Thoughts and happenings from our little homestead here in the wild woods of Indiana

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"All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey..."

Dark and grey and wet with flurries of snow. I love days like this -- or at least I would if I were home in front of the fire.

Was driving to Corydon the other afternoon when I was struck again by how much I like it here; driving through the landscape of trees and fields , snow falling soundlessly on bare branches and harvest stubble... it's all so lovely. And then when I get to town I appreciate once again the people who live here.

It's especially striking after having been Christmas shopping over in Louisville. I should love Louisville.. I work there and I met my wife there. But I just hate that damned town. It is souless and sterile and infused with a sort of small-minded pettiness whilst simultaneously puffing itself up with its self-image as a "World Class City." How much more I prefer the small-town Hoosiers amongst whom I live.

I admit, they ARE a scary-looking bunch. The guys tend to be BIG. Big, grizzled men with hairy everything stained overalls and tattoos that don't quite look like they were.. um... professionally acquired.

Actually, that sorta describes a lot of the women as well.

And yes... there are well-stocked gun racks everywhere.

When I first moved here, visions of "Deliverance" kept entering my head, and I was caught up in the usual bigotry of city-folk. But these are such good people. Business is accomplished simply and pleasantly. Help is always at hand from strangers. People are honest and thoughtful and simply kind. As I said... good people. And while I may occasionally poke fun at some of their rural ways and views, I am both grateful and humbled to be living among these folk.

 
Pearls before Swine

(rage mode on)
Funny how certain people can prattle on about loving TLOTR, without seeming to have even the most meager concept of fellowship or honor. What a pathetically shallow, sad, judgmental fool this Princesscarrot is. She fancies herself Irish. Ha! The Irish are a generous people who honor loyalty.

Silly emotion without Greatness of Spirit is nothing.. it is noise without substance. And such a person can no more understand a truly noble soul than a bed louse can comprehend the Hoover Dam
(rage mode off)

The Legacy
I was pondering the other day -- as I sometimes do, given that I'm at an age when mortality seems more than just a word -- about what I hope to leave my children. Not in terms of money (I have none and probably never will have) but in terms of values.

And while I was thinking thus, I thought of my beloved. Here is a woman who once threatened some college guy with a beating because he thought it was fun to throw soda cans at a small, frightened bat. And then held the terrified creature and nursed it until it recovered enough to fly away. Here is a woman I once saw lift an injured butterfly onto a leaf and then go back to check on it the following day. And I realised that this is maybe the biggest reason I love her... and the best way I can say how MUCH I love her:

I want my children to have good hearts.
I want my children to grow up to be just like her.

 
Les Miz

Went to see Les Miz at my old school last weekend. Frankly, I'd have rather dined on the cat's litter box than set foot in that awful place again, but I made my wife a promise, and promises are not to be taken lightly.

I wasn't expecting much. To be fair, the orchestra was quite wonderful.. better than I remembered, and certainly better than any other high school orchestra in the area. And the kids, to their credit, sang well and were clearly trying with all their might. Some of the performances were quite good, and I'm sure the crews worked hard.

But the adults should be ashamed. Those children had NO direction, and obviously so. Nor had they been given anything I would even remotely have termed choreography. Character development? Please! Aside from the occasional bit of juvenile "stage business" there was no attempt at character. Vocally, they had gotten guidance, but in no other area of performance. And yet there were not one, but two directors credited!

I wonder how these people sleep at night?

If you no longer like what you do enough to do your best, LEAVE! Children should never have to suffer the ministrations of those who simply no longer care. I know that such people are common enough in the school system -- and I have always despised them. But I never expected to see them in my old school, which we fought and worked so hard to build into an institution of quality.


"The sequel of to-day unsolders all
The goodliest fellowship of famous knights
Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep
They sleep--the men I loved. I think that we
Shall never more, at any future time,
Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
Walking about the gardens and the halls
Of Camelot, as in the days that were.

Alfred Tennyson, 1809-1892

 
Been entering photoshop and Flash contests online... what a wonderful way to keep my hand in, now that we no longer teach as many of these classes as we used to. Fun site: www.worth1000.com

Here's a few of my entries:
Flash

Photo1

Photo2

Photo3

Photo4

Photo5

Photo6

 
There and Back Again

Still no luck in rectifying the damage done when lightning blew out the phones. The telephone company has been out twice to work on the lines. And at least we no longer have to listen in on other people's calls and endure weird whistling noices. But the lines are still too noisy for the computer modem to log on.

I've been doing e-mail and the occassional blog post from our little laptop, which has such a slow connection that line noise doesn't bother it. But since the backup files for the web site are on the big computer... I can't update my site.. including adding to the DIY and PETS sections :(

Which is too bad, because things are slowly evolving on the DIY. The deck has been refloored and is (almost) resealed. The kitchen counter tiling is (mostly) done. And I'm about to start in my attempt to do an etched glass design on the front door (eventually I want to put a stained-glass piece in the transom about the door as well).

Nothing much else to tell.. Jacquelyn is in finals. Classs is a bit ugly this week, and I'm drawing a lot of night classes lately. Winter is upon us, though I am still trying to get caught up in the garden. I'm trying to make a wall hanging for little Stuart for Christmas, but I'll be lucky if I get it done for his first birthday at the rate I'm going.

Looking forward to seeing friend Annie next week, and friend Ellen two weeks after that. (It's the time of year when the expatriots return to Kentucky briefly before they come back to their senses and run away).

But mostly, I'm waiting for Return of the King to open. I'm trying not to get my hopes up... I walked into Fellowship expecting the worst and was transported by the beauty of that film. Maybe if I expect nothing again, the trilogy will end on the same high note on which it began.

This is important to me. I first finished reading Lord of the Rings in the winter of 1977. I was far from home in Utah, attending grad school with then-wife Kimberly (or as I prefer to call her, "Mongo." Ask me why sometime... g'wan) I was afraid and alone and the book had been such a source of solace and delight... though God knows it has no happy ending.

It was abitterly cold day outside, and we had just had a snowfall, so the accumulation was a little above knee-high. I had waited to finish the book because I knew I'd be alone that day, with no one to spoil the savoring of it. (I learned long ago as I was growing up that, with my tastes, if something was precious it was best enjoyed in solitude).

