tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-229276502024-03-13T12:40:57.435-07:00a light inside"in the end it mattered not that you could not close your mind. it was your heart that saved you." —j.k. rowlingJenna St.Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16528611770211261141noreply@blogger.comBlogger1187125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-4633012995555547012018-02-04T16:33:00.000-08:002018-02-04T16:33:01.979-08:00Life-Altering Adventures and other storiesWith the fall of Google Reader now in the distant past, technologically speaking, I'm not sure if anyone will see this auld blog's resurrection post. But the blog and its readers have come to my mind often in the two years and some since my last post. Some updates seem merited.<br />
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Bella joined our family at New Year's, 2016.<br />
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She's a loyal, sensitive, somewhat crotchety little papillon, now about six years old. All she wants out of life is lap time, a woolly squeaking toy, a stranger-free household, and to be served her own plate of meat and cheese and potatoes at every meal. It hardly seems too much to ask.<br />
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We lost Maia to feline leukemia virus this summer, at age seven.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rest well, kitty.</td></tr>
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My houseplants are healthier, but I miss her regularly. It feels strange to be able to leave rubber bands out on the counter and have a vase of flowers on the dining table without expecting a mess.<br />
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The best surprise of my life came into the world this past spring.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Learning each other's faces.</td></tr>
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I spent two weeks in the hospital, and then she spent four in the NICU after an early delivery, but we have long been home and healthy. She is now ten months old and on the point of crawling--active, alive, curious, precious.<br />
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Long-term, I'm not comfortable posting pictures of her; it's a question of consent for me, and also of safety. I'm also not posting her name on my public accounts. But baby pictures are such wonderful things....<br />
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And one more big change: this coming spring, we're moving nearly all the way across the country. Our destination is a little Ohio town not far from Pittsburgh, further east and further south than I've lived since I was seven years old.<br />
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I love the Pacific Northwest. I never thought I'd leave. But it's good to know that at forty, I'm still up for choosing life-altering adventures.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, I just turned forty.<br />And I'm so <i>not</i> giving up my pigtails.</td></tr>
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In various news:<br />
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<ul>
<li>I'm halfway through college, now, and to my liberal arts major I've added minors in anthropology and ASL.</li>
<li>I participated in and won NaNoWriMo again, just this past year, and immediately had to trash basically everything I'd written. But it was still a thoroughly happy and sometimes cathartic experience.</li>
<li>Bullet journaling and mindfulness practice are making beautiful alterations in my life.</li>
<li>I've gotten into sustainability and minimalism and am cheerfully bungling my way through mending knit shirts with cloth flowers cut from old pajama pants at the moment. #nailedit</li>
<li>As was broadly hinted in previous posts, I have some different perspectives from what I had when I blogged here regularly. Having been smashed in the face by how much I don't know, however, I've become a bit less mouthy with my opinions. At least, <i>I</i> think I have. You all can be the judges. The necessary honesty of blogging means that changes will naturally make themselves known, over time, of course.</li>
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I hope to post more. Blogging has fallen out of favor with the rise of the social media giants, but mindfulness is pushing me away from the Twittery kind of thing and back toward long-form writing and more personal communities. Also, <a href="https://yisforhome.com/">Masha blogs all the time</a>, which makes me jealous! But in between times, I can also be found in the following places:<br />
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<ul>
<li><a href="https://www.instagram.com/scratchpaperbookreviews/">Scratch Paper Book Reviews</a>, my book-review Instagram account, where I write reviews on scraps of paper otherwise destined for the recycle bin</li>
<li>My <a href="https://www.instagram.com/jennasthilaire/">personal Instagram</a>, where I sort of mini-blog and will continue to post baby pics till baby is about a year old</li>
<li><a href="https://twitter.com/jennasthilaire">Twitter</a>, where I let my new perspectives stretch their legs and run around a little</li>
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Maybe someday I'll even manage to get my Goodreads up and running again....<br />
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Redesign coming! Apologies for the messy sidebar in the meantime.<br />
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If you're out there reading this... How are you?Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-51217760409894119362015-09-12T13:52:00.000-07:002015-09-12T13:52:08.449-07:00Beautiful Complications and other storiesSometimes, in between trying to decide which class to prioritize on any given day and pestering grad student teaching assistants for assignment details, I really miss blogging.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You may have missed the cat pictures.<br />
Maia hasn't changed much.</td></tr>
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There's more going on in my head and heart and life at any given moment these days than I can possibly settle into neat blog posts. It's good, stressful, beautiful, exhausting, painful, necessary, and it sometimes results—when I do manage to post—in dreadful vaguebooking. Sorry about that. Some of it is that all too often when I feel like I have things to say now, I can't scrape together the right words, and it isn't my voice that needs to be heard.<br />
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I do have to say, though, I love school. Going by distance is hard. Going while working is hard. Going with a largely uniform student body, so that it's often me and perhaps one other person in the class who are <i>different</i>, is hard. But my professors are fantastic. The teachers and advisers and administration are accessible and helpful. As for the classes, so far they always teach me something that helps bring light and warmth into the great aching vacuum in my chest that's trying to fill itself with understanding.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I went on a road trip this spring and got <i>this</i> close to campus.<br />
This is just outside of Ogden; USU is in Logan.<br />
Someday I'll make it all the way there; I hear their ice cream's great.<br />
In the meantime, I'm rocking an Aggie sweatshirt.</td></tr>
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My friend Bekah gave me the gift of a meet-and-greet with Pentatonix this summer in Seattle:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In case you can't tell from the smiles, I was excited,<br />
and they rock.</td></tr>
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The concert was pretty incredible. I yelled and cheered like a twelve-year-old. Also, like a thirty-seven-year-old: they were touring with Kelly Clarkson, and I knew all her early music and none of the new stuff. As it turns out, age has not made me too dignified to stand up and dance and sing along.<br />
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You guys. I got to MEET them.<br />
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Also, they're pretty incredible. Even filmed amid screaming fans on somebody's iPhone. I'd just give you their official "Aha!" video, which is awesome if you can handle a little zombie, but I really love the Renaissance bit they do at the front when they sing it live.<br />
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As mentioned, every class has taught me something I've needed to know. Highlights follow.<br />
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<b>English 2010:</b> Rogerian argument. It doesn't guarantee success, but at least it makes you feel like you're trying.<br />
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<b>Horticulture 1800: </b>How to prune different kinds of bushes and trees, and that my houseplants don't get nearly enough light. Now I just need to figure out how to fix that. They also get way too <i>much</i> cat, but cats unfortunately weren't covered in the module on horticultural pests.<br />
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<b>American Institutions 1300: </b>I learned so much from this class' lectures, readings, and discussions on wars, manifest destiny and imperialism, and the history and effectiveness of protests. Also, the professor told me I "need to go on to grad school for sure." I confess I glowed.<br />
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<b>Statistics 1040: </b>Considering that statistics can be manipulated to say almost anything, it meant a lot to learn the basics of how to read a study to see whether the claims being made off it are solid or suspicious. This was—rather unexpectedly—my favorite class so far.<br />
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<b>Science and Society 1360*: </b>What pseudoscience is, and the warning signs thereof; also, the natural limits of science and religion in relation to each other. Some of that I'd never heard before (well, I'd heard <i>all</i> the pseudoscience ... I do have Facebook. :P)<br />
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When I took swiftwater rescue some years back, my teacher said, "We're trying to drownproof you." Statistics and science together felt like being given the skills to help proof myself against drowning in misinformation.<br />
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<b>Spanish 101:</b> It's teaching me Spanish, which is awesome. It'd be cool to master <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vesre"><i>vesre</i></a>, but I'm still concentrating on memorizing the words with the syllables in the right order for now.<br />
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Bekah and I chalked our hair for the Pentatonix concert; she knew I'd been eyeing all the pretty colors everybody's dyeing their hair nowadays. Chalk washes out, so it was just one day of purple, but it was fun to go happy-go-lucky colorful for a day.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kind of my favorite hair day EVER.</td></tr>
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I also happen to have leftover chalk, so it may come back at some point. There's always Halloween. :D<br />
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I chose cultural anthropology for one of my fall classes, and it may be the wild card that surpasses Statistics for favorite class. After all, writers are anthropologists after a fashion—studying ourselves from a scientific distance, studying humanity intimately and up close, always questing for a better understanding of what it means to be human.<br />
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The anthropological perspective on the human condition is not easy to maintain. It forces us to question the commonsense assumptions with which we are most comfortable. It only increases the difficulty we encounter when faced with moral and political decisions. It does not allow us an easy retreat, for once we are exposed to the kinds of experience that the anthropological undertaking makes possible, we are changed. We cannot easily pretend that these new experiences never happened to us. There is no going back to ethnocentrism when the going gets rough, except in bad faith. So anthropology is guaranteed to complicate your life. Nevertheless, the anthropological perspective can give you a broader understanding of human nature and the wider world, of society, culture, and history, and thus help you construct more realistic and authentic ways of coping with those complications.**</blockquote>
Of course, the scientific context is not required to have those kinds of experiences. learn that world-opening perspective, and undergo that change. Neither is writing. Sometimes it just happens because you're human and surrounded by humans. I am still full of wonder that it has happened to me. It's a beautiful complication; I wouldn't trade it for anything the world could give me.<br />
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Happy fall!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">* In other science class news, I got way too much joke mileage out of two weeks of researching and writing about hydraulic fracturing—as in, "I have to do my fracking homework." Blame <i>that</i> on all the sci-fi and fantasy swear-word substitutes that I've heard. Besides, burn me, but there was just so MUCH bloody gorram fracking homework. Merlin's pants! and mother's milk in a cup! I seem to be having tremendous difficulty with my lifestyle</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> ... okay, I'll stop. :P</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">** Schultz, Emily A. and Robert H. Lavenda, <i>Cultural Anthropology: A Perspective on the Human Condition, Ninth Edition</i> (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 37</span>Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-43411475140362627052015-06-18T22:48:00.000-07:002015-06-18T22:48:34.750-07:00The Harry Potter Book Club: Prisoner of Azkaban, Chapters 16-17Before proceeding with discussion, I have two items that must be mentioned.<br />
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First, the bad news: Christie has had to withdraw from posting, owing to other life commitments needing priority—things like working and having two children. She hopes to still read along, and maybe we’ll even get her to comment from time to time. :)<br />
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Second: I would be failing in my duties as your resident Potterhead if I did not embed the following video.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zbdvogFyZZM" width="500"></iframe><br />
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At your service.<br />
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<a href="http://cyganeria-masha.blogspot.com/2015/04/the-book-club-returns.html">Masha responded to the last chapter</a> with some insightful comments on Trelawney and the subject of Divination. She’s right that Trelawney is “a delightful fraud”; my favorite comment, however, was<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Maybe Trelawney's merely a reminder that attempting to make a formula from a mystery is impossible and makes those that attempt it look ridiculous.</blockquote>
I’m delighting in academics and am lately feeling crazy fond of knowledge, the scientific method, theorizing, philosophizing, and all that—but Masha’s point introduces a nice little check into the West’s zeal in both the scientific and religious arenas. Not a halt, just a check—a warning not to dash off the edges of the earth in pursuit of the one explanation that solves everything.<br />
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On to the next chapters!<br />
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<h2>
This Week in Reading Harry</h2>
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<b>Read: </b>Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, chapters 16 and 17<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ho-dMy7BsUk/VYNyQn2yrCI/AAAAAAAAG0M/-ks5z7WX0WQ/s1600/ron_weasley_and_scabbers_by_afo2006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ho-dMy7BsUk/VYNyQn2yrCI/AAAAAAAAG0M/-ks5z7WX0WQ/s320/ron_weasley_and_scabbers_by_afo2006.jpg" width="218" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art by <a href="http://afo2006.deviantart.com/art/Ron-Weasley-and-Scabbers-45400343">afo2006</a></td></tr>
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<h3>
Potential discussion points:</h3>
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<b>1. Hermione irritates her classmates</b> by fussing about how her Transfigured teapot looked more like a turtle than a tortoise, while everyone else is saying things like “Were the tortoises <i>supposed</i> to breathe steam?”<br />
