Victor Hugo (1802-1885)

Victor Hugo - leader of the French Romantic movement, poet, playwright, and novelist - is born on this day in 1802, in Besancon.

from: A Book of Days for the Literary Year

Bishop:

That is right
But my friend, you left so early
Surely something slipped your mind
You forgot I gave these also
Would you leave the best behind?
So, Messieurs, you may release him
For this man has spoken true
I commend you for your duty
And God's blessing go with you.

But remember this, my brother
See in this some higher plan
You must use this precious silver
To become an honest man.
By the witness of the martyrs
By the Passion and the Blood
God has raised you out of darkness
I have bought your soul for God!

from: Les Miserables (1987 Original Broadway Cast)

"I was writing just now to Cosette. She will find my letter. To her I leave the two candlesticks on the mantel-piece. They are silver, but to me they are made of gold, of diamonds; they change the candles placed in them into consecrated tapers....

My children, I can no longer see very clearly. I had several things to say to you, but no matter. Think of me a little. You are blessed beings. I know not what is the matter with me, but I see light. Come hither. I die happy. Let me lay my hands on your beloved heads."

from: the book by Victor Hugo

I have seen Les Miserables on stage twice, and would hurry to another night of it if I could. The music is fabulous, and the story has been a force for change in my life. We share our passion with a few close friends. You know, the sort that want to be buried with their bibles and a copy of Les Miserables, or that inspire you to search the antique stores to find an affordable pair of silverplated candlesticks for Christmas. Friends with whom you can collapse around the room, turn up the volume, and sing along with Jean Valjean, Fantine, and the rest of the cast. It's a story with themes and messages that can provide many an hour of discussion.

One final recommendation on the Les Mis. theme. Focus on the Family Radio Theatre has several dramatizations of literature. Their Les Miserables was an excellent introduction for our younger listeners, and made for the shortest drive home from Yosemite I have ever had.


Happy Birthday, Monsieur Hugo.

Gerontology practicum

Walking at the lake

One of the lessons I have learned by having my mother next door is that, as much as I know someone, I never know it all. We keep changing, but we also have pockets of unknown things, mysteries that can only be known through the passage of time. Mom and I have a comfortable familiarity, certainly. She knows my weakness for jelly beans, but I tease her for liking hominy. She tells me what she learned on television, and I tell her things I read on the internet. We share our library stacks, and laugh at the same jokes. But, I never knew my mother loved blues music, or that she disliked Jane Austen. I would never have picked a red denim jacket for her, and when I mentioned she might like to read at the lake she announced that she would prefer to take a walk. At 78 my mom has decided to start exercising. She is a changing, growing person, and I am proud of her.

It is nice to have someone know you well enough to do the right thing. I know Mom doesn't mind giving us the two quarters we need for the Thursday paper (I NEVER have change in my purse), but she hates it if we don't knock before coming inside her house. She loves to fold laundry, but finds it too tiring to do heavy cleaning. She likes things tidy and fresh, but not spotless, and she always loves having cut flowers accenting her living room. She doesn't like to visit with our friends when they come over, and she prefers to have hours of quiet during the day. I don't interrupt her naps, she doesn't interrupt our school time.

This really is the best of both worlds -- next door I have someone I know better than anyone, yet I also have someone with plenty of mysteries to discover. Thanks for joining us, Mom. You are the best.

The Intercollegiate Studies Institute

In response to yesterday's post on higher education, Patty from W.P.M.s sent a link for The Intercollegiate Studies Institute.

The Intercollegiate Studies Institute is:

a non-profit, non-partisan, tax-exempt educational organization whose purpose is to convey to successive generations of college youth a better understanding of the values and institutions that sustain a free and virtuous society.

Founded in 1953, ISI works "to educate for liberty" — to identify the best and the brightest college students and to nurture in these future leaders the American ideal of ordered liberty. To accomplish this goal, ISI seeks to enhance the rising generation's knowledge of our nation's founding principles — limited government, individual liberty, personal responsibility, the rule of law, market economy, and moral norms.

"To remain ignorant of things that happened before you were born is to remain a child. What is human life worth unless it is incorporated into the lives of one's ancestors and set in a historical context?" Cicero (106-43 B.C.)

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Our journey had advanced;
Our feet were almost come
To that odd fork in Being's road,
Eternity by term.

Our pace took sudden awe,
Our feet reluctant led.
Before were cities, but between,
The forest of the dead.

Retreat was out of hope,--
Behind, a sealed route,
Eternity's white flag before,
And God at every gate.

