My Lady Tongue

The Wedding Feast

2008-09-15T05:18:00.000-07:00

For those of you who weren't able to make it, here are some pics of our wedding! (Those of you who did make it can see them too). Pics are complements of BentheGreen. We will have more coming soon!

Surprise!

2007-12-14T09:29:00.000-08:00

Just when you thought this blog was out of commission...I have returned in an endeavor to fulfill an overwhelming desire to shout "O Glory!" from the housetops. I am going to be a wife, and the Lord only knows how delectable that word sounds - it's like hearing it for the first time, and it is sweet. To those of you who by chance have not given up on this corner of the world wide web and happen to read these words, please thank God for us.
Also, Ladybird is back online as well. Please visit her blog when you get a moment.

God Bless!

A Happy Thought...

2007-01-12T08:13:00.000-08:00

Hope fills the cup that Joy drinks.

Hey Everyone...

2007-01-08T12:05:00.000-08:00

Flannery's back! Her doings and musings are once again being posted on the Land of the Hidden Premise - do visit when you get a chance!

Gathering the Shards...

2006-12-22T07:45:00.000-08:00

Here are bits of thoughts that aspire to be a poem for Our Lady.

The Mirror and the Glass

A walking glass, the Woman was
A prism, motley hued -
Joy and Grace were colors born
Of an ever-radiant mood.

Until a mirror was thrust forth
Untimely and slyly wrought -
That cast the Woman's colors back
With one blinding hell-born thought.

Her image shattered, yet with hope
She caught a glimpse of One
Who, like a vessel, clear and bright
Could hold one Ray of Sun

And yet remain unbroken.
A new and exalted She
With a Word became a glass
By which all men can see.

A Christmas Meme...

2006-12-08T13:09:00.000-08:00

1. Hot Chocolate or apple cider?

Just coming in from spending hours playing in the snow, it's gotta be hot chocolate.

2. Turkey or Ham?

Traditionally, ham. I can just taste it now...

3. Do you get a fake or a real Christmas tree?

Well, the folks get a real one every year and we decorate it the day after Thanksgiving. Due to the fact that our little condo cannot accommodate a tree, we've had to get an artificial one. I do miss the smell of pine needles.

4. Decorations on the outside of your house?

We've got a wreath as well; it'd be great to deck our kitchen window with lights. I'm afraid we've had to forego the giant inflated Christmas snow globe this year.

5. Do you prefer a white Christmas?

Definitely. Back home, there is approximately 14 inches of snow on the ground...I can't wait to throw Daisy into it.

6. Do you enjoy singing Christmas carols?

Indeed. The religious ones are by far the best...but sometimes I find myself breaking out into "Chestnuts Roasting on An Open Fire" or "Winter Wonderland". It happens.

7. Favorite Christmas carol?

It will have to be 'favorites' - Silent Night, O Come All Ye Faithful, The Holly and the Ivy, and The Angel Gabriel.

8. How do you feel about Christmas movies?

They are alright, as long as they are not over-played or over-dramaticized. My uncle plays "A Christmas Story" for 24 hours straight every Christmas Eve...it's maddening.

9. Favorite Christmas movie?

I'm not sure. I used to be afraid of "A Christmas Carol" as a kid. Other than "The Grinch" and "It's a Wonderful Life", my Christmas movie repertoire is pretty slim.

10. Stockings before or after presents?

Oh, definitely before. Great things come in small packages...and small packages are usually to be found in stockings.

11. Do you open a present or presents on Christmas Eve, or wait until Christmas day?

We do both. One side of the family always celebrates Christmas on the Eve, the other side does it on the actual day. As for my immediate family, we open presents Christmas morning.

12. Go to someone else's house?

Usually a relative of my mother's. We get to watch all the crazy little cousins open presents.

13. Do you read the Nativity Story? If so when?

That's never really been a tradition of ours, but it'd be great to start.

14. Do you go to Mass on Christmas Eve, at midnight, or Christmas morning?

As of just a couple of years ago, we try to go to Midnight Mass. It's very beautiful.

15. What is your favorite holiday smell?

I'm caught between pine needles and sugar cookies - how awkward!

I'm going to Meme:
Whiskey
Mr. Tilter
Mr. Flyte

It's a Good Thing...

2006-11-21T09:34:00.000-08:00

Latin never goes bad.

The Stairs...

2006-11-15T17:26:00.000-08:00

Climbing, reaching, up, up -
And then, the rail is real.
I pause and feel its pulse.
Time slows and the moments
Lived between the seconds
Show me more than Hours.

It's one of those days
When all the days are
Reckoned in a glimpse -
A touch begs for embrace,
And I must linger here...

The point and place where
Past and Future strike a Peace,
And all things stay for me -
Delighting in the luminating Present.

The Heart of a Poet...

2006-11-09T20:05:00.000-08:00

"There is at the back of all our lives an abyss of light, more blinding and unfathomable than any abyss of darkness; and it is the abyss of actuality, of existence, of the fact that things truly are, and that we ourselves are incredibly and sometimes almost incredulously real. It is the fundamental fact of being, as against not being; it is unthinkable, yet we cannot unthink it, though we may sometimes be unthinking about it; unthinking and especially unthanking. For he who has realized this reality knows that it does outweigh, literally to infinity, all lesser regrets or arguments for negation, and that under all our grumblings there is a subconscious substance of gratitude. That light of the positive is the business of the poets, because they see all things in the light of it more than do other men. Chaucer was a child of light and not merely of twilight, the mere red twilight of one passing dawn of revolution...He was the immediate heir of something like what Catholics call the Primitive Revelation; that glimpse that was given of the world when God saw that it was good; and so long as the artist gives us glimpses of that, it matters nothing that they are fragmentary or even trivial; whether it be in the mere fact that a medieval Court poet could appreciate a daisy, or that he could write, in a sort of flash of blinding moonshine, of the lover who 'slept no more than does the nightingale'. These things belong to the same world of wonder as the primary wonder at the very existence of the world; higher than any common pros and cons, or likes and dislikes, however legitimate. Creation was the greatest of all Revolutions. It was for that, as the ancient poet said, that the morning stars sang together; and the most modern poets, like the medieval poets, may descend very far from that height of realization and stray and stumble and seem distraught; but we shall know them for the Sons of God, when they are still shouting for joy. This is something much more mystical and absolute than any modern thing that is called optimism; for it is only rarely that we realize, like a vision of the heavens filled with a chorus of giants, the primeval duty of Praise."

