Photo Blog V

An old shot of the fountain show at Centennial Olympic Park in Atlanta. The best part of the fountain show are the random facts the loudspeaker will give on occasion. When I say random, I mean random. I don't remember exactly, but they're all along the lines of: "If you took all the bricks in the park, turned them into loaves of bread, and made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches out of them, it would provide lunch for all of Montanna's school children." They usually leave you looking at the people next to you and asking, "what?" Anyway, I like the shot, and it's a fun thing to check out if you're at the park in the summer.

Poem of the Day XVI

September Twelfth, 2001
by X. J. Kennedy from The Lords of Misrule: Poems 1992-2001

Two caught on film who hurtle
from the eighty-second floor,
choosing between a fireball
and to jump holding hands,

aren't us. I wake beside you,
stretch, scratch, taste the air,
the incredible joy of coffee
and the morning light.

Alive, we open eyelids
on our pitiful share of time,
we bubbles rising and bursting
in a boiling pot.

© 2002 X. J. Kennedy

Photo Blog IV

John Prine Video

I've been a big John Prine fan for several years now, since I was first introduced to him in college (his music, that is). In fact, recently I was asked if I could fill any musicians shoes, who would it be. My answer was Prine. He's an excellent song writer, funny, laid back, and seems like the kind of guy you'd want to go grab a beer with. The below is a really great video I stumbled accross of Prine from back in the day playing my favorite song. He tells a really funny story of a fan misunderstanding the lyrics to the song he's playing. For the reference of those that don't know the song, the chorus, and misunderstood lyrics, are: "That's the way that the world goes 'round / you're up one day, the next you're down / it's a half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown / that's the way that the world goes 'round". Just thought I'd share.

Photo Blog III

Just to continue a theme... Friday night fireworks from a Braves game. Turned out pretty well, I think.

Trade Deadline Excitement

So, I realize that baseball posts are fairly self-indulgent (as if blogging in general were not) because most of you folks that keep up with this blog couldn't care less (though there may be a couple out there who do), but I couldn't resist with the recent Braves happenings.

The Braves GM, John Schuerholz, resembled a kid at a baseball card show these past couple days before the trade deadline today. A recap of the moves made:

• The big move was the acquisition of Mark Teixeira, a power hitting first baseman, from the Texas Rangers. He's not only a great bat but also a gold glove first baseman. First base has been the glaring weakness in the Braves lineup, and Teixeira is the best we could have gotten to fill that place. The Braves also got relief pitcher Ron Mahay. We had to give up a lot to get them: Jarrod Saltalamacchia, Elvis Andrus, and Neftali Feliz, which are the top three Braves prospects, as well as Matt Harrison and Beau Jones. I hate losing such great prospects, but that's all they are: prospects. There's no substitute for proven talent. This deal makes the Braves a contender NOW, and a big one. Teixeira now gives the Braves 4 potential 100 RBI guys, which is huge. It also puts a big bat behind the surging Chipper Jones to force pitchers to pitch to him. Right now he's got Andruw Jones behind him who has been struggling. There isn't a weak point in the lineup now.
  
• The Braves also acquired relief pitcher Octavio Dotel from Kansas City for starting pitcher Kyle Davies. This is a great move in my mind, as Davies has been mediocre and Dotel has been an excellent relief pitcher. This along with the other trades gives the Braves the deepest bullpen in the National League.
  
• Finally, the Braves got reliever Royce Ring from the Padres for Wilfredo Ledezma and Will Startup.

The only hole that the Braves didn't fill was that of another starting pitcher. There were efforts to get Bronson Arroyo from the Reds and either Jon Garland or Javier Vasquez from the White Sox, but these fell through. In my opinion, though, I don't think it's as big a deal since we got an extra big bat and solidified the bullpen. We've got John Smoltz and Tim Hudson as a big 1-2 punch at the start of the rotation, then Chuck James, Buddy Carlyle, and Jo-Jo Reyes, who have all been decent lately, and have faced most of their struggles in the late innings. Having depth in the pen allows Bobby to bring in relievers that much sooner and takes a lot of pressure off of the starters.

These moves put the Braves as the favorite to win the NL East and put them as great contenders for a World Series appearance. I'm excited to see what happens...stay tuned.

Photo Blog II

A cold beer to the first person that can guess where this was taken. I really love this shot. It's been the wallpaper on my phone since it was taken.

