It Pays to Read the Endnotes

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One never knows what curiosity will be found in footnotes, sidenotes or endnotes.  Collin and I are slogging through a tedious and tiresome Great Book.  The greatest delight has been finding this astonishing quote in the endnote.  Bet you won’t ever in your lifetime guess who wrote it! (Answer in the comments.)

Those who know Calvin only as a theologian much underestimate the extent of his genius.  The codification of our wise edicts, in which he played a large part, does him no less honor than his Institute.  Whatever revolution time may bring in our religion, so long as the spirit of patriotism and liberty still lives among us, the memory of this great man will be forever blessed.

Bet you can’t guess,

Guys Reciting Poems

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Last Valentines Day I wrote about Guys Holding Babies.  My idea was to honor the memory of my father who died on this day in 1987 and honor my husband and sons because they are guys I love. 

Does it surprise you to know that poetry used to be clearly in the center of masculine interests?  Think of the epic poems and their authors: Homer, Virgil, Milton, some anonymous guys, and G.K. Chesterton.  We’ve been reading through the The Top 500 Poems in our morning routine; only 27 of the 500 poems in this collection were written by a woman.  Don’t forget the Biblical poets who happened to be men: Moses, David, Solomon, Hezekiah, Jonah.  And never forget the Song of Simeon, those potent words of an old man, “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.”    

My father loved poetry.  My father loved words.  He had a phenomenal mind; he could both recognize the bits of poetry and poetical references that blow past most of us and recite entire poems. Occasionally he would corner one of us kids with an imperious “Listen to this” and read a poem which took his fancy.  I wish now that I had paid more: more time, more attention, more interest, more respect.  Who were his favorite poets?  I’m not sure, but I’d guess William Cowper, John Oxenham, Joe Bailey and Luci Shaw.  Often a stoic in demeanor, the reading of a poem or article could break down my father’s reserve.  I can still hear his voice choked while reading from Joe Bailey’s A View from a Hearst.

The poetry of my husband’s childhood was the poetry of motion: dodging tackles, arcing basketballs, change up pitches.  However, he grew up with a rich liturgy and had weekly infusions of the Nicene Creed, the Lord’s Prayer and Luther’s hymns.  He brings raw honesty to poetry.  He will readily say, “I don’t get it.”  But he will also show the impact of poems he does get.  Curt was inspired by George Grant’s recitation of Alfred’s War Song and can still recite it years after he committed it to memory.

When the enemy comes in a’roaring like a flood,
Coveting the kingdom and hungering for blood,
The Lord will raise a standard up and lead His people on,
The Lord of Hosts will go before defeating every foe; defeating every foe.

For the Lord is our defense, Jesu defend us,
For the Lord is our defense, Jesu defend.

While not exactly poetry, Curt also has a keen ability to take quotes from literature and insert them into our daily life.  He does the best “Hey, Boo!” with impeccable intonation ( you need to know To Kill a Mockingbird to appreciate it) although never on command; when I least expect it, he’ll offer, “for you, a thousand times over”.  Lately, he mutters Brilliant. which is a quote from a mediocre movie; the quote makes us laugh because we were stupid enough to watch the whole thing.  

Collin, for better or for worse, has inherited my father’s genetic makeup.  He has an ear for words.  His ability to capture the cadences of the stuff he reads is remarkable. As a young boy he would quote Hiawatha while playing on the rug.  We still laugh at his youthful description of ants on the back deck who, “heedless of their life, plunged off the precipice.” Two well-loved characters, Jeeves, the gentleman’s gentleman, and Jan Karon’s Father Tim, both have a store of poetry in their minds; their quotes flow quite naturally into their conversations. Collin’s current favorite quote (from P. G. Wodehouse) surfaces whenever I mention the great Scottish poet Robert Burns.

“Jeeves, expunge the poet Burns from your mind.”
“I have already done so, sir.”

