Thursday, December 18, 2008

keep calm and carry on


As the pond freezes over and the frogs are asleep in the mud and the goldfish torpid in the depths and more snow is expected, it is time to send seasonal greetings to you faithful readers. both of you. Happy Holidays!

The Keep Calm poster (here on display at Avalon International Breads in Detroit) is a Detroit adaptation of the original 1939 British poster urging the nation not to panic on the brink of war. The original had the royal crown at the top where the Spirit of Detroit sits today. And so as the iconic Detroit industry crumbles, and time is running out on any kind of government bail-out and the Big Three are moving towards becoming the Big Two, we are keeping as calm as possible. And heading for the holidays to sunny California, a state that is about to go broke. 

"We're not broke," as my Uncle Barlow used to say, "we're just badly bent." All of us.








Sunday, December 14, 2008

cost cutting at chrysler

Martha was laid off from Chrysler the day before Thanksgiving and she's happy about it. who would want to stay in a department that suddenly was cut from 20 to 8 employees? She told us of two cost-cutting measures that Chrysler had implemented this fall in their auburn hills headquarters: when batteries in clocks on the walls gave out, they weren't replaced. now of course everyone has a watch, or a cell phone, or a computer, so it wasn't hard to know the time. but it was disheartening to see clocks stopped at random times everywhere. and when light bulbs died in places judged to be inessential, they weren't replaced either, leaving dim corners here and there.

god is in the details. this paradigm suggests that Chrysler is surely doomed.

the problem is not the expense of the batteries or bulbs, though of course there is a savings in that, but the expense lies in the cost of the UAW maintenance employee who must change them, and no one else.


Tuesday, December 2, 2008

yes we can in eskilstuna


We had a Thanksgiving visit from one of our Swedish friends, Peter Albertsson, who told us of one way that Obama's election was celebrated in Eskilstuna. On the Sunday after the election in the medieval church of Forskyrkan, the youth choir sang several American spirituals. At the end of each one they all shouted out "Yes We Can!" and the congregation chimed in.

I don't know whose idea this was: Tim, the pastor who just happens to be from Michigan, or Mats, the choir director who recently worked with South African singers on "Showboat," or maybe the choir members themselves, but thanks to you all for your support. We were very happy too.

Now that we've heard from Hong Kong (see November post "midnight phone call") and Sweden, we're sure that this celebration is worldwide.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

wounded deer in the headlights

driving home from ann arbor last night at about 9 p.m., i saw a car far ahead of me swerve out of the right hand lane, and then i could see what looked at first like a large package in the road. alas, it was a deer, a large doe, very much alive, lying on her belly with her head and neck erect, her legs splayed out in an unnatural way.

i pulled over and walked towards her, but not too close. she turned her head and looked at me with the cliche of big brown eyes, pleading for help. she didn't try to move. i suppose her legs were broken. i couldn't see any blood, but it was dark. what to do?

i wondered if i had had a gun, would i have had the courage to shoot her and put her out of her misery? running over her with my car didn't seem like a good idea.

i remembered that dan said if a deer is actually in the road, the police will come for it. so i called 911. the dispatcher said thanks and she'll call "the proper authority."

it's deer season in michigan. someone could easily score their venison right there on dixboro road. maybe the cops. maybe any of my heavily armed neighbors who've been target shooting the past few weeks.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

midnight phone call

Late Friday evening, November 7, we were watching Bill Maher on tv . Now that we've been celebrating Barack's election and Sarah Palin and John McCain are mostly gone, Bill's satirical barbs weren't so funny. I was more than half asleep.

At 11:45 the phone rang and a familiar voice with a Polish accent said, "Hello, this is Hin-Ha, calling from Hong Kong." While I tried to shake myself awake, she said, "We are very excited about Obama's election."

Hin-Ha (aka Samsi or Magdelena) is the Polish Buddhist nun who I met when she spent some time at the Zen Temple in Ann Arbor. I spent a bizarre day with her at her remote monastery in the jungle on an island in the New Territories of Hong Kong. That's the place where the nuns have to meditate on raised platforms so that deadly poisonous snakes can't attack them and they have a helicopter pad to lift them out if a snake does find anyone prey.

"We have read in a magazine," she went on, "that many states not usually vote Democratic have voted for him. Which states are they, please?" I did my best to remember. I wasn't quick enough to ask her who "we" were: the 20 or so Chinese nuns living there, or perhaps an American or European nun.

"This John McCain, he looks like a nice man, we think. Is he a nice man?"

I said something about him probably being a decent enough guy, but anyone stupid enough to make Sarah Palin the v.p. nominee isn't qualified to run for president. Then I had another thought, as I remembered that the only possessions Hin-Ha can have are the clothes on her back and whatever can fit in her cloth shoulder bag.

"Did you know that McCain owns eight houses and thirteen cars?"

She laughed. "Ah, no, then I think he is not a very nice man."

She explained that she "found" a phone card with some minutes on it, so she was calling us to say hello and congraulations. Needless to say, we were happy to know that the good news had reached the Ch'an nuns of Po Lam and that they were celebrating too.

Monday, November 10, 2008

new day, new week, old post


now that we have done more than merely survive the election and are still slightly wondering if it can actually be true that Obama will be presdient, it's time to blog. apologies for being a slug about it, but everything has been so uncertain and worrisome that all i've wanted to do is knit. i've produced a couple of warm scarves, unlike the knitter who was driven to make cosies for the trees (above: thank you ingrid w. for the image).

some of the most alert readers had a chance to see the post "Pure Detroit" which survived on the web for less than 24 hours. i will repost it, now that i've made the blog unsearchable. i was alarmed to find that a google search for "Judge Vonda Evans" turned up my mentions of her on the blog and i sure didn't want her reading it and coming after me. so here goes:

Pure Detroit

[This is part of a creative nonfiction essay about a day i spent in Detroit. it falls in the middle of the piece.]

