Patination and Leprosy

I am a history freak.  The older and weirder the better.  My three favorite things are

1. Leprosy/plague

2. Bog bodies and water burials

3. Ancient manuscripts.

Man, bring that shit ON.

Two books that changed my life, out of many, are the Lindisfarne Gospel and 'Civilization and Disease'.  

Yes. I know how to party.

In my travels through YouTube I found something I've heard about but never seen anything much in detail to explore:  The water burials of the New World.

Now the water burials of the Old World?  I am all over that shit.  Jam some sharpened hazel wickets through that dead sonofabitch and wham him/her down into the mud on the bottom of that pond there.  Why?  BECAUSE.

And that's the only reason I've been able to glean from the sources I've been able to find so far.  Why in God's name pollute a known supply of water with a dead person?  The same people who would scoop a dead dog or what have you out of a backwater would hammer some poor dead bastard into the very bottom of a pond, with or without offerings, and then continue to cheerfully use that source for drinking water.

Human stupidity fascinates me.

____________________________

Back years ago, it was the Lindisfarne Gospels that inspired me to take a calligraphy class, and to continue to practice it over the years.  Now Miss Scarlet has surpassed me in talent and sureness of hand, but I keep my hand in; I still make up my own alphabets and mix my own ink.  The best recipe I've found so far is - seriously - egg white, instant coffee, and a little Elmers glue - just a dot - and a little water until you have a nice flow. 

 It is astounding how long instant coffee lasts as an ink.  And it's the most lovely brown, or black, or tan - it already looks aged.  The egg white and glue stabilize the color.  I have things I've drawn and written from years ago that still look fresh.  Of course they aren't hanging on the wall in full sunlight either, but I used a wash of the same recipe, heavily diluted, to coat the collage of Civil War era sheet music that I used to paper my dining room wall with, and it's remained stable for over fifteen years.  Of course once it was all dry I coated it with a mixture of spar varnish with a smidge of instant coffee, and that probably had a lot to do with it.  Still, lovers of patina take note.  If you want the recipe and the method, just ask.

___________________________

Two of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse came to visit me yesterday because they were going to be going off to Lake Chelan for the next four days and wanted to - and I quote 'Say goodbye to my garden.'

I melted.

I lead them around on a quick tour - now that Flaming June is past, July is struggling to hold her own against record high temperatures, so I've been watering in the gloaming.  Things are holding up bravely, and it looks good out there. These two little guys just roamed around wondering at all the plants that were taller than them, smelling leaves, asking what was what, looking at all the different birds who have decided to make my garden their home, marvelling at the butterflies and all the different types of bee, and trying to sneak things into their mouths.

The older of the brothers rode off on his bike, and I was going indoors when I heard the sound of sandals slapping behind me, and turned to find the littlest one following me around.

"Well what are you still doing here?" I asked.

"I had to say goodbye to your garden because, because I'm going to miss it," he said.  "I'm going to be in Chelan for four days.  We get to stay in a bunkhouse."

Now I knew immediately where he was talking about.  It's a place called Dry Falls, and it's a really nice place, like an oasis in the desert, with tall, tall reedbeds and long docks, paddle boats and swimming.  The reason it's called 'Dry Falls' is because, back in the Mezecrejurrassic period it had been a vast, vast semicircular falls, draining into a huge lake and from there into the waterway that would become the Whatever It's Called river.  Now, it's a low place surrounded by sharp mesas on three sides, punishingly hot, but with the coldwater seep there to cool off in, and the long, rock-shaded evenings to take the sting off the long dry days.  It's a place that the Biker and I have visited, and while it's not an exciting location, it's very serene, and the sky at night is it's own definition, defying all description of beauty and wonder.

But this little dude, maybe in second grade, came to say goodbye to my garden.  And when I finally herded him off, he turned around and said 'Thank you!"

"Thank you for what?" I laughed.

"Thank you for your garden!" he said.

Kids, that right there, those five words, that's the meaning of my life.