Spiller, Filler, and Thriller

Gardening is not my forte, but I do love a pretty view when looking out the kitchen window.

So, I'm practicing by working with containers on my back deck, before I venture out into the big, bad world that is our half-acre plot here in hilly, rocky Cherokee County, GA.

After reading a newspaper article detailing a formula, I put together this rendition last Saturday afternoon just in time for Sunday company.

A varigated ground cover whose name I forgot, spills over the sides of this black metal chair. 

Petunias fill the bed or seat of the chair.

The pink Calla Lily is supposed to grow taller and be my *thriller*.






Platform feeder on the right where cardinals, titmice, brown thrashers, and chipmunks feast.

Bird bath on the left where I see squirrels, birds and insects drink and bathe.

Here's another view from the kitchen windows which shows a basket of thyme (which happens to be flowering right now) and three orange zinnias.

Look to the left down the deck for my *herb garden* which includes basil, chives, cilantro, mint, sage, and dill.

Toward the end there is a pot of mixed chrysanthemums held over from this past Fall. They are about to bloom. We shall see what colors are mixed. I'm expecting white and yellow.

Then some liriope aka monkey grass.

Then a pitiful hyndrangea purchased for color at Valentine's Day.  Can I find a place for it in the landscape before the hot sun burns it up?

The blue bucket contains four tomato plants waiting for a better home.

Finally, take a peek to the right down the stairs.  The delphinium is joined with some creeping jenny and presides over half a dozen pots of zinnias.

I guess the real test comes later during the long, hot summer.

Will I be able to keep these babies alive?

The garden hose is poised to help  ;-)


What does your garden grow?

Mother's Day Menu

Beef Stew Gaston
Steamed Cauliflower
Multi-grain Roll

2006 Cotes du Rhone Red Wine

Apple Pie a la mode
Coffee

The fun thing about this menu is that I prepared enough to send each of my guests home with leftovers - enough for another meal.

Photo of my nephew with his grandmother.

Yes, grandfather was there.

And KSJ.

Le Cadeau Ideal?  NCIS Season 3  ;-)

Sunday Sermon at Chalcedon Presbyterian Church was delivered by Guest Pastor Donald D. Crowe, author of Creation Without Compromise.

The Fatal Conceit

The curious task of economics is to demonstrate to men how little they really know about what they imagine they can design.

F. A. Hayek
Austrian Economist
1899 - 1992


Not generally a fan of rap, I am do recommend watching these videos using this new type of music to explain economics.  Link to Econstories.tv




FWIW - I had the distinct opportunity to have dinner with Professor/Doctor Hayek in 1977, when I was a student at Hillsdale College.  I was just 19 years old and failed to take the opportunity to ask good questions while sitting on his immediate left.  The main thing I remember were his manners ~ when the meal was over, he politely asked if I minded, if he dipped  ;-)

Opportunity

Today is the birthday of this poet and I've been saving this poem for my final entry of my month-long tribute to National Poetry Month.  Blogger-friend, Cindy, writes to encourage homeschool families and that's where I first read these inspirational verses.


THIS I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:-
There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;
And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged
A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords
Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner
Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.
A craven hung along the battle's edge,
And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel-
That blue blade that the king's son bears,-but this
Blunt thing-!" he snapt and flung it from his hand,
And lowering crept away and left the field.
Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,
And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,
Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,
And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout
Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down,
And saved a great cause that heroic day.



Edward Rowland Sills
American educator
1841  - 1887

Dying Confederate's Last Words

Dear comrades on my brow the hand of death is cast,
My breath is growing short, all pain will soon be past;
My soul will soar away to that bright land of bliss,
Far from the pain and woe of such a place as this.


I left my home and friends to battle with the foe,
To save the Southern land from misery and woe;
I gave my all (oh! not to win a name,
Or have it e'en enrolled upon the scroll of fame.)

Not so, I only wished a helper brave to be
To save the glorious South from cruel tyranny;
My soul with ardor burned the treacherous foe to fight
And take a noble stand for liberty and right.

But oh! how weak is man! It was not God's decree,
That I should longer live a helper brave to be,
Before another day I shall be with the dead,
And 'neath the grassy sod will be my lonely bed.

And should you see the friends that nurtured me in youth,
Tell them I tried to walk the ways of peace and truth;
O ! tell my mother kind the words that she has given,
Have led her wayward child to Jesus and to heaven.

Farewell! farewell! my friends my loving comrades dear,
I ask you not to drop for me one bitter tear;
The angels sweetly stand and beckon me to come,
To that bright land of bliss that heavenly realm my home.



~Author Unknown


Photo Credit:
Myself - Link to Info

Sister Cat

Cat stands at the fridge,
Cries loudly for milk.
But I've filled her bowl.
Wild cat, I say, Sister,
Look, you have milk.
I clink my fingernail
Against the rim. Milk.
With down and liver,
A word I know she hears.
Her sad miaow. She runs
To me. She dips
In her whiskers but
Doesn't drink. As sometimes
I want the light on
When it is on. Or when
I saw the woman walking
toward my house and
I thought there's Frances.
Then looked in the car mirror
To be sure. She stalks
The room. She wants. Milk
Beyond milk. World beyond
This one, she cries.


by Frances Mayes
American Poet
1940 -

Easter Sunday, April 25, 1943

Dietrich Bonhoeffer had been arrested just days before.  He didnt think he'd be there long.  But ended up being there for two years before being hanged by Hitler's posse on April 9, 1945.