Crudely printed yellow signs were posted on all three entrance doors to the Frank Murphy Hall of Justice: NO CELL PHONES. Here at the Third Judicial Circuit Court next to the Wayne County Jail, you were on your own to get rid of your phone.
“OK, then what can I do with my phone?” I asked the beefy policeman sitting next to the airport style metal detector.
“Guy in the parking lot across the street‘ll keep it for you for a buck or two.”
I looked out at the large unpaved lot full of cars and the little shack by the entrance. Next to it a skinny old man in sunglasses and a baseball cap with the Tiger’s ‘D’ leaned back in an executive style office chair
Lawyers are allowed to keep their cell phones, so I called my son Andrew; he was waiting for a case to be called in a courtroom on the eighth floor. He said he’d come right down.
It was noon on a warm May day, threatening rain. There were dozens of people out on the plaza in front of the courthouse. They stood in little groups, usually including an easily identifiable lawyer: a man in a suit and tie or a woman in a pants suit, with either briefcases or stacks of files in their arms. The lawyers looked serious; the regular citizens didn’t look happy. No one comes to the Frank Murphy Hall of Justice to have a good time. It’s a twelve storey building, where sixty-three judges sit, adjudicating civil, criminal, and family matters from across Detroit and all of Wayne County. Built in the 1960s in a modern style called “Brutalist,” the tough slabs of its concrete exterior could never be described as friendly or welcoming. The building dwarfs Carl Milles’ bronze sculpture “The Hand of God” standing outside, threatening divine retribution.
Andrew had invited me to come downtown for lunch at noon. He’d told me he would be in court that morning, but his case was on the docket for nine thirty, and shouldn’t take too long. “It’s just another habeas corpus,” he’d said. He is a Federal Defender and the writ of habeas corpus (“you shall have the body”) is a federal statute. It’s a prisoner’s right to a hearing to determine if he or she has been unlawfully imprisoned. But why was Andrew here in the Wayne County criminal court today? This was not his usual beat.
He appeared, dapper and suitably lawyerly in a three-piece light gray pinstripe suit with his ironic polka-dot bow tie. “This place is crazee, just crazee,” he said. “But finally they’ve called the case ahead of us.”
Just then a tall thin lawyer in a trench coat hailed Andrew and came over to chat. When Andrew introduced me as his mother, the guy said, “Wow; you were married to Professor Wise? That must have been quite a trip…he was brilliant, but, um quite a character, wasn’t he?”
Yes, he was. This wasn’t the first time someone had commented on the challenge of being married to such an eccentric professor of criminal law. We had divorced and he had died too young. I wish he had lived to see Andrew arguing some very challenging cases, defending indigents accused of a variety of federal crimes from mail fraud to murder for hire
Andrew pocketed my cell phone, walked the through the lawyer’s entrance to the courthouse, handed it back to me, and we took a stuffy crowded elevator to the eighth floor. It didn’t seem like an appropriate place to ask him to explain the case to me.
There was a little family group standing outside the courtroom of the Honorable Vonda Evans. Andrew introduced me to Sean, a slender nice-looking young guy in a suit; Dave, a slightly younger and heavier nice-looking guy in a suit. I didn’t catch the names of an older unshaven guy in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt; standing close to him and holding his hand was a conspicuously pregnant young woman. There was an older woman who bore some resemblance to the guy in jeans. His mom, probably. I wondered what he had done to land him in court. They all politely said hello, but looked tired; they’d been waiting around for three hours.
“Might as well go in now,” Andrew said. “We’ve got to be next.”
Her Honor Judge Vonda Evans was rather pretty and petite with a very short afro and big earrings. She seemed dwarfed by her voluminous black robe. Andrew and I sat on one of the benches for lawyers at the front and the family settled in the back of the courtroom.
The judge was cussing out a young man in droopy hip-hop pants and an oversize green shirt that said WAYNE COUNTY JAIL PRISONER on the back.
“And did you send me a letter, like I tole you to?”
The guy mumbled, “No ma’am.”
“No ma’am, YOUR HONOR?”
He drawled, “No ma’am, your honor.”
“Louder. I couldn’t hear that, boy.”
He shouted it back at her.
At 12:30 the clerk finally called the case and the two suits went up before the judge. Now I understood that the younger one, Dave, was the defendant. Sean was his court-appointed lawyer. I couldn’t hear everything that the judge said, but it didn’t seem to have anything to do with Andrew’s usual line of lawyering. I caught the words ‘shooter’ and ‘drugs’ and ‘gang’ and ‘sealed juvenile record’ and ‘felonious armed robbery’ and ‘FBI’ and ‘witnesses’ and ‘lawyer debarred’ and ‘transcription of testimony’ and ‘extra expense’ as they flew by.
I wrote a note on Andrew’s yellow pad: Why are you here?
I was his lawyer for his habeas case. I’m here to support the family & in case the judge tries to lock him up today. She can’t but she might try.
Suddenly the judge proclaimed loudly, “I’m tired of all this fooling around; this is some sort of tactic by the defense. Y’all are jes’ stalling now.”
She paused and whack went her gavel. “At this time, the court is going to commit you to the Michigan Department of Corrections for no less than 16 to 30 years with 3,307 days off for the time you’ve already served.”
Whack, went her gavel again.
“I’m taking him into custody.” Whack, whack.
Two enormous police officers moved in to stand on either side of Dave. One took out his handcuffs.
Then Andrew quickly pulled out a file and swung into action, doing that thing you see on Law & Order, “May I approach, your honor?”
The policemen sat down.
It was hard to hear what was said in a few minutes’ conversation at the bench, but the judge’s conclusion was loud and clear:
“Awright, now you listen to me. You say there’s an order but I ain’t seen it. I want to see an original, sealed order from Judge Tarnow. I don’t want no copy; I don’t want no email; I don’t want no fax; I want a sealed order. Signed. By the judge. Original. Till I’ve got that, I’m taking him into custody.”
Whack WHACK. “Court adjourned till 2:30.”
The police officers moved in again. In a practiced gesture, Dave pulled out his wallet and took off his watch and handed them to the guy in jeans, his brother, who had stepped up to take them.
We all went out into the hall. No one looked especially worried, except probably me. Dave was convicted of a second-degree murder? He’d already done 3,000 days in prison: almost ten years? Now he’ll have to go back? Doesn’t his mother feel bad?
Andrew got on his cell phone to Judge Tarnow’s office and found that everyone with any authority to produce the order was out to lunch. He assured the family that they’d surely have it delivered by 2:30. Sean and Dave’s mom both said how much they appreciated Andrew’s help in the case and we all separately went off for lunch.
“I need a drink,” Andrew said to me. “This is nothing like federal court. Let’s go to Greektown.”
And so we went to Mosaic, an upscale new restaurant. It’s down the street from the old New Hellas, recently closed after decades of serving wonderful lemon chicken soup and garlicky grilled lamb ribs, perfect with turpentiney ouzo as late as 2 a.m.
While we had a glass of bland Pinot Grigio and ate predictable yuppie goat cheese and mesculun salads, Andrew started explaining the case, in between making and receiving numerous phone calls and several text messages.
“The judge is just messing with us,” Andrew said. “The state prosecutor sent her the original order at least a month ago; but she says she hasn’t seen it.”
When he was seventeen, Dave was a member of a gang in southwest Detroit and somehow involved in a drive-by shooting that left a teenage girl dead. He had been roughed up in an interrogation by the police and eventually confessed to second-degree murder and a drugs charge. He’d been in prison since 1996. From prison he had filed a habeas brief based on the improper police procedures and, with Andrew as his lawyer for the appeal, Dave had been granted a hearing.
Judge Tarnow had ruled that Dave be released on bond until the habeas appeal was finished; that’s the order Judge Vonda hadn’t seen. She couldn’t legally lock Dave up again right now but, given her personality, Sean (Dave’s original court-appointed lawyer had since been disbarred) had a hunch she would try and had called Andrew to come for support.
Now that I had some understanding of it all, I felt really rattled. This wasn’t television, it was real life. Dave looked like a perfectly nice guy and his family like just folks. But a young girl, someone’s daughter, sister, girlfriend, was dead. Andrew said that Dave seems well rehabilitated and might be released before long.
As we shared a piece of Key Lime pie, he got word from the Judge Tarnow’s office that the sealed order would on its way across town by messenger.
Dave would be released from Wayne County Jail that afternoon.
I asked Andrew, “Do you think he was the shooter?”
Ever the defense attorney loyal to his clients: “Well, I’m pretty sure he was in the car.”

