tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-286763162024-03-19T04:48:50.858-04:00Moristotle & Co.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger4778125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-38198819594508662622023-11-17T09:27:00.005-05:002023-11-17T17:29:54.303-05:00Life Stories<div dir="ltr"><span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-family: Charter; font-size: x-large;"></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Charter; font-size: x-large;">By Eric Meub</span></span><div dir="ltr"><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="Charter" size="4"><o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">I managed to post this even though Morris has resigned. Don't ask me how I managed it; mum's the word.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">A short essay he wrote this fall for his 60th Yale reunion book next year prompted me to tell him that he could teach a class on "How to Write Your Life Story in 500 Words or Less." He seemed to lighten at the suggestion:<span></span></font></p><a name='more'></a><font face="verdana" size="4"><o:p></o:p></font><p></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><blockquote style="margin-bottom: 5pt; margin-top: 5pt;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><font>I am not sure I could teach such a class. But maybe I have some texts I could consult: my early essay on technical writing about invoking the muse and numerous postings on Moristotle & Co. </font><span>over the years </span><span>about trusting our muse. And rewrite, rewrite, rewrite! In private conferences on students' drafts, I'd encourage them to delight in the process of whittling down a piece of writing that is over the word limit. In fact, I think I would retitle the class "How to Write Your Life Story <i>in Exactly 500 Words</i>." There's even a second, better reason for that, because I can imagine some students being hard-pressed to come up with as many as 500 words. I would like to challenge these students to think of things they wanted to do in life, but haven't acted on, and to ask themselves whether they might act on some of them now. I guess there should be an age requirement for admission to the course—50, perhaps?</span></span></p></blockquote></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">Here's the 500-word life story Morris submitted for his 60th reunion book:<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><blockquote style="margin-bottom: 5pt; margin-top: 5pt;"><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">These essays don't get any easier to write. Memories whirl about, clamoring for attention. Something I remember or intend one moment may be gone the next.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">Who was the boy in that first Yale photo? I barely recognize him.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">A year after Yale, I traveled to Edinburgh, Scotland, to try divinity studies. They didn't take then, and they never would.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">I fled Edinburgh and then, by way of London and Paris, returned home, back to my parents in Tulare, California, to a teaching position in the high school that prepared me for Yale.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">I chanced to meet at the town's new high school the amazing woman who is still my "current spouse." We were introduced by a teacher I dropped in to greet, who had become a dean of students there. Carolyn Warren just happened to be visiting from college that day, too, and the dean seemed delighted to be the one to introduce us.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">We were wed six weeks later and moved in with my parents for the rest of the Spring. In the Fall, we drove to Evanston, Illinois, where I began doctoral studies in Philosophy at Northwestern.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">We lasted for one semester. Carolyn disliked being a graduate student's wife even more than I disliked being a graduate student, so I gave up a 4-year fellowship, and within weeks, again by chance, I was in training to sell IBM machines in San Francisco.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">I quickly learned I was no salesman, but I could write, and IBM had a plant in San Jose manufacturing products that needed user guides….<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">Eleven years later, San Jose was growing too crowded for us, so Carolyn and I, and our teenage son and daughter, flew east, where I had identified an editing and new-writer training position at IBM's plant in Research Triangle Park, North Carolina.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">We chose to live in Chapel Hill because of its excellent school system, and also because my high-school Latin teacher had majored in Classics at UNC there, and the authors of Carolyn's favorite Botany text were at UNC.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">Years passed, and I entered my second career, as a vice president's administrative assistant at UNC General Administration. During that career I discovered Sam Harris' first book, "The End of Faith." Harris' thinking mirrored my own, and his writings—and the writings of his fellow "New Atheists"—helped me articulate my thoughts on religion.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">I began to blog—as "Moristotle"—and after retiring from UNC GA, I concentrated on my third, and favorite, career: editing and managing Moristotle & Co. on the internet.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">Four other Yalies joined me on the staff: James T. Carney, Rolf H. Dumke, Neil P. Hoffmann, and Jonathan L. Price. Their blurbs in Moristotle & Co.'s sidebar give links to their writings.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">On July 31, 2023, I gave up the ardors of blogging for less arduous tasks.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">My heart continues to throb to the beat of Mother Nature, leaping up at the honks of Canada geese, all the while singing a sad tune at Autumn's colors blowing in the wind.<o:p></o:p></font></p></div></blockquote><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"> </font></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">I also happen to know that Morris wrote an earlier version (because he shared it with me, just as he shared the final version above). I thought it too was good enough to submit. But it was pretty "dark":</font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"></font></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">These essays don't get any easier to write. I know less about what it all means now than I knew ten years ago. And I have less mind to try to figure it out and report.</font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">My thinking is distracted, too, by tides of memory, often shrouded in grief. My longing for times remembered has turned to a need to be free of them and let them go, those times gone forever.</font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">My amazing wife has less mind too, but hers is vacating at a slower rate than mine. She can plan European itineraries, make hotel reservations, arrange for rental cars. But in September 2023 she failed to remind me of something almost everyone knows: <i>don't leave valuables in your car</i>. Before visiting the Matisse Museum in Nice our first Sunday in France, we parked our rental with our luggage prominently visible inside. When we returned a couple of hours later, a woman greeted us solemnly and informed us—in better English than our French—that a window had been smashed and luggage extracted by two men she saw running off when she ran out to investigate. The stolen bags held our iPads, quite a few articles of clothing, and all of our prescription medications. What we forgot, of course, was that we <i>should</i> have dropped all of our luggage off at the next hotel before going to the museum.</font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">The woman had called the police, who arrived eventually to check things out. We pieced together that we were to go to the police station and file a report before we returned the car for a replacement. At the station, an interpreter, who came in on his day off to help us, took our statement from my wife, since the rental agreement was in her name. An excerpt from the official report: "<i>Manière d'opérer: BRIS DE VITRE</i>" Ah, yes, that broken window.</font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">We were able to secure new prescriptions for our meds from our doctor in Chapel Hill, who quickly sent them to us by email attachment, and a local <i>pharmacie</i> filled them only three days after the theft.</font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">Weeks later, we were still remembering other things packed in those stolen bags, and I finally filed a claim under the theft clause of our homeowners insurance. One morning early, a week after filing, I lay in bed awake, dreading that the claims department would need for us to submit documentary proof for all of the stolen items, however much we were claiming for each, even as little as a dollar or two for things that had been in my traveling toiletries kit. To quiet the dread, I tried to concentrate on my breathing—anything to evade those thoughts and return to sleep. Eventually, I was able to darken most of the lighter areas on my inner screen. I hoped that with only a few more patches the whole would be dark. Would death arrive like that, I wondered—everything turning black? I tried to stop thinking, to test the notion.</font></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><font face="verdana" size="4">I found the two versions remarkably dissimilar, as if Morris was writing for two entirely different assignments. Here were two perspectives of the same persona, one from 30,000 feet up, the other from a foot away. They illuminated each other delightfully. I was very sorry that Yale could not include both of them in the Class of 1964's 60th reunion book.</font></p></div></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-41697517029753700662023-08-21T03:00:00.002-04:002023-08-22T13:41:01.435-04:00Afterlife (a sonnet)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZmuwHmPNFroW8Fv6RF07jKqyyzeUNLRgNli1z8KwD1gckLmeaGgdZuvZWKAK33BoQVCtVQZIXyvd2umn_SnULijjAPTEAIVmVuW_yE7yty0wKB8-5NCxVsQC4PuFn-tS7LAuJxFe4YDTpOSdAiG6FQvBAq8AkvLTXcxJDVb5TubLiN6KFQ/s475/B8C22994-1F1B-44AE-BD09-65DF16629161.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="303" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZmuwHmPNFroW8Fv6RF07jKqyyzeUNLRgNli1z8KwD1gckLmeaGgdZuvZWKAK33BoQVCtVQZIXyvd2umn_SnULijjAPTEAIVmVuW_yE7yty0wKB8-5NCxVsQC4PuFn-tS7LAuJxFe4YDTpOSdAiG6FQvBAq8AkvLTXcxJDVb5TubLiN6KFQ/w203-h320/B8C22994-1F1B-44AE-BD09-65DF16629161.jpeg" width="183" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Eric%20SMeub" target="_blank">Eric Meub</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">On visiting your native town, we walk</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">The streets you used to walk before we met.</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">We talk about the sights. But as you talk,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">And as you smile, I can’t help see regret.</div>
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Some memory transfixes every spot:</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Old dreams, perhaps, of what would gladden you</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">In years to come. The years have come: I’m not</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">The future you were looking forward to.</div>
<br />
How brave you are—to walk with me, yet bear<br />
Such disappointment, such surprising grief<br />
That, just this once, you can’t humanely share<br />
With me, the one who usually brings relief.<br />
<br />
My fault: I thought that you’d enjoy the week.<br />