Here's a quote from his writings that tell us how he viewed his position that day.

"One of the great advantages of Good Friday and Easter Day is that they take us out of ourselves, and make us think of other things, of life and its meaning, and of its suffering and events. It gives us such a lot to hope for."

Here's a link to my review of a recent biography.


Here's a link to a free download of the Easter Story.


Listen and believe!

For a Time of Sorrow

Sorrow is one of the things that are lent, not given.
A thing that is lent may be taken away;
A thing that is given is not taken away.
Joy is given.
Sorrow is lent.

We are not our own, we are bought with a price (I Cor 6:19-20).

"And our sorrow is not our own." (Samuel Rutherford said this a long time ago.)  It is lent to us for just a little while that we may use it for eternal purposes.  Then it will be taken away and everlasting joy will be our Father's gift to us.

The Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces (Isaiah 25:8)


Amy Carmichael
Edges of His Ways

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle

But women will be saved through childbearing—
if they continue in faith, love and holiness with propriety.
 I Timothy 2:15


Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy's the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother's first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow--
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission
Here upon our natal sod!
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky--
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.



William Ross Wallace
American Poet
1819 - 1881

Sonnet LXXV

One day I wrote her name upon the sand,
But came the waves and washed it away;
Again I wrote it with a second hand.
But came the tide and made my pains his prey.
"Vain man," said she, "that dost in vain assay
A mortal thing so to immortalize,
For I myself shall like to this decay,
And eke my name be wiped out likewise,"
"Not so," quod I, "let baser things devise
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame;
My verse your virtues rare shall eternize
And in the heavens write your glorious name,
Where, whenas death shall all the world subdue,
Our love shall live, and later life renew."


by Edmund Spenser
1522 - 1599

Sonnet #43, Kitchen Style

Driving into my neighborhood last evening, I noticed that a local had neatly planted and staked about a dozen tomato plants.  That's what prompted the re-posting of this delightful ode. 

How do I love thee, tomato?

Let me count the ways.


I love thee to the depth and breadth and might
My palate can reach,

when remembering out of sight


Your peak month of August, when you bear fruits of juicy Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most urgent need for a BLT, by sun or moon-light.
I love thee with abandon, as Venus might her Mars or Vulcan
I love thee purely, as surely as the summer wanes
I love thee with the passion of my appetite
Above all fruits, and with my childhood's eye of Jersey tomatoes
As if they were falling from the sky.
I love thee with a hunger I seemed to lose
With my lost innocence (and the icky mealy tomatoes of January)! I love thee with the smell,
Unlike no other in the garden, and your vine-ripened sweetness
That bring me smiles, tears, only at this time of year! -- and if the farmer's choose
I shall but love thee better after many bowls of gazpacho.


I'm not much of a gardener.  I like to think I could, if need be.  In the meantime, I'll praise the fruits of others' labor.



Photo Credit:
Myself - July 2010
Fruit compliments of a neighbor

Against the Vices of the Times

The following translation of a ballade, composed in 1386 by the prolific French writer Eustaches Deschamps, a contemporary of Chaucer, is an example of the moralizing use made of the Worthies to contrast the degenerate present with an ideal past.

If it were possible for human nature
To revive those who have turned to ashes,
The worthy Hector, Arthur, and Charlemagne,
Julius Caesar, Godfrey, Alexander,
David, Judas, and Joshua who were willing
To take so much trouble in order to conquer
And to gain honor and renown,
And were they to be brought back to life,
I believe they all would wish to die again
Thus seeing the envy of the world,
And the suffering that everyone here inflicts,
Of coveting, robbing, expropriating, and acquiring,
Of deceiving his neighbor, man or woman,
Of abandoning honor and taking up vices,
Doing evil to the good, and rewarding the wicked,
Doing disservice to the noble and generous heart
But serving and honoring the wicked,
And foolishly waging war against one another;
All the nine worthies would wish to make an end
Thus seeing the envy of the world.
It would seem a wicked thing to them
To compare time present with time past,
When honor was in the world, Sovereign
Knowledge, which made everyone understand
To love the good, and Largesse bestowed
Reward on everyone, in order to uphold valor
And loyalty, to maintain prowess:
Justice and Right held lordship.
It goes otherwise; they would all wish to perish
Thus seeing the envy of the world.

Envoy

Princes, there is no one, if he has common sense,
And knew the tyranny of the world,
Who would not wish to die directly,
Thus seeing the envy of the world.
 
 




I ran across this poem when researching *heroes* for bookclub.  We were reading Anthony  Esolen's Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child.  He decries the modern temptation to denigrate the reputation of all heroes, which tendency was also mentioned by author Eric Metaxas during the Q&A of his lecture on Dietrich Bonhoeffer.


The painting is by Giacomo Jaquerio (c. 1375 - 1453) an Italian medieval painter.

