"I am not one who was born in the custody of wisdom. I am one who is fond of olden times and intense in quest of the sacred knowing of the ancients." Gustave Courbet

30 September 2011


Don't miss Ragamuffin Ramblings.


Mozart's opera, The Magic Flute, premired on this date in 1791.

Simon Keenlyside performs the aria, "Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja," from Act 1 ...

29 September 2011


I am king of the diamond. Let there be an abundant clubhouse feast. Bring me the finest meats and cheeses in all the land.



Goldsworthy, Rowan Leaves and Hole, undated

I enjoy the freedom of just using my hands and "found" tools--a sharp stone, the quill of a feather, thorns. I take the opportunities each day offers: if it is snowing, I work with snow, at leaf-fall it will be with leaves; a blown-over tree becomes a source of twigs and branches. I stop at a place or pick up a material because I feel that there is something to be discovered. Here is where I can learn.

Looking, touching, material, place and form are all inseparable from the resulting work. It is difficult to say where one stops and another begins. The energy and space around a material are as important as the energy and space within. The weather--rain, sun, snow, hail, mist, calm--is that external space made visible. When I touch a rock, I am touching and working the space around it. It is not independent of its surroundings, and the way it sits tells how it came to be there.

I want to get under the surface. When I work with a leaf, rock, stick, it is not just that material in itself, it is an opening into the processes of life within and around it. When I leave it, these processes continue.

Movement, change, light, growth and decay are the lifeblood of nature, the energies that I I try to tap through my work. I need the shock of touch, the resistance of place, materials and weather, the earth as my source. Nature is in a state of change and that change is the key to understanding. I want my art to be sensitive and alert to changes in material, season and weather. Each work grows, stays, decays. Process and decay are implicit. Transience in my work reflects what I find in nature.

The underlying tension of a lot of my art is to try and look through the surface appearance of things. Inevitably, one way of getting beneath the surface is to introduce a hole, a window into what lies below.

- Andy Goldsworthy



There is something dense, united, settled in the depths,
repeating its number, its identical sign.
How it is noted that stones have touched time,
in their refined matter there is an odor of age,
of water brought by the sea, from salt and sleep.

I'm encircled by a single thing, a single movement:
a mineral weight, a honeyed light
cling to the sound of the word "noche":
the tint of wheat, of ivory, of tears,
things of leather, of wood, of wool,
archaic, faded, uniform,
collect around me like walls.

I work quietly, wheeling over myself,
a crow over death, a crow in mourning.
I mediate, isolated in the spread of seasons,
centric, encircled by a silent geometry:
a partial temperature drifts down from the sky,
a distant empire of confused unities
reunites encircling me.

- Pablo Neruda

van Eijck, "Pavane Lachrimea"

Frans Brüggen performs ...


Chatham, Storm Across the Prairie, 2006

ARTWORKS on Russell Chatham ...

I think I have lived up to expectations in the sense that I have stayed in an honorable position, which is all that matters. In terms of greatness I don’t think its possible for me to be a great artist. My grandfather was that. In my experience great artists are almost oblivious to things around them. Their focus on their art is so powerful they can’t do anything else. I think I’m very good, and that’s what I’m going to be. I can’t eliminate other things in my life – other passions. I love them all.”

Good but not great? There are plenty of collectors and critics who would argue the point, but that would be to miss the point. Chatham has moved beyond all the comparisons. He has found his own voice and refined it – with words and images. Even if he is reluctant to say it out loud, he knows he is moving to a new level. “Thirty or forty years ago I had a powerful dream that I came into my grandfather’s house and there were hundreds of people there, more people than could ever fit. It was a like a big open room that stretched way back and over the heads I could see the tops of these paintings that were my grandfather’s. But I’ve seen every painting he ever did, so why haven’t I seen these? I was furious at my mother and my aunt. Why have they not shown them to me before? No one would answer me. It was a very powerful dream.” Chatham pauses before continuing. “I think I’m painting those paintings now. They weren’t my grandfather’s paintings at all. They were mine.” It took a lifetime but Chatham has finally arrived at the moment when, for him, dreams come true.

Read the rest here.

And now, the bad news ...


As I age in the world it will rise and spread,
and be for this place horizon
and orison, the voice of its winds.
I have made myself a dream to dream
of its rising, that has gentled my nights.
Let me desire and wish well the life
these trees may live when I
no longer rise in the mornings
to be pleased with the green of them
shining, and their shadows on the ground,
and the sound of the wind in them.

