Gleanings

2012-01-28T09:33:00.003-07:00

"Things always work according to their nature. She has won her heart's desire; she has unwearying strength and endless days like a goddess. But length of days with an evil heart is only length of misery and already she begins to know it. All get what they want: they do not always like it."

C. S. Lewis in The Magician's Nephew

We are in the mythology unit in 7th grade English. It's great fun,the students love it,I love teaching it, and we laugh a LOT! Last Wednesday we studied Romans 1:18-25, applying it to the mythology and talking about free will. I think this Lewis quote will be good to share with the students because, unfortunately, most have never read The Chronicles of Narnia!!

A New Book

2011-12-28T11:14:00.000-07:00

"Books are quiet. They do not dissolve into wavy lines or snowstorm effects. They do not pause to deliver commercials. They are three-dimensional, having length, breadth and depth. They are convenient to handle and completely portable."-Anonymous

Thanks to a student who gave me a gift certificate for one of my favorite places, Barnes and Nobles, I was able to spend some of my wonderful Christmas-break freedom wandering the aisles, look at all the sales, and finally settle on a mystery (favorite light-reading genre). It will be perfect for reading when I have a few minutes to relax, and it is, as the quote above mentions, easy to carry around. The blurb let me know I'd be getting two mysteries for the price of one: the first, deals with Doyle (so part of the time I can be in post-Dickens London, great!), and the second is set in present day and deals with the murder of the leading member of the Baker Street Irregulars (could be interesting). I liked the cover design, tasteful, clever. But where Moore really sealed the deal was the quote he chose for the first chapter, which I have put in my Worth Remembering section. So far, it is living up to my expectations; the switching centuries and storylines every chapter doesn't bother me in the least. I hope it continues to please.
As I left B and N, I sighed at the plight of bookstores. Everything is going into the virtual library somewhere in cyberspace, which I can't get my mind around at all! Meanwhile, actual, real books get more and more expensive. That, unfortunately, I do understand. I have always been one of the "feel of the paper" crowd, but maybe that will change, too.will change.

Symptoms of Society's Sickness?

2011-08-05T14:10:00.001-06:00

I Want It Now, by Roald Dahl

Gooses, geeses
I want my geese to lay gold eggs for easter
At least a hundred a day
And by the way

I want a feast
I want a bean feast
Cream buns and doughnuts
And fruitcake with no nuts
So good you could go nuts

No, now

I want a ball
I want a party
Pink macaroons
And a million balloons
And performing baboons and
Give it to me now

I want the world
I want the whole world
I want to lock it
All up in my pocket
It's my bar of chocolate
Give it to me now

I want today
I want tomorrow
I want to wear 'em
Like braids in my hair and
I don't want to share 'em

I want a party with roomfuls of laughter
Ten thousand tons of ice cream
And if I don't get the things I am after
I'm going to scream

I want the works
I want the whole works
Presents and prizes
And sweets and surprises
Of all shapes and sizes
And now

Don't care how, I want it now
Don't care how, I want it now

Careful Speech

2011-08-04T09:24:00.002-06:00

A Man may make a Remark-
In itself - a quiet thing
That may furnish the Fuse unto a Spark
In dormant nature - lain -

Let us deport - with skill -
Let us discourse - with care -
Powder exists in Charcoal -
Before it exists in Fire.
Emily Dickinson

Children

2011-08-01T09:47:00.002-06:00

I will pour out My Spirit on your offspring, And My blessing on your descendants;
And they will spring up amoung the grass like poplars by streams of water.
This one will say,"I am the Lord's"; And that one will call on the name of Jacob;
And another will write on his hand, "Belonging to the Lord." Isaiah 44:3b-5

Borrowing from Miss Austen, "it is a truth universally acknowledged", that child rearing is difficult, scary, time-consuming, exhausting, and overwhelming. Of course, as those involved in the activity know well, child rearing also provides hilarious, heart-warming, "my cup runneth over" moments that make all the teeth- grinding, wanting-to-pull-your-hair(or their's)-out times worth it all.

The blessings come when the friendship with the adult child begins. I remember older women always saying to me, "Cherish these years; they go by so quickly." They were right, though, at the time, one is not aware of the speed of the years. I feel the need to tell younger women to hang in there, persevere...it will be worth it all, someday. I love having my adult children as friends.

Separated by so many miles from our children as we are, I am very thankful for the technological wonders of phones and computers to keep in touch. (This current separation since we've moved to New Mexico has caused me to meditate upon the absence of separation in Heaven...new earth, new heaven, angelic measurements, no sea, no night... how will it all be?, I wonder. For now, I treasure the BRIEF time we get to be in the presence of our children.
This poem by Ruth Graham Bell, published in Sitting by My Laughing Fire, was my prayer when my children were little. I had always wanted six children, which God graciously granted. Then, after Joshua went Home, this poem "fit" even better.

Five I have:
each separate,
distinct,
a soul
bound for eternity:
and I
--blind
leader of the blind--
gropng and fumbling,
casual and concerned,
by turns...
undisciplined, I seek
by order and command
to discipline and shape;
(I who need
Thy discipline
to shape
my own disordered soul).
O Thou
Who seest the heart's
true, deep desire,
each shortcoming and
each sad mistake,
supplement
and
overrule,
nor let our children be
the victims of our own
unlikeness unto Thee.

The Wonderful Sense of Smell

2011-06-23T11:08:00.000-06:00

Summertime for some of us "booky"teachers means we get to read what WE want! Oh, bliss! Think: kids in a candy store! I began with Pseudonymous Bosh's The Name of This Book is Secret and Christopher Fowler's Bryant and May off the Rails. (Yes, I often read two books at once; I have no problem doing this.) Bosh's series, recommended to me by some of my 7th graders, (I hope to have the next two waiting for me at the library today!) is a delightful hoot! Each of the books in this series revolves around one of the physical senses and begins with the sense of smell. Some of the characters in this book are synesthetics, people who can see smells, hear pictures, and smell or taste colours and numbers. This is a true condition and really fascinating, wouldn't you agree?
For most of us, I think, smell is tightly bound to memories. I experienced a wonderful moment yesterday as I walked out of a large building that has areas of grass in front of it- a rarity in Albuquerque! As the automatic doors opened for me, I immediately smelled the grass. I don't know why the smell was not as strong when I entered the building, but as the outside air hit me upon leaving, it was all CUT GRASS. I found it to be wonderful! With that smell came everything that summer meant to me as a child: going barefoot, eating popcycles, riding bikes, playing imaginary stories with the other neighborhood kids (do kids even imagine anymore?), and leaving HOT Texas to take family vacations to northern New Mexico's mountains with those wonderful piney smells!
It was a brief moment, but I considered it a great blessing in this time of drought.
Thank You, Lord, for smell and good memories!

Meditations: Drought

2011-06-21T14:30:00.090-06:00

Like clouds and wind without rain
Is a man who boasts of his gifts falsely. Proverbs 25:14
[Very good simile.
Plenty of these (rainless clouds, over-abundance of winds, and boastful men) around.]

These men are those...caring for themseles;
clouds without water, carried along by winds;
autumn trees without fruit,
doubly dead,
uprooted;
wild waves of the sea,
wandering stars... Jude 12-13
[Excellent metaphors!  Ditto-see above. "Reality" TV, Political answers, Science today, Diversity, ??? ]

[Southwest is experiencing the physical effects of extreme, record-breaking drought conditions.
Uncontained wildfires.
Decidedly unpleasant.
Beyond our control.
We need rain, but we can't buy, borrow, nor can we produce rain.]

[Our country is suffering the consequences of spiritual and social drought... almost wrote "ideological" in the last sentence, but there are plenty of opinions, theories, beliefs, and philosophies floating around, just ripe for the picking. Unfortunately, many "solutions" repeated as talking points and sound bites contain about as much Truth as the amount of water in our totally blue, cloudless sky over Albuquerque at this moment. Zero]

For My people have committed two evils:
They have forsaken Me,
The fountain of living waters,
To hew for themselves cisterns,
Broken cisterns,
That can hold no water.   Jeremiah 2:13

[and yet]

Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Have you entered the store houses of the snow,
Or have you seen the storehouses of the hail...?
who has cleft a channel for the flood,
Or a way for the thunderbolt;
To bring rain on a land without peo;oe,
On a desert without a man in it,
To satisfy the waste and desolate land
And to make the seeds of grass to sprout?
Has the rain a father?
Or who has begotten the drops of dew?
Can you lift up your voice to the clouds,
So that an abundance of water may cover you?
Who can count the clouds by wisdom,
Or tip the water jars of the heavens,
When the dust hardens into a mass,
And the clods stick together?   Job 38: 4,22,25-28,34,37

Let them fear You while the sun endures, and as long as the moon, throughout all generations.
He will come down like rain upon the mown grass, [and He did, and He will]
Like showers that water the earth.   Psalm 72:5-6

Now on the last day, the great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. He who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, ‘From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.’” But this He spoke of the Spirit, whom those who believed in Him were to receive; for the Spirit was not yet given, because Jesus was not yet glorified. John 7:37-39

And the Spirit and the bride say, "Come." And let the one who hears say, "Come." And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who wishes take the water of life without cost." Revelation 22:17

[AMEN.]

A Time To Talk

2011-06-14T09:21:00.007-06:00

Ecclesiastes chapter three, verse seven instructs us that there is "a time to be silent, and a time to speak". Today, it seems to me, we have need of this reminder. Maybe we fear silence; could it be? Technological advances have provided us with never-ending voices, words(not "real" words, mind you, but a new evolution of the language), music, sounds: an audio subtitute for togetherness.
We have gadgets and aps, peeps and connections. We text, if we still have dexterity in our fingers and thumbs, memory of where the letters are, power left in the battery and enough bars on the phone. Some of us feel left behind. While I'm so very thankful for this modern ability to be in touch with my children and friends, I sometimes wonder just what we're losing in this fast-paced stream in which we're carried along.
Enough. You wanted to read Robert Frost, which is very wise of you. In his pratical, well-thought-out way, he chose 56 words he could arrange in a rather intricate rhyme scheme (abcadbceed)to capture just the scene he wanted to share....and make the point that communication is a deliberate choice.

