BEST BEERS OF 2006

Below are my favorite beers of 2006. They are not necessarily in order of favoritism, although Thomas Hardy’s Ale and Young’s Double Chocolate Stout were my top two favorite beers of 2006.

#1—Thomas Hardy’s Ale

a Barley Wine by O’Hanlon’s Brewing

8.5 ounce bottle. Heaven in a bottle. I’m not sure it gets any better than this…

#2—Young’s Double Chocolate Stout

a Sweet Stout by Young’s Brewing

16.9 ounce bottle. A wonderful stout that goes good with medium-grilled steak in a slightly salty rub or dessert.

#3—Gulden Draak

a Belgian Strong Ale by Brouwerij van Steenberge

11.2 ounce bottle. It accompanied one of my favorite meals: pot roast with roasted potatoes, carrots, and onions.

#4—Three Philosophers Belgian Style Blend

a Quadrupel with a Cherry Lambic by Brewery Ommegang

25.4 ounce bottle. I now have two bottles in the newly created “beer cellar” at home. I hear the wait helps to really bring the cherry to the forefront.

#5—Powerhouse Saison

a Saison by Powerhouse Restaurant & Brewery

On tap. My first experience with a saison. Spicy, fruity, and all-around enjoyable.

#6—Whoop Pass IPA

an India Pale Ale by Silver City Restaurant & Brewery

On tap. A trip to my hometown of origin, Silverdale, for a birthday celebration brought this wonderfully fruity IPA to my attention.

#7—Cinder Cone Red Ale

an Amber Ale by Deschutes Brewing Company

12 ounce bottle. This is probably my favorite amber ale of all time. Smooth, with a good mixture of malt and hops.

#8—Old Nick Barley Wine Style Ale

a Barley Wine by Young’s Brewing

16.9 ounce bottle. My first experience with a barley wine. It will not be my last.

#9—Jubelale

an English Strong Ale by Deschutes Brewing Company

12 ounce bottle. Happy holidays, indeed! This is one with which to keep the winter warm and delightful.

#10—Pilsner Urquell

a Pilsener by Plzensky Prazdroj

12 ounce bottle. A good pilsener, made better by the fact that I got to drink a couple of these on Christmas Eve with my dad during round one of our family’s Christmas celebration.

A CHILD IS BORN...

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!” When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

—Luke 2:1-20

BEST READS OF 2006

Below are my favorite reads of 2006. They are not necessarily in order of favoritism, although Sacco and Vanzetti Must Die! and Voices from Chernobyl were my top two favorite reads of 2006.

#1—Sacco and Vanzetti Must Die!
by Mark Binelli
The two anarchists, railroaded through the court system and then executed by the U.S. federal government, are reimagined as vaudevillians-cum-comedy team movie stars. Funny, sad, probing.

#2—Voices from Chernobyl
by Svetlana Alexievich
Firsthand accounts of victims of the 1986 Chernobyl nuclear accident. Alexievich, who spent three years in The Zone conducting interviews, now has immune disorders from her exposure.

#3—Lincoln's Melancholy
by Joshua Wolf Shenk
A biography of Abraham Lincoln, as seen through the lens of his depression. An interesting look at depression, its public perception then and now, how it shaped Lincoln and his presidency, and how he subsequently handled the Civil War.

#4—Europeana
by Patrik Ouředník
A weirdly poetic fever-dream constructed of facts about Europe, focusing on the past one-hundred years, especially the Second World War and the Cold War. It also looks at the effects of capitalism, communism, fascism, and the influence of the United States on Europe's identity. Is it a novel without characters? Is it a "biography" of Europe? It is subtitled "A Brief History of the Twentieth Century," but I am not sure that helps much.

#5—Mother Country
by Marianne Robinson
An examination of how Great Britain has allowed nuclear facilities to jeopardize the health of its poorest citizenry, and create one of the largest, mostly unnoticed environmental disasters. The book is banned in Britain because Greenpeace sued for libel, due to the unflattering light with which they are portayed. Read this book to see how government really cares very little about the individual.

#6—Everything That Rises: A Book of Convergences
by Lawrence Wechsler
Wechsler sees the world differently than you and me, which is a good thing for us. He finds fascinating similarities in juxtaposed images and artworks. Then he write about them. This book also includes the images that he is writing about. The visuals are intriguing and the writing moreso.

