Peg Duthie's Blog, page 40

"You're alive, and you're telling a story"

From Timothy Beaton's profile of Charles Clary in Nashville NATIVE:

Appropriately, his largest and most ambitious piece was constructed in tribute to his mother, the woman who put the first crayon in his hand. The piece took six months to complete, and the final product sprawled across 240 square feet in an eight-by-forty-foot installation.

The number of towers reflected the number of days from his mother's cancer diagnosis to the day she passed: 204. It included seven seventeen-by-seventeen-inch towers representing the seven-month period, and twenty-six twelve-by-twelve-inch towers for the twenty-six-week period. There were also another 172 towers of varying sizes that completed the piece.

"It was something I had to do. I didn't let myself say, 'This is exhausting.' You're alive, and you're telling a story."

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17 Tamuz

"People must be taken one by one in the world, that is the way they are loved, believed, or understood, and when we are told to think in masses, we are lost for the one thing that is the essence and holy is gone. . . ."

- Eudora Welty to Diarmuid Russell, 23 December 1941 (quoted in One Writer's Garden)

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grinding

For reals:


Some other goings-on:

The 2015 Texas Poetry Calendar is now available. It includes my poem "Texas Instruments."
The Changeover published my essay "Accounting for Tennis Prize Money," and Sports Illustrated noticed.
Also now available: the 2014 Dwarf Stars anthology, which includes my poems "Even an Empty Life Can Hold Water," "Newest Amsterdam," and "Making Rice Dance."

Also, three rejections, the usual bug bites, half of my horses finishing third (which is useless when you're making win-place picks), and two hours in a waiting room with a TV on (but at least it was tuned to HGTV, which I find more tolerable than what's usually on). And a dress I bought just last month is not working out, but is already stained in multiple spots, so into the ragbag it went.

But at least I figured the not-working-out on second wearing, which was a quicker scramble out of the denial swamp (aka making-do morass) than my usual wrangle with buyer's regret. Also, I won a gold medal in Green Acres (fantasy tennis tournament) and drafted a new poem on my phone while sipping a free glass of prosecco at a neighborhood bar. And now it's back to the drawing board...

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picture books from the library

(borrowed after lingering with the ones at my favorite wine store...)

Minette's Feast: The Delicious Story of Julia Child and Her Cat (Abrams, 2012) - text by Susanna Reich, illustrations by Amy Bates (pencil and watercolor)

The Grand Mosque of Paris: A Story of How Muslims Rescued Jews during the Holocaust (Holiday House, 2009), by Karen Gray Ruelle and Deborah Durland DeSaix -- the illustrations were "created with oil paint applied with brushes, paper towels, and all twenty fingers." The artists' command of line, color, and texture is impressive, and I could study the results for hours. (The story is too text-heavy for story hour, in my judgment, but the academic side of me appreciates the presence of both documentation and an index, even for a forty-page picture book.)

Charlotte in Paris (2003), Charlotte in London (2008), and Charlotte in New York (2006) by Joan MacPhail Knight - contrived but nonetheless cute fictional journals, with cameos by real people like Julie Manet, Mary Cassatt, John Lavery. and Paul Durand-Ruel. Had these been available when I was Charlotte's age, I probably would have fantasized about being Charlotte's best friend; now, I want to find time to read more about the adults and look at more paintings. Coincidences: reading about Henley 1895 the same evening a friend in England happened to be moaning about Henley 2014, and just now I was reminded about the sheep dyed yellow in honor of the Tour de France when Charlotte and her father deliver a package from Edwin Austin Abbey to Frank Millet. It contains several tubes of cadmium yellow, and Millet explains why he keeps running out of that color: "At certain times of day the entire village looks as if it's been dipped in golden honey -- including the sheep."

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ars longa, fungi omnis

mushrooms sprout on the wheelbarrow
as I sharpen
another pencil

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new things, nice things

* I am a novice at lap swimming, and today was my first experience both with the long course at the sportsplex and with sharing a lane. The guy I shared the lane with during most of my workout was very nice. I was glad I had the lane all to myself, however, when my right calf cramped up (about an hour in), because it meant I didn't have to hurry to get out of the way.

