Lawrence Hall, HSG
The Existential Despair in Replacing a Lawnmower Battery
My language is blue and my knuckles bleed -
I can never find the wrench I need!
Tuesday, September 12, 2023
The Existential Despair in Replacing a Lawnmower Battery - doggerel
Monday, September 11, 2023
A Tin of Lipton's Tea from Hong Kong in 1970 - photograph
I bought this tin - which really is made of tin - while in R & R in Hong Kong in 1970. I still make a cuppa from these leaves every few years.
Tea for Texas - weekly column, 10 September 2023
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Tea for Texas
Major General Urquhart: "Hancock, I've got lunatics laughing at me from the woods. My original plan has been scuppered now that the jeeps haven't arrived. My communications are completely broken down. Do you really believe any of that can be helped by a cup of tea?”
Corporal Hancock: “Couldn't hurt, sir.”
-A Bridge Too Far
Bubba Ebarb, of happy memory, required certain specific performances for his several successful restaurants. One of his rules was that the iced tea would never reach the old age of one hour before it was tossed and replaced with a fresh brewing of the refreshing leaf.
This is the sort of value that made him a great success. Unfortunately, such reasonable expectations appear to be rarer now.
Iced tea has been a staple since around the time of the St. Louis Exposition in 1904 (Meet Me in St. Louis) when mechanical ice-making, the existing popularity of tea, an especially hot summer, and thirsty fairgoers together made a historical shift in refreshment.
Once upon a time in Texas a glass of good, fresh iced tea was easily available at any café’ in the Lone Star Republic, but now it’s a little more difficult to find at all and is often a vintage sludge.
Last week I stopped at a Famous Name Fat Foodery in Buffalo, Texas for a refreshing mid-morning cup of the good stuff, and the muffly voice crackling through the grill said that they didn’t have any tea-tea but that their mango tea was really good.
Mango tea.
In Buffalo, Texas.
As Macduff does not say in Macbeth, “Oh, Texas, when wilt thou find thy wholesome ways again!”
Has Texas become a colony of West Hollywood? Is Mission Espiritu Santo at Goliad now a fusion cuisine restaurant specializing in avocado toast? When Cabeza de Vaca and his companions made their epic, years-long trek across Texas did they consider the majesty of the land and its vast spaces and exclaim, “Here we will establish our fruit bars, our incense shops, our therapy spas, our vegetarian Thai takeouts, our tea shops of infused bamboo shoots!”
On down the road I found a big Famous Name Brand truck stop which featured several tanks of iced tea. The first tank oozed out something like an oil change. The second tank dribbled out something even darker and more viscous.
I bought a bottle of water from the cooler.
Look, I’m not a tea snob; I’m even cool with teabags (gasp!). In the winter I like a good cuppa char; just a good black tea / schwarztee, and at all times I’m up for a glass of iced tea, Texas’ national beverage. The essential factor is that the tea is fresh.
Real Texans / Texians / Tejanos / Texicans drink real tea and drink it real fresh. Bubba would expect no less. God bless fresh tea, God bless Bubba Ebarb, and God bless Texas.
-30-
Thursday, September 7, 2023
Watch Where You Step; There Might be a Senator - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Watch Where You Step;
There Might be a Senator
But hiss for hiss return’d with forked tongue
-Paradise Lost X.518
The summer heat like judgement on the earth -
It fell upon the roiling afternoon dust
Where two foul snakes in deadly combat writhed
With hiss and strike and hate-spittled fangs
In a world of crunchy grasshoppers and tasty frogs
Of careless bunny rabbits and baby squirrels
The snakes found only their hatred for each other
Until one serpent choked on the other, and both died
And there, my children, is a lesson in brief
About the government of the State of Texas
Wednesday, September 6, 2023
Will the Plowed Boys Find Love in the End? - poem (of a sort)
Will the Plowed Boys
Find Love in the End?
Romantic robots could bring peace to our streets -
The Plowed Boys would have something to fondle
Other than their idle trifles and bang-bang rifles
For in the end they would have dates after all
And will they wear
Their he-man soldier suits and bug-eyed shades
Their he-man soldier toys dangling from carabiners
Their radios and whistles and lip-dangling ciggies
while in bed?
Tuesday, September 5, 2023
Joining the Class Struggle - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Joining the Class
Struggle
“Yuri, what splendid words!”
-Anna in Doctor Zhivago
Lift high the red banner, comrades
and comradettes!
Lift high the made-in-China
bullhorns against the rich
Make crudely misspelt signs and block the streets
(How dare the workers work while we’re yelling at them)
Pull down the statue of St. Joan of Arc!
