Vendetta Against Bugs

The Gallant Little Tailor—Seven in one blow (Brothers Grimm).

The Gallant Little Edmund—One in seventeen blows.

Stamp stamp, smack smack, stamp stamp stamp, smack smack, stamp, smack.

“Ok, Edmund, I think that bug is dead now.”

“Yeah,” says Tracy. “You weren’t here earlier, but he already smashed that bug as many times as he just did.”

A couple of weeks earlier, I had the adventure of swatting to death about sixty lethargic wasps in my basement. Edmund was forced to wait on the sidelines until there weren’t too many left. When I thought it was safe, I let Edmund join the melee.

A few minutes ago…”Yes, Edmund, I see the bug in the dust pile. Now leave it alone so I can finish sweeping.”

Stomp…he crushes the bug and pulls his foot back and out of the dust pile, scattering it everywhere.

And then, of course, his fight with the fly. He runs towards the fly. The fly flies towards him. They run into each other. Edmund falls, plop, on the floor. He gets back up, and walks away. The fly lies dead on the ground…

“Spanky, what are you doing?” “I’m bug hunt’n” (Little Rascals). That’s Edmund for ya. If only he learned how to talk.

Happy Thanksgiving, by the way.

Folksy Stuff

Last night, the Jovial Beggars (Salem, Mo, English Country Dance group) put on a ball in Rolla. Hibernia Station, a band from Jefferson City, came down and played for us. My wife, three sisters, and I did the calling. I'd say it was a great success (we've certainly had better balls). Attendance was about 80 (including the folks from the band). It was smaller than many of our balls, but there were a lot of competing events in Rolla last night.

I've been dancing English for the past six or so years, and most of my dancing has been with family and friends, or friends of friends, most of whom have been taught to dance either by me personally or by my siblings or close friends. Every now and again, I've had the opportunity to enter the wider world of English Country Dancing.

And the typical "English Country Dance" community is worlds away from the dance community that joins us for our monthly dances. There's a folk-art world out there that most people know very little to nothing about. Then there are the people immersed in that world, and they really get into it--going to festivals, holding fairs, researching, talking, thinking, studying...dance, music, crafts, history, etc.

Then there are people like me, vaguely aware of the folk-art world, interested in it to an extent, and thinking, "my, wouldn't that be a fun world to join" and then, here I am, among family and friends, actually living what actual folk-tradition is--it's not about researchers, students, a way of life*, cultural immersion, etc. When you think about past centuries, about peopel getting together to dance, sing, and fellowship together, they're not really doing it because it's always been done, or because it's "folksy," or "traditional," or "quaint," or "historic," or "back to their roots," or "forgotten and found again," or anything like that. Rather, they did it because it's fun. They did it because they actually like the people they spend time with, and they actually like doing things with these people around them. There's more to life than cell-phones, text messaging, making money, drinking a lot (not that you can't have great fellowship over drinks), ga-ga-gooing over the latest celebrities, t.v. shows, playing video or computer games, chatting online, etc.

The folk arts are the past-times of a slower, less technological, less virtual age. I don't call it a "golden age" or seek to return to it influenced by misguided nostalgia. But humans are still humans. We have a tendency to pursue our own corruption and destruction. As we invent new things to make our lives better, we use these new things to make our lives worse. Reach forward and recognize and use the benefits of modernity, but then reach back and integrate into your life the benefits of the past. I think English Country Dancing represents something like this in my own life.

I'm not really getting my thought out well, but this thought has been trying to take root in my mind for the past several days, maybe weeks, and I think I'll have a better chance at developing this more cogently if I put something into words tonight. The thought is basically this: the past didn't do what they did to be "folksy" but to have fun and live a fulfilled life. It seems like there is a tendency to be "folksy" in order to be "folksy."** The people who dance here in Rolla, Salem, Bunker, etc. have no such tendency. We get together as our predecessors did for the reasons that they did: this stuff is a blast.