It's Time to Sleep

On Saturday I had the opportunity to hear the author of this poem speak, but not about lullabies.  More like an alarm clock, Eric Metaxas captured my attention.  Entertaining in style, authentic in message, and powerful with vision, he shared his hopes for how the life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer could impact our society for the Lord.  Metaxas has a heart for God and demonstrates it in all aspects of his work.  I 'm on a mission to read/collect all of his books, poems, essays, and writings.

"It's time to sleep, it's time to sleep,"
the fishes croon in waters deep.
The songbirds sing in trees above,
"It's time to sleep, my love, my love."
"It's time to sleep, my love."
So, go to sleep, my love.

So, go to sleep, my sleepy child,"
the tiger whispers in the wild.
The otter utters by the lake,
"It's getting hard to stay awake."
"So, go to sleep, my love."
"It's time to sleep, my love."

"Let's go to sleep, my darling love,"
so coos the sleepy turtledove.
So drones the drowsy bumblebee
inside its hive inside its tree.
"It's time to sleep, my love."
"Let's go to sleep, my love."

"I'm getting very sleepy now,"
so moos the tired milking cow.
So croaks the almost-sleeping frog
amidst the settling of the fog.
"So, go to sleep, my love."
"It's time to sleep, my love, love."

Your dreams will be arriving soon.
They'll float to you in sleep's balloon.
They'll be here when I snuff the wick,
you'd better close your eyelids quick.
So you can dream, my love.
So you can dream, my love.

And as you dream inside your sleep,
the fishes crooning in the deep, and
all the songbirds up above
will sleep and dream of you, my love,
of you, the one I love.

by Eric Metaxas


Now that you've read through the poem, listen to Sally Taylor sing it.
(daughter of James Taylor and Carly Simon).

What a perfect gift!



Image is by Nancy Tillman and borrowed from her book.

Fire and Ice

Quoted in Frances Mayes's Swan, a book recently reviewed (here) by me, Frost's poem rang a bell not only because I'd just read this fine review of Stanlis's book (link) by my college advisor, John Willson, but also because I'd been contemplating parenting (aka teaching) with the book club selection, Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great,
And would suffice.


by Robert Frost
American Poet
1874 - 1963




Adding The Poet as Philosopher to my Wish List at Amazon, I'd love to know what's on yours.

Who am I?

Posted in anticipation of a Saturday morning seminar devoted to the life of this poet who was hanged on April 9, 1945.


They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country-house.

Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As though it were mine to command.

Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equally, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?

Who am I?
They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, 0 God,
I am Thine!

by Dietrich Bonhoeffer
Lutheran Pastor/Theologian
1906 - 1945

The Gate of the Year

I first heard about this poem after watching the award-winning film, The King's Speech, and determined to remember it for posting during National Poetry Month.

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”

And he replied:
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”

So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night. And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.



So heart bestill:
What need our little life
Our human life to know,
If God hath comprehension?
In all the dizzy strife
Of things both high and low,
God hideth His intention.

God knows. His will
Is best. The stretch of years
Which wind ahead, so dim
To our imperfect vision,
Are clear to God. Our fears
Are premature; In Him,
All time hath full provision.

Then rest: until
God moves to lift the veil
From our impatient eyes,
When, as the sweeter features
Of Life’s stern face we hail,
Fair beyond all surmise
God’s thought around His creatures
Our mind shall fill.


by Minnie Haskins
English Academic
1875 - 1957



The poem, published in 1908, was part of a collection titled The Desert. It caught the public attention and the popular imagination, when Queen Elizabeth handed a copy to her husband, King George VI, and he quoted it in his 1939 Christmas broadcast to the British Empire.



The poem was widely acclaimed as inspirational, reaching its first mass audience in the early days of the Second World War. Its words remained a source of comfort to the Queen for the rest of her life, and she had its words engraved on brass plaques and fixed to the gates of the King George VI Memorial Chapel at Windsor Castle, where the King was interred.

Queen Elizabeth was also buried here in 2002, and the words of "The Gate of the Year" were read out at her state funeral.

Birthday Blessings

April is so full of family and friend birthdays (two dozen at last tally) that I'm posting this poem as a tribute to all who enjoy natal days this month ~

Instead of counting candles,
Or tallying the years,
Contemplate your blessings now,
As your birthday nears.

Consider special people
Who love you, and who care,
And others who've enriched your life
Just by being there.

Think about the memories
Passing  years can never mar,
Experiences great and small
That have made you who you are

Another year is a happy gift,
So cut your cake, and say,
"Instead of counting birthdays,
I count blessings every day!"



by Joanna Fuchs


Just wondering - do you send birthday cards? 

Email, snail mail, or voice mail ?

The Listeners


"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champ'd the grasses
Of the forest's ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Lean'd over and look'd into his grey eyes,

Where he stood perplex'd and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirr'd and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starr'd and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:--
"Tell them I came, and no one answer'd,
That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.


Walter de la Mare
English Poet
1873 - 1956


Brand new to me, de la Mare seems a bit moody but worth following.  This particular poem captured my attention just after one reading.  I am intrigued by the act of listening and non-listening, the nightime setting, and the integrity of the speaker.
 
Note to self:  For further study, remember de la Mare's interest in the imagination and his influence on writer Elizabeth Goudge.

