Queen Shenaynay... aka Mamadah
When Spuddy Buddy was a toddler, reading I Love You This Much together was always quite an event for the two of us. Nutbrown Hare and his son inspired a tradition between us where I would say something like "I love you all around the rings of Saturn" and he would try to top me with something like "Well, Mamadah, I love you all around the Universe!" (Who knew you could use love to teach astronomy?)
That led to another top secret exchange we still repeat to each other often:
Me: I love you!
Him: I love you more!
Me: I love you most!
Him: I love you more than most!
So it happens that last night, after reading many bedtime stories, we turned off the light and said prayers... and somewhere in there I drifted off to sleep in his bed. And in the wee hours past midnight, I was awakened by him laughing in his sleep -- deep chuckly belly laughs -- something he has often done in his sleep ever since he was an infant (and a blessed delight to witness). Then, a minute or so later, he said something magical in his sleep. It was a poem, really. Try to hear this in the slow and dreamy voice of a five year old boy, almost sung, almost whispered:
I love my Mamadah
Through every part of night
Through every part of dreams
To every part of the moon
And all around the stars.
Then he rolled over and instantly resumed the deep, measured breaths of little boy slumber.
I'm so glad I was there to hear it. I think an angel must have tickled him in his sleep so his jolly little laugh would wake me up just in time to hear the love poem of my life. I hope I can still recite it when I'm a little old lady.
March 31, 2005
March 30, 2005
A Question
This post is a break from our usual tradition of intellectual, eclectic brilliance and wit to ask YOU, the gentle readers, the Beehive Faithful, a question. :-)
What, besides the Bible, do you think are the three best written books in the English language, and why?
I would say:
-- Mansfield Park for the delicacy and maturity of its tone, storyline, characters, themes, and writing
--The Lord of the Rings for the staggering achievement of creating Middle Earth in such entirety and perfection, the beauty of the language, and the incredible plot with echoes of the Bible
--And--- Winnie the Pooh, for creativity, the amazing realness of the characters, the comic timing, and the sheer brilliance of the wonderful and FUNNY writing style.
Yes, I know, that last one is a little odd. But Winnie the Pooh, REAL Winnie the Pooh, not the weak, watered-down Disney version, is one of those books that I just can't stop reading. I go through it at least once a year. :-)
What, besides the Bible, do you think are the three best written books in the English language, and why?
I would say:
-- Mansfield Park for the delicacy and maturity of its tone, storyline, characters, themes, and writing
--The Lord of the Rings for the staggering achievement of creating Middle Earth in such entirety and perfection, the beauty of the language, and the incredible plot with echoes of the Bible
--And--- Winnie the Pooh, for creativity, the amazing realness of the characters, the comic timing, and the sheer brilliance of the wonderful and FUNNY writing style.
Yes, I know, that last one is a little odd. But Winnie the Pooh, REAL Winnie the Pooh, not the weak, watered-down Disney version, is one of those books that I just can't stop reading. I go through it at least once a year. :-)
March 27, 2005
If
Queen Shenaynay
For shame.
As we enjoy a Sunday evening chat around the hearth, the shocking truth comes out: certain Beehive citizens are not familiar with the stirring poem If by Rudyard Kipling. The Queen was required to memorize it at the age of nine, which is not all that remarkable, until one knows the rest of the story, a tale which should be told. But first, our Gentle Readers should have the pleasure of the poem:
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run --
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling
Now, the story. Nine years passed between my fourth grade memorization of this poem, and the summer of my seventeenth year, when I had all four of my wisdom teeth removed in one nasty afternoon. I doubt I gave the poem a single thought in all that time.
The dentist used full anesthesia. In the recovery room, in those first woozy moments of coming up from the druggy fog, my mother said I began to quote poetry. Still strapped to the gurney, I gave a rather thick performance of "I never saw a moor" by Emily Dickenson -- not surprising, since I had recently memorized it (and love it still). Then, I quoted "If" in its entirety.
The next day, Mother asked me, "When did you memorize that Kipling poem?"
Through swollen chipmunk cheeks I lisped, "Don't fink I have any Kip-wing memo-wized."
"If, I think it was."
"Oh, dat. Fourf gwade. Why?"
Mother gaped. When she told me what I'd done the day before, I'm sure I would have gaped, too -- had I been able to open my sore, sutured jaw. Fully conscious, I could recall bits and snippets of it, but I couldn't begin to recite the whole shebang.
Just goes to show that whatever one puts in one's little pea-pickin' brains DOES in fact get stashed away in there for good. Just because one cannot retrieve it doesn't mean it isn't there. One just needs to find the weedy path to it. And sometimes that's like pulling teeth.
Exactly like. ;-)
For shame.
As we enjoy a Sunday evening chat around the hearth, the shocking truth comes out: certain Beehive citizens are not familiar with the stirring poem If by Rudyard Kipling. The Queen was required to memorize it at the age of nine, which is not all that remarkable, until one knows the rest of the story, a tale which should be told. But first, our Gentle Readers should have the pleasure of the poem:
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run --
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling
Now, the story. Nine years passed between my fourth grade memorization of this poem, and the summer of my seventeenth year, when I had all four of my wisdom teeth removed in one nasty afternoon. I doubt I gave the poem a single thought in all that time.
The dentist used full anesthesia. In the recovery room, in those first woozy moments of coming up from the druggy fog, my mother said I began to quote poetry. Still strapped to the gurney, I gave a rather thick performance of "I never saw a moor" by Emily Dickenson -- not surprising, since I had recently memorized it (and love it still). Then, I quoted "If" in its entirety.
The next day, Mother asked me, "When did you memorize that Kipling poem?"
Through swollen chipmunk cheeks I lisped, "Don't fink I have any Kip-wing memo-wized."
"If, I think it was."
"Oh, dat. Fourf gwade. Why?"
Mother gaped. When she told me what I'd done the day before, I'm sure I would have gaped, too -- had I been able to open my sore, sutured jaw. Fully conscious, I could recall bits and snippets of it, but I couldn't begin to recite the whole shebang.
Just goes to show that whatever one puts in one's little pea-pickin' brains DOES in fact get stashed away in there for good. Just because one cannot retrieve it doesn't mean it isn't there. One just needs to find the weedy path to it. And sometimes that's like pulling teeth.
Exactly like. ;-)
March 26, 2005
They Sang a Hymn
Queen Shenaynay
"And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the mount of Olives." Matthew 26:30
What was this last hymn Jesus sang before suffering and dying on the cross?
Scripture doesn't specify, but according to Jewish tradition, the Passover meal observation included the singing of specific Psalms at specific moments in the meal. These are known as the Hallel Psalms (from "hallelujah"). The Jews traditionally concluded the Passover meal with the singing of Psalms 114 through 118.
A lovely comment about this from Meri on the World Magazine blog:
"As Jesus sat with his disciples, he knew that within a few short hours he would be surrounded by an angry mob demanding his death. He knew what lay before him. He knew that he would become God's true sacrificial Lamb and the true Unleavened Bread to be broken for all to see. And in the unfathomable wisdom of God, the Jewish Passover Hallel tradition would dictate the awesome prophetic script for Jesus and his disciples at this Last Supper.
Within just a few hours, two thousand years of prophetic "shadow" would 'kiss' the Truth that had omnisciently cast it. The pivot point of all history was about to occur. The words of Israel's prophets concerning Messiah were about to be fulfilled. And that evening...in that room, Jesus alone knew it."
Here are the prophetic words Jesus may well have sung as He went out into that dark night which was to be the one true hinge of history:
Psalm 118: 13-24
The LORD is my strength and song, and is become my salvation.
The voice of rejoicing and salvation is in the tabernacles of the righteous: the right hand of the LORD doeth valiantly.
The right hand of the LORD is exalted: the right hand of the LORD doeth valiantly.
I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the LORD.
The LORD hath chastened me sore: but he hath not given me over unto death.
Open to me the gates of righteousness: I will go into them, and I will praise the LORD:
This gate of the LORD, into which the righteous shall enter.
I will praise thee: for thou hast heard me, and art become my salvation.
The stone which the builders refused is become the head stone of the corner.
This is the LORD's doing; it is marvellous in our eyes.
This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.
"And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the mount of Olives." Matthew 26:30
What was this last hymn Jesus sang before suffering and dying on the cross?
Scripture doesn't specify, but according to Jewish tradition, the Passover meal observation included the singing of specific Psalms at specific moments in the meal. These are known as the Hallel Psalms (from "hallelujah"). The Jews traditionally concluded the Passover meal with the singing of Psalms 114 through 118.
A lovely comment about this from Meri on the World Magazine blog:
"As Jesus sat with his disciples, he knew that within a few short hours he would be surrounded by an angry mob demanding his death. He knew what lay before him. He knew that he would become God's true sacrificial Lamb and the true Unleavened Bread to be broken for all to see. And in the unfathomable wisdom of God, the Jewish Passover Hallel tradition would dictate the awesome prophetic script for Jesus and his disciples at this Last Supper.
Within just a few hours, two thousand years of prophetic "shadow" would 'kiss' the Truth that had omnisciently cast it. The pivot point of all history was about to occur. The words of Israel's prophets concerning Messiah were about to be fulfilled. And that evening...in that room, Jesus alone knew it."
Here are the prophetic words Jesus may well have sung as He went out into that dark night which was to be the one true hinge of history:
Psalm 118: 13-24
The LORD is my strength and song, and is become my salvation.
The voice of rejoicing and salvation is in the tabernacles of the righteous: the right hand of the LORD doeth valiantly.
The right hand of the LORD is exalted: the right hand of the LORD doeth valiantly.
I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the LORD.
The LORD hath chastened me sore: but he hath not given me over unto death.
Open to me the gates of righteousness: I will go into them, and I will praise the LORD:
This gate of the LORD, into which the righteous shall enter.
I will praise thee: for thou hast heard me, and art become my salvation.
The stone which the builders refused is become the head stone of the corner.
This is the LORD's doing; it is marvellous in our eyes.
This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.
Herbert's Easter
Queen Shenaynay
EASTER
RISE heart; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise
Without delayes,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
With him mayst rise:
That, as his death calcined thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more just.
Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
With all thy art.
The crosse taught all wood to resound his name
Who bore the same.
His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.
Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song
Pleasant and long:
Or since all music is but three parts vied,
And multiplied;
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.
George Herbert
(17th C English poet)
EASTER
RISE heart; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise
Without delayes,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
With him mayst rise:
That, as his death calcined thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more just.
Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
With all thy art.
The crosse taught all wood to resound his name
Who bore the same.
His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.
Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song
Pleasant and long:
Or since all music is but three parts vied,
And multiplied;
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.
