Do you ever have those days where you get dressed and you look okay and then you get to work and catch your reflection in something and you’re just like OH MYLANTA this outfit is unflattering!?? Just me? Okay. Well, let’s just say, my outfit did me no favors today. This tends to make me cranky.
Anyway, the most exciting thing that happened to me this weekend (other than getting my parents their first round of vaccines) was a trip to Columbia to pick up a fresh case of wine. On the drive back I heard Suzy Bogguss and Mary Chapin Carpenter on the radio. This really put me in the mood for some 90s country women.
This is what I heard on the radio–from 1995–not one of my go to’s but I’m always down to hear Mary on the radio!
And since we’re talking about 90s country, we have to have some Shania.
Everyone is always so nostalgic for the 90s as if things were so much better then. But were they? I mean, the worst three years of my life (can you say Nipher Middle School) occurred during the 90s…but I digress.
Hope these brought you back to the good old days of the 90s before the internet ruined our lives.
Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. 2 Through him we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in our hope of sharing the glory of God. 3 More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, 4 and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, 5 and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit which has been given to us.
Romans 5: 1-5
Take a deep breath. This is the day which the Lord hath made. Happy Tuesday.
The OM and I drove down to Jeff City to get our first vaccine shots on Friday, because God Only Knows when we would have gotten them in STL County.
Here we are after our shots, waiting for 15 minutes in the HY-VEE grocery store. I am on the phone, dealing with a problem at work that my assistant called me about–(“Call me as soon as you can!!”)–apparently I am indispensable. Also I look 100 years old and have morphed into my Mother or maybe my Grandmother. C’est la vie. Whatever.
We were there for less than 24 hours but we had fun with daughter #1. We ate lunch at an actual restaurant and drove to the outlet mall at Osage Beach where we did a wee bit of actual in person shopping. It was kind of mind blowing. We had ice cream at the Central Dairy, Jeff City hot spot.
Back in St. Louis, I caught up on laundry and vacuuming and all that stuff. I watched Sling Blade (1996) from my lenten movie list.
I hadn’t seen it in many years as it is super intense, but it was awesome. It actually has a lot in common with Shane–particularly the relationship of the boy and the stranger who comes to town. He is very passive and mysterious and he doesn’t say much, but he is taking it all in, and in the end he knows he must act to protect those he has come to love. It reminded me of Woody Allen’s comment about Shane–“Sometimes there is no other way out of a situation but…to go in there and kill them. Very few of us are brave enough or have the talent to do it….there are times when that evil reaches the level of pure evil.” Spoiler alert–This is also the situation in Sling Blade. Anyway, I highly recommend it. John Ritter as the gay friend, who like the farmers in Shane is helpless against the evil badman, is priceless, and, of course, I love Lucas Black so much. Cousin Dwight Yoakum is equal to Jack Palance in menacing scariness. Billy Bob Thornton, who wrote, directed and starred as Karl Childers, won an Oscar for screenplay, but deserved more. It is a gem of a movie.
The wee babes came over on Sunday night and brought their scooters and chalk, because it was a beautiful day.
Lottie drew a picture of me.
And I drew a picture of Lottie.
We saw lots of people walking by and a myriad of dogs, plus one red sports car, which was extremely exciting. Good times.
I liked this article. “Sin is not just the doing of bad, but also the failure of doing good.” Episcopalians know a lot about this:
Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone…
Oh, those sins of omission. They do pile up.
O Thou that asketh much of him to whom thou givest much, have mercy. Remember me not for the ill I’ve done but for the good I’ve dreamed. Help me to be not just the old and foolish one thou seest now but once again a fool for thee. Help me to pray. Help me whatever way thou canst, dear Christ and Lord. Amen.
Believe it or not, when I sit down to write these posts, I always intend to be positive and cheerful, though it rarely works out that way. Today, I thought that poems about spring would be a happy subject, but wouldn’t you know that the poems I like best are anything but cheerful. Take this real downer from Edna St. Vincent Millay:
Spring
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
I don’t feel that way — not by a long shot — although it’s easy to imagine someone being depressed enough to write such verse. To people in pain spring must seem almost like an insult. Yet I think the rest of us can be forgiven for letting balmy breezes and baby animals blind us to the floods, tornados, electrical storms, drowned crops and leaky roofs that accompany spring. Who wouldn’t prefer a bluebell wood
to a natural disaster?
