Just get outside

Scenes, 8 Mai 2026

This morning I went out on another pre-work stroll. I was out on the path just after dawn and the woods along Starkweather Creek were dim and a bit spooky. I found that various parts of the golf course were shrouded in fog.

Ere long the sun was up enough to chase away the gloom and bathe everything in a layer of gold.

There were lots of birds to be seen and heard on the paths I took.

I think I walked by the home of a fan of The Residents.

Preparing to sign on for work, I found this sight out of my window.

Hello bub, I'm your wild rub/I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb

The time had come to give that BBQ rub I got from WAMP last month a go.

I opened the jar and inspected the contents with my eyes and then took a sniff.

I figured those larger dark bits were dried cherry. I wasn't surprised to take a whiff and smell cherry and a general sweetness along with a fair dose of smokiness which I believe came from smoke flavoring as well as chipotle. The aroma was quite pleasing. As was the taste with its combination of sweet cherry, smokiness, and peppery goodness. The heat factor was low - just a mellow, low-level heat.

I rubbed the stuff on some small country style ribs and braised them with a generous pour of Ayinger Maibock. I finished them off under the broiler with half of them having been given a moderate dose of Georgia mustard BBQ sauce.

I think they turned out well. The cherry flavor was in the background and I enjoyed the smoky flavors as I wasn't able to put them in a smoker nor on a grill. Plus the rub had the customary pepper-paprika combo. Some tasty stuff. I wanna put it on chicken next.

Afterglow 53

A few? several? months ago I heard? read? something by Louise Perry about a newer holiday. Or she was inveighing against newer holidays generally. Her gripe was that celebrations/commemorations of a more recent vintage have shallow roots, they don't have years of tradition behind them to bolster their potency by imbuing them with meanings honed through the ages and handed down to us moderns. It seemed a very silly complaint to lodge. I mean, traditions have to start somewhere; they weren't floating around in the ether waiting on human beings to grasp them; they were purposely created by people at some point to speak to the times in which they arose.

It seemed to be a case of chronological snobbery where new traditions were assumed to be inferior because...well, because. She didn't really offer an explanation and I felt her performance in the piece or podcast or whatever it was to be weak sauce in contrast to her usual thoughtful commentary. I think this was around the time she had converted to Christianity and so she was likely speaking with the zeal of the convert. New holidays, especially those that aren't Christian in nature, don't deserve our attention - their meanings and practices be damned. Age and Jebus are all the count. If her attitude had been more widespread back in the day, her beloved Christian holidays would never have gained traction. Imagine a 4th century Louise Perry arguing against this new-fangled Christmas holiday and instead lecturing people on the great virtues of Saturnalia.

This came to mind last Friday while I was driving north as it was Beltane. 1 May. While I'd rather have been standing around a bonfire marking the Wheel of the Year rather than sitting behind the Wheel of the Mazda, I at least had the consolation of meeting an old friend at the end of my journey. While I am unsure how Beltane celebrations today compare with those of ancient Celts, it really doesn't matter. The important thing is to enjoy all the flora you can as buds become leaves and the great outdoors simply becomes ever more verdant; to enjoy the warmer weather and prepare for planting as the last freeze date nears; and, if possible, linger near a fire. For me Beltane is the fulfillment of the promise of the vernal equinox. And a good excuse to send my friend in Milwaukee a card with a bunch of cats dancing around a bonfire.

In addition to defending Kwanzaa from Christianity, I listened to some podcasts (I'm looking at you here, Danièle Cybulskie) and thought about my divorce. My feelings on the end of my marriage were largely those of anger and I wanted to change that. But contemplating my divorce encompasses a lot more than just the process of ending marital bonds or doing the same old forensics on the decline of my marriage. Now questions like "How shall I prepare to grow old now that I am unmarried?" rear their heads.

I will be better prepared to tackle those types of questions at some point after my divorce is finalized.

It was late evening when I got to Osseo and I checked into my hotel first thing. It had apparently changed hands since I was last there and the new owners had done some remodeling. Some new paint, a completely reorganized lobby, and fancy new door locks with attendant card readers. The woman behind the counter showed me to my room - such service! - and demonstrated the use of the room cards as well as sensors for exterior doors that merely require the wave of a hand to unlock.

