tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71238603951656061392011-10-04T17:53:15.189-05:00<strong>werd-fu:</strong> 1. an ancient art<br>of self expression 2. one who is a<br>fool for prose, poetry, song lyrics,<br>and even individual wordsJ. Thorpnoreply@blogger.comBlogger3361100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-60104890506310846212011-04-13T15:54:00.000-05:002011-04-13T15:54:27.466-05:00

This blog has been renamed and relocated in its entirety. Find it here: Archangel Stomp.

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-17232199530684010682011-03-23T21:33:00.001-05:002011-03-23T21:34:01.995-05:00

Blogger's Note: The gist of this post is the this blog is moving to a new address, with a new look and feel and a brand-new name: Archangel Stomp. Our 2010 Holiday Letter is a good example of what's changing: same style and similar subject matter of content, but with a more deliberately Catholic bent. Please subscribe if you like, update your bookmarks, and don't worry...you can handle it! Some

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-83312040374529752982011-03-17T17:31:00.005-05:002011-03-17T17:38:06.662-05:00

Blogger's Note: It's a rare thing that I post twice in one day, but this has been percolating in my head for a few days now. Then earlier today, my friend at the Tales from the Domestic Church blog posted on Facebook that the spring air outside her office smelled "delicious." We're along way from flowers here, and though I appreciate the early (or earthy) signs of spring as much as anybody, decay

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-15712399833171026372011-03-17T08:58:00.014-05:002011-03-17T11:13:58.581-05:00

Blogger's Note: The soundtrack to this post is above. You can about imagine a bare-knuckles brawl a la The Quiet Man, can't you?It's St. Patrick's Day, which in the U.S. means wearing o' the green and drinkin' o' the beer. (Unfortunately, too many folks are drinking green beer tonight, instead of the real deal: thick, black, and pleasantly bitter.)I'll confess that I'm wearing green today. Am I

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-47788113539222506992011-03-16T16:31:00.002-05:002011-03-16T17:08:04.287-05:00

Yale has a tradition called Feb Club — as I recall, every night of the shortest month of the year (and the long denouement of winter) someone hosted a party somewhere in the general vicinity of Yale, and everyone was invited. 28 parties in 28 days. Intensity in ten cities (or at least three: New Haven, New York, and Boston). Or so I was told.See, I never did the whole Feb Club thing. Why? Wasn't

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-16854728963693946942011-03-15T22:01:00.011-05:002011-03-16T09:43:25.432-05:00

Blogger's Note: Three long summers (and three even longer winters) ago, I agreed to my friend Jacqui's challenge to read 15 Classics in 15 Weeks. I have since read 10 of 15, this being my tenth from the list. The last one, Homer's The Odyssey took 11 months, not because it was overly long or monotonous, but because it required a level of mental engagement I couldn't always give it. The same is

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-71299644945918026972011-03-09T13:30:00.007-06:002011-03-09T15:01:42.778-06:00

There is a paragraph from this year's Holiday Letter that has returned to me again and again in the past few months:"Ever wonder how God can know everything that will happen, even though we have free will and make our own decisions? St. Augustine talks about God as existing outside of time: He existed before time in any meaningful sense, so He can see all of time—past, present, and future—in an

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-72956096448552569272011-03-07T10:53:00.003-06:002011-03-07T11:22:45.303-06:00

First, let me say that, obviously, the idea of posting these Second Third entries on Wednesdays has fallen by the wayside. This is primarily because this winter has been crazy busy, especially since three Wednesdays a month, I teach Confirmation classes. So I'm settling for weekly, roughly. If I end on or about November 10th with The Second Third, Week 52, I shall declare victory.So...I had an

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-37953294735263713582011-02-24T17:19:00.009-06:002011-02-24T19:12:31.040-06:00

Blogger's Note: The whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here.Most regular readers (like, two out of the three) know that I met my bride while selling western boots one summer at Wall Drug. You might not know that I actually worked three summers at Wall Drug in an effort to be near my bride, and that each summer, I bought a new pair of boots.Up until a few moments ago I was

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-29770290747439229972011-02-23T11:49:00.003-06:002011-02-23T11:55:08.836-06:00

late morning ruckus: gleeful crows chase lone redtail,feigning indignance

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-85075962596580969302011-02-16T19:12:00.004-06:002011-02-16T22:38:03.646-06:00

Blogger's Note: Yes, yes...most of you know, but occasionally I get a new visitor. So in case you're that guy or gal, the whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here.My father's machinist-mentor Chuck used to have a slogan hanging on the wall of his shop, and to this day, Dad continues to quote it: Old age and treachery will overcome youth and skill. As you might guess, not

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-29661454383660012662011-02-16T15:52:00.007-06:002011-02-16T16:24:37.253-06:00

Blogger's Note: The whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here.So I should technically be writing Week 14 of this series, which proved to be far more interesting in my head than it appears on screen. This is last week's entry — exactly a week late and, ironically enough, about the tendency I have to overcommit myself.Several natural but unfortunate tendencies contribute to my

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-5478208916474009472011-02-07T19:59:00.007-06:002011-02-07T21:36:52.774-06:00

Blogger's Note: The whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here.Since high school at least — maybe even prior to that — I've wanted to write, if not for a living, than at least for kicks and a few extra bucks. I went to college thinking I wanted to teach biology, but a year of chemistry and lab alongside my first English class (a creative non-fiction course) tweaked my thinking

