tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51409219260921878912011-08-26T16:14:46.955-07:00A sortie upon story and music, from which no reader should recover.Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.comBlogger1481100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-60837208109312255452011-08-26T16:13:00.000-07:002011-08-26T16:14:46.971-07:00

Running with the wind, My will unfolds: No more guilty fighting Locking me in irons; I’ve turned the rudder Away from fear To unknown lands Without a name, And if a reef should breach my hull, I’ll smile as I sink. At least I sailed instead of mired, At least I lived a little, At least I lived--a little.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-90839664033541158072011-08-05T11:53:00.000-07:002011-08-05T11:55:44.956-07:00

God’s electric fingertipSparks the sky.A star leaps forth,The rainbow of night,An arc of promise,An arrow of light. What defines the shooting star?Its apogee above,Or the crater of its fall?

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-69711457791625753962011-06-10T20:35:00.000-07:002011-06-10T21:03:10.728-07:00

I had my second major sleep paralysis episode last night. Whereas the first time I was being crushed/strangled by a female demon, this time I floated above my bed, observed by an alien or a ghost I could not quite see.If you've experienced sleep paralysis, you can report your sensations at the Waterloo Sleep Paralysis page. The website also offers detailed information about sleep paralysis and

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-6622229656323159662011-06-10T17:51:00.000-07:002011-06-10T18:01:46.351-07:00

Not that Wikipedia is the best source, but accordingly, this beautiful piece is a "neo-Baroque composition popularly attributed to the 18th-century Venetian master Tomaso Albinoni, but composed by the 20th-century musicologist and Albinoni biographer Remo Giazotto and based on the disputed discovery of a manuscript fragment from Albinoni."Ah, those sneaky scholars!The only thing that could

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-7695955352247804502011-05-16T15:29:00.001-07:002011-05-16T15:30:58.682-07:00

Groundgrabs my breath.A song, falling:music of the dust.I rise in my thoughtsand sing without weight.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-83481339866256174312011-03-09T19:38:00.001-08:002011-03-09T20:03:48.117-08:00

Check out this article on The Decline and Fall of the Fantasy Novel over at blackgate.com. Theodore Beale, who writes in the diverse genres of economics and Christian speculative fiction, argues that the bulk of modern fantasy is a symptom of societal decline. I have noticed and blogged on many of the points he mentions: ambiguous morality, excision of religion, uncreative political correctness

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-48228823437189292812011-03-04T11:06:00.000-08:002011-03-04T11:12:44.930-08:00

As part of my auntly duties, I have read "Goodnight Moon" half a dozen times. I'm sure some mothers have passed the one hundred mark. Thanks to Julia Yu, there is now another option. Called "Goodnight Dune," this Herbert-inspired alternative speaks to the sci-fi fan in many of us. Perhaps it has already made your e-mail rounds, but if not, enjoy.Please read it now.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-82506968848806381662011-02-27T20:39:00.000-08:002011-02-27T21:28:33.160-08:00

Yesterday I had the privilege of making music with a fine group of string players from the Mid-Columbia Symphony at the Waterbrook Winery in Walla Walla. Our program included movements from a Schumann quartet, a Beethoven trio, and the incredibly beautiful Dvorak piano quintet in A major. Apparently, Condoleeza Rice has played the last piece as well. In the excerpt below, she has two things I

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-3244012670162801632011-02-13T10:17:00.001-08:002011-02-13T11:00:24.461-08:00

I'm home ill today, so I decided to indulge in a Mars Hill sermon.Today's culture preaches self-actualization as the ultimate goal, but Jesus's example gives the lie to this. As Mark Driscoll says, God's Plan A for us is humility; Plan B is humiliation, and let me tell you, Plan A is preferable (but rarely pursued).For the first half hour of the video, Mark goes over Mars Hills' financial report

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-68954419768493672122011-02-10T11:38:00.000-08:002011-02-10T12:25:05.012-08:00

Tag, the Blogger game ...Rule #1: the tagged person must write his answers on his blog and replace any question he dislikes with a new question formulated by himself.Rule #2: tag four people to do this quiz; they cannot refuse (ok, so nothing bad will happen if you don't participate but I would love to see your answers). The tag-ee must state who tagged them.Nicola tagged me, so here goes ...I'm

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-30948354482681369942010-07-17T10:51:00.000-07:002010-07-17T11:02:33.306-07:00

I plan to end my blogging days or at least take an extended vacation from this blog. My updates from Ecuador were probably the most interesting thing on here, and I don't intend to go on another extended trip soon. Regarding my writing samples ... Many magazines won't touch poetry that has appeared online, so I will stop publishing it here. As for the reviews, probably little that I write will

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-27829085124260809202010-07-05T00:24:00.000-07:002010-07-05T00:30:58.306-07:00

Not quite solitude.Aloneness tinged by friend,(the warm box of regard, built around who you used to be, flexing for your future self)But cast in lake-quiet,The stillness of a shoreline:Blue-green framing change.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-2072662831969758232010-06-20T18:14:00.000-07:002010-06-20T20:53:34.688-07:00

This is a redone story from 2001. I will probably rewrite it again, but it's good enough for net publication.“Monument” I took good care of my corpse. I was proud of that. Anyone else, tired of a lifetime of hiding rotting extremities, might have grow careless as the release approached, but I increased in my neatness. I wore several robes to mask the corpse’s gauntness and perfume to