Higher education

Colleges: An Endangered Species? By Andrew Delbanco (The New York Review of Books)

"The history of American higher education amounts to a three-phase story: in the colonial period, colleges promoted belief at a time of established (or quasi-established) religion; in the nineteenth century, they retained something of their distinctive creeds while multiplying under the protection of an increasingly liberal, tolerationist state; in the twentieth century, they became essentially indistinguishable from one another (except in degrees of wealth and prestige), by turning into miniature liberal states themselves—prescribing nothing and allowing virtually everything.[12] Anyone whose parents or grandparents were shut out from educational opportunity because of their race, ethnicity, or gender is thankful for the liberalizing trajectory of higher education— but as in every human story, there is loss as well as gain."

College is at least three-and-a-half years away for our oldest, but we are finding lots to talk about these days. Discussions of costs are short and filled with unknowns. Discussions of what a college teaches (in class and out), the value of higher education, what colleges are worthy of consideration...well, these questions could become full-time occupations. The more we read and talk, the less I seem to be certain of.

The path we took yesterday

"To find new things, take the path you took yesterday." John Burroughs

The changing skies

1:30


The same view at 2:30


A turn to the right at 5:00

The skies were incredibly varied yesterday. The light alternated between barely daylight and the eerie brightness that comes with an electrical storm. The rain came in bucket loads, and the clouds were of every imaginable shape. The boom of thunder, the crack of lightning, and the splatter of rain against the skylight came, went, and came again, all afternoon.

Later, as we were given a brief respite from the rain, I walked down the road with my two youngest. Our road is s-t-e-e-p, but the picturesque surroundings at the bottom of the hill are worth a climb. The pond has many different birds as visitors or residents , and we enjoy watching and listening to their antics. Yesterday, though, the birds were all on the opposite shore, and the pond was still. The reflections of trees, clouds and sky were breathtaking.



A dry moment at the pond


My walking partners

Reflections on changed plans

The Important Book, by Margaret Wise Brown.

The important thing about rain is
that it is wet.
It falls out of the sky,
and it sounds like rain,
and makes things shiny,
and it does not taste like anything,
and is the color of air.

But the important thing about rain
is that it is wet.

Well, the other important thing about rain is that it can cancel Boy Scout campouts. The four of us that are non-Boy Scouts had BIG plans. Vegetating plans, to be honest. We hit the library video shelves, we checked out piles of books, and we made sure that the popcorn, coffee, cocoa, wine and other snack options were in good supply. Then, the rain poured. And, it poured. Then, it poured some more. It stopped long enough to allow for a ten-mile hike, and then it poured again. So, the scouts decided to grab the gear and head home. Now, we love our scouts, but spending time in smaller sub-sets of the family is a special treat. So, when the phone call came I hesitated in my enthusiasm. It went like this (think cellular technology with weather):

"Di? We're co....home!"
"Excuse me?"
"We'....com....ho..."
(Did he say they were coming home?) "Sorry, can't hear you."
Loud, blaring voice that can be heard with ease: "WE'RE COMING HOME."
Silence.

A suggestion for the listening audience. If your dear family has been camping in the pouring rain, give at least a warm, if not enthusiastic, response when they announce that they have to come home. They are disappointed not to camp. They are wet, dirty and cold. They would love to know that the tea kettle will be warm when they pull in. Silence speaks volumes, and it doesn't always say, "We can't wait to see you."

Have no fear. We got our act together by the time they arrived. We helped with the unloading, we listened to the camping lore, and I had Groundhog Day, and a Newcastle Brown Ale ready for my Favorite Camper. This movie has come recommended by many, and it was the perfect choice. We laughed until we cried, and then we laughed again. The quotes from this movie will find their way into the dark corners of tedious days, bringing light and laughter to both of us.

E.B. White

Each year, in honor of my children's birthdays, I buy them a book. This year, I purchased Charlotte's Web for my six-year-old. I wanted him to know that the time we spend working through the pages of Phonics Pathways was worth it; I wanted him to be reassured that there are glorious stories ahead, almost within his phonemic grasp. For this waiting and learning time, though, I also got the audiobook. E.B. White is the reader for the audiobook and, as my nine-year-old said, "His voice is perfect!" I couldn't agree more.

For a reflection on life with E.B. White, see this article in the New Yorker, by his step-son Roger Angell. Thanks to Mental Multivitamin for the link.

