the happy home

I have sorely neglected this blog in the past few weeks and I have a feeling that neglect will continue for a while until life gets back to 'normal' (whatever that looks like) but rest assured, my many readers, I have not forgotten about it. The blog will live on though seas may roar and foam...

Once again I have a lazy quote post but I really have wanted to quote this passage for a while. I don't know what other people's experiences with homeschooling were but this gives a good picture of the essence of our home life (well, maybe not down to the details but there's something about the feeling in this scene that seems to capture part of my childhood. Ahh, those were the days...)
So, here is a long excerpt from George Eliot's Middlemarch:

Also, it must be admitted that Mrs Garth was a trifle too emphatic in her resistance to what she held to be follies: the passage from governess into housewife had wrought itself a little too strongly into her consciousness, and she rarely forgot that while her grammar and accent were above the town standard, she wore a plain cap, cooked the family dinner, and darned all the stockings. She had sometimes taken pupils in a peripatetic fashion, making them follow her about in the kitchen with their book or slate. She thought it good for them to see that she could make an excellent lather while she corrected their blunders 'without looking' - that a woman with her sleeves tucked up above her elbows might know all about the Subjunctive Mood or the Torrid Zone - that, in short, she might possess 'education' and other good things in 'tion', and worthy to be pronounced emphatically, without being a useless doll. When she made remarks to this edifying effect, she had a firm little frown on her brow, which yet did not hinder her face from looking benevolent, and her words which came forth like a procession were uttered in a fervid agreeable contralto. Certainly, the exemplary Mrs Garth had her droll aspects, but her character sustained her oddities, as a very fine wine sustains a flavour of skin...

Mrs Garth as certain hours was always in the kitchen, and this morning she was carrying on several occupations at once there - making pies at the well-scoured deal table on one side of that airy room, observing Sally's movements at the oven and dough-tub through an open door, and giving lessons to her youngest boy and girl, who were standing opposite her at the table with their books and slates before them. A tub and clothes-horse at the other end of the kitchen indicated an intermittent wash of small things also going on.

Mrs Garth, with her sleeves turned above her elbows, deftly handling her pastry - applying her rolling-pin and giving ornamental pinches, while she expounded with grammatical fervour what were the right views about the concord of verbs and pronouns with 'nouns of multitude signifying many', was a sight agreeably amusing...

'Now let us go through that once more,' said Mrs Garth, pinching an apple-puff which seemed to distract Ben, an energetic young male with a heavy brow, from due attention to the lesson. '"Not without regard to the import of the word as conveying unity or plurality of idea" - tell me again what that means, Ben.'
(Mrs Garth, like more celebrated educators, had her favourite ancient paths, and in a general wreck of society would have tried to hold her 'Lindley Murray' above the waves.)
'Oh - it means - you must think what you mean,' said Ben, rather peevishly. 'I hate grammar. What's the use of it?'
'To teach you to speak and write correctly, so that you can be understood,' said Mrs Garth, with severe precision. 'Should you like to speak as old Job does?'
'Yes,' said Ben, stoutly; 'it's funnier. He says, "Yo goo" - that's just as good as "You go".'
But he says, "A ship's in the garden", instead of "a sheep",' said Letty, with an air of superiority. 'You might think he meant a ship off the sea.'
'No, you mightn't, if you weren't silly,' said Ben. 'How could a ship off the sea come there?'
'These things belong only to pronunciation, which is the least part of grammar,' said Mrs Garth. 'That apple peel is to be eaten by the pigs, Ben; if you eat it, I must give them your piece of pastry. Job has only to speak about very plain things. How do you think you would write or speak about anything more difficult, if you knew no more of grammar than he does? You would use wrong words, and put words in the wrong places, and instead of making people understand you, they would turn away from you as a tiresome person. What would you do then?'
'I shouldn't care, I should leave off,' said Ben, with a sense that this was an agreeable issue where grammar was concerned.
'I see you are getting tired and stupid, Ben,' said Mrs Garth, accustomed to these obstructive arguments from her male offspring. Having finished her pies, she moved towards the clothes-horse, and said, 'Come here and tell me the story I told you on Wednesday, about Cincinnatus.'
'I know! he was a farmer,' said Ben.
'Now, Ben, he was a Roman - let me tell,' said Letty, using her elbow contentiously.
'You silly thing, he was a Roman farmer, and he was ploughing.'
'Yes, but before that - that didn't come first - people wanted him,' said Letty.
'Well, but you must say what sort of man he was first,' insisted Ben. 'He was a wise man, like my father, and that made the people want his advice. And he was a brave man, and could fight. And so could my father - couldn't he, mother?'
'Now, Ben, let me tell the story straight on, as mother told it us,' said Letty, frowning. 'Please, mother, tell Ben not to speak.'
'Letty, I am ashamed of you,' said her mother, wringing out the caps from the tub. 'When your brother began, you ought to have waited to see if he could not tell the story. How rude you look, pushing and frowning, as if you wanted to conquer with your elbows! Cincinnatus, I am sure, would have been sorry to see his daughter behave so.' (Mrs Garth delivered this awful sentence with much majesty of enunciation, and Letty felt that between repressed volubility and general disesteem, that of the Romans inclusive, life was already a painful affair.) 'Now, Ben.'
'Well - oh - well - why, there was a great deal of fighting, and they were all blockheads, and - I can't tell it just how you told it - but they wanted a man to be captain and king and everything-'
'Dictator, now,' said Letty, with injured looks, and not without a wish to make her mother repent.
'Very well, dictator!' said Ben, contemptuously. 'But that isn't a good word: he didn't tell them to write on slates.'
'Come, come, Ben, you are not so ignorant as that,' said Mrs Garth, carefully serious. 'Hark there is a knock at the door! Run, Letty, and open it.'

stirring

I got through my final Shakespeare exam and can now put those notes away.
It was a good thing to have to study but I am glad it's over. Now on to the other exams. After a wonderful holiday I suppose I must pay my dues and put my nose to the grindstone (it's a little long in any case). It would be nice to get some incentive for this renewal of labour. In light of this situation, I think it is fitting to quote one of Henry V's famous speeches. Not the St Crispin's Day one--I'm hoping to save that for the appropriate time (if I can remember when it comes)--but the one before Harfleur. If this doesn't rouse me into action I don't know what will:

Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let it pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his counfounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry "God for Harry, England, and Saint George!"

lesson learned

I'm staying at my brother's apartment for a few days. Being left at home for most of the day yesterday I spent a few hours of the time cleaning their kitchen. I didn't mind it at all; I actually find a certain enjoyment (most of the time) in bringing order from chaos. It was especially nice because it was the opposite of the type of work I have been engaging in recently (papers etc). I got quite a bit of satisfaction in the results. It wasn't a pig sty but it clearly hadn't been cleaned for quite some time (beyond the normal washing of dishes when necessary). I wiped down the cupboards, scrubbed the counter and stove top, got rid of all things growing in the fridge, put out the garbage (trying to rid it of whatever the source of the funky smell was) and did other assorted tasks. I was happy with the result and wasn't sure how the guys would take it when they came home. Would they feel bad that I had spent so long cleaning their kitchen? Would they be surprised with what a difference the cleaning made? What would they say?

They said nothing. Later in the evening Brady said "thanks for doing the dishes. I was planning on doing them but didn't get around to it." That was it. I mean it was nice of him to notice I had done the dishes but I had done so much more than that! Their not saying anything didn't really hurt me, it just surprised me. The kitchen looks so different to me from what it was like before I started that I couldn't understand that they didn't see the difference too (after all, they live here).

This incident has reinforced what I already knew: guys are not observant in the same way that girls are. If a woman walked in the kitchen who had seen its previous state, her first comment would be on how good it looks. I knew this difference existed but I didn't realize how deeply it really ran. I need to remember this for the time when I am married. It is fortunate that I've learned this at a time when the inattention does not hurt me.