I asked her about all the changes and remarked that, despite them, the place still had that 1960's vibe, especially the ribbed concrete(?) walls. I also thought, but didn't say aloud, that it had retained the feel of a motel where guests are not allowed to have guests in their rooms, if you take my meaning.

She replied, "Yeah, it's not too different from when I spent my second wedding night here back in 1993."

Her remark seemed odd to me at first - who would honeymoon in Osseo? - but my mind was quickly gripped by the Baader-Meinhof effect which dictates that, once you are in throes of divorce, it seems like most people have been through it too or are, at least, having marital problems and seem to be heading towards separation. See! Even the hotel clerk has been divorced. No one stays together anymore.

Eventually I made it to my room where I was able to relax for a short time before my friend Jason texted to say he was on his way to Burly-N-Bucks. Sadly the Northwoods Brewpub, our usual meeting spot, was no more. While I grant you that their beer quality was inconsistent, I still have great affection for their Rowdy Rye, a mighty fine rye ale.

I arrived to find my friend conspicuously absent so I ordered a beer and waited. It wasn't long before he stepped in the door and the bartender greeted him by name. Apparently the kid played baseball and Jason was his coach at one time. My hug did not adequately express how good it was to finally see my old friend. Heading north to visit him followed by some hiking had been an annual vacation for me for a few years but I failed to make the trip last year. My life was occupied with a failing marriage, being served divorce papers, moving into an apartment, depression, and a desire to keep a day or two of vacation time in reserve for potential court appearances. It's not that any single one of these things kept me from making the trip but rather, in concert, they threw me into a mode of "I'll sneak the trip later in the year." and I could just never seem to sneak it in.

We caught up on one another's lives. His family was well and his daughter is to marry next year. Being in our 50s, we talked about health issues. An old classmate or two came into the conversation including one whose name we couldn't recall. I just remembered that he was always dressed to the nines and was gay. Jason and I both could picture a face but his name remained on the tips of our tongues. We also tossed around ideas for an off-anniversary class reunion. It was a mixed bag of topics. Oh, and baseball. Baseball is life for Jason.

About an hour in it occurred to me that one reason I enjoy his company so much is that he is genuine and doesn't hide behind a facade of irony and sarcasm. Not that he isn't ironic and sarcastic at times but he hasn't adopted these attitudes as a lifestyle unto themselves. In addition he hasn't become a grumpy old man. Not yet, anyway. He isn't angry and cynical like some of the people I know in my age cohort (I am thinking of my wife here, especially.); instead he is good-natured and gladsome. It must be all the clean country livin'.

Having him return to my life after an absence of decades has been wonderful.

At some point a hard day of coaching baseball caught up to Jason and getting up at 4, working, and then driving caught up with me. Before we parted he gave me some fine reading material.

For my part, I made sure he went home with the bag of treats from Fortune Favors that I had brought. I am responsible for his addiction to their candied pecans and I am unrepentant.

I slept well and was up at my usual time which was before I could get a good cup of coffee in town. The brown water from the coffeemaker in my room managed to stave off my cravings just long enough while I did some writing before I showered. A bit after 7 I was off. First stop: The Nickel Barn.

The Nickel Barn wasn't far away from the motel and I could taste the coffee goodness as I made the short drive just to the other side of the interstate. Stepping out of my car I was greeted by an orange cat.

Seeing him or her approach put a big smile on my face. What a great way to begin my day - with pets. I wandered inside where I got a large coffee and a couple souvenirs. Their shelves were a bit on the bare side but I suppose this wasn't surprising considering that it was not yet tourist season. Come Memorial Day weekend, they'll no doubt be fully stocked with bourbon barrel aged maple syrup, chocolates with animal scat names, et al for the visiting hordes from Chicago.

I wandered through the antiques outside the barn for probably the first time.

While there I was joined once more by the curious orange cat who was out to get more pets.

Alas, the time came for me to hit the road and bid a fond farewell to the feline.

