PRE-FALL STALL

No photographs today. And not a long post. I was supposed to go to the city to spend the night in advance of picking up M&J from their Nova Scotia cruise. I was on schedule and all, but finally decided that my vague sore throat was not improving and that perhaps I had finally learned to NOT PUSH IT when I was on the border of illness. 

I did not go any further than the mailbox to put out the recycling and the trash.

I didn't do much than watch Season 3 of The Sopranos (not all of it, of course) and miss James Gandolfini. I continued my cleaning spree, listened to The Fellowship of the Ring (okay, I finally get why it is a great book and why the generally literate person needs to know it), finished (and am now wearing) a necklace I beaded, and had a great conversation with Louise about Monsterwood.

And now I am heading for bed and reading a book far out of style, This Rough Magic. The author, Mary Stewart, was a rather big deal in my childhood and the merit of her work was discussed on some email I received. Literate gothic potboiler! Who knew!! 

Well, Emmylou gets her Albert tomorrow. And so to bed for me.

#YOLO

A SHORT EJB RESPONSE ABOUT BEETHOVEN (ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY HER). She didn't really have time to respond.

"I wouldn't have the time to go all 'apocalyptic' on you over the Beethoven sonatas, much less the Pathetique.  But I think the overarching fact about the Pathetique (as opposed to the early sonatas or the ones that come later, with the possible exception of the 'Moonlight') is that it's so played-to-death, so over-exposed, that it's hard NOT to find it, uh, tiresome (?--seems a bit harsh to use a word like that) once in a while.  I mean, every once in a while, it will come up on some classical music radio queue & you just immediately turn the channel to npr or pacifica or whatever -- ANYthing to get AWAY from it.  I mean -- how many times will we hear that thing before we leave the planet??  When we might be listening to something new?  Or just something that suits OUR mood at the moment (and not Beethoven's!)?  

That said -- you don't get to be an across the music canon--cross the entire music SPECTRUM-- cliche without having something of transcendent genius -- & of course that sonata, like many if not most of the rest, has it in spades.  It IS a bit romantic, dramatic, etc. for a reason.  It's one of the sonatas (along with 2 or 3 others) where we first hear Beethoven 'pushing the envelope' -- towards romanticism, really overall towards his own mature classical style, and towards something well BEYOND all of that -- eventually pushing the form towards something few other classical composers would recognize, as in his late sonatas.  The late sonatas are revelations to hear again (and again) -- stuff that stands as comfortably besides Debussy and Strauss & Stravinsky & Schoenberg as Mozart or Haydn.  

What I love passionately about the sonatas are this very complete exploration of a form.  You almost have to go to Bach or Handel to find a comparable musical achievement.  Shakespeare or Blake, Joyce or Flaubert to find literary equivalents.  

I only wish I could play them half-competently.  I understand why so many pianists play/record their own interpretations in various cycles and editions.  It's like an actor wanting to play Hamlet or Lear or Archie Rice or role of that range.  They're encyclopedic art experiences.  As the kids hashtag it these days -- #yolo."

xoxo back at ya!

CHIVE FLOWERS WITH BEANS AND TOMATOES

How do you get interesting? You get interesting by being interested.
— Jeff Nunokawa

I think he is right. A dash of enthusiasm helps too. I just looked back on Jeff's post and someone commented that all mothers tell that to their children, which kind of took the wind out of my sails. I'm pretty sure neither of my parents said any such thing to me.

So now sitting out on the deck because hey, pretty soon I won't be able nor want to. It's now in the high 80s/low 90s and somewhat stifling, again that being relative. I'm listening to a recording of Beethoven Sonatas as I am trying to do a short Coursera course on Listening to Beethoven's Sonatas. I listened to the first week's lectures and enjoyed them, though I did not pay the close attention I think was warranted. As most of my music is in storage, I happened to snatch a couple of relevant CDs for $1 each at the local thrift store, The Eagle Eye.

None of this has anything to do with anything but setting the scene... that it is hot and the leaves are dead and blowing around. I guess I could also add that I really don't much like the Pathetique Sonata, particularly the first and third movements. Ma mère and I do not see eye to eye on this topic whatsoever. She loves loves loves the emotion of Beethoven. I find him to be often bombastic (cf, Pathetique). However, I am willing to change my mind/view.

