Tomorrow the OM and I are heading over to Illinois to visit daughter #2 and celebrate her birthday on Sunday.
In the meantime I have a lot to do. The boy is coming over tonight to help load up the car with stuff to take for her new house. Thankfully she is an appreciative recipient and welcomes all the odds and ends I can shove her way.
It goes without saying that I think she is a wonderful daughter, wife, sister, and mother and that we all love her.
But I will say it anyway. We love you, Susiebelle! Happy birthday!
Watch over thy child, O Lord, as her days increase; bless and guide her wherever she may be. Strengthen her when she stands; comfort her when discouraged or sorrowful; raiseher up if she fall; and in her heart may thy peace which passeth understanding abide all the days of her life; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
This has turned into a busier week than usual. I am actually making to-do lists!
I am finishing up an article for the Kirkwood Historical Review about the renovation of Mudd’s Grove, the 165-year old home which the Historical Society bought in 1992 and made their headquarters. The house had been allowed to fall into wrack and ruin and was in really terrible shape when it was rescued.
It is sad when this happens and I am sympathetic to the poor soul who lived there and for years pretended to be “working” on the house. Ultimately it took hundreds of thousands of dollars and hundreds of volunteer hours to accomplish its renovation.
It is the showplace of our town now and a testament to what volunteers can do.
In my humble opinion, people would do well to give more money to historic preservation and less to already massively-endowed schools and universities that no longer teach much worth learning anyway. Maintaining historic homes and buildings is an ongoing endeavor–money is always needed–and the local, state and federal governments don’t do much to support this kind of thing.
Well, I’ll get off my soapbox.
Speaking of history, a lot of interesting things happened on April 10, among them: Archduke Maximilian of Hapsburg was proclaimed emperor of Mexico in 1864, Confederate General Robert E. Lee addressed his troops for the last time in 1865 following his surrender to General Grant the day before, the Titanic set sail in 1912, The Great Gatsby was published in 1925, and in 1939 the A.A. “Big Book” was published. In 1970 Paul McCartney announced he was leaving the Beatles.
We also remember Michael Curtiz, the great Hungarian director, who died on this day in 1962. He came to Hollywood in 1926, when he was 39 years old. He had already directed 64 films in Europe, and soon helped Warner Bros. become the fastest-growing movie studio. He directed 102 films during his Hollywood career, mostly at Warners, where he directed ten actors to Oscar nominations. He himself was nominated five times, and won twice, once for Best Short Subject for Sons of Liberty (1939) and once for Best Director for Casablanca (1942). The secret to his success was his amazing versatility–he could handle any film genre: melodrama, comedy, love story, western, film noir, musical, war story, or historical epic. He cared about the human-interest aspect of every story, stating that the “human and fundamental problems of real people” were the basis of all good drama.
A look at the list of movies he directed shows his range and his amazing success. I’m thinking something with Errol Flynn might be in order tonight.
So for weeks flyover country has been quite sidetracked with all the eclipse hype. People traveled from all over the country to places like Farmington and Cape Girardeau just to get a view.
If you waited til Monday to head to the direct path, you were out of luck, because I-55 was a parking lot basically. I sat on my patio, content to experience the 99% view. The OM had bought a large supply of the special glasses (why buy one, when you can buy dozens?) so I was prepared.
The bumble bees were intense, but I hung in there.
The birds seemed very confused–is that an eclipse thing? As John Quincy Adams noted after the June 1806 eclipse: “The cattle, and poultry discovered the symptoms of Night, and followed their usual habits on its approach—the swallows appeared surprised and flew with that wild irregularity, which is described as betokening the approach of an Earthquake.” Yes, it was like that.
We had fun texting on the family thread…
…but it wasn’t terribly exciting. It seemed like dusk and it made me think of Happy Hour, but it was only 2 o’clock, so I restrained myself and went back to work.
“The sun will be turned into darkness And the moon into blood Before the great and awesome day of the Lord comes.”
How was your weekend? Mine was a quiet one, mostly spent hanging out at home. Although it was chilly, we could sit out on the patio and soak up some vitamin D on Saturday.
