There's Beauty in the Bellow

As usual, some tidbit from the New York Times" That’s a refrain heard inside the White House as well: it’s a communication problem. The first refuge of any politician in trouble is that it’s a communication problem, not a policy problem. If only I explained what I was doing better, the people would be more supportive. Which roughly translates to If only you people paid attention, you wouldn’t be kicking me upside the head. Robert Gibbs, the White House press secretary, laughed at the ever-ready assumption that all problems stem from poor communication. “I haven’t been at a policy-problem meeting in 20 months,” he noted. "The Education of President Obama," Peter Baker

Mopping-up operations are what engage most scientists throughout their careers. They constitute what I am here calling normal science. ~Thomas S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions

Like countless educated women in the late nineteenth century, Vinnie (Lavinia Dickinson, sister to Emily) faced the problem of vocation, as finance capitalism and the Industrial Revolution did away with the domestic economy that had dominated colonial and early national life. With the middle-class home transformed into a center of consumption by the mid-nineteenth century, the home because the "women's sphere," but what was a woman to do in it? If, as Vinnie said late in life, "Austin had Amherst" and "father believed," what were the women to do? In assuming her role as a poet with "title divine," Emily found her vocation and made her home, at least for herself, a center of production in a unique, new form of domestic economy. Mrs. Dickinson took upon herself the work of love, ailment, and complaint. That left Vinnie with the job of looking after all of them. ("I had the family to keep track of.") ...

At Cattle Point. Feather duster worms. You poke them and they shrink back into their tubes. Bread crumb sponge (the green stuff) and pink encrusting algae. Aggragating anemone A little Isopod Barnacles. They were everywhere! Really quite handsome. More anemones, above tide. They've pulled in their tentacles to conserve moisture. Their bodies are very soft and gelatinous. My friend's feet. She finds shoes inconvenient. Well, she did grow up in West Africa where she did everything barefoot! I just couldn't stop taking pictures of the anemones! They were so lovely. They spread out everywhere in whatever wet crevice was availible during the nice low tide. (Nice for us at least.) And then I dropped my camera in a tiny shallow little pool. So I didn't get pictures of the rest of the trip. (The following were taken earlier on.) But I took the battery and memory card out, left it open for a couple days and the camera works just as well as ever--to my great relief! Flotsam a...

I don't rebel at being a helpmeet, nor at being the glory or crown of the man. But I want my work to adorn his, not just inspire it (either as a muse or another reason to kill dragons), not just to nurture it (by cooking good food, creating a welcoming home, and building him up with praise). Can my work go beyond the domestic, beyond serving his appetites? Can the crown go with him, shedding glory in public places, beyond the energy and confidence bestowed by receiving respect at home or “sugar cake for you to take for all the boys to see”? I love stories of husbands and wives who are collaborators, where her research and knowledge strengthens, increases, sustains his project. In a sense I want to be a Deborah to a David—if it is possible for those two characters to create a peaceable union. Pagan religions at once deify sex and its offspring while also despising the woman herself, her organs and her blood. What dies the Church do? She is our Mother, she is Christ's Bride. She ...

Frida Kahlo is famous for her self portraits--she painted around 200 of them. Looking at the parade of faces, hair rarely varying, posture hardly altered, the stare emerging out of the canvas, the number seems to have little to do with vanity. It's more as if Kahlo is trying to simultaneously reveal something about herself to the world while trying to discover something about herself. Some of her odd externalized internal landscapes are rather obscene, though I am tempted to excuse them for their intensely visceral personalness. For me, her paintings are like miniatures of her own psyche (which probably is narcissitic, but she did suffer some intense pains).

The other day I took a bite of canteloupe with some basil leaves that were lying on the counter. Would be very good as a salad with toasted almonds (sliced would have best texture to go with the softness of the melon and the chewiness of the basil), lemon juice, lemon zest, a pinch of salt, and some black pepper. I tried fresh papaya for the first time this summer, and the basil treatment works beautifully with that as well. Papaya/basil and canteloupe/basil would make good sorbet--someone's probably already beat me to it. Papaya, basil chiffonade, toasted nuts and spinach make a delicious salad--and don't forget the papaya seeds! They have the texture of pomegranite seeds with a peppery bite, very fun to eat on your salad. You can salvage a disappointing piece of fruit by sprinkling it with lemon juice, salt and honey/agave nectar. Try it with just the lemon and salt, and then add the extra sweetener. I ended up dressing the papaya this way fairly often. Even when it was rip...