Today in the year 1822 Percy Bysshe Shelley drowned.
Whoa buddy. That infallible source does not disappoint today. Here’s the skinny from the first paragraph:
Percy Bysshe Shelley (/bɪʃ/ (listen) BISH;[1][2] 4 August 1792 – 8 July 1822) was one of the major EnglishRomantic poets, widely regarded as one of the greatest lyric and philosophical poets in the English language.[3] A radical in his poetry as well as in his political and social views, Shelley did not see fame during his lifetime, but recognition of his achievements in poetry grew steadily following his death. Shelley became a key member of a close circle of visionary poets and writers that included Lord Byron, John Keats, Leigh Hunt, Thomas Love Peacock and his own second wife, Mary Shelley (the author of Frankenstein).
Three short paragraphs about his work, his influences and so forth. And then Life. Four thousand three hundred and twenty-five words. I kid you not. I copied and pasted it into a Word doc. Nine pages! His girlfriends, his crushes, his first marriage and being cut off by his father, various suicides of who knows who, children, lovers, second marriage, more family affairs starring second cousins’ half sisters or something, every trip he ever made off the island.
Some believed his death was not accidental, that Shelley was depressed and wanted to die; others suggested he simply did not know how to navigate. More fantastical theories, including the possibility of pirates mistaking the boat for Byron’s, also circulated.[39][40] There is a small amount of material, though scattered and contradictory, suggesting that Shelley may have been murdered for political reasons:[41] previously, at Plas Tan-Yr-Allt, the Regency house he rented at Tremadog, near Porthmadog, north-west Wales, from 1812 to 1813, he had allegedly been surprised and attacked during the night by a man who may have been, according to some later writers, an intelligence agent.[42] Shelley, who was in financial difficulty, left forthwith leaving rent unpaid and without contributing to the fund to support the house owner, William Madocks; this may provide another, more plausible explanation for this story.
Plus four more paragraphs on his death, a few months before he turned 30.
“What was your dissertation on?”
“Shelley’s personal life.”
“Cool. Where’s it published?”
“Um. Wikipedia.”
Plus get this. Life begins:
This section needs additional citations for verification.
I think knowing something about a famous person’s life is interesting. One’s life affects one’s work, whatever it may be. But let’s not put the cart before the horse. He’s a great poet because of the poetry he wrote. Not because of the apartment he lived in Florence.
Ah, did you once see Shelley plain,
And did he stop and speak to you?
And did you speak to him again?
How strange it seems, and new!
But you were living before that,
And you are living after,
And the memory I started at—
My starting moves your laughter!
I crossed a moor, with a name of its own
And a certain use in the world no doubt,
Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone
'Mid the blank miles round about:
For there I picked up on the heather
And there I put inside my breast
A moulted feather, an eagle-feather—
Well, I forget the rest.
‘Phen is the cutest little boy you have ever seen. And since I am not allowed to– nor would I, even if I were– post photos of ‘Phen, you’ll just have to take my word for this. He is also the smartest little boy, perhaps ever. He can read and I don’t mean hesitantly pick through words. He reads with inflection and as he’s reading along he sometimes realizes he has not read with the proper inflection and so he will backtrack.
Note how Miss M posts grades: zero wrong out of 10
‘Phen Skyped me yesterday (Miss M needed a break and he knows how to navigate Skype well enough to allow me– and all of his family– to Skype babysit) and somewhere along in the conversation I asked him what infinity plus one was and he replied, “Infinity.” Which is correct.
I related this to Mr. Big Food. Turns out, infinity times infinity is not infinity. See rabbit hole link, above.
Today he told me that he was celebrating his last day of being three. He had PB&J for breakfast. What a celebration!
First of all, he was born in 1852. How common was divorce is 1852? A quick tour of the internet suggests five percent of marriages ended in divorce.
But really? How long does it take to pop out 10 kids? Just thinking through the biology (no one was bottle feeding babies in the 1850s were they?) I’m going to say there’s a 15-18 month interval, so like 11 years. So you and the Missus have been making babies for 11 straight years and then here’s #10 and one of you says, “That’s it. I just can’t take it anymore.”
