Breaking Bread

Last Thursday, the day starts off ordinary. A quotidian routine. Morning toast and tea. With whole milk. No sugar anymore; gave it up one Lent; never looked back, except for the occasional indulgence. It's so addictive to slide back into, but I don't miss that sweetness, not really. Shockingly sweet if sugar added. The bread is local, artisanal. Heidelberg Baking Company. Herkimer, New York. This morning, white. Excellent for toasting. But first the sliced pieces need delicate separating. Had we frozen this loaf? So, sliced is not quite sliced until my hands surgically finish the existential act. It is a careful operation. Attentive. Or else the pieces will crumble into untoastable morsels. But the division is complete and the toaster accepts this sacrifice. Breakfast is a quiet feast.

Lunch is a pleasant indulgence with a dear friend.

Supper at India House with wife, younger daughter, son, his wife.

Gifts, mostly books.

Wrapping paper.

Such was my 60th birthday.

Gratitude.

Found in the breaking of the bread.

Birthday Bash

Oh.

And happy birthday [insert comma here that people tend to erroneously leave out] Johann Sebastian Bach!

(We had hoped to go to Leipzig, where he now rests, but too expensive. Did enjoy Potsdam yesterday. Apologies: Don't have the right stuff here to transfer photos. Enjoy the word images, such as they are.)

Anniversary Inventory

Since, um, we last spoke, I have:

• Blown (careful, now) my Rudolph-red nose 7,829 times
• Sneezed 1,645 times.
• Slept 22.34 hours (but most of that in the last two days, aided by Benadryl; doing better, thank you)
  
• Celebrated the anniversary of my (premature; of course!) birth (December 18; yeah, not just Pawlie Kokonuts, but also the birth anniversary of Keith Richards, Steven Spielberg, Ray Liotta, Katie Holmes, Christina Aguilera, Steve Biko, Betty Grable, um, Keith Piper, et alia, but not Soren Kierkegaard; oh, I forgot Brad Pitt; must've been insecure sharing the klieg lights with him; also Ty Cobb, Paul Klee, DT Suzuki, too)
  
• Been treated to a luscious gourmet dinner for said anniversary
• Received a total of eight books (6.5 for my birthday anniversary); one set of Rothko notecards; one tin of shortbread cookies (Crabtree & Evelyn)
• Coordinated the writing, pricing, and distribution of two corporate proposals potentially worth a couple hundred thousand dollars, equal to about 25 euros, give or take
  

Thanks. One and all.

Carry on.

As you were.

Will the Thrill

San Francisco Giants fans dubbed Will Clark with the moniker "Will the Thrill." But as thunder rolls and a spring rain cascades, I salute a with a different will, Will (The Thrill) Shakespeare, on his birthday, or at least what passes for it (we can only deduce his birthday is April 23, because he was baptized April 26, customarily three days after birth; curiously, he also died on April 23).

The unfortunate thing about The Bard is that I can tell you as a former English teacher we mostly ruin him. "We murder to dissect," to quote Wordsworth. In other words, we often kill all the fun by dissecting his works for "meaning" and "interpretation." And we forget his plays were for seeing, not reading. And it wasn't high-brow stuff; more like professional wrestling than, say, educational TV. (This comes out nicely in the movie "Shakespeare in Love.")

In junior high (they call it middle school now), we had to memorize soliloquies of Shakespeare, from "Hamlet" or "Julius Caesar" or "Romeo and Juliet," among others. It was arduous but rewarding, even if we hardly had a clue as to what we were memorizing. (Do kids memorize anything anymore? he asks like an old curmudgeon.)

Of course, as with the Bible, out of context much of Shakespeare seems startlingly rude and violent and impolitic (like life). A guy named Thomas Bowdler tried to clean up Shakespeare and the word Bowdlerize (Bowdlerise, for Brits) survives. Did he venture the same effort on the Bible? (Apparently not, but he did so for The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon.) (Bowdler changed "Out, damned spot!" to "Out, crimson spot!" Imagine him going to town on some contemporary hip-hop lyrics; examples invited, Mr. Russell Simmons; see, The Laughorist is as up-to-date as a headline only hours old!.)

Shakespeare came alive for me as an English major in college. We did skits of various portions of "Twelfth Night." We played with it, we goofed around, we had a ball.

Just as Will did with the language.

"Unkennelled" [referred to in a post last week] was just one of thousands upon thousands of lustrous language gems Shakespeare played with. Ah, but I just made the common fatal error, elevating him to a dusty place on the bookshelf and forgetting all about "play."

So, all you readers, go commit some foreplay and chalk it up to Will the Thrill.

"Ripeness is all" --

now there's a juicy start, from "King Lear," thanks to Mr. S.

p.s. Shakespeare is of course often quoted out of context. My favorite out-of-context quote is

"To thine own self be true"

which is said in "Hamlet" by Polonius. But people forget he's a supercilious blowhard referencing what was surely a cliche even in Shakespeare's time.