Forgot This Update

I finished this sewing projet, back from the beginning of August. And the knitting project will be done soon!

Updates

I finished both my M.F.K. Fisher books (How to Cook a Wolf, 1942, and An Alpahbet for Gourmets, 1949). Some fallout: Lots of good passages I need to write down and probably double my usual amount of cooking in the last two weeks. Also a new awareness of different types of hungers--not just those for food. I highly recommend Ms. Fisher.

My big brother wouldn't like me mentioning his birthday today on here, so I won't.

Here's a completely un-retouched photo from Blue Moon Ranch (use the link, as the image is bigger that way). Rowdy is the one posing.

Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day!

Aaaarrrr! Avast! Shiver me timbers!
Me mateys with Photoshop get a special "yarrr!!" today!
KEEP TO THE CODE, ME HEARTIES!

Why Is This Kitty So....

...well, something? Because it's MONDAY, of course! And because tomorrow is International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Are we all ready for the piratitude? (I just made that word up. Not bad for a Monday.)

A note to friends who have Photoshop: I think this kitty would look mighty nice with an eyepatch and a pirate hat.

Friday

1. I know I promised more M.F.K. Fisher this week, but I was too sleepy to pull my favorites.

2. International Talk Like a Pirate Day is coming up on the 19th. That's TUESDAY. Get ready here.

3. Some etymology: I've never liked the word "maroon," probably because I don't really care for the color it describes. (I don't mind it when it refers to piratcally stranding someone on an island. Or when used in Warner Bros. cartoons: "What a maroon!") But I looked up its origins and it's directly from the French word for chestnut, marron. And I like chestnuts.

The State Fair

Although we could hear some of the Kenny Rogers concert, it was not a musical. I did see my sewing project, which took third place (that's worth $5! And I got a ribbon!) but didn't get a lot of pictures, as the batteries in my camera died.

However, I did see all the fancy chickens. And the rabbits. And the goats, who were my favorite. Then we saw draft horse pulls: imagine a tractor pull, but with Clydesdales. The winning team, Sam and Bill, pulled 9,500 pounds 8 feet. I guess I'll have to add goats and draft horses to the ranch.

Cute!

So my new favorite site is called Cute Overload and that's what it will give you. This little piggy picture is from there (go to the "Farm Animals" section and be prepared for the lamb in the sweater). Can anyone tell I watched Babe last night?

In other news, Karma from Blue Moon Ranch is for sale. For $19,000. Donations, anyone? Here she is:

What Monday Night at the Apartment Looks Like:

I went into a cooking frenzy last night and made both pasta with fresh tomato sauce and ratatouille, in the process setting a new record for dishes dirty at one time. (Bear in mind, the kitchen at I Street is the size of an average home's hallway.) The finished ratatouille is hiding behind the almomst-finished bottle of wine.

I blame M.F.K. Fisher (also on the table) for all of this. I've been reading How to Cook a Wolf for the last few days, and it's delightful. Take a paragraph like this, for example, about shrimp pate:

"Such a [pate]can be kept for weeks or months, or perhaps even for years, if it contains enough spoices and alcohol, is correctly sealed into its mold with coagulated fat, and is kept reasonably cold. Given these three prime benefits, it can be produced when you will, like a mad maiden aunt, or a first edition (in Russian, naturally) of Crime and Punishment."

Another favorite, preceding a recipe:
"It is called Date Delight, through no fault of mine."

I'll put more of her up this week. There's a passage about cheese that I love, too. Here's Tuesday's bonus photo: "Still Life with Zinnias, Nasturtiums, and Saint Candles On My Dresser."

Yeats + A Kitten = Monday (Alpacas Are a Bonus)

So no one is disappointed, here is a kitten picture:

And here is me talking about my weekend:
I ate a lot of apples(sliced in a salad, with cheese, plain, and baked). That reminded me of the phrase "the silver apples of the moon, the golden apples of the sun," from a poem by Yeats, which I found this morning. It's called "The Song of the Wandering Aegnus"

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by me name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

In other news, a visit to the fair is tentatively scheduled for Wednesday. And here's today's Blue Moon Ranch picture: Meadow and Laurelin eating willow leaves.

Friday Information, All About Me

1. Did I mention I will be volunteering at Blue Moon Ranch's Open Farm Day September 30th? I will be WORKING WITH ALPCAS, folks. I just didn't want this to get overlooked.

