Hygienic XLI

It started, as all good things do, with a world class bruncheon at a world class place . . .

. . . oh wait . . . that's our world class place.

It was a beautiful day and anther January day on the deck -- climate change, anyone? -- and our favorite Hebronians were in town and we had ourselves a *time*.

Those very selfsame Hebronites joined us at the XLI Hygienic Art Show, and you know how much I love Roman Numerals.

Wait a minute, that's not New London . . .

. . . oh, there she is . . .

. . . oh! And there he is . . .

 Dorothy's piece is called "Pageant Winner". I know right?!

Isn't she beautiful?

. . . and isn't she?

Oh, there's our beautiful Whaling City . . .

. . . and maybe she's in there somewhere too . . .

. . .  or here? . . .

But not here.

It was a gorgeous show . . .

. . . and we were thrilled to have our peeps, near and far, around and about.

Ledgie, as always, represented.

The Whaling City, my friends . . .

. . . visited by our favorite Hebronitians . . .

. . . with whom we will continue to have ourselves a Time as long as we are all standing.

I Have A Dream . . .

August 28, 1963, Washington DC

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."2

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. 
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride, 
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last!
Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

Martin Luther King, Jr.

January 29, 1929 -- April 4, 1968

Convergence

This has been one hell of a crazy January.

The Movie Fest is on, the weather is weirdly warm, "the holidays" are over but we still have presents for peoples . . .

. . . and yesterday Mistah said to me, look at that -- that is unprecedented:

. . . we still have our Christmas Tree out on the deck, but the doors are open like it's summer . . .

And in the meantime . . . 

I was going four-for-four for movies this weekend, and so was Kat. Because, people? The Garde. Kat picked me up the exact second Bruce came by for his long-overdue Christmas present . . . the exact moment Dorothy and Jim were having a drink with us on the deck. In January.

"Let's take a photo!" we said, "It'll be fun!" we said . . .

. . . and oh it was.

Man, my friends are gorgeous. Man, the movies are good.

And people, please. For the love of godssake, Throw away your Teflon.

The End.

Before 2020

It was a year of loss, and also of life.

I guess every year is a year of loss and of life when you think about it, but 2019 hit especially hard.

January was all about our James. 

I mean, the whole year was about our James, but January especially.

And January was about our Mumsie too, by way of February.

March brought us, inexplicably, the first signs that the world keeps on spinning . . .

. . . and April brought us the in-between -- not winter, not summer . . . Oh wait. Right. Spring.

May brought us children doing our Fielding . . .

. . . (and children appreciating said Fielding).

. . . and June brought us our sometimes peeps. Who we wish were moretimes peeps.

On July, after we celebrated our beloved aunties and uncles, we reveled in the summer . . .

 . . . and in August we got the laborious children back together with less rain gear on.

September is always about the Fruits of the Garden . . . and of course September is also all about Me.

October . . . Fall! Anniversary! Walden! The Walk!

November was the beginning of the dark part of the year, but also the beginning of the Hollyus Jollyus season . . .  

. . . and December, of course, was the year anniversary of the loss of our James. A year.

We love you, kid. And every day we miss you like crazy.

A Trio of Farmhouse Cheeses

Ages and ages and ages ago, during the years Mistah and I were driving around the country in our Volkswagen Westy, we had the unique opportunity (and believe you me, we took advantage of every unique opportunity that came our way) of staying in an awesome studio apartment above a garage in a beautiful West Asheville home (thank you, Monroe and Lupe) in exchange for some work. (We are really good at painting rooms. Mistah hates doing it but he nails it, much to his eternal and deep chagrin).

Anyway.

We walked up to what would be our apartment for the next few days or weeks or whatever, and turned on the tv, as one does.

Somehow we landed on C-Span, and somehow C-Span was covering a State Dinner at the White House hosted by George W. Bush.

I know. I'm writing about Dubya.

But apparently Dubya never had state dinners; he never entertained at home -- he never had anyone over, and he lived in the White House! Where everybody else does everything for you! I would have had people over all the time.

What a chump.

But we were riveted by the coverage. We were riveted by the guests filing in (they invited the Kentucky Derby winning jockey who was very small and very adorable) (unless that was another year), we were riveted by the hushed tone of the announcers . . . But mostly? We were riveted by the menu.

In the same hushed tones, the announcers told the viewers what was for dinner that fateful night.

There was wine . . .

There was salad . . .

There was, I assume, an entree . . .

. . . but to start it all off?

The White House served A Trio of Farmhouse Cheeses.

Bill and I looked at eachother in incredulous awe. A Trio of Farmhouse Cheeses?!

Nothing has been the same since.

We now always -- always, for all these years -- never just serve cheese.

How plebeian.

When we serve cheese, we serve A Trio of Farmhouse Cheeses.

 See? Christmas morning breakfast . . . 

And closeup of the last cheese standing.

And we're not the only ones.

We got our Christmas / Hanukkah present from Rachel and Michelle this weekend . . . and as Billy texted them in thanks yesterday . . .

It was "a fine day for a Trio."

It may be the only thing Dubya -- nay, Dubya's staff -- got right.

Thank you, R&M. Thank you, cows and sheep and cheesemakers from England, Holland and America.

Happy New Year, everybody.

Hollyus Jollyus

It's here.

It's time.

We're spending a lot of time and heart and love talking about and thinking about James and Mumsie and so many others who aren't with us this Christmas . . .

. . . at the same time that we're thankful for those who are.

And in the meantime . . .

. . . we're girding for the day.

We're getting ready . . .

We're lit up . . .

. . . in so many ways . . .

 . . . so very many myriad ways.

My Mistah and I wish you peace and joy this week. We hope you can find it -- we hope we can find it.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

Peace and Joy in 2020.

OutdoorTree

Some people have outdoor cats.

We have an outdoor tree.

There are myriad reasons why and we do not need to go into them right now. The thing is . . . we just do. We got one last year. And we have one this year. And that is the end of that story.

Sort of.

Yeah, I'm not buying it either.

The reason is . . . 

. . . we don't have any room for a in-of-doors tree . . . 

. . . and we have the ornaments from our outdoor tree last year . . . the ones that survived the tree falling down one million times. . .

 . . . and so this year we bought another outdoor tree.

"Buy an outdoor tree, they said. It'll be fine they said . . . "

It's not fine.

Nothing is fine.

But it's ... okay.

We're muddling through and trying to figure it out.

In the meantime, our OutdoorTree still needs a star . . .

But . . .  

. . . it does have guy wires.

When Great Trees Fall

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
 fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
 of
dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

When Great Trees Fall
--Maya Angelou

James Joseph Kennedy 

February 27, 1999 -- December 11, 2018