#7—Atomik Aztex
by Sesshu Foster
The main character is a high ranking official in the twentieth-century Aztek culture that controls the Western Hemisphere and is now fighting fascism in WWII-era Europe. Or is he? He dreams he is a Latino working in the nightmare of a East Los Angeles meatpacking plant? Or is he? Because he dreams he is a high ranking official in the twentieth-century Aztek culture...

#8—St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves
by Karen Russell
Short stories that reflect the collision of our contemporary world and the world of myth and legend. Modern fairy tales, if you will. The Minotaur helps pull his family's wagon in the westward migration that will become known as the Oregon trail. A young girl abandoned by her parents on their alligator farm/tourist attraction struggles with the deteriorating condition of her mentally ill sister and the visits of the Bird Man.

#9—The Road
by Cormac McCarthy
A father and son fight for survival in the apocalyptic wasteland that was once America. Most plants and animals are extinct, most people have banded together into cannibalistic clans, food is being scavenged from the detritus of the consumer culture of a few years prior. Where is God in the midst of it all? Where are most other people? Where are the women? The man and the boy are "keepers of the fire." But, will they survive?

#10—Thank You for Not Reading
by Dubravka Ugresic
Essays challenging the status quo of international publishing and book culture. Ugresic leaves no one unscathed—publishers, book stores, distributors, agents, other authors, even herself. Witty and funny, with enough sense to pull back when the sarcasm is about to become too much.

WANDERINGS

The child and I wandered around Puyallup this morning in the gray and rain. We stopped in Puyallup's latest coffee shop, Forza Coffee Company. Forza is a local "chain" of ten stores in Pierce, Thurston, and King counties, mostly located in Tacoma and East Pierce County. The staff was very friendly, perhaps a little too friendly for my tastes. That is when the child comes in handy, however. She is a great foil to deflect attention and provide easy escape. I should have had children much earlier in life!

The hot chocolate I had was very good, though. The chocolate was rich and dark; overall, the drink was smooth and warm; and the shot of peppermint added just enough additional flavor and sweetness to make it "that much" better.

After we wandered back home from the post office, the park, and various minor errands, the child took a nap. I took advantage of the time and worked in the yard. It rained. It hailed. There was even some snow mixed in with the other precipitation, for good measure. I cut up fallen limbs from the prior wind storms. I moved piles of walnut twigs with a pitchfork. I filled our bird feeders with seed.

Just before returning inside, I climbed up into one of our hazelnut trees and gave the squirrels a "fresh" cob of dried corn to nibble upon. I sat in the tree, in the rain, for a few minutes and watched chickadees and red-breasted nuthatches flit about. It was a nice quiet moment in the midst of a relatively quiet morning. I wish I could do it more often.

JOYS OF LIFE

The child made "snowflakes" with her friend. I hear that paint and glitter was everywhere. At least it wasn't at our house!

These glorious specimens are now hanging from the ceiling fan in the child's room.

on THE TAPHANDLE

In my youth, I enjoyed wandering around in the acres of woods behind our house, especially after or during a heavy rain. The forest smelled, amongst other things, of wet tree bark. So does Widmer Brother's Snow Plow Milk Stout.

The aromas I detect, moving from foreground to background, are (1) wet tree bark; (2) a slight earthiness; (3) some light spiciness; (4) a hint of caramel; and (4) a sweetness of milk. The flavor was very sweet, almost too sweet, with only a light bitterness. The flavor didn't quite match up with the aroma, being mostly milky with a strong dose of coffee, and a hint of tree bark lurking in the background.

Although the color was a beautiful brown, the thin head on the pour disappeared almost immediately and there was no detectable lacing. The palate was also too thin for my liking, almost watery. This is a beer I would be more likely to serve to unsuspecting guests than drink myself.

I had it with spicy chicken burritos my wife made for dinner, and the spiciness of the burritos masked some of the flavor, which made this stout more tolerable. Still not to my liking, however.

BRING ON THE DUCK!

Our staff Christmas party was at Il Fiasco in Tacoma this year. Even though it was five days ago, it still seems like yesterday. And, the meal was so rich, I was full throughout the following day. I was in beer and meat heaven. There was good conversation, and it was fun, but my meal really was the standout of the evening for me.