Real guys know the power of poetry. 

Real guys love words. 

Really great guys keep learning. 

I’m thankful for the real guys in my life.

Nurturing Appetites

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And should I die
before you wake,
there’s something I would want to say:

Love life with all your might
Love peace but be willing to fight
Love beauty and train your sight
Nurture your appetite for beauty, goodness and truth
Be strong and be brave, believe and be saved
For there is a God.

~ Wes King, words for his kids, written on a airplane sick bag
after violent turbulence on a flight

from There Is a God on the CD What Matters Most

We never tire of listening to this exceptional CD.  The phrase, nurture your appetite for beauty, goodness and truth, keeps turning over in my mind, gently clanging like the metal rivets and buttons from jeans tumbling in the dryer. 

What does it mean to nurture an appetite?  “Tastes are developed” writes Elisabeth Elliot. 

1. We must distinguish beauty from ugliness, goodness from mediocrity, truth from cleverly couched lies.  I tend to shy from evaluation – that’s my husband’s department – but nurturing an appetite involves evaluation all the day long.  It is good to ask


Why do we love this movie?
Why don’t you like this type of music?
What makes this wonderful?
Where is this weak?
How could this be improved?
What is the point?
What would complement this?
Is this good?

This is one of those inescapable truths.  Whenever we feed ourselves and our children – food, words, sounds, images – we are developing appetites.  If I raise my family on a routine of chicken nuggets, french fries and pop while I drive in the van, they will not learn to appreciate sitting down together to a crisp green salad, a crusty loaf of bread and Quiche Lorraine.  When I buy 20 39¢ hamburgers from McDonalds to scarf down together (which I’m humiliated to admit we did on Sundays coming home from church for, um, years) what kind of appetite am I nurturing?

A steady diet of sitcoms trains the mind to expect quick fixes, shallow character development and short attention spans.  This is my beef with Sesame Street type shows.  It develops a taste for quick takes, easy images, multiple camera shots, and overstimulation: all directly opposed to the patience required to sit, listen to a book, and form the pictures in your own imagination.

2.  We (as parents and as self-monitors) must monitor the inflow and make the decisions.  If a child is offered a choice between ice cream and oatmeal, that child will assuredly choose the ice cream.   If, whenever there is a lull, we pop a DVD in or turn to a computer game, we are nurturing an appetitie for easy entertainment.  Many folks have praised the television writer’s strike because it was the enforced restriction they needed to find better ways to spend their evenings.  Carrie’s comments (see below) illustrate how effective complete withdrawal can be. 

3.  Begin introducing tiny tastes of what is wonderful to your family.  Start small.  Put on Bach while you are getting ready for a meal.  Read a short poem after the meal.  Get on your belly on the grass (or the beach) with a toddler and a magnifying glass. Turn over on your back and look for faces (eagles, mountains) in the clouds.  Read through the psalms in the Authorized Version.  Pick flowers and put them on the table.  Teach your son how to make Dutch Babies. Buy postcards of fine art and study them together.  Look for the funny things of life and laugh.

These “nurturing appetite” threads are intertwined with the idea of furnishing our minds.  This Wendell Berry interview has also been tumbling in the dryer of my mind for over a year.

The country in front of us now falls off steeply toward Cane Run and
the horse barn. Berry says he hunted squirrels here as a boy. As we
begin to descend, I am thinking about boyhood and Berry’s poetry, and I
ask Berry if he agrees that school children should be reintroduced to
the lost institution of memorizing and reciting poems.

“Yes,” he replies, “you’ve got to furnish their minds.”

The idea of poetry as furniture expands within my imagination and for
weeks, I think about a poem committed to memory as an old chest of
drawers in the corner of a child’s room. At first the thing is simply a
place to put clothes. With time, the grown man, or grown woman learns
to see more of it: toolmarks left by the hand of a long-dead craftsman,
a cornice molding around its top in a shape found on ancient Greek
temples. And by gazing at its sturdiness for so many years, he or she
knows something about how to make things that last.