Poem of the Day XV

Nirvana
by Charles Bukowski from Run With the Hunted: A Charles Bukowski Reader

not much chance,
completely cut loose from
purpose,
he was a young man
riding a bus
through North Carolina
on the way to somewhere
and it began to snow
and the bus stopped
at a little cafe
in the hills
and the passengers
entered.
he sat at the counter
with the others,
he ordered and the
food arrived.
the meal was
particularly
good
and the
coffee.
the waitress was
unlike the women
he had
known.
she was unaffected,
there was a natural
humor which came
from her.
the fry cook said
crazy things.
the dishwasher
in back,
laughed, a good
clean
pleasant
laugh.
the young man watched
the snow through the
windows.
he wanted to stay
in that cafe
forever.
the curious feelings
wam through him
that everything
was
beautiful
there,
that it would always
stay beautiful
there.
then the bus driver
told the passengers
that it was time
to board.
the young man
thought, I'll just sit
here, I'll just stay
here.
but then
he rose and followed
the others into the
bus.
he found his seat
and looked at the cafe
through the bus
window.
then the bus moved
off, down a curve,
downward, out of
the hills.
the young man
looked straight
forward.
he heard the other
passengers
speaking
of other things,
or they were
reading
or
attempting to
sleep.
they had not
noticed
the
magic.
the young man
put his head to
one side,
closed his
eyes,
pretended to
sleep.
there was nothing
else to do-
just to listen to the
sound of the
engine,
the sound of the
tires
in the
snow.

© Charles Bukowski

Photo Blog I

Several months ago I decided to check out the bar at the top of the Westin in Atlanta. For those that aren't familiar with it, it's one of those rotating restaurants that looks out on the city. This was one of the wall decorations. I looked up from my table and thought this was a great shot, especially since it most likely goes unnoticed as the feature presentation is, of course, the gorgeous view of downtown Atlanta. I love the lines in this photo, and the way the "IX" was captured so perfectly in the shadow.

Just Thought I'd Check In

April, huh? Has it really been since the beginning of April since I last posted? That's what it looks like. Blogger doesn't lie. Sorry for the hiatus. I will offer no excuses, I mean, it's not like you pay for this. At any rate, it's nice to be back in action. I've got a new feature I'd like to add to The Man on the Train: Photo Blogs. I realized that I've taken some nice shots over the last year or two with my cell phone camera, so I thought I'd upload them and post them for the world to see. The quality isn't great, of course, but I love the spontaneity of it. You never know when you'll get one of those moments where the world aligns itself just right for a picture. I hope to continue to post photos as I take them. Perhaps I will also add digital camera photos as well, but my cell phone is always with me and usually yields more universally interesting pictures. Hopefully I can update a little more frequently, I've got a few old ones to post over time, so please stop by again. We'll sit, drink sweet tea, talk about old times, it'll be fun. Thanks to those of you who have been stopping by anyway. Heck, I've even gotten comments on months old posts. It's nice to know you're not alone in cyberspace. Until later...

Folk Tales II

This next folk tale was a fun one to write. It comes from a song this time instead of a story. I first heard the song this story is based on a few years ago. Jerry Garcia and David Grisman put out a CD of traditional folk songs, one of which was "Oh, the Wind and Rain". Then, just recently, I heard the new Tom Wait's CD, which has a very similar song called "The Two Sisters". I searched for these online and found that this is a very popular song that has gone through many versions. You can find them here. For the story, I took my favorite parts of each of the versions and constructed a narrative. The story leant itself to having a song included, so you not only get a story, but an original song based on the same style as the folk songs. Hope you enjoy!

The Two Sisters

The candle flickered slowly, casting long shadows across the room. Even the flame seemed tired at this late hour, long past the time that the last horse had clopped down the cobblestone street outside. Inside his shop, by the candle light remaining, the luthier was putting the finishing touches on what had turned out to be a very strange, yet beautiful violin. The governor had commissioned it, and while the circumstances surrounding it were odd at best, Frederick was not one to refuse the governor, or turn down a handsome payment.

With the final string in place, Frederick brought the violin to his chin and lifted the bow. Suddenly he was not in his shop, but was transported outside to a sunny day. Memory that was not his flooded him and he began to play. The bow moved back in forth in a cadence that was not his own and his fingers fretted notes on the neck that were not his will. A song emerged, the melody beautiful and sad, the glistening of ice on a rose bush after a late frost, and he began to sing. The words filled his mouth and pushed for escape. When the song was over Frederick sat listening to the last note echo around his small shop as the room took shape around him again. He sat unable to move, as if waking from a deep sleep. He began to feel the wood of his chair, and then smelled the candle, and watched as it flickered out in a puff of smoke.

***

A gentle wind from the ocean blew as the two sisters sat on the rocks overlooking the harbor. They came here often to watch the boats, busy with commerce, unnoticing, going about the day’s business. Most were small fishing vessels, but often large three-masted schooners carrying freight from England would arrive. Slowly they would emerge over the horizon and arrive in the harbor with an air of a king. Usually the sisters would talk, or Kate would sing the many songs she had memorized, but when a schooner sailed in, Helen and Kate would stare in awe and wonder and watch silently the entire progression. This day, however, did not produce a large schooner, and so the sisters gathered their things and began to walk back home as the sun began to set.

“Ahoy there, fair maidens!” the call came from behind the sisters. They turned and giggled at the young man behind them, one foot on a rock, the other over his eyes as if he were looking from the bow of a boat.

“Hello!” Helen said with a warm smile.

“Johnny, what is it that you want, we are just heading home,” Kate said with a laugh.

“Only to speak with the two most beautiful sisters in town. May I escort you ladies home?”

“Of course,” Helen said, and offered her arm to Johnny. He looked at Kate, then took Helen’s arm. After a few steps he stopped.