Monday, October 20, 2008

abundance




so many apples to pick, so many leaves to admire; so many walnuts to drive over (not pictured); so much worry about the financial situation; so much discouraging local politicking to do; so many hopes for obama.

so much going on: beautiful fall weather making staying inside difficult; so much to write, between a monday writing workshop and a wednesday existentialism class where i am keeping an 'existential' journal as a project, and then there's my everyday journal. another trip to california in late september and visiting college friends for our biennial hoedown. and so the blog has been neglected.

however, i have a plan for posting day tomorrow, thanks to the urging of faithful followers who have complained of nothing to read.

meanwhile i offer you this thought from Heidigger (from Being and Time) to ponder:
Da-sein is a being that does not simply occur among other beings. rather it is ontically distinguished by the fact that in its being this being is connected about its very being. thus it is constitutive of the being of Da-sein to have, in its very being a relation of being to this being.

now that i am advancing in age, i can happily enjoy reading such things. philosophy used to frighten me. but it is so interesting, as a good friend of mine is inclined to say. maybe Gertrude Stein got it from Heidigger.

Friday, October 3, 2008

sarah palin on kierkegaard

sarah palin and i registered for the same philosophy class at the community college this fall: existentialism. she and i have the same problem: who are we? is she a perky, hard-hitting politician, a pit bull in lipstick, or is she a sweet loving mother of five, devoted to her kids, even the unmarried one with the bun in the oven, and her snowmobiling dude and with all those good american family values and moose for dinner. (who am i is another question. i do know i like roast moose).

this week, our first exam was on kierkegaard. standing in the hall before class, sarah told me, "Ya know, that keerka--keerko--oh what the heck, whatever his name is, is hard to read. all that stuff about the 'knight of faith" and "tragic hero"--i might be a knight of faith, but i'm not quite sure...i'm gonna ask my pastor. john is one fer sure, you betcha."

she winks and goes on: "well, ya know, me, i like aristotle. he was a philosopher, wasn't he? i think so anyway. we read about him in some class at hawaii pacific. it's kinda hard to study in hawaii, ya know, with all those buff surfer dudes in class."

"i bet it is," i muttered. "where i went to college there weren't any surfers or any dudes, so i didn't have that distraction."

Sarah huffed, "Well, i'm just gonna talk about aristotle on my exam. he liked happiness. i think it was him, unless it was that plato guy."

"Yep," I said, "it was aristotle. it's a special kind of happiness, actually."

I resisted throwing out the word 'eudaimonia.' my pronunciation of classical greek isn't the best, but i do know how to say "where is the bus?" in modern greek.

Sarah grinned. her glasses flashed and her bangs trembled."i'm really happy. really, really happy. i have it all, now don't i?"

"Well, not quite yet." i tried to cross my fingers and hold my thumbs at the same time.

"That teacher, bless her, she is so lucky to have me in her class, don't ya think? someone with a lot of experience, a regular american with a family. doggone it, i'll just write what i like, about happiness and all. i'm a maverick. i'm sure she'll give me a good grade, don't ya think?"

"you betcha," i replied. "good luck to us all."

Monday, September 15, 2008

paradessence

paradessence, a new word to me. here it is applied to sarah palin, from the website infinite thought:

"palin is a paradessence, and hence a wildly popular commodity, because she combines the family-centeredness of the ideal suburban mom with the ruthlessness of a corporate 'warrior' in the dog-eat-dog neoliberal economy or of a hard/core ideologue/foot soldier for the far right."

a paradessence, branding and marketing people say, is essential for selling a product, exploiting the paradoxical contradictory parts that lie within, finding two opposing desires that can be simultaneously satisfied. an example is coffee: a stimulant, but in starbucks, a relaxing agent; harley-davison riders who are wild, free, and independent but ride in packs; mcdonalds that suggests friendliness but is impersonal, cold and sterile.

i think everyone is ready to move away from obsessing about sarah palin and on to the real issues and real candidates. i certainly am. wall street is really scary today.

but it is interesting to think of examples of paradessence in successful products. any suggestions?

Friday, September 5, 2008

too much going on




friday is posting day and i hardly know what to write or where to begin, so i might as well go for cute. the frog is jackson (see previous post); the expert frog charmers are olivia and anna bostrom-baker, visiting with antonia from l.a.; and of course tamara at 3 and 3/4 yrs:



so much has been going on, so many things to pay attention to. the olympics; the democrats' convention with michelle; the sad but fascinating kwame kilpatrick saga; and scary sarah now on the scene. jm on crutches with a bad sprain; jh off to california on a grandma gig; translating emails from sweden; the fall semester beginning and need to buy textbooks on existentialism (jh) and web design (jm); planning with penny for the wellesley girls in october; riding the bike to the library for more henning mankell; swimming in the local lakes (independence, pickerel, trout, spring mill pond); kayaking; distributing the colossal tomato crop; watering the garden; hoping for rain; getting horse manure for compost...it goes on an on.

who can keep up with it all and keep the blog going? i plan to be a better blogger now that life might level out again.

Monday, August 25, 2008

very California

one

Tamara and i went to the state park beach at Santa Cruz, known for its surfing breaks and laid-back attitude. we put our one bag down and immediately ran off to chase the waves in and out. soon a group of six adults and one little girl came and put their things just next to ours. they all took off their street clothes and went swimming in their underwear, except the blond child, who went naked, displaying a lovely allover tan. when they came out after a brief time--the sea was cold--they took off their wet underwear (bras, panties, jockey shorts) and put back on their street clothes, with no hurry or attempt to discreetly cover up their bodies in the transition. the little girl didn't bother with her clothes, but came over to play with tamara, now digging in the sand. her name was Indigo and her 4th birthday was coming up on the weekend. her attractive mom (in a wet sports bra and running shorts) invited us to Indigo's birthday party, to be held in a park in Santa Cruz. alas, it was too far to go from San Jose. the next two days Tamara ran around the house without a stitch on.

two

Walking in the early evening in San Jose, i could see in the living room window of an apartment close to the sidewalk. there sat a fairly large tv, tuned to some adult drama. right next to it on the same shelf sat a smaller tv, tuned to a cartoon. unfortunately, this may not be uniquely Californian, but i'm sure it is very American.

three

a friend who lives in a posh southern California suburb told me that her daughter, age 7, went to a day camp this summer where one day the children learned to make sushi. the kids looked so cute with those little sushi chef bands around their foreheads. i forgot to ask if they learned how to distinguish yellow tail from belly tuna. meanwhile, at Tamara's preschool, they had a project to make trail mix. the two sides of California.


four


a northern California friend referred me to the information on her daughter's upcoming wedding website (who knew? okay, call me old-fashioned. the attractive and happy couple tell the story of their courtship from each one's point of view, with photos of significant places in the progress of their romance. they will be married in Yosemite; guests will carpool in; sleep in tents ("let us know if your have room to share"); all food and drink will be local, organic, and vegetarian; gifts must homemade or those of time and effort; wedding rings have been made of recycled gold. yoga will be available each morning. their admirable aim is to have only one bag of trash to carry out from each group of 10 people leaving after two days. the timing coincides with a nearby music festival and it all sounds like it will be a lot of fun.

