Words.

“I like not only to be loved, but also to be told that I am loved. I am not sure that you are of the same mind. But the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave. This is the world of light and speech, and I shall take leave to tell you that you are very dear.” ~George Eliot

Yes it does.

“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.” ~Robert Frost

How to become a Bibliophile

“I am a product of endless books. My father bought all the books he read and never got rid of any of them. There were books in the study, books in the drawing room, books in the cloakroom, books (two deep) in the great bookcase on the landing, books in a bedroom, books piled as high as my shoulder in the cistern attic, books of all kinds reflecting every transient stage of my parents’ interest, books readable and unreadable, books suitable for a child and books most emphatically not.

Nothing was forbidden for me.

In the seemingly endless rainy afternoons I took volume after volume from the shelves. I had always the same certainty of finding a book that was new to me as a man who walks into a field has of finding a new blade of grass.” ~C.S. Lewis

On June

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers:
Of April, May, of June and July-flowers.
I sing of maypoles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.

(Robert Herrick)

Memorial

I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all alone
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their monotone.

Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me
The cold and sparkling silver of the sea,
We two will pass through death and ages lengthen
Before you hear that sound again with me.

(Sara Teasdale)

On duty

“Try to do your duty, and you’ll know right away what you amount to.  And what is your duty?  Whatever the day calls for.” ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Eton Mess

Strawberry Eton Mess via Country Days by Rhoda Parry

I have always found everything about this dessert fascinating, from the name to the ingredients – though I confess to having actually tasted it only in my dreams.

I plan to remedy that, one day very soon.

Because seriously, can one ever have too much double cream?

Ouch.

“To require perfection is to invite paralysis. The pattern is predictable: as you see error in what you have done, you steer your work toward what you imagine you can do perfectly. You cling ever more tightly to what you already know you can do – away from risk and exploration, and possibly further from the work of your heart. You find reasons to procrastinate, since to not work is to not make mistakes.” ~from Art and Fear: The Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking, by David Bayles and Ted Orlund.

And this is love

“A part of kindness consists in loving people more than they deserve.” ~Joseph Joubert

On being alone, but not lonely

“But solitude was nearly always at my command, somewhere in the garden or somewhere in my house.” ~C.S. Lewis

Truth.

But if no one among us is capable of governing himself, then who among us has the capacity to govern someone else? ~Ronald Reagan

April Rise

 

If ever I saw blessing in the air
I see it now in this still early day
Where lemon-green the vaporous morning drips
Wet sunlight on the powder of my eye.

Blown bubble-film of blue, the sky wraps round
Weeds of warm light whose every root and rod
Splutters with soapy green, and all the world
Sweats with the bead of summer in its bud.

If ever I heard blessing it is there
Where birds in trees that shoals and shadows are
Splash with their hidden wings and drops of sound
Break on my ears their crests of throbbing air.

Pure in the haze the emerald sun dilates,
The lips of sparrows milk the mossy stones,
While white as water by the lake a girl
Swims her green hand among the gathered swans.

Now, as the almond burns its smoking wick,
Dropping small flames to light the candled grass;
Now, as my low blood scales its second chance,
If ever world were blessed, now it is.

 

(by Laurence Edward Alan Lee)

On Bliss

“For me it is sufficient to have a corner by my hearth, a book and a friend, and a nap undisturbed by creditors or grief.” ~Fernandez de Andrada

On contentment

“Enough is great riches.” ~Danish proverb

Spring and Fall

…to a Young Child (by Gerard Manley Hopkins)

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow’s springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

My idea of Spring Break

“I don’t want to go to the Bahamas on holiday. I hate islands. I want to go to Brittany, where it’s cold and raining, and there’s nothing fancy about it.” ~Julie Delpy

On being a bookworm

“Books are the bees which carry the quickening  pollen from one to another mind.” ~James Russell Lowell

Who else can relate?

“No, the problem, in my opinion, is not the number of books I own, but that I am unable to get rid of any of them. I own some terrible, terrible books — you wouldn’t believe how many crap books get published in this country — but cannot, for the life of me, part with a single one. I am a book hoarder, which, in my line of work, is a troublesome problem to have.” ~Book reviewer Mark Medley in this National Post essay.

the wisdom of Charlotte

“Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity, or registering wrongs.” ~Charlotte Bronte in “Jane Eyre”

Late March

“I had just reached this point in my thoughts when, without any warning, spring suddenly entered the world.
It happened in a flash, one Saturday evening around five: everything is bathed in a different light and yet there is still a chill in the air, impossible to say what has just taken place.” ~Louis Aragon, Paris Peasant

Resignation

…or is it resolve?

“I ceased in the year 1764 to believe that one can convince one’s opponents with arguments printed in books. It is not to do that, therefore, that I have taken up my pen, but merely so as to annoy them, and to bestow strength and courage on those on our own side, and to make it known to the others that they have not convinced us.” ~Georg Christoph Lichtenberg (1 July 1742 – 24 February 1799)

On the laws of attraction

I know I haven’t composed a “real” entry in forever, and this isn’t going to be one either, but I just saw this Nick Hornby quote and have to post it.