A Time To Talk, by Robert Frost (italics mine)

When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.

Praise

2011-05-26T14:30:00.003-06:00

Hallelujah- "Praise the Lord"-- when?

We cannot wait til the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
God came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!

- Madeleine L'Engle, First Coming

The Day of the Lord

2011-05-21T19:27:00.003-06:00

The Lord is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing for any to persih but for all to come to repentance. But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, in which the heavens will be destroyued with intense heat, and the earth and its works will be burned up. 2 Peter 3:9-10

Why
argue,
and fight,
and worry
how the world ends?
Pray for the best,
prepare for the worst,
and take whatever God sends.
Ruth Bell Graham

BUT be prepared; bow the knee now (Phil.2:10-11

Happy National Poetry Month!

2011-04-12T19:02:00.004-06:00

How fortuitous that the powers that be (whoever they may be) chose to make April National Poetry Month. Poetry may get me through these next six weeks (count 'em!) with my sanity intact!

I actually look forward to tomorrow...the wind a torrent of darkness, the moon a ghostly galleon, and the highwayman in a French cocked hat and coat of claret velvet.
Words like "alliteration", "metaphor", and "onomatopoeia" rolling off the little wanna-be-teens' tongues. As the Holt Lit. book says, "It wouldn't be seventh grade without the highwayman riding--riding--riding" and I am compelled to add "up to the old inn door.'

Springlight

2011-03-09T16:50:00.003-07:00

Rising and driving to school so early makes me aware of the light, or the absence thereof. I'm shocked at how quickly the subtle change has come reducing the time between sunset and sunrise. Miss E.D. is right, as usual, about the special springtime quality, nature, value (overall intensity or strength) of light.

A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here

A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That silence cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.

It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.

Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:

A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament. (italics mine)
Emily Dickinson

2011-03-03T18:45:00.005-07:00

Wise words from a nineteenth century recluse.

FAME is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate,
Whose table once a Guest, but not
The second time, is set.
Whose crumbs the crows inspect,
And with ironic caw
Flap past it to the Farmer’s corn;
Men eat of it and die.

by Emily Dickinson

2011-03-01T19:40:00.001-07:00

“When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or not.” Mark Twain

Here come the WINDS!

2011-02-21T12:32:00.004-07:00

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
- from "Ode To The West Wind", Percy Bysshe Shelley

From inside,by my sunny windows, I say, "No, it's already starting."

Birthday Chuckle

2011-01-25T20:30:00.002-07:00

My friend Judy at church wrote this in the birthday card she gave me on Sunday

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray my youth to always keep.
But if I've aged when I awake,
At least I'll still have birthday cake!

:0)

TIME, once again

2011-01-17T14:53:00.002-07:00

Oh, time! be slow!
it was a dawn ago
I was a child
dreaming of being grown;
a noon ago
I was
with children of my own;
and now
it's afternoon
-and late-
and they are grown
and gone.
Time, wait!
Ruth Bell Graham

On Christmas Day

2010-12-27T10:19:00.005-07:00

I love the second verse, so I added the italics. To hear the song, click on the title which will take you to a link where you can click "listen".

On Christmas Day
By Matt Osgood

Luke 2:16; Luke 2:7; Isa 7:14; Matt 1:23;

On Christmas day, a humble girl
gives birth to hope for all the world,
this is Immanuel.
How awesome and mysterious,
the Lord of heaven draws near to us,
this is Immanuel.

The hands that once split night from day
now feebly clutch a blade of hay,
this is Immanuel.
Majestic king, now small and weak,
the Word of God must learn to speak,
this is Immanuel.
This is our God, seen by our eyes,
the love of the Father made known in Jesus Christ.
This is our God, worthy of praise,
the love of the Father revealed on Christmas day.

The shepherds come and bow to him,
the Lamb who takes away our sin,
this is Immanuel.
For God has entered time and space
to show the world his endless grace,
this is Immanuel.

Immanuel, Immanuel. Our God is with us now.
Immanuel, Immanuel. Our God is with us now.

Forever – is composed of Nows –

2010-12-15T22:23:00.004-07:00

Forever – is composed of Nows –
‘Tis not a different time –
Except for Infiniteness –
And Latitude of Home –

From this – experienced Here –
Remove the Dates – to These –
Let Months dissolve in further Months –
And Years – exhale in Years –

Without Debate – or Pause –
Or Celebrated Days –
No different Our Years would be
From Anno Dominies –

by Emily Dickinson

2010-12-08T18:09:00.006-07:00

For days now, a favorite Christmas-evoking quote from C.S.Lewis' final Narnia book, The Last Battle,has been echoing around in my mind,

"Yes," said Queen Lucy. "In our world too, a Stable once had something inside it that was bigger than our whole world."

The incredible humility of the Divine...all so that we could have a TRUE reality makeover.

Immutable Love

2010-11-27T19:18:00.001-07:00

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free!
Rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me!
Underneath me, all around me, is the current of Thy love
Leading onward, leading homeward to Thy glorious rest above!

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, spread His praise from shore to shore!
How He loveth, ever loveth, changeth never, nevermore!
How He watches o’er His loved ones, died to call them all His own;
How for them He intercedeth, watcheth o’er them from the throne!

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, love of every love the best!
’Tis an ocean full of blessing, ’tis a haven giving rest!
O the deep, deep love of Jesus, ’tis a heaven of heavens to me;
And it lifts me up to glory, for it lifts me up to Thee!

W......Hail to the Chief

2010-11-09T18:11:00.002-07:00

I have enjoyed seeing President George W. Bush on television so much these days with the release of his book. We, in our house, energetically led by Jonathan since he was age nine, love this man. He is genuine, humble, honest, honorable, gracious, and playful.
The contrast is startlingly clear. You can't fake being a gentleman.

Reminder to Politicians

2010-11-06T07:40:00.006-06:00

Oh! what a tangled web we weave
When first we practise to deceive!
Sir Walter Scott

All politicians take heed. A word to the wise should be sufficient, but maybe the opperative word is "wise"; maybe the spinner will be caught. There's the rub!

His Kingdom is Forever

2010-11-02T18:31:00.001-06:00

On election day it is good to remember

A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing;
Our helper He, amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing:
For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe;
His craft and power are great, and, armed with cruel hate,
On earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing;
Were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God’s own choosing:
Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is He;
Lord Sabaoth, His Name, from age to age the same,
And He must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,
We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us:
The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him;
His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure,
One little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth:
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;
The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still,
His kingdom is forever.

Once By The Pacific, Robert Frost

2010-10-23T10:16:00.015-06:00

Sometimes even poets can be prophetic.

The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God's last Put out the Light was spoken.

2010-10-14T17:05:00.002-06:00

"Even if something is left undone, everyone must take time to sit still and watch the leaves turn."
Elizabeth Lawrence

I would watch the leaves turn,their colors burning yellow to gold to red...
if I had a tree anywhere near in this desert....
and if that tree had leaves.
.

Irrepressible Time

2010-09-28T20:55:00.002-06:00

The leaves fall patiently
Nothing remembers or grieves
The river takes to the sea
The yellow drift of leaves
-Sara Teasdale

Nothing Gold Can Stay, Part Two

2010-09-26T14:12:00.006-06:00

Friday after school we left for Taos and then spent yesterday in Red River with "my" aspens. Thinking we'd be there at the peak of color season, it was a shock to see how it is still the early days of change. Since this was the only time we were free to go, I was thankful that there were enough aspens changed to make it so beautiful.
True to the word on the internet, the trees are gorgeous this year after last winter's high snowfalls and spring's heavy rains. When the sun was shining on the leaves, the trees turned to pure gold. Incredibly beautiful.
Frost's poem,which I've written about before, kept repeating in my mind.

No, nothing gold can stay. I brought home a couple of boughs, but out of the sun, they're not the same.

A Grate Source of Joy

2010-08-05T09:12:00.006-06:00

Today I was reading from one of my favorite blogs,Bread and Roses, and her line, "small children are in awe", made me think of yesterday.
No, I was NOT making jam or jelly,nor "putting" up green beans, etc. I was grating a block of cheese for bean burritos for Jonathan. I was not even using my old-fashioned hand-held grater, which has been know to cause personal injury to clutsy me. I was using my new food processor, the old one having bit the dust after so much hard work. Jonathan (no longer a "small child" technically),eagerly awaiting his burritos, was watching over my shoulder. .He was blown away by the speed, noise, WONDER of it all. He kept shouting, "Awesome!!".
I felt fulfilled as a mother, and still smile at the memory.

Irrational? Sophistic? Specious? Devious?

2010-07-09T08:54:00.010-06:00

The more I listen to our current President, the more these words come to mind.

ir·ra·tion·al –adjective
1.
without the faculty of reason; deprived of reason.
2.
without or deprived of normal mental clarity or sound judgment.
3.
not in accordance with reason; utterly illogical:
************
soph·ist·ry –noun, plural -ries.
1.
a subtle, tricky, superficially plausible, but generally fallacious method of reasoning.
2.
a false argument; sophism.
*************
spe·cious –adjective
1.
apparently good or right though lacking real merit; superficially pleasing or plausible: specious arguments.
**************
de·vi·ous –adjective
1.
departing from the most direct way; circuitous; indirect: a devious course.
2.
without definite course; vagrant: a devious current.
3.
departing from the proper or accepted way; roundabout: a devious procedure.
4.
not straightforward; shifty or crooked: a devious scheme to acquire wealth.
*************
cal·cu·lat·ing –adjective
1.
capable of or made for performing calculations, esp. arithmetical calculations: a calculating machine.
2.
shrewd; cautious:
3.
selfishly scheming:

Or maybe this synonym for irrational works best: kooky

Check out Jason's latest post .

