When I left work today, I walked up to a nice obsidian blue pearl CRV and started to load my stuff into it only to discover that someone had parked an unlocked imposter exactly where I had left my car. Oops! This is actually the third time I have mistakenly gotten into the wrong vehicle. Does my key fob unlock other cars? Hmm…. While I was busy NOT stealing a car, my second son was dealing with some kind of mink or marten that he saw climb into his car’s engine as he walked across the parking lot at work. Why such an animal chose his car from all the others in the lot remains a mystery, but it could have been worse. Apparently, it’s fairly common for animals to build nests under car hoods. I would not like to meet an angry opossum when I lifted the hood!
Or a large rock python:
Wildlife is great as long as it stays where it belongs. After much banging of doors and repeated hood slamming, my son got the weasel to leave, but what’s to stop it from coming back?
Next time you hear funky noises from your engine check to make sure no critter has taken residence there. In the meantime, have a more exciting weekend than I will!
Today we toast the most famous photographer of the 19th century, Mathew Brady (1822-1896). (His birthday was yesterday.) Best known for his scenes of the Civil War, he studied under inventor Samuel F.B. Morse, who pioneered the daguerreotype technique in America. Brady opened his own studio in New York City in 1844, and photographed every U.S. president from John Q. Adams through McKinley (except Harrison, who died 31 days after taking office) and myriad public figures throughout the century.
Wonderful faces!
When the Civil War started, he set out to use his innovative mobile studio and darkroom to document the war, enabling the taking of vivid battlefield photographs that brought home the reality of war to the public.
Thousands of war scenes were captured, as well as portraits of generals and politicians on both sides of the conflict, producing a remarkable pictorial history of the war. (Many of these photos were taken by his assistants, rather than by Brady himself.)
This short video from the Smithsonian is “age-restricted” because it includes photos of dead bodies on the battlefields of the Civil War. We did not restrict the boy (when a mere child) from spending hours pouring over the pages of the American Heritage pictorial history of the Civil War. This big book included many photos taken by Mathew Brady.
I was likewise fascinated by those photos in that book at an early age. They were definitely more graphic than anything I had ever scene, but I don’t think I was scarred by the experience. No more than I should have been anyway. Some scarring is warranted.
The boy then made many of his own drawings of battles and soldiers.
The U.S. National Archives has most of Brady’s original photographs. You can see them: just click here.
P.S. I did something the other day that was life-changing. I switched out the light bulbs in my bedside table lamp and the lamp on the desk in my office for ones with a higher wattage. Amazing. I can see! Praise Jesus. It’s the little things, am I right?
Also, I am feeling this: a new way to exercise. (Turn on the sound and watch the whole workout.)
Does the word ‘gentleman’ still mean anything today? Here’s why it should.
Well today at work we had some program partners in town from Boston for the first time since early 2020. We really rolled out the welcome mat. And by that I mean, they took us up on our offer of a tour of the Missouri State Capitol. I went along because in my job, I usually don’t venture far from our office on the second floor.
According to Wikipedia, the present capitol, completed in 1917 and occupied the following year, is the third capitol in Jefferson City and the sixth in Missouri history. The first seat of state government was housed in the Mansion House, located at Third and Vine Streets in St. Louis and the second one was in the Missouri Hotel located at Main and Morgan Streets in St. Charles. St. Charles was designated as the temporary capital of the state in 1821 and remained the seat of government until 1826.
The exterior of the Missouri State Capitol is notable for its architectural features: the Baroque dome, rising 238 feet (73 m) above ground level, topped by sculptor Sherry Fry’sbronze statue of Ceres, the Roman goddess of agriculture; the eight 48-foot (15 m) columns on the south portico; the six 40-foot (12 m) columns on the north portico; the 30-foot (9 m)-wide grand staircase; and the bronze entrance doors, each 13 by 18 feet (4.0 m × 5.5 m)—at the time, the largest cast since the Roman era.[4]
It’s a very cool building. The Capitol Dome is the first intentionally designed “Whispering Gallery” meaning you can clearly hear a person on the other side of the rotunda if they are speaking into the wall. It is an amazing spectacle. You can read more about it here.
After we left the already way up there Whispering Gallery, we ventured another 200 steps practically straight up to the top of the rotunda. I am not kidding when I say I had no idea how out of shape I am. I think it almost killed me.
The interior of a dome is fascinating. And then we had to take a winding staircase to the door! But I’d say the view was worth it.