I decided that I'd catch Highway 53 just west of Osseo and take it all the way up to New Auburn. Before becoming an expressway through Eau Claire, 53 is a lovely drive through the country at 55, though I prefer to driver more slowly and take in the scenery. For some reason I especially enjoy the stretch from Foster to Brackett as it engenders feelings of nostalgia within me despite the fact that I have no particular memories of that stretch of highway from when I lived in the area. There's just something about it that brings my high school days back with some force.

It is certainly pretty. On one side there are gorgeous rolling hills while trees hug the other. People's homes are tucked into clearings in the woods and an occasional abandoned farm house zips by in a blur as you drive along. This section encapsulates the variety of inhabitants and highlights the beauty of the area as well. Perhaps part of the reason it resonates with me so is because it's close to where I lived yet I don't really have any memories of it. And so it hasn't changed in my mind and thusly gives no hint of all the years that have passed. When I drive down Highway 93 I notice the changes that have occurred over the past 35+ years. But 53 seems almost frozen in time and in my mind it looks essentially like it did in 1988.

I drove through the Eau Claire area and ere long I was truly up north.

Coming soon, 7 Mai 2026 & Up the Irons!

Last night I went to see the Iron Maiden documentary, Iron Maiden: Burning Ambition, and saw this on the way in.

I am excited to see this flick. Anthropomorphic sheep are cool. Plus it'll be interesting to see how it differs from its source material.

Iron Maiden: Burning Ambition was a fun trip back into Maiden's history despite its Behind the Music-like melodrama and wallowing in hagiography.

The concert footage was a blast to watch on the big screen and hear on the cinema's sound system. I am not the world's foremost Iron Maiden expert but I thought I recognized all of the concert footage from the time Bruce Dickinson joined through 1988. The Number of the Beast through Seventh Son of a Seventh Son. I was mildly disappointed that no live performances from this period were dragged from the vaults or found in someone's attic and dusted off.

My two main gripes are:

1) No song was ever played from beginning to end. At least I cannot recall one. This is a pet peeve of mine. I'm not asking for an entire performance of "Rime Of The Ancient Mariner" but how about something shorter like "Sanctuary" or "Aces High" or "Can I Play With Madness"?

2) The movie elided the bands adoption of keyboards in the mid-80s and their move into progressive metal wholeheartedly. I got aboard the Maiden train in 1988/89 with Seventh Son of a Seventh Son so I was disappointed that the doc basically ignored this album and its predecessor, Somewhere in Time. And this despite a scene where Dickinson tells a fan that heavy metal cannot be done with synthesizers. It was like the '86-'89 era was being setup for us and then nothing.

I feel badly for any fans who got into the band's music via any album after Brave New World because the movie had no interest in this music as it was irrelevant to the story's rise-fall-rebirth arc.

Honestly, the music generally played second fiddle to tales of band dynamics which is a shame.

On the plus side I felt the departure of Paul Di'Anno and the Blaze Bayley era were treated respectfully, if, perhaps, all too briefly. I wish that more was made of the music that Bayley made with the band. At least two songs from that era were kept in the live sets after Dickinson and Adrian Smith returned - "Sign Of the Cross" & "The Clansman" - so the band didn't write off that era as completely unworthy.

My preference is for documentaries that give pride of place to the music and the creative process that produces it and not the rise-fall-rebirth melodrama. Having said this, Iron Maiden: Burning Ambition was still a very fun watch and I learned more than a few things about the band, including the fact that Janick Gers is English. I thought he was from the Continent originally. Oops.

Song of the day, 8 Mai 2026

Up the irons!

The gentle caress of alpaca

A friend went to the alpaca fest here in Madison a couple weekends back and graciously bestowed this gift upon me.

It's pine scented (the superior aroma) soap wrapped in alpaca felt which, presumably, will gently exfoliate my skin. What a lovely gift.

Alyssa blends a mean brew

A couple weeks or so ago I was in Appleton and there I made a visit to ACOCA Coffee. While more on the Appleton trip is forthcoming, know that I brought a bag of Alyssa's Blend home.

I cannot recall what varieties are blended here but am leaning towards Southeast Asian with beans from Sumatra, Papua New Guinea, and the like.

And how is it?

Look at my little Mandelbrot swirl!

Very tasty. A little nutty and very roasty. Bitterness is held in check so it has a mellow, almost creamy, thing going on. A fine bean. Cheers, Melissa!

