Fireproof
Lou and I saw Fireproof last night on my parents' very nice widescreen TV. Mom and Dad had seen it before, but they watched it again with us--Dad used to be a firefighter himself, after all.
It was an unspeakable relief to watch a movie that didn't savage things I believe--so much a relief that if there was much of the particular cheesiness that tends to creep into films with a strong salvation message, it generally missed me. It was a delight to know that it was his wife Chelsea, not lead actress Erin Bethea, that Kirk Cameron was kissing in the big yay-they-make-up scene, and I enjoyed seeing an honest-to-goodness happy ending.
Honestly, I think we can look to independent filmmakers like the Sherwood Baptist Church and Metanoia Films (makers of Bella) for many--if not most--of the best films of the future. Hollywood seems to be running out of plot ideas and making up for it by throwing around a lot of CGI. Give me a good story any day.
* * *
Twitter
Some months ago I signed up for a Twitter account, which seemed the thing to do at the time. I have since logged in approximately thrice. The Twitter logo should be the picture in the text-speak dictionary next to TMI (Too Much Information, if anyone reading this doesn't recognize the acronym.) I've never met anything so annoying as the possibility of logging one's drollest mundaneities in short blurbs for all your friends to read, and then reading all theirs. I haven't the time. I have not unsigned myself, so if you want to follow absolute silence, look up "librarylily" on Twitter and follow away. Feel free to post your own tweets. I won't swear not to read them, but the chances are very good that I won't.
* * *
Books
In case you really did want to hear about my drollest mundaneities, here's one for the day: My reading list has become something like the challenge of Everest for a mountaineer. Out of the usual desire to overachieve, I have gotten myself stuck climbing the following pile "Because it's there":
The Divine Comedy by Dante. Hell took me many months to escape; Purgatory is a slow climb, but much more pleasant. Heaven sounds intriguing. No one as interested in literature as I am should find poetry so shamefully difficult to read.
The Discarded Image by C.S. Lewis. Lewis is smarter than I am. Not fair.
The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald. I love MacDonald's work--couldn't put Phantastes down--but must have gotten distracted somehow, because I'm only one chapter into this.
A Study of Literature by David Daiches. This was a Cornell University publication, written by one of their English professors, and so far it's much easier reading than Lewis's book.
Theology of the Body for Beginners by Christopher West. I just heard most of this book in speech form, having listened to his CDs with Lou during our engagement, but my book club is reading this. At least it's an easy (and excellent) read.
The Deer on a Bicycle by Patrick McManus (his book on writing). Mom and Dad got this for me for Christmas. The preface and first chapter are hilarious.
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer, again, because I always have to have out at least one book that doesn't absolutely require the 'capacity for abstract thought.' Unfortunately, my brain works against itself because there is depth of thought in that book, and I find it fascinating.
Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton, again. Superb.
A Cloister Walk by Kathleen Norris. I read most of this immediately after my friend Naomi gave it to me, but have been slowly making my way through the rest of the book by discovering it at odd moments. Good stuff.
Biographia Litteraria by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. That one is online, so I keep forgetting that I'm reading it, but it's interesting.
And that's just the stack I've started ...
3.30.2009
3.26.2009
Spring
Lou and I took a walk tonight. A bush across the way is turning yellow with little flowers. The tulip trees have visible buds, and green is creeping up the fronds of the weeping willow down the street. We even found a few open blooms on a couple of the ornamental cherry trees.
It had just better not snow again.
It had just better not snow again.
3.18.2009
Great Information
I have found myself. There might be as many as two paragraphs in that entire description that don't particularly apply to me.
Which of the Four Humors are you? (Caution: If you already know you're a phlegmatic, I must warn you that your personality type description was written by someone who doesn't like you.)
I have also found the best internet quiz ever:
I am Anne Elliot! Want to know which Austen heroine you are? Take the quiz here.
Which of the Four Humors are you? (Caution: If you already know you're a phlegmatic, I must warn you that your personality type description was written by someone who doesn't like you.)
I have also found the best internet quiz ever:
I am Anne Elliot! Want to know which Austen heroine you are? Take the quiz here.
3.10.2009
Artistic Emancipation
My mother, a master artist, has begun doing some artwork for her church. A fellow artist recently loaned her a copy of the book Spaces for Spirit, lamenting that people don't seem to "get" the sort of thing represented in that book.
Mom and I share a love for art, and though my bent is more literary than visual, we enjoy the exchange of ideas as the same basic principles make for good visual art, good writing and good music. She did not have to ask my opinion to know how I would feel about this particular book, but she showed it to me and asked my thoughts. After ranting for half an hour, I asked to borrow the book for the purpose of responding to some of the ideas.
The art itself was not all bad, although it often detracted from its surroundings--origami mobiles hung in front of stained-glass windows, long swaths of watercolor-on-nylon swung between the faithful and the high arched ceilings, etc. Other work had more of a directly negative effect on my mind: paper cut into lacy jungle scenes, surprisingly feminized portrayals of St. Michael the archangel warrior, and faceless, sexless, ghostlike figures intended to represent the four elements, painted on sheer fabric, swooping down upon the congregation. I have no problem with four-element philosophy, but its appropriation into bland and formless figures and the association of those figures with globalism, environmentalism and feminism means that such use in art makes much more of a political statement than a religious statement.
Contrast that with Michael S. Rose's three main building blocks of religious architecture: "verticality (reaching to the heavens), permanence (transcending space and time), and iconography (the building itself as art)." Rose wrote a book called "Ugly as Sin: Why They Changed Our Churches from Sacred Places to Meeting Spaces and How We Can Change Them Back Again" (hat-tip to my husband, who told me about this), which points out the ideas and purpose behind church buildings that work. It is true that Rose is specifically dealing with architecture, not decorative art which may change with the seasons. Yet the author of Spaces for Spirit might have benefited from understanding these principles, as the art itself tended to get in the way of the architectural focal points.