Yours,

The Philosophy of a Photograph

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I don’t think I’ve ever read a book quite like Camera Lucida.  Although it is a short book, I found I had to read it quite slowly.  It required a good dictionary close at hand.  It required time to ponder; it made me think longer and deeper than most books do.  So, while I don’t wholeheartedly endorse it, I did enjoy the experience of reading it.  When it came time to watch Jane Austen on PBS, I chose to keep reading this book instead.

Roland Barthes’ first three sentences entrapped me.  Oh, how I know those little touches of solitude!

One day, quite some time ago, I happened on a photograph of Napolean’s youngest brother, Jerome, taken in 1852.  And I realized then, with an amazement I have not been able to lessen since: “I am looking at the eyes that looked at the Emperor.” Sometimes I would mention this amazement, but since no one seemed to share it, nor even to understand it (life consists of these little touches of solitude), I forgot about it. (p.3)

This book is one learned man’s subjective approach to understanding why certain photographs grab him and others don’t. He employs two Latin words: studium and punctum.  The studium is a general, enthusiastic commitment.  It is the part of the photograph that is as it should be, i.e. background, lighting, composition.  The punctum is the detail that breaks the studium: a wound, a prick, a sting, a speck, a cut, a little hole.   This is the “something” which grabs your eye, your mind or your emotion.  He writes as a philosopher, which is to say, he writes about a photograph as a death, a madness, a myth, and a reality. He even writes “Photography has something to do with resurrection.” More quotes:

Henceforth, I would have to consent to combine two voices: the voice of banality (to say what everyone sees and knows) and the voice of singularity (to replenish such banality with all the élan of an emotion which belonged only to myself). It was as if I were seeking the nature of a verb which had no infinitive, only tense and mode.  (p.76) (my emphasis, but what an intriguing sentence!)

The Photograph sometimes makes appear what we never see in a real face (or in a face reflected in a mirror): a genetic feature, the fragment of oneself or of a relative which comes from some ancestor … the truth of lineage. (p.103)

What characterizes the so-called advanced societies is that they today consume images and no longer, like those of the past, beliefs…(p.119)

In a poignant and personal passage, Barthes writes about looking for
his mother’s essence in photographs after her death and finding her
(There she is!) in a photograph taken in 1898 when she was five years
old.  He concludes that capturing the air of a face (we might call it the soulfulness of a person), although recognizable is unanalyzable.  Barthes died shortly after he wrote this book in 1980. 

If you are a word-bird like me, see if you are familiar with any of these additions to my vocabulary.  Since the book is translated from French, I don’t know how if these words are from the author or the translator.

heuristic = providing direction in the solution of a problem but otherwise unjustified (Einstein often used this word)
eidolon = unsubstantial image, phantom, ideal
hebetude = lethargy, dullness
oneiric = related to dreams, dreamy
phenomenology = study of the development of human consciousness and self-awareness as a preface to philosophy
metonymic = use of a name of one thing for that of another, i.e. the land belongs to the crown
fulguration = flash with lightning
praxis = exercise or practice, customary conduct
palinode = a formal retraction
anamnesis = a recalling to mind; reminiscence

For the one person I haven’t lost (those little touches of solitude!), if you are still interested awake, you can read a seven page excerpt of the book here.

England with Susan Allen Toth

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When one is planning a trip to Great Britain Fodor’s, Lonely Planet, Blue Guide and Rick Steves all have maps, stars, rating systems, and specifics about sites to see, food to eat and places to stay.  Travel guides are incredibly helpful, but sometimes one prefers to sit at table with a steaming pot of tea and a friend who has just returned from England and listen to stories. 

