Category Archives: Uncategorized

Family Dinner

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I’m in Seattle, where we are visiting our newly married kids. 

My daughter-in-law’s father occupies the same place in his family as I do in mine: he is the youngest of seven children.  His siblings have an unusual  way of staying connected: Friday nights are “family dinner.”

They meet at a food court in a mall, push tables together, and enjoy a meal together.  Each person gets a plate of food, and the visiting begins.  They have been doing this for decades, the group expanding and contracting with children (and snowbirds) added or absent. 

We arrived in time to join the family dinner on Friday.  Now I’ve been to a few food courts in malls and presupposed the typical choices – Cinnabon, A & W, Orange Julius, Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, some noodle place, and McDonalds. 

Hah!

Double Hah!

This is Seattle my friend and this food mall reflected the incredible richness of city cuisine.  Korean, Japanese, Russian, Italian, Thai, Indian, Mexican, American BBQ, sushi — one could debate with oneself for hours.  My husband ended up a large bowl of Korean noodles, and I chose a cabbage roll from the a Russian place called Pierosky (?).  Not one hamburger could be seen!

It was better than an airport for people watching.  Our small community at home is pretty “white bread”; we have to travel to mingle with so many different nationalities. 

It was great getting to know the extended family.  I loved seeing my son so comfortably integrated into this group of people.

Whenever I meet grown friends from large families I usually quiz them on how they stay in touch with their siblings.  The challenge seems more difficult when both parents have passed.  There are pros and cons to a formalized system of newsletters.  One person organizes it and heckles the others into participating. 

Fits and starts would best describe my own method of phone calls and emails.  I reckon it a good season if I’ve touched base with each of my brothers and sisters.  Most of them are better than me at picking up the phone.   Thank God for sisters-in-law!! And we have a Lone Ranger who rarely initiates communication of any kind. 

Any ideas out there?  How often do you connect with your siblings?

Peploe, A Scottish Artist

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A Rocky Shore, Iona  by Samuel John Peploe

In Alexander McCall Smith’s book 44 Scotland Street a painting in a gallery is suspected of being a Peploe.  I’d never heard of the chap (I’m working on my British idioms), so I looked him up.  Peploe (1871-1935) was in a group of artists called the Scottish Colourists.


Still Life: Apples and Jar, c.1912-1916

Peploe is noted for his still lifes.

“In Kirkcudbright one either fishes or paints.”
Dorothy L. Sayers in The Five Red Herrings

Here are two Kirkcudbright paintings by Peploe.
The lower one reminds me of Edward Hopper.

My first thought when I saw some of Peploe’s works was
“Here is a modern art which I like.”

And if nothing else, Peploe is a wonderful word to say aloud.
Pep-loe.
Peploe, Peploe, Peploe.
Happy Friday!

We Feebly Struggle, They in Glory Shine

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Le Jour Des Morts, William Bougueareau, 1859

For all the saints, who from their labors rest,
Who Thee by faith before the world confessed,
Thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

O blest communion, fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
All are one in Thee, for all are Thine.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

And the Lord make you to increase and abound
in love toward another,
and toward all men,
even as we do toward you:
to the end he may establish your hearts
unblameable in holiness before God,
even our Father,
at the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ
with all his saints.
I Thessalonians 3:12-13

One of the side benefits of singing old hymns, especially the really ancient ones (i.e. Of The Father’s Love Begotten) is the connection that it brings with our brothers and sisters in Christ from far distant days. 

I love to sing Great is Thy Faithfulness because it was my mom’s favorite hymn and her memory is wrapped in between every syllable when I sing or play it.  I love the rousing A Mighty Fortress Is Our God because it is solid truth; but it also brings to mind Martin Luther.

It is thrilling to walk where (fill in the blank) walked.  I think history grabbed my young heart when I realized that these people really lived!  All are one in Thee, for all are Thine.   We. Are. Connected. There are so many saints who went before us; the page about their lives is blank.  But we know The Book they read.  And we know some of what they sang. 

These fragments of their lives are precious remnants.  Sometimes I work on memorizing a hymn or psalm while I wash dishes by hand.  I think of the women who did the same tasks five hundred years ago, and perhaps sung the same songs. And I wonder…was Tallis as difficult to sing when Tallis himself was teaching them?  Did they have to struggle with the melody before the beauty broke through?  Did Goudimel hear the textures I hear when we sing his harmonization of the psalms? 