Photo Credit:
DD#2 in Ireland

Psalm 110

A Psalm of David.

The LORD says to my Lord:
"Sit at My right hand
Until I makeYour enemies a footstool for Your feet."
The LORD will stretch forth Your strong scepter from Zion, saying,
"Rule in the midst of Your enemies."
Your people will volunteer freely in the day of Your power;
In holy array, from the womb of the dawn,
Your youth are to You as the dew.
The LORD has sworn and will not change His mind,
"You are a priest forever
According to the order of Melchizedek."
The Lord is at Your right hand;
He will shatter kings in the day of His wrath.
He will judge among the nations,
He will fill them with corpses,
He will shatter the chief men over a broad country.
He will drink from the brook by the wayside;
Therefore He will lift up His head.

Dying Christian to His Soul

VITAL spark of heav'nly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister Spirit, come away!
What is this absorbs me quite?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes; it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring!
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?



by Alexander Pope
English Poet
1688 - 1744


Photo Credit:
Sheffield Leithart
Memory Hill Cemetery
Milledgeville, GA
February 2011

A Thank-You for Friends

There are all kinds of men
Who have done me good turns,
That I still never think about,
Not for a minute;
yet if I were making up
That sort of grace,
They would all of them have
To be in it.

One man made up stories,
Another wrote verses
I found, and like,
And I read them until I knew them
Another one saw
All the things they had written,
Then, being an artist,
He drew them.

Another took wood
And a saw and some glue,
And put each of them just
In the place that would need it --
So that is the chair
Where I sit with my book
And am so much at ease
As I read it.

I'm forgetting the one
Who read tale after tale
When I was too young
To know letter from letter,
And the other who taught me them,
Till in the end
I could read for myself --
Which was better.


Rodney Bennett

Adventures of Isabel

Today read about this fearsome youngster and be challenged to take charge of your situation.

Or listen to this YouTube version and be entertained.

Or buy this illustrated volume with CD as a gift for someone special.

The last stanza is my favorite.




Isabel met an enormous bear,
Isabel, Isabel, didn't care;
The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,
The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous.
The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,
How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry.
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,
Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.

Once in a night as black as pitch
Isabel met a wicked old witch.
the witch's face was cross and wrinkled,
The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled.
Ho, ho, Isabel! the old witch crowed,
I'll turn you into an ugly toad!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry,
She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,
But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.

Isabel met a hideous giant,
Isabel continued self reliant.
The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,
He had one eye in the middle of his forhead.
Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,
I’ll grind your bones to make my bread.
Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry,
Isabel didn’t scream or scurry.
She nibled the zwieback that she always fed off,
And when it was gone, she cut the giant’s head off.

Isabel met a troublesome doctor,
He punched and he poked till he really shocked her.
The doctor’s talk was of coughs and chills
And the doctor’s satchel bulged with pills.
The doctor said unto Isabel,
Swallow this, it will make you well.
Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry,
Isabel didn’t scream or scurry.
She took those pills from the pill concocter,
And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.

by Odgen Nash
American poet
1902 - 1971

A Man may make a Remark

A Man may make a Remark -
In itself - a quiet thing
That may furnish the Fuse unto a Spark
In dormant nature - lain -

Let us divide - with skill -
Let us discourse - with care-
Powder exists in Charcoal -
Before it exists in Fire -


Emily Dickinson
American poet
1830 - 1886


Link to past Dickinson posts.

Still more of my favorite Dickinson.

Just now starting Rose MacMurray's book, Afternoons With Emily.

It's Spring!

Snapdragon, snap,
Toadstool, turn,
Pussy willow,purr,
Firweed, burn,
Black-eyed Susan, wink,
Sweet William, sing,
Forget-me-not, remember
It's Spring! Spring! Spring!

Catnip, nip,
Dandelion, roar,
Dogwood, bark,
Pitcher plant, pour,
Bee balm, buzz,
Bluebell, ring,
Jack-in-th-pulpit
Preach today,
It's Spring! Spring! Spring!



by Leland G. Jacobs
1907 - 1992
American educator


Out of town this past weekend, I missed posting a poem each day for the first few days of National Poetry Month.  Today's selection comes from a book from my childhood library (published 1964) and speaks vitality to me ~ all those action verbs perfectly describe the hustle and bustle of the blooming landscape.

Now to make sure I can identity all the flora mentioned by Professor Jacobs.

See ya 'round!

Last Word

Today the April rain
Is flecked with snow:
Soft little flakes, wind-tossed,
Run in the rain - lost -
Trying to explain
That winter should remain
Letting us know
That winter hates to go.


Leland B Jacobs


PS  Daughters in Chicago and Hyde Park both made mention of rain mixed with snow today.  Here in Georgia the skies are partly cloudy, then clearing, to end on a good note.

Book Club: Imagination Method #10

Esolen's essay Deny the Transcendent or Fix Above the Heads of Men the Lowest Ceiling of All hammers the final nail into the coffin of the child's imagination.

It explains how denying the existence of God will surely bring about suffocation.

In the first section, Esolen describes his relationship with the Family Bible.  He comes away inspired.

In the second, he describes man's relationship with art, those visible works which allow the heart to seek something beyond self and suggest worship.


