Jayber Crow

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The summer of 2006, this book was the buzz among blogs I frequented.  I believe a speaker at some conference named Wendell Berry’s Jayber Crow the best book he had read that year.   Since those glowing reviews this book has been waiting for me.  Recently Angie  and Deb both gave it a mixed review; they liked some parts, didn’t like others. 

I think the order in which one read books plays into his or her response, quickly acknowledging that the chronology of my book reading is quite random.  But I know I would not have benefited as much from this book if I had not first read Wendell Berry’s collection of short stories, That Distand Land and Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma.  

I have only read 2 1/2 Wendell Berry books.  But I would encourage anyone to begin Berry (fiction) with That Distand Land.  His short stories span a century of Port Williams characters and give you the back story of his other Port Williams fiction.  When you have read about and come to love Burley Coulter, encountering him in Jayber Crow is finding an old friend. You understand him better because you know his story.

Pollan’s book (non-fiction) focuses on a farmer who regularly reads Wendell Berry’s nonfiction and subscribes to his ideas.  Having read this apology for sustainable farming made me a sympathetic reader to the conflict between Troy’s “progressive” farming and Athey’s “traditional” methods.  When I read the sentence, “The law of the farm was in the balance between crops (including hay and pasture) and livestock” I comprehended the philosophy behind those words.

Wendell Berry is a talented wordsmith.  He makes you slow down, his words give you pause.  I look forward with anticipation to reading through his published works.  But I’m not interested in gulping him down like a 32 oz. soft drink.  One does not gulp Berry.  One sips him, one savors the words, the thoughts, the poetry.

Ease of going was translated without pause
into a principled unwillingness to stop. p.187

This grief had something in it of generosity,
some nearness to joy.
In a strange way it added to me what I had lost.
I saw that, for me, this country would always be
populated with presences and absences,
presences of absences,
the living and the dead.
The world as it is would always be a reminder
of the world that was,
and of the world that is to come. p.132

Uncle Stanley had no more
sense of privacy than a fruit jar.   p.156
 
 

Vettriano – Scottish Artist

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The Singing Butler, Jack Vettriano


The Umbrella, Jack Vettriano

I was surprised to learn that The Singing Butler was painted
 around 1991.  Doesn’t it seem like it’s been around for much
longer than that?  Vettriano is Scotland’s most famous artist.
He is scorned by the art establishment.  I think only two
Vettrianos are hanging in Scotland galleries. Some of his
paintings are risqué; many capture a 1950’s-ish elegance.

He reminds me of Edward Hopper. Eh?

I like these two paintings.
The top painting is romantic.
The bottom one is fresh and simple.

What do you think is the appeal of The Singing Butler?

More Vettriano here.

The Sad Ugly Boot Story

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To make a short story long:

What differences my husband and I have had over economics usually has stemmed from our families’ disparate philosophies of purchasing. 

I grew up with K-Mart Blue Light Specials, hand-me-downs and scavenging.  Bottom line: cost. 

My husband was raised buying Sear’s Best.  Bottom line: the best quality you can afford.

We have worked through most of the quirks that arise from our differences.  When we see a Dollar store Curt says, “Break the cycle, Carol, break the cycle” and flat out REFUSES to stop!  I still gasp when he buys gortex hunting pants…”for HOW MUCH?” 

Buying shoes (for us as individuals and for our children) threw us into the midst of the cost vs. quality conundrum.  I just groan at the thought of paying more than $15 for a pair of shoes. Still.  When Curt was teaching, standing on a cement floor all day, we paid obscene amounts for Rockport shoes on his $18,000 salary. 

When it came to snow boots there was only one brand worth considering: Sorels with removable felt liners.  I argued “They’re just little boys! How did my four brothers survive without Sorels?”  Curt was unmoved.  I gulped and started to watch for sales.  So we bought Sorels every year for our growing kids; we scored two pairs at a garage sale but canceled that out eight years later by buying a size we already owned.  The powers that be decided that I needed a pair of Sorels for my dear big feet. Moi?  Si vous plait!

