dual personalities

Tag: quotes

March 29, 2013

The heart in thee

by chuckofish

ralph-waldo-emerson-448

“Ineffable is the union of man and God in every act of the soul. The simplest person who in his integrity worships God, becomes God; yet for ever and ever the influx of this better and universal self is new and unsearchable. It inspires awe and astonishment. How dear, how soothing to man, arises the idea of God, peopling the lonely place, effacing the scars of our mistakes and disappointments! When we have broken our god of tradition and ceased from our god of rhetoric, then may God fire the heart with his presence. It is the doubling of the heart itself, nay, the infinite enlargement of the heart with a power of growth to a new infinity on every side. It inspires in man an infallible trust. He has not the conviction, but the sight, that the best is the true, and may in that thought easily dismiss all particular uncertainties and fears, and adjourn to the sure revelation of time the solution of his private riddles. He is sure that his welfare is dear to the heart of being. In the presence of law to his mind he is overflowed with a reliance so universal that it sweeps away all cherished hopes and the most stable projects of mortal condition in its flood. He believes that he cannot escape from his good. The things that are really for thee gravitate to thee. You are running to seek your friend. Let your feet run, but your mind need not. If you do not find him, will you not acquiesce that it is best you should not find him? for there is a power, which, as it is in you, is in him also, and could therefore very well bring you together, if it were for the best. You are preparing with eagerness to go and render a service to which your talent and your taste invite you, the love of men and the hope of fame. Has it not occurred to you that you have no right to go, unless you are equally willing to be prevented from going? O, believe, as thou livest, that every sound that is spoken over the round world, which thou oughtest to hear, will vibrate on thine ear! Every proverb, every book, every byword that belongs to thee for aid or comfort, shall surely come home through open or winding passages. Every friend whom not thy fantastic will but the great and tender heart in thee craveth, shall lock thee in his embrace. And this because the heart in thee is the heart of all; not a valve, not a wall, not an intersection is there anywhere in nature, but one blood rolls uninterruptedly an endless circulation through all men, as the water of the globe is all one sea, and, truly seen, its tide is one.”

–Ralph Waldo Emerson, “The Over-Soul”

This is a long quote, but I hope you read the whole thing and did not skim. Dear daughter #2 shared this quote with me yesterday with the suggestion that “it’s nice to fall back on the Transcendentalist ideas if the institution of the church is failing you.” I guess my recent posts had her a little worried. But fear not, my relationship with the Episcopal Church, though a love/hate one, is a long-term one. From time to time I threaten to leave, but I probably won’t. I just continue to lower my expectations!

Thanks also to daughter #2 for sending her old mama some new music!

CDs

Josh Ritter and Trampled by Turtles! Great choices for me, especially the TBT–nothing gets me going in the morning like 21st century bluegrass! Here is my favorite song, titled appropriately “Walt Whitman”:

This song gets my Barbara Stanwyck alter ego all charged up and ready to go. Sometimes I think my driving may suffer, but so far so good.

Happy Easter and have a great weekend!

2 Comments
March 28, 2013

Rend your hearts, and not your garments

by chuckofish

I regret to say that as Lent comes to a close I haven’t blogged about or even mentioned my usual Lenten movie watching traditions, because, alas, I haven’t watched any of my favorite Lenten movies! Last year I wrote about them here and here and of course here.

Indeed, it hasn’t been a typical Lent. In fact, the only thing I gave up for Lent was going to church! Sigh. Well, anyway, I will definitely watch Ben Hur on Good Friday.

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Earlier in March I did try to watch The Bible, the television miniseries produced by Roma Downey and Mark Burnett on the History Channel, but I really couldn’t watch more than 15 minutes. Myeh.

Perhaps this weekend I will watch some of Franco Zeffirelli’s Jesus of Nazareth, the miniseries first aired in 1977 which I like very much. It has a wonderful script by Anthony Burgess and I like Robert Powell as the unblinking Jesus.

Jesus-of-Nazareth-film

Also memorable are Laurence Olivier as Nicodemus, my girl Claudia Cardinale as the Adulteress, Ralph Richardson as Simeon, and Ian McShane as Judas. James Farentino (!) as Peter and Ann Bancroft as Mary Magdalene, prove that, although it helps, you don’t have to be British to star in a biblical film. They are both wonderful.

Speaking of favorite biblical miniseries–I love Peter and Paul, a 1981 biblical drama starring Anthony Hopkins as Paul of Tarsus.

1981 Peter and Paul 03

Ever since first watching it in 1981, whenever I read the words of Paul, I hear them spoken in Hopkins’ Welsh accent.