In the third part of the essay, Esolen is sure that billboards line the road to Avernus and challenges the reader to ignore the sirens of the enemy.

Overall, Esolen is right.

He speaks from a position of authority:  a college English professor who comes into contact with a large number of young adults.  I think he has a pretty good grip on how well modern-day parents have prepared their offspring for the responsiblities of 21st-century adulthood.

We should heed his warnings, apply his methods, and share his message.


But Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child is an unusual parenting manual.

Would you give it as gift to new parents?

How will you apply Esolen's solutions?

What will you do with this book?



If nothing else, consider reading all of Cindy's commentaries.  She hosted the online book club for this title and always included practical applications of Esolen's high brow references.

Book Club:  Imagination #9

Nearing the end of Anthony Esolen's parenting manual, Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child, I have not tired of his exhortations, but I continue to wonder about his audience.

Distract the Child with the Shallow and Unreal or The Kingdom of Noise subtitle speaks volumes, but I learned about these vices from my parents, not from reading books or poetry.  I tried to model and teach the counter habits to my children in an effort to combat the ill effects of a life lacking discipline.

What are they?

Learning to be quiet.
Learning to to sit still.
Developing right relationships.
Exercising self control with TV, radio, etc.

My favorite quote from this chapter has many applications.

Television doesn't merely spend the time, it spoils the time it doesn't spend.

Just insert a different media (or person/celebrity) for the word *television* and you can cover the gamut of popular electronic devices (and riff raff) that comprise the Kingdom of Noise.

But that's not new.

Here's a link to a poem written in 1948 by Phyllis McGinley who decries the demise of the dinner hour ~

a perfect segue another pet peeve:  hopping up and down from the dinner table.

If a youngster cant sit still for a 30-minute family meal, then I take note.  But I doubt that anyone reading my blog has that problem, since all y'all's offspring sit still for church, circle time, and car rides.

But can s/he be quiet and listen? 

My mother continues to have occasion to remind me of these good habits.  I admit to being a poor listener and do try and withhold my opinions and hear what the other people has to say first.  But it continues to be an effort.  I have created more problems for myself by forgetting that God gave me two ears and one mouth..... for a reason!

When my children were very young, just going to church provided an opportunity to practice what I was preaching at home.  Our congregation favors family worship, encouraging us to keep our babies, toddlers, and young with parents during the service, albeit on the back row - close to the door ;-)   So, in that space of time, we practiced silence, hands folded in lap, keeping still, using our ears, and facing forward.  Thankfully, our church is small enough that the preacher is not projected onto a screen, imitating television.  The habits there formed have translated well as our children matured.

Finally, the habit of developing right relationships continues to be an area where we can advise our children.  It covers a lifetime and I truly approve of Esolen's perspective here.  Family connections trump social associations on many fronts, and certainly long term. Here's a link to the first article I ever read by Esolen:  Dozens of Cousins.  Family reunions are high on my list of important events.  These people are mysterious portals.  Don't be afraid to walk through.

Lastly, I leave you with a challenge.

Here's a link to Anthony Esolen's contact information.

His birthday is Friday, March 18th.

He'll be 52.

Make a connection.



Bonus Link to DD#1's recent voice recital ~

Fashion on Friday

Color is popping up all over the gray landscape now that we're just days before the official start of Spring ~

Pantone's Palette comes to mind as I see

yellow forsythia

coral quince

pink magnolias

and that luscious

honey-colored beeswax

home to our friendly pollinators.




But it is still cold.

And wet.

So, I'm dressing warmly in light-colored turtlenecks wrapped with this sheer, multi-colored cotton scarf compliments of Spartina 449.

The blue rain coat is 30 years old and perfect for this time of year.

100% nylon made by Tote, this knee-length poncho washes well, takes up next to no room in the closet, and never goes out of style.

It will always remind me of Charleston, SC where I bought it in 1981.

The heavy coats and dark jackets are put away despite the lingering chill.

Be gone winter doldrums!!

Book Club:  Imagination Method #8

Despite the two dimensional nature of this popular story-book character, Flat Stanley seems to be able to enjoy an adventurous and happy life.

He has lots of friends whom he visits via snail mail ;-)

Does this protaganist stimulate the imaginations of his readers or insulate them from the wonders of the world?

How does reading literature replete with personalities large and small contribute to the healthy development of the human mind?

That is the big question being answered by Professor Anthony Esolen in his ever insightful indictment of modern educational and parenting styles, Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child.

Albeit with books more high-brow than the Flat Stanley series.

Ten weeks into Cindy's Online Book Club discussion we readers are well-versed in Esolen's methodology of comparing and contrasting old-fashioned values with new-fangled ones, hoping to be encouraged by his vision.

Method #8 essay, Level Distinctions between Man and Woman or Spay and Geld, is no different.  Esolen quotes poetry (Milton and Frost), reminisces about his own childhood/schooling (catholic/parochial), and cites historical examples (Michaelangelo and guilds) to undergird his position for maintaining distinctions, especially between boys and girls.

In French, that would be vive la difference!

Paraphrased in English, I'd say that Esolen is in favor of discrimination.

Which is a good thing.

How does that translate into your schooling and everyday living?




