writers | dual personalities

August 1, 2016

“Not everything in life could be considered material for a sermon…”*

by chuckofish

I had sad news over the weekend. My old friend and rector, the Rev. Ken Semon, died last week as the result of a biking accident at the age of 70. (You can read about it here.)

After leaving flyover country twenty years ago, he had answered a call in Arizona and was still working as an Episcopal priest in Santa Fe at the Church of the Holy Faith, the oldest Episcopal Church in New Mexico. He was really the finest minister and one of the best people I have ever known.

He was also a fraternity brother of Harrison Ford at Ripon College, a fanatical skiier, a PhD in English Literature, and a convert to Christianity. Maybe because he came to Christianity by choice and not by birth, he took it very seriously. A little too high church for my tastes, he was nevertheless a true Christian in every way and in my mind a rather saintly person.

It is appropriate that I have been reading Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death, the first book in the Grantchester mystery series, upon which the PBS series is based.

The author James Runcie is the son of the Rt. Rev. Robert Runcie, Archbishop of Canterbury from 198o–1991, and the protagonist, Sidney Chambers, is based on his father. You will recall that Robert Runcie served as a tank commander in WWII and earned the Military Cross for two feats of bravery in March 1945. He was also the only tank commander to capture a submarine.

Anyway, the Rt. Rev. Runcie came to my old church as the Holy Week preacher in the 1990s when Ken Semon was the rector. Runcie was a nice man and a good preacher. (I had lunch with his wife and I thought she was a bit of a pill.) It is nice to know that his son must also be a good guy and an Anglican.

I am enjoying this book a lot and I recommend it.

…but the plain fact was that even before he had involved himself in this criminal investigation he had had too many things on his plate. His standards were slipping and the daily renewal of his faith had been put on the back burner. He thought of the General Confession: ‘We have left undone those things which we ought to have done; and we have done those things which we ought not to have done…’

He started to make a list, and at the top of the list, as he had been advised at theological college, was the thing that he least wanted to do. ‘Always start with what you dread the most,’ he had been told. ‘Then the rest will seem less daunting.’ ‘Easier said than done,’ thought Sidney as he looked at the first item on the list of duties.

As you know, I do not believe in coincidence. I believe in the whispering voice saying, “You’re doing fine.”

Into paradise may the angels lead thee, Ken, and at thy coming may the martyrs receive thee, and bring thee into the holy city Jerusalem.

*Canon Sidney Chambers, “Grantchester” by James Runcie

7 Comments

July 18, 2016

“Let the trees of the forest sing”*

by chuckofish

When I got to church on Sunday I saw that two huge oak trees had been blown down in last Wednesday’s big storm. The branches had been moved out of the driveway, but the huge trunk with its root ball still remained.

During the announcements our rector told us that the pastor of the St. Louis Family Church, a very large evangelical church in west county, had called him the next day and said he would send people out to move the downed trees asap. This is part of their emergency storm relief mission. Our rector said, “Thank you!” The motto of this church is “Honor God. Help people.” I was surprised, impressed and the news made me feel very happy. This must be a very busy week for those volunteers.

I did quite a lot of work in our own yard on Saturday–cleaning up from the storm. I filled five bags with detritus.

The boy came over with some loppers and he and the OM cut up the big branches and filled a bag too. What a storm! I was actually driving home when it hit and it was very scary indeed. I was afraid a tree would fall on my little car and I would be squished. Zut alors! was I glad to get home.

In other news, we celebrated the OM’s birthday with the boy and daughter #3 at a restaurant down in Lafayette Square in the city–We are so adventurous!

I couldn’t be in this picture, because I didn’t get the memo about wearing blue!

Also, the boy got his first penalty in a hockey game and also made his first shot on goal. Onward and upward.

We watched a terrible movie: Hail, Caesar! (2016), the Coen brothers send-up of Hollywood in the 1950’s. Even Channing Tatum couldn’t salvage this mess. Totally not funny.

I finished The Woman Who Walked in Sunshine, the 17th installment of the #1 Ladies Detective Agency books by Alexander McCall Smith. Although I find these books mildly irritating, I am a loyal reader and always ultimately enjoy them. Precious Romotswe is a great character after all.

[Clovis Anderson] wrote: Do not allow the profession of which you are a member to induce you to take a bleak view of humanity. You will encounter all sorts of bad behavior but do not judge everybody by the standards of the lowest. If you did that, he pointed out, you would misjudge humanity in general and that would be fatal to discerning judgement. If everybody is a villain, then nobody is a villain, he wrote. That simple expression had intrigued her, even if it was some time before its full meaning–and the wisdom that lay behind it–became apparent.

Wise words to ponder this week. Discuss among yourselves.

*1 Chronicles 16:33

8 Comments

July 13, 2016

Walking out the gate

by chuckofish

Did you know that National Simplicity Day was observed yesterday (July 12th) in Thoreau’s honor? I did not know this.

However, there are so many of these “unofficial” holidays, one can hardly be expected to keep track of them all.

