R.I.P. Bandito, 1996-2010.
Woke up in the country on Christmas Eve morning, feeling extraordinarily good — so much so that I jumped out of bed and worked out first thing in the morning. Maybe it was the air, maybe the view out my bedroom window from this high house surrounded
by plunging ravines full of plumbline-straight beech trunks, so that it feels like it’s in the treetops; maybe it was the roaring fire in the huge fireplace, the Christmas tree sized to match, the warmhearted and welcoming company, the flowing eggnog and wine, the challenge of wrapping artistically classic Christmas packages
… it might have been my first springy step on this new road, except that the phone rang around 4 P.M. and I happened to answer.
It was my cat care person; she was in tears. “One of your cats has passed away,” she said.
I would have been totally shocked if it was anyone but Dito; but it was him, of course — going on 15 years old, on meds for hyperthyroidism, showing signs of kidney atrophy, and suffering from bad teeth because after I lost my job I could not afford veterinary surgery — I’d been aware of his pain and looking forward to soon being able to take care of it at last. He’d been uncomfortable but not remotely terminal. Something sudden happened to him, the feline equivalent of a stroke or heart attack or pulmonary embolism. The chronic inflammation must have been a contributing factor. If I could have done his teeth in time, he might have lived another year or two, especially with subcutaneous fluids for his kidneys. But he was not young.
Chris said, “Well? He was Jacques’ cat.” Nathan, who rescued him as a tiny kitten from a Korean mountainside with us in mind, speculated with me that one way to look at it is that Jacques waited till I was out of the way, then came and got him.
I groped in the empty space where Jacques should have been to share the sadness with.
There I Go, There I Go, There I Go . . .
The jazz great James Moody, 85, followed J into the wild blue yonder by 20 days. At that link are several great renditions of his wild takeoff on “I’m in the Mood for Love” — “Moody’s Mood for Love.” Here he talks about the song’s inception:
George Benson’s rendition was one of J’s and my favorite cuts:
Two Quotes
Jung’s “strange definition of God”:
“This is the name by which I designate all things which cross my willful path…all things which upset my subjective views, plans, intentions and change the course of my life for better or worse.”
[Letters, Vol. 2, 5 December 1959]
* * *
The box is also psychology: not psyche, but the ‘ology,’ that parasitical suffix that sucks the psyche dry. Long before there was psychology there were tales, old-wives-tales, grandmother’s tales, oral accounts of origins and great deeds, theater of tragedy and comedy, the gossip of the day carried by messenger, lessons learned at the foot of a teacher, stories all passed down rich in the ways of the world and the ways of the soul. Long before psychology there was the bedside observation of physicians, of captains on the field of battle, painters of portraits, breeders of animals and trappers, of midwives and judges and executioners. Psychology’s case reports are too often botched attempts to continue the story-telling tradition. Too soon we draw theoretical conclusions obliged by ‘ology’ to package psyche in a box. We would win from every story the trophy of meaning.”
~ James Hillman
One for Peter, Two for Paul . . .
This haunting folk carol was sung at the church last night before the performance of A Christmas Carol. I knew it very well, but couldn’t remember why, until I came home and tapped Google, our collective cultural memory. The song was covered by Sting more recently, but I like this version better.
Medium Rare
I’m being shown a good time, shlepped along to all sorts of exotic entertainments and parties — exotic to me, anyway. Yesterday I was taken to Chapel Hill’s 17th annual Cow Raising, an absurd pseudopagan ritual that involves winching two life-size fiberglass bovines netted in Christmas lights into the trees, while singing “cowrols” with rewritten, cow-related lyrics. (You hadda be there, and even then . . . it was one big in-joke that had ballooned over the years like one of those 100-acre underground fungi. It felt like being a new freshman in a high school most of whose occupants had been together since kindergarten.) Tonight I was taken to another annual ritual, a reading of an abridged A Christmas Carol in an Episcopal church by the novelists Allan Gurganus and Michael Malone.