Bonus Link:  Read my review of The Norton Book of Friendship

Book Club:  Imagination Method #7

Basically, I couldnt agree more with Anthony Esolen in this chapter, Reduce All Talk of Love to Narcissism and S*x or Insert Tab A into Slot B.

While I dont have any poetry or book selections to bolster the position,

I do think the following quote from our second president is noteworthy, even crucial to effective parenting;

and it applies to the third section of this week's book club assignment, Brave New Family.


In his autobiography, John Adams stated that the strength of a nation rests to a large extent on the morality of its women.  He said that men are likely to be lax in morals and women must set the moral tone of society*:

From all that I had read of History of Government, of human life and manners, I had drawn this Conclusion, that the manners of Women were the most infallible Barometer, to ascertain the degree of Morality and Virtue in a Nation.

All that I have since read and all the observations I have made in different Nations, have confirmed me in this opinion.

The Manners of Women, are the surest Criterion by which to determine whether a Republican Government is practicable, in a Nation or not.

The Jews, the Greeks, the Romans, the Swiss, the Dutch, all lost their public Spirit, their Republican Principles and habits, and their Republican Forms of Government, when they lost the Modesty and Domestic Virtues of their Women.

The foundations of national Morality must be laid in private Families.

In vain are Schools Academies and universities instituted, if loose Principles and licentious habits are impressed upon Children in their earliest years.

The Mothers are the earliest and most important Instructors of youth....

The Vices and Examples of the Parents cannot be concealed from the Children.

How is it possible that Children can have any just Sense of the sacred Obligations of Morality or Religion if, from their earliest Infancy, they learn that their Mothers live in habitual Infidelity to their fathers, and their fathers in as constant Infidelity to their Mothers.

So, fellow book clubbers, this is the reason that we should care whether our young people retain a sense of modesty (or regard for dignified propriety of behavior, speech, dress), such as they might feel in the presence of something mysterious or holy. (Esolen pg, 177)

It's called *decorum*

Added later ~
I did think of a book that relates to this chapter.... in an imaginative sort of way  ;-)
Here's the link to If Everybody Did.


*John Adams
as quoted in Christianity and the Constitution
by John Eidsmoe
Baker Book House, 1987, p. 272,
which source is Diary and Autobiography of John Adams
ed. L.H.Butterfield, Belknap/Harvard, 1962, IV:123



Imagination & Art:Neun Gute Helden

Nine statues grace the old city hall building (south side-link see last paragraph) in Cologne, Germany and stand tall in their contribution to the development of the ideal hero.  Sculpted in the 13th century these valiants are the earliest known representations of a group of champions who best personified the ideals of chivalry as described by Jacques de Longuyon in the French epic poem, Vows of the Peacock.

Worthies (link to poem) is the label assigned to these select historical, scriptural, mythological or semi-legendary characters  who were identified in the Middle Ages to represent all facets of the perfectly chivalrous warrior.

The study of the life of each would thus form a good education for the aspiring young man because as a team they exemplified all the moral virtues and courage necessary for soldiership.

This artwork ties directly into my current book club selection, How to Destroy The Imagination of Your Child, where the author Anthony Esolen supplies the reader with a host of books, novels, epics, tales, and narratives which, if read, will inform (NOT destroy)  the imagination and prepare it for a life of service.

Allow me to introduce the Worthies who compose a triad of triads true to medieval symmetry ~

Hector
Alexander the Great
Julius Caesar


Joshua
David
Judas Maccabeus


King Arthur
Charlemagne
Godfrey of Bouillon

The first triad is pagan;  the second represents Old Testament Jews, and the third Christian princes.

May the literature inspired by these personages act as refreshing gargoyles spilling stimulating springs of ideas into the hearts and minds of our up-and-coming generation of heroes.

And thanks to Cindy for hostessing this fun online book club and for having the insight to choose such a worthy volume.

Bonus Link ~

Read about Millais' Boyhood of Raleigh

Book Club: Imagination Method #6

Unstoppable

Am I reviewing Method 6 in Anthony Esolen's Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child (book club link)

or

Am I promoting the new movie which demonstrates heroism in action?

Does the titular adjective refer to an overactive imagination which capitalizes on flippancy, sarcasm, and derision?

Or the paradoxical resolution of the movie's name?

There is certainly enough dynamite in the film to blow mountains of heaped-up conformity and dullness sky-high.

Yet in Esolen's essay Pottering the Puny he eschews modern media and points us to the victories found in an host of ancient and historical literary superheroes, all of whom capture the imagination but not all of whom spring from Biblical standards.

The professor's methodologies provide significant insight into the proper application of these stories into our daily lives and the lives of our students,  making them more suitable than modern day versions.

And that is good, but not all.

Booker T. Washington (1856-1915), American educator, author, orator, and political leader provides an alternate definition of hero.

On the battlefield, when surrounded and cheered by pomp, excitement, and admiration of devoted comrades, and inspired by strains of martial music and the hope of future reward, it is comparatively easy to be a hero, to do heroic deeds.


But to uphold honor in ordinary circumstances, to be a hero in common life, that is a genuine achievement meriting our highest admiration.

Now those words epitomize heroism and capture faith-in-action for me.

