Once again I was reminded that I am approaching 65 and that I don’t bounce back from things like medical procedures the way I used to. It took days to recover from having my port taken out! I spent most of Friday napping and the few errands that daughter #1 and I ran on Saturday wore me out. Just call me Oldie Hawn.
But we watched The Quiet Man (1952) on Saturday night (St. Patrick’s Day approaches) and I stayed awake through the whole wonderful thing.
The Quiet Man is another one of those movies we can recite practically in its entirety from memory (and with an Irish brogue) and to whose location we have made a pilgrimage. Monument Valley is next on the list of pilgrimages, but who knows when that will actually happen, what with the goal posts of COVID restrictions being constantly moved.
The wee babes did not come over as usual on Sunday night because their other grandmother has returned from Florida and her presence in town takes precedence over all. I do not begrudge her this, but it was still disappointing. The OM was all set to barbecue! C’est la vie. (See John Wayne’s face above.)
In order to get out of the resultant Slough of Despond, I did not watch a movie from my lenten list, but instead watched Uncle Buck (1989), a go-to anti-depressant for me.
I felt better (and thinner).
Now it is the beginning of a busy work week. Zoom meetings galore. Onward and upward.
*But having sailed some time ago into the quiet cardigan harbor of my life out of earshot of the siren songs that lure men onto reefs of foolishness not to mention the bridges of bravado, it’s enough to let the soap bubble of that Hank Mobley thought drift slowly across the living room and burst with no warning, much to the amazement of the cat.
Well, my big errand of the weekend was loading up the Cooper and driving to the recycling center to unload boxes. Quite satisfying, but not very exciting to say the least. My hands got very cold. The OM and I also moved the 1000 piece partially finished jigsaw puzzle, which daughter #1 and I had started last weekend, off the coffee table in the living room onto a salvaged wooden dresser top to get it out of the way in anticipation of the wee babes coming over on Sunday night. Oh, the exhausting issues of our bourgeoisie life.
The babes did come over and we had tacos and they played (mostly) happily while the grownups talked.
Today starts our last full week of winter term classes at my flyover institute. March–and spring–are just around the corner, right? In fact, when tromping through our snowy yard yesterday, I came upon these in the southside forsythia bed…
…daffodils coming up! Zut alors! I can’t believe it. Spring will come, no matter what we do. Best to enjoy each day (and its weather) as it comes. We will endeavor to do the best we can and no more. It may not be enough, but so be it.
Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun. By the bedside, on the stair, At the threshold, near the gates, With its menace or its prayer, Like a mendicant it waits; Waits, and will not go away; Waits, and will not be gainsaid; By the cares of yesterday Each to-day is heavier made; Till at length the burden seems Greater than our strength can bear, Heavy as the weight of dreams, Pressing on us everywhere. And we stand from day to day, Like the dwarfs of times gone by, Who, as Northern legends say, On their shoulders held the sky.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “Something Left Undone”
The photo at the top is from Pinterest. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.
This was the view out my “office” window yesterday.
And here’s the view out my front door. My work day was basically unchanged, because Zoom classes just carry on despite the weather. Zut alors! Quel monde!
I usually like to walk around in the snow, but when the high is 3 degrees, that’s too cold to mess around. I was happy to stay inside in my snug house and watch this:
I wanted the gold, and I sought it; I scrabbled and mucked like a slave. Was it famine or scurvy—I fought it; I hurled my youth into a grave. I wanted the gold, and I got it— Came out with a fortune last fall,— Yet somehow life’s not what I thought it, And somehow the gold isn’t all.
Daughter #1 sensibly took the train back to mid-MO, rather than drive. (I’m sure you’ll hear more about that adventure tomorrow.)
In the meantime I’ll bundle up and count my blessings and contemplate the coming Lenten season, which commences tomorrow. No pancakes though, as in yesteryears, in Albright Hall tonight. And that’s okay. I certainly won’t be giving anything up this year. If anything, I will take something on.
Give me a heart to believe, that I may obey you, for you have commanded it. Give me a heart to believe, that I may please you, for you have said that is what you desire. Give me a heart to believe, that I may honor you, for you have declared that this gives glory to you.
It is enough to be yours. Just give me a heart to believe, since without faith I can have no part in you.
We had a fun-filled weekend, despite the fact that temperatures never got above 8 degrees.
Thank goodness for a fire and a new puzzle to do!
Daughter #1 had planned on leaving bright and early on Sunday morning in order to get ahead of the snow headed our way, but the bad weather had already hit mid-MO, so she stayed in town and will head back as soon as the roads clear.
The wee babes came over on Saturday for our little Valentine party.
A couple of new books, some candy and a frolic in the Beanie Baby mosh pit are all it takes for sustained gaiety. Pizza from Deweys. Voila. We all loved our handmade gifts from the babes.
Baby Katie was sorry that she missed the fun…
…and we sure missed her, but we FaceTimed twice and exchanged our Valentines via mail.
