Month: July 2011

  • Eisenhower

    I am midway through a journey begun in 2008 to understand the 20th century.  The Great War took a year (of my time!); WWII about 15 months. Life circumstances slowed me down, but I’m cheerfully working through the post-war period and the Korean War.  One approach to history that I appreciate is studying the lives of key people. Voila, la bibliographie! [That is a private joke that only I understand: the first sentence I ever learned in French was "Chttt! Voila, la biblioteque!" translated: Be QUIET! There is the librarian! It was on a filmstrip (with accompanying vinyl album that had a bell signal to go to the next slide) we watched in French I.] 

    I wanted to know Eisenhower better. Stephen Ambrose admires his subject.  He begins, “Dwight Eisenhower was a great and a good man. He was one of the outstanding leaders of the Western World in this century.”  This is the first volume of a two-volume biography of Eisenhower. Anyone interested in leadership would benefit from reading Ike’s story.

    Everyone brings a personal “grid” to their reading.  I was very interested in Eisenhower’s religious background. Much has been made of the fact that one of the world’s greatest generals was raised in a pacifist home. David and Ida Eisenhower were devout members of Brethren in Christ.  David’s nighttime reading was the Bible in Greek; Ida memorized 1325 Bible verses. And yet…

    Nightly Bible reads, Milton said, were “a good way to get us to read the Bible mechanically.” They never discussed what they had read, never asked “Why?,” never explored the deep subtlety or rich symbolism of the Bible. It was the word of God, sufficient unto itself. The duty of mortals was not to explore it, investigate it, question it, think about it, but rather to accept it. 24

    Two traits, ever helpful in his life, were manifest in young Ike’s life: intense curiosity and a remarkable ability to concentrate.  As an adult he had another remarkable ability: to shake a depression. Ambrose writes about his vitality:

    That quality showed in his speech, in his mannerisms, his physical movements, most of all in his eyes. They were astonishingly expressive. As he listened to his deputies discuss future operations, his eyes moved quickly and inquisitively from face to face. His concentration was intense, almost a physical embrace. His eyes always showed his mood—they were icy blue when he was angry, warmly blue what he was pleased, sharp and demanding when he was concerned, glazed when he was bored. 272

    As a general, Ike comprehended the sacrifice that both the soldiers and their families made.

    Eisenhower wanted to let as many men as possible see him. He made certain that every soldier who was to go ashore on D-Day had the opportunity to at least look at the man who was sending him into battle. 294

    He was the man who had to total up all the casualties. 293

    …only Eisenhower had such a keen sense of family, of the way in which each casualty meant a grieving family back home. Eisenhower’s concern was of such depth and so genuine that it never left him. 293

    It wasn’t until he was in his fifties, that Eisenhower received acclaim and notoriety, primarily as the Supreme Commander of Operation Overlord.  Eisenhower was also the NATO commander, president of Columbia University and president of the United States.  This volume ends with Eisenhower as President-Elect of the United States. 

    I found Ambrose’s book engaging and helpful. At no time did my interest lag. I was inspired by Eisenhower’s discipline, organizational skills and perception.

    A fun coda: I have a habit of immersing myself in books on (relatively) obscure topics. I find myself wanting to discuss the ideas and events I have read about, but coming up short on conversation partners. Honestly, what would dampen a dinner party faster than, “I know, let’s talk about Truman and Eisenhower!”?  I discovered recently that among my acquaintances are a couple who were friends with Ike and Mamie Eisenhower during their retirement years in Gettysburg.  They were full of stories about the Eisenhowers. I lent them this book; Ray read it through in three days.  I’m looking forward to some great discussions.  An unexpected gift!
     

    SatReviewbutton

  • Eric Bibb Again

       


    Eric doing a sound check

    This was my third Eric Bibb concert.
    It’s beginning to feel like we’re old friends.

    Eric Bibb is a reader.
    When I asked him what he’s reading,
    he pulled a few books out of his backpack and showed me.

    It’s still a thrill.
    An internationally acclaimed musician,
    in the lovely place we call The Shire.

    Family friendly, oh yes!

    The Joseph canyon as our backdrop

    “There are places I play that are My Kind of Place…as opposed to just a gig.
    This is definitely My Kind of Place.”

    “Playing outdoors is a whole nother thing.
    Nature has perfect EQ.”

    Eric brought a friend along.
    Grant Dermody is an exceptionally talented harmonica player.

    Matthew, a younger harmonica player, is recording a song.

    A charming repartee developed between Eric and the audience.
    “We having us a good time,” Eric laughed.
    “Even the Squares are having a ball!” someone yelled.
    Eric instantly perked up.
    “Thank you. That’s the title of my next song!”

    “I like to write new songs brewed on old vapors.”

    Dusk descended, shrouding us in an indigo glow.

        Eric Bibb’s version of Wayfaring Stranger is deep, rich, compelling.
    “The great songs last.”


