Constable's Clouds
for Fred H Stocking
by Peter Filkins

I

Scudding through distances, hovering in blue
vacuities of a summer's day, cumuli
float upon the surface of a ranging eye
that studies their shape, analyzes their hue



in pigments now aswirl upon the palette,
soft collisions of white and red and grey
soon weathering the canvas, capturing a day
whose transience we know because he saw it


there in the changeable sky he stood beneath,
stratus and nimbus, thunderhead and puff
fixed in their currency, the consequence of
the raw prevailing wind on Hampstead Heath.


There are three more chapters to this memorial poem which I will post after my short explanation.  It appears that Filkins wrote this poem to honor a colleague who was fond of Constable and Clouds, both of which interest me.

Last year I visited the Frick and gazed at one rendition of Salisbury Cathedral, which rekindled my interest in Constable.  If I were re-doing college at this stage of the game, I might very well choose some sort of blended major that would allow me to combine subjects.

Art, science, geography, history, et cetera are all subjects easily covered by studying Constable.  I wish I'd been able to see the National Gallery exhibit of 2007.  The next best thing is reading all about it here.

Now for the rest of the story.

II

"no two days are alike, nor even two hours,"
and so his brush keeps on the move while he
does not, despising those who continually
ignore their craft by "running after pictures."

Weymouth, Harrow, Flatford, Dedham Vale,
ephemera beneath the sky's broad radius
casting England's neutral light on all that is
and eludes him, be it fame, or more so the pale

evening light off a dark grey effect-looking
eastwards" toward a drifting back of cloud
that's there, then gone, someone in the crowd
later calling his picture "a nasty green thing."

III

Maria coughs again, the taste of blood
causing a cloud of fear to pass across
her feverish bright-eyed gaze.  Soon loss
will fell him. "Every gleam of sunshine blighted,

can it be wondered I paint continual storms?"
Each gathering front, each rising eastern gale
turbid now with grief, as wind and hail
consume a placid landscape, unleashing forms

that build and threaten, yet do not release
him from the sadness planted in his heart,
the demands of composition, the rigor of art
as equal to rain as sun, misery as peace.

IV

"I shall never feel again as I have felt,
the face of the world is totally changed to me."
And yet the sketches continue, originality
hard won upon the back of a life that's deal

with setback by studying atmospheric effect.
"Clouds, Moving very fast. With occasional
very bright openings to blue," the residual
of an autocumulus inhabiting the flex

of a brushstroke, "wind after rain in the morning"
the note he jots to catalogue the weather
he'll use, if not survive, observing much later,
"in truth, my art is another word for feeling."


I hope reading this poem inspires you as it does me on several levels.

But first, let me give credit where credit is due.

I learned about this poem from American Arts Quarterly, where it was published in the Spring 2009 edition.
They are a rich resource.

And last, but not least, the details about the painting in my FineArtFriday entry here.



Happy Friday!

The Homeward Leading Lane

Today would have been Grandpa Jago's 84th birthday and I know we family members are thinking about him.


What follows is a memorial poem composed and delivered by the pastor who conducted the funeral on November 13, 2001.


He took the homeward leading lane,
While still lingered summer's day,
Then slowly walked 'neath autumn's sun,
As we shared with him the homeward way.

We sat together in quiet thought,
As we did his life and love recall,
And thus we shared the homeward lane,
As autumn leaves from the trees did fall.

Then as the days took on a morning chill,
'Neath autumn skies so clear and bright,
We reached the gate in the homeward lane,
Where he bid each of us good night.

He then walked on beyond our view
To climb heaven's front porch step,
As we lingered by the homeward gate,
And held each other as we wept.

Yet in our tears there is no despair,
For Jesus was his homeward way and gate.
So when we take the homeward lane we know,
He will for us on heaven's front porch wait.


C.R. Hill, Jr.
In Memory of Norman S. Jago
Copyright 11/11/01

Death at Suppertime

Phyllis McGinley, author and poet, penned the following verse in 1948, decrying the media's encroachment upon that crucial hour once reserved for family meals.

Time and time again we wonder why the world is in such a sad state of affairs.

My personal solution is the maintenance of the dinner hour (free of television, telephone, and teleprompter) ....each.and.every.day.


Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupation,
That is known as the Children's Hour.


That endeth the skipping and skating,
The giggles, the tantrums, and tears,
When, the innocent voices abating,
Alert grow the innocent ears.


The little boys leap from the stairways,
Girls lay down their dolls on the dot,
For promptly at five o'er the airways
Comes violence geared to the tot.


Comes murder, comes arson, come G-men
Pursuing unspeakable spies;
Come gangsters and tough-talking he-men
With six-shooters strapped to their thighs;
Comes the corpse in the dust, comes the dictum
"Ya' better start singin', ya' rat!"
While the torturer leers at his victim,
The killer unleashes his gat.


With mayhem the twilight is reeling.
Blood spatters, the tommy guns bark.
Hands reach for the sky or the ceiling
As the dagger strikes home in the dark.

