2018 "post hoc, ergo propter hoc?"

We are in the midst of the final day of 2018. If your email inbox is like ours, the pleas for dollars to help save the world from ... seen endless. Our goal (not resolution, but goal) for 2019 is to focus our support only on those organizations that are for something we believe in.

There are so many things we can all be against that it may not be possible to stop them all unless it turns out to be really true that "the best defense is a good offense." When we worked for a large city in Minnesota, many of the neighborhood organizations were against lots or potential problem developments, but we could rarely learn what they were for except maintaining the status quo. Status quoism is, at best, a short term solution in a universe that seems driven by change.

may the dawning of a new year, 2019, bring better days

Photo by J. Harrington

So, what comes next? What are we in favor of? We'd like to see the United States start using individual states, or groups of states, as models of different approaches to some of the common problems we all have. We need to do a better job of structuring problem statements, solution premises and outcome evaluations. Much of what we have these days are idiot politicians and ideologues screaming unfounded "facts" and outright lies as their solutions. What a way to waste time and energy and tax dollars.

Perhaps more than anything else, we'd like to see 2019 be the year that Americans (and the British) came to their senses and realized that strategies based on "winner takes all" are fool's errands. We are firmly convinced that the course humanity is on is not sustainable in the long term and is increasingly detrimental to the survival of humans in the short term. We also believe there are better ways to manage change. In addition to the proposals we shared yesterday, some can be found in the following:

• Presence: Human Purpose and the Field of the Future
• The Next System Project
• Solutions journalism, as exhibited in Yes! magazine

and, delightfully close to home, from this morning's Star Tribune, City Girl Coffee is an example of what goes right at Midwest Pantry accelerator .

We strongly suspect that the New Green Deal is something we can support but it, and Medicare for All, each seem to be in states of flux. The strength of our support for the ACA diminished when the "public option" disappeared. Our long-standing identification as a Democrat went away as corporatism, infighting, and opposing Trump became the party's priorities. We hope next year brings a progressive and environmental renaissance, tempered by conservative respect for tax-payer dollars. That's our biggest wish for a Happy New Year! Maybe the past few years have helped us recognize how much we can be our own worst enemy. I'd like to believe that "we're better than that!"

Burning the Old Year

Naomi Shihab Nye, 1952

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.   
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,   
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.

So much of any year is flammable,   
lists of vegetables, partial poems.   
Orange swirling flame of days,   
so little is a stone.

Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,   
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.   
I begin again with the smallest numbers.

Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,   
only the things I didn’t do   
crackle after the blazing dies.

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What world do we want?

Somewhere during the past several days, we came across a challenge to describe the world we want to live in. We've thought about that off and on since we read the challenge and have come to the conclusion that it's hard, despite having spent much of our working life doing just that kind of thing. Except, and it's a big except, when working, we often were critiquing someone else's proposal, or only dealing with a small segment of the world we live in. Here's the beginnings of what we've come up with so far:

what does the world you want look like? (image credit NASA)

• We want to see more, much more, emphasis on the creation of affordable local food systems.
• We hope to see many more wildflowers planted under the local solar gardens that are being built helter skelter around the county. Solar panels, by themselves, are not attractive. We'd also like to see more microgrids developed and linked.
• We would like to see the implementation of the solutions proposed in Project Drawdown, 100 solutions to reverse global warming.
• We'd like to see the restoration of democracy, elimination of gerrymandering and citizens united and the only politicians supported be those who focus on win-win solutions rather than treating politics as a zero sum game.
• Capitalism needs to be massively revised or eliminated so that we evolve to a circular economy consistent with the premises of donut economics.
• Governments should become grateful if the birth rate is less than replacement, since we now require more than one planet to meet the needs of existing populations.
• More and more people need to be educated about emergent, self-organizing, complex systems by teachers like Donella Meadows and Peter Senge.
• We'd like to live in a world that uses the best knowledge currently available in a more collaborative process. One example would be to see Minnesota develop its own version of Vermont's New Economy.
• Minnesota could also create public banks, true broadband statewide, and a single payer health system.
• Everyone should read, and enjoy, more poetry.
• Native American respect for Mother Earth and life based on reciprocity should become core values for all Americans.

There's obviously more that can be added to the list, For example, we should bring back the State Planning Agency and the Citizens Board that used to govern the Pollution Control Agency. Albert Einstein asserts that "We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them." Add to that R. Buckminster Fuller's observation that "We are not going to be able to operate our Spaceship Earth successfully nor for much longer unless we see it as a whole spaceship and our fate as common. It has to be everybody or nobody." I'd like to live in a world with everybody. How about you?

See what we mean about it's hard? This reminds us of the old saying about "Keep your eye on the ball, nose to the grindstone, shoulder to the wheel. Now, let's see you work from that position!"

