Noticing lxxxii - fruit

I am reading a book about habits, and the current chapter is discussing how, back in the late 80s, the American Cancer Institute partnered with California agribusiness to study the correlation between mortality and consumption of fruits and vegetables. The findings told us that five servings of fruits and vegetables a day will significantly improve our health and longevity. They then studied how many people already included these in their diet: about 11 percent. Ten years later, after a concerted program to educate people on the advantages of more fruits and veggies, they resurveyed—and the percentage still stood at 11 percent! People knew how to eat better. But they didn't translate that knowledge into new behaviors.

Reading about that this morning caught up with me this afternoon when I was standing in the kitchen wondering what to snack on. I spotted the two mangos and two kiwi fruits I bought the other day at the market, in a spurt of optimism. I have a very bad habit of impulsively buying fruits, convinced that they'll help me eat better, and then completely forgetting that they're there in the fruit bowl. Fortunately, David usually eats them for me, so they don't go bad. But I don't get that salutary daily dose of fruit. (I'm much better about vegetables: I prefer savory to sweet.)

Today, though, I grabbed one of the mangos and the kiwis, and I set to work, peeling and dicing. Then I remembered the blueberries and raspberries in the fridge (another impulse buy). Perfect! Within ten minutes, I had a delicious fruit salad—much better to snack on than a chunk of Jarlsberg cheese, which is my habit for a snack. Either that or a handful of nuts.

And even better, there's still a bowlful of fruit in the fridge. Tomorrow I can just open the door and find bliss!

Now, if only I can make a habit of it . . .

Book Report: The Brutal Telling

1/29. Louise Penny, The Brutal Telling (2009) (1/5/20)

I am double-numbering this entry because I still have a month on last year's challenge (which I launched on February 19), but it sure is easier to use a calendar year—so I'm overlapping last year's and this year's. I make the rules.

If you've been following this blog, you may have noticed several entries lately that reference this book, the fifth in the Chief Inspector Armand Gamache series: the painter Emily Carr, the Irish fiddle lament "Colm Quigley," and just today, Haida (First Nation) woodcarving. I've learned quite a bit from The Brutal Telling—in part because I've occasionally put the book down and sought out interesting references. But as always with Gamache, I've mostly learned about human nature, and the search for clues—and for the truth.

This mystery involves the death of a hermit, whose body appears one morning in the popular bistro of the little Québecois village of Three Pines, owned by the gay couple Olivier and Gabri. The local Czech community figures in, as well as a newly arrived couple who have refurbished the decrepit Hadley House up on the hill overlooking town, creating a hotel-spa with bridle trails. And there are priceless treasures, found in the hermit's little cabin hidden away deep in the forest. Braided throughout all this is a legend, or myth, or warning: of Chaos coming.

It's a fine story, though I was not convinced of the outcome. Sure, maybe the evidence pointed to the person who was convicted, but did all the actions and the motives? I believed one person's protest—"[The accused] didn't do it. . . . Why would [they] move the body?" Indeed—why? (I noticed in a comment on Goodreads that Penny's next book may take the story further—so of course I ordered it tout de suite. I may be disappointed and find no further clarification of this mystery, but I expect I'll get another whopping good tale regardless.)

Near the end of the book, Gamache flies to Haida Gawaii—the Queen Charlotte Islands off the coast of British Columbia—to try to learn more about the hermit and some exquisite carvings he'd found in the cabin. There, he is taken to a remote and special spot, where he is introduced to John the Watchman—watching over the Haida legacy and future. Landing on the island,

[Gamache had] been so struck by the surroundings, by the Watchman, by the frigid water, he'd failed to see what was actually there. Now he saw. Standing on the very edge of the forest was a solemn semicircle of totem poles.
 Gamache felt all his blood rush to his core, his center.
 "This is Ninstints," whispered [Haida woodcarver] Will Sommes.
 Gamache didn't answer. He couldn't. He stared at the tall poles into which was carved the Mythtime, that marriage of animals and spirits. Killer whales, sharks, wolves, bears, eagles and crows were all staring back at him. And something else. Things with long tongues and huge eyes, and teeth. Creatures unknown outside the Mythtime, but very real here.
 Gamache had the feeling he was standing at the very edge of memory.
 Some totem poles were straight and tall, but most had tumbled over or were lurching sideways.
 "We are all fishermen," said Will. "Esther was right. The sea feeds our bodies, but that feeds our souls." He opened his hands in a simple, small gesture toward the forest.
 John the Watchman spoke softly as they picked their way among the totem poles.
 "This is the largest collection of standing totem poles in the world. The site's now protected, but it wasn't always. Some poles commemorate a special event, some are mortuary poles. Each tells a story. The images build on each other and are in a specific and intentional order."
 "This is where Emily Carr did much of her painting," said Gamache.
 "I thought you'd like to see it," said Sommes.
 "Merci. I'm very grateful to you."