Or maybe things weren’t going too well from the get-go and one of them says, “Oh, c’mon Honey. Let’s go make a baby. That’ll fix everything.” Repeat X 9. And then Little Charlie (he changed his name as an adult) comes along and they just look each other square in the eye and say, “Well, we gave it our best shot.”
Our Pocket Univ. Guide to Daily Reading (1922) tells us the poem was “written after seeing Millet’s painting of the stoopt figure of the Hoe-man.” I see also that the poem has its own page at that infallible source, from which I captured an image of the painting.
The Man with a Hoe has been called “the battle-cry of the next thousand years”[3] and translated into 37 languages,[4] earning Markham about $250,000 over 33 years.[3] After its publication, the poem’s content, form, and language have captured the feelings and thoughts of people, drawing attention to social issues such as labor exploitation while helping causes such as the revitalization of efforts pursuing labor reform.[5] The poem also helped Markham’s career. The poet became a much sought-after public speaker and his first book of poetry was immediately published to take advantage of the opportunities that became available after the poem established him as one of the American modern poets.[5]
A quarter of a million dollars. Wonder how much of that went to help the cause?
First stanza:
Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans
Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground,
The emptiness of ages in his face,
And on his back the burden of the world.
Who made him dead to rapture and despair,
A thing that grieves not and that never hopes.
Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox?
Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw?
Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow?
Whose breath blew out the light within this brain?
Egg salad with basil, tuna salad with dill, crescent rolls, salad greens etc. & dressing
Yesterday I was seriously involved with drudge work homemaking. At about 3pm I was in the kitchen and wondered what we were having for supper so I looked at the menu. OOPS! It’s Marica Cooks Monday! I had planned a cold salad supper so no big deal. Mr. Big Food made the dressing when he got home from work, which is to say when he packed up his stuff in the Bunkhouse and commuted home by way of walking across the patio to the Big House.
From The Best of Bon Appetit (1979). Use fresh dill if you have it. We processed everything in the blender.
CUCUMBER DILL DRESSING
Makes 1 cup
½ C corn oil
¼ C lemon juice
½ tsp dried dill
½ tsp dry mustard
¼ tsp garlic salt
1/8 tsp pepper
½ C cucumbers, peeled, chopped
1 green onion, white part only, chopped
Combine all ingredients in a jar with a tight-fitting lid, cover, shake well, and chill. Shake again before serving.
I am giving the joint a thorough going over, which means I often find myself sitting on the floor looking through a crappy old book I haven’t look at in a while.
English Farming: Past and Present (1922) was a gift from Daughter C and Miss M years ago. It has a prominent place in the foyer with the other farm books. I was skimming the table of contents. Two things happened right off the bat in this book.
First, Chapter VII “Jethro Tull and Lord Townshend.” Some things can wait for a break from drudge work. Others demand I take a break. Jethro Tull was a real dude! And a band! Whoa man. There’s nothing at that infallible source to indicate from where the band got its name but I can see it. Tull the man lived in the 1700s and, at least in 1922, was considered “the greatest individual improver” of English agricultural practices. So maybe the boys in the band had heard of him in school?
Second, one of the appendices is a “Chronological List of Agricultural Writers Down to 1700.” How could I not?
This is Cato the Elder but still, the name “Cato” has figured prominently ’round these parts in recent weeks.
I then set about my work, as I know what can happen if I do not stay focused on the task at hand.
A Literary History of Rome in the Silver Age: From Tiberius to Hadrian (3rd ed., 1964) once belonged to Donald Zacharias, 15th President of Mississippi State. I know this because a couple of years after he died a tremendous number of his paperback books were donated to Palmer Home in Starkville and I scooped them up. For some unknown reason, this crappy old book and its Vol. I version were, along with a coffee table book on the Tower of London, on the shelf of the coffee table. I say unknown because I have no idea why I would have put them there. But obviously, I did.
You have to admit, that’s one serious coincidence right there.
It’s a pretty big, rewarding world out there if you let it be.
A few noteworthy things happened since last we opened The Pocket Univ. Guide to Daily Reading (1924).
Hellen Keller was born (1880); Harriet Beecher Stowe was born (1896); A couple of people I’ve never heard of were born; Nathaniel Hawthorne was born (July 4, 1804).