George Herbert
(17th C English poet)
"This Day is Called the Feast of Crispin"
The Shieldmaiden
I just finished watching Henry V for the second time, and what a good movie it is, too. I love the part at the end of the battle, when the French messenger is fighting people away from Henry. So cool.
Sometimes I find myself thinking that Shakespeare's histories are better when you are watching them rather than reading them.
Too bad Henry VI lost it all back to France. I mean, after his father did all that to win France, he had to go and lose it! Somehow that doesn't seem right.
If you are going to watch a movie of the play, watch the Kenneth Branaugh version, not the one with the dear pokerface, Sir Lawrence. Branaugh's is much better.
I just finished watching Henry V for the second time, and what a good movie it is, too. I love the part at the end of the battle, when the French messenger is fighting people away from Henry. So cool.
Sometimes I find myself thinking that Shakespeare's histories are better when you are watching them rather than reading them.
Too bad Henry VI lost it all back to France. I mean, after his father did all that to win France, he had to go and lose it! Somehow that doesn't seem right.
If you are going to watch a movie of the play, watch the Kenneth Branaugh version, not the one with the dear pokerface, Sir Lawrence. Branaugh's is much better.
March 25, 2005
Glory, Honor and Salvation
Fa-So-La-La
We sang this lovely, lovely hymn in church Wednesday night, and as it is not very common (but definitely deserves to be) I thought I would share it:
Hark! the Jubilee Is Sounding
Hark! the jubilee is sounding,
Oh, the joyful news is come;
Free salvation is proclaimed
In and through God's holy Son.
Now we have complete redemption
Through the meek and lowly Lamb;
Glory, honor, and salvation,
Christ the Lord is come to reign!
Now let each one cease from wand'ring,
Come and follow Christ the Way,
We shall all receive a blessing,
If from Him we do not stray.
Golden moments we've neglected,
Yet the Lord forgives again;
Glory, honor, and salvation,
Christ the Lord is come to reign!
Come, let us run our race with patience,
Looking unto Christ the Way,
Who doth live and reign forever
With His Father and our God.
He is worthy to be praised,
He is our exalted King;
Glory, honor, and salvation,
Christ the Lord is come to reign!
Come, dear children, praise your Jesus,
Praise Him, praise Him evermore;
May His great love now constrain us,
So His great name we'll adore.
Oh, then let us join together,
His wondrous name to proclaim;
Glory, honor, and salvation,
Christ the Lord is come to reign!
I don't think I can add anything to that but a hearty 'Amen!'
Oh, and a link to a midi file: http://www.ccel.org/s/southern_harmony/sharm/sharm/hymn/t=Jubilee.html
We sang this lovely, lovely hymn in church Wednesday night, and as it is not very common (but definitely deserves to be) I thought I would share it:
Hark! the Jubilee Is Sounding
Hark! the jubilee is sounding,
Oh, the joyful news is come;
Free salvation is proclaimed
In and through God's holy Son.
Now we have complete redemption
Through the meek and lowly Lamb;
Glory, honor, and salvation,
Christ the Lord is come to reign!
Now let each one cease from wand'ring,
Come and follow Christ the Way,
We shall all receive a blessing,
If from Him we do not stray.
Golden moments we've neglected,
Yet the Lord forgives again;
Glory, honor, and salvation,
Christ the Lord is come to reign!
Come, let us run our race with patience,
Looking unto Christ the Way,
Who doth live and reign forever
With His Father and our God.
He is worthy to be praised,
He is our exalted King;
Glory, honor, and salvation,
Christ the Lord is come to reign!
Come, dear children, praise your Jesus,
Praise Him, praise Him evermore;
May His great love now constrain us,
So His great name we'll adore.
Oh, then let us join together,
His wondrous name to proclaim;
Glory, honor, and salvation,
Christ the Lord is come to reign!
I don't think I can add anything to that but a hearty 'Amen!'
Oh, and a link to a midi file: http://www.ccel.org/s/southern_harmony/sharm/sharm/hymn/t=Jubilee.html
Referential Relief
Queen Shenaynay
For any of our Gentle Readers who could only wonder at the literary reference in the title of Fa-So-La-La's recent blog entry on haiku, such poetic anxieties may be assuaged by a brief visit with Keats. Go on, now: click on it and you will learn something today. Recommended reading for all Beehive scholars and friends. Epiphanies are Good Things.
And those who faced similar shortcomings in identifying the literary reference which the Queen so casually dropped in her comments to that entry (to wit: "give the others a chance to exhibit") may find relief, as so often is the case around the Beehive, emanating from the hallowed pen of Jane Austen.
We hope these clues provide sufficient remedy for all unresolved anxieties we may have inflicted upon our Gentle Readers. Oh, but stick around: there will surely be more. Such fun -- !
For any of our Gentle Readers who could only wonder at the literary reference in the title of Fa-So-La-La's recent blog entry on haiku, such poetic anxieties may be assuaged by a brief visit with Keats. Go on, now: click on it and you will learn something today. Recommended reading for all Beehive scholars and friends. Epiphanies are Good Things.
And those who faced similar shortcomings in identifying the literary reference which the Queen so casually dropped in her comments to that entry (to wit: "give the others a chance to exhibit") may find relief, as so often is the case around the Beehive, emanating from the hallowed pen of Jane Austen.
We hope these clues provide sufficient remedy for all unresolved anxieties we may have inflicted upon our Gentle Readers. Oh, but stick around: there will surely be more. Such fun -- !
March 24, 2005
Defender of Virtue, Retail Division
Queen Shenaynay
The Shieldmaiden, valiant and true, may have launched a new cultural revolt this evening. One just never knows for sure whether it's the eve of a revolution until time tells.
While strolling through a high-tone store at the mall tonight, our bold rebel marched right up to a bare bellied mannequin, looked right square into her vapid tempera eyes, and in a moment of quiet drama, yanked the plaster gal's clingy pink sweater down to cover the top of her low-slung pants.
"There," quothe she. "Better."
Retail Establishments, beware. The Shieldmaiden is in a shopping mood, and she's really sick of swimming upstream in a sea of belly buttons.
The Shieldmaiden, valiant and true, may have launched a new cultural revolt this evening. One just never knows for sure whether it's the eve of a revolution until time tells.
While strolling through a high-tone store at the mall tonight, our bold rebel marched right up to a bare bellied mannequin, looked right square into her vapid tempera eyes, and in a moment of quiet drama, yanked the plaster gal's clingy pink sweater down to cover the top of her low-slung pants.
"There," quothe she. "Better."
Retail Establishments, beware. The Shieldmaiden is in a shopping mood, and she's really sick of swimming upstream in a sea of belly buttons.
March 21, 2005
On First Looking Into Gary Hotham's 'Breathmarks'
Fa-So-La-La... and Shieldmaiden
As a follow-up to the post on haiku and postmodernism, here are a few that the Shieldmaiden and I were, ahem, inspired to write upon being introduced to that most illustrious form of poetic thought--
Jar crystals
If I had started them yesterday
They would be one day old
Pride and Prejudice
Mr. Darcy jumps into the pond
I wonder why Jane Austen died
Solitaire
A mindless maze of polished stones
I haven't won in a year
Summer
One hundred degrees
The ceiling fan clicks
3:59
The bed still not made
Dull light spills through the closed window
Photographs
I should have grown out my bangs
When I was eight
Bathroom mirror
Happy Christmas sign
Half worn off
Lunch out
I have never
Put a straw in a coffee cup before
Grandparents house
Crooked pictures on the wall
The trees are more dead than alive
Hot outside
My favorite movie
Lies temptingly near
Infinity
A pile of computer paper
Translucent and endless
----------------------------------------
Virtual M&M's to all those who 'got' the title of this post. :-)
As a follow-up to the post on haiku and postmodernism, here are a few that the Shieldmaiden and I were, ahem, inspired to write upon being introduced to that most illustrious form of poetic thought--
Jar crystals
If I had started them yesterday
They would be one day old
Pride and Prejudice
Mr. Darcy jumps into the pond
I wonder why Jane Austen died
Solitaire
A mindless maze of polished stones
I haven't won in a year
Summer
One hundred degrees
The ceiling fan clicks
3:59
The bed still not made
Dull light spills through the closed window
Photographs
I should have grown out my bangs
When I was eight
Bathroom mirror
Happy Christmas sign
Half worn off
Lunch out
I have never
Put a straw in a coffee cup before
Grandparents house
Crooked pictures on the wall
The trees are more dead than alive
Hot outside
My favorite movie
Lies temptingly near
Infinity
A pile of computer paper
Translucent and endless
----------------------------------------
Virtual M&M's to all those who 'got' the title of this post. :-)
March 19, 2005
When I'm Singing, I Know Who I Am
Queen Shenaynay
We Beehive gals went to our community monthly Sacred Harp singing today. My, oh my, "glory shone around," as the old hymn goes. Those two euphoric hours of belting out lofty, sacred words to tunes wrought from strange, ancient notations has again left our cheeks flushed, our cells fully oxygenated for at least a day or two hence. Ah me, there's just nothing like tapping toes in the "hollow square." Puts a buzz in the bones, stirs the soul. Needful stuff, that.
Reminds us who we are... who we really are.
I suppose I could write this entire entry on the restorative joys of zoning into a state of flow through a creative pursuit like Sacred Harp singing, but instead I'm preoccupied just now with why people don't sing like they used to.
In times past, whole communities gathered to sing on weekends; neighbors gathered on porches and in parlors in the evenings. I still find peace in childhood memories of the singing faces of loved ones young and old, faces open and free, at least while the songs lasted. (I especially recall the old men with rafter-ringing tenors and boot-thumping basses -- where have they gone?) It was as though singing together suspended a bridge across our generations, where we traversed in a moment of common grace, where we understood one another... where we knew who we were.
We have it in our blood. Englishmen used to break out in song in pubs -- please tell me they do still? -- serenading the moment with nary a care for vocal finery. The Scots had their ceilidhs -- village gatherings where any who came must be willing to contribute in some way to the evening's entertainment, perhaps with a jig or a strathspey on the highland pipes... aye, but 'twas a hearty folk song t'would bring down the house!
A few still heed the ancestral call. Near my home there's a European deli where Germans and Austrians gather to heartily sing their native folk songs over platters of sausage and sauerkraut, and it's some of the jolliest fun to be had in this metropolitan city on a Friday night! And some weekend nights my daughters and I tiptoe past a corner table at our neighborhood Starbucks where a group of North Africans gathers to all but whisper songs from home under the tireless, tiring drone of piped-in pop music.
They sing to remember who they are, just like I do.
Where are your ancestral songs? Sleeping in your head? In your grandfather's grave? Do we wax too dull to sing, too self-aware to be heard outside the shower? Why?