Which brings me to my real subject. The performance/readings were delicious, but the real star of the show was Charles Dickens’s prose: witty, vivid, beguiling, moral. His words, as alive as the day he wrote them, buttonholed you, got up in your face, made you see, made you laugh, made you feel. There was a boy of eleven or twelve sitting next to my friend in the pew, his eyes glazed over. He’d admitted to her before the performance that he’d seen the Muppets’ version; she figured that was better than nothing, at least a place to start. But I pitied him for his inability to hop aboard the fast-moving train of densely packed, intricate words and be carried deep into his own imagination.
Young people are served up ready-made images. Even in videogames or MMORPGs, where they can assemble their own avatars, they are given ready-made, modular elements to choose from. As magical as modern media are, they’ve got nothing, but nothing, on mere words. No other medium recruits the recipient’s brain to the same degree, making you not just a consumer but a cocreator. When you read, you must dream up your own visuals and characters — no mere metaphor, because the process is as spontaneous and inexplicably fertile as dreaming. Reading exercises the muscle of the imagination like nothing else — and with such economy of means!
And with so little, great writing does even more. It engages you visually, emotionally, intellectually, and morally all at once. (Words can even evoke kinesthetic and tactile sensations, tastes, and smells.) It transmits the texture of experience as a multimodal whole, the way it is lived. What a magical medium, and how it elaborates your inner space and trains your power! I really do feel pity for people who don’t read — and gratitude to J. K. Rowling for almost singlehandedly saving this rare form of wizardry for another generation.
Another Attack of the Haikkups
marched away from you
with Time’s rifle in my back
on the Trail of Tears
Metaphors
- a womb raw from giving birth
- a mollusk with retracted “tongue”
- a candle flame pale in daylight
- a forced march into the future
- the turning world as continuous passive motion machine
I Love This So Much.
From Vanderleun, via Charlie (Colorado). I don’t know where V. got it or whose copyright I’m violating. I can’t help myself.
A Thought-Provoking Forward
Not much hope that enough people will act on it — because in this economy lowest price rules, and because people just won’t be bothered; they have too many worries and diversions on their minds.
But who knows. Maybe if the right celebrities and media picked up on it. Maybe it could become a viral meme.
> One Light Bulb at a Time
>
> A physics teacher in high school, once told the students that while one grasshopper on the railroad tracks wouldn’t slow a train very much, a billion of them would. With that thought in mind, read the following, obviously written by a good American.
>
> Good idea . . . one light bulb at a time . . .
>
> Check this out. I can verify this because I was in Lowes the other day – I was looking at the hose attachments. They were all made in China . The next day I was in ACE Hardware, and just for the heck of it, I checked the hose attachments there. They were made in USA .
>
> Start looking — In our current economic situation, every little thing we buy or do affects someone else – even their job. So, after reading this email, I think this lady is on the right track. Let’s get behind her!
>
> My grandson likes Hershey’s candy. I noticed, though, that it is marked made in Mexico now. I do not buy it anymore..
>
> My favorite toothpaste, Colgate is now made in Mexico . I have switched to Crest.
>
> You have to read the labels on everything . . .
>
> This past weekend I was at Kroger. I needed 60 Watt light bulbs and dryer sheets. I was in the light bulb aisle, and right next to the GE brand that I normally buy was an off-brand labeled “Everyday Value.” I picked up both brands of bulbs and compared the stats – they were the same, except for the price. The GE bulbs were more money than the Everyday Value brand – – – but the thing that surprised me the most was the fact that GE was made in MEXICO and the Everyday Value brand was made in the USA, in a company in Cleveland, Ohio!
>
> So on to another aisle – Bounce Dryer Sheets . . . . . yep, you guessed it, Bounce cost more money and is made in Canada. The Everyday Value brand was less money and MADE IN THE USA! I did laundry yesterday and the dryer sheets performed just like the Bounce Free I have been using for years and at almost half the price!
>
> So throw out the myth that you cannot find products you use every day that are made right here. My challenge to you is to start reading the labels when you shop for everyday things and see what you can find that is made in the USA – the job you save may be your own or your neighbor’s!
>
> If you accept the challenge, pass this on to others in your address book so we can all start buying American, one light bulb at a time! (We should have awakened a decade ago!)
>
> Let’s get with the program . . . we have the power to help our fellow Americans keep their jobs and create more jobs here in the USA.
>
> I passed this on . . . will you?
Ambiance 