We are tempted to squander our heritage. We search with diligence for the Next New Thing, dismiss the past, and discard it with nary a thought.  

I’m getting a second chance tomorrow to recapture some of my own heritage.  My husband, son and I are having lunch with my uncle and aunt (my mom’s brother and his wife).  I’ve already told them I want to know more about my Dutch Grandma.  She was born in Holland and emigrated to America.  She was always more interested in being helpful than being the center of attention.  Her daughter-in-law responded with warmth and enthusiasm.  “I can’t wait to tell you all about my wonderful mother-in-law and all that she taught me.”  

Happy All Saints Day. 

DTC Pharmaceutical Marketing

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I think the level of banality in television advertising is reflective of the across-the-board poverty of imagination in our culture.  Clever has disappeared, nostalgic is waving good-bye, and topics which used to be unspeakable in polite company have taken their spots. 

Honestly, who cares to have female cycles and male malfunctions trumpeted in his or her living room?

I woke up this morning wondering when/how/why things had changed. 

Pharmaceutical companies used to hawk their wares in medical journals and with sales reps in doctors’ offices.  In 1997 the FDA relaxed restrictions and a new acronym was born.  DTC.  Direct to consumer.  The United States and New Zealand are the only countries which allow DTC advertising.  The amounts spent on persuasion of the consumer, according to this Wikipedia article, have grown from $700 million in 1997 to $4 billion in 2004.

Do you remember the early commercials and the problems they promised to fix?  Hair loss, allergies and arthritis.  Next came depression, high blood pressure, restless legs and the fluttering butterflies which were a picture of uninterrupted sleep.  Before long we’re talking about female cycles and male malfunctions.  What could possibly come next?  Abortificants?  Advertising for STD drugs? 

What are the ramifications of this massive cultural change? 

The belief that prescription drugs will fix any problem you have is increasing.  The normalization of popping pills has already occurred.  The patient now leads the doctor, initiating exams and demanding the purple pill.  There is no or precious little thought about side effects, complicating the chemistry of the body; we steadfastly ignore lifestyle changes which could ameliorate the condition.

Visual History of Pharmaceutical Drug Ads
Article debating pros and cons of DTC
Pro-DTC article

“Better living through chemistry”  has become the motto of our people. 

I’m reading this with the words from a friend echoing in my ears: “There are no billings for AMG386 because it’s an experimental drug. I am thankful for the drug companies.”  Drugs really can make a difference in the quality of life.  My objection is to DMC.

Snoring = Sleeping With Enthusiasm

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“My grandma always said that people who snored
were sleeping with enthusiasm.”

       ~ Jenna Boller in Rules of the Road by Joan Bauer.

I’ve been immersed in a genre that I rarely read: Young Adult Fiction. 
This book is one of the best of that bunch. 
Joan Bauer is a new favorite author of mine.

Jenna Boller is five-foot-eleven-inch, sixteen-year girl.  Living with an alchoholic father has made Jenna, the oldest daughter, strong and resilient.  “I was always cleaning up after him.”  The combination of a flourishing work ethic and good training has made her a valued sales associate at Gladstone’s Shoe Store.  Mrs. Gladstone, the opinionated seventy-three year old owner of a well-respected chain of shoe stores, hires Jenna to drive her from Chicago to Dallas.  Along the way they visit shoe stores, Mrs. Gladstone upfront as the owner and Jenna as a secret shopper/spy.

The Shoe Warehouse wants to buy Gladstone’s stores, substituting plastic for leather, inflating the bottom line but decreasing quality, omitting service, and changing the mission from “great shoes at fair prices” to “decent shoes at warehouse prices.” 

There is a buoyancy in Bauer’s writing, an innate but subtle humor which saturates every chapter.  That’s why I’ll be hunting more of her books.