A Song on the End of the World

By Czeslaw Milosz

Translated by Anthony Milosz

On the day the world ends

A bee circles a clover,

A fisherman mends a glimmering net.

Happy porpoises jump in the sea,

By the rainspout young sparrows are playing

And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.

         

On the day the world ends

Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas,

A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,

Vegetable peddlers shout in the street

And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,

The voice of a violin lasts in the air

And leads into a starry night.

And those who expected lightning and thunder

Are disappointed.

And those who expected signs and archangels’ trumps

Do not believe it is happening now.

As long as the sun and the moon are above,

As long as the bumblebee visits a rose,

As long as rosy infants are born

No one believes it is happening now.

Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet

Yet is not a prophet, for he’s much too busy,

Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:

There will be no other end of the world,

There will be no other end of the world.

Warsaw, 1944

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Winter's come, year's gone

chickadee on a bare branch in a snow-covered tree

Photo by J. Harrington

The tops of tree branches are covered with snow, except where the feet of perching birds or scurrying squirrels have cleared the flakes from the bark. It is unlikely we would have noticed this had we not spent time recently reading some of Ted Kooser's wonder poems from Winter Morning Walks, 100 Postcards to Jim Harrison. Many of Kooser's poems seem the embodiment of buddhism's "be here, now!" prescription. National Public Radio [NPR] has a nice piece with Kooser on ending a year.

Below, Kooser shares some more reflections on bidding an old year goodbye and on the winter season, in poetry and in prose.

From 'Local Wonders,' as read by Ted Kooser 

Life is a long walk forward through the crowded cars of a passenger train, the bright world racing past beyond the windows, people on either side of the aisle, strangers whose stories we never learn, dear friends whose names we long remember and passing acquaintances whose names and faces we take in like a breath and soon breathe away.

There's a windy, perilous passage between each car and the next, and we steady ourselves and push across the iron couplers clenched beneath our feet. Because we are fearful and unsteady crossing through wind and noise, we more keenly feel the train rock under our legs, feel the steel rails give just a little under the weight, as if the rails were tightly stretched wire and there were nothing but air beneath them.

So many cars, so many passages. For you, there may be the dangerous passage of puberty, the wind hot and wild in your hair, followed by marriage, during which for a while you walk lightly under an infinite blue sky, then the rushing warm air of the birth of your first child. And then so soon, it seems, a door slams shut behind you, and you find yourself out in the cold where you learn that the first of your parents has died.

But the next car is warm and bright, and you take a deep breath and unbutton your coat and wipe your glasses. People on either side, so generous with their friendship, turn up their faces to you, and you warm your hands in theirs. Some of them stand and grip your shoulders in their strong fingers, and you gladly accept their embraces, though you may not know them well. How young you feel in their arms.

And so it goes, car after car, passage to passage. As you make your way forward, the roadbed seems to grow more irregular under the wheels as you walk along. 'Poor workmanship,' you think, and to steady yourself, you put your hands on people's shoulders. So much of the world, colorful as flying leaves, clatters past beyond the windows while you try to be attentive to those you move among, maybe stopping to help someone up from their seat, maybe pausing to tell a stranger about something you saw in one of the cars through which you passed. Was it just yesterday or the day before? Could it have been a week ago, a month ago, perhaps a year?

The locomotive is up ahead somewhere, and you hope to have a minute's talk with the engineer, just a minute to ask a few questions of him. You're pretty sure he'll be wearing a striped cap and have his red bandana around his neck, badges of his authority, and he'll have his elbow crooked on the sill of the open window. How impassively he will be gazing at the passing world, as if he's seen it all before. He knows just where the tracks will take us as they narrow and narrow and narrow ahead to the point where they seem to join.

But there are still so many cars ahead, and the next and the next and the next clatter to clatter to clatter. And we close the door against the wind and find a new year, a club car brightly lit, fresh flowers in vases on the tables, green meadows beyond the windows and lots of people who together — stranger, acquaintance and friend — turn toward you and, smiling broadly, lift their glasses.

Reprinted from Local Wonders: Seasons in the Bohemian Alps, University of Nebraska Press, 2003, by permission of Ted Kooser.

december 29

Windy and cold

All night, in gusty winds
the house has cupped its hands around
the steady candle of our marriage,
the two of us braided together in sleep,
and burning, yes, but slowly,
giving off just enough light so that one of us,
awakening frightened in the darkness,
can see.

