This tree awaits the rising sun.
[daily log: walking, 3.5km]
Month: October 2019
Caveat: Like Gideon’s fleece
Under Aldebaran
“The place, my lord, is much like Gideon’s fleece
The second time he laid it on the ground;
For by the will of God it has remained
Bone-dry itself, with water all around.
“Yet as a wheel that’s driven in the ruts,
It has a wet rim where the people clot
Like mud; and though they praise the inner spaces,
When asked to go themselves, They’d rather not.
“The men are brave, contentious, ignorant;
The women very much as one expects.
For their religion, I must be excused,
Having no stomach to observe their sects.
“You must be wary in your conversation;
For, seeing them thumb-high, you might suppose
They recognised their stature, but beware!
Their notion of themselves is grandiose.
-Alec Derwent Hope (Australian poet, 1907-2000)
This poem reminds me a bit in its mood to work by Robinson Jeffers. Clearly he is describing the Australian continent, and the residents’ odd relationship to it.
Caveat: Poem #1175 “The goddess”
The sea foam wasn't involved, nor the stone, rather alone, she evolved, emergent, blessèd, absolved.
– an englyn penfyr
Caveat: Tree #289
Some trees are more attention-seeking than others.
[daily log: walking, 2.5km]
Caveat: Poem #1174 “Mitra’s daughter”
Mitra the covenanter, his heart full, chased the white bull to slaughter... and what about his daughter?
– an englyn penfyr on a pseudo Mithraic theme
Caveat: Tree #288
This tree is from the tree archive. It is a tree I saw in southern Utah in 2009.
[daily log: walking, 2km]
Caveat: the beauty of things is sufficient
It is a sort of tradition in this country not to talk about religion for fear of offending – I am still a little subject to the tradition, and rather dislike stating my “attitudes” except in the course of a poem. However, they are simple. I believe that the universe is one being, all its parts are different expressions of the same energy, and they are all in communication with each other, influencing each other, therefore parts of one organic whole. (This is physics, I believe, as well as religion.)
[…]
The parts change and pass, or die, people and races and rocks and stars, none of them seems to me important in itself, but only the whole. This whole is in all its parts so beautiful, and is felt by me to be so intensely in earnest, that I am compelled to love it, and to think of it as divine. It seems to me that this whole alone is worthy of the deeper sort of love; and that here is peace, freedom, I might say a kind of salvation.
[…]
I think that one may contribute (ever so slightly) to the beauty of things by making one’s own life and environment beautiful, so far as one’s power reaches. This includes moral beauty, one of the qualities of humanity, though it seems not to appear elsewhere in the universe. But I would have each person realize that his contribution is not important, its success not really a matter for exultation nor its failure for mourning; the beauty of things is sufficient without him.
– Robinson Jeffers (poet, 1887-1962)
Caveat: Poem #1173 “No data”
The data refused to show the meanings instead leaning down below truth's cool superficial flow
– an englyn penfyr
Caveat: Tree #287
Arthur surprised me today. He wanted to go out on the roof of the boatshed to fix his raingauge, today – it occasionally gets full of debris and needs to be cleaned out. In the past when he’s decided to do this, he will, without warning or discussion, walk out on the deck over the boatshed, climb over the railing and simply go do it. This approach is difficult for me and stresses me out. His record of falling and issues with stability and vertigo mean that I am constantly worried he will slip and fall off the roof of the boatshed. Anyway, this time, instead of just doing it, he consulted with me beforehand. He said he wanted to do it, and asked what we could do so I was comfortable with it. This type of consultation with Arthur feels almost unprecedented, so I was very pleased. In the event, he looped a rope around his belt and I held onto it while he walked out there. It’s not really that much of a safety factor, I’ll be the first to concede, but it meant that if he lost his balance, there would at least be a bit of a break on him slipping all the way down the roof/side of the boatshed (it’s a continuous curve of metal, quonset hut style).
