The There There Letter: Vague-dogging, Varietal-wines, and a Vanished-Republic
Three things from DAH.
DAH is me, David Anthony Hance. I pen, promote, and make change (not the coin kind).
First up this week, Vague-dogging …
I think my theme this week is something to do with things that once were that aren't and things that once weren't that are. I think. Our oldest dog, Jacque Just Jacque (aka Barky McBarkface or J3) has taken to what I call "vague-dogging." He stops and stands and stares in an unfocused manner. It's an interesting counterpoint to his jogging around the pool barking (he's deaf). Concerned about his vague-dogging I did an online search, but none of the dire conditions outlined online fit Jacque. Here's when vague-dogging occurs: on a walk when we come to a possible turn or street crossing (he has three regular routes that he chooses between); in the house when he's too slow off the mark and one of the other dogs gets to J3's objective first; when he's not sure where I am (when he also might just bark). It's like his brain freezes up: "I want, but what? And how?" Repeat, repeat, repeat. And I realized today that I'm as challenged as Jacque. I notice that many people have that brain freeze issue: "I want, but what? And how?" Some people get angry and frustrated. Others, like me, just vague-dog for a while. It's a kind of meditation when pondering, I guess. My rescue dog is home-schooling me.
Canine Confidential: Why Dogs Do What They Do (book review)
Second up this week, Varietal-wines …
These days in wine there seem to be four "regular" types of which my friends are aware: varietal wines (named for the primary grape variety--Chardonnay, Cabernet Sauvignon, and so on), red blends, rose/pink wines, and sparkling wines. Yet it wasn't long ago that varietal wines weren't really a type at all, except in Alsace. Old World wines were named for the regions where they were grown. New World wines were named after Old World wines (even if they weren't very like them). It's only over the past 50 years that varietal naming has become commonplace. We've taken it for granted for so long that many wine folks were surprised by the red blend and rose/pink wine phenomena when varietal names weren't the point at all. Even if they take a while, I find tidal changes like this rather reassuring.
The Varietal Revolution
Third up this week, a Vanished-Republic …
When I decided that I wanted to keep on living in Northern California I had two potential wine region destinations in mind: Mendocino County with its redwood forests and rugged coast, and the Sierra Foothills steeped in Gold Rush romance. I ended up in Mendocino County, but I still fancy the Sierra Foothills ... Copperopolis, Fiddletown, Malakoff Diggins, Rough and Ready. Rough and Ready rests some 60 miles from Sacramento, just west of Grass Valley. It's almost gone today. Rough and Ready was named for Zachary Taylor, the 12th President of the United States, who earned the nickname "Old Rough and Ready" during his military service. I learned recently that there was once, for a few months, a Great Republic of Rough and Ready when that community voted itself out of the United States in outrage over the taxes levied by that dad-gum Guv'ment. The Republic didn't last long. Its secessionist tide receded forever in time to celebrate U.S.Independence Day in the same year as Rough and Ready's secession. I expect that irony was lost on the Great Republic's citizenry.
The first U.S. town to secede from the Union, only to vote themselves right back in.
And a bit more, by Kate Baer (and included in her 2020 book of poetry What Kind of Woman https://bookshop.org/books/what-kind-of-woman-poems/9780063008427) ...
For My Daughter on a Bad Day
Life will rough you up. Throw you to the
shore like a wave crashing--sand in your
hair, blood in your teeth. When grief sits
with you, hand dipped with rage, let it
linger. Hold its pulse in your hands. There
is no remedy for a bad haircut or ruined
love like time. Even when death is coming,
even when the filth rises in the back of
your throat--
this is not the worst of it. And if it is?
Listen for the catbird calling. No matter
the wreckage, they still sing for you.
And that's all for this week.
From Mary Oliver’s poem "Sometimes" …
DAH is me, David Anthony Hance. I pen, promote, and make change (not the coin kind).
First up this week, Vague-dogging …
I think my theme this week is something to do with things that once were that aren't and things that once weren't that are. I think. Our oldest dog, Jacque Just Jacque (aka Barky McBarkface or J3) has taken to what I call "vague-dogging." He stops and stands and stares in an unfocused manner. It's an interesting counterpoint to his jogging around the pool barking (he's deaf). Concerned about his vague-dogging I did an online search, but none of the dire conditions outlined online fit Jacque. Here's when vague-dogging occurs: on a walk when we come to a possible turn or street crossing (he has three regular routes that he chooses between); in the house when he's too slow off the mark and one of the other dogs gets to J3's objective first; when he's not sure where I am (when he also might just bark). It's like his brain freezes up: "I want, but what? And how?" Repeat, repeat, repeat. And I realized today that I'm as challenged as Jacque. I notice that many people have that brain freeze issue: "I want, but what? And how?" Some people get angry and frustrated. Others, like me, just vague-dog for a while. It's a kind of meditation when pondering, I guess. My rescue dog is home-schooling me.
Canine Confidential: Why Dogs Do What They Do (book review)
Second up this week, Varietal-wines …
These days in wine there seem to be four "regular" types of which my friends are aware: varietal wines (named for the primary grape variety--Chardonnay, Cabernet Sauvignon, and so on), red blends, rose/pink wines, and sparkling wines. Yet it wasn't long ago that varietal wines weren't really a type at all, except in Alsace. Old World wines were named for the regions where they were grown. New World wines were named after Old World wines (even if they weren't very like them). It's only over the past 50 years that varietal naming has become commonplace. We've taken it for granted for so long that many wine folks were surprised by the red blend and rose/pink wine phenomena when varietal names weren't the point at all. Even if they take a while, I find tidal changes like this rather reassuring.
The Varietal Revolution
Third up this week, a Vanished-Republic …
When I decided that I wanted to keep on living in Northern California I had two potential wine region destinations in mind: Mendocino County with its redwood forests and rugged coast, and the Sierra Foothills steeped in Gold Rush romance. I ended up in Mendocino County, but I still fancy the Sierra Foothills ... Copperopolis, Fiddletown, Malakoff Diggins, Rough and Ready. Rough and Ready rests some 60 miles from Sacramento, just west of Grass Valley. It's almost gone today. Rough and Ready was named for Zachary Taylor, the 12th President of the United States, who earned the nickname "Old Rough and Ready" during his military service. I learned recently that there was once, for a few months, a Great Republic of Rough and Ready when that community voted itself out of the United States in outrage over the taxes levied by that dad-gum Guv'ment. The Republic didn't last long. Its secessionist tide receded forever in time to celebrate U.S.Independence Day in the same year as Rough and Ready's secession. I expect that irony was lost on the Great Republic's citizenry.
The first U.S. town to secede from the Union, only to vote themselves right back in.
And a bit more, by Kate Baer (and included in her 2020 book of poetry What Kind of Woman https://bookshop.org/books/what-kind-of-woman-poems/9780063008427) ...
For My Daughter on a Bad Day
Life will rough you up. Throw you to the
shore like a wave crashing--sand in your
hair, blood in your teeth. When grief sits
with you, hand dipped with rage, let it
linger. Hold its pulse in your hands. There
is no remedy for a bad haircut or ruined
love like time. Even when death is coming,
even when the filth rises in the back of
your throat--
this is not the worst of it. And if it is?
Listen for the catbird calling. No matter
the wreckage, they still sing for you.
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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