July 1, 1776

2010-07-02T15:38:00.004-06:00

The day dawned hot and steamy in Philadelphia, and John Adams was up before dawn. He wrote to a former delegate that, "This morning is assigned the greatest debate of all. A declaration, that these colonies are free and independent states, has been reported a committee some weeks ago for that purpose, and this day or romorrow is to determine its fate." He went on, "the object is great which we have in view, and we must expect a great expense of blood to obtain it. But we should always remember that a free constitution of civil government cannot be purchased at too dear a rate, as there is nothing on this side of Jerusalem of equal importance to mankind."
At ten o'clock John Hancock opened the meeting and the prior motion calling for independence was read again. Immediately, John Dickinson stood to present his argument againsts"premature" separation from Britain. Adams later recalled that, "He had prepared himself apparently with great labor and ardent zeal. He conducted the debate not only with great ingenuity and eloquence, but with equal politeness and candor." Dickinson concluded by saying that to proceed with a declaration of independence would be "to brave the storm in a skiff made of paper."
As he took his seat, all members were silent. The oppressive heat had given way to rain which began to hit the windows.
At last, Adams "determined to speak." He started by wishing that he had the gifts of the ancient orators of Greece and Rome, for he was certain none of them ever faced a question of greater importance. He spoke on, as outside the storm let loose in full fury. According to historian David McCullough,"He was logical, positive, sensitive to the historic importance of the moment, and , looking into the future, saw a new nation, a new time." Unfortunately, no transcripts were made, nor any notes kept. There was only Adams's recollections, as well as those of others who remembered Adams's force. "That it was the most powerful and impotant speech heard in the Congress since it first convened, and the greatest speech of Adams's life, there is no question. (McCollough, John Adams, p.127).
Jefferson said that Adams was "not graceful nor elegant, nor remarkably fluent," but spoke "with a power of thought and expression that move us from our seats."
Richard Stockton, a delegate from New Jersey, said that "Adams was'the Atlas' of the hour, the man to whom the country is most indebted for the great measure of independency...He it was who sustained the debate, and by the force of his reasoning demonstrated not only the justicek, but the expediency of the measure."
The day ended, after nine hours, with a final vote postponed until the next day.
John Adams, David McCullough, Chapter 3

More Than Two Things Right

2010-07-01T14:21:00.005-06:00

Dodge definitely scored a winner with this commercial that has been showing during the World Cup. A resolute George Washington, fearful Redcoats running away, what's not to like? My years in South America caused me to appreciate more deeply than I ever had before just how many things "America got right."
A friend in Santiago, Chile, loaned me Irving Stone's Those Who Love, his biographical novel of Abigail and John Adams, and I became fascinated with their story. I was quick to buy David McCullough's biography and greatly disappointed in the mini-series.
Their wisdom, perseverance, sacrifice, humility, and courage are greatly needed today.

"Power always thinks it has a great soul and vast views beyond the comprehension of the weak and that it is doing God's service when it is violating all his laws." John Adams

So Many Summer Books, So Little Time!

2010-06-09T15:49:00.005-06:00

Everywhere I hear/read the same response at the mention of The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins.

"I couldn't put it down!" High praise from adults (yes, many are teachers) for a book for 6-8 graders. But since one of those adults is my sister, who does happen to teach 9th grade AP classes, I can't wait to read it. She is eagerly awaiting the arrival of the third book in the series this August.

Unfortunately, I would be number 30-something on the waiting list at ABQ Public Library and who knows when I would get a copy. I don't want to pay the price for a hardback copy, so I have to wait until next month when the paperback copy is out. :-(

Such is life. I hope I won't be disappointed!

Glad You're Here, Part 2

2010-06-03T09:16:00.003-06:00

Dear Cheryl, Kim, Luke, and Susan,

I started my last post planning to tell my children and grandchildren that they were the reason I was born, but immediately felt convicted, having been in agreement, since I first heard of it, with Question 1 of the Westminster Shorter Catechism: that the chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.
I wanted them to know that aside from that, I do feel that they are why I was born.

I do want you four to know that I am so thankful you are a part of our family. Thank you for loving my children and for the new sides of God's character that He uniquely demonstrates through your lives. (see "The Weight of Glory", by C.S. Lewis)

Thank you for loving, teaching, caring for my grandchildren, especially for bringing them up "in the discipline and instruction of the Lord."

I love you,
Janis

2010-05-22T13:55:00.007-06:00

Children are a gift from the Lord. Psalm 127:3

Dear Jason, Jeffrey, Emily, Joshua, Joel, Jonathan, Jonah, Ashlyn, Caedon, Logan, Maxwell, Joshua, Tate, Hannah, Noah, Abigail, Lily, Sarah, Carrigan, and Lorelai,
You are my greatest joys and gifts in life.
Love you forever,
Mom/Oma

Flyby

2010-05-08T16:58:00.007-06:00

The sun is up now when I'm driving to school around 6:30 a.m. but is still behind the mountain as I'm driving east. Yesterday, just as I was crossing the Rio Grande, I witnessed the sight referenced below. We converged mid-bridge, and I carried the resulting smile with me all day.

Flyby

from river to sky,
streamlined aerodynamics:
geese from Canada

2010-05-05T18:03:00.003-06:00

My classes began their last quarter projects today. Fun for me and them. One of the requirements of this "My Literary Life in a Bag" is that they read a poem (that we did not read in class) by one of the poets we studied in class. I've been excited that some are branching out and trying new (to them) poems. Several are reading...

Hope, by Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

2010-04-05T16:38:00.006-06:00

Though I never met either lady, I consider Edith Schaeffer and Ruth Graham as my mentors. Their writings have taught me so much, comforted me, and given me such joy.
I recently found this picture of Ruth Bell Graham's tombstone. I love the sentiment written on it…“End of Construction. Thank you for your Patience.”; she had such a quick wit. I also read that her daughter Gigi read the following poem from page 169 of her book Sitting By My Laughing Fire at her funeral. All I can add is, "Amen!"

And when I die
I hope my soul ascends
slowly, so that I
may watch the earth receding
out of sight,
its vastness growing smaller
as I rise,
savoring its recession
with delight.
Anticipating joy
is itself a joy
And joy unspeakable
and full of glory
needs more
than “in a twinkling of an eye,”
more than “in a moment.”
Lord, who am I to disagree?
It’s only we
have much to leave behind,
so much … Before.
These moments
of transition
will, for me, be
time
to adore.

Old Woman Haiku

2010-03-31T17:45:00.007-06:00

In preparing for my classes' poetry unit, I came upon this haiku collecion by Jane Reichhold entitled "Old Woman Haiku". I found the following particularly enjoyable:

IN A MIRROR
HER WRINKLES DO NOT MAR
THE SMOOTH SURFACE

RED KNUCKLES
CLAY AROUND THE CUP
OF ROSE HIP TEA

IN THE PHOTO ALBUM
MY MOTHER'S FACE
BEFORE I KNEW HER

HOT FLASHES
BLUSHES OF YOUTH
GETTING OLD

GRANDSON
THE UNMADE BURP
INVENTS A SMILE

ASLEEP
SURROUNDED BY THINGS
THAT DON'T

An Irish Blessing

2010-03-17T10:35:00.004-06:00

An Irish Blessing
(Traditional Irish Blessing; origin unknown,
although some attribute it to St. Patrick.)

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
May the rains fall soft upon your fields,
And, until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

He does. John 10:27-30

"My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow me;

and I give eternal life to them and they will never perish; and no one will snatch them out of my hand.

My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand.

I and the Father are one."

Dust of Snow by Robert Frost

2010-02-04T06:31:00.002-07:00

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

All it takes is a little snow, and the eyes light up, along with the corners of the mouth.

Time

2010-01-09T09:04:00.008-07:00

Nine days ago the whole world was focused on "time". We looked back, our hearts filled with a grab bag of emotions: joy, regret, gratitued, love. Memory is a two-headed beast. We looked ahead more eagerly, perhaps. The future always offers hope,yet, if we stop long enough to consider everything around us, we hear more whispers of fear coming from people.

So, we listen to the literary offering of W.H.Auden(note that the title is a link about this poetic style, if you're interested; I thought it would be in my "link" color, but it isn't).

If I Could Tell You

Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

Suppose all the lions get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.

(W. H. Auden 1907-1973)

Maybe we should look to the One behind Time for our answers.

"Music hath charms..." as Congreve said.

2009-12-28T14:23:00.004-07:00

This music crept by me upon the waters,
allaying both their fury, and my passion, with its sweet air.
- William Shakespeare, THE TEMPEST Act 1, Scene 2

Time to listen .

Two Christmas Poems

2009-12-24T13:35:00.007-07:00

Many years ago I checked The Gift of Christmas by Myra Scovel out of the church library. For 30 years she and her husband served as Presbyterian missionaries in China and, later, India. He was a doctor; she, a nurse, and, notice this,
After language training in Peking, the Scovels were assigned to a hospital in Shantung Province. In 1943 the entire family, which had grown to include four more children, was interned by the Japanese. After six months' detention the Japanese deported them to the United States; Myra Scovel gave birth to a sixth child within hours after their ship docked in New York Harbor
She wrote many books, and I'm currently searching to see if I can find a copy of The Gift of Christmas that, maybe, I can talk Mike into letting me buy (he doesn't buy over the internet).

It was her tradition while in China to write a new Christmas poem each year. This was over 60 years ago, and they often did not have many presents, nor a tree to make the season more festive.

The first poem is one she wrote after attending a Christmas program at a school for blind children which was near the medical compound.

Christmas at Ming Sun School, by Myra Scovel

Little blind angels in "heaven"
little blind shepherds below,
singing of Bethlehem's Baby,
leading each other they go.

Little blind Mary, adoring,
Joseph, with downcast mien,
crimson-robed Wise Men presenting
gifts that they never have seen;

Satin-clad fairies of Christmas,
elves and the cherub who sings,
shifting the while on his shoulders
heavy, uncomfortable wings;

Little blind flutist piping
softly, while blind angels hum,
O dear little blind beloveds,
the Light of the World has come!

Wise Men, by Myra Scovel

"You must return by another road,"
the Wise Men heard God say.
Another road? The old road
was the known, the safest way.

But the Kings had been to Bethlehem,
had knelt as humble men;
And nothing, after Bethlehem,
could be the same again.

The Great God of Heaven

2009-12-23T10:08:00.004-07:00

The great God of Heaven is come down to earth,
His mother a virgin, and sinless His birth;
The Father eternal His Father alone:
He sleeps in the manger; He reigns on the throne.

Refrain

Then let us adore Him, and praise His great love:
To save us poor sinners He came from above.

