dual personalities

Month: May, 2012

Cousin Cousine

by chuckofish

Tomorrow darling daughter # 2 graduates from Washington University.

And on Sunday her cousin James (not Jim) graduates from St. Lawrence University.

Congratulations! Your mothers and dual personalities could not be prouder. You’ve come a long way, babies!

And what would graduation be without some words of wisdom from Homer Simpson?

“I want to share something with you: The three little sentences that will get you through life. Number 1: Cover for me. Number 2: Oh, good idea, Boss! Number 3: It was like that when I got here.”

This and that

by chuckofish

How cute is this? And speaking of the queen and her diamond jubilee…I have always had a soft spot in my heart for Elizabeth.

This is in large part because ever since I was a child she reminded me of my mother. They were born the same year (1926) within a few months of each other. And they really do look a lot alike.

Even as an old lady the queen still looks like Mary C.

It’s funny because, while people remind me of my father all the time, the only other person besides the queen who has ever reminded me of my mother is this lady:

They certainly dressed alike.

Reading Moby-Dick

by chuckofish

“Yes, there is death in this business of whaling–a speechlessly quick chaotic bundling of a man into Eternity. But what then? Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of Life and Death. Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air. Methinks my body is but the lees of my better being. In fact take my body who will, take it I say, it is not me. And therefore three cheers for Nantucket; and come a stove boat and stove body when they will, for stave my soul, Jove himself cannot.”

Ishmael, “The Chapel”

Home again, home again, jiggety jig

by chuckofish

A happy belated mother’s day to all! Here’s hoping you got to go to Ted Drewes (or the equivalent) too!

And flowers are nice too!

Our winged thoughts are turned to poultry

by chuckofish

“We are accustomed to say in New England that few and fewer pigeons visit us every year. Our forests furnish no mast for them. So, it would seem, few and fewer thoughts visit each growing man from year to year, for the grove in our minds is laid waste–sold to feed unnecessary fires of ambition, or sent to mill,–and there is scarcely a twig left for them to perch on. They no longer build nor breed with us. In some more genial season, perchance, a faint shadow flits across the landscape of the mind, cast by the wings of some thought in its vernal or autumnal migration, but, looking up, we are unable to detect the substance of the thought itself. Our winged thoughts are turned to poultry.”

–Henry David Thoreau

Too true (this is how my brain works)

by chuckofish

“I find that a great part of the information I have was acquired by looking up something and finding something else on the way.”
–Franklin Pierce Adams

FPA made that comment back in the 1930s–what would he have made of Wikipedia?

For instance, I looked up May 10 on Wikipedia and found out that in 1863 Confederate General Stonewall Jackson died eight days after he was accidentally shot by his own troops. So I clicked on Stonewall Jackson:

I read all about Stonewall, including this fascinating bit about his ancestry:

Thomas Jonathan Jackson was the great-grandson of John Jackson (1715 or 1719 – 1801) and Elizabeth Cummins (also known as Elizabeth Comings and Elizabeth Needles) (1723 – 1828). John Jackson was a Protestant in Coleraine, County Londonderry, Ireland. While living in London, he was convicted of the capital crime of larceny for stealing £170; the judge at the Old Bailey sentenced him to a seven-year indenture in America. Elizabeth, a strong, blonde woman over 6 feet tall, born in London, was also convicted of larceny in an unrelated case for stealing 19 pieces of silver, jewelry, and fine lace, and received a similar sentence. They both were transported on the prison ship Litchfield, which departed London in May 1749 with 150 convicts. John and Elizabeth met on board and were in love by the time the ship arrived at Annapolis, Maryland. Although they were sent to different locations in Maryland for their indentures, the couple married in July 1755.

The family migrated west across the Blue Ridge Mountains to settle near Moorefield, Virginia, (now West Virginia) in 1758. In 1770, they moved further west to the Tygart Valley. They began to acquire large parcels of virgin farmland near the present-day town of Buckhannon, including 3,000 acres in Elizabeth’s name. John and his two teenage sons were early recruits for the American Revolutionary War, fighting in the Battle of Kings Mountain on October 7, 1780; John finished the war as captain and served as a lieutenant of the Virginia Militia after 1787. While the men were in the Army, Elizabeth converted their home to a haven, “Jackson’s Fort,” for refugees from Indian attacks.

John and Elizabeth had eight children. Their second son was Edward Jackson (March 1, 1759 – December 25, 1828), and Edward’s third son was Jonathan Jackson, Thomas’s father.

Stonewall’s ancestors sound awesome, don’t they? Then I saw this picture of a stained glass window depicting Jackson’s life in the Washington National Cathedral.

This took me over to the National Cathedral page:

Did you know that Woodrow Wilson, 28th U.S. president and a Presbyterian, is the only American president buried in the Cathedral and, in fact, the District of Columbia? His grandson, Francis Bowes Sayre, Jr., later became dean of the Cathedral and was also buried here. I also found out that “Stuart Symington, U.S. senator, presidential candidate” and the grandfather of a boy who was in my Sunday School class, is buried there.

I went back to Stonewall Jackson’s page.

Stonewall” Jackson statue, Manassas National Battlefield Park

Very cool indeed. But where were we? Oh yes. May 10! Lots of interesting people from Karl Barth and Fred Astaire to Dimitri Tiomkin and Maybelle Carter have birthdays today. Well, you see how it goes. Have a good day.

Let the wild rumpus start!

by chuckofish

Maurice Sendak died yesterday at the age of 83. Sendak wrote and illustrated more than 50 children’s books–including “Where the Wild Things Are,” his most famous, published in 1963. This book was a great favorite of my children.

Daughter #1’s Wild Thing and Max dolls

As a parent who had to read it many, many times, I appreciated that it was great fun to read aloud (with feeling):

“And the wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws.”

And as a parent I appreciated that its message to misbehaving children who are sent to their room without supper is, ultimately, that home is best:

“And [he] sailed back over a year
and in and out of weeks
and through a day
and into the night of his very own room
where he found his supper waiting for him
and it was still hot.”

AND IT WAS STILL HOT!

Rest in peace, Maurice.

The great bright dream–part 2

by chuckofish

In answer to yesterday’s question (in the comments): why wasn’t your sister there bothering you? She was right there at the end of the sofa, practicing her cheer routine.

(This blogger’s scanning/cropping/editing talents are amazing, n’est-ce pas?)

The great bright dream

by chuckofish

“I have been thinking about existence lately. In fact, I have been so full of admiration for existence that I have hardly been able to enjoy it properly . . . I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens its eyes on the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its eyes again. I know this is all mere apparition compared to what awaits us, but it is only lovelier for that. There is a human beauty in it. And I can’t believe that, when we have all been changed and put on incorruptibility, we will forget our fantastic condition of mortality and impermanence, the great bright dream of procreating and perishing that meant the whole world to us. In eternity this world will be Troy, I believe, and all that has passed here will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in the streets. Because I don’t imagine any reality putting this one in the shade entirely, and I think piety forbids me to try.”

(Marilynne Robinson, Gilead).

Parenting no nos or…”nature red in tooth and claw”

by chuckofish

Catch this: Frustrated lioness

Zoo animals are not cuddly…