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We got a mixed mess of weather

a dripping, freezing birdbath

Photo by J. Harrington

The temperature is now in the high teens. The local world looks pretty but doesn't work very well. The township road is ice-coated. The drive is ice-encrusted. Birds and squirrels are mobbing the feeders, which are covered in snow frozen in place. Acorns and other forage is going to be difficult for critters to get at until or unless the ice melts. And, by the way, as an example that humans aren't immune! The rain we got yesterday caused the heated birdbath to overflow. The bath is located just above the screen door to our downstairs screened porch. That screen door is how we usually let the dogs out into the back yard. Overflowing birdbath+temperatures well below freezing+locational issues=screen door frozen in place. We spent some time chipping and scraping and now have salt tablets melting ice at the door jamb. The dogs were completely confused about why we wouldn't let them out as usual. Come on January thaw!?

this bread looks delicious

Photo by J. Harrington

On the other hand, while pursuing a more open (large holes) crumb in our artisan sourdough bread, we may have stumbled into some sort of an answer to how to have our boules come out lighter brown. We won't know for sure if the alternative baking process is the answer, or the change in how the dough was made and bread developed. Perhaps it was the part about putting the shaped dough in the refrigerator for an hour before it went into the oven. If we don't end up losing what little is left of our mind, we'll have lots of fun trying to sort this out. In a very different context, we first came across the saying "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result." Now we're applying the inverse of that to our bread baking since we are looking for different results, we can't just keep doing the same thing. Stay tuned.

Bleak Weather

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Dear love, where the red lillies blossomed and grew,

The white snows are falling;

And all through the wood, where I wandered with you,

The loud winds are calling;

And the robin that piped to us tune upon tune,

Neath the elm—you remember,

Over tree-top and mountain has followed the June,

And left us—December.

Has left, like a friend that is true in the sun,

And false in the shadows.

He has found new delights, in the land where he's gone,

Greener woodlands and meadows.

What care we? let him go! let the snow shroud the lea,

Let it drift on the heather!

We can sing through it all; I have you—you have me,

And we’ll laugh at the weather.

The old year may die, and a new one be born

That is bleaker and colder;

But it cannot dismay us; we dare it—we scorn,

For love makes us bolder.

Ah Robin! sing loud on the far-distant lea,

Thou friend in fair weather;

But here is a song sung, that’s fuller of glee,

By two warm hearts together.

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We have plenty of water on which to cast our bread

There's an old saying among duck hunters that goes:

Fust it rained,
and then it blew,
then it frizz,
and then it snew!

That pretty well covers the last, and the next, twenty-four hours of weather around here. North of us and West of us we hear it's almost all snow. We're going to be in very slippery trouble if roads, walks and driveways don't dry a bunch before the frizz gets here again. As we write this large, wet snowflakes are falling mixed in with the rain drops. Is this a new normal for a North Country December storm?

this is sort of what it looks like today

Photo by J. Harrington

There's another old story about the idiot who kept smashing against a door in a wall, trying to break down the door and escape. Another occupant watches for awhile and then gets up, walks to the door, turns the handle and opens it. The first occupant rages "Why didn't you tell me the door wasn't locked?" The second occupant replies "You never asked."

For years we've been dealing with the national corporate offices of our internet service provider. After abysmal service yesterday, The Better Half agreed to call (the service is in her name) but when she checked, a local number popped up. She called. Today a tech replaced an old, old modem with a fancy new one. We're not going to explain whether it's usn's or the Better Half that's like the first occupant, but we will tell you that we're the ones that have been calling the corporate 800 number for years.

this is what we want to improve on

Photo by J. Harrington

As part of our transition to a better, happier 2019, we're trying a new recipe and procedural adjustments to see if we can get our sourdough bread to have the luscious, big holes we like. We actually went back and (re)read bout making high hydration sourdough dough. There's some rising (first proof) in a bowl now. We used 60 grams of all purpose flour and 440 grams of bread flour instead of our usual 500 grams of bread flour. We also double checked how the numbers turn out when our starter, which is fed with half flour, half water, is added to a 75% hydration flour/water mix. If we strictly follow the recipe and use 50 grams of starter, we end up at 76% hydration. If we, as we frequently do, double the amount of sourdough starter, hydration goes to 77%. What we haven't quite figured out yet is how to interpret the instructions that say "Shape it again..." but, for a change, we'll simply follow the directions in the sequence they're printed and see what happens. Stay tuned for further adventures from sourdough breadland. We'll see if using this blog as a version of a baker's journal works for us and any readers who follow our bread crumbs. For those who want to go to our source, try here.

Bread

By Richard Levine

Each night, in a space he’d make 

between waking and purpose, 

my grandfather donned his one 

suit, in our still dark house, and drove 

through Brooklyn’s deserted streets 

following trolley tracks to the bakery.

There he’d change into white 

linen work clothes and cap, 

and in the absence of women, 

his hands were both loving, well 

into dawn and throughout the day— 

kneading, rolling out, shaping

each astonishing moment 

of yeasty predictability 

in that windowless world lit 

by slightly swaying naked bulbs, 

where the shadows staggered, woozy 

with the aromatic warmth of the work.

