dual personalities

October 17, 2017

Yours, yours. I was painted for you.

by chuckofish

Today is the birthday of Frederick Childe Hassam (October 17, 1859 – August 27, 1935), one of our favorite American Impressionist painters, so it is a no-brainer what our post will be about.

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Self-portrait

In case you were wondering, his name “Hassam” comes from a seventeenth-century English ancestor whose name, Horsham, had been corrupted over time to Hassam. At least, that’s what Wikipedia says.

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“End of the Trolley Line, Oak Park, Illinois”–a flyover subject!

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Childe Hassam painting on Appledore

“Great paintings—people flock to see them, they draw crowds, they’re reproduced endlessly on coffee mugs and mouse pads and anything-you-like. And, I count myself in the following, you can have a lifetime of perfectly sincere museum-going where you traipse around enjoying everything and then go out and have some lunch. But if a painting really works down in your heart and changes the way you see, and think, and feel, you don’t think, ‘oh, I love this picture because it’s universal.’ ‘I love this painting because it speaks to all mankind.’ That’s not the reason anyone loves a piece of art. It’s a secret whisper from an alleyway. Psst, you. Hey kid. Yes you. An individual heart-shock. Your dream, Welty’s dream, Vermeer’s dream. You see one painting, I see another, the art book puts it at another remove still, the lady buying the greeting card at the museum gift shop sees something else entire, and that’s not even to mention the people separated from us by time—four hundred years before us, four hundred years after we’re gone—it’ll never strike anybody the same way and the great majority of people it’ll never strike in any deep way at all but—a really great painting is fluid enough to work its way into the mind and heart through all kinds of different angles, in ways that are unique and very particular. Yours, yours. I was painted for you. And—oh, I don’t know, stop me if I’m rambling… but Welty himself used to talk about fateful objects. Every dealer and antiquaire recognizes them. The pieces that occur and recur. Maybe for someone else, not a dealer, it wouldn’t be an object. It’d be a city, a color, a time of day. The nail where your fate is liable to catch and snag.”

―Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch 

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October 16, 2017

“Oh Lord, you are my God; I will exalt you…”*

by chuckofish

It was a stormy, gray Sunday and I contemplated staying in bed and reading Ivan Doig, but I was a good girl and got up and went to church. I was rewarded with great scripture readings and one of my favorite hymns. I mean, how great is Philippians 4:1-9:

Therefore, my brethren, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm thus in the Lord, my beloved.

2 I entreat Eu-o′dia and I entreat Syn′tyche to agree in the Lord. 3 And I ask you also, true yokefellow, help these women, for they have labored side by side with me in the gospel together with Clement and the rest of my fellow workers, whose names are in the book of life.

4 Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. 5 Let all men know your forbearance. The Lord is at hand. 6 Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 7 And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

8 Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. 9 What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, do; and the God of peace will be with you.

There you have it.

Our final hymn was #624, Jerusalem the Golden, which always makes me cry. I was kind of a mess, mascara running all over, etc. Oh well. I am just a sentimental/crazy old lady who cries at hymns.

Most of my weekend was spent catching up on house maintenance and the like, which I do not mind. Life becomes a romance when you can learn to enjoy your everyday tasks and routines. Didn’t Oswald Chambers say something about that? (I think he was talking about our relationship with Christ, but it works here too.) Enjoy your home, I say, and part of that is taking care of it.

The OM and I babysat on Friday night while the boy and daughter #3 went out on the town…haha…they were home before 9 o’clock! The wee babes were great–a hand full–but great. I had forgotten what it is like to try to change a diaper on a boy-child who, when put on his back, immediately flips over.  What a wrestling match ensues! Zut alors! I managed to get the little bud into his jammies, but I’m afraid they might have been  backwards…C’est la vie. They were tuckered out but too wound up to go to bed, and when their parents arrived home, it was in the nick of time as Lottiebelle was having a meltdown and the OM’s patience was wearing thin. We headed home and I had a large glass of wine. They all came over for the last barbecue of the season on Sunday night.

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In between I went to a work-related fundraiser–a “Hootenanny”–where a bunch of aging hippies and old communists plus President George H.W. Bush’s former Commissioner of the Immigration and Naturalization Service sang 1960s folk songs accompanied by a ukelele band. I’m telling you, truth is stranger than fiction. It was more fun than you would think and the story of my life.

Now it is Monday already and it’s back to the salt mine. Enjoy the day!