    What Eric Bibb brings with his music is passion;
    he is fully engaged in every piece he plays.

    He promised to come back. And.
    He promised to play my favorite song about reading:
    Turning Pages

    ::     ::     ::

       In 2007 I first discovered Eric Bibb.

    In 2008 we traveled six hours—through an epic blizzard—to see him.

    In 2009, Eric came to us!

  • My South African Aunt


    My Aunt Betty [7/16/1926 - 7/23/2011] and her son Jean Blaise

    Although I had never seen her, the knowledge that I had an aunt living in South Africa was both delicious and thrilling to my young heart.  I fingered the African curios on the bookshelf by the piano: woven baskets, a small carved ivory tusk, a wooden giraffe.  My favorite doll was an African baby with tight black curls and beaded skirts.

    I would sit in the kitchen and quiz my mom on the family tree: going through aunts, uncles and cousins and fitting them, like puzzle pieces, in their proper place.  There was a secret satisfaction when we came to Aunt Betty and Aunt Ruthie. I felt a connection to these foreign aunts because I had been given their names, Carol from Elizabeth Carolyn and Ruth from Ruth Ethel.

     ::     ::     ::

    After I grew up and married, Aunt Betty visited us in California. She was aghast at the extravagant size of our mugs and glasses. “Everything here is SO BIG!” she exclaimed.  When we shopped for groceries she informed me how many rands it would take to purchase each item, a bit of information that baffled me.

    One night she suggested we drink coffee.

    “We aren’t coffee drinkers, Aunt Betty, but I’d be glad to make you a cup.”

    “Why don’t you drink coffee?” she inquired.

    “We just don’t like the taste.” (We didn’t back then!)

    “Let me make the coffee and I promise you will like it!” She warmed a small pan of milk, mixed in a cup of sugar and added instant coffee.  And so we enjoyed our first latte.

     ::     ::     ::

    Several years later, she again paid us a visit. Aunt Betty helped me plant my garden, dispensing folk wisdom for better tomatoes and healthy vegetables. She gave me a cloth bib she had sewn with an African print…and I continue to use it on my grandsons.

    One afternoon my young son, on his own initiative, climbed up on Aunt Betty’s lap and snuggled into her. She almost came undone with surprise and delight.That hour of rocking him, holding him close, giving and accepting affection,was a highlight of her visit.

     ::     ::     ::

    Like all of us, Betty hadconflicting desires. She was a study in contrasts:

        ~ compassionate and yet critical

       ~ exotic and yet proper

       ~ generous and yet demanding

       ~ confident and yet insecure

       ~ stubborn and yet charming

       ~ connected and yet lonely

    ::     ::    ::

    A good way to know a woman is to notice what she loves.  Aunt Betty loved the Lord Jesus, she loved being connected with family, she loved good food, sewing, gardening, old hymns, telephone calls, getting a bargain, dressing well and her beloved South Africa.

    She dearly loved Jean Blaise. Many phone calls were filled with stories about “her son” and how pleased she was with him. “He calls me Mum,” she said. Jean Blaise gave her a focus; helping him was the crowning achievement of her life. Through Betty’s love and generosity, I now have a cousin/brother in South Africa. Through Aunt Betty and now through Jean Blaise, I will always be connected to South Africa.


  • Beauty Has No Explanation

    I asked myself, why do I love,
    and what is the power of beauty,
    and I understood that each and every
    instance of beauty is a promise and an example,
    in miniature,
    of life that can end in balance,
    with symmetry, purpose, and hope—
    even if without explanation.

    Beauty has no explanation,
    but its right perfection elicits love.
    I wondered if my life would be the same,
    if at the end the elements would come together
    just enough to give rise to a simple melody
    as powerful as the one in Paolo’s metal top,
    a song that, even if it did not explain
    the desperate and painful past,
    would make it worthy of love.

    Of course, I still don’t know.
    God help me to have a moment
    of his saddest beauty in which I do.

    ~ Mark Helprin in A Soldier of the Great War

    Picking up a book I have read, a book I have loved.
    Flipping it open.
    Finding a quote marked.

    This is why I love to dust my bookshelves.
    This is why it’s an all day affair.

  • Keen on Quinoa


    Quinoa Salad

    Here’s the thing regarding quinoa:
    it is a base; it will not overwhelm you with flavor.

    So you need to bring the zest, the gusto, the tang if you want the salad to sing.

    The quinoa by itself is not qualified. It’s healthy. It’s lovely. It has done its job.
    But the stuff you add will make people touch their fingertips to their lips and say
    Mama Mia, molto bene!

    [Ahem. Let's get this tasty bit of information on the table.
    It's pronounced KEEN-wah.
    It is a complete protein, gluten-free, good for you grain.]

    Disclaimer: if precision is what you crave, Google a quinoa salad recipe.
    This is one of those use-what-you-have recipes.

    First you need cooked quinoa. Simple Simon.
    1:2 ratio of quinoa to water.
    Cook 15 minutes or until quinoa is translucent.

