"I enjoy the medium of writing," my friend Justin wrote in a recent email; a sentiment that has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. Justin was writing to invite me as well as several other literary- and/or journalistic-minded friends to join a new group blogazine, a place to share our thoughts by way of the pen (or keyboard, in this case.)
I would like to invite all of you to drop by and read it; visit regularly, if you're so inclined. This has me totally excited, not only because I get to participate but because of the caliber of young writers in on it. There should be articles going up at least weekly, as all of us signed on for an article-per-month commitment.
Without further ado, then: Welcome to Silhouette. Hopefully you all find something to inspire, ponder, or at least enjoy.
Oh, and for anyone who doesn't recognize the name difference, I'm posting there under my nickname, "Jenna". For a direct link to my first article, Finding My Religion, click here.
4.14.2007
4.10.2007
Lent Ends, Easter Begins
There's nothing quite like forty days of sacrifice to drive home the significance of Easter.
I've got to admit, it feels great to be able to read and talk about Harry Potter again. It feels so great that I've already re-set my IM and xanga pics to Hermione, spent some time reading Harry-related articles on Wikipedia, and have again watched the trailer for movie # 5. Maybe I'll even put a couple of lines from "Weasley is our King" (Gryffindor version) or some random Luna Lovegood line up as my IM quote tomorrow.
Before I get accused of blasphemy, though, let me hasten to explain that while Harry has certainly brightened up my work week, Easter itself meant so much to me this year that I can hardly find words to express it. I've always liked the holiday anyway--belting out the good old hymns like a proper Baptist in a packed-out church, spending time with family in the afternoon.
This year, I attended the Easter Triduum service--split into three parts over Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Vigil (Saturday). All three sessions carry so much symbolism as to make themselves extremely powerful; so much so that I don't want to spoil it for anyone who hasn't attended one and might someday. I'll just say that I was deeply moved; moved to tears several times on Easter Vigil night. That service began at 9 PM, well after dark, and my favorite part was when the music began to brighten and swell, the lights came on in the church, and the church bells--silent since Thursday--rang out in the fullness of Easter joy.
The rest of Saturday and Sunday were so well filled with happy time among my family and Lou's (that's the Saint's real name) that I never managed to blog. All in all, I had a truly blessed weekend. I hope the same for all of you.
P.S. ...Can anyone top this record? I finally took my Christmas nativity scene down... today. I've heard of Christmas trees on Valentine's day, but crèche on Easter is a new low for me.
I've got to admit, it feels great to be able to read and talk about Harry Potter again. It feels so great that I've already re-set my IM and xanga pics to Hermione, spent some time reading Harry-related articles on Wikipedia, and have again watched the trailer for movie # 5. Maybe I'll even put a couple of lines from "Weasley is our King" (Gryffindor version) or some random Luna Lovegood line up as my IM quote tomorrow.
Before I get accused of blasphemy, though, let me hasten to explain that while Harry has certainly brightened up my work week, Easter itself meant so much to me this year that I can hardly find words to express it. I've always liked the holiday anyway--belting out the good old hymns like a proper Baptist in a packed-out church, spending time with family in the afternoon.
This year, I attended the Easter Triduum service--split into three parts over Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Vigil (Saturday). All three sessions carry so much symbolism as to make themselves extremely powerful; so much so that I don't want to spoil it for anyone who hasn't attended one and might someday. I'll just say that I was deeply moved; moved to tears several times on Easter Vigil night. That service began at 9 PM, well after dark, and my favorite part was when the music began to brighten and swell, the lights came on in the church, and the church bells--silent since Thursday--rang out in the fullness of Easter joy.
The rest of Saturday and Sunday were so well filled with happy time among my family and Lou's (that's the Saint's real name) that I never managed to blog. All in all, I had a truly blessed weekend. I hope the same for all of you.
P.S. ...Can anyone top this record? I finally took my Christmas nativity scene down... today. I've heard of Christmas trees on Valentine's day, but crèche on Easter is a new low for me.
4.01.2007
Gotta Say This...
Brief explanation: The Lenten fast does not apply to Sundays. It's not cheating, I promise... ask your local priest :-)
Anyway, I'm taking a Sunday break from my Lenten fast not to tell you that the new Harry Potter cover has been announced--everybody knows that--but just to say that this looks great:
Anyway, I'm taking a Sunday break from my Lenten fast not to tell you that the new Harry Potter cover has been announced--everybody knows that--but just to say that this looks great:
3.26.2007
Well Worth Reading
The Saint posted this article yesterday, and I am still pondering through the ideas. He put forth a very clear picture of what real Christianity is up against in America (or anywhere in Western society, really), and he did it from a perspective I don't often hear.
Here's a sample:
"Liberal democracy allows you a great deal of freedom to practice your religion according to the dictates of your conscience, but, in the end, you must do so alone. You can have a family and a church, but they must remain collections of autonomous individuals. The right of an individual to practice his religion has seldom been under question, but the right of a family or church to educate its children, to define acceptable moral behavior for its members and choose its clergy often seems to be only grudgingly granted."
In a world where individual satisfaction is valued over morality and virtue, where suffering of any sort is considered the single greatest evil, and where the passions of youth are glorified and gratified in utter disregard of the wisdom of the aged: this is a radical concept.
I doubt even a large part of Christianity would be willing to agree fully with the ideas in this article.
Anyway, the post comes highly recommended from this direction! Enjoy the reading.
Here's a sample:
"Liberal democracy allows you a great deal of freedom to practice your religion according to the dictates of your conscience, but, in the end, you must do so alone. You can have a family and a church, but they must remain collections of autonomous individuals. The right of an individual to practice his religion has seldom been under question, but the right of a family or church to educate its children, to define acceptable moral behavior for its members and choose its clergy often seems to be only grudgingly granted."
In a world where individual satisfaction is valued over morality and virtue, where suffering of any sort is considered the single greatest evil, and where the passions of youth are glorified and gratified in utter disregard of the wisdom of the aged: this is a radical concept.
I doubt even a large part of Christianity would be willing to agree fully with the ideas in this article.