I think I objected to their ugliness even as we plunked down the bucks.  But there were some winters when they most certainly kept my feet warm.  Here’s the kicker: when the boys reached that size, they had to wear these ugly white boots that year!  (guffaw, guffaw)  Dear Christopher was attending public school when his feet reached women’s size 10 and he took no end of guff from his classmates.  He had to suck it up and grin and bear it.  When I was a child we called that “good missionary training.”

Those ugly white boots have been hibernating for at least four or five years, banished to some secret cubby in the garage.  But DH retrieved them today so I could start walking outside in between afternoon blizzards.  Dear Dana convinced me to join her on the Idita-walk.   I have access to a free gym, but there’s something wonderfully bracing about the fresh air and plowing through the snow feeling like Madam Shackleton.  I’m listening to Einstein while I walk which is an utterly ludicrous proposition.  Not that I’ll “Get It”; perhaps quantum physics will distract me.  Maybe I’ll snap some pictures.  The Idita-walk officially begins February 1. I’m already cheating and adding today’s minutes in the total. Check my progress on the sidebar box.

Walk 1049 minutes the next two months.  Care to join us?

John Anderson, My Jo

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New discovery!  Oh People! 

This morning our poem was John Anderson, My Jo, a piercing lyrical love song.  The speaker is John Anderson’s wife and they are at the end of their life together. 

Folks, this isn’t that difficult: my sixteen year old son got it.  The hill is a metaphor for what?  Sleep is a metaphor for what? 

I wasn’t sure what Jo meant, if it was a nickname for John or another word.  So I googled it and lo, there appeared a great singer named Eddi Reader.  This is the equivalent of discovering Anthony Trollope!  It looks like she sings a lot of Burns poems.  Contented sigh…..

jo = joy, sweetheart (a favorite word for Scrabble players)
acquent = acquainted
brent = smooth, unwrinkled
beld = bald
pow = pate, head
canty = cheerful
maun = must

John Anderson, My Jo
    by Robert Burns

John Anderson, my jo, John,
    When we were first acquent;
Your locks were like the raven,
    Your bony brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
    Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
    John Anderson my Jo.

John Anderson my jo, John,
    We clamb the hill the gither;
And mony a canty day, John,
    We’ve had wi’ ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
    And hand in hand we’ll go;
And sleep the gither at the foot,
    John Anderson my Jo.

This video perfectly illustrates the frame of silence.  Perfectly.

Keep Us Standing

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from the Prayer Book this morning:

Open our understanding
that we may find joy and delight in Thy Word,
which alone can sanctify our hearts and minds.

Keep us from temptation
and let sin have no power over us.

Bless everything that we do,
that by honest labor and work
we may obtain our daily bread.

Bless our food,
our lives,
and our home
and keep us standing in Thy grace;
through Christ Jesus, our All in all.

Amen.

picture taken on Sandpoint trip

An Evening with Eric Bibb

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“Marital bliss and conjugal harmony are not
normally considered suitable topics for the blues.”

Eric Bibb is not your normal accoustic blues singer/songwriter.  He writes love songs to his wife which are soaked in passion, fun and fidelity.  He honors his parents…publicly.  He takes the funky chords and rhythms of the blues, turns the lyrics on their head, and transforms them into sounds of grace and gratefulness.  It is gospel-infused blues.

We just spent a sparkling … magical … enchanted … perfect (as in “how could this be any better?”) evening with Eric Bibb.  Unforgettable.  That smile.  Those chords.  That voice.  Those words.

Our family discovered Eric Bibb last summer; in October we saw a few performances on Youtube.  “If he ever comes within driving distance, we need to go see him,” said my non-concert-going husband.  Well.  One afternoon in December when I should have been writing Christmas cards, I decided on a whim to check Eric’s touring schedule.  He was singing in Paris, Dublin, Cambridge, New York, Chicago, Montana …and Sandpoint, Idaho?  5 1/2 hours away, considered a Sunday drive in our parts.   We didn’t count on one of the biggest snow storms in recent history, so the driving took considerably longer.