Further lessons from this incident: I am not going to attempt to tackle their bathroom.

inconvenient love

I've been indulging in a little Trollope as a treat. One thing I have noticed is that now, even with this being reading for pleasure, I am still reading it as if for class. It is a good habit and makes for rich reading but it surprised me at first.

The aspect I have enjoy the most about Trollope is his characterization. This extract is describing how one of the women in the novel responded to finding herself in unrequited love.

In herself she regarded this passion of hers as a healthy man regards the loss of a leg or an arm. it is a great nuisance, a loss that maims the whole life, - a misfortune to be much regretted. But because a leg is gone, everything is not gone. A man with a wooden leg may stump about through much action, and may enjoy the keenest pleasures of humanity. he has his eyes left to him, and his ears, and his intellect. He will not break his heart for the loss of that leg.

black keys only, please

Here is an extract from the entry for Irving Berlin in Benet's Reader's Encylopedia:

Berlin had an extrodinary range of musical styles and was one of the few in the American music business (Cole Porter was another) who could successfully write both words and music. His accomplishments were all the more impressive in light of the fact that he had no musical training; he played only the black keys on his piano and only in the key of F sharp. He had a mechanism built into his piano that would change keys for him.

That last point is important becuase so much of the repitoire from that time comes from him and it would have been pretty boring if it all was in F sharp. Of course it would also have made things a little easier for other musician who normally play in a variety of keys only to have to worry about the one key (similar in principle to the blues progression: you know what's expected and are happy to deliver).

growth marker

I know I'm being slightly lazy with posting but, being busy with essays, I don't have much time to spend on here this week so here's a short quote that got me thinking.

Compare this week in your spiritual history with the same week last year and see how God has called you up higher.
-MUFHH, March 27th

the private life of prayer

Once a week at least take stock before God and see whether you are keeping your life up to the standard He wishes...
My worth to God in public is what I am in private.
-Oswald Chambers, MUFHH (March 17th)

What a man is alone on his knees before God, that he is and no more.
-Robert Murray M'Cheyne

The Creative Process

I had a great conversation this morning over a Baglewich from Rooster's (my weekly indulgence) about many things. What I want to concentrate on in here is the aspect of writing as a creative process.

As we were biting into that mound of greasy goodness we were talking (yes, with our mouths full) about what it means to live for God in every detail and aspect of our day to day lives. When the topic of writing came up (essay season is upon us again) I was thinking along the lines of doing one's job to God's glory thinking more of the general position we hold as students than the specific work we do but my friend had a deeper insight than that. She was saying that by writing essays and creating something new, we are imitators of God and thus in that act we are living out part of what it means to be made in His image. I had never thought about it that way before but it adds so much to my notion of the creative process.

I have always loved creating or being creative but I hadn't thought much about from whence that impulse had its issue. It is amazing that we, as created beings, are imitators of our Creator and are able, in turn, to create on our own. What a gift and privilege He has given us in this! I find so much joy in making things beautiful. That's why I love photography. Taking various aspects of myself and creating something pleasing is my one of the joys of forming this blog. The impulse to create is why, as a girl, I started reams of stories (building them around my own little worlds that, in a sense, I was creating by writing about them).

I could go on about many things that are creative that I enjoy but the point is that by remembering that we are sharing in one of God's acts (even when we are slogging through another essay) might help to make us more engaged in our work and do a better job (and thus bring more glory to God). What an excellent spur to write good essays (and I needed one!).

Kitchen Rules

This is an extract from the 1869 edition of Mrs Beaton's The Book of Household Management

Golden Rules for the Kitchen
1. Without cleanliness and punctuality good cooking is impossible.
2. Leave nothing dirty; clean and clear as you go.
3. A time for everything, and everything in time.
4. A good cook wastes nothing.
5. An hour lost in the morning has to be run after all day.
6. Haste without hurry saves worry, fuss and flurry.
7. Stew boiled is stew spoiled.
8. Strong fire for roasting; clear fire for broiling.
9. Wash vegetables in three waters.
10. Boil fish quickly, meat slowly.

Spring

It is finally here! It is the first day of Spring! The sun is shining, the snow is melting, I woke to birds singing outside my window (rare at the best of times since mine is a basement room), the overture to An Italian Girl in Algiers is playing in the background, the scent of chocolate cake wafts down the hall along with the invigorating smell of melting snow and fresh laundry as Grandma opens the door to hang the washing outside.
Does it get much better than this?

Results of Darwinism

My Mom sent me an e-mail about how Darwinian thought has filtered down to our age with specific reference to performance arts. To see the whole article, go here but I have taken excerpts of what really stuck out to me. I read this article right after getting out of my English class in which we have been studying Darwinism and its impact on Victorian thought. So it is a fresh topic for me and interesting to see how it has filtered down and changed our way of thinking and other aspects of life.

The article begins by reporting an incident in South Dakota where two performance artists from France shocked the audience with their show and goes on to explain the philosophical roots behind such degraded cultural movements. I find the tone borders on the sarcastic at times but so much of it is true that I felt it was worth quoting. I have added italics when I wanted to stress a certain line.

Apparently, the social behavior of the clinically insane is viewed as an exciting art form in more sophisticated regions of the world. Playing with excrement and barfing - how cosmopolitan.
...
This is what happens when Darwin's theory of origins comes into full flower in western culture. When humans are viewed as nothing but primates, it is little wonder that scatological themes prevail in the art galleries. The products of random chance acting on matter don't recognize the concept of "Great Masters" in art. The idea of classification of anything as good, bad, beautiful, ugly, etc. is considered the unfortunate leftover thinking of modernity. This is why a barely literate teenager can bang garbage can lids together in a garage band and be called a "musician", just like Yo-Yo Ma and Joshua Bell. It isn't tolerant to make distinctions, you see. So if you have the desire to cover a hotel room in melted cheddar cheese or repel nude off your local TV tower, you can be an artist, too! Just like Matisse and Renoir and Da Vinci. The Unmade Bed exhibit at a London Art museum several years ago opened up entirely new career opportunities for all of us who don't take time to spread up the sheets in the morning. The artist in that exhibit even added a used kleenex to the scene for a special touch of realism. Imagine, the world of art opened by simply leaving your bed unmade! When mankind is viewed as a cosmic accident, his art will start looking like it.
...
Mentally and spiritually sick individuals are now our cultural icons. Inspiration for art no longer comes from above, it is found in the base and the vulgar-from the dirt below. God has been thrown out of our Western world and the result is nothing but despair and absurdity which echoes through the art galleries and the music halls and the movie theaters of our land. When man is seen as nothing but a cog in a machine, a cosmic accident with nothing but his own lusts for his guide, civilization crumbles. There is moral anarchy in the air and the rise in violent crime in America, reported this week, only confirms the violence already expressed in the art world against all that is true and meaningful and lasting. Art is a mirror and that mirror presents a horrific picture of what has become of our country. The lesson in all of this? First off, avoid art shows by Lisou Prout and Jean-Louis Costes and the next time you see an unmade bed at an art museum, thank Charles Darwin.

I find that I have quoted almost the whole article but I would still reccommend going to the site to read the background since I simply cut to the cultural explanation part (and having read the background myself wouldn't realize if what is quoted doesn't make sense on its own).

hollyhock seeds

Last November I published a picture of the "last hollyhock of summer". I recently took a picture of the very same plant, which by this time has dropped the petals and produced seeds.

Not only do I find it interesting to follow up what has gone before but it's also interesting to note that although not as beautiful as the first picture, the second (here) has its own beauty along with the actual fruitfulness (rather than the beautiful promise of it).

This picture reminds me of the verses in Psalm 92:
"Those that be planted in the house of the LORD shall flourish in the courts of our God. They shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing;"
-Psalm 92:13,14

What a beautiful image of our hope of sanctification in Christ as illustrated through a simple flower.

on inspiration (or lack thereof)

It has been a while since I last was inspired to write. I suppose I should qualify that statement: by writing I have in mind a narrow category of works of imagination and delight or, more basically, works of fiction. Strictly speaking, I probably write more than I ever have before with the increasing length and number of papers expected of me through school and the lengthy e-mails that take up so much time (along with this blog) but I don't classify that type of writing in the category of fiction and they need little inspiration to get going. What I would love to have again is the same drive to write stories that I had when I was younger.
I don't know how many unfinished stories I have from my youth still sitting at home in some drawer or box or file. Lovely stories ambitiously begun yet usually petering out before they could even hope to be long enough. More often than not, the stories were of the girl I wanted to be or were placed in situations in which I imagined myself to be. As I grew, I managed to finish my writings more.