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-68505225222587653342011-02-02T22:02:00.007-06:002011-02-03T12:06:12.012-06:00

Blogger's Note: My Second Third post for this week is delayed tonight in favor of a movie post that is long overdue. WARNING: This could be chock full of spoilers!In February 1993, when the movie Groundhog Day was released, February 2 was an obscure observance, and Punxsutawney Phil was an obscure rodent attraction of which I, myself, had never heard. At that time Roger Ebert gave the film credit

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-18026334837722819592011-01-26T20:54:00.003-06:002011-01-26T21:29:00.451-06:00

Blogger's Note: The whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here.First, let me say that when I launched this Second Thirds thing, it wasn't supposed to become the only thing I'm writing here. That's not the intent, and I will get better about posting more.On a somewhat related point, ever been so busy you get nauseous if you look more than a few hours ahead? Most of today I

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-80435364201209542372011-01-19T15:54:00.011-06:002011-01-20T12:31:20.460-06:00

Blogger's Note: The whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here.When I left home for Yale, my folks left a cushion of money in my checking account. I'm thinking there was $150 of their money, hidden beneath the zero balance, in case I ever was in trouble and needed to come home. I never counted it as mine, so there was always $150 difference between my balance and the bank's.

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-10698602661339365702011-01-12T20:59:00.004-06:002011-01-12T21:58:55.845-06:00

Blogger's Note: The whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here.I love books. Though I've been known to ingest audiobooks on long road trips, I'm not an ebooks guy...there's no Kindle in my future. I like big, beautiful volumes that look like heirlooms; musty hardcovers with yellowed pages; beater paperbacks with the cracks of years in their spines. I like poetry, fiction, and

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-4775156661219756972011-01-05T19:53:00.012-06:002011-01-06T10:44:00.666-06:00

Blogger's Note: The whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here.I had intended to do a short post this evening about acknowledging and embracing the fact that I am not a rationale/logical decision-maker, but instead am an emotional/gut-level guy. Had I gone with my original idea, this post would be just about over: "I tend to make emotional decisions, but most of the time they

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-71921399272222158552011-01-03T20:23:00.006-06:002011-01-03T21:04:57.476-06:00

If you look at the list of blog tags to the right (and down), you'll see that "Rose" appears only about half as much as "Bren," "Gabe," or "Trev." A number of factors contribute to this discrepancy, including the fact that Brendan and Gabe are both older and have thus had more opportunity to do blogworthy stuff; the Trevor was more recently a toddler and preschooler and thus was more prone to do

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-30608401821993553002010-12-30T18:19:00.008-06:002010-12-31T11:32:58.292-06:00

Finally, the 2010 Thorp Family Christmas Letter is finished! It is long, yes; footnoted, of course; also bittersweet, overtly religious in places, and probably too much information. You've been warned; proceed accordingly...and Merry Christmas!

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-58327083183376197192010-12-29T21:58:00.003-06:002010-12-29T22:33:58.810-06:00

Blogger's Note: The whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here.This fall, I took Brendan deer hunting for the first time. We've never hunted for small game together, and he's never bow-hunted, so he's skipped two stages of development I passed through on my way to firearms deer season. And it turns out we live in Minnesota's shotgun zone — probably not such a big deal, given

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-9899791485011878222010-12-25T11:28:00.002-06:002010-12-25T11:39:04.395-06:00

Blogger's Note: Over Christmas 2003, we became annual pen-pals with an elf named Siberius Quill, and he has again delivered this year! Transcriptions of past letters from Quill can be seen here.Christmas 2010My dearest Children!Another year flown by already—and as I sat down to write you this evening, the Keeper of the Birthday Calendar, Monitor Milestone, reminded me that not only do you have a

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-22989116335568746082010-12-22T20:48:00.002-06:002010-12-22T21:01:36.717-06:00

Blogger's Note: The whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here.In my Second Third, I will not procrastinate my Christmas shopping, the Thorp Christmas Letter, none of it. I'll begin the day after Thanksgiving, and be wrapped by the Immaculate Conception. I'll have time to blog, and help with the baking, and brew a good holiday beer.Starting next year. Letter's coming.

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-12321954594060133982010-12-15T21:37:00.005-06:002010-12-15T22:16:21.972-06:00

Blogger's Note: The whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here.I like to cook because I like to eat. Even at an early age, I was somewhat particular about how things were made — for example, my dad taught be to put butter or margarine on a PB&J sandwich, because it makes the PB a little easier to swallow. To this day, one slice of bread gets a thin layer of butter, followed by

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-60044569367848931632010-12-11T16:44:00.005-06:002010-12-11T17:56:39.889-06:00

judeif life is a larger, later thing, what left this perfect child-size hole? what nameless wonder wrought such joy, such sorrow in so short a time, unseen? tiny saint — a soul unstained by flesh and blood, a heart too big for a bone cage — we feel your flutter, little one, and rejoice to know a piece of this love has found heaven.