I hadn’t been up to the very top since high school when a club visited and our state senator took us up. It is truly wild that 20 years (20 years!) later I work in the building. Anyway, it was a fun field trip.
*the blog title is from a sea shanty I remember from my Michigan camp days and is truly how I felt being at the top of the dome.
Truly this is the most beautiful time of year to be in flyover country. Everything is blooming.
And the grass is green. However, pollen is also at a peak, but what ho, who am I to complain?
During the Covid lockdown, I started to “worship” via Zoom at the Episcopal Church in Charlottesville, Virginia and to follow their rector’s daily devotional. Even though I have since left that denomination for good, I still read Paul Walker’s daily devotional. Yesterday he had something interesting to say:
Unfortunately, I don’t think everyone has two journals. There are a lot of people (even people I am fairly close to) who are only concerned with their Clark journal. But time’s a-wasting! The night is far spent…we need to attend to our Lewis journal. Who are you? What do you believe?
This is helpful from the late great David Powlison. “Your true identity is who God says you are. You will never discover who you are by looking inside yourself or listening to what others say. The Lord gets the first word because he made you. He gets the daily word because you live before his face. He gets the last word because he will administer your final ‘comprehensive life review.’”
As anticipated, our long weekend visit from daughter #2 and Katie was super fun. It was so sad to see them off at the airport on Sunday and then to wave goodbye to daughter #1 as she headed back to mid-MO. Sigh. But we did a lot of of our favorite things…
Ted Drewes! Yummy!
The traditional extra large Diet Cokes from the Mac’s drive-through…
Walking through Laumeier Sculpture Park…
Cooling off with the cousins…
Bringing out the Cozy Coupe…
Going to Grant’s Farm…
We also enjoyed some quiet time…
All in all, truly a most wonderful visit for which we are most grateful! I’m also grateful that everyone got home safe and sound to their respective abodes. Today I will spend the day recovering and cleaning up!
We had a lovely, sunny and warm week. Trees are turning green and the lilacs are opening. Here’s the view out my kitchen window. I think there are four or five blooms on my little lilac.
All over the lawn (if you can call it that) the forget-me-nots run riot. I love these little flowers. Yesterday, I picked a small bunch and put them in this tiny green vase (it’s about 2″ tall).
Despite the fact that I feel quite happy and hopeful — Spring has that effect — it’s impossible to write about forget-me-nots without remembering the beloved departed. In that vein I offer this poem by Ann Plato, an educator who lived in Hartford, Connecticut in the mid 19th century and taught at the Black Zion Methodist Church:
When in the morning’s misty hour, When the sun beams gently o’er each flower; When thou dost cease to smile benign, And think each heart responds with thine, When seeking rest among divine, Forget me not.
When the last rays of twilight fall, And thou art pacing yonder hall; When mists are gathering on the hill, Nor sound is heard save mountain rill, When all around bids peace be still, Forget me not.
When the first star with brilliance bright, Gleams lonely o’er the arch of night; When the bright moon dispels the gloom, And various are the stars that bloom, And brighten as the sun at noon, Forget me not.
When solemn sighs the hollow wind, And deepen’d thought enraps the mind; If e’er thou doest in mournful tone, E’er sigh because thou feel alone, Or wrapt in melancholy prone, Forget me not.
When bird does wait thy absence long, Nor tend unto its morning song; While thou art searching stoic page, Or listening to an ancient sage, Whose spirit curbs a mournful rage, Forget me not.
Then when in silence thou doest walk, Nor being round with whom to talk; When thou art on the mighty deep, And do in quiet action sleep; If we no more on earth do meet, Forget me not.
When brightness round thee long shall bloom, And knelt remembering those in gloom; And when in deep oblivion’s shade, This breathless, mouldering form is laid, And thy terrestrial body staid, Forget me not.
“Should sorrow cloud thy coming years, And bathe thy happiness in tears, Remember, though we’re doom’d to part, There lives one fond and faithful heart, That will forget thee not.”
All of this goes well with a Taylor Swift song that my son Chris included on a playlist he shared with me via Spotify for Mother’s Day.
The song is a lovely tribute to Swift’s grandmother. It’s good to remember, as long as one follows Jane Austin’s advice to “Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure” (Pride and Prejudice).
It’s going to be another quiet weekend of reading, chatting, and remembering — and that’s just fine with me. Newsflash: This just in, check it out! Truly, I am blessed.
