Politics

Gratitude

Leave a comment

One sunny day in January, 2009 an old man approached the White House from across Pennsylvania Avenue, where he’d been sitting on a park bench. He spoke to the U.S. Marine standing guard and said, “I would like to go in and meet with President Bush.”

The Marine looked at the man and said, “Sir, Mr. Bush is no longer president and no longer resides here.” The old man said, “Okay” and walked away.

The following day, the same man approached the White House and said to the same Marine, “I would like to go in and meet with President Bush.” The Marine again told the man, “Sir, as I said yesterday, Mr. Bush is no longer president and no longer resides here.” The man thanked him and, again, just walked away.

The third day, the same man approached the White House and spoke to the
very same U.S. Marine, saying “I would like to go in and meet with President Bush.” The Marine, understandably agitated at this point, looked at the man and said, “Sir, this is the third day in a row you have been here asking to speak to Mr. Bush. I’ve told you already that Mr. Bush is no longer the president and no longer resides here. Don’t you understand?”

The old man looked at the Marine and said, “Oh, I understand. I just love hearing it.”

The Marine snapped to attention, saluted, and said, “See you tomorrow, Sir.”

thanks to Paul Strickland

Art and Culture

Practical Paranoia

Leave a comment

20  bar falls 30.52  1mph ESE  windchill 19  Samhain

Last Quarter of the Dark Moon

Second graders from a dual-language immersion school trailed after me through the museum.  We went up on the elevator, always a hit and proceeded once on the third floor to Tanguy.   Sophia, or was it Sarah, said, “It looks like the artist created a bunch of shapes so we could figure out what was there.”  Reasonable working definition of surrealism.

At Ensor’s Intrigue we found a face on the painting that I’d never noticed, a face in the lower right hand corner.  Here the kids expressed concern about the baby slipping, “She’s not holding the baby very well, and the other people are yelling at her.”  Since this was a Spanish immersion school and since it was mid-November, the somewhat festive atmosphere and skeletons lead to a consensus:  Day of the Dead.

At Dr. Arrieta, Jared, a small Mexican boy who spoke no English proudly read out the Spanish language inscription.  In this case the group decided Goya was a woman who looked old because she had gray hair and wrinkles.  At they didn’t say, really old.

We were done after three pieces, but Kyle noticed Theseus and the Centaur, so we looked at it.  Camryn, who requires hearing augmentation (I wore a receiver/transmitter so she could hear me.), made this observation, “He’s trying to kill him because humans are not supposed to have horses legs.”

As I left, Virylena, a sweet faced Mayan girl, said, “Wait. We don’t know the way out.”

The teacher, however, assured her that she knew the way out.

paranoia400.gifAfter the tour I waited in the coffee shop for Mike Elko.   He had an exhibit in the Minnesota Artists Exhibition space a month or so ago.  I bought a digital print of one of his pieces.

We talked art for a while. He believes prints, and art in general, should be simple to read and grasp.  His work all has humor in it.  He showed Careen Heegard and me some pieces from an upcoming show at the HighPoint Print co-op.  He has taken pictures from old school dictionaries, like a bantam rooster and put a saddle on the rooster, complete with a child in riding gear ready to mount.

I’m tempted to hang a sign under this piece once I get it framed that will read:  Never Again.  This period in our political history and in particular this aspect of it, the demagogic fear mongering, has weakened our democracy and attenuated our freedoms.

Myth and Story

Stories Told By Mother Earth

Leave a comment

9!  bar steady 30.57  2mph WNW  windchill 9  Samhain

Last Quarter of the Dark Moon

“Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?” – T. S. Eliot

When I ponder the amount of life I give to considering my weight, I wonder what Life I lose in obsessing.   Fat or thin we all die.  There may be a difference in quantity, may be, but what of the quality?  The constant examination of ourselves and our bodies for signs of health (ok, my constant examination) may be just a shadowed manifestation of the fear of death.  How will our world’s end?  Not with a bang, but a whimper

We live in an age awash in information and too few of us take the time to shape the information into knowledge, the useful form of information.  Even fewer of us take the knowledge we have earned, then sit with it in patience and compassion long enough to gain wisdom.

Here’s to a world where the most accessible wisdom, the stories told by mother earth right outside wherever you are, return gently to us.

Our Land and Home, permaculture

Two Little Peppers and How They Grew

Leave a comment

34  bar steep rise 30.05  2mph W  Windchill 31  Samhain

Last Quarter of the Dark Moon

The big news!  I have two peppers emerging in my  hydroponic garden.  That means the fertilizing I’ve done has succeeded.  This is the first fruits I’ve been able to coax out of the hydroponics.  But, not the last.