2. Did I mention I entered a sewing project and a knitting project in the Utah State Fair, which is now going on? I may have won a blue ribbon (worth $7), a red ribbon (worth $5) or even a grand prize trophy (worth $20!). I'll let you know.

3. And allow me to mention my feelings about Blueprint Magazine: I thought the first issue was pretty caught up its own pretension but am a sucker for craft projects (could you tell?), so bought the second issue yesterday. They actually used the phrase, "artisanal cupcakes" in it. Now, there are many things that are called "artisanal" in this day and age (bread, cheese, whatever) but CUPCAKES SHOULD NOT ONE OF THEM. They are cake. And frosting. There are no cupckae artisans.

Enjoy the weekend!

Meanwhile, Back on the Ranch...

It might be a week of fiber-bearing animal pictures: Here's a picture of Navajo Churro sheep. (Speaking of the world of sheep, look them up sometime on Wikipedia. There are breeds from Africa to Iceland, some look like goats, and there's even a variety called the Barbados Blackbelly Sheep, bred in--yes--Barbados.)

In other fiber news, I will be helping out at Open Barn Day at Blue Moon Ranch on September 30th. Mark your calendars!

Word of the Day

caprine (adjective; KAP-rin): of, relating to, or resembling goats.

Caprine shares the same root as "caper" (to prance about, frisk, gambol) which is Latin for, of course, goat. "Capricorn" gets in on the etymological action, too.

These are angora goat kids, from a delightful website: Crookabeck Farms. They're a farm in the English Lake District--Beatrix Potter country--that raises exotic fiber animals, apparently.

Cute Cria Picture Tuesday

Don't they look speedy? Maybe I'll have to investigate breeding a new strain of racing alpacas...

Things on my mind this Friday

1. The Soldier Hollow Classic (I'm going Sunday), which consists of sheepdog trials and a fiber arts fair. Of course.

2. The Utah State Fair (their website will astound you, but probably not in a good way), in which I'm entering two projects today.

3. This quote from the Jorie Graham poem yesterday:

"An origin is not an action though it occurs at the very start

Desire goes travelling into the total dark of another's soul
looking for where it breaks off

I was a hard thing to undo."

4. The latest from Blue Moon Ranch (this is Annie).

Trees

So a pattern book for Rowan yarn came in the mail Tuesday, and it sparked a discussion with my dad as to where he'd been reading about rowans. Since I'm steeped in Druidic lore, I volunteered it was one of the five sacred trees of the Druids (along with oak, ash, alder, and yew) and that here in the West, it's called a mountain ash.

Oaks then reminded me of this Jorie Graham poem, called Le Manteau de Pascal which uses excerpts from Gerard Manley Hopkins' journal entry about oak trees. (Hopkins, of course, was a Victorian poet who converted to Catholicism and wrote a lot of excellent sonnets.) The title, Le Manteau de Pascal, refers to the story about Blaise Pascal, who sewed into the lining of his coat (his manteau) either irrefutable proof of the existence of God or (depending on the version of the story you go with) written confirmation of his conversion.

In any case, it's a dense poem and deals with doubt and trees and anxiety. And stuff. (Just look where knitting will get you--paganism and post-modern poems!)

Port!

So Monday night I was looking for something delicious at the liquor store. I remembered Mike at work recommending port, so I bought that, and now I know why Kerouac drank himself to death on it. (Well, he drank himself to death because he was sad, but I understand why he chose port as his drink of choice.) It's mighty tasty!

Quotes Again

We're working this week on getting all the content dropped in to our big website re-do (I'll link to it when it's finished; it will be cool) so I've revisited all the quotes. (Remember the massive quote project?) Here's one from Eudora Welty, who is not only perceptive but has a really good author's name.

"Long before I wrote stories, I listened for stories. Listening for them is something more acute than listening to them. I suppose it’s an early form of participation in what goes on. Listening children know stories are there. When their elders sit and begin, children are just waiting and hoping for one to come out, like a mouse from its hole." (from One Writer's Beginnings, 1984)

Cute Kitten Picture Monday

I don't think one of these kittens is even real. Guess which one.

4th Week of Friday Unrelated Information

(I love the Unrelated Information. It requires no planning and no editing. Perfect for Friday.)

1. Ever wanted to know what your pirate name was? Find out! (Mine is Iron Prundentella Flint. I'm not completely taken with it, but it does sound piratical.)