And so I read on to the end... past the scouring of the Shire, past the departure of Gandalf and Frodo for the Gray Havens. And when it was done, and there was no more book to read, and no more adventures to be had, I walked out into the empty expanse of snow, sat down in it, in the middle of the fields near our apartment, and wept bitterly for a long, long while.

I'm still not sure why... I suppose it was a combination of sadness at the fate of Frodo.. and of the farewell I had just bid to old friends. But I can remember it so clearly... soundless tears amidst the snow and the mountains.

If I end the cinematic journey the same way (well... I can do without the snow) I will be well satisfied.

As The Doctor says, "Time will tell. She usually does."

 
My good speeling

I was just reading through some old entries and cringing at the typos. But at the same time, I comfort myself with the knowledge that, for a dyslexic non-typist who got low marks in spelling, I do okay.

Wicker got me with another of her jokes. She sat by the edge of the bed (an old cast-iron bedframe, it is higher than the norm) struggling to climb up. She'd run to one side and try in vain, then dash to the other side and scrabble desperately, looking at me pleadingly.

Finally, I sighed, put down my book an got out of bed to help her up. And she jumped up like a gazelle and sat there, grinning hugely at me.

I love dog jokes :)

 
It may take me awhile to get this one out, so bear with me (as if anyone is reading this.. whahahaaaa).

It started with a random quote popping into my head on the way to work this morning from the rather wonderful movie Men in Black (the first one.. the less said about the second, the better)

"A person is smart. people are dumb, panicy, dangerous animals, and you know it."

Which then led my thoughts out of humorous mode and into one of the most poignent (for me) lines in the film, delivered by the incomperable Mr. Jones:

"1500 years ago, everybody knew the Earth was the center of the Universe. 500 years ago, everybody knew that the Earth was flat... and 15 minutes ago, you knew people were alone on this planet. Imagine what you'll know tomorrow."

Which in turn led my thoughts to Jacob Bronowski's Ascent of Man, Chapter 13.

I said this was gonna be a long one. But you know.. I was wrong. I don't have much to say at all. It is rare that at any point in life, you can actually, specifically pinpoint a moment in which your view of the world so changed as to impact your whole life view forevermore. The biggest for me was Chapter Thirteen of the PBS series The Ascent of Man by Jacob Bronowski. It was probably not an epiphany for anyone but me... but it hit my young mind with the force of a freight train. It still has the power to move and to stun, and I ask nothing better than the chance to impress it on my children from an early, early age.

I had started out here thinking I would ramble on and on.. but in rereading an extract from the episode (God bless the Internet) I find I can not alter a word without diminishing it. In this Age of Zealots... people who possess The Truth.. whatever race or creed or political stripe they may be... Whether they would kill for the Truth or just shout down all dissent. These words are needed now, more than ever.

But of course... I'm perhaps being dramatic there (or as my Mom prefers to call me, "pompous"). I speak with the brief view of 50 summers. Times have been better, and times have been worse than now. Back in the Good Old Days - 1922- Yeats was already dispairing of the same trend:

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

But still.. it seems that we have become a world of people who merely shout and never listen.

So... here's my gift to you for today...


From the "Knowledge or Certainty", an episode from the 1973 BBC series "The Ascent of Man", transcribed by Evan Hunt:

"The Principle of Uncertainty is a bad name. In science--or outside of it--we are not uncertain; our knowledge is merely confined, within a certain tolerance. We should call it the Principle of Tolerance. And I propose that name in two senses: First, in the engineering sense--science has progressed, step by step, the most successful enterprise in the ascent of man, because it has understood that the exchange of information between man and nature, and man and man, can only take place with a certain tolerance.

But second, I also use the word, passionately, about the real world. All knowledge--all information between human beings--can only be exchanged within a play of tolerance. And that is true whether the exchange is in science, or in literature, or in religion, or in politics, or in *any* form of thought that aspires to dogma. It's a major tragedy of my lifetime and yours that scientists were refining, to the most exquisite precision, the Principle of Tolerance--and turning their backs on the fact that all around them, tolerance was crashing to the ground beyond repair.

The Principle of Uncertainty or, in my phrase, the Principle of Tolerance, fixed once for all the realization that all knowledge is limited. It is an irony of history that at the very time when this was being worked out there should rise, under Hitler in Germany and other tyrants elsewhere, a counter-conception: a principle of monstrous certainty. When the future looks back on the 1930s it will think of them as a crucial confrontation of culture as I have been expounding it, the ascent of man, against the throwback to the despots' belief that they have absolute certainty.

It is said that science will dehumanize people and turn them into numbers. That is false: tragically false. Look for yourself. This is the concentration camp and crematorium at Auschwitz. *This* is where people were turned into numbers. Into this pond were flushed the ashes of four million people. And that was not done by gas. It was done by arrogance. It was done by dogma. It was done by ignorance. When people believe that they have absolute knowledge, with no test in reality--this is how they behave. This is what men do when they aspire to the knowledge of gods.

Science is a very human form of knowledge. We are always at the brink of the known; we always feel forward for what is to be hoped. Every judgment in science stands on the edge or error, and is personal. Science is a tribute to what we *can* know although we are fallible.

In the end, the words were said by Oliver Cromwell: "I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ: Think it possible you may be mistaken."

We have to cure ourselves of the itch for absolute knowledge and power. We have to close the distance between the push-button order and the human act. We have to *touch people*. "

 
Damn, DAMN, DAMN!!!

Been down for nearly a week with my annual bout of nasal/throat infections. Amazing progression; piercing headache as it invaded the upper sinus, throbbing teeth making it impossible to chew as it reached the lower, then loss of voice and swallowing as it raced across the finish line in my throat. Jacquelyn the Impervious tended me sweetly as always, but would NOT take proper precautions and is now starting the same trek just as mine lifts.

Of course, the week before all of this, the weather service forecast clear skies. Which naturally meant that it rained the entire week. This was and is a matter of some importance to me as I desperately need to get the deck sealed. The old surface had gone bad (when your foot goes through the deck, it's time for repairs, sez I) and so we spent a small fortune over the summer, bringing home a few boards at a time to replace the old. And now that the work is finally done, I've been anxiously awaiting for a dry spell so I can seal the surface before winter sets in..

