The intellectual republic

No one of us ought to issue vetoes to the other, nor should we bandy words of abuse. We ought, on the contrary, delicately and profoundly to respect one another’s mental freedom: then only shall we bring about the intellectual republic; then only shall we have that spirit of inner tolerance without which all our outer tolerance is soulless, and which is empiricism’s glory; then only shall we live and let live, in speculative as well as in practical things.

William James, “The Will to Believe”

cranky re poetry

this is a
political poem
here is what it is
political about
Also! a metaphor

bite

On Saturday, I stupidly went to the community garden in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt and didn’t even apply insect repellent; after all, it was bright midday. And got bitten up in five minutes, enough to drive me away. So today I wore long pants, tucked into boots, and a long-sleeved shirt, and dabbed bug spray on my hands, forehead, and neck, and went off to inspect my harvest.

Where did I get bitten? On my god-damned EYELID.

Coconut pumpkin mousse.

Vegan, gluten-free, a success at Thanksgiving.

Coconut Grove, Salt Lake City, 1939, by Ray King; Univ. of Utah, via DPLA.

1. Chill a can of full fat coconut milk or coconut cream overnight, or the equivalent.
2. Lift out the congealed part and beat it till it is fluffy. I wouldn’t attempt this without at least a little electric hand mixer like the one I have. Add a little reserved liquid if you need to.
3. Mix 1 1/2 cups of pumpkin puree with 1/4 c maple syrup, 2 tsp cinnamon, 1 tsp each ground allspice and ground ginger, 1/4 tsp nutmeg, and 1 tsp vanila extract. (My friend Belinda suggests heating the puree and spices for a few minutes; she says it removes any metallic taste and blooms the spices. Add the vanilla off the heat.) Fold the whipped coconut into the (cooled) pumpkin mix, chill in small cups.
4. Serve with something textury on top (I used sugared and toasted chopped walnuts and chopped crystallized ginger) and a blob of extra whipped coconut (I used the whipped coconut in a spray can from Trader Joes, which I find delicious).

Surprise.

Today I set out to make yogurt and made, instead, cheese. Cheese curds, anyway. I don’t know how it happened.

Ides, veg but not vegan

Haruspex Day rolls round again and as I have no access to sacrificial oxen I was constrained to inspect a fried egg this morning.

Eve Golden in a fried egg hat (via DPLA)

Results: sunny and positive to start, wrinkly at the edges, quickly becoming a mess.

Pamphlet from the New England Fresh Egg Institute, 1942 [Univ. of South Carolina Libraries via DPLA]

The whole story in an eggshell.

2022.

Today’s metaphor-or-something headline: Melania Trump’s Hat Auction Hit by Plunge in Cryptocurrency (NYT, 1/26/22)

Back.

Two annoyances I thought nearly done returned in full force: ants, and a blocked ear. Damned irritating, both of them.

Is it a test?

Why would anyone contract for editing services with a company so feebly detail-oriented that it doesn’t bother to make sure its fake rave reviews don’t duplicate each other?

That jade fylfot charm pawned for one-and-three

The offence that had circuitously brought 'il Rasojo' and his 'lot'
within the cognizance of Scotland Yard outlines the kind of story that
is discreetly hinted at by the society paragraphist of the day, politely
disbelieved by the astute reader, and then at last laid indiscreetly
bare in all its details by the inevitable princessly 'Recollections' of
a generation later. It centred round an impending royal marriage in
Vienna, a certain jealous 'Countess X' (here you have the discretion of
the paragrapher), and a document or two that might be relied upon (the
aristocratic biographer will impartially sum up the contingencies) to
play the deuce with the approaching nuptials.

-- Ernest Bramah, The Game Played in the Dark (a Max Carrados story)

I would leave the fylfot in the pawnshop if I were you.