I am now a

Sunflower. Now that I've forgotten what I answered the first time I took the fun quiz again. The questions seem to assume women will answer. What, aren't men gardeners too?

The Enigma

If you happen to browse alan-richardson.blogspot.com here's a clue: Mission _____________, Houston & leader of the pack.

Oh, and here is some interesting, no fascinating, photography by John Suler PhD.

Waking thoughts . . .

     Occasionally I get a friend request on Facebook from someone hoping to find a long lost cousin or friend. This usually leads to a brief exchange to establish that I am not the person they were seeking. I then thought of other encounters with people seeking a relative or a favourite teacher. The first that came to mind happened along Topanga Canyon Boulevard in Canoga Park. I was walking along minding my own business when a car drew up and a lady hailed me. I turned and saw disappointment in her face; she thought I was her estranged son. He must walk bouncily like I do . . .

     Even though most city streets in the USA have sidewalks they are not put to much use. Pedestrians are viewed with some suspicion especially in places like Beverly Hills or Bel Air. I've previously mentioned my liking for maps, haven't I? Thinking of LA got me browsing the 1979 edition of Thomas guide, the taxi drivers' bible, for Los Angeles county . . .

     The second incident is memorable because the person sought was English and it was some time into the telephone conversation before the caller realized I was not the Alan Richardson, a UCLA professor, he remembered. Did he live in Venice too? So not only is there some poor soul out there who walks like I do there is someone else who talks like I do.

Trolling blogs . . .

Six degrees of affinity  

     Just sitting here browsing blogs on Blogger . . . so I stop at a blog every once in a while and explore the author's list of followed blogs. I've randomly collected a list of over two hundred blogs I cannot possibly follow daily. Some I follow publicly; some not. Some blogs puzzle me in that they are quite good but have no public followers and few comments. I've not answered the question, "Why do you blog?" Is it some kind of head banging neurosis? Too much navel gazing. Waffling for the joy of waffling. I awoke this morning thinking of the memories that made me. learning stuff at school which becomes obsolete. Knowing all the little fishing ports around the coast of England and their specialty catches. the towns famous for a particular product: Witney blankets; Coventry gloves was it? Whitby jet; Northampton shoes; Peterborough bricks . . .

Browsing blogs. I started at World of Poot. This brought George and Weedon Grossmith's Diary of a Nobody to my mind.

Anna Lefler is a stand-up comedienne who lives in Santa Monica for whom life just keeps getting weirder.

I don't really like colourful blogs I thought this kind of shenanigans was frowned on soon after the hoi-poloi started playing with HTML [Doesn't seem so garish now 4 April '10]. And black as a background colour usually works well only with photographs  That blog no longer has a black background but the type is pale [Edit 4 April '10]

Then there are the very personal public blogs that are up for a while then stop at an interesting point and one wonders, "What is happening in that person's life now?"

And the very private blogs for a select group of invited guests . . . I started one of mine like that and then thought, "What the heck?"

Lexicon

     The English language collects words enough that one may read a new word each day and never exhaust the lexicon. The word I read today which caught my imagination is larrikin which, of course, has to be added to the spell check dictionary. Here's part of the OED article about larrikin:

     The word seems to have originated in Melbourne not long before 1870; but the story that it was evolved by a reporter from an Irish policeman's pronunciation of larking, heard in a Melbourne police-court in 1869, appears to be a figment, no trace of the incident being found in the local papers of the time. (See Morris, Austral Eng., s.v.) A guess that has been proposed is that it is short for Eng. slang leary kinchen. Wright, Suppl. to E.D.D., cites larrikin ‘a mischievous or frolicsome youth’ from informants in Warwickshire and Worcestershire; see also quot. 1882. Cf. E.D.D., Larack (larack about, to ‘lark’ about), cited from C. C. Robinson's Dial. of Leeds (1861).]

Dear diary . . .

     I've been feeling quite happy the past couple of days. Why? I've played on the recorder and hammered dulcimer each morning and the notes I string together begin to sound like music . . .

     The St Peters choirs combined for Ash Wednesday Mass and imposition of ashes; so we had a lineup of four guitars, bass, piano, violin, bouzouki and me on treble/alto recorder for some songs and nine singers . . .

  
Elizaphanian's sermon is a good place to start for Lent.

