Thursday, April 30, 2015
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Dear Hummers & Whistlers,
A song to sing for today. This is a song made in the son style. The buzzy-clacking is a donkey's jawbone, and I'll bet you don't have that just yet in your music room!
If you like the David Wax Museum, you should listen also to this; if you like son (and who doesn't?) you might try this.
If you cannot get enough of the radiant sound of Mariachi, and it's gloriously fastened con botonadura side seam pants, you might, one day, go here. The wearing of the charro pants, by the way, and the sharp jacket, are somewhat controversial- but, enlightened reader, you already know all about how politicized dress is, and what it means to defy or question convention and power in the name of art.
PS One more museum: The Moffat Museum. It will inspire you do what you can with the stuff that you have, and re-present it all to the world! Just like the Way of the Dodo!
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
My parents have a nest, in their garage:
This is not the first hummingbird to eschew the traditional tree; take a look at some of these other unusual locations for hummer nests.
Isn't it fine, how the bird and the nest are defined by each other?
PS Hummingbirds: there's an app for that, right here.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Dear Darling Coffee Junkies and Space Cowboys,
This is the curious espresso machine that yesterday's rocket care-package (aka: resupply mission) sent to the ISS.
Don't that just beat all? I leave it to you to decide if the deprivations of space (well, more properly, 'low earth orbit') should exclude cappuccino.
Monday, April 13, 2015
What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? I think I know. Well-watched is all the drying paint, and the kettle won't boil while you do, so you have a few minutes to kill. It's a very wide world indeed, baby, and here is a little slice meant especially for you.
The thing consuming my mind, besides bringing you this joyful celebration of our fabulous cultural wonders, are the hours. Some time back, I wondered if we spend much more than an hour on anything anymore. A whole hour, not the 50 minutes of the gym and the school and the doctor's office. Does dining out take an entire hour? Not very often. Where can you go for your sustained interest, I wondered. Not here, this is hoping to slip through the cracks and into your consciousness, and I know I have only the time it takes for the elevator to reach your floor.
But what if it was a long, slow, languorous elevator? What if I slipped into your pocket, and we spent all day, you and I, together? Where would we start? On a bench, I think, outside. We'd begin by listening to the birdsong, and noting the deepening of the green on the leaves of the oaks. We would spend an hour just on the listening and the greening. And from there?
Friday, April 10, 2015
I have been considering the world of materials-the physical world of materials, manipulated by hands. The way the world of materials changes and changes you, as you immerse yourself in them. Dig deep, plunge into it, whatever it be.
Today, I will run my fingers along dark threads, working on a tailored wool dress- and I think, a beautiful almond cake, a recipe I have treasured since the old days of getting the Sunday NY Times- also, besides writing to you here, I will use my silver fountain pen to write a dear friend, on a notecard of marbled pink and slate.
Wild horses couldn't drag me away from making things. After you watch Mick Jagger run the song through his hands, watch this pony emerge from a glowing blob of glass, and see if you can stay away from using your hands to make today.
The recipe, if you'd care to join me in making almond cake today.