More time on the forest’s edge.  Whacking down tall weeds, cutting down acacia new growth, a little pruning and general clearing.  One more major project before laying down the plastic and mulch:  cut up, move and burn a tangle of vines, small trees and branches cast off during a clearing operation in this area last fall.

Working outside when it’s cool appeals to me.  The work heats me up and I can strip down to whatever level of clothing fits.

Art and Culture, Politics, Woolly Mammoths

Acquisitions, Legislation and Conflict

Leave a comment

17  bar rises 30.56  0mph NNW windchill 17  Samhain

Last Quarter of the Dark Moon

Whew.  Docent book club at 12:30.  Sierra Club legislative committee at 6:30.  Woollies at 7:30.  Home at 10:30.

The Docent Book Club (the name of which no longer seems apt to me) met at Common Roots.  Tom Byfield invited associate curator of paintings and sculptor Sue Canterbury.  She spoke about the acquisitions process and answered questions about the job of curating.

Wish I had more energy, but I don’t right now.  The dialogue with her fascinated us all.

The Sierra Club Legislative Committee meeting, my first, went longer than I had planned.  Also fascinating, for very different reasons.  More later.

The Woollies had as the meeting topic, conflict.  Stefan made salad, stew and had ice cream with chocolate sauce for desert.  Hit the spot when I got there.

The talk about conflict had, as the guys like to say, a lot of juice.  I asked that we eliminate that word during our next meeting, so I heard nothing but juice as I got ready to leave.  Serves me right.

A very full day.  A good day.

Writing

A Year and A Week +

Leave a comment

Brief Note:  I began using WordPress to create this blog just over a year ago, November 7th, 2007.  Bill Schmidt took the initiative and taught me a new tool.  Thanks, Bill.

Thanks, too, to each of you, now about 2,500 a week, who read AncienTrails.  I hear from some of you, occasionally, but I’d enjoy hearing from more of you.  Anyhow, thanks for reading.

Family, Garden, permaculture

Working on the Forest Edge

Leave a comment

32  bar steep rise  30.08  0mph NW  Windchill 31   Samhain

Waning Gibbous Dark Moon

Got groceries at Festival.  Grocery prices have gone up, maybe 15-20%.  Many people bought their Thanksgiving turkeys from a young woman with a table set up beside the butcher’s counter.  Christmas music played in the background, in sympathy, I guess, with the lonely retailers who expect no Christmas present purchases this year.

Once again I purchased produce unrecognizable to the check-out person, a friendly girl of about 18.  Is this a rutabaga?  No, jicama.  Is this a sweet potato?  No, a yam.  Oh, do they taste different?  Yes and have different colors, too.  What about these, are they good?  Rambuta.  Yes, just slice around the middle and take the top off.  Are they sweet?  Yes, if you like sweet, you’ll like these.  They’re not too sweet, are they?  No.  Medium.

Then I was on my way with my plastic bags, once again shopping without the cloth bags I’ve purchased for the purpose.   I wish they’d hop in the car without my having to remember.

orchard-week-1frtrees400006.jpgThe rest of the morning I cleared ground along the forest edge so I can put down black plastic, then mulch, to kill all the flora we do not want in the way when we plant the crops that will distract the birds from our orchard.  They will provide a height sensitive edge, stair stepping back toward the poplars, ash, cedar, oak, acacia and pin cherry behind them.

Built up a good appetite.  Still eating the 11-bean soup I made a week and a half or so ago.  Nap.

Now, after the nap, I’m doing inside things I’ve held off until I had a bit of time in the afternoon.  I put ink cartridges in my Canon Pixma printer.  This is a real rip-off.  Even when printing only black, like copies, it uses up colored ink.  This means that you have to replace the color cartridges as often as the black ones.  Guess what?  The colored cartridges are expensive.  Anyone with this printer as their primary printer pays a lot for the privilege.  My laserjet printer handles black and white in an economical manner.

Also cleaned the carpet in the study.  Dogs leave the occasional trail.  Also cleaned the stairs.  Dogs, again.

Kate’s upstairs threshing beans from our garden.  I look forward to using them in recipes over the course of the winter.

The cones are finally on the zone 5 grasses in the perennial garden.  I hope they survive.  They were a nice, delicate touch behind the lilies, iris and, later, the iris and sedum.

Oh. BTW.  No fruits on the pepper or eggplant yet.  It was a false pregnancy.  This may take a while to get down.