-excerpt from "The Greatness of Chaucer" by G.K.C.
Link to picture

Here's a Good One...

2006-11-06T14:32:00.000-08:00

"Complaint always comes back in an echo from the ends of the world; but silence strengthens us." - G.K.C.

Happy Feast of All Saints!

2006-11-01T08:17:00.000-08:00

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."
Hebrews 12:1

The Anchoress of Norwich...

2006-10-12T13:03:00.000-07:00

With reference to this blog's 'motto', I though it would be a good idea to actually write something on women; more specifically, on a woman; and namely, Blessed Julian of Norwich. It is that strange and unsettling time of year when things seem to be drawing to a kind of close. Time presses, and many of us begin to feel again the weight of "all that is", and in a sense, "all that must be". Perhaps it has something to do with the time of year, or the unfortunate circumstance of climate (sorry Texans) that prevents us from immersing ourselves totally in the season: there is something uniquely satisfying in the falling of a leaf. It sings to us, "It is finished." But, we linger here on the frayed strings of summer, wishing for closure and a new beginning...That's where Julian comes in.
She actually happened upon me today when I was reminding a friend of mine to be patient with herself. We can get so frustrated with our own incapacity, weakness, and propensity for sin that the world seems a great weight, and it seems that no amount of time will ever be enough to make things right. Julian recognized this also, and asked Our Lord about it. He, in turn, showed her the whole world - "all that is" - in the guise of a hazelnut resting in the palm of His wounded hand. This image forces us to see the universe inside out, in a way; and through it, we can glimpse the magnitude of God's mercy... He Who keeps the stars, keeps me. In response to Julian's deep sadness for sin, and her own weakness, God gives her a special grace that causes her to look ahead in hope instead of looking back in consternation and fear. He obliterates all the 'what-if's' in our lives with: "But all shall be well. And all shall be well. And all manner of thing shall be well."
Let us harden our hearts with hope!
Jesus, we trust in You.

What we do here...

2006-09-28T06:55:00.000-07:00

Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.
Proverbs 27:17

The Broadlands...

2006-09-21T19:07:00.000-07:00

Here's a little piece of home...

Rows on rows, out across the plain
Green wings are hallowed by a gentle breeze-
Spires of gold greet the coming day,
And through the mist, salute the watchful trees.

An old and careful spirit guards this land
Who beckons ev'ry leaf and little flower
To touch the sky and break the heart of man
That he may know the glory of an hour.

His tracks are to be found in ev'ry meadow
Though none may trace the swirling path he's trod-
One feels his touch when all the air is silent
And breathes him in the newly christened sod.

One hears him whisper in the flesping leaves
And snicker in the quick steps of the deer-
He slumbers in the hum of distant bees
And bids us keep the seasons of the year.

Though I fly to bloom in other lands
I cannot shake the soil from my feet-
The spirit of the broadlands follows me
And lives in ev'ry honest face I greet.

A Riddle...

2006-08-28T15:40:00.000-07:00

A new little creature is hiding among us,
He's not the first of his kind, nor the last.
Although his wee form is quite above notice,
Between us, his mold has been cast.
Out of a stock that is both bold and true,
Leaps this bright beam of sunshine - how rare!
Into our circle it lends a sweet light -
Now guess where he dwells - if you dare!

On Forgetting the Self...

2006-08-17T07:59:00.000-07:00

My Dad and I happened to be discussing laughter the other day, having fallen into one of our fits a couple of days before, and noted upon reflection that, when approached the right way, it can actually help a person become holy. Now, to be sure, laughter comes in different forms, like wine. There is the light, sweet giggle that goes down easy, like Zinfandel, and the flippant, dry smile of Merlot; then you have the heavy, blundering guffaw of Cabernet, followed by the hearty, tear-wringing laughter of a Port or Pinot Noir, which are both full-bodied and honey to the soul. These last are my favorites, as is this particular form of laughter - and it is a sweet thing to be consumed by it once in a while. Like wine, laughter can be a kind of sacramental, and we concluded that it is a special grace to be shaken with the utter delight of another person or situation. When one is uniquely tickled by something, or someone, a kind of forgetfulness of the self occurs and there escapes from us such sounds of joy as we are too elated to feel embarrassed about. I often wonder, is this what heaven is like? We laugh sometimes when we discover a silly human truth about someone - do the saints laugh all the harder because their sight is clearer? Because of the special nature of this kind of laughter, and the fact that I'm filled with a deep gratefulness that is both its cause and effect, I think it may play some role for the good in the soul's journey towards God. It would be interesting if a new Order were established in this era endowed with the particular charism of laughter, with the sole aim of getting others to do the same - especially at themselves. Looking back, however, I realize that something of the kind has already been done by St. Francis, who, as one writer put it, had literally "made a fool of himself" for God. And I suppose that goes for most of the saints. Whatever the case, there is something to be said for laughter and, well, I've said it - so, to follow the command of someone who probably could have profited a good deal from it in his lifetime, "So let it be written; so let it be done."

"There was some one thing that was too great for God to show us when He walked upon our earth; and I have sometimes fancied that it was His mirth." -G.K.C.

Suffer the little puppies...