Doing everything as unto the Lord (Col 3:23) and being a part of that gathering of the saints (Matt 23:31)  leave every other notion in the dust.  For is hero a Biblical term?

Does my favor for Booker T's summary mean I've fallen prey to the post-modernists who putate heroic equality?

Does upholding honor in ordinary circumstances trump a one-time, fortuitous rescue?

Frank and Will (main characters in the movie) were real, the situation plausible.

So, what is the difference?

It is admirable to have heroes and read about them, but your life is not doomed if you do not.  It is more necessary to know how to size men up and wield a proper weapon.  Thankfully, Esolen uses one example who is all about presenting the gospel (pg 144) and another which points to The Type, Our Savior, Jesus Christ. (pg 147)

The apostle John shares the secret to being heroic in I John 2: 14 (emphasis mine)

I have written unto you, fathers, because ye have known Him that is from the beginning. I have written unto you, young men, because ye are strong, and the word of God abideth in you, and ye have overcome the wicked one.

Esolen understands this and calls us to arms (link to 2008 merecomments).

The holy catholic church, as the Body of Christ, is as always the first defender and last bastion of truth, goodness, and beauty in the God's world. Having preserved the Gospel of Christ in its fullness through the vagaries and degradations of countless heresies, the Church is now facing, quite possibly, the most significant and far-reaching heresy since the Arian controversies - the widespread rejection of revealed Truth and apostolic authority by the majority of the world's population as well as millions of the so-called "faithful."

The gross libertinism of the elite; the vague gnosticism and casual self-indulgence of the many, the willful indifference to the carnage of the innocent. It is the same old story.


So let us gird up our loins, welcome any allies who will join us in the rejection of evil, and armed with the assurance of ultimate victory, meet the enemy with the weapons of truth, courage, fidelity and love.


Thanks be to God for the joy of battle and the endurance of the church militant.


Onward, Christian Soldier!

That's why I'm keep writing about this book and relating it to my ordinary life.


But I do wonder if Unstoppable would make it into Esolen's Netflix queue?

Fashion on Fridays

Temperatures have been gradually climbing this week, now boasting 70 degrees on this Winter Day.

Hence my thoughts turn to the Pantone color palette which I will use to help organize the closet/wardrobe for this coming Spring and Summer.

Today I know better than to dress like it's going to be warm outside.  The fact that the temperature may reach 70 degrees this weekend really only means that the mercury hits that number for one second at three o'clock in the afternoon and then starts dropping again.

So, dont be fooled.

Bring along the coat and scarf as you plan to get outside for that long overdue walk.

Where are you going?

Here I am on Tobler Creek Trail at Andalusia Farm in Milledgeville, GA.  More trails pictures at this link.

What are you wearing?

Still enjoying my favorite color, Turquoise (aka Peapod), which won the 2010 Pantone Color of the Year.

The turtleneck is lavender.

The plaid scarf (barely seen) is purple, pink, and lavender.





Tomorrow I hope to make it down to the Atlanta Botanical Garden for their orchid exhibition.  Lots of walking there, especially the Canopy Path!


Warning ~  Before you act on my Fashion Advice....

Caveat Emptor (Buyer Beware) - Saddle Oxfords have been some of my favorite shoes, like Flannery O'Connor's whose artwork I'm highlighting this week in my Fine Art Friday post here.

Doggone this Golden Slipper Contest!  Now we have to wear saddle oxfords.



Published (2010) in The Cartoons of Flannery O'Connor at Georgia College.

One by One

Book Club Moderator and Virtue-Ordering Mother-Extraordinaire, Cindy asserted yesterday that poetic knowledge trumps the educational trick and better prepares the student for life.

While I dont believe Cindy thinks that math/science should be ignored in the curriculum, I do want to challenge all of us to remember that the poetic exists in those realms as well.

As we read through Anthony Esolen's methodologies (link to Mirus review) for reviving our own imaginations (the only way to keep from destroying those of our children) allow me set before you the advice of one who wielding his weapon did do battle with the times and can help us sharpen our own swords.

Meet the Sage of Mecosta ~ Russell Amos Kirk.

In his autobiography, The Sword of the Imagination, Dr Kirk explains that there is not one sword of imagination, but five!  The historical, political, moral, poetic, and prophetic.

If I may borrow from Gleaves Whitney's ISI book review,

• Leaders need the historical imagination to understand what humankind has been.
• They need the political imagination to know what humankind can do in community.
• They need the moral imagination to discern what the human person ought to be.
• They need the poetic imagination to perceive how human beings can best use their creative energies.
• They need the prophetic imagination to divine what human beings will be, given the choices they make.

Cindy's blog name Ordo Amoris (ordering of affections) is a throwback to Augustine's definition of virtue, whick Kirk addresses as well.

This ordering or prioritizing (my word) shows itself in different civilizations which Kirk traced in his book, Roots of American Order.  We Americans have been privileged to inherit the ordering of the soul from the Hebrews, the ordering of the minds from the ancient Greeks, the ordering of polity from the Romans, the ordering of law from the English, and last but most important, the ordering of LOVE from Christ (Christians).

Now with that background, let's be on our mission of redeeming the time with our young (potential) leaders.

What are yours reading today?




