Friday, October 11, 2002
My new used blue Metro
Thursday, October 10, 2002
Tuesday, August 27, 2002
Oh, I loved the basement. Going down the stairs, seeing the shelves of preserved fruit and jelly in those big Mason jars. Such a lot of work, making those preserves, dipping the jars in boiling water, melting the wax to seal them, all that steam in the kitchen on a hot summer's day... but what joy in the winter to be the one who got to open that jam jar, prying the wax open with the tip of a knife, getting to lick it clean and then chew the sticky sweet wax in lieu of bubble gum.
Then at the bottom of the stairs, the coal furnace glowing. What a scary, pre-industrial era image, the iron door, the piles of coal, the dust everywhere, the crunchy floor underfoot.
There was a nook with remnant of a broken down wall in the back room where slaves had hidden in the underground railroad. There were bare lightbulbs hanging from wires. The foundation walls were old stones, all exposed, with bugs and dust. The storm door that came up by the driveway looked just like the one Dorothy goes down in the Wizard of Oz.
Today, I doubt most modern, protective parents would let a child go into such a danger trap as that basement. But it was where my imagination took flight, in the dirty dark recesses where time stood still.
Then at the bottom of the stairs, the coal furnace glowing. What a scary, pre-industrial era image, the iron door, the piles of coal, the dust everywhere, the crunchy floor underfoot.
There was a nook with remnant of a broken down wall in the back room where slaves had hidden in the underground railroad. There were bare lightbulbs hanging from wires. The foundation walls were old stones, all exposed, with bugs and dust. The storm door that came up by the driveway looked just like the one Dorothy goes down in the Wizard of Oz.
Today, I doubt most modern, protective parents would let a child go into such a danger trap as that basement. But it was where my imagination took flight, in the dirty dark recesses where time stood still.
Monday, August 26, 2002
I have to catch up to you guys a little on the blogging. Merry, I either didn't know, or had forgotten that you worked downtown. It's strange to think of LeRoy in those days. Leah, I remember the quarter eating milk vending machine too. It must have been a real pioneer thing, as you said, for the vending machine and weren't they in paper cartons, too? I remember the hardware store most clearly because I went there so often for cartridge fuses for 25 cents each that we kept blowing in the 39 East Main house. Remember the electrical system was so overloaded that we were always smelling a blown fuse, and going down in the dark to replace it. Along the way Dad paid Mr. Sharp (Dad of Phyllis and ? on Summit St, old neighbors) to put in a new service box, but it was never hooked up while I lived there. Also links to memories of the coal shoveling. The basement was full of memories for me. I must have been down there more than I thought. The darkroom, of course, (can't you smell the dektol?) the back room where miraculously two soapbox derby racers were built, or appeared by spontaneous generation out of the ethers, The garbage barrel, clever in it's convenience from the kitchen, but always propped up from beneath in some rube goldberg fashion, waiting to be dumped.
I remember sitting at the bottom of the basement stairs, and looking up at the beams in the ceiling, recalling a fable-like story that we had in "Lands and Peoples". I have remembered it in my own fashion all of my life. It told of several brothers in a family (in a land far away) who one at a time went down in the cellar and saw a hatchet stuck in a beam above their heads. The second son found first son crying about it, worried that it some day would accidentally fall and kill someone. They cried together. yadda yadda yadda The last brother came down and saw the others fretting over this and reached up, laughed, and took down the axe and solved the problem. I wonder if I ever found the real story again, if it would resemble my version at all.
I remember sitting at the bottom of the basement stairs, and looking up at the beams in the ceiling, recalling a fable-like story that we had in "Lands and Peoples". I have remembered it in my own fashion all of my life. It told of several brothers in a family (in a land far away) who one at a time went down in the cellar and saw a hatchet stuck in a beam above their heads. The second son found first son crying about it, worried that it some day would accidentally fall and kill someone. They cried together. yadda yadda yadda The last brother came down and saw the others fretting over this and reached up, laughed, and took down the axe and solved the problem. I wonder if I ever found the real story again, if it would resemble my version at all.
Meredith, what's new when it comes to your plans for Texas? Inquiring minds want to know!
John stopped by yesterday on his vacation drive up to Mt. Shasta. We went to the Cotati Accordian Festival - it was fabulous! so many whacky people with beautiful instruments making great music outside in a park on a beautiful day. There will be photos to share of me trying to play "Lady of Spain" with the largest group of accordianists in the world.
John stopped by yesterday on his vacation drive up to Mt. Shasta. We went to the Cotati Accordian Festival - it was fabulous! so many whacky people with beautiful instruments making great music outside in a park on a beautiful day. There will be photos to share of me trying to play "Lady of Spain" with the largest group of accordianists in the world.
Monday, July 29, 2002
Sunday, July 28, 2002
Deep in the Heart of Texas
The stars at night, are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas,
The prairie sky is wide and high, deep in the heart of Texas.
The sage in bloom is like perfume, deep in the heart of Texas,
Reminds me of, the one I love, deep in the heart of Texas.
The coyotes wail, along the trail, deep in the heart of Texas,
The rabbits rush, aroung the brush, deep in the heart of Texas.
The cowboys cry, "Ki-yip-pee-yi," deep in the heart of Texas,
The dogies bawl, and bawl and bawl, deep in the heart of Texas.
The stars at night, are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas,
The prairie sky is wide and high, deep in the heart of Texas.
The sage in bloom is like perfume, deep in the heart of Texas,
Reminds me of, the one I love, deep in the heart of Texas.
