The Sexton: A poem after a painting by William Merritt Chase, written some years ago on a bench in the North Carolina Museum of Art.

Decided to try a warming mat for my seeds this year. Clearly it works. This is three days in. Which is good, because if one spends money on a technological aid to what is supposed to be a simple, down to earth activity, one at least wants results for one’s hypocrisy!

Starting seeds.

”‘Twas a grey day in February, and evening fell like a dead canary…” Thus begins this year’s winning entry in the annual Upper Dongle Creek Literary Society Bad Poetry Contest

If the Lenten roses are blooming on Epiphany, do I have to go ahead and start fasting?

En freehlicher (zwedde) Grischtdaag!

Have Yourself a Medieval Christmas. Ten years since I wrote this piece, and I wouldn’t write it the same way now, but it’s worth sharing again anyhow. Come tomorrow night, kick up your heels and raise a glass to the newborn king!

I want someone to record an album of cheeseball “Christmas” songs of the 20th century in historical styles. “Rock around the Christmas tree” becomes a late-Medieval Iberian dance (think “Riu Riu Chiu”). “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” as Gregorian chant. A polyphonic “Last Christmas” in the style of Tomas Luis de Vittoria (it hardly has any lyrics anyway, you’d barely notice the repetition). Also “Frosty the Snowman” arranged in shape note.