Anyway, the post comes highly recommended from this direction! Enjoy the reading.
3.25.2007
It was Good Enough for Aretha…
While goofing off on my computer the other day, I ran across this article by Martha Brockenbrough. As it referred to movie princesses, I could hardly resist reading it… there’s still a lot of little girl in me :-D
Normally Martha Brockenbrough’s work makes me laugh, and I got some chuckles out of this piece. So I won’t criticize it thoroughly, although it’s clear she’s either never seen The Princess Diaries (first or second) all the way through or she’s mixed it up with another storyline.
But, while the probably-innocent-but-rather-drastic misinterpretation of one of my favorite movies annoyed me mildly, the question that has haunted me ever since is one that, if spoken too loudly, could easily draw a fair share of feminist ire. I’m not normally fond of being intentionally and overtly controversial, but this one just bugs me.
Here’s the question: What’s so bad about a girl wanting to be rescued?
The obvious answer given, of course, is that a woman should be capable of taking care of herself and confidently in control of her own destiny. The problem is that reality limits the practicability of such things.
No, I’m not advocating ignorance, stupidity or inanity for women. I happen to like being sensible and educated. Part of any decent education for girls, however, is an understanding of vulnerability: feminine, as well as human, vulnerability. Every daughter should be taught keen character judgment and an eye for what sort of man is worth investing herself in, as well as which girls make good friends. She should also learn of the danger of going certain places alone; that it’s a good idea for a girl to keep her head up, her eyes open and a can of mace at close command when walking from house to car in the dark, and that it’s even better in certain situations for her to have a man walking with her.
That, however, just begins the issue of feminine vulnerability. Women are, and always have been, susceptible to attack in ways men are either not or are less so. Not simply physically, but emotionally as well: with the strength of a fine-tuned sensitivity to feeling comes the dangers of too-natural tendencies toward overdependency or tolerance of abuse.
The feminists and I agree that abuse and chronic neediness should not exist. But the feminists go wrong in propagating the idea that a woman can become whole by entirely throwing off the ‘shackles’ of patriarchy. While a woman can (and should be able to) live unshattered without the presence of husband or father or brother in some immediate form of protective role, women who choose this or do it too well usually lose something of the feminine softness and sensitivity that portrays grace to the world.
Centrally, that softness has nothing to do with the stereotypical doormat-submission or wilting-flower mentality, nor any reference to the clichéd comparison between the tree-climbing tomboy and the parlor-dweller. It is, however, an indispensable part of woman’s beauty. And real possession of that female grace depends on a girl’s acceptance of her own vulnerability.
With few exceptions, the single women I’ve known either hold out the hope for a man to come through for them (with varying degrees of realistic expectations) or bitch with the other gals about how men have let them down.
The idea that a girl should kick down every door in her path and save herself by herself is standard Hollywood idealism nowadays, marketed generally to girls old enough to have tasted some bitterness in relating to men. While most women want to show off some toughness and independence—along with stunning beauty—the whole girl-to-her-own-lonely-rescue ideal just doesn’t fit fully with the girl heart, and it doesn’t replace what a girl loses in refusing to accept the strength of masculinity that offers her protection.
Like it or not, a woman’s heart contains the desire to be fought for and rescued by a man. And without that, a woman is—quite simply—missing out.
“…Unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor!
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads…”
–Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew
Normally Martha Brockenbrough’s work makes me laugh, and I got some chuckles out of this piece. So I won’t criticize it thoroughly, although it’s clear she’s either never seen The Princess Diaries (first or second) all the way through or she’s mixed it up with another storyline.
But, while the probably-innocent-but-rather-drastic misinterpretation of one of my favorite movies annoyed me mildly, the question that has haunted me ever since is one that, if spoken too loudly, could easily draw a fair share of feminist ire. I’m not normally fond of being intentionally and overtly controversial, but this one just bugs me.
Here’s the question: What’s so bad about a girl wanting to be rescued?
The obvious answer given, of course, is that a woman should be capable of taking care of herself and confidently in control of her own destiny. The problem is that reality limits the practicability of such things.
No, I’m not advocating ignorance, stupidity or inanity for women. I happen to like being sensible and educated. Part of any decent education for girls, however, is an understanding of vulnerability: feminine, as well as human, vulnerability. Every daughter should be taught keen character judgment and an eye for what sort of man is worth investing herself in, as well as which girls make good friends. She should also learn of the danger of going certain places alone; that it’s a good idea for a girl to keep her head up, her eyes open and a can of mace at close command when walking from house to car in the dark, and that it’s even better in certain situations for her to have a man walking with her.
That, however, just begins the issue of feminine vulnerability. Women are, and always have been, susceptible to attack in ways men are either not or are less so. Not simply physically, but emotionally as well: with the strength of a fine-tuned sensitivity to feeling comes the dangers of too-natural tendencies toward overdependency or tolerance of abuse.
The feminists and I agree that abuse and chronic neediness should not exist. But the feminists go wrong in propagating the idea that a woman can become whole by entirely throwing off the ‘shackles’ of patriarchy. While a woman can (and should be able to) live unshattered without the presence of husband or father or brother in some immediate form of protective role, women who choose this or do it too well usually lose something of the feminine softness and sensitivity that portrays grace to the world.
Centrally, that softness has nothing to do with the stereotypical doormat-submission or wilting-flower mentality, nor any reference to the clichéd comparison between the tree-climbing tomboy and the parlor-dweller. It is, however, an indispensable part of woman’s beauty. And real possession of that female grace depends on a girl’s acceptance of her own vulnerability.
With few exceptions, the single women I’ve known either hold out the hope for a man to come through for them (with varying degrees of realistic expectations) or bitch with the other gals about how men have let them down.
The idea that a girl should kick down every door in her path and save herself by herself is standard Hollywood idealism nowadays, marketed generally to girls old enough to have tasted some bitterness in relating to men. While most women want to show off some toughness and independence—along with stunning beauty—the whole girl-to-her-own-lonely-rescue ideal just doesn’t fit fully with the girl heart, and it doesn’t replace what a girl loses in refusing to accept the strength of masculinity that offers her protection.