A Life of Allusion?: Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

Despite having a copy of Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell on my shelf**, I haven't yet read it. Instead it's been sitting there for many years awaiting the day when I pick it up crack it open. However, I did recently finish her latest novel, Piranesi. If memory serves, it was published during lockdown and I heard good things about it at the time. It went onto my to-read list and it took me only a comparatively brief 6 years get it under my belt. Much shorter than Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, it went by quickly as it was filled with allusions and intriguing possibilities.

It concerns Piranesi, a man who lives in a place he calls the House which brought House of Leaves to mind as its stretches on into infinity. One hall simply leads to another which, in turn, leads to another and so on. The House has 3 levels: an ocean on the lower floor, clouds in the upper, and Piranesi's home of unending hallways in the middle adorned with an equally infinite array of statues. I don't recall the House's architecture being described but in my mind's eye I saw classical architecture featuring stone columns and cornices with vast spaces open to the skies.

Piranesi spends his days journaling when he's not trying to fashion seaweed into rope or shoes or whatever it is he lacks. He tells us about 13 sets of skellingtons that are scattered about the House and theorizes about who they were in life. Once or twice a week he meets with a fashionably dressed gentlemen he calls the Other (this brought the Doctor Who Virgin New Adventures to mind) who gives him supplies in exchange for help uncovering a "Great and Secret Knowledge" that exists within the House but whose location is obscure. I felt some Gnostic vibes here. The Other also warns him of a 16th person who roams the House and to avoid them at all costs lest he get hurt or go mad. If only the Other's dialogue had been written in a Lovecraftian style. Ha!

Our protagonist's routines are disrupted one day when he meets an elderly gentleman whom he christens the Prophet. This stranger reveals that the Other's name is Ketterley and that he was his student at one time. According to the Prophet, Ketterley stole his ideas about the arcane knowledge he seeks in the House. Instead of being teacher and student, they are now rivals.

As the story goes on, Piranesi plunders his older journals and undergoes a series of anamnestic experiences as he comes across references to things and people he does not recall. In turn, it is revealed that the Prophet is Laurence Arne-Sayles, an occultist whose bizarre theory is that knowledge leaves our world and goes to others such as the House. In addition we learn that Piranesi is, in fact, one Matthew Rose Sorensen, a journalist who was researching Arne-Styles for an article. He was interviewing Ketterley for the piece when the dastardly villain inveigled the unsuspecting member of the Fourth Estate into performing the rite which transports people to the House. And we also learn that being in the world of the House for too long causes one to lose their memories, to lose their identity.

(I found this wonderful fan art here.)

While the plot itself is not particularly twisty or hard to follow, the story is filled with things that give rise to all sorts of questions and I have yet to truly puzzle things out. For starters, I've read that the book is rife with allusions to the Chronicle of Narnia and they all went over my head. The only Narnia book I've read is The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and that was back in 7th grade.

At one point Piranesi witnesses the arrival of an albatross and he describes it as a vision of a blazing white light in the air in the form of a cross. As the bird approaches he wonders if he and it will merge into "another order of being entirely: an Angel!" We have Christian imagery here and an albatross which to Western readers will surely invoke The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and its representation of the bird as the beauty inherent in Nature/Creation. But our narrator gives the bird the potential of being a path to apotheosis.

Towards the end of the book there is a flood and I'm sure there are more Biblical references to be had that I missed. Still, the story doesn't come across to me as being overtly Christian in nature.

Here's what I am wrestling with.

The Prophet tells Piranesi that, while the wisdom of the ancients was replaced with our modern conception of progress, their wisdom cannot and did not vanish. It merely flowed out of our world to another as if it were a form of energy, like electricity flowing from one pole to another. And so he set out to discover the places where our collective wisdom went. This theorizing and his discovery of the House were passed on to Ketterley.

Ketterley, as we learn, trapped Piranesi/Sorensen in the House and has him do his bidding. Not a nice fellow, this Ketterley. A deceiver - Satan? The Prophet/Arne-Sayles admits "I've never been very interested in what you might call morality". I don't recall him being portrayed as evil, per se, but more like the Rani in Doctor Who - out pursuing knowledge amorally.