Then, the suit and drive, again. 

At our table, graced by a loaf 

that steamed when we sliced it, 

softened the butter and leavened 

the very air we’d breathe,

he’d count us blessed.

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The day after calm before

Once again we have successfully enjoyed a family Christmas. It's all over now but for putting out the trashed wrapping and recycling the cardboard and saving the best cards. Each and every one seemed pleased with what Santa, friends, and family delivered. We think we've been prohibited from attending real or virtual bookstores for the next several months. Our stack of unread, much desired, books exceeds any hope of allowing us to catch up for the foreseeable future. Not a bad problem to have when one is faced with a North Country Winter. In fact, as we write this we're wondering which side of the rain-snow line we'll end up on. Forecasts call for a storm starting later today and lasting until sometime Friday. We're within the proverbial "spitting' distance" of a line of uncertainty dividing 2 inches of snow from 12 plus inches. Wish us luck.

snowflake Christmas cookies--the best kind

Photo by J. Harrington

After all the exciting preparations and the busy holiday yesterday, and several handfuls of Christmas cookies, we're plumb tuckered out, coming down from a sugar high, and so today's, and maybe tomorrow's, postings will be short and sweet. We're full of gratitude for both what we have, family, friends, coffee, books, home, and what we don't have, severe disabilities, unpayable bills, war, pestilence, any of the four horsemen. That's some of the nicest presence we can imagine. Soon, perhaps too soon, it will be time for--

Taking Down the Tree

By Jane Kenyon

"Give me some light!" cries Hamlet's

uncle midway through the murder

of Gonzago. "Light! Light!" cry scattering

courtesans. Here, as in Denmark,

it's dark at four, and even the moon

shines with only half a heart.

The ornaments go down into the box:

the silver spaniel, My Darling

on its collar, from Mother's childhood

in Illinois; the balsa jumping jack

my brother and I fought over,

pulling limb from limb. Mother

drew it together again with thread

while I watched, feeling depraved

at the age of ten.

With something more than caution

I handle them, and the lights, with their

tin star-shaped reflectors, brought along

from house to house, their pasteboard

toy suitcases increasingly flimsy.

Tick, tick, the desiccated needles drop.

By suppertime all that remains is the scent

of balsam fir. If it's darkness

we're having, let it be extravagant.

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A Merry Christmas message!

From the biblical stories of the birth of Christ we read:

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child.
— Luke 2:1–5

Matthew 2:16

When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi.

According to the bible, at the time of the birth of Christ the world was run by despots. How much have times changed? There are still despots and despot-wannabes. And it came to pass last July that a non-biblical perspective about the current Herod-like regime in Washington, D.C. was written by Rebecca Solnit and published in The Guardian:

We have talked about resistance a great deal these past 18 months or so, but I want to talk about opposition for a moment. You oppose a regime by standing up to it, but also by being its opposite. For this regime that means being compassionate and inclusive where they are vicious and exclusionary. It means being committed to precision and accuracy when they are sloppy with the truth and the facts or at war with them. It means preserving memory, both of how things are changing in the present, and the longterm memory of how many people before us have opposed and resisted and won, of this country’s histories of both heroes and of racism from the anti-Chinese riots of the nineteenth century to the mobs of Klansmen in the twentieth. The United States has an abundance of those heroes in the past and some in the present. John Lewis, who is one of those heroes, said recently “Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month, or a year, it is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.”

a path is made by walking

Photo by J. Harrington

We think we see much similarity between our current situation and the regime under which Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem. We also see, unsurprisingly, comparable similarity in the messages preached by Jesus Christ millennia ago and that from John Lewis via Rebecca Solnit six months ago. Each would tell us today:

Merry Christmas! Be of Good Cheer! Be Hopeful! A New Year is coming!

Christmas

By Bill Manhire

Evening: the nervous suburbs levitate.

Height does us no harm, now we are high above the mineral pools,

above the flash hotel whose only use is treachery.

Someone knocks on a door and you crouch behind the bed.

Down in the bar, the small girls toast their parents,

the brother breaks a large bone for its marrow.

I’m thinking of a challenge for us all. The star in the sky

has traveled all the way from home. Now follow that!

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'Twas the day of the night before...