Having acknowledged the Janus-like nature of Spring, let us turn to practicalities. At this time of year, although the snow still lies thick on the ground, I start planning household and garden projects, which for me means painting a room, cleaning out closets and planting flowers in pots. There’s something curiously comforting about these activities. I guess it’s nice to think I’ll actually get something done. Anyway, this year’s indoor project is going to be the pantry-closet. I plan to paint it and install proper shelving, etc., although I’m not going to go the professional closet design route. I’m looking for simplicity and functionality; something basic and affordable.
If anyone out there has any suggestions for how to organize an 8′ 10″ X 4′ space into an effective pantry, please share your ideas in the comments!
All of this brings me back to poor, depressed Edna St. Vincent Millay. If you’re feeling down, get busy! Pardon me if I sound trite, and I do not mean to dismiss serious depression, but following the “hands to work and hearts to God” rule has great results. Finishing any project that has required time and effort is bound to raise our spirits.
You don’t become like Christ by beholding TV all week. And you don’t become like Christ by beholding the Internet all week. You don’t become like Christ when you fill your life with things of this world. You become like Christ when you behold the glory of Christ, and you expose your life, moment by moment, to his glory, all through God’s revelation in Scripture.
David Platt
I know this is true and I have good intentions regarding reading my Bible. (But, as we know, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.) And I know watching movies as part of my lenten practice would be frowned upon by those more devout than I. Nevertheless, I have watched several on my list this week: Chariots of Fire, Hombre, and The Robe. And I make no apologies for this. I will no doubt watch something from my list this weekend.
I do not watch network TV or the news. I am not on twitter or facebook. Most of the people I follow on Instagram are Calvinists, needlepointers or birdwatchers.
I try to keep my focus where it ought to be. I try hard and that’s the best I can do. It goes a long way in helping me keep my equilibrium and the serene outlook for which I am mysteriously famous.
Lately, Katie’s favorite activity has been unstacking her basket of books and surrounding herself with the books.
She is remarkably strong and can topple the entire basket over when she feels like it. I am so amused by this and love to observe her fascinated inspection of every different book. So many shapes and sizes! (And tastes — mmm, cardboard.)
“Just the book I was looking for!”
This activity is one among many that shows how Katie is growing more independent and willful. She knows what she wants and she goes for it! She still can’t crawl forward when reaching for different things, but we are getting closer to that every day. (And we are bracing ourselves. A playpen has been purchased!)
“Alas, poor Yorick!” has Katie been reading Shakespeare behind our backs?
I thought about writing a quiz, à la my mother’s movie quizzes, based on Katie’s inspiring interest in her board books, but I wasn’t sure how that would land. Would I quiz you on quotes from baby classics (“‘If you become a bird and fly away from me,’ said his mother, ‘I will be a tree that you come home to.'”) or from adult classics (“And there is a Catskill eagle in some souls that can alike dive down into the blackest gorges, and soar out of them again and become invisible in the sunny spaces.”)? Well, you are off the hook, because I do not have the bandwidth for either version.
Sorry for quoting Buffy the Vampire Slayer but, it’s Tuesday and I’m in a bad mood. It feels like old times.
This weekend, I ventured to Linn, Missouri to hit up the Old School Antique Mall. It was only about a twenty minute drive through some rolling hills. Very pleasant. The antique mall is an old school (hence the clever name).
There were booths in the hallway and in the old classrooms. Full of…we’ll call them treasures (pronounced tray-sures).
Like this not-creepy-at-all magazine collection.
Or this record I regret not buying for $1.
I did get this bowl for a reasonable price. And a book about cross stitch. It was worth the drive. And I would go again.
Speaking of cross stitch! I got this all done this weekend, as well.
Truly a thing of beauty.
I also made another dress for sweet Katiebelle. With a pair of bloomers that also match the other dress I made.
This time, I invested in a snap kit. So many colors! I went with green.
Lucy: I’m sorry you’re so bored tonight.
Aunt Patsy: I’ve been bored for a month.
The Awful Truth
I couldn’t really come up with a good closer, but this spoke to me last week when I watched it.
Now as we journey through the 40 days of Lent and we continue our Lenten practice of movie viewing, I thought it would be fun to have another Pop Quiz! The movie quotes listed below are all from my favorite Lenten films, i.e. films having to do with sacrifice and redemption. List the movie titles in the Comments section and I’ll post the answers later today. Good luck!