Poor Thoreau. I have no doubt that he would be totally non-plussed by his latter day popularity. I mean what would he think of everyone contemplating simplicity on a special day, and texting each other Thoreau memes on their iPhones? Oy.

I have to say, though, that I have given a lot of thought lately to this idea: “It is desirable that a man live in all respects so simply and preparedly that if an enemy take the town… he can walk out the gate empty-handed and without anxiety.” (Walden)

If an enemy took the town, I could do that. I have a lot of stuff, but it is just stuff. I would take great-great-great-grandmother Hannah Patten’s sampler (out of the frame and rolled up) with me.

For now, I’m dealing with a typical flyover summer…

…and trying to keep cool.

4 Comments

July 4, 2016

Some prouder pageantry

by chuckofish

A toast to our brother, whose birthday we celebrate today! I’m sure he will be celebrating Thoreau-style.

The stillness was intense and almost conscious, as if it were a natural Sabbath, and we fancied that the morning was the evening of a celestial day. The air was so elastic and crystalline that it had the same effect on the landscape that a glass has on a picture, to give it an ideal remoteness and perfection. The landscape was clothed in a mild and quiet light, in which the woods and fences checkered and partitioned it with new regularity, and rough and uneven fields stretched away with lawn-like smoothness to the horizon, and the clouds, finely distinct and picturesque, seemed a fit drapery to hang over fairy-land. The world seemed decked for some holiday or prouder pageantry, with silken streamers flying, and the course of our lives to wind on before us like a green lane into a country maze, at the season when fruit-trees are in blossom.

Why should not our whole life and its scenery be actually thus fair and distinct? All our lives want a suitable background. They should at least, like the life of the anchorite, be as impressive to behold as objects in the desert, a broken shaft or crumbling mound against a limitless horizon. Character always secures for itself this advantage, and is thus distinct and unrelated to near or trivial objects, whether things or persons.

–from “A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers” by Henry David Thoreau

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June 28, 2016

“Chair’d in the adamant of Time”*

by chuckofish

I feel so sorry for anyone who misses the experience of history, the horizons of history. We think little of those who, given the chance to travel, go nowhere. We deprecate provincialism. But it is possible to be as provincial in time as it is in space. Because you were born into this particular era doesn’t mean it has to be the limit of your experience. Move about in time, go places. Why restrict your circle of acquaintances to only those who occupy the same stage we call the present?”

–David McCullough, “Recommended Itinerary” in Brave Companions

I concur.

As we approach Independence Day on July 4, why not read some history?

*Walt Whitman, “America”; the painting is by Childe Hassam.

5 Comments

June 23, 2016

“Your mind seems to jump around in the most unregulated way, Jane”*

by chuckofish

What are you reading?

I just finished Still Life by Louise Penny, which my DP recommended. I read the whole thing and it held my interest, so I will probably try another one at some point. However, I had the murderer pegged very early–like, immediately. Clearly, it is a character-driven cozy, but I thought the author could have made it a little less obvious.

Next up is Career of Evil, third in the “highly acclaimed series featuring private detective Cormoran Strike and his assistant Robin Ellacott” by Robert Galbraith (aka J.K. Rowling). I liked the first two, so chances are good I will like this one.

What I am really in the mood for is an old fashioned Delano Ames mystery–the ones featuring Dagobert Brown, black sheep of a titled English family, and Jane Hamish, a well-educated, self-supporting Englishwoman whom he eventually marries. He suggests that she write mysteries, which are based on their adventures. They are very funny.

And what you say? They are back in print?! Yes, I see they are.

Well, add to cart! Huzzah!

Delano Ames, She Shall Have Murder, 1948

7 Comments

June 15, 2016

A practical mystic

by chuckofish

Today in the Episcopal Church it is the feast day of Evelyn Underhill (6 December 1875 – 15 June 1941). She was a poet and novelist, you will recall, as well as a pacifist and a mystic. She was prominent in the Anglican Church as a lay leader of spiritual retreats, a spiritual director for hundreds of individuals, guest speaker, radio lecturer, and proponent of contemplative prayer.

“Therefore it is to a practical mysticism that the practical man is here invited: to a training of his latent faculties, a bracing and brightening of his languid consciousness, an emancipation from the fetters of appearance, a turning of his attention to new levels of the world. Thus he may become aware of the universe which the spiritual artist is always trying to disclose to the race. This amount of mystical perception—this “ordinary contemplation,” as the specialists call it—is possible to all men: without it, they are not wholly conscious, nor wholly alive. It is a natural human activity, no more involving the great powers and sublime experiences of the mystical saints and philosophers than the ordinary enjoyment of music involves the special creative powers of the great musician.”

―Evelyn Underhill, Practical Mysticism

Underhill taught that the life of contemplative prayer is not just for a saintly few, monks and nuns and such, but can be the life of any Christian who is willing to undertake it.

Good to remember when life gets complicated and busy. “But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret.” (Matt. 6:6)

Here’s to Evelyn Underhill!

