1. I spent a good chunk of the day reading deeper into Boys in the Boat. I experienced unexpected pleasure in the passages describing George Pocock building the racing boats (or shells). The passages present boat building as a mystical experience, as creating a spiritual bond between the builder and his materials, especially the wood. The boat, when built with such loving attention and care, becomes almost like a living thing itself, holding the spirit of nature and and builder. I thought of two friends, Jeff Steve, a woodworker and builder of kayaks and of Curtis Rockwell, a luthier, and wondered if Daniel James Brown's descriptions of George Pocock at work would resonate with them and if, possibly, I now have a better understanding of their experiences creating beauty and function out of wood.
2. We do not have a well-groomed back yard. Guys come in about every two weeks to mow the grass, but what could be the garden areas are overgrown tangles of different grasses, a few raspberry stalks, random scraggly flowers, volunteer maple and lilac starts, and other things.
Gibbs loves our mess.
He loves to go over on the northwest area of our yard where Mom used to have raised beds and where the raspberries once were plentiful (since dug up -- are they at Carol's? Christy's? Both? I can't remember.). I like to think he feels the call of the wild back there as he nibbles on the few surviving berries, hides himself in knots of unruly grass and wooden stems, and finds places to dig a little bit and stick his nose in the ground. After a while, a sudden surge of joy shoots through Gibbs' little frame and he ecstatically sprints toward the deck where Debbie and I are sitting, sometimes dragging a thin stick three or four times longer than he is in his mouth.
3. I had planned (again) to take a bicycle ride late this afternoon when I knew the sun would be lower and possibly other riders might be done on the Trail of the CdAs. But, as it turned out, Debbie and I had some pressing matters to discuss and we got started on a good, long talk together. I took a slight break from our discussion to go down the street and replenish our liquor supply, returned home and mixed us each a drink, and we continued our conversation and had another cocktail or two.
By the way, this wasn't conflict conversation. We had some private matters to discuss that were urgent and we did it very well. We had a delicious pasta and pesto dinner and then headed over to Christy and Everett's deck and gabbed with them for a while.
Stu's limerick is in honor of National French Fries Day:
Origins of food are a hoot.
Like burgers from ham give the boot.
One crispy delight,
Made of spuds to taste right.
Was not French, but the point is now moot.
No comments:
Post a Comment