Logitech at least pretends that they get along with Mac OS for some of their cameras and that’s good enough for me. Seriously folks, this isn’t such a big deal anymore. But anyway, starting tomorrow you should be seeing some new and improved views of the cats. Will play a little more with positioning tomorrow.
Here’s Deirdre checking it out.
Today’s news on the death of Maurice Sendak was very sad. I found it impressive to read tributes from so many writers and from people of all ages and walks of life. Terry Gross at Fresh Air put together a compilation of interviews she’d done over the years with him.
He was so forthcoming on his life and his work and thoughts on getting older, loss and death. Over the years I’ve read interviews with him and heard the other fresh air interviews and learned so much about being a creative person, what that means to him, how to find something important to do.
You know who my gods are, who I believe in fervently? Herman Melville, Emily Dickinson — she’s probably the top — Mozart, Shakespeare, Keats. These are wonderful gods who have gotten me through the narrow straits of life.
The last quote on the page is this:
On his life
“I have nothing now but praise for my life. I’m not unhappy. I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can’t stop them. They leave me and I love them more. … What I dread is the isolation. … There are so many beautiful things in the world which I will have to leave when I die, but I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready.”
At the end of the actual interview, he took Terry Gross by surprise by saying how glad he had been to hear she wanted to interview him and went on to say:
“…almost certainly I’ll go before you so I won’t have to miss you… live your life, live your life, live your life…”
I just saw a link from the poetry foundation which seems a good poem for the day.
As for the rest—ah, the air now
Is a tonic of absence, bearing nothing
But news of a breeze.
— Reverie in Open Air by Rita Dove
I thought it was a cool coincidence that I had a few visitors today that had come following links to Chris Carstenjen who died, with another morris dancer Steve Adams and many other folks at the WTC on September 11. The advice Chris posted to his website was worth remembering on mine and I was glad to remember him and his advice today.
I think I found a groove tonight. With the actual squares I’d made earlier I have about 70 of 260 squares done. Laying there on the ironing board they look pretty good.
Meanwhile, I thought about things epic-like and wrote these:
Where are we going?
How will evil be vanquished?
Let me hear the tale.The Hero. Evil.
Meet for battle as fated.
Someone write it down.
And with that, off to hear who does what to whom in The Táin. I’d just like to say that I flipped back a few pages last night because I remembered that the thing which is about to get very bloody started out with a chapter called “pillow talk”. It did. But, as reported, even the table of contents promised carnage so I can’t pretend to be surprised, only at how it came to be.
From the Quote Box:
Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many times as you think necessary. Then ask yourself and yourself alone one question. . . Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good. If it doesn’t, it is of no use. — Carlos Castenada
Moon peeks over hill,
hides her face with cloudy mask
flirting with the earth.The tale goes onward
the story’s path is winding
the end out of view.This morning shining
but here I sit, waiting room
no sun, no bird song.I read the old tales.
I see the hero-halo.
Become more epic?
I came to the car dealer for maintenance and such, prepared to stay awhile and figured a nice block of time for the NaNoWriMo story. I don’t normally write while listening to music but I needed to block out the inane waiting room TV and the obligatory whiny, entitled customers. I don’t think the music is a plus for writing but at least I’m not being imbued by nastiness.
I am making some progress in reading the Táin. It had a few places last night where I thought – come on folks – you forgot a few paragraphs of story here. Or it’s losing a line or two in translation. Perhaps that’s an important part of epic-tale-telling: you have to be willing to move on, even if there are some bits missing.
I loved this though:
The Warp-Spasm overtook him: it seemed each hair was hammered into his head, so sharply they shot upright. You would swear a fire-speck tipped each hair. He squeezed one eye narrower than the eye of a needle; he opened the other wider than the mouth of a goblet. He bared his jaws to the ear; he peeled back his lips to the eye-teeth till his gullet showed. The hero-halo rose up from the crown of his head.
What an image of that battle rage rising up and through someone and transforming them into someone able to do something beyond normal ability. Granted, this fellow was part divine but as the tale goes on the listener is told: he was only four, or only five or only six.
I’m not sure where all this reading will take me but I’m willing to follow these chariots awhile.
Nothing adventured, nothing attained.