The coyotes wail, along the trail, deep in the heart of Texas,
The rabbits rush, aroung the brush, deep in the heart of Texas.
The cowboys cry, "Ki-yip-pee-yi," deep in the heart of Texas,
The dogies bawl, and bawl and bawl, deep in the heart of Texas.
Wednesday, July 24, 2002
Monday, July 22, 2002
More poems to share............................
Until One Is Committed
Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw
back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative
(and creation) there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of
which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment
one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All
sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have
occurred. A whole steam of events issues from the decision,
raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and
meetings and material assistance, which no man could have
dreamed would have come his way.
Whatever you can do,
or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius,
power and magic in it.
Goethe
Throw Yourself Like Seed
Shake off this sadness, and recover your spirit;
Sluggish you will never see the wheel of fate
That brushes your heel as it turns going by,
The man who wants to live is the man in whom life is
abundant.
Now you are only giving food to that final pain
Which is slowly winding you in the nets of death,
But to live is to work, and the only thing which lasts
Is the work; start then, turn to the work.
Throw yourself like seed as you work, and into your own
field,
Don’t turn your face for that would be to turn it to death,
And do not let the past weigh down your motion.
Leave what’s alive in the furrow, what dead in yourself,
For life does not move in the same way as a group of clouds;
Form your work you will be able one day to gather yourself.
Miguel de Unamuno
Until One Is Committed
Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw
back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative
(and creation) there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of
which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment
one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All
sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have
occurred. A whole steam of events issues from the decision,
raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and
meetings and material assistance, which no man could have
dreamed would have come his way.
Whatever you can do,
or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius,
power and magic in it.
Goethe
Throw Yourself Like Seed
Shake off this sadness, and recover your spirit;
Sluggish you will never see the wheel of fate
That brushes your heel as it turns going by,
The man who wants to live is the man in whom life is
abundant.
Now you are only giving food to that final pain
Which is slowly winding you in the nets of death,
But to live is to work, and the only thing which lasts
Is the work; start then, turn to the work.
Throw yourself like seed as you work, and into your own
field,
Don’t turn your face for that would be to turn it to death,
And do not let the past weigh down your motion.
Leave what’s alive in the furrow, what dead in yourself,
For life does not move in the same way as a group of clouds;
Form your work you will be able one day to gather yourself.
Miguel de Unamuno
Sunday, July 21, 2002
There are many white moths in my flower garden at this time of year. They land on the flowers
to drink the nectar. Often two of them flutter around each other in a breezy ballet.
I was reminded of this favorite poem and wanted to share it with you.
W.B. Yeats (1865–1939). The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899.
The Song of Wandering Aengus
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 my 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.
________________________________________________________
And since I know someone will ask: Who is this wandering Aengus?
Aengus
Also known as "Angus the young", he was considered the Irish god of love. He was a young handsome god that had four birds flying about his head -- some say they symbolize kisses -- who inspired love in all who heard them. He was the son of Dagda and Boann ('the wife of Elcmar').
Once, Aengus was troubled by the dream of a young maiden, He instantly fell in love with her and became love sick. He told his mother Boann and she searched the whole of Ireland for the maiden, but after a year she still had not found the maiden. Then Dagda was called and he searched Ireland for a year, and still did not find the maiden. Finally Bov the Red, king of the Dananns in Munster and Dagda's aide, was called to search and after a year he found the maiden.
Aengus was taken to the lake of the Dragon's Mouth, and there he saw 150 maidens all chained with gold into pairs. He spied her at once and her name was Caer, the daughter of Ethal and Anubal, a prince of the Dananns of Connact. On November first she and all the other maidens are transformed into swans for a year. He was told if he could identify her as a swan he could marry her. On November 1 Aengus went out to the lake and called to his love, and once he had found her he then turned in to a swan himself and joined her. They flew off together singing such a beautiful song that all who heard them fell asleep for three days and nights.
Aengus had a son called, "Diarmuid Ua Duibhne" or Diarmuid of the Love Spot. One night while hunting Diarmuid met a maiden who made a magic love spot appear on his head, and from then on no woman ever looked upon him with out falling in love with him.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His palace was Brugh na Boinne on the River Boyne (modern New Grange).
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
to drink the nectar. Often two of them flutter around each other in a breezy ballet.
I was reminded of this favorite poem and wanted to share it with you.
W.B. Yeats (1865–1939). The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899.
The Song of Wandering Aengus
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 my 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.
________________________________________________________
And since I know someone will ask: Who is this wandering Aengus?
Aengus
Also known as "Angus the young", he was considered the Irish god of love. He was a young handsome god that had four birds flying about his head -- some say they symbolize kisses -- who inspired love in all who heard them. He was the son of Dagda and Boann ('the wife of Elcmar').
Once, Aengus was troubled by the dream of a young maiden, He instantly fell in love with her and became love sick. He told his mother Boann and she searched the whole of Ireland for the maiden, but after a year she still had not found the maiden. Then Dagda was called and he searched Ireland for a year, and still did not find the maiden. Finally Bov the Red, king of the Dananns in Munster and Dagda's aide, was called to search and after a year he found the maiden.
Aengus was taken to the lake of the Dragon's Mouth, and there he saw 150 maidens all chained with gold into pairs. He spied her at once and her name was Caer, the daughter of Ethal and Anubal, a prince of the Dananns of Connact. On November first she and all the other maidens are transformed into swans for a year. He was told if he could identify her as a swan he could marry her. On November 1 Aengus went out to the lake and called to his love, and once he had found her he then turned in to a swan himself and joined her. They flew off together singing such a beautiful song that all who heard them fell asleep for three days and nights.
