text'>Prose: backpack canoe, more than a trilogy part 2 - ‘first day out’</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“Somewhere near the middle of North Tea Lake, while sitting in canoes rented from “No Way Out Adventures”, our group of canoes stopped so that weary occupants, myself among them, could take a welcome break. Black licorice sticks never tasted sweeter. My shoulders had never been so sore or hot to the touch. It all seemed worth it an hour later when on dry land.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;first day out&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;breakfast, fresh at “no way out”&lt;br /&gt;equal parts stiff cool breeze&lt;br /&gt;and soft-boiled eggs&lt;br /&gt;the mosquitoes thankfully took a break.&lt;br /&gt;large loads of freight&lt;br /&gt;every item precious&lt;br /&gt;bring anxious smiles as canoes, &lt;br /&gt;sitting much lower in the water now,&lt;br /&gt;jockey heavily at the gate.&lt;br /&gt;the first energetic push,&lt;br /&gt;past lily pads&lt;br /&gt;and long snake grass,&lt;br /&gt;stretches every muscle&lt;br /&gt;through endless twists and turns&lt;br /&gt;to the first portage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Si5RYMIkAtI/AAAAAAAAD34/9_CpCLA4B4w/s1600-h/IMG_9084.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Si5RYMIkAtI/AAAAAAAAD34/9_CpCLA4B4w/s400/IMG_9084.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345299283751207634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;lunches and black licorice&lt;br /&gt;quickly unpacked, are eaten&lt;br /&gt;on a small outcrop of rock&lt;br /&gt;backs are hunched ‘gainst&lt;br /&gt;a cold wet wind.&lt;br /&gt;with white caps to fight&lt;br /&gt;all heads are down&lt;br /&gt;hot spots tear at tired shoulders&lt;br /&gt;from the hard grip on paddles.&lt;br /&gt;but slowly we draw closer&lt;br /&gt;to our island home&lt;br /&gt;wild point of rock and pine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;... to be continued&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;gah&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-8808906056892584398?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/8808906056892584398/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/06/prose-backpack-canoe-more-than-trilogy_09.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8808906056892584398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8808906056892584398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/06/prose-backpack-canoe-more-than-trilogy_09.html' title='Prose: backpack canoe, more than a trilogy part 2 - ‘first day out’'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Si5RYMIkAtI/AAAAAAAAD34/9_CpCLA4B4w/s72-c/IMG_9084.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-3649535692085305122</id><published>2009-06-05T05:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T05:11:52.690-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='camping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hiking'/><title type='text'>Prose: backpack canoe, more than a trilogy part 1 - anticipation</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“In an ongoing effort to put all of my song lyrics, poetry and prose in one place, get discovered and make a million dollars (the price of a decent cup of coffee works for me as well) I dragged ‘backpack canoe’ out of the closet. If it was in three parts I’d call it a trilogy from North Tea Lake, Algonquin Park, northern Ontario, circa 1993. The group I travelled and camped with are friends to this day.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;anticipation&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gotta hit the johnny cash&lt;br /&gt;gotta hit the road&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;with a heavy nylon backpack - &lt;br /&gt;every pocket full&lt;br /&gt;tightly zippered shut&lt;br /&gt;stashing plastic jars&lt;br /&gt;spices, syrup, porridge,&lt;br /&gt;rice, pop-tarts and pasta&lt;br /&gt;hungry-man size only&lt;br /&gt;a five day supply&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SikLYdDzJuI/AAAAAAAAD24/frnTQcJ_Kz8/s1600-h/IMG_1632.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 382px; height: 229px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SikLYdDzJuI/AAAAAAAAD24/frnTQcJ_Kz8/s400/IMG_1632.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343814947597133538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gotta hit the johnny cash&lt;br /&gt;gotta hit the road&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;with a twelve foot canoe of cedar -&lt;br /&gt;both ends snugged down&lt;br /&gt;with yellow nylon lines&lt;br /&gt;honda stuffed front and back&lt;br /&gt;pointing north to Sundridge&lt;br /&gt;five hours to Algonquin&lt;br /&gt;adventure at North Tea awaits&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;money quick at johnny cash&lt;br /&gt;gotta hit the road&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FYIs - years ago, some cash machines were called johnny cash machines&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-3649535692085305122?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/3649535692085305122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/06/prose-backpack-canoe-more-than-trilogy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/3649535692085305122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/3649535692085305122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/06/prose-backpack-canoe-more-than-trilogy.html' title='Prose: backpack canoe, more than a trilogy part 1 - anticipation'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SikLYdDzJuI/AAAAAAAAD24/frnTQcJ_Kz8/s72-c/IMG_1632.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-5594028108383960260</id><published>2009-05-07T09:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T09:17:31.383-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lake Superior'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='camping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hiking'/><title type='text'>Prose: six day hike</title><content type='html'>Backgrounder: “More from ‘backpack canoe.’ I’ll attach a photo from Lake Superior if I can find one with the right mood - one that relates to beautiful scenery and sore shoulders.” gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;six day hike&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sun’s last ray&lt;br /&gt;darkly shadowing&lt;br /&gt;ragged jack pine&lt;br /&gt;and steel black rock,&lt;br /&gt;caught my eye&lt;br /&gt;at eve,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;trek weary from climbing&lt;br /&gt;Superior’s steep shore,&lt;br /&gt;the rolled bed&lt;br /&gt;and stale bread&lt;br /&gt;dropped from my back;&lt;br /&gt;I did not wish&lt;br /&gt;to ever leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-5594028108383960260?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/5594028108383960260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/05/prose-six-day-hike.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/5594028108383960260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/5594028108383960260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/05/prose-six-day-hike.html' title='Prose: six day hike'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-2651416719714364111</id><published>2009-05-06T18:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T19:02:35.542-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='camping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friend'/><title type='text'>Prose: North of Wiarton</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“This is another piece from ‘backpack canoe’, a small booklet of prose, introduced earlier with ‘Lion’s Head Parts 1 and 2. I bought 2.75 acres of land north of Wiarton many years ago and sold it to a friend two years ago. Since selling the land, I’ve visited the area to help him survey, clear and build upon the land, and will take him up on his invitation to use his cabin any time. The Bruce peninsula is a magical place.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;north of Wiarton&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;last year’s crew&lt;br /&gt;banded together again -&lt;br /&gt;explored, discovered&lt;br /&gt;the peninsula’s hidden coves&lt;br /&gt;secret cedar shores;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SgJBBsHNzmI/AAAAAAAADzo/93OD5NvB_6U/s1600-h/IMG_0495.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SgJBBsHNzmI/AAAAAAAADzo/93OD5NvB_6U/s400/IMG_0495.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332896406037188194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;voices grew quieter&lt;br /&gt;as city thoughts&lt;br /&gt;well-worn habits&lt;br /&gt;slid away unnoticed,&lt;br /&gt;as wider gazes&lt;br /&gt;fresher smiles&lt;br /&gt;grew commonplace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SgJA1lqG9zI/AAAAAAAADzg/hnxZmTaPO9w/s1600-h/IMG_1574.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 239px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SgJA1lqG9zI/AAAAAAAADzg/hnxZmTaPO9w/s400/IMG_1574.