2006-07-10T18:25:00.000-07:00

Well, we have a new guest in the house, as most of you already know. She is rather mysterious (no name, cryptic family background), loves to eat (embraces an encompassing cuisine), and really enjoys playing with Sam's chew toys. Mr. Weller's been very obliging, almost too much so, this past week, and has been so kind as to allow our guest to chew on him as well. This last overture was called to an abrupt halt as of today, since it does not conform to our condo's courtesy 'magna carta'. Our new guest seemed to think our pre-emptory actions a bit harsh and I think she entertained notions of hitting the road again; but in the end, she just couldn't seem to pull herself away from the comforts of a bed & breakfast. Having a puppy around the house has been rather enlightening as well. Who'd have thought that baked worms could be intensely interesting, that paper towel rolls could be so much fun, and that kibble and scrambled egg were simply made for each other? At present, we are endeavoring to teach her some manners in the high hopes that our new little 'Perdita' will learn to be gracious in all things, whether she remain our guest or become someone else's. So, if you know anyone who's yearning for a smart little bundle of energy, let me to him (or her)! If not, our guest will just have to stay while I chide myself for not having been more guarded. She certainly has a way of cozying up to one's heart.

Living in the Mercy of God...

2006-06-30T15:50:00.000-07:00

This being the last day of June, I pause to reflect on the heart of God, and remember with awe how many times He has especially blessed and preserved us. There is something about His Mercy that always manages to hit the bull's eye (if you will)of our hearts right when we thought we could keep it at arm's length. To adore Christ's wounded heart is to see something of our own, but therein lies the mystery...for it also holds the cure. The spear of Longinus goes to show the incredible beauty of the Love that kept on giving, even after death; and unlocked the wonderful secret that lay within the Word Made Flesh. As the Great Song says, "Love is sterner than death" - how I wish my clouded eyes could see the Father's Hand at work at all times, especially during great sadness. What a wonder it is that we often close ourselves off to His Grace in the moments we need it most. I imagine that, in heaven, we'll be able to observe the other side of the tapestry and recognize in the darker threads that "vast flood of mercy, flung on resistance."
Jesus, we trust in You.

(Quote from Levertov's "Stream & Sapphire")

Happy Feast Day!

2006-05-30T10:22:00.000-07:00

Yep, today is St. Joan of Arc's Feast Day. I thought I'd copy down this prayer for faith in her honor. Viva la pucelle!

In the face of your enemies, in the face of harassment, ridicule, and doubt, you held firm in your faith. Even in your abandonment, alone and without friends, you held firm in your faith. Even as you faced your own mortality, you held firm in your faith. I pray that I may be as bold in my beliefs as you, St. Joan. I ask that you ride alongside me in my own battles. Help me be mindful that what is worthwhile can be won when I persist. Help me hold firm in my faith. Help me believe in my ability to act well and wisely. Amen.
Jesus, Mary, We love you. Save Souls.

On Mysteries...

2006-05-17T10:07:00.000-07:00

"The riddles of God are more satisfying than the solutions of man." - Introduction to the Book of Job, 1907
-G.K.C.

Bottom's Dream...

2006-04-27T07:11:00.000-07:00

We've all been there. It comes home to us every time we come face to face with a technological wonder. We respect it, because we don't understand it. We fear it, because we don't understand it. And then, there come those days that we begin to hate it, because we don't understand it. Soon, what was once considered a tool and a rather impersonal means of efficiency becomes our arch-nemesis, a fiend from well, you know, sent to tease and torture us. This goes for most modern machinery (copiers, cell phones, cars, alarm systems...), but there is something really special about the computer and all its minions. What is it in us that doesn't give these things a second thought when they go right, but will automatically take it personally when the 'deus ex machina' decides that it doesn't like your disk, and therefore will not read it; or pretend that it is not connected to the Internet, especially when it is most particularily needed; or when it thinks that it knows English grammar far better than we do? Why do we thus attribute free will to a conglomeration of wires and plastic? Why does the genius of man always seem so good at making him look utterly foolish? I cannot feign to answer these burning questions - at least, rationally; however, I will venture to say that the real answer does not reside in technology so much as it actually frolics in it. The revelation? Puck lives.
He lives in the wires, he hides behind icons, he dances on disks and desktops. He connives with the speakers, he dabbles with printers, he thinks he's king of the Web. He laughs when we're angry and snickers when not - in the hopes that we soon will be. He pours his rare brew over all we thought true about Word, and stirs up mutiny among the toggles. The Tab stops (or are they?) form the notes on his flute, to play upon when he gets bored. The botched-up formats, lost servers, long e-mail compositions that have dropped unexpectedly into the abyss - it's all his doing; no wonder we go out of our head, appropriating all sorts of names and/or nefarious powers to what should be a perfectly amiable piece of machinery. But, deluding the senses is exactly what Puck does best and, at our best, all we can do when the madness has past is simply look back upon the whole ordeal as if it were just a strange dream...one that is maybe meant to make us realize something about ourselves that perhaps we lost sight of in the light of our heightened sense of ingenuity and all around mental prowess. Then, in the moment when the motherboard has finally crashed and smoke begins to rise from the CPU, we can step back with club in hand and, in the hazy aftermath, find ourselves again...
"I have had a most rare
vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to
say what dream it was: man is but an ass, if he go
about to expound this dream. Methought I was--there
is no man can tell what. Methought I was,--and
methought I had,--but man is but a patched fool, if
he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye
of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not
seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue
to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream
was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of
this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream,
because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the
latter end of a play, before the duke:
peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall
sing it at her death."

The Rood...

2006-04-18T07:40:00.000-07:00

OK, folks. I didn't exactly get the last of the Sorrowful Mysteries in before Easter, but here's the beginning of a poem which expresses all one could say and more about the Crucifixion. These first few lines are from the Anglo-Saxon "Dream of the Rood"...to read it in its entirety (which isn't long) click here.

Hwæt, I will recount the best of dreams,
which I dreamed in the middle of the night,
after speech-bearers turned to rest.
It seemed to me that I saw a most wondrous tree,
the brightest of rood-trees, extend aloft
encircled by light. That sign was completely
covered with gold; jewels stood,
beautiful, at the surface of the earth; likewise there were five
up on the shoulder-beam. Many hosts of angels--fair by their pre-ordained condition--
gazed thereupon; nor was that indeed a criminal's cross,
but holy spirits, men over the earth,
and all this famous creation gazed upon it.
Wondrous was the tree of victory, and I with sins stained,
wounded sorely with blemishes. I saw the tree of glory
beautifully shine, adorned in its covering,
adorned with gold; jewels
covered splendidly the Lord's tree.