Photo Credit: Julie Robison
Family Heirloom Sword
situated above the mantel at
Piety Hill, Mecosta, MI
home of Russell and Annette Kirk

Dr John Willson (seated before the fireplace in above photo) is giving a short lecture about this knight errant to Hillsdale College students who made a pilgrimmage Kirk's ancestral home last Spring.

Today, however, here's a link to what you should be reading: Dr Willson's exhortation for recovery, Was There a Founding?,at e-zine, Imaginative Conservative.

Book Club:  Imagination #5 Discussion Questions


In our family "Our hero" is always followed by "Harold Ramorez." Why?

Who is Harold Ramorez?
Is he related to Epaminondas?

What is your favorite heroic epic?

Eneas Africanus by Harry Stillwell Edwards

Have you memorized this poem yet?

No

Why not?

Per Plato, my memory has been destroyed and my mind is weak.
Plus I have two copies (one hardback, one paperback) and it's available to you to read online.


In competition with Sir Walter's lofty lines,
I propose Randolph of Roanoke by John Greenleaf Whittier ~

All parties feared him: each in turn
Beheld its schemes disjointed,
As right or left his fatal glance
And spectral finger pointed.
Sworn foe of Cant, he smote it down
With trenchant wit unsparing,
And, mocking, rent with ruthless hand
The robe Pretence was wearing.

Too honest or too proud to feign
A love he never cherished,
Beyond Virginia’s border line
His patriotism perished.
While others hailed in distant skies
Our eagle’s dusky pinion,
He only saw the mountain bird
Stoop o’er his Old Dominion!


What do Yeats, Walter Scott and Flannery O'Connor have in common?

Piety of Place  ~

I'm on a mission to find out why Mary Flannery named her place *Andalusia.*
This link to the farm website states that the O'Connors called it *Sorrel Farms* until they realized the original owners/family had named it *Andalusia.*


In A Good Man is Hard to Find did you feel badly about what happened to the grandmother?

Frankly, I was totally taken aback by the story, having never wanted to read it again.   But after perusing some of O'Connor's non-fiction, now I understand that she was purposefully trying to shock the reader.  I still question her approach (I am still turned off by her characters) and turn to Mark Twain's advice for comfort ~

Truth is stranger than Fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possiblities.  Truth is not.


Even though a lot of people from Florence, Italy are apparently in Hell, why do we still desire to visit that city?

Because Tony Esolen is lead guide for the tour.

How does this chapter relate to what is currently happening in Egypt?

If I stretch my imagination, I'll guess that some Egyptians are acting on feelings of patriotism.   But I'm rather suspicious of the situation and like to read alternative news sources.  One article suggests that a MLK comic inspired some.  Another suggests that the uprising started after a young girl's speech.


Questions inspired by the imagination of book club moderator and writer extraordinaire, Cindy.

Join the discussion!

Book Club:  Imagination Method #5

How-to books can be annoying oversimplifications for negotiating life, but not Anthony Esolen's Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child.

Chapter after chapter he guides us through a wide variety of literature and shows us how it applies to every day lives.

Continuous critical and damaging remarks on persons, places, and things have altered not only the literal landscapes of our country, but also the literary places of our imaginations.

Esolen is heroic in his efforts to help us remember, recognize, and realize.

With copious examples from literature, Esolen directs the focus of  parents to four areas:  the gathering of communities (holidays), honoring our elders (heroes), loving the land (terra firma), and remembering history (genealogy).

Frankly, when I was reading some of these epics and stories in high school and college, I struggled just to grasp the surface meanings.  It was in French that I read portions of La Chanson de Roland, in Latin that I read the Aeneid.  I thought Flannery O'Connor was weird (kinda still do) and that poets are difficult to understand (some still are).

This past Saturday I took a field trip with DD#3, one of her college friends, and one of my nephews.  We three visited Andalusia Farm (Mary Flannery's homestead) in Milledgeville, GA, walking all over the property, visiting O'Connor's grave, and attending mass at her family church (Sacred Heart).

First, we set the tone by eating together (link to Blue Willow).

Thankfully, imaginations can be revived.

Book Club:  Imagination Method #4

It destroys memory
and weakens the mind,
relieving it of the work
that makes it strong.

It is an inhuman thing.

What is it?



Just like Plato lamented the use of the stylus during his lifetime, Anthony Esolen makes a valiant case against exposing ourselves to the synthetic light emanating from the GNAC, whether it be an LED or a neon billboard.

Sound bites, cliches, spin, or propaganda, Esolen gives us example after example of how truth has been corrupted and reading literature will keep you from falling for everything (from decay).

Just like I admired the dust jacket for Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child, this week I spent time studying the bibliography and index.  Those two sections distinguish this book, making it more useful.  But in order for our charges to be able to read and comprehend the recommended novels, we teachers must lay a solid groundwork early on in our children's schooling.

There are lots of ways to build that foundation.

Those basics never change.

But there is a host of skills that parents alone must demonstrate.

Nothing better than a cursory examination of the current state of affairs in the great USofA (link to Land of Opportunity) and watching our current leaders talk like they are living in Camelot (link to prayer b'fast analysis) proves that we are already stultified.

Please don't tell me that you dont know what I'm talking about.



Bonus Link:  (Creative Writing by Yours Truly)