There is a sentimental reason for my choice. It is the only book I remember my mother reading aloud to me and my sister. Mom was a hard-working person, off to the work world when she thought she would be able to be home raising her daughters. She was tired at night, but she did make time for Charlotte's Web. In my room or my sister's -- and we probably fought like crazy to decide which one-- we sighed and smiled and cried together. A great memory.

Listening to Your Life

"From the simplest lyric to the most complex novel and densest drama, literature is asking us to pay attention. Pay attention to the frog. Pay attention to the west wind. Pay attention to the boy on the raft, the lady in the tower, the old man on the train. In sum, pay attention to the world and all that dwells therein and thereby learn at last to pay attention to yourself and all that dwells therein.

The painter does the same thing, of course. Rembrandt puts a frame around an old woman's face. It is seamed with wrinkles. The upper lip is sunken in, the skin waxy and pale. It is not a remarkable face. You would not look twice at the old woman if you found her sitting across the aisle from you on a bus. But it is a face so remarkably seen that it forces you to see it remarkably just as Cezanne makes you see a bowl of apples or Andrew Wyeth a muslin curtain blowing in at an open window. It is a face unlike any other face in all the world. All the faces in the world are in this one old face.

Unlike painters, who work with space, musicians work with time, with note following note as second follows second. Listen! says Vivaldi, Brahms, Stravinsky. Listen to this time that I have framed bewtween the first note and the last and to these sounds in time. Listen to the way the silence is broken into uneven lengths between the sounds and to the silences themselves. Listen to the scrape of bow against gut, the rap of stick against drumhead, the rush of breath through reed and wood. The sounds of the earth are like music, the old song goes, and the sounds of music are also like the sounds of the earth, which is of course where music comes from. Listen to the voices outside the window, the rumble of the furnace, the creak of your chair, the water running in the kitchen sink. Learn to listen to the music of your own lengths of time, your own silences.

Literature, painting, music - the most basic lesson that all art teaches us is to stop, look, and listen to life on this planet, including our own lives, as a vastly richer, deeper, more mysterious business than most of the time it ever occurs to us to suspect as we bumble along from day to day on automatic pilot. In a world that for the most part steers clear of the whole idea of holiness, art is one of the few places left where we can speak to each other of holy things.

And when Jesus comes along saying that the greatest command of all is to love God and to love our neighbor, he too is asking us to pay attention. If we are to love God. we must first stop, look, and listen for him in what is happening around us and inside us. If we are to love our neighbors, before doing anything else we must see our neighbors. With our imagination as well as our eyes, that is to say like artists, we must see not just their faces but the life behind and within their faces. Here it is love that is the frame we see them in."

Listening to Your Life, Frederick Buechner.

William Carlos Williams, revisited

On January 31, I posted William Carlos Williams' poem The Red Wheelbarrow, confessing that I did not get it.

Well, I got some great feedback on that post, both in my inbox, and snooping through my site meter to another blog.

From Mrs. Wittingshire :

"I laughed about your Red Wheelbarrow. I don't "get" WCW either--but someone told me that he wrote that particular poem when he went to see a very sick little girl (he was a doctor) and, standing beside her sickbed, looked out the bedroom window and saw that scene. It's the mundane moments that make up our lives, and that, if we pay attention to them, help us see how precious life is; but we so often only notice them if we're threatened with loss. WHICH as we all know isn't supposed to be the way you read a poem, having to know its context, but all the same I liked the poem far better for knowing it."

Mr. Standfast's blog had this to say about my lack of comprehension:

"...didn't you ever look at something homely and ordinary, something that until then you'd always managed to overlook, and suddenly you recognized its beauty, and even had the feeling that this simple thing was not only beautiful but important? I mean, that's the essense of the art of someone like Andrew Wyeth, after all. It might almost seem, at that moment of recognition, that everything depends on this homely thing. Sure, that's an exaggeration. Poet's exaggerate. The world will go on whether we stop to notice or not. Whether, in fact, the object of our perception had ever existed or not. And yet, yes, there is something important going on when we simply look. When we simply perceive! I'm quite convinced that much does indeed depend on this. So give William Carlos another opportunity to tell you once more about the red wheel barrow and the chickens in the rain."

I am giving Dr. Williams another chance, and am happy to learn from those that take a moment to read and comment on the posts here at A Circle of Quiet. Thanks for the added insight and the challenge.

The celebration of the Little Mister

"Every day is somebody's birthday," said Pooh.

"That's a lot of cake!" said Piglet.