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-47230760038315432492010-12-08T22:03:00.006-06:002010-12-09T09:14:54.166-06:00

Blogger's Note: The whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here. I tend to spend too much time "in my head," as a friend of mine would say. Ever read the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance? Well, I half-recommended it to my dad, in part because I thought he'd like the motorcycle parts, and in part because I admired it (which is not the same as liked). He read it,

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-65381010195057796172010-12-01T17:32:00.004-06:002010-12-01T20:06:17.785-06:00

Blogger's Note: The whole idea behind these "Second Third" posts can be found here. I've had multiple half-baked ideas for posts these past few weeks, but this one jumped to the forefront after reading Prairie Father's latest post. Kudos, Father Tyler, for sparking this. The choice between two goods is the very definition of a dilemma, don't you think?Here at the beginning of my Second Third,

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-73733692228652836542010-11-24T21:45:00.003-06:002010-11-30T21:29:22.732-06:00

I spent my first third, from infancy to 35, wanting more. I used to have this card with a terribly grouchy-looking man on it, touting the virtue of dissatisfaction as inspiration and motivation. I used to have a million things I wanted to do, including running for office. I had so much to say, and places to go, and stuff I wanted: new and old stuff; beautiful and functional stuff; all sorts of

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-83514210996423803752010-11-19T17:29:00.005-06:002010-11-19T17:49:33.683-06:00

So we went through a windy spell a few weeks back, and I made some comment about Mariah singing me to sleep. Then I googled the song, and found the video below. (I hadn't known where the song came from.)Then my good friend, Laura of Laura the Crazy Mama fame, commented how much she loves that song, and that her eldest daughter's middle name is Mariah...which was funny, because everyone calls her

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-33710820773727730512010-11-17T18:47:00.003-06:002010-11-17T21:19:27.260-06:00

Somewhere around ninth or tenth grade, I took my required high-school health class. Early that first semester, we were asked to set a fitness goal for ourselves. I was one of the small guys on the football team, and a mediocre wrestler, at best, with a large head, skinny build, and little natural athletic talent — so there was plenty of room for physical improvement.I thought about speed and

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-41616008384235201002010-11-16T07:04:00.005-06:002010-11-16T07:19:38.732-06:00

Before I left for Dallas, I mentioned to Jodi that I might try to go to Mass on Sunday at Cathedral Guadalupe.“That’s one of the nice things about your travel for work,” she said. “You get to see lots of cool churches.”Well, I didn’t make it to Cathedral for Mass. It was more than a mile from the hotel, and I didn’t know exactly how to get there on foot or what might be between it and me. My Aunt

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-40009083045108910152010-11-15T19:46:00.005-06:002010-11-15T22:29:11.927-06:00

I put the "Privacy" sign up on my door this afternoon because I was working and hadn't messed the room up enough or used enough towels to require housekeeping. A little after noon, someone quietly slipped a card under the door, basically saying that in order to respect my wishes not to be disturbed, they would be unable to service my room — but that if I needed anything, to please call

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-14949537108080761652010-11-10T21:32:00.004-06:002010-11-10T22:55:21.412-06:00

I turned 36 years old today. Last year on this date I joked that I was a third of the way through my life (not half, as some had suggested). 105 seemed like a reasonable age for which to aspire: far enough past the century mark so it doesn't look like you were stretching for a milestone, yet not so far past that you appear to be going for the record. This year I thought about it again — 105 — and

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-38023292951647520422010-11-09T19:25:00.003-06:002010-11-09T19:51:46.129-06:00

sarge calls the roll until —once, twice, three times:rank and last namerank, first and lastrank, first, middle and lastlouder each time.the name echoes in the silence.to a man, the same thought: answer, dammit.it's the sun that makes these young men squint;the dust they blink away. it's sweat trailing down their windburned cheeksas the bugle cries.

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-76072704866392256252010-11-08T20:05:00.002-06:002010-11-08T20:34:47.475-06:00

We were driving home on Sunday from getting haircuts for me, Gabe, and Trevor. I ran my hand over my much lighter head, then rubbed my chin and said, "All I need to do is trim my beard, and I'll be a new man!"Jodi looked sideways at me and suggested that she, for one, could use a new man, and that my whiskers weren't close to the first thing she'd change. We went back and forth a moment: I,

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-19052077162225653952010-11-01T21:21:00.004-05:002010-11-02T09:02:56.278-05:00

Blogger’s Note: This will be my final rant, for awhile, at least. To tell the truth, I finding the Rant-A-Day format completely exhausting. Not sure I’ll even be able to muster a little righteous indignation tomorrow, which is a pity, especially when watching election returns. I don’t know how the cable pundits do it day after day…I had another long, ranting rant planned on a whole other topic

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-68958789040504159872010-10-31T22:01:00.007-05:002010-10-31T23:28:14.596-05:00

Blogger's Note: One more rant after this one, If I can get it together. Feel free to look at the past six, as well, and comment if you like. Or not."Excessive intervention by the state can threaten personal freedom and initiative. The teaching of the Church has elaborated the principle of subsidiarity, according to which 'a community of a higher order should not interfere in the internal life of

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-28333845537633713332010-10-30T21:01:00.004-05:002010-10-30T21:36:42.501-05:00

Blogger's Note: Been too good a day today for much of a rant. But for consistency's sake...I got another mailing from a candidate today, and two voicemails. Same thing as yesterday, basically. Yesterday was this: a political mailing featuring a lovely smiling woman who received an A from the NRA, and a frowning, shouting woman who received an F from the NRA. Brendan saw it, and was amused when I

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-5895086180457079602010-10-29T20:52:00.015-05:002010-10-29T21:34:33.209-05:00

Blogger’s Note: The Rant-A-Day blitzkrieg continues. Check the past few days to see what’s got me going.I have a hard time voting. I love the concept. I love the sense of civic duty, the solemnity of the retiree election judges. I love having voted, and watching the returns roll in. But I’m a visceral guy — I trust my gut, and it doesn’t respond well to well-oiled answers and million-dollar