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332896198146062130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the bruce pen’s crisp skies&lt;br /&gt;cool stout breezes&lt;br /&gt;swept us home -&lt;br /&gt;to canvas tents, hot fires&lt;br /&gt;and close companions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-2651416719714364111?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/2651416719714364111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/05/prose-north-of-wiarton.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/2651416719714364111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/2651416719714364111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/05/prose-north-of-wiarton.html' title='Prose: North of Wiarton'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SgJBBsHNzmI/AAAAAAAADzo/93OD5NvB_6U/s72-c/IMG_0495.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-346892614238633717</id><published>2009-05-03T15:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-03T15:03:52.139-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='young'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='home'/><title type='text'>Prose: Childhood Memories - Thin times in a small town</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“I mention a few lessons, in my next column (May 6), that my mother tried to teach me when I was a young boy. I think, by looking back, I jogged a few other memories too. The following prose was written just a few minutes ago.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;thin times in a small town&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;where did she find&lt;br /&gt;the money,  that young mother&lt;br /&gt;of mine, for the brand new&lt;br /&gt;red CCM bicycle for&lt;br /&gt;my birthday?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my brother and three sisters&lt;br /&gt;never thought or felt&lt;br /&gt;our family was poor.&lt;br /&gt;but we knew -&lt;br /&gt;if we wanted something -&lt;br /&gt;we had better be prepared&lt;br /&gt;to work for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God, what a good lesson&lt;br /&gt;to learn as a young boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dad had me try&lt;br /&gt;one or two used bikes.&lt;br /&gt;Tim Body’s didn’t fit me well&lt;br /&gt;and it was hard to pedal.&lt;br /&gt;I would have worked hard&lt;br /&gt;for something better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, on my birthday,&lt;br /&gt;after opening a few presents,&lt;br /&gt;my mother told me&lt;br /&gt;I wasn’t done yet&lt;br /&gt;and said I should look&lt;br /&gt;behind a tall bookcase&lt;br /&gt;that hid the front door&lt;br /&gt;from where I stood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked and,&lt;br /&gt;quite unexpectedly,&lt;br /&gt;fell in love with&lt;br /&gt;my new red bike.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sf4UcM-a8xI/AAAAAAAADyo/EeG9MTrSyk4/s1600-h/IMG_1561.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 209px; height: 209px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sf4UcM-a8xI/AAAAAAAADyo/EeG9MTrSyk4/s400/IMG_1561.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331721483605177106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lovingly tip my hat to the wee girl whose father died young, who never had her own new red bike.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-346892614238633717?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/346892614238633717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/05/prose-childhood-memories-thin-times-in.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/346892614238633717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/346892614238633717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/05/prose-childhood-memories-thin-times-in.html' title='Prose: Childhood Memories - Thin times in a small town'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sf4UcM-a8xI/AAAAAAAADyo/EeG9MTrSyk4/s72-c/IMG_1561.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-2451722292630530259</id><published>2009-05-01T09:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T09:15:33.537-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cold rain'/><title type='text'>Prose: Lion’s Head Part 2</title><content type='html'>[Please read Pt 1 and backgrounder below for context]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Lion’s Head Part 2&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;later, stinging smoke&lt;br /&gt;brushed our faces&lt;br /&gt;as newly collected timber&lt;br /&gt;odds and ends&lt;br /&gt;caught a stubborn flame&lt;br /&gt;and cold pale hands&lt;br /&gt;held tin mugs of broth&lt;br /&gt;close to the chin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SfsgE3PnW3I/AAAAAAAADx4/3c75nIFFNKQ/s1600-h/cold+rain.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 333px; height: 333px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SfsgE3PnW3I/AAAAAAAADx4/3c75nIFFNKQ/s400/cold+rain.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330889851844123506" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the driving rain&lt;br /&gt;the roar and crash&lt;br /&gt;of the nearby shore&lt;br /&gt;and clothes like heavy damp sacks&lt;br /&gt;made us thankful for&lt;br /&gt;some small shelter&lt;br /&gt;on a formidable coast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we seemed so fragile&lt;br /&gt;against the immediate power&lt;br /&gt;of wind and rain&lt;br /&gt;at Lion’s Head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-2451722292630530259?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/2451722292630530259/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/05/prose-lions-head-part-2.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/2451722292630530259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/2451722292630530259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/05/prose-lions-head-part-2.html' title='Prose: Lion’s Head Part 2'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SfsgE3PnW3I/AAAAAAAADx4/3c75nIFFNKQ/s72-c/cold+rain.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-7701472749539789297</id><published>2009-04-30T07:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T08:58:35.266-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prose'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friend'/><title type='text'>Prose: Lion’s Head Part 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“I was one of three tired hikers that tackled a fair-sized piece of the Bruce Trail 15 years ago and got caught in an unexpected storm. I put a few lines about that experience and a canoe trip into a wee book called ‘backpack canoe.’ Another hike is planned this summer - my first solo. So, more brilliant prose [insert laugh track here] will follow.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Lion’s Head Part 1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;three tired hikers&lt;br /&gt;could barely huddle&lt;br /&gt;‘neath the rocky point&lt;br /&gt;facing the granite shores&lt;br /&gt;the rounded boulder beaches&lt;br /&gt;of Georgian Bay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the grey green crag&lt;br /&gt;an ancient prominence&lt;br /&gt;like crumbling brick&lt;br /&gt;gave bare hard shelter&lt;br /&gt;from quick icy pellets&lt;br /&gt;hurled from a sullen&lt;br /&gt;Georgian sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SfmxHC8uPCI/AAAAAAAADw4/QztTB-tMR9U/s1600-h/IMG_8974.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 166px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SfmxHC8uPCI/AAAAAAAADw4/QztTB-tMR9U/s400/IMG_8974.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330486368578452514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Bruce Trail, Lion's Head&lt;/span&gt;: photo gah]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;only minutes before&lt;br /&gt;hot sore sweating backs&lt;br /&gt;were gratefully relieved&lt;br /&gt;by full packs set aside&lt;br /&gt;by carefree dives&lt;br /&gt;into calm cold waters.&lt;br /&gt;a black water snake&lt;br /&gt;a slithering ‘s,’ head erect,&lt;br /&gt;had chased us - we gingerly&lt;br /&gt;stepping over smoothed stones - &lt;br /&gt;to higher ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a lightning crack&lt;br /&gt;and strong sudden gusts&lt;br /&gt;pushed us inland.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[to be continued]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-7701472749539789297?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/7701472749539789297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/prose-lions-head.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/7701472749539789297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/7701472749539789297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/prose-lions-head.html' title='Prose: Lion’s Head Part 1'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SfmxHC8uPCI/AAAAAAAADw4/QztTB-tMR9U/s72-c/IMG_8974.