country mouse

I am enjoying my life in the city. I like the convenience, the way that I can easily plan to enjoy time out with friends, the endless options for activities. But before I go too far in my praise, I have to say that I cherish the country. I would be able to live in cities the rest of my life but I would find myself to be pining for the wide open spaces and beauty of nature only truly available beyond the city limits. Although I was born in this city and only moved out part-way through my childhood, I still feel as though that aspect of my personality is dominant.

Hand in hand with this is my enjoyment of country music. I know those who don't like country seem to have a disgust for the genre and don't see how it can have any merit but I was just listening to Tim Mcgraw's song Where the Green Grass Grows and the words seemed to fit with my mood and inspired this post. So I will write them out here and hopefully they will express what I'm feeling right now better than I can.


Where the Green Grass Grows

Six lanes, tail lights
Red ants marchin' into the night
They disappear to the left and right again
Another supper
From a sack
A 99 cent heart attak
I got a poundin' head and an achin' back
And the camel's standin' in a big straw stack



I'm gonna live where the green grass grows
Watch my corn pop up in rows
Every night be tucked in close to you
Raise our kids where the good Lord's blessed
Point our rockin' chairs towards the west
And plant our dreams where the peaceful river cools
Where the green grass grows



Well I'm from
A map dot
A stop sign on a blacktop
I caught the first bus that I could hop from there
But all o' this glitter is gettin' dark
There's concrete growin' in the city park
I don't know who my neighbors are
And there's bars on the corner and bars on my heart



I'm gonna live where the green grass grows
Watch my corn pop up in rows
Every night be tucked in close to you
Raise our kids where the good Lord's blessed
Point our rockin' chairs towards the west
And plant our dreams where the peaceful river cools
Where the green grass grows

brilliant

Why has it become the way that after I post something that I think I have just thought about, I find it as the subject of the previous post? Is my memory that short?
But to keep up the theme of repeating one's self, I am posting some more pictures from that same day on the beach during a break from work.

satisfaction

I was wondering why this past few months I have not had much desire to write in my blog. I finally realized that my needs to release artistic-ness and to chronicle my life that were previously met in the formation of these posts has been met instead in my photography. So to compromise a bit, I will try to post some of these pictures that have taken the place of posts and in that way (hopefully) benefit both my blog and my photography.




I have come to appreciate rocky beaches not only for their abundance of rocks to skip (or just throw...) but also for their beauty. This beach is located on the property of one of our jobs so several times during breaks we have relaxed there. Ah, the perks of landscaping.

picture this

life has been too full to find time to chronicle other than by camera. I am falling more and more in love with taking pictures even going so far as to take multiple pictures of people (gasp). I am finding that the more I take pictures the more I find little tricks to overcome my camera's shortcomings. I don't know what I would do with a camera that didn't need compensation in one way or another. Interesting thought. It would leave little room for improvement. It is like when I think of how I would like to be rich. Yet at the same time I find certain zest in being flexible and living around shortcomings.

One sad thought is how the summer is coming to a close. I will enjoy the fall also but this has been a wonderful summer. As we were leaving the English conversation group, we noticed that the sky was dark and just from the sun having set, not from any particularly dark clouds. I must say, though, that it put a bit of a dark cloud on our discussion.

Ah, but life moves on. Which happy fact is the moving force behind my newly-found unhappiness with the upcoming school year. I will graduate from my program this year (all things being equal) and I will subsequently have to decide what to do with my life. Well, I know I don't have to plan out my whole future but even the fact that I have to come up with something to occupy myself for at least another year or two (it would be nice to find something for a longer period of time, too) is to be dreaded. I hate making decisions. Ah well, I hear they come up sometimes in life.

Dill

Herbs can be beautiful too.

too bad

Good sportsmanship we hail, we sing
It's always pleasant when you spot it.
There's only one unhappy thing:
You have to lose to prove you've got it.

Sparky

I received an e-mail today informing me that my dog is to be put down. The appointment is set for a few minutes from now. By the time I post this she will have breathed her last. She lived a good life and was happy. She was the nicest dog I've ever met. She was my Sparky-dog that went with me on all my adventures, walks, patiently waited while I practiced taking pictures with her as my model, came along and waited in the cold while I visited or babysat at neighbours' houses. The list goes on. She was my first dog and no other dog will hold that place. We got another dog a couple years ago and I am glad that we did it that way so that there is no way of thinking of Shasta as Sparky's replacement. They both have their own places in our household and hearts.