The Crossing

2006-04-14T13:32:00.000-07:00

The angels tremble as He passes by,
And women weep to see Him humbly bowed;
A fearful shadow follows in His wake
And swallows all who fall under its shroud.

He falls, and all the earth withholds its breath,
As if before the rising of the sun;
But darkness writhes when God kisses the ground
And cleaves once more to what He has begun.

The cup is nearly empty, time draws near,
And hovers close upon the edge of doom;
He sees His journey's end in death's cruel face
And far beyond, amid the eyeless tomb.

What wonder this - when God rushes to meet
A death that is a torture to behold?
O Mercy sweet that kills our deepest dread
By making smooth the Way we could not hold.

The Crown

2006-03-30T11:11:00.000-08:00

The Prince of Ages stood before the seat
Of him who barters innocence for fame,
Betraying the World's Wonder for a name
That lasts a day and withers with the heat.

"Is this the Healer of the blind and lame?
Does he not see that I can grant him life
If he'd but speak and bend and end the strife...
His Crown remains - who is this King of Shame?"

The thorns have tongues, and each with story rife
Of sorrow, sickness, sin and bitter guilt
Enmeshed and entwined, upon each other built
To rend the Dome of Heaven like a knife.

If Pilate could but see, he'd surely stand
To kiss the Crown stayed by a mightier Hand.

The Scourge

2006-03-17T10:42:00.000-08:00

Hands bound and eyes upon
The ground, He is led in the
Manner of a slave - led, or driven -
But by whose hand? And where?

O Come, Come, Come...

This monumental meekness is
Something to behold - but no
Mother's hand tends him now, no word -
Perhaps He hears her sweet hum
Over the bitter lash's tongue.

O Come, O Come Let Us Adore...

The soldier's bloodless grip tightens -
At every stroke another river forms
And those who would not scorn -
Who stand aware of their iniquity,
The thousand ills that dwell within our flesh -
Can but see His Blood for what it is.

O Come, Let Us Adore Him...

He dares not lift His eyes -
Perhaps it is the pain. Or, maybe
He is once again at the bottom of the world -
Struggling to hide, with every rending stripe,
The radiant font where springs this Living Water -
The soul-blinding glance of His glory,
Not his shame.

O Come, Let Us Adore Him, Christ the Lord.

Gethsemane

2006-03-09T21:10:00.000-08:00

The duress of sin - the weight of it
Falls in palpable shadows with
The Night. Pressing, Pressing,
Every deed forbidden and foregone
Adds to the scale of misery.
The sleeping men do not see
A Garden and a flaming sword -
The indignation and the wrath of God,
The countless streams of human tears
Distilled in drops of blood.
We cannot bear the load - the burden
Is too great...It beats, beats, beats
The soul to fitful slumber
Bringing all to dust and ashes.
But there lay One, God and the Image of God,
Wrestling with the darkness,
Heart sore travailed and every fiber strained
In dire anticipation
Of the greatest agony on earth.
In love He took the cup we could not wield-
O Bitter, Bitter Cup!-
And with the dregs of death he sate his thirst
For our salvation.
In humble might grasped He the brandished sword,
Wiped away the passion o'er his brow,
And rose to wake and warn his dreaming friends.

Watch your backs!

2006-03-04T08:51:00.000-08:00

I just wanted to warn you all of an impending holiday. While I was searching for Irish-related festivals, I found this one yesterday and just had to post it. Some of you may be in more danger of becoming victims of this yearly cultural tease than others...so watch out!

Chalk Sunday...

This day is celebrated on the first Sunday of Lent.

Unmarried people are marked with chalk as they enter the church. Traditionally, Catholics were not allowed to marry during Lent, so they had to wait until after Easter. Marking them with chalk is a way of teasing them for not being married.

The first Sunday after Shrove Tuesday, was known as 'Chalk Sunday' and it was then that bachelors who should have been married were marked with a heavy streak of chalk on the back of their 'Sunday coats'.

This trick was perpetrated by boys who carried bits of chalk in their pockets and waited for their victims to arrive. They then proceeded to mark those who were bachelors, this was done while the congregation was assembling for Mass and after the trick was played, those who did the chalk marking ran for their lives, laughing and singing the words of some little verse they had made up such as 'And you are not married though Lent has come.'

Directly related to the escapades of Chalk Sunday was the distribution of the 'Skellig Lists'.

Off the coast of Co. Kerry lie the Skellig Islands Ð 'the last parish before Brooklyn'. On the Great Skellig Rock are the ruins of St. Finian's monastery and all those who should have been married before Lent were supposed to make a pilgrimage there on Shrove Tuesday night.

Research indicates that this particular ritual was just make-believe, but the Skellig Lists were as real as the chalk marks on an unsuspecting bachelor's back. According to custom, a local bard would compose catalog of all the unmarried men and women and this list would be circulated on Shrove Tuesday and for some time after, causing much discomfort and embarrassment to all those singled out for still being unwed.

Indirectly related to Chalk Sunday and the Skellig Lists is a game called 'Skellicking' that supposedly, boys in the city of Cork still play today. On the eve of Shrove Tuesday, they chase after a girl with a rope, two boys to a rope, and attempt to capture her. If she is caught, the boys try to encircle her with the rope and pretend to 'take her off to the Skelligs.'

(Taken from: http://www.irishfestivals.net/chalksunday.htm)

You Asked For It: The Seven Things...

2006-02-28T18:02:00.000-08:00

Keep in mind that this was most charitably written in the midst of a pre-comprehensive exam stupor...Each point is like a light in the fog.

