Moving back

Remember the 1340s?  We were doing a dance called the Catapult.
You always wore brown, the color craze of the decade,
and I was draped in those capes that were so popular,
the one with unicorns and pomegranates in the needlework.
Everyone would pause for beer and onions in the afternoon,
and at night we would play a game called "Find the Cow."
Everything was hand lettered then, not like today.

So here I am, back at the old digs.  They look a little different.  Good for you, Blogger, for making things a little less the same.  Still, the familiar is so familiar.

Where has the summer of 1572 gone?  Brocade and sonnet
marathons were the rage.  We used to dress up in the flags
of rival baronies and conquer one another in cold rooms of stone.
Out on the dance floor we were all doing the Struggle
while your sister practiced the Daphne all alone in her room.
We borrowed the jargon of farriers for our slang.
These days language seems transparent, a badly broken code.

2006 I started this thing.  Four plus years and lots of changes.

Two jobs come and one gone for me.  One gone for Honey.  New trajectories for us both, to be sure.

The 1790s will never come again.,  Childhood was big.
People would take walks to the tops of hills
and write down what they saw in their journals without speaking
Our collars were high and our hats were extremely soft.
We would surprise each other with alphabets made of twigs.
It was a wonderful time to be alive, or even dead.

I moved the blog to its own domain late summer of 2007.  We were over at treecup's house.  She and sly were together then and they helped us both buy domains, set up blogs on them.  They both worked generously well into the night.  By the end of it we had our own websites, our own virtual spaces.

Now, they're both gone from the place I call my own.  The sprawl in which I have lived more of my life than any other.

Sly doesn't need sporksforall.com on his server.  I don't need it there either, I realized.   Still, thinking about that night makes me sad.  Best to let the website go.  The past doesn't come back, or so I understand.  Sometimes it also doesn't go away.

I am very fond of the period between 1815 and 1821.
Europe trembled while we sat still for our portraits.
And I would love to return to 1901 if only for a moment,
time enough to wind up a music box and do a few dance steps,
or shoot me back to 1922 or 1941, or at least let me
recapture the serenity of last month when we picked
berries and glided through the afternoons in a canoe.

I don't reread this blog much.  There was a period when the blog had community.  Reading it reminds me of that, too.

More recently, I write when I feel moved.  Curling, it seems, was the last thing that moved me.

Even this morning would be an improvement over the present.
I was in the garden then, surrounded by the hum of bees
and the Latin names of flowers, watching the early light
flash off the slanted windows of the greenhouse
and silver the limbs on the rows of dark hemlocks.

So, I'm back.  And determined to post more.  We'll see what happens.  Using the blog to move forward rather than look back seems an ambitious goal.  I'll count it as one at which I might succeed.

As usual, I was thinking about the moments of the past
letting my memory rush over them like water
rushing over the stones on the bottom of a stream.
I was even thinking a little about the future, that place
where people are doing a dance we cannot imagine
a dance whose names we can only guess.

I'll see how it goes.  But moving back is not necessarily about moving backwards.  It's just about moving.

No chickens this time, which is fine.  The next thing is always just a guess.


The poem is by Billy Collins and is called "Nostalgia."

If you don't know Collins (even if you think you hate poetry), check him out.  You won't be sorry.

Look, a link to buy the book:


Wow.













Oh, and welcome back to whatever (on fire).

Sporks and Sporksforall--A Conversation

Sporks:  Hey blog, how are you?

Sporksforall:  Sporks!  WTF, woman?  Where've you been?  I'm good.

Sporks:  Oh, really sorry about the inattention, blog.  Thanks for just hanging out.  Been kinda busy, you know.  New job.

Sporksforall:  Wow, Sporks.  You're a Dean?

Sporks:  Actually, no.  See that sentence toward the middle:  "Most have several assistant or associate deans as well (such as an associate dean of academics or an associate dean of students)."  That's me.  Associate Dean Sporks.

Sporksforall:  Pretty cool.  Takes up a lot of time, does it?