Well this is not very well written and more than a composition is a set of thoughts and feelings I have about my old pup. It was good to write them out.

some little details from the Blue City

The decoration of the tiles is one of the most beautiful ideas for beautifying a building that I have ever seen. It doesn't hurt, either, that I absolutly love the shade of blue that predominated in the colour scheme...

Gaskell

Having just written an 'update on my life' post, after a long silence sporadically broken with pictures, I realize that I havn't written a quote post in a while either so here goes (while I'm here and have time I might as well get as many as I can posted). Here are some quotes from North and South that I came across while atempting to clean up my papers from school. Yes, that means that my desk, after months of neglect is starting to be sorted out (doesn't mean that it looks any tidier yet, in fact it's probably worse but it's getting there--have to destroy the old before building the new). I read, studied and wrote on this book and highly enjoyed getting to know it better. Elizabeth Gaskell's writing is true to life's nity-gritty and yet makes it beautiful. So here are a few quotes drawn from the book:

The cloud never comes in that quarter of the horizon from which we watch for it.

If the world was full of perplexing problems she would trust, and only ask to see the one step needful for the hour.

As she realized what might have been she grew to be thankful for what was.

...books, not cared for on account of their binding solely, lay on the table, as if recently put down.

Tyrants make liars.

"He is my first olive: let me make a face while I swallow."

(said by the leading lady about the leading man before... well, I'm sure you get the picture)

wired for sound

My Uncle came over yesterday and hooked up he wireless router to our internet. What this means for me practically is that I now have the power to access the internet on my laptop while in my room downstairs. This may not sound that exiting but for me it's a pretty big deal. On days that I am not working I think that it is going to be hard for me to emerge from the basement at all. Now that Gma is back from her rambles I suppose that I shall be called up to be fed (could I call it 'fed up'?) on a fairly regular basis so that is good but this convenience is addictive.

I know there are many out there who have had the same convenience of internet in their room (or all over their house) for ages now but I am not what you would call on the cuting edge of this techshmology stuff.

I am looking forward to the fact that when it comes time to write more papers (I actually don't really want to think of that at this time of year) I can stay up as late as I like without inconveniencing Gma (the computer room is next to her bedroom). Endless possibilities in the procrastination line open before me...

Yes. Well I introduced the topic in passing before but will now deal with it as the subject of this paragraph (or perhaps two), Gma is home from her travels. She arrived at the bus station last night so I went to pick her up. She has been gone for a few weeks and living here by myself with full use of the car has been another of those unfamiliar conveniences/treats. Unfortunatly this is one that only lasts a little while. Not that I dislike it when Gma is around, it's just that it's easier for me to live by myself than to think of someone else. I like my space and it's easier to be selfish. Not as companionable, though. But at the same time I've had quite a bit of companionship with friends and fun so didn't miss the homey type.

It sounds as though she and her sisters had a ball while away so I feel better about having fun here! When I grow old I want to be the type of old lady who, when pulled over for speeding, doesn't get a ticket since she's so delightful... Ahh I'l travel in style like Gma and her sisters then...

a foal

Gotta love horses with foals this cute!

A Bug's Life

I found this bug in my garden last week.

Dog deck details

the lazy way

Seeing as I now have a huge amount of pictures and only small amounts of time, I have decided that I shall dedicate the next few posts to pictures. Enjoy!


These were taken around my house yesterday. the wonders of technology.

nautica

When I was in Toronto in May I took a walk down by the water and took a few pictures. Here are two of my favourite ones.

girls of summer

Yay for the first day of Summer! The season of gratuitous flowers!
And the season for which I can finally revert to the original colour of the blog. It's like coming home. I don't normally go for pink but this is a nice shade and I still think it's the nicest template offered. But for the sake of variety I have decided to change colours with the seasons. And it makes good sense when there are four different options. I've assigned blue for winter, green for spring, pink for summer and brown for autumn. I am slightly disapointed that autumn, my favourite season, was stuck with the worst colour but it had to be that way; it doesn't make sense otherwise. And brown will match any of the stunning pictures of fall leaves that I am inevitably going to take and post.