Monday, August 11, 2008

the second dirtiest word in museums

the word is: editors

Since the post back in May on labels,the dirtiest word in museums, has been the most commented upon blog entry to date, it seems appropriate to consider the second dirtiest word in museums. A guest blogger (Maya) with a great deal of editing experience has identified "editors" and submitted the following:

Satire often lets the satirist off the hook. And when we do satirize ourselves, we can easily downplay the aspects that we find most displeasing. But I have tried to reveal the editor's heavy, heavy hand in this label, which has been adapted from a real gallery label at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, as shown on their website (www.metmuseum.org under Works of Art/Collection Database/European Paintings).

editors comments below are in bold. you can see the painting and original MMA label at:

http://www.metmuseum.org/works_of_art/collection_database/european_paintings/Saint_Rosalie_Interceding_for_the_Plague_stricken_of_Anthony_van_Dyck/ViewObject.aspx?depNm=european_paintings&pID=0&vW=1&Pg=1&St=0&StOd=1&vT=1&OID=110000697&RID=17


Anthony van Dyck (Flemish, 1599-1641) (Change hyphen to en dash)
Saint Rosalie Interceding for the Plague-stricken (Citizens?) of Palermo (use italics for title)
(Capitalize “Stricken”.)

1624
Oil on canvas
39 1/4 x 29 in. (99.7 x 73.9 cm) (Confirm: 29 inches converts to 73.7 cm)
Purchase, 1871
Metropolitan Museum of Art, 71.41

This and other pictures (How many? Was it a favorite subject of his? Why?) of Saint Rosalie were painted by van Dyck (Avoid passive voice. Also, don’t refer to works of art that are not visible. Change to “Van Dyck painted this picture of Saint Rosalie”.) in Palermo (Add: ,Sicily) in the late summer of (Delete “the late summer of”. The day is specified in the next sentence.) (What was van Dyck doing in Sicily?) 1624. The city suffered a severe (Wrong word) plague (Bubonic? Other?), (Delete extraneous comma.) and was under quaratine (Correct spelling to “quarantine”. Also, avoid metaphorical language. Change to “There was a devastating plague in the city, which was under quarantine”) when, on July 15, Saint Rosalie's remains were found on Mount Pellegrino (which is where? Was it called Mount Pellegrino in Saint Rosalie’s time? Or only afterwards when it became a place of pilgrimage?). A young noblewoman (What young noblewoman? Is this Saint Rosalie?) who withdrew to prayer and a hermit's life (Awkward phrasing, rewrite), she reportedly (Who reported this?) died there (where?) around 1160. As the patroness of Palermo, she became the object of the city's prayers (No, the city is an inanimate entities and can’t pray, you mean the citizen’s prayers. Prayers for what?), and the subject of many paintings, (Change commas to parentheses.) during the grave (Ambiguous word here in a discussion of death, use another.) events of 1624 (all painted that year? none in later years?). Van Dyck depicts the saint interceding for the city (This just repeats the title of the painting. Suggest deleting or revising.); (Add: A portion of)the landscape below, now badly worn, shows the port of Palermo and Mount Pellegrino. Autoradiographs have recently (Delete “recently”) revealed that van Dyck painted the picture over a striking (Delete “striking”.) self-portrait which (Change “which” to “that”.) he had sketched out (Delete “out”.) on the canvas. The painting was purchased (When?) by Antonio Ruffo, the collector who commissioned Rembrandt's "Aristotle with a Bust of Homer" (61.198) (Avoid passive voice and use italics for titles of works of art. Change to “Antonio Ruffo, the collector who commissioned Rembrandt’s Aristotle with a Bust of Homer, (61.198) purchased the painting.” (Can we know more about Ruffo? He must have been an important collector. Was he in Palermo? Or the Netherlands? Indicate where the Rembrandt can be viewed. Is it in the same gallery? the same museum?). (Refer to the skull in the lower left.)

Now the competition is now open for submitting ideas for the third dirtiest word in museums.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

amphibians of the week


meet Jackson (above)and Evan, named by little Julia (Maya and Chris's 2 2/3 yr old) for her friend at preschool and her cousin. Maya and Julia came out to feed the fish and meet the frogs. the frogs were so friendly that they stole the show.

here's evan. he was calling "glunk-glunk" in hopes of attracting a mate.



they are both green of course, and in the species Green Frog (Rana clamitans), so named for the clamorous noise the males make calling for females at night. the raucous ancestors of these guys inspired my father to describe our place as "just an ole frog bog."

the reptiles and amphibians field guide notes that green frogs are "not as wary as other species of frogs." this was certainly true of Jackson and Evan, who let us get very close to them. we know they are boys, because males have yellow chests and the more demure females have white chests.

a very charming little Common Gray Treefrog (Hyla versicolor) is up under the eaves of our house, too high to photograph.

we didn't name this place frog bog for nothing.

Friday, July 18, 2008

making hay




the summer has been a very wet one, and while this is good for the backyard tomato crop, it is really bad for the hay crop. the old saying 'make hay while the sun shines' really should read 'make hay while the sun shines for three days in a row.' you need the first sunny day to cut it, the next to turn it in the field to dry it out, and the third to bale it and get it under cover. our ten-acre field is planted with a mix of alfalfa and orchard grass, the right balance for most horses. for our european and british readers, alfalfa is called lucerne. and it is interesting to know that the word comes from the arabic "alfacfacah,' meaning 'the best kind of fodder'and came into american english from spanish. the plant itself originated on the iranian plateau, and while well appreciated by the greeks and romans as animal feed, its cultivation was lost in the middle ages.

yesterday our neighbor and farmer jack briggs drove his tractor to our field, and started to bale the hay he'd turned the day before. but it had rained in the night and the hay was a little too wet and kept jamming up in the baler, so he had to quit.



in spite of this and other weather-related setbacks to harvesting, jack flashed his great smile as he was heading home. he's come back to turn the hay twice today, and if it doesn't rain tonight, he should be able to bale it tomorrow. a horse might eat half a bale a day in addition to some grain or 'sweet feed. like everything else, the price of hay has gone way up to over $7 a bale, so it is a very valuable crop.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

visiting swedish folk culture: midsummer



here we are, two americans (jay-jay is from alaska) enjoying the swedish folk tradition of dancing around the midsummer pole, wearing luxuriant flower wreaths in our hair, made by jay-jay. and we hadn't even started drinking yet. (the gray smoke in the background is from a fire in the industrial district.)




and here are ingrid and her friend inga, singing and making music for the traditional songs at the midsummer festivities. the sequence of dances around the midsummer pole is much enjoyed by children.



ingrid in her traditional dress from the northern area of westerbotten; julia; emma; mimmi; jay-jay. jm had lovely flowers in her hair too, but she was taking the photos.

afterwards, we went to inga and mats' house for the traditional feast of herring, salmon, new potatoes, and many other treats, with skåls of aquavit and beer and drinking songs to accompany them. and of course swedish strawberries and whipped cream for dessert. then we went outside and played a game of 'kub', an old-fashioned game said to be of viking origin. it involves trying to knock down the opposing team's blocks of wood by throwing sticks.

we were chased inside by rain, so while inga played the violin, with her husband mats (a professional musician) on the piano, ingrid and lars danced. then lars played the violin and mats and ingrid danced.



inga also plays a peculiar old-fashioned instrument called the nyckelharp. and she composes music and writes songs as well. their son arvid plays the trumpet and piano, and daughter ingrid the flute.



needless to say, a good time was had by all. we rode our bikes home about 11 pm, when it was still a bit light out. our friends wouldn't dare drive a car after drinking even one beer (the fines and penalties are severe), but you can ride your bike as drunk as you like.

coming as i do from such an a-musical family, i am in awe of them all. i see our swedish friends thoroughly enjoying their midsummer traditions and happy to share the occasion with us. growing up a WASP in america, i feel i have no tradition of folk culture. which makes me a little jealous and a little sad. but penny says i DO have a folk culture, even if i think i don't, so i will be considering this idea in another entry soon.

