Month: January 2009

  • 25 Random Things About Me

    Speaking of insomnia...this post just wrote itself last night.  Updated 6-21-11

    1. I really enjoy reading random things about my friends. The more random, the more enjoyable. I still do!

    2. I chafe at the punctuation rule requiring end marks to be inside the closing quote WHEN the quote is just a section of the sentence. Sometimes I even break the rule, ON PURPOSE.

    3. I am weaning myself of a bizarre comfort food: non-instant powdered milk eaten with a spoon. When I was a child we had piles of government surplus boxes around and one day I was hungry. It helped me give it up when I learned that it contains oxidized cholesterol. Never mind that it sticks in your teeth and is plain gross from any spectator's POV.  This is a closed chapter in my life.

    4. I have an athletic past: I played goalie on a field hockey team in the fifth and sixth grades. I communicated this TBOI (tasty bit of information) to my husband and his folks on New Year's Day. My mother-in-law referred to me as a musician, not an athlete. "Hey!" I protested, "I played field hockey." (Besides, one (musician) does not preclude the other (athlete).) My mother-in-law had never *heard* of field hockey. When the USC infomercial played during the Rose Bowl, there was a shot of a field hockey team. Vindication, Baby!

    5. I had one date (but played music for a year) with a man who composed many of the choruses in the Maranatha Praise Book. When my sons (10 and 12 year-old athletes at the time) discovered this they were Horrified! "Mom, if you had married this guy, we would be playing the piano instead of playing baseball/soccer!!" (One does not preclude the other.)

    6. My husband and one daughter-in-law share an antipathy to FaceBook. He calls it FacePlant. He still does!

    7. I hate when I *adore* a movie and my husband decidedly doesn't. Vitus and 84, Charing Cross Road come to mind.  I persuaded him to enjoy Lark Rise to Candleford.

    8. I must have a latent love of homogeneity because I am surprised (and a wee bit distressed) when someone with whom I consider myself 92% compatible, has an opposite reaction to a book I liked. I can be malleable, though. I'm usually the one who changes my opinion. Not always.

    9. My favorite thing to do when the guys watch movies beyond my ken is to read the archives of a blog I recently discovered and like. Yep.

    10. I am astonished at the level of passionate disagreement that can arise between my four-year old grandson and me. We both hold fast to our fierce opinions; neither gives an inch. Fast forward ten years and then what?  We agree not to discuss Spiderman and get along fine now.

    11. I cannot foresee a day where I am comfortably confident in the usage of lay/lie, affect/effect, and that/which. Not to mention em dashes and en dashes. Making progress—in more ways than one—on the em dash. Nat, a young friend of mine, taught me that Alt + 0151 = em dash. Yay!

    12. I laugh at what I call over-correction: when someone uses "and I" in the objective case. Ex: Hard times are headed down the road for you and I. It ought to be "you and me." (See #2)

    13. The idea of gardening is quite appealing to me. The idea. When it comes down to it, I would much rather read than weed.  Audio books make both possible.

    14. I can avoid shopping better than anyone I know. (Exception: bookstores, office supply stores, Costco and Trader Joe's--all of which are at least three hours away)

    15. It is my goal to be at every niece and nephew's wedding. I missed one because he eloped. He. Eloped. When is the last time you heard of someone eloping?

    16. When we went to a church where most people didn't drink alcohol, I used to construct cereal box fortresses in my shopping cart to hide the beer I was buying for my husband.

    17. I have no fashion sense. I attract friends who like to "makeover" me. I don't mind, but nothing ever really sticks.

    18. When the men are huddled together talking theology and the women are discussing potty training, I'd rather be with the men.

    19. A ClustrMap is on my blog because I adore the international dots. I have two semi-regular commenters from foreign countries for whom English is a second language.

    20. I collect songs I want played or sung at my funeral. This is a vital part of who I am. #1 Funeral Song is For All the Saints. It's still something I think about at least once a week.

    21. I sing and sway in the car, even at stoplights. I sing in the bathroom, using my hairbrush as a microphone. I conduct the orchestra when I'm taking a walk, usually 4/4 time. I also read while I blow dry my hair.

    22. My favorite thing to do with my oldest grandson is to lie (see #11 - I had to look it up) on the kitchen floor and sing made-up songs with gusto. Not so much anymore. My second favorite thing is to read him books. Favorite thing to do with a different grandson is to watch hunting videos, something I refused to do with my sons.