A Babe on the breast of a maiden He lies,
Yet sits with the Father on high in the skies;
Before Him their faces the seraphim hide,
While Joseph stands waiting, unscared, by His side.

Refrain

Lo! here is Emmanuel, here is the Child,
The Son that was promised to Mary so mild;
Whose power and dominion shall ever increase,
The Prince that shall rule o’er a kingdom of peace.

Refrain

The Wonderful Counselor, boundless in might,
The Father’s own image, the beam of His light;
Behold Him now wearing the likeness of man,
Weak, helpless, and speechless, in measure a span.

Refrain
O wonder of wonders, which none can unfold:
The Ancient of Days is an hour or two old;
The Maker of all things is made of the earth,
Man is worshipped by angels, and God comes to birth:

Refrain

The word in the bliss of the Godhead remains,
Yet in flesh comes to suffer the keenest of pains;
He is that He was, and forever shall be,
But becomes that He was not, for you and for me.

Refrain

H. R. Bramley, 1833-1917

"The Gift of the Magi"

2009-12-21T13:50:00.009-07:00

The great advantage of teaching literature is that you get to read what you want, and the students are a captive audience. They don't have to listen, of course. I told my classes recently, after grading some questions on a test, that I was forced to conclude that we must have experienced an attack of the body snatchers one day when I distinctly remember covering material which only a faithful few of the A students remembered. My point was lost, of course, on 7th graders; the boys were "yeah, COOL!", while the girls were all, "That's scary!". SIGH. High-schoolers would have laughed with me, oh well.

I had planned on reading O.Henry's classic,
"The Gift of the Magi" to my classes after we finished reviewing for the final. After making copies of the story and vocabulary sheets for the students and receiving permission from the 9th grade Lit. teacher (they cover the story in their curriculum, but her words were, "it can never be read too often"), I was pumped. Alas, review took longer than expected, so I was only able to read it to 2nd -7th periods after the first period final. Those classes were a little shorter, the kids were already wired after their first final, so we skipped the vocabulary, and I just read the story to them.

Before reading, I made sure they knew who the Magi were and corrected their pronunciation (maggie). It doesn't take that long to read out loud, even with my occassional explanations of what was meant by "mendicancy" and "parsimony". (Imagine living at the end of the 19th century when such words were commonly understood. Have we "dumbed down" American kids?)Porter, who used the pseudonym O.Henry, was very popular in his lifetime and can still capture an audience within a few lines, and my students were following along, intent on the story. Oh, the FUN of their reactions- the gasps, the "oooohs" (girls) and chuckles (boys) when O.Henry's signature twist at the end was reached.

I had told the students that they could keep their copy of the story or turn it back in, whatever they wanted. My pleasure came from seeing the ones who quietly put their copy away in their backpack, not the majority, of course. I didn't expect that, but some liked it enough to keep. I remember the English teacher I had as a junior and senior in high school. She was "old", as I am, and she was not very popular. Each year before Christmas, she read Dylan Thomas' "A Child's Christmas in Wales" to us. The impact on me my junior year was palpable. Oh, those words! In fact, it was because of her reading it to us that I chose her the next year. (In my large high school we could "run" for classes we wanted.)

I could not make "The Gift of the Magi" part of our tradition when our children were growing up because I didn't have a copy, and it was before the days of the internet. Mike shocked me when I was telling him my day's events by saying that he'd never heard of this O.Henry story.
"You never read it in school?!!"
"No. I've never read any O.Henry story."
"But you had the complete set of O.Henry's stories in your house!!"
He gave me a look that said, "Who cares.."
"You never read "The Ransom of Red Chief" in school?"
Again, he said,"No." (I was seriously wondering about Borger High at this point!)

I may have to sit him down and read to him!

UP

2009-09-12T09:41:00.022-06:00

This past Thursday and Friday the seventh grade at Hope Christian School went on retreat into the Manzano mountains, and staff had to go too. While I love staying in mountain cabins, the thought of being with 137 12-year olds left me wondering about the sanity of accepting this teaching job. Let me quickly say, everything went well; the kids behaved and had a great time. Thursday we went to a movie in the morning, ate at a pizza/arcade place, and then spent 2 1/2 hours at a fun center in ABQ that offers bumper boats, miniature golf, go carts, and a separate lazer building where they have lazer tag, virtual video games, etc. Obviously the kids had a blast.
The real reason for this blog, however, is to talk about the movie we saw, Up. I had already seen the movie this summer and praised it on Facebook, and when I read Jason's review on his blog (you will have to click on "show all posts", then scroll down) I wanted to comment, but had too much to say in a comment.

I was eager to see the kids' reactions, and none of the kids I talked to had seen it. They laughed, cheered, gasped and "aw-w-w-"d in all the right places. I even had boys tell me they cried in the opening, too. The movie is so beautiully done. They gasped when Carl finally looked at the closing pages of Ellie's Adventure Album. They clapped and cheered not only when the antagonist fell to his doom, but also when Carl stood in for Russel's absent dad at the troop's award ceremony.

Up is a rare oddity: a children's animated movie that gives it's audience things to think and talk about, not just laugh about. Dare I say it is uplifting?

There's More to Reading than Meets the Eye

2009-08-06T10:22:00.005-06:00

“Remember what your father told you!” called Fenoglio when Meggie was out in the hallway. “Words don’t come to life until you can taste them on your tongue.”
Cornelia Funke, Inkheart

I hear everything I write. All poetry is to me first a matter of sound.
Robert Frost

No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.
Robert Frost

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

2009-07-09T10:53:00.012-06:00

My son Jason has been reviewing the Harry Potter books and movies as we anticipate the sixth movie next week. Today he covered the fifth book in the series which is my personal favorite; I've read it probably 20 times at least, and wanted to add my thoughts but have too much to say to try to put it in a comment box.

We've read about the accounts of Dickens' popularity: of an Irish member of Parliament bursting into tears and throwing his copy of The Old Curiosity Shop out of the train's window when he read that Nell had died, and enormous crowds of people gathering on the docks of New York and Philadelphia awaiting the installment, crying out "Is she dead? Is little Nell dead?". Not until over a hundred years later did any other English fiction writer generate that collective "story hour at the library" feeling among readers young and old. I told my high school students as we anticipated the seventh Potter book that I would truly miss the whole experience once it was over. I wrote probing questions on my board about the books, clues most students had overlooked. We talked during breaks between classes, during lunch break or before school, and students who were no longer in my Spanish classes (yes, this was all totally an "aside", but they knew I was an English teacher at heart)came by to catch up. I wanted to know if they were catching the themes of the books; most were, but the aha! smile and the spark in the eye of those who hadn't seen it until I mentioned something was just plain FUN!

Now to my thoughts to follow Jason's review of Order of the Phoenix...
Oh, that first reading! One mini-me in my brain wanted to give Harry a good slap up the side of the head or at least hard shaking, while the more analytical mini-me was saying, "She's producing all this emotion in me with just words!" By the end of the book Rowling had moved from being a really good writer to a phenomenal one in my opinion. The fifteen year old Harry we see in Order is spot-on perfect, given my experience rearing four sons, and JKR has only a sister and no teenaged sons as yet!

It's true that book four is pivotal in the structure of the series, but in so many ways, Order is pivotal in Harry's life. Early in the book, after seeing Mrs. Weasley collapsed before a boggart which shows her worst fears: each member of her family as a corpse, the tone is set, and we read that Harry "felt older than he had ever felt in his life, and it seemed extaordinary to him that barely an hour ago he had been worried about a joke shop and who had gotten a prefect's badge." By the end of the book, Harry stands even more firmly against evil in spite of more losses and grief.

Rowling had warned readers that "a major character" would die, and ,yes, the chapters covering Mr. Weasley's injuries were excruciating to read. She does a masterful job covering the emotions of Harry and each of the Weasley children, with an angry, shouting Sirius declaring "there are things worth dying for!", in case any reader out there has forgotten. Thankfully, Rowling decided to let Arthur live.

If there's one character I couldn't bear to part with, it's Arthur Weasley. And I think part of the reason for that is there were very few good fathers in the book. In fact, you could make a very good case for Arthur Weasley being the only good father in the whole series.

Another key element of the book and of Harry's growth is the revelation of James' fallen humanity. I had many students tell me they thought JKR should not have made James "bad" in the scenes Harry sees from Snapes' memories, but it is a pivotal moment in everyone's life when they recognize that the parents they always thought of as perfect are flawed human beings. James was indeed an arrogant, bullying fifteen year old, but he grew up, as Lupin and Sirius tell Harry. Once again we see Rowling's mastery, because Harry, whose entire first eleven years of his life were made miserable by the bullying Dursleys, has never been nor would ever be a bully. In one swift stroke, she has Harry see the sins of his father and, even if he is unwilling to admit it, understand the feelings of Snape.

Yes, simpering, toad-like Umbridge is unadulterated evil.

Sirius gives Harry an invaluable object, but "he knew he would never use whatever it was", and so, the introduction of what would be an "if only" moment down the line. Life is full of "if only" moments, but it does not do to dwell on them.

Jason is right; there is a wealth of literary riches in the Department of Ministries. I would love to talk about the tattered, fluttering veil in the archway unsupported by walls, but I won't. And whom does Harry think he hears speaking beyond the veil? Oh, she's good!

Yes, Neville develops greatly in the book, but I want to mention the introduction we're given to a new character, Luna Lovegood. Made fun of for her highly individualistic style of dress, dreamy expression, odd beliefs, she is the girl who is too different to ever quite fit in. She has a "knack for speaking uncomfortable truths" and often seems to turn up wherever she is "quite by accident". Ginny befriends her, and Luna is quick to let Harry know that she believes him when so much of the wizarding world doesn't, not that it gives him much comfort. At the end of the book, when Harry's heart is so full of hurt, it is Luna who brings him comfort. Learning that all her possessions have been taken by other students throughout the school year, "An odd feeling rose in Harry--an emotion quite different from the anger and grief that had filled him since Sirius's death. It was a few moments before he realized that he was feeling sorry for Luna." Luna, for all her individuality, is never so self-absorbed to be angry or hurtful to others, and soon is talking to Harry about life after death, and "as he watched her go, he found that the terrible weight in his stomach seemed to have lessened slightly."

