dual personalities

Tag: quotes

By the dim and flaring lamps

by chuckofish

Today is Memorial Day and also John Wayne’s birthday!

You can watch war movies all day on TCM. Twelve O’Clock High (1949)–one of my favorites is on tonight, followed by another great one, The Best Years of Our Lives (1946).

Or you can choose to watch John Wayne movies.

mustache_bigEither way, have a good day and take some time to remember the men and women who died while serving in the U.S. armed forces.

Here is a great rendition of The Battle Hymn of the Republic, written by Julia Ward Howe in 1861 to the tune of “John Brown’s Body”:

Have you ever read all the lyrics to this wonderful hymn? Well, here they are:

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:

His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,

They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;

I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:

His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:

“As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal”;

Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,

Since God is marching on.

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;

He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat:

Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!

Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,

With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me.

As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,

While God is marching on.

He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,

He is Wisdom to the mighty, He is Succour to the brave,

So the world shall be His footstool, and the soul of Time His slave,

Our God is marching on.

(Chorus)

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Glory, glory, hallelujah.

Our God is marching on.

And here is a special prayer from the BCP for today:

ALMIGHTY God, our heavenly Father, in whose hands are the living and the dead; We give thee thanks for all those thy servants who have laid down their lives in the service of our country. Grant to them thy mercy and the light of thy presence, that the good work which thou hast begun in them may be perfected; through Jesus Christ thy Son our Lord. Amen.

 

Happy Friday–like the blast of a trumpet!

by chuckofish

This Friday has been a long time coming–what a long week! But we have a three-day weekend coming up, so it’s all good.

FYI May has been a big month for birthdays already and this weekend we have two more favorites: Bob Dylan (May 24) on Saturday

BOB

and Ralph Waldo Emerson (May 25) on Sunday!

ralph

Those are two great reasons to celebrate this weekend! One good way to do so would be to re-read Self Reliance, which I have been meaning to do–how about you?

“Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.”

–Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self Reliance

Another way would be to watch No Direction Home (2005)–a film chronicle of Bob Dylan’s evolution between 1961 and 1966 from folk singer to rock star. Directed by Martin Scorsese, it uses archival footage and recent interviews to tell the story of the illusive Bob, who refuses “to be simplified, classified, categorized, or finalized”. And why should he be? He is, like Emerson and those other guys mentioned above, a “pure and wise spirit,” both great and misunderstood.

Dylan and Emerson are certainly on the same page. Here’s Bob:

‘Trust yourself
Trust yourself to do the things that only you know best
Trust yourself
Trust yourself to do what’s right and not be second-guessed
Don’t trust me to show you beauty
When beauty may only turn to rust
If you need somebody you can trust, trust yourself’

How Emersonian can you get?

So enjoy your weekend and trust yourself. Eat cake.

In full bloom

by chuckofish

gabrielgarciamarquez

“Age has no reality except in the physical world. The essence of a human being is resistant to the passage of time. Our inner lives are eternal, which is to say that our spirits remain as youthful and vigorous as when we were in full bloom. Think of love as a state of grace, not the means to anything, but the alpha and omega. An end in itself.”

Gabriel Garcia Marquez– Love in the Time of Cholera

I’m with you, Gabe.

“‘In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant.’ Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me.”*

by chuckofish

Today is the birthday of James Maitland Stewart (May 20, 1908 – July 2, 1997) — an American film and stage actor, known for his distinctive drawl and down-to-earth persona. He was a Boy Scout, a Presbyterian and a Princeton graduate. He wore tweed jackets. 

Annex - Stewart, James_03

He was also a bomber pilot in WWII, flying 20 official missions over Europe. Stewart was one of the few Americans to rise from private to colonel in four years. 

Maj._Jimmy_Stewart

He continued to play a role in the U.S. Air Force Reserve after the war, reaching the rank of Brigadier General. After 27 years of service, Stewart retired from the Air Force on May 31, 1968. He was promoted to major general on the retired list by President Ronald Reagan. 

He was always one of my favorite movie actors, starring in several of my all-time favorites: The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962), How the West Was Won (1962), The Philadelphia Story (1940), Rear Window (1954). But he also was in some lesser known films that are also favorites: Harvey (1950), Dear Brigitte (1965), The Rare Breed (1966). I always liked him as “Buttons” the clown in The Greatest Show on Earth (1952).

buttons

Jimmy with Charlton Heston and a very cute dog.

They don’t seem to make ’em like Jimmy Stewart any more, at least out in Hollywood. No one comes to mind anyway. So I will toast JMS tonight and perhaps dust off Harvey. What do you think?

*Elwood P. Dowd in Harvey

 

“Things happen and we do our best to keep in the saddle.”*

by chuckofish

How was your weekend? Mine was relatively quiet and low-key. No socializing, no trips downtown, no eating out. Just a lot of puttering about in the house and garden. The weather was lovely–cool and sunny.

