Weather Alert!

The presentation I did at Rowland Heights Library was a day to remember! Unfortunately the temperature when we left the air-conditioned library was 106º. The next day it was 111º.  I'm sorry, but I lack energy when it gets that hot.
     When our triple-digit spell is over I plan to do a review of the Rowland Heights experience. Many things echoed the purpose of this blog--Chaucer Ain't Like Gospel. We can question what has been taught in the past. We can propose new and different ideas. That's just what Helen and Linda and Tom did. I'll be back soon to tell you all about it.

An APP by any other name . . .

Please consider this a public service announcement. I have a granddaughter who is savvy about new internet technology. She recently sent a message to her friends and family which looks mighty important--even though I don't understand what it means. But I'm sure many of you will.

Here it is, word for word:

I have discovered the Overdrive Media Console app and my reading life will never be the same. I can check out library books onto my Kindle. Oh yeah!

Now doesn't that look important? Enjoy!

Y'all come!

I'm pleased to announce that I've been invited by the Rowland Heights Library to give a presentation. My subject? Chaucer! What else?

I'll tell you about the moment that changed my life forever. I mean exactly that. And we'll play a game that gives you the opportunity to experience that same amazing moment your self!

If you live near LA--or will be visiting in mid-September--the date and time are:
Saturday, September 13 at 2 p.m.

The address of the library is:
1850 Nogales St., Rowland Heights, CA 91748

My books and t-shirts will also be available.
Would love to see you there.

Now for something completely different!

I just past 20 years of attending the San Dimas writers' group. Their critiquing has been vital to the Chaucer books I've published. When I attended for the first time I wanted to make a good impression; I feared they'd find Chaucer too weird, too stuffy. (It turned out that I was wrong; they became fascinated.) Anyway, here is that initial offering--a "safe" piece of general interest about a personal experience.

One Thing Left to Do

Two dogs . . . long-time friends . . . sleeping cozily, legs intertwined. So what changed things? They both wanted to catch the 'possum in the yard that night. That must have been it--"It created an instinctive rivalry." So after that they never went out together at night--"One of them in the dog run and then the other. No possibility of a problem. That's the answer." So we thought.

     But the afternoon I was picking apricots in the yard, it happened. Both dogs had been sunning themselves in the run, and then . . . I couldn't believe my ears . . . a snapping bark, a long, low growl, some thrashing about and then a piercing shriek. It wasn't the night or the 'possum We didn't have the answer.

     I dropped the box of apricots and dashed for the back gate of the run, shouting "No! No!" a word our obedience-trained dogs understood. But the screeching and thrashing just became more agitated. I slammed the gate closed behind me.

     How could I save them from themselves? My mind raced. "Ted's not home. The neighbors aren't about to get involved with two Dobermans fighting. What can I do? . . . The hose!" I snatched up the hose that was lying on the ground and rushed into the cloud of dust they were kicking up. Their teeth were sunk into the side of each other's face. Blood was already oozing down their necks and onto their chests. I smacked their rumps with the hose. "Kukla, NO! Tabitha, NO!" Through their growling and screaming, they never heard me.

     One good thing, their rearing and tossing was moving them toward the gate near the house. "If I can get one into the yard and keep the other in the run that would be the end of it." I dropped the  hose and grabbed onto Kukla's collar, pulling this 70 pound dynamo closer to the gate each time her feet left the ground as Tabitha, the larger of the two, jerked her off balance. Finally I was close enough to undo the latch and open the chain link gate just far enough for one dog to pass through. How I did it, I don't know, but, still hanging onto Kukla I kneed Tabitha in the chest, forcing her backward through the opening.

     I pushed the gate closed as far as I could but the dogs' jaws never released their hold. I moved the gate little by little, trying not to add to their injuries. At last, the latch fell into place and I released Kukla's collar. But the barrier wasn't enough. Even though they were on either side of the gate now, their hold had never slacked. Through the gap between the gate and the post they still hung on. Froth and blood were running down the chain links. "Lord, what more can I do? . . . Water! Why did I think of it before?"

