We were visiting with my in-laws this evening, talking about all sorts of things. Eventually the conversation turned to our worries about caring for my mom. My mother-in-law had been talking about her experience caring for a relative when, at one point, she launched into the most powerful two-minute sermon about trust in God I’ve ever heard. I had tears in my eyes. If she would have made an altar call, I would have responded.
Not going to be a lot of work on projects this weekend. Yesterday I met up with Todd for lunch in Edinburgh and had a great time. Today will be some family visits, being Mother’s Day. I did, however, get the serpentine belt replaced on the truck. Very easy and far cheaper than a mechanic’s bill.
Roadside shrine near Medora, IN
A friend recently said that he identifies more with his grandparents than his parents. I agreed, and with some more thought I think I know why. A brief overview of the four turnings model of Anglo-American history, if you’re not already familiar. Quotes are taken from the book, focusing on the last two cycles. I suspect historians would hate the four turnings idea, but it’s been a very useful mental model for me.
Patrick Joyce, Remembering Peasants: The dwelling is also a constitutive part of the relationship between past and present generations, between the living and the dead. Something handed on, or hoped to be handed on, something to be received. When the dead have a foundational role in human life, as is the case with peasants, then the house takes on a cosmological significance. But the house remains eminently material at the same time.
Me and Dad
Me and Darcy
Still trawling the archives. I used to have a Buttondown newsletter. The following—a themed issue rather than the usual “what I read this week” format—is the only thing I’ve found worth saving from that era. Reading The Magic Mountain every morning over that winter of 2018-2019 remains as a happy memory. Welcome, friends. You can only come across so many references to a novel before you decide you need to read it for yourself.
I continue to come across some old drafts as I clean out my Dropbox. Here is a poem that I can’t date exactly–maybe a couple of years ago? I listened to a podcast today about rare earth minerals. It didn’t help my mood. As the rage built inside me, I imagined writing a poetic diatribe. But I’m tired. And my tooth hurts. And I’m just so sad about everything. What good would it do,
“A company man for USA, Inc.” I had an old draft that ended with that line but apparently I deleted it a couple of nights ago. Oh well! Feel free to use it for a folk protest song.
Patrick Joyce, Remembering Peasants: The means of survival is land. Peasants do not see land like we do. We see land in terms of ‘nature’ , something separated from the artificiality of humankind’s creations, or, if these creations are included, then the natural, the supernatural and the unnatural are distinguished one from another. ‘Nature' does not convey peasant reality, though we like to think it does. It is for peasants a semantically empty category, and there is little iconic or verbal representation of it in what records peasants have left (although educated peasants writing for an audience of non-peasants do embrace the idea sometimes).