The script for a movie starring my group of friends had a deadline if it was to be approved by them before we started shooting it. I finished by the deadline and we started shooting but never finished the movie itself. I also did a few adaptions of classic literature for our once-a-month-plays for our families. Those were easier in many ways and quite an interesting exercise for creative writing since I had to transfer the story to a different medium as well as adapt the characters to the available actors. The lack of sets, props and practice time must have made them interesting to watch (it's a good thing everyone present was acquainted with the story beforehand!).

But that was all back in the time when I had buckets of time to sit and dream away on the 'sun-porch' of my fort in the woods with my pad of foolscap sharing my knee with my cat. That was before I ever had to write essays for a professor who wasn't interested in my imagination but merely in my completion of the assignment as laid out in the guidelines. I am not saying that essay writing is bad because it is restrictive instead I think that it is a valuable skill to be able to write according to what is specified by someone else. I just mean that much of the time I might before have spent thinking up impossible plots was now taken up in work along other lines.

Part of all this growing process I have been able to study in depth what truly is great literature; I came to see and acknowledge true genius. In comparison my own paltry attempts paled considerably. I could see that these authors had something that I have never had, something hard to define but that makes a work shine out. About the same time, I came to acknowledge that there is good poetry and I found myself enjoying and admiring poetry as well as my first love (novels).

So I feel drawn in two directions: I both want to write to give similar beauty to others but I feel my own inadequacy keenly when seen in comparison to greatness and begin to wonder if it is worth the attempt.


Of even more immediate importance, we arrive back at the fact with which I started: I have no inspiration beyond the vague desire to write something good. I now see the childishness of my previous stories. Now I have more practice and can say that my writing has improved immensely but I am story-less. Although I have a much greater understanding of the mechanisms needed I have nothing to fill in my frame. But I have heard several people report certain authors and composers (writing music is a whole other issue) who lived in constant fear that their inspiration would run dry. Well, I have nothing to fear in that way since it's already dry, so it's only up from here!

I need to acknowledge that I am not a genius and go through the very same process I've gone through with drawing, music and photography and come to the same conclusion: I can and should try to cultivate these gifts and if I can bring glory to God and joy to others and myself through them, but not to despair and/or give up altogether simply because I cannot be a master at them.

So, to be contented with where I am at present, I need to write what I can to the best of my ability and trust that the Lord is able both to use my present abilities for His purposes and to inspire me to write in time if that is part of His plan for my life. For now, I'll use my weak light to illuminate this little corner where He has placed me. Who knows what's in store? Is that not what makes this life exciting?

The dauphin's horse

I'm re-reading King Henry V for my Shakespeare essay and came across a fun passage where the Dauphin is praising his horse. It is fairly long so I may have to truncate it a bit but here it is:

Dauphin:...I will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns... he bounds from the earth, as if his entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the Pegasus, chez les narines de feu! When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.
Orleans: He's of the colour of the nutmeg.
Dauphin: And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus: he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him: he is indeed a horse; and all other jades you may call beasts... It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch and his countenance enforces homage...Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey: it is a theme as fluent as the sea: turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse is argument for them all: 'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's sovereign to ride on and for the world, familiar to us and unknown, to lay apart their particular functions and wonder at him.

What praise! I would like to have a horse like his!

Oatmeal Cookies

Since I won't be around for the next few days I thought I'd throw in a bonus post with the recipe for oatmeal cookies that Mom tried out last Friday. It has been quite convenient how she has been around with extra time and so turns to baking--we often benefit from such Fridays for the entire week.

I don't, as a rule, enjoy oatmeal cookies (except the store-bought "Dad's" brand) considering them inferior to chocolate chip but these ones turned out quite well; they boasted a slight crunch coupled with soft, chewy goodness that was quite pleasant. This may have more to do with the way that Grandma's stoneware pan helps in the baking than the recipe but the flavour was decent also, so there must be something about the recipe itself!

Oatmeal Cookies
1 cup Flour
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup shortening
1 egg
1/4 tsp vanilla
3/4 cup oatmeal
1/4 cup walnust (optional)
granulated sugar*

Mix first six ingredients. Add shortening, egg and vanilla. Beat well. Stir in oats and walnuts. Form into small balls, dipping tops in sugar, place on baking sheet and bake at 375 degrees F for 10-12 minutes.
*I couldn't tell if Mom actually did this step; it looked as if she merely put them on the sheetlike regular drop cookies. It sounds good, however.

Brother Sky

This week I have been cultivating another fictional-character-crush, this time on Sky Masterson. I went to see Guys and Dolls with my Grandma and some of her friends on Monday and since I had extra time last night, I curled up and enjoyed the classic movie version of the same with Brando and Sinatra as the male leads.

Ahh, I'm afraid that the first guy that sings to me may just win me. Interestingly, in the stage version we saw, Sky does end up in the mission helping out (seemingly enjoying himself, too). This little detail may have been the big factor in the development of my present condition since I couldn't fall for a gambler but a reformed gambler is a different thing.

I'm sure at one point (which I'll underline the next time I read the book) Anne (of Green Gables) says something along the lines of it's no fun loving someone who is hopelessly good; that it's much better to know that they could be wicked yet chose not to be. I agree with her in this.

Does it not even get down to the core of the gospel? Christ came here and was tempted in all ways yet without sin. The possibility had to be there because He is fully man as well as fully God. We, of course, are tempted and are with sin but God's grace makes us more than conquerors over the sin and enables us to live as dead to the world.

I don't mean to draw too close a comparison between the gospel and Sky but I do believe that through this idea it's easier to understand why slightly wild characters who reform are appealing. Sky ends up working in the mission but we can see even before this that he was a cut above most of the others in a way: he knew the Bible back to front and didn't take advantage of Sarah in Havana. So he was already part way there when they first sang the duet.

Of course I do not wish to promote conversion-dating and I can see the many problems that a relationship such as that one would have but I think that it's the idea behind the character (and the wonderful singing!) that draws me. But if this still doesn't convinve you that I should have such a crush, I'll just say that crushes are irrational to begin with and I shouldn't have to defend myself rationally!

Winter weather

We have been hit by really really cold weather to start off the week after being buried under a prodigious amount of snow on the weekend after being teased by clement spring-like weather last week. The set-back is disheartening to say the least. It feels more like January than March around here but I rest in the hope that March, having come in like the lion, may begin acting like the lamb soon and that spring is really just around the corner.

But there have been good points to this cold-snap: it is beautiful outside and I am able to look to my heart's content while not having to be out there. Also being cosy inside while it is bright and sunny outside has invigorated me and I have given my room a thorough cleaning (right down to the papers on my desk!) from which I am hoping it will not recover for some time.


Hopefully the thermometer will decide to rise a few degrees before the weekend and our trip to the sugar bush with the internationals. It sounds like it'll be a great time but there's nothing like bad weather to dampen spirits (some of whom may not be used to braving cold weather) venturing into it.

But while we are still in the mood and context for it, here is a poem with a perfect description of wandering alone in the Canaidan winter landscape until after dark (as only a Canadian is able to describe properly):

Winter Uplands
The frost that stings like fire upon my cheek,
The loneliness of this forsaken ground,
The long white drift upon whose powdered peak
I sit in the great silence as one bound;
The rippled sheet of snow where the wind blew
Across the open fields for miles ahead;
The far-off city towered and roofed in blue
A tender line upon the western red;
The stars that singly, then in flocks appear,
Like jets of silver from the violet dome,
So wonderful, so many and so near,
And then the golden moon to light me home--
The crunching snowshoes and the stinging air,
And silence, frost and beauty everywhere.
-Archibald Lampman

Stuart's poem

I stole this poem from my brother's blog because I like it and want to share it (and because I know he never reads my blog so will never know I took it...). Finding poetry difficult to write (except for silly stuff) I am even more impressed with the form and content of this.