Creatively Altered Books

2009-06-30T14:16:00.008-06:00

The last year I was teaching in high school, a friend who taught the upper level art classes started a project with her students: creating altered books. She had read about them online and thought it would be a good project. She said her research said the custom became popular in the frontier days when books and paper were rare commodities and every scrap of paper and margins of pages would be used to preserve information, letters and photos from relatives, etc. I found the idea fascinating and enjoyed seeing what her students that were also in my class (constantly had their books with them) were coming up with in their book trasformations. I think it would be a fun summer project for kids. It certainly is economical; my friend got books from the discard stack in the library for her students to use. I googled "altered books" and found many links. This one gives the best explanation and shares many of the ideas that the art class were using.

The Painting on the Right

2009-06-05T19:19:00.009-06:00

I have loved the painting on the right side of my blog since the first time I saw it. I wish I could make it bigger, but either it's not allowed on the layout, or I just don't have the tech savy to do it. One can see a bigger picture of it on the link.
http://entertainment.webshots.com/photo/2968842930099675723pIMfDe>
The painting, done in 1879, is of his daughter Alice listening to her mother (?) or maybe a governess reading a story that transports her to a "wonderland". At least, that is my reading of the painting. I do know it is his daughter Alice, but I'm hoping it's a much better book than Carroll's A in W. At any rate, I love the rapt attention captured on her face.
The wonder of words put together in a story. What magic!
(Just so you know, it took me half an hour to get my link to work!! )

AGES OF A WOMAN

2009-06-04T15:34:00.003-06:00

AGES OF A WOMAN

Age 8: Looks at herself and sees:
Cinderella/Sleeping Beauty.
Age 15: Looks at herself and sees:
Cinderella/Sleeping Beauty/Cheerleader, or if she is PMS'ing: sees:Pimples/UGLY ("Mom, I can't go to school looking like this!")
Age 20: Looks at herself and sees:
"too fat/too thin, too short/too tall, too straight/too curly" - but decides she's going out anyway.
Age 30: Looks at herself and sees:
"too fat/too thin, too short/too tall, too straight/too curly" - but decides she doesn't have time to fix it so she's going out anyway.
Age 40: Looks at herself and sees:
"too fat/too thin, too short/too tall, too straight/too curly" - but says, "At least, I'm clean" and goes out anyway.
Age 50: Looks at herself and says:
I am" - and goes wherever she wants to.
Age 60: Looks at herself
and reminds herself of all the people who can't even see themselves in the mirror anymore. ...goes out and conquers the world.
Age 70: Looks at herself and sees:
wisdom, laughter and ability - goes out and enjoys life.
Age 80: Doesn't bother to look.
Just puts on a red hat and goes out to participate in the world.
Author Unknown

I have lived through many of these stages. I definitely remember a day sometime in my 50th year when I had an "I am" moment. Of utmost importance, of paramount consequence, is that at some age a woman makes the choice to become a child of The King. The full significance of all which that choice encompasses takes a lifetime to realize. I currently know daughters of The King who are presently living in the last three ages and their honesty, humor, wisdom and faith in God inspire and encourage me to persevere.

Thankful, Random Thoughts on This Mother's Day

2009-05-10T14:41:00.007-06:00

I am so thankful to be a mother. Thank you, Lord, for letting me be the mother of

Jason
Jeffrey
Emily
Joshua
Joel
Jonathan
As far back as I can remember, that was always what I wanted "to be when I grew up".
I never wanted to be a boy, rather, I always felt genuinely sorry for them because they couldn't have babies, like maybe they were second-class citizens.
When my first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage, I was terrified that I would never have a baby.
When I was expecting my second baby, a family member said, "I know that loving Jason as much as you do, you feel like you may not love this new baby. When I had _____, I didn't know if I could ever love another baby" I wanted to tell this person that I thought that was the craziest thing I had ever heard, that I could not even conceive of such a thought, but I didn't. I couldn't wait for the new baby to arrive. My thought was always, "I can't wait to see who this person is!", and so it was with each new baby.
They were never extensions of me. I hope they never felt that they were.
Discipline was easier if I looked ahead to the person they would be 20 years from this "No!", tantrum, whatever.
God still uses them in my life to teach me lessons and bring me great joy.
My children have grown up to be my friends.
I look forward to seeing Joshua in Heaven.
Thank you, Lord, for letting me be their mother.

"Devotion"- A Tribute to Mothers and Teachers, begun in April and just now finished!!

2009-04-30T08:01:00.007-06:00

I once read that Robert Frost, when about to be presented with an award, wrote "Devotion" as his acceptance speech. He dedicated the poem to his mother Isabelle, who was a teacher.

Devotion

The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to ocean -
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition.

This short, little poem ranks a high place in my Fave Five Frost poems (see my blog Lodestar)and captures, I think, the essence of being a mother and/or a teacher.
The shore must stay put, while the ocean gets to go far and wide until, energy spent, it comes rhytmically rolling back to the waiting, expectant shore. Always there, the shore accepts whatever flotsam the ocean decides to unload. Anyone who has had to empty pockets and backpacks understands "flotsam": discarded odds and ends, wadded up papers that should have been returned to the teacher last week, and what is by all appearances detritus, but which is really, despite said appearance, "treasures" which must be kept.
The shore is constant, unchanging, holding the curve of one position , it can be counted on, offering safe harbor, secure refuge.
And, then, my favorite part, being a mother and having been a teacher: counting an endless repetition . How many times must you repeat instruction, assurance of love and acceptance, encouragement, reproof? Until they understand? Maybe, in the classroom, but mothers should give love, acceptance, and encouragement for as long as we're here.

I am blessed to still have my mother to call and talk to. Since I became an adult (a married woman), she has always supported and encouraged me. When I was 10, she started teaching me everything she taught the teenage class of girls at church. She began in Genesis and went from there. I don't remember how long our Saturday lessons lasted, but I was an adult before I ever learned some new,Biblical information that she hadn't taught me, and that had to do with eschatology, which Mother never bothered with. All of the teenage girls in her class went on to marry preachers or missionaries! I have often told her that she made me think of Psalm 127:4, "Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, So are the children of one's youth." Arrows fly much farther than the archer can reach, and so did her teaching. I was sharing in Chile things that she had taught me.

I did not follow her example of teaching my children in a systematic way, which I always regretted, but I want to be that constant shore they can always return to.

Memories: Words in Cadence

2009-04-18T09:29:00.010-06:00

Deep in the recesses of my memories
are words on a page,
spoken by my mother's voice,
creating pictures in my mind
which pulsated with their own rhythm.

Jack, be nimble,
Jack, be quick,
Jack, jump over the candlestick.

Hickory, dickory, dock,
The mouse ran up the clock.
The clock struck one,
The mouse ran down!
Hickory, dickory, dock.

Soon repeated without the book,
some, even, sung
when told to look.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.

And added to the pictures,
like a crowning cherry on the sundae,
emotions
evoked by the simple little words
on the page, pulsating with their own rhythm.

Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Someone came knocking;
I'm sure-sure-sure;
I listened, I opened,
I looked to left and right,
But nought there was a stirring
In the still dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping in the wall,
Only from the forest
The screech-owl's call,
Only the cricket whistling
While the dewdrops fall,
So I know not who came knocking,
At all, at all, at all.
Some One, by Walter de la Mare

Albuquerque Skies

2009-04-14T07:52:00.002-06:00

Living up on a plateau on the western side of the Rio Grande, looking east we have a great view of the Sandia mountain range. It's not as impressive as the Rockies nor the Andes in some areas of southern Chile, but mountains none the less. Our views are, of course, interrupted by houses, but we do see a little. Unfortunately, looking toward the west, there's nothing but desert past the houses. Oh, there are a few volcanos way out there in the distance, but they don't excite me much.

Therefore, I watch the sky from my kitchen/living room windows, which, unfortunately, face west. This view offers lovely sunsets, early morning surprises of hot air balloons lazily carried by upper air currents, and that perfect shade of blue for which New Mexico is famous criss-crossed by white whisps of jet trails. They always amaze me for how many there are, going in all directions, tracing an uneven grid (I am aware of the paradox) in the sky.

I just finished and posted a blog I began last Saturday (hence the date difference which I don't know how to change)about the wonderful rain. Yesterday afternoon was equally wonderful with temps 20 degrees warmer, blue skies and white clouds up above. I opened the door to the patio and adjusted the blinds in the breakfast nook so as not to burn my new African violet. My mind's eye still saw Saturday's Punta Arenas gray-blue skies.

The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday (with gratitude to Alexander McCall Smith for his wonderful titles!)

2009-04-11T10:21:00.009-06:00

A three-inch rain in Phoenix means three inches between drops. ~Local Saying

You know you're an Arizona native when... a rainy day puts you in a good mood. ~Marshall Trimble, quoted in You Know You're an Arizona Native, When... compiled by Don Dedera, 1993

The same sentiment holds true for western Albuquerque, so last Saturday was special because of RAIN. Never mind that the children's Easter egg hunt had to be held in the fellowship hall. You don't know how UNUSUAL that is!
To be awakened before daybreak by the rumble of thunder and the tappings of rain on the roof was blessed. All day I watched the western skies which varied from pale ash to blue gray to dark, purple gray as wave after wave moved across toward the mountains. Now, to be honest, when all was said and done, we didn't receive that much rain, but there were showers all day and into Sunday morning. The clouds would cover the crest of the Sandias, then float away to reveal the dustings of snow.

Not a soul at the breakfast at church Easter morning complained about the cool temperatures or wet streets and sidewalks. Truly, context makes all the difference.

Laughing and Polluting?

2009-03-24T15:37:00.004-06:00

It appears that I may have done real harm to our precious ozone layer. I spent the morning having a root canal at the dentist's. I survive a visit to such a place by inhaling as much nitrous oxide as they'll give me. According to Wikipedia, Nitrous oxide is a major greenhouse gas. Considered over a 100 year period, it has 310 times more impact per unit weight than carbon dioxide. Thus, despite its low concentration, nitrous oxide is the fourth largest contributor to the greenhouse effect. It ranks behind carbon dioxide, methane, and water vapour. The concentration of water vapour in the atmosphere is a function of temperature though, so emissions of water vapour are not a significant factor in climate change.
However, because I live in a desert that has no water vapour in the air to speak of, I guess nitrous oxide may move up to third place here. Hmmm.
I feel no guilt. I am very thankful that Joseph Priestly came up with this "phlogisticated nitrous air" in 1775. It has never caused me to "laugh", but I am able to lie there, inwardly smiling (no one can smile with their mouth wide open with someone's hands inside), and thank the Lord that all the sounds I hear and tuggings I feel are only going to be vague memories.

