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):
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.
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…
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.
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.)
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?
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.)