Singing is now something celebrities do for us. We are perhaps the first generation in human history so removed from personal song, so bereft of the knowledge of that zing in the air, the wisdom of the buzz in the bones, the soul a-stir in song. We are comfortably numb, but only because we don't know what we don't know.
It seeps into churches, inevitably. Most likely your grandparents sang enough, congregationally, to wear out the hymnals stashed in their pew. They knew the zing, the buzz, the stir -- knew it as an old personal friend. Will your children? Your grandchildren? Or will they know no better than to accept being passively entertained by the polished few who make the worship team, perhaps mumbling buzzlessly along to a few easy praise songs?
Will you forfeit your song?
And if you do, will your children sing?
Will they know who they really are if they don't sing?
God created our souls to sing! Really sing. May your children know the incarnational joy of singing till their bones buzz and their souls stir.
Conjure up a world where everyone knows the tingly joy that comes from spontaneously joining in song at unplanned moments in family life. What a happy place. Here in the Beehive, one of us will start humming a hymn melody while washing dishes, another will drift in, grab a drying towel and pick up the alto, a third will get magnetically drawn in to add the missing tenor, and next thing you know it's an hour later and we're all on the sofas with the old hymnals out (and the older the better -- nothing written in about a century can vibrate the old marrow like that old dispersed harmony!). Or one of us will start humming in the car and a couple of miles down the road we're practically shattering the windshield.
If the world is to become a singing place again, it must start with families. Here in the Hive, we're letting it rip. Won't you sing with us?
[For the best hymnal I've ever seen, go here.
For a child-friendly selection of traditional folk songs and classic hymns, see www.AmblesideOnline.org.]
We Beehive gals went to our community monthly Sacred Harp singing today. My, oh my, "glory shone around," as the old hymn goes. Those two euphoric hours of belting out lofty, sacred words to tunes wrought from strange, ancient notations has again left our cheeks flushed, our cells fully oxygenated for at least a day or two hence. Ah me, there's just nothing like tapping toes in the "hollow square." Puts a buzz in the bones, stirs the soul. Needful stuff, that.
Reminds us who we are... who we really are.
I suppose I could write this entire entry on the restorative joys of zoning into a state of flow through a creative pursuit like Sacred Harp singing, but instead I'm preoccupied just now with why people don't sing like they used to.
In times past, whole communities gathered to sing on weekends; neighbors gathered on porches and in parlors in the evenings. I still find peace in childhood memories of the singing faces of loved ones young and old, faces open and free, at least while the songs lasted. (I especially recall the old men with rafter-ringing tenors and boot-thumping basses -- where have they gone?) It was as though singing together suspended a bridge across our generations, where we traversed in a moment of common grace, where we understood one another... where we knew who we were.
We have it in our blood. Englishmen used to break out in song in pubs -- please tell me they do still? -- serenading the moment with nary a care for vocal finery. The Scots had their ceilidhs -- village gatherings where any who came must be willing to contribute in some way to the evening's entertainment, perhaps with a jig or a strathspey on the highland pipes... aye, but 'twas a hearty folk song t'would bring down the house!
A few still heed the ancestral call. Near my home there's a European deli where Germans and Austrians gather to heartily sing their native folk songs over platters of sausage and sauerkraut, and it's some of the jolliest fun to be had in this metropolitan city on a Friday night! And some weekend nights my daughters and I tiptoe past a corner table at our neighborhood Starbucks where a group of North Africans gathers to all but whisper songs from home under the tireless, tiring drone of piped-in pop music.
They sing to remember who they are, just like I do.
Where are your ancestral songs? Sleeping in your head? In your grandfather's grave? Do we wax too dull to sing, too self-aware to be heard outside the shower? Why?
Singing is now something celebrities do for us. We are perhaps the first generation in human history so removed from personal song, so bereft of the knowledge of that zing in the air, the wisdom of the buzz in the bones, the soul a-stir in song. We are comfortably numb, but only because we don't know what we don't know.
It seeps into churches, inevitably. Most likely your grandparents sang enough, congregationally, to wear out the hymnals stashed in their pew. They knew the zing, the buzz, the stir -- knew it as an old personal friend. Will your children? Your grandchildren? Or will they know no better than to accept being passively entertained by the polished few who make the worship team, perhaps mumbling buzzlessly along to a few easy praise songs?
Will you forfeit your song?
And if you do, will your children sing?
Will they know who they really are if they don't sing?
God created our souls to sing! Really sing. May your children know the incarnational joy of singing till their bones buzz and their souls stir.
Conjure up a world where everyone knows the tingly joy that comes from spontaneously joining in song at unplanned moments in family life. What a happy place. Here in the Beehive, one of us will start humming a hymn melody while washing dishes, another will drift in, grab a drying towel and pick up the alto, a third will get magnetically drawn in to add the missing tenor, and next thing you know it's an hour later and we're all on the sofas with the old hymnals out (and the older the better -- nothing written in about a century can vibrate the old marrow like that old dispersed harmony!). Or one of us will start humming in the car and a couple of miles down the road we're practically shattering the windshield.
If the world is to become a singing place again, it must start with families. Here in the Hive, we're letting it rip. Won't you sing with us?
[For the best hymnal I've ever seen, go here.
For a child-friendly selection of traditional folk songs and classic hymns, see www.AmblesideOnline.org.]
"Now that's what I call ironic!"
Fa-So-La-La
Some of you Beehive faithful may remember a while back my post on haiku and postmodernism, and the discussion it caused. Well, in the wake of all this I have been thinking about how words and language cause postmodernism, to quote Dr. Grant, to 'collapse under the weight of it's own absurdity.'
Postmodernists (forgive me if this is oversimplification, but I'm trying to make a point!) say that there is no purpose or truth or beauty-- they insist on the meaninglessness of all things. And they deny that language can be used effectively to express truths with clarity and certainty. They insist that communication is a lost cause.
I wonder if they have ever thought about how they prove themselves wrong every time they order a pizza?
They use words to express the inefficacy of language, and they state what they believe to be true as they claim there is no truth. They do more to prove their position wrong by simply living than we do by refuting them.
All this reminds me of Thomas Jeffersons' wonderful phrase 'self-evident truth.' I think that somewhere inside them, most men can see the difference between folly such as Postmodernism and the truth. I am not making a theological statement here, I am just saying that plain common sense and instinct will prove many errors wrong. It does not take much profundity to figure out that language is highly valuable and useful.
The postmodernists themselves show this in their inability to escape language-- they still talk and write books and poetry and music. True, they have done all they could to make language obscure and vague -- as evidenced by much modern poetry-- but they are still using it. They cannot escape-- they condemn themselves with every step. They are trapped and ambushed by their own armies every minute of every day.
Some of you Beehive faithful may remember a while back my post on haiku and postmodernism, and the discussion it caused. Well, in the wake of all this I have been thinking about how words and language cause postmodernism, to quote Dr. Grant, to 'collapse under the weight of it's own absurdity.'
Postmodernists (forgive me if this is oversimplification, but I'm trying to make a point!) say that there is no purpose or truth or beauty-- they insist on the meaninglessness of all things. And they deny that language can be used effectively to express truths with clarity and certainty. They insist that communication is a lost cause.
I wonder if they have ever thought about how they prove themselves wrong every time they order a pizza?
They use words to express the inefficacy of language, and they state what they believe to be true as they claim there is no truth. They do more to prove their position wrong by simply living than we do by refuting them.
All this reminds me of Thomas Jeffersons' wonderful phrase 'self-evident truth.' I think that somewhere inside them, most men can see the difference between folly such as Postmodernism and the truth. I am not making a theological statement here, I am just saying that plain common sense and instinct will prove many errors wrong. It does not take much profundity to figure out that language is highly valuable and useful.
The postmodernists themselves show this in their inability to escape language-- they still talk and write books and poetry and music. True, they have done all they could to make language obscure and vague -- as evidenced by much modern poetry-- but they are still using it. They cannot escape-- they condemn themselves with every step. They are trapped and ambushed by their own armies every minute of every day.
March 17, 2005
Patrick the Poet
Queen Shenaynay
We citizens of The Beehive are not Irish (had to clarify that right up front to keep The Great Scot calm), nor are we Catholic; however we do appreciate great poetry, and stories of great lives lived boldly for the glory of Jesus Christ. Fa-So-La-La and I recently read Thomas Cahill's compelling book "How The Irish Saved Civilization" and were charmed by this lyrical, jubilant meditation allegedly written by Patrick of Ireland, who died on this day in 461. Bear in mind that you're reading a poem penned in a wild, pagan land... over 1600 years ago.
Lorica of Saint Patrick
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation.
I arise today
Through the strength of Christ's birth and His baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion and His burial,
Through the strength of His resurrection and His ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of doom.
I arise today
Through the strength of the love of cherubim,
In obedience of angels,
In service of archangels,
In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In preachings of the apostles,
In faiths of confessors,
In innocence of virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.
I arise today
Through the strength of heaven;
Light of the sun,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of the wind,
Depth of the sea,
Stability of the earth,
Firmness of the rock.
I arise today
Through God's strength to pilot me;
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's hosts to save me
From snares of the devil,
From temptations of vices,
From every one who desires me ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone or in a multitude.
I summon today all these powers between me and evil,
Against every cruel merciless power that opposes my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of women and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.
Christ shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that reward may come to me in abundance.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through a confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation.
St. Patrick (ca. 377)
This poem has been adapted and set to a tune in modern times; you can hear the hymn here and read the lyrics here: http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/s/t/stpatric.htm
We citizens of The Beehive are not Irish (had to clarify that right up front to keep The Great Scot calm), nor are we Catholic; however we do appreciate great poetry, and stories of great lives lived boldly for the glory of Jesus Christ. Fa-So-La-La and I recently read Thomas Cahill's compelling book "How The Irish Saved Civilization" and were charmed by this lyrical, jubilant meditation allegedly written by Patrick of Ireland, who died on this day in 461. Bear in mind that you're reading a poem penned in a wild, pagan land... over 1600 years ago.
Lorica of Saint Patrick
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation.
I arise today
Through the strength of Christ's birth and His baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion and His burial,
Through the strength of His resurrection and His ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of doom.
I arise today
Through the strength of the love of cherubim,
In obedience of angels,
In service of archangels,
In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In preachings of the apostles,
In faiths of confessors,
In innocence of virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.
I arise today
Through the strength of heaven;
Light of the sun,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of the wind,
Depth of the sea,
Stability of the earth,
Firmness of the rock.
I arise today
Through God's strength to pilot me;
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's hosts to save me
From snares of the devil,
From temptations of vices,
From every one who desires me ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone or in a multitude.
I summon today all these powers between me and evil,
Against every cruel merciless power that opposes my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of women and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.
