Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,
her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Robert Frost

Here's the poem of the week. Aaron thinks it is a "beautiful, lyrical poem." It makes me terribly sad. But it was Aaron's week to pick and he seems intent on depressing me. This really was the most up-beat option from him. I admit, it does remind me of one of my favorite poems:

Spring and Fall:

to a Young Child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

The Spectrum

I listen to a variety of music that I believe ranges something like this:

Traditional Spiritual Folk, Folk, Southern Rock, Indie, Pop, Rock

Hmm, I think that's an appropriate arrangement, but I'm open to adjustments. Anyway, I'm equally happy listening to almost any of the above but my preferences vary on on my mood. Lately I've been farther to the left side of my scale which means listening to music that I don't often tell people about.

I've noticed it's a hard sell. It seems like many of my friends hear a twang and immediately say "oh, I don't like country" And while many may not recognize a difference, for me country and folk are DISTANT cousins, maybe sometimes there's a marriage, but most of that died out long ago. They're no longer inbred. The country I hear on the radio is so slick and smooth, it seems a lot closer to pop, pop for truck owning NRA members (and if you like that sort of thing, fine by me).

So I guess this has become my give folk a chance plea. And if this helps you, Folk is like indie, real artist relying on their musical ability as much as marketing to make their way in the world. Here's a band I've recently been enjoying, Crooked Still. Aoife O'Donovan has one of the most gorgeous voices, it's transcendent. If you like Alison Krauss like Aaron, you'll probably like Aoife. You can listen to their myspace page here. Sadly, it doesn't have one of my favorite songs they do, which was written by Gillian Welch another amazing folkists, Orphan Girl. I'll put the lyrics below. I think it's a beautiful prayer.

I am an orphan on God's highway
But I'll share my troubles if you go my way
I have no mother no father
No sister no brother
I am an orphan girl

I have had friendships pure and golden
But the ties of kinship I have not known them
I know no mother no father
No sister no brother
I am an orphan girl

But when He calls me I will be able
To meet my family at God's table
I'll meet my mother my father
My sister my brother
No more orphan girl

Blessed Savior make me willing
And walk beside me until I'm with them
Be my mother my father
My sister my brother
I am an orphan girl

School Shopping

Since school is starting up for a large portion of people that read my blog, I thought I would do my part to try to ease that perilous time I always dreaded. When considering what new clothes to purchase for the new school year, you might like to check out one of my favorite places, www.threadless.com. Independent illustrators and designers make these shirts. Through a democratic process the "best" get printed. You can purchase, peruse or vote on your favorites at the website. Here are a couple designs I've enjoyed lately:

Canoe for Two

So this weekend Aaron and I went to Walnut Creek which is about ten to fifteen minutes South of Charlottesville. We rented a canoe (5 bucks for a very liberal hour) from a couple dazed teenage lifegaurds. It was a good time. We found two beaver dams on the edge of the lake. And we were able to paddle up along side a grazing mother dear and her spotted fawn. We tried to go up a little creek but after a few CLOSE encounts with a couple dozen sticky spider webs and their large fanged occupants, we decided to stick to open water. I didn't bring my camera because I didn't want it to get wet but I believe this picture is close enough to any we would have taken, minus the dog.

After reading The River of Doubt: Theodore Roosevelt's Darkest Journey by Candice Miller (AWESOME READ) and having such a good time Saturday, Aaron and I think it would be fun to take a canoe trip in Maine next summer. Anybody else interested?

Favorite Artist

A lot of times when people find out I studied art in school they like to ask me who my favorite artists is. I find it to be an agonizingly difficult question. There are simply too many artist that are for me worthwhile in their own way. But that's a lame answer, especially for someone who was simply expecting to hear, Monet or Michelangelo. So my answer is that I love the Northern Renaissance. Hans Memling, Hans Holbein, Jan Van Eyck, Albretch Durer... the list goes on.

I love their neurotic attention to nature, their utter devotion to the appearance of reality. The depiction of which they breed with the most abstract concepts. It's fascinating and lovely and bizarre at once. They are the short stories of painting, often small, compact and with every element absolutely purposeful and pregnant with meaning. But the pictures are worth a thousand words and long blogs are boring, so here for your viewing pleasure is a tiny tip of the iceburg

3 Years

Can you believe it? It's our 3 year anniversary! I can't believe we've only been married for three years because I can't imagine my life now without Aaron. We're still married and still in love! Even after law school.

Poem of the Week

Aaron and I are trying to memorize a poem each week. Here's the first one we are working on. I've got the first four lines down and will have at least the next four by the time the night is over. Memorizing is really nice because it gives me something lovely going round my head instead of those tired eighties pop songs or whatever other clutter shifts around up there.

I wanted to start with this poem for that very reason. I have noticed that my mind easily calls up catchy advertising jingles or lyrics to bad love songs with chilling accuracy at the slightest whim. For instance, if you say "goldfish" I will happily sing the goldfish cracker theme song for the next three days. But the more profound and beautiful thoughts can be left a little lonely.

The World is too Much with Us; Late and Soon

THE world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

William Wordsworth, 1806.

Between a Storm and a Heat Wave

Yeah, that's me outside the window.

I've been feeling a little under the weather this week. I think dehydration is largely responsible. Here in Charlottesvile, like most of the Eastern sea-board, we are riding out one mighty heat wave. Yesterday when I left my office to go home weather.com told me it was 100 degrees. It felt like it. Arriving home, I stepped off my bike drenched with sweat and my muscles shaking. I couldn't wait for the heat to break.