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-16607137684197322372010-06-15T10:49:00.000-07:002010-06-15T10:55:48.397-07:00

Why I love eastern Washington.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-51534122260133357392010-05-26T11:52:00.000-07:002010-05-26T11:56:29.451-07:00

For the span of several hours, people from all occupations, backgrounds, and destinations unite. They are transported into the heavenly places. This experience, real and unbelievable, is marked by familiar, if not always comfortable, customs.As usual, those who have invested more money into the parking lot and vicarage sit in front. Everyone else streams down the aisles, knowing in advance

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-72617986249958049462010-05-20T14:24:00.000-07:002010-05-20T14:27:06.952-07:00

Today I live in freedom.Five years before, my chainWas a band o’er the vein of the heart,Numbing all to come,Except one stubborn pain:Unruly affection to art,Which love cast off the bondOf normal humankindTo pursue in its place the idealOf flying—falling to some.Beyond feeling, I feel:Liberation unfastened my home.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-83538908947748607752010-05-16T18:29:00.000-07:002010-05-16T19:00:49.491-07:00

Byron dedicated his epic satire Don Juan to the then-poet-laureate Robert Southey in 1818-ish. The following octets from the dedication are ones I believe people, not just poets, would do well to remember. They speak not only to fickle fame and fads but also against envious competition. In my experience, artists tend to share comradely relations, unlike the ego battles of many intellectuals,

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-27053011305334235942010-05-14T18:01:00.001-07:002010-05-14T18:07:29.296-07:00

“Sunny Day”Today the cynic laughs,The clouds are buttercream,The trail of yellow on the roadIs the stroke of a crayon.The world can’t be real—Why paint a sky cerulean,Why color anything?Women should wear dressesSo the wind can tease their hems,And if a child reads,He should do it in the sun.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-4416283894447924002010-05-10T09:54:00.000-07:002010-05-10T10:04:09.896-07:00

For those of you who desire soul-pounding sound as well as lyrics, I recommend the band Stavesacre. My brother introduced the Christian rock band to me, and Mark Salomon's unique style of singing quickly grew on me. The genesis of the band's name is rather interesting. One of the band members looked up a word in the dictionary and glimpsed the nearby entry of "Stavesacre," which means, "A

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-21249864457603860122010-05-02T13:16:00.000-07:002010-05-02T13:30:56.285-07:00

“Apathy”Interests like tattooed marksTint my faded soul,Temporary colored inkLying that I’m full.Spirals of light and darkMask the skin below,Canvas of grayish-pinkLimned with truth, but dull.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-63238556718817959912010-04-20T10:24:00.001-07:002010-04-20T10:30:25.524-07:00

In honor of the upcoming birthday of my twin and me, I invite readers in their twenties or so to mosey over to Christine Hassler's column and take the quarterlife crisis diagnosis quiz.The column begins with the following definition of "quarter life crisis" from Word Spy: "Feelings of confusion, anxiety, and self-doubt experienced by some people in their twenties, especially after completing

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-41576489365553654912010-04-07T14:00:00.000-07:002010-04-07T14:43:35.413-07:00

The Urban Institute ranked San Francisco, Washington, D.C., Los Angeles, and Columbus, Ohio, as the top regions for cultural vitality. The report, which was published at the end of 2006, is "a first-of-its-kind comprehensive statistical portrait of cultural vitality—ranging from community festivals to financial contributions."You can read the summary of the findings or check out the report at

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-92094694775256762842010-04-03T23:37:00.000-07:002010-04-04T00:08:48.616-07:00

“Easter Epiphany”To wake up one morning and findNot only has the sun risen,So has your soul;An Easter epiphany suppliedWhat was lacking in faith,Made even emptiness whole.An empty heart? An empty tomb!Absence points to presence elsewhere,The glory of a hole.The din of self, doubting gloom,Put to bed, put to rest, Peace in full.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-85648766074621833002010-03-29T13:36:00.001-07:002010-04-07T14:44:50.930-07:00

Okay, I didn't really want this blog to become about my personal life, but today's post is all about me.My mother entered me in a makeover contest. And those of you who have seen me at home on a day when I don't have a professional engagement, or maybe who have seen me, period, will know why she did it.Anyway, I made it into the top five contenders. Yippee, I feel good about myself. Now that

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-92018997180353528472010-03-21T20:39:00.000-07:002010-03-21T20:44:06.536-07:00

Born on March 21, 1685, this coevally underappreciated, versatile, brilliant, and faithful man is only three centuries older than me.Soli Deo Gloria

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-16849142686763752702010-03-12T16:41:00.000-08:002010-03-12T16:42:34.113-08:00

Thanks to Anonymous, I am one factoid more knowledgeable.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-43845925693948521882010-03-12T13:25:00.000-08:002010-03-12T13:30:18.806-08:00

Victor Borge was amazing. If you don't agree, watch him tuning pianos or correcting a mistake.I need to learn how to embed YouTube videos...