*Isaiah 25:1

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October 14, 2017

Saturday Sequels

by chuckofish

Another week, another cranky movie review. Last Sunday, a friend and I went to see Blade Runner 2049. I didn’t have high expectations, but even so it was not a successful outing. We accidentally went to a 3-D viewing. Aside from having to wear stupid 3-D glasses instead of my usual ones, I had to endure noisy theater workers who seemed to be having a party right outside our door — a party complete with a small child screaming and running amok. At one point I actually went outside and asked them respectfully to tone it down. They did not. Bad conditions certainly colored my view of the movie, but I believe I can make a few reasonably objective comments.

Blade Runner 2049 DID capture something of the original movie’s feel, and will no doubt win Academy Awards, but Denis Villeneuve was so intent on outdoing Ridley Scott in the atmosphere stakes that he sacrificed everything else. Villeneuve paid too much homage to Scott, sometimes even borrowing lines from the first movie. This seemed a cheap bid to get Blade Runner (1982) fans on board.

The two hour and forty-four minute run-time coupled with the prevalence of extended shots and long, lugubrious silences made the new film drag.

Style cannot stand in for substance. In fact, aside from its distorted Christian overtones (miracle birth and sacrifice), it had nothing new to say at all. The “what makes a human, human?” question got asked and answered the same way as in the original.

I missed interesting characters like the 1982 movie’s J.F. Sebastian, the doll-maker,

or the replicant, Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer).

Unlike Batty, the villain in Blade Runner 2049 had no redeeming qualities at all, and no motive other than obedience for anything she did. I couldn’t help but feel that the story had gone backwards, rather than forward.

Don’t bother to see it unless you’re (1) such a super fan of Blade Runner that you can’t stand the thought of missing it, or (2) need to hide in the dark for almost three hours.

Have a wonderful weekend! I’m off to serve lunch at my church’s Fall Bazaar.

 

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October 13, 2017

Fly sideways FRIYAY

by chuckofish

Just as I unpacked my turtlenecks and black tights, they are predicting broken records for heat this weekend! Good grief! No matter what people say about global warming, it has always been thus in flyover country.

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Que sera sera.

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This weekend I plan to finish Stephen King’s Mr. Mercedes which I started last weekend. It is a straight up detective novel which someone left in the giveaway basket at work. I am enjoying it. Next on the docket is This House of Sky by Ivan Doig, which came highly recommended by someone whose opinion I value.

I have a work event on Sunday afternoon that I have to attend, and after that, the boy and daughter # 3 will come over. Can’t wait to see the wee babes, especially Lottie who decided to stand up this week!

Unknown-6.jpegShe has hitherto been reluctant to put her weight on her feet, but seems to have decided it is okay now. You go, Girl!

Unknown-7.jpegHer brother has been very encouraging.

BTW, on a historical/literary note, 138 years ago today Walt Whitman came to St. Louis to visit his brother, Thomas Jefferson Whitman, who was the city water commissioner. How about that? He liked the great river town, but wasn’t fond of the smog. In honor of his visit, and because it seems appropriate, here is a little bit of Crossing Brooklyn Ferry:

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These and all else were to me the same as they are to you,
I loved well those cities, loved well the stately and rapid river,
The men and women I saw were all near to me,
Others the same—others who look back on me because I look’d forward to them,
(The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.)
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What is it then between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?
Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not,
I too lived, Brooklyn of ample hills was mine,
I too walk’d the streets of Manhattan island, and bathed in the waters around it,
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me,
In the day among crowds of people sometimes they came upon me,
In my walks home late at night or as I lay in my bed they came upon me,
I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution,
I too had receiv’d identity by my body,
That I was I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew I should be of my body.

…

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Flow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-tide!
Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg’d waves!
Gorgeous clouds of the sunset! drench with your splendor me, or the men and women generations after me!
Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers!
Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta! stand up, beautiful hills of Brooklyn!
Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions and answers!
Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution!
Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house or street or public assembly!
Sound out, voices of young men! loudly and musically call me by my nighest name!
Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress!
Play the old role, the role that is great or small according as one makes it!
Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown ways be looking upon you;
Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet haste with the hasting current;
Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in the air;
Receive the summer sky, you water, and faithfully hold it till all downcast eyes have time to take it from you!
Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my head, or any one’s head, in the sunlit water!
Come on, ships from the lower bay! pass up or down, white-sail’d schooners, sloops, lighters!
Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower’d at sunset!
Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black shadows at nightfall! cast red and yellow light over the tops of the houses!