It started with soft white bread with a good chewy crust that was dipped in garlic-infused olive oil. Next came appetizers: asparago arrostitio, "tender pan roasted asparagus, creamy gorgonzola & toasted pine nuts drizzled with balsamic & Austrian pumpkin seed oil" and antipasti Italiani, "an array of seasonal Italian meats, cheeses, & vegetable marinades." The asparagus was excellent as were the marinated tomatoes on the antipasti platter.

My entree was L’antara arrostitio, "tender duck breast roasted with a black currant & pomegranate port wine reduction with roasted chestnut ravioli." The duck was prepared medium, at my request, and was mouth-watering. The meat was slightly oily, juicy, and tender. The flavors of the black currants and pomegranate played nicely against the savor of the meat. The roasted chestnut ravioli was interesting. I probably would not choose ot eat it alone, but it played nicely with the flavor of the duck and the dark fruits. All of this was accompanied by thin slices of butternut squash, which helped to cleanse the palate and act as a bridge between duck and ravioli. I could have eaten my entree all night.

Dinner was accompanied by Samuel Smith's Nut Brown Ale. This was the perfect complement to the meal. The ale was a beautiful dark brown, with good lacing. The flavors were of roasted nuts, caramel, and an ever so slight hint of fruitiness. It was sweet and malty. The ale echoed the flavor of the roasted chestnut ravioli, brought forth more flavor from the squash, and played well off of the duck and its sauce. The currants and pomegranate helped pull even more flavor from the ale.

Dessert was Carlos' Killer Cheesecake, but by that time it just could not compare to the duck, ale, and company. The cheesecake wasn't very "killer," although, to be fair, its competition was stiff.

The wife and I had a great time, and it was nice to just enjoy a great meal without hurry or worrying about where we had to be next.

FOR FURTHER READING

Here are some links to authors and works referenced in previous posts:

*Sacco and Vanzetti Must Die! by Mark Binelli—read an interview with Mark Binelli at the Dalkey Archive website here: Mark Binelli interview

*The website for poet Kathleen Flenniken—everything you ever wanted to know about a wonderful local poet here: Kathleen Flenniken website

*Lincoln's Melancholy by Joshua Wolf Shenk—visit the website devoted to Lincoln's Melancholy here: Lincoln's Melancholy website

*Lincoln's Melancholy by Joshua Wolf Shenk—everything you ever wanted to know about author Joshua Wolf Shenk here: Joshua Wolf Shenk website

*The Road by Cormac McCarthy—a New Yorker review of one of McCarthy's previous books here: Cormac McCarthy review

*The Believer—trust me, just read a few articles of this great literary journal here: The Believer website

MORE STORM DREAMS

November rain, flooding, snow, and cold gives way to December more-of-the-same. The winds that ravaged British Columbia, Washington, and Oregon last night meant for another night of fitful sleep. The child slept with the wife and I. When the wife and I were looking outside at 12:45 a.m., a tree across the road fell. Fortunately, it didn't damage anything on its way down. It blocked a turnaround in the park, but nobody really uses it much.

The river is running high again. More trees and debris have been stripped from the mostly bare banks by its swift currents.

After the rain subsided and the winds began to do the same, the sky was a brilliant blue, peppered with clouds that raced by overhead. Now, the cold is returning. Snow is once more a possibility.

STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A few people have asked about the use of "the wife," "the child," "the brother," et cetera. I choose not to name the innocent. The same for my friend D. and any other "characters" that may grace these posts. Private people shall remain as such. Public figures are fair game. Everything within the Work Table should be taken with tongue planted ever so loosely in cheek. Or not. It is your choice...

THE DORKSHIRE YULE PIG

Last Saturday evening, the wife and I were invited to a reading by the friend. (Let us call him D.) D. read The History of the Dorkshire Yule Pig, the opening "cartoon" for the "main show," his medieval prostitute/jilted lover Christmas novella Hawthorn and Holly. D. also provided each listener with their own Dorkshire Yule Pig cookie, a palm-sized gingerbread delight. I saved mine and ate it on Wednesday. The cookie was still firm but yielding, and rather scrumptious.