    23. My fantasies: to have read all the excellent books on my shelf; to play the piano beyond "pretty good"; to run 5 kilometers; to have all my photos organized; to have someone do my hair every day; to let others talk...naturally; for self-control to be the default.

    24. Competitiveness comes and goes. I can laugh at losing or I can be an intensely disappointed loser. The other option is just to beat the sucker I'm playing. Ayup.

    25. Likewise, I alternate between agitation and resignation relative to order/disorder issues.

  • Can't Sleep?

    I think it is that hormonal time of life, but insomnia seems to be assaulting my friends.  Me too. 

    I wake up sometime between 2:00 and 4:00 a.m. and--boing!--I'm wide awake!

    My girlfriend Lisa awes me with her discipline.  She just trains herself to stay in bed and stay relaxed, rest assured that she is getting rest if not sleep. 

    My friend Val starts praying through her lists.  She prays for her relatives, her co-workers, her friends at church, her neighbors until she drifts back into never-never land.  I don't think she has ever gotten to the place where she prays through the phone book!

    Another friend never has two bad nights in a row.  After one sleepless night, she takes Benadryl.  I guess you'd call that the Better Living Through Chemistry approach.

    Here's what works for me:  I get up, grab my book or The Book, go to the living room and read. I figure if I'm awake I might as well read.  I don't take a blanket, don't try to get cozy.  My main goal is get very cold.  Icy feet, icy fingers, chilled arms, droopy eyelids.  When I'm good and cold, I go back to my warm bed and slip under the down comforter.  It never fails. 

    Since I've been walking with Leslie I have fewer middle-of-the-night rendezvouses. (I had to look up how to make a plural of rendezvous; pronounce it vooz. I'm not convinced this is correct. *See comments*)  

    Do you have times you can't sleep? 

    What's your scoop on snoozing through the night?

  • Best Of

    I picked up a book and learned enough HTML on Saturday to add a little module on the side called Best Of.  I put  links to my favorite posts there.  When I'm new to a blog, I appreciate reading the writer's favorites, especially if I don't have time to scroll from the 2005 to the present.

    If you need a laugh, go to the post on Millet and read the comments.  If you need a cry, go to May 7, 1968.  It's that easy! 

    Now I can add links to non-Xanga blogs.  Woohoo!

    It energizes me to learn something that, at first blush, seemed so scary-hard.  I remember when I felt that way about depreciation. 

  • Bittersweet Française

    Suite Francaise is my first book completed for the WWII Reading Challenge.  Listening to the audiobook with the French accents made the book more present, more authentic.  I was so captured by this story that when bedtime came and I had one disc left, I went to bed with headphones on.  ("Has it come to this?" my husband wondered.)

    Irène Némirovsky's tragic story makes this a bittersweet read.  She lived through the German invasion and occupation of France, writing these two novellas as the events were current. She died in Auschwitz in 1942.  Her daughters rescued her manuscript and left it, untouched,  in a suitcase for 60+ years.  The English translation was published in 2006.  This is very likely the first WWII fiction written.  I am eager to read Némirovsky's story in the appendix of the print edition.  Her words from the story give us a glimpse of what her life must have been like:

    Living constantly in fear of death like this was only bearable if you took one day at a time.  If you said to yourself each evening, "Another twenty-four hours where nothing really bad has happened, thank God.  Let's see what tomorrow brings."

    The first novella, Storm in June, follows several Parisians scurrying to the country to avoid the Nazis. Némirovsky chronicles the confusion, the chaos, the denial that exasperated the lack of preparedness. This isn't a happy story of people banding together, displaying sacrifice and courage. She paints realistic pictures of art dealers who care more about porcelain than people, a mother who sees herself as generous until she realizes her family may suffer want, an author who pulls strings to get favorable treatment.  Some of the characters don't survive.

    The second novella, Dolce, set in the countryside, examines life under German occupation.  Most able-bodied French men are gone, leaving the women to manage then daily challenges and adjust to having Germans live with them in their homes.  Némirovsky's watercolor of French country life was my favorite part of the Suite.

    I am not sure how/if this book was edited. There were places where editing would have improved the writing.  But as a first draft (if that is what it is) this book is magnificent.   

