Christus Victor

Resurrection hope hastens hence
on bud, breeze, and blossom
grieving rynds* banished in lilac scents.

Hark, the Easter Hymn rings haste
from its loveliest biding-place.

A lavish breach of winter's curt hard sword
an ardent repudiation of death's dark pall
the out-veining sun of the Christus Lord.



At the refectory of your loving-care
the transfiguration clarion sounds a call
that didicae** could ne're convey nor spare.

Thus, Gospel comes ensconced in Word and Deed
and the evidence is your shimmering touch:
Christus Victor, shown in a life's sown seed.

Hark, the Easter hymn rings haste
From its loveliest biding-place

by Tristan Gylberd
American poet
1954 -

Reading the blogs of George Grant and other reformed Christians, I learned of Gylberd and his poetry. But I cant find out any more information about him. If you have anything to share or know where I can secure a copy of his poetry, please leave a comment.


Photo borrowed from LauraC's blog.

rynds = rinds
didicae = ?? plural of learners or followers??

I Look at a Photograph


Child on Porch

Taken by Eudora Welty in the mid 1930's when she was working as a photographer for the Works Projects Administration in her home state of Mississippi.











Eudora Welty would be 100 years old today and wrote the poem, I Look at a Photograph, but I have been unable to read it.... yet.*

She wrote most of her poems as a young girl, the first being published in St Nicholas, a children's magazine, in 1920, at age 11. This one appears to be available in a current children's magazine, Cicada, a Cricket magazine group, the March/April 2005 issue.

While Welty is better known for her prose and photography, she did write a number of poems; and I would like to peruse a few. If you (or your library) has access to Cicada, I would appreciate receiving a photocopy of the poem.

But first, click over to my Xanga page and read my review of the acclaimed musical fable, The Shoe Bird, a delightful symphonic story, based on Welty's novella of the same title, published in 1964. I've listened to it several times over the weekend.

In the meantime, I will leave you with a short paragraph about photography from her memoir, One Writer's Beginnings.

The camera was a hand-held auxiliary of wanting-to-know.

It had more than information and accuracy to teach me. I learned in the doing how ready I had to be. Life doesnt hold still. A good snapshot stopped a moment from running away. Photography taught me that to be able to capture transience, by being ready to click the shutter at the crucial moment, was the greatest need I had. Making pictures of people in all sorts of situations, I earned that every feeling waits upon its gesture; and I had to be prepared to recognize this moment when I saw it.

These were things a story writer needed to know. And I felt the need to hold transient life in words -- there's so much more of life that only words can convey --strongly enough to last me as long as I lived.

In your family, who is the photographer, who is the story writer/teller?

Who writes poetry?




*Much later I received a copy of this poem from the library reference desk.  In fact, it is NOT written by Miss Welty, but someone who was inspired by viewing her photograph.

The Triumph of the Lamb

by Marguerite of Angouleme
11 April 1492 – 21 December 1549










Today is the 517th birthday of the author of this poem, and aside from noting that, I want to remember to study her. She was truly a Renaissance woman who not only carried out her political role at court but also devoted much of her energy and attention to spiritual matters. In 1521 she began a correspondence with Guillaume Briconnet, bishop of Meaux, who introduced her to the evangelist movement, the call for reform within the Catholic Church, and a return to the original purity of the Scriptures.

The following is only a small part of a larger poem.

Since my desire is now to celebrate
Thy triumphs, Word divine, impart to me
Such sweet accords and lofty harmonies
That no defect shall marr my song to Thee.
To sing Thy praises, Lord, is my intent
If by Thy Spirit Thou inspire my pen....
Thus, trusting, Lord, in Thy abundant grace
And knowing Thou wilt guide and lead me on,
I will begin to show the reason why
Thou first didst have compassion on mankind.



This is thought to be a portrait of Marguerite d'Angouleme,

Queen Consort to Henry II of Navarre and also the sister of Francis I, King of France.

Remember that Calvin addressed his Institutes of the Christian Religion to this king.

Oil on panel, 61.2 x 52.6cm
Jean Clouet, ca 1530
Court painter to Francis I

Walker Gallery
National Museums of Liverpool



This painting is full of symbols which may give clues to the painting's meaning. The sitter wears daisies in her hat. The French word for daisy is Marguerite. The parrot may symbolise eloquence and mean Marguerite was a good talker. The bird may also symbolise love, its green colour denoting passion.