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As someone who this week got a patient "I know you attempt to get 100% on your exams" email from a Spanish professor who knew I'd be upset with a 95%, I ... think it's a good thing I'm not on campus to irritate classmates who have healthier priorities. We annoying worrywarts are typically more invested than we need to be in the given moment, and we tend not to know how to stop that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rBf6iyDTv6Q/VYN6rgvTBYI/AAAAAAAAG0c/aa0Iaq516gE/s1600/professor-trelawney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rBf6iyDTv6Q/VYN6rgvTBYI/AAAAAAAAG0c/aa0Iaq516gE/s320/professor-trelawney.jpg" width="198" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art by <a href="http://www.elfwood.com/u/peters2/image/a2bcadf0-26c3-11e4-b9ba-0dd894bff157/professor-trelawney">Norma Peters</a>.</td></tr>
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<b>2. Professor Lupin’s final exam.</b> I absolutely love this. Around the time I went up against my Statistics final, I think I would have battled the exact same boggart as Hermione—substituting professors, of course.<br />
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<b>3. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures makes its decision before finally weighing the evidence.</b> “Justice”—to borrow Thomas Hardy’s scare quotes from the end of <i>Tess of the D’Urbervilles</i>—has all too often done the same.<br />
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<b>4.</b> I’d like to say that <b>Harry’s fabricated crystal-ball viewing</b>, in his Divination final, is testimony to Rowling’s confidence in the act of choosing—but that would involve SPOILERS.<br />
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<b>5.</b> Regarding humans' astounding capability for self-deception, I have to wonder <b>how much of the students’ crystal-ball reporting Professor Trelawney actually believes</b>. “A little disappointing,” she says, “but I’m sure you did your best.” Her disappointment appears to center in Harry’s failure to see death in the ball. I find this a mystery indeed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xnhhGTuniqI/VYNxkULjVfI/AAAAAAAAG0E/aGZJxtYeMIg/s1600/6a9cfdc2c57123e1136cc37f9d34b68f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xnhhGTuniqI/VYNxkULjVfI/AAAAAAAAG0E/aGZJxtYeMIg/s320/6a9cfdc2c57123e1136cc37f9d34b68f.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art by <a href="http://ederoi.deviantart.com/art/Hermione-and-Crookshanks-128947769">Ederoi</a></td></tr>
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<b>6. The real prediction</b>, which—again, self-deception—Trelawney refused to believe that she actually made.<br />
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<b>7. Ron demonstrates his bravery.</b> I love that it’s Ron, wobbling on a broken leg, who says, “If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too!”<br />
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<b>8. Crookshanks demonstrates his humanity.</b> I like a cat with a feel for justice. (It's outside the norm. The Oatmeal: "Dogs are a man's best friend. Cats are <a href="http://theoatmeal.com/comics/cats_actually_kill">man's adorable little serial killers</a>.")<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xnm1HrHgc7E/VYNwu4XQaQI/AAAAAAAAGz4/SjNBL-JTWqk/s1600/remus_lupin_by_aiyana14-d3ntaqf.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xnm1HrHgc7E/VYNwu4XQaQI/AAAAAAAAGz4/SjNBL-JTWqk/s320/remus_lupin_by_aiyana14-d3ntaqf.png" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art by <a href="http://cartoonsilverfox.deviantart.com/art/Remus-Lupin-221396631">cartoonsilverfox</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>9. Hermione gets two out of three questions wrong. </b>It happens to the best of us; it’s shockingly hard to get all the evidence regarding any tolerably important matter in this life.<br />
<br />
<b>10. “I’m Moony”—a werewolf.</b> Here's <a href="http://ohnotheydidnt.livejournal.com/80132430.html">Moony's backstory</a>, drawn from Pottermore, for your reading pleasure. SPOILERS for latter books abound.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
More Moony and the introduction of Peter Pettigrew, next post. For now, to tide you over until that day, here are some links to give you the warm fuzzies: first, <a href="http://www.mugglenet.com/2015/06/you-went-to-hogwarts-we-were-all-there-together/">Kelly Orazi's beautiful MuggleNet piece</a> on J.K. Rowling's recent Twitter statement that "You got the letter. You went to Hogwarts. We were all there together." (If that doesn't make your week, I'm not sure how to help you.)<br />
<br />
Second, BookRiot gives us the option of “<a href="http://bookriot.com/2015/05/11/imagining-a-fandom-edition-annotated-harry-potter/">Imagining a Fandom Edition of an Annotated Harry Potter</a>.” I am <i>so</i> down with that.<br />
<br />
Happy reading!Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-87177060554794214252015-04-10T23:18:00.000-07:002015-04-10T23:24:35.123-07:00Harry Potter Book Club: Prisoner of Azkaban, Chapter 15It's been almost exactly a year since the last Harry Potter Book Club post went up on my blog. I, for one, have missed our conversations. People have gone on talking about books and stuff, but it really just hasn't been the same.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M35MqmwbtEM/VRzQ9aEBIXI/AAAAAAAAGEM/oc4nIpU66OY/s1600/50%2Bshades.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M35MqmwbtEM/VRzQ9aEBIXI/AAAAAAAAGEM/oc4nIpU66OY/s1600/50%2Bshades.jpg" height="320" width="205" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fifty shades of gray, listed by hexadecimal value.<br />
I have <i>such</i> a weakness for puns.<br />
Not having read that book, I have nothing else of interest<br />
to say about it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's asking a great deal, I know, but perhaps you all might forgive the H.P.B.C. for having taken the year off. <a href="http://cyganeria-masha.blogspot.com/">Masha</a> had a <a href="http://pieknoathome.blogspot.com/2015/03/birth.html">baby</a>. <a href="http://spinstrawintogold.blogspot.com/">Christie</a> traveled to <a href="http://www.lcricardo.com/">Wales and back again, <i>and</i> had a baby</a>. I took a job, entered college, and underwent metamorphosis.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-27Lmld0Euso/VR7oi8STtDI/AAAAAAAAGE8/EZufWIAZsPM/s1600/29653-rainbow-butterfly-1920x1080-vector-wallpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-27Lmld0Euso/VR7oi8STtDI/AAAAAAAAGE8/EZufWIAZsPM/s1600/29653-rainbow-butterfly-1920x1080-vector-wallpaper.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But I'm still twelve years old at heart.<br />
Some things never change.<br />
<a href="http://a2zhdwallpapers.com/4294/29653-rainbow-butterfly-1920x1080-vector-wallpaper/">Source</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'll let Masha and Christie discuss their lives or not, as they choose. For now, I'll limit myself in this post to the subject at hand, which is Harry Potter—but I've seriously been through enough Transfiguration this year to find it worth noting that going forward with Harry Potter, picking up right where we left off in the middle of book three, I'm reading with new eyes. New eyes, and a few more unicorn hairs.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>:: Conversation with my friend Bekah ::</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Me:</b> I found more gray hairs.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Bekah:</b> Not gray. They are silver in a magical way, like unicorns.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Me:</b> THAT. Yes.</div>
<br />
Never fear: if you're curious, the general thoughts and feels will come up. Harry has experiences that can be made relevant to nearly everything important, and I'm well practiced at making mental leaps. Till Rowling brings it up, then.<br />
<br />
Flippantly minor newsworthy item: I got a smartphone this year. I love it almost as much as Mr. Weasley might.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f_bIBaUazes/VRzMLch9qWI/AAAAAAAAGEA/mmLhdFAPqq8/s1600/arthur%2Bweasley%2Bgoogle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f_bIBaUazes/VRzMLch9qWI/AAAAAAAAGEA/mmLhdFAPqq8/s1600/arthur%2Bweasley%2Bgoogle.jpg" height="320" width="269" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite tech junkie.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, right—Harry Potter. Remember, <b>anybody can post to the book club on their own blog!</b> That said, for the sake of one priceless commodity—time—I'm dropping the little-used link carousel. If you're not Masha or Christie and you post to the book club, leave me a comment with a link to your post, and I'll link back to you in my next post. M and C, I can of course find your posts without the aid of magic. :)<br />
<br />
Also, with an unpredictable schedule and practically no time for reading, I can't promise to post regularly. I can, however, promise to give it the old college try! I'm in college. I'm doing stuff like that.<br />
<br />
(NB: College is way better than middle and high school. J. K. Rowling should really write a book about wizard university, because MERLIN'S PANTS IT WOULD BE WONDERFUL. LIKE BABY UNICORNS.)<br />
<br />
We left off with chapters 13 and 14. Recap:<br />
<ul>
<li>Sirius Black broke into Gryffindor Tower</li>
<li>Lupin and Snape confronted the Marauder's Map</li>
<li>Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle got punished by McGonagall for dressing up as dementors and sabotaging the Quidditch game</li>
<li>Hermione got herself in over her head.</li>
</ul>
I must say, the number of times I've thought of Hermione's near-hysterical "I can't, Harry, I've still got four hundred and twenty-two pages to read!" these last months has not been insignificant.<br />
<br />
Now, on to chapter 15! It's theoretically an easy one, as we're talking Quidditch.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
This Week in Reading Harry</h2>
<b>Read: </b><i>Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban</i>, chapter 15<br />
<br />
<h3>
Potential discussion points:</h3>
<br />
<b>1. Injustice in the Wizarding world.</b> Hagrid has lost his case for Buckbeak against the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures—which is a remarkably chilling name. <i>Disposal</i>?<br />
<br />
The loss of the case is too easily written off by Ron—and therefore Harry and the reader—as a result of Lucius Malfoy's throwing the weight of his wealth and power around. What has to be remembered is that Buckbeak did actually savage Malfoy, albeit under direct provocation, and therefore a handful of people who weren't present at the savaging chose to defend the child over the animal. It happened to be the wrong choice.<br />
<br />
Wizards and witches, Rowling reminds us again and again, are human. Humans universally make choices based on the information at hand, fed through layers of conscious knowledge and unconscious presupposition, obvious passions and muddled emotion. Injustice can result at any point: misinformation, misunderstanding, wrong presuppositions, conflicting emotions and loyalties.<br />
<br />
What's shocking to me is how easy it is, especially when you're removed from a situation, to be part of injustice. It's awful when you realize you have been.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HNAuOT9PHhA/VScgp7DCX1I/AAAAAAAAGIM/566yoBi6_u8/s1600/The_Infamous_Slap____by_periwinkle_blue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HNAuOT9PHhA/VScgp7DCX1I/AAAAAAAAGIM/566yoBi6_u8/s1600/The_Infamous_Slap____by_periwinkle_blue.jpg" height="246" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hermione delivering justice.<br />
Art by <a href="http://www.deviantart.com/art/The-Infamous-Slap-38347978">periwinkle-blue</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>2. Hermione slaps Malfoy in the face.</b><br />
<br />
I'm not a huge fan of corporal punishment, but occasionally it seems to be the only way to settle an attitude—noting, of course, that this was a very small and not ultimately damaging strike given in response to an attitude the size of Grawp.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Cheering Charms.</b> They sound addictive. You know how when you have chronic pain, you don't realize just how <i>much</i> pain it is till the right medication takes it away suddenly? I was lucky enough to experience eight hours this year with my usual anxiety completely sedated, and ... oh gosh. No amount of chocolate or alcohol has ever provided the same sense of relief and contentment as having anxiety just magically <i>gone</i> for a little while.<br />
<br />
<b>4. The crystal-gazing scene.</b> This is possibly one of the funniest scenes in the series.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Harry, at least, felt extremely foolish, staring blankly at the crystal ball, trying to keep his mind empty when thoughts such as "this is stupid" kept drifting across it.</blockquote>
I haven't pulled anything more profound out of it, however; not until the part where:<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3oOhY_ED8us/VSchCLLLYQI/AAAAAAAAGIU/_N5Irl5SvuU/s1600/lol_about_trelawney_by_marigolade_69-d4e6w0y.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3oOhY_ED8us/VSchCLLLYQI/AAAAAAAAGIU/_N5Irl5SvuU/s1600/lol_about_trelawney_by_marigolade_69-d4e6w0y.jpg" height="206" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"There's going to be loads of fog tonight."<br />
Art by <a href="http://www.deviantart.com/art/Lol-about-Trelawney-265700770">Marigolade-69</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>5. Intellectualism finally gets fed up with Divination and storms out of the room.</b> I'll let Masha take the lead on this subject, but here are some foggy preliminary thoughts:<br />
<br />
I have vivid, detailed, emotive dreams that do sometimes seem to connect organically to waking experience, though I see them not as predictive but as curiosities that can occasionally be helpful in clarifying thought processes.<br />
<br />
Also, single crows make me nervous. On the whole, however, I take firm refuge in science—which, when it's done properly, at least is supposed to acknowledge what it does not know. What I appreciate about Masha's approach to superstition, however, is that she makes the same concession. If more of us made that concession, the world truly might be a better place.<br />
<br />
<b>6. The Quidditch final, House rivalry, and competitive sports</b>. I played volleyball in high school (not that I was good at it; I was just tall); I haven't got a problem with a little team spirit and competitiveness. Learning to lose <i>and</i> win graciously are good life skills. Sports are more fun than running on treadmills, and I can definitely yell and cheer at a Superbowl party when the Seahawks are playing. All admitted!<br />
<br />
But team spirit is both charm and curse. Humanity admittedly might never get anything significant done without it, but when it's directed against other people, it bleeds the human soul of empathy. Fiercely loyal partisanship in politics blinds people to the truth underlying opposing positions. In religion (or the rejection thereof), the team mentality is death to <i>caritas</i>; speaking as a Christian—and as one who looks like an insider while sometimes having outsider feelings—I get frustrated with communal habits of dismissiveness toward, and unwillingness to work with, people who live outside the inner sanctum.<br />
<br />
Most of all, though, I worry about team spirit when it leads otherwise sincere people to fight dirty. (Fred and George, you know I love you like crazy, but ...) I worry about a sports team when it starts regularly fouling its rivals in a game, and that concern gets profoundly personal when dirty fighting makes its way into things like politics and religion, which affect real humans' lives. My own record is hardly perfect here—I am absolutely as human as the next girl who hates losing—but part of growing is learning to play fairer, so there's always hope.<br />
<br />
And there's your Hufflepuff optimist talking. :)<br />
<br />
That ought to be enough to be going on with for this week. Happy Potter talk!<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KA94YvZaJM8" width="500"></iframe><br />
<br />
^^ The above setup terrified me so much that I had a hard time answering the questions myself. I never would have gotten Ginny's Patronus, either. I can rock trivia if it's book-based, but IMO, stuff that's only on Pottermore is <em>not</em> fair game.Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-65618423770233315992014-09-28T17:03:00.003-07:002014-09-30T18:04:38.043-07:00The Crack in the Tea-Cup and other stories<i>As I walked out one evening,</i><br />
<i>Walking down Bristol Street,</i><br />
<i>The crowds upon the pavement</i><br />
<i>Were fields of harvest wheat.</i><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">—</span>W. H. Auden, "As I Walked Out One Evening"<br />
<br />