“Wait, I just thought of something!” he exclaimed. He knelt and pulled a beaver cap out of his pack and handed it to Kate. “Here! I know how much you loved the stories of Davy Crockett, so I got this for you.” He handed it up to Kate from his knee.

“Oh! It’s lovely, thank you!” Kate said as she tried on the hat. “Helen, what do you think?”

“It’s very nice, Kate,” Helen said and then turned towards Johnny to offer her arm again, but he had turned and was walking beside Kate down the lane.

***

Helen stormed around the next morning as she prepared for the day. She consoled her self on the fact that it was just a beaver hat that Johnny had given to Kate.

“A children’s toy,” she thought, “I am the older sister, I’m sure he will be bringing me a far greater gift. Let Kate have her hat.”

A knock came at the door and Helen peered out the curtains and saw it was Johnny. “See, Helen, you were all worked up for nothing.”

Helen rushed to the front door, took a breath, and opened it.

“Why, Johnny, what a nice surprise, how are you?”

“Oh, fine, Helen, I’m fine…um, is Kate here?”

“Kate? Uh, yes, she is, why?”

“May I speak with her?”

Helen was furious. She turned and stormed up the stairs of the large house to Kate’s room. She knocked and entered. “Johnny’s here, he wants to see you.”

Kate, wearing the beaver hat, rushed down the stairs to the front door. Helen took up a post at the upstairs window and looked down from behind the curtains. The voices trailed up on the sea air.

“You’re wearing the hat!”

“Yes, I love it, it was a wonderful gift.”

“I’m glad you like it. I, um, have another for you…” Johnny trailed off as Kate looked on expectantly. He pulled from his pocket a small box. “It’s a ring…well, you would see that soon enough…I, well, just look at it…”

He handed the box to Kate who opened it and gasped.

“It’s a gold ring,” Johnny said, “I just got back from the Governor’s office, speaking with your father, and, well…”

Before Johnny could finish Kate said, “Yes” and hugged him. “I must tell Helen!”

Helen’s stomach turned, and she moved to sit in a chair near the window, clutching her fists so tight her nails dug into her skin. She breathed, hearing the footsteps of Kate coming down the hall, and tried to control herself. Kate burst into the room.

“Look! Johnny, he’s downstairs, and well, look!”

“That’s lovely,” Helen mustered, “I’m happy for you. Say, why don’t we take a walk by the river, down towards the boats and you can tell me all about it.”

“Yes, let’s go this afternoon.”

***

Helen sat all day becoming angrier and angrier. She had vicious thoughts, and cursed her sister, Johnny, the town, her father, the house, her room, the chair, and anything she could think of or see. It was not only unfair, it was against all nature and tradition. She, as the oldest, should be the first to wed, not her annoying younger sister. She was practically a child! Not mature and refined like herself. Her father should know this, Johnny should know this, they all should!

She knew that she could not be seen this angry, and so tried to calm herself, at least externally, before her afternoon walk. When the time came, Helen had a placid demeanor, especially considering the squall going on inside. The sisters walked along the river that flowed towards the ocean. Kate was talking at a rapid rate, describing every detail. She sang and skipped down the lane. Helen said little, but smiled and nodded. Finally, they came to a rock overlooking the river where they often sat and talked. Kate stood up on the edge, looked down the river, and took a long sigh of contentment. Helen could stand it no longer. She rushed at her sister and pushed her in the river.

Kate felt the icy water and struggled to swim as her dress floated up around her and got tangled in her arms. She got her head above water long enough to hear Helen yelling.

“He should be mine!” Helen yelled as her sister was caught in the current. Helen walked along the shore as Kate struggled to swim and stay afloat.

“Give me your hand, sister!” Kate called from the river. “Give me your hand and you can have anything you want! My inheritance! My things! Please give me your hand!”

“I do not want your things,” Helen sneered as she walked along the river, “but I will have your true love!”

Helen rushed off back towards the house as Kate sank and swam. She fell below the surface, grasped at branches, tried to swim towards shore, and finally gave in to the current.

***

The miller stood outside, taking a break, and admiring the beautiful day. He looked up river and saw a figure rushing towards him. Either a mermaid or a milk-white swan, he thought to himself as he grabbed his hook and ran to the shore. He reached in and fished the woman out of the water and pulled her up to the shore. He moved her wet blonde hair from her face and saw it was Kate, the governor’s daughter. He stood over her and bent down for a closer look, not believing his eyes, and started to pick her up when around the side of the house rode three soldiers.

“Stop there William!”

The miller looked up, letting the dead girl drop from his arms. Two of the soldiers came up to him and put him in cuffs.

“I must say, I didn’t believe it when Helen ran in and said that you attacked them, but now I see it with my own eyes. Dear Lord, the governor will not be merciful. Take him away!”

***

Three weeks after the hanging of William the miller and two weeks after the memorial service for Kate, a man carrying a box under his arm knocked on the front door of the governor’s mansion.

“Frederick!” The governor said as he opened the door. “Good to see you, I trust you have completed the violin”

“Yes, I have, sir.”

“How did it come out?”

