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Wednesday, April 11th, 2012
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2:27 pm - A muse called Gallimaufry: Part 2
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As I stated in Part 1, I have given some examples of religious imagery, but have not explained it, and I have given examples of veiled sexual imagery, though I have yet to discuss it. This I intend to do here. I should clarify now that the psychological elements of my work and the reasons I express things the way I do are my own, and do not belong to every poet or writer. Much of what I write is instinctive, and can only be parsed into these boxes on reflection. There is a definite order to this process of writing and analyzing.
I touched briefly on religious imagery in "Her Sleeping Eggshells," but, as the other religious imagery, it was identified, but not discussed at length. Religion in poetry and religious imagery signifies many ideas. I will attempt to sort them out and give an explanation.
Religious imagery is identified in my poetry tends to be identified in various ways and to explain various things: as a possibility for a seeker (wanting to be part of it, or being on a journey to find 'the answers.') It is also identified as a more certain instrument to gain the answers, as well as the answer in and of itself. Religious terms which are more church-centered usually depict it as a community, which is either monolithic or dividing at a rate too high to tally, and in nearly all my poetry this body has the power to decree social law, and may accept or reject you at its will. The church (or churches) are usually depicted in two opposing ways- as bodies of healing or bodies of harm. Anyone in churches long enough will likely experience them as both, but the church in my poetry tends to be more metaphorical than literal, and provides a good deal of euphony. Finally, the use of religious imagery depicts things (esp. traits or activities) that are unexplainable and innate, but inviolable or venerated nonetheless. In the end, I tend to relate religious imagery in active terms. It's rarely sedentary, but that is very much a personal interpretation.
Because so many possibilities are present in this form of imagery, one has to rely on the other content of the poem to declare the meaning.
The clearest example that I used in part 1 was from 'her sleeping eggshells,' in the 3rd set verse:
"Eggshells were a safer tomb
Sleeping was a safer womb
Still I heard the Church's bells
Inside those sleeping Eggshells"
Here, it is not raw faith or religion that is expressed, but an innate desire to connect to a community (people that will surround and support you) as well as a desire for answers, in spite of the fact that death is inborn from the fetal vessel, as the eggshell is depicted as a 'tomb.'
Another religious image (veiled in military terms) that I had mentioned was from "Impromptu," which depicts the image of dropping to my knees and crawling to my father (which includes the sense of danger if done incorrectly.) Here, the religious imagery again expresses something very innate, which is the need for Love and Safety from this father figure, but is so heavily veiled because the caution surrounding the relationship will not allow me to become completely vulnerable.
In poems that are not written for family or lovers, but are love poems nonetheless, religious imagery tends to have a different meaning, as in boots
"Sometimes I think of your feet
When I'm breathing
I would wash them if you'd let me
But you won't"
The imagery of washing one's feet takes us back to the Upper Room in scripture, where Jesus washes the feet of his disciples as a final instruction in an intimate setting, which was unexpected and initially difficult to explain. This expresses an unexplainable, yet inviolable nature to the relationship.
In poems about romantic love lost, frequently a confessional element is present, depicting remorse, as in "Formation," where a line addressed to a clerical figure is used:
"Forgive me, Mother, for I have sinned."
Other religious imagery in poems about love lost depict a revered Goddess who judges her servants, resulting in a loss of faith. The metaphor is not at all hard to decipher.
It is about a sacrosanct relationship that was characterized by service and then an unexplained departure, and closes with the phrase:
"Love's empowered, dethroned Goddess
Mortal men strove to appease
Goddess veiled, the weak authentic
Mortal men strive to believe."
In other poems, such as the newer one, which I have titled "Threshold," Churches are depicted much more literally, with the faithful dividing early on in the poem, and then appraising the merits of peace v. combat. The tension here is evident due to denominational differences on the matter (ie: anabaptists pursuing peace as a priority, or lutherans and anglicans declaring a duty to serve your country in 'secular' matters, such as combat.) In both perspectives, there seems to be a latent instinct which surfaces, pulling it's adherents to the other side, with those who feel that patriotic duty is inherent in their faith wanting to avoid combat for the sake of peace, and those who feel that peace is elemental in their faith wanting to defend themselves and their loved ones. Much more is captured within the tone of the poem, which does not make full sense when parsed, but is a first person piece, about a man facing his opponent in combat, and closes with this stanza:
"Our Acts of Worship continue to be explained
through Types and Shadows
And when they finally take form and breath
I will not be strong, only sufficient
Dancing forms appraised by Churches and Lovers
Both pornographic and Sacramental"
The religious and violent are clear in this piece (which I would consider not a 'love' poem, but a passion poem, in that it is not person-specific) and the sexual is very prevalent, which I will touch on, but first I want to insert a note: To clarify my use of the term "pornographic," (because it has been called into question): Pornographic is used to describe something seen that stimulates excitement through some vulgar means. Sacramental is used to describe something that brings peace through pure means. These are simplified versions of both terms, but I feel that describing combat as pornographic and sacramental is appropriate. END NOTE. In this piece, as in others, the sexual imagery - while explicitly stated, is not used to refer explicitly to the truly sexual. In this way, it breaks form with earlier works, where crass language tends to denote literal sexual activity (as in the f-bombs with "Impromptu" or "Contact" [a slam piece,]) and with works that use euphonic language to describe the act of lovemaking. In this piece, the use of crass language is the metaphor, explained through explicit terms and using euphonic metaphor only to wrap up the stanza, with the term 'romance' indicating adrenaline having been ignited
"There's a romance in fighting and sex in the sweat
You are close enough to grip me
Guarded enough to disarm me
And distant enough to tighten the knots
On my end of the rigging"
The nautical phrasing at the end of the stanza identifies the man and his opponent as a singular instrument when they are in the act of combat. This is a helper metaphor to the identification of fighting as sexual. The sex act requires two people who become a singular instrument of the deed, and likewise, a ship requires a number of things to complete the rigging. Rigging up is identified metaphorically as a goal that the man and his opponent are reaching together, even though they are opposing combatants. Thus, the act of combat is described in sexual and spiritual terms, with a brief touch into military metaphor, which is very much at home in this piece. In Love poems which are the genre standard, the sex act is usually depicted by non-sexual imagery, such as in "Formation" which describes the beloved as a "Hurricane" and states
"I've felt your shuddering Volcano
Bearing warning of eruption and begging for release," and later on, states,
"I am neither the gardner, nor the earth being worked in."
This natural imagery, which is in a piece that is also heavy on religious imagery, indicates deeds and attitudes that are innate, and declares the sacred feel of the relationship, even when having ended.
This analysis catches up on the reasons behind the dominant metaphors found in my pieces on Love and Passion. I recommend seeing the poems in their entirety (hit me up) if the analysis takes a little fizz out of the poetry. This is my first written analysis of my own work. I will give it a little time and decide if I want to expand my written analysis to other elements of my writing.
-Claven
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| Tuesday, April 10th, 2012
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4:13 pm - A muse called Gallimaufry- Analysis Part 1
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So-
Recently I turned out something new, and frankly, I've done a lot more reflection on this work than I have on my others. For anyone reading, the following is mostly going to be poetic analysis, and will probably not be all that entertaining, so consider yourself forewarned that this will not be really emotive or stimulating.
I nearly always write in the present tense. Whether something has happened long ago or is just beginning, I write about it as if it is happening. The exceptions to this are poems about Love Lost, but only some of the poems follow that pattern. For example, "Duration" follows the pattern, in that the opening line is "I loved a Lady Buddha," but "Mourning Easter" breaks the pattern by speaking in present tense from start to finish, beginning with "Love- from weakness forms a Goddess," and closing with "Mortal men strive to believe."
I tend to follow two extremes about things, and these have been mentioned before. I tend to write about things as they are beginning, or if they happened long ago. I do not tend, as a general rule, to write about things that are ongoing. Because of this, I tend to think much of my work is driven by hope or nostalgia. Much of my work also seems to be driven by defiance. I have written precious little as of late. I think much of that is to a faded sense of defiance, and a faded sense of nostalgia. I would like to think that I am not experiencing a faded sense of hope, but I find that hard to judge objectively. There is another category of work, which is something that I know will be short-lived, and is written as an emotional snapshot.
A common theme in my work is Love, but this is expressed in a variety of categories. Of course, there are the standard "Love Poems" most of which are a little bit sappy unless one is experiencing a state of limerence; there are also poems such as "Impromptu," which is for my father, and expresses primarily a need to reach out and relate, and "Her Sleeping Eggshells," which was written for my mother, and expresses the failing of attempting to raise children without being able to express emotion. Both would be considered 'love poems,' I think, if they were analyzed, but they do break form, as well as one written for my younger brother called "Roadblock," and one for my oldest brother, entitled "Apocalypse." They do not need to be quoted beyond their titles to sense that while my parents are still together, other family stability issues have certainly been at issue in my life.
