Can you believe this is the last day of April? Me neither. We had a drought–now we have flooding! A lot of rain over the weekend and Sunday night. Hoo-boy!
Well, today we remember Richard McClure Scarry (1919-1994) who died on this day thirty years ago. His books are just the best–he actually has a series of Best Ever books–I mean, don’t we all wish we could live in Busytown?
Scarry published his first book in 1949. Over his lifetime he published 300 more and had total sales of over 100 million worldwide. Three generations of my family have really loved these books. (I still do!)
The young bud plays with lots of toys when he visits our house, but he almost always ends up in Busytown.
Who do you relate to best?
Personally I always picture myself as Dingo Dog when I drive around town in my Mini Coop…
So a toast to Richard Scarry and all the inhabitants of Busytown! And brush your teeth!
I received some good books for my birthday–I mean does my family know me or what?
I got some other nice things as well, including archival boxes to aid me in my quest to be organized. However, the twins quickly became bored with my presents as I opened my pile of goodies and returned to playing with Mr. Smith. But I will have no excuse for being bored for some time.
Just a reminder that yesterday was the 62nd Anniversary of the release of The Man Who Shot LibertyValance (1962).
In its review, The New York Times heralded Duke as a paragon of the Western genre, writing, “Mr. Wayne again proves, if it is necessary at this late date, that he can sit a horse well, shoot from the hip and throw a haymaker with the best of them.” Well, he could do a lot more than that and he did in this great film, which is a lot more than your everyday, run-of-the-mill western. But you know that. Anyway, if you are looking for something good to watch, I suggest Liberty Valance.
Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things. The things which you learned and received and heard and saw in me, these do, and the God of peace will be with you.
It has been a very windy winter and now it is a very windy spring. And by that, I mean very windy. I am tired of the wind rattling around the corners of my house. And there is not enough hairspray in the world to handle some very bad hair days. I so relate to Peppermint Patty:
Heavy sigh.
Currently I am reading several books.
A few weeks ago when I posted about the movie Our Town (1944), I ordered a used copy of the biography of Thornton Wilder by Penelope Niven published in 2012. She wrote it over a ten-year period and used thousands of his papers housed at Yale which had previously been unavailable. It is, as the New York Times’ review wrote, “deeply researched and fluidly written”. But that seems mild praise for a really good biography. The author understands context and does not judge Wilder from a 21st century elitist viewpoint. She is not on a mission to prove either his gayness or his cisgender identity or to bash him for being a white male. I am enjoying it a lot.
Ask Pastor John, which I mentioned a few weeks ago, summarizes and organizes ten years of the most insightful episodes of John Piper’s popular podcasts. It includes 750 Bible Answers to life’s big questions–seriously, if you have a question, Pastor John attempts to answer it.
Get honest with your motives and plead for help. Determining why we choose what we do is ‘a huge burden.’ Our culture’s media warp us, our sinful hearts shroud our true motives, and we are ‘prone to come up with a theology and an ethical framework that justifies our desires.’
The green book is Volume I in the “The R.C. Sproul Signature Classics” collection which The OM gave me for Christmas a few years ago. It includes The Holiness of God and Chosen by God. It is eminently readable.
Well, you know, it is good to have options when you wake up in the middle of the night and the wind is threatening to blow your house down and you cannot fall back to sleep.
Anne has this to say about an encounter in Marshalls with a Satanist. ““Christians,” she explains, “are quite literally… the most hateful people I have ever encountered in my life.” Not to be pedantic, but this can’t be true because she is a Satan-worshiper, and Satan quite literally is the most hateful being ever to exist. You can’t get more hateful than the Devil. But I can understand why she would feel this way. Discovering you are wrong and are committed to the wrong people and ideas is painful. So painful that each of us resist it to the outermost parts of the sea. But even there the Lord can go and snatch a creature out of the clutches of Satan. This is technically the most loving thing that can ever happen to anyone, even though it might be unpleasant in the moment. But how comfortable is it to get your cheeks pierced and your neck tattooed? I feel like having to chat with a Christian in the beauty section of Marshalls wouldn’t even barely compete.”
*This is a wonderful reflection on the way we name collectives, whether of birds or people. “Or if you’re in a metaphysical mood, what about an omniscience of godwits, a contradiction of sandpipers, or my personal favorite — an invisibleness of ptarmigans? This is the sound of one hand clapping.”
In my daily Bible reading I am currently reading Deuteronomy. Moses really has his hands full with those stiff-necked Jews.
And if you forget the Lord your God and go after other gods and serve them and worship them, I solemnly warn you today that you shall surely perish.
