Author: Dale

Sumer is icumen in

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My summer of Myself is on the horizon, 1 month 2 days and 17 hours to be precise, and I find that it cannot come quickly enough. (Note: my “summer” doesn’t begin until I return from helping set up GHP on Tuesday, June 15!)

What are my goals?

  • sketch five proposals for the Ayrshire Fiddle Orchestra piece
  • sketch, if not complete, the designated proposal for said piece
  • make headway on the Epic Lichtenbergian Portrait
  • further explore my “Field” series of paintings, and even finish the one I promised a young friend this time last year
  • build a “party patio” on the upper lot
  • finish a couple of things in the labyrinth, especially the westpoint
  • begin writing the journal I’ve chosen to call A Perfect Life
  • establish some kind of exercise routine

Given that I have six weeks to do all this in, I don’t think I shall have to worry about what I’m going to do with myself.

Dream music

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I’ve been asked whether I’ve ever dreamed any music that I’ve gone on to actually write. Yes, the opening theme of “Sonnet 18” came to me the night before the students arrived at GHP that summer. It was so insistent that I got up and scribbled down something to remind me of its contour the next morning.

Recently however I have been dreaming quite large orchestral pieces, and that’s frustrating, because I know I do not have the skills (nor the time) to capture them. Last night was a lovely work indeed; I was even able to manipulate it, extending the theme and developing it.

It’s gone now. I remember only a vague impression of its effect. Most frustrating.

Idiot.

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I think I’ve found our problem.

Senator Lindsey Graham, who was a JAG and even serves as a Senior Instructor at the Air Force JAG School, on the idea of legislation to strip citizens accused of terrorism of their rights as citizens:

Even if you’re an American citizen helping the enemy, you should be viewed as a potential military threat, not some guy who tried to commit a crime in Times Square.

No, Lindsey, no, you’re missing the point. That’s exactly how it should be viewed: as a crime in Times Square. Such a violent act does not require that we elevate its perpetrator to some holy-warrior status. Nor does it require that we cue “The Star-Spangled Banner” and smear our faces with Special Forces make-up and scream, “Wolverines!” (Look carefully at that quote page, and be very afraid.)

Idiot.

A scathingly brilliant idea

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Here, in its entirety, is my letter to the editor of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, which was printed in edited form yesterday:

Dear Editor:

As an educator, I have followed with alarm the various cuts to the education budget in the General Assembly: larger class sizes, less support for the arts, fewer teacher aides, and now, in the Senate, the complete elimination of the Governor’s Honors Program, the crown jewel of the DOE.

I believe, however, I have found a solution to at least part of our funding woes.

The Republican governor of Puerto Rico has submitted a bill to slash the size of their legislature by 30%, saving nearly $11 million in the process.

Surely we could do the same thing here? I’m thinking it would be easier, math-wise, to cut the Assembly by 50%, so that all you would have to do is have each remaining legislator double up on his or her district. I haven’t done the math about how much we would save, but surely it would be enough to fund a few teacher aides, and maybe tide Governor’s Honors over until the economy picks up.

As for the increased duties the legislators would face, it’s the same as increasing class sizes for teachers, isn’t it? If larger numbers in the classroom is not supposed to have any real impact on instruction and learning, surely it won’t hurt our representatives to double up for the people they represent.

After all, times are hard, and we all have to make sacrifices.

Dale Lyles, educator

Labyrinth, 5/4/10

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I came out this afternoon to bask and found that the labyrinth had, overnight, turned into a shady respite.

At some point I will probably have to weed-whack the paving stones to keep the grass from overtaking them. I think they’re lovely au naturel, but I can see where it could turn into a problem. I know we have a brick walkway in the front yard that no one has seen for years for that very reason.

Hm.

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Ron Kirkland, Republican candidate in Tennessee’s 8th Congressional District, and a Vietnam vet, commenting on why repealing Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell would be a bad thing:

“Things don’t go well in military barracks when you have 50 guys sleeping on top of each other.”

Yes. Well. There you have it.

Nothing to say

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I keep thinking I need to write more. I keep wanting to write more. But I don’t. Dozens of quick ideas float into and out of my head every day, but I don’t get them out of my head and into the blog. Perhaps I need to do just one-liners until something real pops out.

I’ve been working on a post about Beethoven’s symphonies, but it’s hard to put into words. Maybe this week.

In the meantime, I just came across this poem hidden away on my computer. Weirdly enough, I remembered it earlier in the week and was wondering where I had stashed it. I wrote it when Garrison Keillor had a sonnet contest, and then promptly forgot about it. It was in a program called WriteRoom, a fabulous little program that I used for a while when I had to write without distractions, the purpose of which was to completely blank out your screen with the page. Just you and the words.

And then today I was showing Summer Miller all the little writing programs I had littering my hard drive, and when I opened WriteRoom, up popped all these little notes I had completely forgotten about, including the poem.

So, until I write something real, here’s a poem:

My back yard. Night. The vernal equinox.
We sit, all men, around a fire of oak
and last year’s Christmas tree. Our talk unlocks
our thoughts, and musings sift through light and smoke.
We drink. We talk: our lives, and what’s to do.
We talk of art and music, God and cause.
Someone’s removed his shirt. Now I have too.
I don’t know why this comforts, but it does,
to sit bare-chested, flesh exposed like mind
around the crackling light. Another drink,
I want to know if all these thoughts behind
these other chests can make me see, not think.
These men I love, and more than that, require:
we slowly start to move around the fire.

The last two lines should be indented, of course, but html prevents that.

Labyrinth, 4/25/10

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As promised, photos of the new fern growth:

Over by the stone steps at the northpoint. Autumn ferns, still rust-colored, but really putting forth. These have been there longer than any of the others, I think, so it really gives me hope that the whole garden will eventually be really gorgeous.

Southern wood ferns over where the tree fell. You may recall that they were slow putting out, but I think once they’re established, they’re going to be huge.

Photos cannot do these justice. They’re Japanese painted ghost ferns, and they’re beautiful. I need more of them here at the westpoint. I will have to restrain myself from buying and planting more until I have the stone circle actually installed.