The reading was bracketed on both sides by people gathered in D.'s apartment in conversation, food, and drink, in addition to an intermission for the same. Everyone was to bring their favorite finger food and their favorite beverage. The wife made coated almonds that were a hit. The coating was rather sweet and strong and much to my liking, even though I am not a large fan of desserts that contain nuts, much less "dessert nuts." I made, upon the wife's suggestion and recipe and ingredients (all right, I was essentially the sous chef), antipasto kabobs that included mozzarella balls, black olives, and grape tomato halves that had been marinated in a sauce of dijon mustard, balsamic vinegar, sugar, salt, and oil. The skewers were topped off with fresh basil leaves. These were also a hit. So, the wife scored on both food counts. For beverages, the wife brought Henry Weinhard's Orange Cream Soda and I brought Deschute Brewery's 2006 Jubelale. Good drink and good food, with good people sitting around in a candlelit apartment listening to well-written local literature being read to them: a wonderful evening. A big Troy's Work Table thank you to D.!

---

I also greatly enjoyed the Christmas gifts that D. and I exchanged. I gave D. a copy of Sacco and Vanzetti Must Die! by Mark Binelli. It is easily within my top ten of favorite books, so it was an exciting gift for me to give. D. gave me a copy of The Ambassadors by Henry James. This was also exciting for me, as I have been meaning to read some Henry James. Most of my favorite authors cite him as an huge influence. Therefore, I figured I should see what makes Henry James so great. Now I have that opportunity in a gift given by someone whose taste I completely trust. D. tells me that The Ambassadors is the best novel of James, so I will take him at his word, not something I am prone to do with most people.

NUCLEAR DREAMS

"Years later he'd stood in the charred ruins of a library where blackened books lay in pools of water. Shelves tipped over. Some rage at the lies arranged in their thousands row on row. He picked up one of the books and thumbed through the heavy bloated pages. He'd not have thought the value of the smallest thing predicated on a world to come. It surprised him. That the space which these things occupied was itself an expectation. He let the book fall and took a last look around and made his way out into the cold gray light."
—The Road by Cormac McCarthy, page 157

A postapocalyptic nightmare world. A wasteland of survival and sin. A father and son journeying toward "the coast" as "winter" sets in. Heading south. Pagan sacrifices of the blood cults. Cannibalism. Murder. Human chattel stored away as living food for the "elite." The weak preyed upon by the strong. The individual preyed upon by the mob. The burden of children. Extra mouths to feed in the midst of extreme scarcity.

The book is tight and taut. The sameness of the scenes—father and son huddled together in the cold and dark of lightless black, under their tarp and blankets and handmade masks, attempting to sleep; or walking the road in the gray of the day, clouds and rain and snow and ash; or avoiding people, "harvesting" canned and dried goods from houses and businesses long ago picked over and scavenged—lend this novel its claustrophobia. The lack of other people, the isolation of the two protagonists, the extinction of most animals and many plants, the perpetually colorless and monotonous landscape, and the paranoia really focus the story upon the relationship between the father and son. We don't know much about the catastrophe that preceded the temporal space of the story, but it is certainly nuclear in origin. The fact that people have survived in a world thrown back into tribalism for years as refugees is testament to the adaptability of humans to their environments.

The novel has haunted me since I began it. I simultaneously want the nightmare to end and want the story to continue. The former will soon with only seventy more pages to go, the latter will fade off into the gray ghosts of nuclear dreams. I only hope that we wake up.

THE JOYS OF LIFE

Tonight, the child and I wandered about looking for Christmas gifts for others. As we wandered, the child rode a carousel, we played with toys, we both tried on men's hats, and we had general fun. The child was especially impressed with her choice of carousel animal—a gray cat holding a fish in its mouth. In her words, she "rode on its body," it "went up and down," it "meowed at me," and it "was fun." The child was also impressed with the carousel animal to her immediate left—a horse with "no name."

I also learned things about Santa Claus, whom we happened to glimpse seated for pictures with other boys and girls, good and bad. Santa Claus brings "a basket of presents," which he delivers "through our door" and "puts under our tree—my tree, Daddy's tree, and Mommy's tree." Later, it was a "backpack of presents."

on THE TAPHANDLE

Jubelale by Deschutes Brewery

12 ounce bottle. Jubelale begins clear reddish-brown with an average off-white head that leads to good lacing. I smell slight roasting, mild coffee, some grassiness, a minor hint of banana and other fruits. The initial flavor is strong, starting with a kick that mellows out and drops off. A nice balance of malt and hops. I like this year's batch better than I remember last year or the year prior. An enjoyable brew. One of my favorite winter ales.