Be sure and check out yesterday's Fine Art Friday post.

Zurbaran's painting is exquisite.

John Henry, Steel Driving Man

I hunted high and low for a poem about the Great Locomotive Chase aka Andrews Raid, which started April 12, 1862, but didnt find one. Instead I found a neat webpage with lots of other poems about trains.

From there I chose Old John Henry. Remember singing about him in grade school? I do.

Plus I thought this description of manliness might add to Cindy's discussion on Masculinity. What do you think?


John Henry was a railroad man,
He worked from six 'till five,
"Raise 'em up bullies and let 'em drop down,
I'll beat you to the bottom or die."

John Henry said to his captain:
"You are nothing but a common man,
Before that steam drill shall beat me down,
I'll die with my hammer in my hand."

John Henry said to the Shakers:
"You must listen to my call,
Before that steam drill shall beat me down,
I'll jar these mountains till they fall."

John Henry's captain said to him:
"I believe these mountains are caving in."
John Henry said to his captain: "Oh, Lord!"
"That's my hammer you hear in the wind."

John Henry he said to his captain:
"Your money is getting mighty slim,
When I hammer through this old mountain,
Oh Captain will you walk in?"

John Henry's captain came to him
With fifty dollars in his hand,
He laid his hand on his shoulder and said:
"This belongs to a steel driving man."

John Henry was hammering on the right side,
The big steam drill on the left,
Before that steam drill could beat him down,
He hammered his fool self to death.

They carried John Henry to the mountains,
From his shoulder his hammer would ring,
She caught on fire by a little blue blaze
I believe these old mountains are caving in.

John Henry was lying on his death bed,
He turned over on his side,
And these were the last words John Henry said
"Bring me a cool drink of water before I die."

John Henry had a little woman,
Her name was Pollie Ann,
He hugged and kissed her just before he died,
Saying, "Pollie, do the very best you can."

John Henry's woman heard he was dead,
She could not rest on her bed,
She got up at midnight, caught that No. 4 train,
"I am going where John Henry fell dead."

They carried John Henry to that new burying ground
His wife all dressed in blue,
She laid her hand on John Henry's cold face,
"John Henry I've been true to you."


by W. T. Blankenship
1909

The Children's Hour

BETWEEN the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day’s occupations,
That is known as the Children’s Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.


A whisper, and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.



A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
O’er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!


Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
American Poet
1807 - 1882

Link to more information about the painting.

To Keep a True Lent

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

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

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

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

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

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


by Robert Herrick
English lyric poet
1591 - 1674

The word for Lent comes from Middle English and means the *lengthening of days* or Spring.

I was wondering.

CARNIVAL OF THE ANIMALS

Forty years ago I was the recipient of a little award in my school music class. Camille St Saens' Carnival of the Animals became music to my ears because I listened over and over to the recording in an effort to *distinguish* the sounds that mimicked different animals. Now whenever I hear these notes, my ears perk up and I imagine the parade.

Last Fall on NPR I heard the following Ogden Nash poems interspersed with the music and set out to buy one. Alas, the disc is not readily available (read it costs more than I want to pay) but here's a link to some fun activities related to St Saens' Carnival.

INTRODUCTION


Camille Saint-Saens
Was wracked with pains,
When people addressed him,
As Saint-Saens.
He held the human race to blame,
Because it could not pronounce his name,
So, he turned with metronome and fife,
To glorify other kinds of life,
Be quiet please - for here begins
His salute to feathers, fur and fins.


THE LION


The lion is the king of beasts,
And husband of the lioness.
Gazelles and things on which he feasts
Address him as your highoness.
There are those that admire that roar of his,
In the African jungles and velds,
But, I think that wherever the lion is,
I’d rather be somewhere else.


COCKS AND HENS


The rooster is a roistering hoodlum,
His battle cry is cock- a- doodleum.
Hands in pockets, cap over eye,
He whistles at pullets, passing by.


THE WILD DONKEY


Have ever you harked to the donkey wild,
Which scientists call the onager?
It sounds like the laugh of an idiot child,
Or a hepcat on a harmoniger,
But do not sneer at the donkey wild,
There is a method in his heehaw,
For with maidenly blush and accent mild
The donkey answers shee-haw.