     Meanwhile I'll just carry on playing music . . . feeding the cats, walking the dog, sending Kathy onto the roof to clear the chimney as the fire stopped drawing properly and we had a smoky house this morning. Cruel man sending his wife up onto the roof. I'm out of the habit of climbing onto high look-outs and have allowed myself the luxury of fear . . . I stop and think. It's the getting down that is the hardest part for me now.

     And now deciding to make a few notes of another kind here . . .

     I might be moved to browse a few more books; finish the third re-reading of The True Deceiver; continue reading the very fat GRANTA 109; breeze on through Homer and Langley and sip some more of the Power of One in which I've read some stark descriptions of bullying and I know there is more cruelty to come . . .

Silence

St Peter's RC church, Springerville. First snapshot on auto . . .

Brand loyalty

    
Upgraded ever so slightly to a newer camera . . . just so I am able to take panoramic shots.

7th Colorado Dulcimer Festival

Wednesday 3 February:

Morning and the weather forecast was not promising and the road condition maps showed lots of amber exclamation marks. Drive with caution. If I was going to Colorado I'd better set off today. Last year I drove up to the festival in one day. Do I take the car or the truck? The car is front wheel drive, good in snow but low and not so comfortable for a long journey. Kathy urged me to take the truck, be comfortable and to take my time . . . oh, and the truck had better come back without a scratch.

Changes of clothes: check. Toiletries: check. Tyre chains: check. Good jacket, gloves, shoes: check. Dulcimer: check. Hammers, tuner etc: check.

I set off about noon. Oh, I need to eat. Stop to pick up a sandwich. Gas tank full? I filled it the day before.

Finally on the road. View north at mile-post 60 on US60 driving east towards Socorro, New Mexico. Lightly snowing.

 

There was only one exclamation point near Magdelena marked on the road advisory map. The VLA seemed to be in hibernation as all the dishes were huddled near the visitor center.

Compare these pictures with the ones I took last May.

Very wet in Socorro as I meandered through the town to get to Interstate 25 North towards Albuquerque. Busy highway, as is usual, from Albuquerque to Santa Fe. Then the fun began. Packed snow and ice on the highway. The light was fading, not that it had been great what with the cloud cover, snow showers and patchy fogginess. So I drove the next hundred odd miles to Las Vegas, NM at about 35mph which was probably still too fast for the conditions in places where it was particularly icy. Very little traffic on the road; and dark by now. One, two vehicles off the road. And then I was coming into Las Vegas, NM. Flashing lights, police cars, emergency vehicles attending to a van-conversion flipped onto its roof off the side of the road . . .

Well I was half way; had got to my first destination safely though others weren't so lucky . . .

Thursday 4 February:

Travel day two. Back onto icy Interstate 25. Following an eighteen wheeler at a steady pace all the way to the last rest stop before Raton.  I'd been imagining Raton Pass snow-bound but from the rest stop the road was clear and dry and the view from the top of the pass was (and still is!) beautiful with snow capping the distant Rockies.

 

It was whilst stopping to take this picture I discovered I didn't have an important tool. The tuning hammer/wrench/wrest . . . what to do? I know I'll stop here.

Manitou Springs is near the foot of Pikes Peak. I drove up Pike's Peak in the old Mazda 323 in 1989 . . . but I digress. Other tourist attractions in the area are Seven Falls, Garden of the Gods, and the Cripple Creek gold mines and railroad. 

 

Garden of the Gods is an outcrop of sandstone rock formations.  

Refreshed after a sandwich and postprandial walk I was back on the road: Castle Rock, Denver, Fort Collins. Check in to hotel. Now what? There's a Barns & Noble across the way. I spent the evening browsing and bought E.L. Doctorow's Homer and Langley and a book  the title of which was the title of a film I'd seen. I browsed the blurb and yes this was the book from which the Film was made: The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay. Not that I would have any time to be reading . . . .

Friday 5 February: Official day one of the 7th Colorado Dulcimer festival

 The friendly volunteers who greet everyone at the door.

Here are some dulcimers. Where is everyone?

Attending workshops? Without their instruments? This festival is Steve Eulberg's child.

This is Steve playing strathspey Brachanloam.

Music festivals are about the music, the instruments and playing them, and that's what happened. I learned about ornamenting O'Keefe's slide. Joined in the few tunes I knew with a Celtic jam. Most people then watched three mountain dulcimer players compete in the competition the winner of which played during the evening concert which is open to the public.