You take my hand and press it to your cheek.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Eric Meub<br />Eric Meub is a California poet & architect.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-7736655296375303412023-08-20T03:00:00.022-04:002023-08-20T03:00:00.151-04:00A Farewell to Arts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r0IrCJJfzIo/XBxTyQA9j6I/AAAAAAAAu2o/MrCJlhl3mxQFVzaZZ9wi-H7Q8s3KzvUdQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_0754-729199.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="200" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6637272073594834850" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r0IrCJJfzIo/XBxTyQA9j6I/AAAAAAAAu2o/MrCJlhl3mxQFVzaZZ9wi-H7Q8s3KzvUdQCK4BGAYYCw/s200/IMG_0754-729199.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Roger%20Owens" target="_blank">Roger Owens</a></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">There was a man</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">. Just a regular guy really, maybe a bit harder-working than most, but just a regular guy. He had what employers want a guy to have: the house, the wife, the mortgage, the car, the kid, the dog. Best way to keep a worker from considering leaving; he needs this job. Then he broke the mold and bought his own business. After a few years, he was successful enough to have a lot of time on his hands. And, this man had a dream.<br />
<a name='more'></a> He wanted to be a writer. He was a writer. He wrote. He wrote for ten years or more. He thought his dream was to sell his writing and make money and make his living as a writer. But the longer that did not happen, the more he wondered about just exactly what his dream really was. One day out of the blue, he realized what he really wanted was to write. What he wanted was for people to read his work, and of course, he wanted them to like it. But one cannot have the second without the first; it was a calculated risk, he reasoned, that perhaps they would not. However, never one to let difficulty get in the way, he decided to attempt this undertaking. <br />
The man had no more idea concerning how to go about this, well, this not selling his work, than he’d had about selling it in the first place, to the old, traditional kind of publisher. From not one of which, he noted for the thousandth time, with profound irritation, had he ever received so much as a rejection letter. He understood it; it was just business. When in sales mode, he kept his eye on the likely buyer, and wasted little to none on those he knew were not able or interested in buying. They were looking for books they thought would sell; apparently his had not impressed them. That rankled a bit, but it was, as they say, what it was. <br />
And so it was that, with nowhere else to turn, the man just did what everybody does these days: he talked about it on social media. He just talked about it. He put up some cat pics that day, might have bragged over supper the night before, and said essentially that he wanted people to read his stuff, and he didn’t care if he ever made a dime from it. <br />
It was like magic. The second the man forgot about the money, it was as if the universe had opened up. That very day, a dear friend on Facebook introduced the man to a blog called “Moristotle & Co.,” after cautiously requesting an example of the man’s work, which precaution he thought was quite reasonable. Before he went to bed that night, the man had sent several poems to this wondrous blog, was assured they would be published, and made a deal to write articles for this blog whenever possible. <br />
It was a whole new world. He was a published writer, he had copyrights, he had a new book coming along nicely. He wrote articles, and from the very beginning, the maestro of this amazing blog kept on him, criticizing, cajoling, correcting, and generally whipping his writing into some semblance of publishability. And the other writers on the blog continuously raised the bar, publishing works of such grace and beauty as to drag a minor talent to a new finish line, almost daily, just to keep up. This was his dream. To share his work, and see the elegant works of others, to improve his writing and his creativity. This was the man’s dream, and it came true. One hundred percent, more than he’d ever dreamed. It came true.</span><hr />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">Moristotle</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">, your blog has been for you a labor of love. And you didn’t just “accomplish” it, you <i>did</i> it – actively, purposefully, intentionally. You sought it out. You weren’t thrown to the wolves, you <i>jumped</i> at the wolves. Off a cliff, in the dark. You wanted it, <i>needed</i> it, and by God you <i>did it</i>.<br /> I cannot overstate my admiration, my gratitude, my wonder at this momentous thing you have created. Dozens of people like me, whose dreams have been fulfilled by your schooling, your suggestions, your ability to empathize with the author of a story that is not yours.<br /> I mean this: next to my marriage to Cindy, my association with Moristotle & Co. has been the absolute pinnacle of my enjoyment of my time here on Earth, and you know I would not say that lightly. Don’t scuff your feet and go aw shucks; you literally (pun there) made my dream come true. I simply cannot heap enough praise upon you and your wonderful creation.<br /> With all due love and respect, I remain, your grateful friend forever.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Roger Owens</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-45647159199173790912023-08-19T03:00:00.003-04:002023-08-19T03:00:00.140-04:00Farewell to Moristotle & Co.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wdaGtE21b1c/XtADFA712mI/AAAAAAAAyfk/V6Pc3yfNqUkr9OsX11IRrRdysBQ292raQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Paul%2BClark%2Bmotomynd%2BFACE%2BONLY%2B%2528no%2Bbars%2529%2BWater%2BColor.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="360" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wdaGtE21b1c/XtADFA712mI/AAAAAAAAyfk/V6Pc3yfNqUkr9OsX11IRrRdysBQ292raQCLcBGAsYHQ/w200-h200/Paul%2BClark%2Bmotomynd%2BFACE%2BONLY%2B%2528no%2Bbars%2529%2BWater%2BColor.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Paul%20Clark" target="_blank">Paul Clark</a><br />(aka <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Motomynd" target="_blank">motomynd</a>)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">It seems fitting</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> that my internet went out as I was attempting to write this. I was drawn into the Moristotle family by accident, spent most of my time wondering if I fit in as anything more than the proverbial red-headed stepchild, and now an accident was preventing my properly saying goodbye.<br />
Over the years, Moristotle has become an amazing literary amalgamation that I hope somehow survives and evolves and gains more respect even as you, Morris, move on to other uses of your time. When I was allegedly gainfully employed in the magazine industry, I worked with various publishing houses across the country, but I never knew a group with more talent spread across a wider array of interests and perspectives than I came to know at Moristotle. I hope that you, Morris, and everyone involved, take great pride in what you have been part of.<br /><a name='more'></a> There is the heavy Yale connection dating back to college days for some of you, but other than that I don’t know how most people came to know of and be involved with Moristotle. In my case, I still find it ironic that someone such as myself, being almost maniacally devoted to avoiding screen time, was drawn into the online Moristotle web through an accidental meeting. <br />
When I used to live in the Hillsborough area of North Carolina, my overall favorite place to spend time was the <a href="https://visithillsboroughnc.com/things-to-do/historic-occoneechee-speedway-trail/" target="_blank">Historic Occoneechee Speedway Trail</a>, a former NASCAR dirt track with great appeal to those interested in the history of the sport – if you have access to Peacock, you can find the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lost_Speedways" target="_blank">Dale Earnhardt Jr. “Lost Speedways”</a> episode about the racing history of Occoneechee Speedway. But the true appeal of the place – to me at least – was the ideal running and walking surface provided by the almost perfectly flat, soft dirt of the long-abandoned track. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o3nHqz3ofwI/S8Io0Ap77ZI/AAAAAAAACHM/SS3E74voBjg/s1600/SiegfriedSits.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o3nHqz3ofwI/S8Io0Ap77ZI/AAAAAAAACHM/SS3E74voBjg/s400/SiegfriedSits.jpg" width="280" /></a></div> Over 13 years ago, on a morning outing to the former speedway, I met a couple “of a certain age” who were enjoying a walk with Siegfried, their magnificent white giant standard poodle. After the chance meeting I couldn’t have told you anything about the couple, but I did learn that Siegfried was the successor to Wally, their previous poodle, whose name was short for Sir Walter Raleigh. Given Siegfried’s regal posture and bearing, I quickly assumed that Wally had likewise carried himself with an air befitting a connection to royalty. <br />
A few days later, a mysterious email popped up in my inbox, with a <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/2010/04/nights-expectation.html" target="_blank">link to an article about the chance meeting on a blog called Moristotle</a>. My reaction was somewhere between OMG and WTF. On the one hand, it was flattering that a citizen journalist found something about me interesting enough to write about. On the other hand, as a former journalist, I was aghast that someone was walking around interviewing people without first identifying himself as a journalist, publishing interviews without first seeking permission, and that he had ferreted out enough information from the conversation to be able to track me online. Yikes! <br />
Looking back, it was a wonderful introduction that ultimately lured me into publishing many pieces on Moristotle & Co., where I have been privileged to “meet” online so many interesting and talented people over the years. It also instilled in me the importance of using an alias and being cautious about revealing personal information when chatting with strangers I met in the woods – no matter how magnificent their dog might be. <br />
As I have jested and jousted with you many times over the years, Morris, I’m still of the personal opinion that people are better served by going for more walks in the woods than by blogging about going for walks in the woods and thereby limiting their time to go for more walks in the woods. But, if I hadn’t been going for my walk and run in the woods the morning we met, and if you hadn’t been looking for something to blog about, that one meeting is all we would have had. So I thank you for what you and Moristotle the blog have brought to my life these many years, and I hope you find time for more walks now that you are blogging less.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Paul Clark</td></tr></tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-24788790733307507982023-08-18T03:00:00.001-04:002023-08-18T03:00:00.137-04:00All Over the Place: “A Witness to Your Life” from The...Other Poems<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaK8I7dpzZ2P9lMLQm00mT_-Z4gkOxCCx3O4IGda4CC-2SLr1vHCr_rwGQLppc7TVGMoYHwjwdLUwaQL1ujOhBTJ2TKXyTdsstapqZWV0zZ5I0iUtZw5Rnvombk7sHkuHca1b8j-X2_gQlW5PTMIQ4q5bWaXoUweWFjUvtafDcGi8cyjiXiw/s507/Katy%20Train%20cover%20image.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="333" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaK8I7dpzZ2P9lMLQm00mT_-Z4gkOxCCx3O4IGda4CC-2SLr1vHCr_rwGQLppc7TVGMoYHwjwdLUwaQL1ujOhBTJ2TKXyTdsstapqZWV0zZ5I0iUtZw5Rnvombk7sHkuHca1b8j-X2_gQlW5PTMIQ4q5bWaXoUweWFjUvtafDcGi8cyjiXiw/w210-h320/Katy%20Train%20cover%20image.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Michael%20H.%20Brownstein" target="_blank">Michael H. Brownstein</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: bolder;">A Witness to Your Life</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">She is wife to the husband,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Keeper of memoirs he will never write,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">The exposed and the secret-sharer.</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Even with life so small, unkempt,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Littered with rude manners and perfumed breath.</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Later, if he saved the drowning boy</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Or pulled the soldier out of the burning building</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Or calmed the man full of slurs and bad skin,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">It will only be that ordinary people</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Often do extraordinary things.</div>