A good warmer of bones and heart!

on THE TAPHANDLE

Double Chocolate Stout by Young's

16.9 ounce bottle of wholesome goodness. This is an awesome stout, probably the best I have ever had. At first, I thought it tasted like a dark chocolate candy bar, but as I savored it—turned it over in my mouth, smelled it again, tasted it again—I realized that this is really like drinking a chocolate pie. The tastes of the graham cracker pie crust, the chocolate filling, and the whipped cream topping are present, along with the texture of the pie itself.

The appearance is gorgeous: an opaque black is crowned with a brown, thick, creamy head. The thickness of the head doesn't allow for much aroma to sneak through, really the beer's only flaw. The aroma that does come through has a slight alcohol smell and a slight spiciness.

This is somewhat deceptive, because the flavor is less "harsh" and more rich and complex than alluded to by the nose. The initial flavor and the finish flavor are sweet, with only a hint of bitterness. The feel in the mouth is thick and creamy, a great texture. The maltiness comes through in the flavors of pie crust, dark chocolate, and cream. There is also a slight smokiness that plays against and with the aforementioned spiciness. The alcohol smell is less apparent in the flavor.

I strongly recommend you get hold of a bottle of this if you are able. It was a great beer with steak, and would also be good with a bowl of ice cream or a slice of cake. For that matter, it would be a good beer to just curl up with Moby Dick on a winter evening to read.

(I have had this in the can as well, and the can somewhat mars the flavor. Find a bottle, or on tap, if you can.)

on THE TAPHANDLE

Gulden Draak by Brouwerij Van Steenberge

11.2 ounce bottle. One of my new favorites. This is great stuff.

An average size, light brown head on the pour. The color a muddy brown that glows chestnut around the edges. It smells of molasses with hints of dried dark fruits: raisins and prunes. Maybe even a very subtle whiff of cherry? The flavor nicely matches the aroma. It is sweet and malty, with only the slightest hint of bitterness. The flavor lingers. The body is full, somewhat thick and oily, something that tickles the tongue a bit.

I imagine that this is what ambrosia, nectar of the gods, tastes like. This is definitely not a "gulping" beer, but one to sip and savor. I imagine it accompanying roast beef and roasted carrots, potatoes, and onions. I also imagine it would go well with dessert.

I believe that Gulden Draak and I will have many happy moments together.

SANTA DREAMS

More likely: Santa hallucinations.

I am washing dishes. The child is playing with toys on the kitchen floor. We hear sirens. Closer. Closer. Ever closer.

Soon lights. Flashing. Pulsing.

Then out of the corner of my eye: Santa Claus floating over the neighbor's hedge. The child and I run to the window and pull up the blinds. Santa Claus riding on top of a fire engine. Waving. Shouting "Merry Christmas" over the sound of the siren and horn. The engine reaching the end of the street and turning around.

The child and I run to the door. We open it. We walk onto the porch. I lift the child up so the view is better. Out of the darkness a female firefight comes running at us with her arms extended. She hands us candy canes. "Happy holidays." She runs off. Fades back into darkness. Following the engine that heads off to other streets, other avenues.

"Candy bars. Candy bars." The child keeps shouting this.

"Candy canes," I correct.

"No. Candy bars!"

BLOODSHED

From Abram and King Chedolaomer to Achilles and Hector to Beowulf and Grendel... I am sensing a theme here, but I am not quite sure what it says about me in this moment of time. I am transfixed by these epic battles. An Iliad was a nice diversion that just happened to coincide with my reading of the book of Genesis. However, reading both of those finally pushed me to actually read Beowulf, in a translation by Irish poet Seamus Heaney. I purchased the book about six years ago with the intention of reading it immediately, but one book led to another led to another and, then, Beowulf was forgotten and placed away on my bookshelves. Occasionally, I would see it sitting there, but it was never beguiling enough to cause me to choose it. Until now.

A minor cold, and awakening at three each morning for the past few days, gave me some time to read. I suppose the epic poetry of The Iliad inspired me to pursue more epic battles, more epic poetry, and, therefore, Beowulf beckoned and finally won.

It was a fairly brisk and rather enjoyable read. I especially liked the description of the mere that Beowulf enters in pursuit of Grendel and his mother. And, I really liked the language that Heaney chose in his translation. The poetry really sings.