*well, to an extent it is, but I'm not really getting my thoughts across today.
** bleah, now that I actually write this stuff out, I feel a little foolish. I think everybody who does English Country Dancing does it because, as our predecessor found out,they realize how fun this stuff is. Anyway, I said this was an infant thought. Whether it will grow to anything at all remains to be seen. I thought I was due a post. If somebody interested in this sort of thing happens to read this, treat it as an invitation to dialogue. My thought could merely be an errant thought with no true or helpful destination. I'm not sure.

Edmund turns two

Edmund turned two yesterday. My sister Ellie turned 20 today.
Here are some birthday pictures of Edmund.

We got up early and made fruit salad, scrambled eggs, and pancakes before I had to head to work. Edmund's got apple cider in his cup and three candles in his pancake. He is eagerly anticipating blowing out the candles.
Here he is showing off his helecopter, wondering why he has to pause for a picture when he'd rather be playing with his new toys.

And here he is after supper opening a present from his uncle Justice. The shot would've been better had I got what he was opening, but I just reached the camera down near his face and clicked without looking at what I was doing.

Special People

On the news this morning, I heard that many California universities (the state schools, I guess), are having a significant funding problem and are going to have to reject thousands of students that they would normally enroll.

HOWEVER, if you have special talents--the news explains: athlete, musician, artist--you will get special consideration and will have a higher chance of getting enrolled.

QUERY: given the Californian, the nationwide, and the global economic woes; given that only a small percentage of fantastic athletes get decent athletic jobs, fantastic musicians music jobs, and fantastic artists artist jobs; given that pretty much EVERY fantastic engineer, crafstman, lawyer, doctor, (name any practical career) can get a job in their field, contribute productively to the economy, and feed their families without government aid . . .

Does this preference really make sense?

I'm sure I'm missing something here. Please enlighten me.

Cranberries

So, to continue my recent trend of tying literature into most of my recent posts . . .

"Far off in the fields, on the edge of a cranberry bog, stood the hut of the Cubbins family." Dr. Seuss, The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins.

Tracy and I: "I didn't know cranberries grew in bogs."

This is amazing.

And some more informatoin about cranberries.

Joy of Cooking has a delicious cranberry relish which Tracy and I discovered and made for our second Thanksgiving together. We've made it for the family and also for our third Thanksgiving too. Joy also has a delicious cranberry streusal bar thingamajig which Tracy made for a Law-wives event. She left me some to eat, and they were amazing.

Vive la cranberries!

Metaphors Into Reality

What if, when you are talking tactlessly, your foot reall did stuff itself into your mouth and shut you up?

What if, when trying to save yourself, you reall were physically compelled to (with the shovel that appears magically in your hand) dig a hole.

What if, when you lied, your nose did actually lengthen?

Or maybe when you talk foolishly, a blinking sign suddenly pops up over your head with an arrow pointing down at you: "Here Stands a Fool"

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,

It was a day of wisdom, it was a day of foolishness.

I started my day with an hour plus drive to a county south of where I live to enter a plea of guilty for two clients, each with two misdemeanor charges. The country around here is gorgeous--year round--and each season has its particular beauty. The evergrees remain fine and green, but the oaks and maple turn every shade of yellow through orange and red to brown. I wish we had more cases like this coming through--when it's all said and done, the money per hour is wonderful.

Later in the afternoon, I walked a couple hundred yards from my office to a client's house and chatted with him for a while, gave him some advice, wrote a letter for him, and got a wee bit of money, and I may potentially do more work for him. This was fun too. Experiences like this are great.

But it was worst of times too, and I certainly had my bouts of foolishness: forgetfulness, disorganization, wheel-spinning, stupidity, stalling out, getting nothing done, etc. etc. etc.

I won't complain here further. Rather, I'll go plague my wife with complaints.

Yours,

JBH, Esq.