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-13660105576066790742010-10-28T23:18:00.004-05:002010-10-29T10:25:44.711-05:00

Blogger’s Note: The “Rant-A-Day” format enables all the cluttered, curmudgeonly, pre-election grumbling in my head to come out in a more-or-less orderly fashion. You can look at the past few posts if you want to see from whence this came.I thought about answering the title question with, “We will!” and calling it a night, but that didn’t seem to qualify as a rant. So here’s tonight’s attempt...In

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-82732550318248607172010-10-27T11:17:00.014-05:002010-10-27T23:55:46.130-05:00

Blogger’s Note: I’ve had a terribly long and curmudgeonly blog post brewing in my head for months, and no time to write it. So I’ve settled on the “Rant-A-Day” format. The first Pre-Election Rant-A-Day is here. Number two is here. To recap: "It's All Good" (aka "Go Along to Get Along") kills democracy, and you can't legislate happiness. Okay. Where are we today?"[It's] The Economy, Stupid."—

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-79971509978837573042010-10-26T09:16:00.018-05:002010-10-26T21:56:40.111-05:00

Blogger’s Note: I’ve been absent a long time, partly because I’ve been crazy busy this fall, and partly because I’ve had a terribly long and curmudgeonly blog post brewing in my head for months, and no time to write it. So I’ve settled on the “Rant-A-Day” format. My intention is to post a portion of the aforementioned terribly long and curmudgeonly blog post, in rant form, each day until the

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-89805116937915674102010-10-25T16:07:00.014-05:002010-10-25T17:01:55.161-05:00

Blogger’s Note: I’ve been absent a long time, partly because I’ve been crazy busy this fall, and partly because I’ve had a terribly long and curmudgeonly blog post brewing in my head for months, and no time to write it. So I’ve settled on the “Rant-A-Day” format. My intention is to post a portion of the aforementioned terribly long and curmudgeonly blog post, in rant form, each day until the

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-34212624770393040322010-08-09T21:08:00.006-05:002010-08-10T11:41:38.002-05:00

Just finished reading Madeleine L'Engle's book Walking on Water, on being a Christian and an artist. (She doesn't talk so much about "Christian artists," because the phrase suggests something about both the art and the artist that may not be true; some overtly Christian works are poor art, and some great "Christian" works have been produced by nominal Christians or non-Christians.) This book was

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-14310038289228998572010-08-06T16:03:00.019-05:002010-11-20T16:59:52.128-06:00

Blogger's Note: This may become an infrequent recurring topic, like Book Breaks. Please note that this post is not about a bad movie, per se. Some bad movies I like, and I'm far more likely to be annoyed by a decent movie that should've been great. And passable but over-hyped/over-praised movies. Grrr.Blogger's Addendum: P.S. There might be spoilers.After reading Starship Troopers and blogging

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-48276177882618737172010-08-04T16:10:00.008-05:002010-08-04T20:41:51.031-05:00

Years ago, I read Robert Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land. I remember only a handful of details about the book — the concept of grokking, the story in broad strokes, the religious aspects — and I remember realizing, at the end, that I had read my first mature science fiction book. Not mature in the Rated M sense (which actually is quite immature, when you think about it) — although the

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-40005098760347327172010-07-20T09:56:00.006-05:002010-07-20T10:07:09.223-05:00

As originally reported on my Facebook page, I watched Ben-Hur this weekend with Brendan and Gabe. I think Brendan now wants me to go back to The Albertville Creamery antiques shop to pick up the late 19th century edition of the book they have for sale. He knows I am susceptible to such suggestions...At the outset of the movie, as the Overture played, the DVD displays Michelangelo's painting, The

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-69983850961468598762010-07-16T16:26:00.005-05:002010-07-19T10:04:19.614-05:00

I used to post links to the right of this blog, under the header "Friends and Good People." Some of the links were to other blogs; some, to business Web sites or organizations run by family and friends, past and present. I took most of them down after a couple of them turned up broken, and a blog or two hadn't been updated in long months, and one site featured objectionable (to me) content a

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-18634554538128949632010-07-12T14:03:00.004-05:002010-07-12T14:16:28.048-05:00

It's trivial, but I can't help it. It bugs me when people who want to draw out a word for emphasis arbitrarily type a string of consonants at the end instead of a string of vowels in the middle. For example, one might reasonably shout, "Yessss!" but certainly not, "That dude was fasttttt." Way cool = "cooool," not "coollllll."I realize this poses a problem with short vowel sounds in a word like

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-16107996618617171842010-06-20T20:37:00.002-05:002010-06-20T20:41:43.524-05:00

Before supper tonight, I received a variety of homemade and store-bought Father's Day greetings. After supper, Trevor says, "I wish there was a Trevor Day, when everyone in the world named Trevor could do what ever they wanted, and if they wanted to play with their brothers' Legos, they could for as long as they want."Our youngest is six tomorrow. Happy birthday, Trevvy!

