These were the last words I read last night after a lovely Mother’s Day. Hannah Grieser’s book The Clouds Ye So Much Dread is my current favorite slow read. I’ve flagged so many pages that it looks like the United Nations. More quotes to come!
Last year my reading focus was breakneck Shakespeare (all in one year). This year I’m reading through C.S. Lewis at about the rate you drive through a residential area (which is ~ 50 pages a week). I’ve just finished my fourth book, The Problem of Pain.
It was one of the thickest 150 page books I’ve read. Heavy sledding with some sparkly quotes. I’m eager to dive into The Screwtape Letters. If you’d like to join for one or more books, find me on Facebook at the C.S. Lewis Reading Project.
I’m pulling a few quotes paired with photos I’ve taken. I will add them here from time to time.
Q. What is it that drives you at this point?
A. The experience of making music — really, the joy of making music is what I was put here for, I believe.
And I kind of knew — I knew right away once I’d started to kind of get it right, in my teens — once I’d started to experience the joy of getting a result from practice — that this was my destiny, I suppose.
And I always thank God [I] intuitively knew that music was the most important part of it. It wasn’t what I could get from music, it was what I could give to it.
When you asked me the question ‘What is it like?’ — well, I wish people could experience what it’s like to be really focused on doing something musical and have it work and be in tune and harmony. And that can only come, I believe, if I am serving music, rather than trying to manipulate it to my ends, you know.
Eric Clapton
August 14, 2004
Transcribed from the DVD “Sessions for Robert J”
So began a life with “less schedule than a forest fire and less peace than a hurricane.” — Walter Thompson, Churchill’s bodyguard, quoted by Sonia Purnell in Clementine.
It tickles my fancy when details in what I’m reading correspond with my current situation. For instance, reading about the events on March 23, 1877 on March 23rd. Or reading about the view from an airplane while looking out an airplane window.
Forest fires and hurricanes are not at all delightful, but I found it noteworthy to come across this unusual pairing during the first week of September 2017, when Irma was approaching Florida and fires were consuming Montana, Idaho, Washington, and our beloved Columbia River Gorge in Oregon.
Had I read this sentence in July, it would have glanced off me without notice. But reading it in September gave the description rich resonance.
Have you experienced such an intersection between your reading and your living?
By Jim Harper
So, as you all— I am Jim, by the way, the middle brother —as you all probably know, music is very important in the Harper family.
When we were growing up, we were each either assigned or picked an instrument to play… some of us went further with this than others. (laughter) And I always sort of thought of it in my mind as the Bach Family Orchestra. I sort of thought that maybe Dad had so many kids to fill the gaps in the orchestra. But, that never panned out.
So, Margaret played the cello. That was her division, her instrument. And she also played the piano, just like Carol and Dorothy. But she also loved to sing.
She got together with Judy Petke and Rosalyn Hines at Bair Lake Bible Camp — we spent most of our summers at Bair Lake Bible Camp — and they formed a trio: The Bair Lake Lovelies. And they had wonderful harmonies. And I think they even sang out here, in Lombard, under a different name: The Lombard Lovelies.
But I came across this quote by Garrison Keillor, who I think Margaret enjoyed listening to, from a piece he wrote, Singing with the Lutherans. And I presume by that, he meant Singing with Sanctified Brethren, because that’s who he grew up singing with.
“Lutherans are bred from childhood to sing in four-part harmony. It’s a talent that comes from sitting on the lap of someone singing alto or tenor or bass and hearing the harmonic intervals by putting your little head against that person’s rib cage. It’s natural for Lutherans to sing in harmony. We’re too modest to be soloists, too worldly to sing in unison. When you’re singing in the key of C and you slide into the A7th and D7th chords, all two hundred of you, it’s an emotionally fulfilling moment. I once sang the bass line of Children of the Heavenly Father in a room with about three thousand Lutherans in it; and when we finished, we all had tears in our eyes, partly from the promise that God will not forsake us, partly from the proximity of all those lovely voices. By our joining in harmony, we somehow promise that we will not forsake each other.”
So, when we turned off life-support for Margaret, we sang her into heaven. She lasted two songs, and her heart stopped.
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Here is my playlist for the prelude with some choice lyrics. One of my favorite piano quotes is from my sister Dorothy: Play the words.