-You crucified him. You, my master. Yet you freed me. I’ll never serve you again, you Roman pig. Masters of the world, you call yourselves. Thieves! Murderers! Jungle animals! A curse on you! A curse on your empire!
-Anybody here? Hey, Old Man. You home tonight? Can You spare a minute. It’s about time we had a little talk. I know I’m a pretty evil fellow… killed people in the war and got drunk… and chewed up municipal property and the like. I know I got no call to ask for much… but even so, You’ve got to admit You ain’t dealt me no cards in a long time. It’s beginning to look like You got things fixed so I can’t never win out. Inside, outside, all of them… rules and regulations and bosses. You made me like I am. Now just where am I supposed to fit in? Old Man, I gotta tell You. I started out pretty strong and fast. But it’s beginning to get to me. When does it end? What do You got in mind for me? What do I do now? Right. All right.
-God made countries, God makes kings, and the rules by which they govern. And those rules say that the Sabbath is His. And I for one intend to keep it that way.
-On the day of my judgment, when I stand before God, and He asks me why did I kill one of his true miracles, what am I gonna say? That it was my job? My job?
-You tell God the Father it was a kindness you done. I know you hurtin’ and worryin’, I can feel it on you, but you oughta quit on it now. Because I want it over and done. I do. I’m tired, boss. Tired of bein’ on the road, lonely as a sparrow in the rain. Tired of not ever having me a buddy to be with, or tell me where we’s coming from or going to, or why. Mostly I’m tired of people being ugly to each other. I’m tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world everyday. There’s too much of it. It’s like pieces of glass in my head all the time. Can you understand?
-You’re a persistent cuss, pilgrim. You really aim to hang that up outside somewhere?
-That’s why I *painted* it.
-Well, take some advice, pilgrim. You put that thing up, you’ll have to defend it with a *gun*… and you ain’t exactly the type.
-He gave me water, and the heart to live. What has he done to merit this?
-He has taken the world of our sins onto Himself. To this end He said He was born, in that stable, where I first saw Him. For this cause, He came into the world.
-For this death?
-For this beginning.
-Wait a minute. You aren’t seriously suggesting that if I get through the wire… and case everything out there… and don’t get picked up… to turn myself in and get thrown back in the cooler for a couple of months so you can get the information you need?
-Yes.
-Know what you want to stay for? Something that means more to you than anything else – your families – your wives and kids. Like you, Lewis, your girls. Shipstead with his boys. They’ve got a right to stay here and grow up and be happy. That’s up to you people to have – nerve enough to not give it up.
-Just ’cause I ain’t gonna be around no more, maybe, don’t mean that I don’t care for you.
-I care ’bout you too, but you’ll be around. Don’t say that.
-Doesn’t matter where I was to be. We’ll always be friends. You and me made friends right off the bat. Don’t nobody ever change that. I kindly want to put my arm around you, then I’m gonna get up out of here and leave…I love you, boy.
-My husband and son are on that train. I want to get on that train. Did you hear me? I want to get on that train.
This weekend I started re-reading The Eighth Day by Thornton Wilder and I had a hard time putting it down. Boy, is it good. Though there is a murder mystery in the novel, the main focus of the work is the history of the Ashley and Lansing families and how they cope with the after effects of the murder.
Writing about it years after it was first published, John Updike said,:
The Eighth Day was published in late March of 1967, three weeks before Thornton Wilder’s seventieth birthday. Reviews were mixed, from Edmund Wilson’s calling it “the best thing he ever wrote” to Edith Oliver’s judgment, in The New Yorker, that “none of the characters, major or minor, is essentially credible to the reader” and Stanley Kaufmann’s, in The New Republic, that “we have—from a man who has always meant well—a book that means nothing.”
Typical New Yorker, right? And The New Republic–please. I think all the characters are believable and deeply so. John Updike agreed. Yes, it is a bit of a spiritual mish mosh, but it is a pleasure to read. I highly recommend.
Perusing my favorite booth in a local antique mall this weekend, I found a 1925 copy of The Royal Road to Romance by Richard Halliburton, about whom I had been recently reading.