Slowly
Go slowly, O knight, for beyond thy road
Lie deep shrouded shadows, yet to unfold
Like midnight's dark hour, when all we hold
Not silver of daylight, but hard and cold

Go slowly, O knight, take care lest thou fall
When fate's light shines dimly, or not at all
The higher thou climbest, the harder to crawl
When all is forgotten, stand on and stand tall

Go slowly, O knight, tread with great care
For all you've forsaken will be with thee there
Though deeds of thy glory may darkness repair
Naught that thou dost hides thee from despair

Go slowly, O knight, through tears and thorn
Whever thou goest, thou hearest the horn
They call thee to war, desolation forlorn
Ne'er to rest but fight through 'till the morn

Go slowly, O knight, take with thee thy fame
Whose eye is keen, yet still better his aim
Live your life now; know the end of this game
Giver of hope, know naught of great shame

Go slowly, O knight, great lance in thy hand
With thy sword bring good from evil demand
Though all else fail, yet surely thou must stand
Fight on to the end, fight on for thy land.
-S.J.P.

snow and tulips

After being spoiled for a couple weeks with my idea of perfect winter weather we are being hit (note the elegant use of the passive progressive) by a snowstorm. I didn't realize how I was looking forward to spring until this setback.

But it really won't be that long until spring really arrives (it just seems that way) so to cheer us up, here's a photo of some tulips given to my Grandma on Valentine's Day. Hopefully they are able to help tide us over until the tulips outside wake up and bloom.

pointy pokes

As the day approaches for the beginning of the missions trip, I have had several people ask me if I'm worried about raising enough money in time. The question was unexpected at first (now I'm accustomed to answering it) but I have answered every time in the negative (explaining why I'm not) and gone on to other aspects of the issue at hand.

I don't think that I have picked up any of that worry simply by the suggestion in their questions. I honestly believe that I have no anxiety about that aspect (didn't think that was an area that required work) and yet God, in His providence, sent me two specific passages in the Bible in my devotion schedule today that apply comfort to this issue (especially when the passages are considered together). It was such an awesome feeling to realize how directly He spoke to me and my situation today, yet I know that He always speaks through His word.

The reality is, that it took a very pointed poke for me to wake up and listen. Yes, Leviticus can be tedious at times but

All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness: -II Timothy 3:16

and I need to start living out that truth. I need to be reminded that the Bible is God's words! That truth is one that has become so close to me that I have lost sight of it.
I truly enjoy my time of devotions (a step forward from those years when I first started to implement them and struggled along with my 'this is my duty' attitude, but that's another line of thought) but there was a time (not that long ago) when every word was a comfort and became precious to me. I was much closer to the picture of the hart in Psalm 42 then. Since finding the brooks I suppose you could say I have slaked that immediate need and find myself wandering again.

So perhaps my main lesson from these two passages is not so much to help my anxiety over money matters but to remind me that I need to listen if I am to grow at all in my relationship with Him (communication is key in all relationships; earthly and heavenly!).

I suppose after all that I should share the two passages (or the few verses in each passage) that jumped out at me today. The first was Leviticus 25:20-22:

And if ye shall say, What shall we eat the seventh year? behold, we shall not sow, nor gather in our increase: Then I will command my blessing upon you in the sixth year, and it shall bring forth fruit for three years. And ye shall sow the eighth year, and eat yet of old fruit until the ninth year; until her fruits come in ye shall eat of the old store.

I suppose I should provide some background and context (this is going to take longer than I thought!): In the passage the rules for the observation of the jubilee year are being set out and God is anticipating their worries and obstacles by telling them that He is providing enough ahead of time to cover all their needs. The background of my situation is that I am observing this year as a partial jubilee year (my exact reasons for this are even more extensive so I shall leave them out) and the missions trip is part of how I am applying the jubilee idea to my life. I have expenses but the Lord has so blessed me that I have no immediate need of money and even a surplus (that I had planned on using for such a trip as this).

The other portion of the passage is Mark 10:24-27:

And the disciples were astonished at his words. But Jesus answereth again, and saith unto them, Children, how hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God. And they were astonished out of measure, saying among themselves, Who then can be saved? And Jesus looking upon them saith, With men it is impossible, but not with God: for with God all things are possible.

What jumped out were the first and last verses. Even though I am not worried about the money situation, is that because I trust God to provide (actually it's closer to God having already provided) or because I can see the figure in my bank account? Am I truly asking God to sustain me through everything or am I simply giving Him lip service as I look to more tangible supports?

Anyway those are just a few of the avenues of interest that I found in comparing these passages to my situation. God is so amazing! His word is power and His timing is perfect! Praise His name!

Small infinities

Pausing in my walk, I was able to watch this leaf slowly drift down from the branch above and wedge itself in the snow. God's creation is so infinitely beautiful.


To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
-William Blake

thesisless

I have a few minutes here before I have to sign off to head to class so I thought I should write something even though I spent a bit of time lastnight writing approximatly 5,000 words... well, actually I don't know the real total since those words are only the ones I deemed saveable. It was probably closer to twice than before revision and deletion took their toll.
But I must admit, putting the words down is not the hard part of essays. The hard part has more to do with the necessity of their making sense. That is why this blog is so much easier and I don't mind writing on it despite my present brain-fatigue: I don't have to make sense on here. I don't have to wonder if my thesis is clear throughout. I don't even have to have a thesis! I can write "don't", I can write run-on sentences, I'm free!
Highlighting my freedom from essayic restraint (not as bad as pharisaic restrain, however) this post is here, a beacon; a lighthouse of insanity in a normally regulated world. Sometimes ya just gotta have fun.

pictured at last

In celebration of:
living in the best country in the world
living where winter is a part of life
living in the best city in the world
living where the canal is easily accessible
having a warm coat to enable me to enjoy the above
having good friends to enjoy things with
looking forward to a relaxing and fun-filled week
having a camera to record aspects of all the above...

here is a picture from yesterday's fun (although really cold) skating time on the canal!

our decorating today

On a nesting note, some more advice from the AW'sEHD. I think the reason I enjoy this book so much is that I find her thoughts to be both practical and quaintly expressed (I like her use of quotations, too).

Order can be taught a child if he is early given 'a place for everything' and shown how to put 'everything in its place'...follow his development step by step, guiding his taste but recognizing it as his own. Let him have some of his 'treasures' around, just as you have yours.

Our decorating today may be inspired by a tradition of the past; but we are interpreting it to suit our own sweet will and today's manner of living.

Choice of pictures is very important. Their function is to please the eye in colour and stimulate the imagination by the subject portrayed.

Sometimes we receive gifts that, though delightful in themselves, do not fit into our decorating schemes. We must then use discretion.

(this is where re-gifting comes in...)

pride and praise

Although I know that there are times when it is important for other people to evaluate my character without having had the opportunity to meet me or get to know me at all, I still find it hard to fill out forms about my strengths and skills. As with a resume, I feel as though I am being forced to toot my own horn. I start to wonder if I really am a 'good listener' or a 'team player' or if that's just something I'm saying because I like myself but that they'll find out to be a gross exaggeration when it comes down to it. Let's face it, most people have a fairly high opinion and biased view of themselves. Of course my modesty in this could merely stem from a desire not to disappoint. I am a cautious person and take to heart the advice not to place oneself too high only to be brought down (rather, enjoying the occasional times of sitting too low and being brought up). Perhaps in letting another man praise me my motives are merely to hear my praise from someone else. Not so good. Also, most of the good traits that I posses (I admit I have some) are ones that deal with the external facade and really has nothing to do with the heart. Of course I suppose that all means of evaluation available to man are fallible in this way since only God can look into our hearts. That thought can be both unsettling and comforting. I think I shall choose to think of it as comforting!