Eternal Stimulus

2009-03-04T08:46:00.003-07:00

There will be less someday-
much less,
and there will be More:
less to distract
and amuse;
More, to adore;
less to burden
and confuse;
More, to undo
the cluttering of centuries,
that we may view
again, That which star
and angels
pointed to;
we shall be pooer-
and richer;
stripped--and free:
for always there will be a Gift
always
a Tree!
Ruth Bell Graham

Still Hope for DAWN TREADER

2009-03-02T11:59:00.003-07:00

As a C.S. Lewis fan, I am glad that all is not lost as we wait for the next movie installment of the Chronicles, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. The first two movies fell short of my expectations in some regards, but I'd still like to see more of the books on the screen, so this latest news gives me hope.

Sunshine

2009-02-24T16:24:00.004-07:00

Unlike the lyrics of the Carpenters' hit song, rainy days don't "get me down"; I like them. Occassionally, however, I do enjoy days like we had today with skies that give their name to the color blue and temperatures around 70 F. My friend Pat and I went out in her little candy apple red Miata convertible! Pat showed me where some really nice shops are located, then we went to the original, old main Albuquerque library, and then we ate in one of her favorite little restaurants. Delicious potato soup with just a hint of green chili and a salad of baby spinach with pecans and pears! Mmmm. We had so much fun, and the best part is that Pat kept saying things like, "Oh, we have to go to Santa Fe so I can show you...". and "Next time we'll go to....". So there'll be more fun to come!!
After I picked Jon up from school and we were listening to one of my mix CDs, he kept making me forward through the songs until we got to this one, which he sang along with at the top of his voice. He has good taste in music!

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high

If I had a day that I could give you
Id give to you a day just like today
If I had a song that I could sing for you
I'd sing a song to make you feel this way

If I had a tale that I could tell you
I'd tell a tale sure to make you smile
If I had a wish that I could wish for you
I'd make a wish for sunshine all the while

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high
Sunshine almost all the time makes me high
Sunshine almost always

lyrics by John Denver

Nothing Gold Can Stay, by Robert Frost

2009-02-19T10:41:00.011-07:00

One thing we all learn about time: it relentlessly ticks away at a measured pace. Our perceptions of how slow or quick that pace may be changes depending on our age and circumstances, but our perceptions don't alter the facts of seconds, minutes, hours, days, years.
Frost in his classic simplicity captures the beauty and sadness of rushing time, a passing life, and the challenge for each of us to treasure each golden moment of life that we are given. Knowing the Bible to be true, though, I also want this age of Time, with all of its evil, pain, hate, and ungodliness to come to an end. Then, for those who have chosen to bow the knee to Him in Time, Everything Gold Will Stay.

So teach us to number our days,
That we may present to Thee a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9zNMlcFn8c>

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Frost: Never Again Would Birds' Song Be The Same

2009-02-14T11:27:00.004-07:00

Now we turn to my favorite American poet, Robert Frost. He, wisely, rarely chose love for a theme. It is so hard to strike the right note and not come off sugary Hallmark-rhyming sweet! Yuck. This offering, however, is really good.

Never Again Would Birds' Song Be The Same

He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
Her tone of meaning but without the words.
Admittedly an eloquence so soft
Could only have had an influence on birds.
When call or laughter carried it aloft.
Be that as may be, she was in their song.
Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed
Had now persisted in the woods so long
That probably it never would be lost.
Never again would birds' song be the same.
And to do that to birds was why she came.

Bird Footprint

2009-02-13T08:57:00.003-07:00

My favorite of Sandburg's poems from Honey and Salt, of all his poetry actually, is Bird Footprint. It is everything a poem should be: economy of words, just the exactly right words used, creates the mood, the image, and leaves the reader thinking. Unfortunately readers, students, today want everything spelled out for them. Mental laziness is epidemic.

Bird Footprint

The footprint of a bird in sand brought your face.
I said, "What of it?"

And the next lone footprint of a bird in the sand
brought your face again.
I said, "It is written deeper than sand."

I saw a bird wing fixed forty thousand years in a rock,
a bird wing bringing your foot, your wrist.

Honey and Salt

2009-02-12T12:21:00.005-07:00

Looking back over my copy of Sandburg's Honey and Salt, I saw again that Sandburg is not my favorite poet. There are only three or four poems in the volume that I like at all. The title poem is one of my favorites, even though Sandburg was limited by the English word "love". Unfortunately English speakers use the word "love" to express all ranges of emotion from "like" to "lust" (in all of its denotations) to what movies have to designate as "true love". When all get lumped together in one bag called "love", the result can be confusing at best, disheartning cynicism at worst.
There are some really good lines in this poem, however.

Honey and SaltCarl Sandburg
A bag of tricks—is it?
And a game smoothies play?
If you’re good with a deck of cards
or rolling the bones—that helps?
If you can tell jokes and be a chum
and make an impression—that helps?
When boy meets girl or girl meets boy—what helps?
They all help: be cozy but not too cozy:
be shy, bashful, mysterious, yet only so-so:
then forget everything you ever heard about love
for it’s a summer tan and a winter windburn
and it comes as weather comes and you can’t change it:
it comes like your face came to you, like your legs came
and the way you walk, talk, hold your head and hands—
and nothing can be done about it—you wait and pray.
Is there any way of measuring love?
Yes but not till long afterward
when the beat of your heart has gone
many miles, far into the big numbers.
Is the key to love in passion, knowledge, affection?
All three—along with moonlight, roses, groceries,
givings and forgivings, gettings and forgettings,
keepsakes and room rent,
pearls of memory along with ham and eggs.
Can love be locked away and kept hid?
Yes and it gathers dust and mildew
and shrivels itself in shadows
unless it learns the sun can help,
snow, rain, storms can help—
birds in their one-room family nests
shaken by winds cruel and crazy—
they can all help:
lock not away your love nor keep it hid.
How comes the first sign of love?
In a chill, in a personal sweat,
in a you-and-me, us, us two,
in a couple of answers,
an amethyst haze on the horizon,
two dance programs criss-crossed,
jackknifed initials interwoven,
five fresh violets lost in sea salt,
birds flying at single big moments
in and out a thousand windows,
a horse, two horses, many horses,
a silver ring, a brass cry,
a golden gong going ong ong ong-ng-ng,
pink doors closing one by one
to sunset nightsongs along the west,
shafts and handles of stars,
folds of moonmist curtains,
winding and unwinding wisps of fogmist.

How long does love last?
As long as glass bubbles handled with care
or two hot-house orchids in a blizzard
or one solid immovable steel anvil
tempered in sure inexorable welding—
or again love might last as
six snowflakes, six hexagonal snowflakes,
six floating hexagonal flakes of snow
or the oaths between hydrogen and oxygen
in one cup of spring water
or the eyes of bucks and does
or two wishes riding on the back of amorning wind in winter
or one corner of an ancient tabernacle
held sacred for personal devotions
or dust yes dust in a little solemn heap
played on by changing winds.

There are sanctuaries
holding honey and salt.
There are those who
spill and spend.
There are those who
search and save.
And love may be a quest
with silence and content.

Can you buy love?
Sure every day with money, clothes, candy,
with promises, flowers, big-talk,
with laughter, sweet-talk, lies,
every day men and women buy love
and take it away and things happen
and they study about it
and the longer they look at it
the more it isn’t love they bought at all:
bought love is a guaranteed imitation.

Can you sell love?
Yes you can sell it and take the price
and think it over
and look again at the price
and cry and cry to yourself
and wonder who was selling what and why.
Evensong lights floating black night water,
a lagoon of stars washed in velvet shadows,
a great storm cry from white sea-horses—
these moments cost beyond all prices.

Bidden or unbidden? how comes love?
Both bidden and unbidden, a sneak and a shadow,
a dawn in a doorway throwing a dazzle
or a sash of light in a blue fog,
a slow blinking of two red lanterns in river mist
or a deep smoke winding one hump of a mountain
and the smoke becomes a smoke known to your own
twisted individual garments:
the winding of it gets into your walk, your hands,your face and eyes.

Little Word, Little White Bird

2009-02-11T10:31:00.006-07:00

This blog is supposedly about my favorite gleanings from literature, and since Valentine's Day is approaching, it seems a good time to look at the theme of Love. I'm going to post some of my favorite writings on the subject, beginning with Carl Sandburg. The only poetry that I like by him is his volume Honey and Salt. Mike gave me my copy as a Valentine gift when we were dating because he'd seen me check it out of the university library so much. Our last year in college we were asked to do readings of some of these love poems for several different groups.

I'll begin with a favorite poem of many, often done as an oral reading, "Little Word, Little White Bird". A long poem in which Sandburg explores different metaphors for love: flamingos, red apple, goofer dust, red rose, he finally comes to his conclusion

And it won't help any, it won't get us anywhere,
it won't wipe away what has been
nor hold off what is to be,
if you hear me saying
love is a little white bird
and the flight of it so fast
you can't see it
and you know it's there
only by the faint whirr of its wings
and the hush song coming so low to your ears
you fear it might be silence
and you listen keen and you listen long
and you know it's more than silence
for you get the hush song so lovely it hurts and cuts into your heart
and what you want is to give more than you can get
and you'd like to write it but it can't be written
and you'd like to sing it but you don't dare try
because the little white bird sings it better than you can
so you listen and while you listen you pray
and after you pray you meditate, then pray more
and one day it's as though a great slow wind
had washed you clean and strong inside and out
and another day it's as though you had gone to sleep
in an early afternoon sunfall and your sleeping heart
dumb and cold as a round polished stone,
and the little white bird's hush song
telling you nothing can harm you,
the days to come can weave in and weave out
and spin their fabrics and designs for you
and nothing can harm you-
unless you change yourself into a thing of harm
nothing can harm you.