“It’s no good pretending that any relationship has a future if your record collections disagree violently or if your favorite films wouldn’t even speak to each other if they met at a party.” ~ Nick Hornby in “High Fidelity”

Happy Birthday Rabbie!

A Man’s A Man

by Robert Burns

Is there for honest poverty
That hangs his head, an’ a’ that
The coward slave, we pass him by
We dare be poor for a’ that
For a’ that, an’ a’ that
Our toil’s obscure and a’ that
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp
The man’s the gowd for a’ that.

What though on hamely fare we dine
Wear hoddin grey, an’ a’ that
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine
A man’s a man, for a’ that
For a’ that, an’ a’ that
Their tinsel show an’ a’ that
The honest man, though e’er sae poor
Is king o’ men for a’ that.

Ye see yon birkie ca’d a lord
Wha struts an’ stares an’ a’ that
Tho’ hundreds worship at his word
He’s but a coof for a’ that
For a’ that, an’ a’ that
His ribband, star and a’ that
The man o’ independent mind
He looks an’ laughs at a’ that.

A prince can mak’ a belted knight
A marquise, duke, an’ a’ that
But an honest man’s aboon his might
Gude faith, he maunna fa’ that
For a’ that an’ a’ that
Their dignities an’ a’ that
The pith o’ sense an’ pride o’ worth
Are higher rank that a’ that.

Then let us pray that come it may
(as come it will for a’ that)
That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth
Shall bear the gree an’ a’ that
For a’ that an’ a’ that
It’s coming yet for a’ that
That man to man, the world o’er
Shall brithers be for a’ that.

 

Not resolutions but something to aspire to…

1. Listen without interrupting. (Proverbs 18)
2. Speak without accusing. (James 1:19)
3. Give without sparing. (Proverbs 21:26)
4. Pray without ceasing. (Colossians 1:9)
5. Answer without arguing. (Proverbs 17:1)
6. Share without pretending. (Ephesians 4:15)
7. Enjoy without complaint. (Philippians 2:14)
8. Trust without wavering. (Corinthians 13:7)
9. Forgive without punishing. (Colossians 3:13)
10. Promise without forgetting. (Proverbs 13:12)

 

 

Charming book cover of the day.

Here is the cover of a soon-to-be published book by the author of one of the most engaging blogs on the web.

I have been an avid reader of Ann’s blog for a couple of years now. Her writing is truly anointed.

Charming book cover of the day.

Charming book cover of the day…

…with the added bonus of its colors coordinating with my blog  :)

Rachel Ashwell’s Shabby Chic

I have always admired the designer and stylist Rachel Ashwell. She’s the woman who almost single-handedly put the phrase “Shabby Chic” on the lips and in the homes of women everywhere.

I bought her book when it was first released. It was my go-to design book for years. It wasn’t exactly a leap—my house pretty much felt like this already:

Here it is, a decade and a half later, and this look still appeals to me more than any other. It’s relaxed, easy, quiet, and comfortable. It doesn’t take a lot of thought. And it doesn’t take itself too seriously.

This story appeared in the New York Times one year ago, yet I only stumbled upon it today. Somehow I managed to miss it at the time, so I didn’t realize she was having business troubles.

It’s comforting to know that she is back on her feet. The future sure looks bright for Ms Ashwell. Go Rachel go!

Oh…and she keeps a really great blog.

From "Shabby Chic Interiors" by Rachel Ashwell

Hmmm...Did she start this trend?

 

Cooking is therapy.

One of the things on my list of “100 things I’d like to do before I die” (the contents of which will eventually find their way to this blog) is dining at Thomas Keller’s world-renowned French Laundry.

I just stumbled upon this incredibly moving article about Keller’s relationships with his father and with cooking, and how he reconciled the two.

Reading this story produced two results: the shedding of a wee sentimental tear and an intense craving for barbecued chicken and mashed potatoes.

On being human

There’s one sad truth in life I’ve found
While journeying east and west -
The only folks we really wound
Are those we love the best.
We flatter those we scarcely know,
We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
To those who love us best.
~Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Things that make my heart sigh

I stumbled upon an online flea market and fell in love! Online window shopping is a treat I rarely indulge in these days because 1) I try not to tempt myself to desire material things; and 2) I couldn’t afford to buy them even if I wanted them. But these pretty things are so much fun and I can think of more dangerous ways to while away a stormy summer Saturday.

From a shop called Vintage Weave :

I would love to find a vintage table fan like these.