Like it or not, a woman’s heart contains the desire to be fought for and rescued by a man. And without that, a woman is—quite simply—missing out.
“…Unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor!
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads…”
–Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew
3.18.2007
Ramblings of the Week
Today, having forgotten some of the blogging-inspiration that hit me often during the week but never near available time, I asked my sister Beth what I should blog about. She reeled off quite a list, including experiencing writer's block, the coming of spring, my favorite-song-of-the-week, and her own sense of losing her mind due to the impending arrival of finals week. "Or you could write," she said, "about how you've always wanted to get onto a rowing team, and how you didn't know how to get onto a rowing team because you couldn't swim." I had opened my mouth to protest that I actually do have some rudimentary swimming ability when she added "And by you, I mean me."
She can swim as well as I can. And rowing could be fun. You get to be in a boat, much like raft guiding (which I have done) but you don't have to worry about what moving water does when it hits rocks, submerged train cars and low-head dams. Not being much of a thrill-seeker, I like the sound of that.
Beth is right about spring coming, and it makes me happy. The early-blooming pink and white trees, which people tell me are cherry trees, are blossoming extravagantly right now. Other signs of returning warmth have appeared as well. The Saint and I took a walk up into the forest today, and I found leaf-buds poking their way out of the end of branches. A robin hopped along the side of the path and watched us, too. Robins mean spring generally, although the Saint says they never really go away around here. I like that about Washington.
Beth is also right about me and writer's block. One song has me stuck now, trying to arrange my ideas; other emotions have so far totally refused to submit to the form of words and melody. I'll corner them yet.
As for a favorite song of the week, I'll just say that after ten years of reigning as my favorite female vocalist, LeAnn Rimes has to make some room at the top for Hayley Westenra. Hayley deserves congratulations for being the first artist to make me buy two CDs at once. I particularly love the "Prayer" off of Odyssey and... well, most of the Pure CD. When she got around to singing "Heaven" on Pure, I have to admit it brought tears to my eyes. Right there at my desk at work.
Speaking of music, we sang Amazing Grace in church today. Five verses. Though twenty-nine years of being a Baptist had taught me to belt out four verses with my eyes closed, I hadn't heard this one since childhood:
The Lord has promised good to me,
His word my hope secures
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures.
I liked it. And I liked singing it with the Saint, on our knees. Or maybe we'd just stood up out of kneeling... anyway, it was good.
As to whether anyone can lose their mind, over finals or anything else, and still find the wit to make me laugh out loud... I leave it to yourselves to determine.
She can swim as well as I can. And rowing could be fun. You get to be in a boat, much like raft guiding (which I have done) but you don't have to worry about what moving water does when it hits rocks, submerged train cars and low-head dams. Not being much of a thrill-seeker, I like the sound of that.
Beth is right about spring coming, and it makes me happy. The early-blooming pink and white trees, which people tell me are cherry trees, are blossoming extravagantly right now. Other signs of returning warmth have appeared as well. The Saint and I took a walk up into the forest today, and I found leaf-buds poking their way out of the end of branches. A robin hopped along the side of the path and watched us, too. Robins mean spring generally, although the Saint says they never really go away around here. I like that about Washington.
Beth is also right about me and writer's block. One song has me stuck now, trying to arrange my ideas; other emotions have so far totally refused to submit to the form of words and melody. I'll corner them yet.
As for a favorite song of the week, I'll just say that after ten years of reigning as my favorite female vocalist, LeAnn Rimes has to make some room at the top for Hayley Westenra. Hayley deserves congratulations for being the first artist to make me buy two CDs at once. I particularly love the "Prayer" off of Odyssey and... well, most of the Pure CD. When she got around to singing "Heaven" on Pure, I have to admit it brought tears to my eyes. Right there at my desk at work.
Speaking of music, we sang Amazing Grace in church today. Five verses. Though twenty-nine years of being a Baptist had taught me to belt out four verses with my eyes closed, I hadn't heard this one since childhood:
The Lord has promised good to me,
His word my hope secures
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures.
I liked it. And I liked singing it with the Saint, on our knees. Or maybe we'd just stood up out of kneeling... anyway, it was good.
As to whether anyone can lose their mind, over finals or anything else, and still find the wit to make me laugh out loud... I leave it to yourselves to determine.
3.11.2007
Another Good Chesterton Quote
...not from Orthodoxy this time, although there's about half a chapter of that I'd like to put in here, if only I had the time and space...
I came across this, rather randomly, in a book by John Stott the other day, and liked it too much not to share it.
"You say grace before meals.
All right.
But I say grace before the play and the opera,
And grace before the concert and pantomime,
And grace before I open a book,
And grace before sketching, painting,
Swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing;
And grace before I dip the pen in the ink."
Quoted in Dudley Barker, G. K. Chesterton, A Biography (Constable, 1973), p. 65, from unpublished notebook jottings.
Stott, J. (1996; 2007). The Message of 1 Timothy and Titus (115). Inter-Varsity Press.
I came across this, rather randomly, in a book by John Stott the other day, and liked it too much not to share it.
"You say grace before meals.
All right.
But I say grace before the play and the opera,
And grace before the concert and pantomime,
And grace before I open a book,
And grace before sketching, painting,
Swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing;
And grace before I dip the pen in the ink."
Quoted in Dudley Barker, G. K. Chesterton, A Biography (Constable, 1973), p. 65, from unpublished notebook jottings.
Stott, J. (1996; 2007). The Message of 1 Timothy and Titus (115). Inter-Varsity Press.
Of course, Chesterton, a Catholic, said grace before meals too... just in case anybody wondered :-)
3.04.2007
This Week 3/4/07
Numerous times this week I have found myself thinking "Oh, I should post that..." Posting, however, or even catching up with the internet, has not made it from the "want to do" list to the "have to do" list (about half of which has not been done, either.) Here, though, are the things I have thought of posting, in chronological order:
Tuesday: A pound of butter fell out of my freezer and landed on my foot. As to why that amused me enough to want to tell everybody, however, I have no idea.