“Well, I must say, it was a strange request to be ordered to make a fiddle from the bones and hair of a person, but considering the circumstances, I think it came out well.”

“Is it any worse than abandoning her to the ground to rot? Putting her in a box, lowering her beneath the earth, and leaving naught but a granite stone to express her full life and personality? Just wilting flowers and blown grass to express the music of her soul…No, I refused to do it. Instead, she will live on in music, sounds that will echo forever to express her life.”

“Yes sir, I understand”

“Why don’t you pull it out and play. I’d love to hear how it sounds. Helen! Come in here, the violin is ready!”

Helen and Johnny came in the room and sat down as Frederick pulled the instrument from its case. He had not played it again since that first night in his shop and had been scared to even look at it. Perhaps it will not happen again, he thought, but just as he raised the instrument to his chin, he was again whisked away. The violin began to play him, and along with the same mournful song that would melt a heart of stone, the same words were sung again:

Yonder stands there my father strong
And my dear sister who could do no wrong
The ships sail in and the ships out
But I loved you true and without doubt

Then along came Johnny a courting here
Happy so much was I that I never shed a tear
The ships sail in and the ships sail out
But I loved you true and without doubt

Then what should happen but my true love choose me
And a joy I’d n’er known, like a bird, set me free
The ships sail in and the ships sail out
But I loved you true and without doubt

Though without my knowing, a tempest raged
A once righteous ship was sunk and caged
The ships sail in and the ships sail out
But I loved you true and without doubt

‘Twas a Jealous heart that brought her down
For it was Helen who pushed me in to drown
The ships sail in and the ships sail out
But I loved you true and without doubt

Many songs do sing the free, true wren
But none but this shall I sing because of Helen
The ships sail in and the ships sail out
But I loved you true and without doubt

Helen stared forward incredulous. Her hands still sat folded in her lap, but her face was red and hot and her heart beat in her throat. The entire room was silent and still as the last note echoed through the hall.

Poem of the Day XIV

The Invention of Fractions
by Jessica Goodfellow from A Pilgrim's Guide to Chaos in the Heartland

God himself made the whole numbers: everything else
is the work of man.

—Leopold Kronnecker

God created the whole numbers:
the first born, the seventh seal,
Ten Commandments etched in stone,
the Twelve Tribes of Israel —
Ten we've already lost —
forty days and forty nights,
Saul's ten thousand and David's ten thousand.
'Be of one heart and one mind' —
the whole numbers, the counting numbers.

It took humankind to need less than this;
to invent fractions, percentages, decimals.
Only humankind could need the concepts
of splintering and dividing,
of things lost or broken,
of settling for the part instead of the whole.

Only humankind could find the whole numbers,
infinite as they are, to be wanting;
though given a limitless supply,
we still had no way
to measure what we keep
in our many-chambered hearts.

© Concrete Wolf Chapbook Series

News in Review III

A Solution for the Climate Crises

Paul Hellyer, a former Canadian defense minister, has a unique solution to the climate crises:

"I would like to see what (alien) technology there might be that could eliminate the burning of fossil fuels within a generation ... that could be a way to save our planet."

Apparently Hellyer believes that governents around the world have large amounts of knowledge culled from researching UFO crashes and wants us to put it into practice.

I suppose the government cover up of intelligent life is the real inconvenient truth...

The Ups and Downs of Life on the Road

The article linked to above has a first sentence that rivals "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" and "Call me Ishamel". It is most certainly the greatest first sentence ever recorded in a news article:

"A jazz musician was injured Friday after jumping from a burning motor home driven by a one-time roller skating stripper from Lodi."

I get goose bumps everytime I read it.

(hat tip: Tom)

First Signs of Spring

Last week, on Thursday the 15th to be precise, I heard the three most beautiful words in the English language: pitchers and catchers. Now, before your mind wanders and you start thinking strange things about me, I’m talking about baseball. All other position players are due at camp this week, but pitchers and catchers report first and thus signal the beginning of spring and the first glimmer of hope that the long, cold winter is almost over. I don’t know what to do with myself between the end of football season and the beginning of baseball. Watch hockey? Pshh. C’mon, I live in Georgia.

So, in honor of spring training I figured I'd give my opinion on the outlook of the Braves this year and my predictions for the NL East. Since no one really reads this anymore it won’t matter if I’m way off, but if I’m right I’ll have the evidence to prove it.

Bull Pen: A
The key off season moves this year strengthend the bull pen: the Braves picked up Mike Gonzalez and Rafael Soriano. These two excellent set up men, and possibly occasional closers, along with regular closer Bob Wickman, give us one of the strongest pens in the league. This will make this season a lot less stressful. Last year, Braves fans started rocking like Leo every time Bobby came to the mound with the hook. Look for this to take a big load off starting pitching as they won't feel like they have to go 7 or 8 innings each outing.