The words of Spaces for Spirit bothered me more than the art itself. Exempli gratia:
"Making art is a process of letting go of expectations and living in relation to materials, living with confusion and an iconoclastic attitude toward assumptions everyone else seems to hold. This stance is a commitment to the non-rational, intuitive, uncontrolled, emotional side of knowing...
We artists destroy conformity. We demand plurality. And that can be very threatening."
Iconoclasm is a strange word for an artist to use--connoting a closed-minded, usually volatile reaction toward the symbolic, mysterious, or complex. Iconoclasts saw the presence of representational art as idolatry, literally that described in the Ten Commandments: "You shall not make for yourself an image, or any likeness of what is in the heavens above, or on the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth ..." That attitude never seemed to take into account the God-dictated glories of the Israelite tabernacle, which contained images of cherubim and pomegranates, among other things. What, in all that narrowness, provides an effective simile for relating to popular assumptions of any sort?
But the problems in these lines are greater than overreaching adjectives. One of the great failures of the last few decades of art education has been the right-brain/left-brain concept, the false dichotomy between the creative and the rational. The tendency of true art is toward order, not chaos, and order presumes both rationality and control. This is not to say that the abstract has no place in true art, but that art, in order to convey meaning, is typically more ordered than the world itself and not less. As a novelist, this principle is always a part of my subconscious. Whatever a story chooses to portray, it cuts the parts of normal life's disarray and directionlessness that are unnecessary to the story's development, tension and resolution--at least, unless its only goal is an obscure award and the possibility of being used as course reading for a couple of literature classes taught by overeducated postmodern professors.
The modern concept of freeing the creative right-brain from the domineering logic of the left-brain does not result in better art; it results in less communication between the work itself and the intended audience. The author claims that "our response to art is liminal, not rational"; my concern is that modern art seems to provide liminal experience only to those who have some training in that response, while traditional art is not a respecter of persons, and can be appreciated by people of any class to the utmost of their capability.
Further, modern artists busy "destroying conformity" have become surprisingly conformed to one another--like young people trying desperately to stand out from the crowd: one person with pink hair is startling, but once every other person is dying their hair blue and purple, they all start to look the same. The new artists have forgotten that nothing creates sameness more than absence of definition. And in their demand for plurality they notoriously fail to accept traditionalists as intellectual equals.
A failure of education in general shows in the following:
"Much of Christian symbolism in the visual arts takes words to interpret it. This means that the art is dependent upon a filter of intellectual content if its meaning is to be understood. What the art means is limited to a truth that the viewer "gets". Of course, the problem that artists have with this approach is clear: Once the viewer "gets" the meaning, the work is reduced to a mere container for an intellectual idea, and its impact is also reduced to a predictable emotion. It ceases to have meaning apart from these predictable responses. It becomes a visual cliché."
This is an utterly mistaken idea of symbol. It's like looking at The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe and saying "Aslan is Jesus and Edmund is one of us" and coolly assuming that one has unravelled the secret of that particular piece of literature. Symbol does not mean 1:1 representation, and neither Narnia, nor other great works of fiction, nor the saints and their assorted paraphernalia in a stained-glass window are that bland or explicit. Symbolic art works on multiple levels; it is first a comprehensible surface, and then it may have a recognizable moral purpose, a typological representation, and a deeper, anagogical meaning. Most people never get consciously beyond the first and second level, but they may be subconsciously touched by the other levels; they may not know what is represented by the lily in St. Catherine's hand, but they recognize the pure beauty thereof. In the modern art, it is often difficult for the uninitiate to gain an understanding or appreciation of the surface level, let alone what else might be interpreted from the piece. Rather than inspiring the "diversity of interpretations" desired, it may just bring small variations on the general "This crap is in the way".
Worse yet:
"we hear the name of that revolution. It is love--my love of you with your loyalties, your love of me with my passion, our love together of our creator God, your love of my brokenness as an artist, of my imperfections, my love of your resistance and compassion for the cost of change for you."
The condescension in this paragraph is appalling, but the concept of love is simply wrong. Love is not a playful indulgence for someone's weaknesses, nor is passion something belonging exclusively or even primarily to those who consider themselves revolutionaries and rulebreakers. Love does not insist on change for the purpose of change, on unbridled creativity for creativity's sake alone. We love people, not brokenness; truth, not "resistance"; and insistence on change, even while having "compassion" for its cost, is as tyrannical as any tradition could be.
Spaceship and warehouse architecture, poorly-designed art, and an eggshell-walking spirit of welcome have dominated American churches for several decades now. The result has been almost complete loss of interest among the male members of the church, a generation of Christians-in-name who have no idea what they believe, and as much mockery and misrepresentation from the outside world as ever.
I remember visiting the cathedral basilica in St. Louis--a concrete monsterpiece that appeared heavy enough to sink into the ground where it stood. But if you've ever considered the symbol of a room or object having an "inside bigger than its outside"--used so well by C.S. Lewis in The Last Battle--you'll know something of what it was like to step into that church. I walked through a vast world of beauty: intricate mosaics on the distant domed ceilings, depicting Scripture scenes and people; graceful carved statues, golden tabernacles, pillared corridors; and at every corner I wanted to fall on my face and worship.
The demanding of freedom by the modern artist is a misapprehension of freedom itself. Freedom without rules is like change without reason; a directionless, wandering, unfortunate thing that cannot lead anyone into truth or meaning.
"The strongest argument for the divine grace is simply its ungraciousness. The unpopular parts of Christianity turn out when examined to be the very props of the people. The outer ring of Christianity is a rigid guard of ethical abnegations and professional priests; but inside that inhuman guard you will find the old human life dancing like children, and drinking wine like men; for Christianity is the only frame for pagan freedom. But in the modern philosophy the case is opposite; it is its outer ring that is obviously artistic and emancipated; its despair is within."--G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy
Mom and I share a love for art, and though my bent is more literary than visual, we enjoy the exchange of ideas as the same basic principles make for good visual art, good writing and good music. She did not have to ask my opinion to know how I would feel about this particular book, but she showed it to me and asked my thoughts. After ranting for half an hour, I asked to borrow the book for the purpose of responding to some of the ideas.