2. Speaking of, International Talk Like a Pirate Day is fast approaching--t's September 19. (The UK site's address: www.yarr.org.uk)!

3. Here's a quote from Rumi: "Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground."

4. And here's a Blue Moon Ranch picture of Karma earlier this month:

Future Raymond Chandlers, Right Here

So this was forwarded to me yesterday..I guess there's high-school English teachers who submit their students' bad writing to a sort of contest. I don't know if that's the case (or how mean-spirited the contest is), but I loved these:

It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.

No Horses Here...Nobody Here But Us Chickens

So the Salt Lake County Fair and demolition derby on Saturday was quite a bit more than I expected (there was even a marriage proposal over the PA system!). We looked at all the livestock exhibits but I didn't see any horses. During the search for horses in the empty stables, the lovely Amber commented, "This must be what the Apocalypse will be like: Just me and Karen, looking for some horses."

You can see how deserted and post-apocalyptic the barn looks:










Some action from the penultimate heat:










FUNNEL CAKE, the most delicious substance ever:

Happy Birthday, Dad

My excellent father Frank was born 59 years ago today. He knows how to tie knots, make furniture, and fly model airplanes; he can fix anything; he taught me to clean as I go; he has a catgorical knowledge of The Music Man, sailing ships, and how things work; he reads voraciously; he's pretty damn tough; he taught me the meaning of the phrase, "That would be the easy way, but it wouldn't be the cowboy way"; and he gave me my curly hair. So I think I'm pretty lucky to have a dad like him and I hope he has a happy birthday.

Meow?

Things On My Mind Today

1. The Salt Lake County Fair's Demolition Derby. It's going on for TWO NIGHTS. I have tickets for tomorrow night. And the lovely Amber and I will look at the exhibits before the derby, including the livestock. Last year, I saw a palomino paint. (Not this actual guy, although he's very nice. I'll remember my camera this time.)

2. What I should wear to the derby.(Still undecided.)

3. Mercedes the cria sitting on a carpeting scrap Linda put in the barn for her (yesterday's Blue Moon Ranch update):

All About the Brontes

I was going to work on the sewing project last night. Then I was going to work on the knitting project. But instead I ended up re-reading the second half of Jane Eyre. I found a good site from the Bronte Parsonage Museum in Yorkshire that gives a quick biography of the girls.

At least we can all be gald we're probably not going to die of tuberculosis.

Escapism

For a book that ends so badly for its heroine, The Portrait of a Lady begins delightfully:

Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more
agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as
afternoon tea...Those that I have in mind in beginning to unfold this simple history offered an admirable setting to an innocent pastime. The implements of the little feast had been disposed upon the lawn of an old English country-house, in what I should call the perfect middle of a splendid summer afternoon.
Part of the afternoon had waned, but much of it was left, and what was left was of the finest and rarest quality. Real dusk would not arrive for many hours; but the flood of summer light had begun to ebb, the air had grown mellow, the shadows were long upon the smooth, dense turf. They lengthened slowly, however, and the scene expressed that sense of leisure still to come which is perhaps the chief source of one's enjoyment of such a scene at such an hour. From five o'clock to eight is on certain occasions a little eternity; but on such an occasion as this the interval could be only an eternity of pleasure.


"That sense of leisure still to come which is perhaps the chief source of one's enjoyment of such a scene at such an hour"--perfect. I think that might be why I like the thought of cocktails and hors d'ouevres every afternoon so much. If only...

Big Things in Saskatchewan

In another example of a site interesting in its single-mindedness, here's a compilation a gentleman in Canada has made of big things in his province. (That's him next to the giant burrowing owls in front of the seniors' home in Leader.)

In other news, here's a word I learned that's very fun to say: hortatory (HOAR-tah-tor-ee). It means "tending or aiming to exhort." Someone could give a hortatory speech, for example.

Oh, words. Oh, huge fiberglass sculptures of burrowing owls.

Must Be Monday

The Third Weekly Friday Post of Unrelated Information!

Things on my mind today:

1. This pattern from Simplicity. (I like how I keep getting more projects started while not finishing the projects I'm working on.)

2. Mission statements. Never, ever write one for your company. Unless you can actually make it say something anyone would care about reading.

3. Sleeping in.

4. The latest from Blue Moon Ranch. (This is Pippin.)

The Wells Fargo Wagon is NOT A-Comin'

Dad: Don't expect the Wells Fargo wagon to arrive today. It's been rescheduled.