Sporks:  Yep.  What have you been up to?

Sporksforall:  Oh, mostly handling random searches on rancid oil.  One cool thing you know about, though.  You know our picture of the nene foot?  It's going to be exhibited at the University of Hawai'i, Manoa.  Best nene foot picture ever.  It's also the top hit when you search nene foot on Google.  Pretty awesome.

Sporks:  Yep that is superveryawesome.  I'm going to get to see it.  Teresa and I are back to Hawai'i later this week.

Sporksforall:  Which islands?

Sporks:  Same as last time, Hawai'i and O'ahu.  Going to miss the Obamas, though.  Fine with me actually, as I'm mighty irritated (ok, royally pissed) about the Rick Warren thing.

Sporksforall: Yep, pretty awful.  Hey, so with all this going on--the Associate Deaning and the trip to Hawai'i--what are you doing chatting with me?

Sporks:  Oh, well, I have a few days between a trip to Atlanta and the one to Hawai'i where the Uni is closed.  First downtime in months.  Figured I'd just check in.

Sporksforall:  Ah.  You been up to anything in the downtime?

Sporks:  Organizing, actually.  I know, I know, not usually my forté.  The new job has made me appreciate a little organization, though.

Sporksforall:  I see.  What did you organize, then?

Sporks:  Glad you asked.  First up (yesterday) was the bathroom. See, I had gone to L'Occitane for a little hand lotion and on the way home, it occurred to me that I should survey my ablutions.  I couldn't survey my ablutions without also going through the other items in the nightmare that was the bathroom cabinet.  Want to see the results?

Sporksforall:  Sure.



That's the L'Occitane lotion in the silver tube.  Here's a close-up of the lotion/hair/tooth shelf.



Pretty nice, huh?

Sporksforall:  Yes, because I saw the before on that, and whew.

Sporks:  I know.  Emboldened by my success, when Teresa and I went out last night to Target, I bought two shoes hanging things for my closet.  They're AMAZING!

Sporksforall:  Really, you're going to talk about hanging shoe things as if no one ever used or thought of them before?  Really?  Look on ebay.  They have ones from before you were born.

Sporks:  Whatever.  You want to look?   Seriously, look!





Sporksforall:  I admit it looks nice, but come on, it's not like you're the first to discover closet organization.  I mean, The Container Store has been around for a while, now.  Remember when you went to it before going off to college?  That was a WHILE ago.

Sporks:  Ok, ok, I know.  But it's like the woman I heard on NPR the other day talking about how she had discovered how centrifugal force works.  Just because someone else discovered it before she did, doesn't mean she didn't also discover it.  Do you see how happy that woman on the main page of the Container Store website looks?  She's feeling what I'm feeling.

Sporksforall:  Ya huh.

Sporks:  Oh, hey, you know what I got at REI last night?  It's not organization-related...

Sporksforall:  What?

Sporks:  A new spork!  It's made of aircraft alloy and has a darling little carabiner.



Sporksforall:  Nice.  Hey--what's the red spot on the package?

Sporks:  Blood.  I cut my hand trying to get the cute little carabiner off the package.  But, guess what?  I managed to fix myself up really quickly and efficiently.  Wanna see how?



The first aid shelf!

Sporksforall:  Ok, ok, good for you.  You got yourself all set up.

Sporks:  Well, not really.  The worst job I saved for last.



Sporksforall:  That's pretty horrifying.  Maybe you should get back to work.

Sporks:  In due time, in due time.  I should probably go now--there's something productive to be done.

Sporksforall:  Ok, thanks for checking in.  Hope to see you soon.

Sporks:  2009 will be a better blogging year, I think.  Now that my shoes have slots of their own, I'll have all kinds of time.  Take care.

Sporksforall:  You too.  Hey, want to talk more about rancid oil?

Sporks:  Probably not.

Sporksforall:  Oh well, just trying to work from strength to strength.

Sporks:  Yep.  Let's work on nene feet more then.

Sporksforall:  Sounds like a plan.