The art itself was not all bad, although it often detracted from its surroundings--origami mobiles hung in front of stained-glass windows, long swaths of watercolor-on-nylon swung between the faithful and the high arched ceilings, etc. Other work had more of a directly negative effect on my mind: paper cut into lacy jungle scenes, surprisingly feminized portrayals of St. Michael the archangel warrior, and faceless, sexless, ghostlike figures intended to represent the four elements, painted on sheer fabric, swooping down upon the congregation. I have no problem with four-element philosophy, but its appropriation into bland and formless figures and the association of those figures with globalism, environmentalism and feminism means that such use in art makes much more of a political statement than a religious statement.
Contrast that with Michael S. Rose's three main building blocks of religious architecture: "verticality (reaching to the heavens), permanence (transcending space and time), and iconography (the building itself as art)." Rose wrote a book called "Ugly as Sin: Why They Changed Our Churches from Sacred Places to Meeting Spaces and How We Can Change Them Back Again" (hat-tip to my husband, who told me about this), which points out the ideas and purpose behind church buildings that work. It is true that Rose is specifically dealing with architecture, not decorative art which may change with the seasons. Yet the author of Spaces for Spirit might have benefited from understanding these principles, as the art itself tended to get in the way of the architectural focal points.
The words of Spaces for Spirit bothered me more than the art itself. Exempli gratia:
"Making art is a process of letting go of expectations and living in relation to materials, living with confusion and an iconoclastic attitude toward assumptions everyone else seems to hold. This stance is a commitment to the non-rational, intuitive, uncontrolled, emotional side of knowing...
We artists destroy conformity. We demand plurality. And that can be very threatening."
Iconoclasm is a strange word for an artist to use--connoting a closed-minded, usually volatile reaction toward the symbolic, mysterious, or complex. Iconoclasts saw the presence of representational art as idolatry, literally that described in the Ten Commandments: "You shall not make for yourself an image, or any likeness of what is in the heavens above, or on the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth ..." That attitude never seemed to take into account the God-dictated glories of the Israelite tabernacle, which contained images of cherubim and pomegranates, among other things. What, in all that narrowness, provides an effective simile for relating to popular assumptions of any sort?
But the problems in these lines are greater than overreaching adjectives. One of the great failures of the last few decades of art education has been the right-brain/left-brain concept, the false dichotomy between the creative and the rational. The tendency of true art is toward order, not chaos, and order presumes both rationality and control. This is not to say that the abstract has no place in true art, but that art, in order to convey meaning, is typically more ordered than the world itself and not less. As a novelist, this principle is always a part of my subconscious. Whatever a story chooses to portray, it cuts the parts of normal life's disarray and directionlessness that are unnecessary to the story's development, tension and resolution--at least, unless its only goal is an obscure award and the possibility of being used as course reading for a couple of literature classes taught by overeducated postmodern professors.
The modern concept of freeing the creative right-brain from the domineering logic of the left-brain does not result in better art; it results in less communication between the work itself and the intended audience. The author claims that "our response to art is liminal, not rational"; my concern is that modern art seems to provide liminal experience only to those who have some training in that response, while traditional art is not a respecter of persons, and can be appreciated by people of any class to the utmost of their capability.
Further, modern artists busy "destroying conformity" have become surprisingly conformed to one another--like young people trying desperately to stand out from the crowd: one person with pink hair is startling, but once every other person is dying their hair blue and purple, they all start to look the same. The new artists have forgotten that nothing creates sameness more than absence of definition. And in their demand for plurality they notoriously fail to accept traditionalists as intellectual equals.
A failure of education in general shows in the following:
"Much of Christian symbolism in the visual arts takes words to interpret it. This means that the art is dependent upon a filter of intellectual content if its meaning is to be understood. What the art means is limited to a truth that the viewer "gets". Of course, the problem that artists have with this approach is clear: Once the viewer "gets" the meaning, the work is reduced to a mere container for an intellectual idea, and its impact is also reduced to a predictable emotion. It ceases to have meaning apart from these predictable responses. It becomes a visual cliché."
This is an utterly mistaken idea of symbol. It's like looking at The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe and saying "Aslan is Jesus and Edmund is one of us" and coolly assuming that one has unravelled the secret of that particular piece of literature. Symbol does not mean 1:1 representation, and neither Narnia, nor other great works of fiction, nor the saints and their assorted paraphernalia in a stained-glass window are that bland or explicit. Symbolic art works on multiple levels; it is first a comprehensible surface, and then it may have a recognizable moral purpose, a typological representation, and a deeper, anagogical meaning. Most people never get consciously beyond the first and second level, but they may be subconsciously touched by the other levels; they may not know what is represented by the lily in St. Catherine's hand, but they recognize the pure beauty thereof. In the modern art, it is often difficult for the uninitiate to gain an understanding or appreciation of the surface level, let alone what else might be interpreted from the piece. Rather than inspiring the "diversity of interpretations" desired, it may just bring small variations on the general "This crap is in the way".
Worse yet:
"we hear the name of that revolution. It is love--my love of you with your loyalties, your love of me with my passion, our love together of our creator God, your love of my brokenness as an artist, of my imperfections, my love of your resistance and compassion for the cost of change for you."
The condescension in this paragraph is appalling, but the concept of love is simply wrong. Love is not a playful indulgence for someone's weaknesses, nor is passion something belonging exclusively or even primarily to those who consider themselves revolutionaries and rulebreakers. Love does not insist on change for the purpose of change, on unbridled creativity for creativity's sake alone. We love people, not brokenness; truth, not "resistance"; and insistence on change, even while having "compassion" for its cost, is as tyrannical as any tradition could be.