2 love poems have been written outside of the context of Lovers and family, and were written for the same person. The poems are "Boots" and "Barefoot."
There are however, common themes that run through my love poetry (including, but not restricted to, the pieces named here) and those themes are religious imagery (heavily veiled in 'Impromptu' and 'Roadblock') and some form of violent or creepy imagery, stated sometimes in crass terms and sometimes in more military terms or some other more 'sanctioned' form. These violent and/or creepy images are only occasionally present in poems stemming from romantic love, and are nearly entirely restricted to those in the 'Love Lost' category. I group violent and creepy together, though few, if any poems are suspenseful enough to be labeled both creepy and violent. What, exactly, is creepiness in a poem about love lost?
I think it's best explained by a clip from 'Duration,' which falls into the 'love lost' category.
'We traveled together, once, to her childhood home
And passed an old, uninhabited town
Flooded over, and named a lake
Nothing of the town remained in sight except many dead trees
Their long, skeletal fingers reaching up out of the depths
Beckoning from the water in a collective agony.'
Thus, many of my 'love lost' poems contain imagery which foreshadow death from within the relationship, and consequently come off as creepy. Love poems about difficult relationships, such as the ones written for family members, tend to have more violent imagery in them. I do not have violent relationships within my family, but there is an amount of struggle and frustration in these relationships, which is identified in imagery that is violent or creepy. Examples of violent imagery within family poetry would be found in Impromptu, but is formatted in a very military way, in very military terms, as evidenced in the verse
"Our coat of arms trained us to be efficient
Not to bond, or fuck, or bleed, or weep
And to hop if we need to drop to our knees and crawl
But not to drop to our knees and crawl"
The military imagery is very much a ruse, however, veiling the religious imagery of dropping to one's knees, as it is stated in terms of the martial mandate to hop before dropping to one's knees to break the momentum of a run. This religious imagery is heavily obscured in the earlier stanza about efficiency, but becomes somewhat more instinctive to the reader in the ending stanza of the poem, which expresses most succinctly the need to reach out and relate, though feedback has also indicated it has a sexual tone, which I can identify, but which I do not feel is instinctively sexual when I read it in context, and is not intended in that way.
"Love is a full-contact sport
And I've been trained to be efficient
So forgive me if before I drop to my knees
To crawl to you
I hop-
In proper military fashion"
The element in the closing stanza which has been suggested to seem sexual is the mention of efficiency in a full-contact sport. This is clearly a layman's perspective, as anyone with an athletic background knows full-contact sports to be either team sports or combat sports, and two people facing each other on opposing sides is clearly the latter.
While this is not direct in the poem, anyone with military experience will gather another dimension of suspense from the piece, because if one fails to hop when coming at tripwire from a run, or is crawling under something dangerous (be it barbs or razor or live rounds,) screwing up the approach will be lethal, and there is the atmosphere of danger and adrenaline that will be sensed.
"Her Sleeping Eggshells" is a unique early work, because while it was written in 1996, before I had really developed a personal voice, it contains creepy imagery, religious imagery, and sexual imagery. The creepy imagery would be found throughout, at it's most edgy in the bridge from the 2 set verse to the 3rd, which reads
"Mother's dissasembly
Robot arms of tenderness."
The religious imagery is brief, mentioned only in the 3rd set verse, which combines the atmosphere of death with religious imagery, reading
"Eggshells were a safer tomb
Sleeping was a safer womb
Still I heard the church's bells
Inside those sleeping eggshells"
The sexual imagery is not stated in crass terms, but is only an allusion to activity in the singular line before the final set verse:
"Baby Phoenix' safer womb in leather seats is found."
In this poem, the set verse is all in the past tense, and the bridges (or free verse forms) are all present tense. The poem wraps up with an atmosphere of suspense, in the final set verse, giving the reader a clear sense that though the past tense is used, the relationship still has an ongoing effect on the writer, even if the relationship itself is not ongoing.
"And I lov'd her when dusk drew near
And lov'd her more when spurred by fear
And always walked, as she will tell
Upon her sleeping eggshells."
Here I have explained poetic tense and my poetic tendencies when writing about Love (which I will broaden to include passions that are not person-specific.) I have also explained what I mean by 'creepy' and 'violent' and given examples of why and how those are used in poems regarding love lost and in poems written in dedication to family (even if never seen by those who inspired it.) I have given some examples of religious imagery, but have yet to explain it, and I have given examples of veiled sexual imagery, though I have yet to give an example of crass sexual imagery, or to explain what is intended by the image or the phrase. These I will do at a later date, when I have more time. Consider this Analysis: Part 1
-Claven
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| Thursday, March 29th, 2012
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10:37 am - Going through old poetry
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I was just reviewing a bunch of old stuff and came across things I wrote in 92/93.
20 years ago. Seriously, I want to run and hide in shame.
I was such a neurotic and angsty teenager.
-Claven
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| Wednesday, March 14th, 2012
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11:20 am - a more natural striker
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Apparently, it's national Pi Day. 3/14. I don't know when this happened, or even if it's official. It's not on the calendar, so I think it's just one of those days for aficionados. Much like 4/20. Definitely observed, according to the booking recap, but certainly not universally so, and only by a select group. Pi day? Well, I guess it's invented by nerds. According to my IQ test, I should be one (it says I'm supposed to be really good at math,) but I'm not. I struggle with grade school math problems. As for Pi- I know what everyone knows- 3.14, and I think I recall the third digit being 7, but I've never found any use for needing to have a more precise figure (other than math class) and I've blocked most of it out as too traumatic for memory. Realistically, I'm fairly certain that I have an undiagnosed learning disability that never got tended to. In other news...
I'm taking up the quarterstaff. Flourishing not only looks cool, but apparently is a very practical exercise for positional reflex. I've learned the 6 basic animal positions, and am continuing to work on the basic strike target sequence. Things tend to go more fluidly when Emily's striking and I'm blocking. She's a more natural striker, I'm a more natural blocker.
I'm also making friends with a guy who it turns out actually has some staff fighting experience (in the context of lessons. To my understanding, he didn't live somewhere that this was a common form of attack/defense or anything) and he's indicated that he's willing to share what he knows on the matter. I may look into ordering some pads. I could see it turning into quite the bloodsport without them. An in still other news...
2 summers ago, I went pretty much everywhere on my bike. 1 summer ago, I rode my bike, but for transportation purposes, I drove. This summer... I intend to use my bike more than I did last summer. There are places I am not in any position to bike to. The farm- church- Anywhere west of Kasold (on the South End) is pretty much out of my personal biking range. That's where it all gets crazy hilly and picturesque. A lovely aesthetic, but not great for biking unless you're a much more die-hard enthusiast than I am. I'm not so much about wrestling with my body. I'm more about managing it.
Dogs with hip dysplasia have to keep running around lest their joints/legs atrophy and they can't anymore. Good dog owners know this and keep their special needs dogs running.
My mind is the good dog owner. My body is the dog. Sometimes the good dog owner wins out. Sometimes the dog. It's a pretty even alternating. And regarding dog ownership...
I'm considering how to balance all of this. 2 Summers ago, when Emmy and Kylie were at NK9 and I rode my bike everywhere, Teddy got 2 walks a day. One in the morning, between 8 and 9, and another in the evening- somewhere between 8 and 10. We'd trot around the neighborhood and see what there was to see. We had a yard, but it was just for a little mid-day break, and he'd sometimes pee in it, but mostly he just wandered out, looked around, and came back in. I rode my bike pretty much everywhere. When Emmy and Kylie came back, I wanted to hang out with them, and Emmy has a very different internal clock than I do. Left to her own devices, she's nocturnal. And so for a fair while after she got back, I would be up in the morning with Ted, and she and Kylie would sleep in, until I adapted to her clock. Now she's on a variable 9-5, and I struggle with getting to sleep, and getting up, but I don't think it would be hard to train myself to get up around 7 and walk the dogs before breakfast. Of course, it would mean going to bed much earlier than I do now, but the dogs would get 2 good walks a day instead of one guilt-walk. Which is equivalent to one good walk, but I feel guilty about not walking them more when I do it, which the morning walk would eliminate. I've contemplated this before. Maybe publicizing the contemplation will help. Encourage me.