Cathy Barton-Para taught me that there is a rich tradition of South-Western music suitable for the hammered dulcimer. I actually played in front of a small crowd during the open stage session.

Saturday 6 February: 

Developed a simple arrangement of Nonesuch, a Playford dance tune and joined the beginning jam in the afternoon.

The hammered dulcimer contest had to be decided with a play off for first. All five contestants played very well.

Warming up before the competition.

I joined the beginners jam after lunch; more my speed.

The last workshop I attended was with Steve practicing lots of Scottish snaps whilst learning Brachanloam.

The informal afternoon entertainment was this trio, Meadowlark:

A moment of levity and . . .

then all business before this appreciative gathering:

There is always so much going on. All the mountain dulcimer workshops and the other hammered dulcimer workshops; jams and extras like guitar accompaniment and song circle workshops . . .

But one extra which was new this year was a Sunday song circle led by Steve, Don Pedi, Nina Zanetti, Cathy and Dave Para and only about eight others. Some of the songs I knew but it was quite easy and relaxing to join in anyway. Snow was falling quite heavily for a while on Sunday morning and I was wondering how far I would get . . .

The sky did look cheerful for a moment somewhere between Colorado Springs and Trinidad,CO

But most of the way it looked like this:

Raton Pass was icy and traffic came to a standstill as vehicles that had slid off the road were rescued. Made it over the pass and stayed in Raton for the night and made the final run home today, Monday 8 February . . . .

These pictures are the highlights of todays travel. I do like the contrast of the snow on sandstone.

A gang of elk

  

Escudilla

 

And the snowy hills to the west of Round Valley

No excuses! Just play!

I know I've gone quiet for a few days . . . I'm at the 7th Colorado Dulcimer Festival in Fort Collins, Colorado. Story and pictures to follow.

Snow

     I didn't set off soon enough to see the sled races and other activities up near Sunrise ski area. the parking lots (car parks) were full. I'd taken my time getting up there taking some snapshots on the way. The contrails are left by aircraft flying east from Phoenix. Am I too old to get a good pair of huskies to go skijoring or skijooring? I haven't been skiing for a couple of seasons now I really should stretch, exercise and go up for a couple of half days . . . .

Full moon

 

An adjusted snapshot of moonlight taken this morning at about 5 o'clock looks rather like day-for-night technique used a lot in old black and white western movies.

Three hours later under the sun the same scene looks like this:

From the bookshelves 71

    I sat nervously unable to tell the visiting school inspector what badgers ate. Cajole as he might I was unable to answer. "Do they eat toast?", he prompted. I was sure they didn't. I was about seven years old and was going through a period when I was unable to write more than a line or two on any subject even though at that time I was a fidgety chatterbox in class. I'm no longer a chatterbox but getting more than a few lines out of me is a struggle. Look up educate. It is a leading or drawing out . . .               Up and Down in the Dales is Gervase Phinn's fourth autobiographical book

From the bookshelves 70

A book of essays by Guy Davenport worth re-reading.  I  have not read any of Guy's fiction. The title essay of this book begins:

The difference between the Parthenon and the World trade center, between a French wine glass and a German beer mug, between Bach and John Philip Sousa, Between Sophocles and Shakespeare, between a bicycle and a horse, though explicable by historical moment, necessity, and destiny, is before all else a difference of imagination.

The essay's subjects range from Homer to Guy's next-door-neighbour. As a Rhodes Scholar at Merton Guy studied Old English under Professor Tolkien.

From the bookshelves 69

The last six of the Great Ideas series.

From the bookshelves 68

     With an erudite introduction part of which reads:

The reader may have noticed that, until this moment, I have avoided giving a single, comprehensive term to these collective terms. That is because there isn't any. Oddly enough, the compilers of the numerous lists of these words, though obviously enthusiastic philologists, have never felt compelled to settle on a group term for them. The explorer in this field will find these words variouusly referred to as 'nouns of multitude', 'company terms', 'nouns of assemblage', 'collective nouns'*, 'group terms', and 'terms of venery'. This last seems to me best and most appropriate, and itself warrants some explanation. 

* I hold this to be a misnomer since, obviously, it can be confused with the strictly grammatical term referring to such words as 'majority'. The same may be said of 'nouns of multitude'.

From the bookshelves 67

That volcanic hill again.