THE TORTOISE


Come crown my brow with leaves of myrtle,
I know the tortoise is a turtle,
Come carve my name in stone immortal,
I know the turtoise is a tortle.
I know to my profound despair,
I bet on one to beat a hare,
I also know I’m now a pauper,
Because of its tortley, turtley, torper.



THE ELEPHANT


Elephants are useful friends,
Equipped with handles at both ends,
They have a wrinkled moth proof hide,
Their teeth are upside down, outside,
If you think the elephant preposterous,
You’ve probably never seen a rhinosterous.


KANGAROOS


The kangaroo can jump incredible,
He has to jump because he is edible,
I could not eat a kangaroo,
But many fine Australians do,
Those with cookbooks as well as boomerangs,
Prefer him in tasty kangaroomeringues.


THE AQUARIUM


Some fish are minnows,
Some are whales,
People like dimples,
Fish like scales,
Some fish are slim,
And some are round,
They don’t get cold,
They don’t get drowned,
But every fishwife
Fears for her fish,
What we call mermaids
They call merfish.


MULES


In the world of mules
There are no rules.
(Laughing, In the world of mules
There are no rules)


THE CUCKOO IN THE WILD


Cuckoos lead bohemian lives,
They fail as husbands and as wives,
Therefore, they cynically disparage
Everybody else’s marriage


BIRDS


Puccini was Latin, and Wagner Teutonic,
And birds are incurably philharmonic,
Suburban yards and rural vistas
Are filled with avian Andrew Sisters.
The skylark sings a roundelay,
The crow sings “The Road to Mandalay,”
The nightingale sings a lullaby,
And the sea gull sings a gullaby.
That’s what shepherds listened to in Arcadia
Before somebody invented the radia.


PIANISTS


Some claim that pianists are human,
Heh, and quote the case of Mr. Truman.
Saint Saens on the other hand,
Considered them a scurvy band,
A blight they are he said, and simian,
Instead of normal men and wimian.


FOSSILS


At midnight in the museum hall,
The fossils gathered for a ball,
There were no drums or saxophones,
But just the clatter of their bones,
Rolling, rattling carefree circus,
Of mammoth polkas and mazurkas,
Pterodactyls and brontosauruses
Sang ghostly prehistoric choruses,
Amid the mastodonic wassail
I caught the eye of one small fossil,
“Cheer up sad world,” he said and winked,
“It’s kind of fun to be extinct.”


THE SWAN


The swan can swim while sitting down,
For pure conceit he takes the crown,
He looks in the mirror over and ovea,
And claims to have never heard of Pavlova.


THE GRAND FINALE


Now we’ve reached the grand finale,
On an animalie, carnivalie,
Noises new to sea and land,
Issue from the skillful band,
All the strings contort their features,
Imitating crawly creatures,
All the brasses look like mumps
From blowing umpah, umpah, umps,
In outdoing Barnum and Bailey, and Ringling,
Saint Saens has done a miraculous thingling.

The Wind

Awakened by the sound of gusting winds, I changed the poem I'd planned to highlight today. The wind will feature prominently in my weather today, ushering in much colder temperatures unseasonably cool for this time of year.

I saw you toss the kites on high
And blow the birds about the sky;
And all around I heard you pass,
Like ladies' skirts across the grass--
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!

I saw the different things you did,
But always you yourself you hid.
I felt you push, I heard you call,
I could not see yourself at all--
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!

O you that are so strong and cold,
O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!




by Robert Louis Stevenson
Scottish novelist, poet, essayist
1850 - 1894

Portrait by
John Singer Sargent


What's the weather like where you are?



PS Most dramatic April weather in my memory? April 4, 1987 - 4 inches of snow in Rome, GA. Picture may follow.... if I can find it :)

Or remember the tornado that came through the campsite on April 1st, girls? What year was that?

Revising the Future


Our memory could have a past and lack only a future,

but we don't read what our forefathers wrote or read.











We select some figures, and then we fit them to our culture--
our fathers are what we make them once they're dead.
But we don't read what our forefathers wrote or read,
because we don't want to know if we believe a lie.

Our fathers are what we make them once they're dead,
and they make us in their image before we die.

Because we don't want to know if we believe a lie,
we design committees to transmit the truth,
and they make us in their image before we die;
we build them schools so they can also shape our youth.