I realize that some of you will also find this to be heresy. EJB will be sorely pressed not to respond in apocalyptic brilliance about why I am a cretin/philistine in this respect. (She doesn't have much time at the moment.) Give me credit for trying to like it? There was a Deutsche Grammophon Beethoven compilation also that serves as introduction to their gi-normous (LD really hates that word. Why not gi-gantic or e-normous? e-jantic!) Beethoven box set. So, I am a-listening away and hearing some smaller, more intimate, more social occasion music and I am quite taken with a couple of cuts. (Cello-Sonate A, op. 60, Scherzo ... lovely, brisk, fun! and a dance, 7 Ländler, and the second movement of Violin Sonatas in F major, op 24 is heavenly.)

Okay, more water, back to work. The power tools are still going, these many months later, by the way. I suspect chain saw for fire wood right now.

We do miss Albert, particularly Emmylou. 

And you won't be able to see this, but I edited the html on this post to get this typeface.

Chive flowers with beans and tomatoes.

IT'S TOO LATE BABY

Slept for 12 hours last night and am still kind of groggy many many hours later. Not a particularly productive day, but I am not going to focus on that. I have a lot to do tomorrow. Meanwhile, I am mostly writing now so that you don't think I've sunk any lower. I haven't. But not particularly chatty either. 

Still adjusting to being alone for so long. And being without Albert who reminds me to walk. I'm not lonely per se, it's just different.

Bye for now. And thanks to all of you who gave me a shout out. Much appreciated.

AND SO TO WORK

No idea why last night was so terribly rough, but one just doesn't think it can get darker than dark, darker than pitch black, more bottomless than fathomless, and still there is darker and deeper to go down and out. I'm not even sure how I managed to sleep, although Cooder nearby was likely some of it. Yeah, le pays de, rêves fait de désepoir.

However, I woke up to find a sunny day and encouragement when I weighed myself so that was worth going downstairs for. On the way to finally get my Honda's recall attended to, I bought more tomatoes from the tomato man and walked 10 minutes uphill to get home. I called my psychopharmacologist to get some refills and arranged to have my car inspected and tuned-up next week, so there ... I am progressing. And to that end, I will return to the kitchen to continue working on my tomato sauce.

But why the darkness at night ... why the terror and despair? Why is my favorite place, bed, (okay, I am fond of the kitchen, too), now nearly loathsome?

And while I am asking questions, why do I write this quotidian chronicle? Not to bore you, of course, but to remind myself I am making some effort, some progress, in the midst of this very very dark wood. As Jackson Browne sang "... and when the morning light comes streaming in/ I'll get up and do it again ..." Maybe I write this as a way of dealing with my relative isolation. I don't know. Some of it is just the discipline of it.

Later, stumbled across this quote on the FB status of a friend.

Great works are performed not by strength but by perseverance.
Samuel Johnson

I wouldn't say my life was a great work, and I'm thinking that perseverance is a critical part of strength, but hanging in there. 

The tomatoes are cooking away as well as a new batch of vegetable stock from all the summer's trimmings. This is all making me hungry again.

Started listening to Henry Fielding's Tom Jones as I finished the Barbara Kingsolver, Flight Behavior, which I very much enjoyed. But two more Coursera classes started today and I have to choose which one of them to do as I cannot attend to more than one at a time. One is a modern poetry class that I signed up for about 8 months ago, and the other is Online Gaming: Literature, New Media, and Narrative. That requires me to read Lord of the Rings, which I started about 40 years ago, put down the first volume and never finished. Louise stands by its literary merit, so I have it on disc to listen to next. Tom Jones and the end of Crime and Punishment will just have to wait.

And so to work. Talked to my partners in crime on Monsterwood and have sufficient input to readdress my narrative conundrum.

If you are listening out there, this might be a good time to send a little hello or something this way.

MANIFEST ACT

"There is an extremely subtle but significant difference between an image that is in itself a manifested act of seeing and one that uses vision to represent the world."

Nathaniel Dorsky, Devotional Cinema

That's an interesting perspective. For me it is always the former, never the latter. I have no clue about how to represent the world. I have challenge enough representing myself ... or presenting myself for that matter.