We think all the presents, except those being brought by Santa, are wrapped and delivered. Instead of what had been a Christmas Eve tradition for dinner, lasagna, we're doing enchiladas, etc., in recognition of those seeking asylum along our country's southern border. To further the theme, Christmas Eve entertainment will be to watch Arrival, a movie we purchased back when if was new and never managed to watch.

the Creche several years ago at St. Paul's Cathedral

Photo by J. Harrington

If you have young children in your home, or can yourself remember the excitement a child has on Christmas Eve, count your blessings. The awe, the wonder, the joy, the magic of Christmas were made for the young and the young at heart. We're no longer in the first category but are working hard to remain in the second. That's one of the reasons we took a cue from Ray Bradbury's Dogs Think Every Day Is Christmas and gave our dogs their Christmas present a couple of days early. They agreed that it was a good idea and promptly tried to figure out how to get the edible kibbles out of the ball-like toy, rolling it about the kitchen, dining and living rooms. We now have two dogs and two similar toys. The border collie [Franco] especially enjoys herding one of the toys and the labrador [SiSi] nuzzles with her muzzle the other since she cares less about playing than she does about eating. She's finding it a challenge to connect those dots.

last year we were in Chicago's Union Station a few weeks before Christmas

Photo by J. Harrington

Tomorrow morning, with the Better Half, we get to do our own stockings and presents to each other, enjoy some coffee (not necessarily in that order), and head off to "The Kids' Place." There we'll meet up with the Son Person and enjoy the rest of Christmas morning and then his birthday in the afternoon. Then, after we get home late in the afternoon or early evening, we'll relax for a bit and then begin our prayers that we don't have to spend the rest of the week digging out.

In case we decide to take tomorrow off, we'll steal a line or two from Clement Clarke Moore (or Major Henry Livingston, Jr.) and wish a

HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!

A Visit from St. Nicholas

By Clement Clarke Moore

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds;

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,

With a little old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancerand Vixen!

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donnerand Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the housetop the coursers they flew

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.

His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!” 

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On the Eve of Christmas' Eve

There's an Eve of Christmas Eve snow shower gently falling. The back of the jeep is full of presents, beautifully wrapped thanks be to the Better Half. Sometime soon we'll deliver them to the new home the Daughter Person and Son-In-Law will be sharing for their first Christmas in their own house. If all goes as well as Thanksgiving went, it will be a joyful day indeed, compounded by the fact that, as per prior years, Christmas will end at mid-day so the rest of the day can be properly focused on our son's [Daughter Person's brother, Son-In-Law's Brother-In-Law] birthday. Our Better Half did her best to not do the "Christmas birthday" to our son, but he simply refused to cooperate.

a "Charlie Brown tree" snuggled by presents

Photo by J. Harrington

Our own little Charlie Brown Christmas tree, the one we lopped from the southern edge of our driveway, is looking happier now that it's snuggled amongst pretty presents to be opened on Christmas morning. This year we even have presents on the tree. (Most versions of the Christmas song "I'll Be Home for Christmas" have lyrics that are sung "presents on the tree." Some, though, say "'neath," others "by," and yet others "under." We much prefer the original, Bing Crosby version, in which he sings "on the tree.")

Somehow, this season, we've missed watching a Charlie Brown Christmas, along with several other standards such as "It's a Wonderful Life." We suppose it's possible that, having seen each of those a couple of dozen times over the years, missing one or seeing one twenty-five times doesn't make much difference. We're still getting into the spirit of the season and, once again, trying to figure out how to make it last year 'round, even among those who don't celebrate Christmas but still have mid-Winter celebrations such as Hanukkah, Saturnalia, Solstice and a number of others. Peace and joy and warmth and health and love and enough food and clean water can and should be shared by all, all of the time. Shall we try yet again?

[little tree]

By E. E. Cummings

little tree 

little silent Christmas tree 

you are so little 

you are more like a flower 

who found you in the green forest 

and were you very sorry to come away? 

see          i will comfort you 

because you smell so sweetly 

i will kiss your cool bark 

and hug you safe and tight 

just as your mother would, 

only don't be afraid 

look          the spangles 

that sleep all the year in a dark box 

dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine, 

the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads, 

put up your little arms 

and i'll give them all to you to hold 

every finger shall have its ring 

and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy 

then when you're quite dressed 

you'll stand in the window for everyone to see 

and how they'll stare! 

oh but you'll be very proud 

and my little sister and i will take hands 

and looking up at our beautiful tree 

we'll dance and sing 

"Noel Noel" 

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Home for the holidays

Last night, Winter Solstice, turned out to be one of the most pleasant we ever remember having during the Christmas season. Although the Better Half's company was a major contributor to the evening, that was like the sauce but not the roast. We spent the evening at three places in the St. Croix Valley, one that was new to us although we had driven past several times when it was closed.

First stop was the WaterShed Cafe in Osceola for dinner. We've become sort of regulars there, alternating Fridays with the St. Croix Chocolates' wood fired pizza. The Christmas lights in small towns in the Valley are one of the season's fundamental pleasures.

