Friday, August 30, 2019

Cylinder Seals

 On the art front, last month I discovered a bunch of cylinder seals.  They are interesting to me because, in a way, they are like 3000 year old comics art.  Only without the word-bubbles. Historically, they were rolled onto clay documents to authenticate them.


They were used as jewelry and as amulets.


What I like about the artwork is that it's tiny; I would be hard pressed to create one without a 3D printer and CAD.


The scenes I like are the ones with praise or processions in them; I'm not overly fond of the ones that are hunting scenes or fierce animals eating herbivores... although there are a few griffon seals that have stunning detail of the wings and feathers.


Overlooking the fact that these were probably luxury goods of the elite, I like the romance behind taking something as mundane as sealing tax records or contracts with a beautiful work of art.


What if our cars' tires left impressions of processions in their tracks, or printed pictures of local animals?  Or--thinking back to the days when plastic credit cards embossed their numbers onto carbon paper -- if we could electronically sign documents with beautiful RFID rings?


I think the 3D printing revolution was supposed to usher in a new Arts And Crafts Movement, but I guess it hasn't done that, yet.


On the gym front:  Went to the gym Monday 8/26) and Wednesday (6/28).  I realized that since I've come back from New York, I've been doing the standing cable pull wrong because I've been gripping the pulls by the dowels and not by the webbing above them.  This explains why my wrists along the tops of my hands have been feeling sore.  I should have figured it out earlier, because doing the exercise felt wrong as I was doing it.   Wednesday, I felt tired and over-full from dinner, so I spent more time on the elliptical and less time doing bench presses and standing rows.


On the writing front, I've sent out nine submissions and received five rejections over the last week (since 8/23).  Some of the markets I've submitted to in the past have vastly reduced their response time, and I've been able to quickly re-submit a rejected story.  I've currently five manuscripts pending a response.  I've got my eye on one in particular (which is probably not healthy) and I'll know more about three of the submissions in about two weeks.









Wednesday, August 28, 2019

Triskellion Ewer

This ewer almost always catches my eye as I'm walking through the Mediaeval portion of the MET.  Age has changed the coloring, the green parts used to be red.

What I like most about it is how the artist managed to give the spirals a three-fold symmetry without overcrowding the design.  The extra swirls make the pattern seem organic and less geometric.

It's Late Roman, made sometime between 200 and 400.  The MET display doesn't say where it was found.... and I'm not finding it in their on-line catalogue.



Monday, August 26, 2019

Koosah & Sahalie Falls

 Last weekend for Mark's birthday, a group of friends went to Koosah Falls & Sahalie Falls.  The falls are on the Mckenzie River, about a ninety minute drive east and a little north of Eugene. 

When we got there, the parking lot was full.  I had remembered a much larger facility.  And a picnic area.  I'd also remembered a more manicured path, so it was a good thing that some of my relatives didn't join us because they would have likely twisted an ankle as they bounced down the gorge and into the river. 

The hike is a loop that starts at Sahalie Falls, goes along the southern side of the gorge, goes below Koosah Falls, crosses a bridge above a reservoir, and then goes back up the north side of the gorge.  Above Sahalie Falls there's another bridge.  The hike was the sort of hike I like because it was shaded and the falls misted the gorge with a cooling spray.  Also, there are perpetual rainbows. 

The gorge smelled of fresh water and pines and moss.  I'm pretty sure there was a hawk or eagle of some sort flying above the boughs, but we only heard its calls.  I tried to photograph a snake basking on the rocks, but I only got its tail.  The river was a luminescent turquoise.   The north side of the gorge was rockier, and its volcanic origin more evident; there was a lot of basalt outcroppings. 

After the hike, we had a late lunch.  Originally, I thought there was a place to eat at the falls, but I was wrong.  We thought we'd try a nearby Clear Lake, but it was completely filled with tourists from far afield.  We ended up eating at the McKenzie River Ranger Station.

