Hard at work

I am writing, working, dreaming, shaking in my boots, and writing some more.

Yikes.

Autumn

The Friday Clive

"The controversy about faith and works is one that has gone on for a very long time, and it is a highly technical matter. I personally rely on the paradoxical text: 'Work out your own salvation...for it is God that worketh in you.' It looks as if in one sense we do nothing, and in another case we do a damned lot. 'Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling,' but you must have it in you before you can work it out."

Blogging from the library

just isn't the same as blogging from home.

In defense of the libary, the internet is faster here. And I do have a lack of concern for how my activities might be defeating the ever-present bandwidth issue in our home. I will admit to that freedom.

But where is my coffee?
Where are my books of quotes?
Where are the chattering voices around me?
Where are my files of pictures?

At home. And I am at the library. Drat.

I did find a great recipe for chile rellenos thanks to the beautiful picture that appeared on the monitor across the way. And this internet connection is really, really fast.

But I prefer to blog at home.
In my jammies.
With my coffee.

Beauty for Truth's Sake

"Teachers often tell us that modern students don't know how to think. Setting aside the fact that this is a perennial complaint, made by teachers about their students in every age, it may be true that the conditions of modern life militate against independent thought in particular ways. Silence is rare, entertainment is all-pervasive, the pressure to consume-and-discard is almost irresistible. No one has put it better than G.K. Chesterton did in 1930: 'People are inundated, blinded, deafened, and mentally paralysed by a flood of vulgar and tasteless externals, leaving them no time for leisure, thought, or creation from within themselves.' The situation has grown worse in every decade.

No wonder students come to a college education expecting nothing more than a set of paper qualifications that will enable them to earn a decent salary. The idea that they might be there to grow as human beings, to be inducted into an ancient culture, to become somehow more than they are already, is alien to them. They expect instant answers, but they have no deep questions. The great questions have not yet been woken in them. The process of education requires us to become open, receptive, curious, and humble in the face of what we do not know. The world is a fabric woven of mysteries, and a mystery is a provocation to our humanity that cannot be dissolved by googling a few more bits of information."

Tonight...

I will curl up with a hot toddy and my one-yet-home girl and watch King Henry. Cannot wait.

What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Happy St. Crispin's Day!

Eagle Project Day Two

A slew of work was accomplished on Rex's Eagle Project this weekend. Team work is a beautiful thing, especially when you are racing to finish before the rain hits. And man! did it hit this weekend.

More manly rock removal happened, benches were built...

with torch help.

It's looking GREAT!!!

A big part of an Eagle project is getting the funding for materials. Tonight will be an opportunity for Rex to present his project with hopes of receiving funding for the final stage of the project: materials and delivery for the paving.

Looking forward to being there with you, Rex.

The Friday Clive

"You can't get second things by putting them first; you can get second things only by putting first things first."

Weather report

Autumn has seen fit to return to Northern California.
Days of hideously-timed ninety degree weather finally gave way
to rain drops sprinkling,
leaves falling,
geese heading this way and that.

And the family cheered.

Cinnamon rolls were cooked.
Cider was mulled and warmed.

Perfect socks were donned.
(Thank you, Madelaine!)

Candles were lit.

Welcome Autumn!

Let the Eagle Project begin

Rex is off on his Eagle Project! The opportunity came up at John's school, an outdoor education area that has fallen into disrepair and needs help. The first day of work is complete, and much was accomplished and much was learned. It will take several more work days, but he's got time.

Zack and Kenny The Truck help Rex on Day One of beautifying Dad's school.

Clearing was accomplished. Rocks were moved (with special help from Kenny),

and paths are beginning to be set.


Good work, son!

The Friday Clive

"What we can understand, if the Christian doctrine is true, is that our own composite existence is not the sheer anomaly it might seem to be, but a faint image of the Divine incarnation itself - the same theme in a very minor key . . . both Natural and Supernatural, in which we are living is more multifariously and subtly harmonious than we had suspected. "

Thinking about

The Incarnation of Christ and Its Implications for Teaching

James Daniels.

CiRCE Conference 2009: A Contemplation of Nature.

Much to think about.

Candle prayers

Throughout the house candles are burning

for friends who are faced with grief.

Lacking words, I mumble incoherent prayers as I pass the flickering flames.

Light in the darkness.

Prayers amidst pain.





The fragrance of beeswax fills the air.

Catching up: Missing you

Gutenberg College is back in session, so we had more goodbyes last month. Some of our family made their way north this weekend to see Madelaine and bring some of her bigger items, but I was not part of the traveling crew. It was important to stay home, but that doesn't stop me from missing her all the more. It was so good to have her home for most of the summer.

Letters are a gift from one so far away. And when they have leaves from outside a dorm window? Well, that is just a double bonus.

Even better? This girl makes me think. Deeply. I am grateful for talks and for letters. And for a good start to a school year.

Miss you, Madelaine!

Wendell Berry

Sabbaths 2004: VIII

It takes all time to show eternity,
The longest shine of every perishing spark,
And every word and cry of every tongue
Must form the Word that calls the darkest dark

Of this world to its lasting dawn. Toward
That rising hour we bear our single hearts
Estranged as islands parted in the sea,
Our broken knowledge and our scattered arts.

As separate as fireflies or night windows,
We piece a foredream of the gathered light
Infinitely small and great to shelter all,
Silenced into song, blinded into sight.

Sunday afternoon

The long lost Clive returns

We - or at least I - shall not be able to adore God on the highest occasion if we have learned no habit of doing so on the lowest. At best, our faith and reason will tell us that He is adorable, but we shall not have found Him so, not have "tasted and seen." Any patch of sunlight in a wood will show you something about the sun which you could never get from reading books on astronomy. These pure and spontaneous pleasures are "patches of Godlight" in the woods of our experiences.

Catching up: Someone turned 19

Last Tuesday was a special day: Zack's 19th birthday.

Tuesdays also mean leaving for school at 6:45 in the morning, three classes and then off to work. L-o-n-g days.

But the day finished well: cake and celebration with The Fam. And a rather dashing outfit, courtesy of a beloved girl.

Happy birthday, Zack. We love you!

Just the facts

Tuesday I realized I felt great. Better than I had in months. Surgery healing is going oh-so-well. Laproscope may be my new favorite word.

Thursday we called 911 because my mother was having trouble breathing.

Friday I fell asleep at 8:30 p.m.

Weekend: Ducks win. Giants win. (We will pretend the 49ers had a bye. Or don't exist.) Naps were also featured in the weekend entertainment.

Monday Mom came home again.

And life goes on.

So keep'em coming these lines on the road
And keep me responsible be it a light or heavy load
And keep me guessing with these blessings in disguise
And I'll walk with grace my feet and faith my eyes.
~Caedmon's Call~