Aengus had a son called, "Diarmuid Ua Duibhne" or Diarmuid of the Love Spot. One night while hunting Diarmuid met a maiden who made a magic love spot appear on his head, and from then on no woman ever looked upon him with out falling in love with him.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His palace was Brugh na Boinne on the River Boyne (modern New Grange).
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, July 09, 2002
Pictures taken at the church dinner after Uncle Jerry's funeral
Aunt Jean and her sister Lorraine Hartzell who lives in Erie Pa
Aunt Jean's new address is Wesbury Methodist Retirement Home,Park Ave., Meadville Pa 16335
Barbie's children, Brooke and Jace
Barb and James Lyon, 317 Sawmill Run Rd., Butler, Pa 16001
Barb and Jean
Meredith and Barb
Adam and Leslie Smith
Adam just graduated from high school and is going to college this fall.
Leslie and Russell Smith 700 Olive, Pittsburgh Pa 15237
Les's email: mopandglomama@aol.com
MY CAT LILY
Pictures taken when Kali visited in April
Eleanore K. Miller's 104th Birthday
Aunt Jean and her sister Lorraine Hartzell who lives in Erie Pa
Aunt Jean's new address is Wesbury Methodist Retirement Home,Park Ave., Meadville Pa 16335
Barbie's children, Brooke and Jace
Barb and James Lyon, 317 Sawmill Run Rd., Butler, Pa 16001
Barb and Jean
Meredith and Barb
Adam and Leslie Smith
Adam just graduated from high school and is going to college this fall.
Leslie and Russell Smith 700 Olive, Pittsburgh Pa 15237
Les's email: mopandglomama@aol.com
MY CAT LILY
Pictures taken when Kali visited in April
Eleanore K. Miller's 104th Birthday
Sunday, July 07, 2002
A house in Talcottville sold recently to a man in his twenties. It is one of the old historical houses that line our main street. Being built in 1840, it was at that time the home of the town and mill owner N.O. Kellogg. The town was then named Kelloggville. Well I'm proud of the new owner. Look at the new planter and decoration that has just appeared on the garage! A picture I call "No Picking".
Friday, June 28, 2002
Thursday, June 27, 2002
Leah, I love the SS convertible pictures. The On Q girls are O.K. too.
I locked on to that big sycamore tree three years ago when I moved up here. It isn't too far from here, in Simsbury CT. We are about ten miles east of hartford, and it is about 5 miles north west of the city.
The amazing thing about it is that not only does it have a massive trunk, but the main branches are bigger than most huge trees, and go out almost at right angles and keep on going. The tree covered area is 146 feet across! Any angle that you look, it surprises you. Here is a link to a registry that rates it at the top of a list in New England. I haven't dug into other trees stats, but who cares if it is "the biggest, fattest, or barkiest"? It is wonderful.
http://www.uark.edu/misc/ents/sne.sycamores.html
I locked on to that big sycamore tree three years ago when I moved up here. It isn't too far from here, in Simsbury CT. We are about ten miles east of hartford, and it is about 5 miles north west of the city.
The amazing thing about it is that not only does it have a massive trunk, but the main branches are bigger than most huge trees, and go out almost at right angles and keep on going. The tree covered area is 146 feet across! Any angle that you look, it surprises you. Here is a link to a registry that rates it at the top of a list in New England. I haven't dug into other trees stats, but who cares if it is "the biggest, fattest, or barkiest"? It is wonderful.
http://www.uark.edu/misc/ents/sne.sycamores.html
I guess I have to throw in a little nostalgia, so I have to say I always liked the patchy bark and the look of sycamores. I can't believe it, but I still have a six inch piece of sycamore branch that I cut and saved in boy scouts- c. 1959. I'm just not sure what box it's in.
Tuesday, June 25, 2002
By the way, where is that huge sycamore tree located? It looks like one of our redwood giants! I looked online to see if anything appeared under "giant sycamore tree" and among other interesting things, I found World's largest sycamore stump . Maybe this was AFTER your visit to the giant sycamore tree?? Sure hope not.
Very nice photos, Bob! I also enjoy repetitive patterns with bright colors.
For more photo enjoyment, you can take a look at some new quartet pictures. We went up to some vineyards in Windsor and had a photo shoot for our upcoming brochure. On Q photos
For more photo enjoyment, you can take a look at some new quartet pictures. We went up to some vineyards in Windsor and had a photo shoot for our upcoming brochure. On Q photos
Sunday, June 23, 2002
On my page I linked to some pictures of things, not people. Just to show you I do have a people side, here are 15 of my favorite people pictures, not all taken by me. I know the family has seen most of these, but the things didn't complain, so I hope the people are as forgiving.
http://members.localnet.com/~rgb2000/log/people/page_03.htm
http://members.localnet.com/~rgb2000/log/people/page_03.htm
Wednesday, June 19, 2002
Blog by Barb
Years ago, when Leah and I were visiting family in Brockport, I remember sitting in Meredith's kitchen discussing the Apollo 9 astronaut, Buzz Aldrin. If memory serves (and it often doesn't), she had just seen a TV special about him and the depression he suffered after returning to earth. But what interested her was that having been reminded of his name, she now heard it everywhere. Upon returning to California, this turned out to be true for me and Leah. There is probably a fancy name for this syndrome of focused attention, fly fishing within the universe of informational overload, but we've always thought of it as the "Buzz Aldrin syndrome."
It's happening again and this time, the man who is popping up with surprising frequency is Marc Hanna. As in, Boss Hanna of Ohio--your relative.