The Heart

There were so many things I could write (or quote from someone else) on Valentine's Day that I almost didn't write anything but I thought I should do something to mark the date.
I was at Augustine for Restless Hearts last night and thoughts on that theme and some of the material presented there have inspired this post.

"The Heart Knoweth its own Bitterness"*
When all the over-work of life
Is finished once, and fast asleep
We swerve no more beneath the knife
But taste that silence cool and deep;
Forgetful of the highways rough,
Forgetful of the thorny scourge,
Forgetful of the tossing surge,
Then shall we find it is enough?

How can we say 'enough' on earth--
'Enough' with such a craving heart?
I have not found it since my birth,
But still have bartered part for part.
I have not held and hugged the whole,
But paid the old to gain the new;
Much have I paid, yet much is due,
Till I am beggared sense and soul.

I used to labour, used to strive
For pleasure with a restless will:
Now if I save my soul alive
All else what matters, good or ill?
I used to dream alone, to plan
Unspoken hopes and days to come:--
Of all my past this is the sum:
I will not lean on child of man.

To give, to give, not to recieve!
I long to pour myself, my soul,
Not to keep back or count or leave,
But king with king to give the whole.
I long for one to stir my deep--
I have had enough of help and gift--
I long for one to search and sift
Myself, to take myself and keep.

You scratch my surface with your pin;
You stroke me smooth with hushing breath;--
Nay pierce, nay probe, nay dig within,
Probe my quick core and sound my depth.
You call me with a puny call,
You talk, you smile, you nothing do:
How should I spend my heart on you,
My heart that so outweighs you all?

Your vessels are by much too strait:
Were I to pour, you could not hold.--
Bear with me: I must bear to wait,
A fountain sealed through heat and cold.
Bear with me days or months or years:
Deep must call deep until the end
When friend shall no more envy friend
Nor vex his friend at unawares.

Not in this world of hope deferred,
This world of perishable stuff;--
Eye hath not seen nor ear hath heard
Nor heart concieved that full 'enough':
Here moans the separating sea,
Here harvests fail, here breaks the heart;
There God shall join and no man part,
I full of Christ and Christ of me.
-Christina Rossetti

It is not your average love poem but I really appreciate the sentiments expressed; the way that the poem shows how after everything, the only love that makes any difference is Christ's for us. He is the only deep that can call our deep.

*This poem is full of Biblical allusions; the title is a direct quiote from Proverbs 14:10. There are many other references to Biblical passages and themes in this (and many other Rossetti poems). I have listed a few touched on in this poem:
-Proverbs 14:10
The heart knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy.
-Luke 12:48
But he that knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes. For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.
-Haggai 1:6
Ye have sown much, and bring in little; ye eat, but ye have not enough; ye drink, but ye are not filled with drink; ye clothe you, but there is none warm; and he that earneth wages earneth wages to put it into a bag with holes.
-Ezekiel 18:27
Again, when the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive.
-Ecclesiastes 2:16 (indeed, the whole book deals with these ideas)
For there is no remembrance of the wise more than of the fool for ever; seeing that which now is in the days to come shall all be forgotten. And how dieth the wise man? as the fool.
-Matthew 16:26
For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?
-Acts 20:35
I have shewed you all things, how that so labouring ye ought to support the weak, and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.
-I Samuel 1:15
And Hannah answered and said, No, my lord, I am a woman of a sorrowful spirit: I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but have poured out my soul before the LORD.
-Jeremiah 24:7
And I will give them an heart to know me, that I am the LORD: and they shall be my people, and I will be their God: for they shall return unto me with their whole heart.
-Psalm 139:1
O lord, thou hast searched me, and known me.
-Song of Solomon 4:12
A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.
-Psalm 42:7
Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.
-Proverbs 13:12
Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.
-I Corinthians 2:9
But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.
-Mark 10:9
What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.

Irresistible Peanut Butter Cookies

All week long I have enjoyed these peanut butter cookies. The recipe was on the inside of a Crisco lard box and my Mom and Grandma decided to try it. There is nothing fancy about this recipe but for some reason I found them really tasty. We ate the last few tonight and I'm trying to convince them to make another batch for the coming week. I'm in a homey mood right now; we just got back from enjoying the ice sculptures and the wintery weather and I have a cup of hot cocoa in my hand (that sounds more homey to me than 'hot chocolate'). I now wish that we hadn't finished the cookies after supper so I could have something to eat too but such is life. I'm too lazy right now to make a batch myself (and I have to get at that Latin homework) so instead I'll write out the recipe, both so that I will not lose it and for the general enjoyment of my vast readership.

IPBCs [see title of post]
3/4 c creamy peanut butter
1/2 c shortening
1 1/4 c packed brown sugar
1 egg
3 Tbsp milk
1 Tbsp vanilla
1 3/4 c all-purpose flour
3/4 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt

Preheat oven to 375 deg F. Cream first six (wet) ingredients in large bowl until smooth. Combine dry ingredients, add to creamed mixture gradually, beating at low speed until thoroughly blended. Drop by tablespoonfuls onto ungreased baking sheets. Press lightly with tines of floured fork. Bake at 375F for 7-8 minutes or until set and just beginning to brown. Cool slightly, then remove to rack.
For variety add chips. Preparation time approximatly 15 minutes, baking time 7-8 minutes. Yield about three dozen cookies.

tasty bits

More advice from The American Woman's Encyclopedia of Home Decorating from the practical to the abstract:

Whatever you do, don't have fancy curtains in your bathroom.

I should like to write a book on nothing but lamps.

...don't forget colour; it's your strongest ally.

[If] you want individuality... have around you the things you like.

Genius can't always glow unless it has a place of its own.

Wind

There is a frostbite warning today from the bitter windchill. But rather than dwell on the cold aspects of it, I shall quote a couple poems that both deal in a similar way with the mystery of the unseen...

Who Has Seen the Wind?
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you;
But when the leaves hang trembling
The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I;
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing by.
-Christina Rossetti

The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit. -John 3:8

Wind on the Hill
No one can tell me,
Nobody knows,
Where the wind comes from,
Where the wind goes.

It's flying from somewhere
As fast as it can,
I couldn't keep up with it,
Not if I ran.

But if I stopped holding
The string of my kite,
It would blow with the wind
For a day and a night.

And then when I found it,
Wherever it blew,
I should know that the wind
Had been going there too.

So then I could tell them
Where the wind goes...
But where the wind comes from
Nobody knows.
-A.A. Milne

O Lord, when Thou didst call me

O Lord, when Thou didst call me, didst Thou know
My heart disheartened through and through,
Still hankering after Egypt full in view
Where cucumbers and melons grow?
--'Yea, I knew,'--

But, Lord, when Thou didst choose me, didst Thou know
How marred I was and withered too,
Nor rose for sweetness nor for virtue rue,
Timid and rash, hasty and slow?
--'Yea, I knew.'--

My Lord, when Thou didst love me, didst Thou know
How weak my efforts were, how few,
Tepid to love and impotent to do,
Envious to reap while slack to sow?
--'Yea, I knew.'--

Good Lord, Who knowest what I cannot know
And dare not know, my false, my true,
My new, my old; Good Lord, arise and do
If loving Thou hast known me so.
--'Yea, I knew.'--
-Christina Rossetti

ruined or improved?

I picked up a book of selected poetry by Christina Rossetti to give to my cousin for her birthday. Being a book (and therefore having nothing lost in the opening thereof), I spent a bit of time looking through it while bussing home from the store. There were quite a few interesting poems about which I had some thoughts that I wanted to share with my cousin so I have decided to underline and write some comments in the book.

This was a strange idea to me at first but the more I think about it, the more I like it. I always enjoy finding books second-hand or, even better, inheriting them with someone else's thoughts on the page. It shows how that person interacted and was moved in some way by the text. Also, I want to share my thoughts with my cousin and yet there is no knowing if we will ever sit down together for the purpose of discussing the poems. And, who knows, perhaps she will notice and remember something I have written or underlined and will mention it at some point. Even if it does not happen at least I have conveyed what I would like to to her. I believe that this makes the book so much more personal.