Celebrations are coming hand-over-fist these days. A week that includes two birthdays and Valentine's Day makes for plenty of excitement (and cake!) Next year, I think we will take this week off from school and use the non-celebratory days to do juice fasts, or some other extreme measure, to balance the frosting and candy. I never thought I would meet my sugar limit, but here we are.

The fun part of today is the Man of the Hour. Our youngest child, our youngest son, is six today. That means, most importantly, BYE BYE booster car seat. His plan was to take it to the dump for a ceremonious deposit, but we found a young friend at church that is in need of just such a boost. Sunday we will gift him with the treasure.




This morning, while three of the children were at piano, I got the fun of some cafe time alone with my young man. As we were sipping our drinks, I asked him how it felt to be six. He thought for a moment, looked up at the cafe table umbrella, and said, "I kinda thought I would be as tall as this umbrella." I've heard of growth spurts, but that was the dream of a youngest brother if I have ever heard one.




Lunch with Daddy was a requested event after hearing of the older sister's fun last Thursday. No lace and picnic baskets for these tough guys, though. Just a backpack with sandwiches that would make Dagwood drool, and some man-to-man talk. I'm not sure if the father or the children are enjoying this new tradition more, but it sure brings big smiles.

I have never felt older than six years and a day ago when I was 39 and pregnant with my fifth child. But, since that day, I feel as if I am getting younger and younger. This dear boy, with his hugs and questions and energy, his "Morning, Mama" and his, "Could you snuggle with me?" are treasures I never want to take for granted. After all, in a few years, I could be looking up at a guy the height of a cafe umbrella. I'm going to enjoy these six-year-old, busy days, even if it means more cake.

Happy birthday, Junior Mint!

The Monowi, Nebraska Library

This L.A. Times article was brought to my attention on the Well-Trained Mind boards yesterday. Monowi, Nebraska has a population of one, but a library of 5,000 volumes. This is the story of one man's love of reading, and the donation of his personal book collection to create a public library.

Some quotes:

"Tavern patrons got used to seeing Rudy's books piled every which way, under the 50-cent bags of chips or on top of the bar, or over by the collection of beer steins painted with Clydesdale horses. Elsie reads too. She loves historical novels. But in 49 1/2 years of marriage, she never could catch up with Rudy."

"He always said you were never locked in one place when you read books. You could be under the ocean or exploring space or shooting cowboys and Indians in the desert."

"There's a proper library an hour's drive away, in O'Neill, with 28,500 volumes, a computerized card catalog and dozens of magazines laid out alphabetically... That's the place to go if you need a book. Rudy's Library is where to go if you love them."

Added later: I noticed that Mental Multivitamin is linking to this article, but her post is complete with my idea of beautiful home decorating. What a book collection!

Wendell Berry

Standing By Words (Essays)

From the title essay:

"Two epidemic illnesses of our time - upon both of which virtual industries of cures have been founded - are the disintegration of communities and the disintegration of persons. That these two are related (that private loneliness, for instance, will necessarily accompany public confusion) is clear enough. And I take for granted that most people have explored in themselves and their surroundings some of the intricacies of the practical causes and effects; most of us, for example, have understood that the results are usually bad when people act in social or moral isolation, and also when, because of such isolation, they fail to act.

What seems not so well understood, because not so much examined, is the relation between these disintegrations and the disintegration of language. My impression is that we have seen, for perhaps a hundred and fifty years, a gradual increase in language that is either meaningless or destructive of meaning. And I believe that this increasing unreliability of language parallels the increasing disintegration, over the same period, of persons and communities."

Other essays in this volume: The Specialization of Poetry; People, Land and Community; Notes: Unspecializing Poetry; Poetry and Marriage; and Poetry and Place. Good stuff.

On the cover is a Chinese character depicting "a man beside the sign for 'word.' It is the written form of xin, which Ezra Pound defined as: 'Fidelity to the given word. The man here standing by his word.' Such fidelity to the word, as evidenced by clarity of meaning and intent, would go far to reconnect language to life."

The tired skier sips some cocoa

There were many good reports from yesterday's ski adventure, but the most endearing was the quiet, bedtime chatter of this little guy. "Thanks for bweaking twadition, Daddy." Spending the money, and bending the aging body over to hold the new skier, are small potatoes compared to the heart that has been primed for family adventures.

Soundtrack for a day alone

TOTAL SILENCE (a favorite recommendation for days alone) or

My Kenmore washer and dryer or

Les Miserables (1987 Original Broadway Cast) Nothing like singing and crying along with the Les Mis. cast to get the creative juices flowing.