Have a great weekend! Try to get out and look at a river and “people watch”. What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us? Not much, I think.

6 Comments
October 12, 2017

Life is real! Life is earnest!

by chuckofish

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
   Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
   And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
   And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
   Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
   Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
   Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
   And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
   Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle,
   In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
   Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
   Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
   Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
   We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
   Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
   Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
   With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
   Learn to labor and to wait.

–Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

The fall season always brings me back to New England–not literally, but in my imagination–and a poem by Longfellow seems appropriate. It is good to read these old poems, so out of fashion these days, but full of good stuff!

I would like to join the throngs of leaf-peepers, but I will have to be satisfied with flyover landscapes this year.  Here are a few paintings of New England landscapes to whet the whistle, so to speak.

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Eric Sloane

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Winslow Homer

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Robert Wesson

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Alden Bryan, 1955

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Luigi Lucioni, Village of Stowe, 1931

And here’s a little Thoreau to wind things up:

Minott is, perhaps, the most poetical farmer–who most realizes to me the poetry of the farmer’s life–that I know. He does nothing with haste and drudgery, but as if he loved it. He makes the most of his labor, and takes infinite satisfaction in every part of it. He is not looking forward to the sale of his crops or any pecuniary profit, but he is paid by the constant satisfaction which his labor yields him.

—A Writer’s Journal

And read this from the Big Surprise file…

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October 11, 2017

News from the file marked “Duh”*

by chuckofish

The sign at Lone Elk Park reads: “CAUTION DO NOT APPROACH OR FEED ANIMALS.”

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Elk mating season, folks!

But, you know, people think they are the exception to all rules.

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Hey, lady, your tag is showing…not to mention your underwear!

Some idiot says, “Let’s take a selfie with the elk!” Bad things ensue and then it is the top story in flyover country.

This really Screen Shot 2017-08-17 at 3.08.50 PM.png me, what can I say?

People have really lost their respect for nature and wild things. They think everything is like a television show and nothing bad can happen to them. They think national parks are just more rustic versions of Disney World. That is why people are always drowning in rivers and falling off cliffs. I guess they were never Scouts. Or have any common sense.

Well, forgive me for a little mid-week vent.

BTW, I was interested to read this obit in the NYT about Nora Johnson, author and Smith graduate. I have read two of her books: The World of Henry Orient, which is the basis for one of my all-time favorite movies, and Coast to Coast. Nora was a good writer, but I have to say, The World of Henry Orient (1964) is the rare example of the movie being better than the book. Maybe it’s time to watch it again, while toasting Nora Johnson, of course.

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Have a good Wednesday!

*Zander in Buffy the Vampire Slayer

8 Comments
October 10, 2017

Grant us strength and courage to love and serve you with gladness and singleness of heart*

by chuckofish

I was so busy this weekend that I never even had a phone conversation with my DP. I got a lot of exercise (walking), but I ate a lot of food. C’est la vie.

I went to the Best of Missouri Market and the Shaw Art Fair.

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I like attending such fairs, but they also always make me feel a little guilty because I cannot buy something from all the artists in all the wonderful booths. Well, c’est la vie.

Daughter #1 and I went to three estate sales in the rain and got a few things–bargains–and a Christmas present for someone! We also went to HomeGoods and found a few more bargains.

We also finally sat down and went through the wedding pictures and narrowed down our “favorites,” getting pretty hysterical in the process, mostly at our own expense. The bride–daughter #2–looked beautiful,

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Screen Shot 2017-10-09 at 2.34.09 PM.pngbut the mother-of-the-bride and maid-of-honor, not so much.

Screen Shot 2017-10-09 at 2.59.18 PM.pngIt was a big bouquet…Little Lottie displayed her ‘tude as well…

Screen Shot 2017-10-09 at 5.17.01 PM.pngAnyway, it was lovely to remember the beautiful day and the beautiful bride. And I do have a picture for our Christmas card now.

We also spent time with the wee babes on two occasions.

Screen Shot 2017-10-09 at 1.14.41 PM.pngWe got laughing pretty hard again at the sight of the little guy trying to move forward on my sisal rug on his hands and tippy toes, because crawling on the scratchy surface felt weird. It is hard to stop him in his tracks, but that sisal finally made him turn around.

We can’t wait ’til daughter #2 comes to visit in two weeks! Right, Lottie?