Susan Allen Toth is just that friend, and she has written three books full of delightful narrative.  My Love Affair with England (1992) is a comfortable quilt pieced together from her multiple trips as a student, teacher, bride and  tourist.  In England As You Like It (1995) (my favorite of the three) Toth fleshes out her travel philosophy, shares more journeys and includes tons of practical wisdom such as the best souvenirs for friends at home.  With England for All Seasons (1997) Toth persuades you that England rewards those who travel outside the high season.  In a serendipitous chapter, she describes flying into Glasgow and driving to the Isle of Mull which is our exact itinerary (although we’re continuing on to Iona).

Susan writes about Susan’s (and James’ her husband) loves: above all walking and gardens.  In the same way that Wodehouse is wonderful, but too much Wodehouse in one sitting can be wearisome, all the walking was a bit much.  This is easily fixed by reading these books spaced between others on your pile.

Besides being an Anglophile, Susan is a bibliophile.  Literary referrences abound, especially in the vignettes about specific regions; I could abide in those abounding bookish notes.  Toth inspired me to design our trip more according to our interests and less from the dictates of the guidebooks.  Favorite bits from these lovely books:                

~  The Thumbprint Theory of Travel:  spend a week in a spot no larger than a thumbprint on a large scale map of England.  In theory I love this; but if, alas, your trip is once-in-a-lifetime this isn’t feasible.
~  Eating in England: eat big breakfasts, pubs are the place, drink lots of tea, delight in their dairy, when in doubt, order an omelet.  Buy fresh produce and fix your own meals in a self-catering flat.  Don’t forget ethnic food.

~  Souvenirs for friends: skip the trinkets, stop at the supermarket.  Buy exclusively English jams, marmalades, candies, crackers, relishes, biscuits, etc.

~  Travel journals: skip the facts and historical dates (buy the brochure for those), keep it short, include details which bring a moment back to you. Discipline yourself to write daily.

~ In Praise of Overpacking:  don’t waste time looking for it abroad if you can bring it.  This works best with the Thumbprint Theory. 

~ The joy of English place names.  If words delight you, read these books for all the glorious names.

Fine Art Friday – Scottish Cathedrals

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St. Ninian’s Cathedral in Perth (Scottish Epsicopal)

Dunkeld Cathedral in Perthshire (Church of Scotland)

I think these are the ruins of Elgin Cathedral.

Dornoch Cathedral (this link is worth checking out), Church of Scotland
during the day (above) & at night (below).  For another post:
I liked when the church was the resting place for the dead.
It reinforces the idea of communion of the saints
and helps us to remember those who have gone before.

 
This is the ceiling of the octogonal Chapter House at Elgin Cathedral

Dunblane Cathedral, Church of Scotland
The nave of a church is the central approach to the high altar.
It comes from the Latin word navis (ship).
Look at the top of the picture at the vaulting.
Doesn’t that look like the keel of a ship?

These are just a few of the architectural gems
we hope to see in Scotland.
I am eager to learn more about cathedrals,
abbeys, old kirks, manses, and monasteries.
My lips are numb.

Thy Bountiful Care

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our front yard with the street at top

Our drive to church is through rugged country.  The road cinches around the side of a mountain like a too small belt on a too big man. The deep canyon falls off to the right.  Curt cranes his head, looking for elk, eagles, what have you; I am the self-appointed scanner of the road who tries through telepathy and jerking hand signals to keep the car between the dotted yellow line on the left and the solid white line on the right.  I need to carry a little notebook to mark down all the sights that grace our eyes. Perhaps, cough cough, if we started earlier , we could take some pictures.  From my memory of last week:

Elk up to their thighs in deep snow, foraging for food, 5 – 10
Bald eagles, perhaps 8
Hawks, too many to count, mostly red-tail
Wild turkeys, in small clutches and a large group of ~70
Wild geese by the hundreds in lower fields, pecking at the grain
Deer, too many to count
Cows, too many to count
Horses, dozens
Great blue heron, 2
Mallards swimming in the river
LBJs – my husband’s ornithology teacher’s designation for common birds: little brown jobs

the lower left corner is the road

Thy bountiful care what tongue can recite?
It breathes in the air; it shines in the light;
it streams from the hills, it descends to the plain;
and sweetly distils in the dew and the rain.