Thursday: My inner child and I are in close touch. I can tell, because this, which I found in the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha*, makes me snicker:
"25 [Ben Bag-Bag said: Turn it, and turn it again, for the whole is in it, and the whole of thee is in it; and from it swerve not, for there is to thee no greater good than it.]
26 [Ben He-He said: According to the toil is the pay.]"
Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament. 2004 (R. H. Charles, Ed.) (2:710). Logos Research Systems, Inc.
* pseud•epig•ra•phon noun plural pseud•epig•ra•pha 2. any of various pseudonymous or anonymous Jewish religious writings of the period 200 b.c. to 200 a.d.; especially : one of such writings (as the Psalms of Solomon) not included in any canon of biblical Scripture — usually used in plural
Merriam-Webster, I. (1996, c1993). Merriam-Webster's collegiate dictionary. Includes index. (10th ed.). Springfield, Mass., U.S.A.: Merriam-Webster.
Friday: Spent an hour in silent prayer at one of the most beautiful old churches in town. The importance of beauty in church design is a topic for another post; about this evening, however, I will simply say that on my knees before Christ I felt more strongly than I have in three years like I stood on solid rock in my faith. Feeling (by itself), of course, while it guarantees neither reality nor future perseverance, does matter and does help. God forbid that I underrate the power of a sense of confidence in Him when, since the close of 2003, faith has too often been a matter of desperate and almost hopeless clinging. Friday night I felt like that lackluster determination had finally been reinforced by the brilliancy of sincere and unclouded hope and trust. All I can say is Thank God.
Saturday: Beth and I watched Stranger than Fiction, and I couldn't tell you how long it's been since I saw a new romantic comedy that good. Maybe not since Return to Me. Be forewarned, ye who would watch: there's about thirty seconds of time dedicated to achieving its PG-13 rating. Get past that and you've got a great story: artistically and mentally interesting, hilarious, and poignant--I don't often catch myself caring so deeply about what happens to a character. You'll love Harold Crick too; you don't have to be a Will Ferrell fan to do so.
Sunday: Celebrated the birthday, though a few days late, of one of the greatest and humblest men on earth; a man who has lived and worked quietly, selflessly, faithfully for God and his family through the course of many years; a pastor at heart, a fireman and EMT, a wealth of skill towards house and home, body and soul--my father. Happy Birthday, Dad.
Tuesday: A pound of butter fell out of my freezer and landed on my foot. As to why that amused me enough to want to tell everybody, however, I have no idea.
Thursday: My inner child and I are in close touch. I can tell, because this, which I found in the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha*, makes me snicker:
"25 [Ben Bag-Bag said: Turn it, and turn it again, for the whole is in it, and the whole of thee is in it; and from it swerve not, for there is to thee no greater good than it.]
26 [Ben He-He said: According to the toil is the pay.]"
Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament. 2004 (R. H. Charles, Ed.) (2:710). Logos Research Systems, Inc.
* pseud•epig•ra•phon noun plural pseud•epig•ra•pha 2. any of various pseudonymous or anonymous Jewish religious writings of the period 200 b.c. to 200 a.d.; especially : one of such writings (as the Psalms of Solomon) not included in any canon of biblical Scripture — usually used in plural
Merriam-Webster, I. (1996, c1993). Merriam-Webster's collegiate dictionary. Includes index. (10th ed.). Springfield, Mass., U.S.A.: Merriam-Webster.
Friday: Spent an hour in silent prayer at one of the most beautiful old churches in town. The importance of beauty in church design is a topic for another post; about this evening, however, I will simply say that on my knees before Christ I felt more strongly than I have in three years like I stood on solid rock in my faith. Feeling (by itself), of course, while it guarantees neither reality nor future perseverance, does matter and does help. God forbid that I underrate the power of a sense of confidence in Him when, since the close of 2003, faith has too often been a matter of desperate and almost hopeless clinging. Friday night I felt like that lackluster determination had finally been reinforced by the brilliancy of sincere and unclouded hope and trust. All I can say is Thank God.
Saturday: Beth and I watched Stranger than Fiction, and I couldn't tell you how long it's been since I saw a new romantic comedy that good. Maybe not since Return to Me. Be forewarned, ye who would watch: there's about thirty seconds of time dedicated to achieving its PG-13 rating. Get past that and you've got a great story: artistically and mentally interesting, hilarious, and poignant--I don't often catch myself caring so deeply about what happens to a character. You'll love Harold Crick too; you don't have to be a Will Ferrell fan to do so.
Sunday: Celebrated the birthday, though a few days late, of one of the greatest and humblest men on earth; a man who has lived and worked quietly, selflessly, faithfully for God and his family through the course of many years; a pastor at heart, a fireman and EMT, a wealth of skill towards house and home, body and soul--my father. Happy Birthday, Dad.
2.23.2007
One Year
This blog is one year old today!
By-the-bye, I wonder how many of my posts, percentage-wise, have talked about milestones... probably a pretty high number there. Ah well.
One year with this little online journal, and today I enjoy it just as much as at the beginning. It keeps me in perspective, somehow; forcing myself to write and think through things keeps my mind from getting caught in analytical whirlpools :-)
At any rate, it's a good thing for me, and now and again someone tells me there's something good about it for them as well. Here's to many more years of blogging!
By-the-bye, I wonder how many of my posts, percentage-wise, have talked about milestones... probably a pretty high number there. Ah well.
One year with this little online journal, and today I enjoy it just as much as at the beginning. It keeps me in perspective, somehow; forcing myself to write and think through things keeps my mind from getting caught in analytical whirlpools :-)
At any rate, it's a good thing for me, and now and again someone tells me there's something good about it for them as well. Here's to many more years of blogging!
2.22.2007
My Sister Blogs
...shocking, for those of you who know Beth :-P
Anyways, she posted a blog on her Myspace tonight and it made me laugh, so I decided to share it. Click here for Beth's thoughts on listening to music.
Love y'all!
Anyways, she posted a blog on her Myspace tonight and it made me laugh, so I decided to share it. Click here for Beth's thoughts on listening to music.
Love y'all!
