Every once in a while, I get a hankering for music that makes my head feel like an eggbeater got inside and is twirling away, one of the old fashioned hand-powered kinds. Symmetry in the repetitive motion, twin yellow whirlpools, all that. So coming across Nico Muhly’s “Mothertongue” album when looking for composer inspiration at work was pretty exciting. I’ve only listened to it with headphones, which really makes it feel like it’s invading every brain wrinkle, so if you’re in the mood to get mind-scrambled that’s the method I’d recommend. It’s also fun to imagine the process of recording the album.
A work friend of Matt’s and his wife are harboring three illegals on their property. They’ve got them sleeping in a shed at night, subsisting on grain, water, and whatever vegetal/grub matter they can scrounge in their little fenced-in area during the day. We get to meet them soon, and I can’t wait, because before they arrived we spent an sunny afternoon building them a nesting box out of scrap wood and sheer luck and the Pythagorean theorem. (I promise you will use math after high school. But only when your smart phone battery dies).
In reality, raising chickens in your backyard in JP isn’t illegal, just “forbidden.” But our friends made sure all their neighbors were agreeable to a new brood in the vicinity, and confirmed before purchasing that there wouldn’t be any surprise roosters greeting the dawn’s early light. They constructed the most beautiful little hen house out of an old shed. (And in that shed is housed our first and only masterpiece of DIY projects, that mathematically-correct nesting box).
It made sense to give a nod to the illicit nature of owning chickens in Boston city limits by naming one after the half-smile handsomest Law-avoider of them all: The Fugitive.
World, meet Dr. Richard Kimble:
Just like her film star counterpart, Dr. Kimble doesn’t waste no time. She laid two eggs within 48 hours of arriving at her new home. Unlike her film star counterpart, Dr. Kimble doesn’t have blend-in-with-the-crowd skills, unless the crowd is composed of lots of brown feather dusters. She’s a bearded black silkie, and if you really want to have an awesome Friday, spend a few times looking at her distant relatives here.
We’re excited for our friends and their new trio of forbidden chickens, who are obviously right at home in their awesome custom-built coop and run. Can’t wait to taste those eggies!
Came across this little gem of time-yellowed archival material from 1939 at work today, replicated for your reading pleasure below. It’s completely irrelevant to what the work project will ultimately be about but made for some fun reading. I wish I had seen it three years ago for wedding menu inspiration, although I guess if this kind of stuff was still en vogue The Knot would have yet another “to do” (“Write menu poetry liberally speckled with puns and wit and have your calligrapher sketch it on onionskin sheets that white doves will carry in their bedazzled beaks to each and every rehearsal dinner guest! If you want!”) to add to their “Panic Inducing List of Half a Billion Things That We Try to Make Brides Think They Need to Do to Prepare for Their Weddings or ELSE.”
No matter. I’ve got at least three friends in my back pocket that would appreciate having this style of printed menu when they come over for dinner. Ok, two friends. Ok, one friend, and my husband. And the friend is my sister. Also, we won’t be having anything on the menu because it took me so long to make it that we’re eating dry spaghetti and a can of beans from the cabinet.
FIRST ANNUAL SPORTS DAY AND BANQUET
STOWE COUNTRY CLUB
June 3, 1939
CELERY — OLIVES
“Think as you munch how hunters tense and grim
Risked everything, risked life, risked limb
To lure the savage olives from their lair
That we might have them on our bill of fare!”
-R. Daughters, B. ED.
“How when I stare upon this small red sea
My thoughts sing me this lyric litany:
How exquisite, ineffable, how super-luscious,
How lovely looks m’lady when she blushes!”
-D. Taylor Coleridge, A.B.
BONELESS SIRLOIN STEAK
“This of resistance should be the very piece,
One half a pound, no less, immune from grease.
And though we land that fine philosophy:
That in short measure life may perfect be,
Ah, Wilcox! mark you, let there not appear
The faintest vestige of short measure here!”
-E. Dooley & Com., OGPU
“Hats off to him with ringing rhyme
Who raised the spud to heights sublime
Who gave the lowly pomme-de-terre
A fluffy, creamy, regal air.
Greater than Ickes or Jim Farley
He was a real animal rationale.”
-Shea & Labouvie, FAC.
ASPARAGUS AND PEAS
“Dutchmen like their fragrant cheese,
Their foamy beer and skittles.
Lawyers dote on fatted fees
And quick acquittals.
But asparagus and native peas
Are my fondest victuals.”
-E. Solemando, A.B.
HOT ROLLS — GREEN SALAD
ICE CREAM — CAKES — COFFEE
“Ice Cream! Did I hear you say?
Then let the horses have their hay,
But tie me, lash me e’re I swoon
To a deep-grooved large-sized spoon!”
-E. Krohn and M. Mahaney, B.S.
“Join in the dancing if you’re able
To leave your plates at the table.”
AWARDS AND LUCRATIVE DOOR PRIZES
**TOWELS FREE, MUSTACHES EXTRA**