Another hot one! In fact, we broke a record yesterday with a high of 94 degrees. Back in the day, we would still have been at school on May 12–where there was no air-conditioning! How ever did we survive? Well, we did somehow. For several years in high school, I had long, waist-length hair which I wore in braids in order to stay cool.
Even after it cooled off, I still wore the braids, because they were practical. I can’t remember if anyone else at my school wore braids. It was probably just nerds like me and Judy Hensler on Leave It to Beaver…
and Willie Nelson…
C’est la vie.
Well, I seem to have once again gone down a rabbit hole in my brain. Mea culpa. Here’s the poem by Sara Teasdale I was going to share before I went off the track. It’s called “Sunset: St. Louis”…
Here’s a photo of the riverfront in 1938, taken a few years after she wrote the poem, but you get the idea.
It is a totally different riverfront than we have today.
Well, daughter #1 is driving in from Jeff City this morning and we are picking up daughter #2 and the precocious Katiebelle at the airport this afternoon.
Stay tuned for super fun. In the meantime here are a couple of links which I enjoyed. Read them or not; I leave that up to you.
5 1/2 Habits of Remarkably Ineffective People. “Today, many of the institutions and ideas that have shaped our culture are on life-support. And it has been “successful” people who have led us to this place. This “post-everything” moment offers us an opportunity to question what seems unquestionable, to study our values — and maybe even reconsider Jesus’ upside-down approach.”
Stop Praying “Be With” Prayers. “All that matters may be brought before God, but we must always bring before God those things that matter most.”
It is hot and sultry in flyover country. (Too hot.) The first of the iris are starting to pop…
…and the rest will soon follow suit…
Don sent this picture of a Celandine poppy (Stylophorum diphyllum) or wood poppy, a Missouri native that usually flowers for over a month…
…and these wise words:
The celandine poppy has taught me more about gardening than any other plant. I have planted it in multiple places in my garden over a 30 year time period. What I have learned is that plants thrive where the conditions suit them. It kept disappearing in places that I thought would be perfect. Finally I put it in a spot that supports its growth. Now it grows so well on its own that I have forgotten that it is there. People are like that too.
People are like that!
You have brought a vine out of Egypt; You have cast out the nations, and planted it. 9 You prepared room for it, And caused it to take deep root, And it filled the land. 10 The hills were covered with its shadow, And the mighty cedars with its boughs. 11 She sent out her boughs to the Sea, And her branches to the River.
Today we celebrate the birthday of Fred Astaire (May 10, 1899 – June 22, 1987), American actor, dancer, singer, choreographer par excellence. Fred was born in Omaha, Nebraska where he started performing at age five. I always liked his movies from the 1930s the best–the ones with Ginger Rogers–but he was in some good movies later in a long and storied career.
He wasn’t much to look at and his singing voice was a warbly soprano, but he could sure dance like nobody’s business. So let’s watch a Fred Astaire movie tonight. They’re always good for what ails you. Here’s a list.
And there’s this…I gather Fred was not amused…
This interview with Saint Paul on the subject of what is wrong with us is brilliant. Just to make things crystal clear.
This article about the late Sen. Orrin Hatch makes me like him even more.
Meanwhile, it finally stopped raining and we have been enjoying beautiful weather. It is also getting hot and we had to turn on the air-conditioning. Zut alors, it is May 10!
This little gal and her mommy are arriving on Thursday, so I have to get busy preparing the house for visitors. Woohoo!
“and for your penance, translate me something by Juan de la Cruz.”*
Although I think of my mother every day, Mother’s Day is an occasion to give a special thought to the woman who loved me fiercely and without ebb.
My mother taught me to like poetry. (I certainly did not learn to at school.) She liked to read poems out loud and she liked to write them.
She never really got around to teaching me to cook or sew or really anything very practical, but we watched a lot of movies together and listened to a lot of records and talked about a lot of books we read. We took long drives together and went out to lunch. We went shopping and went to art museums and pointed out the things we liked. Pretty much this is what I did with my own children while they were growing up and still do whenever we can.
We pass down the love of poetry and a predilection for historical fiction and biography as well as the old furniture and handmade dresses. We pass on the love.
Here’s a favorite poem by one of my faves, Jorge Luis Borges, which seems particularly resonant on Mother’s Day.
From a lineage of Protestant ministers
and South American soldiers
who fought, with their incalculable dust,
against the Spaniards and the desert’s lances,
I am and I am not. My true lineage
Is the voice, which I can still hear, of my father