But, what does all the bloodshed of these epics say about me, about us, at this time, when our nation is mired in a war that it needs to leave? Something is there. Something about valor and honor and sacrifice. Something that is missing from our current war. Something that is missing from our lives, that we instead try to fill with video wargames and music videos and vapid "reality" television shows. And McDonald's hamburgers. And sugary sweets and potato chips. And. And...

WANDERINGS

The wife, the child, and I went to the annual Santa Parade and Tree Lighting. The child was enthralled. She didn't cry when the marching bands passed by, either. Ah, maturation.

A RIVER & SOUND REVIEW

Clockwise from upper left:
(1) Student writer David Treichel;
(2) Musical guest Camille Bloom;
(3) Essayist Jennifer Culkin; and
(4) Poet Kathleen Flenniken.

You are just going to have to take my word for it. This is what happens when you take a low resolution digital camera to a public reading series and sit in the back.

A River & Sound Review is my pick of the week. Master of ceremonies Jay Bates is a high school English teacher who also happens to be a student in Pacific Lutheran University's MFA in Creative Writing Program. He has been responsible for most of the behind-the-scenes work, setup, and recruitment. The audience was primarily students from his English classes, their families, fellow students from his MFA program, their families, and a few stray souls (such as myself) from the community-at-large.

David Treichel has promise. His essay was very well written. Camille Bloom has a great voice and plays the guitar well, although I am not overly fond of her music. But that is just personal taste on my part. Jennifer Culkin read an interesting, and rather revealing, personal essay on periods and pregnancy and reflection and relationships. At first, I found myself fidgeting a bit due to uncomfortableness with the subject matter, but she handled her audience well, infusing the reading and the essay with just the right touches of humor and universality that everyone has something to grasp. Kathleen Flenniken's poems were masterful glimpses into the quotidian and banal, which she managed to make magical and viewed anew.

This was a wonderful evening spent enjoying readings at the Puyallup Public Library. I am looking forward to more.

GANDY DANCER

Last week, the child and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. We were wandering around Puyallup when we came upon a piece of public sculpture entitled Gandy Dancer by Jim Mattern. The child is normally scared of any human-like figures or statues so I was surprised when she walked up to him and allowed me to take her picture with him. As we were getting ready to leave we heard the music of Puyallup: a Burlington Northern locomotive and cars on its way to Sumner and beyond. So we took some photographs of the Gandy Dancer with the BNSF train in the background.

[According to the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, a gandy dancer is "a railroad maintenance worker. Also, a seasonal or itinerant worker."]

RUMORS OF WAR

When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom...
—Mark 13:7-8a

Then the king of Sodom, the king of Gomorrah, the king of Admah, the king of Zeboiim, and the king of Bela (that is, Zoar) went out, and they joined battle in the Valley of Siddim with King Chedorlaomer of Elam, King Tidal of Goiim, King Amraphel of Shinar, and King Arioch of Ellasar, four kings against five.
—Genesis 14:8-9

In our weekly staff meetings, we are reading sections of the book of Genesis as broken out in a commentary by renowned Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann. This week's "section" was chapter 14. Craziness abounds as Abram's nephew Lot is captured in the above mentioned fray. Abram takes his own horde of trained men and frees Lot. When the war ends, Abram, by right, is allowed the spoils of war and he refuses! He is simply content with the freedom of his nephew and the ability to continue to inhabit his own land. Now there is a lesson for today's warmongers. Free the people of Iraq, if that is truly what you intended, and then leave their oil to them.

I am currently reading An Iliad by Alessandro Barrico. Barrico has reimagined The Iliad with a modern audience in mind. His retelling is economical in language, told in sparse prose and condensed scenes, unlike a great verse translation like that from Robert Fagles. That doesn't mean that Barrico's book is bad. It has its moments.

One of the interesting features is that the story is told by twenty-one different characters, each with his, her, or its own chapter, rather than a single narrator. This collage of voices gives us a slightly different view of events while still following the basic outline of Homer's story.