–Deuteronomy 8:19
Of course, nothing has changed since then and we are worse than ever. Remember what Calvin said about the human heart being a factory of idols. He had read Deuteronomy!
In other news, today we celebrate the birthday of American illustrator and author Howard Pyle (1853-1911). Pyle was widely respected during his life and continues to be well regarded by illustrators and fine artists. His contemporary Vincent Van Gogh wrote in a letter to his brother Theo that Pyle’s work “struck me dumb with admiration.” I had a copy of Otto of the Silver Hand as a child, which deeply effected me. Looking at his art makes me want to watch Captain Blood (1936)–clearly the art director of this film was a fan of Howard Pyle.
Sixty-seven years later Hollywood still looked to Pyle for inspiration…
Today is also the anniversary of the day the great actor William Powell died in 1984. He was in a lot of really good movies throughout his long career, most notably The Thin Man (1934) et al, My Man Godfrey (1936), Life With Father (1947), and Mister Roberts (1961). I recommend watching any of these. Pour yourself a highball first.
This is a good example of sports testimony. “So yes, a missed pop fly did lead to grace — revealed in the instincts of a loving father, the kindness and generosity of a doctor, and a gift that kindled a lifetime of enriching interests. Sometimes the things we fear the most do happen. But that is not the end; there is One who is more. In those panic-stricken and dark moments, grace mysteriously goes to work.”
And speaking of baseball, can you even believe the uniform debacle in the MLB? See-through pants? Mis-matched uniforms? Stupid Nike.
And did you hear that the “British Board of Film Classification has decided to raise the rating on Mary Poppins from U (for Universal) to PG because of racial slurs. At two points in the film the neighbor of the Banks family, Admiral Boom, uses the term “Hottentots,” which some people now consider a derogatory name for one of the indigenous peoples of South Africa. The film has also been criticized for blackface because of the scene in which sooty chimney sweeps dance over rooftops.” (World News Group) The world is a clown show.
Yesterday morning I had to get up and at ’em early to go to the Mini dealer for maintenance on the old Coop. Always a fun prospect, but even more fun when it is -5 degrees. They are so high tech now–they send you a video on your phone while you are waiting to let you know what’s going on.
Also, they have good coffee and Clif Bars in the waiting room.
After I got home I finished reading If You Can Keep It by Eric Metaxas so I could go to the women’s book club at church last night.
I do not attend book clubs as a rule, because I am too critical and usually hate the book that has been chosen. But since it was a non-fiction book, I felt that I could handle it. As the back cover says, “In 1787, when the Constitution was drafted, a woman asked Ben Franklin what the founders had given the American people. ‘A republic,’ he shot back, ‘if you can keep it.’ More than two centuries later, Metaxas examines what that means and how we are doing on that score.” The author believes that we need to rekindle the love for our country that we Americans use to have and I quite agree. I liked the book.
“It is the real stories of heroes like Washington and Nathan Hale and others that help us to properly feel the power of the ideas behind them. We must feel the horror of tyranny and must love the noble idea of liberty. We must love America. We cannot reduce things to the intellectual. In the end we must feel those ideas and see them embodied in heroes and stories. By deciding that every potential hero is too flawed to celebrate and venerate, or that such stories are somehow corny, we have done a grave disservice to several generations and to the country.”
Anyway, I managed to drive there and back in the windy snow, so yay me. And thank you, Jesus.
And here’s a good reminder to be thankful for all the blessings we enjoy:
I thank Thee for the temporal blessings of this world—the refreshing air, the light of the sun, the food that renews strength, the raiment that clothes, the dwelling that shelters, the sleep that gives rest, the starry canopy of night, the summer breeze, the flowers’ sweetness, the music of flowing streams, the happy endearments of family, kindred, friends. Things animate, things inanimate, minister to my comfort. My cup runs over.
Suffer me not to be insensible to these daily mercies. Thy hand bestows blessings: Thy power averts evil. I bring my tribute of thanks for spiritual graces, the full warmth of faith, the cheering presence of Thy Spirit, the strength of Thy restraining will, Thy spiking of hell’s artillery.
A few weeks ago, after I watched the movie 42 (2013), I started reading up a bit about Jackie Robinson and I came across the book The Boys of Summer by Roger Kahn.
It was a bestseller when it was published in 1971. I bought a used copy online and started reading. It is really good! I was a big fan in the mid-sixties when I was a little girl, and although I am not a big baseball fan anymore, I have always contended that it is the best sport. This is because everyone, from little children to old ladies, can understand it. It is not an overly violent game and finesse wins over brute force. Indeed, it is a majestic and heroic game where one man stands up alone against nine players of the other team–sometimes in front of thousands of people.