After sending off my Professional Objectives essay, I also made some good progress on a little database programming project I’ve been working on, related to my geofiction server.
All in all, it was a very positive day. I needed one of those.
Here is a tree.
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: Professional Objectives
I completed my “Statement of Professional Objectives” and sent it off to University of Alaska Southeast. It’s the last piece of my application process, except for an annoying ancient university transcript that I still need to sort out. But it’s a weight off my shoulders, anyway.
Now back to studying history.
Caveat: Poem #1172 “The mirror”
The self-reflective essay: a mirror showing clearer how I say I am than I am today.
– an englyn penfyr
Caveat: Tree #286
I saw the two hundred and eighty-sixth tree. It had three leaves, hanging on for dear life.
[daily log: walking, 4km]
Caveat: 산에 가야 범을 잡는다
Here is an aphorism from my book of Korean aphorisms. I haven’t done one in a while.
산에 가야 범을 잡는다
san.e ga.ya beom.eul jap.neun.da
mountain-TO go-ONLY-IF tiger-OBJ catch-PRES
[You] catch a tiger only if [you] go to the mountains.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Caveat: Poem #1171 “The disavowal”
Some trees have fewer leaves, now, than others. They would rather wonder how... or this winter disavow.
– an englyn penfyr
Caveat: Tree #285
We stored our vehicles just in time, yesterday. Today the rain came hard and continuously.
I worked on my final application essay for the teaching certification program at UAS. Also, I procrastinated on that.
Here is a damp tree.
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: Poem #1170 “Anticipatory regret”
I go outside before dawn, taste the wind, feeling chagrined by shapes drawn vaguely, thoughts un-acted on.
– an englyn penfyr
Caveat: Tree #284
This is a tree from my archives: in front of my apartment where I lived 1995-96, in West Philadelphia, on South 43rd Street.
The apartment was a dump. But I really loved that neighborhood.
[daily log: walking, 3km]
Caveat: GDC enters chrysalis
I finished cleaning the GDC (RV) today. To the extent I’m going to get that done, anyway – not perfectly pristine, but the best I can manage for now.
The vehicle was placed in what is to be its medium-term parking spot, down on the house-pad Richard helped create.
An aside: I suppose that that picture above could have been my daily tree picture, too. But that particular tall tree has been featured as a daily tree before, so I decided not to do that.
And then I wrapped the GDC in a giant tarp.
Meanwhile Arthur got his boat rinsed off and stored into the boatshed. So we had a productive day of vehicle-storing.
Caveat: Poem #1169 “Vegetative bird”
There is a gray cormorant just sitting, looking, waiting, head aslant, on the dock's arch, like some plant.
– an englyn penfyr
Caveat: Tree #283
Arthur and I got the boat out of the water, up the ramp, but parked outside the boathouse for now – Arthur wants to clean it off, debarnaclize it. And it started raining quite hard in the afternoon, so we both became demotivated with respect to outdoor activity.
Here is a tree.
[daily log: walking, 1.5km]
Caveat: they are all cutten down
What I’m listening to right now.
Loreena McKennitt, “Bonny Portmore.” This song is not her composition, however – it’s a traditional Irish folk song, linked to a fallen oak tree at Lough Portmore, Country Antrim.
Lyrics.
O bonny Portmore, I am sorry to see
Such a woeful destruction of your ornament tree
For it stood on your shore for many’s the long day
Till the long boats from Antrim came to float it away.
O bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand
And the more I think on you the more I think long
If I had you now as I had once before
All the lords in Old England would not purchase Portmore.
All the birds in the forest they bitterly weep
Saying, “Where will we shelter or shall we sleep?”
For the Oak and the Ash, they are all cutten down
And the walls of bonny Portmore are all down to the ground.
O bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand
And the more I think on you the more I think long
If I had you now as I had once before
All the Lords of Old England would not purchase Portmore.