Because she was, like, you know, a Confederate general
And smash the windows of the corporate coffee shops
(Make mine a decolonized double decaf)
Liberate the people’s goods! To arms! To arms!
(But who will stay behind to work the farms?)
Monday, September 4, 2023
Toys at the Base of an Oak Tree - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Toys at the Base of
an Oak Tree
“We'll
be Friends Forever, won't we, Pooh?” asked Piglet.
“Even longer,” Pooh answered.
- A. A. Milne
You find them at the base of a tree sometimes:
A pewter knight or a plastic Robin Hood
Or a marble lost in the long-ago
Turned up among the weeds by shifting roots
In the leafy silences of summer a little boy
Practiced the arts of magic and manliness
With Robin Hood and the pewter knight searching for a jewel
To present to their Lady Marian
When he was a little older the boy walked to town
To the bus station, and off to a distant war
A jewel sacrificed to the blasphemy of the State
You’ll find his name at the base of a stone
But the pewter knight and the plastic Robin Hood
And beautiful Lady Marian still wait for him
Sunday, September 3, 2023
Even the Oak Trees are Dying - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Even the Oak Trees
are Dying
“Wildfire…evacuation of nearby residences under way”
-news bulletin
Poor drought-dead leaves in mockery of autumn
Wind-rustle across the lawn as the dried husks they are
Rattling like withered exoskeletons along the dust
Or The Ancient Mariner’s dead sailors upon the deck
The exhausted earth is hot from a summer of drought
Cicadas have no hope in their poor songs
A drifting dragonfly wobbles in its flight
And the weather reports are but cruel teasings
The sour smoke of a month of forest fires
Chokes even the stars, who in despair do not appear
Saturday, September 2, 2023
Another Funeral in Margaritaville - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Another Funeral in
Margaritaville
Introibo ad altare Dei.
Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meum.
-Missale Romanum
Of course all our friends are dying away
Old age sneaks up on us, ghosting us in turn:
Yevgeny, Jimmy, Dusty, Judith, Rod, and we
Who blessed each other in our happy youth
But I tell you we have a duty to sing our songs
Our perhaps artless lines lost long ago
Except that they’re not: we gave them to God
And He joined them to Creation for all of us
Of course all our friends are dying away
Except that they’re not
See you
in Margaritaville
Friday, September 1, 2023
Shelving Children Instead of Books - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Shelving Children
Instead of Books
“…it is estimated that Germany…destroyed over 100
million books in Europe.”
-Molly Guptill Manning, When Books Went to War, xv
In Texas
We ban children’s books
We don’t ban guns;
And thus we discard
Our daughters and sons
Thursday, August 31, 2023
A Cat is Stillness Becoming Motion - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
A Cat is Stillness in Motion
For Tuxedo-Cat
Who Simply Moved in One Day
There is no stillness like a cat
To the laws of physics a stillness unknown
When all is still he is stiller still
Even stiller than a stick or stone
There is no motion like a cat
A silent slink upon delicate paws
A smoke-like current now still again
To eye a chameleon
and sharpen his
claws
Wednesday, August 30, 2023
The Gift of a Fountain Pen - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
The Gift of a
Fountain Pen
For Max
A fountain pen is an instrument of civilization
Its flow of ink explores the mysteries
Of all the sciences, the mind, the heart
Sorting out the good, the beautiful, the true
A fountain pen is an instrument of civilization
Through creativity, with thought and craft
Marking the line between good order and ferality
Limning the eternal romance of Creation
A fountain pen is an instrument of civilization –
(It’s also pretty good for shopping lists)
Tuesday, August 29, 2023
Did You Grow Up in a Palace Too? - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Did You Grow Up in a
Palace Too?
In Memory of the Palace Theatre
If you were fortunate you grew up in a palace
A Technicolor palace where Robin Hood
Saved England for only twenty-five cents
And the royal feast was popcorn and RC Cola
If you were fortunate you grew up in a palace
Which was so big that the Comanche Nation
Could encircle both a fort and a wagon train
And a candy bar was chuck-wagon stew
If you were fortunate you grew up in a palace
And softly, sweetly found another’s hand
As the cowboys and Indians rode away in peace -
There was a newer magic for you to discover
If you were fortunate you grew up in a palace
In the summertime of your happy youth
Sunday, August 27, 2023
They Make Patriotism a Dirty Word - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
They Make Patriotism
a Dirty Word
“…Devil with Devil damn’d / Firm concord holds…”
-Paradise Lost II, 496-497
How did they make patriotism a dirty word?
A conjuring not of loyalty or love
But rather foul images of bloated men
In bug-eyed shades, knee pants, and slogan tees
Cradling their guns in flabby
tatted arms
Why did they make patriotism a dirty word?