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-685649890019867520</id><published>2009-04-28T10:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T10:09:24.383-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heaven'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='death'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friend'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='longing'/><title type='text'>Now That They’re Gone</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“This is a short song, a reminder to treat my friends and family well,  and to let them know they mean a lot to me - while I have the opportunity. Part of the song’s inspiration came from learning a fellow teacher (and good friend when we taught together) had died, in the same hospital my dad passed away in, and I didn’t even know he was ill. And after each of my parents died I quickly learned how much I missed them.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Now That They’re Gone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I miss my friend now that he’s gone,&lt;br /&gt;I miss him so now that he’s gone.&lt;br /&gt;The Reverend told me that he passed on.&lt;br /&gt;And he went to heaven far too young.&lt;br /&gt;Yes, he went to heaven far too young.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss my Mama now that she’s gone,&lt;br /&gt;I miss her so now that she’s gone.&lt;br /&gt;The Reverend told me that she passed on.&lt;br /&gt;And she went to heaven far too young.&lt;br /&gt;Yes, she went to heaven far too young.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I miss my Papa now that he’s gone,&lt;br /&gt;I miss him so now that he’s gone.&lt;br /&gt;I know things now I didn’t know then,&lt;br /&gt;And I’d like to tell him he is my friend.&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I’d like to tell him he is my friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss all these folks now that they’re gone,&lt;br /&gt;I miss them so now that they’re gone.&lt;br /&gt;I know things now I didn’t know then,&lt;br /&gt;And I’d like to tell them they are good friends.&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I’d like to tell them they are good friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-685649890019867520?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/685649890019867520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/now-that-theyre-gone.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/685649890019867520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/685649890019867520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/now-that-theyre-gone.html' title='Now That They’re Gone'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-846066476357354362</id><published>2009-04-21T07:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-21T07:18:08.437-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='young'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='whisky'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='longing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>Prose: You Thought it was Hallowe’en</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“While looking for an &lt;a href="http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/down-to-my-toes.html"&gt;old wedding photo&lt;/a&gt; I found this piece of prose from my university days. It was published in The Gazette (University of Western Ontario) on Feb. 14, 1969, and bears some truth, though it isn’t a very fitting sentiment for Valentines Day. It contains my first reference to whisky, but not my last.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Se3U_p4K4HI/AAAAAAAADuY/L_pXloC05OU/s1600-h/IMG_0784.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 326px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Se3U_p4K4HI/AAAAAAAADuY/L_pXloC05OU/s400/IMG_0784.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327148124287459442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;["My university days": March, 1969]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;you thought it was Hallowe’en&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you thought it was Hallowe’en&lt;br /&gt;all last month.&lt;br /&gt;ever since I first met you,&lt;br /&gt;I thought you were all&lt;br /&gt;dressed up for nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the unmasking took place last&lt;br /&gt;night, and you looked quite&lt;br /&gt;pretty without your mask.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but you were not what&lt;br /&gt;the game had called for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Se3U_eHgDwI/AAAAAAAADuQ/PLTKRcvfo8c/s1600-h/IMG_1507.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Se3U_eHgDwI/AAAAAAAADuQ/PLTKRcvfo8c/s400/IMG_1507.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327148121130536706" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Artwork - Tom Rossiter: photo GAH]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Hallowe’en was over and&lt;br /&gt;the two went tripping home&lt;br /&gt;with an empty bottle of scotch&lt;br /&gt;under their arm,&lt;br /&gt;and when all the ghosts&lt;br /&gt;and night creatures began to play,&lt;br /&gt;she melted into their midst.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have not heard from you,&lt;br /&gt;or seen you, since.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-846066476357354362?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/846066476357354362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/prose-you-thought-it-was-halloween.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/846066476357354362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/846066476357354362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/prose-you-thought-it-was-halloween.html' title='Prose: You Thought it was Hallowe’en'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Se3U_p4K4HI/AAAAAAAADuY/L_pXloC05OU/s72-c/IMG_0784.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-898567500757067269</id><published>2009-04-20T09:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T09:59:14.445-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='longevity'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='loyalty'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friend'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>Down To My Toes</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“This is the second or third song I sang in public, other than around a campfire. The melody came before the lyrics on this one. The nice easy tune took me back to the time I first met my wife, and 39 years later we still keep each other’s feet warm at night.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Down To My Toes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SeypcfYxCrI/AAAAAAAADt4/T7RRGrG2kIU/s1600-h/IMG_1499.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 272px; height: 272px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SeypcfYxCrI/AAAAAAAADt4/T7RRGrG2kIU/s400/IMG_1499.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326818766199261874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;[August 8, 1970]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t know how&lt;br /&gt;the power of love grows,&lt;br /&gt;I just know it went down&lt;br /&gt;to my toes when I met you.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, love went down to my toes.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t know why&lt;br /&gt;you caught my eye,&lt;br /&gt;Was it something you said&lt;br /&gt;when you walked on by?&lt;br /&gt;I just know I turned&lt;br /&gt;and you caught my eye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t pretend&lt;br /&gt;to know it all, girl.&lt;br /&gt;I think what I know&lt;br /&gt;is really quite small.&lt;br /&gt;I’m just glad you stopped to chat&lt;br /&gt;I’m glad our love&lt;br /&gt;started off like that,&lt;br /&gt;And I know love went&lt;br /&gt;down to my toes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I don’t know what I said&lt;br /&gt;when we laughed&lt;br /&gt;I just know things happened&lt;br /&gt;real fast when I met you.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, things happened so fast.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t know&lt;br /&gt;what possessed me to say,&lt;br /&gt;That we get together&lt;br /&gt;the very next day. You said yes.&lt;br /&gt;I’m glad you said yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I don’t know how you could&lt;br /&gt;hit me like this&lt;br /&gt;Or turn me around&lt;br /&gt;with one little kiss&lt;br /&gt;But you did, you hit me like this.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t know where&lt;br /&gt;we go from here,&lt;br /&gt;I just know I want to be&lt;br /&gt;near when I call you,&lt;br /&gt;I want to be near.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-898567500757067269?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/898567500757067269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/down-to-my-toes.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/898567500757067269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/898567500757067269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/down-to-my-toes.html' title='Down To My Toes'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SeypcfYxCrI/AAAAAAAADt4/T7RRGrG2kIU/s72-c/IMG_1499.