Well, It finally did this afternoon and I found myself pedaling through another thunderstorm. There was lightning and rumbling thunder, persistent gusts of wind, the steady down pour of rain and a few hail stones thrown in for good measure. Once again I reached my apartment drenched (this time with rain water) and shaking.

I still love, love, love riding my bike to work, but I wonder, which is more dangerous? Soul sucking heat or the drowning deluge?

Bishop Allen

So here's another new music find: Bishop Allen. I'm completely and totally in love with their song Monitor. It narrates the battle between the Union and Confederacy Ironclads the Monitor and Merrimac. Don't worry, it's not a sea shanty. It's dreamy in a Little Nemo way, so Beautiful and haunting. Aaron's response: "That's a great song. It's about time that the world produced some decent Civil War nerd rock." Nerd rock? What?

Click, Click, Click, Click is great too. It reflects my experience of visiting family: NEVER ENDING picture taking but it's still a good time. Interestingly enough it mention's Marie's wedding. Eery.

Anyway, I like their whole album The Broken String.

You can catch a listen here.

Was It A Dream?

This weekend Aaron and I decided to go for a hike but we weren't sure just where to go. Aaron mentioned that he had wanted to hike Old Rag for a while and that settled it. We drove about an hour out from Charlottesville to the trail in the Shenandoah wilderness.

Leaving the parking lot we encountered a ranger. He warned us that it was a very hot day (it was in the ninties) and he was leaving to bring a heat stroke victim off the mountain. He told us to be careful because the seasoned rescue team was occupied. If we got into trouble there would be no help for us. Now I have Never considered trying to contact a ranger while on a hike but knowing there was no help got me a little nervous. We continued on valiantly and it was well worth the effort. Old Rag is a wonderful time. There trail cuts back through some beautiful woodland and the top of the mountain is a whole different level. You get to scramble over under and through packs of mammoth boulders. The view is spectacular in every direction. We tried to take a lot of pictures but we really aren't picture people. Still I think you can get a small taste of how amazing it is up there.









The way back we made a few classic mistakes. We ran out of water. Aaron jumped off a boulder and was impaled by an angry tree branch. He bled for a while and was left with a wound reminescent of a lobotomy incision. We had an encounter with a rattle snake which was less exciting than it sounds. I almost jumped off a rock and on to him but luckily Aaron looked before I leaped. Once noticed, we were happy to give the snake his own space and he was happy to stay curled between two boulders.





We continued down the mountain fighting heat exhaustion by sucking on the apples we had left. Just as we thought our adventures were over Aaron stopped me and pointed into the woods. Not twenty feet away, to our direct right was a black bear cub. A cute fuzzy American black bear cub looking nervously in our direction. For a split second I thought, how cute, I should take a picture. That fraction of thought quickly evaporated as I remembered that bear cubs are Never alone and NOTHING is as dangerous as a worried mama bear. Sure enough, a split second later, from our direct left came a crashing. Aaron was on the left and said, Katy Run. I ran. I didn't see her but Aaron says Mama bear came galloping at us and stopped abruptly. We didn't stick around to see what she did next. It was amazing! The baby bear looked a lot like this except it was looking straight at us.



The next day at church I saw Amy and Steve and immediatly began to try to explain what happened. I told Amy - We went hiking, it was amazing, boulders, hawks, rattle snake, A bear, An angry bear, and it was hot and we ran and it was incredible!! Amy asked, Was this a dream you had? Not to get too cheesy, but it was, a dream come true. I can't wait to hike it again.

The Media

What does Battle like to do in the evening? Here's a picture. He LOVES watching television. We've noticed he really enjoys violence, paticularly when large cats are killing other animals. He was riveted by my Wild America DVD on bobcats. I guess it gives him a role model or maybe it's the chance to see the life he wishes he had. I'm worried all the television has gone to his head and that's why he has an uncurbable violent streak.

After the Party

Thanks for the generosity of my relatives, I found myself with a spot of birthday money. Before financial obligations could snatch it all away, I decided to purchase a birthday present for myself. It actually became presents, plural. Aaron and I selected a few of the hardiest looking plants and pottted them last weekend. It will be interesting to see how long they can manage to survive. My nurturing efforts usually turn out to be detremental.
The second part of my present was a lovely croquet set which is jolly good fun. Amy, Steve and Eliza have been good sports. They played with me Thursday evening on a craggy hill and this evening in pouring rain. Steve handily won every game we played. He's a vicious croquet player. Actually he's really nonchalant and gentelmanly which makes it that much more infuriating to be decimated by him. Amy's really good too. She has also finished ahead of me each time WHILE wearing Eliza in the baby back pack. This is even more impressive since the baby back pack leaves her with only one free hand and a compromised view of the ball. I hate losing so I've become a bit obsessed. All alone in my apartment I've set up courses through the furniture in an attempt to improve my aim. It's a bit sad but oh so satisfying at the same time. Those Victorians sure knew how to have a good time.

The Interpreter of Maladies

It's short. A mere 208 pages of short stories. Each one is beautiful, poignant, revealing, worth reading a thousand times. I love The Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. I think I've owned five copies by now, but I can't help giving it away. If in the last days of your summer you find yourself with some reading time, pick it up and let me know what you think.
To whet your appetite you can listen to an abridged version of one of the stories, This Blessed House. It describes a young, newly married couple trying to reconcile their unexpected differences in an old house full of surprises. You can listen to it in Act 2, which starts in the 23rd minute, here.