IMG_1627.jpegYou betcha. Our dance card is full that weekend!

*BCP, Holy Eucharist, Rite II

4 Comments
October 9, 2017

In the pumpkin patch

by chuckofish

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Autumnal greetings from flyover country. I had a busy fall weekend full of pumpkins,

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botanical vistas,

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estate sale-ing, church-going, good food, family, and babies.

I’ll have more tomorrow. Have a great Monday!

2 Comments
October 7, 2017

I got somethin’ make the devil gonna run*

by chuckofish

I was having a glum-ish week until I received a package from my oldest, dearest friend containing several small tidbits and two books, a murder mystery by Marion Chesney, aka M.C. Beaton of Hamish Macbeth fame, and a short biography of Lawrence of Arabia by Alistair MacLean, no less!

Where does she find these treasures? Why would Alistair MacLean write a (children’s?) book about T.E. Lawrence? So many questions — the mind reels. I started reading the mystery this morning and it promises to be thoroughly enjoyable. I’m saving the bio for when I need a special treat. Seriously.

Among the other items in my unexpected gift-box were two that particularly struck me. The first was a page from the First Presbyterian Church bulletin describing the life and works of Rev. Elijah P. Lovejoy, the very Christian activist about whom my DP posted earlier. Synchronicity! Or great minds think alike… In any case, I think it’s cool that Rev. Lovejoy is finally getting some attention.

The second item in the box was a poem from Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore:

Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.

I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter; I forget that there abides the old in the new, and that there also thou abidist.

Through birth and death, in this world or in others, wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same, the one companion of my endless life whoever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.

When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut. Oh, grant me my prayer that I many never lose the bliss of the touch of the one in the play of the many.

My mother first introduced me to Rabindranath Tagore, who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913, but I hadn’t read any of his work for a ages. How perfect that my dear friend should remind me of this connection. I went online and found Gitanjali here. I particularly like this passage:

My desires are many and my cry is pitiful, but ever didst thou save me by hard refusals; and this strong mercy has been wrought into my life through and through.

I think we all need to remember that hard refusals can save us, and what seems unfair may be exactly the strong mercy we need. I also loved this passage:

Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! Whom dost thou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee!

He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the path-maker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and in shower, and his garment is covered with dust. Put off thy holy mantle and even like him come down in the dusty soil!

Having steeped myself in Tagore’s poetry, I took a break at Youtube, where I found some rousing Christian music, including this great one by Crowder:

Run, Devil, run!

Have a wonderful weekend, and find joy in everything!

*Crowder “Run, Devil, run”

 

 

 

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October 6, 2017

“God save our old McGill!”*

by chuckofish

Today is the birthday of James McGill (October 6, 1744 – December 19, 1813) who was born in Scotland and educated at the University of Glasgow. Soon after graduating, McGill left for North America to explore the business opportunities there. By 1766, he was in Montreal where he entered the fur trade.  As a fur trader and land owner, he further diversified his activities into land speculation and the timber trade. At his death in 1813, he was one of the richest men in Montreal, leaving an estate well in excess of £100,000.

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Statue of James McGill at McGill University

He bequeathed much of his estate to the founding of McGill University.

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The Arts Building, the oldest building at McGill

McGill University is important to us personally because our mother and father met there as graduate students in 1948-49 or thereabouts.

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Convocation procession from Roddick Gates, circa 1945 (McGill University photo archive)

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Redpath Library, 1891 (McGill University photo archive)

In those days McGill was a very “English” university and Montreal was a Commonwealth town. My parents enjoyed that and always liked all things English forever after.

Indeed, our father was always fond of Canada, which went back to his time at McGill. He even taught a class on Canadian History, which was rare back in the 1970s. My mother remembered McGill fondly and enjoyed being one of very few women in the mostly male History Department. She remembered Montreal as cold and bleak in the long winter and I recall her telling us how they would find a dead body or two every spring when the snow banks melted. Neither parent finished his/her degree–our father was called back to the Army–but something good came of their Canadian season–they were married in 1950. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Anyway, I am so ready for the weekend. I have plans for a fun outing with my friends, and daughter #1 is coming home for a quick visit on Saturday afternoon, so I am all set for a good time.

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The wee babes had their 9-month check up and are doing really well, but you knew that!

Have a great weekend!

*God Save McGill by W.M. MacKeracher, Arts ’94

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