I now have decided that in future I shall attempt to do the same for all the books that I give away. The idea may lend itself better to some types of books and some types of people than to others (I wouldn't want to do it to a coffeetable book or one given to a type-A personality!) so I shall keep that in mind but I am happy that I was thus inspired in this particular case. And I do believe that I have improved the gift by so doing.

So, to commemorate this inspiration, here is a poem:

A Birthday
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dias of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
-Christina Rossetti

And to put the title of the poem in context:
Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. Nicodemus saith unto him, How can a man be born when he is old? can he enter the second time into his mother's womb, and be born? Jesus answered, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God. That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again. The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit. -John 3:3-8

His Will

These quotes from Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest) hit on some ideas I have been thinking about in light of a discussion (I won't say debate) I was part of yesterday:

There is the call of the sea, the call of the mountains, the call of the great ice barriers, but these calls are only heard by the few. The call is the expression of the nature from which it comes, and we can only record the call if the same nature is in us. The call of God is the expression of God's nature, not of our own... my affinities and personal temperament are not considered. (January 16)
The call of God is not a call to any particular service...service is the outcome of what is fitted to my nature... and is the echo of my identification with the nature of God... The Son of God reveals Himself in me, and I serve Him in the ordinary ways of life out of devotion to Him. (January 17)

The greatest competitor of devotion to Jesus is service for Him. It is easier to serve than to be drunk to the dregs. The one aim of the call of God is the satisfaction of God, not a call to do something for Him. We are not sent to battle for God, but to be used by God in His battlings. Are we being more devoted to service than to Jesus Christ? (January 18)

We calculate and estimate, and say that this and that will happen, and we forget to make room for God to come in as He chooses...Do not look for God to come in any particular way, but look for Him. (January 25)

All I do ought to be founded on a perfect oneness with Him, not on a self-willed determination to be godly. (January 28)

The discussion yesterday concerned apathy and our duty to fight against it. Although I agree whole-heartedly that we should strive to fight this tendency (it has been an on-going struggle of mine), I disagreed with the means suggested. It seemed to me that the suggestions were all based on our own strength rather than looking to God for strength. It is good to strive for God, but (as mentioned in the quotes above) it is not our wills that should bear the load. Our own determination and plans will get us nowhere; when we try to fight for God on our own strength we are setting ourselves up for failure. We need to surrender our wills to Him and let Him use us whenever and wherever is best. Yes, we are to make plans but we cannot let our service for God become our highest goal. If we instead set our hopes in His will then if He tells us to change our well-thought out plans, we are more flexible since all is done in obedience to Him.

This is probably quite dis-jointed to read and may not make much sense outside of the context of the discussion but I wanted to write it out!

Ulysses

In class yesterday, we studied Tennyson's Ulysses, my favourite excerpt from which I shall quote here (I especially like the first four lines here):

I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
and this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

There is so much in this section (and even more in the rest of the poem) and it is expressed so beautifully and fittingly but I have been thinking of the truth, yet the sadness of these sentiments (especially those in the middle of this section).

Ulysses is, in this poem, an old man who is contemplating one last adventure. He laments the fact that we have a limited time on this earth yet unlimited possibilities of action: "Life piled on life/ Were all too little" yet, as a Christian (although, being human, I can certainly relate in part) since I have a hope of eternity (and not one of "silence") this should not be a problem. We are pilgrims on this earth and although we are to be concerned with the matters of this life, our treasures and goal should be on things above so that when we reach the age where these lamentations are appropriate, we rather yearn for that better place than lament that we cannot spend more time here.

I have many other thoughts on many other aspects of the passage but I think that I shall leave it at that and let my dear readers discern what they will from it.

vanitas vanitatum

I finished Vanity Fair in time for class yesterday. Slogging through all 888 pages was rendered much less a chore than it would seem from the length by the delightful running commentary of the narrator and the truthfulness of the depictions of life found in much of the book. I cannot say that it is a happy book or even that it has a happy ending (even though Amelia and Dobbin are married in the last chapter). On the other hand, it is not a depressing book either (unless one wishes to take it so).

Apparently Thackeray said that his intention was to show how different characters manage to struggle through this Vanity Fair of life without God. It is a fascinating picture, full of human nature. This was the time of the Victorians--a time when conduct and etiquette books were replacing the Bible as moral authority; a time when appearances meant more than truth. But beyond the exposure of these trends for what they are, the book continues to resonate since it is a book on human nature. It is a book about vanity, about ambition, about drawing-room and public politics. Each character in it is flawed in one way or another; it is truly a "Novel Without a Hero" (its subtitle).

This book can be seen in many ways as a parallel to Ecclesiastes: "Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity." -Ecclesiastes 1:2.

But is there any hope to be taken from this book? There is but one character in it who stands against the flow (and she doesn't get much air-time). Lady Jane is true to her faith and is an example of a character who passes through this Vanity Fair of life without getting caught up in it.

The concluding sentences sum up much of the thrust of the book:

Ah! Vanitas Vanitatum! Which of us is happy in this world? Which of us has his desire? or having it, is satisfied?

It is true: we have no hope of being satisfied in acquiring our temporal desires but thankfully we have a hope in the life to come where we shall be satisfied with eternal treasures!

AWEHD hints

Here are a few more lovely extracts from The American Woman's Encyclopedia of Home Decorating:

Decorative theory is the same in all types of rooms. Have essentials of comfort; plan every inch of space to hold conveniently what you really use. Store or throw away what you don't use. Decide to live with charm and have books, pictures, plants about you.

Don't ever overlook having the kind of easy chair a man will like. Decorating is making a home comfortable to live in for a number of people.

Don't treat your dining room like a stepchild.

A fireplace in a dining room is a joy...just as we love sunshine in a dining room in daytime--so a bright crackling fire warms the cockles of the heart (as well as the room) at evening meal.

No matter how large or small the bedroom, if it is to serve its purpose, it must be comfortable for those who use it.

...don't forget colour; it's your strongest ally...

Fire

I find fire facinating. But beyond the physical world, I am finding a facination in the conceptual use of fire in the Bible and how it is both straightforward and complex (as, I would say, are all Biblical concepts).

The word "fire" is used around five hundred times and, putting aside its use in sacrifice, the majority of the times it is used, it is in the context of God's terrible judgement on sinners. Yet, even within that context it is also used to show God's tender mercies to us! How can these two be reconciled? I hope the following three verses help illustrate what I am trying to articulate about the varying degrees that His fire, applied to human life can change it (from destroying to cutting away what is useless to purifying).


As they gather silver, and brass, and iron, and lead, and tin, into the midst of the furnace, to blow the fire upon it, to melt it; so will I gather you in mine anger and in my fury, and I will leave you there, and melt you.
-Ezekiel 22:20

And I will bring the third part through the fire, and will refine them as silver is refined, and will try them as gold is tried: they shall call on my name, and I will hear them: I will say, It is my people: and they shall say, The LORD is my God.
-Zechariah 13:9

That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ:
-I Peter 1:7

homey hints

I picked up The American Women's Encyclopedia of Home Decoration while cleaning off a shelf in my room and as I was leafing through the pages before returning it to its place, (yes, this is a necessary step to cleaning a bookshelf) I came across some quaint quotes that also contained wisdom. So although I am nowhere near the stage of owning my own house (that I might decorate it), I thought I might share some principles that can be applied to whatever little piece of floor one might call one's own.

It isn't the money you spend that counts but good assembling of attractive things.

Don't have many small ornaments; they mean work to clean.

It is the idea behind the decorating that counts.

Is there a woman who doesn't want just the right draperies?

A long mirror in a bedroom is a luxury within reach.

Order is the first rule of the closet.

And my favourite:

A place to stretch out in the daytime often saves a "state of nerves".

The Deacon's bench

If you were wondering where the name for this type of furniture originated, read on...

According to my sources, in early American times benches similar to this remake stood before the high pulpit in churches and was, in fact, occupied by a deacon. This deacon was (as the story goes) equipped with a long staff to shepherd the flock in such a way as to awaken any listeners who happened to doze off during the two hour sermons!