And lo! with what rapturous wonder
The little ones hark to each tale
Of gambler shot down with his plunder
Or outlaw abducting the mail.


Between the news and the tireless
Commercials, while tempers turn sour,
Comes a season of horror by wireless,
That is known as the Children's Hour.


I have been known to refer to this *Children's Hour* (say 5p - 7p) as the *Witching Hour* - that time of day in which all hell can break loose, if one is in charge .... of young children especially.  It can also refer to Longfellow's charming poem about his family.  I posted it last year.  

But after living through a few such bewitchings, I determined to avoid them.  I learned that my entire day would go more smoothly, if I knew what we were having for dinner and took at least a couple of steps early in the day to get that meal under control.  Thank goodness for freezers, crockpots, oven-timers, and dishwashers. 

Unfortunately, I discovered Mrs. McGinley after learning to cope without the benefit of her wise words.

But I continue to read her essays and poems because after all....

A woman's mind needs to be well-furnished.

She spends a lot of time there.

The Butterfly That Stamped

There was never a Queen like Balkis,

From here to the wide world's end;

But Balkis talked to a butterfly

As you would talk to a friend.

There was never a King like Solomon

Not since the world began;

But Solomon talked to a butterfly

As a man would talk to a man.

She was Queen of Sabea--

And he was Asia's Lord--

But they both of 'em talked to butterflies

When they took their walks abroad!

Rudyard Kipling
English Poet/Author
1865 - 1936

Here's a link to the entire short story of the same title.

Two additional Kipling poems that rate very high on my list of favorites:

The Female of the Species
The Betrothed


What about you?

What's your favorite Kipling verse?

The Owl and the Pussy-cat

In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are, you are, you are,
What a beautiful Pussy you are."


Pussy said to the Owl "You elegant fowl,
How charmingly sweet you sing.
O let us be married, too long we have tarried;
But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows,
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.




"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling your ring?"
Said the Piggy, "I will"
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon.
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand.
They danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.


So, Edward Lear's nonsense poetry wins the day because I wanted to highlight this delightful collection of beautifully illustrated poems and his Owl and the Pussy Cat graces the cover.  Neil Philip is the editor, and Isabelle Brent, the illustrator.

Here's my FAF (fineartfriday) post.   I'm adding their books to my Amazon Wish List.

Best-Loved Poems is a common title for anthologies, this one being first published in 2000.   I give it five stars because 1) I like most of the poems; 2) I like the illustrations; and 3) I like its layout.

Two other oft-referenced anthologies on my bookshelf are The Best-Loved Poems of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and The Best-Loved Poems of the American People.

Do you have a favorite anthology?

Who Is This That Comes From Edom

This is a favorite hymn (228 Blue Trinity) of mine.  We sang it in church today, probably selected because the sermon covered Isaiah 62-64.  The message was so *meaty* that I listened to it again.

Who is this that comes from Edom,
All His garments stained with blood;
To the slave proclaiming freedom;
Bringing and bestowing good;
Glorious in the garb He wears,
Glorious in the spoils He bears?


’Tis the Savior, now victorious
Traveling onward in His might;
’Tis the Savior, O how glorious
To His people is the sight!
Jesus now is strong to save,
Mighty to redeem the slave.


Why that blood His raiment staining?
’Tis the blood of many slain;
Of His foes there’s none remaining,
None the contest to maintain:
Fallen they are, no more to rise,
All their glory prostrate lies.


This the Savior has effected
By His mighty arm alone;
See the throne for Him erected;
’Tis an everlasting throne:
’Tis the great reward He gains,
Glorious fruit of all His pains.


Mighty Victor, reign forever,
Wear the crown so dearly won;
Never shall thy people, never
Cease to sing what Thou hast done;
Thou hast fought Thy people’s foes;
Thou wilt heal Thy people’s woes.

 
Lyrics by Thomas Kelly
Irish Hymnodist
1769 - 1855
 
Music by Albert Lister Peace
English Musician (Organist)
1844 - 1912

This Is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold




William Carlos Williams
American Poet
1883 - 1963

List Poetry

Dressing appropriately

Greeting patients

Answering phones

Listening to requests

Fielding questions

Making appointments

Writing messages

Typing data

Editing claims

Creating reports

Mailing letters

Observing the flow

Learning new things

Solving problems

Serving others

Working creatively

Understanding why God made me.

Here's a link to another such poem. 

It addresses the other side of my coin.

That round tuit.

The Quadrivium

Last year when I was reading Josef Pieper's Leisure:  The Basis of Culture with an online book club, I ran across the following poem and saved it for sharing during National Poetry Month.

Currently, the group is hashing out their
philosoph(ies) of education as they read Norms and Nobility by David Hicks.

While I havent made it much past reading the acknowledgements and perusing the bibliography of the paperback edition, I have found this poem to be a propos.  the discussion.

I also appreciate its logic.