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-4595761434583977294</id><published>2009-04-17T12:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T12:25:08.848-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='floozie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heartache'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='longing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>I Don’t Have to Say Nothing Again</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“This was the first song I sang in front of a microphone. Even though it was recorded in a friend’s basement I was as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof. Thankfully, my friend is a monster guitar player and made the production sound pretty good. The song itself is from the imagination only.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I Don’t Have to Say Nothing Again&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I don’t have to tell you you’re special,&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to tell you I care.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to say&lt;br /&gt;you look pretty tonight,&lt;br /&gt;and I like what you’ve done with your hair.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to call you my sweetheart,&lt;br /&gt;or say I’ll be true to the end.&lt;br /&gt;‘Cause you’re spending your time&lt;br /&gt;with somebody else,&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to say nothing again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, nothing again, nothing again,&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to say nothing again.&lt;br /&gt;‘Cause you’re spending your time&lt;br /&gt;with somebody else,&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to say nothing again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SejXZgEStBI/AAAAAAAADtg/iPF3cwo4blM/s1600-h/floozie-mirror-sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SejXZgEStBI/AAAAAAAADtg/iPF3cwo4blM/s400/floozie-mirror-sm.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325743392470250514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;"This floozie broke my heart"&lt;/span&gt;: courtesy photo link to F&lt;a href="http://www.fortunespawn.com/2007/05/03/ladies-object-lesson-with-mirror/comment-page-1#comment-2115"&gt;ortune's Pawn&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I don’t have to tell you I’m lonely,&lt;br /&gt;and pick up the phone now and then.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to tell you&lt;br /&gt;I’m hoping ‘gainst hope,&lt;br /&gt;you’ll stop dancing with the boys in the band.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to say that you broke my heart&lt;br /&gt;by sleeping with some other man.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to tell you,&lt;br /&gt;you drove us apart,&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to say nothing again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I don’t have to tell you I’m crazy,&lt;br /&gt;and forgive all the things that you’ve done.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to tell you&lt;br /&gt;I’m trying real hard&lt;br /&gt;To find ways that we can have fun.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to tell you I need you,&lt;br /&gt;and want you to come home tonight.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to tell you&lt;br /&gt;that I still love you.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have to say nothing again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-4595761434583977294?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/4595761434583977294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-dont-have-to-say-nothing-again.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4595761434583977294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4595761434583977294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-dont-have-to-say-nothing-again.html' title='I Don’t Have to Say Nothing Again'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SejXZgEStBI/AAAAAAAADtg/iPF3cwo4blM/s72-c/floozie-mirror-sm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-4690472206715447945</id><published>2009-04-16T09:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T09:25:10.512-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heartache'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='longevity'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love-life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='loyalty'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dream'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='home'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>My Life Without You</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“It sounds like I carry around a heavy load of regret. I don’t. I occasionally remember times (like most people, I'm sure) when I could have been a better person, and reflect on what the absolute worst consequences might have been. Also, I know several people who have gone through a divorce, and it ain't pretty.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I don’t know why&lt;br /&gt;I’m all set to cry about you.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t know how&lt;br /&gt;I care ‘bout you now like I do.&lt;br /&gt;I must confess&lt;br /&gt;I never guessed that you’d walk out the door.&lt;br /&gt;I failed to see&lt;br /&gt;what my life would be without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SedaXnX0M7I/AAAAAAAADtA/87Vp62T-eLM/s1600-h/1175638~Couple-Dancing-at-Rosie-s-Cafe-Posters.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 234px; height: 236px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SedaXnX0M7I/AAAAAAAADtA/87Vp62T-eLM/s400/1175638~Couple-Dancing-at-Rosie-s-Cafe-Posters.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325324446141264818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I won’t get a chance&lt;br /&gt;to have one last dance or hold you.&lt;br /&gt;I won’t hear our song&lt;br /&gt;and then sing along without you.&lt;br /&gt;I didn’t believe&lt;br /&gt;you’d ever leave and never return.&lt;br /&gt;I failed to see&lt;br /&gt;what my life would be without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I live all alone&lt;br /&gt;in a old country home without you.&lt;br /&gt;The phone doesn’t ring,&lt;br /&gt;I can’t hear birds sing without you.&lt;br /&gt;When I go for a walk&lt;br /&gt;I miss how we talked like so many times before.&lt;br /&gt;I failed to see&lt;br /&gt;what my life would be without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Now that you’ve gone&lt;br /&gt;not much gets done without you.&lt;br /&gt;Life doesn’t seem fair&lt;br /&gt;and I don’t really care what I do.&lt;br /&gt;Night seems to come fast&lt;br /&gt;and I dream it’s the last that I’ll sleep all alone.&lt;br /&gt;I failed to see&lt;br /&gt;what my life would be without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-4690472206715447945?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/4690472206715447945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-life-without-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4690472206715447945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4690472206715447945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-life-without-you.html' title='My Life Without You'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SedaXnX0M7I/AAAAAAAADtA/87Vp62T-eLM/s72-c/1175638~Couple-Dancing-at-Rosie-s-Cafe-Posters.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-7329630292505197396</id><published>2009-04-14T08:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T08:10:34.756-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='longevity'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='loyalty'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friend'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='home'/><title type='text'>Life is Better with You</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Life is Better with You - Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“So, what do you give a girl at Christmas... especially a girl who already has everything? I mean, my wife already gets the house, car, life insurance, my pension, RRSPs and hockey card collection when I die. Oh yeah, and my workshop and all my tools. So, what else can I give her?”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You are the best of my friends.&lt;br /&gt;Life can be a long, lonely road,&lt;br /&gt;easier when you share the load&lt;br /&gt;and I’m walking with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are the first of those near,&lt;br /&gt;the closest of those I hold dear.&lt;br /&gt;Time often gets slipping away,&lt;br /&gt;you help me live for today&lt;br /&gt;when I’m walking with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like diamonds in the night sky&lt;br /&gt;I see love shine in your eye. &lt;br /&gt;You treat me better than best,&lt;br /&gt;I’m home when you lean on my chest.