the back burner

tonight

The woods are warm, and dark, and deep
tonight as quiet rivers flow
beneath the winds that heavens blow,
and restless creatures stir in sleep.

Tall trees that murmur, old and wise,
make avenues for roaming feet
and raise dark canopies that meet
to filter starlight-fired skies.

To walk these corridors unworn
by others' breath, and cares, and keep,
is but the lonely silent sleep
that rolls before the burgeoning morn.

When stars fade and the breezes cease,
I'll leave these darksome lands in peace.

one more highlight...

I also found Mastering the Art of French Cooking, by Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck at McKay's for $7. (Knopf. New York. 1969.) Astounding. The extended entry section contains a portion of their introduction, if you're interested.

Before we go there, though, here's a recent conversation:

K: "Bob, you're so domestic!"
B: "While I want to say thank you, Kelley, the more important issue right now is that you understand never to say such a thing to a guy."

(Nevertheless, I admit I'm as excited to read this book as I was to read the sixth Harry Potter. Really.)

"This is a book for the servantless American cook who can be unconcerned on occasion with budgets, waistlines, time schedules, children's meals, the parent–chauffeur–den-mother syndrome, or anything else which might interfere with the enjoyment of producing something wonderful to eat...

"Cooking techniques include such fundamentals as how to sauté a piece of meat so that it browns without losing its juices, how to fold beaten egg whites into a cake batter to retain their maximum volume, how to add egg yolks to a hot sauce so they will not curdle, where to put the tart in the oven so it will puff and brown, and how to chop an onion quickly. Although you will perform with different ingredients for different dishes, the same general processes are repeated over and over again. As you enlarge your repertoire, you will find that the seemingly endless babble of recipes begins to fall rather neatly into groups of theme and variations... [and] eventually you will rarely need recipes at all, except as reminders of ingredients you may have forgotten.

"All of the techniques employed in French cooking are aimed at one goal: how does it taste? The French are seldom interested in unusual combinations or surprise presentations. With an enormous background of traditional dishes to choose from (1000 Ways to Prepare and Serve Eggs is the title of one French book on the subject), the Frenchman takes his greatest pleasure from a well-known dish impeccably cooked and served. A perfect navarin of lamb, for instance, requires a number of operations including brownings, simmerings, strainings, skimmings, and flavorings. Each of the serveral steps in the process, though simple to accomplish, plays a critical role, and if any is eliminated or combined with another, the texture and taste of the navarin suffer. One of the main reasons that pseudo-French cooking, with which we are all too familiar, falls far below good French cooking is just this matter of elimination of steps, combination of processes, or skimping on ingredients such as butter, cream – and time. 'Too much trouble,' 'Too expensive,' or 'Who will know the difference,' are death knells for good food."

Awww... it's like a metaphor for life. Or at least community action.

The authors closed their introduction with the following words: "Train yourself to use your hands and fingers; they are wonderful instruments. Train yourself also to handle hot foods; this will save time. Keep your knives sharp. Above all, have a good time."

master of the standard transmission

Highlights from the weekend:

driving a stick-shift all the way to Chattanooga and back
getting reacquainted with downtown (Chatt)
porch time with Mike
New City Fellowship
mango sorbet from Clumpie's

So I'm pondering what it means to know a place. All weekend, I was accessing stories and memories that I'd totally forgotten about, just because I was back in the place where I went to school. It's times like these that I wonder whether I'll ever be able to settle down in one place for the rest of my days. There's more than a little ambivalence, here.

In other news, this girl

is getting ready to go to college. Oh my.

the show

So when I heard Josh Ritter sing Wolves for the first time, I was hooked. I loved the sound, the lyrics, everything. I played it for everybody, but some of you just weren't buying. I guess the closest I can come to putting my finger on it is that there was some distrust of something so honest and still so easy to listen to.

Well, after the show tonight, I've gotta hand it to you skeptics. Josh was too cool, too friendly, too honest, too talented... but he was likable. In fact, he sold me. I bought the cd, nabbed a telephone-pole poster, and walked outta there with all the songs in my head. I would totally distrust something this good, if I didn't like it so much.

Rapture

Unwed pizza crusts kick up dust,
scuffing around a box on my coffee table.
Crumbs of semolina, wads of sauce
prove that there was something here.

It must have been substantial.
Grease spots range across the cardboard,
a footprint of some great wedding feast
from some not-too-distant past.

A monster or a god has feasted here,
devouring the faithful ones and leaving
here and there a lonesome unbelieving crust
as testimony to the passing pantheon.

when the angel came, you had raised your arm.

light escapes the blinds
falls on wrinkled beds and rooms
we greet the Lord's day.

aftershave and ham
the smells of Sunday morning
collect in the drapes.

hands pushing buttons
silent dress shirt full of sin
ironed stiff for church.

dust is falling thick
around the house in secret
while we sing our hymns.

Jars

I came back from my run this morning and decided to get ready for the day with Jars of Clay's first album... Flood... Boy On a String... Worlds Apart... It pretty much sums up my relationship to everything, at the moment, but I think that's because it immediately took me back to high school in West Virginia (or was it jr. high?).

Young Life, cafeteria food, class struggle, experimental scheduling, seminar courses... what would I have been like if I had stayed there to graduate? Probably not any more or less messed up than I am right now. I'm just so thankful the Lord has stuck with me, thick and thin. REALLY STUCK.

(Woah. I completely forgot about the "hidden" track that just came on...)

tired of america

there is a whirlpool beyond the reach of modern ears,
but sucking and roaring nonetheless, all foam and debris
of a thousand fleets of slender ships,
broken by the currents’ asymptote.
how curious that our ears cannot hear the surge and toss
of waters upon waters, passengers dead and dying, ships
and cargo headed down and in
through ocean’s hungry mouth.
we know the jingle of distant registers, the sound of a deal,
the certain rustle of sheets or dice, the whirr of cameras,
but we cannot detect the sound
of lusty cravings, lying lying lies.

the end of a long wait, or the beginning of a go

Flew to Atlanta from Houston yesterday, where the family party continues -- round two: eight people and a baby share my parents' apartment. Mmmmm... no tongue in cheek here, honest. I really wish I were there.

Instead, I'm here in Atlanta, where the visas are long in coming and the company isn't related to me. Fortunately, though, the church is close and I have a new computer to distract me from my troubles. (Attention skype users: I'm working with an Apple these days. Sorry! We'll have to find other ways to connect. Or I'll have to find friends with PCs.)

In other news, knowing that all your stuff fits in this space is really eye-opening:

the catch-up

I'm back. Back in Houston and leaving in a week for Atlanta. Leaving in an unknown amount of time for Europe. Listening to Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! Have just finished Out of the Silent Planet and will soon finish the minor prophets.

This weekend there was a wedding in Dallas, then a reunion in Oklahoma (eat, swim, smile, gab, repeat), then free fireworks on the bayou behind our apartment. Now it's time for a long letter, cookies, milk and bed.