O God, Origin, Sustainer, and End of all creatures: Grant that thy Church, taught by thy servant Evelyn Underhill, guarded evermore by thy power, and guided by thy Spirit into the light of truth, may continually offer to thee all glory and thanksgiving, and attain with thy saints to the blessed hope of everlasting life, which thou hast promised us by our Savior Jesus Christ; who with thee and the same Holy Spirit liveth and reigneth, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

–Collect for the day

And, yes, I do think that Underhill icon is awkward.

2 Comments

June 6, 2016

“People are crazy and times are strange”*

by chuckofish

True to my word, I did very little this weekend. I went to hear Nathaniel Philbrook. He gave a rousing talk about Benedict Arnold and the Saratoga campaign.

He signed his book for me and I am looking forward to reading it. In the meantime I re-read his Why Read Moby-Dick? which I highly recommend.

I watched The Italian Job (2003) which I had bought for $2 at an estate sale because of the Mini Coopers. I really enjoyed it.

It made me want to go out and drive fast, but I restrained myself.

I tore apart my office looking for a particular book and then had to clean it up. (I never found the book.)

I rescued another needlepoint pillow.

I spread a lot of mulch and exhausted myself. Sometimes it is a good feeling to exhaust oneself doing physical labor. Watching a baseball game on the couch afterwards is that much sweeter when it is earned.

I also watched Wonder Boys (2000) directed by Curtis Hanson, who is one of my favorite directors. Bob Dylan won the Oscar for Best Song and “Things Have Changed” is indeed a classic. It is a good movie and I like Michael Douglas as a college professor having a really bad day.

Now it is Monday again–onward and upward!

*Bob Dylan

5 Comments

May 26, 2016

Happy belated birthday, Mr. Zimmerman

by chuckofish

As you probably already know, Tuesday was Bob Dylan’s 75th birthday.

Thank goodness, he is still going strong and has just released Fallen Angels, his 37th LP and second straight album of American Songbook classics.

So in honor of his big day let’s listen to one of my favorites from 1981:

Dylan described “Every Grain of Sand” as “an inspired song that just came to me … I felt like I was just putting words down that were coming from somewhere else.”

In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed
There’s a dyin’ voice within me reaching out somewhere
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair

Don’t have the inclination to look back on any mistake
Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master’s hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand

Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer
The sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay

I gaze into the doorway of temptation’s angry flame
And every time I pass that way I always hear my name
Then onward in my journey I come to understand
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand

I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer’s dream, in the chill of a wintry light
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face

I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there, other times it’s only me
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand

Copyright © 1981 by Special Rider Music

Because we’re just pilgrims passing through after all.

3 Comments

May 16, 2016

“O Lord, how manifold are your works!” *

by chuckofish

Happy Pentecost! How was your weekend?

We went to the last lacrosse game of the season on Friday after work and enjoyed sitting outside on a beautiful day, watching the game and the people around us. We never talked to the boy but the OM took a few pictures of him across the field with his giant lens.

On Saturday I went to several estate sales, including one in the lovely home of the brother of a former president of the U.S. His wife died a few months ago and I suppose he is down-sizing–you know, the kids took what they wanted and they were getting rid of the rest. The house was lovely and unpretentious, full of familiar things (books and LPs and monogrammed towels) and comfortable in an old school, slightly shabby way–just my style. They even had one of these–our family totem:

(I didn’t buy his, because I have already given one to each of my children.) I did buy an old child’s chair, which had been chewed by a family dog, and a BCP.

A good morning’s outing to be sure.

I finished Nightwoods by Charles Frazier and I highly recommend it. Good characters, tightly paced–well done. I am now reading Hope Leslie written by Catharine Maria Sedgwick in 1827, encouraged by daughter #2 who has read all of Sedgwick’s oeuvre for her dissertation. I am pleasantly surprised to report that Sedgwick is a regular Jane Austen, writing with a wry humor about “early times in Massachusetts.” Indeed the action takes place in the early seventeenth century and explores the “tumultuous relations between Puritans and Pequots.” I love this scene, described in a letter, where the fourteen-year old son pokes fun at an Anglican newcomer during a storm:

But Dame Grafton was beside herself. At one moment she fancied we should be the prey of the wild beast, and at the next, that she heard the alarm yell of the savages. Everell brought her, her prayer-book, and affecting a well-beseeming gravity, he begged her to look out the prayer for distressed women, in imminent danger of being scalped by North American Indians. The poor lady, distracted with terror, seized the book, and turned over leaf after leaf. Everell meanwhile affecting to aid her search. In vain I shook my head, reprovingly, at the boy–in vain I assured Mistress Grafton that I trusted we were in no danger; she was beyond the influence of reason; nothing allayed her fears, till chancing to catch a glance of Everell’s eye, she detected the lurking laughter, and rapping him soundly over the ears with her book, she left the room greatly enraged.

Now that is funny. “The prayer for distressed women, in imminent danger of being scalped by North American Indians.” I already like this Catherine Maria Sedgwick a lot.

The rest of the weekend was spent pleasantly puttering around, working in the yard, eating the donuts that my friend from Atlanta brought to me at work on Friday (he was in town for the air show)–note they are the “right” donuts–