Spaceship and warehouse architecture, poorly-designed art, and an eggshell-walking spirit of welcome have dominated American churches for several decades now. The result has been almost complete loss of interest among the male members of the church, a generation of Christians-in-name who have no idea what they believe, and as much mockery and misrepresentation from the outside world as ever.
I remember visiting the cathedral basilica in St. Louis--a concrete monsterpiece that appeared heavy enough to sink into the ground where it stood. But if you've ever considered the symbol of a room or object having an "inside bigger than its outside"--used so well by C.S. Lewis in The Last Battle--you'll know something of what it was like to step into that church. I walked through a vast world of beauty: intricate mosaics on the distant domed ceilings, depicting Scripture scenes and people; graceful carved statues, golden tabernacles, pillared corridors; and at every corner I wanted to fall on my face and worship.
The demanding of freedom by the modern artist is a misapprehension of freedom itself. Freedom without rules is like change without reason; a directionless, wandering, unfortunate thing that cannot lead anyone into truth or meaning.
"The strongest argument for the divine grace is simply its ungraciousness. The unpopular parts of Christianity turn out when examined to be the very props of the people. The outer ring of Christianity is a rigid guard of ethical abnegations and professional priests; but inside that inhuman guard you will find the old human life dancing like children, and drinking wine like men; for Christianity is the only frame for pagan freedom. But in the modern philosophy the case is opposite; it is its outer ring that is obviously artistic and emancipated; its despair is within."--G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy
3.07.2009
Raindrops on Roses
Beth suggested I make a list of my favorite things, as she has done a couple of times on Facebook. I got started and couldn't stop for a very long time. Here is the result:
Watching my husband, especially when he doesn't know I'm watching him
Kneeling in Adoration
Talking things over with my mom
Texting back and forth with Dad in Yoda-speak
IM conversations with Beth
Coffee with Melanie
Church bells
Mary
Love and affection, especially the cuddling sort
Books about wizards and vampires and talking creatures, oh my!
Litanies ... no, I'm not joking
White lilies
Wedding pictures, especially mine
Great-Grandma Reilly's ring
Relatives
Feeding the ducks
Writing: journals, fiction, music, essays, various bloggery
Love letters
Words, especially English, though other languages are fascinating too
Back rubs. Lou gives great ones; so does my dad.
Babies ... I want one
Cinnamon rolls and coffee with my in-laws
Gregorian chant
Lou singing in Latin
Lou singing Elvis
The Internet. Here's to research without using telephones or the inter-library loan.
Libraries. I'm trying to make home as much like one as possible, without the shushing.
My big bookshelf
Blogs. People are funny.
Long phone conversations with Briana ... though visits are better
Friends that are family, and family members that are friends
Lunch with friends
Funny or meaningful quotes
Lamps and candles and Christmas lights
Brahms' second piano concerto
Sunshine, oh, sunshine
Summer
Holidays from work
Spring
Ornamental cherry trees
Lilacs
Birds, birds, birds
The sky, in all its moods
Christmas
Family get-togethers
The Bible ... especially Psalms, the gospel of John, and Esther
Gothic steeples
Byzantine domes and mosaics
Alabaster angels
Lauds, Vespers, and especially Compline
Old books
Re-reading
Studying literature at Dante's four levels of meaning
G.K. Chesterton
Walking in the surf on white-sand beaches in Florida ... in February
Singing, especially rangey stuff ... I love being a soprano
Wrock
Over-commercialized "Celtic" music
Techno and electronica, especially in foreign languages
Drinking green tea and wishing I spoke Chinese
Cooking in a wok ... or at least my stir-fry pan, which is almost like a wok
Frosties and Blizzards
Easter
America, especially when I can forget about politics
Fairies and unicorns
Little babbling brooks
Being in and on water, even though it frightens me
Fresh-squeezed orange juice from fresh-picked oranges
Bellingham, WA
Airplane rides and road trips
Bozeman, MT
Statues
Jane Austen
Corona with lime
Mocha frappucino and similar things
Putting fun pictures up as backdrops on my computer monitors
My Korg Triton, old Guild guitar, microphone and mixer
Flare jeans and long, short-sleeved, fitted stretch-cotton shirts--especially if they're decorated
Things junior-high girls like: butterfly earrings, snap barrettes, turquoise and coral, Disney songs
Dancing
Good dramedies ... no, I don't mean dromedaries, although those are interesting
Bright colors
Houseplants
Home
Watching my husband, especially when he doesn't know I'm watching him
Kneeling in Adoration
Talking things over with my mom
Texting back and forth with Dad in Yoda-speak
IM conversations with Beth
Coffee with Melanie
Church bells
Mary
Love and affection, especially the cuddling sort
Books about wizards and vampires and talking creatures, oh my!
Litanies ... no, I'm not joking
White lilies
Wedding pictures, especially mine
Great-Grandma Reilly's ring
Relatives
Feeding the ducks
Writing: journals, fiction, music, essays, various bloggery
Love letters
Words, especially English, though other languages are fascinating too
Back rubs. Lou gives great ones; so does my dad.
Babies ... I want one
Cinnamon rolls and coffee with my in-laws
Gregorian chant
Lou singing in Latin
Lou singing Elvis
The Internet. Here's to research without using telephones or the inter-library loan.
Libraries. I'm trying to make home as much like one as possible, without the shushing.
My big bookshelf
Blogs. People are funny.