2.20.2007
First Lent
Having grown up Baptist, I understand Christmas and Easter and know a little bit about Palm Sunday and Advent. Lent, however, as the acknowledged territory mainly of liturgically-driven churches such as Catholics, Anglicans, and Lutherans, has always been a bit of a mystery.
This year, therefore, I’m celebrating my first Lent, which starts tomorrow with Ash Wednesday. I'm pretty excited about it; there's an incredible awe and joy in taking a physical step intended to express and nourish spiritual devotion. I've fasted before, of course, so I'm at least familiar with that concept.
For my first Lenten season, I am giving up… dun duh dah… Harry Potter. Hopefully that doesn't sound blasphemous to anyone! I can understand concern about how Harry Potter takes a position in my life strong enough merit fasting from, though, so let me explain my rationale here :-)
I am choosing to go forty days without Harry Potter (except Sundays, which are free from fasting) because reading the Harry Potter books, as well as talking and thinking and reading about Harry and company, is for me a mode of relaxation and enjoyment. Some people play computer games, some people watch this or that TV show, some people eat chocolate. I thought about giving up chocolate, actually, but every girl does that; besides, chocolate for me ranks not in the category of mere wants, but basic needs :-P The point is, anyway, that I read Harry Potter for uplifting and an antidote to stress when my brain won’t handle much else. I go get a laugh at the exploits of Harry and friends or borrow some inspiration from their courage. I have also read the books quite a bit in the year and a quarter since I first brought home The Sorcerer's Stone, so a break seemed like a good idea.
While I could have chosen fiction in general as my sacrifice, that seemed more likely to accentuate stress rather than spur on devotion for me. Since I rarely watch movies or television, reading fiction is almost my only means of complete relaxation. And probably if this were not such a big year for Harry—with the release of movie #5 and the final book coming in July—the series’ effect on my life wouldn’t really qualify for sacrifice over such a limited time.
As it is, however, from Ash Wednesday to Easter I am not reading any of the books, following news (anything big that comes up can be reviewed on Sundays only), looking Harry up on Wikipedia or fan sites, or initiating conversations about the series. I will also remove Hermione from my IM pictures and should probably take her off my Xanga, too, come to think of it. If all this proves ‘too easy’ for me, I’ll add to the sacrifice for holy week.
Anyway, here’s to my first Lent. God grant that I find more of Christ through it…
This year, therefore, I’m celebrating my first Lent, which starts tomorrow with Ash Wednesday. I'm pretty excited about it; there's an incredible awe and joy in taking a physical step intended to express and nourish spiritual devotion. I've fasted before, of course, so I'm at least familiar with that concept.
For my first Lenten season, I am giving up… dun duh dah… Harry Potter. Hopefully that doesn't sound blasphemous to anyone! I can understand concern about how Harry Potter takes a position in my life strong enough merit fasting from, though, so let me explain my rationale here :-)
I am choosing to go forty days without Harry Potter (except Sundays, which are free from fasting) because reading the Harry Potter books, as well as talking and thinking and reading about Harry and company, is for me a mode of relaxation and enjoyment. Some people play computer games, some people watch this or that TV show, some people eat chocolate. I thought about giving up chocolate, actually, but every girl does that; besides, chocolate for me ranks not in the category of mere wants, but basic needs :-P The point is, anyway, that I read Harry Potter for uplifting and an antidote to stress when my brain won’t handle much else. I go get a laugh at the exploits of Harry and friends or borrow some inspiration from their courage. I have also read the books quite a bit in the year and a quarter since I first brought home The Sorcerer's Stone, so a break seemed like a good idea.
While I could have chosen fiction in general as my sacrifice, that seemed more likely to accentuate stress rather than spur on devotion for me. Since I rarely watch movies or television, reading fiction is almost my only means of complete relaxation. And probably if this were not such a big year for Harry—with the release of movie #5 and the final book coming in July—the series’ effect on my life wouldn’t really qualify for sacrifice over such a limited time.
As it is, however, from Ash Wednesday to Easter I am not reading any of the books, following news (anything big that comes up can be reviewed on Sundays only), looking Harry up on Wikipedia or fan sites, or initiating conversations about the series. I will also remove Hermione from my IM pictures and should probably take her off my Xanga, too, come to think of it. If all this proves ‘too easy’ for me, I’ll add to the sacrifice for holy week.
Anyway, here’s to my first Lent. God grant that I find more of Christ through it…
2.17.2007
Schrödinger's Bedroom
Calling all AI fans! Even if you're not a regular American Idol watcher, though, keep reading--I've still got something for you.
FOX Network welcomes its new show, On the Lot, in the spring. Formatted just like American Idol--I wonder, by-the-bye, who they'll get to make offbeat analogies and harsh "realistic" comments, since presumably Simon Cowell won't be one of the judges--this talent competition will be for movie directors.
Which brings me to my friend Chris Knight, whose movie-making credentials include a hilarious 50-minute Star Wars fan film called "Forcery" and several school-board campaign commercials, one of which included a scene of a Death Star blowing up a schoolhouse and which got him in the New York Times for creativity.
Chris is auditioning with a five-minute short by the title of "Schrödinger's Bedroom" --a piece which he wrote, casted, shot, edited, and submitted in only a month. If you want a laugh, go over and check it out. If you're an AI fan (or movie fan, for that matter) and you think On the Lot might be interesting too--since I don't mind shamelessly plugging for friends with talent, I'll suggest you watch for Chris there, too :-)
And just in case you don't feel I've given you enough reasons to see this little movie yet: for those of you who tell me you read this blog, at least, I can guarantee that someone you know made a cameo appearance :-D
FOX Network welcomes its new show, On the Lot, in the spring. Formatted just like American Idol--I wonder, by-the-bye, who they'll get to make offbeat analogies and harsh "realistic" comments, since presumably Simon Cowell won't be one of the judges--this talent competition will be for movie directors.
Which brings me to my friend Chris Knight, whose movie-making credentials include a hilarious 50-minute Star Wars fan film called "Forcery" and several school-board campaign commercials, one of which included a scene of a Death Star blowing up a schoolhouse and which got him in the New York Times for creativity.