Saturday, July 12, 2008

blogger on vacation

hello faithful blog readers. there has been an outcry from a few individuals asking what has happened to the blog. as you know, your blog mistress and her trusty design educator have been traveling in distant lands and there were just too many exciting things happening every day to keep up you up to date, informed, and amused.

now mid-july in michigan is warm and humid and all i really want to do is knit. however, the time has come to start reflecting on our visit to Norway and Sweden. a few photos may help suggest some of our adventures.



there was some bad museum behavior in Oslo. American tourists are so embarassing.



the snow-covered mountains on the far side of the fjord looked majestic from our hotel window. yes, it was cold; yes, it rained; yes there was reindeer jerky on the hotel buffet.

our intrepid friend Jean came from London to meet us in Stockholm for a few days. we went to see the Milles Garden and all decided we don't much care for Milles' sculpture but he had an interesting house and collection of antiquities.

then we were warmly welcomed back to eskilstuna by our perfect hostess and lovely friend Ingrid, who made us feel entirely at home. there are delicious strawberries in the pots under those white covers. svenska jordgubbar:the best.



Ingrid's kind and amusing husband Lars has recently taken up golf. an imaginative recycler, he converted a baby stroller into a golf cart. he is a highly accomplished gardener, with two greenhouses full of such unexpected things as an olive tree, lemons, and oranges. of course they have a Volvo station wagon. i didn't ask about the gun.



that's a start. more thoughtful commentary and more photos to come.

Monday, June 23, 2008

postcard from eskilstuna

23 june 08 eskilstuna

so, what have we been doing in sweden?
dancing around the midsommar pole
visiting the royal castle of Gripshom
meeting The Phantom at the zoo
riding a nice fat Haflinger through the forest
playing the old Viking game 'Kubb'
drinking schnapps made by our chemist host
putting our feet in the chilly Baltic sea
hearing a trio play midsommar music in an old church
watching the 'wallender' crime series on tv in swedish
riding all around town on bicycles
checking out the Red Cross resale shop
but best of all, seeing our friends and talking
talking eating talking drinking talking
sleeping late talking power naps talking
eating drinking talking...

some photos to come.

love to all, j

Monday, June 9, 2008

rain, reindeer, and shrimp glue

postcard from flåm, norway: here in the fjords it is chilly and raining and the salami on the hotel buffet is reindeer. the fjords are just as everyone says: amazing, dramatic, awe-inspiring, sublime, and they go on and on and on and on. i hadn't expected snow-capped mountains, but they appear everywhere high in the background. and so many waterfalls; almost too many waterfalls. so much fish and other sea creatures to eat; almost too much fish. certainly too many of those little shrimp with the mayonaise the swedes call 'shrimp glue' on sandwiches. yes, of course we bought sweaters. love to all, j and j

Friday, June 6, 2008

where am i?

it's hot and dry and very sunny with a bright blue sky. the natives have well established tans and the tourists have the boiled shrimp look. natives are in flip flops or barefoot. tourists are in hiking boots, outside the museum a young woman in a black bikini throws a stick for a black dog. the 'weekend' supplement from the newspaper paper has an article on how to sharpen your chainsaw and an ad for a fall tour based in minot, n.d.. where am i? in oslo, of course.

Monday, June 2, 2008

postcard from the pond

frog bog, june 2, 9 am: warm in the sun, cool in the shade; goldfish lazing about; no sign of the turtles but they come out when the sun hits the water more fully. robins and sparrow taking little sips around the edge; a few early rising frogs. light breeze. the sky a perfect blue, leaves a perfect green. lovely.

but like monty python's dead parrot, we've been "pinin' for the fjords,' so we're off soon and will be sending postcards from abroad, just like the tourists that we are. or maybe they should be called blogcards.

love to all, j

Sunday, June 1, 2008

and, speaking of babies



Now we're happy to welcome a new neighbor and small friend, Cadell James Robinson, born May 30th. Norah seems happy to see her little brother, unlike the swan and heron babies who only think of food for themselves. Cadell's nickname is Cade; he entered at 8 lb 7 oz, and was delivered by c-section. Mary and Cade are doing fine, as are Scott and Norah, and all the critters on the farm.

Friday, May 30, 2008

reproduction happens



A sunny day this week Donna and I took a walk around Wildwing Lake. On the island heronry there were many very large and demanding young great blue herons clacking their beaks loudly, asking their parents for food. if you click on the image, it gets very large and you can see a heron on the tree top right in the center. The heronry is gradually being taken over by egrets, who were in a different, earlier stage of courtship, with the males fanning out their showy tail feathers in a white spray and others flying past with twigs in their mouths, presenting them to the females to build new nests high in the trees.

And there were several swans to be seen, one with five cygnets, all very close to the boardwalk out past the heronry.



And then, at the edge of the trail not very far from the parking lot, another bird family was foraging. i've never seen a sandhill crane chick before.



We took Iris and Ivy to our county vet for worming (they get them from rodents and birds they hunt and eat) and there were three little chestnut foals in the pasture.

The bluebirds are nesting in one box here; sparrows in the other, but i cleaned out the latter nest before eggs were laid. There are so many unfamiliar bird calls; "warblers migrating through," says Dan, "and a warbling vireo. Easy to hear but you'll never see it." Orioles calling and streaking orange as they fly over the pond.

In the pond, two big snapping turtles were floating in the water side-by-side, their shells touching, enjoying a moment of post-coital bliss. A little later we watched while the female (she's a little smaller) snapped out her long neck in a flash and grabbed a careless goldfish. There are lots more goldfish, ranging from xs to xxxl, more than we could have imagined. And plenty of frogs and tadpoles at different stages.

So on it goes. More soon.

Friday, May 23, 2008

aristotle, remember sappho




And now for something completely different. This is the paper I wrote for the philosophy class I took this spring at Washtenaw Community College. Several people have asked to see it, so here it is. I won't be hurt if you skip this one.

Philosophy 205: Ethics
Professor Corinne Painter
April 24, 2008


Aristotle, Remember Sappho: Friendship and Morals
in Ancient Greece and 21st-century America

Julia Henshaw


In the Nichomachean Ethics, Aristotle devotes books VII and IX to an eloquent and extensive discussion of friendship. For him, friendship is an important ingredient in the essential and ultimately desirable state of happiness, which flows from the virtuous actions in life. The contemporary field of feminist ethics (and its subset of lesbian ethics) has explored friendship as a significant characteristic of women’s relationships, leading to changes in a woman’s moral understanding and actions. It seems quite that modern feminists have found a kinship of philosophical ideas with Aristotle’s Virtue Ethics, as he might be considered the quintessential philosopher of the heteropatriarchy, writing in his Politics that women are weak creatures, to be ruled by their fathers and husbands, suitable only for bearing sons. Nevertheless, the appeal of Aristotle’s Virtue Ethics is its flexibility and emotional consideration of others, in contrast to the impartial abstract ethical principles espoused by the canonical Western male philosophers (e.g., Kant and Mill) who have dominated the discourse over the centuries.
In this paper, I will consider Aristotle’s concept of friendship as it relates to the establishment of a virtuous character for an individual (always a person of his class, an elite, male citizen of Athens), thereby leading to the ultimate goal of happiness throughout a man’s life. In contrast, as I will show, the contemporary feminist position sees one aspect of friendship as a valuable extension of moral agency and moral growth, in support of the feminist agenda of change, which hopes to overturn the lingering sexist prejudices of western society. Inspired by Sappho’s community of young women on the island of Lesbos, lesbian ethicists such as Marilyn Frye go further, advocating a separation of women from men as the only way true equality can be achieved. For if the rules of dogmatic ethical systems are those imposed by a dominant group on a subordinate class, in an ideal society formed by equal women of good will, there would be no need for rules as such.
Contemporary feminist virtue ethicists certainly take a different approach to friendship than the traditional Aristotelian one, broadening the understanding of friendship and its relation to morality. In order to establish this, I will briefly outline the principal ideas of the classical philosopher and then discuss a few of the main tenets of feminist philosophy, especially regarding the importance of friendships among women. On the basis of my consideration, I shall maintain that the contemporary approach to and understanding of virtue ethics is far more suitable to the conditions of the modern, more or less liberal and diverse society in which we live, men and women alike.