Christ shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that reward may come to me in abundance.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through a confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation.
St. Patrick (ca. 377)
This poem has been adapted and set to a tune in modern times; you can hear the hymn here and read the lyrics here: http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/s/t/stpatric.htm
"Promise! Oh, prooomiiise! Where are you? Come here, little promise!"
Well, I was flipping through a Christian book catalog that shall mercifully go unnamed, and I came across a Bible carrier (one of those squishy things) that said:
Promise of Heaven:
Left Behind
Oh, dear. Oh, deary deary dear. As the Shieldmaiden said, "Well, that gives me hope of my salvation!"
Promise of Heaven:
Left Behind
Oh, dear. Oh, deary deary dear. As the Shieldmaiden said, "Well, that gives me hope of my salvation!"
Emily Dickenson on Irresistible Grace
Fa-So-La-La
This poem is one of many written about this time in Dickenson's life that deals with this subject-- it makes me think that she must have had an experience of grace sometime around then. It's one of my favorites.
#480
Why do I love You, Sir?
Because--
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer- Wherefore when he pass
She cannot keep Her place.
Because He knows- and
Do not You-
And We know not-
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so-
The Lightning- never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut-when He was by-
Because He knows it cannot speak-
And reasons not contained-
-Of Talk-
There be preferred by Daintier Folk-
The Sunrise- Sir- compelleth Me-
Because He's Sunrise- and I see-
Therefore- Then-
I love Thee-
This poem is one of many written about this time in Dickenson's life that deals with this subject-- it makes me think that she must have had an experience of grace sometime around then. It's one of my favorites.
#480
Why do I love You, Sir?
Because--
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer- Wherefore when he pass
She cannot keep Her place.
Because He knows- and
Do not You-
And We know not-
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so-
The Lightning- never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut-when He was by-
Because He knows it cannot speak-
And reasons not contained-
-Of Talk-
There be preferred by Daintier Folk-
The Sunrise- Sir- compelleth Me-
Because He's Sunrise- and I see-
Therefore- Then-
I love Thee-
March 16, 2005
Finding the Opera and The Phantom of Neverland
Fa-So-La-La
Well, Spuddy Buddy is spending a few days at The Farm (the abode of my grandparents), and while he has been gone we took the opportunity of going to see a couple of movies--
Phantom of the Opera
This was one of those wild, dazzling, bizarre, emotional movies that leaves you with a slight dizzy sensation. It is a powerful portrayal of two types of love-- real, unselfish love and demanding, possessive love. The juxtaposition of the two is the main strength of the story-- it leaves you with a wonderful and apt picture of the difference of selfish and undemanding love.
As far as production goes, the only fault is that it is at times a bit over the top-- every set is lavishly decorated, every scene is filled with drama. The movie would have been greatly benefited by a little editing. The cluttered sets sometimes smother the effect of the story, which itself is cluttered-- some of the plot twists seem unnecessary and forced. A few quieter, simpler scenes would have made the dramatic ones more powerful without effort. Other than that, this film is gorgeous.
The music is wonderful, although the transition from speaking to singing is sometimes a bit unnatural. It is performed well, and they picked a truly beautiful voice for Christine-- operatic, but not smotheringly so. Christine herself could not have been better cast-- I can't remember her name at the moment but she acts the part flawlessly and looks right too.
I can see why people love this movie. It has a lot going for it-- this is how drama like this should be done. It is a work of art. However, I am not a huge fan of highly dramatic art, and while I am glad I saw it and enjoyed it very much, it was a bit too wild and dark for my taste. That said, this is a good movie.
Finding Neverland
This is one of the more lovely, delightful movies I have seen in a long time. It is the story of how a friendship with a widowed mother and her four boys inspired J. M. Barrie to write Peter Pan, and is also a commentary on the power and joy of imagination. The title expresses is well-- it is about finding neverland, or finding joy.
My opinion of this movie is probably biased by the fact that it is exactly to my taste-- quiet, joyful, thoughtful, and Spudly. :-) Johnny Depp does a marvelous job, and also has a wonderful Scottish accent which of course makes him much more charming. Kate Winslet is also excellent, especially in the scenes where she is sick. She is better at acting sick than anyone else I can think of-- remember how wonderful she was as Marianne in Sense and Sensibility? She looks much older now than she did then, and although not as pretty has a wonderful face for acting. However, the little boy who plays Peter is the best-- he can not be more than seven, but he acts his part flawlessly and becomes his character more completely than I have ever seen a child that young do. He's amazing.
What really makes the movie, though, is seeing how the events of J. M. Barrie's life influenced the play-- unfortunately I can't tell you much about this without giving away one of the most delightful aspects of the film. I'll just say that watching the play and his life intertwine is incredible. This movie is imaginative, creative, playful, and bitter-sweet all at the same time-- it's the first movie in ages that made me cry. I loved and highly recommend it.
Well, Spuddy Buddy is spending a few days at The Farm (the abode of my grandparents), and while he has been gone we took the opportunity of going to see a couple of movies--
Phantom of the Opera
This was one of those wild, dazzling, bizarre, emotional movies that leaves you with a slight dizzy sensation. It is a powerful portrayal of two types of love-- real, unselfish love and demanding, possessive love. The juxtaposition of the two is the main strength of the story-- it leaves you with a wonderful and apt picture of the difference of selfish and undemanding love.
As far as production goes, the only fault is that it is at times a bit over the top-- every set is lavishly decorated, every scene is filled with drama. The movie would have been greatly benefited by a little editing. The cluttered sets sometimes smother the effect of the story, which itself is cluttered-- some of the plot twists seem unnecessary and forced. A few quieter, simpler scenes would have made the dramatic ones more powerful without effort. Other than that, this film is gorgeous.
The music is wonderful, although the transition from speaking to singing is sometimes a bit unnatural. It is performed well, and they picked a truly beautiful voice for Christine-- operatic, but not smotheringly so. Christine herself could not have been better cast-- I can't remember her name at the moment but she acts the part flawlessly and looks right too.
I can see why people love this movie. It has a lot going for it-- this is how drama like this should be done. It is a work of art. However, I am not a huge fan of highly dramatic art, and while I am glad I saw it and enjoyed it very much, it was a bit too wild and dark for my taste. That said, this is a good movie.
Finding Neverland
This is one of the more lovely, delightful movies I have seen in a long time. It is the story of how a friendship with a widowed mother and her four boys inspired J. M. Barrie to write Peter Pan, and is also a commentary on the power and joy of imagination. The title expresses is well-- it is about finding neverland, or finding joy.
My opinion of this movie is probably biased by the fact that it is exactly to my taste-- quiet, joyful, thoughtful, and Spudly. :-) Johnny Depp does a marvelous job, and also has a wonderful Scottish accent which of course makes him much more charming. Kate Winslet is also excellent, especially in the scenes where she is sick. She is better at acting sick than anyone else I can think of-- remember how wonderful she was as Marianne in Sense and Sensibility? She looks much older now than she did then, and although not as pretty has a wonderful face for acting. However, the little boy who plays Peter is the best-- he can not be more than seven, but he acts his part flawlessly and becomes his character more completely than I have ever seen a child that young do. He's amazing.
What really makes the movie, though, is seeing how the events of J. M. Barrie's life influenced the play-- unfortunately I can't tell you much about this without giving away one of the most delightful aspects of the film. I'll just say that watching the play and his life intertwine is incredible. This movie is imaginative, creative, playful, and bitter-sweet all at the same time-- it's the first movie in ages that made me cry. I loved and highly recommend it.
March 11, 2005
Imitation Is The Sincerest Form Of Flattery
Fa-So-La-La
There is a saying that 'those who don't know the mistakes of history are doomed to repeat them.' This is certainly proving to be true among many Christians, I am afraid.
We have been studying the Middle Ages this year in school. We have just now gotten to the 1300's, which were some of the most horrific times in history-- the Hundred Year's war was raging, the Catholic church was overfed, out of control, and corrupt through and through, there were as many as seven Popes at a time, all overruling each other, the crusades were coming to a disastrous and shameful conclusion, the royalty was bickering and infighting, there were succession squabbles in most royal families, and to top it all off the Black Plague was killing half the population of Europe. What really caught my eye in all this mess, though, was Thomas Aquinas.
Thomas Aquinas was a scholar who wanted there to be a logical base for faith. He thought that if the Christian beliefs were true, then there should be a systematic, logical, structured foundation of reasoning for everything in it. He was fascinated by Aristotle's systematic approach to truth, and spent much of his life trying to reconcile Aristotle's beliefs and reasoning with Christianity.
The result of this was, that in trying to make everything logical and neat, he set in motion one of the most remarkable declines the church has ever seen. Faith became a system, a set of standards, not a living, growing thing. It became the property of scholastics, who would waste their lives and intellects arguing on obscure and irrelevant issues.
The interesting thing about Aquinas to me is that he was the first person to try and incorporate non-Christian thinking and strategies into the church. Up till then most of the products of the great Christian thinkers were very creative and original, bringing forward new thoughts and ideas, not trying to rehash old pagan concepts. When Aquinas began to do this, he ushered in two centuries of scandal and immorality.
The historical parallel is obvious-- a few generations ago, Christians grew worried about 'appealing to others' and 'being relevant.' They decided that the best way to do this was to make the church more like the world. More and more worldly philosophies were brought into the church, under the innocent guise of 'reaching out,' until gradually the mess that we have today was created.
When Christians bring elements of the world into the church, that suddenly makes the world as a whole 'OK' to people. It's an easy and natural reaction-- our sin nature makes us always on the watch for any excuse to immerse ourselves in the things of this world. So if the church adopts worldly things, why shouldn't we?
The lesson to be learned from these two centuries --the fourteenth and the twentieth-- is that worldly things, no matter how many lost sinners they attract, are still worldly things, and no amount of sanitazation will make them appropriate for the use of the church. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then we have been flattering the world for years now. But we are Christians-- the very name proclaims us to be imitators and followers of Christ. Let's be careful what we do under His name.
There is a saying that 'those who don't know the mistakes of history are doomed to repeat them.' This is certainly proving to be true among many Christians, I am afraid.
We have been studying the Middle Ages this year in school. We have just now gotten to the 1300's, which were some of the most horrific times in history-- the Hundred Year's war was raging, the Catholic church was overfed, out of control, and corrupt through and through, there were as many as seven Popes at a time, all overruling each other, the crusades were coming to a disastrous and shameful conclusion, the royalty was bickering and infighting, there were succession squabbles in most royal families, and to top it all off the Black Plague was killing half the population of Europe. What really caught my eye in all this mess, though, was Thomas Aquinas.
