30 November 2025
Better.
Georges Luneau's documentary on Jim Harrison, Between Dog and Wolf ...
I'm now 55 and I've been doing this for 50 years, in half a century, I've been going into the woods and the thickets since I was a little boy. After I hurt my eye, I was blinded in my left eye, I think I retreated from the world to the world of thickets. So I started sleeping outside a lot when was a little boy, usually with my dog, whatever dog, at the same time. I felt much happier sleeping out in the forest, especially in the summer, obviously. Perhaps someday I think I will even die splaying out by a fire under the stars, which is a much better way to live perhaps ...
Deliver.
Expert knowledge is limited knowledge: and the unlimited ignorance of the plain man who knows only what hurts is a safer guide, than any vigorous direction of a specialised character. Why should you assume that all except doctors, engineers etc., are drones or worse? Surely outside scientific spheres there are vast regions of human thought. Is not government itself both an art and a science?
To manage men, to explain difficult things to simple people, to reconcile opposite interests, to weigh the evidence of disputing experts, to deal with the clamorous emergency of the hour; are not these things in themselves worth the consideration and labour of a lifetime? If the Ruler is to be an expert in anything he should be an expert in everything; and that is plainly impossible. Wherefore I say from the dominion of all specialists, good Lord deliver us.
Sir Winston Churchill, from a letter to H.G. Wells, 17 November 1901
Churchill, Self-Portrait, 1920
Existence.
The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the Eyes of others only a Green thing that stands in the way. Some see Nature all ridicule and deformity, and by these I shall not regulate my proportions; and some scarce see Nature at all. But to the Eyes of the Man of Imagination, Nature is Imagination itself. What is now proved was once only imagined. The imagination is not a state: it is the human existence itself.
William Blake
Absorbing.
Armed with a paint-box, one cannot be bored, one cannot be
left at a loose end, one cannot "have several days on one's hands." One must not be too ambitious. One cannot
aspire to masterpieces. We may content ourselves with a joy ride in a paint
box. And, for this, audacity is the only ticket. Just to paint is great fun. The colors are lovely to look at
and delicious to squeeze out. Matching them, however crudely, with what you see
is fascinating and absolutely absorbing.
Sir Winston Churchill, from Painting as a Pastime
One.
Linnell, William Blake, 1861
There is a smile of love,
And there is a smile of deceit;
And there is a smile of smiles,
In which these two smiles meet.
(And there is a frown of hate,
And there is a frown of disdain;
And there is a frown of frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain,
For it sticks in the heart's deep core,
And it sticks in the deep backbone.)
And no smile that ever was smiled,
But only one smile alone--
That betwixt the cradle and grave
It only once smiled can be.
But when it once is smiled
There's an end to all misery.
William Blake
Happy Birthday, Andrea Palladio
Palladio, Study for Baths of Agrippa, 1550
Beauty will result from the form and the correspondence of
the whole, with respect to the several parts, of the parts with regard to each
other, and of these again to the whole; that the structure may appear an entire
and complete body, wherein each member agrees with the other, and all necessary
to compose what you intend to form.
Andrea Palladio, born on this date in 1508
PALLADIO: The Architect and His Influence in America ...
Happy Birthday, Mark Twain
We catched fish and talked, and we took a swim now and then
to keep off sleepiness. It was kind of solemn, drifting down the big, still
river, laying on our backs looking up at the stars, and we didn't ever feel
like talking loud, and it warn't often that we laughed—only a little kind of a
low chuckle. We had mighty good weather as a general thing, and nothing ever
happened to us at all—that night, nor the next, nor the next.
Mark Twain, born on this day in 1835, from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
Handy.
I get to my desk (in a very small room at the top of the house) at about 10, and fiddle about with the height of the desk and the chair until I’m comfortable. I have a desk that I can raise or lower according to the state of my aching back. Sometimes I stand at it, and sometimes I have it high up to write at, and sometimes a bit lower to type.
The desk is covered by an ancient kilim, because it looks nice, but that’s not a good surface to write on, so I have one of those green safety cutting mats to support the paper I use, which is A4 narrow lined, with two holes. I love the shape of the A paper sizes. It’s the only one of Andrea Palladio’s recommended architectural shapes (the ratios of room length to width, and so on) that contains an irrational number, in this case the ratio of one to the square root of two. Very handy for illustrating Pythagoras’s famous theorem, in fact.
Nearby is a basket full of coloured pencils, including some of the best of all, the Berol Karisma range, now unfortunately discontinued. For each book I write, the paper is authorised for writing on by means of a coloured stripe along the top edge. I fan the sheets out and colour a stack at a time. The current book is a warm blend of Karisma Pumpkin Orange and Faber Castell Venetian Red. I sometimes think I should make it clear which key I’m writing a particular passage in – D minor, at the moment – but that would be silly, unlike colouring the pages, which makes perfect sense.
