Alan, Lucy, and I were fortunate enough to have a few visits already this summer. First my sister Alex came for a short week. Now let's be clear: her primary motive for flying to Kentucky was Lucy, but we all enjoyed her company just the same. We took walks-- several, in fact, as Alan kept taking the car downtown and we kept inventing reasons to drive around. Alex baked, of course, and we made her watch Flight of the Conchords. One rainy day we bought craft kits from Hobby Lobby and made sun catchers and coasters.
Then this past week we had the pleasure of welcoming my Mom. Aside from dragging her out for a jog, insisting she stay up late to see Jupiter's moons through my binoculars, asking her to make shrimp tikka masala, having her hold Lucy while I picked raspberries, and whining at her to help me clean out my pantry, I didn't make her do too much. We all had some good, solid theological discussions about annhilinationsism and matters of the human soul. And then we had her listen to some Roy Wood Jr. prank calls and she laughed and laughed.
Lucy had a great time with Alex and my Mom. She thinks they are both soooo hilarious. She kept cracking up and looking at me and Alan as if to say "Where did you find these people!?"
Thanks for coming guys. Hope to see you again soon.
Showing posts with label kentucky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kentucky. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Friday, July 4, 2008
...And One More Thing.
We had a nice 4th of July. After watching the end of the Wilmore parade, the 3 of us headed down to the camp meeting for 25 cent hot dogs and cheap Ale 8 accompanied by Ryan and daughter Morgan. It drizzled on and off. After hanging out with our friends for a bit we watched Punch Drunk Love (my first time, I thought it was very funny).
We ordered BBQ chicken from Sonny's for dinner and our whole crew ate together, played some croquet and Apples to Apples, roasted marshmallows, passed the babies around, and had some laughs. After dark we watched the fire works from a distance and lit sparklers (thanks Mom and Dad). Tomorrow a bunch of us ladies are venturing out for the town wide yard sale. Yeah!
I can't help but think of our first 4th of July in Wilmore, being very tense and unsure of ourselves-- I'm very thankful for settling in to this lovely little place and for all the friends and acquaintances we've made here.
We ordered BBQ chicken from Sonny's for dinner and our whole crew ate together, played some croquet and Apples to Apples, roasted marshmallows, passed the babies around, and had some laughs. After dark we watched the fire works from a distance and lit sparklers (thanks Mom and Dad). Tomorrow a bunch of us ladies are venturing out for the town wide yard sale. Yeah!
I can't help but think of our first 4th of July in Wilmore, being very tense and unsure of ourselves-- I'm very thankful for settling in to this lovely little place and for all the friends and acquaintances we've made here.
A bit about freedom, in honor of the 4th
'Marriage, in what is evidently its most popular version, is now on the one hand an intimate "relationship" involving (ideally) two successful careerists in the same bed, and on the other hand a sort of private political system in which rights and interests must be constantly asserted and defended. Marriage, in other words, has now taken on the form of divorce: a prolonged and impassioned negotiation as to how things shall be divided.' - Wendell Berry, Feminism, the Body, and the Machine
Before moving to Kentucky Alan gave me a book of short stories by a man named Wendell Berry who, I'm ashamed to admit, I'd never heard of at that point. Alan mentioned he happened to be a writer and farmer who was also a Kentucky man, and this book might give me a taste of Bluegrass living. Since moving to Jessamine County what's captivated me about Wendell Berry has more to do with his insights into conservation, social relationships, and the pitfalls of American living than his fiction about the Commonwealth.
The quote above is taken from a short essay Berry wrote in response to some of his critics. After mentioning in an article for Harper's that his wife types his manuscripts on a typewriter, Berry received several letters denouncing him as an oppressive husband, treating his wife like a "household drudge."
So Berry poses this question: if he'd mentioned in the same article that his wife was a career typist, would he have heard the same outcry? Probably not. There is something about a person who works outside the home that says "freedom" or "independence" whereas the one who stays home with children or farms or runs a cottage industry calls to mind some kind of bondage.