Sweet, Sweet Spirit — Without a doubt we’ll know that we have been revived when we shall leave this place.
King Jesus — For He opens doors for me, doors I’m not able to see, That’s why I say King Jesus will roll my burdens away.
He’s Able — I know my Lord is able to carry me through.
Softly and Tenderly — You who are weary, come home.
There Is a Fountain — Redeeming love has been my theme and shall be till I die.
I Will Sing of My Redeemer — How the victory He giveth over sin and death and hell.
I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say — I came to Jesus as I was, so weary, worn, and sad. I found in Him a resting place and He has made me glad.
Wayfaring Stranger — I’m only going over Jordan; I’m only going over home.
Come Thou Fount — Tune my heart to sing Thy grace.
Abide with Me — Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee; in life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
My God Is Real — [written by Mahalia!!] His love for me is just like pure gold, My God is real, for I can feel Him in my soul.
Come, Ye Disconsolate — Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.
Precious Lord, Take My Hand — At the river I stand, guide my feet, hold my hand, take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.
Blessed Assurance — Angels, descending, bring from above echoes of mercy, whispers of love.
From Alexander, the grammarian, [I learned] to refrain from faultfinding, and not in a reproachful way to chide those who uttered any barbarous or incorrect or strange-sounding expression; but tactfully to introduce the very expression which they ought to have used, in the course of an answer or assent or inquiry about the thing, not about the word; or by some other suitable suggestion.
— Marcus Aurelius
The timeline of my grammar life could be summed up in a few words: apathetic → indifferent → learned-through-teaching → pompous donkey → repellant sheriff → quieter → still learning manners.
There was a time in my life, alas, when I would not hesitate to correct your grammar, nay, when I would swoop down and pounce upon your words as an eagle dives for a fish. There was a time when I approved of scoldfests written by grammar purists.
There was a time, cough cough, when I publicly corrected my son in the middle of a toast at a wedding reception. Indeed, it’s true! But here’s the deal. He said, speaking to his brother-in-law (groom) and sister-in-law (bride), that “my mom should probably get a finder’s fee since two marriages happened because of her Grammar Class: First me and Jessie got married and now you two.” I could only stand up and say, “JESSIE AND I” … and the crowd roared with laughter. If it had been a art class or a science class I would never have said a peep!
I pray those times are behind me. I hope I’ve learned that people are more precious than words. There is a time to refrain from faultfinding.
Rereading Civilization brought back all the best parts of home schooling and banished from memory the days of despair, inadequacy, frustration, exhaustion. What I loved was learning history, reading literature, connecting dots — the enlivening of a formerly dead subject.
Cantor, a Jewish historian from Winnipeg (Winnipeg is a delectable collection of syllables you have to repeat aloud ten times), is a winsome writer. The Civilization of the Middle Ages
I got a sense of the wide sweep of history, but reveled in descriptions like this:
Despite his scholarly achievements, Augustine was no armchair theologian. As a priest and as bishop of Hippo (a fairly poor, undistinguished, and remote town in North Africa), he was deeply involved in the lives and the problems of his flock. What Augustine said about people and God came not only from his multicultural background but from his profound commitment to the needs and troubles of people. This is a rare combination at any time, particularly within the church, whose scholars have usually been cloistered from the life of the community.
One other quote, fodder for thought:
One can posit this rule: The more important your family as the shaper of your life, the more medieval the nature of a society.
There is a bonus in the back. Ten movies that portray the Middle Ages. And *you* can access this list, including his commentary, free! Here’s how: click on the link above, which will take you to Amazon. Click on “Look Inside!” In the box under “Search Inside This Book” type in *film* (don’t type the asterisks). Click on page 567. Or you could check out my previous blog post on Medieval Movies.
Ironically, writing this review made me want more Cantor. I just ordered In the Wake of the Plague: The Black Death and the World It Made
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The book is chock full of fun facts. Here are some that made it into my journal.
10th century technological advances:
the horse collar,
the stirrup,
water mills,
saw mills
and lateen sails.
The average 11th century knight was 5’3″.
Vassal comes from the Celtic word for ‘boy’.
Three power blocks:
Byzantine
European
Islamic
Both Constantine and Justinian I came from Balkan peasant stock.
