Dear David,
How I enjoy reading “Hereabouts” is known by my family and friends. Wanted to
comment on the funny “Medieval Metrosexual” reference and your feathered
friends love of your croissant and wondrous cheese bits. Who knew chickens
would have such refined tastes?
Hope your slips and falls didn’t crunch your body too much. Be careful. Tricky
times, these.
Such a pleasure reading your Sunday musings. Please, think about getting
another cheesy- named chicken or two to carry on your great voices of
anthropomorphia. Love them. Such an unusual and creative way to express
yourself.
Knowing how you love the Highland cattle, I just wanted to share an enjoyable
peek in at a great farm there. You get to share in the lives of Oona, and
others from Farmer Richard at Hall Hill Farms. Delightful quick peek into their
lovely world in the Highlands. A daily refresher touch with Nature for me each
morning.
https://fb.watch/25TNlEVM1A/
Cheers,
Sherrie
In Wake Forest, unfortunately a “red” state. Very against my will.
Facebook: Sherrie PainterArts
"When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to everything
else in the Universe." --John Muir,
-Sympatheia
“The Privilege of a lifetime is being who you are” —Joseph Campbell
On Nov 30, 2020, at 1:15 AM, FreeLists Mailing List Manager
<ecartis@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
lit-ideas Digest Sun, 29 Nov 2020 Volume: 17 Issue: 170
In This Issue:
[lit-ideas] Hereabouts
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From: david ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx>
Subject: [lit-ideas] Hereabouts
Date: Sun, 29 Nov 2020 13:27:49 -0800
One of the important skills often not learned in school is how to lose
gracefully and, of course, the other side of the coin, as demonstrated so
well by General Grant. Yesterday we had an outbreak of chicken guerrilla
action, probably of an accidental sort. That would be the generous view and,
as indicated, I’m trying to be a generous winner. After break of day I put
my left foot outside the kitchen door and slid on a mix of leaf and pooh.
Fortunately my right foot was well-planted and so nothing of consequence
followed. Which was not the case on occasion number two. After we had
harvested persimmons I was lifting a small ladder back down the granite steps
Garden Guy installed. At the best of times the steps are extremely slippery;
yesterday they were one stage worse. Which would account for me being flat
on my back, thanking goodness that my head hadn’t hit anything hard and that
my bones all felt fine. On such occasions you never get off without some
follow-up discomfor
t, but so far… not too bad.
When I went to put the chickens to bed for the night, there was repeat number
three, outside a different door. Three mirrored one, a mere sliding, this
time of the right foot.
So out with leaf blower and rake and brush I went today. I explained to the
chickens that they were likely to find what followed really quite noisy. No
response. I whirred the motor of the electric blower. They rose. I
notched the noise up. They stepped towards an exit path I had left open and
then slowly, as I imagine went Confederate soldiers filing home, they walked
with dignity away from the site of conflict.
Earlier in the week I was minding my students’ business when the chickens
came knocking. I think they were merely cleaning their beaks on the wooden
sill, but I opened and investigated, happy to have the excuse to break away
from work for a moment. They were arranged like a delegation on some formal
occasion, even exhibiting a kind of shy shuffling. Or maybe they were also
cleaning their feet? Mimo is looking a whole lot better but Appenzeller is
still top of the pile, so she led off.
“We’d like to say thanks for the giving…”
Pecorino, “Of croissant.”
Mimo, “Also cheese.”
Appenzeller, “We should talk later about the cheese.”
Mimo, “I got it fair and square.”
Pecorino, “Says you.”
“You liked the croissant?”
Mimo, “Those crumbs number among the wonders of the world.”
Pecorino, “Wonders of the world."
Appenzeller, “right up there with the best.”
Pecorino, “World-beating."
“So you enjoyed them?”
Mimo, “Are there more, by any chance?”
“I’m afraid not. L. got some day-olds at the bakery and one day becomes
another quite quickly, does it not?”
Pecorino, “Tell us about it.”
I sensed she didn’t mean what she said, so I smiled, nodded, returned to
grading papers.
Could the absence of croissant really have led to guerrilla warfare? Rostow
wrote that revolutions tend to occur when improved expectations are
frustrated.
We were in E. and N.’s garden for Thanksgiving. Raclette is a very good way
to celebrate outdoors. Some Swiss or German guy will have looked at the
electric element on a stovetop and said, “Wots about ve use ze heat on both
sides.” That’s the deal. On top you put things that cook quickly:
par-boiled potatoes, mushrooms, halves of brussels, so on and so forth. We
added a little cooked duck. Underneath there are individual containers. You
take stuff from above, add racelette cheese from Switzerland, let the cheese
melt, eat with bread. And then you do a dessert version with fruit and so
on. Really pretty good fun and with the temperature in the forties,
comfortable for we who dressed the part. After lunch we went for a walk, and
Hamish explained to each and every squirrel in a park that their foraging
needed to be arboreal, should take place above ground level.
We returned for a pecan pie made from scratch, which is to say E. and N.
bought pecans, cracked them one by one, made a pie. Fan-tastic.
I was talking with Mimo about the death of Maradona, the Argentinian football
player. She seemed interested in the idea that we gods forgive bad behavior
in those of us who are unusually talented.
Mimo, “So is it a mathematical relationship… extraordinary ones get full
forgiveness and those who are just a bit above average get thirty percent
off?”
I reflected and then decided I didn’t know how that worked.
I diverted, “We’re trying to give Sonsie a professional Wrestling name. Does
Sonsie the Ratflattener work for you?”
Mimo is generally a pretty flexible thinker but this was one stage too weird.
So I continued. “E.’s cat also caught a rat. His name is Jake so I was
thinking of going with Jake Bluestooth. Any good?”
Pecorino came up. “What did I miss?”
Mimo, “God’s off his head again.”
“What do you mean again?”
Appenzeller, “How else to explain the continuing absence of croissants?”
Hans Hateboer came to my attention, plays for the Italian club Atalanta.
“Hatepeasant" I believe is the translation. Probably descended from the
Sheriff of Nottingham or some Medieval Metrosexual. Wout Weghorst plays for
Wolfsburg. Try “Wout Weghorst of Wolfsburg” when you’re in need of a bit of
a mental pick-me-up. Maybe add, “Batman.” “Great Wout Weghorsts of
Wolfsburg, Batman.” Other names came to my attention this week but I can’t
repeat them because of privacy issues. I can, however, invite you to imagine
a baby being named the first word the mother heard after giving birth. Light
bulb... Bucket... Bandage… that kind of inspiration. Another baby name was
derived in a different manner, “Let’s call him Attila, that sounds great.”
Not the real name, but along those lines. Attila the Hun Jones.
Finally, General Carrera, who has a lake named after him if you are from
Chile. If you are from Argentina, that same lake is called Buenos Aires. So
who was Carrera? Some bloke who didn’t like the fact that Chile was being
run by a man called O’Higgins, and didn’t like the way Argentina was set up
either. So he gathered up some forces…and was betrayed by an Argentinian,
captured and executed.
Now he’s got half a lake.
Maybe he was graceful at the finish.
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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End of lit-ideas Digest V17 #170
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