I went to a few estate sales and picked up two books.
I am reading the Keegan now and really enjoying it. I am no scholar, but I find it accessible and readable. And I love reading about all those guys, especially my heroes: Grant and Sherman.
There is much to be learned from them.
Church was held outside on Sunday morning and luckily it was not raining, although it was chilly, overcast and windy. I dressed appropriately and I enjoyed it. We started a new sermon series on Paul’s letter to Titus, having finished the gospel of Mark, and our new young (29 years old) lead pastor gave a good sermon. He does not cut and paste from the internet, but gives a good exegesis of the text, in this case Titus 1:1-4. Stonewall Jackson would have approved–it was all about the doctrine of election.
Meanwhile Anne “enjoyed the astonishing delight of getting to see my name in Not the Bee underneath the Andrew Walker tweet that went viral.” Take heart, not all the news is terrible. As the Bee says:
We’re here, and we’re fine.
Growing up Baptist and going to VBS didn’t hurt anyone.
There’s no book because this is how normal, well-adjusted, salt-of-the-earth Christian men and women are raised. Nothing is extraordinary about this story. And that’s the point – God uses the weak and mundane and insignificant things in the world’s eyes to shame the things that the world considers #StunningAndBrave.
Amen, brother.
The young bud played in his first lacrosse game and was, by all accounts, a scrappy competitor.
*And here’s a blast from the past which has new meaning for us since Decatur is just up the road now from daughter # 2 et famille.
I am told it is Katie’s favorite song right now and she always sings along to the line, “Sangamon river it overflowed.”
Well, as my mother mentioned, today was Opening Day for baseball season in St. Louis. Which for those of us dum dums who work downtown meant listening to a live band play on Kiener Plaza for like four straight hours while approximately 200 people meandered around doing who knows what. It was a stressful day at work full of meetings and the stress was only heightened by the sound of a distant rock band.
But props to the Cardinals for beating the 0-8 Marlins in the home opener. You go, Glen Coco.
Anyway, I don’t have much today–it’s the beginning of busy season at work and as the world continues falling apart, my anxious nature is only heightened.
And a cutie pie picture of Mr. Smith for good measure.
This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!
Baseball season has commenced and the home team is off to a ho hum start. Not that I really care, but caring about baseball is definitely a thing in our flyover city. Anyway, it is a good excuse to watch Major League (1989), a silly movie that I love.
As games go, baseball is the greatest. This is a thoughtful piece about just that. “Unlike other sports, baseball celebrates the human being over the ball, for in baseball, runs are never tallied by the location of the ball but only when the baserunner makes it home. Scoring does not come through conquest but at the end of a long treacherous journey back home.”
Love of baseball was something that my grandfather and I had in common. As a child, I would write him letters about the Cardinal exploits during the long, boring summers. He was a diehard Red Sox fan and, at the time (the sixties), I was a diehard Cardinal fan. Bunker had played ball growing up and he was on the University of Vermont team. He must have been pretty good as he was traveling with the team as a freshman.
He dropped out of college after his freshman year to scout out his prospects in different branches of the military during WWI. The war ended before he could sign up and he never returned to college. School and Bunker never clicked. As you recall, he was asked to leave several prep schools. I’m not sure he ever actually graduated from high school, but he made it to college anyway and got to play ball while he was there. He was a team player, a Scotsman and, therefore I suppose, clannish. Throughout his life he belonged to a veriety of men’s clubs–the Masons, the North Chester Club, various fishing groups.
Bunker is 2nd from the left.
And he continued to play competitive sports.
Well, I digress. One thought leads to another. And that reminds me, today is our pater’s birthday (1922). He and Bunker got along fine and respected each other although they were very different. They agreed about the basics and shared a gracious manner.
Rejoice in the day. Take a few moments to remember those who came before you.
“In my soul the afternoon grows wider and I reflect.”
My cousin Steve recently sent me a box of treasures–old newspaper clippings and photographs of our maternal grandparents. Among them were some pictures of their house and yard, which I remember fondly. They had a fish pond.
