Tag: Traditions

Getting into a groove, a route, routine, even rootlets 

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

My 2nd tall, kraft-colored Citadel spiralbound opened with “May you be inscribed with a good year,” Rosh Hashanah 5737.

Apart from the office, I faced a host of new discoveries.

  • The mountains, especially.
  • The canyon from Selah to Ellensburg, with its river road as an alternative to the Interstate beside the U.S. Army’s vast firing range.
  • The Lower Valley, below the Union Gap, a vast expanse of orchards and more …
  • The Reservation, meaning the Yakama tribe, though much of it was laced with Japanese vegetable gardens …
  • The metropolis a four-hour or so drive over the mountains.
  • Learning to eat crab.
  • Maryhill, a quirky museum overlooking the Columbia River and Mount Hood off to our southwest …
  • Portland, further along the lower Columbia …
  • Gathering the Quaker Meeting …
  • My new colleague Zenny and his wife, Wisteria, living a dozen or so blocks away from us.
  • Gasperetti’s … gourmet Italian, when we stretched our budget.
  • Mount Adams,, which we viewed prominently, was not Rainier, which was easier to drive to and my primary focus of early high-country hiking …

Photo of Mount Adams by Josh Hild at Pexels, as seen from the high country at the fringe of our valley.

Looking back, I see that few in our circle of friends in Yakima were from the place … At the office, a few filled me in …

After my promotion, did my mountains explorations diminish?

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.

 

Some thoughts about the notebooks themselves …

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

As you’ve noticed, I fell into the practice of journaling rather haphazardly. At times compulsively, even. I started to say the “habit” of journaling, but it was rarely that effortless,

I was still in spiralbound volumes — eight years before a stretch of using hardbound sketchbooks followed by a return to spiralbounds before the hardbounds took hold a dozen years after the journal at hand.

No. 45, for those keeping track, was the first of the 8-by-12½-inch books I’ve truly appreciated. The added inch-and-a-half of length fit my hand and pen well, though not the bookshelves or the milk crates that generally wound up holding my journals.

Eventually, there were 17 of those in all, plus three fat softcover sketchbooks, 15 black-cover spiral sketchbooks, and three bargain thin hardbound journals nearly that tall. Thirty-eight in all, out of 200-plus. Why did that shape vanish from the market? Probably because I preferred them. I have long run contrarian to the marketplace, not exclusively involving my tall, skinny clothing size.

Somehow, I had thought that my legal-size notebooks started at the Cornell bookstore, but it now looks like my first ones were bought in Bloomington.

In looking up what’s called “legal pads” (as if the others are clandestine?), I find most today have shrunk to 11¾ inches height, though at least one exists at 8½ by 14 for those willing to pay a premium. And that’s not bound. As for filing those in storage cabinets? I’m not a lawyer nor a legal secretary. It no doubt requires special filing furniture.

~*~

The first third of the volume covered our final month-and-a-half in Bloomington, aka Daffodil, followed by my flight to the Pacific Northwest.

As I look ahead, I see pages that were used to draft and refine poems that found publication as well as other entries that more or less became fiction in my novel Nearly Canaan and the third novella in The Secret Side of Jaya.

I’ll skip over those in this series and instead look for the unexpected.

 

No question, my Indiana years were special

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

As I’ve been seeing in this sweep through my journals, not all of my experiences in Bloomington wound up in my poetry and fiction.

Back when I switched my college major from journalism to “something that would expand my mind,” as one influential editor advised me, I chose political science because so much news coverage focuses on government and its impact. Somehow, I fell under the spell of Vincent Ostrom, especially his federalist perspectives of a compound republic and ground-upward rather than top-down action. My earlier posts reflect how this turned into a personal relationship, even before I was invited to join what’s now known at IU as the Ostrom Workshop.

His wife Elinor, better known to us as Lynn, was just beginning to teach at IU when I was an undergrad and I didn’t find the opportunity to enroll in her courses. (The fact the department scheduled her classes at 7:30 am was an additional problem for night-owl me, as I was as the time.) Despite obstacles erected because of her gender, she soon became a popular teacher and by the time I returned to campus, was a rising star. What I saw on my return was how naturally she functioned as the central figure in running our collaborative workshop, and how utterly amazing she was all around. It should be no surprise that she became not only the first woman but also the first political scientist to win the Nobel Prize in economics. Yes, the dismal science.

While I have never run for political office or served in a governmental role — I’m of the camp that believes doing so would compromise the neutrality or objectivity at the heart of serious journalism — I have carried many of the lessons from that training through the remainder of my life.