    A few more quotes:

    They didn't speak.  Between these two women every topic of conversation was a thornbush they only approached with caution.  Reaching out a hand might result in injury.

    ~   ~   ~

    Jean-Marie never got tired of watching them.  He wanted to write a story about these charming little horses, a story that would evoke this day in July, this land, this farm, these people, the war, and himself. He wrote with a chewed up pencil stub in a little notebook which he hid against his heart.  He felt he had to hurry; something inside him was making him anxious, was knocking on an invisible door.  By writing he opened that door.  He gave life to something he wished to be born.

    ~   ~   ~

    Her upbringing had been strict and Puritanical, but she had not been unhappy.  The garden, the housework, a library--an enormous, damp room where the books grew mouldy and where she would secretly rummage around--were all enough to amuse her.

             

  • Patience. Hope.

     
    Preston, 10 days old       « cousins »        Noah, four days old

    Patience, n. A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue.
    ~  Ambrose Bierce

    Durum!  Sed levius fit patientia
    Quidquid corrigere est nefas.
    ~ Horace ~
    translation:
    This is hard indeed!
    But whatever cannot possibly be amended
    becomes lighter by patience.

    Be patient my soul:
    Thou hath suffered worst than this.
    ~ George Herbert

    For the second time,
    a planned trip to Seattle to see our little Noah
    (born 12-29) has been postponed.
    I told Carson, I am okay until I talk about it.
    We hope for next week.

    Patience.   Hope.
    The stuff of life.

    I don't believe Ambrose Pierce, but he makes me laugh.
    Horace is fun (and here is a quick Latin lesson:
    Durum = hard, as in durum wheat or durable goods),
    but Herbert hits the spot.

    So this weekend, instead of holding Noah,
    I'll be printing W-2s and 1099s.
    Oh joy!

  • All God's Children and Blue Suede Shoes

    I am going to begin this post with a confession.  I Just Don't Get the title: All God's Children and Blue Suede Shoes. And I feel like I should get it.  This has secretly bugged me for over a decade.  Will someone please tell me, what are the Blue Suede Shoes about?  Does it come from a song?

    With that off my chest, let's start at the beginning.  Cindy followed up some discussion about popular culture (and dismal Christian imitations) with the suggestion that we read through this book.  Cindy, was my husband's hero when she shut down her blog.  (My husband lives a very rewarding life without appliances that plug in.)  To our delight (and Curt's dismay) Cindy started blogging again, and here we are talking about Blue Suede Shoes.   

    My format (this week, at least) will be to post a quote and respond to it. 

    Popular culture, on the other hand, specializes in instant gratification.  [...] It is possible to develop a taste for instant everything.

    Nurturing appetites is one of my hobby-horses.  Our palate for what is true, beautiful and good has to be developed.  My father urged me to sit down (!) and listen to music; he explained the word play in a poem.  I keep within me an afternoon in Seattle when my son gave me a tour of his adopted city, pointing out architectural and structural wonders which would otherwise have gone right past me.  We have to be taught appreciation. 

    The thin Christian veneer in such projects [a Christian soap opera] very quickly wears away, and what is underneath determines the response of consumers of such products.  Such a strategy is a sad reminder that most of the Christian criticism of popular culture has focused on content while ignoring form.   

    I've been mulling over this content/form question lately in regard to magazines.  I'm not going to say all magazines are evil, but I think the form of most popular magazines (quick resolutions to problems, three page articles, pleasing visuals) end up producing discontent.  It's an undeveloped thought, but there it is. Back when I listened to Christian radio, I ended up despising the call-in programs asking for advice.  Someone has a lifetime of tangled knots and the smooth voice on the other end is supposed to untie each one in three minutes so they could take their (non-commerical) break. 

    Its [pop culture's] challenges and temptations do not confront us like the proverbial harlot whose seductions are clearly to sin, straightforward and simple.  It has many dimensions and contours and hidden agendas that require some historical and experiential perspective before we can evaluate it fairly and, having understood it, conduct ourselves in its presence with wisdom.

    If it were only about television, I would foist some pat answers on you.  Turn it off. Pick up a book. End of discussion.  For our family, it is that simple.  After two seasons of American Idol my husband put the kibosh on laughing at the hopelessly untalented; we became enamored with House until we decided there was too much junk in between the brilliant moments.  

