As I recently reread Anthony Trollope’s Barchester Towers I
commented to my husband that one could use the events of the novel to
argue for why the Catholic Church should not have married priesthood be
the norm. The novel tells of the conflicts within the Anglican hierarchy
of the fictional cathedral town of Barchester set in the fictional
English county of Barsetshire in the mid-19th century. It shows what a
hierarchical church looks like after nearly 300 years of mostly married
clergy running the church from the curates to the bishops. I know that a
church where the Queen is the head and the politicians appoint bishops
does not perfectly show truths about the modern Catholic Church, but we
can still learn lessons from their experience, even those expressed in
novels. (I must confess from the get-go that most of my knowledge of the
Church of England comes from my extensive reading of Victorian
literature, so bear with me.)...
Read the rest at the National Catholic Register...
Confessions of a Catholic Mom and Philosopher's Wife
Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
Saturday, July 29, 2017
NCRegister Blog: 15 Suggestions for Literature That Will Feed Your Soul
A couple of months ago I explained why
fellow mothers in my situation in life (lots of little kids, lots of
mundane tasks) should make an effort to exercise their brains through
reading books on a regular basis. And while I was targeting moms in that
post, all Christians need to take seriously the call to form our minds
and seek truth. Yet, most of us do not realize the immense value we can
draw from reading good literature in the form of novels and short
stories.
I have always been a lover of novel reading, but as my reading has been largely self-directed I have always had trouble choosing good books to read. I came across a list of novels compiled by John Senior, a great professor of the humanities, which he called “the Good Books List” in the appendix of his book The Death of Christian Culture, and it is from this list that I have drawn most of my reading choices of late. Through reading these good books I have been slowly discovering how a novel forms one’s moral sense by allowing a reader to enter into various scenarios and seeing how characters are affected by those choices. This is helpful because we can learn so much about sin and the human condition through our imaginations to help us form our consciences without muddying our souls.
Read the rest at the National Catholic Register...
I have always been a lover of novel reading, but as my reading has been largely self-directed I have always had trouble choosing good books to read. I came across a list of novels compiled by John Senior, a great professor of the humanities, which he called “the Good Books List” in the appendix of his book The Death of Christian Culture, and it is from this list that I have drawn most of my reading choices of late. Through reading these good books I have been slowly discovering how a novel forms one’s moral sense by allowing a reader to enter into various scenarios and seeing how characters are affected by those choices. This is helpful because we can learn so much about sin and the human condition through our imaginations to help us form our consciences without muddying our souls.
Read the rest at the National Catholic Register...
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
At the NCRegister Blog: Sigrid Undset and the Hound of Heaven
I recently finished reading Sigrid Undset’s The Master of Hestviken, having also read Kristen Lavransdattar and Catherine of Siena,
and I am struck once again by her ability to understand humanity. One
of the overriding themes in Undset’s works is God’s continual pursuit of
a soul to the very end. She narrates nearly perfectly the interior
state of her characters in all of their thoughts, experiences, desires,
and inability to see truth. And, since her characters are so much like
real people, they fall from grace, and live long lives of wallowing in
their sins, and fleeing from a pursuing God who wants only to love them
and to be loved in return.
The way she shows God’s continual, steady desire for humans to turn to him is reminiscent of Francis Thompson’s poem The Hound of Heaven, which begins with these lines:
I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
And ends in these:
Halts by me that footfall:
Is my gloom, after all,
Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?
'Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
I am He Whom thou seekest!
Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.'
Read more at the Register.
The way she shows God’s continual, steady desire for humans to turn to him is reminiscent of Francis Thompson’s poem The Hound of Heaven, which begins with these lines:
I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
And ends in these:
Halts by me that footfall:
Is my gloom, after all,
Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?
'Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
I am He Whom thou seekest!
Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.'
Read more at the Register.
Saturday, July 23, 2016
At the Register: John Paul II’s Advice on Using Media Well
One of the most frustrating things on a weekend night is finding something worthwhile to watch on television or a computer screen. There seem to be limitless options, but I know that most of them are not worth watching. Why would I spend that time watching something that will make me a worse person the next day?
Don’t get me wrong, relaxation and recreation are a good thing, and surely there is some moral benefit to be derived from taking in a good movie, play or book.
In fiction, we can understand and explore moral situations. We see a character make a bad decision, imagine the consequences and form our consciences against these bad decisions...
Read the rest here...
Friday, January 15, 2016
Books I Read in 2015
This post is inspired by Haley at Carrots for Michaelmas
who reviewed her reading goals from the beginning of last year and let
us know how she did. I don't really set reading goals; I just read
whatever I feel like reading, whatever M recommends, or whatever I think
I should read. Reading is my way of bettering myself and I usually do
it through literature and spiritual works.
These are the books I reread, read for the first time, and listened to while walking or running on the treadmill in 2015
Rereads:
Every pregnancy I have read the complete (completed) novels of Jane Austen.
The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien--I read this every couple of years as the whim comes, or pregnancy fatigue or new-baby fatigue requires the old and familiar reading. You know how that goes.
Father Elijah by Michael O'Brien--I read this in anticipation of the release of the sequel, which I think is out by now. I suppose we (M and I) should read the sequel.
Introduction to the Devout Life by St. Francis de Sales--My go-to spiritual reading whenever I need a reexamination of myself, cleansing of my bad habits, and fortification of my good ones.
The Divine Comedy by Dante--For some reason I thought that this would be good postpartum nursing reading. It was not, so I gave up in the 5th circle of Hell. I suppose I should finish eventually, since Hell is a dreary sort of place to stop off in.
New reads. These were ones I read for the first time in the order that I read them.