Thomas Aquinas was a scholar who wanted there to be a logical base for faith. He thought that if the Christian beliefs were true, then there should be a systematic, logical, structured foundation of reasoning for everything in it. He was fascinated by Aristotle's systematic approach to truth, and spent much of his life trying to reconcile Aristotle's beliefs and reasoning with Christianity.
The result of this was, that in trying to make everything logical and neat, he set in motion one of the most remarkable declines the church has ever seen. Faith became a system, a set of standards, not a living, growing thing. It became the property of scholastics, who would waste their lives and intellects arguing on obscure and irrelevant issues.
The interesting thing about Aquinas to me is that he was the first person to try and incorporate non-Christian thinking and strategies into the church. Up till then most of the products of the great Christian thinkers were very creative and original, bringing forward new thoughts and ideas, not trying to rehash old pagan concepts. When Aquinas began to do this, he ushered in two centuries of scandal and immorality.
The historical parallel is obvious-- a few generations ago, Christians grew worried about 'appealing to others' and 'being relevant.' They decided that the best way to do this was to make the church more like the world. More and more worldly philosophies were brought into the church, under the innocent guise of 'reaching out,' until gradually the mess that we have today was created.
When Christians bring elements of the world into the church, that suddenly makes the world as a whole 'OK' to people. It's an easy and natural reaction-- our sin nature makes us always on the watch for any excuse to immerse ourselves in the things of this world. So if the church adopts worldly things, why shouldn't we?
The lesson to be learned from these two centuries --the fourteenth and the twentieth-- is that worldly things, no matter how many lost sinners they attract, are still worldly things, and no amount of sanitazation will make them appropriate for the use of the church. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then we have been flattering the world for years now. But we are Christians-- the very name proclaims us to be imitators and followers of Christ. Let's be careful what we do under His name.
No Card-Player
Fa-So-La-La
In January I decided to read through Jane Austen again. So now, here I am, three months later, sitting on my branch, with one pot of honey left-- Emma. Anyway, I just finished Persuasion and I thought I would post my thoughts on rereading it for ths first time in two years.
Persuasion is such a wise and graceful book-- it is Jane's guidebook to the world, I think. She wrote this at the end of her life (if I remember correctly she knew she was dying when she finished it), and so it almost strikes me as her 'conclusion of the whole matter.' And in it, she expresses, through Anne, her opinions on a wide range of subjects.
It is telling that of all Jane's heroines, Anne Elliot is the one most praised-- many times we are told of her sweetness and elegance and grace. She is the only heroine in whom we see no definite flaw. She is held up by the author and by the characters in the book as a model of what women should be.
I think it is also telling that she and Fanny Price are the only two whose books are told almost exclusively from their viewpoint-- in Persuasion and Mansfield Park, unlike the others, we seldom hear anyone's thoughts but Anne's and Fanny's. Throughout Persuasion we are constantly hearing Anne's, and almost only Anne's, meditations and comment on what is passing. And they are so wonderful-- wise, realistic, kind, honorable, loving. Anne's opinion on everything is exactly what it should be, and it is always delightful to watch the grace, love and charity with which she deals with the people around her. She is discerning but not overly judgmental, has good taste but is free of superciliousness, elegant but kind. She feels deeply but is still patient and charitable-- she is everything she should be. And so are her opinions-- read the chapter where she and Captain Harville discuss the nature of attachments. It, like the rest of the book, is wise and deep.
There are, of course, less profound pleasures in this book-- I always love reading about Admiral and Mrs. Croft and their delightful marriage. And Persuasion also has the greatest proposal of all time. I could just read that chapter over and over. . . .
Persuasion, wonderful as it is, still does not surpass Mansfield Park, which is one of the best written books in the English language. I have expressed my views on this before, so there is no need to get started on it, but I just want to say again that Mansfield Park has a delicacy of irony that is unsurpassed by anything I have read, and the charecters are more complete, well-drawn, and consistant than those of Persuasion. But I think to a large degree that is the focus of Mansfield Park-- the ironies and intricasies of people. It is Jane's assessment of what people are. Persuasion has a different focus-- it is Jane's assessment of what people should be, in mind, manners and affections. Read it-- you will find great wisdom, correct opinions, and much food for thought.
In January I decided to read through Jane Austen again. So now, here I am, three months later, sitting on my branch, with one pot of honey left-- Emma. Anyway, I just finished Persuasion and I thought I would post my thoughts on rereading it for ths first time in two years.
Persuasion is such a wise and graceful book-- it is Jane's guidebook to the world, I think. She wrote this at the end of her life (if I remember correctly she knew she was dying when she finished it), and so it almost strikes me as her 'conclusion of the whole matter.' And in it, she expresses, through Anne, her opinions on a wide range of subjects.
It is telling that of all Jane's heroines, Anne Elliot is the one most praised-- many times we are told of her sweetness and elegance and grace. She is the only heroine in whom we see no definite flaw. She is held up by the author and by the characters in the book as a model of what women should be.
I think it is also telling that she and Fanny Price are the only two whose books are told almost exclusively from their viewpoint-- in Persuasion and Mansfield Park, unlike the others, we seldom hear anyone's thoughts but Anne's and Fanny's. Throughout Persuasion we are constantly hearing Anne's, and almost only Anne's, meditations and comment on what is passing. And they are so wonderful-- wise, realistic, kind, honorable, loving. Anne's opinion on everything is exactly what it should be, and it is always delightful to watch the grace, love and charity with which she deals with the people around her. She is discerning but not overly judgmental, has good taste but is free of superciliousness, elegant but kind. She feels deeply but is still patient and charitable-- she is everything she should be. And so are her opinions-- read the chapter where she and Captain Harville discuss the nature of attachments. It, like the rest of the book, is wise and deep.
There are, of course, less profound pleasures in this book-- I always love reading about Admiral and Mrs. Croft and their delightful marriage. And Persuasion also has the greatest proposal of all time. I could just read that chapter over and over. . . .
Persuasion, wonderful as it is, still does not surpass Mansfield Park, which is one of the best written books in the English language. I have expressed my views on this before, so there is no need to get started on it, but I just want to say again that Mansfield Park has a delicacy of irony that is unsurpassed by anything I have read, and the charecters are more complete, well-drawn, and consistant than those of Persuasion. But I think to a large degree that is the focus of Mansfield Park-- the ironies and intricasies of people. It is Jane's assessment of what people are. Persuasion has a different focus-- it is Jane's assessment of what people should be, in mind, manners and affections. Read it-- you will find great wisdom, correct opinions, and much food for thought.
March 10, 2005
Spuddy Buddy Bible Study (hey, that's fun to say!)
Queen Shenaynay's father is a minister, and has an astonishing grasp of the Bible. Beehive inhabitants often call him with Bible questions. However, young master Spuddy Buddy has never requested a phone consultation with Dadaw... until today. He was insistent. Even began begging for the phone before he got his breakfast, which, if you know Spuddy Buddy, is downright unbelievable. What, you ask, finally piqued his curiosity enough to make the earth stand still until he got his momentous inaugural phone call to our patriarchal theologian?
Well, it's simple: the Bible became relevant for him today. Because today, he learned that the Lord wrestled -- WRESTLED! -- with Jacob. How cool is that? ;-)
Especially to a five year old boy.
The question? "Did God wrestle with Jacob to see if he was strong enough, or did he wrestle with him to make him stronger?" And the first part of the answer, as you might imagine, was a long, low, grandfatherly, chortly chuckle.
Well, it's simple: the Bible became relevant for him today. Because today, he learned that the Lord wrestled -- WRESTLED! -- with Jacob. How cool is that? ;-)
Especially to a five year old boy.
The question? "Did God wrestle with Jacob to see if he was strong enough, or did he wrestle with him to make him stronger?" And the first part of the answer, as you might imagine, was a long, low, grandfatherly, chortly chuckle.
And they say segregation is over. . .
I love National Review Magazine-- I never read it without coming away with something to think about. And post on the Beehive about. :-) So here is what caught The Great Fa-so-la-la's attention today :
"Howard Dean-- you know him: the former governor of Vermont who's now chairman of the Democratic National Commitee and who recently declared "I hate the Republicans and everything they stand for"-- met with the DNC's "black caucus." He said, "You think the Republican National Commitee could get this many people of color in a single room? Only if they had the hotel staff in here." Listening to Dean, and many others, you can't help getting the impression that they think of black people, not as people or Americans, but as blacks. The Republican party, blessedly, is different. What did Condoleezza Rice say at the 2000 convention? "I joined the party for different reasons. I found a party that sees me as an individual, not as part of a group. . ." Beautiful. Besides which-- should America have "black caucuses" and other such factions based on pigmentation alone?"
Amen! The Democrats always tout themselves as the party most receptive to minorities, but then they do stuff like this that shows what they really think.
For one thing, what Howard Dean said was a gross PR error-- HOTEL WORKERS? True or not, this is a dumb thing to say-- it is basically disrespectful and degrading to black people.
Another area in which the Democrats show themselves to be not quite so colorblind as they would wish us to believe is in their stance on affirmative action. Those who actively support affirmative action policies are essentially reflecting their belief that minority students are less competent and need special assistance.
I believe all Democrats would say that they feel minorities are no different from others, yet by pushing this policy they insult the intelligence and capabilities of these people. The irony of it is that while they are attempting to enable blacks to have a better life etc., they are really implying that minorities are not able to compete against others without assistance.
I once saw a political cartoon that showed two grungy people who looked like they probably voted for Nader (conveniently labeled 'affirmative activists') walking past a statue of Martin Luther King Jr. It was inscribed with one of his quotes-- said something like 'I dream of a time when they will be judged not by the color of their skin but by their real worth' or something along those lines. Anyway, one activist turns to the other and says, 'Who's the dude on the statue?' And the other one replies, 'Who knows--probably one of Bush's psycho right-wing lawyers.' This is a sad -- but I fear too true -- portrait of the demise of any *real* attempts at promoting equality.
Now, I'm not saying that Republicans are perfect and always think of blacks just as they should-- I undoubtedly have more than my fair share of bias. However, I do think that the Republicans on the whole have a more balanced viewpoint on this. As noted by Secretary Rice in the quote above, the Republican mindset is to leave each person free to be as successful as they can on their own merits.
Regardless, I think we should all be grateful to Howard Dean for the moment of smug pleasure he has afforded Republicans nationwide-- he has yet again proved himself to be every bit as obnoxious as we would like to believe him to be. :-)
"Howard Dean-- you know him: the former governor of Vermont who's now chairman of the Democratic National Commitee and who recently declared "I hate the Republicans and everything they stand for"-- met with the DNC's "black caucus." He said, "You think the Republican National Commitee could get this many people of color in a single room? Only if they had the hotel staff in here." Listening to Dean, and many others, you can't help getting the impression that they think of black people, not as people or Americans, but as blacks. The Republican party, blessedly, is different. What did Condoleezza Rice say at the 2000 convention? "I joined the party for different reasons. I found a party that sees me as an individual, not as part of a group. . ." Beautiful. Besides which-- should America have "black caucuses" and other such factions based on pigmentation alone?"