(Yes, that's a Music Man reference.)

Out of Order

So the Mark Strand poem from last Monday that started out, "It is true, as someone has said, that in a world without heaven all is farewll," is a reply to this one by Wallace Stevens, which I looked up last night. And while it's probably not the best idea to post something I don't really understand, I remember a professor once saying a poem was "an emotional map on paper." And we all need maps.

"Waving Adieu, Adieu, Adieu"

That would be waving and that would be crying,
Crying and shouting and meaning farewell,
Farewell in the eyes and farewell at the center,
Just to stand still without moving a hand.

In a world without heaven to follow, the stops
Would be endings, more poignant than partings, profounder,
And that would be saying farewell, repeating farewell,
Just to be there and just to behold.

To be one's singular self, to despise
The being that yielded so little, acquired
So little, too little to care, to turn
to the ever-jubilant weather, to sip

One's cup and never to say a word,
Or to sleep or just to lie there still,
Just to be there, just to be beheld,
That would be bidding farewell, be bidding farewell.

One likes to practice the thing. They practice,
Enough, for heaven. Ever-jubilant,
What is there here but weather, what spirit
Have I except it comes from the sun?

Cute Cria Picture Day

Since we missed Cute Kitten Picture Day, here are some alpaca babies (crias), courtesy of Blue Moon Ranch. (The one below is named Karma. She's my favorite.)

Special

I'm interrupting regularly-scheduled Cute Kitten Picture Day to bring you...

PICTURES FROM THE TOOELE COUNTY FAIR DEMOLITION DERBY


(The food item is a funnel cake. The monkey was from the carousel on the midway.)

I love the derby experience so much.

Unrelated Friday Information

Things on my mind today:

1. The Tooele County Fair and Demolition Derby, tomorrow at 6:00. I not only have tickets, I have pit passes. Hopefully, I'll remember a camera.

2. Antoine de Saint-Exupery

3. The Library at Alexandria. Wish I knew what happened to it. Wish I knew what was in there.

4. This Proust quote, from Within a Budding Grove (I haven't made it past Swann's Way; I found this as part of the ongoing quote project):

"Your soul...is a dark forest. But the trees are of a particular species; they are genealogical trees."

Straight from 1983

Yesterday, someone at the office diecovered a site that's cataloged theme music of popualr TV shows form the 70's into the early 80's. I heard the "He-Man: Masters of the Universe" theme for the first time in about 12 years, which lead to a great loss of productivity but a good time remembering my childhood:


"I have the power!"

The lovely Teela and her outfit:











And don't forget the evil Skeletor (to whom Orrin Hatch bears a resemblance, I've always thought).

A Peach Tart Thing and A Druidic Holiday

Last night I made a freeform peach tart thing, since it was cool enough to bake; we went from a high of 101 on Saturday to a high of about 76 yesterday.

I've always noticed a change in the light here come August. It makes you realize summer is over--when the heat breaks, too, like it did this week, it really drives it home.

So imagine how surprised I was to find out yesterday was the ancient Druidic holiday of Lughnasa. Not being a Druid myself, this was news to me: "Lughnasa marked the midpoint between Beltane in May and Samhain in November, and symbolized a turning point in the lifecycle of Mother Earth. It was both a joyous celebration of plenty and a solemn wake for the decline of the potency of the sun god Lugh, from which the festival takes its name."

See? Someone else noticed the beginning-of-the-end phenomenon in August. Those Druids.

Words

A geology word I learned this morning, reading about the Gulf of Mexico (my roommate was watching Armageddon last night and that sparked some desultory scientific talk about the Gulf's depth and if it really was formed by a meteorite and what a good role for an aging Bruce Willis that was): orogeny (or'-o-jen-ee), "a process in which a section of the earth's crust is folded and deformed by lateral compression to form a mountain range."

Other words that have come up recently: fabulist and tragedian. A fabulist is, of course, someone who composed fables; a tragedian is either an author of or an actor specializing in tragedies.

And, to top it off, I ran across this word in a Neruda poem over the weekend (no, I'll spare you a Neruda poem today) and remembered when I learned it from my old boss: amanuensis (a-man-you-EN-sis). The original meaning was someone who took dictation specifically for a blind person, but now it's "a literary or artistic assistant, in particular one who takes dictation or copies manuscripts."

I'm sure you will have all sorts of opportunities to drop these words casually into everyday conversation.