Mark enjoyed the hike and the company, and I was glad to be able to organize it.  However, note to self:  next year let Mark in on the planning; he doesn't like surprise birthday stuff nearly as much as you do, and he's better at picking sites that aren't as busy and have parking.






Saturday, August 24, 2019

Not Your Father's 1980's

Friday night I went to what I thought was going to be a 80's and 90's dance.  I think I was the only one in the bar who was alive and cognizant during the 1980's and 1990's.  I had a mostly good time, although there were multiple moments when the DJ put on (presumably contemporary) Hip Hop (I think).  In my head I called it "Goth Hip-Hop" because a slow four-four beat underpinned deep voices rapping about something--possibly Making a Sacrifice to Angry, Chthonic Gods.  The volume and distortion prevented me from discerning the words, but everyone else was lip syncing along.  I found it difficult to dance to with anything but a truncated grape-vine or a fox-trot box step.  Occasionally, the DJ would throw in actual music from the 1980's or 90's, or the music would speed up to something dance-able.

On the writing front:  Friday was a marketing day.  I sent out four manuscripts to various markets and did some editing and writing.  Saturday, I received a 20-hour and a 25-hour rejection!  From markets that formerly took about four weeks to get back to me.   One of the rejections had a quick little note on it, so that was nice -- but it put a twist in my plan to have ten manuscripts in the e-mail by the end of the weekend.

More writing/editing today (Saturday).

Friday, August 23, 2019

Dragonfly Rescue


Went to the gym Wednesday (8/21) and did the regular routine.  I suppose I should look up some hand stretches or other warm-ups because I've noticed my hands are sore now that I've returned to the gym routine after a vacation.

The other day Cicero caught a dragonfly.  I'm never quite sure if he's catching them on his own or if these have been disabled by birds who don't eat them after pecking them.

This one seemed to be in fairly good condition:  its wings seemed to be working and it only had a little dent in its side.  Cicero had mostly been batting it against the ground before I rescued it.  After appreciating it, I managed to place it on some horsebane growing near our deck and sprinkled a little water on the branches for it.  Cicero really wanted to play with it more, and, like a Disney cartoon wolf, took up a station at the base of the plant.

Wednesday and Thursday were grey, rainy days.  The trees and grass needed the rain, and I feel like much of the dust and pollen has been cleared from the air.  Of course today (Friday), I'm noticing the haze in the air is making the pines on a hill across Amazon Slough grey-green instead of the pine-green of their nearer counterparts.

Today (Friday) is a writing and marketing day.  My in-the-mail count is one and it ideally should be up to ten (or greater).  I've got a list of stories to send out... although one (fairly old) story has got some dated technology in it that needed to be cleaned up and the more I think about it, the more I'm wondering if I should run the story past some beta readers to see if I'm guilty of cultural appropriation.

Tuesday, August 20, 2019

Back to the Gym

Gym Report:  Returned to the gym for the first time since July last Wednesday (8/14) and did an intro workout with lower weights; went again last night (8/19) for a more regular workout.  I skipped Friday because it was Mark's Birthday and I spent most of the day buying and prepping food for a hike to Sahalie Falls and Koosah Falls.  And buying a cake.  And Mark's birthday lemon tree.  And cleaning the house.  And Laundry.

Saturday was the waterfall hike; it was a lot of fun... and Sunday I felt like I was recovering from a Leg Day after climbing down the McKenzie River canyon and then climbing back up it again.  Sunday morning, we had guests, and I served post-birthday quiche.

On the writing front... I need to make a little Henry Winkler shrine with the words "Tenacity" and "Gratitude." We'd been listening to "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" on NPR and Mr. Winkler said that the two things that helped him get where he is are tenacity to keep working on the things he wants and gratitude to keep him thankful instead of angry.   And then I need to get my butt in a chair and my fingers on a keyboard.

Sunday, August 11, 2019

Wind Down and Travels

I think everyone was tired Sunday.  Various relatives returned for a post-party gathering.  And more bagels.  We visited with folks one last time and then it was time for us to pack and go to the airport.  I’d say this visit we spent more time with the teen and pre-teen set than we did with the adults.