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-29308949381511740592010-05-28T11:35:00.008-05:002010-06-01T15:19:50.252-05:00

Blogger’s Note: For those who may not know, the Easter season officially came to a close last Sunday, with the Feast of Pentecost. Oh, and sorry for the long hiatus.I drove to Michigan the Monday after Easter to be with my folks and sister while my dad recovered from surgery. In the weeks leading up to that trip, I’d exchanged a few emails with my sister — it’s been a rocky year for her, and we

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-54726756297835580112010-03-18T19:35:00.010-05:002010-03-18T20:05:09.749-05:00

Crossing campus afoot. The sun gleams coolly, bright enough to invite skin, distant enough to appear modest. A day for loving, but I am not home. I should be working, but the words won’t come. The students would be out in force were it not Spring Break. Instead, campus is largely depopulated and scraped bare from winter, with just a hint of green on ground and none on the trees. My left shoe

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-14919843828910397782010-03-08T19:02:00.004-06:002010-03-08T19:51:34.651-06:00

Perhaps there is one poem in Ko Un's collection, Flowers of a Moment, that both an evolutionary anthropology student and a South Dakota horseman can enjoy:*We can never again speedon four legsover those plainsand ridges where the mist has clearedAh, the curse of homo erectus*No rhyme, no meter, but it strikes home for me...it's how I feel each time I overlook the Missouri, headed west.

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-31183160458994311332010-03-08T14:30:00.006-06:002010-03-08T15:15:36.177-06:00

I like Zen poetry. I don't really know what that phrase means for sure—Zen poetry—but I totally dig haiku, and have thoroughly enjoyed Korean Zen poet Ko Un's Flowers of a Moment in fits and starts since I found it on the Bargain Books rack at the U bookstore.My rhythmic rhyming friend Jinglebob would not call this poetry. It's form is formlessness, I suppose. Spacing, punctuation, subject matter

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-31701518456468121042010-03-07T10:44:00.004-06:002010-03-07T11:12:30.993-06:00

A colleague of mine stopped me a while back to loan me a book I hadn't asked for. "It's kind of hard to explain," she said. "It starts with this old man meeting his dead mother seated on a park bench. It's kind of a novel, kind of a memoir. I don't know why, but I thought you might like to read it."The book was Here Is Where We Meet: a fiction by John Berger. That's what she said, or something

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-89585248370117916262010-02-22T16:17:00.006-06:002010-03-02T19:52:32.526-06:00

Blogger's Note: My friend, children's author Jacqui Robbins (yes, the Jacqui Robbins, and don't act so surprised!) posted this little gem, which got me thinking about when my own kids began to notice differences in people.Let me say up front: racism is a real problem in the world. As a result, we have complex reactions to race — we notice differences between people quite naturally, and then (

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-9729077546391060332010-02-19T10:23:00.003-06:002010-02-19T10:53:52.701-06:00

I was a 105-lb. third-string safety on our freshman football squad in high school — scrawny, slow, with a size-8 head that made me cast a shadow like a keyhole. I got to rotate in and out with two other skinny little guys at the end of lopsided games. I didn't play much.Last game of the season, we were playing our hated rivals, Reed City. They had a great freshman squad, and by the end of the

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-20165656294011849812010-02-18T16:19:00.003-06:002010-02-18T16:38:38.348-06:00

I've blogged before about my second son's penchant for strange sandwich combinations, as well as my youngest son's unprompted disdain for his older brother. This morning over breakfast, the two experienced something of a breakthrough in their relationship.I was seated at the kitchen table, munching a peanut butter toast sandwich. Trevor (our youngest) walked by and saw me. "Dad," he asked,

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-22496366632138113682010-01-30T16:06:00.009-06:002010-01-30T17:16:25.279-06:00

Blogger's Note: Two long summers (and two even longer winters) ago, I agreed to my friend Jacqui's challenge to read 15 Classics in 15 Weeks. I've wandered far and been adrift much longer than 15 weeks, but I have persisted — a bit like Greek hero Odysseus.As darkness fell, the ancient tale well-told, heClosed the book and to his chambers retired.Beneath a warming mantle he pondered longIn his

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-15930526301444461562010-01-26T18:47:00.006-06:002010-01-26T21:42:43.796-06:00

Ever see someone a block or so away and say to yourself, "Wow, that looks just like so-and-so." and then move a bit closer and think, "Maybe it is so-and-so!" and get kind of excited to see this person? And then get closer and say, "Oh. Maybe not." and then get really close and think, "Eesh! Nope, not so-and-so. Not at all!" and feel bad for ever thinking that person could have been so-and-so?

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-67980187835275080232010-01-20T23:10:00.008-06:002010-01-21T10:57:52.459-06:00

[Blogger’s Note: This is kind of a dark post. Really did see the two crows today, and heard a story like the latter one once. But where exactly this came from, I don’t know…]Midwinter morning. Atop a threadbare shrub along a littered suburban artery, two young crows jaw above the din. I speak no Crow, only English, and my windows are rolled against the cold, but I imagine their daring: the

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-23141145875074121522010-01-07T06:59:00.003-06:002010-01-07T07:09:05.983-06:00

At long last, here is the Thorp family Christmas letter for 2009. In future years, we intend to publish it electronically first and foremost. We’ll still send a Christmas photo or postcard with you, to let you know when it's up and ready. If you strongly prefer (or require) a paper copy, drop us a line or leave us a comment here. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, friends!