Yep. The leaves are starting to rustle. They've been falling gently for the last week or two at least, but now they are starting to make noise. 

So, very quiet here tonight as M & J are off on a cruise to Nova Scotia. Even Albert is gone off to hang out with J's brother who lives in town. Amazing how strange it is without him clicking around from time to time. 

So, I get to run rampant around the house, which means that I am leaving the ironing board up until tomorrow morning! Oh and maybe leave an extra dish or two in the sink. Meanwhile, there are fresh tomatoes cooking down with onions, garlic, fresh basil, and oregano. Making me hungry when there is really no reason to eat, given that it is 12:13. That's bedtime, not food time.

Much more to report but it will have to wait.

SHORT OKAY?

A short one.

An okay day.

Quite focussed on listening to Barbara Kingsolver read her latest book, Flight Behavior. After The Brothers Karamazov, it is a rich, sensuous, and quite welcome meal. 

Nice walk with Albert on the bike path. We saw a frog.

Great meal tonight, a grilled chicken chopped salad. 

More small steps.

APROPOS OF NOT MUCH

I seem to have a better than normal memory. I've attributed it to my bigger than normal penchant (perhaps lust?) for narrative. The anecdotes and details people share with me just fall into their life stories, of course, and I can often pick up the narrative whenever I see them again, even minor details such as pets' birthdays or what happened to neighbors' kids. 

(Yah. The leaves are falling. No joke. There's just a soft drizzle of them whenever a breeze happens.)

This morning I stumbled across this article, The Science of the Perfect Nap. Turns out naps help memory (not that I can now find the reference in this article). And I'm a lifelong napper. 

Later that evening.

Okay. All that was apropos of not much. Better mood today. We'll see if the dementors are hiding under the bed. It's kind of chilly here 55 now and expected to drop to 46. It's already 38 degrees at night in Schroon Lake. Boy, I never even put away all my winter clothes this year. 

So, small steps again tomorrow. Watch eating. Exercise some. A bit of writing. Plenty of time with the pets. Tonight, finish the dishes and maybe get another book done. So lovely to be liberated from The Brothers K.

 

BILLIE SAYS

Today is a very very rough one. The coffee alarm woke me early and after spending some time on Zite, I just decided to get up. So, I've already been up for 4 hours and really could nap, except I want to get a few more things done before I collapse. Some progress. Small steps.

But the dementors have a-hold of me today. Not exactly sure why, but I guess today is my day for breaking down and despair. I will have to see if I can get the litter boxes cleaned, some laundry done, and a quick trip to the Farmer's Market before I collapse the rest of the day.

Flavorwire sent out an interesting link and I thought it was interesting that these were allegedly Billie Holiday's last words:

“Don’t be in such a hurry.” — Billie Holiday

One step at a time department: 

Item: did not break down in tears

Item: made it to Farmer's Market and did not overbuy

Item: made it to bank for deposit

Item: cleaned litter boxes

Item: started laundry

Item: made bed.

Yah, it's not so much that I need to bore you with this level of detail, but when the despondency hits and you are all alone, seeing that you managed to accomplish ANYTHING besides eating or napping, gives a little lift. The headache doesn't help.

Still on the agenda today:

walk Albert

more laundry

nap

schedule Honda repair

So, a bit lighter than earlier, but 'twas a challenge challenge challenge. I kept it together and managed all those items on my agenda as well as making dinner (chicken sausage with peppers, onions, tomatoes, squash, and fresh basil and oregano from out little garden), Just coming off of ... non-supervised alcohol and eating over the weekend ... so my body chemistry is adjusting. I didn't make it on a walk. 

Here are 

Morning cat one.

Morning cat two.

And lastly a birthday shout-out to Ms. Melinda who is not only celebrating a birthday but getting ready to be a person of honor at a wedding tomorrow!

AND AND AND AND

I finished The Brothers Karamazov. Huzzah!

WHAT RUNS INSIDE

Then.

Happy anniversary, Emmylou Irene Patsy Clownpaws. Two years together today! We drove home from the shelter in Albany in a terrible terrible rain storm. Little did I know that driving down the Saw Mill in such weather was a classic no-no in these parts. You were a good little kitten once I let you out of your little box and to find a comfortable place sleeping on my suitcase in the back seat. Yep, she was a little one, but they thought she was older than kitten age and that she had already had a litter. 