AM Sunday 24 January

From the bookshelves 66

     Poems in Anglo-Saxon and suggestions of the possible routes taken by the monks escorting Byrthnoth's body from Maldon to Ely. More on Wiki for the curious

One fence too far?

 

This small group gang of elk way out in the open seem tired. When I first spotted them most were standing, then as I took pictures several began to lie down. they were just too far away to get a decent shot. One usually sees antelope in open country like this.

From the bookshelves 65

Six more of the twenty-four paperbacks Penguin published in the Great Ideas series.

The Big Storm

     California mud slides; flash flood warnings in Phoenix and southern Arizona; Interstate 40 closed and up here in the White Mountains it looks like this:

 

From the bookshelves 64

One of those books I read before seeing the film.

Raiding the bookshelves again 63

Here's a neat little collection of Penguin paperbacks published with embossed covers:

Reading

     Our small book group now has a place in the blogosphere to communicate with each other and the rest of the world.

     I mentioned Black Elk on a previous post . . . now I'm embarrassed - Kathy has a copy of Black Elk Speaks on her shelves.

Sunday, Sunday . . .

     I've never spoken about where it is that I live exactly except for posting a few snapshots . . .

     I changed my location from Round Valley to Eagar in the profile temporarily to see who else in the vicinity is blogging. Eagar returned thirty-one hits: 3 by invitation only; 4 with no blog and 20 blogs with at least one post. Round Valley returned only three; and Springerville seven of which one is by invitation only. So, I changed my profile to read Valle Redondo.  Here is a good, concise personal idea describing the area by a chap called Rusty.

     I have the emmigrants yearning to return home to a past that no longer exists. This morning I listened to a programme about W B Yeats's  The Lake Isle of Innisfree, a poem he came to detest reciting in inverse proportion to it's popularity . . . Yeats wrote the poem when he was twenty-three or four years old.

eirenic

More Greek . . . tut, tut.

     I've been reading through a college textbook of essays and found this word. A new word to me. An unfamiliar word one comes across through reading is more likely to be remembered . . .

     What does it mean? Do you think I can remember where I read the word to find the sentence in which it was used?

Oxo tins and . . .

lunch for school. I never ate a school dinner.

     The last fun question on Radio 4's Any Questions this week concerned the nutritional value of the lunches that some parents pack for their children. The questioner asked the panel what they had in their lunch boxes for school. None of the panel had had a packed lunch at school but remembered some of the dismal school dinners they were served.

     I used an Oxo tin for at least my first year at secondary school in which I packed a sandwich, a banana and a Jacob's Club,  . . . mmmm I don't remember a drink. Cheese and tomato was my favourite sandwich or rather the one I remember most. Banana is my usual choice of fruit along with apple.

     Mum and dad kept a village shop when I was at primary school so I went home for lunch while all the dinner children walked in pairs along the High Street, past my house, to the old school house in Maldon road which served as the school canteen and venue for parties and the like. Only once was this pattern broken when mum was very ill with influenza. Rather than go with the other children for school dinner I went across the street and had lunch with Mrs Enion. Her twin sons were away at boarding school. I don't know what dad was doing that he couldn't look after me; my sister must have been working as a nanny at that time and was away too. I vaguely remember our teacher collecting five shillings (5/-) dinner money every Monday morning.

     I was used to having quite a bit of time to myself in the middle of the day. I could go for a walk and some times walked to the newspaper-shop at the other end of the street to by a comic although Arthur Mee's Children's Newspaper and Eagle were delivered to the house along with the Daily Telegraph. On Fridays I'd go to Mr Brown's for a nice piece of cod and chips.

Yesterday . . .

    I don't like going to Phoenix because of the heat; I don't know the city very well. My visits are usually for business or to accompany Kathy when she has an appointment at the Carl T. Hayden VA medical center. The idea then is to do the business and come home the same day, a 450 mile round trip, as quickly as possible.

    Yesterday's journey was different because we took the dog, Kiki, so I had the excuse of walking Kiki to explore the Steele Indian School Park.  The weather is still reasonably cool. I'm not in the habit of taking the camera and playing the tourist but this time I remembered to take it along so here is a taste of  that walk. And an enlightening: I didn't know that I didn't know about the writings of Nicholas Black Elk (1868-1950) . . . I will correct that.

 

Then there was the drive home through Payson and up the Mogollon Rim

 

A portion of the rim from Kohl's Ranch/Christopher Creek area.