Word: dampness
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Last night we reached Palma, Majorca, where the special attraction was a twelve-mile trip to the monastery at Valldemosa to eat a buffet dinner and hear a recital of Chopin's piano music by that handsome Frenchman Samson François. The monastery was cold and damp, but those clever people from the Renaissance brought along bundles of plaid blankets to cover everybody up. Poor Chopin. He lived in the monastery for two months with his, pardon me, mistress, George Sand, and they say that he nearly died of the chill. He could have used some of those...
Piston proponents point out that in the past twenty years the race has been won from the pole only three times. Further, the damp, cool weather was made to order for the turbines, and if the temperature reaches 85 degrees on race day, they could lose as much as 20 per cent of their power...
...that hangs over Southern shantytowns?romantic to the suburbanite, but symptomatic of scant heat and pinchgut rations to the poor; the bags of flour delivered by a well-meaning welfare agency, in a household that has no oven; the pervasive odor of human urine and rat droppings in perennially damp walk-ups; the bite of wind or snow through a wall of rotten bricks and no hope that the landlord will repair the crack. Poverty is the certainty of being gouged?particularly by one's own kind. For if the poor share anything it is oppressors: credit dentists and credit...
...that it is being misled, and ends up alienated and alone. Piano and orchestra converse in different chords like different dialects and at different tempos; swatches of sound appear in what seem desultory then frantic patterns; and at times the script calls for practically the whole Boston Symphony to damp down the valiant lone pianist, Jacob Lateiner-which seems particularly unfair since he (with a grant from the Ford Foundation) commissioned the work in the first place...
...base's metal run way. The morning mist often lasts into the afternoon, the bright sun of recent weeks is lost in monsoonal overcast, and the air is raw and wet with winter. The camp seems to have settled into a dull, lethargic pace to match the dull, damp weather that envelops it. In a mood of resignation, Marines go about their life-or-death work, digging into the red clay, filling sandbags, bolstering the bunkers they know are their one protection against the real rain: the whining rockets and the mortars that come with no warning-just...