NB: I'm going to quote several parts of this poem, including its punch line, so if you want to read it in its entirety first, <a href="http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/i-walked-out-one-evening">you can do so at poets.org</a>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wA9sq5yfcb4/VCeg1AL4__I/AAAAAAAAFJw/vgQsEk0owGQ/s1600/blog_092714_05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wA9sq5yfcb4/VCeg1AL4__I/AAAAAAAAFJw/vgQsEk0owGQ/s1600/blog_092714_05.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LOOK what my piano teacher gave me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My first month in Bellingham was mostly made up of September, and when I parked on the open top floor of the downtown parkade, I had a splendid view of fall color across the campus hill. The previous year had been spent in a brutal internal struggle I didn't yet have a name for—my first serious bout with depression—and I stood atop the parkade for a little while every weekday, letting brittle and frozen feelings be softened by red and orange and green leaves, sometimes blurred by fog; steely waters under woolly skies; and the damp, fresh, sour-salty breeze off the bay.<br />
<br />
When my first boyfriend and I broke up, almost exactly a year later, I took similar comfort from a long afternoon walk in wind and occasional sputters of rain: over Taylor Hill, down along the beach at Boulevard Park, and back up through the university. That area, the south side of town, is arguably the most beautiful place I've ever lived, although the top of a foothill in the Bridger Mountains in Montana had a lot to be said for it.<br />
<br />
This past week, the weather and color shifted to autumnal as, over and over again, I felt "the tears scald and start"—the natural consequence of lack of sleep, getting too obsessive about doing everything right in school, goodbyes, and other fun life stuff. I've been crying at weddings and blog posts and emails and Gospel readings at choir practice and music and random song lyrics, and sometimes I get choked up when I recite Auden's poem out loud.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, the vines on the parkade entrance wall have gone brilliant red. The silver dollar birches are all shades of orange, and the maples with the tiny leaves have started to take on their standard glorious wash of color. The bay has gone from blue and green to silver and gray, and the clouds are thick enough to need lamps on all morning and from late afternoon onward.<br />
<br />
Seasonal depression is common enough here, but I find a lot of seasonal healing, too. I love this town, and never more so than in the fall.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<i>"I'll love you till the ocean</i><br />
<i>Is folded and hung up to dry</i><br />
<i>And the seven stars go squawking</i><br />
<i>Like geese about the sky."</i><br />
<br />
(Best. Imagery. <i>Ever</i>.)<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GwdgS7CYMYM/VCd0X62I3YI/AAAAAAAAFIo/jRBVibOWGK8/s1600/blog_092714_07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GwdgS7CYMYM/VCd0X62I3YI/AAAAAAAAFIo/jRBVibOWGK8/s1600/blog_092714_07.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">School pride. Go, Aggies!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
Crazily enough, this was my fifth week of college.<br />
<br />
It's a huge amount of work, but I love it. I love Utah State, and the fact that they're clearly determined to make me earn this degree. I love horticulture and English, and I'm quite certain I'll love Spanish when I can get to it (fortunately it's not semester-bound; considering my limited study time, the other two classes have proven all-engrossing.)<br />
<br />
I love the classmate who made a rather public sacrifice for a friend and then told me about how she's felt publicly judged ever since. It makes me a little sad that we're not on campus together; I think we'd be friends.<br />
<br />
Whether I would end up being friends with the classmate who referred to our textbook's nuanced essays on difficult topics as "whinny"—he meant "whiny," and I guarantee he's going to think that about <i>my</i> term paper—is harder to say. He does something like that almost every week; I've gotten so I look forward to his posts with affectionate trepidation. It's entertaining.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<i>In the burrows of the Nightmare,</i><br />
<i>Where Justice naked is,</i><br />
<i>Time watches from the shadows,</i><br />
<i>And coughs when you would kiss.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
USU makes all their students take this little interactive online course. I was pretty captivated by this screen. As you can see, I'm a Hufflepuff:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fZoOAvMaxjk/VCeL6hQ3YiI/AAAAAAAAFJg/bawo4NsqN6o/s1600/blog_092714_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fZoOAvMaxjk/VCeL6hQ3YiI/AAAAAAAAFJg/bawo4NsqN6o/s1600/blog_092714_01.jpg" height="291" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, that's definitely my top value set.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Which would you choose?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
All of my adult life, I've been telling people I was 5'11". A couple of weeks ago, a wellness screener told me I was six feet tall. I didn't believe her. She made me step out from under the bar and look.<br />
<br />
Seventy-two inches on the dot.<br />
<br />
What the ... When did I grow another inch? Has it stopped?!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
Science class! I feel a little guilty propagating something that is apparently a noxious weed in both Washington and Oregon (English ivy), but I needed loads of something easy to propagate, and this is what I had loads of. If these take root, I'll put them on my desk at work.<br />
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<br />
They're completely adorable so far. I'm kind of proud of the little things.<br />
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* * *</div>
<br />
<i>O look, look in the mirror</i><br />
<i>O look in your distress:</i><br />
<i>Life remains a blessing</i><br />
<i>Although you cannot bless.</i><br />
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This may not interest anyone except me, in which case you can all scroll past it, but I have been reading <a href="http://mudbloodcatholic.blogspot.com/">Mudblood Catholic's</a> (Gabriel Blanchard) "Why I Am a Catholic" series (<a href="http://mudbloodcatholic.blogspot.com/2014/09/a-case-for-catholic-faith-part-i-go.html">Part I here</a>) hungrily, and when I say I cried over a blog post this week, it was his "<a href="http://mudbloodcatholic.blogspot.com/2014/09/why-i-am-catholic-part-iii-apostate.html">Why I Am a Catholic, Part III: Apostate</a>":<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
For it is the whole point of the book of Job that God, when He confronts both Job and Job's comforters, offers no answer, no explanation. He gives no account of Himself. As Charles Williams points out in <i>He Came Down From Heaven</i>, God's reply mostly only plagiarizes things Job has already said in his storm of accusation directed upwards. There is no theodicy offered there. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Or rather, there is; it is that offered by Job's friends.</blockquote>
I don't talk much, either on this blog or with anyone except for a few dependable friends, about how hard faith comes for me. But keeping inner realities secret also comes hard for me, and Gabriel has spoken into some of my deepest experiences of this year.<br />
<br />
As an agnostic who chooses to believe, by definition I am someone who has not been able to reason herself into firm conviction. The one apologetic that helps, lately, is the one that comes with its own uncertainty—the one that takes into account that the idea of suffering eternally for finite failures cannot, by any standard we know of, be characterized as <i>justice</i>; the one that recognizes that for some of us, Christian strictures turn out to be more severe than most of us would be able to bear; the one that sees the dark and complicated and horrifying sides of Scripture as clearly as its comforts, and knows that even today, tradition brings both beauty and cruelty into the world.<br />
<br />
The apologetic that shows the cracks from bearing the weight of those questions, and that still can find no solution to life but to believe in Jesus, is the one apologetic that speaks to me of God in words I can comprehend.<br />
<br />
I have no satisfying answers to these conundrums, and nothing but sympathy for those who find them too much for faith. Meanwhile, when I pray the Jesus prayer, I lean on the word <i>mercy</i>, and I pray it for all of us. But maybe the fact that I feel those cracks in my own soul, and yet have no other solution, and can sometimes still hear those words—maybe that means I'm more of a believer than I realize.<br />
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* * *</div>
<br />
In a Facebook conversation with a friend recently, I recommended John Green's <i>Looking for Alaska</i>, which is where I originally met this poem; the bulk of Green's story is bookended by a single punch-packing couplet. The poem speaks less directly to me in its cynicism about love than it does in its darkly realistic vision of the brokenness of life, but this couplet is the redemption of both. It's a way for me, with all the bends and breaks in my soul, to move forward.<br />
<br />
<i>You shall love your crooked neighbor</i><br />
<i>With your crooked heart.</i><br />
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<br />
Back to good cheer, for those of you who made it this far! Favorite comment I've gotten all week from anybody: "Just what is a Hufflepuff?"<br />
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<br />
Me! I am a Hufflepuff. And <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/charlotte820/12-reasons-why-hufflepuff-is-actually-badass-9rx2">here are twelve reasons why</a>.<br />
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Much love, everybody!Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-48788029421552639172014-07-19T17:07:00.000-07:002014-07-19T17:08:11.949-07:00Things to Do When Home Alone for a Weekend<div>
<ul>
<li>on account of being too creeped out in empty house to go to sleep, stay up till two a.m. reading a novel about ninjas</li>
<li>watch a bunch of school orientation stuff</li>
<li>practice the heck out of a couple of musical instruments:</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our friends left town and bequeathed us their piano.<br />
I shot out my voice last night singing Evanescence to my own<br />
accompaniment. It was thoroughly enjoyable.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>give <i>t'ai chi</i> a try, with coaching provided by YouTube</li>
<li>do a week's worth of housecleaning</li>
<li>clean out the refrigerator</li>
<li>trim bangs and take selfies with Dante, Dostoevsky, Paolini, and Debussy:</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also, the corner of the piano.<br />
Did I mention that I love this piano?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>accidentally lock the priest out of the parish office (sorry, Father! I don't know what I did to the door...)</li>
<li>contemplate cleaning old clothes out of dresser drawers</li>
<li>contemplate the meaning of life (42) and sanity (the number's probably somewhere in the same range)</li>
<li>contemplate labels, goals, and other forms of life organization</li>
<li>spontaneously spend an evening listening to Nikki Yanofsky with birthday-girl sister and her family</li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>do the laundry</li>
<li>listen to Enya, because seriously, <i>Enya</i></li>
<li>listen to random CD bought off random guy on street corner during Lent because he "wanted to have a voice"</li>
<li>get a hard lemonade and a pint of chocolate gelato and start in on <i>Buffy, the Vampire Slayer</i></li>
<li>procrastinate on nearly all of the above by blogging</li>
<li>contribute to the internet's ever-insatiable need for cat pictures:</li>
</ul>
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<br />
I miss Lou a lot, but at least I'm not bored. Cheers, everybody! I miss you, too....</div>
Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-55358050198415474442014-06-23T22:55:00.000-07:002014-06-23T22:55:26.039-07:00A Dance in the Wildwood and other stories<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UudNFgnb6OM/U6j2XDSVpMI/AAAAAAAAFEo/ohQEm8uH0vQ/s1600/blog_062314_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UudNFgnb6OM/U6j2XDSVpMI/AAAAAAAAFEo/ohQEm8uH0vQ/s1600/blog_062314_01.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a><i>For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the pathway,</i><br />
<i>Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness.</i><br />
—Longfellow, <i>Evangeline</i><br />
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<br />
A month's absence from the blog wasn't in the plans. Neither was the sheer volume of comment spam I've gotten on my last post, none of which should have reached the internet or you... unless you happened to be subscribed to comments, in which case, I'm <i>so</i> sorry.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Min and I have been getting acquainted and liking each other very much indeed. She's friendly with my camera card, which helps. Brace yourselves. I've got a month's backlog of spring pictures coming your way.<br />
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* * *</div>
<br />
One of the glories of this spring: the Don Juan climbing rose, which this year has recovered in great style from being treated like a Mr. Lincoln by mistake two winters ago. (The latter are hybrid teas, and like to be pruned way back in the winter. Climbers, not so much.)<br />
<br />
It's hard to make the photos do it justice, especially since I haven't had time to do much better than snapshots.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory cat picture.<br />
Why, yes, Maia <i>is</i> sleeping in a Kleenex box. It can't be comfortable.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<b>Music of the week:</b> My friend Fred is in a music video! He's the first person you see, the star of the frame narrative. Isn't he debonair? I love Fred. He always greets me with superlatives and a hug. You're stupendously marvelous, Fred. <3<br />
<br />
Parents, you may want to watch this without any small fry to whom you are not yet prepared to explain the birds and the bees and lacy lingerie. FYI. Cool song and sweet video, though.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/4RN1qMdcgV8" width="500"></iframe><br />
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* * *</div>
<br />
While listening to the radio in the car this weekend:<br />
<br />
Me: "How did someone who sings like this ever get a job as a recording artist?"<br />
Lou: “That’s Bob Dylan.”<br />
Me: “Oh, well, I guess that explains it…”<br />
<br />
...but it doesn't!<br />
<br />
If I hadn't grown up almost entirely ignorant of pop culture and all relevant contexts, would I have understood?<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"To know what would have happened, child?" said Aslan.... "Nobody is ever told that."</i></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2qvBvw0B2f0/U6j2glvaO1I/AAAAAAAAFFQ/QrkFVok7S-U/s1600/blog_062314_06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2qvBvw0B2f0/U6j2glvaO1I/AAAAAAAAFFQ/QrkFVok7S-U/s1600/blog_062314_06.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a>* * *</div>
<br />
Sunday afternoon I finished a work begun in, if memory holds true, sixth grade: that of reading Longfellow's <i>Evangeline.</i><br />
<br />
The ending made me cry, as I pulled myself away from "the wail of the forest" and back into the late afternoon sun in my own peaceful little yard. But the poetry was astoundingly beautiful, and some of the thoughts haunt me—a friendly haunting, usually, like the quote above, though there’s also being shadowed by a spirit of fury. Why is the world so sad and full of suffering? I'm not sure I'll ever understand.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xRLJZKkdtis/U6j2g0O46LI/AAAAAAAAFFU/yhDewr-i0C4/s1600/blog_062314_07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xRLJZKkdtis/U6j2g0O46LI/AAAAAAAAFFU/yhDewr-i0C4/s1600/blog_062314_07.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a>* * *</div>
<br />
That thought doesn't just come to mind when reading tragic literature. I thought about it for ten minutes straight the other night, while enduring a particularly impressive foot cramp. It was a much less poetic experience.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
