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Thursday, August 31, 2006

Pre-aphoristic mood

Yes, I am back after a gap, a hiatus, a dratted aporia--on Earthlink, and Blogger seems a lot happier. Perhaps it didn't like my rural dial-up service.

I have a day to think about getting into the aphoristic mood. But I've at least decided that I will definitely start with tourists and fat people, because downtown Cooperstown has been awash in both--the Dreams Park expansion appears to be doing its best to destroy village life by bringing cartloads of teenage boys to our sidewalks, along with their parents.

At left you may see my mother's first scanned photograph. She is the youngest of many children, mostly boys, but here you may see her older sisters, Julia and Sara. They're smiling at the photographer on one of the many porches of the Queen Anne house built by my grandfather, William Leicester Morris. W. L. Morris was many things, among them a house builder, and many of his homes remain in southern Georgia. If you look very closely at the dandy little wristwatch on my Aunt Sara's wrist, you will see that it is actually a neat little ringworm.


  1. my journal entry today was about how the bigger city of Huntsville is maybe definitely annexing our little slice of life that really is not a village or a town, just countryside. It makes me very sad.

    I did keep on trudging with my paper and broke through the wall. Hope to be getting out from under it soon. I'm such a drama queen :o)

    P.S. loved your quote. that really did help. thanks

  2. Yes, all the special bits are being woofed up by the demon dawg of slathering development.

    None of us will come from anywhere soon, because where we came from will be so altered. Neutered. Etc.

  3. I love the detail about the ringworm - amazing how it circled the wrist - just like a bracelet.

    When I was a child I remember a perfect O appearing on my stomach. It was as if someone had painted it there in quite an attractive shade of pink. In some ways it seemed a shame to paint stuff on it to make it go away.

  4. Aww. Cute kidlets. I love old family photos.
    But I am sad to hear of changes in your area, the very sound of "development" was surely invented in Hell.
    We are chatting with officials about our bear, hoping to plead for more humane removal than they are planning (I checked the regs; what they plan is actually not in accordance with California regulations, unless this is a repeat-offender bear who was tagged. And he's not.)
    (Though gee, he loves visiting our place. Yesterday he discovered the bathtub in the garden and had a long bath.)

  5. Halloo, Clare--

    I've always loved that picture, in great part because of the 'wristwatch.'

    Ah, stomach bugs! I once was bitten on the stomach by a spider, and grew a nightmarish egg. The women in my family all have spider trouble. My daughter went to camp and came home peppered with 14 spider bites: only child in camp with a bite. My mother met a brown recluse, and the little fiddler turned her arm black.

    And jarvenpa--

    Did we get pictures of the bear rejoicing in the garden bathtub? I like that idea. Other people think small and have bird baths, but you think large.

    Rampant development is proof of the existence of demons, I imagine.
    How else can we explain the
    massive dismantling of the world's beauty spots? Just wait until I get to my aphorisms on powers and principalities...

  6. Yes, I know it's a dratted fungus!

  7. Well, I'll be. A ringworm on the wrist. They were resourceful in the search for accessories back in the day, weren't they? I can't wait for your aphorisms, by the way, and I'm sorry about the despoiling of your particular part of the planet. It has, unfortunately, plenty of company.

  8. Aphorisms: yes, I should be racking my brain, shouldn't I? Eh, I'm hoping for careless, offhanded elegance.

    I suppose we should just be glad that little Sara had no desire for a tiara and earrings...


Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.