Aristotle on Friendship
As is well known, Aristotle wrote extensively on the importance of friendship to happiness (eudaimonia is the Greek word, which is sometimes translated as “flourishing,” rather than “happiness.” In any case, this is a lifelong project, not a fleeting sense of pleasure or enjoyment). He writes, “It is necessary for the happy person to have friends” (NE 1169b 23) and “Life is difficult for one who is alone” (1170a 5). He differentiated between three kinds of friendship, those of utility (such as colleagues in business affairs), those of pleasure (such as persons sharing in agreeable activities such as sports and romantic liaisons), and most importantly, those based on the outstanding good character of a friend (1156a-1156b). It is of these “true” friends that he writes extensively. He comments that these mutually beneficial friendships will be formed by likeminded equals (1159b 3-7), will be lasting, and cannot be sustained if too great in number, as an abundance of time must be spent in a friend’s company: “It is not possible for people to know one another until they use up the proverbial amount of salt together (1156b 26-29). Given the culture of Athens in the 4th century B.C.E., it goes without saying that these gratifying friendships will only be formed between male citizens; friendships with foreigners, women, or slaves could at best be characterized as “imperfect” friendships. In the “perfect” or “virtuous” friendships enjoyed between virtuous equals, a man identifies closely with his friend, loving him as he loves himself, and wishes to act virtuously to the benefit of the other. This also accrues benefits for himself, as he acts benevolently and appropriately, and thus practices such virtues as generosity and courage . Unlike our own, Aristotle’s society highly valued homosexual relationships between mature men and adolescent boys, but these would not have been equals in societal standing. He does take the trouble to comment that “when the bloom of youth fades,” lovers may remain friends, if they have “become fond of each other’s characters” (1157a 11-12). (Since any close relationships between women were hardly significant for men in the ancient world, perhaps that allowed lesbian liaisons to go unnoticed. Or perhaps they might have been considered only less valued “friendships of pleasure,” certainly not friendships of virtuous equals.)
In a remarkable passage that reveals a significant attitude among male friendships that seems familiar today, Aristotle wrote, “Someone of a manly nature…is reluctant to make his friend share [pain]…in general he does not permit others to express grief with him because he himself is not apt to express grief. But girlish women and womanish men enjoy having people lament with them…”(1171b). Thus it seems that these masculine friendships will be satisfying, intimate, and of mutual benefit only when life is going well for both parties. Perhaps, given their privileged position in ancient society, most things did go well for Aristotle and his cohort most of the time, but it is imaginable that occasionally a man might feel pain and wish to express grief to a sympathetic friend. But such an emotion lies clearly in the denigrated province of women, the weaker sex, and effeminate men. By excluding the sharing of expression of painful events, a man limits the genuine intimate understanding of a significant part of his friend’s life.
It is a commonplace to observe that women form close friendships more easily than men, and American women typically have a larger circle of intimate friends with whom they can share both their joys and sorrows than contemporary men enjoy (e.g., Carol Gilligan, p. 154, quoting Daniel Levinson, The Seasons of a Man’s Life.) For example, my friend Joe says that when his marriage ended, his wife had a large circle of friends to support her, when he had almost nowhere to turn to find a sympathetic person to understand and share his grief.

Feminist Friendships
“It is obvious that the values of women differ very often from the values which have been made by the other sex…yet it is the masculine values that prevail.” Virginia Woolf, 1929
In contrast to the classical masculine understanding of friendship and its proper role in our lives, women throughout the ages have typically formed networks of intimate women friends and family members. In contemporary feminist thought these friendships bring a rich variety of benefits to one another and to society. The connections between women are often formed by their virtuous feelings of responsibility and care for others in their communities, which are based on emotional responses to the predicaments as well as the accomplishments and pleasures of their friends. Women, at least since the time of Aristotle and surely before, have not been afraid to share difficulties, pain, and grief with their friends. Importantly, this level of trust allows them to enjoy a rich intimate relationship based on sharing the full range of life experiences, including much morally valuable experience.
While there are many ways in which feminists approach the subject of friendship between women, I wish to focus on the aspects of moral agency that lead to furthering the values of the feminist agenda of change for equal opportunities in the contemporary world (Marilyn Friedman, pp. 195-203). As girls and young women are taught our first lessons in values and morality from our family and later from our schools, these come from the broader society that still retains abundant evidence of the millennia of insidious sexism that has permeated western society. But as times and customs have changed so drastically in the post-modern world and the extended family has become more fragmented, women have placed an even greater emphasis on the need for support from their close friends. Women are willing to share a whole range of their thoughts, emotions, experiences, hopes and fears with their friends. The sense of mutual trust that arises from a reciprocal friendship allows an individual woman to be exposed to a wider range of life’s experiences than her own, and she may well find that her own sense of morality is changed and expanded.
For example, while it is possible to find other ways of being in the world though literature both fiction and nonfiction, movies, and television, when friend A sees her friend B living and acting in the real world, and when friend B is fully available to reciprocate, sharing her experiences and values that may differ from those learned in her family and society, and frankly answer questions about her life, this can result in a change in friend A’s own morality (Marilyn Friedman 201-02).
This, I would submit, differs from Aristotle’s relatively comfortable and rather cozy description of friendship between men, who seem to have had no interest in rocking the boat and changing values in the men’s club. Why would the privileged citizens controlling Athenian society ever wish to do so? But contemporary thinking women, still a subjugated class, wish to have the same rights and privileges as men, and in order to do so, must act to bring about societal change.

If you are squeamish

Don’t prod the
beach rubble.