____________________________________________________________________

Sporks:  Psst, Sporksforall--want to see the after?

Sporksforall:  (Sigh) Sure.



Hey, that is pretty good.

Sporks:  Thanks.  Oh, and a tip (we should all channel our inner-weese every so often...)  keep your extra bicycle tubes inside (lower left).  They'll last longer if the temperature is more controlled.

Sporksforall:  I'd care about that if I had the ability to ride a bicycle.

Spork review: Wall-E

Ok, I won't effuse too much, but the first 30-45 minutes of Wall-E (and I think this despite the-really-full-of-kids-who-didn't-get-that-they-were-watching-a-silent-film theater) was some of the best filmmaking I've ever seen.  So, go see the movie.

I need to take a moment to do a special shout-out. The movie featured one of the best EVER scenes featuring a spork:

Wall-E collects things he finds interesting and takes them back to his "house." He finds a spork. When he goes to put it away, he has a collection of spoons on the right and a collection of forks on the left. After puzzling for a second, he places the spork between the forks and the spoons with great reverence.

Sporks deserve their own place and it should be special.

This maxim is NOT true of foons.

Mapping the void

It's been such a long time since I wrote a post that my browser didn't autofill my blog address. I guess it can be said that sporksforall exists on its own without care from me, but my Google Analytics reports seem to suggest that it exists in such a state as to prompt a series of empty-answered philosophical question about whether something that doesn't get looked at has any meaning at all.

Word to the visitor from Midvale, Utah who spent .56 of a second on the site. I don't think my mouse clicks that fast.

Actually, to be fair, that seems to be the minimum unit of time Google Analytics calculates, so my Midvale, UT readership exactly matches my Decorah, IA and Fayetteville, NC readership. Also Arlington, VT. S'up y'all?

I shouldn't complain, I suppose. Someone from Riga, Latvia has spent more than four minutes learning about sporks or nene or something. And I'm hoping the one minute nineteen second someone from Male in the Maldives was deeply meaningful to them. Sporksforall--perhaps now meaningful in the Maldives!

The map on Google Analytics is my favorite feature. The numbers are depressing and what I get hits on focuses more than I want it to on elephant seals and their Latin name. The map, though, gives these nice green emphases to people in their offices or on their laptops coming my way.

I heard recently about this thing the new iphone does called "document cloud" wherein one floats documents in the ether to be retrieved as needed. I pictured (as I think I was supposed to) floating excel spreadsheets--transparent and ephemeral--gently bouncing along at chest height.

The Google Map, on the other hand, makes me think of all those people in real space finding their way to me. California is dark green. I'm most "popular" there. Some states that are medium green I can explain (I have blog friends there, I said nice things about Miss Washington, etc.) Others puzzle me. I might explain away Nevada's darker green color by physical proximity, but New Mexico is pure white (meaning no folks from Truth or Consequences--or anywhere else in our 47th state--have visited my blog at all). I should note, by the by, that I typed in New Mexico's 47th place in their joining of the union and then confirmed I was right (which I was). January 16, 1912 was when it became a state.

Anyway, my lack of readership MIGHT be explained by New Mexicans still being mad because I didn't initially understand that I actually had to surrender the hideous chili pepper wreath at the agricultural station. I had bought it in a moment of irony, I swear. I also gave it up willingly, and am still glad I did. Irony stops being ironic at a certain point, after all.

Hey Germany, how is it that Google thinks you are UNDER 0 seconds as an average time on the site? Negative time visits seem so, well, contrary, not to mention improbable. I took "German for Graduate Students" while I was doing my PhD. What more do you want from me. Bring it UP to 0, ok?

Anyway, wherever I go, you'll find me here.

Those dark mirrors

I've never been a big fan of Paul.  You know Paul, right?  The guy who wrote all those letters.  The ones in the Bible?  That Paul.

Despite my general distrust of him, I always liked this painting depicting him.