Amen! The Democrats always tout themselves as the party most receptive to minorities, but then they do stuff like this that shows what they really think.
For one thing, what Howard Dean said was a gross PR error-- HOTEL WORKERS? True or not, this is a dumb thing to say-- it is basically disrespectful and degrading to black people.
Another area in which the Democrats show themselves to be not quite so colorblind as they would wish us to believe is in their stance on affirmative action. Those who actively support affirmative action policies are essentially reflecting their belief that minority students are less competent and need special assistance.
I believe all Democrats would say that they feel minorities are no different from others, yet by pushing this policy they insult the intelligence and capabilities of these people. The irony of it is that while they are attempting to enable blacks to have a better life etc., they are really implying that minorities are not able to compete against others without assistance.
I once saw a political cartoon that showed two grungy people who looked like they probably voted for Nader (conveniently labeled 'affirmative activists') walking past a statue of Martin Luther King Jr. It was inscribed with one of his quotes-- said something like 'I dream of a time when they will be judged not by the color of their skin but by their real worth' or something along those lines. Anyway, one activist turns to the other and says, 'Who's the dude on the statue?' And the other one replies, 'Who knows--probably one of Bush's psycho right-wing lawyers.' This is a sad -- but I fear too true -- portrait of the demise of any *real* attempts at promoting equality.
Now, I'm not saying that Republicans are perfect and always think of blacks just as they should-- I undoubtedly have more than my fair share of bias. However, I do think that the Republicans on the whole have a more balanced viewpoint on this. As noted by Secretary Rice in the quote above, the Republican mindset is to leave each person free to be as successful as they can on their own merits.
Regardless, I think we should all be grateful to Howard Dean for the moment of smug pleasure he has afforded Republicans nationwide-- he has yet again proved himself to be every bit as obnoxious as we would like to believe him to be. :-)
Garden Theology
The Cauliflower
I wanted to be a cauliflower
all brain and ears,
thinking on the origin of gardens
and the divinity of him
who carefully binds my leaves.
With my blind roots touched
by the songs of worms,
and my rough throat throbbing
with strange, vegetable sounds,
perhaps I'd feel the parting stroke
of a butterfly's wing . . .
Not like my cousins, the cabbages,
whose heads, tightly folded,
see and hear nothing of this world,
dreaming only on the yellow
and green magnificence
that is hardening within them.
by John Haines
This, to me, is an elegant poem about so many vital things -- among them, worldviews, joy, and the common miracles that grace the life of a believer. Like all good poems, it deepens with repeat readings (oh, go ahead, read it again; the Queen will wait). The second stanza is a verbal wonder -- with simple, earthy words expressing ideas that theologians toss around many syllables to convey. It's a personal favorite, destined to be hand-lettered on my kitchen wall someday.
What do you think of it?
I wanted to be a cauliflower
all brain and ears,
thinking on the origin of gardens
and the divinity of him
who carefully binds my leaves.
With my blind roots touched
by the songs of worms,
and my rough throat throbbing
with strange, vegetable sounds,
perhaps I'd feel the parting stroke
of a butterfly's wing . . .
Not like my cousins, the cabbages,
whose heads, tightly folded,
see and hear nothing of this world,
dreaming only on the yellow
and green magnificence
that is hardening within them.
by John Haines
This, to me, is an elegant poem about so many vital things -- among them, worldviews, joy, and the common miracles that grace the life of a believer. Like all good poems, it deepens with repeat readings (oh, go ahead, read it again; the Queen will wait). The second stanza is a verbal wonder -- with simple, earthy words expressing ideas that theologians toss around many syllables to convey. It's a personal favorite, destined to be hand-lettered on my kitchen wall someday.
What do you think of it?
March 9, 2005
Those Christians
This quote from a second century letter was in my history book, and it is so amazing I thought I would share it. I keep it on my bulletin board and whenever I start feeling like a pretty OK person I go look at it. :-)
"For Christians are not differentiated from other people by country, language or customs: you see, they do not live in cities of their own, or speak some strange dialect, or have some peculiar lifestyle.
This teaching of theirs has not been contrived by the invention and speculation of inquisitive men; nor are they propagating mere human teaching as some people do. They live in both Greek and foreign cicites, wherever chance has put them. They follow local customs in clothing, food, ond the other aspects of life. But at the same time, they demonstrate to us the wonderful and certainly unusual form of their own citizenship.
They live in their own native lands, but as aliens; as citizens, they share all things with others, but like aliens, suffer all things. Every country is to them as their native country, and every native land as a foreign country. They marry and have children just like everyone else; but they do not kill unwanted babies. They offer a shared table, but not a shared bed. They are at present 'in the flesh' but they do not live 'according to the flesh.' They are passing their days on earth, but are citizens of heaven. They obey the appointed laws, and go beyond the laws in their own lives.
They love everyone, but arepersecuted by all. They are unknown and condemned; they are put to death and gain life. They are poor and yet make many rich. They are short of everything and yet have plenty of all things. They are dishonored and yet gain glory through dishonor.
Their names are blackened and yet they are cleared. They are mocked and bless in return. They are treated outrageously and behave respectfully to others. When they do good, they are punished as evildoers; when punished, they rejoice as if being given new life. They are attacked by Jews as aliens, and are persecuted by Greeks; yet those who hate them cannot give any reason for their hostility.
To put it simply-- the soul is to the body as Christians are to the world. The soul is spread through all parts of the body and Christians through all the cities of the world. The soul is in the body but not part of the body; Christians are in the world but not of the world."
----- From an anonymous Letter to Diognetus, possibly dating from the second century
"For Christians are not differentiated from other people by country, language or customs: you see, they do not live in cities of their own, or speak some strange dialect, or have some peculiar lifestyle.
This teaching of theirs has not been contrived by the invention and speculation of inquisitive men; nor are they propagating mere human teaching as some people do. They live in both Greek and foreign cicites, wherever chance has put them. They follow local customs in clothing, food, ond the other aspects of life. But at the same time, they demonstrate to us the wonderful and certainly unusual form of their own citizenship.
They live in their own native lands, but as aliens; as citizens, they share all things with others, but like aliens, suffer all things. Every country is to them as their native country, and every native land as a foreign country. They marry and have children just like everyone else; but they do not kill unwanted babies. They offer a shared table, but not a shared bed. They are at present 'in the flesh' but they do not live 'according to the flesh.' They are passing their days on earth, but are citizens of heaven. They obey the appointed laws, and go beyond the laws in their own lives.
They love everyone, but arepersecuted by all. They are unknown and condemned; they are put to death and gain life. They are poor and yet make many rich. They are short of everything and yet have plenty of all things. They are dishonored and yet gain glory through dishonor.
Their names are blackened and yet they are cleared. They are mocked and bless in return. They are treated outrageously and behave respectfully to others. When they do good, they are punished as evildoers; when punished, they rejoice as if being given new life. They are attacked by Jews as aliens, and are persecuted by Greeks; yet those who hate them cannot give any reason for their hostility.
To put it simply-- the soul is to the body as Christians are to the world. The soul is spread through all parts of the body and Christians through all the cities of the world. The soul is in the body but not part of the body; Christians are in the world but not of the world."
----- From an anonymous Letter to Diognetus, possibly dating from the second century
March 8, 2005
This Side
This is so totally awesome! I just figured out how to listen to a CD on my computer! Anyway. . . .
A friend lent me This Side, an excellent CD by one of my favorite groups, Nickel Creek. I have read many, many reviews of this CD, and almost none of them agree with each other or tell quite the whole story, so I think I shall set the record straight. :-)
To start with, the cover of this album is really well designed and shows the theme of the album-- it has an almost-cartoonish pencil drawing of a little girl, with a bow in her hair, a shiny little-girl bob, pink cheeks, a shocked and amazed look on her face and her hand over her mouth. She is looking at the words of the title track, This Side, which is a fantastic song about being frightened, growing up, and falling in love-- "It's foreign on this side, and the truth is a bitter friend. But reasons few have I to go back again. . . .It's foreign on this side, But it feels like I'm home again. There's no place to hide but I don't think I'm scared." This is the theme of the whole album-- growing up, looking at the world, and being amazed at it all. This is especially evident in the songs This Side, Brand New Sidewalk and Beauty and the Mess, which is about the loneliness and artificiality of the performing life-- "Ain't that what you want them to know? All they get out of you is what they get out of the show. The rest is mine, I guess, the beauty and the mess to hide."
This is a different tone altogether from the first CD, which was more youthful and high-spirited. It was also a more pure bluegrass sound, whereas This Side has some pop and blues influence. I would not have expected myself to like this, but it makes for a very diverse, interesting CD.
There are things that I liked better about the first one-- it had more instrumental tracks, which is something Nickel Creek does really well, better than most. This Side only has one, The Smoothie Song, which is excellent. Also, in this one, Chris Thile occasionally goes into this ridiculous-sounding breathy falsetto that I am not terribly fond of.
On the other hand, Sara has obviously had voice lessons and sounds much better-- in the first CD her voice was a little too simple and childish, but now it is stronger and she has more control. And Sean sings lead on a couple of songs, which he did not on the first CD.
As with the first album, what really makes this one special is the flawless instrumentation. Chris' mandolin playing continues to be mindblowingly good, and Sean's guitar playing is given a bit more of a spotlight this time. The group's songwriting has also matured, with a couple of just fantastic songs like This Side, which is near flawless. It's one of those songs you listen to twice every time you play the CD. Seven Wonders, Beauty and the Mess, and Brand New Sidewalk are also excellent.
Overall this is a fantastic album. I did not like it the first time I listened to it because I was expecting something a little more like the first CD, which I own and listen to constantly. However, the more I listened to This Side the more I liked it, and now we have really bonded and I am going to buy it for myself. :-) These people are amazingly talented, and are definitely doing their own thing-- I can't think of anybody else who is doing bluegrass quite like this. It's awesome.