This one was at Etsy:

This one was in Country Living:

Vintage dresses to sigh for from this Etsy shop:

On holidays

“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under the trees on a summer’s day, listening to the flowing water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.” ~ John Lubbock

On English

“The English language is nobody’s special property.  It is the property of the imagination: it is the property of the language itself.”  ~Derek Walcot

Blessed are the poor in spirit…

In an email to my friend Maggie this morning, I wrote that “real remorse takes humility.” Afterwards, thinking myself very clever, I decided to reassemble my pithy comment into something more poignant, more quotable.

Something for the Annals. Something along the lines of: “True repentance is borne of humility”.

And then, you know, humbly attach my name to it.

But, abhorring plagiarism (even unintentional plagiarism) as I do, I decided I’d better do a quick search to see if anyone had said it before me. Which was not unlikely, based on my dearly held philosophy that there’s really nothing new under the sun.

This is how I discovered that someone did indeed write something nearly identical to what I wanted to believe was my unique and brilliant insight. It appears in this 1850 review of The Scarlet Letter. It’s quite a good piece, actually, and surprisingly contemporary despite its 19th century provenance.

I am duly chastened. And that, I think, is borne of humility.

On why daydreaming is sometimes superior to industriousness

“So you see the imagination needs moodling — long, inefficient happy idling, dawdling and puttering. These people who are always briskly doing something and as busy as waltzing mice have little, sharp, staccato ideas, such as:  ”I see where I can make an annual cut of $3.47 in my meat budget.” But they have no big, slow ideas. And the fewer consoling, noble, shining, free, jovial, magnanimous ideas that come, the more nervously and desperately they rush and run from office to office and up and downstairs, thinking by action at last to make life have some warmth and meaning.”  ~Brenda Ueland in If You Want to Write

On being unremarkable

It seems entirely fitting that the poet remains anonymous.

A commonplace life, we say and we sigh,
But why should we sigh as we say?
The commonplace sun and the commonplace sky
Make up the commonplace day.
The moon and the stars are commonplace things,
And the flower that blooms and the bird that sings;
But dark were the world and sad our lot,
If the flowers failed and the sun shone not.
And God who studies each separate soul
Out of commonplace lives makes His beautiful whole.
~Anonymous

Wisdom

When I have ceased to break my wings
Against the faultiness of things,
And learned that compromises wait
Behind each hardly opened gate,
When I can look Life in the eyes,
Grown calm and very coldly wise,
Life will have given me the Truth,
And taken in exchange — my youth.

~Sara Teasdale

Random (yet still inane) thoughts

• I need a better camera.
• There’s still some Christmas stuff lying around that I haven’t put away yet.
• The real estate tax bill is due Friday and I want to not pay it in protest.
• The unremitting snowfall is starting to depress me.
• I wish I had a novel in me.
• Today was Shrove Tuesday. I should have made pancakes.
• This blog is frightfully boring. Why do I bother?
• But why is the rum gone…?

Morning in February

The essence of Saturday

It snowed last night. I awakened to a pristine, stark-white winter wonderland. We northeast Ohioans escaped with a mere 15 inches. Folks to the east of us, in the Mid-Atlantic region, got around two feet.

February 2010

I love a weekend blizzard.  It’s the perfect excuse to hunker down inside the cozy homestead, light the fireplace, listen to the footy, watch teen slasher flicks on the telly (as darling daughter is doing), cook up some comfort food, and waste time on the internet.

I was struck mid-morning by a spirit of weekend enterprise – a rare mood for me these days.  I decided to make the most of it by exercising my slightly atrophied culinary muscles.  I made beef stew with Guinness and spaghetti bolognese, aka spag bol.  One recipe I consulted decreed that unless you’re using tagliatelle pasta it’s not authentic spag bol.  I went ahead and used capellini. I’m rebellious that way. Besides, bolognese is all about the ragu.

I am also allowing myself the luxury of doing a little online window shopping. Coveting is optional.

Vintage 1960s Rolex Oyster watch

How current is this gorgeous vintage dress?

1920s Paris meets Charleston.

Can't have enough of these!

Antique grain sack pillows

Rolex watch available at Ashton-Blakey Antiques.

Grey silk dupioni dress from this Etsy shop.

Room photo from William Means Real Estate.

Mantel arrangement by Jane Moore; photo courtesy of The Skirted Roundtable.

Pillows from 3 Fine Grains.

On writing (yes, again)

“I think the key to writing good stuff is not thinking about it. If you think about it, it’s not going to be magic.” ~Fran Healy

Upon reading a particularly delightful essay

I cannot even begin to imagine how dull life would be if God hadn’t given us words and language and the ability to express our thoughts and feelings through the written word.

Revelatory comment of the day

“I kept a diary at the age of 18, 19, 20. Several years ago, when I went back and read those journals, I was astonished. My memory of my younger self didn’t conform to the written evidence in my hand. We have a wardrobe of identities that we use on any given day. When you meet your mother-in-law, your boss or your rival, you slightly adjust yourself to fit that encounter.” ~novelist William Boyd in this WSJ piece.