This made me think of the fish pond we had in the backyard of our house growing up. The yard had been professionally landscaped back in the 1920s or 30s, but by the 1960s when we moved in, it had seen better days. My mother discovered the pond, which had been filled in, and excavated it, bringing it back to life. It even had a working waterfall, but the unfiltered water killed the fish, so we never turned it on. I could not find a picture of the pond in my archive–only this artsy one of my reflection in it which graced my senior yearbook page. (Ye gods!)
My mother loved to sit in the sunroom and look out at the backyard and the fish pond. Sometimes a neighbor’s cat would come by and sit by the edge of the pond gazing down at the fish. If he got too close, she would bang on the window.
“Sometimes, in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in a revery, amidst the pines and hickories and sumachs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while the birds sing around or flitted noiseless through the house, until by the sun falling in at my west window, or the noise of some traveller’s wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time. I grew in those seasons like corn in the night, and they were far better than any work of the hands would have been. They were not time subtracted from my life, but so much over and above my usual allowance. I realized what the Orientals mean by contemplation and the forsaking of works. For the most part, I minded not how the hours went. The day advanced as if to light some work of mine; it was morning, and lo, now it is evening, and nothing memorable is accomplished.”
–Henry David Thoreau, Walden
You may have noted that daughter #2 has a fish pond in the backyard of her house.
Three generations of fish ponds! Interesting.
Look out the window. Have a contemplative day. Don’t feel guilty about it.
It’s April again! Woowee, I can hardly believe it. It came in like a lion–stormy!
I spent yesterday getting the house back in semi-order after our busy and fun-filled weekend. Laundry, dishes, toys.
Just the usual.
I had DVR’d Godspell (1973) when it was on TCM on Easter and I watched about 20 minutes of it. It is of an era, for sure, but it is pretty unwatchable I’m afraid.
Is that Grant’s Tomb?
I remember in high school the choir from another school came and sang selections of it in chapel and I thought hearing the words to old Anglican hymns sung to sultry tunes was pretty cool. (Turn back, oh man! Forswear thy foolish ways!) The whole thing is really kind of high school quality though. Seriously I wish they had done it at KHS–the boy would have been great in it! I loved the cast album and listened to it a lot in college, but I don’t think I ever saw the whole play performed. Day By Day was a big hit. I had forgotten that DC Talk covered it in 1995.
Now you gotta love that.
It is also interesting to note that in the movie, which takes place in Manhattan, the city looks terrible–dirty, run-down. Central Park is a mess. Thankfully the park was renovated in the following decades. We are so used to seeing NYC photographed to look good, but not so in this movie. The production values are generally very low.
As is often the case, things you thought were great as a teenager do not hit you the same way years later. Thank goodness, right?
And I really liked this about a man who died in the pulpit.
How was your Easter weekend? We had our whole family together so it was joyous, if not sometimes a bit overwhelming. I mean seven adults, four children under seven, and a small dog. I am very grateful.
On Saturday daughter #2 and famille arrived and we hung out with daughter #1 and Mr. Smith.
On Easter we all met at church. Lottie and the bud set an excellent example of non-depraved behavior for Katie and Ida in their first visit to church. On their way out of town, daughter #2 texted me Katie’s comment about church:
The reading of the Scriptures with godly fear, (Act 15:21; Rev 1:3); the sound preaching, (2Ti 4:2); and conscionable hearing of the Word, in obedience unto God, with understanding, faith, and reverence, (Jam 1:22; Act 10:33; Mat 13:19; Hbr 4:2; Isa 66:2); singing of psalms with grace in the heart, (Col 3:16; Eph 5:19; Jam 5:13); as also, the due administration and worthy receiving of the sacraments instituted by Christ, are all parts of the ordinary religious worship of God, (Mat 28:19; 1Co 11:23-29; Act 2:42):
–The Westminster Confession of Faith, Chapter XXI. 0f religious worship, and the sabbath day
She’s got it, man.