There’s a scene from the WWU performance of the Britten opera that, like <i>Evangeline</i>, has gone on haunting me. Late in the story, the fairies held a dance, contorting in wild and unstructured forms—and in the middle of them, in an act of choreographic brilliance, a single ballerina was spinning in place, in arabesque position. Demi-pointe, double turn. Demi-pointe, double turn. Demi-pointe, double turn, over and over and over again. She was placed on one of the dynamic points of the scene, spinning mindlessly, with all those fairies twisting around her. The effect was thrilling and profoundly unnerving.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kq78ugo6b3I/U6j2glhGZEI/AAAAAAAAFFw/YfBgJLbSJw0/s1600/blog_062314_08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kq78ugo6b3I/U6j2glhGZEI/AAAAAAAAFFw/YfBgJLbSJw0/s1600/blog_062314_08.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a>I find myself referencing that image in thinking through life over the last few months. Everything changed at once: rhythm and routine, ideas and ideals, dreams and goals. Rites of thought, writing, and prayer—my usual ties to sanity—all snapped off like frayed kite strings, ends fluttering in the breeze. It's felt like the world has spun, writhing and morphing, around me—like perhaps I wandered into that fairy-dance as a human and found myself spinning, too, involuntarily and with abandon.<br />
<br />
Masha and Christie have me retreating with them for a few weeks, seeking prayer, bringing in flowers for saints, and organizing thought processes into words and meaningful visions. It's apparently working, since I'm sane and settled enough to blog tonight.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sTgHk3VzOTY/U6j2hEVox1I/AAAAAAAAFFY/QtyRj3JJgDg/s1600/blog_062314_09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sTgHk3VzOTY/U6j2hEVox1I/AAAAAAAAFFY/QtyRj3JJgDg/s1600/blog_062314_09.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a>Of course, one doesn't dance in the wildwood and go home unchanged. That, however, is as it should be.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
You wouldn't think an ice cream labeled "Death by Chocolate" could be improved by pouring massive amounts of chocolate sauce on it.<br />
<br />
Turns out, it can. Kathryn! I might need your grandma's recipe, if it be not secret. It's <i>amazing</i>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NwGk3a9Lrak/U6j2hTRjKHI/AAAAAAAAFFg/idCg_YY99Xg/s1600/blog_062314_10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NwGk3a9Lrak/U6j2hTRjKHI/AAAAAAAAFFg/idCg_YY99Xg/s1600/blog_062314_10.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Speaking of deliciousness: the nectar of the gods.<br />
I'm pretty sure the only flavor to rival home-ripened strawberries<br />
is fresh-squeezed orange juice from home-ripened oranges,<br />
which, unfortunately, don't grow in Washington.<br />
To be fair, neither do alligators and cockroaches.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
Two rather dear young friends have passed me up in height this spring:<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dFZ6AkpZ7GI/U6j2qKPLDrI/AAAAAAAAFF8/dB3bus2POVA/s1600/blog_062314_11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dFZ6AkpZ7GI/U6j2qKPLDrI/AAAAAAAAFF8/dB3bus2POVA/s1600/blog_062314_11.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cherry tree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G7cP5x5L1jA/U6j2p3355dI/AAAAAAAAFF4/7RqmkNxqJ7c/s1600/blog_062314_12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G7cP5x5L1jA/U6j2p3355dI/AAAAAAAAFF4/7RqmkNxqJ7c/s1600/blog_062314_12.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sumac<br />
I believe Seth thinks I'm nuts for planting this tree,<br />
and maybe I will agree in a decade when I have dozens,<br />
but so far, I <i>love</i> the beautiful little thing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The fig trees are still working on that goal. Grow, grow, grow, little figs!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qlGX8AORw18/U6j2p082i8I/AAAAAAAAFGA/F53vXYSnpkk/s1600/blog_062314_13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qlGX8AORw18/U6j2p082i8I/AAAAAAAAFGA/F53vXYSnpkk/s1600/blog_062314_13.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can do it!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * </div>
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eZyR5p7Phgw/U6j2qfBqBsI/AAAAAAAAFGE/ECpajmNUjZY/s1600/blog_062314_14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eZyR5p7Phgw/U6j2qfBqBsI/AAAAAAAAFGE/ECpajmNUjZY/s1600/blog_062314_14.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a>In other news: I am registered for my first classes—English 2010 and Introduction to Horticulture, the latter of which is a Breadth Life Sciences requirement that looked particularly life-applicable. I still need to register for Spanish, which USU is kindly letting me take from the University of Idaho since they offer only Italian online. (Italian: very beautiful, but not very useful in the Pacific Northwest.)<br />
<br />
I like my job, and am addicted to the free coffee. I love both my piano teacher and my priest oh-so-much this week, both of them for extending lots of sympathy and mercy to exhausted and overwrought little Jennifer, on account of which, I am working very hard at this Bach inventio and at all the Christ-imitating Father asked me to do. I knew we had day lilies and rosemary in the garden, but the iris came as a surprise.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9waPySiemyk/U6j2qpI24EI/AAAAAAAAFGI/0pmo0PBpwjs/s1600/blog_062314_15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9waPySiemyk/U6j2qpI24EI/AAAAAAAAFGI/0pmo0PBpwjs/s1600/blog_062314_15.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
Blogging promises seem to be difficult to keep just now, but I'm not planning on abandoning this beloved little place. For today—I hope you're all well and enjoying summer!Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-60726710061131426122014-05-15T19:20:00.003-07:002014-05-16T07:58:44.538-07:00Electronic Seer and other storiesWhere we write, linking up with <a href="http://cyganeria-masha.blogspot.com/2014/05/where-we-writephotos-from-home.html">Masha @ Cyganeria</a>. Like anyone didn't know where <i>I</i> write:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MZYS9mkESVs/U3VoJzoYj8I/AAAAAAAAFBw/2kzLuE8yoDo/s1600/blog_051514_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MZYS9mkESVs/U3VoJzoYj8I/AAAAAAAAFBw/2kzLuE8yoDo/s1600/blog_051514_01.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
On the couch, of course. Wedged into the corner.<br />
<br />
But look at the new baby 'puter!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rtl8l5i2vW0/U3VoJ1UMLGI/AAAAAAAAFCk/_HoeGVc-yX4/s1600/blog_051514_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rtl8l5i2vW0/U3VoJ1UMLGI/AAAAAAAAFCk/_HoeGVc-yX4/s1600/blog_051514_02.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
It's so <i>little</i>. Even compared to my beloved, bluescreen-happy old Dell.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V-e9CSOymRg/U3VoJ0_1KOI/AAAAAAAAFBs/F9X1osoLM9U/s1600/blog_051514_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V-e9CSOymRg/U3VoJ0_1KOI/AAAAAAAAFBs/F9X1osoLM9U/s1600/blog_051514_03.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I've used that old computer long and hard for five years. Now, as I go into online school, it seemed like a good time to buy one that didn't have a near-death experience every time it encountered the camera card or Skype.<br />
<br />
The new computer wanted a name, so I called it Min, after Min Farshaw. I thought about going all out and choosing Elmindreda*, but Min-the-non-girly-visionary would not have approved. Hopefully it will be loyal and dependable and follow me everywhere and take delight in books and libraries—and if it prefers breeches to dresses, well, most days that makes two of us.<br />
<br />
Anyhow, I'm fond of it already.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
Right now I don't have a lot of words, except to be grateful for sunshine and warmth enough to bike to work in short sleeves and a skirt, and then to bike home and walk barefoot around the yard and admire the flowers.<br />
<br />
The flowers can do the talking for me.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4_lr59xZKUU/U3VoKo0QJ9I/AAAAAAAAFB0/6Vs8PuJTi4s/s1600/blog_051514_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4_lr59xZKUU/U3VoKo0QJ9I/AAAAAAAAFB0/6Vs8PuJTi4s/s1600/blog_051514_04.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">rhody</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SsCDuI7dvGc/U3VoLaQdDaI/AAAAAAAAFB4/O8MRDDxz4x0/s1600/blog_051514_05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SsCDuI7dvGc/U3VoLaQdDaI/AAAAAAAAFB4/O8MRDDxz4x0/s1600/blog_051514_05.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">golden chain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hGk2UaIqPq4/U3VoLw4qq4I/AAAAAAAAFB8/VF1gsluUTgE/s1600/blog_051514_06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hGk2UaIqPq4/U3VoLw4qq4I/AAAAAAAAFB8/VF1gsluUTgE/s1600/blog_051514_06.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">stars of Bethlehem</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GKTxdWJzDek/U3VoMu8phFI/AAAAAAAAFCA/MXA3ARbbM6o/s1600/blog_051514_07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GKTxdWJzDek/U3VoMu8phFI/AAAAAAAAFCA/MXA3ARbbM6o/s1600/blog_051514_07.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">columbine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Wait till our big climbing rose really gets going on the bloom. :)<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
I haven't forgotten about Harry Potter. I haven't forgotten about book reviews. I haven't forgotten about cat pictures, or blogging in general. I've just been needing a little time to recover my sanity.<br />
<br />
So much neediness from Jenna lately... I know.<br />
<br />
Oh, right—cat picture.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dGrM4XrttB4/U3VoM4ZmpuI/AAAAAAAAFCE/DrXp_W4hhyo/s1600/blog_051514_08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dGrM4XrttB4/U3VoM4ZmpuI/AAAAAAAAFCE/DrXp_W4hhyo/s1600/blog_051514_08.jpg" height="315" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Blurry Maia, wrestling the arm of a chair and one of her socks</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Back soon!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">* I will not be referring to it as Doomseer, however. Tuon is such a pessimist.</span>Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-82812048806566245222014-05-03T22:42:00.000-07:002014-05-13T00:55:05.291-07:00Unique in All the World and other storiesIt's a quiet Saturday—thanks be to God—and I just opened up one of my novels. The story has been whispering in the back of my mind lately, obviously anxious to be told. I can envision it as it's meant to be; I can tell it's going to be beautiful, at least to me. Today, after months of inactivity, I brought up the document and started reading.<br />
<br />
Within two paragraphs, I was nauseous.<br />
<br />
Both of my stories are suspended in more or less the same place. I'm reaching out to these characters, these tales, through a sickening force field made up of exhaustion, a dangerous chemical combination of heavy-handed past critique and authorial masochism, and present internal strivings and life transitions.<br />
<br />
I wonder if I could write those stories over from the beginning without looking at the old manuscripts, which are so full of painful memories.<br />
<br />
It would be easier to drop both and start something new, but I love them.<br />
<br />
Force fields be damned. Invisible barriers lose a lot of their stopping power when there's love on the other side.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GvYLlKJ5RYg/U2W2XL_BdUI/AAAAAAAAFAM/7KI46PZSh40/s1600/blog_050314_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GvYLlKJ5RYg/U2W2XL_BdUI/AAAAAAAAFAM/7KI46PZSh40/s1600/blog_050314_01.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mint juleps are back in season. YAY.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<b>Music of the week—or of the month, more like:</b> a piece that is especially dear to me, as it involves the work of both my husband and a friend.<br />
<br />
Jade Coppieters caught us after Mass a few weeks back and asked Lou to lend his voice to this art song. I was beyond thrilled. Lou's voice has warmed in tone over the last couple of years, and its natural strength has mellowed without losing its power; I'd be completely envious if I didn't love him so much. And Jade, <a href="http://www.jennasthilaire.com/2013/11/angel-voices-say-to-thee-and-other.html">as I believe I've said before</a>, is an incredibly gifted composer—and one of my favorite people. :) We made an evening out of the recording event, and I loved every minute of the hours with Jade and his Sam and my Lou, making music and friendships.<br />
<br />
I got to play sound engineer, despite only half knowing what I'm doing, so I've listened to the piece enough to decide it just keeps getting better with familiarity. It's your turn now, so here's "Requiem." Words by Robert Louis Stevenson (he wrote this as his own epitaph, which did in fact make it onto his gravestone). Setting and piano performance by <a href="https://soundcloud.com/jadrian-coppieters">Jadrian Coppieters</a>. Vocals by Louis St. Hilaire.<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="no" height="300" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/144546833&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&visual=true" width="55%"></iframe><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
It was too windy for photos outside today, but I planted cosmos by the front porch and watered the baby tomatoes. I've taken to walking the yard every non-rainy afternoon, watching the garden come wholly and enthusiastically to life.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QyAAH0WQj1o/U2W2mfPQj7I/AAAAAAAAFAU/95-BI_6XrAU/s1600/blog_050314_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QyAAH0WQj1o/U2W2mfPQj7I/AAAAAAAAFAU/95-BI_6XrAU/s1600/blog_050314_02.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maia zonked out, comfortably and ungracefully</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2014/04/the-strange-triumph-of-the-little-prince.html">This commentary on Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and his novel <i>The Little Prince</i></a>, over at <i>The New Yorker</i>, sat open in my browser for several days before I got time to devote real attention to it. It proved worth the wait, even worth reading a couple of times. At first I was leery of what struck me as possibly over-exegeting a deliberately unclear fable, but a more thorough perusal cleared that up for me. The history is intriguing, and journalist Adam Gopnik captures some of the beautiful truth of the story.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jwJR0Jha3ow/U2W3JtQv0YI/AAAAAAAAFAg/GzSSUiyPKTo/s1600/blog_050314_06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jwJR0Jha3ow/U2W3JtQv0YI/AAAAAAAAFAg/GzSSUiyPKTo/s1600/blog_050314_06.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a>He doesn't quote this part, which Christie reminded me of recently in conversation, but here's a bit of one scene I particularly loved.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Men," said the fox. "They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?" </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"No," said the little prince. "I am looking for friends. What does that mean—'tame'?" </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties." </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"To establish ties?" </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world."</blockquote>
Much love, all of you. <3Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-23106973091939153032014-05-01T20:03:00.000-07:002014-05-01T20:03:22.331-07:00Rest in Peace, Uncle PatI'll miss your good-natured smile and your stories of a fascinating and far-reaching life. You could pack so much color into your chronicles with just a few words, a slow laugh. Maybe some of it was the way you'd glance out across the table or the living room, into our eyes or into the past, and your whole face would go bright with memory.<br />
<br />
We will remember you.Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-57198901879771433102014-04-28T22:20:00.000-07:002014-04-28T22:20:18.159-07:00Ballet and Stars and other storiesHappy second week of Easter! It's been a rather lovely few days, despite the continued Maytagging and a sudden cold that consists mostly of feeling like someone scrubbed my sinuses out with a bottle brush.<br />
<br />
At work, the Macintosh I have to do some of my editing on has had fewer laughs at my expense; my new desk is comfortingly secluded, and I got some decorations up; the talkative half of my department went out of their way to make me feel at ease this past week; and, emboldened by desperation, I finally found the espresso machine in the building where the Mac lives. Said espresso machine promptly broke, but it made Wednesday survivable first.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