Science begins in brain;
Philosophy begins in mind;
Poetry begins in ear and mouth;
Religion begins in breath.

For science to say anything about life, it must experiment;
for philosophy to say anything about life, it must exhaust words;
for poetry to say anything about life, it must listen;
for religion to say anything about life, it must fall on its face.

Where science ends, philosophy begins;
where philosophy ends, poetry begins;
where poetry ends, death begins;
where death ends, religion begins.


By Allan Roy Andrews

Here's a link to the poet's blog.

The poem appeared originally in Voice, a newsletter of St. Martin's-in-the-Field Episcopal Church, Severna Park, MD, February 2002.


Definition/Etymology of Quadrivium:

The higher division of the seven liberal arts in the Middle Ages, composed of geometry, astronomy, arithmetic, and music.

[Late Latin, from Latin, place where four roads meet : quadri-, quadri- + via, road; see via.]

Leisure

Cindy of Dominion Family aka Ordo Amoris fame not only helped me to appreciate *leisure* by idealizing it on her blog, but also challenged me to re-assess my working definition of the word.  Basically she kept using the term in relation to education or schooling.

Here's a link to the instigating post.

The result was an interesting online book club discussion that clarified her position and undergirded mine.

Here's a link to my comments on Pieper's book.

In short.... Leisure is not for the faint-hearted.

W. H. Davies, who interestingly enough spent a significant part of his life as a vagabond, entertained the concept in the following poem:

What is this life if, full of care,
We have not time to stand and stare.


No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.


No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.


No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars like skies at night.


No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.


No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.


A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.



W. H. Davies
1871 - 1940
Welsh Poet



Leisure can be a trigger word.

Much like the word *boredom*.

What do you think?






Photo borrowed from Flickr:
Sculpture by Andrew Brown 2005
Fisherman
Port William, Scotland

Woman Holding A Balance

Between dark and light,
Between this world and the next,
Between maidenhood and motherhood
She pauses, held in balance
Like the balance she holds.

Her focus not the gold or
The weighing, but the justice
Of her scales, settling to their still
Point in a steady hand,
And she herself unadorned,
A lily that needs no gilding
But the points of light that lie
On her veil like jewels in a crown.

If she raised her eyes, she would see
This luminous beauty, drop the scales,
And, like a blushing Eve, break
The balance and forsake
The innocence of her task,
But she does not.

If she turned, she would see
The Last Judgment, saints and sinners,
Weighed in the final balance, and,
Called to think on ultimate things,
Lose this moment –
But she does not.

Trained on the object, undistracted,
Patient while the instrument swings
To its center and is still, she turns
This little task to prayer - if mindfulness is
Prayer – to an exercise of love – if it is love
To be attentive to the thing at hand.

Marilyn Chandler McEntyre
American poet/author


Sharing an article from Christianity today, my mother introduced me to Marilyn Chandler McEntyre.  The essay was a review of her book, Caring for Words in Culture of Lies, which is right up my alley as a word-lover.

I encourage you to search her out.

Here's a link to her website.



Her life lines are most enjoyable.

When Morning Gilds the Skies

A favorite hymn, I mean poem.


When morning gilds the skies my heart awaking cries:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Alike at work and prayer, to Jesus I repair:
May Jesus Christ be praised!

When you begin the day, O never fail to say,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
And at your work rejoice, to sing with heart and voice,
May Jesus Christ be praised!

Whene’er the sweet church bell peals over hill and dell,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
O hark to what it sings, as joyously it rings,
May Jesus Christ be praised!

My tongue shall never tire of chanting with the choir,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
This song of sacred joy, it never seems to cloy,
May Jesus Christ be praised!

Does sadness fill my mind? A solace here I find,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Or fades my earthly bliss? My comfort still is this,
May Jesus Christ be praised!

To God, the Word, on high, the host of angels cry,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Let mortals, too, upraise their voice in hymns of praise,
May Jesus Christ be praised!

Be this at meals your grace, in every time and place;
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Be this, when day is past, of all your thoughts the last
May Jesus Christ be praised!

When mirth for music longs, this is my song of songs:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
When evening shadows fall, this rings my curfew call,
May Jesus Christ be praised!

When sleep her balm denies, my silent spirit sighs,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
When evil thoughts molest, with this I shield my breast,
May Jesus Christ be praised!

The night becomes as day when from the heart we say:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
The powers of darkness fear when this sweet chant they hear:
May Jesus Christ be praised!

No lovelier antiphon in all high Heav’n is known
Than, Jesus Christ be praised!
There to the eternal Word the eternal psalm is heard:
May Jesus Christ be praised!

Let all the earth around ring joyous with the sound:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
In Heaven’s eternal bliss the loveliest strain is this:
May Jesus Christ be praised!

Sing, suns and stars of space, sing, ye that see His face,
Sing, Jesus Christ be praised!
God’s whole creation o’er, for aye and evermore
Shall Jesus Christ be praised!

In Heav’n’s eternal bliss the loveliest strain is this,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Let earth, and sea and sky from depth to height reply,
May Jesus Christ be praised!