Not a bad day landing back in reality and figuring out how to push on to the next whatever. I found this on FB and thought it might be good to remember. Not. Stopping. Smiling as I can hear J playing a progression repeatedly on his bass.

Well, perhaps I can get some earlier sleep. I really didn't fall out very easily last night. I did manage to get out and walk for 30 minutes, although even that was an effort. I wasn't able to keep up my walking momentum much in Schroon Lake. And an hour walk seems impossible, but slow steps. Also, speaking of not stopping, only two chapters of The Brothers K to go! Am actually in the epilogue section.

You can out-distance that which is running after you, but not what is running inside you. 
-Rwandan proverb

Yes, this stuff running inside me is the stuff that keeps me awake if I am not careful. 

Now.

DO YE NEXT THING

And so ends another trip to Schroon Lake. It’s very beautiful out the window as we cruise by Lake Champlain on our way down to Whitehall where Larry met me this trip. We went to one of our favorite junk stores, Carol’s Collectibles, where the prices are terrific. I acquire too much.

I wish I could get a decent picture out this train window. The people behind me are softly speaking and I suspect that they are Scots. I feel as if I am on an Adirondack amusement park ride.

Had a bit too much fun last night. Someone had absinthe at Mr. P’s End of Summer party and that often spells trouble or indiscretion. I met some great people who are music heads. One of them Enrique, is from Argentina. He lived through the dark ages of Argentinian death squads, which I would actually like to hear about. His sweetie is Susi who works at Skidmore College and they live near Saratoga. I look forward to connecting with them again as they had many musical suggestions for me.

Well, I should eat something as it will likely take the edge off of this slight overindulgence feeling. 

Happily home and catching up with a little tv. KIttehs had lots of pets. Unpacked and getting sleepy. I didn't wake up until 12:30 today.

Jeff Nunokawa posted this note which seemed to dovetail nicely with my current thought process about slowing down. 

4478. "our Puritan anxiety" (Ann Morrow Lindbergh)

August 31, 2013 at 11:06am

our Puritan anxiety to "do ye next thing" (Gift From the Sea)

What's next, you always worry. What do I have to do next, and if I don't do it, what will be done to me? What have I already done to ruin everything--what have I done?, what have I done?.

Sometimes when the fear gets thick enough, life just feels like one long "to-do" list. You get going and pretty soon you're running around in circles and you don't know where to start or where to stop.

But wait: maybe the thing your worry really wants you to do right now is to quit doing things (fighting wars, flying planes, finding ways, etc.) for right now, and just spend a little quality time with it.

I mean, it's like with any other good friend. You should enjoy him while you can. He always has a lot of good things to say if you just hear him out and sometimes read between his lines. He's not just barking orders. He's also bearing gifts. And it's not like he can hang around forever--just until you've unwrapped the presents that he's brought you from a long way overseas.
----------------------------------
Note: --a spirit of courage, and wisdom and zeal (Thomas Shepard, Jr., "Eye Salve", in The Puritans in America: A Narrative Anthology, ed. Alan Heimert and Andrew Delbanco).

TIME WILL NEVER RUN OUT

A lily hangs on to its glory.

“If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.”

— Virginia Woolf

Ouch. Probably very deeply true. But I imagine sometimes this lack of personal transparency is not due any particular perfidy as much as being lost somewhere in that dark wood and not seeing a path to telling the truth about yourself. 

Meanwhile, not worrying about telling truths or much of anything else on this grey Labor Day Sunday. Not that there aren't things to worry about, but Tuesday is soon enough to head back into the mental/existential fray.

Not that I think this is reason for me to go back to daily red wine consumption, (as no matter what it does for your mental state, it is a lot of calories that might be better spent in other ways), I found this article on the salutary effects of drinking a spot of wine.

There's a nice review by James Wood in this week's New Yorker (September 2, 2013) of a new book by Caleb Crain, Necessary Errors. 