Are we really so dense any more? I haven't talked to so many people in my life, but most of those I've come across have suffered a fair amount of oppression in the work place. Berry's point seems to be that the best thing at the beginning of the industrial age would have been for women to call there husbands back home to labor rather than for men to drag their wives into the machine we call work.
I don't have any problem with working outside the home; I do know that for me it was a constant fight to keep my dignity intact and my spirits up. And I know we need lots of professional people, but why is that the ideal for all? You can't tell me there is more freedom for the person who sits behind a desk all day than my friend who spends her time tending a garden and working at the children's library. Nor can you say that a single mom I knew in New York who made a living dying yarn and raising her 5 kids is oppressed because she removed herself from a high power corporate job.
People of both genders would do well to rethink what it means to be free, to be independent, to be happy. After writing the statement I quoted above, Berry goes on to talk of how the American home is based on consumption rather than production. Whereas families once made things together, they now primarily consume beside each other. So I suppose if our purpose is to consume, than we all would do well to get good-paying jobs to support our purpose.
I know I didn't do Berry's essay much justice here, so please read it for yourself if you have the time. Thanks for reading this, I'll accept your criticisms as graciously as I can.
Before moving to Kentucky Alan gave me a book of short stories by a man named Wendell Berry who, I'm ashamed to admit, I'd never heard of at that point. Alan mentioned he happened to be a writer and farmer who was also a Kentucky man, and this book might give me a taste of Bluegrass living. Since moving to Jessamine County what's captivated me about Wendell Berry has more to do with his insights into conservation, social relationships, and the pitfalls of American living than his fiction about the Commonwealth.
The quote above is taken from a short essay Berry wrote in response to some of his critics. After mentioning in an article for Harper's that his wife types his manuscripts on a typewriter, Berry received several letters denouncing him as an oppressive husband, treating his wife like a "household drudge."
So Berry poses this question: if he'd mentioned in the same article that his wife was a career typist, would he have heard the same outcry? Probably not. There is something about a person who works outside the home that says "freedom" or "independence" whereas the one who stays home with children or farms or runs a cottage industry calls to mind some kind of bondage.
Are we really so dense any more? I haven't talked to so many people in my life, but most of those I've come across have suffered a fair amount of oppression in the work place. Berry's point seems to be that the best thing at the beginning of the industrial age would have been for women to call there husbands back home to labor rather than for men to drag their wives into the machine we call work.
I don't have any problem with working outside the home; I do know that for me it was a constant fight to keep my dignity intact and my spirits up. And I know we need lots of professional people, but why is that the ideal for all? You can't tell me there is more freedom for the person who sits behind a desk all day than my friend who spends her time tending a garden and working at the children's library. Nor can you say that a single mom I knew in New York who made a living dying yarn and raising her 5 kids is oppressed because she removed herself from a high power corporate job.
People of both genders would do well to rethink what it means to be free, to be independent, to be happy. After writing the statement I quoted above, Berry goes on to talk of how the American home is based on consumption rather than production. Whereas families once made things together, they now primarily consume beside each other. So I suppose if our purpose is to consume, than we all would do well to get good-paying jobs to support our purpose.
I know I didn't do Berry's essay much justice here, so please read it for yourself if you have the time. Thanks for reading this, I'll accept your criticisms as graciously as I can.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Art of Country Chattiness
From "Golden Girls"--
Blanche: I'm jumpier than a virgin at a prison rodeo.
Dorothy: That's pretty jumpy.
Overheard at Fitch's IGA (local grocery store)--
Cashier: Aren't you gonna buy your husband a candy bar?
Customer: No, he's not much for sweets.
Cashier: Well he likes you, doesn't he?
Customer: (laughs) Maybe that's it, I'm just sweet enough for him.