And in still other news-
Just considered taking Pepto-Bismol for a stomach problem, and discovered it has salycilic acid in it. The same stuff that's in compound w and clearasil. I decided against it.
Hopefully my stomach will settle itself. That's all, folks.
-Claven
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| Monday, March 5th, 2012
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11:15 am - Binge and Purge
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This past November, I officiated at the wedding of two of my friends (Gabi and Daniel.) I just mentioned a bit about cooking with Cast Iron, and having gotten a couple of pans. Well, this morning, the mother of the Bride came by with 3 more. One is the same size as the Wagner (#3) with a surface that was less seasoned, so you could still see the spiral pattern in the face. This was purely visual. When I felt it, it seemed smooth as glass. The other is a #10. Slightly larger than the Griswold, and again, smooth-surfaced. The last didn't have a number on it. It was a novelty pan. Definitely not as smooth as glass, but probably good for it's own purposes. It was sectioned out into 'pie slices,' and looked like it might have been used for cornbread at some point. I boiled some vinegar solution in them to clean them out, and they are seasoning now.
Saturday was a bit of a mess at the antique mall. Emily felt a little resistance to my picking up more cast iron, but she wasn't without reason. As I've mentioned, one pan was a wedding gift, and the other a Christmas gift. Emily attaches some significance to gifts that I don't tend to.
For her, gifts seem to carry the significance that I think they are intended to carry when people give them. They remind her of a particular event (such as our wedding or Christmas) and serve as a token that someone cared for her enough to get it. If it has practical value (such as serving as cookware) all the better.
I think I take more of a 'fruitcake' approach to gifts. Someone gives me a gift, and I appreciate it. I love the fact that they thought of me. But I may pass it on if I find something else with more practical value for me, and perhaps had potential that I was simply unable to unlock. What you gave me was a piece of the journey, and now it's a piece of someone else's journey (the fruitcake theory is that there is only one fruitcake, and it just keeps getting passed around because no one wants to eat it. [as a sub-note, I actually like fruitcake.])
I do not think either take on the giving and receiving of gifts is neurotic. But I do have a neurosis that tends to validate Emily's concern.
Aside of the fact that she doesn't like to pass on things that were given as gifts, I have kind of a problem. I don't like to get rid of cookware. I don't know if it's symbolic or not. Yes, I have prepared food with something, thus it has practical value. It also seems that if I have cooked for my family with it, there is some psychological attachment as well. 'I need this to provide substance for my family. Without it, those in my care will go hungry.'
On a conscious level, I understand that one pan is enough to cook in. If I have one pot, and one pan, I have enough to cook in. Theoretically. When I really get to cooking, the reality is that all burners are occupied with something or another, and if I have cooked in something, that proves that it does have a practical use. But still- if I have two pots and two pans, that is enough on a practical level. Because my stove cannot accomodate more than that.
My problem doesn't seem to be that I have more than I need. My real problem is that I need different things for different dishes. That is the excuse. However, if Emily does not want to pass gifts on, and I have a tool that seems more practically useful than the tool I am substituting it for, that means we have kitchen clutter (ie: 7 pieces of cast iron cookware when we started with only 2.)
The author of the Secret would have a hayday with this. The basic premise of the Secret is that if all the starving people in 3rd world countries would just meditate on food and have a more positive attitude, they wouldn't be starving anymore. And that because I've been having sort of 'a meditation' on cast iron, it has presented itself to me. Realistically, two days ago I didn't have cast iron that I could use with any versatility. Now I'm sort of bingeing.
But Emily and I have been talking about purging things lately, and I'm not sure what exactly I will get rid of in the kitchen. One definite thing is a little single-serving combine. A thing that we at first thought was an apple-corer, but on closer inspection seems to be a tool that you run down a corn cob and it knocks off the kernels. I would be surprised if we ever came to use it. It's a definite thing to get rid of.
And there is a broken wooden spoon (that I still use, but need to get rid of, as I have wooden spoons that are not broken.) A pillet (cross between pan and skillet) that I need to pass on, because we already have one. A meatloaf pan that came as a 2-for-1 with a meatloaf pan that I ordered because I wanted the miracle knife that came with it (I had actually looked for this knife in stores and could not find it.) And, as much as it pains me- I think it may be time to get rid of the boxes things came in. I tend to hang on to them for two reasons. One- I may need to return the item, which tends to be allowable after 30 days only if you have the boxes things came in. Most of my items are well beyond returning, and many are beyond the warranty, so the box is a moot point, and only remains for one other reason. Portability. If you have to move- or take the deep fryer to the farm to make cannoli shells- having the box it came in makes it much easier to move. Regarding the deep fryer, we rarely use it, and it lives in it's box, because when it tried living outside the box it became sticky on top. That wouldn't do. But we have boxes of dishes, and a box from the coffee pot. Now the coffee pot box I kept purposefully, because I thought I may have to return it due to the fact that I got a defective pot of the same model that I had to return. This pot has not proven to be defective. The box? It needs to go. And then there's another item that needs to go to make the purge a reality. The recycling. The recycling is not being kept for any particular purpose. It's just taking up space and making us look like hoarders. Let's do some inventory.
Pots: 1 tiny pot. Convenient for ramen noodles and a side dish of vegetables.
Saucepans: 3 medium saucepans. 1 is specialized with a colander-style lid, and was a gift, but does not get much use now that we have a colander. One of the other two gets used until I need two double boilers at once, in which case both get used. I have only once in my cooking career needed two double boilers at once, and I do not anticipate making that dish again anytime soon.
Cast Iron: 3 large skillets, 3 egg skillets, and a novelty pan. I understand this surpasses my need, and will talk to Emily and discuss rehoming that which we will not use (though at current, 5 of the seven pans are gifts.)
Hot water makers: 3. This includes the coffee-pot, the tea kettle, and a little boiler-pot, which I need to get rid of. It was not a gift, and would be good in a dorm room. The tea kettle cannot make coffee, which makes the coffee pot necessary. It (the kettle) was also a gift. And is, in actuality, quite nice. It whistles, which the other two do not do.
Large Soup pots: 2. One is a 4 1/2 quart, one is a stockpot. To get real, it has been years since I cooked for an army, but somehow I can't let go of the need to be prepared for this large-scale cooking project as an eventuality.
Cookie sheets: 2 that I use. Many I need to pass on.
Foil brownie pans: numerous. I should just recycle them, but it's one thing when your recycling makes you look like hoarders and you're not. It's another thing to have it prove the point.
Foil Pie Pans: See above.
Glasses. If it were up to me, I would recycle all the store-bought glasses and just use recycled jars. They have sturdier bottoms and are less prone to spill. But the glasses were gifts, so I may have to recycle the jars instead.
These are the problem areas off the top of my head. Except basic utensils, which I'm sure will shrink greatly when I go through them- right? We also have two sets of measuring cups and spoons. One metal, and one plastic. But when I get to cooking and baking, I tend to go through both sets rapidly. Is this Okay?
The reality of this situation is that I clearly just need to get rid of some stuff. It would quickly solve the space problem in my kitchen. My excuse today is two-fold. I am spending the day recovering from a cold that won't quit. And I also don't have the car, thus, I cannot go to the recycling center, or Penn House, or to people who might want some of this quality cookware that is properly labeled as excess.
Excuses established. I must be reminded tomorrow.
-Claven
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| Sunday, March 4th, 2012
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5:30 pm - contemplated the dutch oven
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I have had a little bit of an affinity for cast iron as long as I can remember. I associate this with my mother. When I look back on my childhood, it seems that she cooked with Cast Iron pans, though when I think really hard, what I can remember for certain is a set of Wagner Ware hanging on the wall. I know we had a conversation about the pans once, when I was very young. When we still lived on Westland Road- though realistically, I was in Lawrence for a few years before they moved out. What we said I can't remember. When I say 'very young,' I mean I was in primary school. But I know we talked about the pans. I think she'd inherited them.
She had a dutch oven that she used to make round up in. I don't think the dutch oven was cast iron. I believe there is a generation of people that don't realize that eventually dutch ovens were made in some other material, but eventually it came to be realized that dutch ovens are useful, and cast iron is heavy. Women (and people in general) are a fair bit softer in body and harder in manner than we (as people) used to be.
Emily and I have had two cast iron pots for awhile now. They don't have numbers engraved on them anymore, so they may be an off-size. Maybe they're all standardized sizes now. I don't know. But we got a big skillet for our wedding (lodge logic) in '09, and then an egg-size skillet in '11 for Christmas (World Market.) We had registered for the skillet we got at our wedding, and the egg size pan was on my Christmas list, but I never managed to cook much with them. There are a few things that worked. Curry, rice-a-roni type things, Sauces. And bacon. In other words, things that were heart-stoppingly greasy (like bacon) or things that had significant liquid content and got wiped out in the clean up. Looking at the reality of my daily life, I don't make eggs a lot, though I used to. I also used to make pancakes a lot. That probably would have become more habitual if the pan we had gotten for our wedding would have released them. As it sat, I tried to make pancakes in it once. To say the least, it didn't work.