<a name='more'></a><div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">She will remember this sometimes</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Walking along the street into a familiar scent,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Passing a store window draped with colors be used to wear.</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">When she steps barefoot onto the beach,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">How it burned his feet,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">How he put on his sandals</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">She brought for him</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">And continued on his way.</div></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2013, 2023 by Michael H. Brownstein<br />
Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Slipknot-Into-Somewhere-Else-Borderlands/dp/1727462009/" target="_blank">A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else</a></i> and <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/How-Do-We-Create-Love/dp/1703570014/" target="_blank">How Do We Create Love?</a></i>, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-22044741964350932742023-08-17T03:00:00.050-04:002023-08-17T03:00:00.149-04:00Farewells to Moristotle & Co.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkd7QCRw47CwFx7ylAelnGyDNx9jK8FAoTkddynZwJbb1lXecchEoKpZFxrlwGK7oTjhQyN-J0h_ipQh4W7hWgS_SI92WW-TXn-KkMAGBeByoa1Tjzq9szLhmaBNJvJhotHFO1OIYw8EPyuR-lx310MIBIgS4Ym2ExEF2b2lotLDwJXtEuDyLb/s446/IMG_2103.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="446" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkd7QCRw47CwFx7ylAelnGyDNx9jK8FAoTkddynZwJbb1lXecchEoKpZFxrlwGK7oTjhQyN-J0h_ipQh4W7hWgS_SI92WW-TXn-KkMAGBeByoa1Tjzq9szLhmaBNJvJhotHFO1OIYw8EPyuR-lx310MIBIgS4Ym2ExEF2b2lotLDwJXtEuDyLb/w320-h268/IMG_2103.jpeg" width="230" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/#andre" target="_blank">André Duvall<br />[with a few words from<br />Billy Charles Duvall]</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">I cherish knowing</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> that my father and Morris are first cousins and have a great respect and affinity for each other (their mothers, Florine & Stella, respectively, were sisters). I’m blessed to have found myself in the middle of the thoughts and creations of these two amazing souls by way of my contributions to Moristotle & Co. I’m grateful to Morris for his unwavering encouragement, inspiration, and direct but always respectful nudging of my continued engagement with his blog.<br /><a name='more'></a> By virtue of that engagement, I’ve recorded <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Father%27s%20Art" target="_blank">the stories behind 31 of my father’s paintings</a>, complete with good-quality images preserved online. Along the way, I’ve had the chance to revisit old stories and images that I remember from childhood, learn new details about images I’ve seen for years, and see paintings and hear stories of which I never knew. I’m so glad all of this can be preserved for any family member to enjoy. I say more about the origins of this project in <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/2019/09/fathers-art-works-of-billy-charles.html" target="_blank">my very first Father’s Art post</a>. Additionally, I was given the opportunity to share a few of my poems and other writings on occasion.<br />
Knowing how special this journey has been for me gives me some perspective for how incredibly meaningful this must be for my Dad. Although he is not making his own farewell post, he has shared some words to include with mine. He is a man of few words, but of great import:
<blockquote>Hi, Morris!<br />
I really appreciate you publishing my art and all the work that involves. It has inspired me to continue painting and also to complete several paintings I started years ago but never finished. I am so glad now I did not throw them away.<br />
Love to all,<br /> Billy Charles</blockquote></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">In my mind</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">, Moristotle represents the ideal of the Editor-in-Chief. I have never worked with a better editor. I have learned so much from him about writing and clarity simply from the editing process. He is a benevolent editor, respectful of the contributor’s interpretations, striving to preserve what the contributor is trying to say, balancing that benevolence with fine attention to detail, tone, and consistency. I know from reading posts of some of the other blog contributors that others feel the same.<br />
Along the lines of respectfulness, one of the reasons I admire Morris’ blog is how it values diverse perspectives, meeting people where they are, allowing the spectrum of colors of our human conditions to shine. The blog’s perspective, as if it could be summarized into any single perspective, might be that each contributor has truths to share, based on their own experiences, efforts, talents, and backgrounds. The blog has such a variety of information, reflections, artistic creations, and dialogue, and all from some incredible minds.<br />
I am nothing short of amazed at Morris’ ability to write insightfully with such speed, detail, and ease. He can explore so many important angles of a topic, as though viewing a sculpture from many sides and shades of lighting, discovering new details from each angle. The <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Goines%20On" target="_blank">“Goines On” vignettes</a> encapsulate much of what I am describing. In addition to tackling weighty topics, they often demonstrate the depth of meaning one can find in observations of seemingly mundane activities of daily life. I would also recommend <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/2023/01/moristotle-80-th-birthday-interview.htmlAnd " target="_blank">his 80<sup>th</sup> birthday interview</a>, which, in his son Geoffrey’s words, “gives us new insight into his mind and heart.”<br />
Thank you, Morris, for this legacy. Your retirement is well-earned!<br />
Love,<br /> André</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by André Duvall & Billy Charles Duvall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-80151032401989330162023-08-16T03:00:00.091-04:002023-08-16T03:00:00.148-04:00“Fairmount” Relined (another Farewell to Moristotle & Co.)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OeFU4CEOsLg/X3ja62yz6UI/AAAAAAAAzYU/8InCm9cuYvcrODIj_EjzX2PFEVGNhqjXQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Maik%2BStrosahl.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="582" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OeFU4CEOsLg/X3ja62yz6UI/AAAAAAAAzYU/8InCm9cuYvcrODIj_EjzX2PFEVGNhqjXQCLcBGAsYHQ/w181-h200/Maik%2BStrosahl.jpg" width="181" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Maik%20Strosahl" target="_blank">Maik Strosahl</a></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">When I submitted</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> an audio file of my reading of my 2011 poem “Fairmount” for the sidebar’s “S.o.u.n.d.s of Moristotle & Co.” a few weeks ago, Moristotle observed that he could not hear some of the line breaks he saw presented in <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/2023/06/highways-and-byways-fairmount.html" target="_blank">my June 21 “Highways and Byways” column</a>, and he asked whether I would like to do a re-reading.<br />
After trying several times, I decided I didn’t like the way it sounded with all those short lines from a dozen years ago (when I wrote it). Consequently, I changed the line breaks (and only the line breaks) as shown in the new version, below. <br />
<a name='more'></a> I do think the poem sounds better this way and I thank Moristotle for catching the missing line breaks. Through the years, I had changed the way I read the poem. <br />
Moris, thank you for challenging me to be a better poet!</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: bolder;">“Fairmount” Relined</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">The boys still lean on cinderblock walls<br />
to have a smoke and contemplate life<br />
away from these vacant buildings, <br />
this dying town forever grasping <br />
at the ghost of a rebel.<br />
<br />
The girls still walk by,<br />
get a nod from the hopeful<br />
and giggle down the cracked sidewalk,<br />
crossing the street against the signal <br />
without looking.<br />
<br />
The boys follow the girl figures<br />
with unfulfilled eyes<br />
as they slowly disappear around the curve.<br />
In unison,<br />
they stub out their smokes,<br />
flick them into the empty parking lot <br />
and plan another Friday night escape <br />
to Marion.<br />
<br />
Someday,<br />
they will leave for good,<br />
only remembering this place<br />
in trivial conversations, <br />
where they will brag about growing up <br />
like James Dean.</span><hr /><br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: bolder;">Recording Relined</span><br /><br /><iframe allow="autoplay" frameborder="no" height="300" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1577686239%3Fsecret_token%3Ds-KxIrXI96UzQ&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe><div style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Interstate, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Garuda, Verdana, Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; font-weight: 100; line-break: anywhere; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap; word-break: normal;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/moristotle" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="Moristotle">Moristotle</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/moristotle/fairmount-relined/s-KxIrXI96UzQ" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title=""Fairmount" Relined">"Fairmount" Relined</a></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: bolder;">Original Recording</span><br />
<br /><iframe allow="autoplay" frameborder="no" height="300" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1541086651%3Fsecret_token%3Ds-k4H14xifr6V&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true" width="100%"></iframe><div style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Interstate, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Garuda, Verdana, Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; font-weight: 100; line-break: anywhere; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap; word-break: normal;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/moristotle" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="Moristotle">Moristotle</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/moristotle/maik-strosahl-reads-a-poem-to-help-end-childhood-poverty/s-k4H14xifr6V" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="Maik Strosahl reads a poem to help end childhood poverty">Maik Strosahl reads a poem to help end childhood poverty</a></div>
<br /><table align="left" bgcolor="49645B" border="3" bordercolor="49645b" cellpadding="3" style="color: #f5e5a6; font-family: arial, sanserif; font-size: 12; width: 100%;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Michael E. (Maik) Strosahl</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-81777287744037593632023-08-15T03:00:00.001-04:002023-08-15T03:00:00.150-04:00All Over the Place: “Eight Breaks in the Glaze....” from The..Other Poems<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaK8I7dpzZ2P9lMLQm00mT_-Z4gkOxCCx3O4IGda4CC-2SLr1vHCr_rwGQLppc7TVGMoYHwjwdLUwaQL1ujOhBTJ2TKXyTdsstapqZWV0zZ5I0iUtZw5Rnvombk7sHkuHca1b8j-X2_gQlW5PTMIQ4q5bWaXoUweWFjUvtafDcGi8cyjiXiw/s507/Katy%20Train%20cover%20image.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="333" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaK8I7dpzZ2P9lMLQm00mT_-Z4gkOxCCx3O4IGda4CC-2SLr1vHCr_rwGQLppc7TVGMoYHwjwdLUwaQL1ujOhBTJ2TKXyTdsstapqZWV0zZ5I0iUtZw5Rnvombk7sHkuHca1b8j-X2_gQlW5PTMIQ4q5bWaXoUweWFjUvtafDcGi8cyjiXiw/w210-h320/Katy%20Train%20cover%20image.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Michael%20H.%20Brownstein" target="_blank">Michael H. Brownstein</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: bolder;">Eight Breaks in the </span><div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: bolder;">Glaze or If We Ate <br />Superstition for Supper</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b>1.</b><br />