I told some friends and we booked a table for 15 at the café where he was playing. The small venue,space for 125 people, was glowing, soft lights inside, huge snow flakes outside.  Long time fans, like the people at the table next to us who had flown up from California for the concert, and folks who had never heard of him joined together for a meal and music. 

When he took the stage, two arm lengths away from me, all the ambiance faded into the background and the music dominated.  We were a responsive audience, calling out favorites, hooting at an amazing guitar riff, listening intently to the ballads and clapping with the thumpin’ songs.  He was humbly delighted with our enthusiasm and promised to come back to Sandpoint.  The kindness of the Lord was evident the entire trip.

Shingle by shingle, I’m patching up the roof,

Row by row, bringin’ in the crop,

Love makes a change, I’m living the proof

New water’s in the well, and I’m grateful for every drop.

My son took a movie from our digital camera.  The graphics are sub par but the sound is pretty good (*other than the fact that there is more audience noise…closer to the camera).  Check it out.   Eric’s newest CD “Evening With Eric Bibb” is his only live concert.  If you like this song, get the CD.        



Books 2006, Second Half

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1776 I listened to and read this book.
Excellent.  But, of course, it’s McCullough!


Johnstown Flood quite good history from industrial period
Folks now are trying to imitate McCullough, but he’s the best.


Blue Shoes and Happiness I like Mma Ramotswe, but I this one let me down.


The Best Things of Life pretty good, humorous in places

Devices and Desires, Death of An Expert Witness & Death in Holy Orders
P.D. James is a skilled mystery writer;
some of her books have uncomfortable elements;
all of her books have wonderful literary and cultural references


84, Charing Cross Road A jewel of a book
Listened to it, read it, watched the movie.
My husband looked at me and said,
“This woman is you!”
Which isn’t quite true, but a high compliment.


The Imitation of Christ William Griffith translator.  I read an excerpt
of this translation in another book and immediately bought this one.
This was such a treat to read.  Short chapters. Incandescent.
Perfect for the, ahem, “water closet”.

An Old Man’s Love My introduction to Anthony Trollope
Not his best, but a poignant, engaging story.
They took engagement promises pretty seriously back then.


The Warden I distinctly remember how wealthy I felt after reading
my second Anthony Trollope novel.  Oh my!  There are many more
treats waiting for me out there.  This is the first of the six Barset chronicles.

Body for Life for Women Good stuff;
the “before” pictures in bikinis…shudder.


Imagined London About Anna’s first visit  to London, replete with literary references.

Get the Sugar Out Ann Louise Gittleman writes a practical book.
I know (in a gnostic sense) how helpful this would be,
but just doing it would take radical steps.

10 Habits That Mess Up a Woman’s Diet
Yikes! I can only remember one habit – not drinking enough water.

The Fat Flush Plan Detox your liver. It worked for me when I did it.


The Secret of Father Brown You can not go wrong with G.K. Chesterton.
But, his Father Brown books are, hands down, the easiest to read.

Five Red Herrings Another Lord Peter Wimsey book by Dorothy Sayers.
Witty, clever, literary, I enjoy Dorothy Sayers for her own sake;
however, I am pressed to read them often at my son’s request pleas .

The Nine Tailors by Dorothy Sayers.  I enjoyed this Lord Peter book immensely.
I learned a LOT about campanology, the kind of bell ringing
you hear in England when royalty is married or dies.

The Catnappers by P.G. Wodehouse.
Every year needs a bit of Wodehouse.

Jeeves and the Tie That Binds by P.G. Wodehouse.
Jeeves is my greatest friend when it comes to educating my teenage son.
Collin enjoys “getting” the many references made by Bertie’s smart butler, Jeeves.

The Art of the Hand Written Note, by Margaret Shephard.
I love books on books; I also love books on writing.


