I do not like surprises. And I had one this week that threw me into a minor tizzy. It had to do with my old job and something the university wanted me to do, which ultimately I had to say no to. I am retired, so I am sticking with my life of not caring about meaningful and measurable outcomes for all of our endeavors.
In other news, I recently watched Cry Macho (2021) because, as you recall, it received quite a lot of buzz when it came out last year and I was curious to see Clint Eastwood at age ninety-two. Unfortunately, it is a pretty thin story to begin with and Clint is thirty years too old for the part. Additionally, it was really kind of disturbing to watch.
When he made Gran Torino back in 2008, he was a mere 78 and still a badass. Now he is truly a doddering old man in ill-fitting jeans who looks like a child could push him over. Watching him get in and out of a truck or car is painful. He could barely rasp out his lines. Good grief.
C’est la vie. I think of Cary Grant who made his last movie at age 61, because he wanted to go out on top still looking fit as a fiddle and ready for love. I commend him. You had an exceptionally long and great run, Clint, but enough already. That goes for all you octogenarians in Washington too.
Today is the 248th anniversary of the Boston Tea Party. You remember–when members of the Sons of Liberty dressed up like Mohawk Indians and dumped hundreds of crates of tea into Boston harbor as a protest against the Tea Act. A toast to these domestic terrorists of yore!
It is also the 210th anniversary of the first two in a series of four severe earthquakes which occurred in the vicinity of New Madrid, Missouri. The New Madrid zone experienced four of the largest North American earthquakes in recorded history, with moment magnitudes estimated to be as large as 7.0 or greater, all occurring within a 3-month period between December 1811 and February 1812. At New Madrid, trees were knocked down and riverbanks collapsed. This event shook windows and furniture in Washington, DC, rang bells in Richmond, Virginia, sloshed well water and shook houses in Charleston, South Carolina, and knocked plaster off of houses in Columbia, South Carolina. In Jefferson, Indiana, furniture moved, and in Lebanon, Ohio, residents fled their homes. There was renewed concern in the 1990s of imminent earthquake activity and I remember putting away my antique china for fear it might be broken. We may have had some water in reserve in the basement too as a precaution…but nothing happened and I don’t worry about such things anymore.
Today is also the birthday of George Santayana (1863-1952), philosopher, essayist, novelist, poet, and legendary Harvard professor. Here is one of his poems, A Toast, in keeping with the situation:
See this bowl of purple wine,
Life-blood of the lusty vine!
All the warmth of summer suns
In the vintage liquid runs,
All the glow of winter nights
Plays about its jewel lights,
Thoughts of time when love was young
Lurk its ruby drops among,
And its deepest depths are dyed
With delight of friendship tried.
Worthy offering, I ween,
For a god or for a queen,
Is the draught I pour to thee,–
Comfort of all misery,
Single friend of the forlorn,
Haven of all beings born,
Hope when trouble wakes at night,
And when naught delights, delight.
Holy Death, I drink to thee;
Do not part my friends and me.
Take this gift, which for a night
Puts dull leaden care to flight,
Thou who takest grief away
For a night and for a day.
I will be toasting my dual personality on Saturday, because it is her birthday.
Here is a snapshot of the siblings a week after her 2nd birthday on Christmas morning. Our brother is 9, she is 2 and I am 4 1/2. I loved the dress I was wearing. Another girl in my class had it and I felt very cool. In fact, there might have been three of us in my small junior kindergarten class with that dress. It was red. The things that stay in your mind!
Anyway, here’s to my lovely and much-loved sister on her birthday.
(Long distance toasting!)
Now it’s time for tree-trimming…
The painting at the top is by Ernest Lawson (1873 – 1939) who studied at the Art Students League, New York, with J. Alden Weir and John Twachtman, and later in Paris at the Académie Julien. Upon his return to the United States he produced his famous impressionistic urban landscapes that linked him to the Ashcan school.
In yesterday’s blog post I described a fun overnight visit to my daughter in Jefferson City. I was thinking more about it and it occurred to me that there was nothing particularly “Instagrammable” or blog-worthy about it. It was very ordinary indeed. But isn’t it in the ordinary that we see the beauty and blessings of God’s world?
Sure, it would have been great to eat dinner at the Gasparilla Inn in Boca Grande or sit on a patio overlooking Lake Como sipping a cocktail. But for me, eating lunch at the Grand on High Street in our state capitol is really just as pleasant. Driving around that small midwestern town and seeing the park and the local university was just as fun as sightseeing in Washington D.C. My point being that wherever you are, there you are, and your glass is either half full or half empty.
