I am a morning person. I get up early and I exercise (while listening to R.C. Sproul or the like) and then I have coffee and watch the news for half an hour. Then I perform my morning ablutions and get ready for work. Sometimes I vacuum. By the time I get to work I have been up for two and a half hours!
“Carl sat musing until the sun leaped above the prairie, and in the grass about him all the small creatures of day began to tune their tiny instruments. Birds and insects without number began to chirp, to twitter, to snap and whistle, to make all manner of fresh shrill noises. The pasture was flooded with light; every clump of ironweed and snow-on-the-mountain threw a long shadow, and the golden light seemed to be rippling through the curly grass like the tide racing in.”
― Willa Cather, O Pioneers!
I see a lot of sunrises out my kitchen window. Highly recommended.
The painting is by William Holbrook Beard, On the Prairie, 1860, The Museum of Nebraska Art; the photo is the Willa Cather Memorial Prairie.
“…But it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the new- mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last year’s scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths – Starbuck!”
–Herman Melville, Moby-Dick, Chapter cxxxii – THE SYMPHONY
Just a reminder that the 200th anniversary of Herman Melville’s birthday is coming up on August 1, 2019, so it is time to read/re-read Moby-Dick!
…God only has that right and privilege. Thinking is, or ought to be, a coolness and a calmness; and our poor hearts throb, and our poor brains beat too much for that. And yet, I’ve sometimes thought my brain was very calm – frozen calm, this old skull cracks so, like a glass in which the contents turned to ice, and shiver it. And still this hair is growing now; this moment growing, and heat must breed it; but no, it’s like that sort of common grass that will grow anywhere, between the earthy clefts of Greenland ice or in Vesuvius lava. How the wild winds blow it; they whip it about me as the torn shreds of split sails lash the tossed ship they cling to. A vile wind that has no doubt blown ere this through prison corridors and cells, and wards of hospitals, and ventilated them, and now comes blowing hither as innocent as fleeces. Out upon it! – it’s tainted. Were I the wind, I’d blow no more on such a wicked, miserable world. I’d crawl somewhere to a cave, and slink there. And yet, ’tis a noble and heroic thing, the wind! who ever conquered it? In every fight it has the last and bitterest blow. Run tilting at it, and you but run through it. Ha! a coward wind that strikes stark naked men, but will not stand to receive a single blow. Even Ahab is a braver thing – a nobler thing that that. Would now the wind but had a body; but all the things that most exasperate and outrage mortal man, all these things are bodiless, but only bodiless as objects, not as agents. There’s a most special, a most cunning, oh, a most malicious difference! And yet, I say again, and swear it now, that there’s something all glorious and gracious in the wind. These warm Trade Winds, at least, that in the clear heavens blow straight on, in strong and steadfast, vigorous mildness; and veer not from their mark, however the baser currents of the sea may turn and tack, and mightiest Mississippies of the land swift and swerve about, uncertain where to go at last. And by the eternal Poles! these same Trades that so directly blow my good ship on; these Trades, or something like them – something so unchangeable, and full as strong, blow my keeled soul along! To it! Aloft there! What d’ye see?”
–Chapter cxxxv – THE CHASE – THIRD DAY
“The wind blows where it wills, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know whence it comes or whither it goes; so it is with every one who is born of the Spirit.” (John 3:8)
Daughter #1 is driving home today so that she can assist me in babysitting the wee babes tomorrow–an all day assignment. Daughter #3 is in Nashville celebrating her sister’s bachelorette weekend and the boy will be at his store. We’ll survive, but it won’t be easy!
As far as movie picks for the weekend, I have to go with birthday boys William Shatner and Louis L’Amour.
Think of the possibilities!
We could watch The Brothers Karamazov (1958)…
…or Hondo (1953)…
…or a Star Trek marathon…
…or any number of Sackett movies…
As for me, I’ll toast Billy Collins, who also celebrates a birthday today.
“The Chairs That No One Sits In”
You see them on porches and on lawns
down by the lakeside,
usually arranged in pairs implying a couple
who might sit there and look out
at the water or the big shade trees.