A full life

He liveth long who liveth well;
All else is life but flung away;
He liveth longest who can tell
Of true things truly done each day.

Then fill each hour with what will last;
Buy up the moments as they go;
The life above, when this is past,
Is the ripe fruit of life below.
-Horatio Bonar

For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting. And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not. As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith.
-Galations 6:8-10

Skating

The following poem describes almost exactly the sensations and feelings I have had numerous times when skating alone outside (the best way to enjoy skating). Today was the first time this year that I have had occasion to lace up my skates again. Although the experience (in a public, indoor arena) was not up to the same standard as outdoor skating, the fun of actually skating again was quite adequate! So to commemorate another season, here is a beautiful poem!

The Skater

My glad feet shod with the glittering steel
I was the god of the winged heel.

The hills in the far white sky were lost;
The world lay still in the wide white frost;

And the woods hung hushed in their long white dream
By the ghostly, glimmering, ice-blue stream.

Here was a pathway, smooth like glass,
Where I and the wandering wind might pass

To the far-off places, drifted deep,
Where Winter's retinue rests in sleep.

I followed the lure, I fled like a bird,
Till the startled hollows awoke and heard

A spinning whisper, a sibilant twang,
As the stroke of the steel on the tense ice rang;

And the wandering wind was left behind
As faster, faster I followed my mind;

Till the blood sang high in my eager brain,
And the joy of my flight was almost pain.

Then I stayed the rush of my eager speed
And silently went as a drifting seed,--

Slowly, furtively, till my eyes
Grew big with the awe of dim surmise,

And the hair of my neck began to creep
At hearing the wilderness talk in sleep.

Shapes in the fir-gloom drifted near.
In the deep of my heart I heard my fear.

And turned and fled, like a soul pursued,
From the white, inviolate solitude.

-Charels G.D. Roberts

Lewis on love

These two quotes are probably my favourite to date and I have meant to post them for quite some time but was waiting to finish and post my condensed version of the third chapter of The Four Loves first (this is from the fourth chapter) but they're so good that, on the one hand, I can wait no longer to post them (who knows how long it will take me) and, on the other hand, if I do end up re-posting them along with the rest of that chapter, people have the opportunity to read it twice (something worth doing!). So here they are, set apart from the rest of the chapter:

There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all dangers and perterbations of love is Hell.

And, coming in a close second in both merit and location on the page is the following:

We shall draw near to God, not by trying to avoid the sufferings inherent in all loves, but by accepting them and offering them to Him; throwing away all defensive armour. If our hearts need to be broken, and if He chooses this as the way in which they should break, so be it.

Actually, I'll throw in this final one since it follows from these two and is quite good too:

It is probably impossible to love any human being simply "too much". We may love him too much in proportion to our love for God; but it is the smallness of our love for God, not the greatness of our love for the man, that constitutes the inordinacy.
-C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves from the chapter: "Charity"

Carob

My thoughts exactly:

Carob is a brown powder made from the pulverized fruit of a Mediterranean evergreen.
Some consider carob an adequate substitute for chocolate because it has some similar nutrients (calcium, phosphorus), and because it can, when combined with vegetable fat and sugar, be made to approximate the color and consistency of chocolate.

Of course, the same arguments can as persuasively be made in favour of dirt.

In Which Dickens Expounds Generally Upon the Writing Practices of Philosophers

Having had to read through more than one work by a philosopher in the course of my studies, I was delighted to come across this quote from Oliver Twist dealing with the circumloquatious nature that characterizes much of the writing to be found under that subject. Another amusing aspect of this quote is that it is employed to illustrate to the reader the manner in which a couple young pick-pockets exit the scene of a crime and return to their base. As the primary feature of such a retreat must be to evade detection, the parallel is quite enjoyable to those, as mentioned above, forced to read through such rabbit-trails found within the writings of certain venerable philosophers:

If I wanted any further proof of the strictly philosophical nature of the conduct of these young gentlemen in their very delicate predicament, I should at once find it in the fact (also recorded in the foregoing part of this narrative), of their quitting the pursuit, when the general attention was fixed upon Oliver; and making immediately for their home by the shortest possible cut. Although I do not mean to assert that it is usually the practice of renowned and learned sages, to shorten the road to any great conclusion (their course indeed being rather to lengthen the distance, by various circumlocutions and discursive staggerings, like unto those in which drunken men under the pressure of a too mighty flow of ideas, are prone to indulge); still, I do mean to say, and do say distinctly, that it is the invariable practice of many mighty philosophers, in carrying out theories, to evince great wisdom and foresight in providing against every possible contingency which can be supposed at all likely to affect themselves. Thus, to do a great right, you may do a little wrong; and you may take any means which the end to be attained will justify; the amount of the right, or the amount of the wrong, or indeed the distinction between the two, being left entirely to the philosopher concerned, to be settled and determined by his clear, comprehensive, and impartial view of his own partial case.

Pink

It has been a while since I last posted a picture so feel justified in the otherwise content-less nature of this post.
After all, it's so pretty what else can I say?

looking-glass

I have been reading both Vanity Fair and Oliver Twist this past week and came across a passage from each that reinforces some of my thoughts on the issue of how we interact with and percieve the world around us:

The melancholy which had seemed to the sad eyes of the anxious boy to hang, for days past, over every object, beautiful as all were, was dispelled by magic. The dew seemed to sparkle more brightly on the green leaves; the air to rustle among them with a sweeter music; and the sky itself to look more blue and bright. Such is the influence which the condition of our own thoughts, exercises, even over the appearance of external objects. Men who look on nature, and their fellow-men, and cry that all is dark and gloomy, are in the right; but the sombre colours are reflections from their own jaundiced eyes and hearts. The real hues are delicate, and need a clearer vision.
-Dickens from Oliver Twist

All the world used her ill, said this young misanthropist, and we may be pretty certain that persons whom all the world treats ill, deserve entirely the treatment they get. The world is a looking-glass, and gives back to every man the reflection of his own face. Frown at it, and it will in turn look sourly upon you; laugh at it, and with it, and it is a jolly kind companion; and so let all young persons take their choice.
-Thackeray from Vanity Fair

Spurgeon

A friend of mine brought this quote to my attention and I wanted to share it too. Not only is the content of the quote appropriate but the name of the book is a perfect fit here (now I'm interested in finding and reading the rest of this book).

God has not promised to rescue us according to our time schedule. If it appears that your prayers are unanswered, do not dishonor the Lord with unbelief. Waiting in faith is a high form of worship. In some respects, it excels the adoration of the shining ones above.

God delivers His servants in ways that exercise their faith. He would not have them lacking in faith, for faith is the wealth of the heavenly life. He desires that the trial of faith continues until faith grows strong and comes to full assurance. The sycamore fig never ripens into sweetness unless it is bruised; the same is true of faith. Tested believer, God will bring you through, but do not expect Him to bring you through in the way that human reason suggests, for that would not develop your faith.
-Charles Spurgeon Beside Still Waters p. 148

Of Mercy and of Justice

Another of my studies this year has been Shakespeare. The play we are looking at at present is Measure for Measure. It has been an interesting play to study in that it deals with Justice and Mercy.

In the second scene of the second act, Isabella is appealing to the current ruler, Angelo, who has cast Isabella's brother into prison for a crime under a law that had long sat mouldering but which was suddenly revived for the sake of reforming the city. She begs for mercy, he unwaveringly points out the neccessity for justice.