I got kind of disheartened for awhile. I'd heard so much great stuff about cast iron. How it evenly distributes heat, how stuff slides off it like glass. I'd also heard rumors that limited amounts of iron get in the food, and that anemic people have been counseled to cook with cast iron. I don't know if I actually believe that any significant amount of the pan actually gets in the food, but it seemed that it couldn't hurt. Beyond that, I have kind of an emotional attachment to cookware that is old-fashioned and outlasts people. Iron and steel seems much closer to the heart than teflon and plastic. However, I was reaping none of these benefits. Most of my stuff came out unevenly cooked and half stuck on a pan that I wasn't supposed to use soap in. And instead of feeling close to my pans, I was sad that they didn't work. Was it the pans? Was it me? I did some research, and there's a little from column A and a little from Column B.
Some things they don't make like they used to. It turns out cast iron is one of these things. They used to machine down the face of the pan so that it was smooth "like glass." Of course, the pan still required seasoning and use to work properly, but learning that assuaged much of my frustration right away. It wasn't just me. They don't make cast iron pans that are smooth-faced anymore. I read a lot of things from people who had tried to sand their newer pans, and they'd all failed miserably. The only success story was from a guy who took his pan to an autobody shop and had them sand it down for him there. I don't know anyone from an autobody shop, but I remembered a sort of local blacksmith that I'd had a conversation with, and thought he might be able to help me.
But I had some problems myself. I'd been cooking on teflon most of my life. I'm not really sure when the teflon revolution came about, but it was well after I started cooking for myself (which was youngish by today's standards.) A person cooking on teflon can use an entirely different standard of practice than cooking on cast iron. Little time-saving 'tricks' you can use with teflon don't apply to cast iron. Teflon is handy, but I think it came to be because our generation is softer in body and harder in manner than the one before us. We will use microwaves, and boxed foods. If for some reason it is important to cook a meal ourselves, we will use teflon. I have a bit of discomfort with this, and I'm not %100 sure that teflon is not toxic, though I have done much cooking in teflon pans.
All that aside, you can't put stuff in an unheated, or partially heated cast iron pan and count on the cooking of said item to release it. This is true of teflon. When something is hot enough to flip, you can sort of flip it back and forth to evenly cook the sides. I have to say that I can flip nothing in my cast iron pans. I mean, I can with the steel turners, but not without some kind of tool. Cast iron must be entirely preheated. Hot enough to cook the item you want to cook when the item is placed in the pan. I tend to rush things, so this annoyed me, but maybe cast iron pans can teach me patience. I had also seasoned them improperly. I had seasoned them on the stovetop, and it turns out that cast iron must be lightly greased all over, and then stuck in the oven. And in the end, I was using improper tools with them. You cannot use metal with teflon. You must use plastic. I had enough teflon pans that my only flipper was plastic. This causes seasoning tumors when used repeatedly on a cast iron skillet. You have to use stainless steel, which maintains the surface and prevents tumors. Some people had mentioned a bit of success with newer pans which came from years of use which eventually built the seasoning up to a degree that it more or less smoothed out the face of the pan.
I picked up some steel cookware at goodwill, because regular stores don't carry steel cookware anymore. I cooked a burger apiece in my pans. I brooded about how many years of not working properly would be required in order to work properly. I commiserated with Jacob's first seven years of labor. All new pans are rough-faced from a melt and pour process that doesn't smooth them out anymore. You just can't get the pans you used to be able to get.
If you're shopping for new stuff.
Yesterday, Emily and I were downtown killing time and went to the Antique Mall. I remembered what I had found on line. I remembered looking for cast iron pans at goodwill and being disappointed, but thought I might have better luck at the Antique mall. Indeed I did. The first thing I found was a little #3 Wagner Ware pan. Egg-size, smooth faced, $7.50. Most people online had bought their pans on e-bay and said they would run $20-$30. I felt good about this. It had some white stuff on the face, though, and I wasn't sure what it was. It wasn't raised. Just colored (or stripped of color.) At any rate, it was white, the rest of the pan was black, it still felt very smooth.
Next I found a big collection of cast iron cookware. A #8 Griswold pan, smooth faced. Another Wagner of comparable size to the Griswold, A #4 Griswold pan with a lid. Rare. And a dutch over with other assorted pots.
I contemplated the dutch oven before seeing the $50 price tag. I didn't buy it. I got the #8 Griswold pan, which was smooth, and considered trading in the little Wagner for the #4 with the lid, but on closer inspection, the #4 had seasoning tumors. After a little hesitation about the morality of my actions, I took the lid and left the pot. They were being sold separately, and the lid fit the Wagner pan more or less. The Wagner is a number 3, so it doesn't seal on top, but it stays in place and allows a little vent. I was content with the arrangement.
Yesterday I seasoned them. Prior to seasoning, I tried to make an egg in the Wagner, but it didn't quite survive the flipping process. However, there was not egg mess left in the pan as had been a previous difficulty with the newer pans. This may have been a personal error. I'm having a bit of trouble with the size of the pan v. the size of the flipper and trying to angle things correctly. Another egg- over easy and cooked in the Griswold, came out perfectly. This morning I made flapjacks in the Griswold. They came out great. It does seems that things taste different when they're made in cast iron. I'm not sure if the phenomena is a real one, though. Maybe I'm wrong about the iron-in-the-food thing. Maybe I'm right about the toxicity of teflon. Maybe it's all in my head. In some ways, I wish I'd bought the cast iron dutch oven to make round-up in, but that's a lonely meal as Emily is allergic to beef. If she were a beef-eater, I think I'd go back for it.
There has not been enough time to try eggs in the egg pan again. I only eat so much per day. But that will be upcoming, and I'm optimistic.
-C
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| Thursday, February 2nd, 2012
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3:04 pm - I lived kind of between
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I was supposed to go to a pep rally or something that the public was invited to, however, I was not going as a 'fan' in the public. I was a student. Apparently, I was still in highschool, because I used a Cell phone to call someone who was supposed to meet me there, and he had been out with some "kids from Jeff." I lived kind of between Jefferson High School and Kennedy High School when I was younger, and went to Kennedy. I remember thinking I could go off campus for lunch if I wanted, but rarely did, and that I should more often.
There was a prominent political figure that was going to be at the Rally (maybe it was for this figure) and a lot of people were there and it was loud and crazy. I could barely hear my phone call, so I let my friend go. He and I were going to protest this figure, and I had hoped to arrive with him, but as it sits, he was bringing all the banners, etc. and hopefully some more people. I would wait, I guess, in with the crowd until he arrived.
I went to the bathroom. The men's bathroom was very primitive. Almost like a poorly shielded locker room, with vinyl curtains creating stalls- one hung between two toilets, and then another curtain in front of them to act as a door. The main door to the room was even nothing but a vinyl curtain, and there was a black and white woman there, who was German Baptist or Dunker or some other group who wears the bonnet. She seemed to be waiting for someone in one of the stalls, but did not look at me- and maybe pointedly did not look at me. I went to one of the stalls, and could see the pantlegs and sneakers of the guy in the other stall. I think he was disabled, as in the stall was for disabled people and this guy used a wheelchair and could do nothing in any position other than sitting. I don't know why I knew that at this point, because it seems I hadn't seen the stall yet, but I did know. I thought nothing of it. As I was using the toilet, my device malfunctioned and I got urine all over my clothes, and decided that stripping them off was the best course of action, thus, I was in my whitey tighties for the rest of the dream (which were all wet, because of the urine problem, but I wasn't going to strip everything.