Starting Pitching: B
The starting rotation is still a question mark. John Smoltz should be strong as ever. Word is that he’s the type that won’t let his recent divorce affect him on the field, and since he’s in the last year of his contract he’s going to want to put up some good numbers to stick around a few more years (with or without the Braves). Tim Hudson is back, but will we see the Huddy of the last few years, or the one that was one of the most dominant pitchers in baseball when he played for Oakland? The biggest question mark is Mike Hampton who is planning to return from missing a season and a half because of injuries. Let’s hope he can return to his pre-injury form. Closing out the rotation will be Chuck James, a rookie who showed a lot of promise last year. If everyhing comes together, this staff is an A+.

Infield: C+
The biggest losses in the off season did a number on the right side of the infield. Marcus Giles was released as a free agent and Adam LaRoche was traded to the Pirates. Giles has always been one of my favorites, and his off the field spirit will probably be missed more than his bat. As for LaRoche, I’ve gone from not liking him because of his lack of hustle to coming around some with his amazing second half offensive performance last season. Whatever you think about him, he leaves some decent sized shoes to fill. Rookies will be taking over at both positions, Scott Thorman at first and Kelly Johnson at second (who hasn't played second since high school) so only time will tell how that will work out. Look for prospect Jarrod Saltalamacchia to perhaps come up late in the season. If he can find his bat and pick up some skills at first, we could be set there for a while.

As for the rest of the infield, we look pretty good. Edgar Renteria is a soft spoken guy that speaks loudly with his bat. He had a couple of great hitting streaks last season. Chipper is Chipper. The main question is: will he stay healthy? If not, we'll have a very young infield as his replacement will probably be Willy Aybar who came up in 2005 with the Dodgers. Behind the plate, we have probably the best young catcher in baseball. There’s nothing not to like about Brian McCann. Overall, there are a lot of holes, so we'll all be counting on Bobby to work some magic.

Outfield: B
There are two main questions in the outfield: who gets the starting job in left and will Frenchy draw a few walks this season? Ryan Langerhans and Matt Diaz are the two guys in the running for the left field spot. While Langerhans is a great defensive outfielder, he has struggled at the plate. Diaz is a better hitter, but hasn’t been as strong in the field. Perhaps there will be a platoon, but I have a feeling one of them will end up on the trading block. Spring training may just determine which one. Jeff Francoeur is a great left fielder and has promise to be one of the league’s best hitters. Now if he could just lay off the first pitch… He only drew 23 walks in 651 at bats last season. I'm surprised it's even that high. Andruw Jones in center is the strongest part of the outfield. Word is he’s in the best shape he’s been in for years at the start of spring training and he’s also going to be playing for $$$. This is the last year of his contract, and he’s up for a HUGE raise if he performs well (unfortunately, it most likely won’t be with the Braves who have a payroll cap that will likely stay with new owners Liberty Media). At the very least, we’ll get one more great season from him. Be sure to catch some games this year just to see Andruw, because this may be the last time you see him in a Braves uniform.

Bench: C
The bench is very young and will most likely be playing musical chairs as Bobby tries to come up with the right combination for the open infield spots. If Chipper goes down, the bench will be even thinner. We're not going to have a lot in the line of pinch hitters, but we will have some speed and some hustle. Pete Orr deserves mention here. He's no great threat right now, but he plays like a ball player. He hustles to first even on a little bouncer to the mound. Hopefully his spirit will be contagious.


Overall, if the pitching and infield questions work out, the Braves have a good shot of taking the division again this year. Pitching is what always won it for us in the past, and if we can work out some kinks, we could be staring down on the rest of the East, as it should be.

Prediction for final NL East standings:

1. Atlanta Braves – Yea, gotta go with the hometown team

2. New York Mets – Will be very tough again this season, but pitching is the question, espcially their aces. Pedro has been injured and Glavine is getting up there.

3. Philadelphia Phillies – Have a good shot of taking the whole division, I’d put them no more than a game back from the Mets. Ryan Howard is amazing: there's not reason he won't hit another 50 home runs this year with the short porch at Citizens Bank Park

4. Florida Marlins - A young team loaded with talent. They'll be the team to beat in a couple of years, of course they need to get their front office in order first and get out of Dolphin Stadium.

5. Washington Nationals - Still in transition and trying to rebuild. Wait until they get their new stadium and a permenant home.

Folk Tales I

Here is my first folk tale re-telling. You can read my introduction to these here. This comes from a Japanese folk tale called The Mirror of Matsuyama. I have changed the setting from Japan to the American west, but have left most of it the same. You can read the original story here. So, without further delay, here is my version:

The Mirror

A thin beam of light from the setting sun shone through the crack in the door, climbed up the wooden table in the center of the room, and ran down the other side before dying out next to a woman sitting in a rocking chair, knitting. Her daughter played on the wooden floor next to her with a rag doll, its left eye hanging by a thread.

The door swung open and a tall man walked in. His eyes were tired and his clothes ragged. The little girl jumped up, leaving her doll on the floor where she was playing, and ran to her father. She jumped in his arms and the father let out an audible groan at the extra weight, but he still grabbed the girl and tossed her into the air as if she were a doll.

“I have news,” the man said as he set his daughter down. “Word is that prices are up. I need to go to town tomorrow with some of the harvest now before they go back down again. I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Can I come?” the daughter asked, looking up at her father.