- Wendell Berry

28 September 2011


Chardin, Still Life with Dead Pheasant and Hunting Bag, 1760

What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives?

- E. M. Forster


Swimming out to the far rocks at night seems like an extreme way to fly fish. What made you decide to try it?

There is whole contingent in Montauk (surfcasters) who fish in wetsuits, at night. Let’s be clear, I am not the only one. Some prefer to fish in waist deep water, some push further out. I’ve been surfing and SCUBA diving since my teens, so the idea of swimming out to a rock never seemed like such a big deal. It just so happens I like to fish these locations with a fly rod (when conditions permit). You put the fly rod in your teeth, and off you go.

Read the rest at Fishing Jones.

Eddi Reader, "Bell, Book and Candle"

27 September 2011


Hopper, Barn Shadow, 1953

The past is not the property of historians; it is a public possession. It belongs to anyone who is aware of it, and it grows by being shared. It sustains the whole society, which always needs the identity that only the past can give. In the Grapes of Wrath John Steinbeck pictures a group of Oklahoma farm wives loading their goods into an old truck for the long trip to California. They did not have many possessions, but there was not room for what they had.

“The women sat among the doomed things, turning them over and looking past them and back. This book. My father had it. He liked a book. Pilgrim’s Progress. Used to read it. Got his name in it. And his pipe—still smells rank. And this picture—an angel. I looked at that before the fust three come—didn’t seem to do much good. Think we could get this china dog in? Aunt Sadie brought it from the St. Louis fair. See? Wrote right on it. No, I guess not. Here’s a letter my brother wrote the day before he died. Here’s an old-time hat. These feathers—never got to use them. No, there isn’t room …. How can we live without our lives? How will we know it’s us without our past?”

These are not members of a historical society. They had never seen a museum or a memorial. They were just people, asking a poignant and universal question: “How will we know it’s us without our past?” We do not choose between the past and the future; they are inseparable parts of the same river.

- Dr. Walter Havighurst



Happy Birthday, Adams.

Founding Father, Samuel Adams, was born on this date in 1722.

The liberties of our country, the freedoms of our civil Constitution are worth defending at all hazards; it is our duty to defend them against all attacks. We have received them as a fair inheritance from our worthy ancestors. They purchased them for us with toil and danger and expense of treasure and blood. It will bring a mark of everlasting infamy on the present generation – enlightened as it is – if we should suffer them to be wrested from us by violence without a struggle, or to be cheated out of them by the artifices of designing men.

- Samuel Adams

26 September 2011

Happy Birthday, Ferry.

Bryan Ferry was born on this date in 1944.

Gordon Lightfoot, "Early Morning Rain"

You can't jump a jet plane like you can a freight train
So I'd best be on my way in the early morning rain


Chatham, Autumn on the Good News River, 1986

Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by.
Now overlap the sundials with your shadows,
and on the meadows let the wind go free.

Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine;
grant them a few more warm transparent days,
urge them on to fulfillment then, and press
the final sweetness into the heavy wine.

- Rainer Maria Rilke, from "Autumn Day"


Dance, when you’re broken open. Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you’re perfectly free.

- Rumi


For what it’s worth, it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.

- F. Scott Fitzgerald


Life isn't as serious as the mind makes it out to be.

- Eckhart Tolle

25 September 2011


Collins, Cloud Study I, 2007

for how many years have you gone through the house
shutting the windows,
while the rain was still five miles away

and veering, o plum-colored clouds, to the north
away from you

and you did not even know enough
to be sorry,

you were glad
those silver sheets, with the occasional golden staple,

were sweeping on, elsewhere,
violent and electric and uncontrollable--

and will you find yourself finally wanting to forget
all enclosures, including

the enclosure of yourself, o lonely leaf, and will you
dash finally, frantically,

to the windows and haul them open and lean out
to the dark, silvered sky, to everything

that is beyond capture, shouting
i'm here, i'm here! now, now, now, now, now.

- Mary Oliver


Scottish artist, Andy Goldsworthy, is a man of incredible patience who sees the natural realm in a different way than most. With the outdoors as his palette, Goldsworthy performs feats as large as constructing a 1/2 mile stone wall that undulates through woods, field and stream and others as small as transforming pieces of an icicle into a spiral form without the aid of any outside material.

Stone is one of Goldsworthy's preferred materials and one he has studied most of his career. In his hands, stone seems to come alive. The arch, as a form, is something else that fascinates this artist. Combine the three elements closest to his heart ... the environment, stone and the arch form and you get beauty, drama and whimsey all in one sculpture.