In front of me there’s a little aneroid barometer, a present from my son Tom, which also tells me the temperature and the humidity. Near that is a piece of equipment given to me by the scientists at the Rutherford Appleton Laboratory, which came out of an instrument that detects dark matter, or tries to. It’s a cylinder of glass in a copper casing, about the size of a small snowball but much heavier. I use it as a paperweight for my current manuscript, so it can go on detecting dark matter, or Dust, when I’m not around. I also keep some binoculars handy so I can watch any interesting birds through the window. The village heron lumbers past occasionally, and right now there’s a red kite circling over the church tower.
From the Bodleian Libraries' "Behind the Desk" series ...
Choosing.
Sometimes, of course, joy comes in these beautifully upbeat and innocent moments. But it’s of equal import when we’re struggling with a serious issue and unsure of how to move forward. Nearly a century ago, Tristan Tzara gave some advice that our whole country—me included, of course—could take to heart. “Let us try for once not to be right.” Instead, we can listen with open hearts and remember that joy is a part of living a good life, even in stressful situations. We can, in that context, skip the lectures and instead lean in and then learn some more. If we’re paying attention, the odds are pretty high that some joy will ensue. Choosing joy, even in the face of adversity, is one of the best ways we can lead positive change.
Happy Birthday, Sir Winston Churchill
"What shall I do with all my books?" was the question; and the answer, "Read them," sobered the questioner. But if you cannot read them, at any rate handle them and, as it were, fondle them. Peer into them. Let them fall open where they will. Read on from the first sentence that arrests the eye. Then turn to another. Make a voyage of discovery, taking soundings of uncharted seas. Set them back on their shelves with your own hands. Arrange them on your own plan, so that if you do not know what is in them, you at least know where they are. If they cannot be your friends, let them at any rate be your acquaintances. If they cannot enter the circle of your life, do not deny them at least a nod of recognition ...
Choose well, choose wisely, and choose one. Concentrate upon that one. Do not be content until you find yourself reading in it with real enjoyment. The process of reading for pleasure in another language rests the mental muscles; it enlivens the mind by a different sequence and emphasis of ideas. The mere form of speech excites the activity of separate brain-cells, relieving in the most effective manner the fatigue of those in hackneyed use. One may imagine that a man who blew the trumpet for his living would be glad to play the violin for his amusement. So it is with reading in another language than your own.
Sir Winston Churchill, born on this day in 1874, from Thoughts and Adventures
29 November 2025
Happy Birthday, C.S. Lewis
"Don't you like a rather foggy wood in autumn? You'll find we shall be perfectly warm sitting in the car."
Jane said she'd never heard of anyone liking fogs before but she didn't mind trying. All three got in.
"That's why Camilla and I got married, "said Denniston as they drove off. "We both like Weather. Not this or that kind of weather, but just Weather. It's a useful taste if one lives in England."
"How ever did you learn to do that, Mr. Denniston?" said Jane. "I don't think I should ever learn to like rain and snow."
"It's the other way round," said Denniston. "Everyone begins as a child by liking Weather. You learn the art of disliking it as you grow up. Noticed it on a snowy day? The grown-ups are all going about with long faces, but look at the children - and the dogs? They know what snow's made for."
"I'm sure I hated wet days as a child," said Jane.
"That's because the grown-ups kept you in," said Camilla. "Any child loves rain if it's allowed to go out and paddle about in it."
C.S. Lewis, born on this day in 1898, from That Hideous Strength
28 November 2025
Happy Birthday, Jean-Baptiste Lully
Roullet, Lully, 1693
Jean-Baptiste Lully was born on this day in 1632.
The Namur Chamber Choir and Millenium Orchestra Cappella Mediterranea, directed by Patrick Cohën-Akenine, perform the Te Deum Laudamus from the Hymn of Saint Ambroise ...
Happy Birthday, William Blake
William Blake, born on this day in 1757
27 November 2025
Hurrah.
Currier & Ives, Home to Thanksgiving, 1867
_Currier_-_Home_to_Thanksgiving_-_(MeisterDrucke-912967).jpg)
OVER THE RIVER and THROUGH the WOOD
Over the river, and through the wood,
To Grandfather’s house we go;
The horse knows the way,
To carry the sleigh,
Through the white and drifted snow.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To Grandfather’s house away!
We would not stop
For doll or top, For it is Thanksgiving Day.
Over the river, and through the wood,
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes,
And bites the nose,
As over the ground we go.