Coffee Talk in Taylors Falls

Photo by J. Harrington

When we left Osceola, we were headed for Coffee Talk in Taylors Falls for a Solstice celebration. We had time to spare before the celebration would start, so we took a turn through St. Croix Falls, just across the river from Taylors Falls. The ghost of Christmas present and future smiled on us because, as we drove past a shop [Luhrs/Bjornson Artworks] near the edge of the city, we noticed it was open. Other times we've gone by, the window sign said "Open by Appointment." We wanted to explore the pottery and paintings, but not enough to schedule an appointment. Last night was our chance. The folks running the shop are pleasant, knowledgable and talented. We spent more than half an hour looking about and talking. It turns out the potter throws, among other thing, sourdough starter pots and cloches for baking artisan bread. The cloches are slightly larger than the one we've been baking in, and shaped more like a dutch oven. Maybe we'll need one of those next year for our birthday and we'll stop back at the shop next Christmas before we've basically finished our shopping.

a historic Taylors Falls home decorated for the holidays

Photo by J. Harrington

We crossed the river and headed for Coffee Talk to see their Solstice bonfire, drink some cappuccino and to listen to the Houdeks. Their musical talents, the atmosphere, and the songs they played created a feeling of community and took us back decades to when we were frequently an audience member in several of the coffee houses in Cambridge, MA, in the days when Joan Baez and others in the folk revival were getting started. All of a sudden, the St. Croix Valley felt a lot more like "home." It's nice to be home for the holidays.

Winter Nights

Robert Bly

How easily the winter nights urge us on 

To sink deep into sleep, and once down

Roll over and over on the floor of night. 

Forty-five dreamers crowd into our bed

At night; forty of them don’t belong there. 

The other five are repeating dreamers. 

How easily the winter nights urge us on 

To abandon the bedposts, and go to sea

Looking for the island Robinson Crusoe never found. 

How many days we stand on the deck

Surrounded by drunken seamen and old ropes, 

Trying to recall the port we are sailing to. 

It is so easy to give thanks to the night. 

We give thanks to our bones for stretching out, 

And feel gratitude to our little toes. 

You know what it’s like! At midnight

The bar closes, the tables are stacked together, 

And all the drunkards are thrown out.

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Wishing you a bright Alban Arthan!

Our Irish-Celtic roots are tugging at us today. We wish all of you a Happy Winter Solstice [Alban Arthan] and a new year full of warmth and light. As we work our own way through some last minute holiday panics, we're almost ready for Christmas next week. 'Twill be a blessing when the preparations are done and the celebrations begin. Already, some of the sprigs of green are dropping prickly leaves that impale our fingers as we tidy up. We have completely failed this year in our efforts to replace the live, potted holly we bought at a big box store a couple of Christmases ago. This Autumn it packed it in finally. The Better Half located some cut branches, but it's not the same. We will be on a campaign to find and care for a variegated holly plant this Spring for next Winter's Solstice.

our recently departed holly plant in better days

Photo by J. Harrington

More and more we've become enamored of a practice of using this time of year to examine what may be holding us back and to cast it off or away so we can better move forward as the sun begins to return  in a few days and a new year is upon us. Until recently, we had done very well holding to a New Year's Resolution we made many years ago, to not make New Year's Resolutions. That whole time, we hadn't once considered the possibility of remaking or renewal of ourselves. We were focused on discrete actions like learning something or losing something like weight. These days we're trying more to create some coherence across our activities. The Druid cycle based on an eightfold wheel of the year and druid festivals helps bring some unity into our life.

We mentioned a few posts ago that we have a family tradition that requires us to find, purchase and read a "Christmas book" each year. This year we chose The Dragon in the Christmas Tree. Even though there are some dragon-lovers in our family, this book might have been more enjoyable if some of us were much younger. (Ursula Le Guin's Earthsea cycle sets a very high standard for the portrayal of dragons.) Anyway, this morning we serendipitously came across what we think will be next year's selection, Merry Midwinter: How to Rediscover the Magic of the Christmas Season.We're hopeful that it may do for humans what Ray Bradbury's Dogs Think that Every Day Is Christmas did for extending the season for canines.

Toward the Winter Solstice

Timothy Steele, 1948

Although the roof is just a story high,
It dizzies me a little to look down.
I lariat-twirl the cord of Christmas lights
And cast it to the weeping birch’s crown;
A dowel into which I’ve screwed a hook
Enables me to reach, lift, drape, and twine
The cord among the boughs so that the bulbs
Will accent the tree’s elegant design.

Friends, passing home from work or shopping, pause
And call up commendations or critiques.
I make adjustments. Though a potpourri
Of Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Jews, and Sikhs,
We all are conscious of the time of year;
We all enjoy its colorful displays
And keep some festival that mitigates
The dwindling warmth and compass of the days.