    Then you add good flavors.

    Onion is not optional. Unless you don’t like onion.
    I’m guessing if you don’t like onion, you won’t like quinoa.
    Green, red, white, or yellow: just chop it up.

    Tomatoes are excellent for their acidity. And flavor.

    Bell peppers add crunch, flavor and color.
    Red, yellow, orange, or green.

    Cucumber is sort of the introverted vegetable.
    Doesn’t need the spotlight, but always adds something wonderful.
    Peel, de-seed if you must, chop.

    Olives are essential.
    I think their saltiness completes this salad.
    I prefer Kalamata (a very salty Greek olive).
    But I only had black olives on hand and the salad was still superb.
    Slice or chop and add.

    You could add or subtract to this community group:

    Artichoke hearts
    Feta cheese
    Hot pepper e.g. jalapeno
    Roasted pumpkin seeds
    Diced celery
    Zucchini
    Anything that strikes you as Mediterranean

    When you have all these ingredients mixed together
    you are on the verge {[vurj] -noun: the edge, rim or margin} of something spectacular.
    You are close, but you are not yet there.
    Naked, this salad misses the mark.

    The dressing delivers the zest, the gusto, the tang.

    Any oil and vinegar dressing will help, especially if you are generous with the vinegar.
    If you buy salad dressing, I’d recommend Newman’s Own.

    One fine day I had limes I needed to use.
    I made a Lime Vinaigrette that will forever be the thing that makes Quinoa ♫ sing ♫.

    I use a 1:2 ratio of lime juice to olive oil.
    You can skimp on the olive oil. Make it 1:1½

    In a jar add lime juice, olive oil,
    a few shakes of garlic powder,
    a dab of Dijon,
    salt and pepper (more than a shake: perhaps ½ t)
    Shake.
    Dress that salad, baby.

    It looks inviting.
    It smells fresh.
    It tastes delicious.
     It will fill you up.


  • Amy Tan’s Third Grade Essay

      

    I love school because the many things I learn
    seem to turn on a light in the little room in my mind.
    I can see a lot of things I have never seen before.
    I can read many interesting books by myself now.
    I love to read.
    My father takes me to the library every two weeks,
    and I check five or six books each time.
    These books seem to open many windows in my little room.
    I can see many wonderful things outside.

    ~ excerpt of essay written by Amy Tan at age 8
    quoted in Reading Rooms

  • Closing Thoughts

     

    She is depressed.  The d’s—disappointment, discouragement, dejection, despondency, despair—plague her. And Death, the big D, is staring in the window, eager to devour. 

    I longed to encourage her. I looked for the right words. I had in mind the last verse of one of the psalms, about hope.  Flipping through the psalms, it occurred to me that the closing thought of many psalms are precisely what we need to hear in the closing chapter of our life. The perfect orientation. The reminder of where our strength lies. Solid truth. Something to grip.

    Here is a sampling:

    Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
    and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. [23]  

    Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?
    Hope in God, for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God. [42]

    For the Lord is good;
    his steadfast love endures forever,
    and his faithfulness to all generations. [100]

    In peace I will both lie down and sleep:
    for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety. [4]

    Bring me out of prison, that I may give thanks to your name!
    The righteous will surround me, for you will deal bountifully with me. [142]

    Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage;
    wait for the Lord. [27]

    Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
    for his steadfast love endures forever! [118]

    I will thank you forever, because you have done it.
    I will wait for your name, for it is good, in the presence of the godly. [52]

    Our help is in the name of the Lord,
    who made heaven and earth. [124]

    Let your steadfast love, O Lord, be upon us,
    even as we hope in you. [33]

    For he stands at the right hand of the needy one,
    to save him from those who condemn his soul to death. [109]

    O Lord of hosts,
    blessed is the one who trusts in you! [84]

    Bless the Lord, O my soul! [103]

    Let everything that has breath praise the Lord!
    Praise the Lord! [150]

  • I Do

    I do.                        Two small words.    

    Take.                      Four
    Have.                    four-
    Hold.                       letter
    Love.                       words

    Cherish.                 One of the longest word in the vows.

    The words are simple.
    Which is not the same as saying it is easy.
    Sometimes it is remarkably rough.
    After we’ve weathered difficult seasons we find ourselves still holding, loving, and cherishing.
     
    Happy Anniversary, Curt! 33 Years! You make it easy.

    ::    ::     ::

    We watched a Lark Rise to Candleford episode in which a father figure offers a poem to a nervous bride who fears her husband will stop loving her when he really knows her. Curt looks at me and asks, “Which poem, babe?”

    As I thought, it was William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116.

    Let me not to the marriage of true minds
    Admit impediments. Love is not love
    Which alters when it alteration finds,
    Or bends with the remover to remove:
    O no! it is an ever-fixéd mark,
    That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
    It is the star to every wandering bark,
    Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
    Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
    Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
    Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
    But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
         If this be error, and upon me prov’d,
         I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.