Be this, while life is mine, my canticle divine:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Sing this eternal song through all the ages long:
May Jesus Christ be praised!


Text: Katholisches Gesangbuch
Music: Joseph Barnby, 1838-1896
Tune: LAUDES DOMINI, Meter: 666.666


I remember singing this one in elementary school chapel.

Gran Torino

Today's selected poem is somewhat out of character for me, but read on if you're interested in the explanation.

They are the lyrics to a movie's theme song. 
And no, I dont have it as my ringtone :-\


In reflecting over the movies I'd watched since last April, I could recall only a few.  Clint Eastwood's Gran Torino was one of them.  In fact, I rewatched it last night on HBO.  With a warning about the foul language and gang violence, I highly recommend the film for adults - teenaged children are okay, if parents are watching with them.

Link to excellent movie review 

Realign all the stars
Above my head
Warning signs
Travel far
I drink instead
On my own
Oh,how I've known
The battle scars
And worn out beds


Gentle now
A tender breeze blows
Whispers through a Gran Torino
Whistling another tired song


Engines humm and bitter dreams grow
Heart locked in a Gran Torino
It beats A lonely rhythm all night long

These streets are old
They shine with the things I've known
And breaks through the trees
Their sparkling


Your world
Is nothing more
Than all
The tiny things
You've left behind

So tenderly
Your story is
Nothing more
Than what you see
Or
What you've done
Or will become
Standing strong
Do you belong
In your skin
Just wondering


Gentle now a tender breeze blows
Whispers through the Gran Torino
Whistling another tired song
Engines humm and bitter dreams grow
A heart locked in a Gran Torino
It beats A lonely rhythm
All night long

May I be so bold and stay
I need someone to hold
That shudders my skin
Their sparkling


Your world
Is nothing more
Than all
The tiny things
You've left
Behind


So realign
All the stars
Above my head
Warning signs
Travel far
I drink instead
On my own
Oh
How I've known
The battle scars
And worn out beds

Gentle now a tender breeze blows
Whispers through the Gran Torino
Whistling another tired song
Engines humm and better dreams grow
Heart locked in a Gran Torino
It beats a lonely rhythm
All night long
It beats a lonely rhythm
All night long
It beats a lonely rhythm
All night long


Over and above their utilitarian purpose, there is something seductive about cars.  In my early teenaged years (old enough to drive), I thought I might like to own a Gran Torino.  Furthermore, cars qualify as art.

For at The High Museum there is a widely popular exhibit now open.  The Allure of the Automobile  is on my list of things to see, but I'm thinking that I should take in John Portman's Architecture exhibit first, especially since it's about to close AND there's a walking tour attached.

Now I'm curious....

do you know of a poem about cars?


Better yet, tell me about a car you love(d).

The Adversary

Mothers are hardest to forgive.

Life is the fruit they long to hand you,

Ripe on a plate.  And while you live,

Relentlessly they understand you.











Phyllis McGinley
American writer/poet
1905 - 1978

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

Strictly speaking it's early Spring here in north Georgia, but we've had a string of unusually high temperatures (87 degrees yesterday) making it seem like early Summer.

Everyone is outside enjoying Nature.

Wordsworth who penned I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud sums it up very well in this seasonal verse written earlier in his career.

Today's his birthday as well.  Visit his homepage.

I HEARD a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.


To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.


Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.


The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:--
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.


The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?


Williams Wordsworth, 1798
English Romantic Poet



Side Note ~
William's brother, Christopher wrote the words to one of my favorite hymns: 
 O day of rest and gladness

One Art

In Her Shoes is another movie in which poetry plays a significant role.

The main character (Maggie) reads aloud at the request of one of her nursing home patients.  He happens to be a blind retired professor of English literature.

Suffice it to say that this exercise empowers Maggie to pull her life together and reconcile with her family.


Of the three poems in the film, One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop is the one I went in search of last summer when I saw the movie: the one I wanted to remember for National Poetry Month in April.



One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel.
None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
 
 
Read more about Elizabeth Bishop at the Poetry Foundation's website.


Some lines from E E Cummings i carry your heart with me and Jane Kenyon's Let Evening Come were also featured in the movie.

The Charge of the Light Brigade

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 19th century poet laureate (UK), carries the day (figuratively-speaking) in the 21st century award-winning film, The Blind Side.

It's my favorite scene in the movie.

Sean Tuohy hops up from the sofa where he's watching television and bursts into poetic recitation. The moment is pivotal because the verses provide Michael Ohr with the inspiration he needs to take the next step on his road to success.

Here you can see happiness when things begin to click academically for the main character.


His tutor is thrilled as well.


We can all relate.




Now for the rest of the story.....


Half a league, half a league,
  Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
  Rode the six hundred.
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns' he said:
Into the valley of Death
  Rode the six hundred.
'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldiers knew
  Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
  Rode the six hundred.


Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
  Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
  Rode the six hundred.


Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
  All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.


Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
  Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
  Left of six hundred.


When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
  All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
  Noble six hundred!


Share some poetry today.

Resurrection Poetry

Praise the Savior now and ever;

Praise Him, all beneath the skies;







Prostrate lying, suff’ring, dying
On the cross, a sacrifice.
Vict’ry gaining, life obtaining,
Now in glory He doth rise.

Man’s work faileth, Christ’s availeth;
He is all our righteousness;
He, our Savior, has forever
Set us free from dire distress.
Through His merit we inherit
Light and peace and happiness.

Sin’s bonds severed, we’re delivered,
Christ has bruised the serpent’s head;
Death no longer is the stronger,
Hell itself is captive led.
Christ has risen from death’s prison,
O’er the tomb He light has shed.

For His favor, praise forever,
Unto God the Father sing;
Praise the Savior, praise Him ever,
Son of God, our Lord and King.
Praise the Spirit, through Christ’s merit,
He doth us salvation bring.

Venantius Fortunatus
Latin Poet and Hymnodist
530 - 609


Trinity Hymnal #174

Painting Credits:
Venantius Fortunatus Reading His Poems to Radegonda VI
by Lawrence Alma-Tadema, British 19th Romantic artist
Oil on Canvas, 1862

Hot Cross Buns

Hot cross buns!
Hot cross buns!
One ha' penny, two ha' penny,
Hot cross buns!
If you have no daughters,
Give them to your sons
One ha' penny,
Two ha' penny,
Hot Cross Buns!






So, it's true. I'm enjoying half of a hot cross bun for breakfast. It's sharing the plate with my hard boiled egg and my hot tea (PG Tips compliments of my favorite Brit.)

And for the curious (or not) ~ here's Sunday's after church menu:

Roasted Leg of Spring Lamb
Eggplant Casserole
Steamed Asparagus
Sauted Sweet Orange Peppers
Croissants

Black Swan Shiraz

Carrot Cake
Coffee


Lots to do between now and then.

Pictures will follow.

The Present Crisis

What follows is a short clip from James Russell Lowell's 90-line poem written in 1844.

It's fresh on my mind because it was cited in a New American article about Obamacare and I've been looking for poems to highlight in April.

It is, after all, National Poetry Month.






Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side;
Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight,

Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right,
And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light.

Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou shalt stand,
Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our land?

Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet 'tis Truth alone is strong,
And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng
Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong.

Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments see,
That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Oblivion's sea;
Not an ear in court or market for the low, foreboding cry
Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from whose feet earth's chaff must fly;
Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath passed by.

Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record
One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word;
Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,—
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,

Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.


I took the time to read up on Lowell and the crisis he was referencing ~ most likely the Mexican War coupled with the increasing tension over the expansion of slavery.

Here's a short description of this famous American poet.

Lowell's reputation at the time of his death in 1891 was a superstition.  His fame as a man of letters was international, but he was not in any respect a popular writer.  Except for a few school-room pieces like "The Vision of Sir Launfal," Lowell's poetry was considered too difficult by most readers.

Dont let that stop you from delving deeper into his works because

No one as richly versatile and influential as Lowell will forever remain unattractive or unrewarding to scholars.

Consider using poetry as a sounding board for the next few weeks.


Sherry at Semicolon has made it easy to play along.





The rest of The Present Crisis follows this entry.

The Present Crisis

James Russell Lowell (1819–1891)

WHEN a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth’s aching breast
Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to west,
And the slave, where’er he cowers, feels the soul within him climb
To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime
Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny stem of Time.

Through the walls of hut and palace shoots the instantaneous throe,
When the travail of the Ages wrings earth’s systems to and fro;
At the birth of each new Era, with a recognizing start,
Nation wildly looks at nation, standing with mute lips apart,
And glad Truth’s yet mightier man-child leaps beneath the Future’s heart.

So the Evil’s triumph sendeth, with a terror and a chill,
Under continent to continent, the sense of coming ill,
And the slave, where’er he cowers, feels his sympathies with God
In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be drunk up by the sod,
Till a corpse crawls round unburied, delving in the nobler clod.

For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears along,
Round the earth’s electric circle, the swift flash of right or wrong;
Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity’s vast frame
Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy or shame;—
In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal claim.

Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side;
Some great cause, God’s new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight,
Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right,
And the choice goes by forever ’twixt that darkness and that light.

Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou shalt stand,
Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our land?
Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet ’tis Truth alone is strong,
And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng
Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong.

Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments see,
That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Oblivion’s sea;
Not an ear in court or market for the low foreboding cry
Of those Crises, God’s stern winnowers, from whose feet earth’s chaff must fly;
Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath passed by.

Careless seems the great Avenger; history’s pages but record
One death-grapple in the darkness ’twixt old systems and the Word;
Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,—
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.

We see dimly in the Present what is small and what is great,
Slow of faith how weak an arm may turn the iron helm of fate,
But the soul is still oracular; amid the market’s din,
List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave within,—
‘They enslave their children’s children who make compromise with sin.’