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-81682298904475775782010-03-07T17:00:00.001-08:002010-03-07T17:08:12.367-08:00

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-91585742533308675632010-03-04T17:24:00.000-08:002010-03-04T19:33:39.055-08:00

A story I wrote a long time ago."Drawing a Blank"Sometimes the only thing to do in a situation is to stand up and yell, but Bert hadn’t gotten to that point. Feet propped on his favorite old ottoman and remote in hand, he stared at the blank TV screen and furrowed his brow.Once again he pressed the power button. Slowly … quickly … deliberately, no matter how he pushed, he failed. No picture.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-90454614053154291352010-02-27T17:17:00.001-08:002010-02-27T17:23:48.146-08:00

From "The Brain Encyclopedia" by Carol Turkington.Agnosia: A neurological condition, meaning "state of not knowing," in which patients with no sign of sensory problems can't recognize objects, people, or occurrences by using the senses.Philosophy and Science are methods apart but conclusions together.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-6796808140606334482010-02-27T16:57:00.000-08:002010-02-27T17:17:09.647-08:00

Although more than a decade old, "The Brain Encyclopedia" by Carol Turkington isn't ready to be brined yet. Consider the following passage from the entry aging and the brain:"Researchers believe that after about age 30, most people reach an intellectual plateau which is usually maintained until about age 60; after that, there are small declines, depending on ability and sex. It's not until the

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-41487748604931942622010-02-24T18:30:00.000-08:002010-02-24T19:03:38.299-08:00

This poem was written in September 1961 by Sylvia Plath, authoress of The Bell Jar, for those who have trouble placing the name. Now you remember her of course, from high school lit class.Writers are like actors in the sense that they have to identify with many different cultures, personalities, and professions. I love having to research a setting, a myth, a society, or a name. Here Ms. Plath

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-15116229316345153412010-02-21T17:12:00.000-08:002010-02-21T17:15:45.080-08:00

“Unbound”After a day in the ocean, Bullied and lathered by waves,You stand in the yellowish powder, Stretch against the wetsuit’s restraints,And shrug off the skin with relief,Like a too-small mold of your body,A band on your future and blood;So I with a loosening sigh, Slip off the sheath of my love,Unwrinkle my pale, pinched heart, And stand body heaving, Bursting and dripping with life.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-7972594803596907222010-02-17T18:34:00.001-08:002010-02-17T18:35:11.738-08:00

Rise from the dead, O my bliss!Clasp the greenery I throw a garland,Growth matured in your absence.Carelessly you flung a blossom in my tresses,Too carefully I fastened it--Limp went the bud,Dry crumbled the petals.Seek no more a wilted maidGod cried upon my eyesWhich could not feel the loss,A shower to cover my face,A face that I deniedin brown, but green it was,Green, my bliss! Green from God.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-13883786798805468482010-02-15T20:34:00.000-08:002010-02-15T20:37:12.169-08:00

"Illuminating Love"Streaming golden lightTransforms your hair with brilliance;Daisies, buttercups, and astersBloom a crown of May jewels.Thus love illumines my soulAnd grows its desert grassesInto a lawn of emeralds--Let me string them at your feet.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-27088377032772385552010-02-08T15:20:00.000-08:002010-02-08T15:28:58.140-08:00

From A Learned Dissertation on Dumpling (1726), probably by Henry Carey, also author of Namby-Pamby. More of the title: Pudding and Dumpling Burnt to POT, or A Compleat Key to the Dissertation on Dumpling.Carey wrote in the style of Jonathan Swift. Here is the climax of this particular political pamphlet, where he argues that everything by any other name is a Pudding. Scroll to the bottom for

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-53317107322539306872010-01-28T13:44:00.000-08:002010-01-28T13:53:31.755-08:00

“Warm-up”Write a poem for Betsy--She’s such a silly girl,I wouldn’t doubt she’d read this verseAnd giggle like a squirrel.“Her”My sister's name is Clara--She’s almost two feet tall.I fed her a banana,But she didn’t grow at all!“Him”I have a brand-new brother--He’s small and squirms a lot.Momma says he’s natural,But I think he was bought.“Baptism”Baby got his head wet--I wonder what it means?Papa

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-4711017498752590382010-01-21T10:37:00.000-08:002010-01-21T10:38:50.623-08:00

The relationship between acting and truth can be a sticky and some would say irreconcilable one. In The Actor’s Art and Craft: William Esper Teaches the Meisner Technique by William Esper and Damon DiMarco, Esper delineates his view of art, and consequently of the world.“The moment you begin to work with yourself as an acting instrument, only one thing in the world can matter to you: the truth.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-992116963216598682010-01-19T08:26:00.000-08:002010-01-19T08:27:34.098-08:00

I found this in the satire "From A Learned Dissertation on Dumpling" (1726), probably by Henry Carey, also author of Namby-Pamby. I'm sure any artist who must bend his own artistic principles to scratch out a living can relate.ADVERTISEMENTTo all Gentlemen Booksellers, and others.At the House with Stone-Steps and Sash-Windows in Hanover-Court in Grape-Street, vulgarly call’d Grub-Street,Liveth

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-72534010762092763832010-01-18T13:41:00.000-08:002010-01-18T13:44:06.225-08:00

You, my blank page,Let me not spot you in ink Without purpose. Let each stage Of the marking be mutual,And every word be a linkTo your heart and a sageProclaiming your rule.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-80550488475528496822010-01-14T12:12:00.000-08:002010-01-14T12:55:06.057-08:00