The star I wrote a book about was well on the way to its zenith when we came home from Easter vigil. It spends most of the winter rising close to dawn, so that was my first glimpse of it for this year. I spent a few chilly minutes out on the deck staring at it, unaided by technology; it isn't much through the telescope, but it's a beautiful thing through the eyes of my beloved A.D.<br />
<br />
The vigil itself was splendid. Triduum was so exhausting last year that I was particularly grateful to be able, this Holy Saturday, to put Friday's Goth mood aside for candlelight and vivid color and the <i>Gloria</i>.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
Also, I have discovered blue eyeshadow. This has proven difficult to photograph.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I tried shutting my eyes, but then my camera decided to take its own mirror-selfie.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
I wore blue eyeshadow in some quantity Friday night to see WWU's performance of the Benjamin Britten opera <i>A Midsummer Night's Dream</i>. The play is one of my favorite Shakespeare works—I could mouth the words along with Helena when she sang<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant<br />
[and yet you draw not iron, for my heart / Is true as steel... <i>why didn't you leave that in the libretto, Sir Benjamin?</i>]<br />
Leave you your power to draw,<br />
And I shall have no power to follow you</blockquote>
and our friend Jade was harpsichordist, and it seemed like a good opportunity to make my husband take me out on a hot date. :)<br />
<br />
Maybe it's that modern music and even—to some extent—magic and fairy tales are so new to me still, but my inner child sat up and paid attention, awash in wonder. My grownup brain could tell that the vocal work and choreography were challenging for the all-student cast, but grownup-brain mostly sat indulgently back while the aforementioned inner child bobbed up and down in the theater seat and wished all her fairy-tale besties were around to help her fangirl over the wild dark beauty expressed in set and scene, music and dance.<br />
<br />
Lou and I once talked on the way back from some opera we saw—probably <i>Tristan und Isolde</i>—about opera's unique combination of various art forms. I thought back to that as I admired Greek and Hindu-inspired set pieces, lively comic acting, and ballet alongside the music. And such music! I had only a slight acquaintance with Britten, but I will be hunting out more of his music, oh yes.<br />
<br />
Also, I just about cried laughing when the wall was singing.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qrl1lK_QzBQ/U13ER-BhXnI/AAAAAAAAE9E/pUAUqWKLw_s/s1600/blog_042714_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qrl1lK_QzBQ/U13ER-BhXnI/AAAAAAAAE9E/pUAUqWKLw_s/s1600/blog_042714_04.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love it when the apple tree blooms.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
Sunday I wore purple and pink eyeshadow, and after church I hopped on my bike in the sun and went to see a play my friend Pat was in: Deborah Brevoort's <i>The Women of Lockerbie,</i> which (fictionally, but loosely based on true events) depicts the intersection of grief and generosity between women from Lockerbie, Scotland and relatives of victims of the 1988 Pan Am flight 103 terrorist bombing.<br />
<br />
It was quite the powerful story. I cried so hard that I felt awkward for the strangers on either side of me. Brevoort brought out the eucatastrophe, though, which—of course—was what really made me lose it.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I love local music and theater arts. You can run down afterward and hug your performing friends. :)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pvEUxyN6Qes/U18YThL8MVI/AAAAAAAAE9U/f8WZCJE8awg/s1600/blog_042714_05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pvEUxyN6Qes/U18YThL8MVI/AAAAAAAAE9U/f8WZCJE8awg/s1600/blog_042714_05.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
Blog-friend <a href="http://www.shalleemcarthur.com/">Shallee MacArthur</a>'s sci-fi YA debut novel, <i>The Unhappening of Genesis Lee</i>, is forthcoming from Sky Pony Press (cool publisher name to go with cool title). It has a gorgeous cover design (ballet and stars? Practically everything I love, right there); it has a highly suspenseful premise, and <a href="http://iceybooks.com/blog/2014/04/the-unhappening-of-genesis-lee-by-shallee-mcarthur-cover-reveal-and-giveaway.html">it currently has a live rafflecopter through which you can enter to win an ARC</a>! I did.<br />
<br />
Congratulations and more congratulations, Shallee!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0dvlILXACyI/U18cafW3fKI/AAAAAAAAE9g/pY8OaXk66ck/s1600/blog_042714_06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0dvlILXACyI/U18cafW3fKI/AAAAAAAAE9g/pY8OaXk66ck/s1600/blog_042714_06.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Solomon's seal... and dandelions</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<a href="http://blog.estately.com/2014/04/the-nerdiest-states-in-america/">I was born in #42</a>, grew up in #24, live in #6, and—fortuitously—ended up with a university in #1. I call this moving up in the world. Here's to Nerd Heaven! And Cosplay Fridays! Now, how to sell my company on that one.... It sounds like <i>fun</i>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MstEXTRvwEU/U18cqNU0y2I/AAAAAAAAE9o/A4SI025mAkw/s1600/blog_042714_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MstEXTRvwEU/U18cqNU0y2I/AAAAAAAAE9o/A4SI025mAkw/s1600/blog_042714_01.jpg" height="296" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maia watching, always watching</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
Thoughts of the return of the Harry Potter Book Club have begun surfacing in my consciousness. Stay tuned.Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-11204439150392545802014-04-23T20:12:00.001-07:002014-04-23T20:12:34.336-07:00Currently Reading: The Line<i>Happy Easter! I'll see if I can rustle up some thoughts and a cat picture later in the week, or over the weekend... in the meantime, here's one of those book reviews I keep promising.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18010355-the-line?ac=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AO680PzgPg4/U0DewhPxL2I/AAAAAAAAE6c/SwL_m875Clc/s1600/The+Line.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
by J.D. Horn<br />
47North, 2014<br />
<br />
The premise of this made me think agreeably of how a spinoff <i>Harry Potter</i> story about a Squib might have read. Mercy Taylor is the only non-magic person in a very powerful witching family. She enlists the help of a disreputable Hoodoo practitioner in order to fall in love with her best friend instead of her sister's boyfriend—and then the family matriarch is immediately murdered, and Mercy is stuck pitting wits against magic, family secrets, and an enemy that wants <i>her</i> dead next.<br />
<br />
The book contained magic, witchcraft, demons, political correctness, and a few other things that make it hard for me to recommend it unreservedly to about half my normal readership. It also contained a thoroughly enjoyable plot, a lot of surprising twists, a reliable genre voice, and some lovably human characters, of whom Uncle Oliver and Aunt Ellen were my favorites aside from protagonist Mercy. It made the hour or so of sitting in Les Schwab pass much too quickly.<br />
<br />
<b>Rating:</b> Two peanut butter cookies and a chocolate one. With milk. There are a couple of oatmeal raisin cookies on the plate, but they'll only set your teeth on edge if you expect them to be chocolate chip, and if you don't like raisins, and if you eat them. :)Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-15177283331393790762014-04-18T14:28:00.000-07:002014-04-18T14:28:43.238-07:00Let Me Mingle Tears with Thee and other stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_KC2A8QMwk/U1F7PwoIsSI/AAAAAAAAE7o/_688E6V6kOU/s1600/blog_041814_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_KC2A8QMwk/U1F7PwoIsSI/AAAAAAAAE7o/_688E6V6kOU/s1600/blog_041814_02.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Be not far from me,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>for trouble is near</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>and there is none to help.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Many bulls encompass me,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>strong bulls of Bashan surround me;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>they open wide their mouths at me,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>like a ravening and roaring lion.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I am poured out like water,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>and all my bones are out of joint;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>my heart is like wax,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>it is melted within my breast;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>my strength is dried up like a potsherd,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>and my tongue cleaves to my jaws;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>thou dost lay me in the dust of death.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
There's always something, Holy Week—something to distract me from Triduum. This year, it's the darkness resulting after weeks of not sleeping enough and getting Maytagged* by anxiety.<br />
<br />
Fine, I say. Good Friday is as good a day as any to face your own demons. I'll wear black and put my skull-and-crossbones earrings in and Goth out a little. It's appropriate.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow I can fight the dementors with chocolate, but for today, black coffee and a little proactive anger might just be good enough. There's beauty to be found in darkness.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IiBcS7MCdl8/U1GA3GjZBvI/AAAAAAAAE74/lCg0Zp6ixGU/s1600/blog_041814_06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IiBcS7MCdl8/U1GA3GjZBvI/AAAAAAAAE74/lCg0Zp6ixGU/s1600/blog_041814_06.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's hard to photograph, but it's there.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">* "Getting Maytagged": river guide slang for getting caught in a recirculating hydraulic, e.g., the looping wave that forms when water goes over a submerged rock. The experience is supposedly comparable to taking a spin in a frontloading washing machine, and can be almost as impossible to escape. Fun stuff.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
Pollyanna also helps.<br />
<br />
I am glad of many things, and tulips are not the least of these.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6xjyhw7ZKb0/U1GFiVMp2EI/AAAAAAAAE8Q/2LvT73YqTqc/s1600/blog_041814_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6xjyhw7ZKb0/U1GFiVMp2EI/AAAAAAAAE8Q/2LvT73YqTqc/s1600/blog_041814_04.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm <i>so</i> glad to have tomato plants to care for again.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AL1cbRgQxrk/U1GFljBpwVI/AAAAAAAAE8Y/k2Xa75wOShs/s1600/blog_041814_05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AL1cbRgQxrk/U1GFljBpwVI/AAAAAAAAE8Y/k2Xa75wOShs/s1600/blog_041814_05.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eggplant and peppers, too!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/XppXi_jZKWk" width="420"></iframe><br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>In this your bitter passion</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Good Shepherd, think of me</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>with your most sweet compassion</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>unworthy though I be</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Beneath your cross abiding</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>forever would I rest</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>in your dear love confiding</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>and with your presence blest.</i></div>
<br />
Have a blessed Good Friday, and Happy Easter!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *<br />
<br /></div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DiWibHdDhns/U1GDdvqrIcI/AAAAAAAAE8E/i3_H9KS-40M/s1600/blog_041814_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DiWibHdDhns/U1GDdvqrIcI/AAAAAAAAE8E/i3_H9KS-40M/s1600/blog_041814_03.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a>
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Eia, Mater, fons amoris</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">me sentire vim doloris</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">fac, ut tecum lugeam. ...</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Tui Nati vulnerati,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">tam dignati pro me pati,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">poenas mecum divide.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fac me tecum pie flere,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">crucifixo condolere,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">donec ego vixero.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(<a href="http://www.preces-latinae.org/thesaurus/BVM/SMDolorosa.html">source</a>)</span></i>
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<div style="text-align: right;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-42148413895919496532014-04-16T22:39:00.000-07:002014-04-16T22:39:50.479-07:00Harry Potter and Love: Less-Than-Ideal Family<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JxZdsVSB47s/U09fgXnQyVI/AAAAAAAAE7I/-p6igZlrnIM/s1600/weasleys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JxZdsVSB47s/U09fgXnQyVI/AAAAAAAAE7I/-p6igZlrnIM/s1600/weasleys.jpg" height="172" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Usually I prefer to link art I can credit, but for this I can only give a <a href="http://bookwormextraordinaire.blogspot.com/2010/11/harry-potter-week-day-4.html">source</a>.<br />To the unknown artist:<br />Thank you for including Harry and Hermione in the Weasley family portrait.<br />It wouldn't be the same without them.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The <a href="http://cyganeria-masha.blogspot.com/2014/03/harry-potters-lenten-retreat-part-two.html">word from Masha</a>:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
What's missing for me is a healthy family dynamic. Not ideal..I'm not expecting ideal, - really, honestly, I'm serious! - just reasonably attractive. I know everyone thinks I'm mean for rejecting the Weasleys... I hate-with-a-passion the 'hen-pecked husband' thing. Can't stand it. I am way too sick of the over-abundance of Father-as-object-of-Ridicule gigs to embrace yet another. I'd love to see a family where spouses share a mutual respect and nurture each others dignity...</blockquote>
And I'm going to repeat what I said in response, which is that:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I'm OK with my love for the Weasleys being a bit irrational. Because it's true that the dynamic between Arthur and Molly is far from ideal, and is the sort of thing that's absolutely insufferable in real life. The dynamic between Molly and anyone is less than ideal, except for Harry perhaps—and it's her love for Harry, her mothering of the motherless, that redeems her so thoroughly to me.</blockquote>
To be fair, she welcomes Hermione as freely as she does Harry. And anyone who had to raise Fred and George can perhaps be forgiven for being a bit prone to panicking and yelling.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kh5Oi4wZIP8/U09k4pgbLRI/AAAAAAAAE7Y/D2c7fHz9oXc/s1600/cheezburger+weasley+twins.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kh5Oi4wZIP8/U09k4pgbLRI/AAAAAAAAE7Y/D2c7fHz9oXc/s1600/cheezburger+weasley+twins.png" height="232" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Allie Brosh and the Weasley twins FTW! From <a href="http://cheezburger.com/5994487040">Cheezburger</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We don't see a lot of healthy family dynamics anywhere in Harry Potter, actually. You get a little of it in Harry's flashbacks of his parents' death scene, so you know what <i>he</i> lost, but there aren't a lot of clear, positive family pictures in the stories.<br />
<br />
The Weasleys are far from ideal, but Potter fans everywhere love them, and I do, too. Maybe it's just that at thirty-six, after that much lifetime with a close-knit family that is capable both of wounding deeply and surviving those wounds, I sympathize a bit. Or maybe it's that there's sort of a Catholic nostalgia around the prolific, poor family where nobody is perfect, and nobody quite follows all the rules, but everybody is wanted and welcome.<br />
<br />