I learned of your illustrious relative during the first year of meeting Leah. I suppose it is something of a courtship ritual to let the other person know what a complete nerd you are and wait and see if they still love you. In this case (one out of many), I revealed to Leah my political button collection--viola! Still tacked onto the same thumb tacked, black felt-covered cork board that I'd assembled in junior high school. LBJ buttons, Kennedy buttons, flashers that showed two images depending on your angle, a 1962 Nixon for Governor button, a button from Kansas Governor Alf Landon button in the shape of a sunflower--he who had the stupidity of running against the immensely popular second-term FDR.
Well, maybe it came out of the discussion or maybe it came after Uncle Jerry sent Leah long letters of the family history, but at some point she told me about her connection...through Marjorie's biological mother's lineage, of your relation to Marc Hanna.
And Marc Hanna is the father of political buttons, you see. As boss of Ohio at the turn of the century, he masterminded the election of William McKinley. He invented the "whistle stop campaign" techniques of sending candidates on railroads to speak to gathered crowds. He organized a consortium of businessmen to donate large sums of money to retire President McKinley's campaign debt--and thereby started a persistent and long tradition of private interest campaign financing. (Makes it kind to interesting, doesn't it, to read various jeremiads against campaign finance abuse when it was all started by your own family member!)
Anyway, in somewhat rapid succession, his name appeared in Robert Caro's third volume biography on Lyndon Johnson. Johnson, you see, invented for the Democrats what Hanna had invented for the Republicans. (And Johnson, FYI, invented it during the 1930s and thereby preserved a Democratic Congress for FDR's third term. Indeed, the change-of-the-guard symbolized by Eisenhower and more cruelly by McCarthyism could have happened ten years earlier under Roosevelt had it not been for a young and ambitious Lyndon Johnson. One more interesting point--Johnson secret sugar daddy in terms of political money (bags and bags and bags of political money) was a Texas oil and construction firm called Brown and Root. That company was later acquired and renamed Halliburton--financial home of current VP and ex Halliburton CEO Dick Cheney.)
Oh, how I thrilled for Marc Hanna to be discussed in the same breath as Lyndon Johnson! Next, two weeks ago, I flipped across the cable TV channel and caught mention on Biography of Robert Taft, the great mid-century senator from Ohio. I paused and sure enough, short mention of Ohio's stature in the U.S. Senate having been initially carved out by Marc Hanna at the turn of the century.
And then, this Sunday, while reading the New York Times op-ed piece, there was a mention of Marc Hanna again in Maureen Dowd's column. Very parenthetical--she was talking about Bush's advisor Karl Rove and his off-beat historical theories. One, for example, is that McKinley was actually smarter than Boss Hanna.
So there you are. Next time one of you tries to win a kitchen-table debate, I think we should all remember there's a genetic predisposition to rule Senate chambers, to sit on wicker rocking chairs on expansive porches and map out the future of the United States government, to consider presidents mere playthings that can bend to your will. Mark Hanna really did leave a mark on this country and I, for one, love feeling connected to him!
You can see his picture at
www.geocities.com/Heartland/Trail/1756/over500.html
Years ago, when Leah and I were visiting family in Brockport, I remember sitting in Meredith's kitchen discussing the Apollo 9 astronaut, Buzz Aldrin. If memory serves (and it often doesn't), she had just seen a TV special about him and the depression he suffered after returning to earth. But what interested her was that having been reminded of his name, she now heard it everywhere. Upon returning to California, this turned out to be true for me and Leah. There is probably a fancy name for this syndrome of focused attention, fly fishing within the universe of informational overload, but we've always thought of it as the "Buzz Aldrin syndrome."
It's happening again and this time, the man who is popping up with surprising frequency is Marc Hanna. As in, Boss Hanna of Ohio--your relative.
I learned of your illustrious relative during the first year of meeting Leah. I suppose it is something of a courtship ritual to let the other person know what a complete nerd you are and wait and see if they still love you. In this case (one out of many), I revealed to Leah my political button collection--viola! Still tacked onto the same thumb tacked, black felt-covered cork board that I'd assembled in junior high school. LBJ buttons, Kennedy buttons, flashers that showed two images depending on your angle, a 1962 Nixon for Governor button, a button from Kansas Governor Alf Landon button in the shape of a sunflower--he who had the stupidity of running against the immensely popular second-term FDR.
Well, maybe it came out of the discussion or maybe it came after Uncle Jerry sent Leah long letters of the family history, but at some point she told me about her connection...through Marjorie's biological mother's lineage, of your relation to Marc Hanna.
And Marc Hanna is the father of political buttons, you see. As boss of Ohio at the turn of the century, he masterminded the election of William McKinley. He invented the "whistle stop campaign" techniques of sending candidates on railroads to speak to gathered crowds. He organized a consortium of businessmen to donate large sums of money to retire President McKinley's campaign debt--and thereby started a persistent and long tradition of private interest campaign financing. (Makes it kind to interesting, doesn't it, to read various jeremiads against campaign finance abuse when it was all started by your own family member!)
Anyway, in somewhat rapid succession, his name appeared in Robert Caro's third volume biography on Lyndon Johnson. Johnson, you see, invented for the Democrats what Hanna had invented for the Republicans. (And Johnson, FYI, invented it during the 1930s and thereby preserved a Democratic Congress for FDR's third term. Indeed, the change-of-the-guard symbolized by Eisenhower and more cruelly by McCarthyism could have happened ten years earlier under Roosevelt had it not been for a young and ambitious Lyndon Johnson. One more interesting point--Johnson secret sugar daddy in terms of political money (bags and bags and bags of political money) was a Texas oil and construction firm called Brown and Root. That company was later acquired and renamed Halliburton--financial home of current VP and ex Halliburton CEO Dick Cheney.)