The friends convene and reconvene, party and argue, eat and smoke, dance and make love, conscious that their time together is precious, brief, and eccentric. Prague makes it eccentric, because the city is a peculiar utopia for them, a place where “real life” can be suspended. After graduating from college, Jacob worked, in America, in an office, and dreads going back: “To be here was something more than a holiday; it was a kind of rift in the net, so new that it was not yet clear how it would be rewoven into the systems of money and responsibility.” The novel captures this sense of golden interruption, when to be young is to feel that time will never run out, that you can “talk for hours over lunch about the purpose of life, without embarrassment.” Prague functions as a university should have—as a place where error and accomplishment are close kin, and waywardly explored.

The "time never running out" feeling is a bit here in Schroon Lake this evening. It has been a slow, quiet couple of days. This morning Ms. Liz and I had a lovely extended conversation which pleased us both greatly. The rest of the day has been spent reading, napping, and cooking. 

And so at 10:33 at the end of the summer season, these hard-working folks are kicking back. There is a party in starting in about 90 minutes and continuing into the wee-er hours of the morning. Inasmuch as I think it would be fun and I know lots of the folks, there is such an expansive indulgence to doing nothing more than trotting up and down the long hallway for a chocolate almond cookie and a cup of coffee or having another small cup of wine when I feel like it. Liz and Larry are both down at the Timberwolf being good townspeople. There's an artist there who is a big enough deal to open for Ani deFranco ... Hammel or Hammil or something along those lines. But I know if I go down there, I will just drink a gin and tonic I don't really need and talk to people I am not in the mood for. I would rather revel in the simple moment-to-moment of softly pleasing myself with what can be obtained up and down this long hallway. I mean, the dishwasher just stopped and all I can hear is a fan and the crickets. Why interrupt this sweet music with the addition of voices and egos?

The French writer Maurice Blanchot, in an eloquent essay entitled “Friendship,” suggests that great friendships are grounded only superficially in proximity. Their real element, he argues, is distance, a kind of separation that “becomes relation.” He calls this separation “discretion,” a discretion that foreshadows “the final discretion,” which is death. Blanchot seems to mean that true friendship, true love, encompasses, comprehends, and anticipates loss.The French writer Maurice Blanchot, in an eloquent essay entitled “Friendship,” suggests that great friendships are grounded only superficially in proximity. Their real element, he argues, is distance, a kind of separation that “becomes relation.” He calls this separation “discretion,” a discretion that foreshadows “the final discretion,” which is death. Blanchot seems to mean that true friendship, true love, encompasses, comprehends, and anticipates loss.

A PRE-FALL PALL?

Sitting in the living room at the Strand Theater downstairs, the church next door ringing quite a few bells, Jane nervously barking in the long hallway. We feel as if we are waiting for rain again. And just as I finally mustered the focus to try a walk, which I have not done in a few days. Oh well. As it is the last weekend of the season, rain permitting there will be a street dance and fireworks tonight, and perhaps I can get some of my exercise there. In the meantime, there are the stairs which I have come and down quite a few times, and the 75 foot hallway to get from the kitchen to the bathroom.

Is it ominous or is it sad or is it me having not taking my meds yesterday and having had more than my usual share of beautiful zinfandel? Summer’s end again. The days getting shorter and the leaves already preparing for their fall flight.

I have been trying to nap a bit, but I couldn’t fall all the way asleep nor did I have the requisite focus to read all the challenging material I brought. I suppose I could have opted for the listening to a book, but I drowsed instead.

Although I refused to listen to him, I understand the O-man gave us a song-and-dance about why we need to bomb Syria right now. That might account for some of the pall. If we put as much money into alternative sources of energy as we do into war, we wouldn’t have to worry about oil quite so much. All in all, not a pretty picture.

But I do love being up here, as I have said so often, even if I am a bit grumpy. Larry and I did some junk shopping. I picked up some “smalls”, mostly buttons, vintage sewing notions, a yellow McCoy bowl, and some paper ephemera as well as a couple of kitchen items. Oh and a really nice 1960s sewing/travel iron that gets plenty hot and will be great for the Sew-In that Louise and I will eventually have.

I don’t know. Maybe I should just grab the umbrella and take my chances on the rain. I didn’t get to swim yesterday when it was beautiful as I was drafted into being the ticket seller for a special showing of an independent film. That was fun as the crowd wasn’t the usual, not that I have sold tickets often enough to recognize everyone.

Then again, napping sounds enticing too.