My dad was a packrat.  He saved paper in any form.

He saved magazines.  At any time in my childhood I could peruse five years of Newsweek, Grit, Ebony and Moody Monthly.  

He saved receipts.  A box in the pantry was always overflowing with receipts from Jewel, Dominics, Kroger and A & P.  This seemed very normal to me; as a young bride I started my own box overflowing with Safeway and Albertsons receipts.  When I witnessed my mother-in-law crumple a receipt and throw it away, I asked the obvious in a shocked voice, "Did you just throw that away?"  When she asked for a reason to keep a record of a milk and eggs purchase, I was unable to produce one. I quickly converted to the ranks of receipt crumplers.

He saved books.  Bless his soul, he saved books.  When my dad died his personal library was estimated at 6,000 volumes.  Then we discovered that he had double-shelved books and  the number was closer to 12,000.  To his credit, he knew where they were and could find what he was looking for.  There was a shelf of books in Russian.  He knew several languages, but Russian wasn't one of them!  That, my friend, is an optimist!

This is not a bash-your-dad post.  It is from my dad that I gained a love of books, of literature, of the printed page.  You could not pry from me the books with his inscription on the flyleaf.  Nevertheless, I am my father's daughter.  My name is Carol and I'm a bookaholic.

But I have been probing my thinking with questions.  I've been processing it with a dear friend in a parallel situation. As I approach the half-century mark I am faced with those pesky limitations of mortality. 

When, exactly, do I plan to read all these books? 

Which ones I will read again? 

Which are treasures to be passed down to my children?

Which (how many) books do they really want?

Because the cold, hard truth is that my father's books became a burden.  People spent long hours-- days, weeks -- cataloging, sorting, and packaging those books.  Part of his library was a legacy; an even larger part was a headache. 

I will continue to buy books.  If my public library was more extensive I wouldn't need to buy so many. But I won't keep every book I buy.  Read it, write down quotes, and Let. It. Go.  I intend to continue the weeding process and to clear out the wood, straw and stubble leaving space for the gold.   

Fine Art Friday - Millet

The Shepherdess, 1864
Jean-François Millet

"The human side of art is what touches me the most."  Jean-François Millet

Here is yet another piece of art with a girl absorbed in knitting.  Notice the stance of the dog on the right.   Yep, that's a watchdawg!

~      ~      ~      ~      ~      ~

Ouida Sebestyen's book Words By Heart will go on my bookshelf next to Black Boy, Roll of Thunder Hear My Cry,  and Black Like Me.  Or should I have a Scripture Memory section which includes Tom Sawyer, Right Ho, Jeeves and this book? 

Lena knows her Bible verses.  Lots of  'em.  Her participation and eventual success in the local verse quoting contest is reason enough to read this book.  Sebestyen's humor in Lena's choices will fly right over the young reader's head.  Lena begins with "God hath chosen the foolish things of this world to confound the wise..."; after a momentary panic late in the contest she resorts to quoting verses from Song of Solomon usually left unspoken in public "I am black, but comely." 

Lena, who has to this point been sheltered from racial conflict, discovers the resentment and hostility of the community from her public triumph over a white boy.  Her Papa begins teaching her how to to respond to different neighbors, all of whom are white. Some are to be avoided, some are to be ignored, some are to be obeyed, and some are to be bargained with.  Lena trusts and adores her Papa, but struggles with the injustice of their living situation. 

This would be a great book to read and discuss together with pre-teens.  Caveat:  Lena's Papa dies from violence at the end of the book.  There are no graphic descriptions, but you need to know what your reader can handle emotionally before you embark.

       The Voyage of Life

Now is it most like     as if on ocean
Across cold water     we sail in our keels,
Over the wide sea     in our ocean-steeds,
Faring on in our flood-wood.     Fearful the stream,
The tumult of waters,     whereon we toss
In this feeble world.     Fierce are the surges
On the ocean-lanes.     Hard was our life
Before we made harbor     over the foaming seas.
Then help was vouchsafed     when God's Spirit-Son
Guided us to the harbor of salvation     and granted us grace
That we may understand     over the ship's side
Where to moor our sea-steeds,     our ocean-stallions,
Fast at anchor.    Let us fix our hope
Upon that haven     which the Lord of heaven,
In holiness on high,     has opened by His Ascension.
                             
                                                ~    Cynewulf

Isn't that bit of ninth century poetry lovely?

It's from An Anthology of Old English Poetry translated by Charles W. Kennedy. 
Used copies begin at $0.60 with $3.49 shipping and handling.  Such a deal.

HT: Sweetbriar Patch

Mostly Martha is a German film about a chef who is obsessed with her art to a point that precludes personal relationships.  She hides behind her precise measurements and particular flavors.  Her sessions with a therapist devolve into Martha's rambling descriptions of dishes.   Food is her focus; but it is food without fellowship, food  to be admired and analyzed in a scientific sense, calories without communion. 

Two events change Martha: becoming the caregiver for her young niece Lina and the entrance of a robust, hearty, jovial sous chef into Martha's restaurant kitchen.  Mario's zest for life is reckoned insanity by Martha; his laughter infuriates her.