Oh, how I thrilled for Marc Hanna to be discussed in the same breath as Lyndon Johnson! Next, two weeks ago, I flipped across the cable TV channel and caught mention on Biography of Robert Taft, the great mid-century senator from Ohio. I paused and sure enough, short mention of Ohio's stature in the U.S. Senate having been initially carved out by Marc Hanna at the turn of the century.
And then, this Sunday, while reading the New York Times op-ed piece, there was a mention of Marc Hanna again in Maureen Dowd's column. Very parenthetical--she was talking about Bush's advisor Karl Rove and his off-beat historical theories. One, for example, is that McKinley was actually smarter than Boss Hanna.
So there you are. Next time one of you tries to win a kitchen-table debate, I think we should all remember there's a genetic predisposition to rule Senate chambers, to sit on wicker rocking chairs on expansive porches and map out the future of the United States government, to consider presidents mere playthings that can bend to your will. Mark Hanna really did leave a mark on this country and I, for one, love feeling connected to him!
You can see his picture at
www.geocities.com/Heartland/Trail/1756/over500.html
Tuesday, June 18, 2002
I guess that war, as well as peace, is in our human nature. Here is an interesting quote:
"Peace is not an absence of war, it is a virtue, a state of mind, a disposition for benevolence, confidence, justice."
-Baruch Spinoza
We can find a state of peace in every small gesture of kindness and justice, especially in a world riddled with war. It is so true that only in the stark contrast of evil can we appreciate the good. And a daring act of goodness can be witnessed and then told as a story again and again to keep us going despite the traumatic events of the day. Go see the movies "Monsoon Wedding" or "Kissing Jessica Stein" - in those stories, the brave loving parents emerge as the heroes of the tale.
"Peace is not an absence of war, it is a virtue, a state of mind, a disposition for benevolence, confidence, justice."
-Baruch Spinoza
We can find a state of peace in every small gesture of kindness and justice, especially in a world riddled with war. It is so true that only in the stark contrast of evil can we appreciate the good. And a daring act of goodness can be witnessed and then told as a story again and again to keep us going despite the traumatic events of the day. Go see the movies "Monsoon Wedding" or "Kissing Jessica Stein" - in those stories, the brave loving parents emerge as the heroes of the tale.
Friday, June 14, 2002
War...War...War... What is it good for???
I went to see the Attack of the Clones. Leah said my attendance would help her get a fabulous winter vacation. I told my neighbor Catherine, I thought it was a good movie but..."there was too much war". And Catherine said "Well what do you expect , its called STAR WARS!" What do I expect? Then I started rereading The Lord of the Rings Triliogy. And again all about war... Evil against Good , thousands of orcs and men fighting epic, volume filling, wars. Even the trees are involved, the ancient tree spirits causing the destruction of the Evil stronghold.I read on but didn't like it!! And then on Thursday I went to Stratford, Ontario to see Romeo and Juliet. It is a play written in 1500's about a feud (war) between two familes, and how the innocent children of these families are destroyed by the hatred between their fathers. I left the theater in tears.1500 to 2002.... war, war ,war... I protested! Why subject myself to this as 'entertainment' when agression was so pervasive in the world. Its been overwhelming with Sept 11th, America's response of a holy war against terrorists and the daily news from Israel. Fear and agresssion everywhere.
"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie." from "All's Well That Ends Well" ......................
The next day, Friday, I went to see "All's Well". After the play we went shopping in the town of Stratford. I went into an art store called Gallery Indigena and was priviledged to see the sculpture of Stewart Steinhauer, a member of the Nishnawbe First Nation in Alberta. I began to understand that Shakespeare really knew what he was doing.( I still not sure about George Lucas and Tolkien.) I found that the experience of Shakesperean tragedy had set that stage for a deep appreciation of amazing carved stone bears. I am still groping to explain what it seems Shakespeare knew 500 years ago. Confronting fear can happen in a 'safe' theater setting, and emotional growth is the result. As Prospero says in his postscript speech to the audience in 'The Tempest" "Now I want, spirits to enforce, art to enchant; and my ending is despair, unless I be relieved by prayer, which pierces so, that it assaults mercy itself and frees all faults." Or from another source: When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy."Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
Stratford has all this and black swans too. Now I'm back home. I drank too much coffee on the trip home and can't sleep. I guess I'll finish reading The Return of The King.
I went to see the Attack of the Clones. Leah said my attendance would help her get a fabulous winter vacation. I told my neighbor Catherine, I thought it was a good movie but..."there was too much war". And Catherine said "Well what do you expect , its called STAR WARS!" What do I expect? Then I started rereading The Lord of the Rings Triliogy. And again all about war... Evil against Good , thousands of orcs and men fighting epic, volume filling, wars. Even the trees are involved, the ancient tree spirits causing the destruction of the Evil stronghold.I read on but didn't like it!! And then on Thursday I went to Stratford, Ontario to see Romeo and Juliet. It is a play written in 1500's about a feud (war) between two familes, and how the innocent children of these families are destroyed by the hatred between their fathers. I left the theater in tears.1500 to 2002.... war, war ,war... I protested! Why subject myself to this as 'entertainment' when agression was so pervasive in the world. Its been overwhelming with Sept 11th, America's response of a holy war against terrorists and the daily news from Israel. Fear and agresssion everywhere.