My glass is half full. I wake up every morning and thank God that His mercies are new every morning. (Some days it takes me a moment or two to remember what day it is or what month, but I get there eventually.) And there is usually a pot of coffee going that the OM made before I got up. And I know that nothing extraordinary will happen to me today–at least I hope not–but the memory of holding my grandchildren’s tiny hands as we crossed the church parking lot on Sunday will keep me going all week.
Well, I am going to tidy up and get ready for a houseful of family at Thanksgiving. I am thankful for a sweet son-in-law who is driving his family 700 miles to be here. I am thankful for a sweet daughter-in-law who is making special matching holiday pajamas for the cousins–a family tradition on her side of the family. We’ll have cheesy potato casserole and green beans and crescent rolls and Dierberg’s will prepare the turkey breast. And even if there is no canned jellied cranberry this year because of the sorry state of commerce in our country (I noted the absence of this staple today at Dierberg’s), we’ll survive. If the whole meal implodes, we’ll be fine. Because it’s not just about the yummy food and the perfect table settings. We have plenty to be thankful for.
Yes, it is November and we like to count our blessings extra hard in the run-up to Thanksgiving. I encourage you to do this as well. But keep in mind that being grateful means little if you do not know and acknowledge to whom you are grateful. So praise God from whom all blessings flow/Praise Him, all creatures here below/Praise Him above, ye heavenly host/Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
And take note of all the miracles in your life!
Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water, Or stand under trees in the woods, Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at table at dinner with the rest, Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car, Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon, Or animals feeding in the fields, Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air, Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright, Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring; These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles, The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle, The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the ships with men in them, What stranger miracles are there?
We know it is November because the Christmas Cactus is throwing out buds like crazy! So excitiing!
In other news, I was talking to the boy one day last week and we were discussing my blogpost about my Top 10 favorite/best films. He asked me why I hadn’t included To Kill a Mockingbird (1962) and I said, Oh my gosh, because I forgot it! It definitely belongs in the Top 10, maybe Top 5.
So I’ll have to revise my Top 10 and move To Have and Have Not down to 11-15. Sheesh. I am getting old. He also questioned my exclusion of The Professionals (1967) and I said it would definitely be in the top 20 list. So I guess I will start working on a Top 11-20 list. We are such nerds. But I am thankful that I have a son with whom I can discuss movies.
Since it is Veterans Day, which we should all acknowledge, I propose to watch one of my favorite war movies. I looked up on the AFI website to see if they had a top 100 war movies list, but they do not. In fact, there are only six war movies in their top 100 list! Of course, only one of them is a favorite of mine: #37 The Best Years of Their Lives (1946).
The other five are: #52 From Here to Eternity (1953); #54 All Quiet on the Western Front (1930); $79 The Deer Hunter (1978); #83 Platoon (1986); #89 Patton (1970). Not terrible movies, but not favorites of mine.
No, I would suggest watching one of these WWII movies in memory of WWII Guy: They Were Expendable (1945); 12 O’Clock High (1949); Air Force (1943); or The Great Escape (1962).
If you’re not in the mood for WWII, I suggest: Drums Along the Mohawk (1939); SheWore a Yellow Ribbon (1949); The Horse Soldiers (1959); The Sand Pebbles (1966); or Glory (1989).
I ain’t much about no prayin’, now. I ain’t never had no family, and… Well, I just… Y’all’s the onliest family I got. I love the 54th. Ain’t even much a matter what happens tomorrow, ’cause we men, ain’t we?
Today the Lutheran Church celebrates the feast day of Soren Kierkegaard, the Danish writer, philosopher and theologian, who died on this day in 1855. That is interesting considering Kierkegaard was extremely critical of the practice of Christianity as a state religion, particularly the Church of Denmark. But I’m okay with old Soren, so let us pray one of his prayers:
O Lord, calm the waves of this heart; and calm its tempests. Calm yourself, O my soul, so that the divine can act in you. Calm yourself, O my soul, so that God is able to repose in you, so that his peace may cover you. Yes, Father in Heaven, often have I found that the world around me cannot give me peace, O but make me feel that you are able to give me peace. Let me know the truth of your promise, that the whole world may not take away your peace. Amen.
Well, here we are in November and the end of the year approaches. Yikes. Thanksgiving is in three weeks! Advent starts on November 28!
However, Advent is not a Presbyterian tradition, and our senior pastor reminded us last Sunday that the Semper Reformanda (always Reforming) does not mean that we’re always adding to the Reformation, or modifying it to fit the world’s trends. No, it means the exact opposite, a return to Reformed confessional standards. So I don’t think Advent will be a thing at our new church.
I am okay with that. Advent has gone commercial anyway–anything to make a buck.
Happy November movie viewing on TCM–check out Laura’s detailed rundown of what’s showing. Sydney Greenstreet is the Star of the Month. I watched The Maltese Falcon (1941) last night for the first time in a very long time, and Sydney was truly one-of-a-kind. They knew about character actors back in the day.