    But the internet.  The internet has gobbled and digested massive chunks of my interest, investment, and time, completely altering my life with little noticing on my part (more noticing on my husband's part).  My first counter-response is "but it has enriched my life in so many ways."  It's true.  Dimensions and contours, indeed! 

    Have you noticed what has happened when a group of people gather together informally?  We huddle around a screen and take turns showing favorite YouTube videos to one another.  Laugh hysterically, gulp, scream, respond.  I do it. You do it. There is incredible stuff out there.  Ya gotta see this!

    But all that looking has precluded the kind of talking, discussing and debating--communing--which was the stuff of our college years.  We've traded active interactions for passive consumption.  

  • Destinations

    Some days (often Tuesdays) the web is wonderful.  I can't keep these to myself.

    ~ I've already linked once to Nancy Wilson's post on January attitudes.  It's worth a second look.

    ~ I received a trial (print) subscription to Books and Culture.  I knew I would never get any "real stuff" (read cleaning, cooking, dusting, teaching) done if I received this oversized periodical on books regularly.  Instead I get the free newsletter which comes on Tuesdays and is manageable. 

    ~  Today's Book and Culture newsletter has N.D. Wilson's article about the debate between atheist Christopher Hitchens and Christian pastor Douglas Wilson. 

    ~  Cindy had a sidelink to a reading schedule for Calvin's Institutes.  My dear friend Lisa and I have been talking about doing this together for a while.  Lisa moved last year and is still unpacking boxes of books.  Start digging, Lisa, before we get too far behind!

    ~ We are moving towards a more liturgical approach to the calendar.  We've been celebrating Advent for a few years; today we're celebrating Epiphany.  We've kept our decorations up (that involves a changing of the mind) and our lights on.  I am encouraged by Kristen at This Classical Life who writes:

    When Yuletide ends there is a mixture of sadness and joy, the sadness of knowing that every day cannot be a holiday, but the joy of knowing that each season brings newness and fresh delights.

    I really like the words Yuletide and Eastertide.

    ~ The end of the Christmas season is called Little Christmas in Ireland.  The men take over all the household chores and the women go out to restaurants and pubs.  Hmmmmm.

    ~ A friend on Facebook recommended The Book of Ebenezer Le Page for those interested in Guernsey after having read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.  Her quote from Ebenezer will make you want to get the book today.  

    Meanwhile it snows.  My husband went to work yesterday at 4:00 a.m. and shoveled snow for ten hours (not his normal duty).  He came home, ate dinner and went to bed at 5:30 p.m.  One trip to see our Seattle grandson has been canceled due to snow; it is quite possible our plans this week may go the way of the snowplow.  I have pictures of Noah, but it's not the same as cuddling him myself. 

    The monochromatic landscape is beautiful and achingly quiet.  Yesterday my neighbor took me to her back window.  There were 100 birds on her apple tree having a feeding frenzy.  Some birds looked drunk.

    I have new and old books to read, pots of tea to drink, real work to do (gasp!), and food in the freezer.  We're hunkering down.  Life is an adventure!       

  • Paper Boy No More

    New Year's Day was the first day in 15+ years that one of my sons didn't trudge out to deliver papers.

    One paper route passed down through three boys.  With their earnings from the route, they purchased:

    Three cars
    One truck
    Three motorcycles
    One mountain bike
    A snowboard
    A computer

    The car was always the first big purchase.  Our only rule was "Pay Cash."  By the time each guy was 15 and had a permit, he had found a car to buy and had saved enough money for it.  They all loved counting out those hundred dollar bills.

    Sometimes the route was a pain in the patootie.  How many times did a son suddenly realize--the night before we were leaving for a trip--he had forgotten to get a substitute?  Frantic phone calls followed.  It has become harder than ever to find a reliable sub.  There were no Sunday papers.  The only other day off was Christmas Day.  Sports schedules and fun activities had to be worked around the daily need to deliver the (afternoon) papers.

    But many great lessons were learned. 

    The biggest lesson, I believe, was respect.  We have many older folks on our route, for whom receiving the paper is The Highlight of their day.  Each boy had to be taught to respect his customers even when he thought it was lame to be so attached to ink and paper.  Learning the preferences of 50-70 subscribers took patience and perserverance. 