I spent last weekend in Las Vegas with my grandmother. Unbeknownst to me, Las Vegas contains many other cities. There's New York, complete with the Statue of Liberty, and Paris with the Eiffel Tower. In front of the tower I've captured the spray from the Singing Fountains. They go off every hour or so. As the music plays, the fountains jet sky-high and dance. Then there's ancient Rome. Here

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-15824158319323086602010-01-04T12:06:00.000-08:002010-01-04T12:08:52.546-08:00

Two fragments from "A Cynic Looks at Life" by Ambrose Bierce. For the full text, click here.The State PenitentiaryAfter lying for more than a century dead I was revived, dowered with a new body, and restored to society. The first thing of interest that I observed was an enormous building, covering a square mile of ground. It was surrounded on all sides by a high, strong wall of hewn stone upon

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-15535075893658257912010-01-02T19:08:00.000-08:002010-01-02T19:11:03.685-08:00

Por fin I am back on an acoustic piano. The first thing I've noticed is how heavy the keys are. The electric keyboard had lighter action, which I generally prefer, but now my repeated notes and finger muscles have deteriorated. I'm having to work for a dynamic range because the music actually became quite interesting to me played flat, and now if I diminuendo, I have to work much harder to

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-42755342361210110112009-12-27T23:43:00.001-08:002009-12-27T23:44:22.304-08:00

Not too much originality, but quite a bit of humor and a happy cadence. Here is a clever selection from Tom Hall's collection "When Hearts are Trumps," first published in 1894."The Abused Gallant."Two lovely maidens (woe is me!)Play tennis with my heart;And each is wondrous fair to see,And each is wondrous smart.In learning, money, beauty, birth,None can surpass them—none.But each receives my "

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-36124656699777792042009-12-17T13:16:00.000-08:002009-12-17T13:35:47.508-08:00

Since I'm leaving Ecuador early Saturday morning, I might not have a chance to post for a while. Next week I'll be busy pounding beach sand with my family, and doubtless you all will have enough activities to keep from missing my updates.I leave you with a story I wrote when I was a bit homesick and Christmas-sick. Living in the season opposite to what the calendar says can do that to one. No

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-29153610618864412862009-12-16T11:49:00.000-08:002009-12-17T15:14:34.226-08:00

Through a series of wonderful but personally disappointing circumstances, the kids' Christmas program in Papallacta was moved from Monday, Dec. 14, to the following Monday. Consequently I will miss it. I had been helping with the choreography and was providing a much-needed harmonic line, both of which duties have been passed on to other teachers.Besides the program in Papallacta, the children

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-80013266438813783372009-12-13T14:49:00.000-08:002009-12-13T14:57:30.067-08:00

"Now and Then"People talk of countdowns and days before events,But in my mode of thinking, their counting makes no sense.I live with only two times, which I call now and then,And whether then be close or far, this rule I extend:That now is what I have to bear, to cling to or contend,And this I do till then is now and now is then an end!

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-56621610535403896102009-12-12T13:05:00.000-08:002009-12-12T13:56:39.251-08:00

On Thursday night, Mr. Injerd drove Kjersti and me to the HCJB Global Radio complex in Papallacta, home to Ecoluz, a hydroelectric power plant. The complex includes apartments for missionaries and workers to use. The Injerds lived there for six years before moving to El Tambo four years ago. Now they go down at least once a month to do laundry. Did I mention there isn’t a washer or dryer at

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-18755214325584586262009-12-10T08:53:00.001-08:002009-12-10T08:54:35.251-08:00

This is the last of my excerpts from A Christmas Garland by Max Beerbohm. George Meredith, with his flashes of brilliance, inspired me with Diana of the Crossways and The Egoist. Someone, I forgot who, said that reading Meredith was like weightlifting for the mind. Well, Beerbohm's take on Meredith requires even heavier lifting. But it is worth the strain. I would suggest reading it at least

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-66998906412887557882009-12-08T13:24:00.000-08:002009-12-08T14:42:10.456-08:00

Today Kjersti and I took the 5-7th graders on a “paseo” or field trip to Quito. It cost $30.68 for nine students and two teachers to catch a bus to Quito, visit two museums, and take a trolley and a bus to Cumbayá where Mrs. Injerd picked us up. The two museums we visited were “El Museo de la Ciudad,” the City Museum, and “El Museo Alberto Mena Caamaño,” which was a wax museum. Photos weren’t

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-82125244959991488822009-12-05T07:40:00.000-08:002009-12-05T07:50:44.810-08:00

More from A Christmas Garland by Max Beerbohm, this one based on Arnold Bennett's style. I confess that I haven't read any of Bennett's work, which includes The Old Wives' Tale and the Clayhanger Trilogy, but that didn't stop me from enjoying this story. The ending is priceless!SCRUTSByARN*LD B*NN*TTI.Emily Wrackgarth stirred the Christmas pudding till her right arm began to ache. But she did

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-46152250357782509272009-12-04T14:01:00.000-08:002009-12-04T14:23:35.116-08:00

Thanks to Project Gutenberg, I have been able to enjoy literature even in the heights of the Ecuadorian mountains. The Irish poet I have named below tends toward the verbose, but he still has good stuff. (I like my poetry short with the exceptions of Tennyson's "Maud" and Spenser's Faerie Queene, which I lament is unfinished.) Here's a poem I found for anyone feeling a little too sensitive, a