Halliburton, you will recall, was an American travel writer, adventurer, and author who is best known today for having swum the length of the Panama Canal, following in the footsteps of Carthaginian general Hannibal by riding an elephant over the Alps, photographing Mount Everest from a biplane, and for disappearing in 1939 while attempting to sail his Chinese junk across the Pacific Ocean from Hong Kong to the Golden Gate International Exposition in San Francisco. You can read more about him here. “Halliburton was described by his Princeton classmates as “an original” who rejected his father’s pleas to adopt an “even tenor,” settle down and raise a family in his hometown of Memphis, Tennessee. He defied convention and expressed an unquenchable thirst for the unknown and the dangerous. He was driven by impatience, by a great awareness of the ephemeral nature of life, perhaps explained by the sudden and untimely death of his younger brother from illness in 1917.”
Well, I’ll give it a whirl.
This was an interesting article. “One of the negatives of social media is the manner in which it has encouraged us to think of life as a performance: we are all stars in our own reality TV show now.” Boy, ain’t that the truth.
And, yay, Paul Zahl has annotated another list of movies playing on Turner Classic Movies. “The performance — of the minister, I mean — [in Arsenic and Old Lace] is pitch perfect, as that is the way many Episcopal rectors really were prior to 1979: a little fuddy-duddy (yes), generally learned, mostly more or less Ivy League, kind of a tad detached from reality, but entirely benign.” (How times have changed.)
The wee babes came over with their dear parents on Sunday night and we had fun playing and talking and eating dessert. (Dinner is more problematic.)
Many things in this world confound me, but the recent tendency to privilege science over humanities because the former is supposedly perfectly rational and fact-based, whereas the latter allegedly amounts to groundless opinion and emotion, has me flummoxed. The idea that science and humanities are mutually exclusive is false and always has been. Just ask the DH. He’s a mathematician who does history as well! Time was when educated people appreciated all types of intellectual endeavor; great scientists dabbled in art, and poets wrote about math. They did not despise one another; nor did the public revere ‘scientists’ as if their every utterance were sacrosanct. Face it, there’s as much junk science out there as overly theorized humanities BS. But let us leave that debate for the moment and move back to the days when scholars knew enough about one another’s fields to participate.
Did you know, for example, that famous Swiss mathematician Jacob Bernoulli (1655-1705), an early contributor to calculus and probability, included this lovely verse (translated from the Latin) in his Treatise on Infinite Series.
Even as the finite encloses an infinite series
And in the unlimited limits appear,
So the soul of immensity dwells in minutia
And in narrowest limits no limits inhere.
What joy to discern the minute in infinity!
The vast to perceive in the small, what divinity!
Obviously, Bernoulli thought poetry a legitimate means of expressing deep and strongly felt ideas.
Some scientists produced art. Andreas Vesalius, the 16th century Flemish philosopher and physician, also created his own allegorical illustrations. Here’s his “learning skeleton”.
I could cite myriad examples, including everyone from Archimedes to modern physicist Richard Feynman. Scientists are more than their discipline. Being human, they enjoy the arts and use them to express themselves.
The opposite is also true and famous poets, authors and artists have always found inspiration in the sciences, including math. Samuel Taylor Coleridge composed a poem about Euclid’s proposition 1.
Here’s the first stanza of Coleridge’s poem:
This is now -- this was erst,
Proposition the first -- and Problem the first.
On a given finite Line
Which must no way incline;
To describe an equi --
lateral Tri --
-- A, N, G, L, E.
Now let A.B.
Be the given line
Which must no way incline;
The great Mathematician Makes this Requisition,
That we describe an Equi --
lateral Tri --
angle on it:
Aid us, Reason -- aid us, Wit!
People rightly prefer “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” and “Kubla Khan”, but the point is that Coleridge found Euclid a natural source of inspiration.
Even Hans Christian Andersen, beloved author of sad fairy tales, wrote a longish, densely mathematical poem about the Pythagorean Theorem. If you’re interested, you can find a translation here. It does not lend itself to pretty illustrations in the same way that the Little Mermaid does, but it won an audience nonetheless.
By Edmund Dulac
I have concentrated on mathematics because the DH is a mathematician and feeds me good examples, but I could have cited any other STEM field just as easily or found additional paintings, poetry, novels, music and historical works dedicated to the sciences. So, the next time someone dismisses the humanities as useless, remind them that scientists across the planet and throughout history would disagree. Anyone interested in learning will embrace both STEM and Humanities. In the meantime, fight the public tendency to reduce people to meaningless labels and to reject them summarily by judging what they do out of context and without the least understanding.