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, I know I’ve got a good life&lt;br /&gt;and it’s better with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SeSnSGvxLFI/AAAAAAAADsY/3nxOM6Z2ue0/s1600-h/IMG_6989.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 323px; height: 323px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SeSnSGvxLFI/AAAAAAAADsY/3nxOM6Z2ue0/s400/IMG_6989.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324564588949220434" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. You are the best of my friends.&lt;br /&gt;Life can be a dark, dreary place,&lt;br /&gt;brighter when I see your face&lt;br /&gt;and I’m talking with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You guard the life that we’ve made,&lt;br /&gt;make sure our memories don’t fade.&lt;br /&gt;Time often gets marching along,&lt;br /&gt;you help me feel that I’m strong&lt;br /&gt;when I’m talking with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. You are the best of my friends.&lt;br /&gt;Life can be a challenging trial,&lt;br /&gt;lighter when I see you smile &lt;br /&gt;and I’m laughing with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You’ve been much more than a friend,&lt;br /&gt;our good times don’t seem to end.&lt;br /&gt;Time often seems short in a way,&lt;br /&gt;you make life fuller each day&lt;br /&gt;when I’m laughing with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-7329630292505197396?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/7329630292505197396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/life-is-better-with-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/7329630292505197396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/7329630292505197396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/life-is-better-with-you.html' title='Life is Better with You'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SeSnSGvxLFI/AAAAAAAADsY/3nxOM6Z2ue0/s72-c/IMG_6989.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-822027730294219932</id><published>2009-04-12T07:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T11:48:46.434-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='young'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='live small'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='supper'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='food'/><title type='text'>Don’t Call Me Late for Supper, Mabelene</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“This song was inspired a few years ago by a simple Lyle Lovett tune, though I forget which one. My wife is partial to his tunes so I tried to put a song together she would like. I succeeded on two counts - we both like it.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. We met at an old country store.&lt;br /&gt;I packed her bags and held open the door.&lt;br /&gt;Well, we started to chat,&lt;br /&gt;I learned her name after that.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, Mabelene was a dish and much more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day I walked her back to her house.&lt;br /&gt;Her folks were gone, we held hands on the porch.&lt;br /&gt;I got lost in her eyes,&lt;br /&gt;and two slices of pie,&lt;br /&gt;And the smell of perfume in her hair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SeH2jNiWYII/AAAAAAAADrQ/C0a65oaSlqk/s1600-h/elderberry+pie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 270px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SeH2jNiWYII/AAAAAAAADrQ/C0a65oaSlqk/s400/elderberry+pie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323807319318225026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;"Elderberry pie - the way to my heart."&lt;/span&gt;: &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/pseudoreid/2655765497/"&gt;photo link&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don’t call me late for supper, Mabelene. &lt;br /&gt;You are the sweetest girl I’ve ever seen.&lt;br /&gt;You sure are good-looking&lt;br /&gt;and I love what you’re cooking.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t call me late for supper, Mabelene.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. We got married when we were nineteen. &lt;br /&gt;Her Mama said, “Boy, don’t you treat her mean.”&lt;br /&gt;I said, “You count on me.”&lt;br /&gt;That was 1963.&lt;br /&gt;I can’t live without my Mabelene.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At home she’s in charge of the food.&lt;br /&gt;If I cook it don’t taste half as good. &lt;br /&gt;When Mabelene fills my plate,&lt;br /&gt;a big smile fills my face.&lt;br /&gt;She’s the best cook in our neighbourhood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Mabelene bought a book from Par-ee.&lt;br /&gt;Each day she tries a French recipe.&lt;br /&gt;I eat all I’m able&lt;br /&gt;then lean across the table.&lt;br /&gt;For dessert I always kiss Mabelene.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At night I kiss both of her hands. &lt;br /&gt;‘Cause they taste like her strawberry jam.&lt;br /&gt;And she comes to no harm&lt;br /&gt;when I nibble on her arm.&lt;br /&gt;Mabelene’s the sweetest girl in the land.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any other Lyle Lovett fans out there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-822027730294219932?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/822027730294219932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/dont-call-me-late-for-supper-mabelene.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/822027730294219932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/822027730294219932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/dont-call-me-late-for-supper-mabelene.html' title='Don’t Call Me Late for Supper, Mabelene'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SeH2jNiWYII/AAAAAAAADrQ/C0a65oaSlqk/s72-c/elderberry+pie.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-5068832772538217025</id><published>2009-04-10T09:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T09:42:55.018-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heartache'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hard times'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='whisky'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='growing old'/><title type='text'>The Easy Life Ain’t Mine</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“More hard times. Really, I don’t go to bars or sit up late staring into the bottom of a glass. But I know a bit about workin’ for the man and yearning for a simpler life.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I don’t like that you left me&lt;br /&gt;because of the friends I choose. &lt;br /&gt;I don’t like staying up passed midnight&lt;br /&gt;with more heartache I can’t lose.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, when I step out on my front porch&lt;br /&gt;with a bottle in my hand.&lt;br /&gt;I see I’m flying pretty high&lt;br /&gt;but I can’t see where I’ll land.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sd920xJySaI/AAAAAAAADqw/7elrLKyBY80/s1600-h/barrels_bottles.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 399px; height: 239px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sd920xJySaI/AAAAAAAADqw/7elrLKyBY80/s400/barrels_bottles.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323103933494872482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Girl, the simple life ain’t easy,&lt;br /&gt;I don’t even own my car.&lt;br /&gt;I spend my nights reflecting&lt;br /&gt;in a glass inside the bar.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, oh, oh, snoozers, losers, are friends of mine,&lt;br /&gt;and we cannot tell the time. &lt;br /&gt;The simple life ain’t easy&lt;br /&gt;and the easy life ain’t mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I don’t like all them hours&lt;br /&gt;spent working for the man.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t like paying rent each month&lt;br /&gt;on someone else’s land.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, I’d like a small bit for you and me,&lt;br /&gt;really nothing more than that.&lt;br /&gt;But after years of working hard&lt;br /&gt;I’ll tell you where I’m at.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I don’t like that I’m growing old&lt;br /&gt;and living on my own.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t like drinkin’ whisky&lt;br /&gt;just staring at the phone.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, if you ever give me one more shot&lt;br /&gt;at turning my life around.&lt;br /&gt;I’ll try to be like when we met,&lt;br /&gt;keep both feet on the ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-5068832772538217025?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/5068832772538217025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/easy-life-aint-mine.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/5068832772538217025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/5068832772538217025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/easy-life-aint-mine.html' title='The Easy Life Ain’t Mine'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sd920xJySaI/AAAAAAAADqw/7elrLKyBY80/s72-c/barrels_bottles.