Another piece that intrigues me is that Barrico is trying to draw analogies between the unending war of the Trojans and Achaeans, and our modern thirst for bloodshed and carnage. The bodies still pile up in Barrico's version of events:

Sarpedon was hit in one thigh, and the eager bronze penetrated to the bone. His companions seized him, without even pulling out the spear. The long spear was heavy, but they carried him off, like that. And Odysseus, seeing his companion Tlepolemus die, rushed to finish off Sarpedon. He killed Coeranus and Alastor and Chromius, and Alcander and Halius and Noemon and Prytanis. He would have gone on killing if Hector hadn't suddenly appeared, clothed in shining bronze, terrifying. [38]

Hector almost sounds like a god when he appears before Odysseus, except that the gods are only alluded to as distant figures here. They have all but been removed from the text. As Barrico writes in his introduction: "I removed all the appearances of the gods...They are probably the aspect of the poem most extraneous to a modern sensibility, and often break up the narrative, diffusing a momentum that should rightly be palpable." Barrico doesn't feel them necessary. I disagree. The oftentimes provide momentum and motivation, giving us rationale for the actions of characters. As a reader, I don't have to take the gods as literal beings, although there is nothing wrong with that, either. But, don't pretend they don't matter or that they insult my "modern sensibilities."

The other issue I have with Barrico's telling of the tale is that he has italicized portions of chapters that are pieces that he added to the text. Although they are few, they are also the most stilted pieces of writing in the story. They also draw attention to Barrico and away from the text, the tale itself. Okay, okay, I get it. You are a writer. This is your postmodern intrusion into the text. I don't want to read about you, Alessandro Barrico. You have inserted yourself as a god into the tale, and have diffused momentum, which is why you claim you left the gods themselves out of the text.

I have read three-quarters of the book and will probably finish tonight. This is a good introduction to Homer's tale. It is a quick read that is fairly well written, even if it does have its faults and quirks. The best thing, though, is that it got me to dust off my copies of Robert Fagles's translations of The Iliad and The Odyssey, and to peek between their covers again.

LINCOLN'S MELANCHOLY

Whereas “melancholy” in Lincoln’s time was understood to be a multifaceted phenomenon that conferred potential advantages along with grave dangers, today we tend to discount its complexities. Psychiatrists see only a biological brain disease. Psychologists see only errors in thinking. That is, is you don’t like yourself, or you feel hopeless, or you see life as fundamentally dissatisfying, you’ve fallen victim to what researchers call “learned helplessness.” By some blend of bad genes and bad experience, you have come to see the world in dark hues. Therapy and medication can help you to see the world the way healthy optimists do. (134)

What’s striking is that all five of the “mature” defenses [psychiatrist George] Vaillant identifies were present in Lincoln as he managed the country and himself. Humor, as we’ve seen, allow a person to fully engage with reality while enjoying its absurdities. Healthy people also practice suppression, which, quite unlike denial, is the selective, forceful act of pushing away the oppressive stimuli; anticipation, which involves dealing with the moment in part by looking ahead to the good and the bad that lie in the future; altruism, or placing the welfare of others above oneself; and sublimation, which involves channeling passions into art. (182-183)

—Lincoln's Melancholy by Joshua Wolf Shenk

Thank God I am not a "healthy optimist." Thank God I am not in therapy or on medication, yet. Thank God I am fairly good at incorporating most of the five "mature" defenses into my life most of the time. It is taking time, but I become more comfortable with my own darkness, my own depression, my own melancholy, with each passing month. Some are easier than others.

"Healthy optimists" scare me because they oftentimes seem to me to live in escapist fantasies or survey their environment through the lens of an unrealistic worldview. I believe that the current executive branch of the federal government is filled with "healthy optimists" who just happen to have the nuclear button in one hand and a warped reading of Biblical apocalyptic texts in the other. No wonder I have "nuclear dreams."

Joshua Wolf Shenk, on the other hand, gives us a look at one of our greatest presidents, Abraham Lincoln, and how his melancholy, his dark outlook on life, helped to shape his presidency and his handling of the Civil War. The book gives great insight into (1) the nineteenth century view of melancholy/depression; (2) its contrast with our "modern" understanding of the same; (3) Lincoln's lifelong struggle with it; and (4) how Lincoln was shaped by it for the better of his person and for the country.

It really was one of those books that spoke deeply to me because it (1) is well-written; (2) is well-researched and noted, with seven years of research and writing undergirding it; (3) is written by someone who struggles with his own melancholy/depression; and (4) speaks to my own struggle. Lincoln's Melancholy was a book that I needed to read at the particular moment it entered into my life, in the same way that The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression, by Andrew Solomon, and Unholy Ghost: Writers on Depression, edited by Nell Casey, did.