We watched Bullitt (1968) which has become our Valentine tradish. We enjoyed it thoroughly.
And now it is a new week. Here’s a poem to start it off:
How many slams in an old screen door? Depends how loud you shut it. How many slices in a bread? Depends how thin you cut it. How much good inside a day? Depends how good you live ’em. How much love inside a friend? Depends how much you give ’em.
Today is Groundhog Day. But did you know that it is also Hedgehog Day? Me neither.
A hedgehogis any of the spiny mammals of the subfamily Erinaceinae. Their spiny protection resembles that of the unrelated porcupines, which are rodents. Hedgehogs are not rodents. Please.
Hans Hoffmann, c. 1584
The other night Lottie asked me what was my favorite animal and I said the hedgehog. The look of utter incredulity was classic Lottie.
I changed my answer to elephants. Much better answer, okay.
I’ll have to work on bringing Lottie over to my side.
In the meantime, I’ll toast the lowly hedgehog tonight.
I will also note that today is National Tater Tot Day. Who knew? Tater Tots were invented by the frozen food company Ore-Ida (“When it says Ore-Ida, they’re all-righta!”) In the U.S. we consume approximately 3.5 billion of these nuggets of potato goodness per year. Well, we served Tater Tots on Sunday. The wee babes were unimpressed–finding it hard to believe that they were “like French Fries.”
Hedgehogs and Tater Tots, oh my, and who cares? Maybe tonight I’ll watch Groundhog Day (1993), a movie I don’t think I’ve ever actually ever seen start to finish. It would be appropriate following a day that will no doubt be just like yesterday, a day filled with Zoom meetings and trips up and downstairs in my own house, sometimes punctuated by grumbling from the OM in his basement office. Has it really been 10 and 1/2 months since we left the house?
Here’s a sad poem by Philip Larkin called The Mower. It’s about a hedgehog, but really about us all.
The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found A hedgehog jammed up against the blades, Killed. It had been in the long grass.
I had seen it before, and even fed it, once. Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world Unmendably. Burial was no help:
Next morning I got up and it did not. The first day after a death, the new absence Is always the same; we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind While there is still time.
It snowed on Wednesday–not much–just enough to be pretty.
Look at that blue sky for a change! We haven’t seen much of that blue sky this winter.
This is good information for those of us who worry about such things.
Wednesday was the 100th birthday of Donna Reed. Iowa’s governor, Kim Reynolds, proclaimed it “Donna Reed Day“–wasn’t that nice? Indeed, it is surprising to note how many of my favorite movies featured her back in the day, notably They Were Expendable (1945).
Her big scene is so well done, so understated, but powerful. Note that she is wearing her U.S. Navy jumpsuit, but has put on pearls for this big “dinner party” on the temporary island base. She won an Academy Award for playing against type in From Here to Eternity (1953) and she deserved it, but no one was better at playing to type, the fresh-faced Iowa girl.
This article on “the standing orders of the gospel” (“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances”) is worth your time to read.
It is the will of God for us to rejoice always. But obedience to this command is not accomplished by an act of the will. It is only accomplished by faith in Christ. The believer’s unceasing rejoicing is the will of God for us “in Christ Jesus.” This is the key to the life of rejoicing. Unsaved people do not rejoice in God, pray to God, or give thanks to God. Religious people rejoice sometimes, pray when they feel like it, and give thanks when things are going well. But Christians rejoice always, pray without ceasing, and give thanks in all circumstances. This is not the believer’s response because we are impervious to life’s dangers, toils, and snares. It is our response to life because we are in Christ Jesus.
The term “obeisance” means to acknowledge another’s superiority or importance. I love the way it is used in this provocative article in the UK’s The Guardian. “Even with the smartphone’s on-purpose designed-in distraction notification architecture, our prostration at their non-human feet is the real issue. Our obeisance demotes the advanced human, and we pretend it doesn’t. We don’t take charge of our attention. Our little robots do. And we caress them.”
Of course, our obsession with our phone is not the problem; it is a manifestation of the deeper problem. Sin – or in current terms, self-interested distractibility – is our problem. Our attention and obeisance rightly belong to our Lord. Single-mindedly, St. Paul says, “For I resolved to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.” (1 Corinthians 2:2)
While we may worship our Lord each day and in all kinds of settings, our current inability to worship Him in church is what truly “demotes the advanced human.” Worship, especially corporate worship, is a reset – it pulls our bent down heads and fixated eyes from our phone (or you name it) up to gaze at the cross. We are brought out of ourselves to, ironically, be ourselves, for we were made by God and for God – to love, worship, and obey Him.
Help us, Lord!
Tonight we will toast our other ancestor with a January birthday, John Wesley Prowers, on his 182nd birthday. Born in Missouri in 1838, you will recall that he became a trader, cattle rancher, legislator, and businessman in the territory and state of Colorado.