Elisabeth Leseur: Selected Writings--I started this at the beginning of the year, but never finished. She was a very intriguing and relatable modern women of the 19th and 20th century. She is a Servant of God. I liked her a lot, but I put the book down when my Christmas present arrived in late winter.
Pioneer Girl by Laura Ingalls Wilder--M got this for me for Christmas. This is a beautiful book to look at, and very interesting to read. It was more of a historical look at Laura's life, with lots of informative footnotes. It was very good, but I think I like her novels better. I also wish that she wrote more of her adult life beyond the babyhood of her children.
Consoling the Heart of Jesus by Fr. Michael Gaitley--This was recommended to me by a friend, and I read it during Lent. I found it helpful and good for praying with.
The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky--M read this in the spring, and asked me to read it. Personally, I found it to be more accessible than The Brother's Karamazov and Crime and Punishment largely because there is more conversation than interior dialogue which can make Dostoevsky extremely weighty. It also helped that M gave me all of Hans urs von Balthasars commentary on this book in his Glory of the Lord volumes. The Idiot/the clown is basically on important figure in Christian literature; he is able to be like the little children. Just read the book.
Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope--Trollope is great for what I consider "light" reading, but I am told that my light reading is not light for most people. He is one of those writers with conservative sensibilities that subtly mocks every type of person he writes about.
Martin Chuzzlewhit by Charles Dickens--I started reading this a couple of years ago because I needed a good novel and it was on the shelf. It is about as Dickens as you can get with absurd /memorable characters and way too much description. I finished it because we watched a BBC miniseries after T was born. It has about the evilest villain I have come across in Dickens, but you have to be up forknowing when to skim Dickensy verbosity if you want to get through it.
Call to a Deeper Love Letters of Sts. Louis and Zelie Martin--This is one of my favorite reads this year. I probably should be reading her letters daily for the rest of my life. Reading St. Zelie makes me a better mom and wife; it is consoling, inspiring, and so very real. And St. Louis Martin is the perfect compliment to her, though the book has over 200 of her letters and about 16 of his. If you are trying to be a holy parent and spouse, I can't recommend this enough.
In this House of Brede by Rumer Godden--This after the saintly letters was also amazing. I loved the rhythm of monastic life portrayed in this book. For me, it was also spiritually edifying.
Decline and Fall by Evelyn Waugh--Satire. Full of it, and upper class mockery. But funny. Waugh is pretty great.
Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry--I finished this in 2016. I read A Place on Earth in 2014 in which we hear of Hannah's first husband. This one is a beautiful looking back at her life and how the world has changed.
Audio Read. These are whatever I can get from the library app for free, and mostly classics/good literature that I have failed to read in my life so far. For me treadmill reading is free reading time, because I am going to exercise anyway:
War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells--I started this in middle school and never finished. An invasion of Martians is quite frightening to think about, isn't it? And I enjoyed it, though some might think it slow.
Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson--I should have been reading Stevenson instead of Babysitter's club, my whole youth. A high-quality, youth oriented story.
Little Men by Louisa May Alcott--Once again, filling in the gaps of my failure to read good books in my youth. Gotta love Alcott even if she is a bit moralistic.
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe--I kept waiting for things to go really badly, and I suppose that they did. It just was not as crushing to me as a Thomas Hardy novel.
The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton--A good book, which turned out differently than I expected.
Howards End by E.M. Forster--Recommended by a friend, and I enjoyed it a lot.
Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift--He is not exactly the most diverting while trying to get past 2 mile runs in my getting back in shape postpartum exercising. I know I am missing so many political references. Honestly, I prefer Waugh satire to Swift satire.
---
Any good books you loved in 2015?
Rereads:
Every pregnancy I have read the complete (completed) novels of Jane Austen.
- Sense and Sensibility
- Pride and Prejudice
Persuasion - Mansfield Park
- Emma
- Northanger Abbey
The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien--I read this every couple of years as the whim comes, or pregnancy fatigue or new-baby fatigue requires the old and familiar reading. You know how that goes.
Father Elijah by Michael O'Brien--I read this in anticipation of the release of the sequel, which I think is out by now. I suppose we (M and I) should read the sequel.
Introduction to the Devout Life by St. Francis de Sales--My go-to spiritual reading whenever I need a reexamination of myself, cleansing of my bad habits, and fortification of my good ones.
The Divine Comedy by Dante--For some reason I thought that this would be good postpartum nursing reading. It was not, so I gave up in the 5th circle of Hell. I suppose I should finish eventually, since Hell is a dreary sort of place to stop off in.
New reads. These were ones I read for the first time in the order that I read them.
Elisabeth Leseur: Selected Writings--I started this at the beginning of the year, but never finished. She was a very intriguing and relatable modern women of the 19th and 20th century. She is a Servant of God. I liked her a lot, but I put the book down when my Christmas present arrived in late winter.
Pioneer Girl by Laura Ingalls Wilder--M got this for me for Christmas. This is a beautiful book to look at, and very interesting to read. It was more of a historical look at Laura's life, with lots of informative footnotes. It was very good, but I think I like her novels better. I also wish that she wrote more of her adult life beyond the babyhood of her children.
Consoling the Heart of Jesus by Fr. Michael Gaitley--This was recommended to me by a friend, and I read it during Lent. I found it helpful and good for praying with.
The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky--M read this in the spring, and asked me to read it. Personally, I found it to be more accessible than The Brother's Karamazov and Crime and Punishment largely because there is more conversation than interior dialogue which can make Dostoevsky extremely weighty. It also helped that M gave me all of Hans urs von Balthasars commentary on this book in his Glory of the Lord volumes. The Idiot/the clown is basically on important figure in Christian literature; he is able to be like the little children. Just read the book.
Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope--Trollope is great for what I consider "light" reading, but I am told that my light reading is not light for most people. He is one of those writers with conservative sensibilities that subtly mocks every type of person he writes about.
Martin Chuzzlewhit by Charles Dickens--I started reading this a couple of years ago because I needed a good novel and it was on the shelf. It is about as Dickens as you can get with absurd /memorable characters and way too much description. I finished it because we watched a BBC miniseries after T was born. It has about the evilest villain I have come across in Dickens, but you have to be up for
Call to a Deeper Love Letters of Sts. Louis and Zelie Martin--This is one of my favorite reads this year. I probably should be reading her letters daily for the rest of my life. Reading St. Zelie makes me a better mom and wife; it is consoling, inspiring, and so very real. And St. Louis Martin is the perfect compliment to her, though the book has over 200 of her letters and about 16 of his. If you are trying to be a holy parent and spouse, I can't recommend this enough.
In this House of Brede by Rumer Godden--This after the saintly letters was also amazing. I loved the rhythm of monastic life portrayed in this book. For me, it was also spiritually edifying.
Decline and Fall by Evelyn Waugh--Satire. Full of it, and upper class mockery. But funny. Waugh is pretty great.
Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry--I finished this in 2016. I read A Place on Earth in 2014 in which we hear of Hannah's first husband. This one is a beautiful looking back at her life and how the world has changed.
Audio Read. These are whatever I can get from the library app for free, and mostly classics/good literature that I have failed to read in my life so far. For me treadmill reading is free reading time, because I am going to exercise anyway:
War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells--I started this in middle school and never finished. An invasion of Martians is quite frightening to think about, isn't it? And I enjoyed it, though some might think it slow.
Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson--I should have been reading Stevenson instead of Babysitter's club, my whole youth. A high-quality, youth oriented story.
Little Men by Louisa May Alcott--Once again, filling in the gaps of my failure to read good books in my youth. Gotta love Alcott even if she is a bit moralistic.
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe--I kept waiting for things to go really badly, and I suppose that they did. It just was not as crushing to me as a Thomas Hardy novel.
The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton--A good book, which turned out differently than I expected.
Howards End by E.M. Forster--Recommended by a friend, and I enjoyed it a lot.
Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift--He is not exactly the most diverting while trying to get past 2 mile runs in my getting back in shape postpartum exercising. I know I am missing so many political references. Honestly, I prefer Waugh satire to Swift satire.
---
Any good books you loved in 2015?
Friday, November 13, 2015
Seven Quick Takes, Friday, Nov. 13
1. I have not done quick takes in over a month. The thing is, they are not exactly quick to write, but I have about 30 minutes if the baby stays asleep, so I am going to give it a go.
2. A month ago, I was dying of lack of sleep. Seriously. Well, not really, but since then the baby has popped in two teeth, we did a bit of sleep training/letting him learn how to fall asleep without being bounced vigorously (yes, it was that bad). And instead of waking every 90 minutes and taking 40 to get back to sleep, he is we are getting stretches as long as 5 hours, and I am only waking most nights 2 times to nurse him. Guys, it is amazing. I feel like a person again.
3. Now that I am no longer a zombie, I am thinking a lot more clearly. When we finish a school day I can manage a chore or two before lunch rather than just staring off. When we make it to quiet time I am actually able to write things instead of a mindless Facebook experience. And we are getting at least one long nap a day out of the baby, the other one is usually not as good, but still.
4. Someone woke up.
It is tricky to type with a baby on your lap, but I am going to give it a go. Also, here you see my haircut I just got literally an hour ago. I always say two inches and add some layers and I feel like after the layers they have shorn off at least 4 inches.
5. I realized that I was getting boring back when T would not sleep as I was only and always talking about it, so I am going to really try to think of something else to write about, like how G finally got that one math concept down this week that we spent three agonizing days on and I finally asked M to explain it to her and she got it in five minutes. Or how the kids stopped screaming as much, well for like two days. My mom and dad are coming next week. I have not seen them since June, so we are pretty excited to see them. I think they are excited to see this baby who has doubled in weight since they last saw him. Oh, baby again. Sorry.
6. I finished two books in the last week. The first was Martin Chuzzlewit by Charles Dickens which was about as Dickensesque as you could want. He has a way of describing grimy, dirty places that just makes me feel icky and gritty and sometimes even nauseated. M suggested that I write about our free system of English laws, but I am not going to. Second book, the letters of Sts. Louis and Zelie Martin (A Call to a Deeper Love). It was soooo good. I am writing something up on it, so look for that soon. But really, just read it yourself, especially if you are married and a mom.
7. This week I started In This House of Brede by Rumor Godden. We found it at Loomes over Labor Day weekend, and it is beautiful so far. I like books that make me a better person, and this seems to be one of them. So were the letters. M this week finished Emma by Jane Austen and has decided that it is one of the most brilliant English language novels ever, and then he started Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace.
And that about sums up life lately, baby, homeschooling, books, and writing projects. There are few coming out soon, stay tuned...
Linking up with Kelly at This Ain't the Lyceum!
2. A month ago, I was dying of lack of sleep. Seriously. Well, not really, but since then the baby has popped in two teeth, we did a bit of sleep training/letting him learn how to fall asleep without being bounced vigorously (yes, it was that bad). And instead of waking every 90 minutes and taking 40 to get back to sleep, he is we are getting stretches as long as 5 hours, and I am only waking most nights 2 times to nurse him. Guys, it is amazing. I feel like a person again.
3. Now that I am no longer a zombie, I am thinking a lot more clearly. When we finish a school day I can manage a chore or two before lunch rather than just staring off. When we make it to quiet time I am actually able to write things instead of a mindless Facebook experience. And we are getting at least one long nap a day out of the baby, the other one is usually not as good, but still.