So the gods, as is their whimsical way, looked down and saw me incapacitated. And verily, they did say to one another “Let us go forth and screw around with this mortal, for we are bored and it would be a laugh.” And they did stretch forth their hands and lo! At once the skies did clear, the sun appeared in its glory, and warm breezes did waft across the land.

After a week of balmy days and fever, yesterday I was finally starting to feel the effects of the antibiotic. As I turned in, I entertained the happy thought that the next day I could finally spread the last of the sealant. And there I lay, carried off to sleep by the soft, gentle rhythm of the rain….

Bloody hell! It’s worse than rain. It bloody SNOWED!

Ah well. Stayed home today, as I was still running a slight fever yesterday. It seems finally to have cleared, so I built a wood fire in the stove, put on a pot of coffee and settled down to catch up on a bit of reading (and laundry.. and dishes). Jacquelyn bought a rick of wood from some local whilst I was laid up.. supposedly split, aged hardwood. Aged, my ass. Looks as thought it was cut yesterday. Nice cedar though. Pity the pieces are AS BIG AROUND AS MY CHEST! Damn again. Had to split some before I could get the fire going.

THWACK!

I’m amazed. The splitter that I’ve had sitting by the woodpile for ages, which could never halve the rotten old branches I’d been burning, cleaved that cedar in one stroke like a knife! Pretty cool!

I think I’ll try that again!

THWACK!

Clean and sharp and perfect. I start to get into a Zen rhythm with it, fully aware that I shouldn’t be outside, but having too much fun after being cooped up for the past five days.

THWACK!

Very, very cool, this.

TWACK!

Having used up my reserve of energy (and not being a complete burke) I gather up my little pile of split logs and retire back to the house, trudging up the backs steps to the unfinished deck.

Which is when I noticed that the patio door has blown open again, and the cats are gone.
I don’t know that the cats are gone, of course… not right away. It is just a sick, cold dread. Wicker I locked up before venturing out, as she has been experiencing a certain confusion of late as to what is and is not a proper toilet facility. And Simon is too wise in the ways of the wild to venture out. But poor stupid Duncan..

I call into the house for the cats, but there is no answer. Simon only vaguely grasps the concept of “name”, But Duncan has been raised as a dog, and usually answers, even if she does stay carefully out of reach. There is no answer. I close the patio door and scan the tree line of the woods, looking for any flash of motion. There is nothing save the birds.

I call again, and here comes Duncan around from the side deck. She stops suddenly, clearly wondering how much trouble she is in. Simon is right behind her. I breathe a tentative sigh of relief. Duncan will follow Simon and Simon always follows me. I open the door and make coaxing sounds. Duncan makes a beeline indoors. Simon stays put.

I’m stunned by this turn of events. I look at her. She looks at me. I figure she’s confused. Simon has always been my buddy. That’s how we got her. Every time I went outdoors she’s come trotting out of the woods and would stay by my side till I went in for the day. We’ve given her the option to return outdoors many times and she’s always flatly refused. I bend down to run her ears as always… and she bolts around the side of the house and under the porch.

I stand there for awhile, then go back inside. Duncan and I stand and watch the birds, waiting for Simon to reappear. She doesn’t. Duncan slinks off for a nap. I brood.
Simon is out of practice… she wasn’t all that good at fending for herself. I know there is a feral cat in the barn.. it may have been him that raked her hindquarters.. or something worse.

I brood some more. Then I remember the Havahart trap on the side porch… the one I was going to use to trap whatever had attacked Simon in the first place. (Heh heh… NEVER tell an Irishman “no”). Simon has one fatal weakness.. the nasty, cheap, greasy cat food we used to put out when she first started coming around. It must be the kitty equivalent of a Big Mac; really bad for your system, but oh, so tasty. I still have some in the pantry. I grab the bag and step out onto the side porch.

At the first rattle of the bag, Simon appears as if by magic. I rattle the bag enticingly and she edges nearer, meowing for her handout in the ritual we observed of old. I set the bag down and scoop her fat butt off the ground and carry her back into the house, as she calls me some very unflattering names. On landing, Simon takes off for the bathroom (Planet Kitty) and won’t come out. I finally takes Duncan and I both to assuage her temper. I sit on the floor and scratch he ample backside, whilst Duncan grooms her ears.

So it ends well. I really MUST do something about that door latch.

So now the fire is burning merrily, Wicker is happily gnawing on a new rawhide bone between naps, and the cats and I are watching the birds. Amazing what I light dusting of snow brings out. There are the usual wrens and chickadees, and nuthatches. A pair of brilliantly plumed cardinals visit for awhile. And something crow-sized*, which I did not get a good look at.. black head with a brilliant red spot at the back.. possibly a downy woodpecker?.

And joy! The group of three pileated-woodpeckers (not the round-headed, common type, but the “Woody Woodpecker type, with their Pterodactyl heads) that I observed two years ago have made An appearance. I was working behind the barn at the edge of the woods one summer when they flew past in formation, a little over head high, into the woods and out of view in the foliage. They are HUGE birds up close… doubtless they are the ones responsible for the neat first sized hole I found in one of the ailing trees. They look so impressive and otherwordly up close, with their odd skulls, and the sight of three of them made my quite happy. I’ve looked for them ever since, hoping that they live in our little woods, but only saw them once more, briefly. And this morning, all three were clambering up and down the dead tree just off the back porch… their plumage bright and glorious against the cold, steel gray sky.

Gotta get those suet feeders out. And the salt for the deer.

I love living here

*This puts me in mind of the old crow that owns (or owned) our yard. He used to cuss me each morning from the top of the tallest tree at the edge of the woods as I walked the dog. Just to let me know who was boss. Haven’t seen him for awhile now and I just now realized it. Hope he’s moved on to a bigger patch.

 

Lullaby
by William Blake (1757-1827)


O for a voice like thunder, and a tongue
To drown the throat of war! When the senses
Are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness,
Who can stand? When the souls of the oppressed
Fight in the troubled air that rages, who can stand?
When the whirlwind of fury comes from the
Throne of God, when the frowns of his countenance
Drive the nations together, who can stand?
When Sin claps his broad wings over the battle,
And sails rejoicing in the flood of Death;
When souls are torn to everlasting fire,
And fiends of Hell rejoice upon the slain,
O who can stand? O who hath caused this?
O who can answer at the throne of God?
The Kings and Nobles of the Land have done it!
Hear it not, Heaven, thy Ministers have done it!