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-64368517527075234652009-12-03T12:22:00.000-08:002009-12-03T12:26:20.643-08:00

Here's another parody from A Christmas Garland by Max Beerbohm. This one is in the style of Rudyard Kipling. I don't know about you, but I couldn't tell it apart from an authentic Kipling.P.C., X, 36ByR*D**RD K*PL*NGThen it's collar 'im tight,In the name o' the Lawd!'Ustle 'im, shake 'im till 'e's sick!Wot, 'e would, would 'e? Well,Then yer've got ter give 'im 'Ell,An' it's trunch, trunch,

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-63161325915902089212009-12-02T16:21:00.000-08:002009-12-02T16:45:04.612-08:00

No. 1: Lake PapallactaThe nearby lake, formed after a volcanic eruption some 200 (?) years ago, has been the source of superstition and fantastic tales. Some of the older generation in the village say they remember when it was still steaming. It used to be the home of a seven-headed monster, and people would climb the mountains to go past it instead of walking near the shore. Then one day, a

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-6938318305655588142009-12-01T14:07:00.001-08:002009-12-01T15:35:47.173-08:00

Some men can impersonate other men's persons; other men can impersonate their writings. Max Beerbohm was one such actor of the writing world. In A Christmas Garland, first printed in 1912, he parodies several well-known authors including Rudyard Kipling, Henry James, George Meredith, Joseph Conrad, George Bernard Shaw, and H.G. Wells, centering each essay around a Christmas theme. Below, I

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-17552128229225902622009-11-30T13:18:00.000-08:002009-11-30T13:59:43.313-08:00

Another shot of a stall in the Artisan's Market. The church in Archidona was so colorful I wondered what the parishioners could wear to compare. During my jungle adventure, these macaws woke me up in the morning with their screeching. One of the few flower pictures I took that turned out. I snapped this yellow beauty in Archidona. I apologize for the sidewise photo, but a mushroom is a

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-68244955536242296482009-11-27T15:34:00.000-08:002009-11-27T15:56:37.442-08:00

This week was busy and tiring for all involved. The kids were eager as ever for their piano lessons on Monday, but they were also easily distracted and somewhat in their own worlds. The more advanced students are starting to play hands together, which fascinates them. Oscar broadcasts his eureka moments with exclamations and sighs of enlightenment.But as I said, the week was tiring, and it

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-36517291075200710592009-11-24T12:32:00.000-08:002009-11-24T13:12:29.628-08:00

Written November 22, 2009.I spent most of Saturday morning birdwatching for my dad’s benefit, but my hopes of avian snapshots weren't realized. Although I heard dozens of calls, the birds flitted by so quickly that I hardly got any pictures. The highlight of the trip was discovering an overgrown orchard of trees with pendulous green spheres I learned later were gourds. It was hot and muggy

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-87630816235742069732009-11-22T15:10:00.000-08:002009-11-23T12:03:14.589-08:00

Covering the events of November 21, 2009.At Paraíso de Orquideas, even breakfast is in courses à la russe. Friday’s breakfast began with an invasion of the monkeys. They crawled into the restaurant on the bamboo beams and gradually dropped closer and closer until one of them daringly put a hand on the table. It would have been funny except for the sharp teeth it bared. Just then, one of the

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-1757757976242044122009-11-22T05:02:00.000-08:002009-11-22T05:57:14.319-08:00

Written November 20, 2009.After spending two weeks in Argentina, my friend Dan arrived in Ecuador for a few days before returning to the States for Thanksgiving. He visited the school on Thursday, and then he, Kjersti, and I grabbed a bus to Archidona, a small jungle town rather more on the outskirts than deep inside the jungle. We were told the ride could take four hours, but thanks to the bus

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-8987925223543349352009-11-14T10:04:00.000-08:002009-11-14T10:19:33.243-08:00

On Tuesday, the dental team returned, and instead of merely pulling teeth, two doctors came up to the school and gave a “charla” or talk on dental care. They had a blown-up, 3D model of a jaw as well as a giant toothbrush, and several of the kids were called to the front to demonstrate proper brushing technique on the oversized mandible. Interestingly enough, dental floss was not mentioned once

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-12562847173242668932009-11-10T17:32:00.001-08:002009-11-10T17:44:34.138-08:00

I had to post something today. The date is 11-10-09, too good to be missed."Snake Watch"Serpents slither down a pit:Seconds slipping through our grip,Greedy eyes and darting tonguesPoison us with deeds undone,Holding on provokes the marks,Fangs upon our wrists, our hearts;Arching back, the scales constrict,Curves of change and late regret,Mouths release the mortal kiss,Rush upon the shrill abyss

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-54787055046601541322009-11-09T11:50:00.001-08:002009-11-09T13:11:33.334-08:00

Photos by popular demand ...Here's a picture of the Injerds' outbuildings and truck, taken from the first hill in their backyard. Across the street, the house with the blue roof is hardly ever occupied, but when it is, the denizens like to play loud music. The first white structure is called the "container" and holds bunk beds, a computer, a printer, books, and office supplies. The second

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-9519504106565340542009-11-08T04:32:00.000-08:002009-11-08T05:09:20.733-08:00

On Thursday I taught piano lessons as usual. This is a picture of Lisbeth, who loves her lessons and always tromps over to the keyboard with her boots half on. As you might notice, her left arm is twisted up, but she overcomes this challenge handily. Here Oscar, Soraya, and I are studying Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. David, the other colegio student, is missing. He and Oscar probably have