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">I see exact replication in everyone, every tree,</div>
every landscape, every valley,<br />
in every thick mountain crag.
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Birds know how to hate that way too.</div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><b>2.</b><br />
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Yet this is the time for slow rivers, snow rivers, rivers of stone,</div>
<br />
<b>3.</b><br />
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">a feeling crazy and shark flint eyes,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">brussel sprout hair and the boomerang effect,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">the suicide woman and her bomber friend,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">the political ogre and the half-moon tree.</div>
<br />
<b>4.</b><br />
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">The grey-eyed lobbyist does walk the eighteen steps to the window,</div>
<br />
<b>5.</b><br />
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">but you can never tell what will happen next</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">inside the door locked tight with boxes.</div>
<br />
<b>6.</b><br />
<br />
What? I should give you money?<br />
I should shine your shoes?<br />
I should turn topsy-turvy?<br />
I should rhyme your words?<br />
<br />
<b>7.</b><br />
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Simon didn’t just jump over the electric candle.</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">He flew into the air like a tambourine</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">and broke through the wall like a pile of bricks.</div>
<br />
<b>8.</b><br />
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">If I don’t know you and we split a pole,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">does that lessen who we are?</div></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2013, 2023 by Michael H. Brownstein<br />
Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Slipknot-Into-Somewhere-Else-Borderlands/dp/1727462009/" target="_blank">A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else</a></i> and <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/How-Do-We-Create-Love/dp/1703570014/" target="_blank">How Do We Create Love?</a></i>, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-20154778585650817702023-08-14T03:00:00.045-04:002023-08-14T03:00:00.146-04:00Farewell to Moristotle & Co.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gF3YgyUcqHk/VYbtL0ViGuI/AAAAAAAAffo/JN8jp5g8Hfk/s1600/Bob%2BBoldt%2B3.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gF3YgyUcqHk/VYbtL0ViGuI/AAAAAAAAffo/JN8jp5g8Hfk/s320/Bob%2BBoldt%2B3.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="http://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Bob%20Boldt" target="_blank">Bob Boldt</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">There has been</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> so much to say of late, but I have neglected to say anything due to personal issues inhibiting my creative life. That, and I just got out of the habit of contributing.<br /> In spite of this dearth, I link to Moristotle & Co. continually. I hope the site will stay up because it is a great link to some of the best of my work, beautifully displayed.<br /> I cannot express how much your mentorship has meant to me and, as I hear, to my two Mikes as well. Introducing them to you has been one of the great blessings of my life. You have been as great a stimulus to their creative lives as you have been to mine.<br /> Is there any chance you might be available in an advisory capacity to an aspiring poet from time to time?</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Bob Boldt</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-82054965112756127052023-08-13T03:00:00.001-04:002023-08-13T03:00:00.158-04:00All Over the Place: “Home” from The...Other Poems<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaK8I7dpzZ2P9lMLQm00mT_-Z4gkOxCCx3O4IGda4CC-2SLr1vHCr_rwGQLppc7TVGMoYHwjwdLUwaQL1ujOhBTJ2TKXyTdsstapqZWV0zZ5I0iUtZw5Rnvombk7sHkuHca1b8j-X2_gQlW5PTMIQ4q5bWaXoUweWFjUvtafDcGi8cyjiXiw/s507/Katy%20Train%20cover%20image.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="333" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaK8I7dpzZ2P9lMLQm00mT_-Z4gkOxCCx3O4IGda4CC-2SLr1vHCr_rwGQLppc7TVGMoYHwjwdLUwaQL1ujOhBTJ2TKXyTdsstapqZWV0zZ5I0iUtZw5Rnvombk7sHkuHca1b8j-X2_gQlW5PTMIQ4q5bWaXoUweWFjUvtafDcGi8cyjiXiw/w210-h320/Katy%20Train%20cover%20image.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Michael%20H.%20Brownstein" target="_blank">Michael H. Brownstein</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: bolder;">Home</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Potholed with devil sores.<br />
He learned to tolerate them,<br />
And now this: straight aways
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Huge with speed bumps like blemishes.</div>
“Everything is big there,”<br />
They told him. “Be careful.”<br />
And America was big. Big streets.<br />
Big cereal boxes. Big windows.<br /><br />
<a name='more'></a>“So what does your country export?”<br />
Someone at the university asked.<br />
“People,” he answered.<br />
“People? Just people?”<br />
“People, yes, and sometimes ash.”<br />
He strained his neck<br />
Staring at the tall buildings<br />
Larger than fig trees<br />
On the north of his island.<br />
He found calling home<br />
Too expensive, began to write<br />
Almost everyday, and sent emails<br />
Once he found that email<br />
Could be received.<br />
One day he decided to go<br />
Into the farming Midwest<br />
To watch the vegetables grow.<br />
He missed sour sop and paw paw,<br />
St. Lucia mango and kinips,<br />
But he loved fresh cobbed corn<br />
And tomatoes from the vine.<br />
He wondered if he could take home<br />
Strawberries and huckleberries,<br />
Watermelon as big as iguanas,<br />
The colors of pear.<br />
Still he wrote and all was fine<br />
Though the highways were too quick,<br />
The paved roads too fast,<br />
Their shoulders stone and asphalt,<br />
And he thought of goat<br />
And wild pig, and their shoulders,<br />
And a stew called goat water<br />
He could never cook,<br />
But his mother could<br />
Slow and simple<br />
Boiled in water,<br />
Her old pot burnt and dented.<br />
He kept inside himself<br />
The sweet taste of water<br />
At the burn and longed for it.<br />
When school ended, he packed,<br />
Purchased a ticket from Caribbean Sun,<br />
Changed his mind, and became an export,<br />
Moved into a recess of the city<br />
And lived, working for cash and food,<br />
With three other men<br />
Not from home<br />
But close enough<br />
To become friends.<br />
The volcano stopped erupting.<br />
The island began its rebirth<br />
And they wrote to him of success.<br />
He wrote back, but did not return.<br />
There was something<br />
About big and speed<br />
Anyway. So he stayed home.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2013, 2023 by Michael H. Brownstein<br />
Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Slipknot-Into-Somewhere-Else-Borderlands/dp/1727462009/" target="_blank">A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else</a></i> and <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/How-Do-We-Create-Love/dp/1703570014/" target="_blank">How Do We Create Love?</a></i>, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-61419710793164397072023-08-12T03:00:00.295-04:002023-08-12T03:00:00.149-04:00Father’s Art: Works of Billy Charles Duvall [12]<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ylqMHsgt8kp0MwR4D4sFsPIHmfxV3FU1imGqDLSALL5tyP-wR9hbJlBznwisPH6luvtRLmB5KxbhL-b-xCK7NQew_CvJXiH0La2xPUaSc8Pnx5Ftt1qZyv-0AjnQJFfQcV1jBFdGT0e2CvycXzqBd1pfl2mfXBrVnOpEE-8FLvynx5lQyCUl/s996/Brownish%20snail%20depending%20...%20DETAIL.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="996" data-original-width="795" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ylqMHsgt8kp0MwR4D4sFsPIHmfxV3FU1imGqDLSALL5tyP-wR9hbJlBznwisPH6luvtRLmB5KxbhL-b-xCK7NQew_CvJXiH0La2xPUaSc8Pnx5Ftt1qZyv-0AjnQJFfQcV1jBFdGT0e2CvycXzqBd1pfl2mfXBrVnOpEE-8FLvynx5lQyCUl/w255-h320/Brownish%20snail%20depending%20...%20DETAIL.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Detail of a photo below</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/#andre" target="_blank">André Duvall</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">Beyond the 31</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> works of art I’ve catalogued so far in this column, there are still other paintings in Dad’s oeuvre worthy of sharing. He recently rediscovered a few more completed works, owing to searches motivated by the evolution of our Father’s Art project. He also discovered several unfinished works from many years ago that the project has inspired him to work on completing.<br />
<a name='more'></a> However, knowing that they would not be completed before Morris’ retirement, I decided that my final Father’s Art post here should feature a different aspect of Dad’s artistic creations from those so far presented. Dad’s primary and preferred medium is oil on canvas or canvas panel. <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/2023/03/fathers-art-works-of-billy-charles.html" target="_blank">My post from March 14 of this year</a> shared a couple of pieces from his small collection of works with three-dimensional elements. <br />
Today’s post highlights another category of three-dimensional art: the many striking, beautiful, and sometimes whimsical architectural structures and ornaments Dad has added to his home. Many of these additions can be grouped into motifs by their designs, patterns, and influences.<br />
In my long-range planning, I always envisioned including these structural whims as a concluding set of posts after all of Dad’s paintings were presented. Perhaps I will find another venue on which to continue a little further the spirit of what Morris inspired and supported, cataloguing more of Dad’s paintings as they are finished, and sharing more architectural structures. For now, I’ve selected a few structures that epitomize the qualities and motifs of Dad’s artistic home additions.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">In this first photo</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD-USPw14h0o1tEwEuQsIDhjyA5xU3BJau0SlhaFNXPOJHRvF35es-Q0c1Plv0Bc7gVqa55mVuOUZ7VxX3x07mSho4BNXv4Y7ywKvJVqrLtY717cCJFVn9m_yLsXwcy-QY_oqdHD2f5PZdOx_gQahAYYmhXS_a2nx2ZVwwWrzbTdB5gXqIyL70/s1800/Rosy%20snail%20above%20a%20small%20round%20table.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1350" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD-USPw14h0o1tEwEuQsIDhjyA5xU3BJau0SlhaFNXPOJHRvF35es-Q0c1Plv0Bc7gVqa55mVuOUZ7VxX3x07mSho4BNXv4Y7ywKvJVqrLtY717cCJFVn9m_yLsXwcy-QY_oqdHD2f5PZdOx_gQahAYYmhXS_a2nx2ZVwwWrzbTdB5gXqIyL70/w300-h400/Rosy%20snail%20above%20a%20small%20round%20table.jpg" width="450" /></a></div>we see a wall partially dividing the living room from the dining room beyond. Over time, Dad added several structures to the doubly curved, rounded edge of this wall (which itself was his creation and has been present since my childhood). The theme of curves recurs in many of these additions.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXL8xcXmLGz7QpERMDC3T8M15-zmGIxw0K-GdPsPvwDCvRJ0PIa558FFPJKfk2A-gdag7WoP34pWIF-r2VN6UrD-qsvdktgk_GgMfYBbHRhiJPSwHyJcLdO0J7FI-NZhPjvwOlbtY_R5dvyv95A_dlnrSotvRY0MHuBI84-HqPU9rw9w0Wn04s/s708/Rosy%20snail%20at%20top.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="708" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXL8xcXmLGz7QpERMDC3T8M15-zmGIxw0K-GdPsPvwDCvRJ0PIa558FFPJKfk2A-gdag7WoP34pWIF-r2VN6UrD-qsvdktgk_GgMfYBbHRhiJPSwHyJcLdO0J7FI-NZhPjvwOlbtY_R5dvyv95A_dlnrSotvRY0MHuBI84-HqPU9rw9w0Wn04s/w200-h193/Rosy%20snail%20at%20top.jpg" width="200" /></a></div> The first addition was the curved, textured object placed in the lower-central region of the wall’s upper curve. Dad does not have a name for this object, but he says it was strongly influenced by structures he has seen in Islamic architecture that have long held his awe and interest. For me, it has strong overtones of a snail, a seashell, a teardrop, and a stylized flame, all combined. Viewing it has always been a pleasing sensory experience, with its gentle and elegant circular motion towards the center, balanced by the sense of forward motion, as though the object is moving horizontally while rotating, much like a galaxy.