 

	Two weeks ago we drove to St. Louis, partly to see my Mum, but more than anything to see my cousin Marci's baby, Stuart (well, ok.... and to see Marci and Doug too) Marci is often my role model (though she doesn't know that). As she isn't all that much younger than myself and we are tempramentally similar, I figured that if the "parent thing" suited her it might well work for me as well. And indeed we are currently trying to travel down that path, Jacq. and I. For I have never seen Marci looking more beautiful, nor more happy. She and Doug are clearly head over heels in love with that baby.
And small wonder, for he is a charmer! Looks so much like his Mum at that age it's just scary. And what a grin he has! Jacquelyn has termed it a "full-body smile" (see the pic at left). I had such a wonderful time! Got to feed and change diaper and bathe.... great fun! I am amused to note that i have now apparently become "The Arm". In our family, there is a great tradition of "The Arm" In all the home movies (and not a few of the still photos) of both Marci and I as children, there is always just visible the arm of one or another of our two mothers... adjusting, guiding, straightening...
And now, as Stuart's bath chair kept tipping, I am able to follow in the proud tradition of my forbears! :)

 
The bell within the steeple wild
the flying tidings told
How much can come
And much can go
And yet abide the world!
~E. Dickinson~




All is peaceful at the moment. There is sun streaming through the windows, and three fuzzy critters has trundled their little selves upstairs to keep me company. Simon is asleep in "her" chair. Wicker and Duncan lie side-by-side in a sunbeam, half waking on occasion to nuzzle one another.

So much has happened in the past few months: Simon and Duncan have become fast friends and spend much of their time either hunting one another. Their favorite pasttime at the moment is embracing one another with their front paws in a rather sweet-looking hug.. and then taking it in turns to kick one another in the face with their hind feet. The first time I saw this I assumed they were fighting and made them stop. They responded with great indignation and spent the rest of the day scowling at me from under the furniture (and of course, returning to kicking one another as soon as my back was turned).

Duncan still tries the occassional leap onto Wicker's head as a way of expressing her affection. But Wicker is a teen now, and like older siblings everywhere tends to ignore such demening stunts with an air of slightly injured dignity!

The air has turned colder now, as the seasons begin their change. On the drive homs, up out of ths Ohio valley and into the Indiana coüntryside, the leaves have begun to show their fall colors. Autumn is more beautiful in the country. I suppose it is due to the difference in temperature between here and the city. It has not yet gotten cold enough for the air of Morning to be scented with ths smoke of wood fires.... But ths time is not far off.

There is much to do: I need to clear the ash from the stove and makg provision for the birds and the deer. I need to get the gardening equipment put up, the remains of the vegetable gardfn tilled under, and the flower beds mulched in. The pace of life begins to slow and turn our lives inward from the bredth of nature to the miniature, snapshot world indoors.

It is a time of endings. Across the world there are harvest festivals afoot. The ancient Celtic festival of Samhain comes soon, marking the time of old years passing into new.. and a time of crossing from one world to the next,

A month or so past, we rented a truck and drove to St. Louis to help my Mom move out of the house she has kept to over 40 yearsand into a retirement community. It's a lovely place, with private apartments and round-the-clock care, maid service and excellent meals. I wouldn't mind living there myself! She has long fretted about her ability to keep house, and while that's always been rubbish (she still keeps house on her worst days better than I do on my best) the worry and sense of pressure was really beginning to show. The house sold quickly after the roof was repaired and theoretically there only remained the task of hauling away what we wanted to keep, and helping her to settle into the new place. The rest was to be handled by the estate auctioneers.

I will have to say, Mom was a brick. She was better about selling off her home of 40 some years than I would have been. The idea of categorizing and sorting things still is a bit foreign to her non-linear way of thinking, but all in all she did very well. Of course, nothing at all went as planned. We had hoped to be packing up the rental truck whilst the movers loaded theirs, but too much remained undone, and we ended up having to sort and pack until well after the movers had departed, leaving the loading of our truck till the hottest part of the day. And it WAS hot. Temperatures hovered around 100, and the inside of the truck was like walking into an oven. We'd haul some stuff, tie it down, then collapse inside the house, drenched in sweat till our hearts stopped racing. But finally it was done; the truck was full of furniture and keepsakes.. my Dad's desk and his tools, mostly. And the car was filled with stuff that still needed to go to Mom's.

It was very odd, taking the last walk through. The house saw me grow up -- and remained the sanctuary I returned to for respite whenever calamity beset my life. There was the steep hill where I learned to drive a stick shift.. there the laundry room whose ceiling installation prompted Dad to teach me some of his finest swear words.. the driveway where Dad held my hand as I backed down the driveway, both of us reluctant to let go and both knowing we would not meet again. And the house would never be home again. If it was so hard for me to let go, how much worse was it for my Mom?


The rest of the days was spent unloading Mom's stuff and trundling it on four-wheeled dollies through the retirement facility. The party holding their bridge tournament kept casting glowering looks and the scruffy, dirty, damp pair who kept rolling past, but I was well beyond caring. We unpack the necessaries and got things assembled. Dinner was brought up to Mom's apartment after which Jacq. And I crashed out on the floor and slept.

The ride home was uneventful. We bought a cheap pair of walkie-talkies at Wal-Mart so we could chatter back and forth on the drive, which was great fun as we "good buddy-ed" one another all the way home and took turns singing "On the Road Again." Now getting things out of the truck and into the house was another matter.

But I'm tired of typing. It all got done. Dad's desk sits in the front room with my Great Grandmother's bureau. (And the cats know that if they touch it, they die).

 
from the
Songs I Had Forgotten I Loved
department

(This is playing from the classroom across the hall from mine as i write and makes me think of my Jacquelyn)

"And so you see
I have come to doubt
all that I once held as true.
I stand alone without beliefs.
The only truth I know is you.

And as I watch the drops of rain
weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain:
There, but for the grace of you
go I"

Paul Simon

 
The Terror that Walketh in Darkness.

The other day almost began very badly indeed. At around 3 a.m. when I came downstairs to go to the bathroom, Duncan was (as usually for that hour) wriggling on her back in the middle of the dining room floor, beggin to have her belly rubbed with my bare foot. We have no idea why she does this.. and at no other time that in the middle of the night. But she's a cat, so go figure.