You may recall that the famous 20th century poet Marianne Moore was a huge fan of the Brooklyn Dodgers and wrote poems about them.
Anyway, Roger Kahn grew up in Brooklyn, a hop, skip and a jump from Ebbets Field where the Dodgers played. He lived and breathed the game. After college he went to work as a night copyboy at the New York Herald Tribune. His descriptions of growing up and of being a fledgling newspaper writer are funny, moving and detailed. I am really enjoying it.
As you know, our grandfather, ANC Jr., was a newspaperman who worked on the New York Times as well as the Herald Tribune, so this is especially interesting as a window into mid century journalism, which bears absolutely no similarity to today’s digital scribbling. These writers worked hard and took pride in their work. They were good writers.
So if you are so inclined, I highly recommend The Boys of Summer.
I should mention that Brooks Robinson, the Hall of Famer who played all 23 years of his professional baseball career with the Baltimore Orioles, died last week. He was my favorite non-Cardinal back in the day. He had class. Also Adam Wainwright retired last weekend after quite a career in St. Louis. He has class too. (And look at that wingspan.)
Unlike most, a ball player must confront two deaths. First, between the ages of thirty and forty he perishes as an athlete. Although he looks trim and feels vigorous and retains unusual coordination, the superlative reflexes, the major league reflexes, pass on. At a point when many of his classmates are newly confident and rising in other fields, he finds that he can no longer hit a very good fast ball or reach a grounder four strides to his right. At thirty-five he is is experiencing the truth of finality. As his major league career is ending, all things will end. However he sprang, he was always earthbound. Mortality embraces him. The golden age has passed in a moment. So will all things. So will all moments.
(Roger Kahn, The Boys of Summer)
In other news, bears are causing problems in of all places Japan! Indeed, the Japanese have deployed giant robot wolves to intimidate marauding bears. This is not science fiction.
Today we remember the great Herman Melville (1819-91) who died on this day. We recommend reading some Moby-Dick–just open the book and start reading. You can’t go wrong.
“It was a black and hooded head; and hanging there in the midst of so intense a calm, it seemed the Sphynx’s in the desert. “Speak, thou vast and venerable head,” muttered Ahab, “which, though ungarnished with a beard, yet here and there lookest hoary with mosses; speak, mighty head, and tell us the secret thing that is in thee. Of all divers, thou hast dived the deepest. That head upon which the upper sun now gleams, has moved amid this world’s foundations. Where unrecorded names and navies rust, and untold hopes and anchors rot; where in her murderous hold this frigate earth is ballasted with bones of millions of the drowned; there, in that awful water-land, there was thy most familiar home. Thou hast been where bell or diver never went; hast slept by many a sailor’s side, where sleepless mothers would give their lives to lay them down. Thou saw’st the locked lovers when leaping from their flaming ship; heart to heart they sank beneath the exulting wave; true to each other, when heaven seemed false to them. Thou saw’st the murdered mate when tossed by pirates from the midnight deck; for hours he fell into the deeper midnight of the insatiate maw; and his murderers still sailed on unharmed- while swift lightnings shivered the neighboring ship that would have borne a righteous husband to outstretched, longing arms. O head! thou has seen enough to split the planets and make an infidel of Abraham, and not one syllable is thine!” (p.339)
It might also be time to watch Moby-Dick (1956) starring Gregory Peck as Ahab, since I forgot to watch it on August 1, Melville’s birthday.
A few weeks ago I watched 10 minutes of the William Hurt/Ethan Hawke version but baled because it had already veered from the book. Sorry, not going to waste my time.
Speaking of tyrants, this is a good reminder of when it is necessary to obey God (and defy tyrants).
And while we’re on the subject of the ocean, researchers have completed in-depth underwater archaeological surveys of some of the wreckage from the Battle of Midway in 1942. The wrecks are located more than 16,000 feet below the surface. Learn more here.
By the way, I’m not the only one defending Puritans. This author also accuses critics of “a stunning ignorance of their theology.”
Last night I watched the Amor Towles “Library Talk” sponsored by the Library Speakers Consortium. It was very interesting, as you can imagine. He has a new book coming out next year–huzzah! Here is a list of upcoming LSC events. And here is a picture of Mr. Smith watching Amor Towles:
As usual I am reading a lot of different things. I have a new book We Believe, which includes all the reformed creeds, catechisms, and confessions of faith.
Woohoo–it’s all here–even the Thirty-Nine Articles of the Anglican Church which they now view as a quaint, antique document to ignore.
I am also doing the reading for my Bible Study group. The homework takes up a lot of time!