Sappho, fragment 84 (ca. 600 BCE)


On a personal note, here is an example of how a friendship opened the possibility of significant new values for me. In 1975, I was married, had two children, was teaching classes in feminist art history, and had read extensively about feminism and lesbianism. Although I had had close friendships with women all my life, I thought I had never known a lesbian, and never considered a woman as a sexual partner. Then, on July 4, sitting around the swimming pool in Detroit while our young children splashed in the water, my close friend S told me that she’d been having an affair with a woman in Toronto, a safe distance away in those closeted times. In fact, she was sharing her grief, as the relationship had ended. I was very surprised, but not shocked or appalled. S next joined a group called “Sappho Sisters Rising” and made her way in and out of several relationships. I watched, shared in her joys and sorrows, met some of her new friends and saw that their values were good ones. Thus I understood that a loving relationship with a woman that included a sexual component could contribute more to my happiness and personal growth than the distant emotional chilliness of my husband. I eventually took the leap, asked for a divorce, and entered into a lesbian relationship myself. In my marriage I always felt like a second-class citizen. The feminist movement of the 1970s allowed my intellectual understanding of women’s compromised position in society and this led to an increase in my moral authority, which I believe was helpful to the students I was then teaching. It also led to other satisfying accomplishments in work, deepening friendships, and a feeling that I was indeed now flourishing.
Opportunities for learning diverse values and life styles from friends of different backgrounds classes probably were few in ancient Athens, but would Aristotle have taken advantage of them if they had? As a member of the privileged upper class, he would have had scant motivation to do so.
Lesbian ethicists, such as Mary Daly and Marilyn Frye, have postulated an ideal separatist Lesbian Nation, where, according to Frye, there would be no dominant and no subordinate class, and all women would be truly equal. In this case, they argue that no form of rule-making ethics would be necessary (in Claudia Card, pp. 58-59). While this seems impossibly idealistic, it does raise the question of whether dogmatic ethical rules are put in place by a ruling group seeking to control others.
An idea of Sarah Hoagland’s caught my attention. In Lesbian Ethics, she proposes, “I think we would do well to dissolve the rigid distinction between friend and lover.” (p. 174). Indeed, I know of more than one couple of women living together in very long-term passionate and exemplary relationships, who have never felt the desire to be lovers in the sexual sense. Part of the feminist agenda has been to dispense with the ancient Greek terminology rigidly separating eros, phillia, and agape, concepts developed and propagated by men, and consider the more complex expression of range of possibilities in freely chosen loving friendships between women.
By exploring, however briefly, feminist concepts of morality in the variety and richness of friendships between women, I have found these much more compelling and useful than the more limited and segmented Aristotelian discourse, and certainly closer to my own morality, the way I can personally feel a kind of happiness in living in the world.
Tell everyone

Now, today, I shall
Sing beautifully for
My friends’ pleasure

Sappho, fragment 1

Of course Aristotle would have known of Sappho and her community of women; the fragments of her poetry have been found all over the ancient Mediterranean world. Fragments, not entire books. But her name and that of Lesbos, the lovely Aegean island, still resonate in Western minds 2,600 years later as “The L Word” is in its sixth season on Showtime TV.



References

Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, translated by Joe Sachs, Newburyport, Mass., Focus Publishing, 2002.

Card, Claudia. Feminist Ethics, University Press of Kansas, 1991.

Daly, Mary, Gyn/Ecology: The Metaethics of Radical Feminism, Boston, Beacon Press, 1978.

Friedman, Marilyn, What Are Friends For?: Feminist Perspectives on Personal Relationships and Moral Theory, Ithaca and London, Cornell University Press, 1993.

Frye, Marilyn, “A Response to Lesbian Ethics: Why Ethics?” in Claudia Card 1991.

Gilligan, Carol, In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women’s Development,
Cambridge, Mass., and London, Harvard University Press, 1982.

Griffiths, Morwenna, and Margaret Whitford, Feminist Perspectives in Philosophy, Bloomington and Indianapolis, University of Indiana Press, 1988.

Hoagland, Sarah Lucia, Lesbian Ethics: Toward New Value, Palo Alto, Institute of Lesbian Studies, 1988.

Mohin, Lilian, ed., An Intimacy of Equals: Lesbian Feminist Ethics, London, Onlywomen Press, Ltd., 1996.

Nye, Andrea, Philosophy and Feminism at the Border, New York, Twaine Publishers, 1995.

Pollit, Katha, Reasonable Creatures: Essays on Women and Feminism, New York, Alfred A. Knopf, 1995.

Sappho, A New Translation by Mary Barnard, Berkeley and Los Angeles, University of California Press, 1958 [unpaginated]

Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy on line: various articles, passim.

Woolf, Virginia, A Room of One’s Own, New York, Harcourt Brace, Inc. 1929, pp. 76-77.

Monday, May 19, 2008

winner's choice: The Dirtiest Word in Museums

As one of the winners of an honorble mention in the March photo i.d. contest, Maya Hoptman has chosen the topic for a blog entry: The Dirtiest Word in Museum Practice. if you have not worked in a museum, you may be surprised to learn that this word is LABELS.

Maya worked in publications at the DIA for many years, and she should know. "Labels create chaos and anger. Arguments about labels are the only things that make grown curators and educators cry," she said in a recent interview.

Perhaps the best way to illustrate this is to show examples of two labels submitted to the Publications Department for editing. Let us suppose that these are for a new acquisition that will soon go on display in the beautifully renovated galleries.




A Mellon intern, a graduate student at the University of Michigan, working in the Europeam curatorial department was asked to write a label for it:

CHOUS
Italy, late Medicean
Tin-glazed majolica
Gift of Maya Hoptman, Judith Ruskin, Susan Higman-Larsen, Tracey Glab, and by exchange, Susan Rossen and several anonymous donors (2008.1)

This handsome and rare Chous reflects the many strands of Mediterranean culture that come together in the late Medicean period. The shape (not to be confused with the similar Oinochoe, shape 2) derives from Greek red-figure ware; it is believed to be a vessel specially developed for serving a type of honeyed wine made from fermented berries of Asphodelus lutea enjoyed at the midsummer festival of the Roman goddess Luna. The rope around the globate spout refers to the one used to bind Odysseus to the mast of the ship as he sailed through the straits of Messina, between the terrifying Scylla and Charibdis (Odyssey bk 9, 7-11). The dragon motif is often found in Etruscan art and speaks of the possible Anatolian origin of these enigmatic ancient peoples, who, like the Medici, occupied Toscana. The red fleur-de-lis is the symbol of the Medicean dynasty of Firenze. An inscription in brown slip on the base reads "Italy 169." The significance of the number is not known. The exact site of manufacture of the Chous is uncertain. Nothing is known of its provenance beyond the compelling fact that it was found in a garage sale in Ogunquit, Maine, in 1999.

Similar fine examples of Chous may be found in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Wien; Ny Karlsberg Glyptotek, Kopenhavn; a similar object was recently acquired by the J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles.



Meanwhile, an intern in the education department has also submitted a label:

PITCHER
Italian, 20th century
Ceramic
Gift of several donors (2008.1)

Do you have any pitchers in your house? What do you use them for? A long time ago someone used this pitcher for a cool drink in summer. Do you like lemonade? Do you like dragons? Have you ever seen a real dragon? How did you feel about it? How many dragons can you count on this pitcher?


As label editor in the Publications Department, what do you do? Laugh? Cry? There is no budget to hire an outside writer.