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-17755796922286028552009-12-25T07:14:00.001-06:002009-12-25T07:15:34.899-06:00

Blogger's Note: Over Christmas 2003, we became annual pen-pals with an elf named Siberius Quill, and he has again delivered this year! Transcriptions of the 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007 and 2008 letters from Quill can be seen here.Christmas 2009My dearest Children!I must say, it has been a Most Eventful Year, both in your home and in ours! Such bustle down below (in Minnesota!), what with the

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-42753593983997297962009-12-15T21:01:00.012-06:002009-12-16T08:35:42.135-06:00

I remember my first solo flight into a snow-filled ditch. I was 17 or so, driving a red '83 Lynx (Mercury's version of the Escort), headed to my high-school girlfriends house 20 minutes away. It had snowed in the morning, then warmed during the day to a slushy mess that froze into deep ruts in the evening. I could feel the car's tires jumping sideways, trying to find a groove, as I drove — still,

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-16706900710617141512009-12-09T16:49:00.007-06:002009-12-09T17:05:55.528-06:00

Blogger's Note: This blog serves many purposes: instant writer gratification, testing ground for new ideas, opportunity to spout off ... and, importantly, archive of cute Thorplet anecdotes. This post falls firmly into that category. (I apologize that one of these is a Facebook rerun from Jodi's page, but Facebook is temporary. Werd-Fu is forever.)First, a conversation between Trevor and Jodi on

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-60911022934292495102009-12-08T21:55:00.006-06:002009-12-09T08:00:50.774-06:00

There are Mondays, and Mondays. The start of every work week is a challenge, and in my case, the start of a Board week (a week in which the University's Board of Regents is meeting) is especially heavy, because it promises to be a stressful, busy, and tied-and-jacketed week.But this Monday morning seemed particularly ominous, even for a Board week.I drove in early to get a jump on the week's work

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-27269475412008244772009-12-03T21:53:00.007-06:002009-12-03T22:12:16.710-06:00

Okay, thank you to those few people who told me to post the old Christmas letters online. I got a little misty reading them. Hope I can find back to about 1998 ...In the meantime:Holiday Letter 2006Holiday Letter 2005Holiday Letter 2004Holiday Letter 2003One more thing: We celebrate Christmas at the Thorp house, but have called these letter holiday letters since one of the early ones didn't

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-17727376396597850992009-11-30T21:09:00.008-06:002009-12-03T22:02:38.512-06:00

I know this is cheating—and for many of you it won't be new at all—but a few people have suggested that I offer the Thorps' annual Christmas letter online, and a few others have suggested I post the "back issues." Bless you for your interest in a letter that runs too long and includes footnotes.Here's a start on the archive:Holiday Letter 2008Holiday Letter 2007

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-51813386609404363562009-11-13T14:48:00.002-06:002009-11-13T14:54:33.604-06:00

solitary nut:bewildered squirrel, atop a limbless light pole

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-74839228613712151882009-11-10T20:15:00.009-06:002009-11-10T22:37:36.238-06:00

I've made a lot of choicesMost have not been wiseBut I have some really good friends I've been fortunate enough to findThey get through the lonely days When I want to stay inside myselfThey get me out of my shellOut into the world ...Heartless Bastards, "Hold Your Head High"I used to think I was good at being alone. I remember my last two years of college in Connecticut, with my future bride half

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-59407908955650141612009-11-04T19:31:00.009-06:002009-11-05T09:52:50.189-06:00

We didn't watch a lot of sports when I was kid. I've been to two professional sporting events in my life: Tigers-Yankees at Comerica in Detroit a few years ago, and Yankees-Orioles last fall in old Yankee Stadium. But when we visited Busia and Dziadzi, sports were on—Ernie Harwell calling the Tigers game on the radio; the Lions telecast on Thanksgiving; college hoops or football in season if my

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-27890920667586280432009-10-30T08:56:00.004-05:002009-10-30T09:12:32.216-05:00

Blogger's Note: Sometimes the dawn and the seasons spark strange things in me.resisting the fallblondes, brunettes, redheadstoss their manes and beckon, but i'm not green, either.

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-58652647320256246762009-10-20T18:08:00.005-05:002009-10-20T19:12:03.690-05:00

Blogger's Note: I know, I know: Facebook reruns = cheating. Sue me.Five-year-old Trevor has been on a role. On Saturday he informed me that, because we are part of one family, we love each other but are not friends. "Why do you think family members can't be friends?" I ask. "Because," he says. "I just know."I press him further. "Dad, I'm serious!" he says. "We can't be friends!" I make a sad face

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-9274663557275685952009-10-12T21:30:00.005-05:002009-10-12T23:26:46.146-05:00

Blogger's Note: This originally ran as a column in Tuesday, October 7, 1997, edition of The Pioneer daily newspaper, Big Rapids, Michigan. This week, the boys have their bows out, and I'm protesting the snow today by blogging about the autumns I miss.October! and the trees are turning red, gold and topaz. Already cool breezes tug loose the gaudy vestments and scatter them in piles 'round the

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-71527992038517249852009-09-30T19:59:00.002-05:002009-09-30T20:07:23.110-05:00

Feeling crummy today, except for one thing: this evening I wrote the first of what I hope will be many truth stories (read: semifictitious accounts of true life stories) on a new blog called Littlefield. What do I mean by semifictitious? Well, some of you know my dad caught a 22-pound flathead catfish this summer, right? OK, so that's a true story, and I've set it in an earlier time to drive home

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-21958034032836918222009-09-29T20:53:00.005-05:002009-09-29T21:15:58.350-05:00