I was happy to see the Atlanta Braves win the World’s Series, although I have pretty much opted out of MLB. But it did my heart good to hear shortstop Dansby Swanson give the glory to God: “God’s always got a plan and having faith in that plan will never fail you.” Amen.
Are we living in the last days? (You know you’ve asked yourself that question.) Here’s the answer:
But don’t allow yourself to get down in the dumps. Here is my favorite three-year old poetry aficionado reciting The Eagle: A Fragment by Aldred, Lord Tennyson. He makes me smile every time!
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
Wish me luck on Saturday when I am giving a talk on the Santa Fe Trail to a group of DAR ladies here in town. You can bet I will work in a way to mention ol’ John Simpson Hough. It should be fun, right?
Did you know that in 1961 Jorge Luis Borges, aging and mostly blind, began teaching at the University of Texas, Austin, and the state of Texas captured a special place in his heart, as reflected in his poem “Texas”?
Texas
Here too. Here, as on the other unfurling
Frontier of the continent, the great
Prairie where a solitary cry fades out;
Here too the lariat, the Indian, the yearling.
Here too the secretive and unseen bird
That over the clamorous strains of history
Sings for one evening and its memory;
Here too the mystic alphabet, the word
Of stars which dictate to my cursive flow
Names that the days on their labyrinthine way
Will leave behind them: San Jacinto, say,
Or that other Thermopylae, the Alamo.
Here too that unknown, brief,
Needy and fretful commotion, life.
–translated by Robert Mezey
Well, he did. The world is more than we know.
Daughter #2, along with my dear DP, will pick up the slack on the blog while we are out of town, so be sure to tune in for an update on Miss Katiebelle, fashion-setting trendsetter of the daycare set.
And pray for traveling mercies as we launch ourselves out into the unfurling Frontier of the continent.
We have had some great weather this week. Sunny, warm and breezy, with low humidity–just great and much appreciated.
Our house has been in total disarray because we had some built-ins installed in our den this week. We had to take apart the audio/visual system so the guys could do it (2 days) and now we have to put it all back. The boy is coming over this morning before work to assist the OM. So. Many. Wires. Remember back in the day when you just plugged in the old television set? Now there is so much more to deal with. Surround sound. Oy.
This is a really good article contrasting two people who died this week (John Shelby Spong and comedian Norm MacDonald) and their different takes on Christianity.
I watched a movie recently (on Amazon Prime) which I can recommend: Mr. Church (2016) starring Eddie Murphy and directed by Bruce Beresford. It’s kind of a tear-jerker, but I enjoyed it.
The really amazing thing about this movie is the fact that, even though it’s about a black man bringing up a white girl, there is no racial conflict in the story. Never once does a white person sneer, look down on or insult Mr. Church. This probably explains why the film didn’t get good reviews. But Eddie Murphy plays it straight and the cast is excellent. (BTW, the trailer includes spoilers.)
And here’s another really good song from Mac Powell’s upcoming album:
Can’t wait til it drops on October 15.
One more thing: I could watch this amazing 3-year old 100 times:
Just a reminder:
The angel fetched Peter out of prison, but it was prayer that fetched the angel.
I have been off the academic merry-go-round now for six or so weeks, we’ve thrown our big party and things are finally winding down around here.
This poem by the seventeenth poet Henry Vaughan (1621-95) seems appropriate to the mood.
Retirement
Fresh fields and woods! the Earth’s fair face,
God’s foot-stool, and man’s dwelling-place.
I ask not why the first Believer
Did love to be a country liver?
Who to secure pious content
Did pitch by groves and wells his tent;
Where he might view the boundless sky,
And all those glorious lights on high;
With flying meteors, mists and show’rs,
Subjected hills, trees, meads and flow’rs;
And ev’ry minute bless the King
And wise Creator of each thing.
I ask not why he did remove
To happy Mamre’s holy grove,
Leaving the cities of the plain
To Lot and his successless train?
All various lusts in cities still
Are found; they are the thrones of ill;
The dismal sinks, where blood is spill’d,
Cages with much uncleanness fill’d.
But rural shades are the sweet fense
Of piety and innocence.
They are the Meek’s calm region, where
Angels descend and rule the sphere,
Where heaven lies leiger, and the dove
Duly as dew, comes from above.
If Eden be on Earth at all,
‘Tis that, which we the country call.
*The painting is by John Constable. The cities of the plain are the five cities—Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah, Zeboiim, and Zoar—thought to be located near the southern end of the Dead Sea. The narrative of Genesis 14:1associates these five cities and locates them in the Valley of Siddim, the Dead Sea.
dual personalities 