Caveat: Poem #1168 “The signs that appear when eyes briefly close”
Those hieroglyphs that are drawn by blinking, a vague inkling, but then gone, as my eyelids' world moves on.
– an englyn penfyr
Caveat: Tree #282
Below is a tree from the archives. It is a tree in front of the house in Quakertown, Pennsylvania, where Michelle took her own life in June of 2000. The picture was taken in 2009, when I stopped by there at the behest of Michelle’s ghost, who sometimes makes requests.
[daily log: walking, 2km]
Caveat: Mole in the Pueblan Style
When I was with Michelle, I often made mole poblano – the classic “chocolate chicken” in the old Aztec style. It was one of her favorites.
That was in the 1990s, of course. The last time I made it, I think, was maybe 2006. I never thought to make it since coming here to stay with Arthur because he had declared a preemptive disinterest in such an “abomination of good chocolate.” However, our friend Jan expressed interest in it, when it came up in conversation, so she convinced me to give it a try. I successfully resurrected my old recipe. I’m sure it’s not exactly the same as how I used to make it, but when I taste-tested it I could reasonably declare it “at least as good as restaurant style.”
I was surprised to learn that Arthur had no blender. I find it hard to believe, given his plethora of gadgets of all kind. So I broke out my low tech “pre-war Korean blender” (AKA stone mortar and pestle). It gave my mole an authentic Aztec flair. The picture shows the work in progress.
The completed sauce is below.
Caveat: Poem #1167 “An expressway made of gravel”
The trucks on the expressway zoom along tires sing their song on rock - gray gravel kicked around all day
– an englyn penfyr
Caveat: Tree #281
Still, there are trees…
… and rainbows.
Fall seems to be rainbow season in Craig. I recall a goodly number of them last fall, too, and none during the intervening three seasons.
[daily log: walking, 3km]
Caveat: Cake for Cake’s Sake
Arthur, on his own initiative, ordered a birthday cake for Juli. The thing is, Juli isn’t here – she’s down in Portland. I believe Arthur was mostly looking for an excuse to have some more chocolate cake, in the wake of the one we bought and ordered for our respective birthdays last month.
Anyway, in fact, Juli’s birthday not until two weeks from now. But we celebrated anyway.
Earlier we went into town for our Thursday shopping day. And we picked up the boat from where it was being serviced at the boat shop. Arthur surprised me, because as we were going to the boat launch area to put the boat in the water, out of the blue he said, so do you want to drive the boat back, or the car?
Our standard division of labor on these ventures has always been that Arthur drives the boat, while I drive the car. I couldn’t quite figure out the motivation behind this offer, but I often have found that when Arthur offers for me to do something that is normally his remit, it’s because he wants me to. So I took it to mean that he preferred that I drive the boat. So for the first time ever, I drove the boat alone, while Arthur drove the Blueberry home.
I did OK. I’m not as good as Arthur at backing the boat up – which I had to do when departing the boat launch. So it got a bit hairy when I was trying to go around another boat parked at the boat launch. But once on open water, I made my way home without incident. It was quite windy and choppy, this afternoon, on the open bay between Craig Harbor and the entrance to Port Saint Nicholas. Perhaps that’s why Arthur wanted me to drive the boat? I even managed to land and tie up the boat alone, at the dock at home, in a quite gusty east wind.
What I’m listening to right now.
Cake, “Comfort Eagle.”
Lyrics.
We are building a religion
We are building it bigger
We are widening the corridors
And adding more lanes
We are building a religion
A limited edition
We are now accepting callers
For these pendant key chains
To resist it is useless
It is useless to resist it
His cigarette is burning
But he never seems to ash
He is grooming his poodle
He is living comfort eagle
You can meet at his location
But you’d better come with cash
Now his hat is on backwards
He can show you his tattoos
He is in the music business
He is calling you “DUDE!”
