Carving out October

Yesterday's Opinion piece by Paul Krugman in the NYT suggested that we don't read as much poetry as we used to do.  I am then breaking the trend as I find myself reading (and even writing*) a bit more these days.

In the art of public service, I offer the opening from "November for Beginners"  by Rita Dove.  You can find the piece in its entirety at poetryfoundation.org.

Snow would be the easy
way out—that softening
sky like a sigh of relief
at finally being allowed
to yield. No dice.
We stack twigs for burning
in glistening patches
but the rain won’t give.

*This author wrote two to three poems a day for a period of at least two years.  Several of them even rhymed.

Lost Cups and Old Cookies

This morning's NPR news noted a variety of statistics about the upcoming holidays, shipping days, shopping days, and general rushing the end of the year before we even adjust that beloved hour back on our clocks.  I appreciate the view forward, but I'm still trying to find the measuring cups I packed six weeks ago.  [I found cookies with my knitting if that tells you anything about the spatial way my mind works...perhaps it does actually..just forget I mentioned it.]

We'll also just skip how listening to Arcade Fire's new album reminded me of a series of movies watched this weekend which led me to a bookstore which led to a list which led back to knitting which led to:  I Want My Hat Back by Jon Klassen.  There's also the follow-up This is Not My Hat (2013 Caldecott Medal Winner).  Either of these might make good reads for the young ones for that end of year list that I should be making (right after I find the measuring cups).

The Final Frontier

Because Saturdays are really for:

    Sleeping in [down comforter]
    Space Interviews  [Chris Hadfield via The Guardian]
    Singing [Space Oddity by Chris Hadfield via David Bowie]
    Starbucks [triple venti]

and six weeks later moving finally unpacking the 23 boxes that somehow are supposed to fit in your galley kitchen so you can make your first proper meal which doesn't use [oven + a screwdriver].

Happy Saturday folks.  Hope you've got your ground control.

Allegro Presto

There are days when you are tired and if you dared admit it, a little bit sad, and you push yourself to make it through a small mountain of paper which has adhered itself to your desk.  Perhaps on those days especially, you take a little extra time to check on members of your team and in the fifteen minutes or so you spend with a couple of women, you hear two of the most heart-breaking stories you think you've ever heard.  You encourage but know you will need to search out something beautiful with which to end your day.

For those evenings, I recommend Chris Thile playing Bach on mandolin. (Bach is a personal favorite, and Thile happens to think the piano is one of the greatest instruments in the world so he's a man after my heart.)  His performance is amazing.    

Drood Night

I started The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens on the plane but did not make much progress.

Conclusion:  this probably isn't the novel to begin after a high-stress three days with intense sleep deprivation.

Next up on the GBC list:  The Price of Justice by Lawrence Learner. 

"Out of Darkness Comes Light"

While on the West Coast, I saw a sign which said "Jerusalem" which was just enough to get this song (with the same title) playing as background music in my head the last two weeks.  [If you like reggae, trust me, it's catchy.]  I had not watched the video until tonight but many of the scenes reminded me of my trip there a few years back.  [It even jogged my memory to the little note I left in the wailing wall during my visit.]  

No surprise then to be drawn to this Guardian review for the Observer Food Monthly Awards best cookbook for 2013.  There's an entire section on hummus.  

I'll let you guess the title.

Unclouded Judgement

      you could see white or you could see blue
      pay attention to shadows or delicate hue
      passing art to be found in the sky
      here for a moment before drifting by

Clouds II, South Bend, IN
September 2013

I'm taking advantage of a small burst of productivity and adrenaline rush after completing a big project. Hope your Friday is off to a great (but perhaps not as early) start.

Lumineers to Luminaries

Congratulations Ms. Eleanor Catton!  She and her book, The Luminaries, received the 2013 Man Booker Prize yesterday.  I'm sure this title has been added to holiday wish lists around the globe.

Interesting note:  the (848 page, 2.6 pound) book's 12 sections were of decreasing length by about half the pages each section.

Don't Fret About It

I once dated a musician who wouldn't let me touch his guitar.*  He had a Gibson Hummingbird of a vintage year and was quite sentimental about it.  [It was the same guitar that Emmylou plays.]  Since I am a pianist, my genteel fingertips and resulting strums did not have the magic to land me in No Depression but I was allowed a few supervised forays into the world of Girls with Guitars.**

With music on the brain fresh from last night's live performance, this NYT article by Larry Richter grabbed my attention like a capo: Roll Over, Stradivarius: ‘Inventing the American Guitar’ Explores 1840s Innovations.  Martin's been making guitars since 1833.

   * Not a euphemism.
** Playing a guitar and the harmonica in a holder is way harder than it looks, particularly if you are trying to look cool.  [ See also: Flashbacks if you ever wore headgear for braces.]

PS  J, when it was clear that things weren't going to work out, I jammed on your guitar while you were out...a lot.

Sur Enough

This week's little trek included a stop at the Henry Miller library in Big Sur.  I've been enamored with Ping Pong, An Art and Literary Journal of the Henry Miller Library.  I have the 2011 edition and find myself revisiting poetry from Brian Henry and Erica Lewis.  There's something extremely soothing in verse and rhythm.

Life Leaks

Whistle through closed car window.
Shower curtain which has a hole.
Iridescent shell cracked from erosion.
Falling soil from burrowing mole.

Coffee lid with an upward lift.
Jackhammer at the six o'clock hour.
Chocolate escaping through croissant.
A burst of lemon sour.

Wet shoe from a little log dance
Petal drifting from the leaf.
Felled moss covered branches hide
Delicate flora beneath.

Contingencies, boundaries don't seem to matter.
When day to day begins its scatter.

Soar Winner

Inspiration comes lately at odd hours and from unexpected places.  A day of music and cloud watching interrupted in one set by a v formation of geese.  

It reminded me of a photo of a "to do list" from a friend: 

1) Learn to fly

2) Fly away

And then this: a public art installation of birds made of books entitled "Language of the Birds"

Incidentally, for my fellow knitters out there, this v formation is sometimes called a skein. 

Falling

Chattanooga, TN
September 2013

Our Friday photo is a combination of books and falling water under the early light of the morning sun.  I recommend climbing on the ledge and touching the water.

Have a great weekend!

Love and a Saucepan

I had never heard of Marcella Hazan before Sunday's obituary in the New York Times.  Kim Severson's description assures me I would have liked her.  She studied biology, was opinionated about risotto, and drank Jack.  She moved to the US with her husband in 1955, learned English with the help of baseball, and didn't have a great first impression of cranberry sauce (solidarity!).  She didn't cook but wanted to take care of her husband.  She had lunch with him every day.  (The article includes a great photo of Marcella and Victor on their first date.)

I loved this quote from the obit taken from her biography:

“Cooking came to me as though it had been there all along, waiting to be expressed; it came as words come to a child when it is time for her to speak."

Grazie, Ms. Hazan.