The There There Letter: Jam, Jumble, and Jug Wine
Three things from DAH. Free every Friday!
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DAH is me, David Anthony Hance. "She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen." (John Cusack as Lloyd Dobler in Say Anything)
First up this week, Jam …
How human life changed with learning how to preserve! Capturing the ripe character of grapes in a bottle is the essence of wine. And jam! Concentrated and luscious, best when it truly captures the growing season of the fruit. Some rich, ripe red wines are described as "jammy." Yes, I know some find jamminess in wine a flaw, but I'm not so doctrinaire. I prefer to lark a little with the notion of jammy, applying it to memory as well as taste. Certain moments are so clearly preserved in my mind, they're jammed with the truth and consequence of the moment lived. Such jammy memories owe as much to the memory-maker as they do the hard reality of the moment. Just as the jam owes the jam-maker and the wine owes the winemaker. The best preserves of any type are those that recall a moment, recall a memory, summoned as the jar or bottle is openned and shared. Yes, yes … there are non-interventionist ideals about wine, and jam, and all other preservations. But choices are made by those who make anything, choices that invariably shape the thing itself, and the memory that thing preserves.
A History of Jam and Preserves
Second up this week, Jumble …
My personal library is a jumble of books, forever being organized or not. When I think "jumble" I actually think "a word unscrambling game" or "a church rummage sale in England." But the word works for my book collection quite well, too. Before I recently packed all to move, there were four subjects proudly segregated. The books about Shakespeare and his age were, remarkably, almost all together. Alice in Wonderland (various editions and books about) lived down in a corner near the door. Sadly, books about Oxford and the Inklings were barely in Alice's neighborhood. A small section I was carving out for poetry and a few classic novels I planned to study (The Great Gatsby, Crime and Punishment, Moby Dick, Ulysses). And a nicely organized shelf of noir fiction (Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, some Ross Macdonald and a couple by James Crumley). But language, theater, nature, history, Victoriana, food, music, cooking, walking, photography, art, maps, London, mixed fiction … all these were in the general jumble. I have grand dreams about properly organizing when I unpack this time. I have grand dreams about properly organizing when I unpack every time. Too little time and too much distraction doom the dreams. Deep down, I suspect I accept and embrace the jumble and the sometimes inspiring adjacencies I discover in it.
15 Beautifully Messy Bookshelves
Third up this week, Jug Wine …
James Arthur Field passed away a month ago. The world of wine has changed, a lot, since he got started and I got interested … because of jug wine. In college I experienced wine, and beer, and higher proof products, but my mind was dulled rather than sparked by the experiences. One evening a girlfriend offered me a glass of wine: "My roommate's studying winemaking. He says this is pretty good." I map my long interest in wine to that first sip of Robert Mondavi White Table Wine. It was nothing like the sweet and sappy wines I'd had before, and I wondered why. How could one wine be so different from another? Answering that question has sucked up the best part of my life. All because of Bob White (the wine, not a person). Now, back to James Arthur Field, who started his jug wine business in 1976. This guy: buying, blending, and bottling just two wines, a white and a red. The label offered little beyond the color of wine and the James Arthur Field signature. This guy with a dream, selling such a focused line-up around Northern California. This guy with a dream I would have emulated, had I the guts and wherewithal. I admire purity of vision (despite my book jumble). Few wine brands have stuck to their knitting as well as did James Arthur Field. I miss his wines (and have since 2001 when he sold up).
James Arthur Field Obituary (1923-2022)
A Book I'm Reading Again After Many Years
poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words, by Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge
It's true. I do enjoy and value words. This sweet book ignites my word fire.
"This is a wonderful book -- smart, wide-eyed, joyful, hopeful, inspiring. You're going to love it, and love writing poetry more for having read it." (Anne Lamott, author of Bird by Bird)
And a bit more:
The Great Panjandrum, by Samuel Foote
So she went into the garden
to cut a cabbage-leaf
to make an apple-pie;
and at the same time
a great she-bear, coming down the street,
pops its head into the shop.
What! no soap?
So he died,
and she very imprudently married the Barber:
and there were present
the Picninnies,
and the Joblillies,
and the Garyulies,
and the great Panjandrum himself,
with the little round button at top;
and they all fell to playing the game of catch-as-catch-can,
till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of their boots.
And that's all for this week.