At 5 a.m. when the alarm went off, Wicker and I both stumbled to our feet and I went downstair to take her out to "do her thing" as is our morning ritual. When i reached the bottom of the stairs, I noticed that the big glass patio door had blown open. Simon I knew was upstair sleeping behind my stack of Doctor Who novels on the bookcase. But little Duncan was nowhere to be found.

Now Duncan is firstly Jacquelyn's baby.. and having raised her from a shelter kitten, she has very little experience of life outside of Innisfree, and none at all of unfriendly creatures. Her playfellow and best friend is a dog, she has no front claws, and she has sort of picked up Wickers goofy, genial, galumphing nature. Of any of our four-footed children, it is Duncan who is least likely to survive in the wild.

I quickly put Wicker in her cage and secured the door. I crept upstairs and got the flashlight, praying both that I had missed Duncan somewhere inside the house or that, failing this, I found her unharmed before I would have to wake Jacquelyn and tell her that her baby was gone. So there i was, wandering around in my skivvies in the dark, poking around in bushes and behind trees, calling for a cat and noticing for the first time just how dry the human mouth can get.

No cat. N o signs of life at all except the sounds of dogs baying in the distance, and the hum of wheels as morning traffic sped by on the road. After awhile, I had no choice but to wake Jacq and tell her, and together we went looking and calling for Duncan, Jacquelyn crying, and me filled with dread. If the feral cats had carved up Simon, they would make sushi of little Duncan.

Finally i had to start getting ready for work and left Jacq. to it. I realised as i went in that poor Wickere never had gotten the opportunity to relieve herself and so put her on heer lead and stepped out the front door.

Wicker was off like a shot, dragging me across the yard, past the barn and beyond. It suddenly dawned on me that she understood the situation and was off to find Duncan, se I ran behind as fast as I could. At the little ravine leading to a shrub-covered creek running along the far edge of the neighbor's property, she came up short for a time and seemed to have lost the scent. My guess is that Duncan had gone down into the brush and scrub. Then as we turned back, Wicker picked up the scent again and we zigzagged behind the barn, skirting the edge of the woods until we reached the backyard of our property again and then Wicker shot off at full speed, literally dragging me through the tall grass in utter darkness, down to the depest section of the woods. I pulled her to at the treeline, knowing we couldn;t go into the woods to search until dark.

By then I was getting later for work and handed Wicker off to Jacq. who said that she continued to want to go into the woods. Finally the two of them came back into the house where i was gathering my notes together, but almost immediately, I heard Wicker scratching at the patio door. Before i could go and check, Jacqeulyn ran to the door and oipened it and scooped Duncan up. As nearly as i can tell she was lost (?) in the woods and had followed Wicker's trail from there back to the house.

So Wicker got lots of praise and petting and treats and more petting. Duncan got both scolded and cuddled.

And we all got a lesson in the power of friendship.

 
On the humor of dogs

I was reminded again last night of why I like dogs so much.

Most animals play, and I think only an utter berk would dispute that they have fun on occassion. Our cats, for instance invent elaborate games with one another involving stalking, chasing, and wrestling. The latter game involves lulling your opponent into a false sense of security by grooming her, then suddenly grabbing her in a headlock and rolling across the floor. Most days I can find the two of them, embracing like lovers with their arms, whilst simultaniously kicking one another furiously in the head with their hind feet. Early on I was alarmed by this and used to break up the "fight", only to notice recieve dirty looks from both parties prior to their skulking off to find some more private place in which to play.

That the cats find this mock combat fun I cannot doubt. But do they find it "funny"? Wicker and Duncan used to stage mock combat prior to Simon's arrival, and still occassionally indulge in tussles and grooming. Their affection obviously still runs deep.

But sometimes with me, I become aware that Wicker plays "jokes" in the human sense. Sometimes she indulges in behavior which clearly amuses her in some way, and if I'm attentive, I can see her smile. Dogs cannot laugh vocally, but they do laugh -- using body language and facial expressions, Wicker occassionally cracks up (in canine fashion) at things she considers funny. Usually these involve some sort of trickery on the part of one or both of us; hiding objects then pretending we don't know where they are, jumping out of hiding suddenly, etc. I've become aware over time that my dog has a sense of humor not ulike my own as a child, back when I enjoyed the rough slapstick of the Three Stooges. And I can tell you this: it is a humbling thing to fall on one's butt and look up to see a dog laughing herself silly.

Last night, as Wicker curled up between us in bed (a nightly ritual.. she doesn't like to sleep there, but likes to show off her status as one of the "Big Dogs" before retiring) Jacquelyn reached over and gently grabbed the end of Wicker's protruding tongue. This quickly developed into a game, with Wicker deliberately sticking out her tongue as far as possible, and "daring" Jacquelyn to grab it.

Partway through the game, Wicker reached over and without warning gently snapped at my nose, causing me to draw back instinctively. This puzzled me for a moment -- until I saw the grin on her face and understood that she was teaching me her version of the "keepaway" game. So I leaned forward as close as I could to her muzzle without actually touching it, and the game was on.

And so the day ended.. with Jacq and I giggling, and Wicker grinning and wriggling on her back in a dog laugh. Not a bad way to end the weekend :)

And I was drawn back once again into thinking how blessed we are to share our homes, out lives, and this planet with animals. What an extraordinary thing to look into the eyes of another species and become aware of the being, the sentience, the person within.

 
"You're the hope that moves me
To courage again"



So many things have slipped by since I last posted. It will take time to get caught up, and I will try to bring things up to speed a bit at a time. On the personal scene, the most important thing that occurred this summer was our second wedding anniversary last July.

As the old chiche goes, "And they said it would never last."

I continue to be happier and more content than at any previous time in my life. The most remarkable person I know loves me, and I continue to start and end each day next to the one person I most love being with. Life is good.

No one else makes me laugh so much, or can make me feel grateful at just being alive. Others have more exciting lives, have better jobs, or have amassed more expensive goods. I am content just to be with her.

I wanted to write a sonnet... post something devestatingly profound and clever so that everyone would know how I feel. But after weeks of trying, I'm afraid that the one thing that rings most true in my heart are pop song lyrics:

"You're my only reason,
You're my only truth...
I need you like water,
Like breath, like rain.
I need you like mercy
From Heaven's gate.
There's a freedom in your arms
That carries me through.
I need you."