The laugh's on me:this year's manis last year's man."—Ching AnToday was the first real day of autumn, in my opinion. Yesterday was blustery—windy, damp and grey—but that happens year-round in the Midwest. Today, however, dawned almost crisp—chilly enough to watch your breath curl in the sunlight, and dry enough by midmorning that a walk across campus sent the first yellow leaves skittering from

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-15538853705932859832009-09-23T14:19:00.005-05:002009-09-23T20:46:42.042-05:00

I remember, while in college on the East Coast, calling an old friend in Michigan. I hadn't seen her in a long while, and the miles of interstate made it seem longer. It occurred to me what a marvel it was that we could be nearly a thousand miles apart and speak to each other in real time, with no delay. In my mind's eye, I pictured a map of the United States, with a flashing red dot in Big

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-39653184367027442222009-09-13T17:25:00.010-05:002009-09-14T00:10:56.584-05:00

Norman who? How is that an American wins the Nobel Peace Prize, the Presidential Medal of Freedom, and the Congressional Gold Medal (a feat only accomplished by four other people in history: Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, Elie Wiesel, and Nelson Mandela) and throws a National Medal of Science in to boot, and most people don't know who he is? How is it that an Iowa farm boy and wrestler

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-24384954665197500812009-09-12T09:49:00.002-05:002009-09-12T10:05:02.267-05:00

Trevor likes gorillas. He likes to act like a gorilla. The great ape may be his favorite animal, in fact.So the other morning, over breakfast, Trevor abruptly announces, "Y'know how the lion is the king of the jungle? I think the gorilla should be. Because all he would have to do is pick up the lion like this," — and here he mimes picking up something with a tightly clenched fist — "and

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-8463910294151859022009-09-04T08:46:00.003-05:002009-09-04T08:54:15.849-05:00

Blogger's Note: I have a longer post in mind (several actually), but no time to write them just now. At least this will keep the imagery fresh in my mind. Sorry I've been gone so long.fog over cornfieldstrees and the shadows of treesfiltering sunlight

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-26058784116365240302009-08-09T11:23:00.004-05:002009-08-09T11:29:12.282-05:00

We got a letter from Albertville Primary (and his teacher, the mysteriously named "New Hire") informing us that he will have be in the morning half-day group."Trevvy," said Jodi, "that means you'll get to ride to school with Brendan and Gabe and Emma!"Trevor looked concerned and a little sad. "But Mom," he said. "I like to get up in real morning.""What do you mean by real morning?" asked Jodi.You

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-24918061643679436432009-08-06T08:53:00.007-05:002009-08-06T09:53:39.248-05:00

While we were visiting friends in Michigan last weekend, they were saying goodbye to a loved one. We offered to stay away — to not burden them with guest beds and towels and six extra mouths to feed. They insisted we come, to share what they had to give. "We may have to leave for a few hours," said the wife and mother of three. "And we may eat hot dogs," said the husband and father.I don't want

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-84819428008769909392009-08-04T21:08:00.003-05:002009-08-04T21:11:52.761-05:00

Sorry about the long layoff. Just back from Michigan and way behind. Great trip. Much to tell. No time.Can I just say: 22-pound flathead catfish. Life and death, love and family. Serious squirt guns. Numerous dogs. A '68 Airstream. A new blog(gish) project.More soon!

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-6224940654823578782009-07-14T11:23:00.017-05:002009-08-06T09:33:02.826-05:00

I summoned Gabe to the top of the stairs yesterday morning in order to wish him a happy birthday before I left for work. He is now nine and is not a morning person, nor does he happily submit to parental scrutiny, discipline, or full frontal affection. So he ascends the stairs with a look of vague trepidation.I sit on the edge of the coffee table and beckon with both hands. He comes a step closer

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-90224553833278852592009-07-13T16:20:00.007-05:002009-07-14T10:53:28.070-05:00

Pictured above: Not the fabled game-winner chronicled below, but representative. Get 'em, Bren!Those who know me best know that I’m an emotional sort, so it will come as no surprise to them that I choked up at Bren’s baseball game last Thursday. His team was playing for a chance at the consolation finals (a shot at third place in the league), and fell behind by seven or eight runs in the first

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-63938736654412382042009-07-07T21:39:00.005-05:002009-07-07T21:58:19.496-05:00

Some of you know of my friend Jacqui from Jacqui's Room. She has a new book called Two of a Kind. It came out today, and if it's anything like her first book, The New Girl ... and Me, it's perfect. Jacqui has conveniently left step-by-step instructions for acquiring what is sure to be the must-have book of 2009, so don't hesitate: congratulate her and celebrate by buying a copy and reading it to

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-31162375654441344322009-07-04T09:00:00.004-05:002009-07-14T09:49:15.376-05:00

Last night I walked into the guest bedroom at the Venjohns to see three of our four kids getting ready for bed. Emma and Gabe were searching for toothbrushes when Trevor put his thumbs in his waistband and said, "Well, I'm taking my pants off in 10 - 9 - 8 - 7 - 6 ..." The others found scrambled for the door as he accelerated the count: "5,4,3,2 ..." As he said "1" the door clicked shut. Trevor

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-78203159718689103472009-07-03T12:32:00.008-05:002010-07-20T13:52:34.203-05:00

Facebook update, Thursday, June 25, 8:28 a.m.: Jim Thorp woke to early-morning thunder. Smiled and slept. Now enjoying the smell of coffee and a fresh-scrubbed world. The morning strikes me as a woman emerging naked from the shower, shaking droplets from her hair ...I realized last week — for the latest, and perhaps decisive, time — that I do not think like other men. I woke a week ago Thursday,