The Grand Rapids Arch travels a road at the Frederik Meijer Gardens and Sculpture Park. This video is the story of how it's journey began ...

Goldsworthy reflects on creativity ...

Some of his autumnal work ...

Rivers and Tides, the documentary about his work ...

Part 1 (do yourself a favor, follow the links)

Andy Goldsworthy's website is here.


Tang of fruitage in the air;
Red boughs bursting everywhere;

Shimmering of seeded grass;

Hooded gentians all a'mass.
Warmth of earth, and cloudless wind
Tearing off the husky rind,
Blowing feathered seeds to fall
By the sun-baked, sheltering wall.
Beech trees in a golden haze;
Hardy sumachs all ablaze,
Glowing through the silver birches.
How that pine tree shouts and lurches!

From the sunny door-jamb high,
Swings the shell of a butterfly.
Scrape of insect violins
Through the stubble shrilly dins.
Every blade's a minaret

Where a small muezzin's set,
Loudly calling us to pray
At the miracle of day.

Then the purple-lidded night
Westering comes, her footsteps light
Guided by the radiant boon
Of a sickle-shaped new moon.

- Amy Lowell

Head in the clouds.

Rothko-esque surroundings in Appleton ...


Studies show that sketching and doodling improve our comprehension -- and our creative thinking. So why do we still feel embarrassed when we're caught doodling in a meeting? Sunni Brown says: Doodlers, unite! She makes the case for unlocking your brain via pad and pen.


Go afield with a good attitude, with respect for the wildlife you hunt and for the forest and fields in which you walk. Immerse yourself in the outdoor experience. It will cleanse your soul and make you a better person. A hunt based only on trophies taken falls far short of what the ultimate goal should be ... time to commune with your inner soul as you share the outdoors with the birds, animals, and fish that live there.

- Fred Bear

Poppi's perspective from his perch ...


You are introduced to the quarter-mile trail with a prelude for 300 Balinese wind chimes, followed by an adagio slalom of tuned bamboo pipes, which gives way to a reflective passage for suspended cellos and deckchairs and a pentatonic interlude of turbine-driven glockenspiels. It concludes, like a proper symphony, with a coda drawing together all the elements in a climax of either frenzied dissonance or a soft, extended diminuendo, depending on the weather conditions.

Read the rest at BLDGBLOG.


The Tony Rice Unit performed at the Fur Peace Ranch last night.

Bryn Davies.

Josh Williams.

Wyatt Rice.

Rob Ickes.

Tony Rice.

Whew! I was in the same room as these artists.

Frazier, JHM ... thank you.

23 September 2011

Head in the clouds.

Over Granville, one of summer's last sunsets ...

George Winston, "Moon"

Now shatter’d shades let me attend,
Reflecting look on their decline,
Where pattering leaves confess their end,
In sighing flutterings hinting mine.

For every leaf, that twirls the breeze,
May useful hints and lessons give;
The falling leaves and fading trees
Will teach and caution us to live.

- John Clare, from Autumn

Autumn begins right ... now.


Young, Untitled, 2011

Like darkness, fog packs a bit of mystery, giving a painting that edge over a delightful sunny landscape. Tones, color, light and sound are all muted, leaving the feeling of an abbreviated experience…..less is more.

Thanks, Jay.

This and much more at James Young, Artist.


... surrounded by the eleements, there's nothin' like it.

Gordon Lightfoot, "A Painter Passing Through"

Once upon a time, I was on my own
Once upon a time, like you've never known
Once upon a time, I would be impressed
Once upon a time, my life would be obsessed
Once upon a time, once upon a day when
I was in my prime, once along the way

If you want to know my secret
Don't come running after me
For I am just a painter
Passing through in history

Yesterday is gone, yesterday's allright
Yesterday belongs, in my dreams at night
Yesterday is swell, yesterday is great
Yesterday is strong, remembering can wait
Once upon a time, once upon a day when
I was in my prime, once along the way

If you want to know an answer I can't turn your life around
For I am just a painter passing through the underground

I was in my stride, always at my game
Here comes Mister Cool, along the walk of fame
I was in demand, always in control
The world was in my hands, my touch had turned to gold
Once upon a time, I was in a daze when
I was in my prime, once along the ways

If you want to know my secret don't come running after me
For I am just a painter passing through in history

Now that I am old, let me rest a spell
All that I am told, I can never tell
Never in my life, never will it pass
I am still alone, remembering at last
Once upon a time, once upon a day when
I was in my prime, once along the way

If you want to know an answer I can't turn your life around
For I am just a painter passing through the underground

If you want to know my secret don't come runnin' after me
For I am just a painter passing through in history

21 September 2011


Celestial Love

But God said,
'I will have a purer gift;
There is smoke in the flame;
New flowerets bring, new prayers uplift,
And love without a name.
Fond children, ye desire
To please each other well;
Another round, a higher,
Ye shall climb on the heavenly stair,
And selfish preference forbear;
And in right deserving,
And without a swerving
Each from your proper state,
Weave roses for your mate.

