I think van Gogh would have understood.
I’ve been opening a large bundle of mail everyday with a zip letter opener that looks like a whale’s head with an angled razor where his throat would be. It was well used but its usefulness had expired. After a few months of struggle it occurred to me to buy a new one. What had previously been a pushing, shoving and ripping contest was transformed to “zip zip”!
Hello! A basic maxim of life is to “keep your saw sharp.”
So my thanksgiving this week is for people who sharpen the cutting edge.
My father — one of his trademarks was sharp kitchen knives. A few months ago I heard the story about the origin of this minor obsession. My dad was in a butcher’s shop in Kalamazoo, Michigan; this butcher’s lightening speed in cutting meat was legend. The reason was simple: he stopped and sharpened his knives often. This inspiration from the late 1950s stayed sharp until his death in 1987. Everywhere he went he sharpened the knives. He was a man with a steel in his hand. I remember the whisk and whirl of the blade, the circular back-and -forth motions that blur together, the high-pitched tsk tsk of blade on steel.
My husband Curt is as obsessed with cutting firewood as my father was with kitchen knives. Beginning in May, he maps out the plan and goes out with our son Chris and brings home the fuel that keeps our homes warm. He is restless until the wood is in. Every evening before a wood cutting trip he spends considerable time sharpening the blades of his saw. Honestly, I don’t know what he does! But he keeps the saws in excellent working order. I would be tempted to do this every other time or every third time, but Curt never skips this important step. Falling trees is serious business and I’m grateful that he treats it with the respect it deserves.
Last weekend we put in a patio. Chris brought his father-in-law’s stone cutter saw and made all the cuts for the pavers on the edge. The ability to cut bricks made a huge difference in the beauty of the finished product. I saw the same dedication to excellence that his father has in our son. He considered, selected, measured and cut all the live day long. And at the end of the day, we had a beautiful cobble-stone-ish patio. Sitting on the patio at the end of the day with my husband softens the sharp edges of the day.
(reissued as Mitchell & Ruff: An American Profile in Jazz
). I’ve been flitting here and there, picking it up and reading wherever the book opens. I’ve never been disappointed. This book is chock full of treasure, with a capital T. 
because William Zinsser, who wrote On Writing Well
, wrote Willie And Dwike. On Writing Well impressed me, but I wanted to read Zinsser’s work and see his style up close. I had never heard of the jazz musicians Willie Ruff and Dwike Mitchell.
This is one of my heroes.
Our son Chris made all the custom cuts.
Preston cheered us on.
Scout, our grandson’s new project.
The end of the day.
Happy, happy.
But sore.
I have more sympathy for the Israelites.
We will be sweeping sand in the cracks for a while.
Last night I futzed in the garden: a little tomato trimming, a little beet thinning, a little raspberry picking. I had intended to begin (again) listening to War and Peace, but both my iPod and MP3 needed charging.
Well, I thought, I guess I’ll just think. I don’t know why, but when I think in the garden I get all philosophical. Not like Kierkegaard or Kant: just some elementary, didactic, flannel-graph object lessons.
Here’s what I thought, just to prove that anyone could write those little Everything I Need to Know books.
What Raspberries Teach Me About Life
1. The best position is to bend down low and look up.
2. Stretching beyond your reach is worth it.
3. Don’t be afraid of of a few scratches.
4. Work is its own reward, but a fresh raspberry popped in the mouth is a bonus.
5. The dried up raspberries represent lost opportunities. Don’t despair. Keep moving. Every life has *bushels* of lost opportunities. Pluck them off and feed them to the dog.
6. One can’t overstate the benefit of looking at a situation from many different angles. Both sides now.
7. Even when you are certain you’ve picked every ripe raspberry –even then– there’s always more jewels waiting to be found.
8. Corollary: another person will be able to see what you can’t.
9. Cultivating raspberries, which are essentially a weed, requires no great skill. God made the plants, sent the sun, gave the rain. The fruit is a gift.
10. Early risers have moral high ground; sunset, however, is a superlative harvest setting.
11. Raspberries mature at different rates from others in the same cluster. When they reach fruition, they are sweet, regardless if they are early or late. Like people.