Once again I was in the main room of the bathroom, but I knew I had been outside of the bathroom and had gotten a fork and a knife, because I was going to eat lunch after going. I did not have to go to the bathroom again, but for some reason couldn't get away from it in my dream. I walked past the door by the German Baptist woman, who once again pointedly ignored me, but both stalls were open and whoever she had been waiting for was long gone. I checked the stall I had been in, and then I looked in the other stall, where it was all hooked up with bars for handicapped people to use so they can get into a sitting position. They were not supported by the vinyl curtain. They were anchored into the same concrete wall the toilet was. There was a creepy guy that came in and looked all menacing. Very classically menacing, with stubble, a creepy grin, and unkempt hair. But it wasn't dark. He was a sandy blonde and had a red baseball jacket on. He grinned his creepy grin at me, and though he could see everything else, on account of my being in my underwear, he didn't see my knife and fork, and I decided that being in this handicapped stall was the best way to defend myself. I sat on the toilet, never intending to use it, and someone was pressing the vinyl curtain to my forehead with a finger. I sat back a little further to make sure that was what was happening, and then I could sort of see a man-shaped figure shift on the other side of the curtain. I whipped my head around and bit the finger through the vinyl curtain. There was no shriek of pain, no cursing, just a menacing laugh- and as I let go, the curtain dropped, and the man was standing there holding a wine cork with prints of my teeth in it. I held up my steak knife (which I so conveniently had in the bathroom stall with me) and brought it down to the man. He made no attempt to block me, just stood there laughing - and I brought it down too low. It just barely cut his penis, which was now exposed, though his pants were still on. I continued to stab, but was unsatisfied to discover that I could not thrust the knife, I could only stab it with this downward motion. Thus, that is the manner in which I hacked at the man from groin to sternum, and at the top, the knife actually came down and was drawn through all the other stab wounds, like perforation, and the man finally stopped laughing. I remember walking past the German Baptist woman, who would still not look at me, and it seems that I was clothed as I got in a car and backed up. It was when I heard a crunching sound that I realized I had hit another car. It was the impact of hitting the other car that woke me up.
Now I just feel very disturbed. These mid-day naps have got to go. Or maybe it was the ham and bean soup I ate before I fell asleep.
-Claven
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| Wednesday, September 7th, 2011
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12:28 pm - September 7th, leading up to the 11th
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As we head up to the 11th, I can't help but revisit some things I've mentioned before, but have to review. Please lend me a moment as I sort out these thoughts.
The broader Church would agree, in word, that we belong to God.
Most of us would also agree that people are indelibly stamped with the image of God. This applies to believers and non-believers alike. So, all people belong to God, whether they want to or not- but that doesn't settle the issue of personal will. In churches, we raise the Cross. This is to show that, as a body or a system, we accept God's ownership of us, and are grateful for his sacrifice, as we continue to try to grasp it's significance. Even the little kids know that Jesus hung on the cross and it was no fun, and that somehow that was for our benefit. And then I think of sitting in a sanctuary, sitting down to worship, and seeing a national flag erected before me as plain as the Cross.
This seems to greatly confuse the issue of ownership of the church. While God trademarks everyone, we are required to make some kind of voluntary commitment, and it has to be wholehearted. What has Caesar's image on it? In the Bible, the only passage addressing this is talking about money. Jesus uses this reference to declare that Caesar can demand what he has marked as his. So when we declare voluntary ownership- not as in owning, but as in being owned- we should raise the emblems only of our faith, not images of Caesar, lest we declare to God and man that we are owned by the competition.
There is no greater distraction or competitor for our allegiance. If we send our kids to public school, they learn the pledge of allegiance. If they want to be in scouts, they take an oath to do their "duty to God and Country." We're taught that Patriotism is a virtue that goes hand in hand with serving God. It's not surprising that we are, as a people, greatly confused.
Many people have said that they like seeing the flag at church to "honor the sacrifice of their fellow americans" even though we're actually there to honor the sacrifice of Christ. I've also heard it said that it's "refreshing" to see the "national colors" being flown, because people feel that the church is supporting it's military members, even though Jesus disarmed Peter and healed his victim in the Garden of Gethsemane, when Peter had the case for Just War to defend the innocent if anyone ever did. But I've heard the more mild idea that it's just nice to have a flag in the sanctuary because we have a great country and should celebrate our religious freedom. Maybe our country is great, but we are not there to worship freedom- or there to be reminded of our country's greatness. We are there to meditate on God's greatness- so the issue of Worship (one of the Primary Means of Grace in the Church) gets as confused as the issue of ownership, a primary mode of existence. The Church should not be Patriotic. The Church should be single-mindedly focused on following God even though it's membership gets distracted.
Christians should take their cues from the heroes of Scripture. Right now there's a federal law in our Country (in US Code 36) that when the Star Spangled Banner is played, civilians have to stand, face the flag, and place their right hand over their heart. Vets or other Military personnel may salute only if they are in uniform. The same legal protocol applies for the pledge. But Christians should take their cues. Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednigo faced a similar problem. It was decreed in their law that whenever the musical ensemble played, the citizens were to fall down before the Golden Statue that Nebuchadnezzar had set up. They refused. More directly, Mordecai refused to do Obeisance to Haman, because he was a Jew. Elijah and company refused to bow to Baal. I've never heard a Christian ask why these examples refused to act as they did. It's clear when it's not us.
Whenever directives signifying allegiance to some totem is enshrined into law, Christians have an obligation to reject that totem. The church should be Monolithic about this, to follow the Biblical precedent, but it's not. A person does not have to be a prophet to understand that this cloth we live under, no matter how kind and benevolent a person may believe it to be, is not a symbol of our faith, and it crosses lines to give allegiance to it.
Usually on September 11th, I stay inside. The Church forgets itself, and it breaks my heart. I've seen services and walked out of services where our Father is rejected, but more frequently, we deny our brothers and sisters. Hopefully, this year, more of us than not will remember that we worship a Middle Eastern man who remained homeless by choice until his execution.
Though flags have come to represent full Nations, full systems of Government, and all kinds of ways of identifying groups of people that might not be bad but aren't representative of Christ- they were created for something else. They were created to identify the camps of opposing armies on a battlefield.
Maybe September 11th this year, the church should bring down those flags and pray for peace.
-Claven
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| Saturday, April 9th, 2011
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1:38 pm - Luke 20:19-25
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The scribes and the chief priests tried to lay hands on him at that very hour, but they feared the people; for they perceived that he had told this parable against them. So they watched him, and sent spies, who pretended to be sincere, that they might take hold of what he said, so as to deliver him up to the authority and jurisdiction of the governor. They asked him, "Teacher, we know that you speak and teach rightly, and show no partiality, but truly teach the way of God. Is it lawful for us to give tribute to Caesar, or not?" But he perceived their craftiness, and said to them, "Show me a coin. Who likeness and inscription has it?" They said, "Caesar's." He said to them, "Then render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's."
We are all created in the image of God, and bear God's insignia. In this passage, Jesus teaches that the ruling authorities of this world can demand that which is theirs, and God can demand that which is his- and he delineates between the property of God and the property and of the ruling authorities of this world by demanding to see the insignia. He wants to know whose likeness is on the item in dispute. Let us not confuse the matter by buckling to the temptation to erect the insignia of the ruling authorities of this world in our churches. By doing so, we only declare that they have claim to what is rightfully God's.
-Claven
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| Sunday, March 27th, 2011
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3:59 pm - LITANY OF RESISTANCE
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Appendix 4 in Jesus For President
One: Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world
All: Have Mercy on us
One: Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world.
All: Free us from the bondage of sin and death.
One: Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world.
All: Hear our prayer. Grant us peace.
One: For the victims of war
All: Have mercy.
One: Women, men, and children
All: Have mercy.
One: The maimed and the crippled
All: Have mercy.
One: The abandoned and the homeless
All: Have mercy.
One: The imprisoned and the tortured
All: Have mercy.
One: The widowed and the orphaned
All: Have mercy.
One: The bleeding and the dying
All: Have mercy.
One: The weary and the desperate
All: Have mercy.
One: The lost and the forsaken
All: Have mercy.
One: O God, have mercy on us sinners
All: Forgive us for we know not what we do.
One: For our scorched and blackened earth
All: Forgive us.
One: For the scandal of billions wasted in war
All: Forgive us.
One: For our arms makers and arms dealers
All: Forgive us.
One: For our Caesers and Herods
All: Forgive us.
One: For the violence that is rooted in our hearts
All: Forgive us.
One: For the times we turn others into enemies
All: Forgive us.
One: Deliver us, O God.
All: Guide our feet into the way of peace.
One: Hear our prayer.
All: Grant us peace.
One: From the arrogance of power
All: Deliver us.
One: From the myth of redemptive violence
All: Deliver us.
One: From the tyranny of greed
All: Deliver us.
One: From the ugliness of racism
All: Deliver us.
One: From the cancer of hatred
All: Deliver us.
One: From the seduction of wealth
All: Deliver us.
One: From the addiction of control
All: Deliver us.
One: From the idolatry of nationalism
All: Deliver us.
One: From the paralysis of cynicism
All: Deliver us.
One: From the violence of apathy
All: Deliver us.
One: From the ghettos of poverty
All: Deliver us.