    Another lesson was courage.  One grouchy lady scared Chris so much, he didn't collect from her for six months!  He would rather pay for her paper himself than ask her for money.  (We found that out waaaay after the fact!) One man-curmudegeon would be too kind of a word-opened the door, saw a young boy and never failed to respond: "What the #*$&% do you want?"  Carson inadvertently missed collecting from him for several months; with shaking knees he had to explain and ask for the back money owed.  Even I was scared; but I made him deal with it himself!

    The boys also had to be taught discretion.  I checked the Sexual Offenders list to see who might be living on our route.  I wanted them to be wary of too-friendly neighbors. 

    Organization is the key to life, my sister-in-law says.  Learning to keep track of payments was an important part of the job.  Carson did his best to convert as many customers to "Office Pay" before he handed the route to Collin.  "Collecting" was the bane of the boys.  I couldn't believe the few folks who tried to stiff the boys, put them off, continually ask them to come back. 

    Friendship was the biggest benefit. So often when I took my turn substituting, customers along the way would stop me to compliment the boys, ask about the older ones or just chat.  If Collin took longer than usual collecting, I knew that he was in the living room of one of our neighbors telling hunting stories. A while back when Carson and Taryn were home for a visit, we saw Mrs. Whitmore working in her front yard.  We stopped the car and said hi (she always liked Carson a lot) and introduced Taryn to her.  A few months later she died of a stroke.  We have enjoyed the kind comments and notes from customers.  I sigh; I say Yay!  The end of an era has arrived. 

  • Someone You Love Will Get Cancer

    Or have a heart attack.  Or a stroke.  Someday one of us will be diagnosed. 

    I'm not trying to bring in the new year with doom and gloom.  I'm not instilling fear. The point is, we need to prepare our minds before the crisis. 

    We used to listen occasionally to James Montgomery Boice preach, late Sunday nights as we lay in bed in the dark.  His voice was deeper than the ocean and full of gravel.  That voice! I honestly pictured a huge black man like James Earl Jones.  The first time I saw a picture of Boice I about choked.  He was as white bread as could be!  Where did that voice come from?
      
    Curt and I will never forget hearing Pastor James Montgomery Boice's announcement that he had been diagnosed with liver cancer in 2000.  We were driving in the car and I can remember reaching over to turn up the volume of the radio.  I can see the very farm we passed on our right when I heard these words. 

    Boice's response has been my model--the definitive practical application of the sovereignty of God. Over the years I have searched (and found) the text of his talk.  I'm writing this post so I have a quick way to find it when it is needed. 

    The entire text is here.

    A relevant question, I guess, when you pray is, pray for what? Should you pray for a miracle? Well, you’re free to do that, of course. My general impression is that the God who is able to do miracles—and he certainly can—is also able to keep you from getting the problem in the first place. So although miracles do happen, they’re rare by definition. A miracle has to be an unusual thing. [...]

    If I were to reflect on what goes on theologically here, there are two things I would stress. One is the sovereignty of God. That’s not novel. We have talked about the sovereignty of God here forever. God is in charge. When things like this come into our lives, they are not accidental. It’s not as if God somehow forgot what was going on, and something bad slipped by. [...]

    Everything he [God] does is good. And what Romans 12, verses1 and 2, says is that we have the opportunity by the renewal of our minds—that is, how we think about these things—actually to prove what God’s will is. And then it says, “His good, pleasing, and perfect will.” Is that good, pleasing, and perfect to God? Yes, of course, but the point of it is that it’s good, pleasing, and perfect to us. If God does something in your life, would you change it? If you’d change it, you’d make it worse. It wouldn’t be as good. So that’s the way we want to accept it and move forward, and who knows what God will do?

    Boice died a little more than a month after he said these words.  Wow.  Thank you, Lord God, for your servant, James Montgomery Boice.

    Please pray for my friend Sonya who mentioned in the comments that her husband was diagnosed with cancer in 2008.