Speaking of ancestors and descendants, I hope we get to see the wee babes this weekend…
…and talk to these twinsies…
Indeed, I plan to take it easy this weekend–it was a long, hard week!–I’ll toast J.W. Prowers, watch a Donna Reed movie, do some needlepoint, talk on the phone with my loved ones (and then put my phone down for the duration), and get out of the house to do something.
And rejoice!
*”The Village Blacksmith” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow–read the whole poem here.
Well, one thing I have tried to be mindful of is doing a little needlepoint every day. I have two large projects going and I am making progress. My Tudor Thistle is really coming along! It gives me at least the illusion of accomplishment.
I have always been fond of the lowly thistle. It is, after all, the floral emblem of Scotland. The thistle turns up in art from time to time…
Albrecht Durer, self-portrait, 1493
Van Gogh, Still Life with Thistles, 1890
Art Nouveau thistle tile, 1905
William Morris & Co., wallpaper
And here’s a poem: “The Thistle” by John Clare (1793-1864)…
I love the thistle with its ruddy flowers It cheers me on the waste in lonely hours It cheers me in lone sunshine out of doors When seeking solitude on rushy moores It cheers me resting on the way-side stones Where tears of morning glitter on the thorns I love the thistle ’tis an ill used flower And bees are singing round for many an hour.
I love the thistle and its prickles too Cobwebs are round it with a veil of dew I love the thistle where it bravely stands For rights of Liberty in many lands Simply defying every rogueish eye With ” wha dare meddle wi me” that passes bye My right is simple, blooming ‘mong the flowers That God’s hand scatters on this land of ours.
So I love the thistles spread round Scottish bowers Better than any other of the wildling flowers I love the warrior thistle where it stands Though often wounded in the legs and hands On Bannockburn its bloom undaunted stood Dy’d deeper in the streams of human blood.
James Faed, Jr. (Scottish, 1857-1920), Scottish Landscape (detail)
This might be helpful to you if you are feeling down.
Poetry helps.
The Want of Peace by Wendell Berry
All goes back to the earth, and so I do not desire pride of excess or power, but the contentments made by men who have had little: the fisherman’s silence receiving the river’s grace, the gardener’s musing on rows.
I lack the peace of simple things. I am never wholly in place. I find no peace or grace. We sell the world to buy fire, our way lighted by burning men, and that has bent my mind and made me think of darkness and wish for the dumb life of roots.
Here is Paul Zahl’s list of TCM movie picks for January. Since I don’t watch television except for old reruns of Adam-12, I am always looking for new (old) movies to watch and this list offers some good ideas as well as some classics to re-view.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)
Here’s hoping you all have a holly jolly Christmas…
Fashions by Lauren
..and that things don’t get too out of control.
But try to take a moment to remember why we celebrate…
Remembering that it happened once, We cannot turn away the thought, As we go out, cold, to our barns Toward the long night’s end, that we Ourselves are living in the world It happened in when it first happened, That we ourselves, opening a stall (A latch thrown open countless times Before), might find them breathing there, Foreknown: the Child bedded in straw, The mother kneeling over Him, The husband standing in belief He scarcely can believe, in light That lights them from no source we see, An April morning’s light, the air Around them joyful as a choir. We stand with one hand on the door, Looking into another world That is this world, the pale daylight Coming just as before, our chores To do, the cattle all awake, Our own frozen breath hanging In front of us; and we are here As we have never been before, Sighted as not before, our place Holy, although we knew it not.
Cards in each mailbox, angel, manger, star and lamb, as the rural carrier, driving the snowy roads, hears from her bundles the plaintive bleating of sheep, the shuffle of sandals, the clopping of camels. At stop after stop, she opens the little tin door and places deep in the shadows the shepherds and wise men, the donkeys lank and weary, the cow who chews and muses. And from her Styrofoam cup, white as a star and perched on the dashboard, leading her ever into the distance, there is a hint of hazelnut, and then a touch of myrrh.
“Christmas Mail” by Ted Kooser
Read through this article about the line-up of December Christmas movies (and others) on TCM to find out why Paul Zahl and I should truly be best friends. I mean really. I don’t agree with his take on all the movies, but The World of Henry Orient and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon are spot on.
This is an interesting tidbit about Episcopal minister Endicott Peabody in the Old West. He built St. Paul’s Episcopal in Tombstone that stands today as the oldest Protestant church in Arizona.
On December 21 Saturn and Jupiter will align into a beautiful bright star. This will be the first time they align like this since the Middle Ages. According to Forbes, the two planets will look like a “double planet” and provide an extraordinary amount of light. The last time these two planets aligned like this was on March 4, 1226, according to astronomer Patrick Hartigan at Rice University. Pretty cool. I hope I remember to look.
We were sad to learn that Charlie Pride, country singing superstar and the first Black member of the Country Music Hall of Fame, had died at age 86.
Here’s Mr. Pride bringing some Christmas cheer your way 50 years ago:
Enjoy your Tuesday. Only three more days ’til Christmas vacay starts pour moi.