"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie." from "All's Well That Ends Well" ......................
The next day, Friday, I went to see "All's Well". After the play we went shopping in the town of Stratford. I went into an art store called Gallery Indigena and was priviledged to see the sculpture of Stewart Steinhauer, a member of the Nishnawbe First Nation in Alberta. I began to understand that Shakespeare really knew what he was doing.( I still not sure about George Lucas and Tolkien.) I found that the experience of Shakesperean tragedy had set that stage for a deep appreciation of amazing carved stone bears. I am still groping to explain what it seems Shakespeare knew 500 years ago. Confronting fear can happen in a 'safe' theater setting, and emotional growth is the result. As Prospero says in his postscript speech to the audience in 'The Tempest" "Now I want, spirits to enforce, art to enchant; and my ending is despair, unless I be relieved by prayer, which pierces so, that it assaults mercy itself and frees all faults." Or from another source: When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy."Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
Stratford has all this and black swans too. Now I'm back home. I drank too much coffee on the trip home and can't sleep. I guess I'll finish reading The Return of The King.
Tuesday, June 11, 2002
Well, first of all, I do like the new look around here. You must have cleaned out the paint department at Sears to do all this re-decorating. Is Sears still relevant? Speaking of Sears, (nice segue) I digitally clipped some pages from an old mail order catalog from 1923 a couple of years ago for one of the concert band web pages I was doing. I put one clip here for old time interest. and because the "C Melody Sax" reminds me of Dad, who of course had one in Meadville as a boy, as I remember it. $69 in 1923. A good sax today is a thousand easy. Of course the host of this fine blog page has a connection to saxophones as well. Fire up the way back machine.
Other prices showed trombones $10.75 ,bugles $4.50. But as interesting as the prices is the fact that they had such a rich assortment of instruments available, that you only see in music stores now. Times change, The page I did still exists. If you want to browse it, see http://members.localnet.com/~rgb2000/music/ but it is a little clunky if you are on modem dialup like me.
Thursday, June 06, 2002
What a beautiful bird! I was wondering about the word piliated, and found that it comes from the Latin pletus, wearing a pileus, from pleus, felt cap. When I was Ariana's age, in 3rd grade, we had an assignment from Miss Calvert to pick a bird and draw it. I chose the red-headed woodpecker. I remember using colored pencils and spending a great deal of time looking at the photo in the encyclopedia, and much erasing and beginning again. There was a boy in my class named Jimmy White. He drew a beautiful bird picture. I can't remember what bird it was! but oh! it was so realistic, it nearly flew off the page. There was a big hoopla, because Miss Calvert did not believe that Jimmy could have drawn such a perfect picture. After all, he was only 8 years old. His parents were called in, and they confirmed that he did it by himself. I still wonder about him and if he was able to develop his obvious talent, after such an embarassing mess. That was the year that President Kennedy was shot.
Wednesday, June 05, 2002
I heard a loud knocking sound and looked out my bedroom window one morning this week. On the large tree closest to the house was a piliated woodpecker. It had rained very hard the night before and the bark of the tree was very wet and punky. He was having breakfast and making a racket. Pilated woodpeckers are the largest woodpecker, larger that a big crow. Seeing this wild bird was a wonderful gift to start the day. My friend Anna told me later that day that woodpeckers do not make that sound with their beaks. They are actually knocking their foreheads against the tree. Their beaks do make a noise but it is not very loud. And yes, Woody the Woodpecker was a piliated woodpecker.
Tuesday, June 04, 2002
Sunday, June 02, 2002
Saturday, June 01, 2002
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My. oh my! Lands' sake. Thats the cutest little frog. I can't hear him, though.
Click here for a little Bluegrass.
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My. oh my! Lands' sake. Thats the cutest little frog. I can't hear him, though.
Click here for a little Bluegrass.
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Thursday, May 30, 2002
Tuesday, May 28, 2002
We went to (through?) a town that had a kite festival. Although I dont think the festival was happening then we did see some large fantastic kites in the air. And also saw some for sale in a store. They were all very brightly colored and of many different shapes, animals, geometric, boats, balloons etc. The light house was wonderful. It was the first time I had seen ice plant.It looked so lush, it was as if it were a flower from a different planet. Also the garlic town and driving around and around looking for a restaurant in the small canyons near there.
Tentative or not, daily or weekly, it's always nice to read something from you here on your own blog! :-)
I remember going up to the river with you and Kali, but don't remember flying kites! What I remember most about that trip is staying at the lighthouse down the coast, and walking along the beach with you both. And how Kali was listening to The Rolling Stones a lot, and dressing in all black.
I remember going up to the river with you and Kali, but don't remember flying kites! What I remember most about that trip is staying at the lighthouse down the coast, and walking along the beach with you both. And how Kali was listening to The Rolling Stones a lot, and dressing in all black.
I started blogging tentatively, with urging from Bob, but with the caveat that I wasn't a prolific writer and my contribultions would certainly not be quotidian. So ... I have been very busy... but also not inspired to blog anything in particular. It is a beautiful day and would be a great day to chase kites around the park.I remember the kites up in the Russian River valley years ago when Kali and I came to visit. You took us on a wonderful trip and hike amoung the redwoods. I still have a rock that I picked up that day. It is round, about as big as a softball, dark green and white with an unusual crystalline structure. PS: You can't be off topic, cause there is no topic. Thanks for the pics of your dinning area. Love the fruit labels!!