The little white bird is my candidate.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you
the little white bird you can't see
though you can hear its hush song
and when you hear that hush song it's love
and I'm ready to swear to it---
you can bring in a stack of affidavits
and I'll swear to it and sign my name
to every last one, so help me God.
And if a fat bumbling shopworn court clerk tells me,
Hold up your hand, I'll hold up my hand all right
and when he bumbles and mumbles to me like I was
one more witness it was work for him to give the oath to,
when he blabs, You so solemnly swear so help you God
that in this cause you will tell the truth,
the whole truth and nothing but the truth,
I'll say to him, I do, and I'll say to myself,
And no thanks to you and you could be more immaculate
with the name of God.
I am done.
I have finished.
I give you the little white bird-
and my thanks for your hearing me-
and my prayers for you,
my deep silent prayers.

Do Over?

2009-02-07T10:38:00.006-07:00

Last Wednesday I returned home after spending two weeks in Texas with Emily. It was a wonderful trip! Even though I had to fly to Denver and change planes to DFW (!), the weather was absolutely perfect going and coming, giving me an excellent view of the scenery below. Did you know that outside of the Denver airport, far east of Denver as you approach from the north ( winds were from the south at 16 knots, I pay attention to info like that :-)) someone has created a huge crop circle type of "picture" or advertisement for Papa John's Pizza? You see a big pizza box, and in the middle of the box is a perfectly formed pepperoni pizza, with the Papa John's logo formed in the upper left side of the box. The creativity of man!!

Anyway, I had wanted to return for a short visit to help give Luke some time for studying, he's been doing everything to help Emily and not leaving her alone, and I wanted to have the time with her and "the new baby" that we had planned when Sarah was born. Luke was able to spend the days at the church a couple of blocks away. I helped do laundry, mop the kitchen, run the sweeper, etc., "heavy" chores like that. We cleaned and reorganized the pantry. We were able to go to Nacogdoches on the 31st to see my dad, mom, sister, bro-in-law and one of my nieces. We had a great visit. Emily made the trip (3 hours one way) okay, but was very sore the next day. I drove her to her Community Bible Fellowship meetings in Greenville on Tuesdays. We had fun with the kids; told the kids to clean their rooms countless times. They are good kids.
Mostly, however, we talked, we remembered, we shared, and our eyes got a little misty at times. When God allows us to have His "do-overs", we can be sure it will be richer than anything we had originally planned. I don't think I learned anything new through Emily's experience. I know God is good, faithful, righteous, gracious. I know His people are supportive, loving, caring, praying. I am just so very thankful that His plan included giving us more time with Emily; that she is here to bring her children up in the knowledge of the Lord.

BOOKS and INKHEART

2009-01-15T12:11:00.005-07:00

I have a plaque over my desk which says, "A book is a garden carried in a pocket". I Googled, and found that this is a Chinese or, according to someone else, a Persian saying. Whichever, it is a lovely metaphor. Of course, it pays to remember that some books turn out to be patches of weeds, or as Dickens wrote, ". . . there are books of which the backs and covers are by far the best parts." But even in those cases, I'm all for gluing the pages together, cutting out a rectangle in them and using it as a box for storing paperclips, loose change or store coupons. I also think it would be fun to glue many worthless-content but interesting-looking books together in a stack to create an end table, but I've yet to start that project, always finding more practical, necessary uses for our money. Besides, it would probably take years to find just the right "interesting-looking" books.
For those who like books and reading, Inkheart provides an entertaining afternoon at the movies. (Always go for the matinee price!) Brandon Frasier is Mo "Silvertongue" Folchart, a repairer of old books who has the gift of bringing books to life by simply reading them out loud. I enjoyed the medieval looking sets even though the movie is set in current times: the twisting, European village streets, the outdoor book market, the beautiful library in the great aunt's home. There is sufficient action to keep the plot moving, good lines about the importance of the written word, and subtle reinforcement in the quote on Mo's workshop door (easily overlooked):
Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested. Francis Bacon (1561-1626), Of Studies
Suitable for older children who love to read, I say have a go. Enjoy a Saturday afternoon at the movies again.

Final Authority

2009-01-14T09:32:00.004-07:00

Those seals---
weight of empires,
authority of kings;
dread power
compressed to make
it worth one's life
to break
those seals;

no mortal dared;
no matter when,
no matter whom.

One secured
a lion's den;*
one
a borrowed tomb.**
Ruth Bell Graham

*Daniel 6:17
**Matthew 27:66

2009-01-12T12:23:00.002-07:00

Literature is a kind of intellectual light which, like the light of the sun, may sometimes enable us to see what we do not like.

Samuel Johnson

Good-By and Keep Cold, by Robert Frost

2009-01-08T11:18:00.007-07:00

Frost's poem Good-By and Keep Cold captures the anxious feelings we have when we have to let go when we want to control. He has learned that in order to achieve the desired outcome, risk must be taken, and perceived dangers (cold) sometimes are actually what is needed. As always, he says it so much better!

Good-By and Keep Cold

This saying good-by on the edge of the dark

And the cold to an orchard so young in the bark

Reminds me of all that can happen to harm

An orchard away at the end of the farm

All winter, cut off by a hill from the house.

I don't want it girdled by rabbit and mouse,

I don't want it dreamily nibbled for browse

By deer, and I don't want it budded by grouse.

(If certain it wouldn't be idle to call

I'd summon grouse, rabbit, and deer to the wall

And warn them away with a stick for a gun.)

I don't want it stirred by the heat of the sun.

(We made it secure against being, I hope,

By setting it out on a notherly slope.)

No orchard's the worse for the wintriest storm;

But one thing about it, it mustn't get warm.

"How often already you've had to be told,

Keep cold, young orchard. Good-by and keep cold.

Dread fifty above more than fifty below."

I have to be gone for a season or so.

My business awhile is with different trees,

Less carefully nurtured, less fruitful than these,

And such as is done to their wood with an ax--

Maples and birches and tamaracks,

I wish I could promise to lie in the night

And think of an orchard's arboreal plight

When slowly (and nobody comes with a light)

Its heart sinks lower under the sod.

But something has to be left to God.

Winter Doldrums? Dormancy? Discontent? Delight?

2009-01-06T09:38:00.009-07:00

An earlier post (May,2007) spoke of the enjoyment of weather in general. Such liking of atmospheric changes leads to, or is a result of my very strong need for seasons. I prefer autumn and winter to summer and spring, but I still want short periods of the latter two. One of the most distressing times in my life was the year spent in Costa Rica because, aside from the stress of learning a new language and adjusting to a new culture, there were only two seasons: wet and dry.

Winter has a bad rep for being so dismal, cold, gray, dark, depressing, and boring. And who hasn't heard the opening line from Shakespear's Richard III? Well, you don't usually hear the whole line quoted, just " the winter of our discontent", and forget that Richard says his is now made glorious. Still, the season continues to be seen as rather glum, for some. Yet, we winter aficionados maintain that winter is enjoyable and even necessary for some of those very qualities.
It only takes a few microseconds of thought to enjoy the beauty of the stucture of bare trees when the texture of bark and angle of branches becomes more prominent with the absence of concealing leaves: their black silhouettes against gun-metal gray clouds or burning red sunsets.
The silence of winter, the stillness may be harder to experience in urban areas, but even there, at times, it can be felt. It's cold, and everyone is inside! Winter's darker nights, by nature of being longer, and softer light, even at midday, combine with the silence and stillness to call to mind, if we let them, the cyclical need for dormancy and all those words that go with it: inactive, asleep, latent, and, lovely word, quiescent. In our culture these are words to be avoided, but the principal of dormancy, of disengagement is vital to our mental, social, and physical health. So God gives us the "bad" weather and shorter days to make it easier for us.
Winter is coming home, lighting lamps and candles, starting fires or turning up thermostats, getting out mugs for tea or cocoa (coffee, if you must!). Winter is what causes us to think up words such as "cozy" and "snug". Whatever you see in your connotation of those words, I bet it has to do with a winter setting. And with the shorter days.,winter is when we can experience on a more frequent basis that remarkable effect of light in the darkness: cheer, welcome, security.
And if we happen to see snow floating outside the window, transforming the bare plants and earth into a magical otherworld and making the silence almost tangible, we count ourselves blessed indeed.

Time/Space, part Two

2008-12-28T03:13:00.007-07:00

Then, after eating at McDonalds in the 3 story mall in the train station (Europeans know how to travel!) we got back on the train to Wittenberg and the site of one of the most important choices ever made. We saw the Schlosskirche, the Castle Church, where Luther nailed the 95 theses on the door. The original doors burned in a fire sometime, so there are now iron doors, but it is an old, impressive church.
The text of Luther's theses are engraved on an iron plaque on the wall (in German, of course).

Several blocks away is the Mary Church where Luther preached, was married and 6 of his children were baptised. This church was built in 1082 and the outside walls remain untouched. The altar inside was redone in the 1500s.
No picture taking is allowed in either of these churches, so I have nothing to show you. All in all, a lot of stone, beautifully carved wooden pews, lovely stained glass windows, ornate altars.

Time/Space Travel, Modern Day Version

2008-12-28T02:38:00.006-07:00

Yesterday we traveled by train to Leipzig where we visited the Nicholas Church (pictures and history to follow later) and then went to the Thomaskirche Thomas Church where Bach was cantor. Someone was actually playing the Tocatta and Fugue in D minor on the "small" organ and it is the most beautiful church I think I've ever seen. I'll post our pictures later; these are the ones Jason took yesterday.

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

2008-12-25T06:53:00.005-07:00

Christmas in Dresden has been such a wonderful experience, and one of the things I've enjoyed so much are the church bells that pealed for several minutes at the end of each service yesterday afternoon, night and again this morning. Since there were five or six services yesterday, we were able to enjoy the bells! This picture is of the church on the corner of Jason's street. Unfortunately there is no snow for Christmas; he took this picture a couple of weeks ago. Dresden is such a beautiful city, with examples of the best of German baroque architecture...we actually overheard a tour guide saying that to a group. Jason was telling me the history of the bombing of Dresden yesterday, and it truly broke my heart, both for the people and the city. Not one of Churchill's finest hours! I have fallen in love with Saxony, and for my first, and I'm sure, only trip to Europe, this has been perfect!