12. Ripe berries don’t need to be persuaded. The softest touch and they are ready to leave! If the berry resists, wait. A little time, a little sun, a little water, a little patience. The readiness is all.
I liked the album cover
I clicked the 30 second samples; immediately I called my husband to join me. “Listen to this guy– (consulting the screen)…Eric…Bibb.” After listening to a few licks, Curt said, “Get that CD.”
A thought occurs to someone brilliant: why not bring him to the Rim for a concert? Sitting on the edge of Joseph Canyon, The RimRock Inn is what’s called a destination restaurant. Our friends have worked hard to make a meal at the Rim an exquisite occasion.
They seated 80-100 people on the outside deck with Mr. Bibb on a platform five feet away. He introduced each song with a story, some background or introduction. He plays some thumping 12 chord progressions, clap-along, foot-stomping songs. But he truly excels, I think, with love ballads that make you want to hold the hand of the one you love.
The sky was a robin egg blue. The temperature teeter-tottered between perfect sleeveless and grab a sweater. Our friend Darrell Brann opened with a full repertoire of crowd pleasers. The aroma of fresh bread was followed by a salad with crumbles of chevre; prime rib and baked potato entered; dessert was your choice of rhubarb, marionberry, pecan, apple or mud pie.
My mother is a wise woman. I haven’t always taken her advice,
but when she heard this song, she told me that I should include
it in every set I play. And I’ve done that for twenty years.
A Swedish gospel singer asked me to write it; she wanted
to sing a song with a blues feel and she wanted to sing in English.
So here it is: a Swedish-gospel-blues-in-English song.
Isaiah and his folks were at the concert. Isaiah, saved from a deadly brain injury.
Afterwards my good friend leaned against the railing looking out towards the horizon, tears on her face. She said, “I didn’t know any of the people he mentioned in his song One of My Heroes but I know exactly what he means by “dead and gone…still livin’ on.”
Eric Bibb touched us all. He made us smile, clap, sing, sigh. I left thinking of the lyrics of one song he didn’t sing last night:
Last night this line from T.S. Eliot kept running through my head. It’s from the Four Quartets. ‘Garlic and sapphires in the mud…’ I remembered that when you got into this it was almost a spiritual thing with you. You love to eat, you love to write, you love the generosity of cooks and what happens around a table when a great meal is served. Nothing that went on last night had anything to do with that. ~ Reichl’s husband criticizing the critic
The Palm smelled of hope and garlic and grilling meat. p. 108
Ever since I stumbled upon Tender at the Bone: Growing Up at the Table, I have been a Ruth Reichl fan. Her second memoir Comfort Me with Apples
An entertaining bit of Garlic is the story of Ruth’s disguises and the persona she adopts with each wig and outfit. Ruth wears her departed mom’s dress and becomes Miriam; a champagne wig, nails, heels and a sexy suit create Chloe; a carrot red wig, large glasses, lipstick and a vintage silk jacket evoke the cozy and crumpled Brenda; Betty was an old sorry lady in oxfords so bland that she blends in to the crowd. Reichl tells the back story, how it went down, and then we get to read the actual review that was printed in the Times. Most of the food reviewed isn’t food *I’m* used to ordering: foie gras, wild hare stew, steamed skate, raw tuna and caviar, risotto with black truffles. But I am enjoying myself (calorie-free!) through Ruth’s remarkable descriptions. Currently Reichl is my favorite food writer.
When I realized that Mimi Sheraton had previously held the same job and wrote her own memoir, I decided to read the two books back to back.
Where Reichl drew me in, Sheraton pushed me away. It reminded me of the self-absorbed drivel you sometimes endure from a stranger at a party. Example: So whenever I am asked, “How can I become a food critic like you?” I am always tempted to answer, “Live my life.” There were many references that only residents of NYC could catch.
I had a head cold; in the grips of a passive indecisive misery, I kept plodding along. Lo, during the last fifth of the book, I started to perk up. I was compelled to write down a few quotes. Here are a few. Enjoy them, skip this book and read Reichl.
Wrinkled ripeness in fruits, as in people,
seems anathema to many Americans. p. 229
It is better to be good
than to be original.
~ Robert A. M. Stern, architect
Just as some women gather jewels that they contemplate
occasionally to cheer themselves up,
so I can unwrap memories of favorite meals,
a far less fattening pursuit than eating them. p.237
I felt it shelter to speak with you.