No consideration of what is best for the nation
But rather foul images of treacherous men
In tailored suits and subtle imported ties
Cradling their contempt in Pandaemonian
cant
The Q, the X, mechanical law degrees –
Devil with devil damn’d firm concord holds
Cradling their proud disobedience
before God
Saturday, August 26, 2023
Riding to the Sound of the Guns: Fighting Fires in East Texas - weekly column, 26 August 2023
Lawrence
Hall, HSG
Riding to
the Sound of the Guns
In
hot, burnt, smoky East Texas this summer we are again and again reminded that in
hard times there are men and women who ride to the sound of the guns and then
there are guys who slouch on the couch with their he-man video games.
In
Texas most firefighters are unpaid volunteers, a rare contradiction to the
axiom that you get what you pay for. Volunteer firefighters don’t get paid
nothin’, but their names are written large on the scroll of Texas heroes.
Professional
firefighters in the cities and industries often retire to the country where
they immediately sign on as volunteers. Oooh-rah!
Texas
is always hot, but this summer has been gaspingly hot, Rime of the Ancient
Mariner hot, with its “hot and copper sky,” 100+ degrees “day after day.” Simply
to be outside in this heat can be dangerous, to work outside more dangerous. A
firefighter’s bunker gear, also known as turnout gear, can add 30-40% to his or
her body weight and God alone knows how much extra heat.
And
then there is The Fire. The Fire – hot as three (Newarks), blowing, twisting,
running, sneaking, exploding, and wildly unpredictable. A fire is not a
sentient being, but given the conditions of drought, wind, and fuel can present
as a malevolent monster who wants to destroy and devour anyone who presumes to deny
it mastery over the lives and works of people.
In
the sky, covering and hovering, are the crews of the various types of water
bombers. Being in the sky sounds like a better deal, and perhaps at times it
is, but note those aircraft: the jets are old civilian aircraft re-fitted for
purposes never intended by the manufacturers. The crew must fly those machines within
mere feet of the treetops to drop their loads of water or fire-retardant
chemicals. If anything goes wrong – a bolt that was not secured properly, a
wing or panel which after years of service finally gives way to metal fatigue, an
engine that chokes up for only a second - there is no chance for recovery, no
chance of life for the crew, only death. Take a look also at the helicopters
and crop-dusters modified for fighting fires, and how vulnerable they are.
Other
support includes firefighters from all over Texas, power crews working downed
lines through burning woods, and the several state and local police authorities
guarding roads all the way through the crisis, and seeing to the safe
evacuations of the people and the protection of their homes.
When
a mission is over, the sweaty, dusty, ash-stained, exhausted fire crews in all
the disciplines then return their equally work-stained machines to the barn for
hours of service, repair, washing, and detailing. The crews might not get any
sleep, they might not even finish washing up their machines, their gear, or
themselves before the sound of the cannons through squawking boxes and
old-timey sirens calls them out to the scenes of another disaster.
There
are guys who know Call of Duty on little plastic boxes that light up and
make noises, and then there are real men and women who know the true call of
duty.
There
is a difference. God forgive us if we forget those who keep us safe.
-30-
Sunday, August 20, 2023
August is Unusually Hot - Someone Must be Punished for It - weekly column, 20 August 2023
Lawrence Hall, HSG
August is Unusually
Hot – Someone Must be Punished for It
The
gentleness of heaven is on the Sea:
Listen!
The mighty Being is awake
And
doth with his eternal motion make
A
sound like thunder – everlastingly.
-Wordsworth, “It is a beauteous Evening, calm, and
free”
Having barely graduated from high school (I think the
quarter-credit for driver’s education put me over the top) I am certainly no
climatologist, meteorologist, or vulgar Swedish child, but I am not persuaded
that the concept of man-made climate change obtains.
Certainly the climate itself changes. Visitors to America’s
high desert mountains often find fossils of sea-creatures from the long-ago
when much of the western states were the bottom of the sea. There were land
bridges between Asia and the Americas and between Europe and Britain which
disappeared beneath rising oceans (gasp!) in times when human technology was
pretty much limited to people throwing rocks at each other.
The Roman colonization of the then-warmer Britain included
instituting the cultivation of grapevines for making wine, a practice which
continued until the global cooling of the Little Ice Age of the 15th-18th
centuries froze the vines out of sustainability in the island. The economic
activities of Celts, Romans, Danes, Geats, Angles, Saxons, Frisians, or Gauls
had no influence on the ever-changing weather.
Thus it is illogical and even presumptuous to conclude that
someone driving to work in a vehicle powered by an internal-combustion is
capable of unnaturally altering the climate of the planet.
We cannot even predict the weather accurately, much less
control it.