4. Someone woke up.
5. I realized that I was getting boring back when T would not sleep as I was only and always talking about it, so I am going to really try to think of something else to write about, like how G finally got that one math concept down this week that we spent three agonizing days on and I finally asked M to explain it to her and she got it in five minutes. Or how the kids stopped screaming as much, well for like two days. My mom and dad are coming next week. I have not seen them since June, so we are pretty excited to see them. I think they are excited to see this baby who has doubled in weight since they last saw him. Oh, baby again. Sorry.
6. I finished two books in the last week. The first was Martin Chuzzlewit by Charles Dickens which was about as Dickensesque as you could want. He has a way of describing grimy, dirty places that just makes me feel icky and gritty and sometimes even nauseated. M suggested that I write about our free system of English laws, but I am not going to. Second book, the letters of Sts. Louis and Zelie Martin (A Call to a Deeper Love). It was soooo good. I am writing something up on it, so look for that soon. But really, just read it yourself, especially if you are married and a mom.
7. This week I started In This House of Brede by Rumor Godden. We found it at Loomes over Labor Day weekend, and it is beautiful so far. I like books that make me a better person, and this seems to be one of them. So were the letters. M this week finished Emma by Jane Austen and has decided that it is one of the most brilliant English language novels ever, and then he started Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace.
And that about sums up life lately, baby, homeschooling, books, and writing projects. There are few coming out soon, stay tuned...
Linking up with Kelly at This Ain't the Lyceum!
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
9 Inspiring Married Couples in Literature Worth Emulating
I am over at Church POP today, writing about married couples in literature. This was a hard list to compile as most of my favorite novels are full of unmarried, widowed, or onesided marriages (one person good and the other not so good).
I tried to stick with classic novels or widely known novels for the list, but if you have a great example, please comment on the article.
Click on over to see the list!
9 Inspiring Married Couples in Literature Worth Emulating
Saturday, July 4, 2015
Laura Ingalls Wilder on Freedom: God is America's King
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| The South Dakota Prairie. Photo by J. Stephen Conn. In the Creative Commons. |
“Then Pa began to sing. All at once everyone was singing:
‘My country, ’tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing. …
‘Long may our land be bright
With Freedom’s holy light,
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King!’
The crowd was scattering away then, but Laura stood stock still. Suddenly she had a completely new thought. The Declaration and the song came together in her mind, and she thought: God is America’s king.
She thought: Americans won’t obey any king on earth. Americans are free. That means they have to obey their own consciences. No king bosses Pa; he has to boss himself. Why (she thought), when I am a little older, Pa and Ma will stop telling me what to do, and there isn’t anyone else who has a right to give me orders. I will have to make myself be good.
Her whole mind seemed to be lighted up by that thought. This is what it means to be free. It means, you have to be good. “Our father’s God, to Thee, author of liberty…” The laws of Nature and of Nature’s God endow you with a right to life and liberty. Then you have to keep the laws of God, for God’s law is the only thing that gives you a right to be free.”The book was published in 1941, but gave an account of the mind of a 15 year old girl in 1881. And the ideas are true. This is the kind of literature we all need to read, to remind us of the founding of our country, but also that our freedom is God-given. When we do not keep God’s laws, we are no longer free. We must remind our country that freedom is contained within God’s law, and when we do not live within His law, we are no longer free.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Ash Wednesday: A Little T.S. Eliot for You
by T.S. Eloit
Because I do not hope to turn againBecause I do not hopeBecause I do not hope to turnDesiring this man's gift and that man's scopeI no longer strive to strive towards such things(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)Why should I mournThe vanished power of the usual reign?Because I do not hope to know againThe infirm glory of the positive hourBecause I do not thinkBecause I know I shall not knowThe one veritable transitory powerBecause I cannot drinkThere, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing againBecause I know that time is always timeAnd place is always and only placeAnd what is actual is actual only for one timeAnd only for one placeI rejoice that things are as they are andI renounce the blessed faceAnd renounce the voiceBecause I cannot hope to turn againConsequently I rejoice, having to construct somethingUpon which to rejoiceAnd pray to God to have mercy upon usAnd pray that I may forgetThese matters that with myself I too much discussToo much explainBecause I do not hope to turn againLet these words answerFor what is done, not to be done againMay the judgement not be too heavy upon usBecause these wings are no longer wings to flyBut merely vans to beat the airThe air which is now thoroughly small and drySmaller and dryer than the willTeach us to care and not to careTeach us to sit still.Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our deathPray for us now and at the hour of our death.
You can read the rest here or in a book.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Learning Virtue From Jane Austen
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| This baby needs to be rebound... |
In Austen we see her heroines and heroes overcoming their natural weaknesses, and her villains succumbing to them. The villains of her stories, such as Mr. Wickham in Pride and Prejudice or Mr. Crawford in Mansfield Park, have no guidance or inclination to seek virtue, and often they are influenced by others with the same weaknesses to lead a life of vice. A character that is inclined to self-indulgence often has been raised by someone of the same character or been spoiled in their youth by a well-meaning adult. Those who overcome their weaknesses, such as Emma in Emma and Marianne in Sense and Sensibility, are encouraged to do so by a good upbringing or by another character who is self-aware enough to see the need to overcome weakness. In Austen we see these good influences in the forms of a mentor or of a romantic interest who sees more clearly the other’s faults. Clearly, one cannot form oneself in virtue alone.
Austen has very little conversation about God in her novels, and her characters' attempts to overcome their weaknesses do not include prayer. In fact, about half of her clergymen, such as the unforgettable Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice or the prideful Mr. Elton in Emma, are inclined to various vices that they do not overcome. I imagine that Austen did not want to preach to her readers, but was merely making obvious the importance of forming ones own character and the character of young people for the best.
