by hades’ handbag

Of all the gifts—pandora—of the gods of mythology, all the humanizing deifications, it strikes me as strange that the only “professional” endowment that has not be stricken from common-parlance is a plutocrat—though, unlike for the aristocracy, probably not a badge proudly proclaimed.

Prometheus who gave mankind the gift of foresight and the patron of the healing arts Asclepius were basically condemned with extreme prejudice for elevating mortals and challenging supremacy and only their names remain as cautionary tales, however, the acquisitiveness of Pluto, or earlier Hades, remains. The connotation is not an infernal one, necessarily, and is connected with buried mineral wealth. The association developed over the centuries, tending towards greed and inequity, combining the god of the Underworld with the attributes of a minor demi-god, son of the Demeter (Ceres) the goddess of the harvest and more broadly cycles of creation and destruction and Iasion (wiled and then also destroyed with extreme prejudice), called Plutus, whose name carries all the root-meanings. His mother saw to it that Plutus was amazingly wealthy but that left no riches for his twin brother, another figure that seems to not have a contemporary cult-following, Philomelus. Without an inheritance, the brother turned to industry and invented the plough, out of necessity. Very impressed, Demeter made him into a constellation, Boötes, the Plowman and a celestial cue for tilling the fields. I think that there are some more admirable qualities to incorporate into our vocabularies.

moog or ham-and-eggs, hammond organs

The other day, I ventured to a flea-market advertized beyond the former border dividing East and West Germany, which turned out to be more like a party held at a abandoned aircraft hangar crammed full of personal Ostalogie, random items from DDR times.
It was neat to wonder around aisles of piles, but after hearing a radio retrospective of East Germany’s part not only in electronic music, like Kraftwerk who were early-adopters, but in electronic instruments, as well, I wish I had been paying more attention. It turns out that the electronic keyboard, the organ with the basso-nova beat, had its origins (building on some earlier, native discoveries) in the factories of the VEB Klingenthaler Harmonikawerke, by Plauen, in 1972 as the VERMONA, the ET-6. Of course, these factories made other iconic and traditional instruments, like Weltmeister accordions, juke-boxes, and pianos, but the VERMONA and later incarnations really spiked a revolution in sound and how music was made. I am sure there was such an innovative electric organ warehoused there, and although I don’t believe we have the immediate talent to contribute to the retro-legacy musically, I would like to be able to tickle the ivories that oversaw so much change.

happy camper

Preparing for vacation season, H was looking where we might take the Silver Lady this summer.

We’ve traveled through the Mecklenburg Lake District (Die Mecklen- burgische Seenplatten) with the Lady I. on our way to the Baltic, but H discovered a clever and fun-looking experience on offer for that holiday region, putting one’s camper on a barge and navigating through this land of a thousand lakes. I suppose the waterways where such a private ferry service would be possible are restricted, for the sake of not clogging them with vacationers, but it certainly seems like an idea that could grow and expand crowded camp grounds. We are looking seriously, however, about investing in a collapsible canoe to explore narrower straits on our own.

hari kuyo or last honours

Via the emporium of curiosities, Oddity Central, I learnt that the Japanese reserve the last day of the Lunar New Year’s celebration with a sweetly touching ceremony that’s a final tattoo for lives of long and dedicated service for pins and other such small and disposable things.

Broken and dulled pins and thrust for a final time into a block of tofu or jelly and them buried with honours—pens, staples. This ritual, in place in one form or another for at least four centuries, is an expression of gratitude for utility, perhaps the idea that all things have or can at least earn a soul, and reflects the Japanese virtue of mottainai, not being wasteful with small things, but attendance is waning some, as many young people have no connection with traditional clothes-making. I have a very soft spot for stuff like this, and won’t relinquish something broken, busted or blighted without a fight and then a silent memorial. Perhaps that’s why I get flea market fever and even a disappointing sale is not really disappointing. The spirit of the ceremony, however, is a universal one, with kimono makers whispering secrets and sorrows to their needles that they could not share with anyone else, and laying their confidants to rest was a cathartic act.