At some point, Mark tried to pack some more books into his carry-on luggage only to find that more items had been mysteriously added;  The Child confessed to packing the FDR Sphinx in Mark’s carry-on because his own luggage was too heavy.  This became a frequent theme as we listened to the canned train depot and airport speeches about not accepting packages from strangers.

The security line stretched on and on and we conga-lined through endless twists and turns of flexible crowd control tape.  I’d have to say that the automated trays you put your carry-on items into was kind of cool and automated.  As I was re-assembling my stuff and donning my apparel, Mark told me security was inspecting his bag.

The guard seemed board and unimpressed as she opened the bag and pawed through it.  Mark was standing next to her, and The Child and I were a short distance away still putting ourselves together.  Various shirts and socks fell to either side of the carry-on until the guard got to a cabbage-sized lump:  FDR Sphinx.

“Oh,” she said tonelessly.  “This is the problem.”

And then she waved Mark through to stow everything back.

We thought it was much more funny than she did.


Our flight was delayed while they changed a tire.  Mark found a good vantage point to see what they were doing and I used my zoom lens to take close-up pictures.  Essentially, after removing a featureless disk of a hub-cap, they used three foot long Allen wrenches to take the lug-nuts off of the faulty wheel and replaced it with a good wheel.   Pretty much how you’d change a car’s wheel, only on a plane.

The flight coming home was more uncomfortable that then one going out:  my seat wouldn’t recline, so sleeping was difficult.  Mark changed seats with me, and I discovered that A) there was practically no leg room and B) the chairs were so flimsy that every time the very large man sitting in front of me heaved forward and then flopped back in an attempt to get comfortable, he’d relocate my knees and wake me up.   So I didn’t get much rest.

Back in Oregon, Mark drove us home.  I stayed awake and made idle chit-chat with him.  After thirteen hours of travel, we arrived through our front door at 1 AM.

The cats were happy to see us.


Saturday, August 10, 2019

The Big Party

At 8:30 AM most of the folks who had spent the night arose and prepared the final touches for the house.  And ate bagels.  My main task was reinforcing the cardboard house from the day before.

All of Mary’s seven children (from four states) and most of their children, and some of their children, appeared at Mary’s house.    I made a list at some point to try to get all of the names and relations fixed in my head… in any case, there were easily fifty people, from age one to age eighty-five, at the party.

As the party geared up into the early afternoon, I found myself giving tarot card readings.  I lost track, but I must have done at least seven readings.  For most of the readings I used a nine-card spread:  two cards crossed at the top representing inner and outer states or starting point and obstacle; and seven cards arranged in a horizontal line, the first two the past, the next three the present, and the final two the future.  The Sun, The Lovers, and The Hermit cards came up a lot, as well as the Hierophant.  I’d say the teenagers were the most difficult to give readings to, partially because they seemed to be more curious about what it was I was doing and less focused on any particular question.

While tarot happened, there was also face-painting.  Mark’s oldest brother received a nutcracker effect that was very alarming and frightened some of the younger children.  He second oldest brother was made up to look like a (slightly less alarming) tiger… there was some talk about having a lion and a bear, but this didn’t materialize.

I was one of several photographers snapping shots of visiting relatives.  My camera’s strength is that the zoom lens allows me to take pictures of folks without them realizing it, so they are less apt to pose in an unnatural fashion.  I think my best shots were of a great-grandchild looking out of the cardboard house, and possibly the hawk that alighted in the tree we were partying under.  Other folks took better portrait photographs, I think.


The Child held a contest to see who could do the best Fortnite Dance.  There were badminton games, and bocce, and a water slide, and general visiting.  Dinner was grilled cheeseburgers and corn, prepared by “Chef Sean.”

