In Your Dreams: A bedtime serenade – The Bach Arioso

For Jennifer on her birthday, from Geoff & Dad

By Geoffrey Dean

[Originally published on Jennifer Neumann’s birthday two years ago: December 31, 2016, without a subtitle.]

A few months ago, roughly coinciding with our daughter Vera’s arrival, I put together a playlist of classical pieces that I considered suitably sleep-inducing. After mining my own memory for appropriate selections, I enriched our nighttime listening repertoire with a few “readymade” albums, such as “More Bedtime Serenades.” This compilation came up as I searched for one of my favorite pieces by J. S. Bach, the “Arioso,” which is perhaps best-known and most widely performed today as a cello solo with piano accompaniment. This is the version heard on More Bedtime Serenades, in an interpretation by Janos Starker that to me brings home the sense of Arioso as “almost an aria” – a piece striving towards full-fledged aria status, and almost getting there. Starker’s is a lyrical interpretation that still retains a hint of the spoken quality that was also an important element of Baroque music and the “rhetoric” behind it.

Fiction: Finsoup (a novel) [26]

Scouting Day

By edRogers

[Reviewed here on the novel’s publication day, October 6, 2018: “Coming soon to a Barnes & Noble store near you?”]

Margot was asleep on the couch when Charlie got back. He poured a large drink and walked out onto the back porch. It was a cool evening and the clear sky offered billions of stars.
    He lay back in the sun chair, held the cold glass to the lump at his right temple and stared upward. The fact that he was still alive and Rufino was dead hadn’t escaped him. He knew that but for the grace of God, the shark chum they would be chopping up tonight would contain himself as well as Rufino.

Eleven Years Ago Today: My “New Ten Commandments” (second edition)

The New Ten Commandments
by Mitchell Lazear

By Moristotle

[Originally published on December 29, 2007, without an image.
    Original Note: After drafting the first version of this, on Wednesday (December 26, 2007), and publishing a slightly revised version the next day, I have continued to think about and revise it. I put a few changes into Thursday’s post later the same day and yesterday (complete with footnotes, which became harder and harder to read). I decided to go with “editions” instead and not use footnotes. And I have restored Thursday’s post to the way it was when I first published it.
    Though chastened initially “to recognize [the list’s] inadequacy,” I’m feeling better and better about it now, especially since I’ve received some strong endorsements from friends privately.]

On Franklin Hill Farm: Nearing close

By Bettina Sperry

So, another year comes near to close.
    I spent Christmas day and the day after working on racing books and business, trying to bring complete order to everything as we – my horse racing trainer, Robin Graham, and bookkeeper, Suzanne Trunnell – head into 2019.

Fiction: Finsoup (a novel) [25]

Bad Moon Rising

By edRogers

[Reviewed here on the novel’s publication day, October 6, 2018: “Coming soon to a Barnes & Noble store near you?”]

Juan got the phone call about six-thirty. An old woman who lived next to the warehouse and was on Juan’s payroll had been watching for the boat with the drugs, and it had arrived. He phoned Charlie. “The boat is here. The boat with the drugs just pulled into port.”

From drawing to portrait: The art of poet Eric Meub

1882 caricature
of Robert Browning
from Punch Magazine

“They respect, in their different ways, the line”

By Moristotle

On my morning walk yesterday, as I contemplated the gift of Eric Meub’s Poetry & Portraits column, I was struck by another gift: the realization that Susan C. Price’s drawings (which she insists they are, and not portraits) become portraits through their transformation, in Eric’s verse, into representations of recognizable persons. Thus, the column name, “Poetry & Portraits,” and the statement, “Drawing by Susan C. Price,” are both accurate. Another gift here was the feeling of relief I had that Eric and I weren’t really misrepresenting Susan in continuing to use the column name. And I hope Susan will accept this.

Poetry & Portraits: Screwge

Drawing by Susan C. Price

Screwge
By Eric Meub

Poor Santa Claus and Frosty, dead and gone,
Lie crumpled on the early morning lawn,
More proof that neither oxygen nor pumps
Can salvage Christmas: Mother’s in the dumps.

Adventures from Bulgaria: Summer in the Mountains – Days 12 & 13

Click to enlarge

On under clear, blue skies

By Valeria Idakieva

[Sequel to “Days 10 & 11,” published on July 30.]



The morning after another wonderful day in the Rhodope Mountains woke me up with a clear, blue sky and gentle, soft sunshine streaming through the window. I had the usual morning cup of coffee and hit the road, filling my head with pleasant memories and my lungs with fresh air. The mountain was revealing a softer beauty now – some houses of a nearby village perching on a hill, stacks of hay, rounded slopes, trees.