Some say that L.A. doesn’t suit the Yule,
But UPS vans now like magi make
Their present-laden rounds, while fallen leaves
Are gaily resurrected in their wake;   
The desert lifts a full moon from the east
And issues a dry Santa Ana breeze,
And valets at chic restaurants will soon
Be tending flocks of cars and SUVs.

And as the neighborhoods sink into dusk
The fan palms scattered all across town stand
More calmly prominent, and this place seems
A vast oasis in the Holy Land.
This house might be a caravansary,
The tree a kind of cordial fountainhead
Of welcome, looped and decked with necklaces
And ceintures of green, yellow, blue, and red.

Some wonder if the star of Bethlehem
Occurred when Jupiter and Saturn crossed;
It’s comforting to look up from this roof
And feel that, while all changes, nothing’s lost,
To recollect that in antiquity
The winter solstice fell in Capricorn
And that, in the Orion Nebula,
From swirling gas, new stars are being born.

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Happy Solstice Eve!

Cold, wet, raw, cloudy, -- the only thing missing from a December morning along the southern coast of Massachusetts is the smell of salt marsh. We were out in this atypical, for our North Country, weather, getting a chore or two done. In the process, we got to sit on wet tractor seats, wrestle with stubborn trailer hitches and ball carriers, and generally act as if we were 30 or 40 years younger than we are. We almost had fun but going out to play in cold, wet, weather caused our arthritis to act up. We wonder how stiff we may be tomorrow. If we don't stiffen up too much, we may consider today a trial run for possible Winter fly-fishing trips. We spend too much time in a soft chair fussing about the state of the world.

a Winter Solstice celebratory fire

Photo by J. Harrington

As we all know, tomorrow is Winter Solstice. With today's weather, most of our available wood is going to be soaking and temperatures dropping back below freezing will forestall the availability of our garden hose to provide a safety net for burning the brush pile as a bonfire. Plus, if Runny Babbit or any of the local reptiles have their Winter abode under the pile, we wouldn't want to evict them on Solstice, or so close to Christmas. One of our local Third Places is having a Solstice Celebration tomorrow evening. That prospect looks very appealing to us today.

Speaking of appealing, former Governor Carlson has a Community Voices piece in MinnPost that appeals to us quite a bit. To give you a hint, it's titled When is a surplus not a surplus? To paraphrase, our former Governor finds both major political parties guilty of deceiving the public on Minnesota state revenues and expenses forecasts. We tend to concur with former Governor Carlson and, in fact, find that the longer he makes pronouncements as a former governor, the more appealing we find many of his assessments.

The War Budget

Jessie Pope, 1868- 1941

Hodge waded through the weekly news,
    “The Income Tax,” he said,
“That’s nowt to me, I shallunt lose,
    ’Twill hit the boss instead. 
Lloyd Garge he be the man for I,
    Us poor have nowt to bear.”
He paused—then gave a dismal cry:
    “They’re goin’ to tax my beer!”

“A good thing too!” replied his wife.
    “’Twill keep you from the pub,
Swilling each evening of your life,
    While I work at the tub!”
Across the inglenook she reached,
    The welcome news to see,
Then, in resentful clamour, screeched:
    “3d. a pound on tea!”

                                    MORAL

To foot the bill it’s only fair 
    That everyone should do their share,
And since we all are served the same,
    Pay and look pleasant—that’s the game.

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We won, twice over!

Earlier this week the Better Half joined us at a fundraiser -- Local Streams: Art Benefit & Live Music for WaterLegacy, in the Black Dog Cafe in St. Paul's Lowertown. Many of the works presented were offered through silent auctions. We were fortunate enough to have the winning bids on two items, a basket woven from split wood and the print shown below. Actually, this probably means that we were a three-time winner since WaterLegacy benefited as well as the artists. Four times if we lump together and count as one the future pleasure we'll get from seeing and using our acquisitions.

The basket will hold our fresh apples, or, perhaps a fresh loaf of our bread (photos later). The print will help raise our spirits and remind us that our attitude controls much of how we feel about life. We were really pleased to participate in an opportunity to support both local artists and a valuable environmental organization. In fact, we'd like to see more of this kind of fundraiser. We were told it was reasonably successful for both artists and WaterLegacy so there's some incentive and we still have a little wall and counter space available should we make any more acquisitions.

Talking with some of the folks at WaterLegacy reminded us to go back and check some of the basic concepts Donella Meadows wrote, in February 1995, regarding sustainability. We haven't foregone the prospect of helping to move our society to a sustainable basis. That's just one of our many character flaws. Anyhow, Meadows borrowed heavily from Herman Daly and proposed this:

"In my own mind I supplement that official definition of sustainability with Herman Daly’s clear and undeniable explication of what it means in physical terms:

1. Renewable resources shall not be used faster than they can regenerate.

2. Pollution and wastes shall not be put into the environment faster than the environment can recycle them or render them harmless.