One: From the ghettos of wealth
All: Deliver us.
One: From a lack of imagination
All: Deliver us.
One: Deliver us, O God.
All: Guide our feet into the way of peace.
One: We will not conform to the patterns of this world.
All: Let us be transformed by the renewing of our minds.
One: With the help of God's grace
All: Let us resist evil wherever we find it.
One: With the waging of war.
All: We will not comply.
One: With the legalization of murder
All: We will not comply.
One: With the slaughter of innocents
All: We will not comply.
One: With laws that betray human life
All: We will not comply.
One: With the destruction of community
All: We will not comply.
One: With the pointing finger and malicious talk
All: We will not comply.
One: With the idea that happiness must be purchased
All: We will not comply.
One: With the ravaging of the earth
All: We will not comply.
One: With principalities and powers that oppress
All: We will not comply.
One: With the destruction of peoples
All: We will not comply.
One: With the raping of women
All: We will not comply.
One: With governments that kill
All: We will not comply.
One: With the theology of empire
All: We will not comply.
One: With the business of militarism
All: We will not comply.
One: With the hoarding of riches
All: We will not comply.
One: With the dissemination of fear
All: We will not comply.
One: Today we pledge our ultimate allegiance to the kingdom of God.
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To a peace that is not like Rome's
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To the gospel of enemy-love
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To the kingdom of the poor and broken
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To a king who loves his enemies so much he died for them
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To the least of these, with whom Christ dwells
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To the transnational church that transcends the artificial borders of nations
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To the homeless rabbi who had to place to lay his head
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To the cross rather than the sword
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To the banner of love above any flag
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: The the one who rules with a towel rather than an iron fist
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To the one who rides a donkey rather than a war horse
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To the revolution that sets both oppressed and oppressors free
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To the way that leads to life
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: To the slaughtered Lamb
All: We pledge allegiance.
One: And together we proclaim his praises, from the margins of the empire
to the centers of wealth and power.
All: Long live the slaughtered Lamb.
One: Long live the slaughtered Lamb.
All: Long live the slaughtered Lamb.
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| Monday, March 14th, 2011
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11:15 am
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I remember waiting for Snow in November. Visiting my family in Iowa- who said they'd had snow- but it was all gone by the time we got there.
Seeing no Snow in December but a few little flakes. Something Emily referred to as a "bitch snow" that had a sticking time of little longer than it's falling time.
Until the blizzard hit.
And the kids weren't in school for a week.
I had the luxury of staying home much of that time, but Emily worked at the humane Society (as she does now) and the animals that live there don't stop living for the snow. Or at least, that's the idea. Because they would if no one showed up for work...
We had Diane's GMC diesel at the time because we were between cars, and it proved to be the blessing that got Emmy to work. There were few other cars on the road. Most couldn't get out of the alley, few could get out of their driveways. The city had plowed the streets in the night, but they had plowed only the streets, causing huge mounds of snow at the ends of people's driveways that solidified overnight into mountains of ice. Our drive pulled out into the alley. People on untreated streets actually had it better off in the next day or two because they didn't have the mounds to content with.
With the GMC, Emily was able to get to work, which was a boon. Others (especially those who lived in the country) could not.
I was just trying to get my feet under me in a secretarial position with the church. Much of the time I stayed home, but I was able to get out to my pastor's house (her street was untreated and her family was snowed in) to get started on a few things. I more or less have my feet under me now, but I still can't find a margin that gives me a consistent proper tri-fold for the bulletin after it goes to copying. I may try flipping the graphic so that it opens the other way.
When we finally got the snow, I was happy. I was a little nervous about other cars on the road. We were handling all right, but in little cars- if you fishtail into something, you ding it. In the GMC, if you're traveling at 35 mph, and someone going the other way fishtails into you, you could kill them. I killed no one this winter. Thumbs up.
I felt like the aesthetic justified the cold. Emily and I were able to use space heaters (and the hunkerin' bag) to cut down on heating costs (we know of a friend that kept his house around 70. This probably makes him either rich or poor, but I haven't asked which) and a couple big storms was about all we had for snow.
The cold remained. The snow did nothing, really, to insulate the Earth. It just made our already incompetent mailman more prone to skip our box, unless I shoveled a path specifically for him leading from our neighbor's porch directly to ours- and even then it was hit and miss.
Our dog, Kylie, proved to be very suspicious of snowmen, and I could not walk her down our street to the bike trail anymore unless I crossed to walk on the north side of the street. There were snowmen on the South Side and it was all I could do to control her as she tried to protect me from them. Emily is a trained protection handler, but protection handling is really as much for the person as it is for the dog, and I have not been through that training with her. Later Emily told me that the snowmen were wearing the same things that the protection agitators at N K-9 would wear to agitate the dogs, and she walked Kylie by the snowmen; I watched in amazement as our dog held her peace with hackles barely raised.
They have not gotten as much rough and tumble time in the snow as they used to get. Unfortunately, there seems to be no real place to let them run off-leash without taking them to the dog park. On Maine St, if we were with them, they could play in the backyard, because it was bordered by other stuff, and the farm was obviously the farm, though they certainly pushed the limits there and eventually it cost them a lot of freedom. The backyard is too small to run, and while there is grass on some of it, the rest is dirt, which is mud if it wet when it's this warm.
It's now March, and snowing again. The snow is wet, thus the dirt is wet. Wet dirt=mud. We're moving again, this summer. Where, exactly, I frankly don't know.
There are a couple options that we're examining, but we want to have a baby next year and there are outlets directly on the floor where we live. Outlets on the floor = baby disaster.
I have a feeling this may be a little like the first snow. Quickly melting. Hardly worth shoveling. Really, right now, though there's about 2 inches piled on top of the car of the huge flakes of dripping wet snow, the sidewalks are merely wet. It's not accumulating.
So "Spring Marches in." Perhaps not like a lion, but certainly not a lamb, either. If anything, this is a full-grown wooly sheep, bleating loudly, and sure to be sheared before the week is out.
-C
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| Friday, December 17th, 2010
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12:22 pm - On the flip side
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What about transwomen who have been unsuccessful in legally changing their gender to male?
Jan- if you want to exempt yourself from responding to this one, I'll grant it. You seem to have a view that runs across the board.
-Claven
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| Wednesday, December 15th, 2010
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5:35 pm - Now that it is imminent-
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With the repeal of DADT looming, there is a question I feel compelled to poll on.
If homosexuals are -allowed- to serve openly, should open homosexuals be
-required- to serve? (ie: if the draft is reinstated)
In the same vein, should transmen be required to register for the draft?
Does the concern of military rape influence your answers?
Your thoughts?
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| Tuesday, November 23rd, 2010
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9:44 pm - Addendum
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My lovely wife pointed out that my year in review is lacking Nov. and Dec. of '09, so here it is. In Nov, we celebrated Thanksgiving here at Goddard Farm. I made an apple Yam casserole, two different types of bread, a turkey, 3 pies, baklava and something else. I enjoyed it. Diane made things upstairs, I made things downstairs.
In December, we had a blizzard that was so bad that the University closed. To the disappointment of the student body, this was during Christmas break. Still, this is very unusual. Emily and I were volunteering for family promise that night, and when we got into town, there were huge mounds of snow dividing the roads. I remember that the following day was unseasonably warm, and it quickly dissolved into a wet mess.
Resume with January...
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7:41 pm - YEAR IN REVIEW
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I turn 32 on Saturday.
So when I do a year in review (which isn't always guaranteed) it happens in November instead of December, because that's when my birthday is.
My year in review:
January: My Grandma died January 1st. There wasn't really any kind of Memorial service, at her request. I wanted to go to Ohio (where my grandpa lives,) but my Dad wouldn't let anyone else come. It snowed a lot. January could have been better.
February: was much more eventful. I developed a suspicion that I had celiac due to 6 major symptoms and a primary disposition (and some paranoia due to my grandmother's death from colon cancer.) The test came back negative, but in the meantime I found a recipe for gluten-free flour and learned to cook with it. Emily and I celebrated Valentine's Day by making various confections together (though the fudge was a sad failure and did not set) and Mayhew moved out, so we also got a new bedframe, because the one we were using was on loan.
March: Central United Methodist Church erected a U.S. flag at the Altar. Efforts at dialogue were largely unfruitful. The flag remained. I left.
April: I celebrated Easter at Peace Mennonite Church, and began gathering information about the anabaptist tradition, and in particular the Mennonites. The Mennonite confession of faith resonates with me, and I met with the pastor to discuss things. Thus far, I have stuck around, and am on the worship committee.