Or perhaps the best summation is that wonderful line from the movie "As Good As It Gets":

"You make me want to be a better man."

 
Fellowship of Unworthies

I write this entry in sympathy for my best friend, who learned to her great pain that she will rarely be able to put her trust in anyone as faithful, great-hearted, and fine as herself.

(with apologies to the sublime words of W.B. Yeats)

To a Friend whose Loyalty has come to Nothing

"NOW all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honour bred, with one
Who, were it proved she lies,
Were neither shamed in her own
Nor in her neighbor's; eyes?
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult"

 
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Well... I finally had to return my trap and admit defeat. If the rougue tom is still in these parts, he's smart enough not to be lured to his doom by a pan of cat food.

On the up side, after Simon healed and we opened the door to return her to the wild, she looked at us both as if we had lost our minds, curled up on the sofa and went to sleep. Thus have we acquired another memeber of the Innisfree fold. She did leave once, but returned after a few ours and asked to come back in, and so she has stayed.

She and Wicker continue to be friendly, snuffling one another from time to time but otherwise just sharing space peaceably. She and Duncan however, are another matter entirely. Duncan wants desperately to play... unfortunately, Simon has just come in from a hard life competeing against feral cats. And Duncan has grown up playing with a bumbling, loveable pup. So when she wants to play, she runs at poor Simon and takes a flying leap onto her (like she does with Wicker). The result is much terrified hissing and a frantic scramble for the safety of the top of the piano.

But it's getting better... ground rules are being established and personal boundaries set. There is actaul play going on now (sometimes). Food, water and litter are being shared.

Oh, occassionally, in the morning as I get up, I'll hear yowling and spitting from downstairs. Wicker usually looks at me as if to say "What the...???"

I just shrug and tell her "I know, but we have to let them work it out."
She shrugs in return, sighs, and lays down for a nap (we all like naps here)

Another day in the peaceable kingdom

 
Great White Hunter

Golly.. it seems I'm never going to get caught up. Work continues to expand... I'm working 6 days per week at this point (and no... I don't get overtime and I haven't had a raise in two years). On the other hand, with the retarded monkey and the rest of the junta in power, I'm lucky to HAVE a job. So I'm not complaining!

But it does mean that lots of things don;t get done... like weeding, and keeping current with emails... and of course the blog.

Current events (outside of work): Simon (our outdoor kitty and my "helper" in the garden) started acting very weird; very jumpy, yowling when we picked her up. A closer look (and an examination by our vet) revealed that she'd been attacked and pretty severely clawed all along her back and hindquarters. The vet offered the opinion that a tom had gone after her (yes, before you ask, she has been spayed).

So... for the next week, until she has finished the course of antibiotics, she is now an indoor cat. This is fine with Wicker... Wicker loves everybody, and everybody seems to like her. She and Simon have a ritual each morning when Wicker and I go out for her morning "constitutional": Simon sits on the front step, waiting for us, then races Wicker to the end of the walk. Then they sniff one another's noses. This is kind of an amazing sight, considering that Simon is quit skittish, and Wicker is easily four times her size. But as I say... that's Wicker.

Anyway... Simon and Duncan are another story. Duncan (a kitty who has been raised with Wicker and galumphs in the same dog-like friendly fashion) just scares hell out of Simon. Simon has never seriously tried to hurt her, but she hisses at her, which confuses Duncan and hurt her feelings.

So... that was the weekend. By now, things are relatively quiet. On at least two occassions, I found both the cats in the bathroom (Duncan's retreat) together. Not sure what they were doing... communing? But at least they weren't hissing.

Meanwhile: I can't let Simon back out (if she wants to go, after her current life of luxury) while the tom is still out there, gunning for her. I had it down to a one-time thing, untill night before last, when Jacquelyn saw him (and apparently he's HUGE) peering in the back window.

So.. I went out and got a Have-A-heart trap, and set it on the back porch... baited with cat food. (I figure if I can catch him, he and I will make a little trip into the woods, and only one of us will be returning. I've never harmed anything larger than a mouse -- and then I offered an apology). But Simon is in my care. I take that sresponsibility eriously. (When Jacq. and I have kids -- starting pretty soon now-- God help the SOB that hurt one of them).

Anyway... enough testosterone posturing. Came down this morning and saw fur through the 5 a.m. gloom... was all pleased, until I saw the little pointy face peering nearsightedly at me.

Yes, it is I -- The Great White Possum Hunter!

I didn't want to try to release a pissed-off possum in the dark (they can get pretty bitchy). But I also couldn't face the prospect of her sitting there in the hot sun till I got home from work. So I hauled her down to the woods and turned her loose. She ran for all her stumpy legs were worth... which was pretty funny. She looked like a fat lady in a tight skirt racing to a blue-light special!

Anyway... my quarrel is not with her.. nor the raccoon that keeps stealing the bird seed. The trap is reset... stay tuned!

 
I Sing in Praise of Bats

Up tonight with terrible allergies.. haven't had an attack this bad in ages. There will no sleep for me tonight, so I thought I might as well take a verbal ramble.

Lots of stuff going on. We took a few days off to try to get some things done around the place. You live in a 160 year old farmhouse and there are always things to be done. I'll be posting pics over in the DIY section in the next few days. Jacq. (bless her) has taken over the mowing and trimming for me, which is just a HUGE help. I'm replacing the deck (or at least the floor of it). The idiots who built it never sealed it, so all of the boards have weathered badly and some have just fallen through (and since it is at a 2nd floor level... this is a bad thing). Also built a potting bench, brought the veggie garden under control (no tomatoes yet, but lots of cucumbers... so I'm canning dill pickles as fast as I can. Ran out of the home-grown dill and am having to make do with store-bought. Wounds me pride, that does). The bulbs we planted are starting to bloom, as are Jacq's new roses.. though the weeds are making serious inroads... so time spent there as well.

And now I hear that the in-laws are visiting on Friday. We've been maried two years now.. living here for three. And this is their first visit.. now... with everything in chaos.
God, give me strength.
When your mother-in-law is younger than you... and a highly successful power-player... and you aren't... and you've married her youngest baby... the rules change a bit. Still, our friend Katie is setting me an example of grace under pressure (see will be reading this and knows what I mean) and we are bringing Innisfree along as best we can. And that will have to be enough.

