A Story Worth Telling in a Way Worth Hearing

Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona Multi: sed omnes illacrimabiles Urgentur, ignotique longa Nocte, carent quia vate sacro.
(“Many heroes lived before Agamemnon, but they are all unmourned, and consigned to oblivion, because they had not their sacred bard.”)

– Horace

I first read that quote on a webpage of Latin mottos where it was offered as just the first statement- “Vixere fortes ante agamemnona”- to mean that heroism exists even if no one notices it. Ironically, or perhaps appropriately, this is a perfect demonstration of the power of the pen. The quote itself extols the role of writers and poets in giving heroes immortality.

The metacontext of the quote is that when Horace wrote the passage in his Odes, he was simping for the original “sacred bard” Homer, author of the Iliad where Agamemnon’s story is recounted. Some translators have taken a little poetic license on this and interpret the passage (the way I first heard it) as “Brave men lived before Agamemon, but they died forgotten, for there were no poets before Homer.”

The meta-metacontext is that, if you read the Iliad at all, Agamemnon is pretty much an absolute knob, a coward, a monster, and absolutely responsible for all of his own failures including and especially his own death. So millennia of writers and poets have been needed to burnish his story into anything remotely resembling a hero.

That’s what we in the creative business call “serious workshopping.”

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com
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Cozy Snow Day Vibes

I got myself a really nice writing chair for sitting at my desk some time ago. I also have some wonderful USB-powered hand warmers that look like little stuffed toasts I got from a friend. My older sister sent me a USB-powered mug with a warming function and a freaking app to set the temperature for keeping beverages warm, a timer for tea, and to control what color the little light glows when its on.

With Portland in the grip of the Artic Blast (which no one will be able to say without making me think of a minty gum flavor,) the internet has been down and the blogging software on my computer is picky about working without the internet.

My iPad is not, though- and my iPad is here next to me in my rocking chair with a Mexican blanket and a mug of deep, dark, local beer. I may return to my Super Professional Writing Space for some editing and tweaks, but for now? Hygge wins.

The floor is a mess and I am trapped. All is well.
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Real-World Questing- “If It’s Silly But It Works, It’s Not Silly.”

(Full Disclosure: I wrote this post last week, but then… well, last week happened and I was exhausted, and this week is Christmas weekend so my brain is pretty much an electrified potato right now. Thank you for your patience!)

If you follow my Instagram, you’ve noticed I’ve been posting a lot of stories about beer in Portland lately. Not unusual in general maybe (#drinkerwithawritingproblem,) but just especially lately.

I found out casually while getting a post-shift beer at Von Ebert Brewing that they and several of my favorite local breweries decided to do a holiday “ale trail” called “The 12 Days of Gristmas”- “grist” being the term for the milled grain and mash bill used to make beer.

12 breweries.
12 holiday beers.
Get a stamp for each one, turn them in at the end for up to 12 raffle tickets to win swag.

It’s silly. I probably don’t need swag. No one needs beer enough to strategize how to hit as many breweries on the list as possible in one day on foot. I certainly don’t.

I love beer though.
I love supporting my local businesses that make good things.
I love walking around through Portland.
and I didn’t mind questing for something where the only thing at stake is my liver… but that’s what the walking is for.

Whatever breaks the despair and gets you out and moving is worth it.

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Find The Light So You Can BE The Light

Hello, everyone.

My name is Matt. I am a Jewish-American baker, writer, and raconteur. I love food, beer, whiskey, mead and meadmaking, the taste and smell of good pipe tobacco, talking to strangers, and telling stories.

If you are in Beaverton today, you might see a guy in an Irish sweater with a copper-shod walking stick, a tweed hat, and a long tan cloak sitting at a bar with a pint of dark beer, typing on an iPad disguised as a very beaten-up composition notebook.

There is a lot of darkness and sorrow in the world right now. I’m keenly aware of it- too keenly, maybe, according to my therapist who’s been reminding me to keep off of social media. I’ll probably write something later summing up my personal attitudes about it all, but I’ll just as likely keep that to myself. The world is not short of opinions right now.

It’s also not short of doomsaying, chest-beating, and heartstring-wringing. There’s plenty of people who will take it upon themselves to remind us of all the horror in the world, and that’s a good thing. We can’t go about with our heads in the sand, pretending the problems of others aren’t our concern and then getting indignant when “no one did anything” when they become our concern.

What goes too far is when these good-intentioned messengers take it upon themselves to berate others or themselves for finding joy where they can. “With so much suffering and pain in this world, how dare anyone be happy?! Don’t you care?!”

There are plenty of who don’t or are ignorant of the plight of others, to be sure- but so many of us do. Here’s the truth though: Denying yourself joy and happiness does nothing to help others, and it weakens YOUR resolve to endure.

Photo by Johannes Plenio
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An Object Lesson in What Matters

I was sitting in the break room at the winery, having just finished my lunch. It was a chilly, sunny day, and the break room has a really nice window that looks out on the terrace, the waterfall feature on the grounds, and beyond that over the valley.

I was debating how to best pull off the rest of the week, crank out a new bread recipe for my chef’s latest special, and what kind of desserts I should do for the seasonal menu change. I was grateful for the distraction. The toxicity of social media around the Israel-Hamas War was still trickling through despite me pulling back. When that many lives and that much culture is on the line and the generational trauma of two entire peoples is simultaneously triggered, there’s too much at stake for it to be managed through TikTok videos, memes, and idiotic flame wars- but here we are.

It made my heart hurt, and my mental health required me backing off, so I’d resolved to do what I’d always done when feeling pained and powerless- feed people, and put good things into the world that weren’t there before.

Then my phone rang. It was my wife, nearly in tears. Life was about to provide an object lesson in Pain, Powerlessness, what we do in the face of it, and the things that mean more than posting “the right things” on social media.

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