This week-before-Christmas your friends at The Clog Almanac found ourselves in some incongruous juxtapositions that just might fit the very definition of surreal:
While walking our two crippled rescue Corgis in an open field and counting a flock of about 400 American robins that had been previously feeding noisily in turns on drupes of the large camphor tree in the yard of Clog House Est. 1935, our eyes were drawn earthward from the skyborn tomato-soup-colored breasts of these south-wintering thrush-cousins by the more dulcet tones of a familiar melody blaring from the speakers of an ice-cream van slowly making its way through our north Florida neighborhood.
The van slowed, stopped, and the the driver's window rolled down. It was just then, as the music abruptly ceased, that we recognized the tune as the dreydl song. The red-cheeked gray-haired lady driving the van assumed a beneficent smile fit for the Pope, mustered a restrained Queen Elizabeth hand-wave at us, and shouted in a slow drawl as completely Florida-southern as smoked mullet, grits and fried okra, "It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas!"
We stood motionless, trying to process the scene while the van with its good-willed occupant lumbered away and the Hanukkah music resumed.
robin, corgi, clog almanac, surreal, surrealism, Christmas, Chanukkah, Hanukkah, dreidl, dreidel, dreydl, Yiddish, Florida
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
An Early Morning Rain
Clog-wife and I walked our two corgis before sunrise on this last Saturday of Autumn.
A soft rain came this morning just before first light, pattering on the unraked red oak leaves and gently drumming on the tin roof of Clog-house Est. 1935. The wife went back to bed, the dogs settled into drowsy silence and I had the calm and quiet world to myself. Rather than retire and nap until breakfast, I chose to take advantage of the peacefulness and spend time on the screened porch listening to the first stirrings of the birds and other creatures, and quietly intoning some of my tunes on the fiddle.
Gordon Lightfoot must have spent some days contemplating an early morning rain.
fiddle tunes, morning rain, first light, Gordon Lightfoot, corgi
A soft rain came this morning just before first light, pattering on the unraked red oak leaves and gently drumming on the tin roof of Clog-house Est. 1935. The wife went back to bed, the dogs settled into drowsy silence and I had the calm and quiet world to myself. Rather than retire and nap until breakfast, I chose to take advantage of the peacefulness and spend time on the screened porch listening to the first stirrings of the birds and other creatures, and quietly intoning some of my tunes on the fiddle.
Gordon Lightfoot must have spent some days contemplating an early morning rain.
fiddle tunes, morning rain, first light, Gordon Lightfoot, corgi
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