Monday, May 27, 2002
Perhaps we scared Meredith off of her own blog by going too far off topic, which seemed to be gardens and outer space and so forth. Smokey and the Foomobile were too suddenly quotidian? Well, on the topic of gardens, I have gotten some work done out there this weekend, but never as much as I plan to do. Yesterday, instead of gardening, we went hiking near Orinda in a park I'd never been to. There, on an open hilltop, we flew kites. Two weekends in a row, now, this new hobby - stunt kite flying! it is very fun and more energetic than you might think... the kite comes down a lot (since we are beginners) and there is a lot of running to and fro to realign the double strings and launch it again.
Meredith seems to have taken a little break from posting. That's O.K., we don't want to be a slave to this thing, but I hope she is just lurking, writing some more meaningful and thought provoking things off-line to spring upon us at the opportune moment. Or maybe she actually has a life and things to do. We really have to be able to post more mundane things in this blog as well as clever things in the hopes that some brilliance might pop out, but not have to be the norm. I will start by saying that I stepped on a winged ant this morning in my bare feet. Pretty much did him in. I didn't even know it, because my right foot is numb from this stupid injury. How's that for mundane?
Tuesday, May 21, 2002
You little sneak you. How did you post that Smokey picture so quickly and appropriately? I forgot that it is tenant of cultural literacy. I always thought that the "They'll do it every time" comic strip, with the feature "Tip o' the Hat" to some ordinary contributor was almost a definition of one kind of American humor. All of us are constantly looking for ironic contributions to that strip, it seems. "I go by there every day on the way to work, but the one day I didn't, they handed out prizes to everybody" or "I always pick the wrong checkout line. As soon as I get in it, it stops moving." or "The one day I forget my coat, it rains" etc. etc. Nothing far out, it just that we have to report on these day-to-day indignities and complaints. We point them out to total strangers. Many people just invent them, because after all, we need to have something to grouse about. It seems people feel clever if they are the one to see the humor.
Monday, May 20, 2002
Sunday, May 19, 2002
I could not have asked for a more thoughtful and deeply felt response than I got from Bob.It makes the taking the risk of exposing myself by writing worth it. I copied in to my blog this short prose piece I had written two years ago. Since I had chosen sunrisemoment for my name to log into blogging, I thought it would be good to explain. I posted the piece and then reread it. It was begging for some editing and rewriting. I finished that and then looked at the title. An interesting word 'crepuscule' came to me. I knew it meant twilight but after looking it up in the dictionary, I decided it would do, and added it to the title. Its like thowing a pebble into the pool and watching the ripples. I think Bob was right when he said blogging is boreing and useless if it is not a conversation with others.
Saturday, May 18, 2002
Be kind and tender to the Frog.
And do not call him names,
As "slimy-skin" or "Polly-wog"
Or likewise, "Ugly James."
Or "Gape-a-grin" or "Toad-gone-wrong"
Or "BIlly Brandy-knees"
The frog is justly sensitive
To epithets like these.
No animal will more repay
A treatment kind and fair.
At least, so lonely people say
Who keep a frog (and, by the way,
They are extremely rare.)
-Hilaire Belloc
And do not call him names,
As "slimy-skin" or "Polly-wog"
Or likewise, "Ugly James."
Or "Gape-a-grin" or "Toad-gone-wrong"
Or "BIlly Brandy-knees"
The frog is justly sensitive
To epithets like these.
No animal will more repay
A treatment kind and fair.
At least, so lonely people say
Who keep a frog (and, by the way,
They are extremely rare.)
-Hilaire Belloc
Crepuscular Garden
Listen carefully. I want to tell you how to find it, the exact moment between the night and the dawn. The moment in which everything before is dark and everything after is day. A moment when everything stops. A space gap between which is either nothing at all, or where everything is possible.
First you must get up at 3 AM. Go quietly through the hall to the patio door. Unlock the latch with quiet fingers and move out in to the wonderful world of night. Stand for a moment, motionless, on the edge of the lawn, in awe of the fresh, clear purity of the air. The world of man is shut up inside, asleep. There is nothing but beauty. A bright crescent moon floats in the cloudless sky giving a solemn half-light to the yard. Notice that the flowers are awake, and the cool air is saturated with scent. An owl in the woods calls now and again. Woo...woo…wooooooo. There in front of you is the garden bench, over there the rose bushes, and on the path a pansy dropped the day before, looking strange and holy, as though gods walked here and spirits watched.
Go down side of the yard toward the locust grove, brushing against some lilac branches bending down with dew. The trees rise in front of you against the now steely blue of the changing sky. Blossoms on the shrubs are bright splashes of magenta amongst greys, and faint pearly whites of the day soon to be born. Hear the trees speak through line of limb, leaf rustle, and branch scrape and squeak. Feel the rise of the morning breeze.
Wander then down the grassy path beside the row of hemlocks shedding deep black shadows. To the east. beyond the garden house, which appears now as an ancient temple, see, on the horizon, a solemn glow is burning. Sit down to wait, feet soaked with dew. Remember that day after day while you are asleep, but this happens...... every day.
Quietly watching, watching. But what is this now? A subtle change. It seems that just now is between the in-breath and the out-breath. Quiet reigns, for a moment or is it for all time? This watershed: all before is known, and all, just now, is unknown. And then, the birds begin their morning clatter and chirp.
Listen carefully. I want to tell you how to find it, the exact moment between the night and the dawn. The moment in which everything before is dark and everything after is day. A moment when everything stops. A space gap between which is either nothing at all, or where everything is possible.