As the evening progressed, the talent show began.  We had group sing-a-longs on the deck.  Mark M.C.’ed “Mary Jeopardy” and I led everyone in the Oregon 1983 version of “The Shark Song.”  More singing with the piano happened inside.  And then the karaoke machine was wheeled out.   Probably the most painful song was Tom Jone’s “Delilah”;  probably the song everyone got the most into was “Bohemian Rhapsody”; probably the most soulful song was John Denver’s “Country Roads.”  We had fun with George Micheal’s “Faith,” and “Get The Party Started.”  There’s video.



Friday, August 09, 2019

Last Minute Prep and Arrivals

Mark and The Child went off to New York City for a final hurrah there (during our entire vacation, the Child had not yet been to be The Big City).  They ended up in The Bowery taking a very interesting tour of some Tenements from 1880 and 1930, on a tour called “Hard Times.”

The second most interesting thing about the tour was that the rooms were very small, and the bathrooms were more like outhouses on the side of the building.  The most interesting thing from the 1930’s tour was that in one Catholic tenement,  there were statues of Mary, paintings of Jesus, and an image of FDR.

The oldest son of Mary’s oldest son appeared with his wife and four children around 11 AM.   The oldest child was six, and the youngest was one.  After some initial shyness, the two oldest children (H. and A.) managed to talk me into a Kung Fu session.  Since the only Kung Fu I know is actually the “John-Fu” form “Crouching Dragon Reaches for the Chocolate,” I had to make do against them with superior height and weight.   This was sufficient to deflect their strikes and brush them aside to the carpet.  For about an hour.  At one point I did pick both of them up and “throw them into the volcano crater,” (an overstuffed chair), but they were immune to lava.

In the back of my mind, I recalled that The Child also used to enjoy being pushed over onto a resting futon, and would have dearly loved if we could have catapulted him across the yard… except that when he was six I want to say he already weighed 70 pounds (which was probably twice as much as H. and A. combined) and I hadn’t been working out at a gym back then.

I am not sure how much longer the Rumble at the Dojo would have lasted, but we were directed to color and put together a cardboard house.  Outside.  With no karate chops.

More relatives arrived, and Mark and The Child returned from their New York City Adventure.  The evening concluded with lots of pizza.

Thursday, August 08, 2019

The MET Again

I woke up earlier than I thought I would.  This was a good thing, as it allowed me enough time to drink a really big mug of tea, and then shower and gird myself for a Solo Trip Into The City.

The trip in went smoothly.  Once I was on the bus, I listed all the things I might want to do in the MET.  I used my new phone to research galleries and put those numbers in my list:  Gallery 158 (gold earring of Nike); Horn in the Hall of Music; Visit The Cow; Camera defying sarcophagus; “The Decorated Word” (Nothing); Mediaeval Instruments; Gallery 521 (hourglass); photograph jewelry; Greek Cyclades; Gallery 542; Galleries 301-303; Gallery 774 (Lantern  Clock); Gallery 532 (Sundials).   As I reviewed the list, I resolved that I would visit The Camera Defying Sarcophagus first, and then traipse through the Egyptian Wing, because I love Egyptian Stuff.

I put away my iPhone and gazed out the window at the passing cars and the skyline of New York City drawing closer.  Every so often, another bus slid by my window.  Through the tinted glass,  the silhouettes of other passengers looked down at glowing white rectangles of mobile phones and tablets.  Windows into windows into windows gliding in monochromatic motion — shadows without dimension peering at virtual light, a silent troupe, a mass of bodies, a scattering of minds.   It was weird, and made me aware of how ubiquitous mobile devices are.

I managed to find the subway (although I did have to convince a ticket machine to sell me a MetroPass).  I got to the S train just as one arrived.  The performer in the car I boarded seemed pious as he sang “This Little Light of Mine” and accompanied himself on a huge conga drum.  The drumming was fairly accomplished, if a bit loud, and I escaped at the other platform.   Then I managed to get to a 6 train just as it pulled in and found myself at 77th and Lexington Avenue at about 9:30 AM.

A short walk past La Maison du Chocolate confirmed that it wasn’t open until 10 AM, which was when the MET was going to open.  I wound my way toward Central Park and found an Honest To God Gargoyle on the side of a 1887 mansion on the corner of 79th Street and 5th Avenue.