We design committees to transmit the truth.
They are guiltless. They just believe what they've read.
We build them schools so they can also shape our youth,
and children have no reason to oppose how they're led.

They are guiltless. They just believe what they've read--
our fabricated heroes always do what they're told,
and children have no reason to oppose how they're led;
consequences always follow the ideas we hold.

Our fabricated heroes always do what they're told--
we select some figures, and then we fit them to our culture.
Consequences always follow the ideas we hold--
Our memory could have a past and lack only a future.

by Michael Minkoff, Jr
Christian School Teacher

Additional information:

This poem is a pantoum and was recently published in The Counsel of Chalcedon, ministry magazine of Chalcedon Presbyterian Church, Cumming, GA

Here's a link to MsRogers English Room/Poetry site with 30 different formats for writing your own poetry. I have a strong memory of trying to write a limerick in elementary school. That may explain my fondness for Ogden Nash, but thankfully no extant copy of my creativity remains.

I love this example of concrete poetry entitled Forsythia.

And the only other format I've completed is the list poem.

Here's my example.

Are you a poet?

Vernal Sentiment

Though the crocuses poke up their heads in the usual places,

The frog scum appear on the pond with the same froth of green,

And boys moon at girls with last year's fatuous faces,


I never am bored, however familiar the scene.




When from under the barn the cat brings a similar litter, -
Two yellow and black, and one that looks in between, -
Though it all happened before, I cannot grow bitter:
I rejoice in the spring, as though no spring ever had been.



Theodore Roethke
American (Michigan) Poet
1908 - 1963


This year I am taken with the color contrast between the purple redbuds and the greenness of the budding trees. It explains how/why those two colors look good together in my wardrobe. But I didnt figure it out on my own. Artist daughter told me.









What colors are drawing your eyes?

The Calf Path

Experiencing a resurgence in popularity, this poem is making appearances in speeches (recited from memory by Judge Roy Moore), books (Pagan Christianity by Frank Viola), and blogs (BuriedTreasureBooks and others). It is not Foss's most well-known, that's The House by the Side of the Road, but it is worthy of sharing because of its commentary on the herd mentality.

Initially, on that first trip home, I suspect the herdsman led the calf directly. The obvious lesson for me then is to find the herdsman and make our paths straight (Prov 3:5-6).

On the civil front, I learned how to keep the path straight from the legislator highlighted on my Xanga page. He would have been 74 yrs old today. And he was no fool.

One day thru the primeval wood
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail, all bent askew,
A crooked trail, as all calves do.
Since then 300 years have fled,
And I infer the calf is dead.
But still, he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.

The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way.
And then, a wise bell -weathered sheep
Pursued the trail, o'er vale and steep,
And drew the flocks behind him too
As good bell-weathers always do.
And from that day, o'er hill and glade
Thru those old woods, a path was made.

And many men wound in and out,
And dodged, and turned, and bent about,
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because 'twas such a crooked path,
But still they followed, do not laugh,
The first migrations of that calf.
And thru the winding woods they stalked
Because he wobbled when he walked.

This forest path became a lane
That bent, and turned, and turned again.
This crooked lane became a road
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet,
The road became a village street.
And this, before men were aware,
A city's crowded thoroughfare.
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis.
And men, two centuries and a half
Trod the footsteps of that calf.

Each day a hundred thousand route
Followed the zig-zag calf about,
And o'er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf, near three centuries dead.
They followed still his crooked way
And lost one hundred years per day.
For this such reverence is lent
To well establish precedent.

A moral lesson this might teach
Were I ordained, and called to preach.
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf paths of the mind,
And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track,
And out, and in, and forth, and back,
And still their devious course pursue
To keep the paths that others do.

They keep the paths a sacred groove
Along which all their lives they move.
But how the wise old wood gods laugh
Who saw that first primeval calf.
Ah, many things this tale might teach,
But I am not ordained to preach.



by Sam Walter Foss
American Poet and Librarian
1858 - 1911

The Day Before April

The day before April
Alone, alone,
I walked in the woods
And sat on a stone.

I sat on a broad stone
And sang to the birds.
The tune was God's making
But I made the words.

by Mary Carolyn Davies


Just wondering if y'all are all ready for National Poetry Month?

I couldn't wait so I highlighted one today here and over on my Xanga site.