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-3894180025326693642009-11-05T12:40:00.001-08:002009-11-05T12:43:44.552-08:00

For those of you who enjoy reading about Ecuador and similar places, check out my friend Dan's travel blog. He just flew into Buenos Aires and will spend several weeks in Argentina and Ecuador. He's really faithful about posting photos.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-28700210702574312772009-11-04T10:14:00.000-08:002009-11-04T14:40:19.576-08:00

Another pic of La Mitad del Mundo. The lion and eagle are made from llama fur. Folk dancers in the central pavilion.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-9970260436253562852009-11-01T05:09:00.000-08:002009-11-01T06:33:52.002-08:00

Saturday was our planned day to visit La Mitad del Mundo, the center of the earth. We drove by a frightening number of recent car accidents and reached La Mitad in the typical white-knuckled fashion. Zounds of schoolgirls in navy blue uniforms streamed, giggling, from the parking lot to the entrance. As a foreigner turista, my entrance fee was a dollar more than the Injerds, but I wasn’t going

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-30209317539094824962009-10-31T16:14:00.000-07:002009-10-31T16:26:39.336-07:00

On Friday, Kjersti and I were treated to Papallacta’s world-renowned thermal pools, Las Termas. Mrs. Injerd finished school early so that we could catch a bus to Papallacta before the evening rush. The bus dropped us off at the end of town, half-an-hour’s steep walk away from Las Termas. Two other gringas about our age were in the same situation, so we hired a taxi together. Four persons,

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-21809524314259418582009-10-28T16:30:00.000-07:002009-10-28T17:45:26.370-07:00

One of the fathers of the children at school is a Park Ranger, or whatever the equivalent is for Ecuador’s Ministerio del Ambiente (Environmental/Ecological Department). Today the Park Ranger, Don Calixto, and a compañero from his work came to school to present on the importance of the páramo and its water. Here’s a picture of the Rangers in uniform. Don Calixto is on the left. Besides being

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-84071258671739000222009-10-26T15:11:00.000-07:002009-10-26T15:31:58.932-07:00

For those of you who were worried by the last paragraph of my previous post - we are all alive. While Mr. and Mrs. Injerd kept watch, the Corporativa held a five-and-a-half-hour meeting. Apparently they discussed beating the village president to death, but they didn't commit either violence or vandalism.Today, two lady pastors from Quito came to school after the children were dismissed. They

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-67401605348408015802009-10-25T05:38:00.000-07:002009-10-25T07:09:59.684-07:00

Saturday was a brilliant, warm day, and Kjersti and I didn't want to waste a second of the glorious weather. We decided to hike through the valley near the Injerds' property to a waterfall, a popular tourist destination. The path is mostly flat, so even those who aren't used to the altitude can make it.It hadn't rained for a few days, so the usual muddy hazards were missing. On the páramo, we

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-71497468845337481402009-10-22T16:23:00.000-07:002009-10-22T16:40:04.808-07:00

I interrupt the series on Ecuador for very important news - November is National Novel Writing Month. If you have a novel in you, consider dedicating this month to drawing it out. Check out the official website to sign up or find out what all the fuss is. The word count goal is only 50,000 words. I know you can do it! Whether or not your book will be worthy of consumption in December is

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-39898939433269867162009-10-20T14:34:00.000-07:002009-10-20T15:35:37.220-07:00

Amazon insignia is splashed across T-shirts, sweaters, and walls. The building this was painted on had murals on all sides, but this was my favorite scene. Two school children on stilts. They weren't selling anything; they just smiled and said, "Good morning" in their syllabic Ecuadorian accents. Different types of plants one vendor offered on the steps of a marketplace. Most milk here is

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-84400536923775975242009-10-19T13:46:00.000-07:002009-10-19T15:31:09.644-07:00

I found a compendium of Ecuadorian poetry in the Baeza library. Here's a selection from Juan Freile Granizo's “POESIA: Simplemente …… En Rojo.” “¡Escúchame!”¡Escúchame! Doncella, oye me ruego,en mansedumbre y devoción rezado,dame la plena gratitud de gozoy el milagro de tí, Angel amado.....¡Escúchame! ¡Bendíceme! Concédeme un beso en el vivir, Niña de nardostu providencia, Amor; dame la

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-56759391797094706162009-10-17T08:05:00.000-07:002009-10-17T08:43:03.267-07:00

On Tuesday of this week, the Injerds received a letter from The Association of Damas Diplomáticas of Ecuador and OCP, a large company that transports crude oil across Ecuador. Some of that oil has leaked and contaminated the land. To compensate for the damage, OCP sends Christmas gifts to and creates environmental programs for school children in the province of Napo and specifically in the

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-18725391509786792712009-10-14T12:02:00.001-07:002009-10-14T12:41:07.502-07:00

Pitahaya and pineapple. The pitahaya is sweeter than kiwi and reminded me of the lychee fruit.Called quesadillas, these pastries are like floury cheesecake.Quimbolitos are made with cornflour, eggs, sugar, raisins, etc. and wrapped in banana leaves. Steam until warm and enjoy with or without butter.One of the more westernized shopping complexes in Cumbayá (pronounced like the gospel song)