Slavery, the earth-born Cyclops, fellest of the giant brood,
Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have drenched the earth with blood,
Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our purer day,
Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable prey;—
Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless children play?

Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust,
Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and ’tis prosperous to be just;
Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside,
Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified,
And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied.

Count me o’er earth’s chosen heroes,—they were souls that stood alone,
While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone,
Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline
To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine,
By one man’s plain truth to manhood and to God’s supreme design. 60

By the light of burning heretics Christ’s bleeding feet I track,
Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back,
And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned
One new word of that grand Credo which in prophet-hearts hath burned
Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven upturned.

For Humanity sweeps onward: where to-day the martyr stands,
On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands;
Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn,
While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return
To glean up the scattered ashes into History’s golden urn.

’Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves
Of a legendary virtue carved upon our father’s graves,
Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime;—
Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time?
Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make Plymouth Rock sublime?

They were men of present valor, stalwart old iconoclasts,
Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the Past’s;
But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that hath made us free,
Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender spirits flee
The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove them across the sea.

They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our sires, Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom’s new-lit altar-fires;
Shall we make their creed our jailer? Shall we, in our haste to slay,
From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away
To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day?

New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth;
They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth;
Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be,
Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea,
Nor attempt the Future’s portal with the Past’s blood-rusted key.

Fashion on Friday

When I looked at these colors last Fall, I couldnt get excited about them.

However, I'm glad I remembered to revisit this palette because it's been THE most helpful factor for organizing my closet for the Spring and Summer.

Even though the colors look slightly different on various monitors, it's NOT difficult to see them when I'm out and about.  And with the continued chilly temperatures, I'll admit that I've been tempted just to wear the same.old. wintery stuff.

But I know better than to let the doldrums rule.

It's as simple as getting dressed.

So, after claiming Coral Fusion (OPI calls it Hot and Spicey) last week and plastering it on my toes, I looked to see if I could find another one of the colors already in the closet.

Bingo!

Turquoise!!

I found it in the jewelry box - something I'd picked up at a drug store five years ago and worn rarely.  I mention those details to let you know that 1) the jewelry was not expensive, and 2) the Pantone report gave me confidence to step out of the box.

Here's how I paired a necklace of turquoise stones with a white sweater (cable knit turtleneck) and black pants. 










Later in the week when I was trying to decide which scarf to wear with an off-white sweater jacket, I chose the one with turquoise in it.

What are you doing with the new Spring and Summer colors?

Fashion Friday:Color

Fusion Coral is my choice for Spring and Summer Fashion this year.

I'm seeing it everywhere.

Just buying a new nail polish made me feel updated





and ready for the new season that starts officially on Saturday at 1:30pm.


Plus as I put away the Fall and Winter clothing, it seems easier to find the more fashionable colors in my existing wardrobe once I've reviewed Pantone's List of Colors.  There are lots of good suggestions in the article, especially for a non-Fashionista like me ;-)

1) Turquoise
2) Amparo Blue*
3) Violet
4) Aurora
5) Fusion Coral*
6) Tomato Puree
7) Pink Champagne
8) Tuscany
9) Dried Herb
10)Eucalyptus

I just love the names.

Fusion Coral is my first choice:  wearing sweaters and tops in that shade with black or brown pants.

But I'm finding the the Amparo Blue (bright!) is easier to wear than I thought ~ meaning I bought that color T-shirt at Walmart when I otherwise would have ignored it.



It *helped* me finish my 2.5 mile walk/run yesterday.





DD#1 wore Tuscany-colored patent pumps to a wedding last weekend, making her outfit *runway- perfect.*


Now I want some ;-)





Having worn uniforms during my schooling, I'm very tuned into dressing up a limited wardrobe with small accoutrements that can  make a big difference.

How are you addressing Spring and Color?

Corned Beef and Cabbage


Call me impatient.

I couldnt wait any longer.

Even though St Patrick's Day is not until March 17th,


I've already enjoyed the traditional fare once this past Sunday.

Now I'm looking forward to planned-overs tonight!


I braised the corned brisket (for three hours on Saturday morning in a dutch oven filled with water) and wrapped it in aluminum foil for Sunday's re-heating (with the time bake function on my oven.)

Then I used some of the liquid (stock) in the pressure cooker to steam the potatoes, onions, and carrots.

I re-heated the veggies while I was at church on Sunday by using a timer attached to the crockpot?








See the cabbage there in the background.... on the far left?

I did wait until we got home from church to fix that. 

After slicing the head of cabbabe into big chunks, I steamed it in the pressure cooker with approximately 1 cup of stock.


Here's a link to the Irish Soda Bread recipe complete with photo.

A Cavit Pinot Noir complimented the flavorful meal.

Dessert, you wonder?

Georgia Peaches I'd *put up* last August, then served with Haagen-Dazs Vanilla Ice Cream, a Pecan Sandie Cookie and a cup of Starbucks Verona Coffee.

What's your favorite way to celebrate St Patrick's Day?