'Deep, deep are loving eyes,
Flowed with naphtha fiery sweet;
And the point is paradise,
Where their glances meet:
Their reach shall yet be more profound,
And a vision without bound:
The axis of those eyes sun-clear
Be the axis of the sphere:
So shall the lights ye pour amain
Go, without check or intervals,
Through from the empyrean walls
Unto the same again.'

Higher far into the pure realm,
Over sun and star,
Over the flickering Daemon film,
Thou must mount for love;
Into vision where all form
In one only form dissolves;
In a region where the wheel
On which all beings ride
Visibly revolves;
Where the starred, eternal worm
Girds the world with bound and term;
Where unlike things are like;
Where good and ill,
And joy and moan,
Melt into one.

There Past, Present, Future, shoot
Triple blossoms from one root;
Substances at base divided,
In their summits are united;
There the holy essence rolls,
One through separated souls;
And the sunny Aeon sleeps
Folding Nature in its deeps,
And every fair and every good,
Known in part, or known impure,
To men below,
In their archetypes endure.
The race of gods,
Or those we erring own,
Are shadows flitting up and down
In the still abodes.
The circles of that sea are laws
Which publish and which hide the cause.

Pray for a beam
Out of that sphere,
Thee to guide and to redeem.
O, what a load
Of care and toil,
By lying use bestowed,
From his shoulders falls who sees
The true astronomy,
The period of peace.
Counsel which the ages kept
Shall the well-born soul accept.
As the overhanging trees
Fill the lake with images,--
As garment draws the garment's hem,
Men their fortunes bring with them.
By right or wrong,
Lands and goods go to the strong.
Property will brutely draw
Still to the proprietor;
Silver to silver creep and wind,
And kind to kind.

Nor less the eternal poles
Of tendency distribute souls.
There need no vows to bind
Whom not each other seek, but find.
They give and take no pledge or oath,--
Nature is the bond of both:
No prayer persuades, no flattery fawns,--
Their noble meanings are their pawns.
Plain and cold is their address,
Power have they for tenderness;
And, so thoroughly is known
Each other's counsel by his own,
They can parley without meeting;
Need is none of forms of greeting;
They can well communicate
In their innermost estate;
When each the other shall avoid,
Shall each by each be most enjoyed.

Not with scarfs or perfumed gloves
Do these celebrate their loves:
Not by jewels, feasts and savors,
Not by ribbons or by favors,
But by the sun-spark on the sea,
And the cloud-shadow on the lea,
The soothing lapse of morn to mirk,
And the cheerful round of work.
Their cords of love so public are,
They intertwine the farthest star:
The throbbing sea, the quaking earth,
Yield sympathy and signs of mirth;
Is none so high, so mean is none,
But feels and seals this union;
Even the fell Furies are appeased,
The good applaud, the lost are eased.

Love's hearts are faithful, but not fond,
Bound for the just, but not beyond;
Not glad, as the low-loving herd,
Of self in other still preferred,
But they have heartily designed
The benefit of broad mankind.
And they serve men austerely,
After their own genius, clearly,
Without a false humility;
For this is Love's nobility,--
Not to scatter bread and gold,
Goods and raiment bought and sold;
But to hold fast his simple sense,
And speak the speech of innocence,
And with hand and body and blood,
To make his bosom-counsel good.
He that feeds men serveth few;
He serves all who dares be true.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Lisa Hannigan, "Ocean and A Rock"

Thoughts of you, warm my bones,
I'm on the way, I'm nearly home,
Let's get lost, me and you
An ocean and a rock is nothing to me


Give All to Love

Give all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Estate, good-frame,
Plans, credit and the Muse,—
Nothing refuse.

’T is a brave master;
Let it have scope:
Follow it utterly,
Hope beyond hope:
High and more high
It dives into noon,
With wing unspent,
Untold intent:
But it is a god,
Knows its own path
And the outlets of the sky.