Resigned comment of the day

“He told us we deserved to win. How is that supposed to make me feel? It makes me feel worse. He’s admitted he cheated. We should have won. He just said, ‘That’s it’. He just said he handled it, he didn’t mean it. Looking at it, it’s quite obvious he did mean it. It’s there for everyone to see and they’re not going to change it now. So what can we do? They’re going to the World Cup and we’re not. That’s it.” ~Ireland defender Richard Dunne on the Thierry Henry “Hand of God” goal in France’s 1-0 win over Ireland.

Wistful comment of the day

“What a charming vision of England,” says Walliams, waving to a skipper.  “You think England’s gone, lost for ever, then some nice people go by on their barge.” The skipper is heavily bearded and pullovered.  “Matt and I would say he’s got The Look. He looks like a character already.” ~David Walliams in his Times London  interview

Inspiring comment of the day

“I’m a striker in everything else I do.  I like to attack things and push, push, push.  Because anyone can do anything, can’t they? World War Two showed us that.  Bankers were made into commandos.  Women were taken from Cheltenham Ladies’ College and put on anti-aircraft batteries.  Everyone can do way more than they think.”

~ British actor/comedian Eddie Izzard

Pithy comment of the day (so far)

“Hoho, just you wait, Rod; a great horde of faux-Hibernian outrage is about to be unleashed in this comments section…” ~ Mr Eugenides in response to the following editorial in the Spectator:

To you Celtic Football Club, I say: Never!

Late August

“Let me enjoy
this late-summer day of my heart
while the leaves are still green
and I won’t look so close
as to see that first tint
of pale yellow slowly creep in.
I will cease endless running
and then look to the sky
ask the sun to embrace me
and then hope she won’t tell
of tomorrows less long than today.
Let me spend just this time
in the slow-cooling glow
of warm afternoon light
and I’d think
I will still have the strength
for just one more
last fling of my heart.”
- John Bohrn

Another goodbye

“While we are mourning the loss of our friend, others are rejoicing to meet him behind the veil.” ~John Taylor

Quotes that spoke to me today

“A garden you can’t see into is as unfriendly as a house with its blinds always drawn.” ~John Hartley

“To expect the unexpected shows a thoroughly modern intellect.” ~Oscar Wilde

“A room should look like it evolved over time. It’s about traveling and collecting personal things. A house should not look decorated or predictable.” ~Amelia Handegan

“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.” ~Leonardo da Vinci

“The opposite of faith is not heresy, but indifference.” ~Elie Wiesel

“I don’t understand such a ‘perfect’ world where everything in someone’s house is brand-new.” ~Courtney Tilinski

Mourning a loss

Learning of the tragic death of the brilliant and beautiful Natasha Richardson reminded me of the imminent anniversaries of my own family’s devastating losses. This time of year—being the Lenten season—is a somber one in general, but it is all the more so for my children and me. Their father died, unexpectedly, on Good Friday 2003, and two of their dearest friends lost their lives, just four days apart, in late March/early April of 2006. 

As the dates of these sad events creep ever closer, I find myself seeking solace in the comfort of words penned by others. How happy I was to discover this poem written by Keats called “Faery Song”. From what I gather, the words to this poem inspired David N. Childs’s haunting composition “Weep No More,” a beautiful rendition of which can be heard on this video clip.

Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! oh, weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root’s white core.
Dry your eyes! oh, dry your eyes!
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies,–
Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead!
‘Mong the blossoms white and red–
Look up, look up! I flutter now
On this fresh pomegranate bough.
See me! ’tis this silvery bill
Ever cures the good man’s ill.
Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Adieu, adieu–I fly–adieu!
I vanish in the heaven’s blue,–
Adieu, adieu!

    ~ John Keats

what best friends do

“When we honestly ask which persons in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.” ~ Henri Nouwen

St. Valentine’s Day Requiem

Valentine’s Day is nearly upon us so it’s all about love songs. I prefer the mournful kind, full of longing and loss, unrequited devotion and depleted passion. The you’ve-ripped-my-guts-out-and-now-I’m-just-a-wretch sort of love song. (People with melancholic temperaments are so much fun. No wonder we never get invited to parties.) So when I opened this morning’s email update from NPR’s Music Notes, my first impulse, naturally, was to click on the subheading titled “So Your Tiny Black Heart is Broken“. (The writer’s apt description: ”Each is carefully selected to provide a vivid soundtrack for those moments when alcohol isn’t even necessary, so drunk is the listener on his or her own misery.”) While most of the songs were unfamiliar to me, I was surprised and delighted to see one by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova from the soundtrack to “Once“, one of my favorite films of the decade. Now there’s an album to satisfy the sorrowful, soul-filled music lover in all of us.

I suppose everybody loves a love song, but for me the best love song is a sad love song.