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG6o7yE4g5S8D9TIe7JoliHAJ5AOh2JxUqfpYocMBEjaMU9yoBVCasgrswLcWS8ph4kyu4iAX-QpiRm48torFwTXX99B46yHcaiW3JK0_t2y5nhWoNmeqMOvuPAyexz5cWMBCYANK77Dz6-yk4RX7EdToBPYMkBm_jwUwEqNXU9SE6jcrs__8C/s1057/Notched%20curve%20below%20rosy%20snail.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1057" data-original-width="547" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG6o7yE4g5S8D9TIe7JoliHAJ5AOh2JxUqfpYocMBEjaMU9yoBVCasgrswLcWS8ph4kyu4iAX-QpiRm48torFwTXX99B46yHcaiW3JK0_t2y5nhWoNmeqMOvuPAyexz5cWMBCYANK77Dz6-yk4RX7EdToBPYMkBm_jwUwEqNXU9SE6jcrs__8C/w166-h320/Notched%20curve%20below%20rosy%20snail.jpg" width="200" /></a></div> Below this object is a curved portion of an arch with curved notches. It was added many years later. Dad first toyed with arches and notches in a sample creation that can be seen in a photo from an earlier post about the <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/2023/03/fathers-art-works-of-billy-charles.html" target="_blank">Origin of the Hattieville Bison</a>. You can see the arch creating an umbrella over the painting and my great-grandmother Ada Voss’ Zoo. (You can read more about this painting and the Zoo in that post and the comments on it.) Dad’s experimental arch would serve as a study for the arches with notches he would one day add to the front porch, which can be seen in the photos below.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizeeM0DCadSP5OrnmQD0r2k-CCh76enWrFRWy2LnzouOXMkXx-gKSQsw01Plgj_oy8Jv_DPXWsX0wlxpv9RWOT-fDDFEOPmKsWAuABtsTC1fwfBOwikq9j1gNbeZ_FcBNewc_gQ80Xs2LM4NOyTLXkv138cEFZWP6NftOX9pVl54pe2p0C3vTV/s1800/Rooftop%20snail%20(mid%20view).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1350" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizeeM0DCadSP5OrnmQD0r2k-CCh76enWrFRWy2LnzouOXMkXx-gKSQsw01Plgj_oy8Jv_DPXWsX0wlxpv9RWOT-fDDFEOPmKsWAuABtsTC1fwfBOwikq9j1gNbeZ_FcBNewc_gQ80Xs2LM4NOyTLXkv138cEFZWP6NftOX9pVl54pe2p0C3vTV/w300-h400/Rooftop%20snail%20(mid%20view).jpg" width="450" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKogsyFtOGnLP9OZKP1omS2d3e5dT5p4WoebbcsF_saJNO0ZN_7MCSL5-GcSNFqgtSv10j4cgosuM_xEKLO9btBf5ozifbYnNxQrTxynI7t1ynBQJrjHcXrr7JhbfiMAVKNSMlh5P3T8p5mNSUdG3APNPKg6OkG0QhNh8izuJw2gMEn5WadEAD/s1800/Rooftop%20snail%20(far%20view).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1350" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKogsyFtOGnLP9OZKP1omS2d3e5dT5p4WoebbcsF_saJNO0ZN_7MCSL5-GcSNFqgtSv10j4cgosuM_xEKLO9btBf5ozifbYnNxQrTxynI7t1ynBQJrjHcXrr7JhbfiMAVKNSMlh5P3T8p5mNSUdG3APNPKg6OkG0QhNh8izuJw2gMEn5WadEAD/w300-h400/Rooftop%20snail%20(far%20view).jpg" width="450" /></a></div>
The inspiration for these structures also comes from Islamic architecture, and Moroccan.</span><div><span style="font-family: georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3g-kscgPaz3qWWHbi8lE_wy61KSdFYqw_rS2jRO3miqMwo6j9SLQP9DIZJbSLecOz1KfW3va0CLkp8m-3JU1Fs9n9jLRYmajZMBlSVKygsSZNNx-T8CJknwKBkVMviH2Vxit_kh-xPAXyvLkQ-Hvgq9p02VUQSgoQFJ35mjPHEqDlLP6RkbSF/s2572/Rosy%20snail%20vase%20&%20pedestal%20SEVERLY%20cropped.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2572" data-original-width="716" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3g-kscgPaz3qWWHbi8lE_wy61KSdFYqw_rS2jRO3miqMwo6j9SLQP9DIZJbSLecOz1KfW3va0CLkp8m-3JU1Fs9n9jLRYmajZMBlSVKygsSZNNx-T8CJknwKBkVMviH2Vxit_kh-xPAXyvLkQ-Hvgq9p02VUQSgoQFJ35mjPHEqDlLP6RkbSF/w89-h320/Rosy%20snail%20vase%20&%20pedestal%20SEVERLY%20cropped.jpg" width="89" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">The most recent additions</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> to the curved wall between the living room and dining room are the pedestal and vase. Dad imagines a fountain of water pouring the path created by the notched arches, flowing into the vase, which then leads down the interior of the pedestal. Again, he was inspired by fountains he has seen in photographs and books from the Middle East.<br />
Dad continued the snail-like motif many years later by creating a variation of the first design and placing one on each side of a wall in one of the back rooms, pictured below. Imagine the side of the wall shown on the left as the backside of the one shown on the right, and vice versa:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEw8o0O-9RurL_6wm0b6zYx5E30rNS1g5Z0_Cxd-P7pSezJDtgqgONHuEha4d59M-X7CF8vNPOWpXGSQfJDTVJ4mG_DTrdyTpo80Tf_HR4UpBSPsWHChFq59EIZF0wMZxar3kms8j38pZvY2ftdw_Te6_Uq8OkCznPHFlP83bQLcAdRpJETMaa/s1800/Lighted%20lamp%20blue%20wall%20and%20ceiling.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1350" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEw8o0O-9RurL_6wm0b6zYx5E30rNS1g5Z0_Cxd-P7pSezJDtgqgONHuEha4d59M-X7CF8vNPOWpXGSQfJDTVJ4mG_DTrdyTpo80Tf_HR4UpBSPsWHChFq59EIZF0wMZxar3kms8j38pZvY2ftdw_Te6_Uq8OkCznPHFlP83bQLcAdRpJETMaa/w300-h400/Lighted%20lamp%20blue%20wall%20and%20ceiling.jpg" width="207" /></a></td><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3n2JsHtyMd4_UyiypD681M32ZONoIa_C3J9HJOwHMeyFrXoUvs9e9LaqiHAXPzi1Ipk1XMosaGSWDbQ9lqMmiM8KKHx_QioMP6BGtwL8HKwUj6Ct-9jyoj9e4sFt5SWmn9tRWjs6IN9HXId0yY_gNA9Ao8WQeGiuR2cVjpVs0fWD3UwP4XIB/s1800/Brownish%20snail%20depending%20from%20a%20cutout%20wall.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1350" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3n2JsHtyMd4_UyiypD681M32ZONoIa_C3J9HJOwHMeyFrXoUvs9e9LaqiHAXPzi1Ipk1XMosaGSWDbQ9lqMmiM8KKHx_QioMP6BGtwL8HKwUj6Ct-9jyoj9e4sFt5SWmn9tRWjs6IN9HXId0yY_gNA9Ao8WQeGiuR2cVjpVs0fWD3UwP4XIB/w300-h400/Brownish%20snail%20depending%20from%20a%20cutout%20wall.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">Now, I return</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> to the very beginning, before all of these additions. Notice in the next photo the off-white structure at the front tip of the roof.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-sj2dLKes6tZ250EWMFNV3rTiIbvbc5hdlrPShukk31WVd2SAD6rjPvqqIh0LEQBiWTaUxSEOP1AhAIdPJvq3bkq-8XQN6a_kZxrlDRLSLM6Ex6gwVz2LapXq-jLBmD7tqWnEQplwqaoTbqDIfXBOx0lvBEZBlx_SNmQFP7WrlDtcleu1W6YJ/s1800/Rooftop%20snail%20(close%20view).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1350" height="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-sj2dLKes6tZ250EWMFNV3rTiIbvbc5hdlrPShukk31WVd2SAD6rjPvqqIh0LEQBiWTaUxSEOP1AhAIdPJvq3bkq-8XQN6a_kZxrlDRLSLM6Ex6gwVz2LapXq-jLBmD7tqWnEQplwqaoTbqDIfXBOx0lvBEZBlx_SNmQFP7WrlDtcleu1W6YJ/w300-h400/Rooftop%20snail%20(close%20view).jpg" width="450" /></a></div>I’ll let Dad explain it:<blockquote>Some houses with shingle roofs have a row of roofing tiles on the top ridge line, capped with a tin piece at each end. I found my cap at a flea market long ago. It adds decoration to the roof.</blockquote>This “decoration” has always reminded me of some ancient, mysterious animal or mythological creature, like a sphinx, enshrouded in clouds or rising up out of desert sands and mud. Although this did not directly influence Dad’s other creations, I find its design flows seamlessly with the theme of gently curving structures that appear throughout the house. Along with so much else described above, it is <i>so</i> pleasing to just stand and view it against the sky.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">Although I am going to miss</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> the opportunity to post more such creations on the Moristotle & Co. blog, I feel this is a fitting way to end this series, by sharing some of the provocative beauty my Dad (and Mom) have created in their home, through his art and through their years of gardening and landscaping efforts. I am grateful all of this survived the terrible tornado that cut across Little Rock and North Little Rock on March 31, the center of which missed their home by only a few hundred feet, destroying numerous homes and businesses in my childhood neighborhood. That was a reminder of how quickly things can change, and of the fragility of life. Every day is a gift, and there are wonderful things to take in all around us! </span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by André Duvall & Billy Charles Duvall</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-91471372324698298002023-08-11T03:00:00.015-04:002023-08-11T03:00:00.140-04:00Farewell to Moristotle & Co.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x3nSOYygw8s/XynErWaTzQI/AAAAAAAAzAI/Rq6X1mwI324T7RLYOIztVOdNK3-uwyTJACLcBGAsYHQ/s433/Photo%2B5%2BIMG_20200523_174943%2Bdetail%2Bhead%2B%2526%2Bshoulders.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="325" height="222" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x3nSOYygw8s/XynErWaTzQI/AAAAAAAAzAI/Rq6X1mwI324T7RLYOIztVOdNK3-uwyTJACLcBGAsYHQ/w166-h222/Photo%2B5%2BIMG_20200523_174943%2Bdetail%2Bhead%2B%2526%2Bshoulders.jpg" width="166" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="http://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Valeria%20Idakieva" target="_blank">Valeria Idakieva</a></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">When I was talking</span><span style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> to Geoffrey Dean about my experience on the European route El Camino and he said “Why don’t you write something about it for my father’s blog? It doesn’t have to be something long and complicated and if you don’t want to do that, we can make it as an interview, you would only answer some questions,” I didn’t know “Adventures from Bulgaria” would become part of the great adventure called Moristotle & Co. But now that I know, I also know I will miss it. I will miss every bit of it – sharing the experience which made me live it once again, the encouraging words from other members, their colorful stories, the considerate, never tired, and always understanding Moristotle who not only looked through my eyes to make my texts sound better, but supported and encouraged me as an editor and a dear friend. I will be forever thankful for everything, Morris. You made my life more meaningful.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="left" bgcolor="49645B" border="3" bordercolor="49645b" cellpadding="3" style="color: #f5e5a6; font-family: arial, sanserif; font-size: 12; width: 100%;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Valeria Idakieva</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-16433619861799299162023-08-10T03:00:00.007-04:002023-08-10T03:00:00.183-04:00Farewell to Moristotle & Co.<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bO3VkKidwEw/UMUn6CpvCqI/AAAAAAAAJ9w/kb3Bqju4R5w/s1600/Chuck+Smythe+head+and+shoulders.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bO3VkKidwEw/UMUn6CpvCqI/AAAAAAAAJ9w/kb3Bqju4R5w/s200/Chuck+Smythe+head+and+shoulders.jpg" width="182" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Chuck%20Smythe" target="_blank">Chuck Smythe</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">Dear Morris</span><span style="font-family: "georgia", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, you lasted far longer than I! Your endurance was a marvel to behold, and offered us a wonderful stable of writers. Alas, after Esther began her long decline, I just didn’t have the will to create, and haven’t written anything for a long time. I did continue to follow Morisco, though, and occasionally I even left a comment. And I emailed you once in a while, though my messages were brief.<br />
<a name='more'></a> Thank you for the opportunities to write, and to be so well edited. I think my best was the account of my hippy days in Cardinal [<i>“<a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/2020/05/a-creek-runs-through-it.html" target="_blank">A Creek Runs through It</a>,” May 28, 2020</i>]. I wish there was some practical way to save that for future entertainment – I tried, but found no way to save all the links. Do you have a way? [<i>See July 31’s “<a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/2023/07/parting-words-from-moristotle.html" target="_blank">Parting Words</a>.” </i>]<br />
My only recent accomplishment was to participate in an exceptionally good performance of the “Passion According to Saint John,” done with a Baroque orchestra. This included a contra bassoon, a mighty instrument nearly three meters tall. Also, there was a huge lute (I forget its formal name at the moment).<br />