What then shall we say to this? If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, will he not also give us all things with him? Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies; who is to condemn? Is it Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised from the dead, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us? Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written,

“For thy sake we are being killed all the day long;
we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.”

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 8: 31-39

Well, we all worship in our own way.

3 Comments
March 26, 2013

“In my opinion, too much attention to weather makes for instability of character.” *

by chuckofish

In weather news the National Weather Service said 12.4 inches fell here on Sunday, beating the one-day record for St. Louis of 12.1 inches set one hundred years ago on March 24, 1912. Woohoo! The high Monday reached the mid 30s, compared with a high of 76 degrees a year ago on that date and 59 the normal high on March 25.

Yesterday I decided to venture forth into our flyover landscape which was draped in the fluffy white stuff. I decided that such an expedition warranted the wearing of my size 5 1/2 Fabiano hiking boots that I wore everyday when I was a junior at Williams College back in the day. They are one of the few things that still fits from my college days–haha! As you can imagine, I do not have many occasions to wear them anymore.

boots

Tromping about in the snow is one of my favorite things to do, and there was much to see in the winter wonderland that is our yard.

This is a flower pot on the front porch:

snowhole

I wonder how the birds are who live in this rhododendron bush?

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This chair looks like it is upholstered in snow!

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I guess these guys will have to wait a little longer to adorn the garden.

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“You wake up on a winter morning and pull up the shade, and what lay there the evening before is no longer there–the sodden gray yard, the dog droppings, the tire tracks in the frozen mud, the broken lawn chair you forgot to take in last fall. All this has disappeared overnight, and what you look out on is not the snow of Narnia but the snow of home, which is no less shimmering and white as it falls. The earth is covered with it, and it is falling still in silence so deep that you can hear its silence. It is snow to be shoveled, to make driving even worse than usual, snow to be joked about and cursed at, but unless the child in you is entirely dead, it is snow, too, that can make the heart beat faster when it catches you by surprise that way, before your defenses are up. It is snow that can awaken memories of things more wonderful than anything you ever knew or dreamed.”

― Frederick Buechner, Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy, and Fairy Tale

The dual personalities frolicking in the snow circa 1964

The dual personalities frolicking in the snow with their older brother circa 1964

Let it snow! We’ll be roasting here before you know it.

*Elizabeth Goudge, The Little White Horse

4 Comments
March 21, 2013

Read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest

by chuckofish

Thomas-Cranmer-ez

On this day in 1556 Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, was burned at the stake at Oxford. At the very end, he repudiated his final letter of submission, and announced that he died a Protestant. He said, “I have sinned, in that I signed with my hand what I did not believe with my heart. When the flames are lit, this hand shall be the first to burn.” And when the fire was lit around his feet, he leaned forward and held his right hand in the fire until it was charred to a stump. Aside from this, he did not speak or move, except that once he raised his left hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Cranmer is commemorated in the Anglican Communion as a Reformation Martyr on 21 March.

Merciful God, through the work of Thomas Cranmer you renewed the worship of your Church by restoring the language of the people, and through his death you revealed your power in human weakness: Grant that by your grace we may always worship you in spirit and in truth; through Jesus Christ, our only Mediator and Advocate, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Cranmer_burning_foxe

“Cranmer said to him, when they were talking late one night, St. Augustine says we need not ask where our home is, because in the end we all come home to God.”
–Hilary Mantel, Wolf Hall

4 Comments
March 20, 2013

At least we amuse ourselves

by chuckofish

thoreau-head2

Feb. 3, 1859 “The writer must to some extent inspire himself. Most of his sentences may at first lie dead in his essay, but when all are arranged, some life and color will be reflected on them from the mature and successful lines; they will appear to pulsate with fresh life, and he will be enabled to eke out their slumbering sense, and make them worthy of the neighborhood.”

Feb. 20, 1859 “How much the writer lives and endures in coming before the public so often! A few years or books are with him equal to a long life of experience, suffering, etc. It is well if he does not become hardened. He learns how to bear contempt and to despise himself. He makes, as it were, post-mortem examination of himself before he is dead. Such is art.”

–H.D. Thoreau, A Writer’s Journal

I wonder what old Thoreau would have thought of blogging? I think it would have suited him, don’t you? A laptop in a little cabin in the woods.

3 Comments
March 19, 2013

Here’s to the hearts an’ the hands of the men, that come with the dust and are gone with the wind*

by chuckofish

Today in 1962 Bob Dylan’s self-titled debut album was released by Columbia Records.