 

“I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music. It seems to infuse strength into my limbs, and ideas into my brain. Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with music.” ~ George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss

Rupert Brooke

The Soldier (1914)

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England’s, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

~ Rupert Brooke

revisiting Mr Eliot

We know too much, and are convinced of too little. Our literature is a substitute for religion, and so is our religion. ~T. S. Eliot

Happy Birthday Rabbie!

 

 January 25 2009 marks the 250th anniversary of the birth of Scotland’s best-loved poet (and sometimes scoundrel) Robert Burns. Scotland designed this year’s tourism extravaganza Homecoming Scotland around the event. Touted as “a year-long celebration of Scottish culture, heritage, and contributions to the world,” the folks at VisitScotland are hoping the romantic aura surrounding the famous Ayrshire bard will lure travelers to their bonny banks throughout the year. 

The British press are falling all over themselves to get in their fifteen minutes of Burns. The Times’ Brian Pedley takes us on a tour of Burns Country.  The Times Literary Supplement ran a wonderful essay in praise of Burns—a refreshing respite from the negative press he’s been receiving of late. Not to be outdone, Charles Moore puts in his two pence (and the reader comments don’t disappoint as the centuries-long English vs. Scottish ideological battle rages on). 

Burns was a prolific writer, and music lovers everywhere are grateful that many of his poems translated so beautifully into songs. My favorite version of “Ae Fond Kiss” is this one by Eddi Reader.

Of course, Scots, descendants of Scots, and wanna-be Scots everywhere will be celebrating this coming Sunday in a big way at Burns Suppers all over the world. The Independent’s John Walsh summed up the average Burns Night Supper thus:

“Wherever large, sentimental men in tartan skirts are gathered together with glasses of Talisker 18-year-old in their hands, someone will declaim Burns’s “Address to a Haggis” and whip a skean dhu from his sock and stab the inoffensive oatmeal pudding to death.”

For more on the bard:

Christopher Tait performs as Robert Burns here.

The Ultimate Burns Supper site.

Linn Records is offering a 12-volume set of the Complete Songs of Robert Burns.

Be sure not to miss the Celtic Zone episode in honor of the Bard at BBC Radio Scotland.

Will Gerard Butler ever finish filming the long-promised biopic of Rabbie’s life?

 

 

Address to a Haggis

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin’-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o’ a grace
As lang’s my arm.

The groaning trencher
there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
‘Bethankit’ hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.

Ye Pow’rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis.  

 

Shall I or shan’t I…?

“They change their climate, not their soul, who rush across the sea.” ~Horace

Archie Fisher is back!

Woo hoo! Archie Fisher (host of Travelling Folk) is back on BBC Radio Scotland tonight after a month-long (TOO long) hiatus. I am so excited to be at home, hearing it live for once, instead of via the “listen again” option.  (Photo courtesy of  The Official Archie Fisher MySpace page.)

Revelation

” Do you not know that there comes a midnight hour when everyone has to throw off his mask? Do you believe that life will always let itself be mocked? Do you think you can slip away a little before midnight in order to avoid this? Or are you not terrified by it? I have seen men in real life who so long deceived others that at last their true nature could not reveal itself; I have seen men who played hide and seek so long that at last in madness they disgustingly obtruded upon others their secret thoughts which hithero they had proudly concealed. Or can you think of anything more frightful than that it might end with your nature being resolved into a multiplicity, that you really might become many, become, like those unhappy demoniacs, a legion, and you thus would have lost the inmost and holiest thing of all in a man, the unifying power of personality? Truly, you should not jest with that which is not only serious but dreadful. In every man there is something which to a certain degree prevents him from becoming perfectly transparent to himself; and this may be the case in so high a degree, he may be so inexplicably woven into relationships of life which extend far beyond himself, that he almost can’t reveal himself. But he who cannot reveal himself cannot love, and he who cannot love is the most unhappy man of all.”  ~Soren Kierkegaard, “Either/Or”

what is real?

“There’s no need to talk, because the truth of what one says lies in what one does.” 
   ~ Bernhard Schlink

This solitary life

I’ve been romping around Blog World for several years now, and I’ve come to the conclusion that a disproportionate number of bloggers are introverts.

So I’ve been wondering: How is blog writing connected to being an introvert?

We introverts have an irritating propensity for believing we’re unique. Ask an introvert to describe her experiences in childhood and here are some of the answers you are guaranteed to get:

• I felt different from everyone else.
• No one understood me.
• I didn’t understand anybody else.
• I was always on the outside looking in.
• I never fit in.
• I always felt excluded.
• Kids teased me because I was different.
• I rarely raised my hand in class because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.
• I used to wish for just one person to “get” me.
• I was usually the last one chosen for teams/clubs/groups.
• I dreaded going to birthday parties (but my mother made me go).
• I was accused of being ”too shy”.
• I was accused of being “stuck-up”.
• I preferred blending in to the background.
• Sometimes I wished I could just disappear.

And on and on….