That leaves Piranesi/Sorenesen. He's innocent here, a goody two-shoes there. As Piranesi he seems content to study the House, to maps its infinite halls, note which statues reside where, chart the tides, and so on. He is emamored of the House. After he regains knowledge of the Other and what he's done - what Ketterley did to Sorensen - Piranesi commits himself to caring for Ketterley's body after he dies in the flood. Piranesi is just a good person. He turns his cheek, I guess you could say.

So what is the House? If Arne-Sayles is to be believed, it is a kind of repository of wisdom that our ancestors gleaned from communing with rivers and mountains then perhaps it is some kind of distilled essence of Nature, if you will. It seems to me that Sorenesen didn't so much become forgetful as he absorbed the wisdom around him. It wasn't that the waters of the lower floor were like those of Lethe, but rather the air was rife with atavism. He was, basically, transmogrified from a modern into an ancient.

I am unwilling to commit to simple syllogisms such as saying that because Piranesi is good and like the ancients, thusly the ancients are good. And that since the Prophet and the Other are of our world and are "bad", our world is bad. Unwilling at this point, anyway.

Piranesi is a wonderful tale rich with thematic food for thought and one that eludes easy answers. I am not sure what possessing extensive Narnia knowledge would do for interpreting the story. It didn't seem to me that the book is anywhere near as dense with allusions as The Waste Land and so a reader can easily comprehend things while not catching every reference and find meaning as well. Perhaps the Narnia references are largely tips of the hat to Lewis. Or maybe I am completely missing their points. Regardless, the characters and the world of the House are enough for an engaging and compelling read.

**Not true. It remains in a box as I have not yet bought a bookshelf to display its unbroken spine.

Scenes, 7 Mai 2026

My walk this morning was just wonderful. I headed out after having done my physical therapy so I felt good, I felt ready to greet the day and whatever it may bring. My first encounter was with the plants my neighbor put on her front stoop.

This reminded me that I need to get some potting soil as I have a trio of buckets now and want to grow some jalapeños, tomatoes, and flowers. My front stoop gets a lot of sun with its southern and western exposures.

That refulgent orb in the sky was beginning to peek above the horizon at us mortals and the tree canopies down the street were aglow.

About 30 seconds after I took this photograph some clouds rolled in. For the most part they weren't grey and didn't seem to portend rain. And so I headed down the bike path and into the Carpenter-Ridgeway neighborhood. At the first chance I got, I detoured to follow the path along Starkweather Creek.

Despite the din of morning commuters on Highway 30, it was simply wonderful to be out in the woods.

I quickly got lost in my thoughts. At one point I looked across the creek only to find a pair of doe eyes staring at me. She must have done so for a few seconds as I fumbled with my camera before she and her companion lazily meandered into the woods after concluding that the human who could not easily turn on his camera was not much of a threat. My consolation was a mallard drake a bit upstream who was happy to bathe and preen for my camera.

My next destination was Carpenter-Ridgeway Park where I walked the labyrinth.

When I had finished my session of omphaloskepsis, I ducked into the woods on the north side of the park. You don't have to go in very far to see some exposed blacktop from the old Truax Air Force Base.

Shrooms!

On my way home I noticed a group of trees in Washington Manor Park whose trunks had rough, scaly bark but the larger limbs were covered in a rather smooth bark.

I am not sure what type of tree these are but I believe I have a map of city-owned trees bookmarked somewhere that may tell me.

...

They appear to be Freeman maples. Now we know.

Scenes, 6 Mai 2026

Here on the inside

My apartment is new & improved. Now with more decorations and flowers!

First there's this LED branch hoolie that came with a nice little table that is adorned with flowers. I think one of those cardboard cat scratcher beds would fit purrfectly under the table.

A print now hangs by the TV.

Isn't it lovely?

A new bouquet on the kitchen table.

And the cold, sterile entryway now has a moth print to greet visitors, both human and moth alike.

Song of the day, 4 Mai 2026

While out hiking this past weekend, I was suddenly struck with a vision of the cover of Chet Atkins' Travelin'. I have no idea why. It is an album that my father owned and I recall playing the record as a young boy. The things that come to mind while out in the forest.

Happy Beltane!

We are here:

Careful jumping over any bonfires while skyclad!