Also, Craig Johnson’s latest Longmire book was released last week, so I have been reading The Longmire Defense. After last year’s not-so-great entry in the Walt Longmire oeuvre, Johnson has thankfully gone back to his tried-and-true formula and this one is a winner (so far anyway).
Now that I have gotten through my deluge of doctor appointments which comes every six months, it’s time to start working on the next edition of the Kirkwood Historical Review.
And did I mention that we’re dog-sittin’ with Mr. Smith while daughter #1 travels for work? Well, yes we are.
If you recall, I bought an antique glass-front bookcase at auction a couple of weeks ago. The boy brought it home for me and it fit perfectly in the den/tv room where the desk used to be that daughter #1 now has in her house. However, the shelves were stacked at the bottom of the case and it appeared to us that there were none of those clips you put in the holes to support the shelves.
Curses. We measured the holes and I sent away for a set. They were too big, so I sent away for the next smaller size. They were too small. Unbeknownst to me, the OM also sent away for them, so we had four sets that didn’t fit. Then he sent away for three more, which didn’t fit, so we had seven (!) sets and nothing fit.
Seriously. 🤡
Finally we took the shelves out to see if we could hammer the bigger clips in and, lo and behold, underneath them there was a little plastic bag with metal thingamabobs that fit. Huzzah!
There is a lesson here, but I am too irritated to think about it.
And too grateful that I finally have my bookcase, filled now with books.
P.S. Let me know if you need any of those shelf supports–I have seven sets–all sizes!
How was your weekend? Hope you managed to keep cool. We had more storms and this time the electricity at our house went out for an hour and a half! I was just packing a bag to go to daughter #1’s house, when it came back on. Such drama–these days we are lost without our precious electricity.
Poor daughter #2 and famille had their air conditioning go out on Saturday and had to wait all day to get it fixed. I am sympathetic, but back in my day, we didn’t have central air conditioning at all and we had to wait all summer for relief. We are very spoiled now, that’s for sure. We would go to the movies to sit for a few hours in the AC. Grocery shopping was also a diversion!
Anyway, c’est la vie. Saturday morning I went to a flower arranging workshop at church led by the floral director at Schnucks Markets. I learned a lot!
I like the fact that the flowers at our church are always done by volunteers. There is no “the flowers are given (i.e. paid for) to the glory of God and in thanksgiving for/in memory of by so-and-so” announcement in the bulletin. It is just an anonymous gift. But we in the flower guild do our best (for the glory of God) and every week the arrangements are very different.
After church on Sunday there was a reception for a lady who is retiring after working there for 24 years–one of those unsung women who make everything run smoothly in the office and, if they are lucky, are appreciated for being “hard-working” and “organized”. Lois was also lauded for her sincere faith. Well, “Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men” (Colossians 3:23).
I watched a really good movie–Intruder in the Dust (1949) based on William Faulkner’s novel, which is basically a mystery story set in the deep South. It is the story of Lucas Beauchamp, an independent, land-owning black man, who is unjustly accused of the murder of a white man, Vinson Gowrie. Through the help of two teenage boys, the town lawyer and an elderly white lady, who figure out who the real murderer is, he is able to prove his innocence.
I had not seen this movie in many years. It held up. Shot entirely on location in Oxford, Mississippi, it has an air of authenticity that the backlot never would have achieved. The actors are all solid. The screenplay by Ben Maddow sticks to Faulkner’s book. The Director Clarence Brown, who grew up in Knoxville, Tennessee and apparently knew something about the South, was not even nominated for an Oscar for this movie, but he won the British Academy Film Award for it. (Brown holds the record for the most Academy Award for direction nominations–6–without a win.)
Not surprisingly, the film failed at the box office, not even earning back its negative costs according to studio records. There is, after all, no romance in this movie; there are no pretty girls. There is no real action to speak of–only the threat of action (a lynching). There are tense moments, to be sure, for our heroes as they ride around at night and dig up a dead body and, when they get the sheriff on board with their plan, dig the body up again. But American audiences were not interested.
It is said, however, that William Faulkner himself was pleased with the film and Ralph Ellison wrote that of the whole cycle of race-based movies released in 1949, Intruder in the Dust was “the only film that could be shown in Harlem without arousing unintended laughter, for it is the only one of the four in which Negroes can make complete identification with their screen image.”
Check it out. It’s worth a viewing. Then read the book!
“Some things you must always be unable to bear. Some things you must never stop refusing to bear. Injustice and outrage and dishonor and shame. No matter how young you are or how old you have got. Not for kudos and not for cash: your picture in the paper nor money in the bank either. Just refuse to bear them.”
dual personalities 