Seven things to do before I die:

1. Finish comps
2. Read the entire Chestertonian Compendium
3. Write a novel that will remind people how great they are
4. Learn how to drive stick-shift
5. Go on a real Pilgrimage
6. Send my folks on a European tour
7. Receive Last Rites

Seven things I cannot do:

1. Leave any detail well-enough alone
2. Curse the sunshine
3. Read Greek
4. Hear Confessions
5. Perform rudimentary Calculus problems
6. Fly
7. Dream in Middle English

Seven things that attract me to my other half (following Whiskey's lead):

1. It matches.
2. Without it, I wouldn't be made in the image of God.
3. It makes buying a 'pair' of jeans a sensible thing to do.
4. It keeps me balanced.
5. It prevents me from getting any half-brained ideas (most of the time).
6. It likes to play games (ie. the right hand not letting the left hand know what it's doing).
7. I couldn't live without it.

Seven things I say:

1. Goodness!
2. Just let it fester for awhile.
3. Indeed!
4. That's great!
5. Nonsense!
6. Hi folks!
7. Y'all (this one was acquired)

Seven books that I love:

1. Brothers Karamozov - Dostoyevsky
2. Pride and Prejudice - Austen
3. Everlasting Man - G.K.C.
4. LOTR - Tolkien
5. David Copperfield/Pickwick Papers - Dickens
6. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
7. Bible - God

Seven movies that I love:

1. The Quiet Man
2. Pride & Prejudice (AE version)
3. Henry V
4. The Sound of Music
5. LOTR...yes, yes, I know..
6. The Incredibles
7. You Can't Take it With You (Jimmy Stewart flick)

Seven folks to Meme:
I think I'm all out of bloggers...

The Beauties of Free Verse...

2006-02-27T17:53:00.000-08:00

It's good to know that not all 'modern' or 'post-modern' poetry embraces the ever-present agenda. Small shoots of beautiful verse do sprout once in a while in the vast wilds of a decaying language...and this is one of them. Note: if you're a not familiar with the story of Caedmon, read this first.

Caedmon

All other talked as if
talk were a dance.
Clodhopper I, with clumsy feet
would break the gliding ring.
Early I learned to
hunch myself
close by the door:
then when the talk began
I'd wipe my
mouth and wend
unnoticed back to the barn
to be with the warm beasts,
dumb among body sounds
of the simple ones.
I'd see by a twist
of lit rush the motes
of gold moving
from shadow to shadow
slow in the wake
of deep untroubled sighs.
The cows
munched or stirred or were still. I
was at home and lonely,
both in good measure. Until
the sudden angle affrighted me - light effacing
my feeble beam,
a forest of torches, feathers of flame, sparks upflying:
but the cows as before
were calm, and nothing was burning,
nothing but I, as that hand of fire
touched my lips and scorched my tongue
and pulled my voice
into the ring of the dance.

-Denise Levertov
From "Breathing the Water"

Did you hear?...

2006-02-20T21:22:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to let everyone know that Miss R.C. has just entered the realm of Blog-dom today, so please extend to her a royal welcome! You can find her in my Blog links under the title: A Feather on the Breath of God.

Mirror, Mirror...

2006-02-20T08:50:00.000-08:00

Alright, so I thought I'd throw in my two cents regarding the discussion of Beauty that has been going on of late, especially regarding the beauty of souls. Let me here and now retract my statement that the perfect soul is like a mirror which most clearly reflects God's glory. When St. Paul says that "now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face", I assumed that 'glass' meant mirror, and it has been translated as such frequently; however, the more I read, the more I begin to think that 'glass' means 'glass'- that is, true beauty is not something to look at, but to look through. What I'm getting at here is the idea that beautiful souls (ie. saints) do not only reflect (which is a quality of glass), but also take in light and release it, like a precious, multi-faceted jewel. In this way, the transparency implied in the 'looking through' is not a negation of the soul, but a special glory and gift. This 'transparency' is hinted at several times by Tolkien in The Lord of the Rings, most often in connection with Frodo. After many long days of suffering and toil, the hobbits lie down to sleep in Ithilien, and Sam takes special notice of his master in the distant dawn: "The early daylight was only just creeping down into the shadows under the trees, but he saw his master's face very clearly, and his hands, too, lying at rest on the ground beside him. He was reminded suddenly of Frodo as he had lain, asleep in the house of Elrond, after his deadly wound. Then as he had kept watch Sam had noticed that at times a light seemed to be shining faintly within; but now the light was even clearer and stronger. Frodo's face was peaceful, the marks of fear and care had left it; but it looked old, old and beautiful, as if the chiselling of the shaping years was now revealed in many fine lines that had before been hidden, though the identity of the face was not changed. Not that Same Gamgee put it that way to himself. He shook his head, as if finding words useless, and murmured: 'I love him. He's like that, and sometimes it shines through, somehow. But I love him, whether or no.' (Two Towers, Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit)Maybe this is what is meant by the hints in Revelation towards our becoming like living stones: "...To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it." (Rev. 2:17)

Brainstorm...

2006-02-16T07:47:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago, a friend & neighbor of mine (we'll call her R.C. for now) expressed a wish to join the prestigious world of blogging, but would not start a blog until she found a suitable Title and Screen name. At a recent brunch, she had asked some of us to brainstorm a little and think of some ideas to submit as possible appellations. As of yet, she hasn't received any submissions, and I was hoping to create a list for her here. I've got an idea or two, which I will put forth in the comments section to get us started - feel free to throw in any flashes of brilliance that strike your fancy. Hopefully, she will be able to join us soon!

Man oh Man....

2006-02-14T14:29:00.000-08:00

All right, for all of you etymology 'frekes' out there, here's the list I've compiled of all the names for 'man' found in our Middle English readings...Enjoy!

In no particular order...

Segge: man, knight, person, sir
Lede: man, knight, prince
Renke: man, knight
Hathel: man, knight, lord
Gome: man, knight, servant
Grome: man, retainer
Wy/Wight: creature, being, person, man, knight, servant, maiden
Schalk: man
Maystre: lord, master, learned man
Freke: warrior, man, knight
Wodwyse/wodwose: man of the woods, satyrs
Dotes for elde: old dotard (accent on the second syllable)

What has become of the English language! There used to be five words for 'knight', and now we're down to one! I must admit, however, that the word 'freke' has trickled down to us somewhat, but who was the lousy 'lichtloker' who changed its meaning?!