From Mary Oliver’s poem Sometimes …
You can subscribe and browse past issues HERE
DAH is me, David Anthony Hance. "She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen." (John Cusack as Lloyd Dobler in Say Anything)
First up this week, Jam …
How human life changed with learning how to preserve! Capturing the ripe character of grapes in a bottle is the essence of wine. And jam! Concentrated and luscious, best when it truly captures the growing season of the fruit. Some rich, ripe red wines are described as "jammy." Yes, I know some find jamminess in wine a flaw, but I'm not so doctrinaire. I prefer to lark a little with the notion of jammy, applying it to memory as well as taste. Certain moments are so clearly preserved in my mind, they're jammed with the truth and consequence of the moment lived. Such jammy memories owe as much to the memory-maker as they do the hard reality of the moment. Just as the jam owes the jam-maker and the wine owes the winemaker. The best preserves of any type are those that recall a moment, recall a memory, summoned as the jar or bottle is openned and shared. Yes, yes … there are non-interventionist ideals about wine, and jam, and all other preservations. But choices are made by those who make anything, choices that invariably shape the thing itself, and the memory that thing preserves.
A History of Jam and Preserves
Second up this week, Jumble …
My personal library is a jumble of books, forever being organized or not. When I think "jumble" I actually think "a word unscrambling game" or "a church rummage sale in England." But the word works for my book collection quite well, too. Before I recently packed all to move, there were four subjects proudly segregated. The books about Shakespeare and his age were, remarkably, almost all together. Alice in Wonderland (various editions and books about) lived down in a corner near the door. Sadly, books about Oxford and the Inklings were barely in Alice's neighborhood. A small section I was carving out for poetry and a few classic novels I planned to study (The Great Gatsby, Crime and Punishment, Moby Dick, Ulysses). And a nicely organized shelf of noir fiction (Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, some Ross Macdonald and a couple by James Crumley). But language, theater, nature, history, Victoriana, food, music, cooking, walking, photography, art, maps, London, mixed fiction … all these were in the general jumble. I have grand dreams about properly organizing when I unpack this time. I have grand dreams about properly organizing when I unpack every time. Too little time and too much distraction doom the dreams. Deep down, I suspect I accept and embrace the jumble and the sometimes inspiring adjacencies I discover in it.
15 Beautifully Messy Bookshelves
Third up this week, Jug Wine …
James Arthur Field passed away a month ago. The world of wine has changed, a lot, since he got started and I got interested … because of jug wine. In college I experienced wine, and beer, and higher proof products, but my mind was dulled rather than sparked by the experiences. One evening a girlfriend offered me a glass of wine: "My roommate's studying winemaking. He says this is pretty good." I map my long interest in wine to that first sip of Robert Mondavi White Table Wine. It was nothing like the sweet and sappy wines I'd had before, and I wondered why. How could one wine be so different from another? Answering that question has sucked up the best part of my life. All because of Bob White (the wine, not a person). Now, back to James Arthur Field, who started his jug wine business in 1976. This guy: buying, blending, and bottling just two wines, a white and a red. The label offered little beyond the color of wine and the James Arthur Field signature. This guy with a dream, selling such a focused line-up around Northern California. This guy with a dream I would have emulated, had I the guts and wherewithal. I admire purity of vision (despite my book jumble). Few wine brands have stuck to their knitting as well as did James Arthur Field. I miss his wines (and have since 2001 when he sold up).
James Arthur Field Obituary (1923-2022)
A Book I'm Reading Again After Many Years
poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words, by Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge
It's true. I do enjoy and value words. This sweet book ignites my word fire.
"This is a wonderful book -- smart, wide-eyed, joyful, hopeful, inspiring. You're going to love it, and love writing poetry more for having read it." (Anne Lamott, author of Bird by Bird)
And a bit more:
The Great Panjandrum, by Samuel Foote
So she went into the garden
to cut a cabbage-leaf
to make an apple-pie;
and at the same time
a great she-bear, coming down the street,
pops its head into the shop.
What! no soap?
So he died,
and she very imprudently married the Barber:
and there were present
the Picninnies,
and the Joblillies,
and the Garyulies,
and the great Panjandrum himself,
with the little round button at top;
and they all fell to playing the game of catch-as-catch-can,
till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of their boots.
And that's all for this week.
From Mary Oliver’s poem Sometimes …
Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
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