The man bent down.

“No, darling, you must stay. But if you’re a good girl, and look after your mother, I’ll bring you a surprise.”

***

The sun stood a perfect sphere, high in the pale blue sky. A gentle breeze blew through the small girl’s hair as she did cartwheels near the small log cabin. She fell and lay in the warm grass looking up at the sky. She heard her mother's footsteps rush from inside the cabin and out onto the porch and looked up to see her father emerge over the hill driving the horse carriage. When he spotted his family he waved.

The dust settled and the man jumped down from the carriage to be greeted by his wife and daughter.

“What did you bring me?” his daughter shrieked in excitement.

“It’s nice to see you too,” the man said with a laugh. He kissed his wife and then reached into the back of the carriage.

He pulled out a wicker basket and set it on the ground. The little girl clasped her hands and jumped up and down in excitement. He reached into the basket and held his hand there for just a moment until he thought his daughter would burst and then pulled out a brand new doll, with shiny button eyes and a clean checkered dress, and a small tin with candies. His daughter held her new treasures in her hands and then gave her father a hug. Her father then pulled out another gift.

“This one is for your mother,” he said, and handed a beautiful metal mirror to his wife. The back of the mirror had a painting of a horse grazing next to a pond.

She held the mirror up and was startled to see the woman looking back at her, at first thinking it to be someone else, and then chuckling to herself at the idea. Being far from town and not having much money, the woman had never owned a mirror and had never seen such a clear reflection of herself before. She remembered looking into a pond when she was a girl and seeing her blonde curls spill around her face, but this was entirely different. She smiled as she looked into the mirror just as the wind blew her hair and her husband and daughter shared a look both knowing the image in the mirror must be the most beautiful site a person could behold.

“I love it,” his wife said. “It’s perfect.”

***

The moon shone cold through the window on the woman lying in bed. Every blanket in the house was piled on the bed and her husband sat next to her, holding a cool wet cloth to her forehead. The woman coughed until she couldn’t breathe. Her daughter sat across the room clutching her doll. She was terrified and couldn’t sleep.

After this last coughing fit the woman lay back and looked almost peaceful. Her skin was a pale white and appeared more so in the soft light of the full moon. She looked up and motioned for her daughter to come close.

Slowly, the little girl walked to her mother.

“Dearest,” the mother began in a soft whisper, “I am leaving soon and I will not be back. But this does not mean that I will not always love you and always be with you. You are my treasure and have filled my life with joy. Please take care of your father. You will miss me, but when you are lonely, look into my mirror and I will be with you.”

The mother took the mirror from next to the bed and handed it to the little girl. The metal was cold in her hands and she held it to her chest, still looking into her mother’s face. Slowly, her mother lay back, closed her eyes, and became still.

***

“Wake up!” the woman snapped. “I need your help in the kitchen, you have slept long enough. When I was your age this kind of sloth would not have been tolerated!”

The little girl rubbed sleep from her eyes and saw her step-mother standing over her. It was cold and the girl could hear the rain outside.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” the woman said as she turned back to her chores.

The little girl rose and slowly dressed. She stood for a long while looking at the mirror her mother had given her. She smiled and reached for it, but was jolted back into the present to another call from her step-mother.

Often over the past 3 years since her mother had died, and especially the past year since her father had re-married, the little girl would take the mirror somewhere quiet. She would sit in the corner between her bed and the wall, or take it out to the big oak tree outside, and would stare into the mirror. Whenever she did, she saw her mother’s face, not pale and sick as it was at the end, but beautiful and full of life.

The girl couldn’t bear the thought of another morning of chores, and grabbed the mirror and sat between the wall and her bed. Impatient that she had not come to the kitchen, the woman walked back to the girl and saw her looking at the mirror and grinning.

Surely she is up to some sort of devilry, the woman thought. She must be plotting all manner of terrible things. That must be some instrument of the devil she’s got. Well, I won’t stand for it.

The woman hurried out of the cabin and found her husband working in the field. She explained to him the situation. Hardly believing it he walked back to the cabin with her, but the more she talked the more convincing she sounded.

He walked into the cabin and his daughter looked up and slid the mirror quickly under the covers. Now, thinking she must be up to something if she would be so quick to hide the instrument, he confronted her.

The girl looked up surprised at her father’s accusation.

“I would never hurt someone that means so much to you, father. You are happy, and I am happy for you. I mean no harm.”

“What is it that you hid so quickly?”

“It is the mirror you gave to mother and that she gave me. She told me to look in it whenever I was lonely. When I do, which has been often, I see her face, smiling and beautiful as I remember it best.” The girl pulled the mirror out and held it up to her father. He reached for it, warm from being under the covers and in the girls hands, and looked at his reflection. A tear came to his eye and he looked to his new wife.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, trying to hold back her own tears, “I never knew, I…” She trailed off, and began to cry. Her face softened and she looked at the little girl as if for the first time. The three stood with each other in the small room as the rain gently eased up outside.