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-8483719388119422180</id><published>2009-04-09T08:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T08:25:37.167-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laugh'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='whisky'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='priorities'/><title type='text'>I’ll Get Ready When the Party is Done</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“True story: A few years ago my wife and I went to a party that seemed to last forever because of stories, songs, guitars and Scotch whisky. I admit, I stayed too long.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. After talking with friends&lt;br /&gt;I think I’ll get up and go home.&lt;br /&gt;After talking with friends&lt;br /&gt;I think I’ll get up and go home. &lt;br /&gt;I’ll get ready when&lt;br /&gt;the talking is done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see that you’re waiting,&lt;br /&gt;your coat is hung over your arm.&lt;br /&gt;I see that you’re waiting,&lt;br /&gt;your coat is hung over your arm.&lt;br /&gt;I’ll get ready when&lt;br /&gt;the talking is done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sd4TROdLdoI/AAAAAAAADqg/vVVNpnP49YU/s1600-h/Sing-Song.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 342px; height: 194px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sd4TROdLdoI/AAAAAAAADqg/vVVNpnP49YU/s400/Sing-Song.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322712996257691266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s this time of night&lt;br /&gt;that you’ve learned to hate,&lt;br /&gt;You want to go home now&lt;br /&gt;but I don’t think that it’s late.&lt;br /&gt;I think I’ll get ready when&lt;br /&gt;the talking (2. singing, 3. drinking) is done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. After singing some songs&lt;br /&gt;I think I’ll get up, get my coat. [repeat]&lt;br /&gt;I’ll get ready when&lt;br /&gt;the singing is done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see that you’re fretting,&lt;br /&gt;you’re already half out the door. [repeat]&lt;br /&gt;I’ll get ready when&lt;br /&gt;the singing is done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. After drinking this whisky&lt;br /&gt;I think I’ll get up find my shoes. [repeat]&lt;br /&gt;I’ll get ready when&lt;br /&gt;the drinking is done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see that you’ve left me,&lt;br /&gt;you’ve gone and headed for home. [repeat]&lt;br /&gt;I’ll get ready when&lt;br /&gt;the drinking is done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-8483719388119422180?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/8483719388119422180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/ill-get-ready-when-party-is-done.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8483719388119422180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/8483719388119422180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/ill-get-ready-when-party-is-done.html' title='I’ll Get Ready When the Party is Done'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/Sd4TROdLdoI/AAAAAAAADqg/vVVNpnP49YU/s72-c/Sing-Song.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-6537305930925193589</id><published>2009-04-07T10:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T10:54:43.189-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='live small'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laugh'/><title type='text'>Squirrel Stew from a Mason Jar</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“Last week, while building a birdhouse in my workshop, I heard a toe-tapping tune on CBC radio. The words “I eat squirrel stew from a Mason jar” popped into my head. Yesterday I teased out the following recession anthem. I think it’s brilliant.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I eat squirrel stew from a Mason jar,&lt;br /&gt;Though that’s not the way things usually are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SduRZrqGbyI/AAAAAAAADp4/8UJevSrMPzk/s1600-h/mason+jar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SduRZrqGbyI/AAAAAAAADp4/8UJevSrMPzk/s400/mason+jar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322007255070437154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I drive to the store in an old used car,&lt;br /&gt;Can’t afford another, hope it takes me far.&lt;br /&gt;Since I lost my job&lt;br /&gt;the world is upside down.&lt;br /&gt;Been doing more with less&lt;br /&gt;like other folks in town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I eat squirrel stew, I’m living small.&lt;br /&gt;I buy used clothes and that’s not all.&lt;br /&gt;I use a clothesline to dry my old blue jeans,&lt;br /&gt;And now I know what sticking to a budget means.&lt;br /&gt;I gave up BBQ-ing&lt;br /&gt;because steak’s not cheap,&lt;br /&gt;And what I’ve been sowing&lt;br /&gt;I now must reap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I made a solar oven to save on natural gas,&lt;br /&gt;I cook up pots of oatmeal and make it last.&lt;br /&gt;Now just like my old Papa I’ll eat anything,&lt;br /&gt;I’m using Mama’s recipe for Tuna a la King.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SduRZa7wo9I/AAAAAAAADpw/zd2aTKrb8sc/s1600-h/cart.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 358px; height: 265px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SduRZa7wo9I/AAAAAAAADpw/zd2aTKrb8sc/s400/cart.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322007250581103570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But since I lost my job&lt;br /&gt;tuna has been pretty rare.&lt;br /&gt;Been doing more with less&lt;br /&gt;like my closest neighbours are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I bought more things on credit than I can count,&lt;br /&gt;My debt was growing faster than my bank account.&lt;br /&gt;Easy money flowed out of every corner bank,&lt;br /&gt;For all my credit cards I have lots of folks to thank.&lt;br /&gt;But since I lost my job&lt;br /&gt;I’m cutting to the bone.&lt;br /&gt;Been doing more with less&lt;br /&gt;and I’m not alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Squirrel stew, Mason jars, living small, recession... they do go together, don't they?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-6537305930925193589?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/6537305930925193589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/squirrel-stew-from-mason-jar.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/6537305930925193589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/6537305930925193589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/squirrel-stew-from-mason-jar.html' title='Squirrel Stew from a Mason Jar'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SduRZrqGbyI/AAAAAAAADp4/8UJevSrMPzk/s72-c/mason+jar.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-4412395477141302552</id><published>2009-04-05T13:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-05T13:38:22.150-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='diner'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='food'/><title type='text'>Patti’s in the Kitchen, Gordie’s at the Till</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“In my search for the perfect job I tried baking muffins and pouring coffee at The Little Red Roaster for six months. What did I learn? Though the morning started way too early I managed the crowds pretty well until my shift ended at 10 a.m. After I’d earned enough for a bigger motorcycle I hit the road. And that part was perfect.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I found me a diner, the food is always great,&lt;br /&gt;The price is good and low, here’s how it operates.&lt;br /&gt;The place runs but one way, you better know the rules,&lt;br /&gt;Patti always does the cooking and Gordie doesn’t suffer fools.&lt;br /&gt;If you ask for an order in a fussy tone of voice, &lt;br /&gt;Gordie points toward the front door while the regulars rejoice.&lt;br /&gt;If you want to use the debit for $1.29,&lt;br /&gt;Start looking for a toonie and step on outta line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Patti’s in the kitchen, Gordie’s at the till,&lt;br /&gt;She’s cooking up your breakfast, he’s ringing up the bill.&lt;br /&gt;They been running this old diner since 1963,&lt;br /&gt;Eggs are always over easy, and the second cup is free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdkWmxBrcFI/AAAAAAAADoo/c-tiyOWzIKM/s1600-h/diner.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 304px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdkWmxBrcFI/AAAAAAAADoo/c-tiyOWzIKM/s400/diner.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321309289966170194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. If you act kinda frantic, say you’re in a rush,&lt;br /&gt;Gotta drive across town, maybe catch a bus.&lt;br /&gt;Patti hollers from the kitchen, loud enough for all,&lt;br /&gt;“If you’re looking just for fast food you can get it at the mall.”