May: Emily graduated from KU (Yay!) and my brother came through a week later on business, so we got to hang out with him. We spent a lot of time looking for a new place- because we knew we were going to move.
June: We moved into a new place- taking posession the day after Emily left for National K-9 in Ohio. I spent most of June unpacking and biking around town. I also did a lot of work on the front yard, because it looked a little weird when I got to it. I got Ted into a good routine of a short walk in the morning and a long walk in the evening. Now we do things differently, because Emily's natural rhythm is so much different than mine. We usually do one very long walk sometime mid-day, now.
July: I got all my info about my amended birth certificate, and at the end of the month, we went and got Emily and Kylie back from National K-9. It was good to have her home.
August: We stayed home and went to the county fair while everyone else went to Colorado. I like the county fair more. I didn't have to get up at 6, and the rides were more fun than hiking.
September: I got my amended birth certificate and was legally declared male. I also preached for the first time at Peace Mennonite. It went well.
October: Was just last month. It was Domestic violence awareness month, and I went to a few events at KU. Among them were seeing Kate Bornstein speak (some of it was good, and some of it was just disturbed) and hearing Anne Munch talk. Most of that was just disturbing, but no one expected the stats to uplift. I was a lumberjack for Halloween. Both the lumberjack mustache and my ghoulish pumpkin are somewhere in the photos. Our clutch replacement became unavoidable, but did not come to fruition.
November: Now. I have spent most of the month in training at The Willow Domestic Violence Center to become an advocate. After an objective year and a half in the courthouse, I'm moving on to being less impartial. Shadowing should begin shortly after Thanksgiving. I don't know if I can have any particular expectations moving into this position.
So that's my year in review. Other things have happened. Important things, and you may think your name belongs somewhere on this list, but I have intentionally left out much of what involves other people, because otherwise the year in review would be too long to write. Next year, Emily and I are looking at starting a family. Pray for us on that. Happy Thanksgiving, all.
-C
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| Thursday, October 28th, 2010
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6:27 pm - Notes for Bob Dole
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This week has certainly been illuminating.
It's domestic violence awareness month, and I've heard very little about it on the media.
A short mention of it today on CNN is actually the first I've heard about it all month from anywhere other than Willow and KU, but KU is running a particular series this week to focus on issues of domestic violence, and I've attended them.
Sunday was Take Back the Night. Ill attended, because the original march got rained out. People actually came to that one (in September) but in the end they did not march due to weather, and at this one, due to low attendance, we held vigil on the corner with banners instead of marching.
Monday was a resource panel in the Hawk's Nest at the Union, and it (unfortunately) was also sparse. However, being 8 people, we were able to have a round table discussion about issues and cover the details that everyone wanted to talk about, and all in all, it was good.
Tuesday was the big event (or at least the thing that a bunch of people knew about and came to.) Anne Munch at the Dole Center. I had never been in the Dole Center before, and Emily had a lesson, so she dropped me off with my bike, early. I learned that there isn't really any place to sit in the Dole Center. It's just a museum glorifying Bob Dole. Mostly his war escapades. There are life-size cardboard cutouts and a place where you can write him notes and they'll send them to him. There is nothing, however, about how he became the Viagra spokesman in his later years. I guess nobody feels that's as great a service to the country.
Anne Munch's presentation was good, though, if disheartening in a lot of ways. Turns out a lot of people don't think "forced sex" is rape, even if it happens to them, though all 50 states have laws against spousal rape now. The laws change for the better, the paradigms still need work.
Yesterday... another event where attendance was light. Domestic Violence and GLBT issues at Hash Theatre. I thought is was going to be a panel discussion, but it was actually a presentation. Mostly "what is it to be Queer"; "What is Domestic Violence" and then, "How is Domestic Violence enacted within queer relationships" with a focus on how the violence might look different from relationships where the partners involved are non-sexual minorities.
And today, a series of Public Service announcments from the 50s on "How to be the Man" followed by discussion - I think about how media perpetuates our pardigms of gender and power. But if not specifically that, something along those lines. I would think that being a more "entertaining" type of event, this one might have a stronger draw, but we'll see. I would have thought the other events would have been highly attended as well. I think people were standing in the back for Anne Munch (the upside of early.)
Though I suppose it's possible people just happened upon the event as they were flocking in to admire Bob Dole.
-Claven
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| Monday, October 25th, 2010
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3:35 pm - In the past hour and a half
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Someone spoke wisdom and kindness into my life.
Immediately following, someone spoke generosity into it.
Not an hour later, someone spoke a bit of freedom to me where I had been feeling restricted.
It could all stop here and the day would have gone beyond my expectations.
-Claven
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| Friday, September 10th, 2010
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4:30 pm - How to get a sermon written if you can't find any time.
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Friday night we took the dogs on a walk downtown. We walked down to South park and then up and down Mass St. They seemed to be getting used to near-daily long walks downtown. It seemed good for them. Saturday, I had some deep down tension or something. I wondered if I was developing glutes. I wondered if this is what it feels like to have sore glutes. I kind of wondered if my glutes had ever been sore before. But usually if they are, I think my upper thighs are also sore... Sunday it hurt a little to ride my bike, and I thought I had a most unseemly pimple that would certainly disappear quickly. Monday it hurt to sit, but I was fine standing upright, and Tuesday morning this beast of a thing-Spider bite, we thought(?) had ballooned up to 3 or 4 times it's original size. My entire right butt cheek was swollen, and I could only tolerate laying down on my right side, fetal position. I called the doctor. Thinking it was a spider bite, maybe- but I was nauseated, too, and sweating bullets.
When I went, he had me drop trou and show him. When he tried to touch it I winced and it didn't take long for him to make the assessment that I needed to see a surgeon. That day. No waiting. He said it was too big and too deep to handle in his office. But that this could not wait.
I thought we would go and if it was a spider bite he would give me some antibiotics. If it was an embarrassing cyst he would lance it. If it was some kind of weird topical thing he would give me a cream or something and we would go home.
I went to the surgeon. And he manhandled my backend, which hurt to touch. I was gritting my teeth and running a fever. But he said he had good news. This sounded like relief. This sounded like maybe he was going to give me those antibiotics or a cream and send me home. He stood in front of me and gave me his blessing: "This is very common and easily dealt with. It's a simple rectal abscess."
Oh.
He said he could numb it and aspirate it in his office. Right there. Then with it drained- as it would be- I should get better. However, success would be determined only by how I felt and if I didn't get better, I would have to go in for surgery in the next couple of days. I asked if there was any way he would know if he got it all. That would only be determined by how I felt. I asked what the chances of him getting it all were. He said it was a coin flip. This was all very sketchy. But his professional opinion was that he should try. He left the room. The nurse told me that with an area that size he wouldn't actually be able to numb the whole thing because it covers too broad a surface area, and that white blood cells aren't a great conductor for the anesthetic. In short, I wouldn't feel it on the under side, and he would have to squeeze there for this to be efficient. When he came back I asked him about squeezing. He said he would have to press and squeeze a little just to get things out, but he would try to be as gentle as possible. I asked what happened if he didn't get it out. He said the abscess would come back.
I asked him what would happen if I went to surgery. He said they would be very aggressive about it, because I would be unconscious. They would go in with the same kind of tubing they use in liposuction and vaccuum it all out, but they would press and squeeze as needed to get it all.
I opted for surgery. I didn't need an inefficiently numbed aspiration; only few more days of feeling lousy; only to learn that I have to come back and get surgery anyway. I told him to send me to surgery so I could get it properly taken care of. And then he said "Yeah, I think that's best. We'll get you into surgery and make sure we get it all on the first try."
However, that didn't get me totally off the hook for aspiration. They still had to get something out of it to figure out what kind of antibiotics to put me on in the meantime. Or something like that. Right now I think I'm running the gamut- but remember, there was nothing in me as a numbing agent when the needle went in for administration. He knew this. He told me to grit my teeth. He counted one- I remembered the technique the piercers tell you, and the doctors should- take a deep breath in, and exhale on three. Two- I added to the breath. Three- as the needle tore into me I hurled out all the air in my lungs and quickly brought just a little more back in to yell. He said he had one more place to do. I was prepared for what it was. I could handle this. One- breathe. Two-they should skip two and cut to the chase, it's just waiting time. Three- This time I yelled, because I knew that exhaling wasn't what I needed for this. He gave me a minute. A minute to get numb. In theory, that was what was happening. In general, I couldn't feel it anymore- but I did remember what the nurse had said. Of course, he wasn't really aspirating in hopes of draining the abscess. He was just aspirating for a little something to get culture from. He asked me if I was ready, and I was as ready as I would get, so I said "I'm as ready as I'll get."