Roger’s Reality – The Jasper Chronicles: Straw Hat

By Roger Owens

Jasper, Florida, is a little hole in the road near the confluence of Highways 41 and 129 in North Florida, in the shady area somewhere between Live Oak Florida and Statenville, Georgia. It is the county seat of Hamilton County, and today it owns the dubious distinction as the home of Hamilton County Correctional Institution, the site of recent gang riots. Hamilton Correctional has boosted the population of Jasper, as of the last census, to the astonishing number of four thousand, five hundred, and forty-six souls; I don’t know whether the inmate population is counted as real people or not. The growth is astonishing because, back in the 1960s, the population of this backwater was around six hundred. I know for a fact, however, that the black population in what might have been considered the “greater Jasper area” in today’s parlance was not counted back then; Jasper was a “sundown town.” Anyone driving in to town on County Road 6, from east or west, would see signs that stated, in plain block letters, “NIGGER. DON’T LET THE SUN GO DOWN ON YOU HERE.” The black population of the town of Jasper, Florida, was, precisely, zero.

The Loneliest Liberal: Dog speaking

By James Knudsen

Oooof. I’m going to have a talk with that cat. Whatever he’s eating is...don’t get me wrong, it’s delicious, but I gotta be able to go places without having to worry about letting loose with a little bark from the other end. And I don’t live alone. Every time I fark, The Philosopher, oooh, the look he gives me. Does he really think what comes outta him is rainbows and puppies? Actually, that’s not a good analogy. I was a puppy, and I know how disgusting we can be. Cutest things on the planet, am I right? But, totally disgusting. When I was a puppy I’d sometimes chew on books. Gross.

One Year Ago Today: Unique new evidence for divine intervention

Remember: “God” backwards spells “Dog”

By Moristotle

[The first official “poop patrol” report for the Collington Farms development in Mebane, North Carolina, was published on December 22, 2017. During the year ending today, Siegfried and I have collected approximately 1,144 piles of poop. The number is approximate because errors are inevitable, and it is occasionally unclear whether one pile resulted from only one poop, or whether two piles were produced by a single poop.]

By the half-way point of our walk this morning (about 3/4 of a mile into it), Siegfried and I had found (and I had collected) seven piles of poop (presumably dog poop). Hot damn! We had just tied the record set only a few days ago. It had more often been four or five piles, sometimes six.

Forty-Five [plus Six] Years Ago Today: Happy Birthday!

By Moristotle

[Originally published on December 21, 2012, as part of that year’s regularly scheduled Fish for Friday column.]






Limerick of the Week

Forty-five [plus six] years ago today, my son
Was born; I’d passed [along] some genes, Nature’d won,
    Life [it] would proceed,
    Nature [would] succeed....
Happy birthday to [you], my son, have fun!

Copyright © 2012, 2018 by Moristotle

The ages of man

They form a palindrome

Today’s palindromic wisdom was recently discovered in the lost manuscripts of the author of “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust”....

Fiction: Finsoup (a novel) [24]

From Good to Bad

By edRogers

[Reviewed here on the novel’s publication day, October 6, 2018: “Coming soon to a Barnes & Noble store near you?”]

Charlie and Margot returned to the Customs warehouse at ten minutes to the hour. Margot joked, “It shouldn’t take two hours to decide if he wants to talk to us or not.”
    When they walked into the warehouse, Jennifer was waiting for them. “Mr. Morales would like to hear more about your business idea. If you’ll follow me.” She turned and started across the wide expanse of concrete toward a set of stairs on the other side.

Thunder Down Under: Jet airplanes for the Royal Flying Doctor Service in Western Australia

A Rio Tinto LifeFlight PC-24

By Vic Midyett

In my February article on the Royal Flying Doctor Service of Australia, I reported that beginning in the second half of this year three new jet airplanes would be delivered to the RFDS in Western Australia, and one of them has been delivered to our local office, located at a small airport 20 minutes from where we live – Jandakot Airport.

One Hundred, Fifteen Years Ago Today: December 17, 1903

By Moristotle

[A visit to the Wright Brothers memorial at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, in October 1986 unexpectedly provoked me to write a poem, and the arrival of December 17 again renews the thrill of the remembered occasion. Originally published on December 17, 2006, during this blog’s first year, without the image.]

Oh, calm brothers, a thousand glides
off Kill Devil Hill and you know
your Flyer’s cambered wings can catch enough

Fiction: Finsoup (a novel) [23]

Blue Monday

By edRogers

[Reviewed here on the novel’s publication day, October 6, 2018: “Coming soon to a Barnes & Noble store near you?”]

Juan waited for the guard to unlock the gate. He could see Tai’s black Town Car parked in front of the office, so he knew he was there.
    The guard wanted to see his pass. Instead, Juan flashed his badge. Few people ever read the bottom part where it said “Retired.” The guard opened the gate without another word.
    The secretary was another story. “You cannot see Mr. Tai without an appointment.”