&lt;br /&gt;If you say your eggs are runny or the coffee is too hot,&lt;br /&gt;If you think the ham is too sweet and the sticky buns are not.&lt;br /&gt;Gordie points to the big sign hanging on the wall.&lt;br /&gt;“Patti only does home cooking or she doesn’t cook at all.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. When you come for the first time it’d really be a shame,&lt;br /&gt;If you ask for skinny lattes or things with funny names.&lt;br /&gt;Gordie will assure you he’ll give it a good try,&lt;br /&gt;Then steer you toward Patti’s elderberry pie.&lt;br /&gt;There aren’t many diners than run along like this,&lt;br /&gt;Where you’ll see the cook and cashier sometimes share a kiss.&lt;br /&gt;But it’s open still on Main St. in my old hometown,&lt;br /&gt;You’ll find me pouring coffee and hear me sing this song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though I love old diners I don't think I could handle a busy pace. You?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-4412395477141302552?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/4412395477141302552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/pattis-in-kitchen-gordies-at-till.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4412395477141302552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/4412395477141302552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/pattis-in-kitchen-gordies-at-till.html' title='Patti’s in the Kitchen, Gordie’s at the Till'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdkWmxBrcFI/AAAAAAAADoo/c-tiyOWzIKM/s72-c/diner.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-694322026051483490</id><published>2009-04-03T08:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:16:47.261-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='young'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='longevity'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love-life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='loyalty'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laugh'/><title type='text'>Prose: You will laugh and know</title><content type='html'>The wise words of Wendell Berry, American poet and farmer, were brought to my attention recently while reading Entries, a book of prose published in 1994. One phrase, “we belong to one story”, from the piece below struck a cord in me.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Blue Robe   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How joyful to be together, alone&lt;br /&gt;as when we first were joined&lt;br /&gt;in our little house by the river&lt;br /&gt;long ago, except that now we have &lt;br /&gt;each other, as we did not then; &lt;br /&gt;and now instead of two stories fumbling&lt;br /&gt;to meet, we belong to one story &lt;br /&gt;that the two, joining, made. And now &lt;br /&gt;we touch each other with the tenderness &lt;br /&gt;of mortals, who know themselves: &lt;br /&gt;how joyful to feel the heart quake &lt;br /&gt;at the sight of a grandmother,&lt;br /&gt;old friend in the morning light, &lt;br /&gt;beautiful in her blue robe!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;by Wendell Berry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“Mr. Berry’s poem reminded me that a grandmother walks quietly past my side of the bed every morning, in her own blue robe, trying not to wake me. She seldom succeeds. After 38 years together we now run by the same internal clock.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You will laugh and know&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;when I was a young man&lt;br /&gt;I wrote long poems for you.&lt;br /&gt;now that I am older&lt;br /&gt;I write a song or two,&lt;br /&gt;and hope the lines&lt;br /&gt;though short on heat&lt;br /&gt;won’t miss a beat&lt;br /&gt;but catch you by surprise.&lt;br /&gt;and you will laugh and know&lt;br /&gt;our youth is in our eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdY0mVpBL8I/AAAAAAAADoA/-DNE7ByAOAQ/s1600-h/100_2605.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 141px; height: 110px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdY0mVpBL8I/AAAAAAAADoA/-DNE7ByAOAQ/s400/100_2605.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320497843033681858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-694322026051483490?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/694322026051483490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/prose-you-will-laugh-and-know.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/694322026051483490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/694322026051483490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/prose-you-will-laugh-and-know.html' title='Prose: You will laugh and know'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdY0mVpBL8I/AAAAAAAADoA/-DNE7ByAOAQ/s72-c/100_2605.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-677890982149929717</id><published>2009-04-02T09:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T09:21:38.208-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='imagination'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='passion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='guilty pleasure'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='longing'/><title type='text'>You’re A Perfect Picture</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“When I sing this song I’m sure my wife, formerly a brunette, wonders if I’m stalking one of the neighbours. No, I’m not. But it’s funny where a simple tune and vivid imagination can lead.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You’re a perfect picture.&lt;br /&gt;Long blond hair, old gray sweater.&lt;br /&gt;Faded jeans, a size too small,&lt;br /&gt;My eyes can’t leave your face at all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I could watch you, watch you all day long.&lt;br /&gt;You’re a perfect picture,&lt;br /&gt;And girl, you never treat me wrong. (* repeat)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdTiy1itsZI/AAAAAAAADnQ/Tzhvnw8v1mc/s1600-h/giraffe_in_high_heels_tshirt-p235811870779153427o0q5_400.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 234px; height: 225px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdTiy1itsZI/AAAAAAAADnQ/Tzhvnw8v1mc/s400/giraffe_in_high_heels_tshirt-p235811870779153427o0q5_400.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320126422825415058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;["Black high heels show off your legs"]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. You’re my guilty pleasure.&lt;br /&gt;I thirst for you like hidden treasure. &lt;br /&gt;When our eyes meet I hold my breath,&lt;br /&gt;I’m lost all day I must confess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I get thinking, thinking ‘bout you all day long.&lt;br /&gt;You’re my guilty pleasure.&lt;br /&gt;And girl, you never treat me wrong. (* repeat)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. You’re my secret passion.&lt;br /&gt;You pass my house in the latest fashion.&lt;br /&gt;Black high heels show off your legs,&lt;br /&gt;Words won’t come quick but I can beg.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I get dreaming, dreaming, ‘bout you all day long.&lt;br /&gt;You’re my secret passion.&lt;br /&gt;And girl, you never treat me wrong. (* repeat)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-677890982149929717?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/677890982149929717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/youre-perfect-picture.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/677890982149929717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/677890982149929717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/youre-perfect-picture.html' title='You’re A Perfect Picture'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdTiy1itsZI/AAAAAAAADnQ/Tzhvnw8v1mc/s72-c/giraffe_in_high_heels_tshirt-p235811870779153427o0q5_400.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-7966730691504929345</id><published>2009-04-01T09:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T09:19:21.100-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love-life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alone'/><title type='text'>Lordie Lordie</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;“I love singing this song. It comes from my desire to be a good egg and keep the peace at home for another 38 years.”&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You ended my life, &lt;br /&gt;then twisted the knife,&lt;br /&gt;Left me nothing but pain.&lt;br /&gt;I was down on my luck, &lt;br /&gt;you stole off in my truck&lt;br /&gt;And shacked up with my brother again.&lt;br /&gt;When I laid down my head, &lt;br /&gt;on our half empty bed,&lt;br /&gt;It smelled like the scene of the crime.&lt;br /&gt;Hanky-panky, I swear it’s the end of the line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdOTXC5ettI/AAAAAAAADm4/YAL70TL5nhE/s1600-h/IMG_0118.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 166px; height: 251px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdOTXC5ettI/AAAAAAAADm4/YAL70TL5nhE/s400/IMG_0118.