The trouble is you never see anyone
sitting in these forlorn chairs
though at one time it must have seemed
a good place to stop and do nothing for a while.
Sometimes there is a little table
between the chairs where no one
is resting a glass or placing a book facedown.
It might be none of my business,
but it might be a good idea one day
for everyone who placed those vacant chairs
on a veranda or a dock to sit down in them
for the sake of remembering
whatever it was they thought deserved
to be viewed from two chairs
side by side with a table in between.
The clouds are high and massive that day.
The woman looks up from her book.
The man takes a sip of his drink.
Then there is nothing but the sound of their looking,
the lapping of lake water, and a call of one bird
then another, cries of joy or warning—
it passes the time to wonder which.
Interesting side-note: Jonathan Edwards, the great 18th century minister and philosopher, who died on this date in 1758, is remembered today on the Lutheran Calendar of Saints. He is not included on the calendar of the Episcopal Church. Quite an oversight on our part, I must say.
The OT lesson in church on Sunday was about Joseph (a hero of mine) revealing himself to his brothers.
Joseph said to his brothers, “I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?” But his brothers could not answer him, so dismayed were they at his presence.
4 Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come closer to me.” And they came closer. He said, “I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. 5 And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life. 6 For the famine has been in the land these two years; and there are five more years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. 7 God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. 8 So it was not you who sent me here, but God; he has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. 9 Hurry and go up to my father and say to him, ‘Thus says your son Joseph, God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me, do not delay. 10 You shall settle in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near me, you and your children and your children’s children, as well as your flocks, your herds, and all that you have. 11 I will provide for you there—since there are five more years of famine to come—so that you and your household, and all that you have, will not come to poverty.’ …And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him. (Genesis 45:3-11, 15)
It is the climax of a wonderful lesson about trusting God when bad things happen. Of course, the rector did not mention it, but preached on the Gospel–which is appropriate, no doubt, but I wish he had at least mentioned it and how great it is. I wish I had been the reader–so much drama!
Speaking of drama, we had a very windy weekend here in flyover country. Saturday night the wind whistled and roared around our house (66 miles an hour!) and even set off the burglar alarm at 1:30 in the morning! The sun came out on Sunday, and although it was still quite windy, it was a beautiful day.
On Saturday, after I struck out at a couple of estate sales, the OM and I ventured down to the Eugene Field House to hear Harry Weber talk about his art and the process of making it.
It was a fascinating talk by an engaging old fellow, who had many a story to tell about his life sculpting bronze statues of the rich and famous and of the more obscure subjects, including several in Nacogdoches, Texas. Locally, we love the one he sculpted for the Mississippi Riverfront, “The Captains’ Return,” which is submerged by flood waters regularly.
We went to Steak ‘N Shake afterwards.
In other news, I discovered that one of my Christmas cacti is blooming again in a spare bedroom!
Also the Christmas amaryllis has really gone to town–5 blooms so far.
And did you hear that director Stanley Donen died? He directed On the Town and Singin’ in the Rain, with Gene Kelly, plus Royal Wedding, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Funny Face, Pajama Game, Indiscreet, and Charade. He had a light touch that others could never replicate. He never got an Academy Award nomination (typical), but he did get a special Oscar for Lifetime Achievement.
Watch one of his movies! You’ll be glad you did.
And, of course, what would a weekend be without a visit from those wee babes? I found some more old toys in the basement and they were thrilled…
I sing the Sofa. I, who lately sang
Truth, Hope, and Charity, and touched with awe
The solemn chords, and with a trembling hand,
Escaped with pain from that advent’rous flight,
Now seek repose upon a humbler theme:
The theme though humble, yet august and proud
The occasion—for the Fair commands the song.*
I have been fighting a cold all week. I have gone into work, done my duty, and crawled home to my spot on the sofa where I curl up in front of the telly until 8:30 p.m. when I retire for the evening. It is not exactly an exciting life I live under normal circumstances, but with a cold…zut alors!