A friend lent me This Side, an excellent CD by one of my favorite groups, Nickel Creek. I have read many, many reviews of this CD, and almost none of them agree with each other or tell quite the whole story, so I think I shall set the record straight. :-)
To start with, the cover of this album is really well designed and shows the theme of the album-- it has an almost-cartoonish pencil drawing of a little girl, with a bow in her hair, a shiny little-girl bob, pink cheeks, a shocked and amazed look on her face and her hand over her mouth. She is looking at the words of the title track, This Side, which is a fantastic song about being frightened, growing up, and falling in love-- "It's foreign on this side, and the truth is a bitter friend. But reasons few have I to go back again. . . .It's foreign on this side, But it feels like I'm home again. There's no place to hide but I don't think I'm scared." This is the theme of the whole album-- growing up, looking at the world, and being amazed at it all. This is especially evident in the songs This Side, Brand New Sidewalk and Beauty and the Mess, which is about the loneliness and artificiality of the performing life-- "Ain't that what you want them to know? All they get out of you is what they get out of the show. The rest is mine, I guess, the beauty and the mess to hide."
This is a different tone altogether from the first CD, which was more youthful and high-spirited. It was also a more pure bluegrass sound, whereas This Side has some pop and blues influence. I would not have expected myself to like this, but it makes for a very diverse, interesting CD.
There are things that I liked better about the first one-- it had more instrumental tracks, which is something Nickel Creek does really well, better than most. This Side only has one, The Smoothie Song, which is excellent. Also, in this one, Chris Thile occasionally goes into this ridiculous-sounding breathy falsetto that I am not terribly fond of.
On the other hand, Sara has obviously had voice lessons and sounds much better-- in the first CD her voice was a little too simple and childish, but now it is stronger and she has more control. And Sean sings lead on a couple of songs, which he did not on the first CD.
As with the first album, what really makes this one special is the flawless instrumentation. Chris' mandolin playing continues to be mindblowingly good, and Sean's guitar playing is given a bit more of a spotlight this time. The group's songwriting has also matured, with a couple of just fantastic songs like This Side, which is near flawless. It's one of those songs you listen to twice every time you play the CD. Seven Wonders, Beauty and the Mess, and Brand New Sidewalk are also excellent.
Overall this is a fantastic album. I did not like it the first time I listened to it because I was expecting something a little more like the first CD, which I own and listen to constantly. However, the more I listened to This Side the more I liked it, and now we have really bonded and I am going to buy it for myself. :-) These people are amazingly talented, and are definitely doing their own thing-- I can't think of anybody else who is doing bluegrass quite like this. It's awesome.
March 7, 2005
Happily Ever After
The Beehive became a historical possibility on this day, at this very hour, nineteen years ago. On March 7, 1986, The Great Scot strolled into my life, treated me to a lovely lunch of pasta and shrimp, and forever swept me off my feet. One year later, to the hour, we strolled down the aisle and vowed to groove together til the sun don't shine. Or something like that.
Happy Anniversary, Great Scot!
Einstein was right: it's been a short eighteen years. The sun's still shining, so let's groove on. ;-)
Now then, for the amusement of our incredulous progeny, I will reveal the lyrics of the song we chose to play while we cut the wedding cake and shoved hunks of it into each other's mouths. For that historic moment, we interrupted a lovely, elegant and classy afternoon of Handel and Vivaldi, for... Lennon and McCartney. Yep, The Beatles.
When I'm 64
When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a Valentine,
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?
If I'd been out til quarter to three,
Would you lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?
You'll be older, too.
Aaah, and if you say the word,
I could stay with you.
I could be handy, mending a fuse, when your lights have gone.
You can knit a sweater by the fireside,
Sunday mornings, go for a ride.
Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?
Every summer we can rent a cottage in the Isle of Wight
If it's not too dear
We shall scrimp and save!
Ah, grandchildren on your knee:
Vera, Chuck, and Dave.
Send me a postcard, drop me a line, stating point of view.
Indicate precisely what you mean to say --
Yours Sincerely,
Wasting Away.
Give me your answer, fill in a form:
Mine Forevermore.
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?
by John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Happy Anniversary, Great Scot!
Einstein was right: it's been a short eighteen years. The sun's still shining, so let's groove on. ;-)
Now then, for the amusement of our incredulous progeny, I will reveal the lyrics of the song we chose to play while we cut the wedding cake and shoved hunks of it into each other's mouths. For that historic moment, we interrupted a lovely, elegant and classy afternoon of Handel and Vivaldi, for... Lennon and McCartney. Yep, The Beatles.
When I'm 64
When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a Valentine,
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?
If I'd been out til quarter to three,
Would you lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?
You'll be older, too.
Aaah, and if you say the word,
I could stay with you.
I could be handy, mending a fuse, when your lights have gone.
You can knit a sweater by the fireside,
Sunday mornings, go for a ride.
Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?
Every summer we can rent a cottage in the Isle of Wight
If it's not too dear
We shall scrimp and save!
Ah, grandchildren on your knee:
Vera, Chuck, and Dave.
Send me a postcard, drop me a line, stating point of view.
Indicate precisely what you mean to say --
Yours Sincerely,
Wasting Away.
Give me your answer, fill in a form:
Mine Forevermore.
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?
by John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Spurgeon Quote
I was reviewing a relatively recent e-mail from Dr. George Grant (who is somewhat a family hero) to Fa-so-la-la wherein he included a quote from Charles Spurgeon. The quote makes such a significant point that I want to include it here, so the idea will not be lost in our family's communal knowledge. Spurgeon states,
"Discernment is not a matter of simply telling the difference between right and wrong; rather it is telling the difference between right and almost right." Charles Haddon Spurgeon (1834-1892)
"Discernment is not a matter of simply telling the difference between right and wrong; rather it is telling the difference between right and almost right." Charles Haddon Spurgeon (1834-1892)
March 4, 2005
Self-Actualization 101, Spuddy Buddy-style
Quothe Queen Shenaynay, upon finding Spuddy Buddy playing pirate ships in an empty bathtub, fully dressed: "Hey there! Aren't YOU such a goof!"
Spuddy Buddy, matter-of-factly: "Why, thank you. I try to be."
Queen: "Oh?"
SB: "Why, yes. I AM an entertainer, you know."
...thoughtful pause...
"Or at least I think I am."
Oh yes, my boy... you are, you are.
Spuddy Buddy, matter-of-factly: "Why, thank you. I try to be."
Queen: "Oh?"
SB: "Why, yes. I AM an entertainer, you know."
...thoughtful pause...
"Or at least I think I am."
Oh yes, my boy... you are, you are.
Here speeching American
I am feeling very levitatious today (you know, as in full of levity? I think I made that one up) so I shall break my usual custom of deep, intellectual posts and post something a bit silly. Here goes. . . . .
These are translation mess-ups from Richard Ledderer's book Anguished English--
--When Pepsi came to the Chinese market, the product's slogan, "Come alive with the Pepsi generation," was renedered into Chinese as "Pepsi brings back your dead ancestors!"
--In a Tokyo hotel: Is forbidden to steal hotel towels please. If you are not person to do such thing is please to not read notis.
--In a Japanese hotel room: Please to bathe inside the tub.
--In a Belgrade hotel elevator: To move the cabin, push button for wishing floor. If ths cabin should enter more persons, each one should press number of wishing floor. Driving is then going alphabetically by national order.
--In a Paris hotel elevator: Please leave your values at the front desk.
--In the lobby of a Moscow hotel across from a cemetary: You are welcome to visit the cemetary where famous Russian and Soviet composers, artists, and writers are buried daily except Thursday.
--In a Hong Kong supermarket: For your convenience we recommend courteous, efficient self-service.
--In a Vienna hotel: In case of fire, do your utmost to alarm the porter.
--A sign on a German campground: It is strictly forbidden on our black forest camping site that people of different sex, for instance, men and women, live together in one tent unless they are married with each other for that purpose.
--In a Hong Kong dentist: Teeth extracted by the latest Methodists.
--Detour sign in Japan: Stop: Drive Sideways.
--In a Copenhagen airport: We take your bags and send them in all directions.
--In the office of a Roman doctor: Specialist in women and other diseases.
--In a Bucharest hotel lobby: The lift is being fixed for the day. During that time we regret that you will be unbearable.
And now my favorite--
--From the brochure of a car rental firm in Tokyo: When passenger of foot heave in sight, tootle the horn. Trumpet him melodiously at first, but if he still obstacles your passage tootle him with vigor.
These are translation mess-ups from Richard Ledderer's book Anguished English--
--When Pepsi came to the Chinese market, the product's slogan, "Come alive with the Pepsi generation," was renedered into Chinese as "Pepsi brings back your dead ancestors!"
--In a Tokyo hotel: Is forbidden to steal hotel towels please. If you are not person to do such thing is please to not read notis.
--In a Japanese hotel room: Please to bathe inside the tub.
--In a Belgrade hotel elevator: To move the cabin, push button for wishing floor. If ths cabin should enter more persons, each one should press number of wishing floor. Driving is then going alphabetically by national order.
--In a Paris hotel elevator: Please leave your values at the front desk.
--In the lobby of a Moscow hotel across from a cemetary: You are welcome to visit the cemetary where famous Russian and Soviet composers, artists, and writers are buried daily except Thursday.
--In a Hong Kong supermarket: For your convenience we recommend courteous, efficient self-service.
--In a Vienna hotel: In case of fire, do your utmost to alarm the porter.
--A sign on a German campground: It is strictly forbidden on our black forest camping site that people of different sex, for instance, men and women, live together in one tent unless they are married with each other for that purpose.
--In a Hong Kong dentist: Teeth extracted by the latest Methodists.
--Detour sign in Japan: Stop: Drive Sideways.
--In a Copenhagen airport: We take your bags and send them in all directions.
--In the office of a Roman doctor: Specialist in women and other diseases.
--In a Bucharest hotel lobby: The lift is being fixed for the day. During that time we regret that you will be unbearable.
And now my favorite--
--From the brochure of a car rental firm in Tokyo: When passenger of foot heave in sight, tootle the horn. Trumpet him melodiously at first, but if he still obstacles your passage tootle him with vigor.
Poet Laureate - Ogden Nash (at least he should be)
With all of the prior tributes to writers of noble poetry, full of emotion, full of meaning, I wanted to take the opportunity to point out that poetry can also be fun. As noted in a prior comment, I have always enjoyed a good limerick (and, noting the history of the limerick, a "good limerick" is not necessarily a "good" limerick). I will make a confession here that will appall and dismay my more high-browed wife and daughters: my favorite writer of "poetry" is, and always has been, Ogden Nash.
The following are a few of his offerings, leading with one which is a mainstay in our household:
Celery
by Ogden Nash
Celery, raw
Develops the jaw,
But celery stewed,
Is more quietly chewed.
The Cow
by Ogden Nash
The cow is of the bovine ilk;
One end is moo, the other, milk
The Termite
by Ogden Nash
Some primal termite knocked on wood
And tasted it, and found it good!
And that is why your Cousin May
Fell through the parlor floor today
The Purist
by Ogden Nash
I give you now Professor Twist,
A conscientious scientist,
Trustees exclaimed, "He never bungles!"