Since then I have marked time recovering from an ugly cold (Covid?) and a knee sprained when a spring snowdrift proved hollow. My next planned adventure is whale-watching in Baja.<br />
I hope to stay in touch. I have worried about Goines’ tone recently. Be strong!<br /> Love, Chuck</span><br /><br />
<table align="left" bgcolor="49645B" border="3" bordercolor="49645b" cellpadding="3" style="color: #f5e5a6; font-family: arial, sanserif; font-size: 12; width: 100%;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Chuck Smythe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-51836323482406639912023-08-09T03:00:00.024-04:002023-08-09T03:00:00.173-04:00Highways and Byways: The Fertile Crescent (another Farewell to Moristotle & Co.)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OeFU4CEOsLg/X3ja62yz6UI/AAAAAAAAzYU/8InCm9cuYvcrODIj_EjzX2PFEVGNhqjXQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Maik%2BStrosahl.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="582" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OeFU4CEOsLg/X3ja62yz6UI/AAAAAAAAzYU/8InCm9cuYvcrODIj_EjzX2PFEVGNhqjXQCLcBGAsYHQ/w181-h200/Maik%2BStrosahl.jpg" width="181" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Maik%20Strosahl" target="_blank">Maik Strosahl</a></span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Artesia dips her<br />
wooden bucket <br />
deep into his soul. <br />
<br />
Once more <br />
to the well for water, <br />
once more <br />
from creation’s spring. <br />
<br /><a name='more'></a>Drink, <br />
drink from her dipper full. <br />
<br />
The muse’s elixir <br />
stirs the mind, <br />
twists at the heart, <br />
pours from fingertips, <br />
launches from the tongue <br />
to tickle and poke at <br />
ears that will listen, <br />
to dance in their dreams, <br />
rise as bricks on bricks on <br />
foundation stones, <br />
each from his own <br />
personal point of view, <br />
until a billion points <br />
enlightened, <br />
building into the heavens <br />
another Babel <br />
to touch the sky, <br />
an outstretch of this earth <br />
reaching, <br />
creating and <br />
becoming god. <br />
<br />
Once more <br />
to the well for water. <br />
<br />
Artesia pours <br />
until his soul is again full, <br />
tipping the bucket level, <br />
declaring this chapter done, <br />
turning his sight <br />
to yet another adventure. <br />
<br />
Once more <br />
from creation’s spring. <br />
<br />
Drink. <br />
Drink from her dipper full.</span><br /><br /><table align="left" bgcolor="49645B" border="3" bordercolor="49645b" cellpadding="3" style="color: #f5e5a6; font-family: arial, sanserif; font-size: 12; width: 100%;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Michael E. (Maik) Strosahl</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-11788090726674165312023-08-08T03:00:00.000-04:002023-08-08T03:00:00.137-04:00Haiku ofFarewell to Moristotle & Co.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PtWYShG22qU/XOWpjS09y2I/AAAAAAAAvns/salo7Ny0_fIlpRBsh0isQYui4iqOT0bNQCLcBGAs/s1600/michaelhbrownstein.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="215" height="220" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PtWYShG22qU/XOWpjS09y2I/AAAAAAAAvns/salo7Ny0_fIlpRBsh0isQYui4iqOT0bNQCLcBGAs/s200/michaelhbrownstein.jpg" width="178" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Michael%20H.%20Brownstein" target="_blank">Michael H. Brownstein</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Moristotle lives<br />
in the glory of its words,<br />
its garden of poems.</span><br /><br />
<table align="left" bgcolor="49645B" border="3" bordercolor="49645b" cellpadding="3" style="color: #f5e5a6; font-family: arial, sanserif; font-size: 12; width: 100%;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Michael H. Brownstein</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-17326620481552552222023-08-07T03:00:00.024-04:002023-08-07T03:00:00.368-04:00Farewell to Moristotle & Co.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PtWYShG22qU/XOWpjS09y2I/AAAAAAAAvns/salo7Ny0_fIlpRBsh0isQYui4iqOT0bNQCLcBGAs/s1600/michaelhbrownstein.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="215" height="220" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PtWYShG22qU/XOWpjS09y2I/AAAAAAAAvns/salo7Ny0_fIlpRBsh0isQYui4iqOT0bNQCLcBGAs/s200/michaelhbrownstein.jpg" width="178" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Michael%20H.%20Brownstein" target="_blank">Michael H. Brownstein</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">A man walked</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> into my home, took a left down the short hallway, entered the living room, and sat down on our old—but comfortable—sofa.<br />
Mind if I come in? he asked. <br />
Who are you? my wife answered. <br />
You’re already in, I said. <br />
Mind if I sit down? he asked. <br />
<a name='more'></a> Who are— My wife started to respond. Never mind. We’re getting ready for lunch. Before you decide to join us, would you like to join us for lunch? <br />
I thought that was an awfully long question, but I did not say a word.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">That never happened</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">, but every now and then, I imagine meeting Morris Dean under a variety of circumstances. I have never met him, but I’d like to think this is one of the ways we might meet. <br />
In the hall of fame of editors, Morris has his own display case. <br />
He is brilliant. <br />
In the hall of fame of editors, Morris has his own wall. <br />
He is smart, intuitive, and—well, I guess this is another way of saying he is brilliant. <br />
In the hall of fame of editors, Morris has his own room. <br />
He is considerate, witty, and, of course, brilliant. <br />
In the hall of fame for editors, Morris has his own wing. <br />
He has made me a better writer because he is a writer’s writer—and he has left a tattoo on me because, well, he is very smart and very much engaged in what he does and has done. <br />
In the hall of fame of editors, Morris has the Morris Dean of Editors Building in development right this very moment in fourteen states, two territories, and four nations around the world.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">Morris</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">, when you come back from your travels, you and your wife are always welcome to come to the middle of our country to visit me and my family—and we’ll have lunch waiting. You won’t even have to knock. <br />
Good luck on your next endeavors. May they touch everyone you encounter the way Moristotle touched me.</span><br /><br />
<table align="left" bgcolor="49645B" border="3" bordercolor="49645b" cellpadding="3" style="color: #f5e5a6; font-family: arial, sanserif; font-size: 12; width: 100%;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Michael H. Brownstein</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-71580099481798725862023-08-06T03:00:00.001-04:002023-08-06T08:00:49.125-04:00All Over the Place: “Tunes” from The...Other Poems<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaK8I7dpzZ2P9lMLQm00mT_-Z4gkOxCCx3O4IGda4CC-2SLr1vHCr_rwGQLppc7TVGMoYHwjwdLUwaQL1ujOhBTJ2TKXyTdsstapqZWV0zZ5I0iUtZw5Rnvombk7sHkuHca1b8j-X2_gQlW5PTMIQ4q5bWaXoUweWFjUvtafDcGi8cyjiXiw/s507/Katy%20Train%20cover%20image.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="333" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaK8I7dpzZ2P9lMLQm00mT_-Z4gkOxCCx3O4IGda4CC-2SLr1vHCr_rwGQLppc7TVGMoYHwjwdLUwaQL1ujOhBTJ2TKXyTdsstapqZWV0zZ5I0iUtZw5Rnvombk7sHkuHca1b8j-X2_gQlW5PTMIQ4q5bWaXoUweWFjUvtafDcGi8cyjiXiw/w210-h320/Katy%20Train%20cover%20image.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Michael%20H.%20Brownstein" target="_blank">Michael H. Brownstein</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: bolder;">Tunes</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">George walked the way he whistled. “That’s just the way I walk,” he said. No one had said anything about the way George walked. Everyone knew he was low key, off key, Ellison’s invisible man without Thurber’s Walter Mitty imagination. He married Sue two years later. She talked like a slide guitar and had the shape of an unrepentant electric bass. Together they learned the Nigerian kora, a quiet instrument, and had two children who did everything in the correct key.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>George took on a lover. She made love as if she were all by herself. Every time he was with her he felt she was collecting a piece of him for one of her collections. She was afraid of nothing, not the number thirteen, ladders, splitting a pole when they walked, God. She drank pearl milk tea, brought chickens with the head and the feet still attached, harvested fourteen-year-old locusts as they came from their birthing place.<br />
<br />
His children grew like prairie tree weeds across fertile soil. They gathered other lives, moved across the country, and though they loved their parents, never let go of their embarrassment.<br />
<br />
George held Sue’s hand on the porch swing, the old Nigerian kora against the siding, and began to sing the only song his other lover had taught him. It resonated across the yard. We opened our windows to hear better, came onto our porches, watched George and Sue swing back and forth, her hand now on his shoulder, his hands folded in his lap.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2013, 2023 by Michael H. Brownstein<br />
Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Slipknot-Into-Somewhere-Else-Borderlands/dp/1727462009/" target="_blank">A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else</a></i> and <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/How-Do-We-Create-Love/dp/1703570014/" target="_blank">How Do We Create Love?</a></i>, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-86413736963746583742023-08-05T03:00:00.005-04:002023-08-05T03:00:00.144-04:00Farewell to Moristotle & Co.<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2vI7qUqATvc/UFNyO0H8HZI/AAAAAAAAIek/4ozMqeRiBwg/s1600/jim+rix+1+(mic)+(lighter).jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2vI7qUqATvc/UFNyO0H8HZI/AAAAAAAAIek/4ozMqeRiBwg/s200/jim+rix+1+(mic)+(lighter).jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo from Jim’s mini high school <br />reunion at Lake Tahoe (<i>10/8/2011</i>)</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;">
</div></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/label/Jim%20Rix" target="_blank">Jim Rix</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">Mo</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">, congratulations on your third retirement!<br />
As I recall, your first retirement was from being an IBM technical writer/editor, and your second from being an administrative assistant to UNC vice presidents. I envy you that you were able to carry on to this third retirement, from managing the Moristotle & Co. blog and doing what you love to do, write and edit and help others. <br />
It will be sad when new postings cease after August 21. <br />
Your Friend,<br />
Jim</span><br /><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Jim Rix</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-87893620854909875282023-08-04T03:00:00.000-04:002023-08-04T03:00:00.147-04:00Farewell to Moristotle & Co.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vI69y7lbsac/UHRHw9rPqHI/AAAAAAAAJYc/xUTQBnQhoP0/s1600/Ralph+Earle+2012-01-28.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vI69y7lbsac/UHRHw9rPqHI/AAAAAAAAJYc/xUTQBnQhoP0/s200/Ralph+Earle+2012-01-28.jpg" width="152" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Ralph%20Earle" target="_blank">Ralph Earle</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Morris, congratulations on your many years of maintaining a healthy web community and providing a vibrant ecosystem for writers to share their best thoughts and imaginings with the public and with one another. You are wise to let go of it while it is still going strong, before you and it succumb to drudgery. I have greatly enjoyed the outlet you provided for many of my poems over the years, and the positive feedback I received from the community. </span><br />
<br />
