Go here to see what this journal looks like when devored by The Eater of Meaning.

Thanks to Kip for pointing me to the Eater. I’m still giggling. Especially after having a go with my Friends List.

I’m currently re-reading one of my favorite books, Dancing on the Grave by Nigel Barley. First, late me just say what a great name Nigel Barley is for an anthropologist who does research into death beliefs and funeral practices. (Nigel means “dark night” and Barley is, well, barley) I’ve forgotten many of the factoids and passages, like this account:

The fates of men after death can be quantified to produce a map of human wickedness. In 1993, the Birmingham News of Birmingham, Alabama, published a map of the damned, according to which 46.1 percent of the people are headed for Hell. The map was produced by the Southern Baptist Convention to help its pastors search out concentrations of the greatest sinners. The unsaved were calculated by subtracting from each county’s population the number of registered church members and applying a secret formula that predicts how many of each sect will go to Heaven. The formula allows a greater or lesser proportion to attain salvation according to their relative closeness to Baptist doctrine. More Methodists will be saved than Catholics. Jews, Buddhists and Hindus will all be damned.

(Kip and I have tried to search for an online reference of this map of the damned, but so far no luck.)

But one the stories I do remember from Dancing on the Grave is from one of the times Nigel was in Africa doing research on, well, death. On his way to a funeral, he is waylaid by torrential rains, along with several native men. Nigel decides to make the most of his time and ask those present about stories they know about the origin of death. The only one who didn’t look at him as if he were mad was a school teacher–who also happened to be a Christian missionary.

Much to Nigel’s initial dismay he was all too eager to share and launched into a telling of Genesis. It started fairly straightforward with only a few substitutions: chameleon for snake, tarko tree for an apple or fig tree. But it got somewhat more interesting with the local version of the story of Adam and Eve’s first two sons:

“Then they had two sons Cain and Abel and Cain was a good man who grew millet and Abel kept goats. Abel’s children became the Fulani.”

“Ah,” the men nodded. So that was it. The Fulani who drifted with their livestock over the Dowayo fields in the dry season.

“And Cain had sons who became us and others blacksmiths and hunters. But Abel’s animals ravaged all the crops Cain had planted in the rocks and the thorns and the weeds and when he complained Abel just laughed. He just laughed,” he repeated and shook his head at the wonder of it. “So Cain killed him Thud! So now we live with blacksmiths and others but always fight with the Fulani because of that old grudge.”

Enthusiastic applause, slapping of hands on thighs. This was far too good not to dig further.

“And Europeans?” I asked. “White men like myself. Where did they come from?”

He appraised me coolly. “I have studied the Bible in great depth, monsieur. As far as I can recall, there are no white men in it.”

From The Praise of Folly by Desiderius Eramus, 1511 C.E., translation
by Hoyt Hopewell Hudson:

Fortune loves those who are less than discreet, she loves the rasher sort,
and the ones who are fond of that saying,“The die is cast.” But
wisdom makes men meticulous, which is why you commonly see that the traffic
of wise men is with poverty, hunger, and smoke; you see them living neglected,
inglorious and disliked. You see my fools abounding in money, holding the helms
of states, in brief, flourishing every way. For if we esteem it a blessing to
please princes and to mingle with such favorites of mine, these gods decked
with gems, what is less to the purpose than wisdom? In the eyes of that rank
of men, what, indeed, is more damning? If wealth is to be gathered, how much
money would a merchant make if, running after wisdom, he should boggle at perjury,
should blush to be taken in a lie, should in the least suffer from those inconvenient
scruples of the wise touching theft and taking usury?

Folly preaching from her rostrum.
Marginalia drawing by Hans Holbein, 1515 C.E.

Apparently they keep pockets of Autumn up in
Washington Park:

I accompanied Kip up there today so he could do on the site research for City of Roses. (Portlanders: we took the Max to the Zoo Station, took the elevators up and more or less followed Fairview down. Any guesses what route Kip was tracing?)

It was all a little warm for October, and dry as well. But a lovely walk (which we took all the way to South East Portland, meaning we probably did at least 7 miles by the time we got home). And I did get October moments with trees similar to the one above, and a shadow cast by one of the statues outside PGE Park:

vintageskivvies.com.

A nice beginning for me to start rebuliding my clothes and costuming links, which were lost in a tragic browser accident. It’s all about men’s unmentionables, which works for me as I can find sites on vintage women’s lingerie and corsets without even trying.

There’s a glossary, an advertising timeline and articles. Heck, you can even buy some genuine vintages skivvies from the their store.