And sent him off to distant jungles.
Camped on a tropic riverside,
One day he missed his loving bride.
She had, the guide informed him later,
Been eaten by an alligator.
Professor Twist could not but smile.
"You mean," he said, "a crocodile."
and lastly,
What's the use?
by Ogden Nash
Sure, deck your limbs in pants,
Yours are the limbs, my sweeting.
You look divine as you advance . . .
Have you seen yourself retreating?
In a nod to Darkside, poetry does not have to be deep, meaningful, and long. Sometimes, it is simply there to entertain.
The following are a few of his offerings, leading with one which is a mainstay in our household:
Celery
by Ogden Nash
Celery, raw
Develops the jaw,
But celery stewed,
Is more quietly chewed.
The Cow
by Ogden Nash
The cow is of the bovine ilk;
One end is moo, the other, milk
The Termite
by Ogden Nash
Some primal termite knocked on wood
And tasted it, and found it good!
And that is why your Cousin May
Fell through the parlor floor today
The Purist
by Ogden Nash
I give you now Professor Twist,
A conscientious scientist,
Trustees exclaimed, "He never bungles!"
And sent him off to distant jungles.
Camped on a tropic riverside,
One day he missed his loving bride.
She had, the guide informed him later,
Been eaten by an alligator.
Professor Twist could not but smile.
"You mean," he said, "a crocodile."
and lastly,
What's the use?
by Ogden Nash
Sure, deck your limbs in pants,
Yours are the limbs, my sweeting.
You look divine as you advance . . .
Have you seen yourself retreating?
In a nod to Darkside, poetry does not have to be deep, meaningful, and long. Sometimes, it is simply there to entertain.
March 3, 2005
"A Series Of Unfortunate Events."
Electronic Appeal
Lee Alaban of Port Macquirie, Australia, used technology to appeal to the conscience of a thief who stole her car. Knowing that her son's cell phone was in the sedan, Ms. Alaban sent text messages to the phone, pleading with the thief to return the car.
"He started apologizing, and I felt I was getting through," she said. He finally abandoned the car and sent her a message that told her where to find it. (He kept the cell phone and some birthday presents that were in the vehicle. A relieved Ms. Alaban sent the thief a final note: "If I ever lock myself out of my car, I'll send you a message."
Hidden down under
Swedish tourist Per Johan Adolfsson tried to smuggle four baby king cobras and four baby boas into Sydney--by hiding them in his pants. His attorney told the Melbourne Herald Sun that Mr. Adolfsson wanted to sell the illegal (in Australia) snakes to pay for an eight day vacation down under. Instead, he faces several weeks in jail.
"It is a bizzare way to spend a holiday," the attorney, Michael Priddis, admitted.
In search of "Minty Fresh"
A Michigan woman arrested for drunk driving didn't get her libations from the corner liquor store--she got them from the oral hygene aisle. Carol Ries, 50, was sentenced to two years' probation after pleading guilty to driving while drunk on...what?...three glasses of Listerine! Authorities suspected Ms. Ries was intoxicated after she rear-ended another car at a red light in January.
Searching her car, police recovered a bottle of the mouthwash, which contains between 21.6 percent and 26.9 percent alcohol, depending on the formula. A breathalyzer test revealed that Ms. Ries's blood alcohol level was .30 percent, more than three times the legal limit.
But she did have fresh breath.
Vanity, vanity
It's not uncommon for someone with a camera to capture criminals on film, but usually the photographers aren't the criminals thamselves. The Reuters news service reports that Michael Merrit, Wendall Mackey, and Darnell Robinson playfully snapped pitures of themselves as they drove around Atlanta in a stolen SUV--and then left the disposable camera in the vehicle. Police used the photos to find them, and late that month a jury convicted them of several crimes.
Fulton County prosecutor Cris Toles didn't claim too much credit for the verdict: "They basically convicted themselves."
-- from World Magazine--
Lee Alaban of Port Macquirie, Australia, used technology to appeal to the conscience of a thief who stole her car. Knowing that her son's cell phone was in the sedan, Ms. Alaban sent text messages to the phone, pleading with the thief to return the car.
"He started apologizing, and I felt I was getting through," she said. He finally abandoned the car and sent her a message that told her where to find it. (He kept the cell phone and some birthday presents that were in the vehicle. A relieved Ms. Alaban sent the thief a final note: "If I ever lock myself out of my car, I'll send you a message."
Hidden down under
Swedish tourist Per Johan Adolfsson tried to smuggle four baby king cobras and four baby boas into Sydney--by hiding them in his pants. His attorney told the Melbourne Herald Sun that Mr. Adolfsson wanted to sell the illegal (in Australia) snakes to pay for an eight day vacation down under. Instead, he faces several weeks in jail.
"It is a bizzare way to spend a holiday," the attorney, Michael Priddis, admitted.
In search of "Minty Fresh"
A Michigan woman arrested for drunk driving didn't get her libations from the corner liquor store--she got them from the oral hygene aisle. Carol Ries, 50, was sentenced to two years' probation after pleading guilty to driving while drunk on...what?...three glasses of Listerine! Authorities suspected Ms. Ries was intoxicated after she rear-ended another car at a red light in January.
Searching her car, police recovered a bottle of the mouthwash, which contains between 21.6 percent and 26.9 percent alcohol, depending on the formula. A breathalyzer test revealed that Ms. Ries's blood alcohol level was .30 percent, more than three times the legal limit.
But she did have fresh breath.
Vanity, vanity
It's not uncommon for someone with a camera to capture criminals on film, but usually the photographers aren't the criminals thamselves. The Reuters news service reports that Michael Merrit, Wendall Mackey, and Darnell Robinson playfully snapped pitures of themselves as they drove around Atlanta in a stolen SUV--and then left the disposable camera in the vehicle. Police used the photos to find them, and late that month a jury convicted them of several crimes.
Fulton County prosecutor Cris Toles didn't claim too much credit for the verdict: "They basically convicted themselves."
-- from World Magazine--
Don't Play Lottery
Every now and then I like to infuriate myself by reading the titles of the books in Christian book catalogs. And every time, I do indeed get properly infuriated by seeing how so many believers have fallen for a postmodern view of God-- what I call the 'God as a lottery machine' idea, where if you push all the right buttons the money comes spilling out.
People today are obsessed with their 'rights;' they think that if they do everything they are supposed to do then God is obliged to bless them, end of conversation. And if, after coloring inside the lines, so to speak, they do not consider themselves properly blessed, they buy books such as "How To Hear From God" (Ooooh, I see! An owner's manual! How nice.) or "When God Doesn't Answer Your Prayer" (Because heaven knows, we can't take "no" for an answer! We followed the instructions, after all. . . .)
This is an easy trap to fall into-- I think we all probably catch ourselves thinking this way from time to time. I know I certainly do. But we must remember that God is not obliged to give us 'answers,' and He is not beholden to us for following His laws. Rather we are beholden to Him for more things than I could ever find time to mention. He is the Creator, the King, the Savior, the Judge.
Not the Lottery Machine.
People today are obsessed with their 'rights;' they think that if they do everything they are supposed to do then God is obliged to bless them, end of conversation. And if, after coloring inside the lines, so to speak, they do not consider themselves properly blessed, they buy books such as "How To Hear From God" (Ooooh, I see! An owner's manual! How nice.) or "When God Doesn't Answer Your Prayer" (Because heaven knows, we can't take "no" for an answer! We followed the instructions, after all. . . .)
This is an easy trap to fall into-- I think we all probably catch ourselves thinking this way from time to time. I know I certainly do. But we must remember that God is not obliged to give us 'answers,' and He is not beholden to us for following His laws. Rather we are beholden to Him for more things than I could ever find time to mention. He is the Creator, the King, the Savior, the Judge.
Not the Lottery Machine.
March 1, 2005
Spuddy Buddy Quote of the Day
Proclaimed with gusto as he sat down to ravenously devour his lunch:
"A diet is what you die on."
"A diet is what you die on."
Great Scot Opines: The Pragmatic Benefits of Poetry Study
[This is a comment our wise Great Scot left in response to my blog entry "The First Poet" (below). It's too good to get overlooked, so I'm taking the liberty of lifting it out of mere comment status and elevating it to entry status. BTW, you so totally rock, Great Scot. ;-) -- The Queen]
Great Scot said:
"I will first mention that I am not a huge fan of reading poetry, whether it be epic, classical, or more modern in style; however, that being said, the ability to understand and decipher poetry will be of assistance in higher education and within multiple career paths.
"In unlocking the message of a poetic piece of writing, you are forced to use analytical skills to go beyond the mere written work. In a piece of prose, regardless of its complexity, all of the required information to understand the point is plainly placed before you. In poetry, such is not the case. You are often required to read the words, and then place them in the context of the mood and style of the piece to determine the point of the author. In my view, humans think in a prose-like manner. The ability to mentally comprehend and translate poetry to mental prose will serve you well in future endeavors.
"As an example, this ability to go beyond the mere written word to determine the intent of the piece, is critically important for surviving law school or to be successful in the practice of law. It is a rare event, in the practice of law, or likely in any career, that all of the facts that are relevant to an issue are laid before you in a nice tidy package. Instead, you must take the information that is provided and analyze and interpret the information to find meaning. This is the same process that is developed by analyzing and interpreting poetry.
"On a more pragmatic basis, in advocacy writing, whether in the form of briefs to a Court or in letters and memos to business associates, having a more rounded literary background will make your writing style more interesting, and thus, more persuasive."
Great Scot said:
"I will first mention that I am not a huge fan of reading poetry, whether it be epic, classical, or more modern in style; however, that being said, the ability to understand and decipher poetry will be of assistance in higher education and within multiple career paths.
"In unlocking the message of a poetic piece of writing, you are forced to use analytical skills to go beyond the mere written work. In a piece of prose, regardless of its complexity, all of the required information to understand the point is plainly placed before you. In poetry, such is not the case. You are often required to read the words, and then place them in the context of the mood and style of the piece to determine the point of the author. In my view, humans think in a prose-like manner. The ability to mentally comprehend and translate poetry to mental prose will serve you well in future endeavors.
"As an example, this ability to go beyond the mere written word to determine the intent of the piece, is critically important for surviving law school or to be successful in the practice of law. It is a rare event, in the practice of law, or likely in any career, that all of the facts that are relevant to an issue are laid before you in a nice tidy package. Instead, you must take the information that is provided and analyze and interpret the information to find meaning. This is the same process that is developed by analyzing and interpreting poetry.
"On a more pragmatic basis, in advocacy writing, whether in the form of briefs to a Court or in letters and memos to business associates, having a more rounded literary background will make your writing style more interesting, and thus, more persuasive."
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