Anyway, I am grateful for my Puffs with Lotion…
and my blue sofa…
And the Christmas amaryllis has bloomed! Huzzah!
Certainly a cheering sight in the face of unending gray, cloudy days!
*From “The Sofa” by William Cowper. You can read the whole poem here. The paintings are by Sargent, Chambiniere, Liotard.
I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual. It is surprising how contented one can be with nothing definite — only a sense of existence. Well, anything for variety. I am ready to try this for the next 1000 years, and exhaust it. How sweet to think of! My extremities well charred, and my intellectual part too, so that there is no danger of worm or rot for a long while. My breath is sweet to me. O how I laugh when I think of my vague indefinite riches. No run on my bank can drain it — for my wealth is not possession but enjoyment.
–Henry David Thoreau, Letter to Harrison Gray Otis Blake (December 1856), as published in The Correspondence of Henry David Thoreau (1958)
Thankfulness is an essential guardian of the soul, and therefore we should guard ourselves with gratitude. Evidently we are fair game for the devil when we don’t abound with thanksgiving. Unless the song of thanksgiving is being sung in our hearts the enemy outside will deceive his way into the city of our soul, and the enemy sympathizers within will make his job easy. So for the sake of your own safety, strive to fill your heart with thanksgiving! Guard yourselves with gratitude!
–John Piper
Almighty God, Father of all mercies, we, thine unworthy servants, do give thee most humble and hearty thanks for all thy goodness and loving-kindness to us, and to all men. We bless thee for our creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life; but above all, for thine inestimable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ; for the means of grace, and for the hope of glory. And, we beseech thee, give us that due sense of all thy mercies, that our hearts may be unfeignedly thankful; and that we show forth thy praise, not only with our lips, but in our lives, by giving up our selves to thy service, and by walking before thee in holiness and righteousness all our days; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with thee and the Holy Ghost, be all honor and glory, world without end. Amen.
–A General Thanksgiving, BCP
(The painting is J. Alden Weir, 1859-1919, American Impressionist painter)
Well, it is getting very cold here in flyover country. Not surprising, since it is January. But you know, people like to get panicky about weather.
I must say, it is the kind of weather that makes one want to curl up on the couch and read a good book or watch a good movie.
“To enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you must be cold, for there is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by contrast. Nothing exists in itself. If you flatter yourself that you are all over comfortable, and have been so a long time, then you cannot be said to be comfortable any more. For this reason a sleeping apartment should never be furnished with a fire, which is one of the luxurious discomforts of the rich. For the height of this sort of deliciousness is to have nothing but the blanket between you and your snugness and the cold of the outer air. Then there you lie like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal.”
Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations.
2 Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God.
3 Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men.
4 For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night.
5 Thou carriest them away as with a flood; they are as a sleep: in the morning they are like grass which groweth up.
6 In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up; in the evening it is cut down, and withereth.
7 For we are consumed by thine anger, and by thy wrath are we troubled.
8 Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.
9 For all our days are passed away in thy wrath: we spend our years as a tale that is told.
10 The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.
11 Who knoweth the power of thine anger? even according to thy fear, so is thy wrath.
12 So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.
13 Return, O Lord, how long? and let it repent thee concerning thy servants.
14 O satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
15 Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil.
16 Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children.
17 And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it.
You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen.”
― Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast
We still have most of our leaves on the trees here in flyover country, but winter is coming…
That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is past. (Ecclesiastes 3:15)
The last five paintings are by Andrew Wyeth.
P.S. I watched Nevada Smith (1966) last night. “I’ve got a rifle, a horse and eight dollars. It’ll hold.”
I am a morning person. I get up early and I exercise (while listening to R.C. Sproul or the like) and then I have coffee and watch the news for half an hour. Then I perform my morning ablutions and get ready for work. Sometimes I vacuum. By the time I get to work I have been up for two and a half hours!
I must say, it is the kind of weather that makes one want to curl up on the couch and read a good book or watch a good movie.
dual personalities 