Now today is tomorrow
And tomorrow today
And yesterday is weaving in and out
And the fluffy white lines
That the airplane leaves behind
Are drifting right in front
Of the waning of the moon
He is handling the money
He is serving the food
He knows about your party
He is calling you “DUDE!”
Now do you believe
In the one big sign
The double wide shine
On the boot heels of your prime
Doesn’t matter if you’re skinny
Doesn’t matter if you’re fat
You can dress up like a sultan
In your onion head hat
We are building a religion
We are making a brand
We’re the only ones to turn to
When your castles turn to sand
Take a bite of this apple
Mr. corporate events
Take a walk through the jungle
Of cardboard shanties and tents
Some people drink Pepsi
Some people drink Coke
The wacky morning DJ
Says democracy’s a joke
He says now do you believe
In the one big song
He’s now accepting callers
Who would like to sing along
He says, do you believe
In the one true edge
By fastening your safety belts
And stepping towards the ledge
He is handling the money
He is serving the food
He is now accepting callers
He is calling me “DUDE!”
He says now do you believe
In the one big sign
The double wide shine
On the boot heels of your prime
There’s no need to ask directions
If you ever lose your mind
We’re behind you
We’re behind you
And let us please remind you
We can send a car to find you
If you ever lose your way
We are building a religion
We are building it bigger
We are building
A religion
A limited
Edition
We are now accepting callers
For these beautiful
Pendant key chains
Caveat: Poem #1166 “Reduction”
A chill drizzle touched my neck, a ghost's hand prodding me, and sought to wreck my work, reduced to a speck.
– an englyn penfyr
Caveat: Longtime geofictioning
[This is a cross-post from my other blog.]
Arhet remains a work-in-progress. I’ve come up with two not necessarily incompatible tag-lines for the project:
This is the continent of Preye, on a planet with a frequently-changing name (but colonized by those brutal Mahhalians). I drew it probably in high school, but I don’t quite remember.
Music to map by: Cimafunk, “Ponte pa’ lo tuyo.”
- “Imaginary real estate doesn’t need to be a scarce resource.”
- “Sometimes you want to just toss verisimilitude out the window and map something crazy!”
This is the continent of Preye, on a planet with a frequently-changing name (but colonized by those brutal Mahhalians). I drew it probably in high school, but I don’t quite remember.
Music to map by: Cimafunk, “Ponte pa’ lo tuyo.”
Caveat: Tree #280
I was walking down the road and found a tree.
[daily log: walking, 2.5km]
Caveat: GDC-wash
I have been working on winterizing the GDC. GDC is the name of the RV/camper that my friends Mark and Amy brought. It stands for “God Damn Camper.” That’s Amy’s humor. I decided to keep the name.
I got the water system flushed out, and decided to clean the vehicle before putting a tarp over it and parking it on Lot 73.
It is very dirty.
I made some progress, but it was chilly and drizzly and I lost momentum around 1:30 in the afternoon. The sun is sinking fast as the equinox recedes into the past, and it now disappears behind the mountain at around 2PM.
Caveat: Poem #1165 “Procession”
The morning's light disburses in fragments: day's integuments, night's verses, like introspective hearses.
– an englyn penfyr
Caveat: Tree #279
Today, Arthur and I took the boat in for its annual service (Arthur calls it “winterizing” but that’s not quite accurate – nothing will be different about the boat once the service is complete, vis-a-vis its adaptability to the climate).
We put the boat trailer on the Blueberry (the car). I drove that into town, while Arthur drove the boat into town. Arthur took his time getting to town, this time – normally this “race” takes each of us almost the exact same amount of time, but this time Arthur took an extra 20 minutes to get there. Apparently he took a slight wrong turn at Cemetery Island.
We pulled the boat out of the water at the public boat ramp down by the fuel dock (north end of town), and drove it to the boat store for its service. I took a picture of the boat on its trailer at the boat shop, with an accompanying tree, to meet my tree-photographing obligation.
[daily log: walking, 2.5km]