When I first became aware that people were keeping journals (“blogs”) online, I was immediately captivated by the idea. I’d started writing at a relatively young age, and had kept diaries and, later, journals for most of my childhood and adolescence. The ability to record one’s day-to-day experiences—not to mention thoughts, dreams, fears, and losses—in such an accessible venue seemed an enchanting enterprise. But it also scared me to death.

Of course I assumed that these people who were blogging—the early adoptors, you might call them—must all be extroverts. Who else could allow themselves to make their most intimate thoughts and feelings available for public consumption? I convinced myself that they were confident, colorful, first-one-into-the-fray kinds of folks. I likened the boldest amongst them to a herd of wild buffalo, thundering across the plains of Blogland. And of course I envied them. How brave and fearless they were to put themselves out there the way they did, to expose themselves to scrutiny and judgment and, worst of all, possible ridicule.

Now I myself have taken the plunge into the blogging sea (actually, “dipped my toe into the edge of the puddle” is a more apt depiction), and the more blogs that I read, the more that I suspect that many bloggers, maybe even the majority of them, are introverts like me.

The bloggers at Introvert Retreat have posted a glowing description of the introvert temperament.  Mel, the blogger at Mental Indigestion, compiled an excellent composite of the INFP, which is a personality type identified by the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. (INFP is described as the “Healer-Idealist”. It happens to be my type.) Elizabeth Svoboda wrote about the introvert’s need for solitude here.  Elizabeth A. Meckstroth wrote a very insightful paper on the apparently large number of gifted introverts. Lee Ann Lambert blogs on both the delights and difficulties of the introvert’s world.

Being an introvert in an extrovert’s world has never been easy. But now that we have more understanding and knowledge about differences in temperament, those of us who are introverts feel a little less like fish out of water.

Not sure of your status?  Take the quiz “Are You an Extrovert or an Introvert?” here. You can also type your blog—no, seriously! Go here, enter the URL of your blog, and it will tell you what personality type your blog is. It worked for mine!

how to while away a saturday morning

Any Saturday morning that I don’t have to work (and these are getting to be rare, indeed) you will find me firmly planted in my office desk chair tuned in to Superscoreboard on Glasgow’s Radio Clyde. Peter Martin, Derek Johnstone, Hugh Keevins, et al do a superb job of covering the matches in the Scottish Premier League every weekend. The contrast between Scottish and English sports commentary is huge. The Scots are passionate—I dare say, rabid—about their football, and the enthusiasm of the Radio Clyde commentators is contagious. You can always count on Peter’s and Derek’s lively banter, their playful teasing of old-timer Hugh, and Peter’s mega-decibel excitement when someone scores a goal (especially if it’s an Old Firm match). And if they happen to be drinking their favorite libation, you can bet that hilarity will ensue. No matter how world-weary or despondent I might feel when I wake up in the morning, a few hours of The Boys never fail to lift my spirits. I guess you could say I’ve become addicted to this Saturday morning ritual.

 The Boys in action

 

 

 

 

Peter Martin (r) with former Celtic captain Neil Lennon

(photos courtesy of Superscoreboard Live)

A bheil Gàidhlig agaibh?

I have been listening to Celtic (mostly Irish and Scottish) artists for many years, and I am always on the lookout for a new musician or two (or three) to add to my collection. Scottish Gaelic singer Julie Fowlis is one of my recent finds; she is a true songbird, and she impresses me more every time I hear her. Her new weekly program on BBC Radio Scotland is absolutely brilliant. Thank goodness for the BBC’s “listen again” option, as I am rarely at home to hear it live.

I love this video of her singing “Hùg Air A’ Bhonaid Mhòir”. Her voice is gorgeous, and the rapidity with which she sings the lyrics takes one’s breath away!

P.S. Happy New Year!

House stuff

This blog makes me smile. When I look at her photos, it almost makes me want to start caring about how my house looks again.

someone else’s words today

This having learned, thou hast attained the sum of wisdom; hope no higher, though all the stars thou knowest by name, and all th’ethereal powers, all secrets of the deep, all nature’s works, or works of God in heaven, air, earth or sea and all riches of this world enjoy’dst, and all thy rule, one empire. Only add deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith, add virtue, patience, temperance, add love, by name to some called charity, the soul of all the rest: then wilt thou not be loath to leave this paradise, but shall possess a paradise within thee, happier far. . .

                                                             ~ John Milton

Wish I’d thought of that!

I was reading a new and delightful blog and I came to a post that mentioned a cool place in NYC called Brooklyn Superhero Supply Company. When you walk in, it looks just like an ordinary store (if you can describe an amazingly over-the-top superhero-themed shop as ordinary).

But if you work your way to the back, there’s a secret passageway that takes you here.

I never cease to be amazed at the clever and innovative business ideas that people come up with.

Election Day 2008

Wow. Has it really been TWO MONTHS since last I posted here? What have I been doing in all that time?