Photo is of Sixes Mill, where I will be taking my walk this afternoon. For the purpose of *truth in advertising*, I should tell you that it is cloudy and overcast today - not sunny like in the picture.

Update:
Rain drops were falling at 6p when I was ready to walk, so I'm postponing this excursion for Thursday.

Bumblebees



Carpenter Bee

Notice the white triangle on his head.






Some call him the Wood Boring Bumblebee.

I've heard they dont sting





In this picture borrowed from Flickr,









the photographer calls the insect a white-faced bumblebee.

I cant really see the white.

He's gathering nectar.

What makes him *white*?


I'm confused.

Are there lots of white-faced bumblebees out there?

I want to be able to identify them.


Any suggestions?

Rebecca Sue Earnest, R. I. P.



















Becky died early this morning and I thought my girls might like to see this happy photograph of her. We were picking her up for school that day in late February 1991: Grandparents' Day at The Heiskell School.

She was always delighted to be our honorary grandmother, since she had never married and not had any children of her own. She would have been 91 on her next birthday, May 31st.

A reader and a leader in her own right, she regaled us with many stories about growing up in Atlanta and being the first female air traffic controller at the airport.

Here's a link to one of the last family gatherings with the girls.

Fittingly, this afternoon I'm attending the Cherokee Community Chorale's performance of John Rutter's Requiem.

I think Becky would have enjoyed it, too.

Fine Art Friday















Leo X by Raphael
Oil on Panel 60.6 x 46.9 in
1518 - 1519
Galleria degli Uffizi

This painting came to my attention while I was reading an interesting article by the outrageously liberal Camille Paglia. And in light of my comments about art opening doors (good for teaching purposes), I'm posting this artwork because I remember the intrigue, but I didnt know Raphael was commenting on it.

Paglia pins Leo for dividing Christianity. His ego would have appreciated that. But I'm not sure he deserves that much credit.

If you'd shown me this painting, I wouldnt have recognized the Pope.

Not sure I would recognize the current one either, except for his garb and entourage.

But I am trying to pick familiar faces out of this recent painting by three Chinese artists. See Shirley Temple?

How many do you recognize?

Orange Roses





Still having fun tying scarves in different ways, I'm wearing this one today. I had to go back and rewatch Big Mama in order to remember how to make that knot.







The orange is significant because I like to talk about my Protestant (Scotch-Irish) heritage and counterpoint the green-loving Irish Catholics... on this man-made, Hallmark holiday.

Sounds a little rebellious, huh?

Just a little.

How are you celebrating St Patricks Day?














This year's reading assignment is Chapter 2: Domestic Life of the Lowland Scot.

Quotes to follow :)

Dinner Menu - Late Winter


Here's what I'm thinking for after church tomorrow

And how it turned out.








Bloody Mary Pot Roast (Venison)
Corn Casserole
Steamed Cauliflower
Sweet Peppers 'n Onions

Garlic Bread

Gallo Merlot
Iced Tea


Ghirardelli Chocolate Cake
Coffee


It's raining and chilly here today. Although Spring is trying to appear in the form of blooming daffodil bulbs and bradford pear trees, I have to remind myself that it is still Winter. Easter is four weeks hence. We're bound to have crazy weather until then.

Time for Saturday chores.

See ya 'round!

Fashion on Friday


I'm really sticking my neck out here...

Giggle.

The big question?

Should I have photographed the necklace by itself on black velvet?

Or given you this glorious shot of my 50-year-old neck?

Nora Ephron, here I come honey!




Actually the issue at hand is to prepare my wardrobe for Spring and Summer and in my effort throw off the winter doldrums, I wore this statement necklace earlier this week.

I bought it about five years ago at a jewelry party and find that it makes certain outfits really standout. I doubt there's another exactly like it, but you will see in the stores now a plethora of big jewelry.

Wear some.

Accessorize.

It will make you feel better.




PS Just to give you encouragement and let you know that you can wear a something like this even if you're staying at home all day.... the cutest rendition of the style I've seen lately? A middle-aged women wearing jeans, a turquoise zip-up sweatshirt, with a colorful, beady necklace.

Just do it!

Take a picture, too.

Where Do We Go From Here?
Chapter Eleven
All God's Children and Blue Suede Shoes

Mapping out the long and winding road through popular culture, author Ken Myers addresses all the groups affected by the trends of popular culture and challenges them to action.