We turned the page while we were celebrating Independence Day.
A library is not worth anything without a catalogue; it is Polyphemus without an eye in his head– and you must confront the difficulties whatever they may be, of making a proper catalogue.
Thomas Carlyle
Preach it. I started cataloguing my little home library in April 2013 when I estimated I had about 1200 books. That was approximately 2200 books ago. I’d have gone mad by now were it not for my catalogue. And no. I still cannot find The Essential Thomas Paine.
What I need is some sort of cross-referenced locator system. Wow. Those things are expensive. Guess I’ll have to rely on my network of neurons.
you will appreciate how hilariously funny this is.
Mr. Big Food and I have a chapter coming out in a book titled, Dissenting Philosophers. Allan, one of the editors, was gently insistent that I have an author blurb. So what else was I supposed to say? “She is married with three daughters, one grandson, two dogs, two cats, two sheep, and one donkey” seems too personal. “She collects old books” is irrelevant. “She blogs at Bigfoodetc dot com?” Please.
When the book is out I will point you in the right direction. Given the other contributors, it should be a fun read.
Our Independence Day Celebrations concluded with these magnificent burgers on the flat top. The rarity? This is the second time this year Mr. Big Food has made these! With 39,000+ recipes in The Big Food Manual and Survivalist Flourishing Guide, it doesn’t happen often.
Here’s the recipe, though he did make a couple of substitutions.
Today we return Cato’s Letters (1720-1723) to the fourth shelf of the big bookshelf in the living room. It was a good run. Hope you enjoyed it.
This is a bit late– I missed it entirely until just now as Lines of a Layman had been piled on by several other stratum of crappy old books.
“FOR ME AS A BOY the Fourth of July was very much the same from year to year. There was little money to spend on fireworks. If the family had one bunch of firecrackers, it was a great event. Each member of the household watched most carefully to see that every cracker went off. Even the town as a whole could not afford to make much of the anniversary. About four in the morning on the Fourth, the blacksmith in the village would put powder in the anvil and the explosions that were produced made our celebration.
“The Fourth of July, as the anniversary of the nation’s birth, has grown upon me. I am glad that now it has less noise and more of the deep emotions that prompt us to revere the patriots who purchased our freedom, and to honor the public servants who have enriched our national life.
“The Fourth of July, to be properly celebrated, must be more than an explosion of powder and a flare of lights. It must be a time of dedication to the ideals of our free government and to the purposes of universal brotherhood.”
As you are an observant bunch you will have noticed the new Tip Jar over there –>.
I debated this issue– which was one of the issues to which (cough) I have been referring today. But I looked at it thusly: one must swing to hit. So I decided to give it a swing.
As I have been doing this more on than off for nearly ten years with nothing more than your attention and “likes” as compensation, it’s silly of me to say that I would write and share stuff here at Bigfoodetc even if I never received a red cent because up until now, I haven’t. (The Amazon Associate days of long ago were a spectacular waste of time. Zero dollars. Zero cents.)
So if your are inclined, toss a couple of bucks in the jar and know that it will be much appreciated. Thanks!
A couple of details. It’s all very secure. I triple checked. It’s supposed to take Apple Pay, Google Pay and a bunch of other stuff but I cannot figure out how to make that happen. I will contact tech support (Kat) tomorrow. For now it’s just credit cards. You will get a receipt.
And now… back to monitoring RadarScope because guess what?
Happy 5th of July! Hope you were able to celebrate your independence in true American style yesterday.
It was quiet here on The Farm– until it wasn’t.
After our Blueberry Pancake and Homemade Sage Sausage gilled on the flat top, Mr. Big Food started his day doing some hand cutting on the Peninsula with his new and quite manly man self-propelled Honda push mower. It looks beautiful. I spotted him– that’s where the Truck (without the on-board generator) & I take a Gatorade to him and he refreshes in the A/C cab for a few minutes. Important when the heat index is in the 100s. And then he enjoyed his independence doing nothing in particular until late in the afternoon when he began to prep Independence Day Supper, Grilled Creole Kabobs & Air Fried Potato Skins.