And truth to tell, we are making excellent progress. It would be nice is the rains hadn't led to blackspot which blaasted all the blooms off the roses we were training to climb and frame the front door. But what are ya gonna do, hey?

On to other stuff (and taking another antihistimine)
My birthday was quite nice, actually. I was touched. Janis, at the front desk (a very lovely lady) made me a cake. And the head of the company made all of the sales staff come out front to the lobby and sing me "Happy Birthday". That was very nice. You have to remember... nobody usually remembers my birthday.. so it was very much appreciated.

I did not hear a word from my "family" (my former in-laws: the Duncan and Beck Clan, who swore undying allegience and love after my marriage sundered). It seems that they have moved into a higher economic level and I'm outre'

Enough of that... too much positive!

Saw our friend Katie tonight... that was just lovely! Been mising her. And will be seeing my friend Lisa tomorrow night!! Also most lovely. Hope to talk to my beloved Marci this weekend. And of course I live with the best friend of all! There is nothing nicer than friends!! At least, those friends who have stood the test of time, yeah?.

Work will be HELL next week... but I do not need to think of that now. I have the company of friends, and work for my hands to do. Who could ask more?

Antihistimine is making it hard to focus and the sneezing makes it hard to type. Hope this is making sense.

Why Sing in praise of bats?
Occassionally, now that I live away from the city... I've been witness to things that have nearly stopped my heart with their beauty. I supposed I'll sound daft.. for there is no way that I could really convey what I saw nor the stunning beauty of the moment. But I would be false if I did not at least try. As Dickeinson said "Perhaps you laugh at me. Perhaps the whole United States is laughing at me. I can't stop for that.."

The other night I looked up intop the darkening sky, and saw what I took to be a flock of birds. But the movement was wrong... more like... butterflys.. soft and fluttery. And yet, vigorous and acrobatic, like swallows.

Finally it dawned on me... they were bats. Their silent, graceful flight was so stunning.. so perfect. In the gathering twilight I almost felt that I was the intruder... looking on something too fine for the human mind to appreciate.

Now I look for them in the evenings... they are simply a wonder. And they always make me think of the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner... where the condemed and soul-dead man looks upon the slimy creatures of the sea that he would formerly have reviled and suddenly (for the first time) sees their beauty . "A spring of love gushed from my heart/And I blessed them, unawares."

And as the poem ends,

"He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things, both great and small."

(yawn) so tired now.. the sneeze drug is doin' their thang... sleep in peace all.

 
"If you love wealth greater than liberty, the tranquility of servitude greater than the animating contest for freedom, go home from us in peace. We seek not your counsel, nor your arms. Crouch down and lick the hand that feeds you; May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that you were our countrymen."

Samuel Adams

 
Limping the last Few Yards

Well.. the week from hell is nearly over. After a high of thirteen instructors (for those who don't know me I'm employed as Principle Applications Instructor at New Horizons Computer Learning Center of Louisville) we are now down to Three. And as James is on holiday for Two weeks and Jason has been on special assignment for the past two days... I've been "it". So... up at 5 a.m., teaching from 8 a.m. till 9 p.m., then going home so I can study for the next day, and bed by midnight, only to do the whole thing over again in the morning. I am WHUPPED!

But on the bright side (and it is a frightening inside into my utter domesticity that this represents a bright side) by tomorrow night the weekend will have started, and I'm planning to spend it doing the three most pleasant things (at least of the ones I can talk about here) in the world: Gardening, cooking, and home repair. Gonna bake a turkey, weed the vegetable and flower gardens, and replace bits of the deck and build a potting bench.

Sheer heaven, that sounds!

The lillies that grow wild around the edge of the woods are in bloom. The Penstemmon, Clematis and Foxglove have spent their beauty. The roses my sweetheart planted in the hill terrace are blooming and they are gorgeous. Poor thing, I don;t think she has been home long enough to see them. No deer sighted yet, but I need to make a place to attract them. If only this damned rain would stop! Starting to get fungus on the roses, dammit! And I'm afraid for the tomatoes.. thought so far they are doing ok. The cucumbers are starting to come in now, so we'll be making pickles soon. I love canning. There's something about being in the howling dead of winter, and opening one of those glass bottles of tomatoes and smelling the strong scent of summer (which commercial canning totally lacks) that just quickens the blood.

Dear Lord... I'm becoming Betty Crocker! I think I will have to grill something tonight just to restore the depleted testosterone ;)

Trying a new marinade I fouond at the Central Market site (www.centralmarket.com) Central Market is simply the greatest and most mind bending grocery on the planet. If you are in Texas, go take the tour -- and yes, they give tours!. The recipe called for strange Chinese stuff, so I tracked down an Oriental grocery and went there after work. AWESOME! All kinds of cool stuff there!

A shout out to friends Kelly and Louisa and Lisa

 
The YPAS Reunion

A few weeks ago, there was a reunion of the first 10 graduating classes from YPAS (www.ypasreunion.com).
From 1982 till 1999 I was the costume designer/shop manager/design teacher at The Youth Performing Arts School in Louisville Kentucky. When I arrived, there was no functional costume shop, no working sewing machines, and no technical theatre department. We wrote all the curriculum, structured every element of the program from scratch. By the time I left, when had a shop facility to rival many professional installations, a large, organized wardrobe collection, and a curriculum that had served as the model for other schools around the country. To this day it remains one of my proudest accomplishements. If Jefferson county had not hired a retarded monkey as the Superintendant of Public Education, if the School Board and the State Legislature were not filled with cynical, small minded toadies with more regard for political expediency than education, God alone only knows what more we could have accomplished.

But I digress....

Along the way, I met and worked alongside many, many remarkable students. Some, I've remained in touch with for the full 20 years -- such as my friend Ellen (who badgered me into going to the reunion in the first place). Others I had remained in contact with for a time, then gradually lost them during moves, marriages, et al. And still others I had not seen since they graduated. So the event was something I was really looking forward to... and it did not disappoint I saw all the people that I went hoping to see... and a good many delightful surprises as well.