The year 400 – at least 80% of the population
never moved more than ten miles from where they were born.
Year 1050 — 80% didn’t move more than
twenty miles from their birthplace.
Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons
The Boys in the Boat consumed me while I consumed it. I blew dry my thick mop on the low setting so I could read more of it each morning. For a two week stretch I managed to work the book into every casual conversation.
In short, the book is about rowing, about the University of Washington crew who took the gold at the 1936 OIympics. Daniel James Brown tells the story with skill, weaving the personal and team history of the crew, the craft of boat building, the Nazi propaganda guru, Leni Riefenstahl, together in so spell-binding a way that, even though you know the outcome of the final race, you have to turn the page to find out.
Certain elements of the story were bound to draw me in: Nazi Germany, a motherless child, boating, work ethic, craftsmanship, athleticism. But what captured me the most was the harmony, the heartfelt cooperation, required between the boys in the boat. If you don’t like some fellow in the boat, Joe, you have to learn to like him. The combination of humility and confidence, requisite to a good crew, fascinated me. 
Reading in the age of YouTube means that the scenes recreated on page are available to watch on a screen. This short book trailer shows the stunning end of the Olympic finals. (I’m glad that I saw this after I read the book; knowing the back story helped me appreciate the significance that is hard to grasp in the few seconds of the footage.) What a thrill!
As I read I bumped into “old friends”: The Suzzallo Library, Grand Coulee Dam, Fritz Kreisler
It’s called “swing.” It only happens when all eight oarsmen are rowing in such perfect unison that no single action by any one is out of synch with those of all the others. It’s not just that the oars enter and leave the water at precisely the same instant. Sixteen arms must begin to pull, sixteen knees must begin to fold and unfold, eight bodies must begin to slide forward and backward, eight backs must bend and straighten all at once. Each minute action—each subtle turning of wrists—must be mirrored exactly by each oarsmen, from one end of the boat to the other. 160
Perhaps if I can unravel some random thoughts, I might then clean my house.
End-of-life discussion: We recently had a conversation with a group of informed friends which has shoved its way into the front of my thoughts every day since. One book referenced was Jennifer Worth’s (of Call the Midwife fame) memoir In the Midst of Life
Survivor: We’re having lunch with my mom’s brother, my one remaining uncle, next week. He is sensible to the position he holds, as repository of family lore, and is actively sending me photos and information. He exudes good cheer and laughter, turning a pun, teasing himself, loving life. When we talked on the phone this morning, he was preparing to plant potatoes.
Hunger Games: Curt’s co-worker really wanted Curt to listen to HG so they could talk about them. In a throwback to the early days of marriage, we have cleaned up the kitchen (or not), turned the lights off, sat on a comfortable chair in our living room, and listened to a few chapters each night.
Later one night, we enumerated the allusions to the Roman Empire. Curt then said one word: Panem. But he thought he was saying: Pan Am.
I, thinking how fun it was to have pillow talk in Latin, replied et circenses.
Huh? a perplexed husband.
Bread and circuses, I expatiated.
What??
You said “bread”, I said “and circuses.” You know! Rome! Entertain the masses.
Babe, I thought the city was Pan Am...like Pan American, or something.
And the laughter from that exchange was propelled me through the week.
Follow the threads and look what you find: I’m slogging through Stephen Ambrose’s Eisenhower Volume II: The President. Confused, I needed to differentiate the Dulles brothers: Foster Dulles—the DC airport is named after him—was Ike’s Secretary of State, and his brother, Allen Dulles, was head of the CIA. I’m forever curious about famous people’s children. Foster Dulles’ son, Avery Dulles, (1918-2008) was a Jesuit priest who has piqued my interest. His farewell “speech” (read by another because of his loss of speech) includes these words:
Suffering and diminishment are not the greatest of evils but are normal ingredients in life, especially in old age. They are to be expected as elements of a full human existence.
Well into my 90th year I have been able to work productively. As I become increasingly paralyzed and unable to speak, I can identify with the many paralytics and mute persons in the Gospels, grateful for the loving and skillful care I receive and for the hope of everlasting life in Christ. If the Lord now calls me to a period of weakness, I know well that his power can be made perfect in infirmity. “Blessed be the name of the Lord!”
A Living Pencil 