I enjoy Gamache, and his crew—Beauvoir, Lacoste, and now Agent Morin. I enjoy the "usual suspects" of Three Pines: Clara and Peter, Myrna, the irascible Ruth and her duck, Rosy. And of course Olivier and Gabri. Plus now the new characters, the Parra family, Old Mundin and The Wife, and the Gilberts, reviving the old Hadley place. One reason I enjoy reading series from the beginning is the development. We get a little of that here. It's like running into old friends: you just catch right back up.

Noticing lxxxi - Haida (First Nation) woodcarving

In the book The Bitter Telling, Chief Inspector Gamache makes a trip to Haida Gwaii (aka the Queen Charlotte Islands) of British Columbia to follow up some clues. There he meets a well-known Haida woodcarver, and visits the abandoned settlement of Ninstints, or Gwaii Haanas (meaning "Islands of Beauty"). Ninstints (so called after a powerful mid-19th-century Haida chief), on SG̱ang Gwaay Llnagaay (Red Cod Island, aka Anthony Island), is a real place, designated in 1981 as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Located within the greater Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve and Haida Heritage Site, it preserves the largest assemblage of Haida totem poles and long house ruins in their original locations. The settlement of some 300 was decimated in the 1860s by a smallpox epidemic, and the remaining villagers departed around 1880 for the larger town of Skidegate (also home to a number of totem poles).

Here are some images of the Ninstints totem poles:

These examples display the woodcarving prowess of the Haida people—a craft that remains very much alive today (and extends to the traditional black stone argillite, a relative of shale). Here are some contemporary examples:

Robert Davidson, Greatest Echo (2014), red cedar

Sgwaayaans (T.J.) Young, Eyes in the Sky Mask (n.d.),
red cedar, cedar bark, operculum shell

Jay Simeon, Beaver/Eagle Frontlet (n.d.),
yellow cedar and abalone

Donald Edgar, Killer Whale Pendant (n.d.), argillite

Freda Diesing, Kingfisher Headdress (1999),
alder and leather

Carol Young (Bagshaw), Frog Bowl (n.d.), alder

Darrell White, Grizzly Maskette (n.d.),
argillite, catlinite, abalone, mastodon ivory, 14 kt gold, yew base

Don Yeomans, Eagle Spirit Mask (n.d.), alder

Ben Davidson, Beaver Panel (n.d.), red cedar

I got most of these exemplars from Spirit Wrestler Gallery in Vancouver, BC. There are many, many more beautiful pieces to enjoy there.

Finally, here's a nice little video discussing Haida carving art:

Noticing lxxx - "Colm Quigley Lament"

I am a little over halfway through the Louise Penny book The Brutal Telling, in a scene in a cabin deep in the woods where a murder was committed. In the cabin is a priceless violin (among many other priceless objects), and a young police officer, Morin, knows how to play, not violin, but fiddle. Chief Inspector Gamache asks him to play them a tune.

What came out surprised them all. A Celtic lament left the bow, left the violin, left the agent. It filled the cabin, filled the rafters. Almost into the corners. The simple tune swirled around them like colors and delicious meals and conversation. And it lodged in their chests. Not their ears, not their heads. But their hearts. Slow, dignified, but buoyant. It was played with confidence. With poise.
 Agent Morin had changed. His loose-limbed awkward body contorted perfectly for the violin, as though created and designed for this purpose. To play. To produce this music. His eyes were closed and he looked the way Gamache felt. Filled with joy. Rapture even. Such was the power of this music. This instrument.

In the comments, I saw that many other people listened to this tune because they were reading The Brutal Telling. The scene really makes you want to hear it. Well done, Louise Penny!

Noticing lxxix - Charlie Kaufman, screenwriter

In 2015

Last night we watched Charlie Kaufman's first movie (as writer), Being John Malkovich (1999; dir. Spike Jonze). We'd seen it before, but forgotten how it played out—which is, crazily. It's a crazy premise to begin with—a portal into actor John Malkovich's consciousness for fifteen minutes?—but it just keeps getting crazier. Brilliant! If disturbingly so.