[Isabella] Too late? why, no, I, that do speak a word,
May call it back again. Well believe this,
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
Not the King's crown, nor the deputed sword,
...
Become them with one half so good a grace
As mercy does.
If he had been as you and you as he,
You would have slipt like him; but he, like you,
Would not have been so stern.
...
[Angelo] Your brother is a forfeit of the law
...
[Isabella] Alas, alas!
Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once;
And He that might the vantage best have took
Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If He, which is the top of judgement, should
But judge you as you are? O, think on that;
And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
Like man new made.
[Angelo]... It is the law, not I condemn your brother
...
The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept:
Those many had not dared to that evil,
If the first that did the edict infringe
Had answer'd for his deed...
[Isabella] Yet show some pity.
[Angelo] I show it most of all when I show justice;
For then I pity those I do not know,
Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall;
And do him right that, answering one foul wrong,
Lives not to act another...
[Isabella] ... O, it is excellent
To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant...
Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet,
For every pelting, petty officer
Would use his heaven for thunder;
Nothing but thunder! Merciful Heaven,
Thou rather with thy sharp and suphurous bolt
Split'st the unwedgedable and gnarled oak
Than the soft myrtle: but man, proud man,
Drest in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assured,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before hight heaven
As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.
...
[Angleo] Why do you put these sayings upon me?
[Isabella] Because authority, though it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself,
That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom;
Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know
That's like my brother's fault; if it confess
A natural guiltiness such as is his,
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
Against my brother's life.

It is truly a hard question as to which of the two ought to have more sway over our law system since we are all fallible humans, yet laws are necessary (much as the argument went on before).

But the beautiful thing about God's plan is that both His justice and His mercy are perfectly satisfied in Christ's act of propitiation! He is both the Lawgiver and the loving God we read about in Psalm 103:

He hath not dealt with us after our sins; nor rewarded us according to our iniquities. For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great is his mercy toward them that fear him. As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.
-Psalm 103:10-12

Christ not only took our sins upon Himself and paid for them perfectly, but He gives us His righteousness in exchange! The first is His act of mercy in satisfying justice, the second of grace. We can never praise Him enough; it is no wonder that we will want to glorify and honour Him through all eternity!

VicLit

The way it works out I will be studying Victorian literature in two separate classes this term but I couldn't be happier about it! I love this period of writing--especially since I am a fan of the novel (and more particularly of the Victorian novel). To me, reading a Victorian novel does not constitute work. Yes, they're quite long (being paid per word often does that to writers) but they're so good. I've put the assigned reading for those two classes in the list on the sidebar as well as at the end of this post for all to view with envy. Not only do I get to read these books again (there are only three I havn't read before) but I get to study them in their historical contexts, I get to link them through various ideas and concepts... I'm really looking forward to this aspect of my studies.

I hope to put some of my thoughts and conclusions from those studies in here so hopefully the list will help people to follow along--it's fairly close to the order in which they are to be read (but I really put it there to brag, there's no doubt about that).

Assigned Victorian Novels
Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
Hard Times - Charles Dickens
North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
Lady Audley's Secret - Mary Elizabeth Braddon
Middlemarch - George Eliot
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde - R.L. Stevenson
The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde

Not Our Own

From several varying sources in the past few days I have found good quotes that touch on different aspects of our duty to God in particular referring to our duty to offer back that with which we have been blessed.

What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own? For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God's.
-I Corinthians 6:19,20

Worship is giving God the best that He has given you. Be careful what you do with the best you have. Whenever you get a blessing from God, give it back to Him as a love gift. take time to meditate before God and offer the blessing back to Him in a deliberate act of worship. If you hoard a thing for yourself, it will turn into spiritual dry rot, as the manna did when it was hoarded. God will never let you hold a spiritual thing for yourself, it has to be given back to Him that He may make it a blessing to others.
-Oswald Chambers My Utmost for His Highest, January 6th

The lord of that servant will come in a day when he looketh not for him, and at an hour when he is not aware, and will cut him in sunder, and will appoint him his portion with the unbelievers. And that servant, which knew his lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes. But he that knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes. For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.
-Luke 12:46-48

Full of pity view us, stretch Thy scepter to us,
Bid us live that we may give ourselves to Thee:
O faithful Lord and True! stand up for us and do,
Make us lovely, make us new, set us free--
Heart and soul and spirit--to bring all and worship Thee.
-Christina Rosetti Epiphanytide

For thou wilt light my candle: the LORD my God will enlighten my darkness...
It is God that girdeth me with strength, and maketh my way perfect.
-Psalm 18:28,32

Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid.
Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven. Matthew 5:14-16

...Thyself and thy belongings
Are not thine own so proper as to waste
Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.
Heaven doth with us as we with torches do,
Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us 'twere all alike
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd
But to find issues, nor Nature never lends
The smallest scruple of her excellence
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
Herself the glory of a creditor,
Both thanks and use.
-Shakespeare's Measure for Measure

There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is that witholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty.
-Proverbs 11:24

God nowhere tells us to give up things for the sake of giving them up. He tells us to give them up for the sake of the only thing worth having--viz., life with Himself.
-Oswald Chambers My Utmost for His Highest, January 8th

Another hint for the weather

To continue the feeling of my last post here is an exerpt from a second poem that deals with the warmth of a fire contrasted with the cold outside:

extract from:
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat;
And ever, when a louder blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed:
The house-dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the fire his drowsy head,
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall;
And, for the winter's fireside meet,
Between the andirons' straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.

What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north-wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow.
-John Greenleaf Whittier

Singeth the kettle...

Today was a glorious day! The sun shone bright and there was an invigorating breeze with a whiff of melting in it. It feels like a new beginning as I once again begin classes. I generally am a little excited with every fresh start of a semester (this, of course, does not usually last for very long...) but today more than ever when I walked outside between each class and lingered in the square under the trees I sensed the joy of this fresh start on a fresh day.

This day was a wonderful gift and I am enjoying the effortless warmth I experience as a result of this unusually mild spell however, in my mind there's something wrong when I see green grass in January. As much as I enjoy spring weather, there are aspects of winter weather that I also appreciate.

Also, it will take some time and cold weather before the Canal is in any state to be enjoyed (beyond aesthetically) this winter. At this time many enjoyable winter sports are out of the question and there is another aspect to the issue: the loss we have of the comfort of coming inside from the cold. There is nothing quite like the feeling of comfort that comes from being warm and cosy by a fire or wrapped around a steamy mug of some wonderful beverage while the wind rages outside. One can only truly enjoy hot chocolate to the full after being tired out from some romp in the snow and being presented with it upon one's arrival inside to warm up and dry off.

So in this spirit I have a song that may hopefully remind the weather of its proper office or, failing that, may remind us of wonderful times we have enjoyed during years gone by.

A Canadian Folk Song

The doors are shut, the windows fast,
Outside the gust is driving past,
Outside the shivering ivy clings,
While on the hob* the kettle sings.
Margery, Margery, make the tea
Singeth the kettle merrily.

The streams are hushed up where they flowed,
The ponds are frozen along the road,
The cattle are housed in shed and byre
While singeth the kettle on the fire.
Margery, Margery make the tea
Singeth the kettle merrily.

The fisherman on the bay in his boat
Shivers and buttons up his coat;
The traveller stops at the tavern door,
And the kettle answers the chimney's roar.
Margery, Margery, make the tea
Singeth the kettle merrily.

The firelight dances upon the wall,
Footsteps are heard in the outer hall,
And a kiss and a welcome that fill the room,
And the kettle sings in the glimmer and gloom.
Margery, Margery, make the tea
Singeth the kettle merrily.
-William Wilfred Campbell

*One of my material ambitions is one day to have a hob that I might put my kettle there to sing!

Ten-year reunion

at Augustine College
It was good to be able to catch up with what other graduates are doing. It was also good to meet some from other years and compare notes.

The whole weekend was great but my highlight was New Years Day after everyone else had gone home: a few of us lazed the afternoon/evening away consuming countless cups of tea and crunching countless cookies while discussing cabbages and kings. It was a luxury I had forgotten about while away from Augustine. I seem also to have forgotten the copious amounts of work that balanced out the few lazy days but such is the golden glow of memory. I am happy that while things change every year (especially with the student body ever changing), some things remain the same and it is these essentials that mean so much.

So one more resolution to tack on the list will be to spend more time at Augustinian events (and non-events). We'll see how that one pans out once work is factored into the equation but I know that if I put forth any effort in this area I will be richly rewarded so hopefully that is enough incentive to keep this resolution.