Not invited: the phone. I'm as-good-as-not-home today, friends and foes. Maybe tomorrow.

St. Valentine

Saint Valentine by Robert Sabuda

In the ancient city of Rome there lived a humble and gentle man. His clothes were not as fine as the noblemen's, and his leather sandals were worn thin. He did not live in a grand house made of smooth marble,but in a small dwelling in a crowded part of the city. The man's friends and neighbors called him Valentine.

This a lovely book with mosaic-like illustrations. It tells the story of St. Valentine, who was a simple, praying man. He is an excellent role model for our Valentine celebrations: simple and prayerful, not commercial and compulsory. Newsweek says the average man spends $218 on this of all days. Dare to be different -- keep it TRULY simple, and see the joy it can bring.


Happy Valentine's Day.

Dinner for two, and only two

The New York Times had an article today about the fact that parenting wrecks romance in marriage. I am not linking to it because I do not think that it is worth your time. I am not sure what people think romance looks like, but surely it is possible with children. Marriage isn't necessarily easy; we certainly didn't grow up watching happy marriages or learning how to communicate through conflict. But, through the bad patches (and, yes, we have had those) we have worked very hard (emphasis on the word "we".) Children require (deserve) their parent's energy, but they also need a father and mother that love each other. It doesn't take tons of money or a certain type of appearance; if that was true, all those poor couples on the covers of magazines in the checkout lines would be blissfully happy and there would be no slimy news. It takes a little time and thoughtfulness, a little creativity, and a heart filled with love and appreciation (sometimes a choice, not always a feeling). I think it is worth it.

Our choice for a Valentine's date? We celebrated last night with a quiet dinner in front of the fire (take-out Chinese) and Hamlet with Kenneth Branagh. The children were either at my mother's or in bed, quietly reading and knowing that this was our time. Rather than share the night with the crowds at over-priced restaurants, we chose this option. It means we can do it more often, and our children can see how important it is for us to have that time.

My most valued Valentine's present, though? I am ALL ALONE today. My husband has the day off, and he is taking all five children skiing. It is a momentous day for many reasons. The last time they skied, my then seven-year-old broke her leg. She is going back today for the first time, excited and confident; the resilience of youth strikes again. There is one huge addition: the almost six-year-old. We have a tradition in our family: you start skiing when you are seven. Don't ask; I have no idea why or when we came up with the rule, although I am sure it had to do with our finances. But, my husband decided that it was time for the Little Mister to ski, and he is going for an early birthday present. He ran to my mother and announced, "Gwam!! Guess what? We are bweaking twadition! I get to go skiing!" The word tradition, used by someone who doesn't have those "r" sounds down yet, was as cute as can be.


Not exactly traveling lightly

So my Valentine drove off with a car load this morning, ready to make more memories of cold days on the slopes. Weather conditions are perfect by our standards: just enough chance of snow showers to keep the fair weather folks back home, and enough chance of plain ol' cloudy to keep the family swishing their way to happiness.

What is a woman to do with an empty house? Hahahahahaha! So many choices, but the simple answer today is WORK.




I rearranged things to put my work table in front of my favorite window. This gives me the view of our property that is featured in the right hand corner of this blog. The hawks continue to make lots of noise, and I wanted to be ready to watch without interrupting my work. With the assistance of my favorite coffee pot and my trusty lap-top, it promises to be a very rewarding day. My boss will be glad to see the piles move from the left side of the table to the right. Trust me, Kate, when my copy editor returns home from the slopes, your inbox will be bursting with fascinating reviews. I promise.

Bread and Wine

To Keep A True Lent
by Robert Herrick


IS this a fast, to keep
The larder lean?
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?

Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish?

Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragg’d to go,
Or show
A downcast look and sour?

No; ‘tis a fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.

It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate;
To circumcise thy life.

To show a heart grief-rent;
To starve thy sin,
Not bin;
And that’s to keep thy Lent.

Found in Bread and Wine: Readings for Lent and Easter, a collection with contributions by Augustine, Wendell Berry, G.K. Chesterton, C.S. Lewis, Henri Nouwen, Dorothy Sayers, and more.

The celebration of Little Bear

The Special Plate

In our home, this plate comes out for the special days. That would be birthdays, anniversaries, or days when someone needs cheering. Today, in honor of one little girl's ninth birthday, this plate was crowned with a perfectly baked dutch baby (sort of an extra large popover.) Yum.