It has been alternating rain and sun all day. Maybe because it is a day of transitions the weather thought it would follow the general theme. I am planning on heading to the beach again with some friends tonight so I hope it won't rain on our parade. If it does, we'll just come on back here and find something else to do. But it would be nice if we could enjoy the great outdoors.

In other breaking news (except that I really do hope that it doesn't break): I finally got my laptop!!! Yay! I have been (as expected) spending all my spare moments on it sorting and arranging what pictures and music I have. I can't wait until I get to hook it up to my brother's computer and get all the stuff I've been dumping on that in the mean time. Should be awsome!

suffocating venom

I have been reading Molecules of Emotion by Candace B. Pert, PhD. It is an interesting and informative book and, so far, has almost made me interested in going into sciences! I know it's hard to believe but there you have it. Perhaps, though, I should stick to reading about the sciences (I'm good at reading in any case).

One paragraph (that has little to do with the actual topic in the book but is present merely to explain a different point) caught my interest and I shall quote it here:

...In higher animals, the cobra's venom acts by entering a victim's body and diffusing to the acetylcoline receptors, including those on the diaphragm muscles, which regulate breathing. The venom blocks the access of natural acetycholine to its receptors. Since acetycholine is the neurotransmitter that's responsible for muscle contraction, the resulting paralysis of the diaphragm muscles causes death by suffocation.

So then both cobras and boa constrictors essentially have similar means of finishing off their victims, only the cobra does not have to try very hard.

Sand and water

Ah, the beach.
Ah, summer.

I have a feeling that this one will be one of the more memorable summers. My job is great (have I mentioned that before?) and I hope to be able to connect with friends that I havn't had the time to keep up with other summers. Last night I went with some friends from school to the local park/beach and sat around and then ended up in a game of beach volleyball with a group of guys from Egypt. It was fun for the most part (some strange moments occurred but that's okay; everything worked out well).

I love summer evenings. Evening is my favourite time of day (just as autumn is my favourite time of year); I love the feeling of the day finally cooling off--the sun no longer beating but rather gently embracing those in it... Anyway, another thing that I enjoy about summer evenings is that they seem to like to linger. The day has tired them out so they hang around lazily in no hurry to leave. I enjoy being outdoors.

Sorry if this post seems worthless. I enjoyed writing my simple ode to summer and beaches and water and sand. They're wonderful.

Nicotiana and sky

A Nicotiana seed-head taken last winter.
I just realized that I have not posted any pictures in quite some time. Now, as I have said before, my hope is that when I do get my new computer that I shall be able to take my pictures from my camera and post them, just like that. Now I have to load them onto my brother's computer and send them to my Grandma's computer before I have the luxury of choosing a picture to post at any point. I am looking forward to the day when that will no longer be the case but, before that day comes, here is a photo.

Elusive Time

I figured that I would have more time to write better posts now that I'm home from the trip and settling in to the work/play schedule. But that does not seem to be the case. I'm also hoping (probably in similar hopeless fashion) that when I get my new computer (notice the use of 'when') I'll have more time (or at least, for starters, the computer will not periodically shut down my browser for no apparent reason in the middle of whatever I may be doing) to devote to writing. But we'll see if that develops. I know in my previous wishful thinking that I forgot to factor in the time spent on keeping in touch with new friends made on the trip. So maybe I will have more time with the new computer. Then again, I will probably spend more of that time simply playing around with pictures and music (knowing me). But that will be fun too. Working has also tired me and when tired I am not as creative and have not the energy to attempt to make what I write sound clever.
So I apologise for the lack of content and quality but that may be the case all summer long, so be prepared.

After Math (there is life)

In the weeks following my return, more results of my trip and how it has changed/impacted me have appeared. For one, it wasn't until I returned to my home church that I realized how much I love being there and how much they feel more like family than friends to me. Another unlooked-for event is the request (over e-mail) from an acquaintance made over there for me to look for a job for him and invite him to Canada. Not going to happen. But I do see the reasons why he would want to come over here. We live in such privilege.