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-37828409261631733522009-10-13T17:29:00.000-07:002009-10-13T17:32:48.565-07:00

Every day there’s a bit of excitement. Two days ago, someone stole random dogs, milk straight from the cow, and wood from the school and several houses under construction. Yesterday the generator at Sea La Luz didn’t work for the first hour. I was afraid I’d have to miss a day of teaching, but Engineer Extraordinaire Mr. Injerd fixed things up. Today the excitement was an unexpected group of

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-37163094520939283692009-10-11T09:19:00.000-07:002009-10-11T09:44:58.731-07:00

Friday was a wet, rainy day, perfect for filling up water bottles from the rainwater tank system. It cleared up beautifully on Saturday, however, and Kjersti and hiked up a mountain the Injerds have termed the Throne. First we cut up two hills in the Injerd’s back property. Then we crossed a marshy valley, ascended a grass-covered slope steeper than Chukar hills, and tunneled through an

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-9854421144650135252009-10-11T09:03:00.000-07:002009-10-11T09:18:06.262-07:00

Living in a third-world country, I begin to appreciate some of the seemingly excessive laws I left behind. The US has so many traffic laws, cell-phone laws, and union regulations because she cares for her citizens. Trucks have load limits and cars have seatbelt laws because the country doesn’t want her citizens to die. One could debate whether it’s goodwill or selfishness that inspires these

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-51805489535073855702009-10-07T19:44:00.000-07:002009-10-07T20:13:09.933-07:00

This week the school has been celebrating the Feast of Tabernacles. The children fashioned a personal sukkah, or booth, out of Popsicle sticks. Tomorrow they’ll have cookies and milk as a special treat. The emphasis of the week is joy, which fits in well with the Friday holiday of Guayaquil Independence Day. October 12 is Día de la Raza, or Columbus Day, but I believe school will be in

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-11487970540889701272009-10-05T15:12:00.000-07:002009-10-05T17:34:09.752-07:00

There’s easy anonymity in the city,The single soul can know companions waitUndiscovered, solitary and surrounded.City souls stay hidden, blendInto each other by social vow,And sustenance means eating peopleInstead of grass, and metal and glass.Buildings stretch like solid fantasies,Proof that Will can shape the worldAnd desire bring forth daisies.Anyone can be replaced,But no one needs to work

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-74108023537386336342009-10-04T09:44:00.000-07:002009-10-04T10:14:13.752-07:00

A long-tailed hummingbird outside the guest house I stayed in my first night in Ecuador.Kjersti and I took a walk behind the Injerds' house. Notice Kjersti's amazing poncho.Later in the walk. The blur of dog is Cinnamon, a half-blind sweetheart.I snapped this through a taxi window in Quito. "To get organized is to begin to conquer."

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-81767264898024935012009-10-02T19:15:00.000-07:002009-10-02T20:06:40.825-07:00

The first school week is over, and it was a good one. Monday and Tuesday were heavy work for me because some of the other teachers were absent, but the last two days have been more manageable. I know more and more of the kids’ names, and I’ve already been given a note, a flamingo cut-out, a baby-pink rose, and many hugs.Today Mrs. Injerd handed out prizes to outstanding students and then

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-36013233139998636622009-09-30T18:41:00.000-07:002009-09-30T19:00:16.223-07:00

Wednesdays are short days at the school. The kids repeated the Bible verse of the week, sang in Spanish and English, and then listened to a lesson Kjersti had prepared. Afterwards I reviewed English with the 5th graders, expounded on the good Samaritan story to 3rd graders, and helped even younger kids with their sums and lesser than/greater than signs. To keep things from being too serious,

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-15582239652974702892009-09-30T18:13:00.000-07:002009-09-30T18:41:43.178-07:00

Driving in to QuitoI couldn't resist the misspelling. This was in a ritzy mall beside a dry cleaning store and a tanning salon.A worker on the side of the road in CumbayáKjersti at a KFC. The sign reads, "Para Chuparse los Dedos," not quite as catchy as "finger-lickin' good."

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-47330916595777505192009-09-28T14:47:00.000-07:002009-09-29T17:21:57.799-07:00

My first day at Sea La Luz began at 5:30 am. Mrs. Injerd was already leaving for school, and it’s hard not to disturb others in a 400 sq. ft. house. Not that I minded a chance to enjoy the morning mountain air. It takes half an hour down the road, across two small bridges, and up a steep hill to reach the school. In a small village like El Tambo, it is customary to greet everyone one meets,

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-82443440863675581712009-09-27T06:07:00.000-07:002009-09-27T08:03:31.536-07:00

Observations about Ecuador-Ecuadorians are happy with a 25-centavo tip. They expect tips for 1) waving your car to and from the parking lot and guarding it while you are in the store, 2) pumping your gas, 3) bagging your groceries and returning your shopping cart, and 4) other things I haven't come across yet.-They like exact change and will ask for a few centavos or dolares so they can give you

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-10297363302059453922009-09-24T09:58:00.001-07:002009-09-24T10:00:29.943-07:00

The content of this blog might morph somewhat through the end of the year. I will be up in the Andes Mountains in Ecuador teaching piano lessons to village children at a bilingual missionary school. Readers can expect travel, culture, and music ed. posts, possibly some pictures, and probably fewer posts in general. Thanks for reading.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-1708750622447718192009-09-22T16:58:00.001-07:002009-09-22T17:29:24.343-07:00

One of my friends and I completed a short story writing exercise called "Drop the Dead Weight" from the Ballea Writers Club. Adjectives (except for compound nouns), adverbs, -ings, and -lys were prohibited. As you can see, I fudged a few words, but I think I got the effect. I found that the exercise improved imagery and made the writing more immediate.“Don’t Daydream on a Diving Board”Sparrow

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-72108489413125684252009-09-18T15:53:00.000-07:002009-09-18T15:57:37.876-07:00

Suffering is but the nightAnd death the sunrise.I have thought myself dead in daylight,Only to rise bursting thoughtsLike an orange full of juice.Constance is an hourFull of patient minutesThat never count the time they must endure.Passed moments can’t return:They taste of oranges.