We all reconvened back at our house for pork tenderloin, Presbyterian souffle, salad, and crescent rolls. I prepared them ahead of time and daughter #1, who went to the early service at her church, came over and put everything in the oven, so it was ready when we came home. Teamwork.
No fuss, not much muss. If a menu works, I stick to it.
And, of course, we had an Easter egg hunt.
I washed dishes after everyone went home. And I felt like Ida who practically fell asleep going down the driveway.
Happy Monday! Happy April!
And looking up, they saw that the stone had been rolled back—it was very large. 5 And entering the tomb, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, dressed in a white robe, and they were alarmed. 6 And he said to them, “Do not be alarmed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen; he is not here. See the place where they laid him. 7 But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going before you to Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.”
Christmas has a large and colorful cast of characters including not only the three principals themselves, but the angel Gabriel, the innkeeper, the shepherds, the heavenly host, the three Wise Men, Herod, the star of Bethlehem, and even the animals kneeling in the straw. In one form or another we have seen them represented so often that we would recognize them anywhere. We know about the birth in all its detail as well as we know about the births of ourselves or our children, maybe more so. The manger is as familiar as home. We have made a major production of it, and as minor attractions we have added the carols, the tree, the presents, the cards. Santa Claus, Ebenezer Scrooge, and so on. With Easter it is entirely different.
The Gospels are far from clear as to just what happened. It began in the dark. The stone had been rolled aside. Matthew alone speaks of an earthquake. In the tomb there were two white-clad figures or possibly just one. Mary Magdalen seems to have gotten there before anybody else. There was a man she thought at first was the gardener. Perhaps Mary the mother of James was with her and another woman named Joanna. One account says Peter came too with one of the other disciples. Elsewhere the suggestion is that there were only the women and that the disciples, who were somewhere else, didn’t believe the women’s story when they heard it. There was the sound of people running, of voices. Matthew speaks of “fear and great joy.” Confusion was everywhere. There is no agreement even as to the role of Jesus himself. Did he appear at the tomb or only later? Where? To whom did he appear? What did he say? What did he do?
It is not a major production at all, and the minor attractions we have created around it — the bunnies and baskets and bonnets, the dyed eggs — have so little to do with what it’s all about that they neither add much nor subtract much. It’s not really even much of a story when you come right down to it, and that is of course the power of it. It doesn’t have the ring of great drama. It has the ring of truth. I f the Gospel writers had wanted to tell it in a way to convince the world that Jesus indeed rose from the dead, they would presumably have done it with all the skill and fanfare they could muster. Here there is no skill, no fanfare. They seem to be telling it simply the way it was. The narrative is as fragmented, shadowy, incomplete as life itself. When it comes to just what happened, there can be no certainty. That something unimaginable happened, there can be no doubt.
The symbol of Easter is the empty tomb. You can’t depict or domesticate emptiness. You can’t make it into pageants and string it with lights. It doesn’t move people to give presents to each other or sing old songs. It ebbs and flows all around us, the Eastertide. Even the great choruses of Handel’s Messiah sound a little like a handful of crickets chirping under the moon.
He rose. A few saw him briefly and talked to him. If it is true, there is nothing left to say. If it is not true, there is nothing left to say. For believers and unbelievers both, life has never been the same again. For some, neither has death. What is left now is the emptiness. There are those who, like Magdalen, will never stop searching it till they find his face.
~Frederick Buechner, originally published in Whistling in the Dark
Hallelujah! Sure, we’ll get dressed up and go to church and cook a big brunch and set the table with the good china. But let’s just take a moment, shall we?
And this is interesting–C.S. Lewis admired this play by Dorothy Sayers so much that he re-read it every year during Holy Week. (He re-read things too.) I have never read it, but I think I will.
God was executed by people painfully like us, in a society very similar to our own…by a corrupt church, a timid politician, and a fickle proletariat led by professional agitators.
–Dorothy Sayers
Happy Easter. Christ is risen indeed.
(The painting is The Disciples Peter and John Running to the Sepulchre on the Morning of the Resurrection by the Swiss artist Eugène Burnand, 1898.)
dual personalities 