Family, Great Work, Writing

What Should I Do?

Leave a comment

30  bar rises 30.00  1mph  windchill 28   Samhain

Waning Gibbous Dark Moon

Kate is my wife, friend and partner.  I had a conversation with her this morning.

“Kate,” I said, “I want to do something substantial before I shuffle off this mortal coil. (Dad used that phrase a lot.  I don’t  know where he got it.)”

She smiled and waited, her face turned a bit up to ease the strain on her neck.

“It’s not that I don’t like my life and what I do with it.  I enjoy diverse things that require different skills.  I’ve accepted that’s the life likely to be lead by a valedictorian.  Good at many things, deep in none.  Still.  I’d like to work on and complete a substantial writing project.”

“What’s your question?” she asked.

“What should I do?” She’s good at answering questions like this.  Most people are not, but I trust her and have trusted on these matters for years.

“Lake Superior.  That’s the first thing that popped into my mind,”  she said, “We could have monthly Lake Superior meetings.  Get a large paper pad and work on the project at least once a month.  We could make a point of going once or twice a year to different parts of the (true) north shore and  pay close attention to it for a week or so.”

“Thanks,” I said, “That’s what I needed.  Now I’m going to go get groceries.”

On the drive over I considered her suggestion.  It was a good one.  We could work on it as partners.  I have a shelf full of books and two large file drawers filled with information on Lake Superior.

A few years ago I started in earnest on an ecological history of Lake Superior.  I made three trip around the lake, visiting local historical societies as I went, purchasing books and making notes.  Taking picture.  I made notes, created an outline and a research plan, dug up many good websites.  I still have all this material.

I may have stalled the first time around because I’d made my objective both too specific and inflexible.  Lake Superior as myth, as geological feature, as water, as story, as an expression of a coming zeitgeist are all rich avenues to explore.  Painting, music, lore.  Some mix of these, positioning Lake Superior at the heart of the continent and the center of a worldview.  Something along those lines.

Art and Culture

Judge Judged by Self

Leave a comment

 31  bar rises 30.01  1mph NW  windchill 29  Samhain

Full Dark Moon

“Man(sic), unlike any other thing organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges ahead of his accomplishments.” – John Steinbeck

This evening I left home and journeyed to North East for the opening of the show.  It is no longer my habit to leave home much in the evening except for meetings like the Sierra Club or the Woollies.

I felt excited, a bit apprehensive.  After all, our judgments had a role in the evening.

By the time I got there, about 7:50 or 8:00, there was still a large crowd.  A friend from docent training, David Fortney, came up and asked me about our selections.  He had his own.  As did everyone in the room.

At some point I began to feel uncomfortable.  It was a little difficult to track down where the feelings were coming from, but finally I pinpointed it.  I was there as a judge, an arbiter and I didn’t like the role.  I could explain our selections, how we got to them, but the role put me in a place in position to the room that felt icky.

I’m glad we judged the show.  I’m glad we made our decisions yesterday.

Would I do it again?  Not without preparation and thought.  But, yes, I probably would.

Kate’s neck continues to bother her, though I hope some of that will lift tomorrow as the dye diffuses and the pressure from the myelogram recedes.

This is the end of a long series of diverse activity.  That’s what I like, different work that requires different skills with different people.  The downside is that when too much comes close together it can tax me.  I’m glad to be on this side of it all right now.

May head over to the Walker tomorrow.  I haven’t been there in awhile.

Weather +Climate

Blow, Snow, Blow

Leave a comment

35  bar falls 29.87  Omph NE  windchill 35  Samhain

Waxing Gibbous Dark Moon

Another aspect of northern living involves snowblower maintenance.  Each November those of us with long driveways go out into the garage, poke around until we find the 2-stage beast that will work with us through the winter.

Start it.  Hmmm.  That’s good.  It runs.

Oil can to its tin-man parts.  The rotating blower (the second stage), worm oil in the auger’s worm gear (the first stage), oil at various other points where metal grates against metal in the service of snow removal.

Ooops.  There’s a mostly frayed wire leading to the snow deflector.  Not critical.

Rust has bloomed over the snowblowers 15 year service here.  With a wire brush and scraper the paint flakes away and the surface of the rust becomes smoother.  A spray of paint here and there covers the rust with a paint designed to mitigate oxidation.

Check the oil.  In this the oil hits the full top of the dip-stick.  It looks clean.  So, we’re ready for winter to do its worst.

Just as soon as we get gas.