Over the river, and through the wood,
With a clear blue winter sky,
The dogs do bark,
And children hark,
As we go jingling by.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To have a first-rate play –
Hear the bells ring,
“Ting a ling ding!”
Hurray for Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river, and through the wood,
No matter for winds that blow
Or if we get
The sleigh upset
Into a bank of snow.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To see little John and Ann;
We will kiss them all,
And play snowball,
And stay as long as we can.
Over the river, and through the wood,
Trot fast my dapple grey!
Spring over the ground,
Like a hunting-hound,
For ’tis Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river, and through the wood,
And straight through the barnyard gate;
We seem to go
Extremely slow,
It is so hard to wait!
Over the river, and through the wood –
Old Jowler hears our bells;
He shakes his pow,
With a loud bow-wow,
And thus the news he tells.
Over the river, and through the wood,
When Grandmother sees us come,
She will say, “O, dear,
The children are here,
Bring pie for everyone.”
Over the river, and through the wood,
Now Grandmother’s cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun!
Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!
Lydia Maria Child
Brian Bazier performs your accompaniment on the tubaccordion ...
Ice-Cold.
Getting ready for the Lions game, Dad would always set out creamed herring, extra sharp Pinconning cheddar, Triscuits, and "ice-cold" Bud.
"It's gotta be ice-cold!"
Thanks, Pop.
Tradition.
Vintage Detroit looks at the Lions' Thanksgiving tradition ...
The tradition began in 1934, during the team’s first season in Detroit. Then-owner G.A. “Dick” Richards, who had recently moved the franchise from Portsmouth, Ohio, was struggling to draw fans. Despite fielding a competitive team, the Lions couldn’t lure attention away from baseball’s powerhouse Detroit Tigers.Richards, who also owned a radio station, decided to stage a bold publicity stunt: a Thanksgiving Day game. He convinced the NBC Radio Network to broadcast it nationally—an unprecedented move at the time. On November 29, 1934, the Lions hosted the defending champion Chicago Bears at University of Detroit Stadium.The result? A sellout crowd of 26,000 fans, with thousands more turned away at the gates. The Bears won 19–16, but Detroit’s holiday football experiment was a resounding success. A new tradition was born.
Telemann, Tafelmusik
Jordi Savall leads The Georgian Sinfonietta in a performance of the Suite in B-Major (TWV 55:B 1) ...
Blest.
Wyeth, N.C., An Early Thanksgiving, 1926
EPITAPHIUM MEUM
Certain Verses left by the Honoured William Bradford Esq.; Governour of the Jurisdic
From my years young in days of youth,
God did make known to me his truth,
And call'd me from my native place
For to enjoy the means of grace
In wilderness he did me guide,
And in strange lands for me provide.
In fears and wants, through weal and woe,
As pilgrim passed I to and fro:
Oft left of them whom I did trust;
How vain it is to rest on dust!
A man of sorrows I have been,
And many changes I have seen.
Wars, wants, peace, plenty have I known;
And some advanc'd, others thrown down.
The humble, poor, cheerful and glad;
Rich, discontent, sower and sad:
When fears with sorrows have been mixed,
Consolations came betwixt.
Faint not, poor soul, in God still trust,
Fear not the things thou suffer must;
For, whom he loves he doth chastise,
And then all tears wipes from their eyes.
Farewell, dear children, whom I love,
Your better father is above:
When I am gone, he can supply;
To him I leave you when I die.
Fear him in truth, walk in his ways,
And he will bless you all your days.
My days are spent, old age is come,
My strength it fails, my glass near run:
Now I will wait when work is done,
Until my happy change shall come,
When from my labors I shall rest
With Christ above for to be blest.
William Bradford
Remember.
Wyeth, Corn Harvest, 1934
The odor of the coming feast fills the air. Go! Remember God's bounty in the year. String the pearls of your favor. Hide the dark parts, except so far as they are breaking out in light. Give this one day to thanks, to joy, to gratitude. And, on such a day as this, while you participate in the bounties of your table, remember that there is that which God will esteem even more as a thanksgiving. Forgive your enemies. Settle the differences that have vexed the year. Humble yourselves one toward another. Tell God, as you go home, that, in requital of his great goodness and county to you, you cleanse your heart and wash your hands; you sacrifice your enmities; you augment your charities. Look upon the poor among you, and forget not the stranger.
Henry Ward Beecher, from "The Family as an American Institution"
26 November 2025
Long-Playing.
Another Amateur Night is upon us. Stay in and pile thirteen hours of long-playing, microgrooved, nonbreakable stereophonic platters on the hi-fi ...
Designed for dancing with no interruption between numbers.
Kurt suggests a worthy addition ...
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