An Introduction

As the time between posts increases, I become more agitated that I cannot think of anything to write about. There is not much going on in current events and I am often too tired, or don't have the time, to write anything original. I feel it is a cop-out to continue to post other people's poetry (not that I'm going to stop, mind you). So, I tried to think of a way to write and not have to be completely original. That's when I got an idea from The Decemberists.

As you will see in my review of their new album below, they wrote three songs based around the folk tale of The Crane Wife. This got me to thinking. I began reading folk tales on-line, which is an enjoyable practice in and of itself, and I decided to try my hand at re-telling some of them. Why do this? Three reasons: 1) I cannot seem to think of anything else to write lately, 2) I would like to bring some great old stories into the light and perhaps shed some new light with my own telling, and 3) it's an excellent writing exercise. So, if for no other reason than to force myself to write, it's worthwhile. And hopefully you'll enjoy the product.

I do not know how much I will change the stories. I plan to keep them true to the original as much as possible, but I may take creative license here and there. My main point is to add the flesh. Folk tales are mostly stories of morals, lessons, and values, and tend to be very minimal. They tell you what they want to tell you and leave out the rest. They are kind of a skeleton of a story and I would like to add in the details, and practice the rule of "show, don't tell", a basic tenant of craft that should be learned in Creative Writing 101. Hopefully I'll succeed. If not, well, all three of you that read this blog can deal with it.

And now my laziness catch...if this only happens once, oh well, it happened once, but hopefully this is something I can make a regular feature. We'll see. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy.

Poem of the Day XIII

Thanks, Robert Frost
by David Ray from Music of Time: Selected and New Poems

Do you have hope for the future?
someone asked Robert Frost, toward the end.
Yes, and even for the past, he replied,
that it will turn out to have been all right
for what it was, something we can accept,
mistakes made by the selves we had to be,
not able to be, perhaps, what we wished,
or what looking back half the time it seems
we could so easily have been, or ought...
The future, yes, and even for the past,
that it will become something we can bear.
And I too, and my children, so I hope,
will recall as not too heavy the tug
of those albatrosses I sadly placed
upon their tender necks. Hope for the past,
yes, old Frost, your words provide that courage,
and it brings strange peace that itself passes
into past, easier to bear because
you said it, rather casually, as snow
went on falling in Vermont years ago.

© The Backwaters Press

New's in Review II

The Jaywalking Historian

“Tufts University professor, [Felipe Fernandez-Armesto] who was arrested last Thursday and charged with disorderly conduct, contends he was assaulted without provocation for merely jaywalking across Courtland Street. But Officer Kevin Leonpacher insists he is no rogue cop and suggests perhaps the professor is a bit of a scofflaw.” -from 1/10/07 AJC story

As if Atlanta hasn’t gotten enough bad publicity in the past couple of years (courthouse shooter, runaway bride, Cynthia McKinney, et al) now we have Atlanta police taking down a 56 year old history professor in town for the AHA (American Historical Association) conference.

Now, granted, I’m sure Dr. Fernandez wasn’t the little angel he’s claiming to be, but still, the officer should have been able to tell that this guy wasn’t a threat. It just looks bad no matter how you cut it. On the other hand, Dr. Fernandez should have been smart enough to cross at a crosswalk.

After being released from prison Dr. Fernandez described his cell mates, in what is my “Pretentious Professor Quote of the Day” (PPQD), as: "extremely unfortunate members of the underclass."

Scorpions on a Plane!

“A scorpion stung David Sullivan on the back of his right leg, just below the knee, then continued up that leg and down the other, he believes, before getting him again in the shin.

It wasn't what he was expecting on a flight from Chicago to Vermont.” –from a 1/10/07 AP story

Okay, so I just included this so I could say “Scorpions on a Plane!” It is a bit strange, though. I love this quote: “The airlines tell you can't bring water or shampoo on a plane," Helena Sullivan [the wife] said. But the scorpion did make it aboard, she said.

Of course there is absolutely no connection between an insect making its way onboard and keeping passengers from carrying on shampoo, but what else are you going to say to the reporter?


Pillars of Creation Toppled by Stellar Blast

“They helped open the public's eyes to the wonders of space when they were first photographed in 1995, but a new study suggests the famous Pillars of Creation in the Eagle Nebula might have already been toppled long ago, and that what the Hubble Space Telescope actually captured was their ghost image.” -from a 1/10/07 Space.com story

First of all, I love the title of the article (same as my title for this section). It sounds like a chapter title in a discount bin sci-fi novel, doesn’t it?

Second, this really is pretty cool. Most people know that space is so vast that it takes thousands of years for the light from stars to reach us. What this article is saying is that these pillars of dust photographed in this Hubble Telescope picture were actually destroyed by a supernova 6000 years ago. It’ll be another 1000 years before we see what it looked like after the explosion. Kind of boggles the mind, ey?

Best Album of 2006

One year after picking up Picaresque, The Decemberists’ third full length release, my brother gave me The Crane Wife, the band’s fourth release, and first on a major label (Capitol) for Christmas this year. After one listen The Crane Wife won my personal Best Album of 2006 award. I haven’t been as excited about an album since my best album of 2005, Sufjan Stevens’ Illinois. Every track is great, and some are simply amazing.