At Papa's school

I first saw my birthday girl at 5:20 this morning (do you think she remembered that she was born at 5:19?) She was dressed in her lacy dress and ready to bake dutch babies. In fact, everyone was up and ready to hit the ground running by 6:00. I treasure my alone time, and it was a sacrifice to have the crew descend so early, but it was great to see the enthusiasm for a sister's birthday. We had our usual piano lessons first thing after breakfast,but that was only the beginning of the plans.

There were two main activities today. After piano was a trip to my husband's school for lunch. Just Papa and Little Bear, enjoying sandwiches, strawberries, and muffins. As they walked back to the car, I saw co-workers peeking out of the lunch room, enjoying the sight of a father and daughter who were obviously enjoying the treat of time alone.

After that there was one quick errand to Costco where we purchased a television. That was an experience worthy of its own post, so you shall have to wait to hear the tale of our family and The Television.


Thrift store treasures

Our final stop was the local thrift store in search of elegant dress up. Now, I never would have chosen a triple knit polyester lime green evening gown with a rhinestone accessory attached to it. But, she felt like her dreams had come true. Add the hat and netting at home, and voila! The costume was complete.


The Cake

We even managed to have a lovely cake, courtesy of my older daughter. It tasted as good as it looks.

In the last year, my nine-year-old has recovered from a broken leg, been in a Josephina play with friends, spent hours playing house in various corners of our property, and been a zesty, interesting, book devouring, happy member of our family. I am grateful for her hugs, her questions, her intellect, and the fact that she is learning to keep her room clean.

Happy birthday, Claire Bear.

A breath of fresh air

One of the nicest compliments I have received about A Circle of Quiet is that it is a breath of fresh air. That is exactly what I thought when I read the blog Wittingshire. Filled with thoughtful posts on science, poetry, literature and news, I felt invigorated and refreshed to find their blog. It is destined to be a regular for us.

Lent

I grew up in the Episcopal Church. After my mother moved here, we had a chance to attend with her until she got settled enough to have alternate transportation. I love the liturgy (much more meaningful as a believing adult than as a boy-crazy junior higher) and the prayers in the Book of Common Prayer.

Today begins the season of Lent, a time of preparation for the celebration of Easter. We do not attend a church that discusses Lent, but I like how both Lent and Advent help us remember why we really celebrate Easter and Christmas. I look forward to attending Ash Wednesday service with Mom tonight.

Here are some links to articles on Lent:

Christianity Today

The Season of Lent

A peaceful Tuesday

Yesterday I should have renamed this internet destination Cacophony. It was a loud, cantankerous Monday and we filled the hours with our cranky attitudes and a reluctant work ethic. Today, however, was a peaceful day. Not a hustle bustle, "get everything done in a hurry" day. It was a quiet day, with long reading hours, piano playing, and the chance to finish up school after dinner. We continued to play Yo Yo Ma's cello music, but at one point it was quiet enough to hear the cries of two hawks that were competing for a spot in our oak trees. When my husband arrived home, there was a tickle/wrestle fest and a chapter of Midshipman Quinn. All the components of a grand day, and one worthy of capturing in photos.

My favorite people in the world (minus the all-time favorite husband):

Charles Dickens (1812 - 1870)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....

These opening words from A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens were also the beginnings of a letter I received in 1985 from a young man who was in the grips of his first year of teaching, and the thrill of new-found love. So began my love affair with my husband and with Charles Dickens. Today, we celebrate the birthday of Charles Dickens, born on this day in 1812.

Thanks to Semicolon for the heads up about the birthday celebration.

To learn more about Dickens, see the Charles Dickens page here: The Literature Network

Inspiration

A quote on a box of tea from Celestial Seasonings:

"Just as our eyes need light in order to see, our minds need ideas in order to create." Nicholas Malebranche

I don't always agree with, or even like, the quotes on the Celestial Seasonings boxes, but I love this one. I search for ideas in books, on blogs, in the Scriptures, like a starving person looking for bread. If you google your way to the Nicholas Malebranche page on the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, like I did, you will find yourself in territory that is very foreign to me. I don't think I will get my inspiring ideas from that site anytime too soon, but I will continue my daily "search and learn mission" with a vengeance.

Finding time to read

On day one of A Circle of Quiet, we quoted from the book of the same title by Madeleine L'Engle. While re-reading passages today, I came across this L'Engle gem:

Another contemporary contradiction is that more books are being published today than ever before but educated people are reading less. Over a decade ago I was sent a questionnaire from college; the questionnaire, when collated, would give some idea of what we had done and become since graduation. One of the questions was, "How many books have you read in the past year?"