Mission: Pick one word for 'man' that is particularly close to your heart and re-introduce it to our old and sound-bitten English tongue. You never know, our children's children may once more be able to tell a 'gome' from a 'grome' and elect a 'lede-man' to weed out all the other 'wodwyses'. Good Wyrd to you!

Coming Soon....

2006-02-12T20:52:00.000-08:00

All the known Anglo-Saxon words for 'man', and their respective definitions - in honor of Mr. Flyte and the rest of the Middle English translation team. :)

In Praise of Our 'Infant Confessor'

2006-02-07T14:53:00.000-08:00

Hark! For a trumpet is heard through the town
Announcing a glorious day -
People from desk and from book will come 'round
Praising a child at play.
You may ask, "What means this? Why not celebrate
One who's conquered a city or two?
Banners and singing and marching is fine -
If you keep them to heroes, and few."
Rare is this one whom we honor with glee
That never by strength of his arm -
Has overcome ought but a fated CD
Dashed to the floor without harm.
All eyes being captured, and more than one heart -
You have conquered us all, with but a year's art.

On Guard!

2006-02-02T19:42:00.000-08:00

Tonight I have taken a major step, nay, a lunge into a world that embraces agility, skill, and the likes of Errol Flynn. Now I do not claim to possess any of these, nor can I claim any resemblance to our swash-buckling hero (by the way, what is "swash-buckling" exactly?), but there is a ray of hope that I may at least be able to "perry a riposte" or know the difference between an 'epee' and a 'sabre'. I must admit, it took very little arm-twisting to get my clumsy self in the door of F.I.T., The Fencing Institute of Texas - an establishment far less intimidating than it sounds. Once inside, one immediately noticed several 'fencers', who looked more like spacemen dancing about like marionettes on a string. O Contrare! These were really 10-13 year olds, most of whom could probably whip the tar out of me had I donned on a similar space suit and foil. Luckily, the kindly instructor assigned to our little group broke us in gently. As I was the only newbie, there were several moments when the feeling that one was making an utter fool of oneself was nearly over-powering. For some reason, the simple 'fencing position' stance seemed to elude me all night, as there is something unnerving about keeping your left foot perpendicular to the rest of the body, but I must say that there were fleeting moments when I almost felt, dare I say it? - debonnaire. Especially when it came to "The Lunge". Now this is one of the most basic aggressive moves in sword-play, and it is one that improves upon closer acquaintance. In fact, the lunge and I became friendly during a little sparring match between a friend and me, and I found it faithful. Therefore, I have decided that I will use every possible opportunity to practice this important maneuver: When a student of mine asks for a stapler, for instance, I will not merely pick it up and hand it over - no, where is the drama, the assertion of authority, in that? I will grasp the stapler, locking my forefinger and thumb around the cartridge, assume the fencing position, making sure every fiber of my being is in the 12:00 position (except of course that darn left foot), and LUNGE at him with machine in hand, measuring my attack so that the front end of it just touches his nose. What restraint! What a portrait of glowing grace and good will! Do not think me ignorant of the fact that there are just some things you do not and must not 'lunge' with - pens for example, and forks....broomsticks also might pose a problem; hence, I will regulate myself to empty water bottles, erasers, string cheese and the like. In this way, I hope to inspire all those who meet me to join this wonderful sport, where they need not be afraid to 'perry a thrust' and learn to buckle a swash or swash a buckle with the best of them!

Guess This!

2006-01-31T12:45:00.000-08:00

In view of the fact that I've been wading through Middle English poetry of late, I thought I'd throw in a riddle this week. There are over 80 Anglo-Saxon Riddles left to us, most of them found in the Exeter Book (Manuscript). The language and use of metaphor are both quite fine - Enjoy!

Biþ foldan dæl fægre gegierwed
Part of the earth grows lovely and grim

mid þy heardestan ond mid þy scearpestan
With the hardest and fiercest of bitter-sharp

ond mid þy grymmestan gumena gestreona--
Treasures--felled, cut, carved,

corfen, sworfen, cyrred, þyrred,
Bleached, scrubbed, softened, shaped,

bunden, wunden, blæced, wæced,
5 Twisted, rubbed, dried, adorned,
5
frætwed, geatwed, feorran læded
Bound, and borne off to the doorways of men--

to durum dryhta. Dream bið in innan
This creature brings in hall-joy, sweet

cwicra wihta, clengeð, lengeð,
Music clings to its curves, live song

þara þe ær lifgende longe hwile
Lingers in a body where before bloom-wood

wilna bruceð ond no wið spriceð,
10 Said nothing. After death it sings
10
ond þonne æfter deaþe deman onginneð,
A clarion joy. Wise listeners

meldan mislice. Micel is to hycganne
Will know what this creature is called.

wisfæstum menn, hwæt seo wiht sy.

Do you know what it is? If you're really stumped, click Here.

What Job Saw...

2006-01-23T20:17:00.000-08:00

I just wanted to share a little treasure from Job that I happened upon a little while ago. In the midst of universal derision, immense personal loss, physical deterioration and mental anguish, he says:
"Why do ye persecute me as God, and are not satisfied with my flesh? Oh that my words were now written ! oh that they were printed in a book! That they were graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock for ever! For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another; though my reins be consumed within me." Job 19:22-27
This foreshadowing of Christ's coming and the Resurrection of the Body is astounding. This is the 'fool's hope' that is only vaguely hinted at in the Old Testament, and totally foreign to the greatest of the early Greek philosophers and poets. This proclamation must have come down like a hammer, breaking all around him into pieces - for who could really comprehend such a seemingly presumptuous (if not insane) assertion? And yet Job remains unmoved. His innocence and faith preserve hom from the blow that his hearers no doubt felt, but did not understand. I can just imagine old Job waiting patiently for what seemed like ages down in Sheol, and saying upon Christ's glorious arrival: "Praised be my suffering Lord! I knew you'd come." And that is what I hope to say when He comes again.
(To hear G.K.C. say all this and more ten times better, enter here.