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-30597651355535927462009-09-16T21:42:00.000-07:002009-09-16T23:01:47.801-07:00

Although August Rush contains some of the worst musical dubbing I've seen, the music itself is wonderful. The score is (mostly) by Mark Mancina, who masterfully blends and develops disparate musical themes throughout. In the film, music not only heightens drama, it serves as theme, character, and plot.The story details a young boy's quest for his birth parents. He has never seen them, but his

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-92158789785630219752009-09-15T15:36:00.000-07:002009-09-15T15:40:01.820-07:00

In the false college, the one that doesn’t exist except as a cannibalistic entity of the real schools I’ve attended, the landscapes I revisit in dreams, and the changeable essence peculiar to that dream, in the false college, I was a concert pianist, and I sight-read a twenty-minute piece accompanying a singer perfectly. I wanted to impress someone. He met my eyes through the crowd, and we

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-55950993133799995822009-09-08T20:59:00.001-07:002009-09-08T21:08:26.106-07:00

After some probably well-deserved criticism on my latest attempt at a novel, I checked out Fiction First Aid by Raymond Obstfeld from the library. Unlike many how-to-write books, it didn't deal simply with generalities and grammatical basics. Instead, it contained examples and exercises for the serious author. One part of the book that I particularly enjoyed was the section on theme. Obstfeld

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-62471544501686519622009-09-05T17:03:00.000-07:002009-09-05T17:26:54.587-07:00

Consider this post a test for the video capabilities of my blog. If it slows down the page's loading speed too much, I will delete it.The Eclectic Cloggers, based in Seattle, perform traditional clog dancing from the southern Appalachians. The Tri-Cities band is the Juniper Bush Huggers. Later on, the Cloggers invited the audience to join them in "hamboning," the name for making music by slapping

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-18915926357041424712009-09-05T15:48:00.000-07:002009-09-05T17:02:42.813-07:00

The Tumbleweed Music Festival is a celebration of folk, blues, and bluegrass music held on the shady lawn of Howard Amon Park in Richland, Washington. It's where songwriters and groups from all over the nation (but mainly from Washington) display their musical endeavors and energy.I attended part of the festival (the 13th this year, with the theme of superstition) and realized again the value of

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-73774807429727226852009-08-31T13:02:00.001-07:002009-08-31T14:14:04.004-07:00

I have dodged flak for watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and slowly being sucked into the vampire genre with Angel and Twilight. When I was much younger, I read Dracula and enjoyed it more or less as much as Frankenstein but definitely not as much as something by Terry Brooks or Walter Farley (or Margaret Mitchell if you prefer a literary comparison). The reason I enjoy the genre more now, I

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-28755900510670142372009-08-25T16:23:00.000-07:002009-08-25T16:49:13.896-07:00

By color they recognized each other,Her by her lipstick, him by his tie.In a chapel of black and white,They smeared vows without futureAs their hearts beat red.She went with the white-robed choir,He waited by the Grecian columns,The book in her hand was the sign—They laughed lies in the church,And their hearts beat red.She put a lily in her hair,He adjusted his collar.They parted without black

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-39660322903443867222009-08-25T08:08:00.000-07:002009-08-25T08:18:08.932-07:00

The character of Stobrod in Charles Frazier's Cold Mountain undergoes a transformation when a dying girl asks him to ease her passing with fiddle music. He used to play at dances for a free drink, but none of his repertoire is suitable for this occasion. The girl suggests he compose something, and he surprises himself with the result. “The music he had made up for the girl was a thing he had

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-39469226012148754032009-08-23T16:19:00.000-07:002009-08-23T16:20:30.319-07:00

My body was a jar,My soul in liquid calm,Never opened, ever covered,Solitary. Round. A realmWhere others painted meAnd smilingly, I died.Now cracks betray the innerFlux I cannot hide.My patience has run out,My confidence in shape,For truth is meant to crumble,And senses to escape,Intermingle with another’s,Drip until the jarIs emptied of itself,Transformed into a star.A star will be my body,The

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5140921926092187891.post-41278701128908840702009-08-20T15:45:00.000-07:002009-08-20T16:01:21.920-07:00

The great change in my life began the day a bat flew into my Aunt Esrella’s hair. Sure, she was the one the ambulance picked up, but I was the one who learned a hard lesson. I love bats, those creatures of the night, although the night has no love for me. Aunt Esrella, Frederick (my goblin half-brother), and I live out in the country where no friendly, synthetic light shines and the coyotes are

Tara Swansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10949572573056126225noreply@blogger.com0