Long phone conversations with Briana ... though visits are better
Friends that are family, and family members that are friends
Lunch with friends
Funny or meaningful quotes
Lamps and candles and Christmas lights
Brahms' second piano concerto
Sunshine, oh, sunshine
Summer
Holidays from work
Spring
Ornamental cherry trees
Lilacs
Birds, birds, birds
The sky, in all its moods
Christmas
Family get-togethers
The Bible ... especially Psalms, the gospel of John, and Esther
Gothic steeples
Byzantine domes and mosaics
Alabaster angels
Lauds, Vespers, and especially Compline
Old books
Re-reading
Studying literature at Dante's four levels of meaning
G.K. Chesterton
Walking in the surf on white-sand beaches in Florida ... in February
Singing, especially rangey stuff ... I love being a soprano
Wrock
Over-commercialized "Celtic" music
Techno and electronica, especially in foreign languages
Drinking green tea and wishing I spoke Chinese
Cooking in a wok ... or at least my stir-fry pan, which is almost like a wok
Frosties and Blizzards
Easter
America, especially when I can forget about politics
Fairies and unicorns
Little babbling brooks
Being in and on water, even though it frightens me
Fresh-squeezed orange juice from fresh-picked oranges
Bellingham, WA
Airplane rides and road trips
Bozeman, MT
Statues
Jane Austen
Corona with lime
Mocha frappucino and similar things
Putting fun pictures up as backdrops on my computer monitors
My Korg Triton, old Guild guitar, microphone and mixer
Flare jeans and long, short-sleeved, fitted stretch-cotton shirts--especially if they're decorated
Things junior-high girls like: butterfly earrings, snap barrettes, turquoise and coral, Disney songs
Dancing
Good dramedies ... no, I don't mean dromedaries, although those are interesting
Bright colors
Houseplants
Home
3.06.2009
Bozeman Explosion
My best friend called me yesterday morning to tell me about this:
It appears to have been a gas explosion in one of the restaurants; it destroyed three Main Street buildings and the six businesses within. According to the above story, "witnesses in the area reported seeing the roof of the building fly hundreds of feet into the air." The blast shook Briana's apartment--she can walk from her place to the site--and was apparently felt across town.
Thankfully, it happened before business hours. One person is still missing as of last report; otherwise, there were no casualties and no injuries reported. As Briana pointed out to me, if it had been even an hour later, the story would have been far worse.
We likewise used to live within walking distance of the place, and though I'm pretty sure the Boodles place went in since then, I seem to remember at least the Pickle Barrel being there.
The image is directly from the news story.
It appears to have been a gas explosion in one of the restaurants; it destroyed three Main Street buildings and the six businesses within. According to the above story, "witnesses in the area reported seeing the roof of the building fly hundreds of feet into the air." The blast shook Briana's apartment--she can walk from her place to the site--and was apparently felt across town.
Thankfully, it happened before business hours. One person is still missing as of last report; otherwise, there were no casualties and no injuries reported. As Briana pointed out to me, if it had been even an hour later, the story would have been far worse.
We likewise used to live within walking distance of the place, and though I'm pretty sure the Boodles place went in since then, I seem to remember at least the Pickle Barrel being there.
The image is directly from the news story.
2.23.2009
The Good Old Days
So, the gig is that this is supposed to be filled out with answers about one's senior year in high school. I was homeschooled, so this might be interesting.
1. Did you date someone from your school?
There are laws against that sort of thing.
2. Did you marry someone from your high school?
See #1. My husband went to Bellingham High.
3. Did you carpool to school?
All the way down to the living room?
4. What kind of car did you drive in high school?
I got my license at age 19 and graduated at 17 ... but I did practice on my parents' 1978 Malibu.
5. What kind of car do you have now?
'95 Camry.
6. It's Friday night... in high school:
I'm playing the piano and the rest of my family is watching television.
7. It's Friday night... where are you now?
My husband and I are sitting on the couch, he with his Greek book and me with my computer and thinking cap.
8. What kind of job did you have in high school?
"Chores" would be a more appropriate term. But I did muck out stalls in exchange for horseback riding lessons.
9. What kind of job do you have now?
It's sort of a combination of editing, layout and design, and telling people what to do.
10. Were you a party animal?
If by "party" you mean driving half an hour to the roller skating rink for two hours of fun with the other homeschooled kids and their parents, then yes, absolutely.
11. Were you considered a flirt?
I sucked at flirting.
12. Were you in band, orchestra, or choir?
I also sucked at singing, believe it or not. Back then, if I sang something and asked how it sounded, people said "Keep practicing."
13. Were you a nerd?
Ha! I should post pictures. Taking the classic Hollywood stereotype, I'm not even sure I ranked that high.
14. Did you get suspended or expelled?
That would have required running away, and no, I never did.
15. Can you sing the fight song?
My sisters and I did fight every now and then, but I don't recall any of us making up songs about it.
16. Who was/were your favorite teacher(s):
Mom. She taught me almost everything I know.
17. Where did you sit during lunch?
Probably on my bed, with a novel propped open on my knees.
18. What was your school's full name?:
Home schools don't really come with a name, but we were members of the Gallatin Valley Home School Association.
19. When did you graduate?:
1995
20. What was your school mascot?:
Since my sisters and I didn't play football, a mascot wasn't entirely necessary. I think my volleyball team, made up of homeschooled girls, went by Cougars.
21. If you could go back and do it again, would you?
Homeschooling was great. I just don't want to experience my sixteenth year again.
22. Did you have fun at Prom?
I suppose we could have decked out the living room in a theme and danced around to the (early '90s) Christian radio station. But we didn't.
23. Do you still talk to the person you went to Prom with?
See #22.
24. Are you planning on going to your next reunion?
I never have managed to track down Jana H., with whom I celebrated graduation.
25. Do you still talk to people from school?
Briana and I took classes from each others' parents, and we talk all the time. I owe her a call, actually.
1. Did you date someone from your school?
There are laws against that sort of thing.
2. Did you marry someone from your high school?
See #1. My husband went to Bellingham High.
3. Did you carpool to school?
All the way down to the living room?
4. What kind of car did you drive in high school?
I got my license at age 19 and graduated at 17 ... but I did practice on my parents' 1978 Malibu.
5. What kind of car do you have now?
'95 Camry.
6. It's Friday night... in high school:
I'm playing the piano and the rest of my family is watching television.