An interesting evening... surreal even. I was asked during the event by my friend Renee' if I was having a good time. I replied, "As good a time as a pathalogically shy person can have in the midst of a crush of several hundred people." It's still my best summation. I found -- oddly -- that I generally had no difficulty in recognising the women, as they seemed (to me at least) to have changed little in the past 20 years. But the men were tougher... most did not seem to have aged well, and I had to look very hard into the eyes before I could detect a familiar presence.

A few folks I was hoping would get word of the event were never found, and that saddens me. One of the shocks of the evening was that Paige Davis, hostess of the Popular "Trading Spaces" TV show turned up. That I didn't at all expect! I saw her from across the room and shortly thereafter I found myself wrapped in a bear hug by this tall woman in a red dress! Still as sweet as she was when I knew her as Mindy Davis, it was an utter treat to see her... and Amy, and Anna, and Emma, and Siobhan, and Shoshanna, and Susan, and Kelly, and Karen, and and and.....

Got lots of e-mail addresses and promised to keep in touch. Wrote simply scads of letters. Sadly, only Susan and Paige wrote back. I like to think (as I felt even then) that these people are friends, and I forget that to them, I am faculty. While there is a shared bond... by and large their world, their experiences, their memories are very different from mine. The have more in common with one another than with me. It was so 20 years back... and it seems it still is. Sad, really.

Ah well... you can't make people feel what they don't feel..... and it was still a grand and wonderful evening. Bless 'em all!

 
Next week I turn 50.

40 did not bother ms - and to some extent, neither does this. I have the love of a smart, funny, beautiful, loyal woman who is also my best friend. Why should I fear age? But it's just so surreal! 50! People are old at 50. Aren’t they?

I don't feel any different than I did at 15 or 25 or35. What has changed is people’s reactions to me.. especially in the youth-oriented culture in which I work (All quite nice, though I don’t quite "fit in" and we have very little culturally in common).

People seem to feel freer now to judge me by my age - something I’ve not been aware of since I was a teenager and salesclerks would follow me around shops to make sure I didn’t nick anything. Now I am again either accorded a respect or condescension which I have not earned, based upon my chronological age.

All of which is the funnier in that I have never fit neatly into a category in 50 years.

Maybe that’s why I so enjoyed playing with my niece last weekend. At 2 years of age she neither knows or cares how old I am. Shw knows that I’m a pretty good playmate who makes her laugh- and that’s good enough for her. Come to think of it… it’s enough for me as well.

Like I said I have the love of the woman I adore and I can still see with a child’s eyes. So even though the joints ache and the hair has left my head (and begun sprouting in the strangest places… age holds no terrors to me.

 
The pasing of Atticus Finch.

Gregory Peck died today. As an actor, I enjoyed him. As a man, I admired him. But as Atticus Finch... oh my!

Those of you who know To Kill A Mockingbird from having had to study it in high school can;t really grasp the shock of coming across it on your own. To be fair, this is not an age thing. All of the good literature I came to love I found on my own. Occassionally I was later asked to "study" it; which usually meant answering some trite questions framed by my chronological superior and emotional junior... questions that I had parsed and disposed of years earlier.

But with TKAM... it never held an interest for me merely because it had been assigned... this was the real deal.. this story came from and arrived at the heart.

In Atticus Finch, I found my model for the rest of my life. I cannot place too much emphasis on this: to me, Atticus was the model of ALL that a man can and should be -- all that a father MUST be. Action starss and superheroes?? Please!

We as children always understood the difference between fantasy heroes, and the real ones. I had no chance to gain the powers of a "superhero". But I felt I might, if only I tried hard enough, grow up to be Atticus Finch. I didn't... though it didn't stop me trying. And still I try. And I will die trying.

I have not yet been a father... but I carried the image of Mr. Finch with me every day for the 20 years I dealt with young people.

Dignity, respect, principle.

It made me cry 30 years ago and it still does as I type this.. the scene in which the minister, up in the balcony reserved for the "coloreds" says with grave dignity as a defeated Atticus leaves the courtroom: "Miss Jean Louise.. Miss Jean Louise, stand up. You father's passing."

That movie... just overwhelms.

Anyway...All of you.....stand up

Atticus is passing.

 

Well... so much for my determination to keep this currect!
With repsects to my friend Kelly (who chastised me for not providing more currect info) I herewith undertake once again this journal. But oi! There has been so much that has passed in the interim. So...
The condensed guide to the past year:
I am still working, though with the economy, every week seemed to bring new layoffs. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. I've been named to the list of top 10 instructors at New Horizons nationwide three times now. Nothing monitary, mind you.. but you get a nice letter.
My car reached retirement age (after ten years of wonderful service). Jacquelyn's car died (rather spectacularly). We both therefore are now the proud owners of slightly used Nissan Sentras.
		My beloved cousin Marci had her first baby.. Stuart Hall! We're so enthused that we're planning to start work on one of our own. (I'm also working on compiling family history into an online family tree, with whatever pics and info are currently known. Check it out at www.caindyer.com)
We've acquired another resident goddess, in the form of a smokey grey cat named "Simon". She just turned up one day, pre-spayed and no collar.. hungry as hell. So apparently some idiot got her from a shelter and then dumped her. Now she resides here and spends her days sunning herself on the back deck and following me around the yard, "helping".
The great YPAS reunion has done been and gone. More on this tomorrow (or as soon as I can get to it). Check out the excellent web site at www.ypasreunion.com
We bought our first dishwasher (hey! maybe no big deal for you.. but plenty big for us). Cabinets came out, the countertop was removed, the kitchen replumbed and a new tile counter installed. Pictures will be pposted on the DIY link
And now it is spring again at Innisfree. We've been planting.. watching the dead earth come alive again. It's really quite magical to watch the "bare ruined choirs" of the trees leaf out. I'll try to take pictures and post them during the summer. I love growing things. Wish I weren't so bad at it.
	And we finally had a honeymoon (of sorts) Off to a challet in the Smokies for a long weekend. Detail and pics (at least the bits suited to a family audience) to follow.

 

 

 

God bless our Troops and bring them safely home

"But if the cause be not good, the king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make, when all those legs and arms and heads, chopped off in battle, shall join together at the latter day and cry all 'We died at such a place;' some swearing, some crying for a surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind them, some upon the debts they owe, some upon their children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it; whom to disobey were against all proportion of subjection." William Shakespeare Henry V, act iv