I am no good at sweet talk. Maybe sweet talk isn't the word for it; I'm referring to that cheeky, quick way people speak here in Kentucky. Its a little like flirting and sarcasm and banter.
And I can't get a handle on it. Like Dorothy, I'm left only to agree with the cashier or whoever-- "Yep, that's right" when I know there is a more appropriate, mildly witty response. When Dorothy responds to Blanche its their shtick, its funny. Dorothy is in a position to make Blanche seem over dramatic, an oddity because of her rural eloquence. But I'm far from being able to criticize humorously as I am odd woman out.
People in NJ don't seem to talk this way in public very often. If they do it is not the modest and yet provocative art of country chattiness.
From "The Office" (the funny BBC one)
David Brent: Its Banter.
Finchy: Its not Banter.
David Brent: No its not banter, no.
Blanche: I'm jumpier than a virgin at a prison rodeo.
Dorothy: That's pretty jumpy.
Overheard at Fitch's IGA (local grocery store)--
Cashier: Aren't you gonna buy your husband a candy bar?
Customer: No, he's not much for sweets.
Cashier: Well he likes you, doesn't he?
Customer: (laughs) Maybe that's it, I'm just sweet enough for him.
I am no good at sweet talk. Maybe sweet talk isn't the word for it; I'm referring to that cheeky, quick way people speak here in Kentucky. Its a little like flirting and sarcasm and banter.
And I can't get a handle on it. Like Dorothy, I'm left only to agree with the cashier or whoever-- "Yep, that's right" when I know there is a more appropriate, mildly witty response. When Dorothy responds to Blanche its their shtick, its funny. Dorothy is in a position to make Blanche seem over dramatic, an oddity because of her rural eloquence. But I'm far from being able to criticize humorously as I am odd woman out.
People in NJ don't seem to talk this way in public very often. If they do it is not the modest and yet provocative art of country chattiness.
From "The Office" (the funny BBC one)
David Brent: Its Banter.
Finchy: Its not Banter.
David Brent: No its not banter, no.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Tornado
I forgot to blog about the tornadoes.
So one night we're sitting around, watching TV, our friend JD was over, and we see tornado warnings on the news. Not the first time we've seen them scrawl across the screen so we figure no big deal.
Well fast forward a few hours to when the tornado alarm for Wilmore sounds. At that point it was a very big deal for me. At that point we were hunkered down in the hallway with a flashlight and blankets, listening to the local news anchor describe roofs being ripped off people's houses.
I know, some of my friends down here are going to read this and make fun of me; they probably slept peacefully through the night. But we don't do tornadoes in NJ or WA.
Note: Thank you to all the people who left messages on my phone for my birthday. Just checked my voice mail now, over a week later :)
So one night we're sitting around, watching TV, our friend JD was over, and we see tornado warnings on the news. Not the first time we've seen them scrawl across the screen so we figure no big deal.
Well fast forward a few hours to when the tornado alarm for Wilmore sounds. At that point it was a very big deal for me. At that point we were hunkered down in the hallway with a flashlight and blankets, listening to the local news anchor describe roofs being ripped off people's houses.
I know, some of my friends down here are going to read this and make fun of me; they probably slept peacefully through the night. But we don't do tornadoes in NJ or WA.
Note: Thank you to all the people who left messages on my phone for my birthday. Just checked my voice mail now, over a week later :)
Thursday, April 26, 2007
A Day at the Races
After nearly a year in Kentucky I finally went to the race track. I had just said to Alan the night before that nothing remotely serendipitous happened to me here. And then my kind friends Hannah and Jason invited me to a little lunchtime excursion to Keeneland, our neighborhood track. A lot of people there really dress the part-- I haven't seen so many blazers in my life! The races were exciting, especially when I had five dollars down on #1 in the fifth race. We all had a good feeling about him-- he looked so plucky when they paraded him around-- but he finished third in the end. Ah well, it was good fun and by far one of my better cultural experiences here.
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