The Long Valley This collection of short stories was my first Steinbeck.
Short and readable, they are also deep, textured, thoughtful.
So began my Stuck on Steinbeck stage.

The Church History Eusebius’ classic isn’t a book I’d casually
take up and read. It was good. If you don’t believe me,
read this excerpt.


Temperament was the most challenging book I read in 2006.
It helped me comprehend other books, particularly about the medieval period.


My Life with the Great Pianists I was looking for a graduation gift
for a young pianist and discovered this gem. One for her, one for me.

The Greatest English Classic this book by Cleland McAfee was thrust in my hand
by an erudite retired gentleman, a good friend. It is a series of lectures on the
impact the King James Version of the Bible had on language and culture.
It was a treat to read the original 1912 hardback.


Herriot’s books were the first books Curt and I read together.
Every Living Thing is more sweet cream reading.

The Unaborted Socrates more Peter Kreeft; pretty good


Year of Magical Thinking Didion chronicles her first year as a widow.
Poignant writing; hard to read emotionally; raw, honest, hollow, sorrowful.
I’m not sorry I read it, though.


This Boy’s Life I picked up this book at a sale; the cover drew me.
I devoured this memoir; be warned – it has mature themes.
It left me uneasy and off-balance.


Old School is the sequel to This Boy’s Life.
A boy bluffs (lies) his way into a East Coast prep school
as a scholarship student. Compelling reading that made me ponder.

The Summer of the Great-Grandmother with this I finished L’Engles
Crosswick Journals. The joys and irritations of cross-generational living.

The Sphinx at Dawn I read this L’Engle because it was a L’Engle.
But I don’t remember much about it.

Moonlight on the Millpond & Just Above a Whisper
Okay. I’m embarrassed.  I read these romances. I lost one afternoon of my life.

Red House Mystery Diane at Circle of Quiet said this “if feels like a P.G. Wodehouse mystery if such a thing existed.” I wholeheartedly concur.  Delightful.

  Low Country I listened to this by mistake. I thought it was the author Janie at Seasonal Soundings loved.  Wrong. So so.


The Man Who Was Thursday a unique book that intrigued me


Ballad of the White Horse Considered the last epic poem
written, this work tells the story of King Alfred fighting the Vikings.
Full of lush imagery, it is worth the effort to read it.

The Moonstone I had never heard of Wilkie Collins before 2006.
Then some blogger wrote about Wilkie Colllins in such a way,
 that I thought I ought to know his stuff.
I listened to The Moonstone; I think this book is better read.
I’m planning on reading A Woman in White….someday.

Rabbie Burns

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Hey, hey!  Today is Robert Burns’ birthday.  It is a National holiday in Scotland.  (Can you imagine a national holiday in America for a poet?)  I picked up this gorgeous to the touch, gorgeous to the eye, and gorgeous to the ear collection of poetry on one of my high holy days (annual book sale).  I may even bring this with me to Scotland.

Rabbie-Burns.com (thank you Dana)

If we were in Scotland tonight, we’d go to a Burns Supper.

Selkirk Grace

Some hae meat and cannot eat.
Some cannot eat that want it.
But we hae meat and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankkit.

~ I think that is what I’m most looking forward to: daily doses of Scottish brogue!

Forgive me if I get a bit excessive.  How does one limit oneself to one poem of Burns? Here are excerpts from some of my favorites.

 from To A Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cowrin’, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bick’ring brattle!

♫     ♫     ♫

 from Winter (A Dirge)

The wintry west extends his blast,
   And hail and rain does blaw:
Or, the stormy north sends driving forth,
   The blinding sleet and snaw:

♫     ♫     ♫

from Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly Righteous

O Ye wha are sae guid yoursel,
   Sae pious and sae holy,
Ye’ve nought to do but mark and tell
   Your neebor’s fauts and folly!