<table align="left" bgcolor="49645B" border="3" bordercolor="49645b" cellpadding="3" style="color: #f5e5a6; font-family: arial, sanserif; font-size: 12; width: 100%;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Ralph Earle</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-1886540180067602302023-08-03T03:00:00.023-04:002023-08-03T03:00:00.147-04:00Farewell to Moristotle & Co.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E8VVLCkpm2s/XwDoePO4hEI/AAAAAAAAywQ/BVvPu09eQBA_qA8a5BpER3VCiulpz_XyACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Shirley%2Bin%2Bred%2B%2528resized%2Bdown%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="960" height="219" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E8VVLCkpm2s/XwDoePO4hEI/AAAAAAAAywQ/BVvPu09eQBA_qA8a5BpER3VCiulpz_XyACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Shirley%2Bin%2Bred%2B%2528resized%2Bdown%2529.jpg" width="175" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Shirley%20Skufca%20Hickman" target="_blank">Shirley Skufca Hickman</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia", serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">Dear Morris</span><span style="font-family: "georgia", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, thank you for being in my life for over 60 years, first as my high school student and since then as my friend.<br />
Your eagerness to publish my poetry, especially the Vietnam poems, made me very happy. And I appreciated your willingness to publish the first chapters of my books. <br />
You might not post to your blog anymore, but you will always have a place in my heart. ❤</span><br /><br />
<table align="left" bgcolor="49645B" border="3" bordercolor="49645b" cellpadding="3" style="color: #f5e5a6; font-family: arial, sanserif; font-size: 12; width: 100%;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Shirley Skufca Hickman</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-30935162183423790952023-08-02T03:00:00.143-04:002023-08-02T03:00:00.152-04:00Highways and Byways: The Finale& Farewell to Moristotle & Co.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OeFU4CEOsLg/X3ja62yz6UI/AAAAAAAAzYU/8InCm9cuYvcrODIj_EjzX2PFEVGNhqjXQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Maik%2BStrosahl.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="582" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OeFU4CEOsLg/X3ja62yz6UI/AAAAAAAAzYU/8InCm9cuYvcrODIj_EjzX2PFEVGNhqjXQCLcBGAsYHQ/w181-h200/Maik%2BStrosahl.jpg" width="181" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Maik%20Strosahl" target="_blank">Maik Strosahl</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>I wanted to go out with a bang, but was struggling for a big idea until an old family friend posted a photo of Twelve Apostles or Walking Iris flowers blooming. What a joyful explosion of color!<br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-zhBpDexPUdI-gCCg3t9eEBlLWuhSQMfZPPckOhLvcJHOkZ4mWAptehpmm2npLNF2vw_CeHthwksuwSfdrA2WrlWPGw3KviA-tao9sDZ9BhgL13zHReI3IZJVHgoc_DoDA1H5VRR9Bs4vbO1WNlgMRQjJb6Wo3nHsfWww5g9rYdlb_56H-_Ph/s640/image0.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-zhBpDexPUdI-gCCg3t9eEBlLWuhSQMfZPPckOhLvcJHOkZ4mWAptehpmm2npLNF2vw_CeHthwksuwSfdrA2WrlWPGw3KviA-tao9sDZ9BhgL13zHReI3IZJVHgoc_DoDA1H5VRR9Bs4vbO1WNlgMRQjJb6Wo3nHsfWww5g9rYdlb_56H-_Ph/w400-h400/image0.jpeg" width="470" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Mary Wingard Crain</td></tr></tbody></table><br />
I hope you enjoy this final burst and I will see you around this big, bright, beautiful world!</i></span><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: bolder;">The Finale</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">And the final shells<br />
contained the twelve, <br />
apostles launched <br />
into powdered clouds, <br />
exploding with a <br />
sparkled boom, <br />
proclaiming the <br />
good news— <br />
freedom wafting <br />
across the sky, <br />
all eyes rising, <br />
gleaming at the light <br />
streaking down, <br />
flaming out, <br />
the blessing poured out <br />
upon the gathered masses <br />
folding up chairs, <br />
herding the children <br />
to the cars, <br />
to their homes, <br />
into their beds, <br />
where they will dream <br />
of flowers that <br />
burst in the heavens.</span>
<hr />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: bolder;">Farewell to Moristotle & Co.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I feel I came late to the table here, but there has been so much at that buffet to feed a creative soul—how could one not grow in association?<br />
<a href="http://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Michael%20H.%20Brownstein" target="_blank">Michael Brownstein</a> and <a href="http://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Bob%20Boldt" target="_blank">Bob Boldt</a> had been trying to get me to send some of my work in for a while before I finally had downtime due to some knee surgery in 2020.<br /> I was just looking for a new venue to share when I first submitted something, but Moristotle’s invite to send something weekly was the kick in the pants I needed to push myself and those preambles I will admit were tougher to write than the poems.<br />
If you don’t grow, you whither, and this association of writers allowed me to thrive. Yes, I published some older pieces, but most were created with the intent that they would be shared here. <br />
To those who allowed me to take their posts as fodder for even more creation, thank you! Some of my favorites were inspired by <a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Billy%20Charles%20Duvall" target="_blank">Billy Charles Duvall</a>’s creations:“<a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/2021/05/highways-and-byways-death-of-aerialist.html" target="_blank">Death of the Aerialist</a>”; by a comment: “<a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/2021/03/highways-and-byways-giants-unmade-bed.html" target="_blank">The Giant’s Unmade Bed</a>”; by a painting by <a href="http://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Shirley%20Deane%2FMidyett" target="_blank">Shirley Deane/Midyett</a>: “<a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/2021/06/highways-and-byways-noisy-outback.html" target="_blank">The Noisy Outback</a>" and "<a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/2022/05/highways-and-byways-poinciana.html" target="_blank">Poinciana</a>.” I feel a small man in the land of giants. Thank everyone for their camaraderie! <br />
And to our leader, who has helped me so much with his editing skills, his email prompts, his openness to try just about anything that pushed creativity, a massive thank you for the back and forth conversations, the advice, and the friendship that I know will continue. <br />
I wish Moristotle joy in his continuing creative endeavors, time to share with his family and his friends, and the peace to enjoy it all. Happy Retirement, my friend!</span><br /><br /><table align="left" bgcolor="49645B" border="3" bordercolor="49645b" cellpadding="3" style="color: #f5e5a6; font-family: arial, sanserif; font-size: 12; width: 100%;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Michael E. (Maik) Strosahl<br />
Maik was born and raised in Moline, Illinois, and has written poetry since youth. After moving to Indiana and daring to participate in a poetry reading, he joined its poetry society and began his search for the state’s local groups, occasionally starting groups in communities where he found none. In 2018, he relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri, and in July 2023 returned to his roots in the Quad Cities, where he continues to search for kindred spirits to inspire and draw energy from.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-71501299064165492362023-08-01T03:00:00.109-04:002023-08-01T03:00:00.145-04:00Farewell to Moristotle & Co.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKMW22Dz6enQmxlH5h8y3NcFDfkLgfuB9W-2zvIJ8kDYzSffiJ4OUFU8UhHGWzAoe-M2DFWLPfnTnL9_XXIr9DAbd9qcGr-zqzm6Ob1JjL6LJHRf1pNPuAOObRBbFoG42bNjMMt3aPBS__n71LuTbLFFdi-PHMbYBdXmQR4i0vAhG7TVG0TGdZ/s2464/IMG_0371.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2464" data-original-width="1868" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKMW22Dz6enQmxlH5h8y3NcFDfkLgfuB9W-2zvIJ8kDYzSffiJ4OUFU8UhHGWzAoe-M2DFWLPfnTnL9_XXIr9DAbd9qcGr-zqzm6Ob1JjL6LJHRf1pNPuAOObRBbFoG42bNjMMt3aPBS__n71LuTbLFFdi-PHMbYBdXmQR4i0vAhG7TVG0TGdZ/w243-h320/IMG_0371.jpeg" width="243" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="http://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Geoffrey%20Dean" target="_blank">Geoffrey Dean</a></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">My dad</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> asked his family one morning, “Is it time for me to stop blogging?” He said he felt he was trying to do more things than he had the facility for. If he stopped blogging, he could concentrate on preparing the musings & perusings collections that Jennifer and I suggested five years ago.<br /><a name='more'></a> Jennifer responded first with the observation that “blogging has been like a job; maybe you’re ready to retire and start a new chapter.”<br />
I agreed with Jennifer, and we both suggested that he could just post less frequently. (I’m the one who has not posted to the Alwinac since May…).<br /> Within the hour, Dad chose full retirement rather than a gradual one and emailed the blog staff that he was retiring, effective July 31.<br /> I add my farewell to the others that have been submitted. I am sure that everyone associated with Moristotle & Co. (myself included) appreciates how Dad nurtured their creativity over the years, in so many ways, from encouraging us to write to editing what we’ve written, curating comments on so many posts—it’s really a bit daunting to me to think about how anyone could keep up with it all so successfully for so long! Nobody could fault him for choosing to focus more on some other creativity.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr>
<td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Geoffrey Dean</td>
</tr>
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</table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-46842372458253739282023-07-31T03:00:01.320-04:002023-07-31T21:58:11.521-04:00Parting Words from Moristotle<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J-_H5_sEq8I/UtWYEoNDU6I/AAAAAAAAUDs/zMucdDWlm2A/s1600/Hank+Finn+mdp+scp.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J-_H5_sEq8I/UtWYEoNDU6I/AAAAAAAAUDs/zMucdDWlm2A/s320/Hank+Finn+mdp+scp.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portrait of Moristotle <br />
by Susan C. Price</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By Moristotle</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">Why am I</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> retiring from blogging? For a long time, I have known my sun was slowly setting, but it seems now to be sinking fast, as memory and memories fade. Some mornings even my fingers can’t remember what was the best way I’ve yet found to hold the coffee grinder to brush out the shards of bean.<br />