Today we choose a new President, and no matter who wins, this is an unprecented moment in the history of our young country. We will have either the first ever African American president or the first female Vice President. Exciting times to be alive!

Speaking of history, Reformation Day was celebrated on October 31. Did anyone happen to catch this video? It’s kind of cute.

It’s much too beautiful of an Indian Summer Day to while the time away on the keyboard, so I will close with someone else’s sentiments. I have been reading some writings by the famous Scottish moral philosopher Adam Smith. Here is what he had to say about the proper roles of political leaders and government:

The man of system, on the contrary, is apt to be very wise in his own conceit, and is often so enamoured with the supposed beauty of his own ideal plan of government, that he cannot suffer the smallest deviation from any part of it. He goes on to establish it completely and in all its parts, without any regard either to the great interests or the strong prejudices which may oppose it: he seems to imagine that he can arrange the different members of a great society with as much ease as the hand arranges the different pieces upon a chess-board; he does not consider that the pieces upon the chess-board have no other principle of motion besides that which the hand impresses upon them; but that, in the great chess-board of human society, every single piece has a principle of motion of its own, altogether different from that which the legislature might choose to impress upon it. If those two principles coincide and act in the same direction, the game of human society will go on earily and harmoniously, and is very likely to be happy and successful. If they are opposite or different, the game will go on miserably, and the society must be at all times in the highest degree of disorder.

Some general, and even systematical, idea of the perfection of policy and law, may no doubt be necessary for directing the views of the statesman. But to insist upon establishing, and upon establishing all at once, and in spite of all opposition, everything which that idea may seem to require, must often be the highest degree of arrogance. It is to erect his own judgment into the supreme standard of right and wrong. It is to fancy himself the only wise and worthy man in the commonwealth, and that his fellow-citizens should accommodate themselves to him, and not he to them. It is upon this account that of all political speculators sovereign princes are by far the most dangerous.

                      from The Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VI, Section II, Chapter 2

September is here

I have nothing to write. Just a poem.

“Lord, it is time. The summer was very big. Lay thy shadow on the sundials, and on the meadows let the winds go loose. Command the last fruits that they shall be full; give them another two more southerly days, press them on to fulfillment and drive the last sweetness into the heavenly wine.” ~Rainer Maria Rilke

 

Just a quote

“There are thoughts which are prayers. There are moments when, whatever the posture of the body, the soul is on its knees.” ~Victor Hugo

To write!

I’m having the most tedious and tiresome day and there’s no end in sight.

Darling Daughter #2 wakened me at a few minutes before 6:00 this morning (on my only day off), sputtering that the dog had had diarrhea all over her bedroom carpet, including inside her closet. She had to be at a friend’s house to babysit by 7, so clean-up duties were left to me. As always. (The buck stops here, baby.) I don’t know if the dog has some sort of virus or what, but he’s continued to leave little intermittent soupy/smelly piles in various rooms of the house throughout the day. And naturally, all the accidents have taken place only on the carpeted areas  So I’ve been scooping, blotting, scrubbing, and deodorizing all day long, while still trying to keep an eye out for any behaviors signalling further—ummm—-mishaps.

So much for a day of leisurely lying about. On my day off.

And the fun isn’t over yet, oh no! For in approximately three hours, I get to leave for the juvenile court building, there to attend the last half-hour of Only Son’s remedial driving safety course. He opted to take the class in lieu of paying a fine for his speeding ticket, which was really a wise choice. Every kid who completes this one-evening class gets his moving violation removed from his driving record. I’m all for more proactive lessons on how to be a better and safer driver. I am just a little resentful that the courts make parents partake in the teens’ comeuppance, at least when it comes to driving. (Hey, I think I’ve earned the right to opt out of any driver’s safety classes. After nearly 32 years of driving, I have yet to receive a moving violation!)

Ooops. That sounded suspiciously like gloating, didn’t it?

Did I mention it was my day off?

To write or not to write?

I happened upon this quote today and it made me wonder if the reason for my reticence on this blog is because, deep down inside, this is pretty much how I feel about stark naked candor when writing about oneself:

“There are many things in your heart you can never tell to another person. They are you, your private joys and sorrows, and you can never tell them. You cheapen yourself, the inside of yourself, when you tell them.” —Greta Garbo

Rose of Sharon

So the Rose of Sharon is in bloom, a sure sign that summer is at its peak. I looked out the window on Friday and noticed that the first couple of mauvey-pink flowers had just begun to open. There was a small grove of these pretty hibiscus shrubs at the old house as well, and I remember every August having the same bittersweet feeling that I have now whenever I looked at the blooms. What makes me sad is the knowledge that Summer’s days are numbered and Autumn is hard upon its heels.

I was never particularly eager for summer’s end like most of the other mothers were. I always found it incredibly wrenching when the kids had to go back to school because the house would feel all together too empty. And even though we no longer endure the back-to-school ritual, those old friends of mine, Mr. Melancholy and Miss Wistful, are on their way to visit me again.