I started my day being unable to post a real Week-in-Pictures review. For the past few days it’s been difficult– if not impossible– to upload media. And what’s a blog without pictures? Seemed like the perfect time to while away some hours figuring out what was going on. And so I did, to the exclusion of almost everything else.
Turns out, I was out of storage space. Made the decision to upgrade. Made a couple more decisions, which I will come to in due time, that required focus and attention. Whoa! What do you know? It’s past time to start the evening rituals. I have cat and dogs things to do. Mr. Big Food needed to get the grill going.
The grill is not the same as the flat top. Importantly, the flat top is located on the patio which is covered. The grill is located in the outdoor kitchen, which is not (though it could be). He based his choice-of-fire decision on the nature of the kabobs. I helped him put the kabobs together and returned to my issues, to the exclusion of all else.
This means I wasn’t paying any attention to the weather or radar until I walked outside and Mr. Big Food, standing over his beautiful charcoal and hardwood fire, said, “Shit. It’s not going to rain is it?” as he closed the grill lid.
Oops. To the exclusion of all else. I had failed Mr. Big Food. By this time there was a torrential amount of water falling from the sky. Maybe it will pass. I looked at the radar. Humm. Do the kabobs under the broiler?
And then the power went out.
The prevailing attitude moving forward was: We are Americans. We are not going to let a little rain and loss of electricity keep us from enjoying our grilled kabobs and potato skins. Take that! And so we did. In between downpours, Mr. Big Food grilled the kabobs on the grill. I hooked up the internet, put together some lighting, and together we American ingenuitied how to heat up frozen potato skins without electricity.
Our Independence Day Supper was delicious, and I am pleased to say I believe my issues have been resolved. (But I’m not holding my breath!)
Homemade sage sausage and blueberry pancakes grilled on the flat top
What an interesting day it’s been. It took me literally nine hours to post that photograph. I will not bore you on Independence Day with the details but I am out of space. You’re seeing the pancakes only because I deleted some videos of the sky and gave myself some wiggle room. 20gigs isn’t what it used to be, is it?
Upgrades in progress.
Ah man. I was so consumed by all the techno stuff I forgot to shoot my gun. Dang. And it’s 102 in the shade out there. Maybe tomorrow.
“In every stage of these oppressions, we have petitioned for redress, in the most humble terms. Our repeated petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.
“Nor have we been wanting in attentions to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred, to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, enemies in war, in peace friends.
“We, therefore, the representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the name, and by authority of the good people of these colonies, solemnly publish and declare, that these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be free and independent states; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the state of Great Britain is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that, as free and independent states, they have full power to levy war, conclude peace, contract alliances, establish commerce, and to do all other acts and things which independent states may of right do. And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.
“SIR, As I have with a success which no man has yet met with (if I regard the number of my readers, and the sale of these papers) carried on a weekly performance, under this and another title, for near four years; in doing which, it was impossible that I could have any other view but the good of my country and of mankind; by shewing them the advantage and the beauty of civil and ecclesiastical liberty, and the odious deformity of priestcraft and tyranny: As I have vindicated Almighty God, and the religion which he has taught us, from the superstition, follies, and wickedness of men, who would prostitute it to ambition and avarice, and build a visionary empire upon the plain and simple precepts of Christianity; and have endeavoured to remove all the rubbish, grimace, and pageantry, with which it has been long stifled and oppressed, by shewing to the world, and I think proving, that true piety consists only in honouring the deity, and in doing good to men, and not in postures, cringes, and canting terms, and in barren and useless speculations: As I think I have unanswerably shewn that civil governments were instituted by men, and for the sake of men, and not for the pride and lust of governors; and consequently that men have a right to expect from them protection and liberty, and to oppose rapine and tyranny wherever they are exercised; and have thereby vindicated our present establishment, which can pretend to no other title.
“As I have done all this openly, and in the face of the world, and have defied and called upon all the merciless and detestable advocates for superstition and slavery, to shew that I have transgressed the rules of morality or religion, or the peace and happiness of society in any respect; and no one has yet dared to enter the lists against me; from whence I may reasonably hope that I have removed many of the prejudices imbibed by education and custom, and set many of my countrymen free from the wild, wicked, and servile notions, strongly infused and planted in their minds by craft and delusion: I shall now with cheerfulness lay down this paper… .”
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