By Louis Jenkins
In Sitka, because they are fond of them,
people have named the seals. Every seal
is named Earl because they are killed one
after another by the orca, the killer
whale; seal bodies tossed left and right
into the air. “At least he didn’t get
Earl,” someone says. And sure enough,
after a time, that same friendly,
bewhiskered face bobs to the surface.
It’s Earl again. Well, how else are you
to live except by denial, by some
palatable fiction, some little song to
sing while the inevitable, the black and
white blindsiding fact, comes hurtling
toward you out of the deep?
Got a really nice mention from one of South Carolina's finest furniture reclaimers in Barb Blair at Knack.
It was, of all places, on Bloesem living, a blog by a few sharp ladies who live in Malaysia but are world travelers, taste-makers and fans of all things stunning.
Comfort food is not diet food – never said it was. It is warm and it is heavy and it is full of meaning and it is a warm hug around your neck on those dark nights and those bright nights alike.
And when we found a Mac & Cheese recipe the other year and tried it out and it blessed our souls, we continued to make it and now we want you to make it, too.
The Bullitt County Foundation for Excellence in Public Education is one of those groups who are just trying to help. Their mission is simple:
To provide enhanced learning opportunities, through donations, for the education of all students of Bullitt County public schools.
In this era of budget cuts, where education is getting cast aside so that businesses can get more breaks, it's great to find people who've a heart for other's well-being.
So, when the guys at BCFEPA (prolly not an acronym I should be able to easily pronounce) reached out and asked if we'd help with their silent auction, to raise money for eduction, we were more than happy to.
If you happen to be around next weekend, grab you a ticket or two or a table and toast to good. Raise some funds. Bid on some Old Try prints (by now they're bound to be flattened out). And help those Kentuckians help out their children.
POEM WITH ONE FACT
By Donald Hall
“At pet stores in Detroit, you can buy
for seventy-five cents apiece, to feed
your pet boa constrictor”
back home in Grosse Pointe,
or in Grosse Pointe Park,
while the free nation of rats
in Detroit emerges
from alleys behind pet shops, from cellars
and junked cars and gathers
to flow at twilight
like a river the color of pavement,
and crawls over bedrooms and groceries
and through broken
school windows to eat the crayon
from drawings of rats—
and no one in Detroit understands
how rats are delicious in Dearborn.
If only we could communicate, if only
the boa constrictors of Southfield
would slither down I-94,
turn north on the Lodge Expressway,
and head for Eighth Street, to eat
out for a change. Instead, tomorrow,
a man from Birmingham enters
a pet shop in Detroit
to buy a frozen German shepherd
for six dollars and fifty cents
to feed his pet cheetah,
guarding the compound at home.
Oh, they arrive all day in their
Locked cars, buying
schoolyards, bridges, buses,
churches, and Ethnic Festivals;
they buy a frozen Texaco station
for eighty-four dollars and fifty cents
to feed to an imported London taxi
in Huntington Woods;
they buy Tiger Stadium,
frozen, to feed the little league
in Grosse Ile. They bring everything
home, frozen solid
as pig iron the six-car garages
of Harper Woods, Grosse Point Woods,
Farmington, Grosse Pointe
Farms, Troy and Grosse Arbor—
And they ingest
Everything and fall asleep and lie
coiled in the sun, while the city
thaws in the stomach and slides
in the small intestines where enzymes
break down molecules of protein
to amino acids, which enter
the cold bloodstream.
It's Patriots Day!
Which doesn't mean much to your Southerners. So, I'm reposting my Patriots Day experience of a couple of years ago for y'all. Hope you enjoy. Oh, and if you really want to know what the day is about, something more specific than its-the-day-after-Paul-Revere's-ride give a read over here.
I was just out in my yard, minding my business, stirring up the compost bin, ignoring the canons firing around the corner during the Patriot's Day Parade. When low and behold!
What's that? Dixieland Jazz down on Massachusetts Avenue? I jumped over the fence, ran a block and my ears and face both lit up like Christmas morning. And I wanted to share the Hot Tamale Brass Band with you. Cause you deserve it, too.
“Loving you is every bit as fine
as coming over a hill into the sun
at ninety miles an hour darling when
it's dawn and you can hear the stars unlocking
themselves from the designs of God beneath
the disintegrating orchestra of my black
Chevrolet. The radio clings to an un-
identified station - somewhere a tango suffers,
and the dance floor burns around two lovers
whom nothing can touch - no, not even death!
Oh! the acceleration with which my heart does proceed,
reaching like stars almost but never quite
of light the speed of light the speed of light.”
-D. Johnson, The Veil, 1987
A PRAYER THAT WILL BE ANSWERED
By Anna Kamienska
Lord let me suffer much
and then die
Let me walk through silence
and leave nothing behind not even fear
Make the world continue
let the ocean kiss the sand just as before
Let the grass stay green
so that frogs can hide in it
So that someone can bury his face in it
and sob out his love
Make the day rise brightly
as if there were no more pain
And let my poem stand clear as a windowpane
bumped by a bumblebee’s head
Flying home for the first time in 800 days.
I haven't been home since all those tornados last year. I haven't seen grandparents since they've gotten since then well again. Haven't seen my little sister in almost four years. I'm a bad son.
I'm anxious and excited and just ready to set foot again on that red clay.
I'm coming home to you.
If there is anything tougher than shopping for a good belt, I don't know what it is. Which might be why I have 20 belts but only wear two of them. One is a simple, handsome leather piece I got at Sid Mashburn. The other is a thick old thing I got 15 or 16 years ago when I was in high school. It was from the Gap. It was made in China. It was tougher than nails. But it has been falling on hard times as of late in the stitching department.
So, I thought it was time to give go to finding a new one.
Awesome shoutout over on the Thrillst in ATL the other week.
It makes me so pumped when folks notice us in places that you think they wouldn't. I mean, I read the Thrillist every day, so I'd think they would. But, you know. It's like that hot girl in class actually knowing your name...
And I married that girl.