That's Caravaggio's The Conversion of St. Paul which hangs in a small chapel in the back of Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome.  I'm a little bit of a freaky fan of Caravaggio.  He's always seemed, well, funny to me.  Don't you just get the sense the the horse is looking at Paul like, "What the hell are you doing on the ground?  You know I poop down there, right?"

I spent a semester in college in Rome and wandered around from church to church with my very worn Michelin guide to the city.  Always a bit of a completest, I saw every Caravaggio in the city.  It wasn't a singular obsession, I also saw every Borromini church in the city.



That's St. Ivo della Sapienza.  I like how wavy it is.

Anyway, back to Paul.  I don't much like to say what he has to say about women, among other things.  I should note that I come by my dislike of him perhaps somewhat organically.  An ancestor of mine was so enraged (relatively late in his life) about the Pauline perspective that he resigned his ordination to the ministry and began writing books trying to debunk the various epistles written by Paul as heretical.  The demand to publish these tracts was rather small, as you might expect.  So, he opened up a vanity press to publish them himself and kept it going with others' projects of the same type.

Despite my dislike of Paul, I've always liked one verse.  Really, half of one verse.

"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face."  That's 1st Corinthians 13:12, if you want to know.

That was the King James version.  Here's the New International version:

"Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face."

Same basic idea, though the "through a glass darkly" is the bit I like the best.

I've always connected it to the Platonic allegory of the cave.

"Behold! human beings living in an underground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets."

The difference, really, is that Paul makes promises.  He suggests that at some point, we will see clearly.  Which gets me back to not liking Paul--how can I believe in the clarity when the rest of it seems so suspect?

So, art, ancestors, philosophy, and religion aside, what's my point?

I don't like how what sometimes goes on in my head seems disconnected from reality.  I keep trying to turn my head to see what's reflected, but it's always just out of view.

Six words

The Misanthrope over at Toner Mishap, bless his heart, tagged me. I feel so, well, touched. In a good way.

Herewith the rules:

1. Write your own six word memoir

2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like

3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to this original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere

4 Tag five more blogs with links

5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

Herewith the picture:



What kind of secret could Halo tell the stuffed meerkat?

Herewith the bio:

Paddled canoe early. Map still evolving.

Herewith the tags:

Everyone. I really can't think of anyone who has a blog I read whose six words I don't want to read.

Born to (and a Shakespeare game)

Honey and I were watching "Everest: Beyond the Limit" the other night. The narrator noted that the Nepalese were born to climb the great mountains of their country. Their hearts are bigger. Their lungs are bigger. It reminded me (and I said out loud) of the piece that I read in the L.A. Times last week about Disneyland redesigning the "It's a Small World" ride. It seems that the boats keep bottoming out. Disneyland, not wanting to alienate its visitors, has refused to blame the expanding American (and non-American) waistlines on the problem. Instead they argue that years of fiberglass build-up on the boats and water channel have made the ride less functional. The problem, apparently, is so acute, that they've built a platform near the Canadian Mounties to help people out of the boats so the ride doesn't get held up too long. Listening to that song a few MORE times than the ride normally requires may be too much for people.

At any rate, I remarked, upon hearing the narration about the Nepalese, that Americans are born to bottom-out Small World boats. My Honey laughed. I like making my Honey laugh.

I liked this Shakespeare thing. It has nothing to do with what we're born to do. Still. Macbeth would have been way different with sporks.

Is this a spork which I see before me,
Its handle toward my hand?

Which work of Shakespeare was the original quote from?

Get your own quotes:

Sporks relaunch

Honey suggested that I begin my relaunch with a paean to sporks. I eat with one almost every day. I like them. So much so, I've gone and bought a sporks domain. How's that for iconic?

So, why do I like sporks?

• Sporks have a pleasing shape


• Slip one in your bag or pocket and you're good to go


• Sporks function pretty well as spoons


• Sporks function fairly well as forks


• Titanium sporks are very light and very strong


• I like liminal things.

Welcome to my new space. Looks pretty spiffy, no? Big thanks to Treecup and Sly for making it happen. It's nice to have my own little corner of the internets. I think I'll keep it.