This is a season of unusual but not unprecedented heat,
drought, flooding, tropical storms, and, along the Mexico-USA border, an
earthquake to accompany the flooding. To blame any of these aspects of weather and
climate on any individual or group is a burn-the-witch mentality unworthy of adults
who can read, write, do sums, and tie their shoelaces.
Personally, I blame all this rough weather on fluoride,
cod liver oil, and Catholic space lasers but, hey, that’s just me.
Weather happens without regard for our activities or techno-superstitions.
At least that’s what The Voices keep telling me.
-30-
Saturday, August 19, 2023
August is a Yellow Flame - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
August is a Yellow
Flame
“That August was like a yellow flame”
-Anna Ahkmatova, 1917 / Anno Domini MCMXXI /
III. The Voice of Memory
This August is indeed like a yellow flame
Death writhes among brown-burnt withering leaves
The grass is as sere as Macbeth’s acrid soul
And garden hoses drip in futility
The sun-bleached visage of Ozymandias
Might frown upon this blighted desert wrack
For not unlike the Ancient Mariner’s ghostly crew
The usages of summer drop and decay
But look...
But look above the last barren clouds in the west -
A tiny sliver of the promising moon
Tuesday, August 15, 2023
The Bronze Serpent - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
The Bronze Serpent
Moses established a serpent within the camp
A fiery brazen serpent upon a pole
And all who looked upon it were thereby cured
Cured of their judgments slithering through the dust
Sunday, August 13, 2023
Phillis Wheatley: A Sweet, Strong Voice - weekly column 13 August 2023
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Phillis Wheatley:
A Sweet, Strong Voice
A friend mentioned that he had graduated from Phillis
Wheatley High School in Houston, which prompted me to re-read some of Wheatley’s
poetry.
Wheatley is an interesting writer of much historical
significance: she was an African, a British subject in bondage, an American
revolutionary activist in bondage, and then an American, granted manumission at
last not by the laws of any nation but of the later good will of those who had presumed
to own fellow humans. She is possibly the first American woman poet whose work
was published, though in England.
Because of her frail health and to seek publication for
her book, Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral, the Wheatleys
sent her to England where, indeed, her book was published and she became a
celebrity.
She corresponded with and visited George Washington,
Thomas Paine, the Lord Mayor of London, the Countess of Huntingdon, British and
revolutionary army and navy officers, and other notables both in the colonies
and in England. Wheatley wrote to the King and was to have been presented to
him, but for reasons unknown returned or was returned to the colonies before
this could happen. She learned to read in English, Greek, and Latin, was
thoroughly versed in the Bible and in Greek and Roman mythology, and was often discreetly
subversive in her poetry and in her letters in appealing for the end of slavery:
May George belov’d of all the
nations round
Live and by earths and heavens
blessings crownd
May heaven protect and Guard him
from on high
And at his presence every evil
fly
Thus every clime with equal
gladness See
When kings to Smile it sets
their subjects Free
-from
“To the King’s Most Excellent Majesty on his Repealing the American Stamp Act,” 1768
Wheatley’s poetry is much influenced by Alexander Pope
and other Augustan / Georgian poets, and her highly skilled and carefully
structured verse, common to the 18th century, can be something of a
challenge for those us raised in a time when careless, unstructured, self-pitying,
I, I, I, me, me, me free verse passes for poetry.
After the revolution her English support languished and
although she assembled work for her second book these poems were not published
in her short lifetime. Because she wrote so many poems and letters to her many
friends and correspondents, fresh discoveries of her works continue.
The rest of Phillis Wheatley’s short life was tragic. She
made a bad marriage to an idler, her three children died young, she was reduced
to serving as a kitchen maid in a boarding house to support her family, and
died in poverty around the age of 31 in 1784.
Was Phillis Wheatley an African poet? English? American?
She was all three, reconciling multiple cultures in her sweet
but strong voice.
-30-
Saturday, August 12, 2023
One Judge, Two Sheriff's Deputies, and Five Police Officers Take on a 98-Year-Old Woman - poem
Lawrence Hall, HSG
One Judge, Two
Sheriff’s Deputies, and Five Police Officers
Take on a 98-Year-Old
Woman
“Try that in a small town”
The 11th of August was neither the beginning nor
the end
Of sheltering the Constitution from thugs
Some in judicial robes, some in dark uniforms
When Joan Meyer stood
between them and us
A newsroom pillaged by judicial fiat
Private homes looted by armed bully-boys
Ordered by a heartless magistrate
When Joan Meyer stood
between them and us
When Joan Meyer died
between them and us
Raid on Kansas newspaper is an intolerable overreach by
police | Editorial (yahoo.com)
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