First you must get up at 3 AM. Go quietly through the hall to the patio door. Unlock the latch with quiet fingers and move out in to the wonderful world of night. Stand for a moment, motionless, on the edge of the lawn, in awe of the fresh, clear purity of the air. The world of man is shut up inside, asleep. There is nothing but beauty. A bright crescent moon floats in the cloudless sky giving a solemn half-light to the yard. Notice that the flowers are awake, and the cool air is saturated with scent. An owl in the woods calls now and again. Woo...woo…wooooooo. There in front of you is the garden bench, over there the rose bushes, and on the path a pansy dropped the day before, looking strange and holy, as though gods walked here and spirits watched.
Go down side of the yard toward the locust grove, brushing against some lilac branches bending down with dew. The trees rise in front of you against the now steely blue of the changing sky. Blossoms on the shrubs are bright splashes of magenta amongst greys, and faint pearly whites of the day soon to be born. Hear the trees speak through line of limb, leaf rustle, and branch scrape and squeak. Feel the rise of the morning breeze.
Wander then down the grassy path beside the row of hemlocks shedding deep black shadows. To the east. beyond the garden house, which appears now as an ancient temple, see, on the horizon, a solemn glow is burning. Sit down to wait, feet soaked with dew. Remember that day after day while you are asleep, but this happens...... every day.
Quietly watching, watching. But what is this now? A subtle change. It seems that just now is between the in-breath and the out-breath. Quiet reigns, for a moment or is it for all time? This watershed: all before is known, and all, just now, is unknown. And then, the birds begin their morning clatter and chirp.
Thursday, May 16, 2002
Tuesday, May 14, 2002
Its Golgotha, I spelled it wrong
Easton's Dict. [golgotha] Golgotha the common name of the spot where Jesus was crucified. It is interpreted by the evangelists as meaning "the place of a skull"
This name represents in Greek letters the Aramaic word Gulgaltha, which is the Hebrew Gulgoleth meaning "a skull." It is identical with the word Calvary (q.v.). It was a little knoll rounded like a bare skull.
"Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd
The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls."
~William Shakespeare~
Matt 27:33 (KJS) And when they were come unto a place called Golgotha, that is to say, a place of a skull, 34 They gave him vinegar to drink mingled with gall: and when he had tasted [thereof], he would not drink. 35 And they crucified him, and parted his garments, casting lots: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet, They parted my garments among them, and upon my vesture did they cast lots.
Easton's Dict. [golgotha] Golgotha the common name of the spot where Jesus was crucified. It is interpreted by the evangelists as meaning "the place of a skull"
This name represents in Greek letters the Aramaic word Gulgaltha, which is the Hebrew Gulgoleth meaning "a skull." It is identical with the word Calvary (q.v.). It was a little knoll rounded like a bare skull.
"Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd
The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls."
~William Shakespeare~
Matt 27:33 (KJS) And when they were come unto a place called Golgotha, that is to say, a place of a skull, 34 They gave him vinegar to drink mingled with gall: and when he had tasted [thereof], he would not drink. 35 And they crucified him, and parted his garments, casting lots: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet, They parted my garments among them, and upon my vesture did they cast lots.
Monday, May 13, 2002
My very elegant mother just served us nine pies (planets)
A red indian thought he might eat tomatoes in church (arithmetic) or
A rat in Tom's house might eat the ice cream
Dr. (and) Mrs. Vandertrampp (french verbs that use etre instead of avoir)
D devenir
R revenir
M mourir
R retourner
S sortir
V venir
A aller
N na^ntre
D descendre
E entrer
R rentrer
T tomber
R rester
A arriver
M monter
P partir
P passer
Kittens prefer cream or fish, generally speaking (Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species)
Every good boy does fine
All cows eat grass
A red indian thought he might eat tomatoes in church (arithmetic) or
A rat in Tom's house might eat the ice cream
Dr. (and) Mrs. Vandertrampp (french verbs that use etre instead of avoir)
D devenir
R revenir
M mourir
R retourner
S sortir
V venir
A aller
N na^ntre
D descendre
E entrer
R rentrer
T tomber
R rester
A arriver
M monter
P partir
P passer
Kittens prefer cream or fish, generally speaking (Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species)
Every good boy does fine
All cows eat grass
roy g. biv
red orange yellow green indigo violet
came over slippery deposit missed professor parsons trip just completed
cambrian ordovician silurian devonian pennsylvanian permian triassic jurassic cretaceous
my very educated mother just showed us nine planets
mercury venus earth mars jupiter uranus neptune pluto
george ellis' old granny rode a pig home yesterday
geography
neither leisured foreigner seized weird heights
red orange yellow green indigo violet
came over slippery deposit missed professor parsons trip just completed
cambrian ordovician silurian devonian pennsylvanian permian triassic jurassic cretaceous
my very educated mother just showed us nine planets
mercury venus earth mars jupiter uranus neptune pluto
george ellis' old granny rode a pig home yesterday
geography
neither leisured foreigner seized weird heights
When you want to post something on a blog, but your brain is still asleep - the coffee still brewing,
My advice is to post a creative quotation, if not to stall for time, simply to inspire and stimulate the next blog.
"One's mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions."
-Oliver Wendell Holmes
"Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country."
-Anais Nin, The Diaries of Anaïs Nin
"There's never a new fashion but it's old."
-Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales
My advice is to post a creative quotation, if not to stall for time, simply to inspire and stimulate the next blog.
"One's mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions."
-Oliver Wendell Holmes
"Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country."
-Anais Nin, The Diaries of Anaïs Nin
"There's never a new fashion but it's old."
-Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales
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