Molly and Arthur Weasley remind me of two couples I've known for whom bickering seemed to be part of the package. One of those couples is gray-haired and still together—and possibly still bickering—and the other seems to have ironed out their differences, at least for public viewing. I would call them both happy, though I don't know either well enough at this point to say for sure.<br />
<br />
As for hen-pecked husbands, I generally dislike the caricature on principle, but I can't say that I've ever been acquainted with the reality. At least, not with anything fitting the general image. The dominant husband and painfully subservient wife—now <i>that</i> I've seen, and if the Weasleys had been that, I would have responded with visceral dislike much like Masha has expressed. Ergo, no judgies from this quarter.<br />
<br />
In other news, I went hunting for Weasley fan art, and now I have "Weasley Is Our King" stuck in my head.Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-31041464081801101672014-04-12T12:22:00.002-07:002014-04-12T12:26:28.304-07:00Stopping ByHappy Palm Sunday!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iyl-KGHIFaY/U0mNnw55HZI/AAAAAAAAE64/r8UEQogeS2I/s1600/blog_041214_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iyl-KGHIFaY/U0mNnw55HZI/AAAAAAAAE64/r8UEQogeS2I/s1600/blog_041214_01.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I haven't forgotten that I owe you a <i>Harry Potter</i> post, ideally <i>before</i> the end of Lent. It's just that as soon as I decided I was getting the hang of working nearly full time, I got sick. It was the wrong week to make fish tacos—that's for sure. I lived mostly on Coca-cola for three days. There's enough kid left in me to kind of enjoy that, at least.<br />
<br />
Kindle readers, blogger Natalie Whipple's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Transparent-Natalie-Whipple-ebook/dp/B009NG1UOC/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=07ZVYXNE4R4XE85VVGHT"><i>Transparent</i> is on sale right now for $1.99</a>. I just bought it and can't wait to read it.<br />
<br />
Ooh, and I still have half-written reviews for <i>The Line</i> (J.D. Horn), and <i>Fiddler's Green</i> (A.S. Peterson) to post, and I just read <i>Cress</i> (Marissa Meyer)... ooh. But first, I have to go plant my tomatoes and practice some of the music I'm supposed to be singing <i>tonight</i>. Shortly!Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-575942779663403842014-04-05T22:31:00.000-07:002014-04-05T22:31:08.440-07:00Bits of Light and Air and other storiesIt's been my habit, these past few weeks, to think of the utter disintegration of all my routines as a bit like falling into a lake. You spend a few long moments flailing for the surface—knowing you'll find it, but panicking a bit all the same.<br />
<br />
Amid all the burbling and greenish darkness, I'm starting to catch bits of light and air.<br />
<br />
Favorite parts of work: Donut Friday, to which my trainer introduced me yesterday. (It'll get better, too, soon as Lent is over!) Getting paid to fix bad grammar <i>before</i> it goes live on the internet. Running into old friends by the elevator, at the coffee machine, and in the breakroom.<br />
<br />
Least favorite part of work: Hearing one of my favorite new coworkers blurt to a friend, under his breath and around the corner, his agony over his boyfriend's walking out on him—and not feeling like two days' acquaintance gave me enough right of friendship to walk around the corner, put my arms around him, and let him curse off a little of the pain.<br />
<br />
One of the reasons I keep believing in God: the desperate need to pray for people I can't immediately help or comfort in any other way.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
I planted Jerusalem artichokes in the rain today. While I was at it, I weeded the vegetable garden and dug the little peony out of the yard. (Whether the latter will survive the uprooting, it's hard to say, but it has a better chance than it had against the mower.) If you wait for sunny weekends in Bellingham, you'll never get anything done.<br />
<br />
That said, I'll take rain over the piles of snow Maine still has—"always winter and never Christmas," as Christie put it the other day. I'm praying for spring, Masha! In the meantime, I feel guilty for posting the following, but seriously, GARDEN.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HpxlleU78XQ/U0DTq_PhsYI/AAAAAAAAE58/V35gipIrS6I/s1600/blog_040514_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HpxlleU78XQ/U0DTq_PhsYI/AAAAAAAAE58/V35gipIrS6I/s1600/blog_040514_01.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flowering quince: one of the first things to bloom around here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RoPQV04ZJBg/U0DTq6HYYWI/AAAAAAAAE5g/sCA3CPxd0Fs/s1600/blog_040514_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RoPQV04ZJBg/U0DTq6HYYWI/AAAAAAAAE5g/sCA3CPxd0Fs/s1600/blog_040514_02.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pV4KrNywMLI/U0DTqmPYBQI/AAAAAAAAE5k/GBhoh3I1Aio/s1600/blog_040514_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pV4KrNywMLI/U0DTqmPYBQI/AAAAAAAAE5k/GBhoh3I1Aio/s1600/blog_040514_03.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Brll9eu6noU/U0DTrTdePMI/AAAAAAAAE5s/teiwz3v2cvs/s1600/blog_040514_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Brll9eu6noU/U0DTrTdePMI/AAAAAAAAE5s/teiwz3v2cvs/s1600/blog_040514_04.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had raindrops on my camera lens, but the grape hyacinths<br />
are still adorable.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5QB-4e9mWCI/U0DTrnWXCtI/AAAAAAAAE50/VohAKA8spT4/s1600/blog_040514_05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5QB-4e9mWCI/U0DTrnWXCtI/AAAAAAAAE50/VohAKA8spT4/s1600/blog_040514_05.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fruiting quince tree!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The bad garden news: two of my three red currants are jostaberries. I never had any intention of growing jostaberries; I keep trying to grow red currants. This is five out of six I've been wrong about. Either I'm going to have to learn to tear up healthy plants, which always hurts me, or I'm going to have to find some use for jostaberries.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
Tonight's meal: polenta cooked till creamy, stirred up with butter and parmesan, topped with chicken and leeks and mushrooms cooked in garlic salt and sherry with chili flakes. Not <i>very</i> Lenten, but then, it's Sunday vigil.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
According to Maia, it is as important to sleep on work jeans as on clean laundry. This is a mystery to me.<br />
<br />
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The <i>Harry Potter</i> post is half written. I'll try and finish it soon.... bonne nuit.Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-71367731142537764012014-03-31T22:59:00.000-07:002014-04-03T22:24:00.897-07:00The Quest for Understanding and other stories<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q26ARwIJt3s/UzZRYhmk5XI/AAAAAAAAE4w/r_5uNyyd4lU/s1600/blog_032814_Myers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q26ARwIJt3s/UzZRYhmk5XI/AAAAAAAAE4w/r_5uNyyd4lU/s1600/blog_032814_Myers.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Traces"<br />
Printmaking/woodcut; plywood and canvas<br />
Work and photo by Margot Myers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Those of you who have been around for a while might remember that I'm on something of a quest to understand modern art.<br />
<br />
It's something that comes to mind a lot in Bellingham. Sometimes—e.g., when walking around the giant macaroni noodle on the street corner, or navigating my way across the abstract-statuary-punctuated WWU campus—I feel shut out, as if I'd attempted to get to know someone and they'd snubbed me.<br />
<br />
On account of which, I've been offering eternal gratitude to anyone who helps me understand modern art in any form. <a href="http://cyganeria-masha.blogspot.com/2013/03/poem-joseph.html">Masha</a> and <a href="http://boltsofsilk.blogspot.com/2012/09/yns-mon-by-l-c-ricardo.html">Christie</a> have begun that work for me in poetry; <a href="https://soundcloud.com/jadrian-coppieters">Jade</a> carries it forward musically; and <a href="http://margotbmyers.com/home.html">Margot Myers</a> joined that list of teachers a couple of Sundays ago with a beautiful visual piece called "Traces."<br />
<br />
Margot is my friend, and maybe friendship is the best way into understanding art—or maybe I'm drawn to make friends with people who call me forward artistically. Whichever be the case, I see a lot of my own feeling reflected in her artistic statement:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The incredible, ordered power in natural systems and organisms is the main thing that informs my work. I respond to the great beauty and delicacy that I see in the sky, the ocean and in the dirt.... I want my work to increase consciousness of and a connection to the fleeting, intense and sometimes frightful beauty that exists around us. </blockquote>
"Traces," she explained in a statement that accompanied her exhibit, is about travel and the traces we leave behind us as we move around the world. She studied everything from vapor trails to boat wakes in the creation process, and invited strangers to participate by leaving painted footprints; when you get close enough, you can see shoe treads marked in yellows.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NNBdeAjDIi0/Uzc6KT28ODI/AAAAAAAAE5A/pOHlS-97jYM/s1600/blog_032814_Myers2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NNBdeAjDIi0/Uzc6KT28ODI/AAAAAAAAE5A/pOHlS-97jYM/s1600/blog_032814_Myers2.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Detail of "Traces"<br />
Work and photo by Margot Myers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I had to read the words first, because I need explanation so badly. After that, though, I walked around the piece, considered it from different angles, and saw everything she'd mentioned and then some: dots on a map, headlights and taillights, land and sea and motion, salmon traveling upstream, and even comings and goings between stars. And, because my mind works this way: ferris wheels, tiger colors, film reels, peacock feathers, and Golden Snitches. (I think the latter actually represented a map symbol, but am not sure.)<br />
<br />
Sometimes I just looked at the sweep of line and color across the boards and canvas and thought, "It's beautiful."<br />
<br />
It was nice to meet a piece of modern visual art and feel like it said hello and smiled at me. I'd like to meet more. In the meantime, I recommend <a href="http://margotbmyers.com/home.html">Margot's site</a> and her <a href="https://www.facebook.com/MargotB.Myers">Facebook page</a>! Enjoy.<br />
<br />
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* * *</div>
<br />
*grin and blush*<br />
<br />
So. On March 27, I was finally able to sign up for orientation at Utah State, SAT scores in hand. And I was able to tell them that I got a 620 in Math and an 800 in Critical Reading.<br />
<br />
Required score for getting out of college math entirely: 580. :D<br />
<br />
I'm tempted to light off fireworks, even though they're not legal in Bellingham (not that that stops anybody). Since I'm not in possession of any, however, I'll have to settle for a VERY LONG AND EXUBERANT HAPPY DANCE OH MY GOSH.<br />
<br />
:D :D :D :D :D<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
This is not the first time in my life I've worked thirty-two hours a week. What I can't figure out right now is when I used to <i>do</i> stuff. When did I go to the grocery?—do laundry?—sleep? I get up at six and go to bed at midnight and I still can't get it all done.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, the flowering quince is blooming, and the fruiting quince is leafing out; there's another peony coming up in the lawn; Lou found a brick border buried an inch deep under sod around the front gardens; I rode my bike to work for the first time today (terrifying and exhausting, but it'll get better); I'm drinking rose-and-jasmine tea sent me by Masha (best-smelling package EVER, Em! That oil! And I keep cuddling the scarf for feel and scent, and thinking of you <3); and I keep smiling because Saturday brought me some rather lovely friendship and music, like a thoughtfully-chosen gift.<br />
<br />
The music you might just get to hear one of these days, as the composer is a certain aforementioned friend, and the vocalist is a certain aforementioned husband. ;)<br />
<br />
Oh, and I never got you a cat picture last week. Laura, thanks for giving me permission to miss a few. George and Maia, I'M SORRY.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Harry Potter post coming soon; <a href="http://cyganeria-masha.blogspot.com/2014/03/harry-potters-lenten-retreat-part-two.html">Masha put up hers</a>, and Christie is planning to join back in before long as well. In the meantime, I hope you're all having a great week!Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-19487105921372208622014-03-26T21:31:00.000-07:002014-03-26T21:31:35.457-07:00Hufflepuff PartyI have a post on a friend's beautiful modern visual art that I'm desperately trying to get posted. Not to mention the two book reviews that want writing up. They require conscious thought. Conscious thought takes work, however.<br />
<br />
Conscious feels—not so much. :D<br />
<br />
Kristina Horner, this is so perfect, and I <i>love</i> you. I always knew we were a lot alike, even though I called myself a Gryffindor and you called yourself a Slytherin.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/QJ2buIPiDXg" width="500"></iframe><br />
<br />
The only thing—well, I'm not so sure about cuddling a badger. They bite. I don't need a badger for biting instead of cuddling; I have a cat for that. Most of the time, I can pry <i>her</i> teeth out of my hand.Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-510393473209191582014-03-25T21:52:00.000-07:002014-03-25T21:52:11.564-07:00The Twenty-Fifth of March when Sauron Fell<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Noon?" said Sam, trying to calculate. "Noon of what day?" </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"The fourteenth of the New Year," said Gandalf; "or if you like, the eighth day of April in the Shire reckoning. But in Gondor the New Year will always now begin upon the twenty-fifth of March when Sauron fell, and when you were brought out of the fire to the King."</blockquote>
Happy Feast of the Annunciation and... day of the downfall of Sauron! Isn't there a proper name for it? I can't remember right off, and I'm too sleepy to look it up.<br />
<br />
But the girls from Pages Unbound—one of my favorite book blogs—<a href="http://pagesunbound.wordpress.com/2014/03/25/tolkien-talk-jenna-of-a-light-inside/">interviewed me on the subject of J.R.R. Tolkien and his work the other day</a>, and the post went live on this day of all days for Middle-Earth. I was thoroughly flattered to be asked, and had a blast answering their questions. If you want to know what redeems the Professor's work for me despite the dearth of interesting female characters, or how and why I first read said work, or what I'd say to people who haven't read Tolkien yet, click on over.<br />
<br />
They're also interviewing other bloggers all week, which is just part of <a href="http://pagesunbound.wordpress.com/tag/tolkien-reading-event/">a stellar Tolkien read-through</a> (<a href="http://pagesunbound.wordpress.com/2014/03/25/tolkien-post-master-list/">master list of posts</a>), which I really wish right now I could find more time to participate in. All you Tolkien fans—which is at least two-thirds of you who ever comment—I recommend it!Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-11640059180874516222014-03-21T20:10:00.001-07:002014-03-21T20:10:33.685-07:00Because I Owe You a Cat Picture...(Yes, I <i>know</i> the Chicago Manual of Style prefers a space before the ellipsis, and I <i>will</i> dutifully put said space in when occasion requires at work, but I have <i>never</i> understood that style choice. Feel free to explain, if any of you have the details.)<br />
<br />
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<br />
So. I like the job. I like the job so much that I just told my bosses I'd work thirty-two hours per week instead of twenty till fall semester starts. Bear with me; I'm not sure when I'll take pictures of the cat and the flowers, let alone post them, but I mean to find ways.<br />
<br />
The next question: which of these plants I can save from further Maian root excavations by taking them to work and putting them on my desk.<br />
<br />
Carrie-Ann, I put the Jane Austen figurine you gave me on my desk, right in front of my computer monitors. When I went in this morning, I discovered that someone had used one of my sticky notes to leave me a "This is <u>awesome!</u>" with an arrow pointing to Jane. My sentiments exactly. :)Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-70676456578090154622014-03-17T21:01:00.001-07:002014-03-21T20:13:29.189-07:00Harry Potter and Love: Imperfect FriendshipHello, Potter fans!<br />