Most of the girls with whom I went to college were moderately privileged intellectually. Smith has never been an easy college to get into. I felt very ashamed when I answered that particular question, "Two or three books a week."

When the questionnaire was collated there was horror at the answer to that particular question: a high percentage had read no books at all.

All right: our children were little; this is not an age of many servants; most of us had a good deal to struggle with. But no books? I read while I'm stirring the white sauce, while I'm in the subway, in the bath.

I might add: at stopsigns, in the doctor's waiting room, in the restroom, in bed, up early, up late, on the way from here to there and everywhere.

Grammar snobs

From Joanne Jacobs:

A grammar snob at school

... on whether it's snobby to demand correct grammar in school. A Fairbanks, Alaska elementary teacher saw that the "Parents Lounge" sign was missing its apostrophe.

"So, I whipped out my handy marker and was inserting an apostrophe when my principal came along. She told me we must not be grammar snobs. Right, at an educational institution, it's never good form to actually try to educate."

The teacher saw the sign as an imperative, ordering parents to lounge, while I think it was a general comment about parents' tendency to lounge.

Jacobs then mentions Eats, Shoots & Leaves, a popular book in our house. Like to talk about grammar? Like to laugh? Not used to being able to multi-task those two items? Now is your chance.

Listening to Your Life

"And yet there are some things I would be willing to bet maybe even my life on.

That life is grace, for instance - the givenness of it, the fathomlessness of it, the endless possibilities of its becoming transparent to something extraordinary beyond itself. That - as I picked up somewhere in Jung and whittled into the ash stick I use for tramping around through the woods sometimes - vocatus atque non vocatus Deus aderit , which I take to mean that in the long run, whether you call on him or don't call on him, God will be present with you. That if we really had our eyes open, we would see that all moments are key moments. That he who does not love remains in death. That Jesus is the Word made flesh who dwells among us full of grace and truth. On good days I might add a few more to the list."

Listening to Your Life , Frederick Buechner

Crocheted lace

My fourteen-year-old daughter made this crocheted flower. The picture does it NO justice. It is intricate in its design, and even feels nice in your hand. She just grabbed my mom's copy of Reader's Digest Complete Guide to Needlework (which I didn't even know existed) and looked up crochet patterns. I am impressed. As I learn to knit, I am amazed that she is my child. Handiwork is not, shall we say, my specialty. She is using the time available to her in her youth for such good things. What in the world did I do with my time? Probably best not to detail it out.

Friday

Still life

Of note:

Knitting: I finally managed to pick up some wooden knitting needles and I could easily become a wooden needle zealot. I no longer feel like an arthritic person, completely lacking small motor skills; I am actually knitting (though if you look closely you will recognize the scarf for the novice attempt that it is.)

The mug: The latest offering from a favorite resource: Peace Hill Press. Even as a mostly decaffeinated person, I love sipping from my Well-Caffeinated Mind mug. It is a source of great humor around here, too: "Honey, is this your Well-Caffeinated Mind, or mine?" "If you have to ask, I would guess you don't have a caffeinated mind, dear!" Also, more evidence that we have spent enough time in the era of the Reign of Terror: one of my anonymous children said the Peace Hill Press logo looked like a guillotine. Okay, time to move on to more tranquil pastures.

Latte: Please note the incredible example of foam on the top of the mug. Such an art form, and we try and perfect it every afternoon.

The weekend promises to be a fine one. Tonight, we dance. English Country Dancing is the plan, and we are all attending in our Sunday duds. Socialization at its best, as we make sure we don't bring three more young men into society that refuse to dance. The water heater is already hard at work, the iron is heating, and the rarely seen blazers, ties and lace are coming out of hiding.

Tomorrow, we scrub and clean, but keep plenty of time for walking, tennis and the garden. The weather has been strangely warm, bringing the spring bulbs bursting through the ground in February. We are hoping for much more of our favorite days of cold and wet. But, this is California. Who knows what the next three months will be like?


An early crocus

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Born February 4, 1906

"The mark of solitude is silence, as speech is the mark of community. Silence and speech have the same inner correspondence and difference as do solitude and community. One does not exist without the other. Right speech comes out of silence, and right silence comes out of speech."

