#creswell

[curricula-2208]

Research method-

[spaciousreasoning]

Finding More Bridges

Searching for more of the many covered bridges in this part of Oregon, Nancy and I ventured down to the Cottage Grove area on Friday. We found four bridges in the “Covered Bridge Capital of Oregon,” though only one continues to be of use, the Mosby Creek Bridge, which is the oldest in the state, built in 1920.

Two of the others are only open to pedestrians now, including what was once a covered railroad bridge inside the Cottage Grove city limits. It is now part of a city park. It still crosses the Coast Fork of the Willamette River. The fourth seems to have been recently fenced off from all access, though the river below it provides a favorite swimming spot.

Parts of “Stand By Me,” the Rob Reiner movie from the 1980s, were filmed in Cottage Grove, especially the majority of railroad scenes, which were filmed along the railroad track that went up the Row River (rhymes with “cow”). That railroad track is now the Row River Trail, which we will return to at some point in the future to walk along. (We’ll also look for the other two covered bridges in the area.)

In addition to “Stand By Me,” other movies have been filmed in the area, including Buster Keaton’s “The General,” some scenes from “Animal House,” and “Ricochet River,” starring Kate Hudson.

Cottage Grove is about 20 miles (and 25 minutes) south of Eugene-Springfield along I-5. Its population today is about 10,000. Nancy’s brothers and one sister reside in the area, but we did not see them on Friday. The brothers were off to another part of the state, and her sister, Joan, was busy with a cooking class at the senior living facility she has recently moved into.

On the way south we stopped briefly in Creswell, reminded by two large billboards of the Creswell Bakery. Opened in 2008, the place has been called one of Oregon’s “bucket-list food experiences.” We bought a loaf of ciabatta and a delicious hazelnut sticky bun. It’s close enough we will certainly stop back often to enjoy more of their culinary delights.

[conandaily2022]

Edward Dungan biography: 13 things about Creswell, Oregon native

Edward Paul Dungan was a native of Oregon, United States. Here are 13 more things about him: He was born and raised in Creswell, Willamette Valley, Lane County, Oregon. Aside from Creswell, he also lived in other parts of Oregon including Eugene and Springfield. He is David Sytsma‘s nephew. He has three daughters. He has three sisters namely Pauline Dungan, Christy Dungan and Mariah Field…

[horoscopovirgo]

Astrología en Lake Creek

#LEO: Las prevenciones respecto a tu salud son importantes para ti y para los demás. Hoy lo tendrás muy claro y actuarás en consecuencia, lo que te llevará a ser coherente. Alguien te lo agradece mucho porque ve que de esa manera también piensas en ella o en él.

Tarot Y Videncia:

Llámanos Ahora

🇺🇸 Estados Unidos: +1 21 37 84 79 82

Para resolver los problemas del corazón y entregarnos a la felicidad. ¡Los temas del corazón son tan complejos! Cuando el amor no ha tocado a la puerta nos sentimos ansiosos por encontrar a la paraje ideal y una vez que la tenemos nos enfrentamos al miedo de perderla. En cualquiera de los casos no hay de qué preocuparnos porque el tarot amor nos brinda la ayuda necesaria para triunfar en una relación.

[lifeinpoetry]

I feel the desire to pray. I don’t know whom to address.

— Iman Mersal, from "As if the world were missing a blue window," The Threshold, tr. Robyn Creswell

[nofatclips]

The Wolf by Jherek Bischoff with the SCRAPE Quartet, live for Second Inversion

[a-m-pyra]

The Cruel Saint

They wanna make me their Empress

—♫♫♫—

Before and after:

[super-who-locked-me-in-here]

I've been busy falling back into some of my hyperfixations from high school, specifically the visual novel game Cinderella Phenomenon and can I just say that as a person who has the Hannibal episode Mizumono and the Destiel confession scene from Supernatural living rent free in my head that Waltz's bad ending in Cinderella Phenomenon is the single most devastating ending to a piece of media I've ever had to experience

[wildflower-otome]

Mistonia no Kibou Official Wallpapers

[awesomefringey]

https://twitter.com/thatsblue2u/status/1699264422450184529?s=20 More info on that Ben guy. Not only is he paid to do social media campaigns, his bestie is the official Content Specialist for Lime. It's getting embarrassing lmfao

Holly Creswell is Content Specialist at Lime.