But the existing content will still be here, and more posts are already scheduled for August – a few more statements of farewell (suggested by Maik Strosahl, to whom I’m indebted for the idea), a “Father’s Art” column by André Duvall, and poems by Maik, Michael H. Brownstein, and Eric Meub, whose sonnet “Afterlife” will appear last because its title rather caps my going off.<br /> In future, only blog members may comment.</span><br /><br /><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1rn-rLzlI9pYytIWtUPjZ8QG9ibfpotDEiXk0qOF8Gvb6X0Eg1fhiYsFYw8fJhG7UK9UWAttgNXY0Ufrj0zLcyu1nTVNbg0bfvYZgR_lcLyoI0gpLBqdVgUhgVL-5s1OpPEF90qubBHYaMW_GfnLPsUNaO-34CIDxPrgsT74e2khjftDPMoJi/s3050/712265184.217211.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1835" data-original-width="3050" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1rn-rLzlI9pYytIWtUPjZ8QG9ibfpotDEiXk0qOF8Gvb6X0Eg1fhiYsFYw8fJhG7UK9UWAttgNXY0Ufrj0zLcyu1nTVNbg0bfvYZgR_lcLyoI0gpLBqdVgUhgVL-5s1OpPEF90qubBHYaMW_GfnLPsUNaO-34CIDxPrgsT74e2khjftDPMoJi/w200-h121/712265184.217211.jpeg" width="250" /></a></div>The blog</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> will still be here, with all of its contents accessible by one means or another:<br /><hr /><b><i>From the blog’s Home Screen</i></b> (<a href="http://moristotle.blogspot.com" target="_blank">moristotle.blogspot.com</a>), you could theoretically simply scroll down in this column to (eventually) view all of our more than 4,750 posts without having to link to any of them. But no one’s going to do that, except maybe an AI device.<br /> Still, it’s useful to remember that you can get back to the Home Screen address from wherever you are on the blog by clicking on the big, white “Moristotle & Co.” title set in the masthead’s collage of Moristotelians:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB37GrYWg39XMZr7VGlORab268e9cPdzPCPOuRPcEBm2LghHRz_mUtRaghPiIa-dV8WxqXBcPc7aZ1KwC3xekNxYZoFhPDLo7wFtt7zkWuKZZu2PC5ysaRL_cgWdCxzRaWj4RJutUkeA42P_DISbS6sAEgUJ5nQOW7norIAyeVb18yLo6PfFQp/s1399/IMG_2086.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="198" data-original-width="1399" height="53" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB37GrYWg39XMZr7VGlORab268e9cPdzPCPOuRPcEBm2LghHRz_mUtRaghPiIa-dV8WxqXBcPc7aZ1KwC3xekNxYZoFhPDLo7wFtt7zkWuKZZu2PC5ysaRL_cgWdCxzRaWj4RJutUkeA42P_DISbS6sAEgUJ5nQOW7norIAyeVb18yLo6PfFQp/w400-h56/IMG_2086.jpeg" width="373" /></a></div><hr /><b><i>Access from the Sidebar</i></b>. The Sidebar provides a <i>variety of useful links to posts</i>:<br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Recurring Column</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> links (38 of them)</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The two </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">visual indexes</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I added this month: for André Duvall’s “Father’s Art” and the covers of my “Goines On” vignettes.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Staff of Moristotle & Co. </i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Note that six members’ bio blurbs include links to other platforms where their continuing work can be viewed: Bob Boldt, Michael H. Brownstein, Paul Clark, Geoffrey Dean, Ken Marks, and Susan C. Price.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The year/month </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Archives</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> links.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Labels (#tags) Associated with Postings</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, listed alphanumerically in the concluding section of the sidebar. A label was created the first time I specified it for a post, and its parenthetical number was incremented each time I applied it thereafter. If you click on one, you call up all posts I applied it to. (You can also call them up if you are at a post with a label of interest and click on it in the list displayed below the post.)</span></li></ul></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62Q8t3w7ORlKmhnpUdBflelr4gOzMgJkLfK0U8O-jLUni5av9h24w4smgZBzlq_EEA-OXcRkjnp6Zq0Buhk3Hx1SqcRa2gGhnQEk9LlIlJa5xG6D9S9vipWCneiM2cdotGC3LQbRcgrJvEnhSMNDrXEO3XJqzG7yn4DAGqPYG3NauPZe63C1q/s1701/IMG_2093.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1701" data-original-width="523" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62Q8t3w7ORlKmhnpUdBflelr4gOzMgJkLfK0U8O-jLUni5av9h24w4smgZBzlq_EEA-OXcRkjnp6Zq0Buhk3Hx1SqcRa2gGhnQEk9LlIlJa5xG6D9S9vipWCneiM2cdotGC3LQbRcgrJvEnhSMNDrXEO3XJqzG7yn4DAGqPYG3NauPZe63C1q/w98-h320/IMG_2093.jpeg" width="118" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">Our Web Stores</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> are, as of this writing, still in business. <i><a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Web%20Store%20Bulgaria" target="_blank">Web Store Bulgaria</a></i> belongs to Christopher Dean, and <i><a href="https://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Web%20Store%20California" target="_blank">Web Store California</a></i> to Susan C. Price, a Moristotelian Emeritus. Their offerings are listed in the sidebar, just below the visual index for “Goines On.” If you haven’t checked them out, the stores are still open.<br /><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0b9nvPWb6pyWVZt7YGxsP4FiN1N6MXK4H6-RXTWteHcpaa-T7odYbLKeI8sBkLY_jACoh7KDwBC3lj1-G5zcDN8z0Bb5dmA6cPRG5cE6inTFUCQkHVDKbKIoRBmKffuSLgLKTpoGRSZx72WtKF3wynvsGJonaDXs_fUjb-k3URBWnabn9JkE/s799/IMG_2091.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="799" data-original-width="563" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0b9nvPWb6pyWVZt7YGxsP4FiN1N6MXK4H6-RXTWteHcpaa-T7odYbLKeI8sBkLY_jACoh7KDwBC3lj1-G5zcDN8z0Bb5dmA6cPRG5cE6inTFUCQkHVDKbKIoRBmKffuSLgLKTpoGRSZx72WtKF3wynvsGJonaDXs_fUjb-k3URBWnabn9JkE/w141-h200/IMG_2091.jpeg" width="169" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">Our Back Pages</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> will still be there too. A directory to these pages can be found in the sidebar, above the visual index for “Father's Art.” Pages include “A Declaration of Animal Rights” and “Sentients’ Rights.”</span><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bolder;">Managing</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Moristotle & Co. has been a work of love, a passion to express myself, to create, and to serve my staff and supporters. I am grateful. Let’s keep in touch.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Moristotle</td></tr>
</tbody></table></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-74978939846826875672023-07-30T03:00:00.001-04:002023-07-30T06:27:32.696-04:00’Twas the Night before Retirement (A Farewell to Moristotle & Co.)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EvN74P_mYMM/VFvVR0ER3wI/AAAAAAAAap8/Nrr1V5zoSAo/s1600/Bettina%2Band%2BDonald%2BDuck.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EvN74P_mYMM/VFvVR0ER3wI/AAAAAAAAap8/Nrr1V5zoSAo/s1600/Bettina%2Band%2BDonald%2BDuck.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="http://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Bettina%20Sperry" target="_blank">Bettina Sperry</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">’Twas the night before Retirement, when all through the blog </div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Not a keyboard was stirring, not even a mouse; </div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">The stories and poems were all hung with care, </div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">In hopes that Goines On soon would be there; </div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">The writers were nestled all snug in their beds; </div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">While visions of agents danced in their heads; </div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap, </div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap, </div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, </div>
<div style="padding-left: 0.9em; text-indent: -0.9em;">I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. </div>
Away to the window I flew like a flash, <br />
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, <br />
Gave a lustre of midday to poetry below, <br />
When what to my wondering eyes did appear, <br />
But Moristotle and Company, oh my, oh dear! <br />
With a little old driver so lively in tow, <br />
I knew in a moment he must be old Mo. <br />
More rapid than eagles his bloggers they came, <br />
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: <br />
<br />
“Now, Motomynd! Now, James!, Roger!, Ed! Now, Geoffrey! <br />
On, Bob! On, Michael! On, Christa!, James!, and Shirley! <br />
On, André!, Penelope!, Valeria! On Eric! and Jonathan! <br />
On, Chuck!, Bettina!, Maik!, and Jim! Now, Neil!, Kyle!, and Ken! <br />
On, William! On, Susan! Fly Rolf!, Tom!, Victor! Ahead! <br />
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! <br />
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!” <br />
<br />
As leaves that before the blogosphere fly, <br />
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; <br />
So up to the housetop the bloggers they flew <br />
With the bag full of essays, and Goines On too— <br />
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof <br />
The prancing and pawing of each little ouphe. <br />
As I drew in my head, and was turning around, <br />
Down the chimney came old Mo with a bound. <br />
<br />
He was dressed all in words, from his head to his foot, <br />
And his clothes were all tarnished with edits and proofs; <br />
A bundle of stories he had flung on his back, <br />
He was an author of shocklogs and fictional vignettes. <br />
His eyes—how they twinkled at the writings, so many! <br />
His cheeks were like brackets, his nose like a comma! <br />
His droll little mouth, tales of Goines On and drama. <br />
And the tags and taglines, as precise as can be; <br />
The end of his pen he held tight in his teeth, <br />
And his thoughts, they encircled his head like a wreath; <br />
He had a face that was broad and a mind like a medley <br />
That shook when he laughed, of verbiage aplenty. <br />
<br />
He was Editor in Chief, a right jolly old elf, <br />
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; <br />
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head <br />
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; <br />
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, <br />
And filled all the blog stockings, then turned with a jerk, <br />
And laying his finger aside of his nose, <br />
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; <br />
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, <br />
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. <br />
But I heard them exclaim, ’ere they drove out of sight— <br />
“<i>Happy Retirement to Mo, and to all a good night!”</i></span><br />
<br />
<table align="left" bgcolor="49645B" border="3" bordercolor="49645b" cellpadding="3" style="color: #f5e5a6; font-family: arial, sanserif; font-size: 12; width: 100%;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Bettina Sperry</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28676316.post-20631403401676261782023-07-29T03:00:00.051-04:002023-07-29T03:00:00.196-04:00Formality (a sonnetFarewell to Moristotle & Co.)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZmuwHmPNFroW8Fv6RF07jKqyyzeUNLRgNli1z8KwD1gckLmeaGgdZuvZWKAK33BoQVCtVQZIXyvd2umn_SnULijjAPTEAIVmVuW_yE7yty0wKB8-5NCxVsQC4PuFn-tS7LAuJxFe4YDTpOSdAiG6FQvBAq8AkvLTXcxJDVb5TubLiN6KFQ/s475/B8C22994-1F1B-44AE-BD09-65DF16629161.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-left: 0em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="303" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZmuwHmPNFroW8Fv6RF07jKqyyzeUNLRgNli1z8KwD1gckLmeaGgdZuvZWKAK33BoQVCtVQZIXyvd2umn_SnULijjAPTEAIVmVuW_yE7yty0wKB8-5NCxVsQC4PuFn-tS7LAuJxFe4YDTpOSdAiG6FQvBAq8AkvLTXcxJDVb5TubLiN6KFQ/w203-h320/B8C22994-1F1B-44AE-BD09-65DF16629161.jpeg" width="194" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: bolder;">By <a href="http://moristotle.blogspot.com/search/label/Eric%20Meub" target="_blank">Eric Meub</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>For Morris Dean</i></span><br /><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEeYrILDMSKF9ZSozLZlh9U0lxMAKlJVJrHDyYB5es9iN_-tSTfr0xXnnegRuiWzq3d1DvCLDaFY1J80pztXBp4Fi141avKREDIDSEOC8ncm_LaiZXKYvMlCbjB63pgJKprRwxQjH2lMQ0lknyoX11ezq2P6ZuzyyriBtLuhvgnyzUoKlQOj1j" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-right: 0em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_7258264850205065698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEeYrILDMSKF9ZSozLZlh9U0lxMAKlJVJrHDyYB5es9iN_-tSTfr0xXnnegRuiWzq3d1DvCLDaFY1J80pztXBp4Fi141avKREDIDSEOC8ncm_LaiZXKYvMlCbjB63pgJKprRwxQjH2lMQ0lknyoX11ezq2P6ZuzyyriBtLuhvgnyzUoKlQOj1j=w262-h320" width="262" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 16pt; font-weight: bolder;"> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Formality</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Elizabethans and Romantics taught <br />
Us that the sonnet needs a plot to tend, <br />
A garden walled-off from the world, where thought <br />
May blossom for a lady—or a friend. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>They also showed, when gratitude was due, <br />
How to immortalize and honor those <br />
Deserving thanks: a benefactor who <br />
Subscribed, or lender failing to foreclose. <br />
<br />
But what of you, who granted an estate <br />
To one who’d never tilled the soil before? <br />
What does such openhanded kindness rate <br />
From one now reveling in the out-of-door? <br />
<br />
Restraint, it seems—since debt as great as mine <br />
Demands the measure of a formal line.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: left;">Copyright © 2023 by Eric Meub</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4