     With the water turned on high, I aimed the flow from the hose directly into their faces; there was no visible reaction. But I continued the water because it was my only hope. Then, after several minutes, they simply let go of each other. Tabitha, panting, lay down on her side on the walkway. Kukla sat and licked the gash in her thigh.

     I turned off the water, went into the kitchen, close the door and dropped onto the nearest chair. Not until then did I realize my heart was pounding. I sat there trembling, tears running down my face. But soon I was overwhelmed with thankfulness. It was over. Now there was only one thing left to do: decide which of my "friends," which of my dogs, must go.

    

What an attractive number!

Several years ago my grandson Andy and Judy Hernandez' son Chris--both young men with talent and know-how--made a video of a talk I gave about what Chaucer has hidden in the Canterbury Tales. Later Bill, my webmaster, put the video on YouTube.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20MzPHFmgSA

Now, I know that some hits come from robots. Nevertheless, the number it has reached is just so attractive that I think it's time to rejoice. Yesterday it broke 1000. It's now at 1013 as I write this.

Rejoice with me!

Let's look at Leo

In the entries called "Written in the Stars" (April 2012), I gave the cosmic clues for Leo. Now let's take a more detailed look. Chaucer's allegory provides a variety of information beneath the surface image of the Monk, that is, Leo.
     Chaucer's depiction of a lion as a man participates in the witticism among manuscript illustrators of the Middle Ages. Various animal could be seen walking erect in grand procession while wearing liturgical vestment. 
















These examples are not perfect, but they are the best I found online.
     Lions, well known from early times, were admired for fierceness and bravery. The Monk is portrayed as no poor cloisterer or novice, but masterful of muscles and bones. The Host questions why the Monk's cope is so wide, which draws attention to the lion's splendid mane. Then, an odd remark about the elegance of the Monk's skin sets the pattern. Isn't his attractive skin what we notice first about a lion? A succession of body parts are admired: sleeves "trimmed" with the finest fur; boots that are supple; his head smooth, bright and shining.
     Called a "prikasour," he is someone who pierces, punctures. When the Host is at a loss as to how to address the Monk, he settles on "daun Piers" as the Monk's name--a play on pierce.
     Recalling that a pilgrim's mode of transport (horse) discloses facts about the pilgrim himself, the Monk's horse is appropriately brown as a berry.
     Twice his voice is said to be loud as a church bell. Such intensity of sound compares to the mighty roar of a lion.
     The Monk's eyes are "stepe," that's elevated or wide-open: "elevated" in the constellation; "wide-open" as an allusion to the medieval belief that a lion never closed its eyes, not even to sleep. When we are told that his eyes glow--hardly a human trait--it indicates the star Algieba.
     It's no surprise that the Monk is a master at hunting. His celestial dogs, generally associated with Orion, are "as swift as fowl in flight." For all his expertise, he aims not for big game, but for lowly hares--the constellation Lepus. Swan, his favorite roast, is Cygnus.
     Leo's figure has three prominent stars. The curious gold pin below the Monk's chin denotes brilliant Regulus, often called "the Lion's Heart." Next is the "love-knot in the greater end." What is a Monk's greater end? There is no confusion in the constellation; Denebola (Arabic, "the Lion's Tail) marks the end of Leo's tail. A third star, Algieba, above Regulus, is called "Brow of the Lion."
     Leo had strong astrological significance. Fierceness of the lion caused the unrelenting heat of midsummer. Ancient astrologer Manilius claimed the sign was "a predator" intending unmitigated disaster. The individual stars have their own influences. Regulus, according to early English astrologers, brought glory, riches and power to those born under the sign. Note that there is no promise of happiness. Denebola held portents of misfortune and disgrace. And medieval doctors, who were guided by the stars, blamed Leo if potentially curative baths and properly prescribed medicines resulted in a relapse rather that a cure!
     The mythical explanation of the celestial lion says that Hercules, in the first of his twelve tasks, kills a lion with his bare hands. In commemoration, the lion became a zodiac sign. Later biblical conversions identified Leo as the Lion of Judah, or one of the lions that did no harm to Daniel while he was in the lion's den.
     Chaucer uses several of the preceding identities in the Tale the Monk/Leo tells. These are stories of the lives (and deaths) of prominent figures demonstrating the power and riches of those born in Leo--and the misfortune and distress. His seventeen little stories each reveal how the featured person falls into unspeakable misery. There is no relief to the misfortunes--being crushed, poisoned, starved to death or hanged, along with assorted suicides and murders.
     We've saved the most spectacular celestial feature for last. In mid-November, there is a meteor shower, the Leonids, that issues from the constellation. Records of the Leonids go back almost to the birth of Christ. At the peak of a thirty-year cycle (Nov. 12, 1833), hundreds of thousands of shooting stars were observed in one night. In 1966, Arizona saw another peak display when over 100,000 meteors per hour were seen.
     And how are the Leonids portrayed by Chaucer? He translates this visual phenomenon to an audible one. The Monk rode "in a whistling wind" (to indicate November) and, "men might hear his bridle jingling." The poet refers a second time to the splendid show as the "clinking of your bells, / That on your bridle hang on every side."
      Such a rich portrait and how entertaining! Chaucer delights in drawing from many possible aspects.
    