Bob_Dylan_-_Bob_Dylan

That was 51 years ago.

US sales totaled about 2500 copies. Bob Dylan remains Dylan’s only release not to chart at all in the US, though it eventually reached #13 in the UK charts in 1965. Despite the album’s poor performance, financially it was not disastrous because the album was very cheap to record.

Since then he has released something like 35 albums. He has won many awards throughout his career including 11 Grammy Awards, one Academy Award and one Golden Globe Award. He has been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame, and Songwriters Hall of Fame. Last year he received the Presidential Medal of Freedom. And still he is the same old Bob Dylan driving reporters crazy, refusing to tow the line and give them the answers they want to hear.

Your fans know you and love you, Bob. We know that the Holy Spirit did not tap you on the shoulder. He kicked you in the ass. And you have been praising the Lord ever since.

* Song to Woody

3 Comments
March 18, 2013

Happiness is…

by chuckofish

happiness is

Remember this book from 1962? It reminds us that it’s the simple things that make us happy. Things like warm puppies and walking in the grass in your bare feet and knowing how to tie your own shoes and my favorite: “some black, orange, yellow, white and pink jelly beans, but no green ones.” (I am okay with the green ones.)

Charles M. Schulz certainly understood what makes a happy life. To this I would add a few things, such as a full tank of gas

gas

and a stack of new magazines in the mail.

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I had a happy weekend–did you?

I batted “0” at the only estate sale I went to on Saturday, but that’s okay. I had a text exchange with daughter #2 who was at an estate sale in Bethesda, Maryland, which warmed the cockles of my heart. (I taught her something!)

The boy came over to carry a chair upstairs for me. He was wearing one of his “coach” shirts.

laxshirt

Now I can sit by this sunny window and read or work on my blog.

chair2

We went to lunch at Qdoba Mexican Grill. I had a naked burrito–yummo.

Although snow was in the forecast this weekend, there were plenty signs of spring in our yard.

daffo

And the Christmas Cactus surprised me yet again!

xmas cac

I spent a good part of my weekend reading a book by Hilary Mantel published in 2000, Every Day is Mother’s Day. The book cover announces that it is “an accomplished novel of striking originality” and describes it as having certain elements of a “suspense thriller.” Really. Never in a million years would I confuse this book, although it is riveting, with a suspense thriller. Clearly prior to Wolf Hall no one knew what to make of Hilary Mantel. She defies pigeon-holing. She reminds me a lot of Shirley Jackson.

The characters in this book have no claim on happiness. One even admits: “Happiness seems a bit ambitious. I’m not sure I can see my way to that.”

England, we are reminded, is a depressing and dreadful place. One of the main characters describes his life thusly:

“I am a history teacher, a teacher of the benighted past to the benighted present, ill-recompensed for what I suffer and despairing of promotion. My feet are size eight and a half, and I belong to the generation of Angry Young Men, though I was never angry until it was too late, oh, very late, and even now I am only mildly irritated. I am not a vegetarian and contribute to no charities, on principle; I loathe beetroot, and the sexual revolution has passed me by. My taste in clothes is conservative but I get holes in my pockets and my small change falls through; I do not speak to my wife about this because she is an excellent mother and I am intimidated by her, also appalled by the paltry nature of this complaint or what might be construed by her as a complaint. The sort of writing I want to do is the sort that will force me to become a tax-exile.”

Terrible things happen. Funny things happen. As always I am in awe of Hilary and her amazing powers, but I really think I need to revisit the high, green hills of Mitford now, where the air is pure, the village is charming and the people are generally lovable.

7 Comments
March 15, 2013

Rock of ages

by chuckofish

5StPeterLadue

Yesterday I went to a “Service of Thanksgiving” for the life of the father of a friend of mine who died the day after his 95th birthday. The funeral was at the church we went to together when I was growing up. They stayed; we left. I have been a member of two churches since, but I am seriously considering going back. I like the plain windows that let the sunshine in and the total lack of iconography.

Anyway, this man had an amazing life. According to his obit in the paper, he was president of his senior class and “the lead in several high school musicals”. He graduated from college in 1939 (!) and then spent 5 years in the U.S. Army during WWII. He finished the war as a Major, having taken part in D-Day and the Battle of the Bulge. He had a very successful career and served as the president of his country club and on the vestry of his church (where he was a member for over 60 years), as well as on multiple boards.

I knew him as a cheerful, kind man, who always knew my name. He was an authority figure who knew his duty. He took care of his family, was present, but not overly involved. His children were all devoted to him.