Is There Anyone Out There Who...

2006-01-19T19:17:00.000-08:00

The time: 5:15 Matinee
The place: Any local small theatre
The movie: Pride & Prejudice (yes, yes, the new one)
The review: Well, see, there's the tough part. Is there anyone out there who has seen this movie and relishes its swift but bracing beauty? Granted, it is much shorter than the A&E version, thus less dense - but, shouldn't we try to see if it can stand on its own two feet? I admit I was critical at first, and spent much of the movie trying to sift through some 'Americanisations' (quick scene changes, short dialogue, earthy qualities/characters)to discover its heart, and I found it to be quite genuine. What I thought at first to be simply bad acting was really certain characters fighting their own social awkwardness - a thing rarely done well in Hollywood. In a world where everybody knows exactly what to say when, this movie gets under the skin of real life, where we feel most the burden and the blessing of trying to find and say the right words at the right time (ei. see Darcy). Therein lies the chief romance. As for the character of Elizabeth (scathing remarks of Kiera Knightly aside), I did appreciate her liveliness and quick spirit, even if it was a bit girlish. We often imagine a 'mature' Elizabeth who is somehow above most of her peers, but in this character we are able to see the shock with which she realizes the error of her own assumptions as well as the growth that takes place afterwards. The discussion she has with her father after Darcy's proposal is especially touching - and more than just sentimental. There is a point where one feels tempted to reach out and grasp the beauty there. Is there such a thing as earthy sublimity? That is, at least, what seemed to be present. Overall, I must say I liked the movie very much, and even more the second time, but for different reasons than the 6-hour masterpiece. Yes, in this version the characters were rough-hewn, weak-tongued, and short-lived - but aren't we all in some way or another?

Tolkien & Romance...

2006-01-17T10:04:00.000-08:00

Just thought I'd pass this little tidbit along. I am currently reading The Philosophy of Tolkien by Peter Kreeft, and came upon part of a letter that Tolkien wrote to his son, Michael, on the Medieval Courtly Love Tradition. It is remarkably refreshing, in the sense that he is telling the truth without losing sight of the ideal. It is as follows:
"The romantic chivalric tradition...can be very good, since it takes...fidelity, and so self-denial, "service", courtesy, honour, and courage. Its weakness is, of course, that...its centre was not God, but imaginary Deities, Love and the Lady...This is, of course, false and at best make-believe....It takes the young man's eye off women as they are, as companions in shipwreck not guiding stars." (p.103-4) This premise does not, however, include one Lady who serves as both.
jmj

The Five Obses- I Mean Habits...

2006-01-14T11:45:00.001-08:00

Alright, I've come up with the list of various quirks that Whiskey Mike has asked us to share, but I'm afraid the command to tag five others will have to go unheeded, as there are none left to receive such an honor. Here goes:

1.Double-checking: Call it what you will (OCD?), but I always have a nagging desire to double, sometimes triple, check everything I do that bears some degree of romantic finality. Looking at a letter before dropping it in the mailbox, reading directions at least twice over(from road maps to recipes), checking to see that my e-mails have indeed been 'sent', performing the same math problem a number of times,that sort of thing. It may be a bit compulsive and unnecessary, but I justify it by reminding myself that I'm also extremely absent-minded, and tend to do these sort of things wrong the first time. :)

2.Going through grocery stores backwards: OK, I don't know why, but I usually begin with the frozen food sections of most grocery stores, and end in the fruit aisle. This is not very logical, as it allows more time for your ice cream to melt, but I do believe it is my favorite aisle in the place. There may be something to be said for the subconscious here.

3.Keeping boxes: I am notorious for keeping all sorts of boxes and bags around in the hopes that they will come in handy for presents, projects, etc. After Christmas or a Birthday party, for example, the mere presence of all those empty boxes fills me with an exuberance that defies explanation - I must keep them all, I simply must.

4.Delight in anti-bacterial agents/cleaning: Deep down, there rages a war - on the countertops, in the bathroom, over the floors. Millions of microbes vying for mastery over our sinks, our showers, yes, even our doorknobs. That is why I keep a private arsenal of various chemically-enhanced ballistics designed to obliterate all forms of bellicose bacteria. These aggressors need to be met head-on at least once a week, sometimes twice, especially if certain battalions have been augmented by spilled foods or some common household disaster (Fridge going out) - they'll take all they can get. And the war rages ever on...

5.C.B.S.- Chronic Baking Syndrome: I will let this one explain itself, as most of you know my propensity for providing certain delectables at a moment's notice. More often than not, this 'notice' arises from an inner desire to please; but I deserve no thanks, for you cannot fathom the utter delight involved in preparing such pleasures.

Just a Little Bit of Poetry...

2006-01-13T15:22:00.000-08:00

Though the Christmas season is somewhat behind us, here is a little poem (of sorts) that may spark a sweet remembrance of holiday bliss...

"Swaddling Clothes"

With what words can I weave a
song-cloak fitting for your Grace?
To grasp the stars and fling them
feebly across the vast night-scape;
To crown your dome with the
Brilliant splendor that guides the wise,
And set the pearled orb beneath your feet -
Might be fair clothing for a Daughter of a King.
Or, perhaps the sun himself will suit
Your glory best - as he doth
Blind and bless all on whom he gazes
With the dawn's light livery of hope -
Whose beauty alone is known by what it shows,
And not in being shown.
What can I offer, dear Lady? For my
Words are soft and simple, and are
Too small to warm the littlest creature,
Much less the Mother of a King.

Therefore, with humble heart, I'll rend my words
And offer every one up to your pleasure -
For your sweet eye doth look upon my song
And fills it with a warmth beyond all measure.
Thus, grace, honor, praise become your hem,
And you make haste to clothe your Son with them.

Those Lucy Moments...

