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Friday, 06 November 2009

Wendell

-- Do you call yourself an agrarian?

-- Not when I'm home by myself.

Two salmon-colored wing chairs on an oriental rug.
Two very tall, lanky men: Michael Pollan the host, Wendell Berry the guest.

Wendell Berry.
A charming, lovely, humble man.
In truth, so was Michael Pollan.

Pollan got to pick the questions.
Are you hopeful?
Have you bought a computer yet?
What do you think of this administration's farming policy?
Is there such a thing as an urban agrarian?

Wendell Berry's words were familiar.
The importance of local economies.
Pay attention to the land.
Land economy vs. Paper economy.
Community.
The value of work.

The undisputed highpoint was listening to
Wendell Berry read a poem he had written.
No title.
The only phrase I can recall is
"the validation of beauty."

Warm, dulcet tones,
pleasant relaxed cadences.
A treat for the ears.

The evening ended too soon, with many topics untouched.
It still seems unreal to me.
I heard Wendell Berry speak.

It was great to share the evening with friends, old and new.
Dear Rachel, who in Berrian terminology is "part of the membership"
made this possible. When asked if we were related, my answer
was "Of course, just not by blood."
Thank you my friend for a night I will remember.

And it was a special grace to share another evening of my life
with Diane of A Circle of Quiet. Like I knew, my family loved you.

Why I love Wendell Berry's fiction.

Everything I've written about Wendell

Wednesday, 04 November 2009

Flora Grubb

Flora Grubb is an urban nursery,
a pocket of delight in the midst of an industrial neighborhood.
Dan and Val were eager to show us
their favorite Saturday morning hangout.

Cactus Art?
A small section of the wall of cactus.

These canvas planting bags are an essential component of vertical gardening.

When one orders a latte, one gets Latte Art.

Tuesday, 03 November 2009

The Anatomy of a Lovely Week

~ Every morning begins with a cuppa, made by my brother.

~ A great solution for a small bathroom, isn't it?

~ A new friend of ours--we met him Sunday--
has opened up a thriving cafe in Oakland called Remedy Coffee.
It has wifi, but if you are on a laptop,
you must sit at the communal table.
Small tables are reserved for
traditional cafe activities, e.g. talking and drinking coffee.
He installed an old phone.
If you want to talk on your cell phone,
you must go into the phone booth.

~ How could I have made it through a lifespan
without Bach's B Minor Mass?
Katie asked Dan to explain the fugue.
After a short music lesson, he put it on.
Beauty beyond words.
Beyond words.

~ I recently decided that I want to devote a wall
in my kitchen to my brother's photography.
I swear I had the idea before I saw his living room!

~ An absolutely delicious outing to Penzey's Spices.
What a fun store!
*This* much fun!

~ One of Curt's college roommates came over.
We ate. We talked. We listened to this.
In the old days the discussion afterwards would've
gone on past midnight.
But, alas, we have aged.

~ Here is the best side dish in the world:

Coyote Corn
2 T butter
2-3 cups fresh or frozen corn kernels
3-4 sun-dried tomatoes, soaked, drained, chopped
3 T finely chopped fresh basil
1/3 cup chopped green onions, including tops
salt and freshly ground black pepper

Heat butter in skillet, add corn and tomatoes until warmed through.
Place in serving bowl; add basil and onions.
Salt and pepper to taste.

Today more visits.
Tomorrow: Wendell Berry.

Friday, 30 October 2009

Simple Pleasures in October

~ the glorious colors

~ The gift of a *bale* of large bubble wrap,
left on my pillow by The Man.
He really does love me!

~ Anticipation - it's free, it's rich, it's wonderful

~ Pictures of the gospel in daily life.
In my job I take responsibility for problems
I didn't create (along with all the ones I did).
It's not all beer and skittles.
But a bright floodlight recently turned on for me:
Christ took my sins on Himself when it wasn't His fault.
I am putting on His righteousness, which I didn't earn.
Those pictures, ya know, are everywhere.

~ being prepared for winter
(my husband gets credit for this...
and my son who tilled the garden)

~ some lovely blogs
All three writers have much in common:
they love the life they've been given,
they are beyond excellent cooks,
they love making their homes comfortable,
they think,
and they are all part of my real life!!
They are my simple pleasures.

~ Lindsey at DrunkwithJoy loves bright colors,
interior decorating, scratch cooking, good words,
and her loveable husband Jon.
Lindsey is a very wise young woman.
Hostess Gift Ideas and Fat Mothers are two of my favorite recent posts.

~Rebecca at A Covenant Life has designed two houses, raised
four kids, started a line of soaps she makes,
is drop dead beautiful, rides horses
and is an avid reader to boot! Check out
The Heart and Soul of a Covenant Home and
The Anatomy of a Covenant Wedding,
full of pictures and thoughts and the
words of her husband spoken to
their adopted daughter
at her wedding.

~ Sunshine at Artistic Housewife is my neighbor!
She brings sunshine wherever she goes.
MOB (Mail Order Brides) explains why men live in this valley
and why the women who love them left the city behind.
In Where Everybody Knows Your Name
Sunshine explains why she no longer shops in her pajamas.
Sunshine. has. read. all. of. William. Shakespeare.
The. complete. works.

Currently
Rabbit Songs
By Hem
see related

Saturday, 24 October 2009

Autumn Song

Autumn clouds are flying, flying,
O'er the waste of blue.
Summer flowers are dying, dying,
Late so lovely new.
Laboring trains are slowly rolling
Home with winter grain;
Holy bells are slowly toiling
Over buried men.

Goldener lights set noon asleeping
Like an afternoon;
Colder airs come stealing, creeping
After sun and moon;
And the leaves all tired of blowing,
Cloud-like o'er the sun,
Change to sunset colors, knowing
That their day is done.

Autumn's sun is sinking, sinking
Into winter's night;
And our hearts are thinking, thinking
Of the cold and blight.
Our life's sun is slowly going.
Down the hill of night;
Will our clouds shine golden-glowing
On the slope of night.

But the vanished corn is lying
In rich golden glooms.
In the churchyard all the sighing
Is above the tombs.
Spring will come, slow-lingering
Opening buds of faith.
Man goes forth to meet his spring
Through the door of death.

So we love with no less loving,
Hair that turns to gray ;
Or a step less lightly moving,
In life's autumn day.
And if thought, still-brooding, lingers
O'er each bygone thing,
'Tis because old autumn's fingers
Paint in hues of spring.

~ Autumn Song by George MacDonald
in Cheerful Words