What must it be like to be in Charlie Kaufman's head? I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. Seeing the results of what's in his head is plenty.

I've also seen Adaptation (2002; dir. Spike Jonze), Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004; Kaufman won Best Original Screenplay for that one), Synecdoche, New York (2008; Kaufman's directorial debut), and the animated Anomalisa (2015). Adaptation may be on my list of favorite movies of all time, if I were to sit down and actually think about such a list.

That leaves Human Nature (2001) and Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (2002) that I haven't seen, with two more on the way: I'm Thinking of Ending Things (2020) and Chaos Walking (in post-production), both of which sound rather creepy/scary.

I may have to queue these up and watch them, again or for the first time. When I'm in the mood for something mind-bending, playing with the boundaries between fiction and reality, identity and memory, who I am and who you are.

I've collected a few articles about Charlie Kaufman for future perusal:

"Being Charlie Kaufman" by Lynn Hirschberg, NYT, 2000 (after Being John Malkovich)
"Charlie Kaufman & Spike Jonze: Twin Pleasures" by Roger Ebert, Roger Ebert Interviews, 2002 (about Adaptation)
"Charlie Kaufman on Weirdness, Failure, and His New Puppet Noir" by Jonathan Romney, Guardian, 2015 (about Anomalisa)
"Charlie Kaufman: In Conversation" by Adam Sternbergh, New York, 2015
"From Pen to Screen: An Interview with Charlie Kaufman" with Neil McGlone, 2016
"Charlie Kaufman Reflects on His Career: I Feel Like I F*cking Blew It" by David Ehrlich, IndieWire, 2016
"How Charlie Kaufman Uses the Extraordinary to Explain the Ordinary" by Peter Suderman, Vox, 2016 (also about Anomalisa)
"I'm in You: Director Spike Jonze and Screenwriter Charlie Kaufman Talk Being John Malkovich" by Scott Macaulay, Filmmaker, 2019

For starters.

Here are a couple of videos, including, at the end, "Inspirational Writing Advice from Charlie Kaufman," for the BAFTA lecture series On Writing:

The screenplays for many of Kaufman's films and TV shows can be found here.

Noticing lxxviii - Desert Island Discs

In the book I'm working on (and just finished, praise be!), the author mentions a BBC show called Desert Island Discs. I'd never heard of it, but of course, I don't regularly listen to BBC4. (Though these days I easily could, via Sonos and "My Radio." Maybe I'll program it in.)

The show was first broadcast in January 1942, on the wartime BBC Forces Programme. It has played uninterrupted since. Guests are asked to imagine themselves as desert island castaways, and to choose eight recordings (typically music), a book, and a luxury item—inanimate and of no use for escaping the island or communicating with the outside world—that they would want to have with them. (They are automatically given the works of Shakespeare and the Bible or a similar religious or philosophical tome.) They then discuss their choices in the context of their lives.

What a fabulous idea!

The most requested luxury item has been a grand piano; the most requested books, Jane Austen or Charles Dickens; and the most popular piece of music, the "Ode to Joy."

Very few episodes from the first twenty years of the show still exist, either because they simply weren't recorded or because the BBC had a policy of eventually wiping recorded shows. The earliest show known to exist is from 1951, with actress Margaret Lockwood. The online archive as of today comprises 2,239 episodes, with upcoming shows listed as well (for live streaming?).

There are various Desert Island Disc Collections, such as Oscar winners, motivational women, those who chose telescopes as a luxury, and satirists.

I'm going to check this show out. As I scroll through a few of the interviewees, I'm intrigued, for example, by

The Kumasi Market (1962)

Maya Angelou, who in 1987 chose Max Roach, Robert Flack, Stevie Wonder, Sarah Vaughan, Frank Sinatra, George Gershwin, and Ray Charles; the edited volume Negro Caravan; and The Kumasi Market painting by John T. Biggers.

Zadie Smith: her book, À la recherche du temps perdu by Marcel Proust; a few of her music choices: Billie Holliday's "Easy Living," Prince's "Pop Life," and Mozart's Requiem.

Gloria Steinem, in 2016: her music choices include Petula Clark's "Downtown," Mozart's Queen of the Night aria "Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen," Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely," and Antonio Vivaldi's "Winter"; her book: Alice Walker's The Color Purple.

George Clooney, in 2009: music includes Pink Floyd, Dinah Washington, Bobby Darin, and (seriously, George?) William Shatner doing "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds"; his book: War and Peace. He also requested an anchored yacht as his luxury item (the moderators, Wikipedia notes, grew increasingly lax as to what was allowed in this category—seems like with a luxury yacht, even one at anchor, you could pretty easily flee the island... unless perhaps it had no fuel?).