One is the ability to critically read a text, period. It serves well in literature, theology, proposing a course of action, as well as editing. A corresponding step then asks which assumptions can be relaxed or even removed from the paper under examination.

Another lesson involves management and associative structures. Many similarities exist in operating public, for-profit, and non-profit organizations. They are what make a civilization function. They were especially helpful when I was navigating the steps in the management ladder of corporate journalism in my moves to come.

The next question regarding any field of organization, of course, is how do we make it work better?

~*~

In this review of the experience, I’m surprised to see a parallel in the youthful enthusiastic personnel at the Workshop to the idealistic newsroom staff in my novel Hometown News.  Most of the events shaping that book, be warned, come in the years ahead.

~*~

As I look back, I see how crucial this year-and-a-half became in my life.

My evolution from yogi to Quaker began, for one thing, though an overlap would continue for another year or two.

Through a circle headed by three very fine poets, my personal voice in that vein took shape, accompanied by appearances in literary reviews across the nation.

Kat and I settled into a life that was largely pleasurable and fulfilling. I’ll leave the details for you to decipher in my novel Nearly Canaan. The middle novella in The Secret Side of Jaya, “Miller at the spring,” was also inspired by this period but written 40-some years later and recast in the Ozarks.

There was a curious semester when Nicki and Kat were enrolled in the same weaving class in the art department. Did my ex-lover know my wife was a classmate? Eventually, they became acquainted and that led to a face-to-face of the three of us, allowing me some resolution to the past.

And I felt freer to move forward.

~*~

Vincent had grown up on a mink farm near Mount Baker in Washington state, and he was quite encouraging in our move to the Northwest. Living in the interior desert, I would finally understand the intricacies of water legislation and management, which had been one of his specialties. Another arose from being a writer of the Alaska state constitution, a place that also had close connections to Washington state.

After packing up and moving westward, I never returned to Indiana, apart from the brief drive crossing on the toll road in the north on our return to Ohio after the Pacific Northwest.

I’d say the book was closed, yet the writing and revision were actually still ahead.

~*~

From Spiralbound Hoosier, with commentary from now.

 

Did He rise? Hear it, ye nations!

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Music written with distinctive shapes for each pitch became a way of training American amateurs to sing harmony in a choir. Fa-so-la plus mi, rather than do-re-mi, for starters. Known as shape-note singing, it led to a distinctive style of hymn performance called Sacred Harp, especially popular in the South. Here’s a bit from the Easter Anthem by colonial New England composer and tanner William Billings. I learned the piece with Mennonites and can attest that shape notes can be so much fun.

 

In case you want one more excuse to celebrate a new year

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Just consider:

  1. New Year’s wasn’t always celebrated on January 1st. The earliest New Year festivities date back about 4,000 years. At that time, the people of ancient Babylon began their new year in what we call March.
  2. They would have an 11-day festival to acclaim the beginning of spring. It also celebrated that crops were being planted.
  3. What we use today is known is the Gregorian calendar, introduced 443 years ago by Pope Gregory XIII in 1582 as a revised version of the Roman emperor Julian’s version. Gregory declared once and for all that January 1st should be New Year’s Day.
  4. Since then, most of the Western world marks the start of the year just like you and I do — on the first day of January.
  5. Still, it took almost 350 years for the world to get on board. Turkey didn’t make the switch until 1927. What was their objection?
  6. Ours is a solar new year, unlike the ones based on the moon – a lunar (Chinese) or lunisolar new year. The Islamic, Tamil, and Jewish calendars are prime examples of working around the moon. And India and Nepal are among nations that observe the event on a more fluid calendar, so we’re told.
  7. In Eastern Orthodox countries, January 1 is a religious holiday marking the circumcision of the Baby Jesus, seven days after his birth, rather than the beginning of a new calendar. The Orthodox religious calendar starts on September 1.
  8. Bulgaria, Cyprus, Egypt, Greece, Romania, Syria, and Turkey hold to a revised Julian calendar that observes January 1, but in other nations and locations where the Orthodox churches still adhere to the Julian calendar, including Georgia, Israel, Russia, the Republic of Macedonia, Serbia, Montenegro, and Ukraine, the civil new year is observed on January 1 while the religious feasts occur on January 14 Gregorian (which is January 1 Julian). Got that?
  9. Nobody celebrates a new fiscal year, do they? That date can vary, depending on the organization, but for the federal government, it runs from October 1 to September 30.
  10. And the income tax year, with its April 15 deadline, is a race to the finish line rather than a party.

There’s more, should you be interested. Like Ethiopia on September 11, with its 13-month calendar descending from the Egyptians.

Let’s leave it at that, for now. Instead, you may want to chill the bubbly.