In the back of my head, I wondered if the folks in the building wondered who I was, since I was photographing various doors and windowsills.  But I didn’t care — finding old stone work like this is gratifying, and taking close-up photos of them gives me a sense of acquisition and ownership.  There’s also a sense of participating in and appreciating the art of the craftwork when I take a good photograph.  I like the suggestion of the numinous, the sense of glimpsing a locus genii, and the over-the-top allegory of gargoyles and grotesques.

With a rising sense of urgency, I took a final photograph and crossed the street toward the MET.
I was glad I got there when I did.  With some brisk walking, I managed to get ahead of a large group of tourists and queued up for the entry.  It took something like ten minutes to go past the dancing fountains, climb up the stairs, go through security and check my camera backpack in.

In a moment, I paid admission and quickly made my way to Egypt.  All the way, to the very back of the galleries, almost to the Temple of Dendura.  I was going to finally get some descent photographs of the (Camera Defying) Sarcophagus of Harkhebit.  Every time I visit the MET, I try to get a descent photograph of Harkhebit’s Sarcophagus, and almost every time I get a bunch of blurry shots.   This is frustrating, because the hieroglyphs on it are very fine, especially the scarab beetles, the winged pectoral of Isis,  and the images of the four Canoptic Gods.   The combination of the Sarcophagus’s black granite and the gallery’s low lighting makes it impossible to get some of the side inscriptions:  I am not physically able to hold still long enough to get a clear image.   While this wasn’t the perfect photo-op, I was able to get more and clearer shots than ever before.   I had a good ten or so minutes with it to myself (and a very underwhelmed security guard) before the rest of the patrons began to osmose through the gallery.

And yes, it did cross my mind that I was taking photographs of a dead person’s coffin, and that many of the items in the Egyptian wing are funerary goods, or temple goods… or discarded or repurposed building materials.   What would Harkhebit think — does taking a picture count as coming to worship him as one of the Justified Dead?  I suppose being on display in the MET is better than having one’s sarcophagus repurposed to be a Roman bathtub.

I meandered through the Egyptian wing.  I gave into the impulse to video myself twirling like Maria VonTrapp before the statues of Hapsetshut.   I took some of the same photos I always take of various hieroglyphic inscriptions.  And I kept my eye out for jewelry photos to take.  Mark had asked for photographs of jewelry before I hopped out of the car to buy bus tickets.  So I re-shot the Tiara of a Harkonen Princess (which I wore in a past life, I’m sure).

By now I was hungry, and I went through the Mediaeval Galleries toward the cafe.  Along the way I found the hourglass I’d put on my list, along with some old mediaeval favorites:  the wind-up Artemis on a Stag, the Locksmith Masterpiece triangular lock, and the Pegasus Spherical Clock.  What I like about these pieces is that they’re precision metal craft from a time without Computer Assisted Drafting, 3-D printing, or laser etching.  Also, they’re shiny.  One new item that caught my eye was a silver ewer (Adam van Vianen I (ca. 1568/69-1627) in the shape of a European water dragon.  Then it was time for a sticker-shock lunch of a (burnt) cheeseburger, fries, and salad.

Back into the galleries, I sought out “The Decorated Word,” which I knew was somewhere in the Islamic Art galleries.  I love the zillage and metalwork , but I have to say “The Decorated Word” left me flat.  It was like looking at at calligraphic words like “wave” repeated in undulating forms until they bump into a block-letter word “keel”,  which sports a skinny “mast” poking out of the top along with the word “sail” repeated along the contours of billowing sheets.  Which have never struck my fancy.  Only in a script I can’t read.  The “Poet Turning into Heech” sculpture looked like the artist was trying to be clever and pass a penis joke off as fine art.  I think I might have received the sculpture more favorably if I could read the letters.

