I went to Shelby Park last night and this image reminds me of the Greenway.
I like to picture people milling about Shelby Park at the turn of the (last) century, a carousel in the distance and paddle boats on the lake.
Sigh.
Happy Summer, all.
Today is Halloween. Halloween's origins date back about 2,000 years, to the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain. The Celts lived in the cold parts of Northern Europe — in Britain, Ireland, and the north of France — and so for them, the new year began on November 1st, the end of the fall harvest and the beginning of winter. The night before the new year, on October 31st, the division between the world of the living and the world of the dead dissolved, and the dead could come to earth again. This was partly bad and partly good — these spirits would damage crops and cause sickness, but they also helped the Celtic priests, the druids, to tell the future, to make predictions about the coming year. The druids built huge bonfires, and regular people put out their own fires in their homes and crowded together around these fires, where they burned sacrifices for the gods, told each other's fortunes, and dressed in costumes — usually animal skins and heads. At the end of the celebration, they took a piece of the sacred bonfire and relit their own fires at home with this new flame, which was meant to help them stay warm through the long winter ahead.
First the Romans co-opted Samhain and combined it with their festivals, and then the Christians co-opted both the Celtic and Roman celebrations. In the ninth century, the pope decided that these pagan festivals needed to be replaced with a Christian holiday, so he just moved the holiday called All Saints' Day from May 13 to November 1. All Saints' Day was a time for Christians to honor all the saints and martyrs of their religion. The term for All Saints' Day in Middle English was Alholowmesse, or All-hallowmass. This became All-hallows, and so the night before was referred to as All-hallows Eve, and finally, Halloween.
farm
and a horse
(and mini-horses, because I don't discriminate)
and some goats
and chickens
(don't forget the chickens)
and some cast iron skillets
where I will cook
cornbread, fried chicken, and okra
and a garden
where I will have rows and rows of corn,
lettuce, peppers, okra,
and everything else edible
and my Judge and E-rock
to keep me company
and a Howie dog
and since I can't have him anymore
I want one just like him
to protect the horses,
goats, mini-horses, and chickens,
the Judge and the E-rockness,
and I also want
a rooster to crow
so I will know each morning
that I am alive
and on my farm.
Amen.
I am obsessed with animals. I should have been a vet or a zookeeper, but went a different direction. Besides, I could never deal with suffering animals as my job - so vet would be out of the question.
But this fella - how sad is he? I want to sit beside him and hug him, like I used to do with Howie, and pet his sweet head.
I just read The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski. (buy it at your local independent bookstore, don't get it from Amazon or Barnes & Noble, please!) It is the best novel I've read in years. It's the best contemporary novel I've read, ever. I'm going to write up a review soon, perhaps tonight.
But everyone should read it. Not because Oprah picked it (which made the man a millionaire, I'm sure) but because it is a truly wonderful tale of a mute boy and his dogs. I didn't want it to end.
And the author is going to be in Nashville this weekend at the Southern Festival of Books. And it's free!
I sit with my back to the large window in my office.
The window looks out over Church Street and directly into the face of another old building like the one I work in, and between us is the dance of cars and birds.
When the sunlight fills the window and warms my back, every so often a crowd of birds, swallows, pigeons, black birds, fly past and mark the sunlight with quick, frenzied shadows. It's arresting, glimpsing it from this direction, only their silhouettes tell me they're there, and then gone again.
I never even have to turn around, but see the flights of so many winged creatures diving between the two buildings, perhaps lighting finally on the top of the L&C, or continuing on, across the river and into a tree in some far away yard.
I face forward, waiting for the next incident to grab my attention, waiting on the sun to warm my back.
This photo reminds me of the skeletons you always see around the Day of the Dead.
It also reminds me of how Franne makes these doll head art boxes, and she buys baby dolls at thrift stores and flea markets and takes the head off the body and paints them. They're beautiful and creepy - but the creepiest part is when one of her dogs gets ahold of the unused body parts and carry it in their mouths and leave it around her house, sometimes just a leg, or a piece of an action figure, and all of a sudden you're looking at a dismembered baby doll.
But dolls creep me out. Especially the ones with the eyes that open and close when you move them around and sometimes they don't close or open at the same time, so one eye will be all skewed and lazy.
E-rock's not a baby doll kid. She likes her stuffed animals. Good for her, I say. I inherited my cousin Hare's Barbie collection when I was young (she gave it up when she hit middle school, but I was five years younger and a perfect age to want a Barbie Dreamhouse) and I played with it and my brother's GI Joes. They all got buried in the dirt in the backyard just the same, the Barbie's just had hair.
My bro and I had a good time together when we were young (nothing's changed, I just have striking, fond memories of our playtime days) out in the yard, using that famous kiddish imagination we all have at one point in time but lose, and although we went through a rough patch when I was in the terrible junior high phase, we've always been soulmates who can easily talk and confide in each other.
I love you, T-Bro!
This post was brought to you by Beefaroni, the official lunch break nom of Cabbage. Yes, it's kind of ew.