3. Nonrenewable resources shall not be used faster than renewable substitutes (used sustainably) can be develo ped.

By those conditions there’s not a nation, a company, a city, a farm, or a household on earth that is sustainable. Virtually every major fishery in the world violates condition 1. The world economy as a whole is violating condition 2 by putting out carbon dioxide 60-80% faster than the atmosphere can recycle it. But to make things worse, I would add two more sustainability conditions that I think are obvious.

4. The human population and the physical capital plant have to be kept at levels low enough to allow the first 3 conditions to be met.

5. The previous 4 conditions have to be met through processes that are democratic and equitable enough that people will stand for them."

Meadows was one of the principal authors of Limits to Growth many years ago. Thirty years later, she was one of the principal authors of an Update.

• Sea level has risen 10–20 cm since 1900. Most non-polar glaciers are retreating, and the extent and thickness of Arctic sea ice is decreasing in summer.
• In 1998 more than 45 percent of the globe’s people had to live on incomes averaging $2 a day or less. Meanwhile, the richest one- fifth of the world’s population has 85 percent of the global GNP. And the gap between rich and poor is widening.
• In 2002, the Food and Agriculture Organization of the UN estimated that 75 percent of the world’s oceanic fisheries were fished at or beyond capacity. The North Atlantic cod fishery, fished sustainably for hundreds of years, has collapsed, and the species may have been pushed to biological extinction.
• The first global assessment of soil loss, based on studies of hundreds of experts, found that 38 percent, or nearly 1.4 billion acres, of currently used agricultural land has been degraded.
• Fifty-four nations experienced declines in per capita GDP for more than a decade during the period 1990–2001.

As a Christmas present to ourselves, we would do well to pay more attention to those who have demonstrated a track record of being basically correct in their judgements. This does not include any who have, ever, driven one or more casinos into bankruptcy.

The Work of Happiness

By May Sarton

I thought of happiness, how it is woven

Out of the silence in the empty house each day

And how it is not sudden and it is not given

But is creation itself like the growth of a tree.

No one has seen it happen, but inside the bark

Another circle is growing in the expanding ring.

No one has heard the root go deeper in the dark,

But the tree is lifted by this inward work

And its plumes shine, and its leaves are glittering.

So happiness is woven out of the peace of hours

And strikes its roots deep in the house alone:

The old chest in the corner, cool waxed floors,

White curtains softly and continually blown

As the free air moves quietly about the room;

A shelf of books, a table, and the white-washed wall—

These are the dear familiar gods of home,

And here the work of faith can best be done,

The growing tree is green and musical.

For what is happiness but growth in peace,

The timeless sense of time when furniture

Has stood a life's span in a single place,

And as the air moves, so the old dreams stir

The shining leaves of present happiness?

No one has heard thought or listened to a mind,

But where people have lived in inwardness

The air is charged with blessing and does bless;

Windows look out on mountains and the walls are kind.

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Rural's not what it used to be

Today we got out and did some seasonal errands. It gave us an opportunity to drive around the St. Croix Valley through some really pretty country. Much of the area around us is scattered farms, fields, woodlots, some lakes and a moderate sized river, with a handful of towns and small cities dotting the countryside and a couple of state parks and one very large wildlife management area at the eastern and western edges of our extended neighborhood. There's just enough touches of New England colonial architecture in places like Franconia and Taylors Falls to trigger some homesickness. If you had asked us a decade or so ago, we would have claimed that we're living in moderately typical exurban to rural Minnesota. Not so these days.

The county in which we live has solar farms popping up like mushrooms in a wet Spring. On a typical drive we'll see at least half a dozen to a dozen, sometimes more. Some are moderate size. Others seem quite large. The township is revising its solar provisions in the zoning ordinance but we're not familiar with the details. We do feel as though we're living in the midst of a conversion to a carbon neutral economy.

solar farm awaiting photovoltaic panels

Photo by J. Harrington

Another, more recent, development also has us wondering if where we live is at all typical of rural Minnesota in the 21st century. Minnesota has lot's of Lutherans and other protestants along with some Catholics. We knew there have been a couple of zen buddhist centers in the Twin Cities. Now we have a Burmese Buddhist monastery and temple just down the road apiece. We took the picture below earlier today. As far as we can tell, the building's profile is unique in the area.

local Buddhist temple and monastery under construction

Photo by J. Harrington

The Unknown Citizen

W. H. Auden, 1907- 1973

(To JS/07 M 378
This Marble Monument
Is Erected by the State)

He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a
   saint,
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired,
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn’t a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in hospital but left it cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Instalment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content 
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace:  when there was war, he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his
   generation.
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their
   education.
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.

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