Have you hiked the Grand Canyon?

An email from a friend who wants to hike the Canyon has momentarily distracted me from my yard sale preparations.

I lived in "Flag" (Flagstaff) for two years around 1960 in a house across the street from Arizona State College. (Now Northern Arizona University.) The college had a sightseeing caravan for newcomers to acquaint them with local attractions: the San Francisco Peaks, scenic backdrop of the town; Oak Creek Canyon, with walls of evergreens and a road that leads to the red rock formations at Sedona; and Wupatki Indian ruins. But the highlight was the Grand Canyon.
     The view is splendid, truly awesome. Its immensity is breathtaking, the stark beauty beyond description. I had an irresistible desire to know the Canyon.
     I took some courses at the college and became acquainted with Roma Butchart and her husband, Dr. Harvey Butchart, chairman of the math department. It was well known that Harvey spent a lot of time in the Canyon, but that meant little to me aside from its being his "hobby."
     Not until many years later did I learn that Harvey's "hobby" had made him the recognized authority on the Canyon. The Park Service asked him to write the book on the Canyon. His detailed journals were the basis. "Butchart methods" now aid novices as well as veteran hikers.
     When Roma heard that I would move to California at the end of the school year, she offered to hike the Canyon with me, but she had one stipulation: "We must go before the end of April." She had "done" the Canyon six times already. Those who know never go to the bottom from May to October. Why? Because the temperature at the river is the same as that of Phoenix!
     Saturday would be the day. We'd go down the steeper Kaibab Trail and up Bright Angel, a gentler grade with covered rest stops and water fountains. The plan had to be reversed, however, because wild horses were being brought up Kaibab that morning. We descended Bright Angel, trekked along the muddy, swift flowing river, crossed the bridge that spans the river and headed for the Phantom Ranch. Roma figured a swim in the pool at the ranch would be refreshing before our ascent. Another change of plans. The pool had been drained for maintenance. So, after a short rest, we crossed the bridge again and headed for the Kaibab Trail.
     When we reached the rim, it was dark but the moon lighted the trail. Were we tired? Twenty miles in a day? Of course we were, but fatigue was a small payment for my treasured memories. What a simple means of gaining this rare experience--just agree on a date and go.

Now to my friend's email that inspire this reminscence. About a year ago, I read that the Canyon has become an international attraction drawing an unbelievable number of visitors. The Park Service had plans to review the matter. Here is my friend's message:

 I haven't hiked the G C yet....and I want to....but it's complicated!....you must have a reservation, and you must make it a year in advance...just a pipe dream at the moment.

I didn't realize how privileged I'd been. The world has changed.