Fashion on Friday

Winter is almost over.

Here in north Georgia, we have had a winter to remember...

colder with more snow than usual.

This outfit is my effort to transition from heavier to lighter weight fabrics;






get one more use out of this comfortable dress; and enjoy framing the wintery iron-gray with the springy brighter-yellow.

Check out the Pantone Color Report for Spring 2010.  It was released last September, which was about the last time I posted on fashion.

My old scarf blends two of the new shades:  Aurora and Violet.






What's your *new* favorite color?



I'll reveal mine next week.

Homemade Vegetable Soup - Easy Style

16 cups water
16 tsps beef bouillon powder/cubes

2 lb frozen veggies (i.e. mixed veggies or soup mix)
1 lb ground beef, browned and drained
1 32-oz can crushed or diced tomatoes
2 tsp salt
1 tsp garlic powder
1/2 tsp pepper

Optional/Later:  Add V-8 juice if more liquid is needed


In a large stock pot, bring water to a rolling boil. Stir in the beef bouillon. Add frozen vegetables. Cook for 5 minutes at medium high heat without boiling. Then add meat and tomatoes. Reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes. Add seasonings, to taste. At this point, I turn off the heat and add 1 cup alphabet pasta. Cover soup pot with tight lid for 30 more minutes. That should be enough time to *cook* the pasta.

Serves 6-8

Friday Five: Staples

Of all the hundreds of sizes and shapes bread seems to come in, what is your favorite?

I appreciate all the different sizes and shapes for bread, eschewing only the white/off-white, non-nutritious kind.

I havent made bread in ages, but this Ethiopian recipe sounds divine.

My sister made these loaves for her family.  She's a pro at baking bread.


What’s your favorite thing to eat with rice?

Salt is crucial to tasty rice. Not a lot. But if it's not been cooked in salted water, then the flavor is delinquent.

What are your feelings about milk?

Milk rates as a staple in the diet until adulthood, at which time intake should be limited.

What was wrapped in the tortilla you most recently ate?

Some one gave me a sausage and egg tortilla the other day. I reheated it and ate if for lunch. Until that time I'd only eaten tortillas for dinner.

How many staplers are there in your house and where are they?

There are three staplers in my house, one on each floor. That means, one on my desk in the basement; one in the kitchen in the utility drawer; and one upstairs in the study/great room.

Added later ~


Here are pictures of Friday Night Staples ;-)

What did you enjoy for dinner?

Sufficiency of Scripture for the Church

Here ye, here ye!

I have heard this fine sermon twice today and am prepared to listen again.

Join me?

Using Exekiel 43 as a starting point, my pastor of 32 years preached the Good News by proclaiming the Headship of  Christ for His Church.


The title of *Senior Pastor* or *Bishop* is nothing compared to the Name of Jesus to which every knee shall bow.

The Westminster Divines relied upon Ezekiel 43 to introduce their Book of Church Order in 1643.

And if they be ashamed of all that they have done, shew them the form of the house, and the fashion thereof, and the goings out thereof, and the comings in thereof, and all the forms thereof, - and all the laws thereof: and write it in their sight, that they may keep the whole form thereof, and all the ordinances thereof, and do them.

In the same way that Christ died for the invisible church (the repentent, redeemed sinner), God also died the visible church (repentent and redeemed)AND sees her as white as snow: perfect and blameless because of the work and sacrifice of His Son.

This is so comforting.

While it may seem unusual to use Ezekiel 43 as the basis for the sermon, there were a host of additional Scriptural references.  But, do take the time to read Exekiel chapters 40 - 48 in order to understand the context in which the prophet was speaking in order to focus and train the eyes of his charges on future glory.

Restoration!

We sang hymns to reinforce these doctrines.  From the (blue) Trinity Hymnal:

Behold! The Mountain of the Lord (272) - based on Is 2:2 (Scottish paraphrase)
Zion, Founded on the Mountains (369) -  based on Ps 87:1

Approach My Soul (423) - based on Heb $;!4, 16 and written by John Newton (a favorite)

Glorious Things of Thee (269) - again Ps 87 but verse 3, and John Newton

We celebrated communion and submitted our tithes, hoping in the Lord.

Then, never forgetting that a good theology will invariably produce a good meal,

we returned home show enjoy Sunday's menu  ~

Beef Stew
French Bread
Merlot

Begian Chocolate Brownies with Walnuts
Black Coffee



Yes, there was broccoli in the brisker ....only to be overlooked.

I'd had enough vegetables for one day. (ref Dan 1)
Grin



Artwork Credit:
Open Door Chapel
Oil on Canvas
16" x 20"
by Margaret Jordan

In honor of my maternal grandfather, Albert Osborn Linch, who died on this day fifty years ago, at the young age of 58, I'm highlighting one paragraph of his inaugural address to the Fulton County Medical Society.  It speaks directly to today's healthcare fiasco.