Fiction: Finsoup (a novel) [22]

Update

By edRogers

[Reviewed here on the novel’s publication day, October 6, 2018: “Coming soon to a Barnes & Noble store near you?”]

After Charlie explained to Howard and Tommy about the bomb, Margot made snacks and they moved to the back porch. The two visitors seemed to take the bomb scare as a matter of fact and showed little concern that they might be in danger. For some reason, Charlie found that worrisome; after all, it’s not every day that a bomb is planted in a friend’s car.

Fiction: Finsoup (a novel) [21]

A Day of Surprises

By edRogers

[Reviewed here on the novel’s publication day, October 6, 2018: “Coming soon to a Barnes & Noble store near you?”]

Charlie was on his second glass of water after three aspirins. He had remembered too late why he hated drinking wine. It was the mother of all hangovers. He had awoken in an empty bed, and when he came out of the bedroom, Margot handed him water and aspirins, and he headed to the couch. That was as far as he had gotten, and now he lay there waiting to die.

Poetry & Portraits: Penny

Drawing by Susan C. Price

Penny
By Eric Meub

[Originally published on March 11, 2017]

Behind us naps the Byzantine and Belle
Époque of the Excelsior Hotel;
before us, Adriatic shallows flood
a Canaletto flat of sand and mud.

Fiction: Finsoup (a novel) [20]

Friday Is Fish Night

By edRogers

[Reviewed here on the novel’s publication day, October 6, 2018: “Coming soon to a Barnes & Noble store near you?”]

Charlie was trying to talk Margot into staying home. “We eat fish every Friday. Let’s cook something here for a change and go for fish tomorrow night.”
    “No, Charlie. I’m going out for dinner; you can stay home if you want. And what I mean by home is your home on the mountain.”

The elders giggle

By Victor L. Midyett

I watched the American PBS news one afternoon a few weeks ago. They discussed several observations of people being fearful and not willing to connect or talk with their neighbors anymore, or urban dwellers v. rural dwellers. Closer to home, communities v. communities, organizations v. organizations, friends v. friends, family v. family, the employed v. the unemployed. Perhaps even churches v. churches.

Fiction: Finsoup (a novel) [19]

Rufino Makes a Move

By edRogers

[Reviewed here on the novel’s publication day, October 6, 2018: “Coming soon to a Barnes & Noble store near you?”]

Rufino had been awake for hours. The fear of being caught by the Taiwanese was becoming a handicap. It was filling his mind – his every wakening thought was about dying. Every sound and every person who looked too long in his direction became a danger to him. If he were Edgar he could go to the States, or if Paulo he could return to Nicaragua, but his home was Costa Rica, and he had no other place to go.

Paris Journal: Kew Gardens remembered through notes & photographs

Victoria Gate to Kew Gardens

June 20, 2017

By Moristotle

[I was, of course, remiss not to include this account here shortly after our return from Paris after June 2017. I publish it today because today a couple of my friends are visiting Kew Gardens!
    And, in case you’re wondering what a visit to Kew Gardens has to do with this Paris journal, please be reminded that Carolyn and I took a four-day side trip to the British Isles last year to visit our Welsh friend Penelope Griffiths, who writes our column “Penny for Her Thoughts.”]

For our visit to Kew Gardens today, we were out of our hotel for about seven hours, catching the 65 bus [near the Hotel Xanadu in Ealing] toward Kingston at around 9:30 a.m.

On Franklin Hill Farm: A Great Blue Heron

And other birds I’ve been blessed to see and sometimes photograph

By Bettina Sperry

For the past several years, I’ve had many opportunities to observe our local population of woodpeckers, bluebirds, kingfishers, various owls, and even eagles that nest several miles down the road from Franklin Hill Farm, by our neighborhood lake. I’ve even had the blessing of finding the most beautiful bird’s nest constructed out of duck feathers.

Thunder Down Under: Spirit of determination

Detail

By Vic Midyett

I had breakfast with a friend a few weeks ago, after which we went for a walk along the Swan River, which runs through Perth and spills out at Fremantle into the Indian Ocean.

Fiction: Finsoup (a novel) [18]

Walking Dead

By edRogers

[Reviewed here on the novel’s publication day, October 6, 2018: “Coming soon to a Barnes & Noble store near you?”]

Rufino opened his eyes and fear gripped him. That last thing he remembered was being hit by a bullet and falling backward. He had been wearing a lifejacket in case they found that rat Charlie, and it must have saved his life. But how did he get to be in a hospital?
    The nurse saw that he was awake and came to his bedside. “How are you feeling? You are very lucky.”