Despite her lack of attention to the importance of prayer, her emphasis on improving upon our natural inclinations reminds me of St. Francis de Sales’ Introduction to the Devout Life. Early in this beautiful and practical spiritual work, de Sales discusses the importance of overcoming our sins so that we can become holier. He explains that the more we pray, the more we open ourselves to the guidance of the Holy Spirit
“As the Holy Spirit enlightens our conscience we perceive more clearly and distinctly the sins, inclinations, and imperfections, which hinder us in attaining true devotion. The same light which discovers to us these tares and weeds, also kindles us with the desire to cleanse and to purify our hearts from them.”If we don’t want to end up like Mr. Wickham or Mr. Crawford in Austen’s novels, we must seek a life of prayer, and in that life of prayer work to weed out our natural inclinations to evil. And while Austen does not teach us to seek God to overcome our weaknesses, she does warn us that if we do not seek to form ourselves in virtue, we will make bad choices and surround ourselves by vicious people. The only way to ensure a good life of virtue is to seek to overcome our weaknesses and seek out others who are doing the same.
Originally posted at Truth and Charity...
Monday, November 17, 2014
12 Week Update: Jane Austen and Pregnancy
It has been 5 weeks since our first trimester ultrasound, and now is our traditional time for announcing pregnancies. But you are all so lucky that we went ahead and did it early, because I love having lots of people praying for a healthy baby.
In the past five weeks I have had lots of pregnancy symptoms, but have been fortunate enough to not throw up, so that is cool.
Today I ventured out in the cold (13°F here in MN), but thankfully sunny day, with the three girls for the 12 week visit. It was the normal "tell me about your previous pregnancies" questions and normal how are things going with this one. He also seemed to think it was possible that the flutters I have been feeling are actually the baby. And we finally at the end of the appointment got to hear loud and clear the baby's heartbeat on the Doppler. That is all I really cared about today. I did not even mind having six vials of blood drawn out of my arm. And G impressed the nurse by telling her that her birthday was on the Ides of March. It was an all around good appointment. I even let the kids have suckers afterwards. And to make things better I had leftover pizza for lunch, and felt some uterine flutters while driving home.
And now I will prove to you that I am officially showing; I am pretty sure this counts. I am even isolating my transverse abdominal here, so yeah. Every baby deserves online bump pictures.
And since I found rereading C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy to be a struggle for my pregnancy brain, I am officially rereading the Complete Works of Jane Austen. M seems to remember my pregnancies better than I do, and tells me that I do this every pregnancy. Good old Jane. Maybe I will pick up on more of her virtue ethics this time around.
This 1930s complete volume and my down comforter make the perfect combination for winter reading. I just need a cup of hot tea.
P.S. I am justifying rereading my favorite books by explaining that I am listening to audiobooks during my treadmill workouts, so I am getting through new literature. (And by new I mean classics that I have not read yet.)
In the past five weeks I have had lots of pregnancy symptoms, but have been fortunate enough to not throw up, so that is cool.
Today I ventured out in the cold (13°F here in MN), but thankfully sunny day, with the three girls for the 12 week visit. It was the normal "tell me about your previous pregnancies" questions and normal how are things going with this one. He also seemed to think it was possible that the flutters I have been feeling are actually the baby. And we finally at the end of the appointment got to hear loud and clear the baby's heartbeat on the Doppler. That is all I really cared about today. I did not even mind having six vials of blood drawn out of my arm. And G impressed the nurse by telling her that her birthday was on the Ides of March. It was an all around good appointment. I even let the kids have suckers afterwards. And to make things better I had leftover pizza for lunch, and felt some uterine flutters while driving home.
And now I will prove to you that I am officially showing; I am pretty sure this counts. I am even isolating my transverse abdominal here, so yeah. Every baby deserves online bump pictures.
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| Our bedroom walls are not this bright, I promise. |
P.S. I am justifying rereading my favorite books by explaining that I am listening to audiobooks during my treadmill workouts, so I am getting through new literature. (And by new I mean classics that I have not read yet.)
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Lepanto
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| I once made this cupcake rosary (four years ago). It was pretty. |
Our main annual tradition is to read the poem Lepanto, which I leave here for your reading pleasure:
Lepanto by G. K. Chesterton
White founts falling in the courts of the sun,And the Soldan of Byzantium is smiling as they run;There is laughter like the fountains in that face of all men feared,It stirs the forest darkness, the darkness of his beard,It curls the blood-red crescent, the crescent of his lips,For the inmost sea of all the earth is shaken with his ships.They have dared the white republics up the capes of Italy,They have dashed the Adriatic round the Lion of the Sea,And the Pope has cast his arms abroad for agony and loss,And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross,The cold queen of England is looking in the glass;The shadow of the Valois is yawning at the Mass;From evening isles fantastical rings faint the Spanish gun,And the Lord upon the Golden Horn is laughing in the sun.
Dim drums throbbing, in the hills half heard,Where only on a nameless throne a crownless prince has stirred,Where, risen from a doubtful seat and half attainted stall,The last knight of Europe takes weapons from the wall,The last and lingering troubadour to whom the bird has sung,That once went singing southward when all the world was young,In that enormous silence, tiny and unafraid,Comes up along a winding road the noise of the Crusade.Strong gongs groaning as the guns boom far,Don John of Austria is going to the war,Stiff flags straining in the night-blasts coldIn the gloom black-purple, in the glint old-gold,Torchlight crimson on the copper kettle-drums,Then the tuckets, then the trumpets, then the cannon, and he comes.Don John laughing in the brave beard curled,Spurning of his stirrups like the thrones of all the world,Holding his head up for a flag of all the free.Love-light of Spain—hurrah!Death-light of Africa!Don John of AustriaIs riding to the sea.