After enjoying the rest of the art in the Islamic wing, I wandered around the old favorites in the Ancient Near and Middle East galleries.   There were bands of “How Archeology of the Holy Land Proves the Bible” Tours going on in the Ancient Near East Gallery, which was slightly distracting — a crowd of folks would gather in front of a display while a guide would explain how the Dragon of the Ishtar Gate proved that the Ancient Babylonians’ religion was all about fertility (i.e. sex).

I found more jewelry to photograph for Mark, and rediscovered some rhytons. Rhytons fascinate me because they seem like a strangely intimate way to share drinks.  If you were an ancient host at a symposium or party, you’d walk around to the guest uncovering the hole in the bottom of the rhyton and squirting wine into a cup (?or maybe a mouth?).  It’s like if you were eating a sugar ice cream cone and bit the bottom off and offered the dripping end to your guests.  I suppose in a way they are like gargoyles, only for drinks.  

I bumped into some more cylinder seals of griffons and lions and trees from Syria and Mesopotamia.  After I photographed the seals, I had to say hi to The Cow.

In the American Arts wing, I revisited “Death Staying the Hand of the Artist.”  It’s a background screen on my laptop, so it’s a familiar image to me; this time, I spent some time focused on the face of the Young Artist instead of the entire composition.  The Artist has a look on his face which is a cross between “Seriously?” and “I’m kind of working here,” and an aside-like “that moment when you’re just getting into your work and this giant Death-Angel-Lady barges into your studio” with some “uh-oh” thrown in.

Then I went over to the staircase with angels on it because one simply cannot have too many pictures of an angel playing a triangle, or another angel blowing her horn into the backside of the showboat angel in front of her.  I also took some detail shots of a stain glass window with grape leaves, because I wanted to remember how the artist had composed the leaves and vines.

One of items on my list was photographing the MET’s pipe organ and also their display of horns.  The pipe organ photos were for my dad, who really likes pipe organs and is in the process of restoring and expanding some organ registers in his church.  The physics of how the pipes set up a standing wave of vibrating air inside them is interesting, since the fipple is essentially a fixed, wedge shaped reed.


The horns are in a stunning display radiating out of the most ancient of horns, a conch shell.  I think the best time to see it might be in the morning, as they weren’t quite as cool as I remember them.

There were still some Roman jewelry items on my list, so I went to the where they lived, passing through the Renaissance Sculpture wing, and the French Empire wing and skirted the African and Polynesian wings.   I didn’t spend as much time in the Mediaeval wings or the Classical Antiquities, Greek and Roman wings as much as I wanted to.

Next time I’ll have to start there.  Perhaps I can focus on magic charms of the ancient Mediterranean and Mediaeval worlds for my next visit.

In the final minutes of the museum, I revisited the MET shops and got some MET Cat pins for our cat sitters, and some books.  In the past I’ve had some good luck with sale books, but not so much this time.  I got a stain glass book for Mary (who does stained glass) and a book on ancient magic and another book on church architecture (research!).

After the MET, I went to Masion du Chocolate.  I think I might have looked a little dazed, because the young lady at the counter radiated an aura of slight concern.  Mark says it was probably because I plunked down a hefty amount of cash for a box of chocolates.  It turns out that there is a tea salon there, but alas, it closes when the MET does.  Chocolate in hand, I got onto the Metro and proceded to miss the S-connection at 42nd Street and had to walk from 36nd to the Port Authority Bus Terminal.

Ten years ago, I would have freaked out, but I knew the direction (sort of) that I wanted to go in, and it was a pleasant late afternoon, so I started walking.  Oddly, I managed to walk by The Morgan.  It was closed.  I walked a little farther, and found myself near the Empire State Building.   Which was funny.

I realized that my phone had a map program on it, so I spoke into it:  “How do I get to the Port Authority from here?”   Walking directions appeared on my screen (mostly confirming the way I was going), which took the second-guessing myself aspect out of the walk (mostly), and the rest of the trip went without incident.








Urn.  I love the pattern on this.











Cow figures and griffons and goah stone holder.






























  Vouging in Mesopotamia