The intellectuals, the parents, the teachers, the industry workers, and finally church leaders - all are called to understand the nature of culture (popular, folk, and high) making sure that their views are consistent with the context in which God created it.

Is it a mad dash?

No, I dont think so. I identify with the turtle in the fable: slow, plodding, determined steps toward the finish line.

Dash toward what?

I am free to engage with the people and institutions around me because as a born-again believer my affections are rooted in Christ's culture (kingdom). I must seek protection from Him and regularly at that. Then and only then will the idolatrous culture not rule my life.

Myers states that

one can enjoy popular culture without compromising Biblical principles as long as one is not dominated by the sensibility of popular culture, as long as one is not capitvated by its idols.

Engaging the culture on all fronts is the key that starts the cars we're driving on this long and winding road. Christians cannot and should not avoid certain arenas on the pretext that they are ungodly.

I'm using the Bible as my road map.

What are you using?

Nine in 2009

Seems like a good day to revisit some New Year's Resolutions and see how I'm doing. One of the things I like about blogging (and categorizing my entries) is that it really makes it easier to check up on myself.



Sometimes it's difficult to stay focused.


For a couple of years I have read and contemplated Doug Phillips' year-end assessment. His is so lengthy (albeit excellent) that I have never started it other than in my mind. I do think I would have more success with his if I followed it throughout the year, creating an album that would be finished at year's end.

At any rate, here's a link to a short AJC article that I'm using this year for structure.

1) Get the family up and moving.

Not doing so great in this area, unless you count the fact that DH and I *relax* together in the evenings by NOT MOVING. Actually we have walked together as a family and now that it's staying lighter longer, I think we can work this into the schedule. In the spirit of full disclosure, I have yet to make good use of the stationary bike mentioned in this entry.

2) Give your spouse 15 minutes per day.

Since I work with DH, I think he appreciates when I dont talk to him :) No, really. The advice in this area is noteworthy: no griping during this check-in time. (I could be more careful about that.) But if I count in 5-minutes snatches, I'll bet we rack up 15 minutes with any problem at all.

3) Count your blessings.

Easy to do here. My list is long and I have no grounds for complaints. What I could do is *tell* those people more often that they are a blessing to me.

4) Reach out.

I'm on the receiving end in this arena. I have a *new* friend whom I met on Facebook! I did pay visit with an old neighbour in January; need to write that thank-you note; and have yet to clean out the closet.

5) Be optimistic.

Not a problem... I think I'm wired that way. Actually, no, I think it's a gift from God. I wake up happy and ready for each day the Lord gives me.

6) Do at least one thing each week that brings you enjoyment.

Collecting (books) and reading (fiction and non) - I carry them around with me; even if I dont have time to look at them when I'm at the office, I like knowing they're there.

See that book review in the upper right-hand corner? It's written by my favorite college history professor and prompted me to buy Dr Kirk's book.

7) Take a little time to answer tough questions.

Cindy over at Dominion Family gives me the opportunity to address signficant questions. We've been discussing pop culture in an online book club.

Carol at MagistraMater always writes about interesting topics. Thanks for suffering through my comments, Carol!

Plus I've been reading Calvin's Institutes of Christian Religion - that's a real brain-teaser. Check out the site at Princeton Theological Seminary. I hope to post more about Calvin in honor of his 500th birthday (July 9th).

Per Phyllis McGinley:

Housewives deserve well-furnished minds. They have to live in them such a lot of the time!

8) Dont fall into a weight-loss trap.

I'm hopelessly trapped, weighing myself daily. I only *record* the number once per week. I know that I weigh TEN pounds more this March than I did last. There I said it! Now everyone knows!

I should have signed on with Amy at Humble Musings and dieted with that group. I'd be in much better shape. I might even be richer :)

9) Be good to your feet.

This resolution is interesting because wearing the right shoe size makes all the difference in the world. About five years ago, a good friend mentioned that she'd purposefully gone up a size, with amazing results.

With walking as my exercise, I've never experienced knee pain (hip or back either), but I routinely moan about my feet. Even with no regular pounding during this past winter, my right heel continues to hurt. That means I need to do more stretching exercises (per DH-MD).

And... time to schedule a pedicure ...

So I'll be ready for some new peep-toed shoes!