7. It's Friday night... where are you now?
My husband and I are sitting on the couch, he with his Greek book and me with my computer and thinking cap.
8. What kind of job did you have in high school?
"Chores" would be a more appropriate term. But I did muck out stalls in exchange for horseback riding lessons.
9. What kind of job do you have now?
It's sort of a combination of editing, layout and design, and telling people what to do.
10. Were you a party animal?
If by "party" you mean driving half an hour to the roller skating rink for two hours of fun with the other homeschooled kids and their parents, then yes, absolutely.
11. Were you considered a flirt?
I sucked at flirting.
12. Were you in band, orchestra, or choir?
I also sucked at singing, believe it or not. Back then, if I sang something and asked how it sounded, people said "Keep practicing."
13. Were you a nerd?
Ha! I should post pictures. Taking the classic Hollywood stereotype, I'm not even sure I ranked that high.
14. Did you get suspended or expelled?
That would have required running away, and no, I never did.
15. Can you sing the fight song?
My sisters and I did fight every now and then, but I don't recall any of us making up songs about it.
16. Who was/were your favorite teacher(s):
Mom. She taught me almost everything I know.
17. Where did you sit during lunch?
Probably on my bed, with a novel propped open on my knees.
18. What was your school's full name?:
Home schools don't really come with a name, but we were members of the Gallatin Valley Home School Association.
19. When did you graduate?:
1995
20. What was your school mascot?:
Since my sisters and I didn't play football, a mascot wasn't entirely necessary. I think my volleyball team, made up of homeschooled girls, went by Cougars.
21. If you could go back and do it again, would you?
Homeschooling was great. I just don't want to experience my sixteenth year again.
22. Did you have fun at Prom?
I suppose we could have decked out the living room in a theme and danced around to the (early '90s) Christian radio station. But we didn't.
23. Do you still talk to the person you went to Prom with?
See #22.
24. Are you planning on going to your next reunion?
I never have managed to track down Jana H., with whom I celebrated graduation.
25. Do you still talk to people from school?
Briana and I took classes from each others' parents, and we talk all the time. I owe her a call, actually.
1.31.2009
Blogging from a Studio 15
Being stuck on the couch for four days with a cold isn't much fun. No, that's not exactly right: Having a cold is not much fun. Being stuck on the couch for four days can be downright enjoyable. Especially when your new computer arrives right in the middle of that stretch of time.
Lou drove home from work specially to bring me this beautiful thing, all packaged up in its Dell box, and I have now spent the rest of yesterday and almost all of today playing with it. I love it already. It allows me to sign in with a fingerprint scan. It lets me curl up on the couch with it and wrestle with my thoughts; it has a calendar, a clock and a notepad; its mouse isn't all jumpy like the one on Lou's computer, and it came with some neat sample pictures. Not as neat as the unicorn wallpaper I downloaded, but a girl can't ask for everything.
It might be heresy to say so, but I like Windows Vista. At least, so far. Of course, I have 4G RAM on this, so Vista isn't slowing me down all that much.
Finally: this machine is gray and pink. How cool can you get?
Lou drove home from work specially to bring me this beautiful thing, all packaged up in its Dell box, and I have now spent the rest of yesterday and almost all of today playing with it. I love it already. It allows me to sign in with a fingerprint scan. It lets me curl up on the couch with it and wrestle with my thoughts; it has a calendar, a clock and a notepad; its mouse isn't all jumpy like the one on Lou's computer, and it came with some neat sample pictures. Not as neat as the unicorn wallpaper I downloaded, but a girl can't ask for everything.
It might be heresy to say so, but I like Windows Vista. At least, so far. Of course, I have 4G RAM on this, so Vista isn't slowing me down all that much.
Finally: this machine is gray and pink. How cool can you get?
1.27.2009
Thirty-one
There's nothing particularly milestone-like about a thirty-first birthday. It's just another in the string of no-longer-twenties. I have begun to see my age—in my hands, my skin in certain places, and in my face when I get tired or don't wear makeup. I find that strange, even though I shouldn't.
As a child, I don't think I ever thought about being over thirty. It seemed so old. I did think about being in my early twenties, and am now at least closer to what I'd planned for then. Which makes me one of the lucky ones from the girls in my generation.
Now the early twenties even seem young. Not extremely so, but still—at that age I thought of life as being mostly in front of me. At this age, I think of myself in the middle of life, with every day being precious.
The middle of life doesn't feel old exactly; rather, there's a staying consciousness of age and mortality that has only come to me, gradually, in the last few years. It still feels a little new and weird to me. But I can still layer on the eye-shadow and look in the mirror and see a girl's face. And as much as my habits and introversion may try to make an old soul out of me early, I plan to hang onto the childlike part of myself and anything else that might keep me from becoming a bitter old soul. We've all known those. I don't wish to be one.
My beloved husband has made a point out of making me feel loved today. He's going to take me to dinner and then I think we'll rent Ghost Town (I hear it's funny) and crash on the couch where we can be comfortable. I have a cold, so that sounds even more splendid than usual.
As a child, I don't think I ever thought about being over thirty. It seemed so old. I did think about being in my early twenties, and am now at least closer to what I'd planned for then. Which makes me one of the lucky ones from the girls in my generation.
Now the early twenties even seem young. Not extremely so, but still—at that age I thought of life as being mostly in front of me. At this age, I think of myself in the middle of life, with every day being precious.
The middle of life doesn't feel old exactly; rather, there's a staying consciousness of age and mortality that has only come to me, gradually, in the last few years. It still feels a little new and weird to me. But I can still layer on the eye-shadow and look in the mirror and see a girl's face. And as much as my habits and introversion may try to make an old soul out of me early, I plan to hang onto the childlike part of myself and anything else that might keep me from becoming a bitter old soul. We've all known those. I don't wish to be one.
My beloved husband has made a point out of making me feel loved today. He's going to take me to dinner and then I think we'll rent Ghost Town (I hear it's funny) and crash on the couch where we can be comfortable. I have a cold, so that sounds even more splendid than usual.