“And now, young woman, how much experience have you had driving in storms?”  ~ “Not much, ma’am.”  I opened the back door for her and watched her get in. “Unless you’re talking metaphorically,” I added, “and then I’m a total ace.” p. 47

Two Golden Sales Rules:
1) Care about people more than what you’re selling.
2) Never miss a good opportunity to shut up. p. 150

You know you’ve been with old people too long
when you can pick out the subtle differences between
Count Basie’s and Duke Ellington’s piano playing. p.115

For too long we just let Dad’s drinking go by without anyone
saying anything much about it, calling it a little problem.
You’ve got to call a thing by its full name and that’s what
lets the truth out where it can get some fresh air. p.84

“You just remember, never go punching
a man who’s chewing tobacco.” p.95

 

Dear Da, Dear Frankie

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When I wrote about our upcoming trip to Scotland, I asked for books you would recommend.  Alfonso commented, recommending Dear Frankie.  It is seldom that I find more than one movie I really, really like in one season year.  And after Sweet Land, I believe I’ve filled my quota. 

Let’s get the problems out of the way:  there is some language, the worst kind (I’d rather hear a f-bomb before a casual muttering of the Lord’s name – and I loathe the f-bomb).  The ending wasn’t credible from my point of view and lacked consistency with the tenor of the entire movie.  In one sense it was too neat and tidy; however, it left one key relationship unresolved.

What this movie illustrates is a profound father hunger which I believe we are all born with.  Some are blessed to have that hunger assuaged, others know the gnawing bite which takes up residence.  I’ve said before that the most attractive traits in a potential husband are the ones which would make him a good dad. 

The silences in this movie are full of drama and tension.  Much can be communicated without words. 

The dialog is delightful – in heaven I’m sure we’ll speak in a lilting Scottish brogue, swallowing our tees and ending sentences with an upward tones.  If you have a hard time catching the words, try watching it with subtitles. 

This movie gives a great view of the Edinburgh residents see – the city outside of the Royal Mile. 

Thank you, Alfonso, very, very much. 

  

O’er the Land of the Free

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I was the last patient seen by my dentist/friend last night after waiting two hours.  I think the dental assistant saw how content I was in the chair with my Sudoku. And she had some not-so-content patients to deal with. 

When I got home I was desolate to hear that James Taylor sang the National Anthem for Game 2 of the World Series.  With his guitar! Desolate that I missed it. 

Then I remembered: we live in America where any media event is soon available to one and all.  So I’ve been checking YouTube and was finally rewarded with this.

I am an opinionated National Anthem critic.   Here’s what annoys me:  trying to do something new that has never been done before; note-bending which goes on and on; screeching on the top notes; poor breath control.  The very worst, the most excruciating performance is where the performer(s) slip off the pitch. 

I loved JT’s take on it.  His chords were varied and pleasing to the ear.  He picked a low enough key that was comfortable to sing in and comfortable to listen to.  His singing was wonderful, straight-forward, simple.  The guitar playing was a folk-style with broken chords.  There were no dramatic codas, no “look-at-me” theatrics, just a pure, simple, gracious, unadorned National Anthem.

Thanks, James Taylor.

**Added Later:  Do you want more James Taylor?  Go to this video and move the cursor to 1:30.  He’s doing a sound check and sings a gorgeous “America”.  My husband liked this even better than the National Anthem.  Not only is this guy’s voice pure mountain water – he is a first rate musician.  Those chords!!  Those full rich augmented and diminished chords.  I think the essence of chords (maybe of life itself) is in the thirds and sevenths.


Fine Art Friday

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We note Fine Art Friday in our home by watching Sister Wendy. 

I discovered the Watch Instantly tab on Netflix a couple of months ago.  You get to watch the same number of hours that you spend in dollars per month.  We are happy with the basement package of $4.99, which translates to five hours of free instant watching on the computer.  I can watch some movies which hold no interest for the other occupants of this household.  We had to download Internet Explorer 6 to use this feature – Firefox didn’t work.

Back to Sister Wendy.  On Fridays we watch one ten-minute segment of her Grand Tour. 

It is a nice length: she’s a dear, but one could easily get too much at one sitting.  

Like the daily poetry, my goal is regular exposure to the true, the beautiful and the good. 

 

The Endless Coda

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This guy is funny!  Since several of you commented that you were unfamiliar with Billy Collins, I decided to give you another poem. 

Another Reason Why I Don’t Keep A Gun In The House

The neighbors’ dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors’ dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.


    Billy Collins

Don’t you just love new discoveries?  Especially serendipitous ones? Particularly serendipitous literary ones?

What does today hold for you?  My day is full: tutoring, annual doctor’s check up, piano lessons, a dentist appointment to fix a migrating tooth, and another chance to watch the Red Sox win!!  We don’t watch baseball until the World Series and then we revel in it!