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).
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!)
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!
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)
(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:
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.
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.”
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.