56. Joy and I went downtown to the Harrison Center of the Arts to see Kyle Ragsdale’s latest work. During Covid days have cancelled public exhibits, but we, the only people in the gallary, could take him in. His artistic sensibility is way beyond my own comprehension.
That is, I look and see and marvel, but then turn to his earthscapes.
57. The pony tail enjoys its stall by a southern window.
58. Fig Newtons — bliss bites.
59. Morning frost and evening chill called for a patio fire.
We’re at Winter Wood, helping out during two very busy days for The Juniper Spoon. Early this morning a big truck pulled into the drive by TJS kitchen.
“Am I at the right place?” asked the driver. How in the world did you find your way here. This is the end of the trail, I responded. “GPS.”
We hauled the large tub of chicken into the cooler. “How can you be so pleasant and upbeat?” I asked him.
“In this world of trouble …” he began and paused. I said immediately that I grieved the deaths from cops shooting blacks and we got into a discussion, largely about the ongoing dentures-old prejudice in this country.
I helped him maneuver his large truck back onto the stone road and he was on his way.
I grieve these deaths. I sorrow over our racial divide.
the words ferhoodle, slugabed, flummox, tommyrot and burble
repair techs who get it right the first time
musical language moving across cultures without the need of translation
slanted light on the window sill
two/three-way plug adaptors
snow flurries on November 21
algorithms although I don’t know how to step to them
Wallace Stevens the novelist
a glass of cold water
Del, who stopped behind a special-student school bus, watched a mother carry her teen-age son to the bus. The bus pulled away but Del didn’t. He went to the house and asked the mother how he might make that morning and afternoon carry easier. Oh, she wished she had a ramp, but it is too expensive. Del is making her a ramp. “The supplies cost only $500 that I got from a church fund.”
a nuanced discussion of gun ownership
white-breasted nuthatches that let me get close
a ten-year-old correspondence
Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”
people who welcome sojourners, refugees, displaced persons and immigrants
clerks who enjoy their jobs enough to say a genuine hello
midafternoon coffee with a fig Newton
memories of Farmall B and Bn tractors
light bothering to visit canyons and crevices and crannies
the Christmas cactus that gets its holidays mixed up
a house whose mortgage is paid
a full moon stuck in the walnut tree
a little bit of paint left over for touch-up
Grandpa and Grandma Hess, Grandpa and Grandma Good
Just a note to let my current blog readers know that I’ll be using a different (and simpler) package. I’ll keep jdanielhess.com until December 4 at which time I’ll stay exclusively with jdanielhesswordpress.com.
For this duration I will post the same blog at both sites.