Mahound is in his paradise above the evening star,(Don John of Austria is going to the war.)He moves a mighty turban on the timeless houri’s knees,His turban that is woven of the sunset and the seas.He shakes the peacock gardens as he rises from his ease,And he strides among the tree-tops and is taller than the trees,And his voice through all the garden is a thunder sent to bringBlack Azrael and Ariel and Ammon on the wing.Giants and the Genii,Multiplex of wing and eye,Whose strong obedience broke the skyWhen Solomon was king.
They rush in red and purple from the red clouds of the morn,From temples where the yellow gods shut up their eyes in scorn;They rise in green robes roaring from the green hells of the seaWhere fallen skies and evil hues and eyeless creatures be;On them the sea-valves cluster and the grey sea-forests curl,Splashed with a splendid sickness, the sickness of the pearl;They swell in sapphire smoke out of the blue cracks of the ground,—They gather and they wonder and give worship to Mahound.And he saith, “Break up the mountains where the hermit-folk can hide,And sift the red and silver sands lest bone of saint abide,And chase the Giaours flying night and day, not giving rest,For that which was our trouble comes again out of the west.We have set the seal of Solomon on all things under sun,Of knowledge and of sorrow and endurance of things done,But a noise is in the mountains, in the mountains, and I knowThe voice that shook our palaces—four hundred years ago:It is he that saith not ‘Kismet’; it is he that knows not Fate ;It is Richard, it is Raymond, it is Godfrey in the gate!It is he whose loss is laughter when he counts the wager worth,Put down your feet upon him, that our peace be on the earth.”For he heard drums groaning and he heard guns jar,(Don John of Austria is going to the war.)Sudden and still—hurrah!Bolt from Iberia!Don John of AustriaIs gone by Alcalar.
St. Michael’s on his mountain in the sea-roads of the north(Don John of Austria is girt and going forth.)Where the grey seas glitter and the sharp tides shiftAnd the sea folk labour and the red sails lift.He shakes his lance of iron and he claps his wings of stone;The noise is gone through Normandy; the noise is gone alone;The North is full of tangled things and texts and aching eyesAnd dead is all the innocence of anger and surprise,And Christian killeth Christian in a narrow dusty room,And Christian dreadeth Christ that hath a newer face of doom,And Christian hateth Mary that God kissed in Galilee,But Don John of Austria is riding to the sea.Don John calling through the blast and the eclipseCrying with the trumpet, with the trumpet of his lips,Trumpet that sayeth ha!Domino gloria!Don John of AustriaIs shouting to the ships.
King Philip’s in his closet with the Fleece about his neck(Don John of Austria is armed upon the deck.)The walls are hung with velvet that, is black and soft as sin,And little dwarfs creep out of it and little dwarfs creep in.He holds a crystal phial that has colours like the moon,He touches, and it tingles, and he trembles very soon,And his face is as a fungus of a leprous white and greyLike plants in the high houses that are shuttered from the day,And death is in the phial, and the end of noble work,But Don John of Austria has fired upon the Turk.Don John’s hunting, and his hounds have bayed—Booms away past Italy the rumour of his raidGun upon gun, ha! ha!Gun upon gun, hurrah!Don John of AustriaHas loosed the cannonade.
The Pope was in his chapel before day or battle broke,(Don John of Austria is hidden in the smoke.)The hidden room in man’s house where God sits all the year,The secret window whence the world looks small and very dear.He sees as in a mirror on the monstrous twilight seaThe crescent of his cruel ships whose name is mystery;They fling great shadows foe-wards, making Cross and Castle dark,They veil the plumèd lions on the galleys of St. Mark;And above the ships are palaces of brown, black-bearded chiefs,And below the ships are prisons, where with multitudinous griefs,Christian captives sick and sunless, all a labouring race repinesLike a race in sunken cities, like a nation in the mines.They are lost like slaves that sweat, and in the skies of morning hungThe stair-ways of the tallest gods when tyranny was young.They are countless, voiceless, hopeless as those fallen or fleeing onBefore the high Kings’ horses in the granite of Babylon.And many a one grows witless in his quiet room in hellWhere a yellow face looks inward through the lattice of his cell,And he finds his God forgotten, and he seeks no more a sign—(But Don John of Austria has burst the battle-line!)Don John pounding from the slaughter-painted poop,Purpling all the ocean like a bloody pirate’s sloop,Scarlet running over on the silvers and the golds,Breaking of the hatches up and bursting of the holds,Thronging of the thousands up that labour under seaWhite for bliss and blind for sun and stunned for liberty.Vivat Hispania!Domino Gloria!Don John of AustriaHas set his people free!
Cervantes on his galley sets the sword back in the sheath(Don John of Austria rides homeward with a wreath.)And he sees across a weary land a straggling road in Spain,Up which a lean and foolish knight forever rides in vain,And he smiles, but not as Sultans smile, and settles back the blade....(But Don John of Austria rides home from the Crusade.)
Source: The Collected Poems of G. K. Chesterton (1927)
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Seven Reasons Everyone Should Read C.S. Lewis’ Space Trilogy
1. Space
2. Aliens
3. Bad guys
4. Space Travel
5. Good guys
6. Space Aliens
7. C.S. Lewis
But seriously, head on over to ChurchPOP if these reasons are not good enough...
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Ash Wednesday
Ash Wednesday
By T.S. Elliot
By T.S. Elliot
Because
I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?
Because
I do not hope to know again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again
Because
I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice
And
pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us
Because
these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.
Pray
for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.