Best friends in third grade--1965--I was giggling in this picture as I usually was when in her company.

Best friends in third grade–1965–I was giggling in this picture as I usually was when in her company.

His wife, of course, did not work. She kept the home fires burning. Their house was impeccable and so was she. She still is!

Times have changed. It’s a different world. Maybe it’s better, maybe not. I can’t help wondering who is going to take the place of men like this. I knew lots of men like him back in the day. I miss them.

P.S. The funeral was your basic Episcopal memorial service (sans communion). Included were excellent scripture choices (KJV) and good hymns, although the organist charged through them like he was in a hurry. But oh well.

I sing a song of the saints of God,
Patient and brave and true,
Who toiled and fought and lived and died
For the Lord they loved and knew.
And one was a doctor, and one was a queen,
And one was a shepherdess on the green;
They were all of them saints of God, and I mean,
God helping, to be one too.

They loved their Lord so dear, so dear,
And his love made them strong;
And they followed the right for Jesus’ sake
The whole of their good lives long.
And one was a soldier, and one was a priest,
And one was slain by a fierce wild beast;
And there’s not any reason, no, not the least,
Why I shouldn’t be one too.

They lived not only in ages past,
There are hundreds of thousands still.
The world is bright with the joyous saints
Who love to do Jesus’ will.
You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea,
In church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea;
For the saints of God are just folk like me,
And I mean to be one too.

5 Comments
March 14, 2013

Tout va bien

by chuckofish

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“Maybe it’s all utterly meaningless. Maybe it’s all unutterably meaningful. If you want to know which, pay attention to what it means to be truly human in a world that half the time we’re in love with and half the time scares the hell out of us. Any fiction that helps us pay attention to that is religious fiction. The unexpected sound of your name on somebody’s lips. The good dream. The strange coincidence. The moment that brings tears to your eyes. The person who brings life to your life. Even the smallest events hold the greatest clues.”
–Frederick Buechner

2 Comments
March 13, 2013

Lost Highway

by chuckofish

The original rolling stone, you know, was not Bob Dylan or Mick Jagger. It was Hank Williams.

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I’m a rolling stone, all alone and lost
For a life of sin, I have paid the cost
When I pass by, all the people say
“Just another guy on the lost highway”

Most people think old Hank Sr. wrote that song, since he wrote so many famous songs during his sad, short life, but he did not. Written by Leon Payne, “Lost Highway” was recorded by Hank Williams in 1949 at age 26 and he came to personify that “just another guy on the lost highway”.

I was listening to an old burned mix the other day and I heard Beck’s version of Williams’ poignant “Your Cheatin’ Heart” and that got me thinking about one of America’s greatest singer-songwriters.

What a great song! (I like Beck’s version.)

Widely considered country music’s first superstar, Hiram “Hank” Williams was born September 17, 1923, in Mount Olive, Alabama. Never much of a singer (in my opinion) he wrote many American classics, such as “Cold, Cold Heart,” “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” “Hey, Good Lookin'” and “Move It on Over,” as well as Christian classics like “I Saw the Light.” He died of a heart attack at the age of 29 in 1953 in the backseat of his Cadillac on the way to a show. It was really no surprise, since he had been abusing his poor, frail body for years with drugs and alcohol, trying to dull his constant back pain due to spinal bifida.

He packed a lot in to his short life span though, didn’t he? His mysterious talent has always interested me. How can the same man who wrote “Honky Tonkin'” and “You’re Gonna Change (Or I’m Gonna Leave)” –jarring, jangling chart-toppers–also have written the contemplative “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” and “Lost on the River”? Human beings are amazing.

Hear the lonesome whiperwill
He sounds too blue to fly
The midnight train is whining low
I’m so lonesome I could cry

I’ve never seen a night so long
When time goes crawling by
The moon just went behind a cloud
To hide its face and cry

Did you ever see a robin weep
When leaves begin to die
That means he’s lost the will to live
I’m so lonesome I could cry

The silence of a falling star
Lights up a purple sky
And as I wonder where you are
I’m so lonesome I could cry

Beautiful. I think John Keats would agree. He died at 25. Hopefully they are talking shop in heaven. I like to think so.

P.S. Hollywood made a movie of Williams’ made-to-order drama-filled life in 1964. It starred George Hamilton and was called Your Cheatin’ Heart. It was pretty homogenized and I think they could do a whole lot better. I’m surprised they haven’t tried again. James Franco? Ryan Gosling? It could be Academy Awardsville for you.

7 Comments