    Related post:  After the Diagnosis

  • Quote Collecting - 2008 Review

    Those who have lost a dear one will appreciate the odd phenomenon of happiness after a period of grief:

    At first, as the months went by, it was shameful to me when I would realize that without my consent, almost without my knowledge, something had made me happy.  And then I learned to think, when those times would come, "Well, go ahead.  If you're happy, then be happy."  No big happiness came to me yet, but little happinesses did come, and they came from ordinary pleasures in ordinary things: the baby, sunlight, breezes, animals and birds, daily work, rest when I was tired, food, strands of fog in the hollows early in the morning, butterflies, flowers.           ~ Hannah Coulter (my Book of the Year) by Wendell Berry   

    ~     ~     ~

    If you are suffering from the flu, please forgive this next quote from Barbara Pym's Quartet in Autumn, but it busts me up.    

    'Of course David is here for his health,' said Marjorie, coming back into the room and entering eagerly into the conversation. 

    'Do you find the country is doing you good?' Letty asked.

     'I've had diarrhoea (sic) all this week,' came the disconcerting reply. There was a momentary—perhaps no more than a split second's—pause, but if the women had been temporarily taken aback, they were by no means at a loss.

    'Diarrhoea,' Letty repeated, in a clear, thoughtful tone.  She was never certain how to spell the word, but felt that such a trivial admission was lacking in proper seriousness so she said no more.

    'Strong drink would do you more good than the eternal parish cups of tea,' Marjorie suggested boldly. 'Brandy, perhaps.'

    He smiled pityingly, 'All those English on package tours on the Costa Brava may find it helpful, but my case is rather different…'  The sentence trailed off, leaving the difference to be imagined.

    ~     ~     ~

    Soon after discovering Barbara Pym, I was delighted to find this reference to her in Margaret Visser's Much Depends on Dinner .

    Barbara Pym's novels are full of sly insights into culinary anthropology; in them, "a bird' is for when clergymen are invited for dinner: elevated, not too fleshly, and with a skin "gold-embroidered like a chasuble" as Proust put it.

    ~     ~     ~

    This travel quote doubles as philosophy:

    There is no bad weather, only inappropriate clothing.   ~ Rick Steves

    ~     ~     ~

    Leslie Thomas' elegant prose in Some Lovely Islands arrested me.  I thought he might be my "best new author" but after further research, he is not.  Still, I loved this book.

    The mountain and sky fell upon each other like black wrestlers locked in a hold;

    The church, which was halfway, like a cheerful slice of cream cake in the day, was a big shrouded thing at this dark hour...

    Fat banks of fog...with a certain politeness stopped short and stood around just outside the harbour.

    ~     ~     ~

    Eleni Gage wrote North of Ithaka about returning to the village in Greece where her grandmother had been killed by the Communists.

    In the middle of one hymn, Costa yelled,"A car's coming!" We stayed put, singing, figuring that any car could wait for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.  That's the risk you take driving the one road through the Mourgana mountains; sheep or saints could stop you at any turn.  I was flushed with the thrill of power.  Lia may be small, poor, and remote, but when we got together to make a joyful noise unto the Agia Triada, we stopped traffic.

    ~     ~     ~

    If either politics, Ireland, or the Victorian era interest you, I offer you my dear Anthony Trollope's Phineas Finn: The Irish Member, where you will read Violet Effingham's assessment:

    "I hate a stupid man who can't talk to me; and I hate a clever man who talks me down. I don't like a man who is too lazy to make any effort to shine; but I particularly dislike the man who is always striving for effect.

    ~     ~     ~ 

    Another new author (to me) is Mark Helprin, a storyteller par excellence. I can't wholeheartedly embrace Helprin's writing; I certainly appreciate and enjoy it. I plan to re-read A Soldier of the Great War  at least once again, which is ironic in light of this quote:  

    Perhaps he was a fool, but he thought that if a work were truly great you would only have to read it once and you would be stolen from yourself, desperately moved, changed forever.

    Music is the one thing that tells me time and time again that God exists and that He'll take care.

    In a great aria, purity and perfection of form are joined to the commanding frailty of a human soul, and when those elements are knit, an arresting battle follows.

    ~     ~     ~

    Finally, it is my goal to read through David McCullough's oeuvre.  Tack on Barbara Tuchman's books to that plan.  Those two are my favorite writers of popular history.  Forget about sentences; check out Tuchman's phrases from The Guns of August: 

    ...the indifference of a mind so shallow as to be all surface...

    ...their relentless talent for the tactless...

    ...scatter generals like chaff...

    ...spending lives like bullets...