The Bath, 1891
Happy Mother’s Day!
Emotions are unpredictable, inexplicable, impenetrable, and, ultimately, irrepressible.
Life is chockablock with paradox. In the midst of grief, laughter. In the midst of celebration and joy, a pang of sorrow.
For decades May 7th has been a day of private grief. Private, because it is an awkward and unwieldy burden. There seemed no way to share the grief without the other person feeling clumsy.
After years, however, the crying turns to sighing. A sharp edges of grief are rubbed away. [Many friends have lost their moms to something other than death. Their grief is ongoing; the sharp edges continue to cut.]
Yesterday I cried as I read Cindy’s tribute to her mother-in-law who passed away on Tuesday.
But today…today I woke up lighthearted. Inexplicably lighthearted.
Thankful for the gift of a godly mother.
Lighthearted on a heavy day. This is a new mercy.
We had a *lively* discussion about burial and cremation in our cross-generational Sunday School class. At one point my husband asked if there were more comments and eight hands went up at the same time.
I need time to develop my thoughts into a full entry. Many folks choose cremation today because it is the most economical way to deal with a dead body. A sixteen year old girl raised her hand and replied, “Yes, and a ceremony at the courthouse with the Justice of the Peace is the most economical way to get married.”
In the same way the massive wedding industry has convinced many brides their wedding is probably not valid unles they spend $20K, the funeral industry has capitalized on grief and guilt in obscene ways.
Meanwhile I’m gulping in Cold Sassy Tree
More thoughts…sometime!
“Backyard” is loose language.
This sight is a few miles down the road from our home.
The mountain is called Mt. Emily.
The marsh is called Ladd Marsh.
My brother is called amazing.
I don’t want to discount the potential harm from swine flu.
Neither do I want to inflate the threat.
If the swine flu attacks me today–and I doubt it will–,
it will find me making a birthday dinner,
taking a walk, reconciling a bank
statement (one of my favorite tasks),
cleaning floors, answering the phone,
and reading a book.
What sensible and human things are you doing?
Isn’t this a fun piece for the first of May?
Four sisters dancing while their sister Anne beats the time.
I see family dynamics…and have fun assigning personalities.
The two on the left intent on their sister’s cues.
Look at the form of the girl with her back to us.
The two on the right making sure you notice them,
the shortest shyly and the tilted head confidently.
Why the dark background?
DVD titles are floating to the top of our Netflix queue. Breaker Morant? my husband queried. The title gives no clues. Some history book referenced it, I shrugged, struggling to recall why *this* movie was in our home. The Boer War! (1901)
The movie is based on a true story; the main character, Breaker Morant, is a folk hero in Australia. Three Australians, members of the Bushveldt Carbineers, are court-martialled by the British for shooting Boer prisoners. They don’t deny the facts but their defense is that they were following orders. Their defense attorney is given one day to prepare his case. This 1979 movie is one to watch and discuss with teenagers. What are the rules in guerilla warfare? What are war crimes? The movie didn’t bring this out, but Kitchener established the first concentration camps during this war.
“They lack our altruism, sir.” “Quite.”
The acting in this film is not top rate, although Sophie Vavasseur plays the role of young Evelyn with perfect pitch. She is not the sacharine cutesy-pie many eight year old girl’s roles become. A few scenes are written, paced and played with excellence. The kindest thing to say about Pierce Brosnan’s singing voice is nothing. Woe! Whoa.
The cinematography is lovely, but hey, it’s Ireland! How could it be other than lovely? The historical aspect of the story kept our attention more than anything else. Language is an issue in this PG movie. One favorite Irish exclamation is “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” often abbreviated. It has more grit than a Hallmark film, but will have you cheering at the end.
?
Not only is it a ripping good yarn about Captain Kurt Carlsen of the S.S. Flying Enterprise; it doubles as a memoir of Delaney’s Irish childhood, his fascination with all things nautical, and the effect the news of this ship in peril had on his family.
Above all, I love this book because of words. Frank Delaney loves words. Fathom used to mean embrace; season, seed and sow all share the same root; to list, to tilt unwantedly comes from the same word for lust or inclination…that sort of word lore charges my batteries. And it abounds in this book.
I treasure this book for the phrases: slapped and slopped; pound and expound; aggression and transgression; hard but not hurtful.
Words and phrases turn into sentences. Delaney can explain unfamiliar nautical situations with ease. He writes simple sentences that are profound in their simplicity.
and
He had the rare gift of keeping friendships
in good repair over the years.
and
Good bos’uns work like magpies. They gather seemingly
randoms objects and store them. Later on, they press them
into service for stowage, dunnage, all sorts of purposes.
Simple Courage: The True Story of Peril on the Sea is roughly divided into three parts: the story of the shipwreck, the investigation, and the author’s personal response. The shipwreck and rescue are riveting; the investigation a necessary but less absorbing story. I found the author’s examination of his own fascination intriguing. Father hunger is epidemic.
If it is at all possible, listen to this book. Ask your librarian to get the audio book. At the moment, you can buy the audio edition
Why all the fuss? Because Delaney, himself, reads the book in lilting Irish brogue. It will melt you. Still don’t believe me? Go here or here and listen!
More books reviews here.
My view in between services. What a cutie!
(The couple in the background became engaged this week.)
The view before Sunday lunch with friends.
Yesterday, I held my neighbor, shaking and sobbing, two hours after her beloved Tom breathed his last breath. His story is too familiar: cancer, treatment, remission, cancer return, gone. They were prepared for him to go in the fall, but not now.
This morning as my husband sat up in bed, I pulled him back. Just a little while longer. I dread the day that we say our final good-byes, this man whom I have loved for 34 years. My neighbor’s loss seems a vicarious dress rehearsal, a needed reminder of what is ahead.
How do I live in the shadow of death?
Trusting. My hope and confidence are in the Lord. I don’t want to be fearful, skittish, anxious, neurotic. No man knows his time. All I know is that when deep waters come, the strength will be provided.
Savoring. Each day, each conversation, each moment is a gift.
Expressing. The older we get, the more we affirm our love for one another. In the middle of random moments he will say, Love you, babe. I Love You is a good way to send a child out the door, end a phone conversation, say good night. Even better is the conversation starter: You know what I love about you?
Confessing Both confessing our sins and confessing our faith. Why wait?
Forgiving Leave no room for pettiness. Funny thing, we see it in others but are blind to it in ourselves. Put the best possible construction on actions or attitudes you don’t understand.
Enjoying There is truth, beauty and goodness surrounding us. This is my Father’s world.
Obeying For me, it always comes to trust and obey. There is no other way.
A Living Pencil 