         



Home to Holly Springs

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Home to Holly Springs by Jan Karon, read by Scott Sowers

Home to Holly Springs is new territory and a new style sheet for Jan Karon.  When I first listened, I thought she had read this article contrasting her Mitford (a bit unfavorably) with Wendell Berry’s Port William and salted her prose accordingly. 

In the first Father Tim book, our dear retired Anglican priest goes back to his home town in Mississippi and faces some of the demons from his earlier life.  We already know from the Mitford books that Father Tim’s relationship with his father was problematic, at best.  Father Tim had never been back since the death of his mother, effectively ditching all the relationships which were established in his youth.  One by one he searches out the people whose influence had molded his life. 

I loved the cadences of Timothy Cavanaugh’s conversations with strangers and with old friends.  Karon captured the charm, the contrariness and the cheesiness of her Southern clerks, old ladies and ground hog hunters. 

Father Tim comes face to face with two women with the same first name; both women wronged Tim in some way; both women faced a similar life-shaking situation.  I found one encounter satisfying, but the other left me hollow.  I guess that is because one woman acknowledged her wrong and asked, point blank, for forgiveness while the other dropped a bombshell with precious little explanation, then proceeded to ask for more sacrifice on Tim’s part.  The breach in their former relationship was glossed over.  Even as I continue to ponder, I see huge differences in the two women’s circumstances; perhaps silence was the wisest and most discreet response for the second woman.

Life is complex; things don’t always happen in the clean and tidy way of our dreams.  Which leads me to my last critique.  Karon cleaned up all of Father Tim’s loose ends in a way I found facile and unbelievable.  I wish she had left some dangling threads.  It’s too neat ending felt formulaic. 

Scott Sower’s performance reading this book is two notches above excellent. His reading rivals Sissy Spacek’s reading of To Kill a Mockingbird for the best audio book I’ve heard.  For its flaws, it is still a lovely, lovely book.  My youngest son is part Samwise Gamgee, part Jeeves, and part Father Tim.  I love the Father Tim in him, because I simply love Father Tim.  In a year or two (when prices have dropped) I’ll pick up Home to Holly Springs in print and read through it.  I anticipate listening to it more than once. 

If your library carries this, I highly recommend it.  If you enjoy fiction about clerics, check out Anthony Trollope’s Barset Chronicles, begininning with The Warden.

Economics at Ground Level

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from Thomas Sowell’s Basic Economics:

From the standpoint of society as a whole, the “cost” of anything is the value it has in alternative uses.

That cost is reflected in the market when the price that one individual is willing to pay becomes a cost that others are forced to pay, in order to get a share of the same scarce resource or the products made from it. … The real cost of building a bridge are the other things that could have been built with that same labor and material.  This is also true at the level of a given individual, even when no money is involved. The cost of watching a television sitcom or soap opera is the value of the other things that could have been done with that same time.

Ouch.  Substitute Sudoku for sitcom and you’ve nailed me, Thomas Sowell.

Today’s Date

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This is for Carson, the child I would catch staring into nothingness or staring at his watch when, well, we all know what he should have been doing. 

“What ARE you doing, my dear child?”  [I added the dear child part today. Time has a way of softening our memories.]
 
He held up a hand as if to say, What I’m doing is of extreme importance; whatever you want can wait.

And then he’d blow a gust of air out that he’d been holding.

It was just 11:11:11 on 11-11. 

Brilliant.

A Sacred Moment.

Today is February 4, 2008, written in America as 02-04-08. 

Another way of saying today’s date is two, two squared, two cubed. 

It’s the little delights of life, folks, that keep us happy.