America today stands at the cross-roads, and there seems to be a tremendous urge to go down the road of least resistance, which leads to chaos and ruin. If what I say smacks of non-medical politics, let those that are burned make the most of it.

America must have a change in the way of thinking of our men in high political places or our way of living will surely collapse. Justice Brandeis warned, "The greatest dangers to liberty lurk in insidious encroachment by men of zeal, well-meaning, but without understanding."

We are borrowing from the future and robbing the purses of our children and grandchildren by continuing the deficit operation of our government. It behooves us to fight in every way possible those who would torpedo the medical profession and scuttle American freedom to satisfy the whims and political aspirations of these demagogs.

I plead with you to support your political leaders who are interested in free enterprise and in the economic operation of your government.

January 19, 1950

Let us not grow weary in doing good.



Here's a link to the entire address

Here's a link to another entry about AOL.

Coconut Cake

Detailed instructions involve three separate recipes.

Here's a link to one untouched photo of the finished product.

There were no leftovers.





Links for the three recipes.
1)  Coconut Filling
2)  Yellow Cake
3)  7-minute Icing

Coconut Filling

Buy three fresh coconuts. You're only using two, but you will be glad you have one extra at home, in case there's not enough milk in the first two.  Poke out the *eyes* with a screwdriver and drain the milk into a glass measuring cup.  You'll need 1 1/2 cups.  Set aside.

Then place the coconuts in a warm (250) oven for 30 minutes to help crack them. I go outside for the next step:  place them on level surface and hit with hammer to break shell open.  This is actually great fun.

After the heavy outer shell is gone, use a vegetable peeler to remove the thin brown lining off of the white meat.

Grate finely the meat from two coconuts. I use my cuisinart for this.
















Cook coconut milk and 2 C sugar in a saucepan over medium-high heat until it spins a thread (230degrees). I use a candy thermometer to help me know for sure.
















Add 1 C heavy cream. Boil hard for one minute. Pour over finely grated coconut meat. {12/17/13 My sister Noel asked me to quantify the number of cups of grated coconut that result from two whole coconuts.  I will do that the next time I prepare this recipe.}  Stir to combine.

Reserve (store in refrigerator) until ready for use. You can actually do this in advance.

















Spread between layers of cake and on top layer.


LATER and unrelated to the coconut filling which is recipe #3 for my Coconut Cake.

Use third fresh coconut to fix Ambrosia.....

















Have you ever bought and used a fresh coconut?

Seven Minute Icing
from the Joy of Cooking


2 unbeaten egg whites
1 1/2 C granulated white sugar
5 Tbs cold water
1/4 tsp cream of tartar
1 1/2 tsp light corn syrup

Using a double boiler, place these ingredients over rapidly boiling water.

Beat with hand mixer constantly for (approx) seven minutes or until light, fluffy and spreadable.














Remove from heat. Add 1 tsp vanilla.


Makes 2 cups or enough to ice a three-layer cake.

1-2-3-4 Cake
(my grandmother's recipe)

1 C real butter
2 C granulated white sugar
3 C sifted flour (sift all purpose flour then measure out)
4 eggs (5 are better, but then the *title* doesnt match)



3 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 C water (or milk)



Sift together dry ingredients and set aside. Cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs on at the time. Alternately add water and flour mixture. Add vanilla.

Bake in three 9" prepared cake pans at 325 degrees for 25-30 minutes.

Invert pans onto wire racks and remove cakes from pans immediately to prevent overcooking.


I like to cover each layer with damp paper towel, while they cool.

Do you have a favorite yellow cake recipe?

Happy Birthday DD#3

In 1991, we enjoyed this heart-shaped Red Velvet Cake for your birthday.

In 2010, I understand that you made your own birthday cake: German Chocolate.

There are many years in between.  So, I'm on a mission to document your birthday cakes.

Have you ever seen a cuter 3 year old?

















The birthday dress was compliments of Grandma Jago.

Any Birthday Valentines at your house?

Happy Birthday, Dee!

 1974

Here's a link to another photo.

My maternal grandmother was a big part of my childhood, living with us for the last twelve years of her life.

Very precious, full of memories.


Were you blessed with a close relationship with grands?

Robert E Lee - Happy 203rd Birthday!

I love remembering the following passage from the writings of Robert E Lee.

It was first made public by Colonel Charles Marshall in 1887, in Southern Historical Papers published in 1889.

More recently you can find it in Richard Weaver's essay on the Christian warrior, found in The Southern Tradition at Bay, pg 209.




My experience of men has neither disposed me to think worse of them, nor indisposed me to serve them; nor, in spite of failures, which I lament, of errors, which I now see and acknowledge, or, of the present state of affairs, do I despair of the future.

The march of providence is so slow, and our desires so impatient, the work of progress is so immense, and our means of aiding it so feeble, the life of humanity is so long, and that of the individual so brief, that we often see only the ebb of the advancing wave, and are thus discouraged.

It is history that teaches us to hope.



Here's a link to the Marks Collection, which distributes this fine print entitled "The Christian General".