Even as a kid, my Far West was Montana rather than Texas.
I have no idea where that originated. I had been no further west than Tom Sawyer’s Hannibal, Missouri.
Category: Personal Journey
For those of my generation, perhaps for a high-school class reunion
Did any of us intend to live this long?
Much less like this?
Trying to make sense of the world
Thinking without words? How about being born deaf? How would you conceptualize anything?
The inner dialogue to get through a day., things like “Let’s take a shower.”
And then? “Let’s eat,” even if it’s only one plate.
~*~
What does the dog know
that I don’t?
Not up for dealing with others?
She’s tired of talking socially
and so am I
We have calling hours
and a funeral ahead
Individual life as a mosaic
The thought hit me while scrolling through old posts on this blog.
Does anyone you know actually maintain a tightly focused life?
You know, someone who proclaims, ”These are my goals and I’m sticking to them”?
Or is it more a matter of steering between the many things that just pop up, like they do on the merry-go-round here at the Red Barn?
Or more like a pinball machine, for those of us of a certain age?
In the end you just have to patch together whatever you can from the pieces, even while trying to fit them to the other folks around you?
Back to the press and a personal debt
The first printing press in Britain was established at Westminster in 1476 (during the reign of Edward IV, 1461-1483) by William Caxton. Modern movable type had been invented not that much earlier around 1450 by Johannes Guttenberg.
Caxton is considered a central figure in establishing Chancery English to the standard dialect used throughout England. In his haste to make translations for publication, he imported many French words into English.
Well, England did rule much of France during the century.
As a reader and writer, I’m indebted to both men and a host of those who followed.
Lately, I’ve been returning to the Baskerville typeface, which we used for our high school newspaper, though now its in honor of an earlier resident of our house. The face dates from the 1750s.
One classic I’ve long been fond of is Caslon, from the 1720s, by another English designer. It’s similar to Goudy, a 1915 American design based on historic Italian faces and one I’ve been using on my Thistle Finch publications. It really is elegant.
Sometimes the very appearance of a word in type or a well-designed page will make my heart sing.
Just so you know what happens when ink gets in your blood.
In those seemingly endless days of fog
Moody, sometimes chilly or clammy …
The foghorn from Canada, with its mournful G-note pitch …
Memories of Seattle …
Unseen dripping …
Garden slugs underfoot …
A wash of gray in such contrast to the glorious sunrises I’ve witnessed and photographed … yes, everything’s muted.
Nocturn
Yes, I loved her
imperfectly
the night, then, unclouded
from above or below
Maybe this summer I won’t be taking photos
Like read a very big book instead?
Looking for the pearls
When I first began reading contemporary poetry (for pleasure, independent of classroom assignment), I often sensed the poem existed as a single line or two, with the rest of the work as window dressing.
Now I read the Psalms much the same way, for the poem within the poem, or at least the nugget I’m to wrestle with on this occasion. Psalm 81, for instance, has both the “voice in thunder” and “honey from rock.” What exactly are those in my own experience?
Jnana's Red Barn 