The Decemberists are known for their archaic storybook lyrics and that doesn’t stop here. The title track (actually 3 songs, the third being the first song on the album and the first two comprising a medley towards the end of the album) is a recreation of a Japanese folk tale. In it, a man finds a wounded crane one day and nurses it back to health. Soon after, a woman shows up at his door and the two are married. Because they are poor, the woman says she can spin beautiful yarn, but the man must never look in on her while she is doing it. The man pushes her harder and harder because of his greed and finally his curiosity overcomes him and he looks in the room. Inside is the crane, pulling out her feathers to spin in the yarn. Upon spotting the man, the crane flies off, never to be seen again.

In addition to the literary feel of the lyrics they are often dark. Colin Meloy, the lead singer and lyrist, has a penchant for writing about abused children, thieves, murderer’s, and star crossed lovers tales ending in death. The topics are handled so expertly, though, and woven into such beautiful stories, that you could hardly be offended and in fact end up appreciating the rawness of the stories. The song “Shankhill Butchers”, based on the actual murderers in Ireland, reads like a Grimm’s fairy tale. The story was used to warn children into good behavior. The chorus goes:

“‘Cause everybody knows
If you don’t mind your mother’s words
A wicked wind will blow
Your ribbons from you curls
Everybody moan, everybody shake
The Shankhill Butchers want to catch you awake”

Good lyrics need good music to hold them up, and the music on this album is excellent. The Decemberists are typically described as “indie-folk” or perhaps even “indie-pop”, but it really is hard to classify the music. There are hints of rock through the ages from the Led Zeppelin-esque “When the War Came” to the 1970’s prog rock-ish 3 song opus “The Island” (especially the excellent middle track), and speckles of 80’s and 90’s rock throughout. The band certainly makes good use of its musical predecessors. The songs are upbeat when they need to be and down trodden at the right moments. Every track alternates between acoustic guitars, distorted electrics, drums, and bass guitar, all perfectly holding up the story book lyrics.

There’s no such thing as a perfect album, but this one is darn near close. The best part is that this prolific 5 piece from Oregon (they’ve already put out 4 full length albums in 4 years) is a long way from finished. It will be hard to top The Crane Wife, but even a near miss would still be an excellent album.

Another BCS Rant

It’s been said before, but I’ll say it again: college football has got to get rid of the current BCS system. Every year at least one team gets shafted, sometimes worse than others: remember a couple years ago when Auburn went undefeated, won the SEC, and their bowl game and finished second? Yea, I know there are other more prominent ones, but this is the one I remember. Most fans will be quick to share their favorite sob story before you can even finish the question. The problem, though, does more than just tick off a few fans every year; it dampens the excitement of a great sport. Sportswriters can talk all day about who they think will win on paper, but as it’s been said, the game isn’t played on paper. That’s the reason all that time and money is spent actually going out to the field and playing the game. You never know what can happen, which is precisely what makes it so exciting.

For example, take Boise State’s thrilling win in the Fiesta Bowl over Oklahoma on Monday. You’ve probably heard about this by now even if you aren’t a sports fan because it’s been everywhere. Yesterday I heard mention of it in discussion groups I’m a part of, on NPR, Sports Center, the evening news, the newspaper, heck they were still talking about it today in the news. For those that don’t know the story, it goes something like this: Boise State came into the game as an underdog and no one gave them a chance to win outside of the Boise State campus. As Terry Bowden put it in his column today:

I couldn't find one college football analyst or expert who picked them. Who possibly could have predicted that Boise State, which moved to Division I-A just a decade ago, could beat Oklahoma, the team with the highest paid coach in college football (well, as of Jan. 2), the best facilities, the best athletes, seven national championships and arguably the best winning tradition anywhere?

But they did win and they did it with more excitement than has been seen in awhile. In case you didn’t catch the two trick plays that tied and won the game, you can find the hook and ladder play here and the statue of liberty play here. The amazing thing is that these plays, especially the latter, are a part of football folklore and haven’t worked in a game in years. But they did on Monday.

And that’s just it. Depriving 13-0 Boise State of a shot at the title, as well as all the other teams with good records, is depriving the country of a really great story. Of course there are far more important issues in our world, but sometimes the only way to deal with the day to day difficulties is to get your mind off things. That’s why we like sports, they let us act out our frustrations and emotions in a controlled environment. Games like Monday’s Fiesta Bowl unite and inspire and I guess I’d just like to see more chances for those kinds of moments.

Start the New Year with Music

I recently discovered a really cool web-site. Fair warning: you may want to wait until you get home from work before clicking on the link for this site, as it will certainly consume a bit of your time, and I'd hate to see you get fired because of me.

The site is called Pandora, and it's an internet radio site. What makes it different from other internet radio sites is that you pick a band or a song that you like and the Music Genome Project matches the style of the artist or song you picked with others. It's a great way to not only listen to good music, but to learn about new artists. Plus they have a cool blog add on...scroll down on my page here and you'll see it.

Enjoy! And if you create an account let me know and I'll bookmark you as a friend and we can share stations.