From the Dietrich Bonhoeffer Home Page:

Dietrich Bonhoeffer--along with his twin sister, Sabine--was born on February 4, 1906, in Breslau, Germany. Later a student in Tubingen, Berlin, and at Union Theological Seminary in New York -- as well as a participant in the European ecumenical movement-- Bonhoeffer became known as one of the few figures of the 1930s with a comprehensive grasp of both German- and English-language theology. His works resonate with a prescience, subtlety, and maturity that continually belies the youth of their author.

Bonhoeffer's theologically rooted opposition to National Socialism first made him a leader, along with Martin Niemueller and Karl Barth, in the Confessing Church (bekennende Kirche), and an advocate on behalf of the Jews. Indeed, his efforts to help a group of Jews escape to Switzerland were what first led to his arrest and imprisonment in the spring 1943. His leadership in the anti-Nazi Confessing Church and his participation in the Abwehr resistance circle (beginning in February 1938) make his works a unique source for understanding the interaction of religion, politics, and culture among those few Christians who actively opposed National Socialism, as is particularly evident in his drafts for a posthumously published Ethics. His thought provides not only an example of intellectual preparation for the reconstruction of German society after the war but also a rare insight into the vanishing social and academic world that had preceded it.

Bonhoeffer was also a spiritual writer, a musician, and an author of fiction and poetry. The integrity of his Christian faith and life, and the international appeal of his writings, have led to a broad consensus that he is the one theologian of his time to lead future generations of Christians into the new millenium.

He was hanged in the concentration camp at Flossenbürg on April 9, 1945, one of four members of his immediate family to die at the hands of the Nazi regime for their participation in the small Protestant resistance movement.

If you are unacquainted with Dietrich Bonhoeffer, suggestions for reading, listening and watching would be:

Life Together: The Classic Exploration of Faith in Community

Letters & Papers from Prison

The Cost of Discipleship

Bonhoeffer: The Cost of Freedom (Focus on the Family Radio Theatre)

And from the Bonhoeffer website: Bonhoeffer: Agent of Grace video

A quote from Letters & Papers from Prison:

It often seems hard to have to spend the beautiful long summer days here for the second time; but one just can't choose where one has to be. So we must keep on trying to find our way through the petty thoughts that irritate us, to the great thoughts that strengthen us - I'm at present reading the quite outstanding book by W. F. Otto, the classics man at Konigsberg, The Gods of Greece. To quote from his closing words, it's about 'this world of faith, which sprang from the wealth and depth of human existence, not from its cares and longings'. Can you understand my finding something very attractive in this theme and its treatment, and also - horribile dictu - my finding these gods, when they are so treated, less offensive than certain brands of Christianity? The book is most helpful for my present theological reflections.

For more information, you can click through the pages of the Dietrich Bonhoeffer Home Page.

Soundtrack for an ordinary day

Michael Card: Joy in the Journey

Michael Card has been our musical companion since 1987. We love this collection of his first ten years.

There is a joy in the journey
There's a light we can love on the way
There is a wonder and wildness to life
And freedom for those who obey

Library Day

The Reflective Life

"Henry David Thoreau once wrote: 'If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away.'

Something about being in rhythm with the music makes us feel good and whole and connected to something larger than us. Maybe that is something of what I felt as a young boy trying to keep pace with my father's steps.

Everything we do, we do rhythmically, which is to say, musically. When we walk, there is a cadence to our steps. When we dance, there is a music to our movements. When we throw a baseball, we do it with a rhythm of winding up, throwing, and following through. Whether it's a baseball player pitching or a ballerina dancing or a custodian sweeping, if they do what they do well, they do it in sync with a certain rhythm.

When they don't, the level of discord increases, and with it, their chances of failure. The ballerina may gracefully leap into the air, but if her timing is off on the way down, she may fall flat on her face. The same is true of the farmer who is in sync with the planting season but maybe out of sync with the harvest. If he is late in getting to the fields, the crop may be ruined. If we want to live in harmony with the universe as God has ordered it, we must live our lives in response to those rhythms.

But there are other rhythms at work in the universe.

From the heart of God comes the strongest rhythm - the rhythm of love. Without His love reverberating in us, whatever we do will come across like a noisy gong or a clanging symbol. And so the work of the human heart, it seems to me, is to listen for that music and pick up on its rhythms."

From The Reflective Life, by Ken Gire.

Lava in Hawaii

This picture was taken by my brother-in-law. Isn't it great? One of my dreams (besides owning a perriwinkle-colored convertible, seeing a bald eagle, and living in Ireland) is seeing hot lava. I am happy to live vicariously through the relatives at this point. Especially since this trip was in celebration of my sister-in-law's graduation from college. WAY TO GO!