When summer opens, I see how fast it matures, and fear it will be short; but after the heats of July and August, I am reconciled, like one who has had his swing, to the cool of Autumn.   ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Something wicked this way comes

Having been vindictively excluded as a kid for an extensive period (I hesitate to use the much stronger term “bullied,” though it certainly felt that way at the time), I am prone to zooming in on woeful sagas surrounding ostracized kids and the often tragic repercussions of bullying. They always make for sad reading, but this story in the upcoming weekend edition of the New York Times is especially poignant. I wept for a young man whose pain had become so intolerable that he chose not to stick around for more. And I mourned for parents whose unbearable grief has only been prolonged by the cruel and disgusting behavior of people seemingly without either conscience or soul. The author describes them as “a subculture that is built on deception and delights in playing with the media”.

It brought to mind the warnings spelled out in the second book of Timothy:

1. But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. 2. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, 3. without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, 4. treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God— 5. having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with them.  ~2 Timothy 3: 1-5

“One father is more than a hundred Schoolemasters”*

(*Quote by George Herbert, Outlandish Proverbs, 1640)

So I innocently happened upon this essay at a wonderful web site I like to frequent and I was in no way prepared for my reaction. Without warning, all of the anger, frustration, and disappointment that I keep locked up tight and buried deep within my heart came rushing out like a flood.

Every word of this piece just tore at my mother’s heart. And now that Only Son is in trouble—and serious trouble this time; not the piddly curfew violations of summers past for which a slap on the wrist wasn’t even proffered—the justice-seeking mama bear in me wants someone else to have to pay for it, as well. As irrational as it may be, there is still a tiny part of me that insists on believing that if his father hadn’t died so suddenly five years ago then maybe my son wouldn’t be making bad choices. Or that if he’d only had the chance to say goodbye to his dad before he died, maybe he wouldn’t be making bad choices. Or that if the stepmother had actually held a funeral, and my son had been able to see his father’s body, it might have given him some closure—and he wouldn’t be making bad choices.

But the biggie—the thing that has been a stumbling block for me these five long years and that fills me with fury (and I don’t even know if I can call it righteous anger because I don’t know that it IS righteous), an anger with such ferocity that it scares me, especially because rage isn’t an emotion I ever allow myself—is that what I prayed for the hardest never happened. The men I prayed for God to send to fill in the gap that the kids’ dad’s death had left never did materialize. The men I had blithely assumed would feel called to step up to the plate and do something—ANYTHING—to take on a fatherly kind of role for my son just Never. Showed. Up.

I kept waiting and waiting, thinking “any minute now.” And it just didn’t happen.

So here we are, all these years and trials and tragedies and multiple losses later, and I am standing by as my worst fears are being realized. Only Son has gotten himself in trouble, and there’s no man who’s going to show up to help him through it. Once again, he’s stuck with me. Just me. And the above essay spells it out in perfect clarity. In black and white block letters eighty-five feet tall: Boys need their fathers. Their father. A father.

I’m very scared for my boy. The pain and sadness and hurt for what he’s lost and can never retrieve are overpowering me in a way that hasn’t happened in a very long time. I felt powerless to stop it, so I just let it have its way. Tears are healing. Tears are good. I wonder how many tears my son will have to shed before he himself is healed.

Genuine outrage is not just a permissible reaction to the hard-pressed Christian; God himself feels it, and so should the Christian in the presence of pain, cruelty, violence, and injustice. God, who is the Father of Jesus Christ, is neither impersonal nor beyond good and evil. By the absolute immutability of His character, He is implacably opposed to evil and outraged by it. ~ Os Guinness

Letter to a young idealist

I received an email this morning from a young friend (wise beyond her years) who was lamenting the current economic, as well as political, climate. She wrote:

This is my thought for the day:

I NEVER, in a hundred million years, thought I would
be unusual for liking capitalism.

Based on that alone, I am completely terrified for the
future.

Luckily, though, I trust in God, not in any economic
system.

Here is what I wrote in response:

You are absolutely right.

 

And you’re not unusual in being for capitalism. It’s just that right now, with the economy in the condition it’s in, all the doom mongers are at the forefront.

 

There are MANY pro-capitalism journals and blogs out there that are much more optimistic in tone.

 

I like Glenn Beck a lot. Just for one.

 

There are many others. You’ve just gotta hang out at those places more than you do at the Woe Is Us prognosticators’ places. 

 

Oh yeah. And keep your eyes on God. But you already know that part.

 

That reminds me of something I read yesterday (don’t remember where; dang, I wish I’d saved it) that went something like: “Don’t fix your eyes on every passing train; keep your eyes fixed on the stars.”  For me, “the stars” represent God and His Kingdom; that which is permanent and eternal.

 

Now I am going to have to go and try to track down the originator of the quote so I can copy it word for word and give him credit! (You know me…..it’s all about giving credit where credit is due, eh?)