Prague: The Golden City of Spires

2008-12-24T00:57:00.008-07:00

We enjoyed our day trip to Prague, about a two hour drive from Dresden, but I really think the only nice thing about Prague is the historic old town. We did not have time to explore all the narrow, curving streets in old town, but what we could see was beautiful. Unfortunately, the Charles Bridge is under renovation so our photo options were somewhat limited.

Meissen

2008-12-18T05:55:00.009-07:00

This morning we drove 20 kilometers (12 miles)north along the bank of the Elbe River to the town of Meissen. I fell in love with the narrow, curving cobblestone streets lined with beautiful, tall buildings. The city's Christmas market is set up in the town plaza across from the Lutheran church.
The white building behind the Christmas market is the municipal building and the windows are decorated as an advent calendar.

POLITICS

2008-08-28T09:30:00.004-06:00

Truth is not determined by majority vote.
Doug Gwyn

I have known a vast quantity of nonsense talked about bad men not looking you in the face. Don't trust that conventional idea. Dishonesty will stare honesty out of countenance any day in the week, if there is anything to be got by it.
Charles Dickens

Second Chances

2008-08-27T20:42:00.003-06:00

It is never too late to be what you might have been.
George Eliott

Politics?

2008-08-20T13:04:00.002-06:00

Anything that makes a noise is satisfactory to a crowd.
Charles Dickens, The Old Curiosity Shop

Choice / Change

2008-08-09T13:29:00.002-06:00

That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.
Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Here in New Mexico, Thanks to Dolly

2008-08-08T09:56:00.004-06:00

It was one of those hot, silent nights, when people sit at windows listening for the thunder which they know will shortly break; when they recall dismal tales of hurricanes and earthquakes; and of lonely travellers on open plains, and lonely ships at sea, struck by lightning.
Charles Dickens, Martin Chuzzlewit

Summer Sounds and Sights

2008-08-07T10:23:00.006-06:00

Having a "swamp cooler" instead of refrigerated air means that a few strategically located windows must be left open a crack if you want to have any cooling effect at all. The pleasant result is that you get to hear the crickets again and remember all the childhood, open-windowed summers when crickets always chirped you to sleep. This is relaxing as long as they stay out there!
Alas, we have no fireflies in New Mexico, as they all prefered to stay in the woods of East Texas. The Internet informs me there are no crickets west of Kansas; no one is sure why. We do have a clear view of the stars, however, and, lately, in this "monsoon" season, we've even enjoyed lightning shows.

Summer Indolence

2008-06-25T11:07:00.004-06:00

Assuming one could find a "green place",

The day was made for laziness, and lying on one's back in green places, and staring at the sky till its brightness forced one to shut one's eyes and go to sleep . . .
Charles Dickens, The Old Curiosity Shop

A Thunderstorm

2008-06-13T11:35:00.003-06:00

With no rain at all here in Albuquerque, I have to use my imagination
to fill my longing. Emily Dickinson helps.

The wind begun to rock the grass
With threatening tunes and low, -
He flung a menace at the earth,
A menace at the sky.

The leaves unhooked themselves from trees
And started all abroad;
The dust did scoop itself like hands
And throw away the road.

The wagons quickened on the streets,
The thunder hurried slow;
The lightning showed a yellow beak,
And then a livid claw.

The birds put up the bars to nests,
The cattle fled to barns;
There came one drop of giant rain,
And then, as if the hands

That held the dams had parted hold,
The waters wrecked the sky,
But overlooked my father's house,
Just quartering a tree.

The Color Green

2008-03-31T16:58:00.003-06:00

And the moon is a sliver of silver
Like a shaving that fell on the floor of a Carpenter's shop
And every house must have it's builder
And I awoke in the house of God
Where the windows are mornings and evenings
Stretched from the sun
Across the sky north to south
And on my way to early meeting
I heard the rocks crying out
I heard the rocks crying out

And the wrens have returned and they're nesting
In the hollow of that oak where his heart once had been
And he lifts up his arms in a blessing for being born again
And the streams are all swollen with winter
Winter unfrozen and free to run away now
And I'm amazed when I remember
Who it was that built this house
And with the rocks I cry out

Be praised for all Your tenderness by these works of Your hands
Suns that rise and rains that fall to bless and bring to life Your land
Look down upon this winter wheat and be glad that You have made
Blue for the sky and the color green that fills these fields with praise

Rich Mullins

Spring

2008-03-20T09:02:00.007-06:00

Lighthearted, kids skipping Spring calls to mind e.e. cummings:

Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there)and

without breaking anything.

AND

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's spring
and the goat-footed
balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee

To A Snowflake

2007-12-19T11:33:00.002-07:00

What heart could have thought you? --
Past our devisal
(O filigree petal!)
Fashioned so purely,
Fragilely, surely,
From what Paradisal
Imagineless metal,
Too costly for cost?
Who hammered you, wrought you,
From argentine vapor? --
"God was my shaper.
Passing surmisal,
He hammered, He wrought me,
From curled silver vapor,
To lust of His mind --
Thou could'st not have thought me!
So purely, so palely,
Tinily, surely,
Mightily, frailly,
Insculped and embossed,
With His hammer of wind,
And His graver of frost."

Francis Thompson

2007-12-12T11:29:00.002-07:00

In The Bleak Midwinter
Christina Rosetti(1872)

In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.

Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring

2007-12-03T08:35:00.001-07:00

Lovely as the English words for this German hymn are, I knew they could not be a literal translation of Martin Janus' lyrics, rhyming as they do so well. I asked Jason, who has now passed his six-hour German exam, finishing his official year of language study, to give me a more literal translation, because I wanted to know what Bach was thinking as he arranged the music. Wikipedia says the title/first line should read, "Jesus Shall Remain my Gladness".

Here is Jason's translation:

Jesus remains my joy,
My heart's consolation and juice (or sap).
Jesus defends all suferers.
He is my lifeforce,
The desire of my eyes and my sun,
My soul's treasure and delight.
Therfore I will never leave Jesus
from my heart nor face
It is well for me, that I have Jesus
Oh how fast I hold Him,
That He refreshes my heart,
When I am sick and sad.
I have Jesus, the one who loves me,
and He draws me to him devoted (?)
and therefore I leave him not.
or it would break my heart.

December

2007-11-30T09:08:00.002-07:00

Another thought-thread to go with "Lodestar"

Ships go sailing far across the sea
Trusting starlight to get where they need to be
When it seems that we have lost our way
We find ourselves again on Christmas day

Believe by Glenn Ballard

Political Insight

2007-11-14T11:25:00.001-07:00

"In my many years I have come to a conclusion that one useless man is a shame, two is a law firm, and three or more is a congress." John Adams

Wish you were here, Mr. President.

NOVEMBER

2007-11-01T09:48:00.002-06:00

My November Guest
by Robert Frost
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise

October

2007-10-24T14:36:00.001-06:00

I love this poem by Robert Frost.

October
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
one from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the wall.

Come on, frost!

2007-10-16T11:26:00.001-06:00

Every time I turn over the October page on my calendars, my foot starts tapping as the rhythm of James Whitcombe Riley's poem "When the Frost is on the Punkin" starts playing in my brain. I love it.
To save space, we'll only enjoy the last verse:

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider- makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage,too!...
I don't know how to tell it-- but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me --
I'd want to 'commodate 'em--all the whole-indurin' flock
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!

2007-07-15T17:18:00.001-06:00

How Deep the Father’s Love for Us
Stuart Townend

How deep the Father’s love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,
Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom

2007-05-23T08:13:00.001-06:00

Jeff Abt's photo of venus and the moon is beautiful; a perfect stage setting for my loadstar blog.

Lodestar

2007-05-17T10:51:00.001-06:00

Take Something Like a Star, by Robert Frost remains secure in its place within my Fave Five list of all-time favorite poems. Originally written as Choose Something Like a Star, scholars like to wonder why Frost changed that one word in the title and penultimate line, some even going so far as to disagree with his choice. I happen to think that it made for a much better thought and poem, but my opinion doesn't really matter, since it was his poem to do with as he willed.
Every year I try to think of an excuse for making the memorization of this poem mandatory in my Spanish 2 classes, but as yet have not come up with a plausable one. Could we have it emblazened on the walls of Congress or make it flash on the voting monitors as we cast our votes?
So, for a daily dose of reason, take a moment to reflect upon

Take Something Like a Star

O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud –
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.
Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.
It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the crowd is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may take something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.

"BAD WEATHER" DAY ?

2007-05-04T10:05:00.002-06:00

Today we have no school; it is our bad weather day. I prefer to think of it as Weather Day, and celebrate the fact that we do have weather and seasons in Texas. I always agreed with the following bit from C.S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength, but then we lived in a tropical climate for one year and truly experienced the lack of seasons, and I actually felt what a loss it was not to have autumn, winter, spring, and, OK, even summer to look forward to. So I choose to privately celebrate Weather today, especially with the amount of rain and thunder we've had the past few days.

"don't you like a rather foggy day in a wood in autumn? You'll find we shall be perfectly warm sitting in the car."
Jane said she'd never heard of anyone liking fogs before but she didn't mind trying...
"That's why Camilla and I got married," said Denniston as they drove off. "We both like Weather. Not this or that kind of weather, but just Weather. It's a useful taste if one lives in England." [or Texas or Punta Arenas, Chile]
"How ever did you learn to do that, Mr. Denniston?" said Jane. "I don't think I should ever learn to like rain or snow."
"It's the other way round," said Denniston. "Everyone begins as a child by liking Weather. You learn the art of disliking it as you grow up. Haven't you ever noticed it on a snowy day? The grown-ups are all going about with long faces, but look at the children --and the dogs? They know what snow's made for."
"I'm sure I hated wet days as a child," said Jane.
"That's because the grown-ups kept you in," said Camilla. "Any child loves rain if it's allowed to go out and paddle about in it."

2007-04-30T15:50:00.001-06:00

The first two gardenias have bloomed on one of my "cape jasmine" plants, and since my plants have more buds than ever before, I will be able to carry one around with me for the next several weeks. It is my favorite fragrance, never failing to bring a smile.