And so on: there are 2,235 more interviewees to choose from. No end of fun! I will definitely be checking this show out. Maybe I'll start with George, to see what he was thinking with his "Lucy" choice.

And now, to ponder what my own choices would be. It's not that easy... But there would definitely be Mozart. Probably the 21st Piano Concerto, K. 467.

Noticing lxxvii - Fremont Peak State Park

Our tradition on New Year's Day is to go for a hike—preferably someplace new. Today we chose Fremont Peak State Park, in part because it has a few geocaches, and we "needed" to find one today (for a "souvenir," called Welcome 2020—utterly silly, but we play along), in part because it's not too terribly far away (though the 11-mile road up to the top is very twisty, turny, and narrow, so although it may be closer than Santa Cruz as the crow flies, I'm not sure where it stands timewise), in part because we hadn't been to Fremont Peak in donkeys' years.

In fact, I believe we've only been to the top twice: once when we first moved here, so back around 1990; we spent the night in a tent, with our first cat, the beloved—and intrepid—Tisiphone, who brought us rodent treats in the night. The second time was with a few friends on bicycles. We actually rode up the twisty, turny, narrow—and did I mention decidedly upward?—county road on our bicycles. And made it! We were younger then, and stronger. On the way down, which I'd been looking forward to—wheeeeeee!—my seat broke: came right off. Which made sitting down, well, impossible. On the upside, it didn't break on the ride up, when I really needed to sit. Then again, 11 miles (or however many: it may have broken toward the end of the trip—let's hope so!) standing on your pedals is not something I ever want to do again.

So no, it had been maybe two decades since we'd ventured up to Fremont Peak. It was time!

And it was a lovely day for some hiking, and views.

Undated portrait by
George Peter Alexander Healy

The park is named for John Charles Frémont (1813–1890), an American explorer, military officer, and politician. (The peak is traditionally known as Gavilan, or Hawk, Peak.) In February 1846, as a captain in the U.S. Army Corps of Topographical Engineers, Frémont and 60 armed surveyors climbed the 3,173-foot mountain overlooking Mission San Juan Bautista to assess its military value. In response to the threat, the local Mexican authority, General José Castro, ordered Frémont and his men to leave California. The local U.S. consul in Monterey, Thomas Larkin, agreed that they should leave. In defiance, Frémont built a small stockade and erected a U.S. flag on one of the hilltops near the peak. Castro massed some of his forces. One night, the wind rose and knocked the flag down—which Frémont (perhaps to save face) interpreted as an omen, and off he scuttled.

Also undated

That is just one incident in a long, long story of expeditioning, soldiering, surveying, and generally working hard to expand the U.S. territories. A few years after that incident—and after California joined the United States in August 1846—Frémont became one of the first two U.S. senators from California, and later still, in 1856, he ran for president as the first candidate of the brand-new Republican Party. He lost to James Buchanan. And oh, there's so much more, including service in the Civil War, another run for president on a different ticket, and eventually territorial governor of Arizona. A very colorful life indeed. (You can read more about him in Wikipedia.)

In any case, today the state park, established in 1936 with 188 acres, is the site of a couple of small campgrounds, some modest hiking trails, an observatory with a 30-inch f/4.8 Newtonian "Challenger" telescope, and local broadcast (TV and radio) antennas.

We found six caches, and did not find one; also learned a lot of very interesting geology via three earth caches—about barite, which was briefly mined here (1916–20); about limestone and dolomite; and how geology—in this case, underlying granite vs. limestone—impacts plant communities.

Here are a few photos I took, SOOC. Click on them to view large on black.

Our first caching stop

One of the earth caches invited us to differentiate
limestone/marble from dolomite: this is the former,
though it was often tricky to distinguish the dolomite,
which is more uniformly gray and "pocked"—
sometimes the "pocking" seemed linear, which reminded us
of layers, which are a hallmark of limestone.

Fremont Peak itself: a magnet for people wanting a
short walk and a stellar view

The clouds were staying on the southern slope,
not spilling over

I'm thinking this is dolomite

View from the peak down on the antennas

A California buckeye (Aesculus californica), just
starting to show signs of budding; in another month or so
this tree will be bursting with brilliant green

The transition from granite to limestone, and from
chaparral/manzanita to oak/pine woodland

Goodbye, Fremont Peak: we may not be back to see you
again before another twenty years have passed . . .
but who knows?