Ben Sneller is Paid Social Senior Associate.

Together they create the buzz around Lime:

[bemyhcro]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: level eight, the atrium. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: closed for roshana cresswell ( @hoggleswart )

he dragged a chair from somewhere a while ago now, perching himself behind the drinks table - close enough to continuously reach for flute after flute of champagne, but far enough to avoid the questions and stares. pax tips back another drink as the echoes of forced laughter and friendship hum around him, knowing full well the extent of some peoples loyalties. as he goes to reach for another drink his eyes land on one of the aurors, a woman he had seen here-and-there around the ministry and once in a bookshop - shana? roshana. "i can stop whenever i want to." pax slurs his words.

[dopescissorscashwagon]

Indigo Bunting 💙

📸 @bethcreswell

[kitchen-light]

English can do wryness, but Arabic verse has musical possibilities that I don’t think contemporary poetry in English can really capture. Because written Arabic is a literary language—it isn’t spoken except in formal situations—it’s possible to be grandly symphonic or virtuosically lyrical in a way that’s hard to imagine in English. You’d have to be a Tennyson to match the musical effects in Darwish’s late poetry, for example. But of course trying to be Tennysonian would be fatal. With Iman [Mersal] the difficulty for an English translator is different, and I would say more manageable. In a poem about her father, she wonders whether he might have disliked her “unmusical poems.” I don’t think they’re actually unmusical (I don’t think Iman does either), but their rhythms and cadences and sounds have a lot in common with the spoken language. She writes in fusha, sometimes called “standard” Arabic, but her style shares many features of the vernacular: she doesn’t use ten-dollar words, her syntax is typically straightforward, economy is a virtue. She also uses tonal effects—sarcasm, for example—that we tend to associate with speech. We talked a lot about “A grave I’m about to dig.” I’m still not sure Iman likes my choice of “diagonal” for the Arabic ma’ilan, to describe the way a bird falling out of the sky might appear to an observer on the ground (but that’s how I think of Iman: she sees things at a slant). The last phrase of the poem, “were it not for the sneakers on my feet” is a typical moment of self-deprecation, a comedy of casualness. There are no feet in the Arabic original, however, which just says “were it not for my sneakers” (or, more literally, “my sports shoes”). I thought adding the phrase “on my feet” was needed, both for musical reasons and because it suggests a pun that isn’t available in Arabic, where verse meters aren’t called feet. For me, Iman’s (musical, metrical) feet really do wear sneakers: they’re quick and agile, casual but spiffy. They’re what we wear today.

Robyn Creswell, from “Interview with Robyn Creswell”, published in Four Way Review, 15 September 2022

[thorneswife]

I’ve said this before (to myself) and I’ll say it again (to you) Mr Wrong by Sade is the perfect Cresswell song

[manwalksintobar]

from “Elegy for the Times” // Adonis

       The wind is against us and the ash of war covers the earth. We see our spirit flash on a razor blade, a helmet’s curve. The brackish springs of autumn salt our wounds.         Doom drags at history’s face—our history needled with terror, a meadow of wild thorns.         In what salt rivers will we wash this story, stale with the smell of old maids and widows back from the hajj, our history stained with the sweat of dervishes’ loins, its springtime a feast for locusts?         Night thickens and a new day crawls forth over dead sparrows. The door rattles but doesn’t open. We cry out and dream of weeping and the eyes have no tears.         My country is a woman in heat, a bridge of lusts. Mercenaries cross her, applauded by the massing sands. From distant balconies we see what there is to see: animals slaughtered on the graves of children; smoking censers for holy saints; the black rock of tombstones. The fields are full of bones and vultures. The heroic statues soft cadavers.         So we go, chests bared to the sea. Old laments sleep under our tongues and our words have no heirs.         We reach out for alien islands, scenting a virgin strangeness in the sea’s abyss. We hear the sorrowful moan of our ships at port. Sorrow: a new moon rising, evil in its infancy. Rivers issue into the dead sea, where the night births weddings of sea scum and sand, locusts and sand.         So we go and fear scythes us down, crying out on muddy slopes. The earth bleeds all around us. The sea is a green wall.

—Translated from the Arabic by Robyn Creswell

[lifeinpoetry]

I’m a fair-minded person. I’ll give you more than half the air in the room so long as you see me for what I am.

— Iman Mersal, from "Amina," The Threshold, tr. Robyn Creswell