~ Emily Dickinson
[The art of conversation] is the Swiss Army knife
of social skills that anyone can learn to use. p.1
Sometimes we need to sustain a conversation with strangers, acquaintances, or friends of friends. When I served on Grand Jury for two months we had hours of in-between time where we had the choice of looking down and doodling or looking up at a fellow juror and launching a conversation.
Shepherd’s book would have been a blessing. Most of it is common sense clearly explained. I tried to read it looking for me and my weaknesses (rambling, interruptions) rather than identify people I know in the author’s descriptions. She introduces some great phrases: conversation kindling, verbal tics, rapport vs. report. Since we all blunder, Shepherd tells us how to recover from them.
~ It is courteous to stand up for an introduction.
~ Order of introductions: first say name of the lady,
the elder, the honored person.
[By mixing these I made the mnemonic acronym HELP. 
]
~ Think of talk as a good game of Frisbee. Toss it to someone else.
1. Tell the truth.
2. Don’t ramble.
3. Don’t interrupt.
4. Ask questions and listen to the answers.
5. Don’t take advantage of people.
6. Don’t dwell on appearances.
7. Don’t touch taboo subjects.
8. Disagree in a civilized fashion.
9. Don’t be a bore.
10. Don’t gossip.
Five Fail-Safe Starters
1. The journey. Are you from here? How did you get here?
2. The recent past. What have you been working on?
3. Situation you share now. How do you know ___?
4. Companions. Do you have family* nearby?
5. Return questions. Ask her what she just asked you.
Funny Quote
I wish you would read a little poetry sometimes.
Your ignorance cramps my conversation.
~ Sir Anthony Hopkins
Whether small talk makes you hum or gives your hives, I recommend this little book. I also recommend Margaret Shepherd’s other book, The Art of the Handwritten Note.
*Shepherd makes a point of using the word family. While people may not have a spouse or children, everyone, presumably, has family.
~ from introduction, The Panama Hat Trail
Tom Miller, author of The Panama Hat Trail
If you enjoy travel books, this book will appeal to you. Through Miller’s eyes you see all strata of Ecuadoran society. If you are interested in Fair Trade issues, I recommend you read this book. Once again I bemoan my meager understanding of economics.
One of the unacknowledged facts in the artesaniá trade
in much of Latin America is that without the admiration
and marketing skills of North Americans and Europeans,
many handicraft skills would be virtually lost to us now.
Indigenous products in Ecuador,
like the people who make them,
have generally been of little interest
to the rest of the country. p.197
“I have never stopped collecting stuff, with a strong preference for what Ludwig Bemelmans once called “beautiful dreck.”” Dreck means trash, inferior goods or excrement.]
Bemelmans wrote The Donkey Inside, a book which poked fun at Ecuador and her customs. Some argue that it was good-natured fun, but many Ecuadorans took offense.
It was the longest, most miserable, horrible day
that I or anyone else ever went through.
~ Pvt. Felix Branham
The sixth of June, 1944, was an exhausting day,
a frightening day, an exhilarating day,
a sorrowful day, and a joyous day.
~ Lt. Charles Ryan, Company A
In addition to the inspiration that comes from reading about courage and bravery, I gleaned several principles from this book:
• The tactical difference between planning (offensive) and preparing (defensive).
• The power of exhortation; the more potent force of example.
• Isolation will cause loss of momentum.
• The failure to advance while they had the advantage was a consistent weakness of the Allied forces.
I can easily apply these lessons to the trivial-by-comparison struggle of losing weight. If my weekly weigh-in shows a loss, I reward myself and act like the soldiers who stopped to brew tea instead of moving forward.
This book is crammed with odd bits of information:
• The Tiger, the biggest and best German tank got 1/2 mile to the gallon!
• General Eisenhower did not give a single command on D-Day.
• The D stands for Day (also H-Hour). There are several D-Days in history.
• “We are asking rather a lot if we expect Russians to fight in France for Germany against the Americans.”
• The New York Daily News printed the Lord’s Prayer in place of lead article.
• My favorite sentence: “To see tanks coming out of the water shook them rigid.”
A Living Pencil 