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-49918379900710027992009-06-29T14:44:00.024-05:002009-07-14T10:46:02.033-05:00

When therefore they had dined, Jesus saith to Simon Peter: Simon, son of John, lovest thou me more than these? He saith to him: Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee. He saith to him: Feed my lambs. He saith to him again: Simon, son of John, lovest thou me? He saith to him: yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee. He saith to him: Feed my lambs. He said to him the third time: Simon, son of

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-38967413182866306722009-06-29T12:15:00.005-05:002009-07-14T09:51:11.232-05:00

Blogger's Note: This is a more accurate account of the day the neighbor's wolf-dog came to visit Boomer and me — much fresher than this one. It originally ran as a column in The Pioneer daily newspaper on Dec. 30, 1997.It's been one of those days.It hasn't really — "one of those days" implies I've had a day like this before, and with enough regularity to refer to it as commonplace, with a

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-48838358331123081562009-06-27T17:12:00.011-05:002009-06-29T18:34:20.658-05:00

Our 15-year-old Airedale, Boomer, died on Thursday afternoon, June 25, 2009. At his age, it was not unexpected, but still a surprise, if that makes sense. We were slated to leave for South Dakota in a couple of hours, and found him lying in the back yard, in the the shade. He is missed, and so many people commented on my Facebook notice that I thought I should share a little more about him.* * *

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-45263856820183688672009-06-23T15:29:00.018-05:002009-06-26T18:17:55.313-05:00

They say a child's head grows to approximately 80 percent of it's full size during the first year of life. If this is true, I must've cast a shadow like a Tootsie Pop as a child. There was a period as a baby during which I couldn't hold up my head — try as they might, my folks couldn't keep it off my shoulder. they would prop it up, and slowly, slowly, it would drop back down.Developmental

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-52004612908933576922009-06-22T21:09:00.005-05:002009-07-14T09:52:14.024-05:00

Our youngest turned five on Sunday. Hard to believe he's headed to kindergarten in the fall. In lieu of photos, here are a few written snapshots from the weekend.* * * * *Dozens of boisterous children are shouting, giggling, scrambling over the intricate jungle gym playground at the campground where our church group was staying. Above the din, a lone low growl rises to a roar. The small knot of

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-86794501387153970572009-06-11T21:03:00.005-05:002009-07-14T09:52:27.125-05:00

We're at Bren's baseball game, with our backs to the high-school girls' softball team. Behind us: PING!, then "Heads up!" A fluorescent yellow softball rockets over the backstop behind us, over our heads, and slams into the fence around the ball field in front of us."Wow!" I say."They shouldn't say, 'Heads up,'" says Gabe, "because if you stick your head up ..." — and he extends his neck as high

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-3596119423753545092009-05-23T20:49:00.006-05:002010-07-16T15:05:13.591-05:00

We were walking the sidewalk along Selby Avenue toward Dark Raven Studios, where the older kids practice tai chi. Here and there, a tree grew along the walk, skirted in weeds and dust. In the center of the street a crow pecked crumbs from discarded cellophane, hopping first to one side, then to the other, as the occasional car passed.I snuffed a breath through my stuffy nose and grumbled

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-85818319331568579792009-05-22T12:57:00.005-05:002009-07-14T09:53:03.703-05:00

We spoke to Trevor last night about his ambitions — we had friends over, and they were asking the kids what they aspire to be when they grow up. Trevor said he wants to be an "army man, a police officer, a cowboy," or (and here he smiled a little, shy smile, like he was showing us a glimpse of his soul) a "hobo swordsman."We questioned him further. Most questions were met with a small,

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-36697878059287116452009-05-18T16:31:00.006-05:002009-05-18T16:56:23.904-05:00

I'm working on a freelance piece right now for a martial arts journal, and its brought me into contact with a remarkable man and book — retired Marine Major Bill Hayes and My Journey With The Grandmaster. The link above takes you to a reader review of the book that is spot-on (at least with regard to what I've read so far). But secondarily, it's made me rethink my writing. Years of writing to

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-73381188883401974942009-05-13T21:24:00.005-05:002009-05-13T21:34:01.367-05:00

Blogger's Note: This fell out of my head pretty much like it's written here. Not sure where it came from. No title yet; feedback welcome!it is saidthat a samurai should act with such purposesuch devout persistencesuch selfless sacrifice andoneness of thought and deedthat even ifhe should be pierced by a thousand arrowstorn by bullet, blade, or spearbeheaded or run throughhe should yet accomplish

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-25164442251774071252009-05-12T12:42:00.006-05:002009-05-12T13:25:25.126-05:00

Finished reading a book of Roethke poetry over lunch, and ran across a few lines from his notebooks that spoke to me:"Dear God, I want it all: the depths and the heights.""Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.""Live in perpetual great astonishment""Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries""Surround yourself with rising waters: the flood will teach you to swim."This

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7123860395165606139.post-33074563368252304382009-05-07T19:28:00.006-05:002009-08-06T09:30:40.631-05:00

The tulips are blooming outside Morrill Hall, and they got me to thinking. There was a time when I was young and twitterpated, a long way from Jodi with a longing sigh in my lungs. I remember the flower vendors on Yale's campus in spring, and I remember walking past, because my girl was half a continent away. I remember admiring the colorful splash the tulips made, elegant among the carnations,

J. Thorpnoreply@blogger.com2