Friday, May 16, 2008

amphibian of the week




the American toad (Bufo americanus)

even though toads live on land, they breed in water so that the eggs can be deposited in water. this male has come to the pond to attract any available female. we know he's a male because JM watched with the binos while he puffed up his throat like a balloon and slowly let out the distinctive long trill. it's one of the best spring sounds, especially at night, when many males are calling. one starts, another joins in, the first dies down, a third enters, the second dies down, and the first is ready to call again. i watched a smaller male calling this afternoon. his pitch was higher; the lower bass of a nearby individual did indeed seem more stereotypically masculine. we don't know if either toad got lucky.

all those unattractive warts on the toad's back hold a milky fluid poison that can make many animal predators very sick. however, the main predator is the garter snake, which is immune to the poison. the fluid is only dangerous to humans if it is swallowed or gets in the eyes.

you can see why toads don't have the following that frogs do, even though one toad can eat up to 1,000 insects a day.

and how did the term "toady" come to mean a suck-up syncophant? the dictionary says that it derives from "toad-eater," the assistant working for a 19th century charlatan in a scam where the assistant ate a toad (probably not Bufo americanus) that was supposedly poisonous and was "cured" by the charlatan.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

getting into the groove

"and how was your trip to new york?"

hey, we saw a lot of friends and had a lot of fun.



regular readers of the blog may find it interesting to know that the jiving woman on the left is the mysterious M. (i hope this doesn't give too much away.)

photo by JW

winner's choice: the Dog with the Name



i can't find my 1958 St. Anne's School yearbook, but i'm sure that one of the attributes characterizing me was having "the Dog with the Name." My friends would say, "tell us your dog's name again." and now, 50 years later, here comes that dog into my life again.

you will recall that the winner and honorable mentions of the March photo contest were awarded the prize of either writing an entry for the blog or suggesting a topic that i would treat for the blog.

the first request was from Sally Smith, who asked me to write "something about that dog you had with the long name." Sally is one of my Virginia cousins, so she has a long memory of Henshaw family hyperbole.

the dog: a beautifully marked purebred german shorthair pointer, liver and white. one of a series of hunting dogs that my father owned. these dogs lived in a kennel in our back yard. they were working dogs, trained to follow the scent of quail, and instinctively freeze on point when the bird was found to be nearby. in addition to being an excellent shot, my father was known as a very good trainer and sometimes he took a young dog in to work with for a friend. these bird dogs were not pets; they never came in the house. he would hide an old sock soaked in quail blood somewhere in the long grass and say to the dog, "hunt dead. hunt deeeead" to train them to retrieve a bird he'd shot, which was not necessarily part of their nature.

my father was very gentle and patient with them, rarely raising his voice. he was generous with pats on the head and milkbone treats and the dogs looked up to him adoringly with their big, brown, liquid eyes. when they saw that he was putting his guns and hunting jackets in the car, their tails wagged furiously and they smiled expressively.

other bird dogs we had while i grew up were named Judge and Arizonia, "Zonie" for short.

we called the Dog with the Name "Jeff." that was his nickname. his full name was

Thomas Jefferson Washington Jackson Paul Dabney Alonzo Anselmo Anthony Archibald Airpump Funkhouser Blinko Dynaflow Demarkley Randolph Montmorency Garbage Scow Henshaw.

a good memorization task for a child.

i liked Jeff a lot. he was trim, athletic, and tolerated the games i liked to play with him. my mother said that Jeff used to keep an eye on me when i was a little girl out playing in the yard, guarding me.

Jeff once took just a tiny nip at a mailman's pants and thereafter was required by law to wear a muzzle. this was a contraption of leather straps, which suggested a bridle to my horse-crazy mind, so i rigged up some long rawhide boot laces to make reins. you can see that the brown markings on his back suggested a saddle. i would have liked to ride him but i was too large and heavy.




my grandfather Nevil Henshaw died long before either Jeff or i were born, but i think i can detect his influence on Jeff's name, particularly in the string of "A" names. he was a novelist and a short story writer. one anecdote about him is that he would often change the names of family and friends: "you're not a Sarah today; you're a Nancy," or "Frank can't be right; Harold does the trick." and then that would be your new name until he changed it again on a whim.

maybe this influenced my father, who encouraged me to add names after the A's. Dynaflow comes from the automatic transmission introduced by Buick and much praised by my salesman father. Demarkley and Randolph were the surnames of two sisters who were artists and great friends of my mother (this was Mrs. Thomas Jefferson Randolph IV, not to be confused with Mrs TJR V, formidible headmistress of St. Anne's) . i think Montmorency was a name my father suggested to add some British class to the end, just before the more realistic Garbage Scow. Jeff did have a tendency to wolf down any tasty garbage he found, just as our faithful Annie did.

so thanks to Sally for suggesting this nostalgic topic and thanks to JM, who helped scan the photos and does clever things with photoshop to make them look great. all the strange layout mistakes that happen are the result of my ineptitude.

Thursday, May 8, 2008

escape from nature


as lovely as spring is here, we are ready to escape all the blossoming crab apples and lilacs; to cease planting lettuce, radishes, spinach, and carrots; give up pruning the persistent box elders; stop pulling out the garlic mustard (surely the invasive plant of the week). not to say cutting the grass and ripping out crabgrass from the neglected perennial borders.

enough already. we're off to new york for a long weekend of seeing friends and being exposed to high culture.

but i wouldn't want to deny you the pleasure of the wildflower of the week: jack-in-the-pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum). it's hard not to think of georgia o'keefe when these appear back in the swamp. there are male and female flowers. this one is male.

Monday, May 5, 2008

apologies, updates, this and that

my apologies for the annoying layout on the previous wildflowers post, with the type all poetically arranged down the column. like several other layout features, i can't seem to change it. in edit mode, there is a button you can click to see a "preview" of your post and it doesn't look at all like that. typically, blogger "help" is no help. the most time-consuming aspect of this all is getting the photos organized.

next, about the barn collapse across the road (see "ethical decision-making" in april). a few days after i called the township, there was a visible clean-up of some of the scattered debris and more yellow caution tape was installed. whether or not this has anything to do with the phone call, and whether or not they have taught the horses to read, i don't know. the three walls are still standing. thanks to those of you who urged me to call.

the winner of the photo i.d. contest, susan higman larsen, has not yet decided what she wants for her prize; we eagerly await her decision. one of the honorable mentions, sally smith, has now made a request, and it will soon be posted. it may not have a photo, the subject being something from the depths of the past, although not pre-daguerre. and you other honorable mentions: any ideas?

thanks for reading and since the photos are so popular, i'll close with one: marsh marigolds at kensington metro park. if you click on the image it becomes huge, or at least it does on my mac.

Sunday, May 4, 2008

wild wild wildflowers revised

the weather has been so warm that there is a wildflower explosion going on. let me reaffirm that all the photos here are taken on our property, unless otherwise noted. readers of the blog often comment that they really like the photos. as a person striving to be a writer, i try not to take this personally.

from top to bottom: the woods are full of the regular white trillium (Trillium grandiflorum), the state wildflower of michigan. here they are competing with the umbrella-like leaves of the may apple (Podophyllum peltatum; also called mandrake: "get with child a mandrake root..." doesn't that refer to ginseng?), which hasn't bloomed yet. these trilliums aren't "endangered" but are "protected," meaning "do not disturb."




next, an unusual white trillium with a green stripe on its petals. is this a different species or a variety of white? i don't see any reference to such a flower.




and then, the white nodding trilluim (Trillium cernuum; also called Wake Robin), which has the flower blooming on a short stalk dangling below the leaves. likewise, these are protected in michigan but listed as rare and endangered in other states.





and finally, a red nodding trillium in bud, pretty rare, as it doesn't show up in any of my wildflower books but there is one on a website without a Linnean binominal designation (see what visiting Linnaeus's home in uppsala will do for you). there is a red trillium, but it clearly isn't nodding, being Trillium erectum; also called "stinking benjamin," as its flower is said to have an unpleasant odor. i didn't sniff the red nodding one. the few red individuals are blooming way far back in our woods, near the swamp.





more soon on other topics. be warned that some may have to appear without photos.
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too far north, United States
you all know plenty about me