♫     ♫     ♫

from Contented Wi’ Little

My mirth and guid humor are coin in my pouch,
And my freedom’s my lairdship nae monarch  dare touch.

♫     ♫     ♫

from Up in the Morning Early

Up in the morning’s no for me,
  Up in the morning early;
When a’ the hills are cover’d wi’ snaw,
   I’m sure it’s winter fairly.

Preparations for the U.K.

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Medieval monastery at Iona

We’re a little more than two months away from our U.K. trip.  A few friends have asked me to blog about the preparation for the trip.  So here’s my list of stuff to get done.  Two months.

~ update wills and follow through with required witnesses, copies to kids, etc.
~ increase physical stamina and endurance: up the time on the elliptical machine
~ scope and sequence, make final itinerary decisions.  We have 9 days in Scotland and 9 days in England.
~ finish making reservations
~ learn about money and currency exchanges
~ research travel passes for historical sites
~ learn how to take good pictures on camera
~ buy a laptop computer??
~ buy good walking shoes
~ read Fodor’s; watch Rick Steves; watch Globetrekker
~ finish Columba, read Susan Allen Toth’s second and third book (I finished My Love Affair with England this week),
~ in my dreams: read Bunyan, Stevenson, Milton, Burns, Johnson, Boswell, Buchan, and all the other classic British writers 

I want to be content and thankful for all of the trip.  I see two potential obstacles to contentment, although I’m sure there are dozens.

One is the romantic, idyllic picture I’ve allowed to build up in my mind about Great Britain.  I remember a conversation with a friend who lived in Scotland for a year.  I breathlessly asked, “What was it really like?” She thought a minute and said, “Smoky.  Lots of air pollution.”  [whistle of bomb exploding, dreams demolished] I am hoping for moments –not two solid weeks– of beauty, pleasure, nostalgia for the life I’ve read about.

Second potential obstacle is disappointment of not seeing [fill in the blank] or going [fill in the blank].  I’ve already (I think) crossed off the Highlands of Scotland.  Limiting the scope is essential. One must be reasonable. A librarian I know did a 15-day trip through England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland.  Ouch!  I want to be content and thankful for whatever we get to see.  No regrets allowed. Period.

I’ve thought about looking at the trip through a certain focus, one that is of interest to both Curt and me.  I’m saving the “Literary Journey through England” to a future trip with my sister-in-law or … to my dreams.  Susan Allen Toth and her husband visit English gardens.  Another friend (not the smoky Scotland friend) went to Scotland strictly to watch birds.  I asked about Edinburgh (from a panting interest on my part) and she shocked me by saying they never went to Edinburgh. (I had to take a few cleansing breaths.)

I’m considering a focus of cathedrals or ancient monasteries.  Iona has captured my imagination and is on the agenda.  We have extremely limited opportunities to hear pipe organs and see incredible architecture in our rural Oregon region.  My husband loves wildlife so we could major in cathedrals and minor in game preserves? Dear man, he is willing to go wherever I’d like to go.  He just wants to keep me safe and warm.  

The Gift of Gavin

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I remember the moment you were born, dear little Gavin. 

Your Grammy and I were sitting in the background, your Daddy holding Mama’s hand and your beloved ZhaZha (Aunt Jackie) holding her other hand.  The hospital was short-staffed; they only had time to swaddle you and set you in the warm bassinet.  The doctor and nurse needed to help your Mama. The doctor barked, “The baby needs a nurse!” to the unresponsive air.  I walked over and stood next to you, watched your little pulse.

Now I watch you pulse as you listen to music, both the sounds we all hear on the CD player and the tune that is running through your head, which only you can hear.  You are so occupied when you play alone and hold some fine conversations with yourself; and yet you are very social, poised and articulate around others.  

I know what you want, dear boy.  It is a gift from God, and I pray that He will give us that gift soon…even this year.   While we wait we are thankful – so very, very thankful – for your smile, your hugs, your kisses, your exuberance, your strong arms and legs, your precious soul. 

Happy Birthday Three Year Old!