II
Lady,
three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree
In the cool of the day, having fed to satiety
On my legs my heart my liver and that which had been contained
In the hollow round of my skull. And God said
Shall these bones live? shall these
Bones live? And that which had been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this Lady
And because of her loveliness, and because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
It is this which recovers
My guts the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions
Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn
In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.
Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.
There is no life in them. As I am forgotten
And would be forgotten, so I would forget
Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said
Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only
The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping
With the burden of the grasshopper, saying
In the cool of the day, having fed to satiety
On my legs my heart my liver and that which had been contained
In the hollow round of my skull. And God said
Shall these bones live? shall these
Bones live? And that which had been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this Lady
And because of her loveliness, and because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
It is this which recovers
My guts the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions
Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn
In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.
Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.
There is no life in them. As I am forgotten
And would be forgotten, so I would forget
Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said
Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only
The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping
With the burden of the grasshopper, saying
Lady
of silences
Calm and distressed
Torn and most whole
Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving
Worried reposeful
The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end
Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied
The greater torment
Of love satisfied
End of the endless
Journey to no end
Conclusion of all that
Is inconclusible
Speech without word and
Word of no speech
Grace to the Mother
For the Garden
Where all love ends.
Calm and distressed
Torn and most whole
Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving
Worried reposeful
The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end
Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied
The greater torment
Of love satisfied
End of the endless
Journey to no end
Conclusion of all that
Is inconclusible
Speech without word and
Word of no speech
Grace to the Mother
For the Garden
Where all love ends.
Under
a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining
We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each other,
Under a tree in the cool of the day, with the blessing of sand,
Forgetting themselves and each other, united
In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye
Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity
Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.
We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each other,
Under a tree in the cool of the day, with the blessing of sand,
Forgetting themselves and each other, united
In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye
Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity
Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.
III
At the
first turning of the second stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitul face of hope and of despair.
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitul face of hope and of despair.
At the
second turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.
At the
first turning of the third stair
Was a slotted window bellied like the figs's fruit
And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene
The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green
Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.
Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,
Lilac and brown hair;
Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind over the third stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the third stair.
Was a slotted window bellied like the figs's fruit
And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene
The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green
Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.
Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,
Lilac and brown hair;
Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind over the third stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the third stair.
Lord,
I am not worthy
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only.
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only.
IV
Who
walked between the violet and the violet
Who walked between
The various ranks of varied green
Going in white and blue, in Mary's colour,
Talking of trivial things
In ignorance and knowledge of eternal dolour
Who moved among the others as they walked,
Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs
Who walked between
The various ranks of varied green
Going in white and blue, in Mary's colour,
Talking of trivial things
In ignorance and knowledge of eternal dolour
Who moved among the others as they walked,
Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs
Made
cool the dry rock and made firm the sand
In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary's colour,
Sovegna vos
In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary's colour,
Sovegna vos
Here
are the years that walk between, bearing
Away the fiddles and the flutes, restoring
One who moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing
Away the fiddles and the flutes, restoring
One who moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing
White
light folded, sheathing about her, folded.
The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher dream
While jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.
The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher dream
While jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.
The
silent sister veiled in white and blue
Between the yews, behind the garden god,
Whose flute is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke no word
Between the yews, behind the garden god,
Whose flute is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke no word
But
the fountain sprang up and the bird sang down
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard, unspoken
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard, unspoken
Till
the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew
And
after this our exile
V
If the
lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.
O my
people, what have I done unto thee.
Where
shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice
Will
the veiled sister pray for
Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,
Those who are torn on the horn between season and season, time and time, between
Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait
In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray
For children at the gate
Who will not go away and cannot pray:
Pray for those who chose and oppose
Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,
Those who are torn on the horn between season and season, time and time, between
Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait
In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray
For children at the gate
Who will not go away and cannot pray:
Pray for those who chose and oppose
O my
people, what have I done unto thee.
Will
the veiled sister between the slender
Yew trees pray for those who offend her
And are terrified and cannot surrender
And affirm before the world and deny between the rocks
In the last desert before the last blue rocks
The desert in the garden the garden in the desert
Of drouth, spitting from the mouth the withered apple-seed.
Yew trees pray for those who offend her
And are terrified and cannot surrender
And affirm before the world and deny between the rocks
In the last desert before the last blue rocks
The desert in the garden the garden in the desert
Of drouth, spitting from the mouth the withered apple-seed.
O my
people.
VI
Although
I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn
Wavering
between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings
And
the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth This is the time of tension between dying and birth The place of solitude where three dreams cross Between blue rocks But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away Let the other yew be shaken and reply.
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth This is the time of tension between dying and birth The place of solitude where three dreams cross Between blue rocks But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away Let the other yew be shaken and reply.
Blessed
sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And
let my cry come unto Thee.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Post # 201!
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| During a blogging hiatus. And this is definitely a mirror image phone "selfie"... |
I started this blog back in 2008 when I was in my second trimester with G. I had been married slightly longer than I had been pregnant, and out of college slightly longer than I had been married. A lot had happened and continued to happen as I learned how to balance kids and living. The blog was neglected for a large portion of my life in Buffalo, but towards the end of it I started writing more. Maybe I owe my deeper introspection to the move to St. Paul. When you have to restart life to some extent in a new place, it is nice to have a place to process it all. Due to my renewal of this blog, I was invited to write for Truth and Charity. I am deeply grateful to everyone at Truth and Charity for inviting me to write for them. It has been such a rewarding experience, and a challenge for me to expand my writing abilities.