<br />
Christie is officially in Wales, so hopefully we'll be hearing from her soon! Meanwhile, <a href="http://cyganeria-masha.blogspot.com/2014/03/harry-potters-lenten-retreat.html">Masha began our Lenten study of love in the first three Harry Potter books</a> with a set of comments that wants some serious engaging. Here goes.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PxJUBYai_Ww/Uye5_cehP1I/AAAAAAAAE3Y/9heuqHRu0E4/s1600/HP-Fanart-The-Trio-harry-potter-980866_555_598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PxJUBYai_Ww/Uye5_cehP1I/AAAAAAAAE3Y/9heuqHRu0E4/s1600/HP-Fanart-The-Trio-harry-potter-980866_555_598.jpg" height="320" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best friends. <a href="http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/harry-potter/images/980866/title/hp-fanart-trio-fanart">Source</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Friendship is, I think, the love Rowling is least comfortable with..it is the weakest portrayed in the series, the most often portrayed, the least inspiring of all the loves shown in the series.</blockquote>
I would make that argument for romance, not friendship.<br />
<br />
Apart from frequency of portrayal, every argument Masha makes here strikes me as highly defensible if we're talking about the romantic relationships—a point I believe firmly even though I shipped the canon pairs from the earliest books. But since we'll probably get to romantic love later on, I won't bother defending my position just yet.<br />
<br />
As for friendship:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The primary friendship: Harry, Ron, and Hermione is a frustrating one for me. Harry and Ron are pretty consistently abandoning Hermione for all manner of petty reasons, Ron is - it seems, never really stops hating Harry for life in the limelight, and Harry has the sort of trust issues that can only come from an abusive childhood..but why do they never, ever go away - at least with his two closest friends?</blockquote>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xKYoNSTHUF0/Uye9dY1LzNI/AAAAAAAAE3k/5IkbVU7wm6c/s1600/the-Trio-fan-art-harry-potter-6912857-600-800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xKYoNSTHUF0/Uye9dY1LzNI/AAAAAAAAE3k/5IkbVU7wm6c/s1600/the-Trio-fan-art-harry-potter-6912857-600-800.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If that had been a wizarding photo booth,<br />
those pictures would move.<br />
<a href="http://images2.fanpop.com/images/photos/6900000/the-Trio-fan-art-harry-potter-6912857-600-800.jpg">Source</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Reader experience is so personal that I can't argue with that. I <i>can</i> argue that Ron <i>does</i> eventually stop hating Harry for life in the limelight, but unfortunately my best proof requires a quote from the epilogue to <i>Deathly Hallows</i>, which is off limits right now.<br />
<br />
In these first three books, the Trio is very young, and when I was their age, I was a petty friend, too. I spent a year being angry with my best friend for turning thirteen nine months before I did. Said best friend also got a much earlier grip on maturity. When I think of the evening I spent sneaking up behind her and startling her, or the afternoon I kept flipping her off the inner tube in the pool after promising her again and again that I wouldn't... yeah. I'm lucky she didn't call me a jerk and find a nicer girl to hang out with.<br />
<br />
I can't find it in me to condemn Ron when I've been forgiven so much. :)<br />
<br />
As for Harry never getting over his trust issues: Masha, can you give me an example of that? I'm not sure what you mean by that, so I'm not sure how to defend him.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Because the trio aren't the only friends represented in the series, but they're probably the best shot at healthy, true friendships, and it's disappointing.</blockquote>
I'd give that "best shot" to the Marauders, actually, <i>sans</i> traitor. No disappointment necessary.<br />
<br />
The Marauders—Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs—are introduced in this book, and despite certain notable personal failures, the three loyal ones were indeed loyal. The bond of love between them ran deep. Like, David and Jonathan, Frodo and Sam deep. Deep enough to induce singer-songwriter-GarageBandmaster Zoe Bromelow to write all kinds of songs celebrating that love.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8EG29yNwQxI/Uye_UNCFN2I/AAAAAAAAE3w/rhQIJyy5iNU/s1600/harry_potter__Marauders_by_JACKIEthePIRATE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8EG29yNwQxI/Uye_UNCFN2I/AAAAAAAAE3w/rhQIJyy5iNU/s1600/harry_potter__Marauders_by_JACKIEthePIRATE.jpg" height="309" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art by <a href="http://alittlemermaid.deviantart.com/art/harry-potter-Marauders-58744468">Jackie de Leon</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Taking her band name from the dedication to <i>Deathly Hallows,</i> Ms. Bromelow is well known for her Marauder-era tunes. Her songs are pretty rough-cut, but she's just about unrivalled in wizard rock for her ability to pack emotion into a short lyric and a haunting little melody. She is absolutely my favorite wrocker, and here are two applicable songs, both of which I love. It's sloppy academic practice to use wizard rock songs as arguments, but I'm totally going to do it anyway.<br />
<br />
"<a href="http://www.last.fm/music/Split+Seven+Ways/Up+To+No+Good/Up+To+No+Good">Up to No Good</a>" (sorry, I couldn't find a way to embed these)<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>So I'll stay with Padfoot even when he's crazy<br />I'll stick with Wormtail even when he's lazy<br />Be Prongs' friend even when he's insufferable<br />This means trouble</i></blockquote>
"<a href="http://www.last.fm/music/Split+Seven+Ways/Up+To+No+Good/Every+Star+in+the+Sky">Every Star in the Sky</a>"<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>You always could see right through me</i><br /><i>A silent smile for some inner beauty</i><br /><i>I always did know how to calm you down</i><br /><i>But life's not the same without James and Lily</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>It's hard to sleep and it's hard to cry</i><br /><i>But still I repeat it like a lullaby</i><br /><i>This war will end</i><br /><i>We'll see them again</i><br /><i>I swear on every star in the sky</i></blockquote>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z-w3mIZ9lzg/Uye_9y5gjII/AAAAAAAAE34/k8XifUk8fBo/s1600/lily_and_marauders_by_ahshow-d41ma3g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z-w3mIZ9lzg/Uye_9y5gjII/AAAAAAAAE34/k8XifUk8fBo/s1600/lily_and_marauders_by_ahshow-d41ma3g.jpg" height="251" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spoilerific, but I couldn't resist. Art by <a href="http://ahshow.deviantart.com/art/Lily-and-Marauders-244583836">ahshow</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We'll get some pictures of the Marauders' love and loyalty at the end of this book: Moony embracing the long-lost Padfoot as a brother, and Prongs' love reaching forward one generation to save Padfoot's life and soul.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
So much simmering resentment. I look back at my own school-day friendships and I remember having friends like that: friends I liked (even loved), but didn't really trust, friends I knew would isolate me at the first mis-step..those weren't my closest friends. My dearest friends from school were the ones I trusted with my whole heart, the ones I know are still there for me, despite the miles, despite the spiritual distance, despite the paths we've taken that lead away from each other. There's still that core closeness..and maybe that closeness is there, somewhere deeply hidden in the trio. Buried behind back-biting, petty betrayals, and thoughtless cruelties, maybe there's the core of friendship. But if it's there, it seems like a sad, struggling thing - beset on all sides. </blockquote>
Two words: Hermione Granger.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MKVxdKpiEWM/UyfBPVxIIEI/AAAAAAAAE4E/KAfsRUJcDCQ/s1600/trio_of_heroes_by_conniiption-d3yb05e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MKVxdKpiEWM/UyfBPVxIIEI/AAAAAAAAE4E/KAfsRUJcDCQ/s1600/trio_of_heroes_by_conniiption-d3yb05e.jpg" height="226" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art by <a href="http://conniiption.deviantart.com/art/Trio-of-Heroes-239018882">conniiption</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Hermione is the constant in the Trio, the one who—despite bossiness and a taste for following the rules that goes mostly unshared by her best friends—is never, as far as I can recall offhand, disloyal. She bickers with Ron and is occasionally rude to him, usually after he does something particularly unkind to her, but she never gives either of them up for lost causes. Both boys need that loyalty.<br />
<br />
In <i>Prisoner of Azkaban,</i> Ron and Hermione don't speak to each other for weeks on account of Hermione's cat supposedly killing Ron's rat. Harry and Ron are both more heartless without Hermione, and it's <i>her</i> approach, trembling, with the important knowledge of a mutual friend's grief, that begins reconciliation. That act cracks Ron's pride. When Ron's pride cracks, Hermione's caves in, and Harry's might never have existed. All is forgiven.<br />
<br />
The Trio <i>is</i> beset on all sides, what with a serious lack of adult guidance and an evil wizard trying desperately to kill one of them off. They quarrel like siblings and sometimes have a real blowup between them, but there is always love there. It pulls them back together every time.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0KJbMwhtraY/UyfB3oj2wDI/AAAAAAAAE4M/gwNWbQKcxAw/s1600/Potter+firstyears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0KJbMwhtraY/UyfB3oj2wDI/AAAAAAAAE4M/gwNWbQKcxAw/s1600/Potter+firstyears.jpg" height="320" width="253" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art by <a href="http://spookysilentlibrary.blogspot.com/2011/09/ickle-firsties.html">Rae</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Still, if it is there - and I never see it reading the books, really, only in discussing them afterwards with enthusiastic people who can see it - it does raise the friendships in the series above where I saw them. I like to hope that maybe Rowling is trying to draw that aspect of friendship out. Reminding her readers again and again that love is something constant..something that 'bears all things..endures all things..[and] never fails.' </blockquote>
Human love fails regularly. Rowling shows us that, but she also shows it growing, becoming more than itself, finding new ways around old breaches. Some sort of conflict between the Trio plays a role in the overarching conflict in several of the books, if not all seven, but the friends always return to peace.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
What do you think, are her friendships true and beautiful? Are they Loving?</blockquote>
I'd argue that Rowling's friendships are realistic: true and beautiful at times, flawed and unattractive at others. They develop, progress and regress, and finish out the story rather wonderfully, in my opinion, though I'm not allowed to talk about that yet. :)<br />
<br />
Thoughts?<br />
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<br /></div>Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-37985262516478472842014-03-14T20:07:00.000-07:002014-03-14T20:07:30.262-07:00Primroses Waiting and other storiesHello, last weekday of being a stay-at-home housewife! I've been enjoying the sunshine—and killing the whole morning working on things not relevant to what I'm supposed to be working on—and putting off housework.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oA_pTQeGwQ0/UyPBY1N7m1I/AAAAAAAAE2o/-Gq_H_W9c9Q/s1600/blog_031414_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oA_pTQeGwQ0/UyPBY1N7m1I/AAAAAAAAE2o/-Gq_H_W9c9Q/s1600/blog_031414_01.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maia: "Don't take a picture of me. You'll steal my soul."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The blog schedule will get substantively reworked over the next few weeks, and I won't know how till I know <i>my</i> new schedule... so thanks for your patience. :)<br />
<br />
For today: the Today meme is hosted by Masha! <a href="http://pieknoathome.blogspot.com/2014/03/today_10.html">Join in over at Piękno</a>, or leave your own sensory notes in the combox...<br />
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<b>Today I am:</b><br />
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<b>Feeling... </b>cheerful. I have four little primroses waiting to go in the ground; I did a bunch of account updating that I've been putting off all week; I've had a pleasant few days of not making myself do very much; and I ordered a bicycle yesterday so I can commute to work like a proper Bellinghamster.*<br />
<br />
I'm as excited as a kid about that last one. I've barely been on a bike since my teens... but there was another blue Schwinn once, and before that, a much-loved black-and-yellow dirt bike that I rode till my knees started hitting the handlebars.<br />
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I am <i>so</i> going to learn <a href="http://www.sfbike.org/?diva">to ride my bike in a skirt</a>, by the way.<br />
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<b>Seeing... </b>my friend Agnes' band play tomorrow night, if all goes well! Two or three of my other friends and I are driving down to Seattle together to see her sing. I've been looking forward to this for <i>weeks</i>.<br />
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<b>Smelling... and </b><b>Tasting... </b>grapefruit peeled, sectioned, and cut up into a bowl with a handful of walnuts thrown in—a Lenten lunch that doesn't taste penitential. ;)<br />
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<b>Listening... </b>to a real blast from the past. Upon coming home from choir practice this week with something or other stuck in my head, I thought, "I need a song to get this out, <i>now"</i>—and the following came to mind out of nowhere. I haven't seen the movie <i>Polly</i> since I was maybe fourteen.<br />
<br />
This was the only video of the complete song that I could find that wasn't flagrantly breaking copyright law. The crowd is very enthusiastic, probably because this performance is kind of adorable.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/u-1s2HAjf14" width="500"></iframe><br />
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<b>Grateful... </b>for sunshine, flowers, these five years of rest, and a job to go to Monday.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ubyJOZ_Bd4U/UyPB-ejC39I/AAAAAAAAE24/HFI8iQ9QHGA/s1600/blog_031414_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ubyJOZ_Bd4U/UyPB-ejC39I/AAAAAAAAE24/HFI8iQ9QHGA/s1600/blog_031414_04.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First daffodil!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b>Reading…</b> hmm. I just finished <i>Fiddler's Green</i> (kinda loved it, actually; review coming soon), so I'm between books. I've got Marissa Meyer's <i>Cress</i> on order at the library, Dickens' <i>The Tale of Two Cities</i> still waiting on my Kindle, and sudden strong temptations to re-read the first three <i>Anne</i> books, <i>The Blue Castle,</i> and <i>The Host.</i> Hmmmmmm.<br />
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<b>Studying… </b>nothing! Not this week. ;)<br />
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<b>Working on... </b>filling out I-9s and W-2s, convincing myself to make something of Lent instead of complaining about it, and preparing a great big response to <a href="http://cyganeria-masha.blogspot.com/2014/03/harry-potters-lenten-retreat.html">Masha's first Lenten post on love in <i>Harry Potter</i></a>. Hey, Potter fans, my good friend Masha doesn't say things like "Friendship is, I think, the love Rowling is least comfortable with..." just to make every Potter fan's jaw hit the floor—these were her sincere impressions! Go convince her otherwise. ;)<br />
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<b>Loving... </b>this day at home.<br />
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<b>Hoping... </b>for more sunshine, so I can start biking to work <i>soon</i>. And so my little primroses don't get stunted and beaten back by snow and frost, like the last quartet I got. And so we can finally be done with winter, because <i>spring</i>.<br />
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Happy weekend!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">* I'll bike-commute in the sunshine, at least. I'm not hard core enough to want to take my book bag and my bangs out in the rain.</span></div>
Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-77904443404367138802014-03-12T16:37:00.000-07:002014-03-12T16:37:19.337-07:00Currently Reading: The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9591398-the-girl-who-circumnavigated-fairyland-in-a-ship-of-her-own-making" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making (Fairyland, #1)" border="0" src="https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1388179691m/9591398.jpg" /></a>by Catherynne M. Valente<br />
Square Fish, 2012<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“How far is it to Pandemonium, Ell?” yawned September. She stretched her legs, flexing the bare toes of her left foot. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“Can’t say, small one.” The beast thwacked into the tree again. “Pandemonium begins with P, and, therefore, I don’t know very much about it.” </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
September thought for a moment. “Try ‘Capital’ instead. That starts with C. And Fairyland starts with F, so you could, well, cross-reference.” </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A-Through-L left off the nearly persimmon tree and cocked his head to one side like a curious German shepherd. “The capital of Fairyland is surrounded by a large, circular river,” he said slowly, as if reading from a book, “called the Barleybroom. The city consists of four districts: Idlelily, Seresong, Hallowgrum, and Mallowmead. Population is itinerant, but summer estimates hover around ten thousand <i>daimonia</i>—that means spirits—” </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“And <i>pan</i> means all,” whispered September, since the Wyvern could not be expected to know, on account of the <i>p</i> involved. In September’s world, many things began with <i>pan. Pandemic, Pangaea, Panacea, Panoply.</i> Those were all big words, to be sure, but as has been said, September read often, and liked it best when words did not pretend to be simple, but put on their full armor and rode out with colors flying.</blockquote>
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Twelve-year-old September, bored with teacups and small dogs, is only too happy to be Ravished away by the Green Wind and sent into Fairyland. Immediately upon entrance, she follows the path to losing her heart and accepts a quest to retrieve a spoon from the tyrannical Marquess, without beginning to know what she's undertaking, or how she might be breaking the Rules of Fairyland—but September is rational and determined, and she will do what she must to succeed.<br />
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One of the problems most folklorists have with Disney fairy tales is that said tales rarely point out that Fairyland and the majority of its inhabitants are out to bamboozle you. Valente obviously knows the facts, however, as does protagonist September by the end of the novel—and yet, Fairyland's trickery does not destroy its attractiveness.<br />
<br />
September, like MacDonald's Anodos, ends up Shadowless; unlike Anodos, however, September's narrator suggests this is a bad rather than a good thing. The imagery only hints at future things, so I'll have to read the sequel to discover the point of all that.<br />
<br />
Valente presents Fairyland in extravagant prose, dropping hilarious wordplay into depiction of a wildly colored landscape full of things unexpected. Her scientific and self-reliant little heroine faces it down with the help of two sidekicks: one prone to spouting encyclopedia quotes, and the other shy and blue.<br />
<br />
I loved the book for the humor and the characters—which included a jacket, a lamp, and a soap golem—and appreciated it for its beautiful vocabulary and thoughtfulness. The one strongly sympathetic character I could not always quite keep up with was September herself, as she and I had to communicate from the extreme furthest reaches of the Jungian thinking/feeling dichotomy. Fortunately, I had Ell and Saturday and the aforementioned jacket and lamp and soap golem to help relay messages. If I go for the sequel, which I well might, it will very much be for love of September's friends.<br />
<br />
Advisory, aimed solely at parents who have serious cautions about <i>Harry Potter—</i>some of whom, for friendship to me, bravely go on reading this blog: This being Fairyland, there are witches and dragons. Well, dragon—or rather, wyvern—or rather, Wyverary. I loved the Wyverary; I ain't gonna lie. Speaking of verbal dishonesty, however, Valente cheerfully and openly subverts the concept of the "good child," starting by requiring September to lie in order to enter Fairyland, upon which I thought to myself (perhaps not <i>entirely</i> justly), "Oh. Well. I guess <i>I'll</i> never get in, then." Homeschooling absolutely crippled me on the dishonesty front. For better or for worse. ;)Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-33784307106937247632014-03-10T23:17:00.000-07:002014-03-10T23:26:45.950-07:00Once Upon an SATMy job starts next Monday; this is my last week of full freedom. I'm tempted to say, "Should I use it for good or for evil?"—but the alternatives are really more like, "Should I use it for cleaning house and writing or for killing time on the internet?"<br />
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PSA: <a href="http://cyganeria-masha.blogspot.com/">Masha</a> will be leading off the Harry Potter discussions for the next few weeks, as a Lenten act of mercy. Thanks, M—you're the best!<br />
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Special thanks to all of you who wished me luck, prayed for me, and/or thought of me Saturday! I survived the SAT. I won't know how well I did till March 27, but I survived.<br />
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<br />
Story time!<br />
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The administrators gave us the same basic list of warnings a jury is given before they're allowed to go home at night, so: instead of swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I'll solemnly vow to say nothing that matters. :)<br />
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Gratuitous Nyquil would've been a good idea the night before, except that it usually leaves me feeling drugged for twelve hours straight. Not wanting to go to bed at six PM, I opted for lying awake from five AM onward with my brain racing from anxiety. Judging from the lost look on many dozens of teenage faces at seven-thirty, this was a common choice.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fthhDSM_fAw/Ux6j7wMVBvI/AAAAAAAAE18/QvlG4CaxMNI/s1600/blog_031014_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fthhDSM_fAw/Ux6j7wMVBvI/AAAAAAAAE18/QvlG4CaxMNI/s1600/blog_031014_01.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me trying to figure out the self-timer on my new camera.<br />
This is not the look we were wearing, but it's about equally flattering.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I expected to feel old, but mostly I felt as young and lost as my fellow students—and, in fact, nearly got myself and a very young-looking junior <i>actually</i> lost trying to find the meeting place, which turned out to be the exact same room as the lecture had been in Friday night. It's a good thing the SAT doesn't test ability to read maps.<br />
<br />
Feeling like a teenager again was a good exercise in empathy. At some point during the morning I took to reminding myself of Friday's lecture, because that was college, and that was fun. The SAT is high school, and high school sucks. I realize that cheating is a common and serious problem, but I began wondering where the classroom leaves off and juvenile detention begins. I hate feeling distrusted. The experience made me more grateful than ever for having been homeschooled.*<br />
<br />
At one point, I felt every day of my age: when one of the proctors got sharp with the kids and an aid started pushing them around and scolding them with, "Do you <i>not</i> know what a straight line is?" From halfway across the room, with rows of fixed chairs and confused teenagers between us, I couldn't do anything, but I wanted to march up to her and explain the mathematical improbability of forcing a hundred and some stressed, sleepy young people to line themselves up alphabetically against a wall far too short for them to do anything <i>but</i> crowd against.<br />
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Fortunately for my third of the crowd—perhaps fifty students—a proctor with the inestimable advantage of a warm smile took charge of us and marched us up campus to a different classroom.<br />
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A girl from Surrey struck up a pleasant conversation with me en route, perhaps out of kindness to the shy stranger built like a Number Two pencil. After a few minutes of chatting, she said: "What grade are you in—eleventh or twelfth? I'm guessing twelfth." I had very warm feelings toward her for the rest of the day, and prayed for her a lot.<br />
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The back to Lou's calculator got confiscated for the duration of the test. "It has writing on it." The tiny instruction sheet for using the calculator, really?<br />
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The biggest emotional advantage I was given, next to having a nice proctor, was being seated against a wall. I gravitate to walls and corners, especially when I'm stressed. They're stabilizing.<br />
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Someone had drawn a dead or exhausted anime character on my desk. Despite the lack of ponytail, he reminded me of Edward Elric. That made me sad, so I told myself he was only exhausted, and commiserated frequently with him throughout the morning.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1zaDfv-874s/Ux6kZSJelpI/AAAAAAAAE2M/rkOCHUe9gc4/s1600/Edward.Elric.600.200105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1zaDfv-874s/Ux6kZSJelpI/AAAAAAAAE2M/rkOCHUe9gc4/s1600/Edward.Elric.600.200105.jpg" height="250" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My second-favorite alchemist. (Dumbledore is my favorite. <3)<br />
<a href="http://www.zerochan.net/200105">Source</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Aside from my old friend Fullmetal, the desk was a joke, especially for a southpaw like myself. To take practice tests with comparable difficulty, I'd have had to rivet a bicycle seat to the right side of a chair and try to balance test book, pencil, answer sheet, and calculator on that.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qGFzfK6d_-o/Ux6k5C0sq8I/AAAAAAAAE2U/je2kJ-eEaJ0/s1600/blog_031014_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qGFzfK6d_-o/Ux6k5C0sq8I/AAAAAAAAE2U/je2kJ-eEaJ0/s1600/blog_031014_03.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fortunately, I did not have to share desk space with the cat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As for the three hours and forty-five minutes of actual testing, here are details that shouldn't compromise the integrity of the test itself:<br />
<ul>
<li>I quoted <a href="http://theoatmeal.com/">The Oatmeal</a> in my essay. The quote I wanted to use was much cruder than the one I actually used.</li>
<li>I have never, as far as I can remember, failed to finish a reading comprehension test in the time allotted—until Saturday. Hopefully the curve they grade <i>that</i> one on will be forgiving.</li>
<li>Whenever I got to one of the correct-this-crappy-writing sections, I forgot I was testing and started mouthing the words, gesturing, and otherwise thoroughly enjoying the work of proofreading. The proctors were kindhearted enough to not throw me out for this.</li>
<li>My algebra score could go either way. I lost my head in the final five minutes of the final math section, tried to solve four problems at once, and failed to solve any of them.</li>
</ul>
At the end I let the weary crowd of teenagers lead the way out, and briefly felt my age again upon catching a group of teenage boys staring at me. I wanted to give them the evil eye, but I was too tired, so I looked away and let them stare. At last I commiserated one last time with Ed, collected the back to Lou's calculator, smiled at the proctors, and walked out into a downpour.<br />
<br />
And felt very young and shy and exhausted indeed, as blast after blast of wind and rain hit me over the five minutes it took to walk to the car. I forced myself not to run till I hit the parking lot, and then I made a dash for it. I got into the car, looked at my dripping face and half-drenched hair in the mirror, laughed and let my throat tighten up, turned on the heater full blast, and drove home.<br />
<br />
Lou met me at the door, propped me up, and took me downtown to Bob's for burgers and coffee, the latter of which I creamed the heck out of, Lent notwithstanding. I'm not sure anything ever tasted better than that coffee.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">* There's nothing like homeschooling to nip a cheating mentality in the bud. My mom caught me behind the couch with the answer section of my math book open when I was about six, and that was the end of that.</span>Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22927650.post-43645711175230409732014-03-07T22:23:00.000-08:002014-03-07T22:56:45.826-08:00The Night Before Test Day and other storiesThis has been the sort of day where your morning meeting goes twice as long as normal, after which you cram in a practice SAT test, clean the house in a mad flurry, drive your car up to the school, park your car illegally for fifteen minutes because you can't find the parking meter, and promptly get lost—and you're absurdly cheerful the whole time, possibly because you had coffee.<br />
<br />
Which is the one thing I pretty much absolutely refused to give up for Lent. :)<br />
<br />
The day didn't leave much time for blogging, especially considering how early I have to be up to take the test. But we'll see what I can do. Don't worry, George—I haven't forgotten how important it is to include one of these:<br />
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Dear God, please let the SAT administered tomorrow be one of the ones I can score a 580 on math on, rather than a 540 like I scored the other day. And please let my calculator and my brain work. That's about all I'm begging for, although I wouldn't complain if the essay question happened to be interesting.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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I think the sunshine had as much to do with my good mood as the coffee. "Partly cloudy and warm enough to walk outside with coat unbuttoned" felt wonderful after "so cold you can feel it seeping through the walls" and "more snow than rainy little Bellingham has any idea what to do with." Look—unexpected flowers:<br />
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The day was so busy that I almost didn't make the trip up to the school for the philosophy lecture, though it was recommended around choir by a friend and I'd sort of halfway said I'd go. Fifteen minutes before I had to make up my mind or else, I looked up <a href="http://books.google.com/books/about/Epistemic_Authority.html?id=ZZXph6OIwrYC">the abstract to Dr. Zagzebski's <i>Epistemic Authority: </i> <i>A Theory of Trust, Authority, and Autonomy in Belief</i></a>, her book and her lecture topic, just to see how much I wanted to hear her speak—and decided immediately that I couldn't miss it.<br />
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Imagery in <i>Harry Potter</i> originally gave me the concept to explain my intellectual relationship to religion, a concept that allowed me to choose to trust despite deep agnostic leanings. It was beyond fascinating to hear some of my thought processes put into academic terminology, to see the tension between the claims of authority and the claims of individual judgment expressed philosophically—a tension I still wrestle with, thanks to some of the same difficulties that questioning students were trying to camouflage behind safe examples.<br />
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I'm going to love college so much, you guys. Even if I have to take algebra. I might love that, too.<br />
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That's all I've got for tonight; I've still got to play the piano and make sure I'm prepared to show up for the SAT with everything I need (number two pencils, ticket, driver's license, calculator) and without anything that will get me thrown out (cell phone, friend's digital recorder that needs returning and has therefore spent time riding around in my purse, mechanical pencils and pens). CollegeBoard's test day page terrifies me. I feel like I'm going to the airport and therefore need to put everything into clear plastic one-quart zip-lock baggies and expect to be full-body scanned <i>sans</i> shoes. But most things are not quite as bad as anxiety makes them out to be.<br />
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Happy weekend!Jenna St. Hilairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04474588706124865006noreply@blogger.com9