2005-12-21T19:10:00.000-08:00

Well, to those of you who have not yet seen Narnia, I hereby release you from any sense of obligation you may have felt for reading this blog. If you've at least read the book, you may proceed at your leisure. Actually, what I've got to say doesn't involve character sketches, plot summaries, or scathing critiques of the movie itself, but rather on those particular points in the action that draw us out of ourselves and into what Wordsworth would call 'the eye of Nature', or what I'd like to call those 'Lucy moments'. These little flashes of light occur throughout the movie, most particuarly when Lucy steps into the wardrobe and out of this world. The wonder that ignites her eye when she first steps into the snow-clad forest of Narnia is priceless, and it should remind us of the glory of our first steps here on earth. Of all the children, she is the one who takes Narnia at face value - because of her faith, her grasp of its reality is strongest. It is also the motivating force behind the other children's decision to accept the huge responsibility laid before them.
I guess what I'm getting at with this ramble is that we need to cultivate and foster those 'Lucy moments' that too often pass us by. A healthy wonder, combined with a solid faith, keep us sane and even happy. And one doesn't have to keel over into the Romantic abyss in order to do so, though it is fun to fall in sometimes. Take, for instance, my airplane ride home. Now that's an adventure in itself, if one chooses to see it as such. This must be like my 20th time in the air, but the feeling one gets when the giant bucket of bolts kisses the runway goodbye never gets old. Once the clouds have been usurped and the glorious horizon appears, one can't help but whisper 'Lord, have mercy' and wonder if we were really meant to see the world from 30,000 feet. After a while, the moon and stars shyly make their entrance with crystal clarity, and the clouds below take on a strange orange glow from the living cities underneath. After a period of dozing, I wake to find the clouds gone and little veins of shining ore glimmering on the dark land under me - towns! Long stretches of what looks like ghostly lakes become clear under the winter moon - fields of snow! And, as the plane neared Chicago, we skirted over the city and cold Lake Michigan, and it looked like one of the corners of the world. The exhilaration became too much for me, and I motioned and pointed my fellow travelers to look out the window - "Look!" I exclaimed. "The Empire State Building!" as we flew over the largest structure in the city. Well, I never said that the sublime state of wonder was ever conducive to getting your facts straight, and if your superior logic does not lead you to my grave error, let me just say that I think I've watched 'An Affair to Remember' one too many times. Needless to say, this heightened enthusiasm and gigantic gratefulness pursued me all the way home, until I was corrected by my brother on a little matter of geography. However, I did not cease to be the object of amusement and delight for at least three days together - and if this isn't the greatest consequence of wonder, I don't know what is! Misnomers are wonderful and mysterious things, and help us see our own world afresh - the sky is quite an expected thing until you are made a foreigner there, and your own cozy bedroom at home is nothing until you discover the land of "Spare-Oom".

Twelfth Night: Olivia Uncut

2005-10-13T14:37:00.000-07:00

If any of you have ever played Olivia on stage or screen, you may appreciate the following thoughts...

"If this costume proves anything, it goes to show that humanity did fall by the force of gravity."

"...to be sick of self-love and taste with a distempered appetite..."
- definition of my own malady

"Does the grabbing start now? Let the grabbing commence!"

"Olivia has a very firm grasp of the meaning of haste."

"In anticipation of some very derogatory remarks that will probably be uttered regarding Olivia's eyesight, I would just like to say that those persons have little or no imagination whatsoever."

"Are we all ready to be fools!"

"For the record, I do not have a heart of stone. I love people, I just love certain ones, that's all."

"I don't have a problem with Toby drinking, it's that blasted quaffing that I cannot endure."

"Deciding to love below my station is the most democratic and ridiculous thing I ever did."

"I am my biggest headache."

The Two Sides of Beatrice...

2005-09-27T19:03:00.000-07:00

"And Benedick, love on; I will requite thee,
Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand."

"Oh, God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace."

Could the same character, indeed a woman, have said two such things? If anyone has either seen or read Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, one had to have noticed Something going on here. The 'foul breath' that comprises the last quotation seems to, at best, nullify the sweet submission made in the previous Act. But what are we to make of it? Why does Beatrice, surely the 'strongest' woman in this play, suddenly succomb to this wild desire? Has she turned into something of a Lady MacBeth here, or is this a passing passion?
Some may be tempted to read no small amount of feminist criticism into this one...but one has to be careful in this case to note what sort of oppression is at work here. Throughout the play, Beatrice has no problem carrying on the sort of 'merry war' of words that takes place between her and almost every person in the play. She has a mind ready for anything, and a tongue to match. So why this sudden and almost inexplicable desire? I think the answer lay in the thing that she cannot overcome with wit - and that is slander. Claudio's words have the power to 'undo' Hero - the destruction of her reputation is among the very worst thing that can befall her, and Beatrice is powerless in this case to help her. The only honorable way to defend Hero is through action, though it is unfortunately one that Beatrice cannot physically accomplish. Benedick's promise to fight Claudio for Hero's honor seems to be the only means of defense, and even that bears no surety of her restoration.
Beatrice's fighting spirit is indeed admirable in many respects, but it is interesting that her wish (Claudio's death) never does get fulfilled, nor does she want it to by the time Act IV turns the corner. More than blood and combat, there is another subtler force at work in this play; its presence accomplishes more that swords ever could. It is strange that no argument, no 'paper sentences of the brain' , not even militant action could restore Hero's honor more than the four or five penitent words that come from the mouth of a common criminal. Over and over again, in the lives of nearly every character in Much Ado, we see the startling power of Christ's words..."And you shall know the truth, and the truth will set you free." With repentance comes remittance: Benedick is no longer bound to fight Claudio, Beatrice's words become mere 'foul breath', Hero is free to marry whom she pleases, and Claudio learns to put off his own foolish presumption.
We may say that Beatrice's intentions were just, but her means were rash and revealing. Though she is strong, she does not possess the fortitude that Hero embodies; instead, she tried to take matters into her own hands. By the end of this play, however, she does come to recognize and admire her cousin's quiet wisdom; thus humbled and truly strengthened, she now has the power to offer up her heart once more to the 'giddy thing' that is man.