I feel like that I can really call myself "a writer" now. I always wanted to be a writer. That was my plan before I discovered theology and philosophy. And since I did not make it past my masters degree before my vocation turned to wifehood and motherhood, blogging seemed the appropriate option. Thank you for all your support of my blogging. I am especially grateful to the "writer's group" from freshmen year of college, who have always been my most faithful readers. The weekly group also happens to be where M and I had the chance to get to know each other through our love of writing.
On top of our love of writing, M and I have a love of reading. When I was discussing my article about the Pope's understanding of young people becoming traditionalists, M mentioned this passage, which I will leave you with, from Brideshead Revisted by Evelyn Waugh:
So Rex was sent to Farm Street to Father Mowbray, a priest renowned for his triumphs with obdurate catechumans. After the third interview he came to tea with Lady Marchmain [Rex's future mother-in-law] ...
"Then again I asked him: 'Supposing the Pope looked up and saw a cloud and said "It's going to rain," would that be bound to happen?' 'Oh, yes, Father.' 'But supposing it didn't' He thought a moment and said, 'I suppose it would be sort of raining spiritually, only we were too sinful to see it.'
"Lady Marchmain, he doesn't correspond to any degree of paganism known to the missionaries."
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| Philosophy while parenting... kinda make you want another... |
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Seven Quick Takes--Saturday, November 23
1. And it is the weekend again already! The days just fly by with the kids and keeping house. I am really thankful for my Monday resolution, which I might need to alter to include email. I missed a few important emails during the day this week, so I think I need to allow myself a quick email check. Facebook, however, can wait until the kids are in bed.
2. G (4.5) picked out a book at the library last week about a little girl and her grandma. At the end of the book the grandma dies, and the girl discusses death and how she misses her grandma. Out of the stack of 13 books, this is her favorite to have read to her. She has not yet known anyone who has passed away, but she will someday. I don't really know if literature can prepare a little child for such a loss, but maybe it will help her understand what has happened better when she encounters it in her own life. Maybe I will follow up on the book by discussing praying for the souls of the dead.
3. I am cooking my own Thanksgiving turkey this year for the first time in my life! Our first three married Thanksgivings we were traveling, and last year our aunt and uncle cooked dinner for us in our home since I was three weeks post-partum at the time. This year my in-laws are coming to visit, and my mother-in-law and I planned the meal earlier this week. Everything but the turkey and L's birthday request of mac and cheese is going to be vegan for the benefit of M's youngest sister. However, this meal should be no problem compared to the Pate de Canard en Croute that I made Wednesday and Thursday.
4. We bought a treadmill last weekend, and it is a good thing we waited until we bought house to get something so huge and heavy! We got it safely down into the basement study with the help of M's colleague. Many thanks to him for his help! It is just in time for today's high of 18°F. If I was cool and had a smartphone I would post a screen shot of the weather forecast here.
5. In case you are wondering, I am still working my way through Crime and Punishment. I am over halfway now. Maybe I should have a two week deadline for myself. I will try to have it done by St. Nicholas day. Speaking of St. Nicholas day, when one emphasizes that with kids instead of Santa, one hears things like this from one's 4.5 year old, upon seeing Christmas displays with candy:
6. The world from the perspective of a nearly three year old gets pretty interesting. Today I found L looking out the front window at a lady walking her dog. She said to me, "That dog broke his poor little body!" I took a closer look at the dog. He was wearing a sweater. I almost did not want to explain to her that he was not in a full body cast, because it was so cute that she thought this.
7. Please take a moment to pray for a friend's (from grad school) wife and newborn baby. She just had an emergency c-section and apparently the baby is not doing well.
Linking up with Jen's Conversion Diary. Head on over for more quick takes.
2. G (4.5) picked out a book at the library last week about a little girl and her grandma. At the end of the book the grandma dies, and the girl discusses death and how she misses her grandma. Out of the stack of 13 books, this is her favorite to have read to her. She has not yet known anyone who has passed away, but she will someday. I don't really know if literature can prepare a little child for such a loss, but maybe it will help her understand what has happened better when she encounters it in her own life. Maybe I will follow up on the book by discussing praying for the souls of the dead.
3. I am cooking my own Thanksgiving turkey this year for the first time in my life! Our first three married Thanksgivings we were traveling, and last year our aunt and uncle cooked dinner for us in our home since I was three weeks post-partum at the time. This year my in-laws are coming to visit, and my mother-in-law and I planned the meal earlier this week. Everything but the turkey and L's birthday request of mac and cheese is going to be vegan for the benefit of M's youngest sister. However, this meal should be no problem compared to the Pate de Canard en Croute that I made Wednesday and Thursday.
4. We bought a treadmill last weekend, and it is a good thing we waited until we bought house to get something so huge and heavy! We got it safely down into the basement study with the help of M's colleague. Many thanks to him for his help! It is just in time for today's high of 18°F. If I was cool and had a smartphone I would post a screen shot of the weather forecast here.
5. In case you are wondering, I am still working my way through Crime and Punishment. I am over halfway now. Maybe I should have a two week deadline for myself. I will try to have it done by St. Nicholas day. Speaking of St. Nicholas day, when one emphasizes that with kids instead of Santa, one hears things like this from one's 4.5 year old, upon seeing Christmas displays with candy:
"Look, Mom! They are getting ready for St. Nicholas day!"
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| Photo by Brian Behrend. This is not the dog we saw. |
6. The world from the perspective of a nearly three year old gets pretty interesting. Today I found L looking out the front window at a lady walking her dog. She said to me, "That dog broke his poor little body!" I took a closer look at the dog. He was wearing a sweater. I almost did not want to explain to her that he was not in a full body cast, because it was so cute that she thought this.
7. Please take a moment to pray for a friend's (from grad school) wife and newborn baby. She just had an emergency c-section and apparently the baby is not doing well.
Linking up with Jen's Conversion Diary. Head on over for more quick takes.
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