1.18.2009
Journal
Sometime in fifth grade, I started my first journal in a little blue-and-pink book. I wrote in pencil and addressed each entry "Dear Diary". "Diary" became the only long-lasting "pretend friend" I ever had; once, I even imagined her coming to school with me. A year or two later, I got the quirky notion that pretend friends might be a little too close to familiar spirits, so I gave over writing to Diary and began a more narrative form of journaling.
It's hilarious and rather embarrassing to go back and read that first journal now; much more amusing than my high school journals, which ought to be burnt. I did stay an avid journaler, and probably have over a thousand pages logged in various notebooks and folders, but in the past few years that has tapered off into nothingness. Part of that is that love worth writing about has been more interesting to live and less needful of endless speculation. The rest has more to do with the fact that computers have spoiled me for writing with pens and pencils; I can keep up with my thoughts so much better with a keyboard, and I don't have to scratch things out and redo them in the margins.
For better or for worse, this blog has become the closest thing I have to a regular journal. It needs to be much more regular, of course, to fill that role, and--being public--can't quite be as sensational, and hopefully not as absurd, as the notebooks in my closet. But it's likely that the posts will become more thoughts and less commentary; I've decided that I'm a journaler, not a journalist.
Here's today's entry, then.
* * *
Sunshine
The sky is blue today. After growing up in Big Sky country, I think often about how much I miss the sky and the sun, and it's a huge relief whenever I actually get to see it.
The bright light coming through the stained glass windows at church made my eyes ache, but I didn't care. Mass takes on a special joy when the sun comes in; it feels a little like the difference between believing and seeing.
Lou and I took a long walk downtown after church. He bought me a coffee at Starbucks and we sat out in the sun and were quiet together. I probably didn't need to go for a grande caramel macchiato--it's made me a little jittery--but it tasted good, and the hot drink made sitting in the cold more comfortable.
It felt wonderful to get some vitamin D the natural way. Right now I'm taking a crazy amount of vitamins, trying to normalize my nonsensical overwrought body. But sunshine makes everything seem better.
Waiting
Not being a very patient person, I don't like waiting very much. Especially not uncertain waiting. I told myself I wouldn't cry this month, but why break an unbroken tradition? It feels silly for me to want something so much, when my life is so blessed and happy in almost every way, but I don't know what to do with the desire. It's instinctive, animalian. Feminine. And it's all so out of my control. The routine goes unchanged: pray, offer it up, and put my mind on something more likely to make me cheerful.
Wall-E
If I had to describe it in one word, I'd have to say "propaganda". But I suppose that isn't fair. Lou didn't get that feeling, at least not as strongly as I did. Maybe I've gotten a little over-cynical about anything that looks even remotely like an agenda from the left. Walking past one of those hideous sixties-style murals today, I saw the word "Excitement" and read it as "Excrement". Bah.
Admittedly, Wall-E succeeded remarkably for a movie with so little dialogue. It was quite creative, and Wall-E's pet cockroach made me laugh.
* * *
The sun is still out ... and up for just a few more minutes. Lou and I are going for another walk.
It's hilarious and rather embarrassing to go back and read that first journal now; much more amusing than my high school journals, which ought to be burnt. I did stay an avid journaler, and probably have over a thousand pages logged in various notebooks and folders, but in the past few years that has tapered off into nothingness. Part of that is that love worth writing about has been more interesting to live and less needful of endless speculation. The rest has more to do with the fact that computers have spoiled me for writing with pens and pencils; I can keep up with my thoughts so much better with a keyboard, and I don't have to scratch things out and redo them in the margins.
For better or for worse, this blog has become the closest thing I have to a regular journal. It needs to be much more regular, of course, to fill that role, and--being public--can't quite be as sensational, and hopefully not as absurd, as the notebooks in my closet. But it's likely that the posts will become more thoughts and less commentary; I've decided that I'm a journaler, not a journalist.
Here's today's entry, then.
* * *
Sunshine
The sky is blue today. After growing up in Big Sky country, I think often about how much I miss the sky and the sun, and it's a huge relief whenever I actually get to see it.
The bright light coming through the stained glass windows at church made my eyes ache, but I didn't care. Mass takes on a special joy when the sun comes in; it feels a little like the difference between believing and seeing.
Lou and I took a long walk downtown after church. He bought me a coffee at Starbucks and we sat out in the sun and were quiet together. I probably didn't need to go for a grande caramel macchiato--it's made me a little jittery--but it tasted good, and the hot drink made sitting in the cold more comfortable.
It felt wonderful to get some vitamin D the natural way. Right now I'm taking a crazy amount of vitamins, trying to normalize my nonsensical overwrought body. But sunshine makes everything seem better.
Waiting
Not being a very patient person, I don't like waiting very much. Especially not uncertain waiting. I told myself I wouldn't cry this month, but why break an unbroken tradition? It feels silly for me to want something so much, when my life is so blessed and happy in almost every way, but I don't know what to do with the desire. It's instinctive, animalian. Feminine. And it's all so out of my control. The routine goes unchanged: pray, offer it up, and put my mind on something more likely to make me cheerful.
Wall-E
If I had to describe it in one word, I'd have to say "propaganda". But I suppose that isn't fair. Lou didn't get that feeling, at least not as strongly as I did. Maybe I've gotten a little over-cynical about anything that looks even remotely like an agenda from the left. Walking past one of those hideous sixties-style murals today, I saw the word "Excitement" and read it as "Excrement". Bah.
Admittedly, Wall-E succeeded remarkably for a movie with so little dialogue. It was quite creative, and Wall-E's pet cockroach made me laugh.
* * *
The sun is still out ... and up for just a few more minutes. Lou and I are going for another walk.
1.17.2009
New Things
Like my new template? :)
I found it on www.btemplates.com and couldn't resist. After all, the old one had been in place since I began blogging almost three years ago. This one could hardly be more me. It's amazing how open the internet is to personalization. Maybe too much so--it can become a rather narcissistic pastime.