Chris is auditioning with a five-minute short by the title of "Schrödinger's Bedroom" --a piece which he wrote, casted, shot, edited, and submitted in only a month. If you want a laugh, go over and check it out. If you're an AI fan (or movie fan, for that matter) and you think On the Lot might be interesting too--since I don't mind shamelessly plugging for friends with talent, I'll suggest you watch for Chris there, too :-)
And just in case you don't feel I've given you enough reasons to see this little movie yet: for those of you who tell me you read this blog, at least, I can guarantee that someone you know made a cameo appearance :-D
2.12.2007
Not Posting about Not Posting
Standard operating procedure for bloggers who don't post faithfully is to put up a post about not posting faithfully, so I'm going to be a bit of a rebel, and post about something else.
For tonight, considering the current proximity to midnight, I don't have much to offer beyond the weather; so I'll just say that after ten Washington winters, I would not have expected pleasure at the sight of rain. This year's two full weeks of snow, however, binding me to the (albeit generous) WTA schedule for work, confining the Saint and I in different parts of town, and forcing me to get creative with canned chicken and tomato sauce, have given me a new appreciation for the normal 'rainy season.' I can drive my car without fear for either its or my own safety in the rain. And I have to admit that this beautiful little corner of the country even looks good in gray--gray with a green cast along the lawns and among the conifers, and occasional cream-colored scoring in the clouds.
I'm still holding out for summer, though. We had a glorious weekend--so warm that I took a walk in the sunshine without a coat. Spring is coming! 36 days and counting...
For tonight, considering the current proximity to midnight, I don't have much to offer beyond the weather; so I'll just say that after ten Washington winters, I would not have expected pleasure at the sight of rain. This year's two full weeks of snow, however, binding me to the (albeit generous) WTA schedule for work, confining the Saint and I in different parts of town, and forcing me to get creative with canned chicken and tomato sauce, have given me a new appreciation for the normal 'rainy season.' I can drive my car without fear for either its or my own safety in the rain. And I have to admit that this beautiful little corner of the country even looks good in gray--gray with a green cast along the lawns and among the conifers, and occasional cream-colored scoring in the clouds.
I'm still holding out for summer, though. We had a glorious weekend--so warm that I took a walk in the sunshine without a coat. Spring is coming! 36 days and counting...
2.04.2007
2.01.2007
We've Got A Date
At eleven, he learned who he was, made friends with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and faced again the man who, ten years earlier, had killed his parents and tried to kill him.
At twelve, he won a battle with a basilisk and saved the life of his best friend’s sister, Ginny.
At thirteen, he learned to face his own fears and saved the life of his godfather.
At fourteen, he jumped out from behind a tombstone to face a battle he knew he would probably lose—and lived to warn the world.
At fifteen, he taught self-defense to his classmates in secret, against the rules of the wicked usurping headmistress.
At sixteen he saved Ron’s life, realized finally what Ginny meant to him, and received the knowledge of the plan of action from Dumbledore, practically as an inheritance.
What will Harry Potter do at seventeen?
We’ll find out July 21, 2007.
(Thanks, Chris, for letting me know! I would have been shamefully behind the times if you hadn’t.)
1.27.2007
Thoughts of Summertime
During my childhood, it used to bother me that my birthday came in winter. This may have had more to do with schoolwork than weather; nowadays, though, around here at least, the typical chill gray of the season could be considered a negative factor.
Today, however, I walked out my door to find bright summer sunshine, despite the frost on the ground. I drove up to the DOL to get my driver's license renewed, since it expired today (I procrastinate a lot, in case any of you didn't notice), and though the DOL wouldn't be my usual favorite choice of locations to kick off any special day, Joe at the counter treated me very kindly and I got a picture that won't disgrace me horribly for the next five years.
For some reason I'm in a happy mood. No, not for some reason, but for many reasons: sunshine and laughter and hope and love and peace, a riotously funny evening with a pack of great girlfriends last night, time set aside to spend with my family and the Saint this afternoon, simple prayers and blessed joys.
The day is young, and for some reason I find myself haunted--as often happens when the purest happy moments come over me--by the fear of its being marred or shattered as I know can happen in a matter of seconds. Everybody has their besetting sins, I guess; fear is mine. "Do not worry," Jesus said, "because who of you by worrying can add a single cubit to his life's span?"
So I'm going to stop. And I will go put my sheets in the wash and play my guitar or piano a bit and enjoy the fact that, after three weeks of having a cold, I can finally sing again. The return of my voice is no small gift to me; I've missed it dreadfully.
This prayer--perhaps my favorite of all the new little rites of Christian worship that I've learned in the past two months--speaks my thoughts beautifully today. I am overwhelmed by thankfulness.
"Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning,
is now and ever shall be,
world without end,
Amen."
Today, however, I walked out my door to find bright summer sunshine, despite the frost on the ground. I drove up to the DOL to get my driver's license renewed, since it expired today (I procrastinate a lot, in case any of you didn't notice), and though the DOL wouldn't be my usual favorite choice of locations to kick off any special day, Joe at the counter treated me very kindly and I got a picture that won't disgrace me horribly for the next five years.
For some reason I'm in a happy mood. No, not for some reason, but for many reasons: sunshine and laughter and hope and love and peace, a riotously funny evening with a pack of great girlfriends last night, time set aside to spend with my family and the Saint this afternoon, simple prayers and blessed joys.
The day is young, and for some reason I find myself haunted--as often happens when the purest happy moments come over me--by the fear of its being marred or shattered as I know can happen in a matter of seconds. Everybody has their besetting sins, I guess; fear is mine. "Do not worry," Jesus said, "because who of you by worrying can add a single cubit to his life's span?"
So I'm going to stop. And I will go put my sheets in the wash and play my guitar or piano a bit and enjoy the fact that, after three weeks of having a cold, I can finally sing again. The return of my voice is no small gift to me; I've missed it dreadfully.
This prayer--perhaps my favorite of all the new little rites of Christian worship that I've learned in the past two months--speaks my thoughts beautifully today. I am overwhelmed by thankfulness.
"Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning,
is now and ever shall be,
world without end,
Amen."
1.17.2007
The Wonders of Air Travel... and other stories
"Arthur, is that you?"
"Yes", came Mr. Weasley's weary voice. "But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!"
"...All right, all right... What is your dearest ambition?"
"To find out how airplanes stay up."
I personally don't fully understand how airplanes stay up, but nonetheless I enjoy flying. It amazes me that two hours in a plane can take me from this state that has been my home for over ten years and put me back in the town in which I grew up, which I've seen only once in all that time. Just two hours, and I stand beside she who has been the truest of friends for nineteen years, and the family to which I could always turn if something happened to my own--people whom I rarely see because of the seven hundred miles between us.
Normally one should choose summer, not winter, to visit Montana. Last time I flew in, a blizzard came with me; this time, I rode in on the wings of the coldest spell they've had probably since I left. At below-zero temperatures, the very oxygen seems to freeze and the skin inside of noses crinkles in disgust. But since it had snowed--again--in Bellingham, snow and cold in Montana didn't seem such a big deal. Snow in Bellingham stops life. Snow in Montana is just part of living.
Cold or not, though, the wedding for which I made the trip was beautiful, and the visit with my friends thoroughly precious to me. Even though Briana and I can pick up the phone after weeks or even a couple of months and talk like we'd never left off, getting to see her in person is better yet. Five days, blessing though they were, were not long enough.
They did end, though, and another two hours of airplane ride brought me back to Washington and the Saint, whom, I must confess, I missed rather constantly; and my parents, whom I still miss because this dadburn cold I've got has prevented me from making my regular trip to their house for two weeks running.
For now, I'm tired and going to bed. Before I do, though, here's what happened with the snapping turtle, for all of you who asked:
My family used to live next to a lake in Florida, which was great until the alligators set up housekeeping in the cattails. We used to fish the lake a lot, and one day Dad and my uncle caught a snapping turtle. Beth and I, aged about three and five at the time, were playing in the yard. Dad and my uncle chopped off the turtle's head and the turtle took off running right at Beth and I. We ran away from it, shrieking, and both of us will swear that it followed us in a circle. That may be purely coincidental, of course, but I dare anyone to hold their ground under similar circumstances :-)
"Yes", came Mr. Weasley's weary voice. "But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!"
"...All right, all right... What is your dearest ambition?"
"To find out how airplanes stay up."
I personally don't fully understand how airplanes stay up, but nonetheless I enjoy flying. It amazes me that two hours in a plane can take me from this state that has been my home for over ten years and put me back in the town in which I grew up, which I've seen only once in all that time. Just two hours, and I stand beside she who has been the truest of friends for nineteen years, and the family to which I could always turn if something happened to my own--people whom I rarely see because of the seven hundred miles between us.
Normally one should choose summer, not winter, to visit Montana. Last time I flew in, a blizzard came with me; this time, I rode in on the wings of the coldest spell they've had probably since I left. At below-zero temperatures, the very oxygen seems to freeze and the skin inside of noses crinkles in disgust. But since it had snowed--again--in Bellingham, snow and cold in Montana didn't seem such a big deal. Snow in Bellingham stops life. Snow in Montana is just part of living.
Cold or not, though, the wedding for which I made the trip was beautiful, and the visit with my friends thoroughly precious to me. Even though Briana and I can pick up the phone after weeks or even a couple of months and talk like we'd never left off, getting to see her in person is better yet. Five days, blessing though they were, were not long enough.
They did end, though, and another two hours of airplane ride brought me back to Washington and the Saint, whom, I must confess, I missed rather constantly; and my parents, whom I still miss because this dadburn cold I've got has prevented me from making my regular trip to their house for two weeks running.
For now, I'm tired and going to bed. Before I do, though, here's what happened with the snapping turtle, for all of you who asked:
My family used to live next to a lake in Florida, which was great until the alligators set up housekeeping in the cattails. We used to fish the lake a lot, and one day Dad and my uncle caught a snapping turtle. Beth and I, aged about three and five at the time, were playing in the yard. Dad and my uncle chopped off the turtle's head and the turtle took off running right at Beth and I. We ran away from it, shrieking, and both of us will swear that it followed us in a circle. That may be purely coincidental, of course, but I dare anyone to hold their ground under similar circumstances :-)
1.09.2007
Five Things
Chris Knight tagged me with this game. As required, here are five things you probably didn’t know about me:
1. I have been chased by a headless snapping turtle.
2. I have never conquered my irrational childhood fear of swimming pool drains. The same fear even niggles at me around hot tub jets and bathtub drains.
3. The author’s genes kicked in early for me. When I was about 5 or 6, I used to do my own narration in 3rd person, for instance: “She walked down the stairs and turned on the light.”
4. Instead of taking a teddy bear to bed with me as a little girl, I used to take my Breyer horses.
5. The first two songs I ever wrote were both written solely because someone else I knew had written a song, and I figured “What the heck—if they can do it, so can I.”
Now, who can I tag?… or rather, who would probably actually do this? I’ll tag Briana and Tina.
1. I have been chased by a headless snapping turtle.
2. I have never conquered my irrational childhood fear of swimming pool drains. The same fear even niggles at me around hot tub jets and bathtub drains.
3. The author’s genes kicked in early for me. When I was about 5 or 6, I used to do my own narration in 3rd person, for instance: “She walked down the stairs and turned on the light.”
4. Instead of taking a teddy bear to bed with me as a little girl, I used to take my Breyer horses.
5. The first two songs I ever wrote were both written solely because someone else I knew had written a song, and I figured “What the heck—if they can do it, so can I.”
Now, who can I tag?… or rather, who would probably actually do this? I’ll tag Briana and Tina.
1.05.2007
Readings
My favorite part about bad head colds is the amount of reading I can accomplish when forced to lay flat on my back for two days straight. I have been known to read a full-length Jane Austen novel in a day and a half of sprawling on the couch with hot tea and Kleenex.