The interplay between food and relationship dominates this film.  Before Mario appears, food is strictly clinical.  Even the patrons of the restaurant prefer a particular texture or flavor over a shared experience.  Martha is seldom seen eating and when she does eat it is at a stark table, alone.  Mario understands fine food and appreciates a discerning palate, but he insists on keeping meals within the context of community. The culmination of the film is a feast, a full-orbed celebration that marries friendship with food.

Mostly Martha is the opposite of the downward arc of the 1990 film Avalon.  At the advent of  Avalon we see multi-generational dinners - loud, boisterous gatherings of brothers' families.  After a television joins the furniture, the empty dining room table is silent and folks eat gathered around the tube.  Eventually a solitary old man is in a care facility sitting in a trance before a tray of untouched food.

This
weekend was one filled with precious jewels.  We were part of a
missions conference and the speakers were the jewels I speak of.  Their
faces and words were shards of light which glinted and gleamed as they
spoke.
                
They were beautiful.  I don't have space to describe each one; I will highlight two couples.

Gordon and Elizabeth, both
MKs themselves, have invested their lives in children affected by
leprosy in India.  Gordon (born the week before my father in 1922) met
Ghandi before Ghandi was assassinated. 

Elizabeth has the
dignity and poise of Elisabeth Elliot.  A sari is her dress where ever
she goes.  Humility, contentment, and joy radiate from their
countenances.  She puts on her wedding dress each anniversary to celebrate!! 
All those days that they loved each other, served together, sacrificed
and gave of themselves -- all those days form a glorious patina of
grace.  Just being in their presence is a gift.

Ed and Maxine
were a special treat.  Ed is the man who led our pastor to the Lord
when Terry was 20.  For years our church family has heard repeated
stories about this great man.  To meet him and hear his side of those
same stories, to witness the reunion of this Paul and Timothy bound us
all together. 

Isn't that how love works?  You incorporate the memories
of your loved one into your own chapters and verses; you own the stuff that is part of them. Ed challenged us and exposed
us to growing churches in many parts of the world.                     
                                  

Several of us have been getting to know Maxine through her blog Roseteacup.
 It was my first experience of meeting an online friend in real life
(IRL).  She is a precious jewel.  It took an effort not to hog her for
myself.

  

~ Have you ever made a foolish financial transaction and hid it from your spouse?
~ Have you loved your son, but disliked his choice of wife?
~ If you loved a man, but knew that his mother didn't like you, what would you say to a marriage proposal?
~ Do you sometimes yearn to be an accepted member of the inner circle?
~ Should a pastor have nice things?
~ Has a formerly close friendship changed because your friend was promoted and you couldn't deal with the differences in your situations?

Anthony Trollope's Framley Parsonage, the fourth book in the Barsetshire novels, leaves the theme of class divisions and explores the complete orbit of ambition.

Tolstoy's Anna Karenina takes the reader through every stage of an affair, from the stolen glances across the room to the clandestine meetings to the pleasure of consumation.   Tolstoy accurately narrates the zest and tingly shivers that accompany illicit love. Then he carries the story to its logical conclusion; the eventual boredom of the relationship, estrangement from family, the problem of the children, the loss of respectability, the loneliness of self-imposed banishment and despair that ends in tragedy.  

I thought of Anna K as I read Framley Parsonage.  Mark Robarts is a nice guy: a young, well-established vicar with a growing family and a generous patroness.  He is invited to a party of the upper crust, unscrupulous high rollers, and also asked to preach a sermon at their church.  The invitation to preach legitimizes whatever questions may be raised by the company he would keep.  Robarts is naive; he is manipulated; he is outrageously foolish. 

Mark thought he could touch pitch and not be defiled.  After he is entrapped, he muddles around, scrambling to cover and hide his situation. When his courage builds to the point of facing his wife, confessing his foibles, and enduring public embarrassment, we admire and enjoy this country vicar and adore his wife Fanny.

Trollope always writes with humor, clarity, and a supreme understanding of human nature. His tone is warm, not preachy; he is funny! Yet in his humor, he is serious.  He likes women who are "ready-witted, prompt in action, and gifted with a certain fire" not "missish, and spoony, and sentimental".  He unveils many forms of pride: the refusal of poor Mr. Crawley to accept needed help; the idolatrous pride of mothers in their children; the haughty statue of a girl whose only desire is to sit and be admired; the difficulty of a stubborn aristocratic mother to admit her judgment was wrong. 

The entertaining subplots add interest without distracting from the main storyline.  The wealthy heiress, Miss Dunstable, is adroit at batting off marriage proposals with her "I am much obliged to you"s until she receives a most unusual love letter from a hero of a previous book.  Young Lucy Robarts is a genius in dealing with a potential mother-in-law problem.  If you'd like to know her solution, email me and I'll tell you without spoiling it for the others.  TBOI (tasty bit of information): Mr. Spurgeon makes a brief entrance.

It is only mid-February, but I suspect that this book will be my favorite 2007 read.  Elizabeth Gaskell, a contemporary of Trollope, wrote, "I wish Mr. Trollope would go on writing Framley Parsonage for ever."