It was never for the mean;
It requireth courage stout.
Souls above doubt,
Valor unbending,
It will reward,—
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.

Leave all for love;
Yet, hear me, yet,
One word more thy heart behoved,
One pulse more of firm endeavor,—
Keep thee to-day,
To-morrow, forever,
Free as an Arab
Of thy beloved.

Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
First vague shadow of surmise
Flits across her bosom young,
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free;
Nor thou detain her vesture’s hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.

Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Though her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive;
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson


On the occasion of the publishing of his latest collection of poetry, Songs of Unreason (November 1), and his latest novel, The Great Leader (October 4), Ursa Major was interviewed by Tom Bissell ...

Sometimes we you are talking to Harrison, he gets incredibly still. He looks away and starts breathing wheezily from his chest and his eyes fade, and you begin to worry that he is in the middle of a cardiac event. Other times, when he is talking about drinking or writing or his wife or daughters or grand­children, he becomes boyish, all the wrinkles ironed out of his face and his eyes slits of joy. Other times, when he is losing his patience, he resembles some kind of Indian werebear with a face wrecked by pit fighting. With Harrison it is impossible to feel something so simple as friendship. He seems to me the closest thing we have to a tribal ­elder. If writers ever required permission to raid ­another tribe and steal its corn, we would need to ask Harrison. He would listen carefully and judge prudently. We would never doubt his judgment, even when we saw him playing in the stream an hour later.

Read the rest at Outside.


Monday, September 21, 1981.

My first concert.

The Kinks.

Veterans' Memorial Coliseum in Columbus, Ohio.

30 years ago ... right now.

The Kinks, "Around The Dial"

Here's the setlist (those internets are wonderful things):

Around The Dial
Catch Me Now, I'm Falling
Art Lover
Back To Front
You Really Got Me
Too Serious
Celluloid Heroes
Gallon Of Gas
20th Century Man
All Day And All Of The Night

Give The People What They Want

Stop Your Sobbing
Low Budget
Come On Now
(Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman

Little Queenie
Louie, Louie

Happy Birthday, Hobbit.

On this date, in 1937, Tolkien's The Hobbit was published

They are made by man in his own image and likeness; but freed from those limitations which he feels most to press upon him. They are immortal, and their will is directly effective for the achievement of imagination and desire.

- J.R.R Tolkien


In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.

- Albert Schweitzer


How strange is the lot of us mortals! Each of us is here for a brief sojourn; for what purpose he knows not, though he senses it. But without deeper reflection one knows from daily life that one exists for other people. A hundred times every day I remind myself that my inner and outer life depend on the labors of other men, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to give in the same measure as I have received and am still receiving.

- Albert Einstein

20 September 2011

Gaultier le Vieux, Tombeau de Mezangeau, Allemande in D minor

Performed by Jordi Savall's buddy, Xavier Díaz-Latorre ...

Bill Evans Trio, "My Foolish Heart"

I woke up this morning thinking of afternoon things. This song reminds me my days at the deli ... of shift change, pickle juice, caraway seeds, corned beef fat, raw-milk cheese.

One of my most enjoyable duties was to choose the evenings' music. The Bill Evans Trio's Live at Town Hall was always on high rotation.

For Veerle, Mike, Marla, Little Chris, Tony, Don, Diane, Steve, and "Seven-To-Five, No-Jive" Dan ...


Young, Into The Sun, undated

As a man is, so he sees. As the eye is formed, such are its powers.

- William Blake

Do yourself a favor ... look.


Free range and fog fed.

A Restless Transplant wanders on, ... on ...


At home & at work, out & about, eating & drinking, walking & talking, looking & thinking.

Keen awareness at The Blue Hour.

19 September 2011

Ronn McFarlane, "Pinetops"


Manet, White Peonies, 1864

When you've got it, you've got it. When you haven't, you begin again. All the rest is humbug.

- Edouard Manet


Reason is highly over-rated ...

... and nine more Reasons Why The Top 10 Reasons Don't Matter at a wonder-filled site called Idea Champions.


On this date in 1931, the Marx Brothers' first film, Monkey Business, was released.