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319757608978921170" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;My younger brother and I. Sure, he looks harmless enough&lt;/span&gt;: circa 1953]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lordie Lordie, I sure drank a snoot-full tonight.&lt;br /&gt;Lordie Lordie, I sure look a horrible sight.&lt;br /&gt;I fell down some stairs, &lt;br /&gt;ripped my new underwears,&lt;br /&gt;And I smell like cheap whisky and beer.&lt;br /&gt;Lordie Lordie, it’s been the worst night of the year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I fell in with friends, &lt;br /&gt;who’d met similar ends,&lt;br /&gt;And had pockets as deep as a well.&lt;br /&gt;They said, “Our love-life stinks &lt;br /&gt;so we’re buying the drinks.”&lt;br /&gt;I said, “Guys, your plan suits me well.”&lt;br /&gt;We emptied the kegs &lt;br /&gt;into our hollow legs,&lt;br /&gt;The police had to settle us down,&lt;br /&gt;Heebee-geebees, I woke up ten miles outta town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Stumbled ‘round until three, &lt;br /&gt;barely able to see,&lt;br /&gt;Still troubled you slept with my kin.&lt;br /&gt;But I’ve made my mistakes &lt;br /&gt;and there’s more that I’ll make,&lt;br /&gt;So can we start over again?&lt;br /&gt;Please come back tonight, &lt;br /&gt;you know I won’t bite,&lt;br /&gt;I’ll make you feel right at home.&lt;br /&gt;Holy-moley, I don’t want to end up alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-7966730691504929345?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/7966730691504929345/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/lordie-lordie.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/7966730691504929345'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/7966730691504929345'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/04/lordie-lordie.html' title='Lordie Lordie'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdOTXC5ettI/AAAAAAAADm4/YAL70TL5nhE/s72-c/IMG_0118.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-2294175425690569556</id><published>2009-03-31T05:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T10:06:10.278-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sad'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lonely'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='whisky'/><title type='text'>Running Out of Rope</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;"My wife of 38 years wondered what inspired this song. I've observed that late-night bars can be sad and lonely places for some people."&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. If you come to the bar&lt;br /&gt;and you drive your own car&lt;br /&gt;I’m the guy sitting there on the right.&lt;br /&gt;If you’ve got several itches &lt;br /&gt;and one or two hit you&lt;br /&gt;I might be your friend for the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* ’Cause I don’t want you sitting alone.&lt;br /&gt;I won’t say stuff you hear at home.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have much money, &lt;br /&gt;but I’ll try to be funny&lt;br /&gt;And I’m not a man without hope. (*repeat)&lt;br /&gt;One day I’ll just run out of rope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdIVFbKWYUI/AAAAAAAADl8/4Xn7E2-bAiw/s1600-h/alone+bar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdIVFbKWYUI/AAAAAAAADl8/4Xn7E2-bAiw/s400/alone+bar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319337292812673346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[&lt;a href="http://zamora.de/pb/index.php?showimage=194"&gt;Photo link&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. If our talk starts to ramble &lt;br /&gt;I may start to gamble&lt;br /&gt;To keep you there at my side.&lt;br /&gt;I’ll tell a few stories &lt;br /&gt;about my past glories&lt;br /&gt;I’ll try not to tell many lies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* ’Cause I don’t want you leavin’ too soon.&lt;br /&gt;You’re the prettiest girl (now) in the room.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have much charm, &lt;br /&gt;but you won’t come to harm&lt;br /&gt;And I’m not a man without hope. (* repeat)&lt;br /&gt;One day I’ll just run out of rope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. When you say that you’re done &lt;br /&gt;and you’ve got to run,&lt;br /&gt;I’ll find my last ten dollar bill.&lt;br /&gt;I’ll say, “We’ve had the rest &lt;br /&gt;now let’s try the best,&lt;br /&gt;The night is pretty young still.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* ’Cause I don’t want to sit all alone,&lt;br /&gt;When I leave there’s no one at home.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have much going, &lt;br /&gt;the (damn) whiskey’s been flowing&lt;br /&gt;But I’m not a man without hope. (*repeat)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m half down that slippery slope,&lt;br /&gt;One day I’ll just run out of rope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-2294175425690569556?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/2294175425690569556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/03/running-out-of-rope.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/2294175425690569556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/2294175425690569556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/03/running-out-of-rope.html' title='Running Out of Rope'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdIVFbKWYUI/AAAAAAAADl8/4Xn7E2-bAiw/s72-c/alone+bar.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-214287215659327573.post-6070230108147583538</id><published>2009-03-30T11:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T10:12:03.635-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='priorities'/><title type='text'>Mother Goose’s New World</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Backgrounder&lt;/span&gt;: &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;"Sometimes, as individuals or countries, our priorities get severely out of whack and I feel future generations will suffer as a result. Joni Mitchell said it right in one of her songs."&lt;/span&gt; gaharrison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn, &lt;br /&gt;there’s an SUV hogging the road. &lt;br /&gt;I barely survive when I go for a drive, &lt;br /&gt;every highway is feeling the load.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdIbRqDAaaI/AAAAAAAADmM/8XpFGOe8HKc/s1600-h/large-suv.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 221px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdIbRqDAaaI/AAAAAAAADmM/8XpFGOe8HKc/s400/large-suv.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319344100036602274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there’s Jack Horner who lives at the corner, &lt;br /&gt;his huge truck blots out the sun.&lt;br /&gt;He says it’s no lark to back up and park &lt;br /&gt;and the price of gas ain’t no fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We won’t know what we’re missing &lt;br /&gt;‘til it’s gone. (repeat)&lt;br /&gt;Joni Mitchell got it right, we pave paradise &lt;br /&gt;and we put up a damn parking lot.&lt;br /&gt;Do we live in a nation &lt;br /&gt;or a huge corporation?&lt;br /&gt;We should all have a say &lt;br /&gt;should we not?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Little Miss Muffet sits on her tuffet, &lt;br /&gt;but she’s been quite depressed for awhile.&lt;br /&gt;She was handed some pills to cure all her ills, &lt;br /&gt;now she’s wearing a pale yellow smile.&lt;br /&gt;Humpty Dumpty fell off the wall, &lt;br /&gt;and he landed right smack on his head.&lt;br /&gt;He faced hours of doom in a packed waitin’ room. &lt;br /&gt;His wife cried, They must want you dead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Jack used to be nimble, used to be quick, &lt;br /&gt;but his breathing’s been going downhill.&lt;br /&gt;He finds it harder to talk and go out for a walk &lt;br /&gt;‘cause the smog warning ain’t lifted still.&lt;br /&gt;Then there’s Jack Sprat he’s drowning in fat, &lt;br /&gt;and fast food damaged his heart.&lt;br /&gt;The Great Lakes are old, fresh water got sold. &lt;br /&gt;It’ll cost you 10 bucks at Wal-Mart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/214287215659327573-6070230108147583538?l=hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/feeds/6070230108147583538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/03/mother-gooses-new-world.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/6070230108147583538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/214287215659327573/posts/default/6070230108147583538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://hitsinglesbygharrison.blogspot.com/2009/03/mother-gooses-new-world.html' title='Mother Goose’s New World'/><author><name>G. Harrison</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15188849799366728069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/TK9qr4QVBKI/AAAAAAAAIwU/RcfB4hquRpA/S220/7432-Cameraman_web.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_d9crCUtmasA/SdIbRqDAaaI/AAAAAAAADmM/8XpFGOe8HKc/s72-c/large-suv.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