In other news, I'm really enjoying getting back to work! I know it's only the second day back but it is truly great to be paid to take out your frustrations with a sledghammer and a slab of concrete. I'm getting a great workout (and perhaps getting back into shape after a new low in that department on my return from the unhealthy-eating vacation), a tan (perhaps slightly farmer-ish but it's still a tan), and I really am working with two of the greatest guys you'll ever meet.
I'll let you know if my sentiments change after a month or two of this hard work.

And a segue-less change of gears: I've been thinking of purchasing a laptop. This has been an ongoing consideration for quite some time but especially now that I have so many pictures from my trip, I would love to have a place where I can actually share them with others... So my 'looking' status has taken on a more serious aspect and has been changed to 'inquiring' hopefully to be followed up with 'purchasing' in the not-so-distant future.

I'll keep you posted.

the grindstone has a purpose

So I shall be starting work again in about nine hours from now. I'm really excited to get back to landscaping and into the groove of getting up early and working. No, I'm not crazy, I just enjoy the feeling of satisfaction of working hard and the result of a job well done. I also have been blessed by a wonderful work situation and boss. I know there are days that I would rather not get up and days that I would rather not have to leave the house but I know at those occasions (at least my little, annoyingly-postive voice in my head tells me) that I'll enjoy it once I get out there (usually!).

Another benefit that I am looking forward to with much anticipation is the getting-back-into-shape effect of hard work. After spending the better part of a year sitting at desks, reading and writing with only the occasional walk to count in the way of exercise and especially after the amount of food (and very fatty food at that) that I ate while away (everyone was very hospitable, especially when it came to serving food...), it's about time that I actually worked my body a bit.

So here goes, I am about to take the first real plunge back into life and responsibility. Wish me luck!

after the fact

I spent some time today researching some of the things we went to see while travelling and now that I have some time and distance, I think the facts are finally sticking. It all makes more sense now in any case. I think one of the factors is that I am able to read about it and see what the names actually look like (there's something about combining oral and visual learning for reinforcing lessons and I know it works) but also when I read about the different people and places, they are presented in a logical, linear fashion that makes sense to me and provides a structure in which I can place all the little facts I learned in order.

On the other side of the issue, having seen the actual places gives me much more interest in the history and incentive to remember.

In an ideal world I probably would have researched like this before going but (I tell myself) I wouldn't have know where to start and what lines of study to follow up.

This trip and subsequent learning of history has further inspired me (not that I needed further inspiration) to travel more, in particular to travel to England where much of what I am interested in and studying in school took place. I think my studies would be enriched immensely were I to take a trip there. I guess I need to convince someone to sponsor me now... Anyone?

the silence like unto death has lifted

I am finally back from the land of Uz to the land of blogs. It has been a long time for me not to have posted my ponderings, pictures, and quotes and I have many to share but I think that they will come out bit by bit as I process them. For now I think I shall keep this short and say that I have had many experiences that have changed me in many ways and I am looking forward to a summer filled with 'normal' activities in which I can chew over my abnormal ones and see what to make of them.
When I left this beautiful country everything was brown and on my return all the leaves have popped out and things are in bloom. It is a beautiful picture of what can happen in a short time with a little sun and water. It encourages me in my prayers for that sun and water in my new friends' lives.

here

I have arrived on the first leg of my journey and things are going well. I had another post almost ready to publish but the silly computer time ran out and I lost it so this is going to be short. I don't know how much time I'll have while away to write but I'm hoping to have some updates as I go and I'm also planning on writing things after the fact so we'll see how it goes.
And that's all (for now), folks.

thought

If cleanliness is next to godliness where does that place the Romans seeing it was the barbarians who introduced them to soap?

Nostalgia

It is true that you can never go back. Life changes; you change, the people and places around you change. But occasionally there are opportunities to return to where you were before. I worked at a Standarbred training barn for five years during highschool. When I went off to College and University I had to stop my job. It was hard to go. But this past month I've been able to go back once every week or two and help out again. In a way things are different. Some of the changes are good, some sad (not being as fit as I used to be is only one of them). But in a way noting seems to have changed. At least not at the heart of what mattered. Maybe the towels are put away in a different spot but Ron is still Ron and things are really much the same as they ever were. I don't know how much more I'll be able to work there after this week but I am very thankful for the opportunity to go back. I feel like I'm fifteen again!

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