The OM and I attempted to go to the boy’s play-off game, but we went to the wrong school. We drove around the Priory campus wondering where everyone was. It never occurred to our befuddled minds that it was, indeed, a HOME game. We surrendered and went home. C’est la vie.

I contemplated staying in bed and reading on Sunday morning, but I went to church because I remembered that I had given the altar flowers in memory of my parents and my friend Irene. They were very nice.

The church does not list, thank you

The church does not list, thank you…but I guess I do.

One of the readers was a scion of what we used to call a “socially-prominent” flyover family–does anyone say that anymore?–who makes a practice of wearing old baggy blue jeans to church. Furthermore, he looks like he has been wearing the same pair all week while driving his tractor around the south forty. I suppose we should be happy he tucks his shirt in. He has the flowing locks and facial hair of someone who would have fit right in with Bedford Forrest at Shiloh. I don’t know why this always bothers me, but it does. I mean, c’mon.

Besides the regular sermon, there was a children’s sermon given by our choir director to a group of younguns who scampered up to the chancel to sit on the floor and listen attentively. At the end he led them in song and they were adorable and quite amusing. They cheered me up. There is one little girl who can answer every question posed and belts out every hymn like a mini Martha Raye. If this child doesn’t grow up to be something special, I’ll eat my hat.

In the afternoon I read outside–a most unusual and lovely pastime.

readingoutside

In conclusion I should note that seventy-nine years ago, at the age of 46, T.E. Lawrence, better known as “Lawrence of Arabia”, was fatally injured in an accident on his motorcycle in Dorset. Six days later (on May 19) he died.

tel motor

Lawrence on his Brough Superior SS100

He was buried in Dorset. There is a memorial in the very old Anglo-Saxon Church of St. Martin

lawrence8and a memorial bust in the crypt of St.Paul’s Cathedral.

Lawrence_Bust_in_St._PaulI will leave it to my dual personality, who has read a lot more than I about T.E. and has visited his resting place, to write about him sometime, but I thought we should take note of his passing.

He was a gallant soldier and a Christian gentleman and more than worthy of a toast to that effect tonight.

*T.E.L.  I had this quote on my senior page. It could be my mantra.

“Mac, you ever been in love?”*

by chuckofish

Today is the birthday of Henry Jaynes Fonda (May 16, 1905 – August 12, 1982)–star of stage and screen and progenitor of one of those film dynasties they have out in Hollywood. He was baptized an Episcopalian (although raised as a Christian Scientist) and an Eagle Scout.

Henry Fonda_3

He is not one of my all-time favorites or anything, but I always liked him and his wonderful midwestern voice. He reminds me of my father, without the glasses.

Fonda, as you know, had quite a long and celebrated career culminating in finally winning an Academy Award for Best Actor for On Golden Pond in 1982. He played an old, befuddled man and was hardly acting, but oh well. I’m sure Warren Beatty, Burt Lancaster, Dudley Moore, and Paul Newman, who were also nominated that year, understood that that’s how Hollywood operates–right?

He made some of his best movies with John Ford, including one of my top-ten favorites, My Darling Clementine (1940) which I wrote about here. He was on quite a roll with Ford with Young Mr. Lincoln (1939), Drums Along the Mohawk (1939) and The Grapes of Wrath (1940), then with The Fugitive (1947), Fort Apache (1948) and Mister Roberts (1955). Many actors had a hard time working with Ford, but I remember hearing Fonda say that making a movie with him “was like going to summer camp.” Clearly Ford treated him differently. I would love to know why. The results of their collaborations were excellent, so, whatever.

My Friday Pick for you then is to watch one of Henry Fonda’s movies tonight and raise a glass to old Hank. For me, it will be My Darling Clementine.

I should also note that May 18 (Sunday) is the birthday of country singer George Strait, aka Strait the Great.

george-strait-header

So it wouldn’t be a bad idea to dust off Pure Country (1992). (I know you have a copy. If not, I’m sure it is on YouTube. Or running in a loop on GAC.)

purecountry1One of my favorite memories is of the boy when he was around 9 or 10 years old, sitting in the giant mulberry tree in our yard, singing at the top of his lungs:

All my ex’s live in Texas,

And Texas is a place I’d dearly love to be.

But all my ex’s live in Texas

And that’s why I hang my hat in Tennessee.

Just thinking of that made my day! Happy birthday, Henry and George!

*Wyatt Earp says this in My Darling Clementine. [The response to this question is: “No. I’ve been a bartender all me life.”]

“Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.” *

by chuckofish

image-memory

According to Wikipedia, “memory is the process in which information is encoded, stored, and retrieved. Encoding allows information that is from the outside world to reach our senses in the forms of chemical and physical stimuli. In this first stage we must change the information so that we may put the memory into the encoding process. Storage is the second memory stage or process. This entails that we maintain information over periods of time. Finally the third process is the retrieval of information that we have stored. We must locate it and return it to our consciousness. Some retrieval attempts may be effortless due to the type of information.”

I have been thinking about memory a lot lately. Probably because that pesky “retrieval” process is becoming such a pain.

Perhaps recently experiencing a reunion has made me more than usually aware of this. People remember different things and they remember those things differently.

Class Day rehearsal--I am   so "in character" as my pater.

Class Day rehearsal–I am so “in character” as my pater. As I remember it,  I was awesome.

Also, looking back over my years as a mother, I realize that so much of my children’s “wonder years” are a blur. A real blur. If it weren’t for snapshots, would I remember anything?

marysue

I think I need to make more of an effort here. Take some notes. I need to be more intentional about thinking.

Here’s Frederick Buechner on the subject:

“The time is ripe for looking back over the day, the week, the year, and trying to figure out where we have come from and where we are going to, for sifting through the things we have done and the things we have left undone for a clue to who we are and who, for better or worse, we are becoming. But again and again we avoid the long thoughts….We cling to the present out of wariness of the past. And why not, after all? We get confused. We need such escape as we can find. But there is a deeper need yet, I think, and that is the need—not all the time, surely, but from time to time—to enter that still room within us all where the past lives on as a part of the present, where the dead are alive again, where we are most alive ourselves to turnings and to where our journeys have brought us. The name of the room is Remember—the room where with patience, with charity, with quietness of heart, we remember consciously to remember the lives we have lived.” (A Room Called Remember)

I think our culture is becoming less and less intentional about thinking. Everything is presented in a shorter (and shorter) format. Our brains bounce back and forth from subject to subject. Focusing is hard. What will the result of all this be I wonder?

Discuss among yourselves.

*Nathaniel Hawthorne

And that’s my opinion from the blue, blue sky

by chuckofish


photo

“I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else.”  

–Nikos Kazantzakis, Zorba the Greek


“Dead men tell no tales, Mary.”*

by chuckofish

“He took her face in his hands and kissed it, and she saw that he was laughing. “When you’re an old maid in mittens down at Helford, you’ll remember that,” he said, “and it will have to last you to the end of your days. ‘He stole horses,’ you’ll say to yourself, ‘and he didn’t care for women; and but for my pride I’d have been with him now.”

― Daphne du Maurier, Jamaica Inn

Happy birthday to Dame Daphne du Maurier (13 May 1907 – 19 April 1989)!

dumaurier4602

According to IMDB, “Daphne Du Maurier was one of the most popular English writers of the 20th Century, when middle-brow genre fiction was accorded a higher level of respect in a more broadly literate age. For her services to literature, she was made a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire in 1969, the female equivalent of a knighthood.” In other words, they don’t write them like she did anymore.

Yes, it may be time to dust off Jamaica Inn or Frenchman’s Creek. I wish they would do justice to her books on film, but I haven’t seen any that really come close to her prose power. The Birds maybe. I must say, they keep trying. Check out all the versions here.

*Jamaica Inn, of course

 

A hill of beans

by chuckofish

I used to visit and revisit it a dozen times a day, and stand in deep contemplation over my vegetable progeny with a love that nobody could share or conceive of who had never taken part in the process of creation. It was one of the most bewitching sights in the world to observe a hill of beans thrusting aside the soil, or a row of early peas just peeping forth sufficiently to trace a line of delicate green.

–Henry David Thoreau

Well, I know just what old Thoreau is talking about. Do you?

I go out to see if my pumpkin plants are still where I planted them every morning and then again when I come home from work.

pumpkins

The OM says, ironically, “Are they still there?” But I am worried about them! My past experience teaches me that their chances are not particularly good. Pesky garden varmints enjoy digging around in this bed, but so far so good.

I love this time of year though, don’t you?

azaleas

When the plants are just starting to come up and the weeds and violets and creeping vines have not taken over.

peony buds

peony buds

The first rose bud

The first rose bud

When insect life is minimal. When it is still cool enough to enjoy my time in the yard. I admit I lose interest quickly when our flyover temperatures soar. I am a fair-weather gardener.

But you know how my mind works. Thoreau’s quote got me thinking about “a hill of beans” and how that expression became a synonym for something of negligible importance or value. I wonder how that came to be the case? Anyway, this made me think of that famous scene at the end of Casablanca, when Rick says to Ilsa: “I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that…”

BERGMAN BOGART

Yeats, you recall, wanted “Nine bean-rows” and “a hive for the honey-bee” in his Innisfree home.

Hmmm. If my pumpkins amount to even a hill of beans this year, maybe next year I’ll plant some beans.