Thank God for the friend that recommended it to me. Now, I do the same for you.

SNOW DREAMS

SNOW DREAMS

I am the tender of the fire when the snows come. And they come. I am the protector of the hearth. Still they come.

I am not particularly fond of snow, but I do appreciate the change that it brings. Time seems to slow down. The landscape harbors a new silence. Boundaries disappear. All places become fluid, liminal zones. Snow also makes me think of two books that I enjoy.

The first is The Promise of Winter: Quickening the Spirit on Ordinary Days and in Fallow Seasons, with reflections by theologian Martin Marty and photographs by his photographer son Micah Marty. Each pair of pages has a photograph of a snowy landscape on one page and on the opposite one or two verses from a Psalm, a reflection upon the Psalm and the photograph, and an additional Bible verse that further elucidates the Psalm, reflection, and photograph. It is a book that I find soothing, especially when I am in a sad or dark moment. It is a way to center myself again, to reflect in my own right upon the photograph, the theme, the Biblical verses. As I recently read in Lincoln's Melancholy by Joshua Wolf Shenk: "Modern studies confirm the salutary effects of faith on depression." (195) I already knew that through my own experience but it was nice to have it stated by someone who also identifies as a depressive—Shenk, himself. (This was also the passage of Lincoln's Melancholy I flipped open to when trying to decide if I wanted to read it. As soon as I read the passage, I knew that I was going to read the book.)

The second is Dreamers and Desperadoes: Contemporary Short Fiction of the American West, edited by Craig Lesley. This was a book I had to read in college for an American literature class. The primary reason that I associate this book with snow is due to Ivan Doig's short story, "Winter of '19," which Doig adapted from Dancing at the Rascal Fair specifically for this collection. The story is a harrowing account of sheep farmers—a farmer, his son Varick, and his brother-in-law Rob—that must head out in a blizzard to get hay for their flocks or risk losing all of their sheep. The trade-off is that they themselves may perish in the snow. And, if that was not enough, there is tension between the narrator and Rob. As he states, they are "brothers-in-law, partners in sheep, enemies." However, they must work together, against the snow and cold and blindness that nature has conjured or they will perish. Every time I read the story my stomach churns.

Snow. A dream in itself. A blanket that buries dreams.

CHRISTMAS DREAMS

Friday evening, the wife, the child, and I visited the bridge that spans the Stuck River in Sumner for the official bridge lighting ceremony, which is adorned in more than 10,000 Christmas lights. Santa Claus then passed by in a horse-drawn carriage, which was followed by the Old Cannery Warehouse "train" and a vintage fire-engine, both decked out in Christmas lights. The child was especially smitten with all of the lights and activity.

WANDERINGS

The child and I decided to escape the house for awhile on Friday morning, but also wished to avoid all of the crowds and craziness of Black Friday. Therefore, we went for a walk with downtown Puyallup as our destination. The goal was to pick up the Thanksgiving issue of The Herald (formerly The Pierce County Herald, which was formerly The Puyallup Herald), the local weekly newspaper. We bought it from a newspaper box in front of the post office and went inside Central Perk, a local coffee shop, in order that I could get a peppermint hot chocolate and the child could eat her snacks, consisting of dried berries, cheese bunny crackers, and Cheerios.

As soon as we sat down the rain began to pour from the sky, adding to the record monthly rainfall (for any recorded month) for the area. So, we waited out the rain. It was rather nice, because the two of us just had to slow way down, be in the company of one another, and wait. When the rain mostly died down, after about half an hour, we started wandering back home. We passed the barbershop that I frequent and there were no other customers. That meant an unexpected visit to the barber. The child read books and waited patiently while my hair was cut.

After the haircut, the child and I wandered home, out of the cold and back into the warmth of our home for lunch and naps.

---

An aside: the barbershop I go to is owned by two brothers, one of whom lives half a block from me. The one who is my neighbor is also an artist who has created a website of stories for children called Fletcher Hill. (Check it out!) If he cuts my hair then the two of us oftentimes end up discussing his website and any changes that have occurred since he last cut my hair. This time the other brother cut my hair.