The other day on a very warm border winter afternoon, I was sitting on the patio with my wife Linda, sharing a bottle of delightful Bouzeron. We were watching a rare pair of hepatic tanagers at the feeder. These birds evidently don’t get hepatitis. It was all very pleasant and I recalled again a passage from the journal of a Kentucky schizophrenic who had escaped from an asylum. He wrote, “Birds are holes in heaven through which a man may pass.” I had this little epiphany that wine could do the same thing if properly used. We all have learned, sometimes painfully, that more is not necessarily better than less. When Baudelaire wrote in his famed “Enivrez-Vous,” “Be always drunk on wine or poetry or virtue,” he likely didn’t mean commode-hugging drunk. Wine can offer oxygen to the spirit, I thought, getting off my deck chair and going into the kitchen to cook some elk steak and dietetic potatoes fried in duck fat, and not incidentally opening a bottle of Domaine Tempier Bandol because I had read a secret bible in France that said to drink red after dark to fight off the night in our souls.

Breathe deeper at Gourmet Underground Detroit.


After so many years touring Arlington Cemetery with my family in honor of my father’s father, who was gravely wounded just days before the end of World War I, it was a rare privilege to stand next to the historic monument, which is beautiful at any distance. It was a high honor to meet and talk with the men who guard the Tomb of the Unknowns around the clock year-round, all members of the elite 3rd U.S. Infantry. In the middle of the night, as the conservators worked, it was clear to me that the men and women charged with guarding and conserving the Tomb of the Unknowns share a deep respect for the iconic monument and the ultimate sacrifice it represents.

The conservation efforts at the Tomb of the Unknowns are explained here ...

Read the rest at PreservationNation.

18 September 2011


Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swaps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists ... it is real ... it is possible ... it's yours.

- Ayn Rand


For broken dreams, the cure is dream again, and deeper.

- C.S. Lewis

Galilei, "Contapunto I"

Monica Pustilnik and Evangelina Mascardi perform ...


Homer, Two Men in a Canoe, 1895

If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal- that is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. They are the highest reality. Perhaps the facts most astounding and most real are never communicated by man to man. The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched.

- Henry David Thoreau

17 September 2011

Coach Babcock.








The Wings began training camp in Traverse City this week. I am READY!

You're looking for players whose name on the front of the sweater is more important than the one on the back.

- Herb Brooks

"Demolition Man" is that player ...

Head in the clouds.

Thank you, Jess ...

Thank you, Not-So-Big Poppi ...


With a 3-1 win over the As, the Tigers clinched the American League Central division title.

... Leyland pointed out, “we were seven games behind the Cleveland Indians at one point and people weren’t really talking about us at all.”

Yet his team, he said, “worked hard. They stuck together.”

Sam Bush, "Watson Allman"

Mandobro? Mandobro.


... it's not as early as we think it is.

A pat on the shoulder from Wanderations.

16 September 2011


My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.
— Jack Kerouac

J. Geils Band, "Jus' Can't Stop Me" ... yes, again.

Ah, yes ... Willpower.

15 September 2011


Poetry had breathed over and sanctified the land.

- Washington Irving

Hunters and Gatherers at Home always leaves me daydreaming ...

Rolling Stones, "Tumbling Dice"

The Stones' great double-live album, Love You Live, came out on this date in 1977.


... and the poets are at their windows.

Look through Wanderations ...

Rodney Crowell, "Still Learning How To Fly"

The hour is early
The whole world is quiet
A beautiful morning's about to ignite
I'm ready for danger
I'm ready for fire
I'm ready for something to lift me up higher

Life's been good, I guess
My ragged old heart's been blessed
With so much more than meets the eye
I've got a past I won't soon forget
You ain't seen nothing yet
I'm still learning how to fly

It's the dreams that die hard
With old habits to break
You can't let down your guard
When there's so much at stake
I'm halfway to heaven, halfway to hell
But I might roll a seven
You never can tell

Life's been good it's true
When I'm feeling just like new
The same old rules need not apply
I've got a past full of sticks and stones
And a good feeling in my bones
I'm still learning how to fly

I wanna go faster
I don't wanna slow down
I don't wanna get off of this merrygoround
I wanna be reckless
I wanna be vain
I wanna make love like a runaway train

Life's been good I said
I'm 10,000 miles ahead
The day I rest is the day I die
I've got a past like a broken wing
But you ain't seen anything
I'm still learning how to fly
I'm still learning how to fly

14 September 2011

Peter Rowan, "Across The Rolling Hills"


The power of beauty at work in man, as the artist has always known, is severe and exacting, and once evoked, will never leave him alone, until he brings his work and life into some semblance of harmony with its spirit.

- Lawren Harris

Thank you for the inspiration, Execupundit.