* Karen E. Summerly's photo of a cat delights me.

* There are new blossoms on the bean vines.

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journalism in Chicago, circa 1941

Heart's morning newspaper in Chicago had recently folded, and in a period when newspapermen were generally scarce, Chicago boasted a temporary surplus. So for an adamantly liberal newspaper, the Sun began life with a sensational collection--about half the staff--of Hearst hacks and reactionaries, spiced by a few rummies. (For months the Sun was referred to as "the Field Museum of Heart Antiques.")

- Stephen Becker, MARSHALL FIELD III (1964)

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carrot-pumpkin soup

Tonight's things-need-using-up improvisation:

4 sad carrots, chopped
1 can chicken broth

Shredded the carrots in the broth in the Vita-Mixer. Then added

a couple of tablespoons cumin
approx. 1/4 cup chopped white onion
1 can pumpkin
a couple of shakes of ground ginger
a couple of shakes of ground black pepper

Ran the Vita-Mixer at variable, increasing speed from 1 to 10, and then switched the setting to high and let it run for three minutes. I added a squeeze of lime juice to each serving. (Lemon juice or apple cider vinegar might be my first choice if I were making this for others, but the lime was the saddest item in the fruit drawer, and it provided the right kick.)

If I didn't have the machine, what I might have done is stew the carrots and onion in the broth until tender, then pureed the mixture, returned it to the pot, and stirred in the rest of the ingredients and heated until hot.

On the other hand, that probably would've been a few steps too many for me tonight (work and studying await), so odds are I would have boiled just the carrots in plain water and then seasoned them with some sesame oil and rice vinegar. Or skipped cooking entirely and simply slathered nut butter onto apple slices, followed by a bowl of cereal. :)

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pleasures

1. Putting together breakfast this morning for a friend from grade school and his wife, which mainly consisted of stopping by Sweet 16th for four to go.

2. The Straight to Ale beer tasting at Woodland Wine Merchant. My favorite was Unobtainium. Rich (their sales manager) was fun to chat with; Tyler talked me into picking up a bottle of Ransom gin (I'm not a fan of most gins, but I do like jenever, and I like whisky, and the Ransom reportedly has elements of both); and staying to the end of the tasting meant that Rich poured me an exceedingly generous portion of Monkeynaut, which I sipped while reading picture books such as Maria Kalman's Chicken Soup, Boots and Sasek's This Is Paris.

Also, a neighbor and I and Rich started chatting about space monkeys (Straight to Ale is based in Huntsville, hence beers named after Laika and the like), and the neighbor reminisced about taking her daughter to the US Space and Rocket Center while the monkeys were still there, and one of the monkeys playing pattycake with her daughter through the barrier for twenty minutes.

Also, another neighbor showed up with a super-sweet lovey-dovey doggie.

3. Speaking of picture books, I happened on Gloria Houston and Barbara Cooney's The Year of the Perfect Christmas Tree: An Appalachian Story at the library. It is a beautiful story, with a strong woman who is not its central character and yet is its true heroine.

4. On my walk to the library, I passed a young boy (eight years old or thereabouts) calling out "Have fun at banjo!" to a girl about to enter a house a few doors down. She cheerfully replied, "Thank you!" I just -- this is Nashville, and I have the heart of a mountain troll, and yet, God, it was just so unbelievably cute and real.

5. My micro-poem "Five Finger Frustration" was published by unFold today.

6. Coming home in time to see Roger Federer slam down three aces in a row.

7. Reviewing the proof for the 2014 Dwarf Stars anthology, which will include three of my poems.

8. World Cup mania = soccer on the TVs in waiting rooms and the like. A vast improvement over the usual daytime fare, imnsho.

9. I'm still alive in the Wimbledon men's suicide pool. (I consider making it past the first day an occasion worthy of champagne, and I may well treat myself to a jeroboam if I get to the second week.)

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research then and now

Subtitlers face a number of questions beyond how much to translate. Slang and jargon are perennial tests, but so is humor.

Pascale Joseph, who specializes in translating from English to French, used to go to gun shops to find out certain arcane vocabulary; now it’s message boards on the web.

-- Nicolas Rapold, A Freelance Career, Found in Translation

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