Shirts

Last night I was ironing the sewing project I just finished, which made me remember how much time it took to make a pretty basic shirt. Then I ironed a shirt from J. Crew, with nicely finished seams and a real collar and cuffs, and thought of the amount of work involved there. Then I remembered this Robert Pinsky poem I found in college, called, appropriately enough, "Shirt." And it was literary and appropriate and very blog-worthy. So here it is.



Shirt

The back, the yoke, the yardage. Lapped seams,
The nearly invisible stitches along the collar
Turned in a sweatshop by Koreans or Malaysians

Gossiping over tea and noodles on their break
Or talking money or politics while one fitted
This armpiece with its overseam to the band

Of cuff I button at my wrist. The presser, the cutter,
The wringer, the mangle. The needle, the union,
The treadle, the bobbin. The code. The infamous blaze

At the Triangle Factory in nineteen-eleven.
One hundred and forty-six died in the flames
On the ninth floor, no hydrants, no fire escapes--

The witness in a building across the street
Who watched how a young man helped a girl to step
Up to the windowsill, then held her out

Away from the masonry wall and let her drop.
And then another. As if he were helping them up
To enter a streetcar, and not eternity.

A third before he dropped her put her arms
Around his neck and kissed him. Then he held
Her into space, and dropped her. Almost at once

He stepped up to the sill himself, his jacket flared
And fluttered up from his shirt as he came down,
Air filling up the legs of his gray trousers--

Like Hart Crane's Bedlamite, "shrill shirt ballooning."
Wonderful how the patern matches perfectly
Across the placket and over the twin bar-tacked

Corners of both pockets, like a strict rhyme
Or a major chord. Prints, plaids, checks,
Houndstooth, Tattersall, Madras. The clan tartans

Invented by mill-owners inspired by the hoax of Ossian,
To control their savage Scottish workers, tamed
By a fabricated heraldry: MacGregor,

Bailey, MacMartin. The kilt, devised for workers
to wear among the dusty clattering looms.
Weavers, carders, spinners. The loader,

The docker, the navvy. The planter, the picker, the sorter
Sweating at her machine in a litter of cotton
As slaves in calico headrags sweated in fields:

George Herbert, your descendant is a Black
Lady in South Carolina, her name is Irma
And she inspected my shirt. Its color and fit

And feel and its clean smell have satisfied
both her and me. We have culled its cost and quality
Down to the buttons of simulated bone,

The buttonholes, the sizing, the facing, the characters
Printed in black on neckband and tail. The shape,
The label, the labor, the color, the shade. The shirt.

Heavy

Here are a few Ayn Rand quotes to ponder on your Tuesday: "The uncontested absurdities of today are the accepted slogans of tomorrow. They come to be accepted by degrees, by dint of constant pressure on one side and constant retreat on the other--until one day when they are suddenly declared to be the country's official ideology." (Keep in mind she died in 1982.)

And this one came up watching V for Vendetta Sunday night with my roommate:
"The only power any government has is the power to crack down on criminals. Well, when there aren't enough criminals, one makes them. One declares so many things to be a crime that it becomes impossible for men to live without breaking laws."

And there's always this:
"When you have established that one alternative is good and the other is evil, there is no justification for the choice of a mixture. There is no justification ever for choosing any part of what you know to be evil."

And there's this, because sometimes you just need to see a picture of a fawn smaller than a horse's head after contemplating your system of values on a Tuesday morning (from Cute Overload):

A Kitten and Some M.F.K. Fisher

There's a cute kitten picture for Monday.

Here's all the M.F.K. Fisher I promised last week:

Talking about polenta:
"...its fundamental simplicity survives, to comfort our souls as well as our bellies, the way a good solid fugue does, or a warm morning in spring."

Talking about a recipe for roast beef with prunes:
"This roast, served on a generous platter and carved at the table into thick slices, with ample sauce and a bowl of buttered noodle and a crisp bowl of salad greens, with good bread and wine, and cheese to follow, makes a delicious dinner to come upon, It is pungent and hearty, and the world seems more real."

And, rather than try to cook scrambled eggs in cream too quickly:
"I would rather have my scrambled eggs turn into hard, fanged snakes and writhe away."

Who wouldn't, really?

It's Kind of All Unrelated Information Lately

But here's some more:

1. It's the equinox tomorrow, as noted yesterday, and that means Halloween is coming soon, and we all know Halloween means one thing: CANDY CORN. 20 million pounds of it. (Really--I read that's how much the U.S. produces every year.)

2. I never knew Laura Ingalls Wilder didn't start writing novels until she was 63, and that her daughter Rose was ghost writer. I also never knew Rose was one of the most famous writers of her day and won the O. Henry Award.

3. It's snowing at the alpaca ranch.

Here's A Happier Thing To Think About Than The Equinox:

Lambs! And I do believe they're on a blue blankie. You need a blankie in the fall. (Courtesy of Cute Overload.)

Druidic Things

The autumnal equinox is later than I thought this year: not until the 23rd. However, that does not mean that today is still summer.

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).