Excluding the couple of times when I felt well enough to crawl over to my computer and look at the Internet or my Libronix, I’ve spent most of the past two days in bed. For that purpose, I armed myself with far more books than I could read in a week, but managed to get through at least a little of each: Orthodoxy by Chesterton, The Confessions of St. Augustine, my Bible, the Catechism of the Catholic Church, A New Song from the Mitford Years series, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and Jane Eyre.
That sort of list, folks, is much of the reasoning behind my always having pictures of Hermione Granger on my MSN Messenger and my Xanga.
Speaking of Harry Potter, and thinking of the newly-revealed title of book 7: I seem to have a vague memory of hearing the word “Hallows” used to mean ‘salutation’ or ‘greeting’ somewhere. Did I dream this, or has anyone else heard of such a thing? My dictionary gives me no such hint. I thought I’d read it in Jane Eyre, but couldn’t find it by reading the pages of that book where I thought it had been.
Anyway, that booklist has kept me busy. I have laughed, pondered, worked on my predictions for HP book 7, researched the concept of purgatory, wrestled with philosophy, and when the inevitable head-cold fog descended too heavily on my brain, dropped it all to just to read the stories I’ve read and enjoyed over and over again.
I devoted much of today to Chesterton, seeing as how I got distracted from him some weeks ago. I read about a third of the book, and if laughter is the best medicine, he contributed towards my recovery nicely. For instance:
“Mr. McCabe thinks me a slave because I am not allowed to believe in determinism. I think Mr. McCabe a slave because he is not allowed to believe in fairies.”
The humor, however, goes along with some very important points, of which this was a favorite of mine:
“…what we suffer from today is humility in the wrong place. Modesty has moved from the organ of ambition. Modesty has settled upon the organ of conviction; where it was never meant to be. A man was meant to be doubtful about himself, but undoubting about the truth; this has been exactly reversed.”
That very error is how I once nearly lost my faith. He could not be more correct about the dangers of such misplaced humility. God grant me the courage and grace to remove every last remnant of that mistake from myself.
Books… how I love them. What would I do without them? No, don’t tell me: I don’t even want to know the answer to that question.
Excluding the couple of times when I felt well enough to crawl over to my computer and look at the Internet or my Libronix, I’ve spent most of the past two days in bed. For that purpose, I armed myself with far more books than I could read in a week, but managed to get through at least a little of each: Orthodoxy by Chesterton, The Confessions of St. Augustine, my Bible, the Catechism of the Catholic Church, A New Song from the Mitford Years series, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and Jane Eyre.
That sort of list, folks, is much of the reasoning behind my always having pictures of Hermione Granger on my MSN Messenger and my Xanga.
Speaking of Harry Potter, and thinking of the newly-revealed title of book 7: I seem to have a vague memory of hearing the word “Hallows” used to mean ‘salutation’ or ‘greeting’ somewhere. Did I dream this, or has anyone else heard of such a thing? My dictionary gives me no such hint. I thought I’d read it in Jane Eyre, but couldn’t find it by reading the pages of that book where I thought it had been.
Anyway, that booklist has kept me busy. I have laughed, pondered, worked on my predictions for HP book 7, researched the concept of purgatory, wrestled with philosophy, and when the inevitable head-cold fog descended too heavily on my brain, dropped it all to just to read the stories I’ve read and enjoyed over and over again.
I devoted much of today to Chesterton, seeing as how I got distracted from him some weeks ago. I read about a third of the book, and if laughter is the best medicine, he contributed towards my recovery nicely. For instance:
“Mr. McCabe thinks me a slave because I am not allowed to believe in determinism. I think Mr. McCabe a slave because he is not allowed to believe in fairies.”
The humor, however, goes along with some very important points, of which this was a favorite of mine:
“…what we suffer from today is humility in the wrong place. Modesty has moved from the organ of ambition. Modesty has settled upon the organ of conviction; where it was never meant to be. A man was meant to be doubtful about himself, but undoubting about the truth; this has been exactly reversed.”
That very error is how I once nearly lost my faith. He could not be more correct about the dangers of such misplaced humility. God grant me the courage and grace to remove every last remnant of that mistake from myself.
Books… how I love them. What would I do without them? No, don’t tell me: I don’t even want to know the answer to that question.
1.03.2007
Transparent Angling Ferrets
In case you couldn't tell by the title, this post is for amusement only.
I bring this topic up because Beth texted those words to me today, in this sentence: "How 'bout them transparent angling ferrets?"
Perhaps some of you may remember my commenting here once about my frequent mis-hearing of song lyrics. In case you don't, let me repeat: I have always had a problem hearing lyrics and getting them correct. It's better if I just look them up.
The above line, for instance, comes from the Alanis Morissette song "Thank You" and what she really says is "transparent dangling carrots."
In reply to Beth's text message, for anyone who wants to know, I said "They go well with ghosts and gravy." "Ghosts and Gravy" for a long time was all I could make out of the song "Constant Craving," which I didn't like much anyway. Hopefully it doesn't run through my head all night now.
My most recent lyric mistake has occurred listening to Celine Dion sing Ave Maria. She performs that beautiful hymn fabulously, but she can't possibly be saying "The monkey caverns, they're so happy."
*sigh* ...there's nothing like a little creative listening :-)
I bring this topic up because Beth texted those words to me today, in this sentence: "How 'bout them transparent angling ferrets?"
Perhaps some of you may remember my commenting here once about my frequent mis-hearing of song lyrics. In case you don't, let me repeat: I have always had a problem hearing lyrics and getting them correct. It's better if I just look them up.
The above line, for instance, comes from the Alanis Morissette song "Thank You" and what she really says is "transparent dangling carrots."
In reply to Beth's text message, for anyone who wants to know, I said "They go well with ghosts and gravy." "Ghosts and Gravy" for a long time was all I could make out of the song "Constant Craving," which I didn't like much anyway. Hopefully it doesn't run through my head all night now.
My most recent lyric mistake has occurred listening to Celine Dion sing Ave Maria. She performs that beautiful hymn fabulously, but she can't possibly be saying "The monkey caverns, they're so happy."
*sigh* ...there's nothing like a little creative listening :-)
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