I felt the initial stab and the needle felt like it was pushing through grit, and I was making groanings through my teeth. It hit something beyond the grit and I opened my mouth and yelled. He pulled out and said he didn't get anything, he needed to try another spot. He said there was no clearly defined head, so it was hard to tell where this would want to come out. Spot two failed at all but getting me to yell some more. Spot three got something. But I don't think they got a valid culture out of it, really, because I'm still on all the antibiotics that I was on the first day, and they never gave me a clear read on the culture. I think they had to get their culture from the stuff they took out today.
It was Tuesday, that I first went to the doctor and got admitted to the hospital, and then Wednesday was the wait of a lifetime- though it gave me a chance to write a sermon that I needed to get done and hadn't had time to do (so a little forced time down can be productive) yesterday (Thursday) I finally had surgery done, and I thought I would be able to be released today. Most of my staff thought as much, but I have another night here, because now that they have a good culture, they're having trouble analyzing the bacteria in it. I hope this is not a big deal. Incidentally, I was not down to the wire on this sermon. I don't have to preach it on Monday. I've got a week to recover. I'm not up until the 19th.
With all the surgeries that I've had, this is the first one that I've had where the goal after surgery is the keep the wound open. They keep it packed with this "packet" which is actually a wad of ribbon-shaped dressing soaked in iodine. I was unconscious when they first packed it. It was right after the surgery. So I didn't feel it happen. But this is something Emily is going to have to do for me when I am released, so she needed to watch my surgeon do it. They changed it today. He came into the room, and pulling it out, inch by inch (quick though he was about it) hurt worse than aspiration. I gritted my teeth and groaned and yelled a bit. By this time, Cocoa, the surgery bear that I've had since I was 6, is with me. So I wadded him up and kind of rolled over onto him. Then removing the dressing was done. But repacking it was still to be contended with. I was still kind of trying to catch my breath by the time he started to repack it, and I yelled more and kind of bit Cocoa's head, but that didn't really help any so I went back to yelling. The nurse decided to put her hand on my and tried to tell me to take slow, deep breaths- and she was making me feel really claustrophobic on top of it all. She said it again so in the middle of my yelling I said, "I know, I heard you." And while I didn't intend for it to come out rudely, I was yelling. I supposed there's always bad timing for a response, but she stopped saying it. I think the nursing student who was observing the procedure was traumatized. I laid down on the bed when they were done and the surgeon told some kind of story about pulling his daughter's tooth and left. The nurses tried to give me morphine, which I didn't accept, or need- this is very much a "while you're touching it" pain. I finally told them I just wanted to rest, and they left. But getting them to stop fussing and leave me be was a bit of a chore. I was exhausted. And I feel for Emily. Because it's going to be hard for her to do this for me when we're discharged. But she has to- though I understand the pain in the procedure decreases dramatically after the first few times you do it. This changed my life. It broadened my understanding of how much pain a human can experience without passing out. I'm not willing to say that it's worse than childbirth, because I think women yell a lot when they give birth- so that may be worse. But at least they have a baby in the end.
Maybe if I'm lucky they'll give me a donut to sit on.
-Claven
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| Wednesday, August 4th, 2010
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8:44 am
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I am now convinced that my dog spent some time at N K-9 trading tricks with the other dogs in the kennel. Yes, she heels on walks and maintains "placement" for stretches of time and can do all these cool tricks now, like drop down from a heel and track scents and pick up keys (though I don't think this is a skill so honed that she would actually fetch them if you were disabled...) I'd like to be able to see all the other stuff she learned, but I think a lot of that requires equipment we don't have access to.
Before she left- she used to do this thing in the morning (without fail) that I kind of hoped would stop when she got back- though I didn't know really what to expect at the time. Emily doesn't really get up in the morning until she's done sleeping unless there's imminent death involved. She is able to sleep through whatever. I do not have this capability. It's a blessing and a curse.
After adopting Kylie it didn't take her long to figure out that in the morning, when she was up, she shouldn't go to mom for tending to because Emily would roll over and pull a pillow over her head. I tried that. But once I'm up in the morning, there's no going back, and she was relentless. She would snuffle and prod and whine and rub her cold wet nose on me. Gross. And when I was awake enough to realize what was happening, I was invariably racked with dilemma. This got really bad around October. It was chilly. My bed was not. I knew she just wanted breakfast- but what if she had to pee and was whining because she needed to go outside? Outside is chilly. If I open the door, I will be cold. If I stay in bed, I will be warm. If Kylie pees on the carpet because she tried to tell me she needed me to get up, she will feel bad and I will feel bad. Invariably, I got up.
It didn't take me long to realize that this was an absolute breakfast maneuver. There was no potty need involved. I've known her to hold it for 13 hours, though that was an extreme circumstance. I think we were stuck at the hospital or something. And Ted never goes in the house. His legacy at the pound is that he never went in his kennel. He held it all day until he got his little yard break and went outside. Eventually I stopped giving them breakfast when I got up and just put them outside and went back to bed, but never for very long. I was up. It was morning.
And so it seemed that she did stop, more or less after she got home. She was patient enough with me that first week.
Of course, that first week I was still on the schedule I had developed living alone, which had me going to bed between 10 and 11 and getting up between 7 and 8. My natural system. Now I spend time with Emily, which sometimes means we don't start a movie until 10. Getting up is later. Unless Kylie steps in. But she's sneaky now.
This has taken some time to figure out, because I've had to become conscious before giving indication of consciousness and try to be sneaky about opening my eyes- because I don't want her to see that I'm awake. This morning I was able to study the pattern.
But this is what she does: She comes and snuffles around at me- she doesn't rub her nose on me, but she snuffles around my hair and the blankets. Then she backs off and sits. She stares at me. This I wasn't as sure about, but I felt a little freaky (the way you do if someone's staring at you) so I opened my eyes enough just to peer through the lashes, and sure enough, there she was, staring at me. I rustled and she went and laid on the floor to look innocent, so I turned over. Pretty soon I heard a couple short whines, then it abruptly stopped. After what I think was more staring (I had turned over) she snuffled the blankets a little more and then started prancing around the room. This got Ted kind of interested, so he started this kind of lumbering about as well, because I'm sure she looked like she was having a great time. I think she was trying to entice him into wrestling, because that's what woke me up yesterday, but it was a no-go this morning. He was good for a dance and that was it.
By then I was up. Kylie is very put off that I haven't fed her yet, or put her outside, but we're housesitting and I have a bunch of other things to deal with that I'm also trying to put off. I guess after this it's coffee for me, because I haven't had that yet either, but I think I've figured out this bird's tricks. She's still messing with me, Mr. Light Sleeper. She just doesn't want me to realize it.
-Claven
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| Wednesday, July 21st, 2010
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2:25 pm - The home stretch
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Covenant group meets at my house tonight. I'm making my black bean cornmeal casserole because I've failed to plan ahead, but that is vegetarian- and if I leave french fried onions off of part of it, it will also be gluten-free. And I have everything for it. I'm glad I haven't made it in a bit. Though if I had planned ahead, I think I would have made bean soup. This is the last day in awhile that will be somewhat cool enough to pull it off, and I'm trying to finish out the dry stores of beans, because Emily doesn't really eat beans- and I've been trying to eat up the impractical dry stores in her absence, so we can start over with more practical things, that we will both eat.
Tonight we finish up Jeremiah. Emily is back just in time to start Ezekiel.
We can crack all the theories about UFO's next week.
Looks like we get to have dinner with Gabi and Daniel next week, too- which will be nice, and I'm hoping that I sleep better with her home. I've been slowly shifting gears. Not from Diurnal to Nocturnal. Just from rigidly diurnal to insomniac.
I've been reading Lonesome Dove and having a hard time getting really absorbed into the story. I enjoy it. It's entertaining- I like the characters and I like reading the book, though I usually read it at night and wish the physical book was slightly lighter so I didn't feel like the binding was on the verge of damage. The problem is that it's a domestically unsettled story and Emily's not home, so it's not something I can read right before I go to sleep. I just can't sleep after reading a large section of it. I started reading FEED last night. Perhaps more unsettling, overall, but the theme's entirely different, and the characters aren't given as much depth (at least not yet) so it's an easier bedtime framework.
In other news- The cats have taken to boxing my feet into place while I sleep. I'm beginning to wonder if allowing them back on the bed was the best idea.
And there's a snip of this demented song that's been running through my head that I can't for the life of me place- does anyone remember it? Can you help me out? This is all I've got-
"Everything happens for the best in the best of all possible worlds."
That's it for now.
-Claven
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