But I like my new blog template. Unfortunately, I individually customized every one of the previous 175 posts with font-color, meaning that if I don't want them green I now have to go back and un-set that one at a time. That might take awhile.
* * *
Maybe I can do it when I get my new computer. After several years of resisting the laptop trend, I've finally decided I want one. It's just too cold in our little study room, and the last thing I want to do at the end of a workday is sit at a desk. A laptop can come on the couch with me. Since it was time to upgrade anyway, and my birthday is coming up, Lou and I picked out a beautiful little Dell the other day and hopefully I'll have it before long.
* * *
My most recent Silhouette article, Same Old Story, made it into the online journal Curator Magazine last week--and, shame on me, I'm only just now getting around to posting about that fact. As I hadn't heard of the magazine, I went and looked around their site and it's good work. I felt quite honored to be published on their page.
* * *
Lou and I are taking another Auntie-C suggestion and spending the weekend at home, relaxing together. (He's nearby doing his Office of Readings, in Latin.) Auntie-C said she and her husband do this once every month--get housework and shopping and everything else done in advance, and spend a whole weekend just being home together doing the kind of things we like to do. Smart lady. Being introverts, Lou and I had no trouble seeing the value of that plan.
On account of which, I am now going to get up and serve the corned beef and cabbage that's been in the crock-pot. Then, I think we're going to watch Wall-E. It's a good day.
I found it on www.btemplates.com and couldn't resist. After all, the old one had been in place since I began blogging almost three years ago. This one could hardly be more me. It's amazing how open the internet is to personalization. Maybe too much so--it can become a rather narcissistic pastime.
But I like my new blog template. Unfortunately, I individually customized every one of the previous 175 posts with font-color, meaning that if I don't want them green I now have to go back and un-set that one at a time. That might take awhile.
* * *
Maybe I can do it when I get my new computer. After several years of resisting the laptop trend, I've finally decided I want one. It's just too cold in our little study room, and the last thing I want to do at the end of a workday is sit at a desk. A laptop can come on the couch with me. Since it was time to upgrade anyway, and my birthday is coming up, Lou and I picked out a beautiful little Dell the other day and hopefully I'll have it before long.
* * *
My most recent Silhouette article, Same Old Story, made it into the online journal Curator Magazine last week--and, shame on me, I'm only just now getting around to posting about that fact. As I hadn't heard of the magazine, I went and looked around their site and it's good work. I felt quite honored to be published on their page.
* * *
Lou and I are taking another Auntie-C suggestion and spending the weekend at home, relaxing together. (He's nearby doing his Office of Readings, in Latin.) Auntie-C said she and her husband do this once every month--get housework and shopping and everything else done in advance, and spend a whole weekend just being home together doing the kind of things we like to do. Smart lady. Being introverts, Lou and I had no trouble seeing the value of that plan.
On account of which, I am now going to get up and serve the corned beef and cabbage that's been in the crock-pot. Then, I think we're going to watch Wall-E. It's a good day.
1.08.2009
Rest in Peace, Father Neuhaus
I only discovered your writing in the past year or so, but had already grown used to swiping my husband's First Things to read the Public Square. You never failed to offer something that reminded me why I believe, that encouraged me to keep fighting.
You are off to glory, off to Jesus. We who are still in the battle will miss you.
* * *
For 'we who are still in the battle', Fr. Neuhaus wrote a beautiful article in reflection on his own first brush with death some years ago. Read it here.
Thanks to Amy Welborn for the link.
You are off to glory, off to Jesus. We who are still in the battle will miss you.
* * *
For 'we who are still in the battle', Fr. Neuhaus wrote a beautiful article in reflection on his own first brush with death some years ago. Read it here.
Thanks to Amy Welborn for the link.
12.31.2008
Old Year, New Year
The new year is coming rather rapidly. In the waning hours of 2008, though, I have to admit myself awed by the old year. It was perhaps the fullest of my thirty years, carrying a vast emotional range that still overwhelms me as I look back.
Dad-gum it, I’m actually crying.
Apt descriptors for the year of our Lord 2008, in my life, include beautiful and arduous, poignant and brilliant, thrilling and painful. And stressful—and glorious.
Most of the main causes have gotten at least a brief mention here. Not all. But there are only two hours left in the old year and I’d like to be asleep for part of them. No, I am not planning to stay up; the fireworks and shouting will likely waken me at midnight, though, perhaps for long enough to say a quick prayer of thanks and petition over both years.
New Year’s resolutions seem to have fallen out of vogue; only a couple of people have even mentioned them in my hearing. Last year, I didn’t make any. Without intending to make a fine list of goals for the purpose of forgetting them all by the fourth of January, however, there are a few things I’d like to accomplish in 2009. I want to write—to keep up this blog more, create new songs, and return to my long-loved fiction, where I hear the worlds of faerie calling. I’d like to do more recording. I want to get more exercise and lay off the stress, hopefully to get some of my once-strong health back. And maybe at some point God will consider it time to give me the gift for which I’ve begged him, quite shamelessly, since my wedding.
Time in great increments is a fearsome thing to stare in the face and usually much less imposing to look back upon. I don’t know what this annual giant holds, but I’ll take it as it comes. Starting with tomorrow.
Happy New Year, everyone.
Dad-gum it, I’m actually crying.
Apt descriptors for the year of our Lord 2008, in my life, include beautiful and arduous, poignant and brilliant, thrilling and painful. And stressful—and glorious.
Most of the main causes have gotten at least a brief mention here. Not all. But there are only two hours left in the old year and I’d like to be asleep for part of them. No, I am not planning to stay up; the fireworks and shouting will likely waken me at midnight, though, perhaps for long enough to say a quick prayer of thanks and petition over both years.
New Year’s resolutions seem to have fallen out of vogue; only a couple of people have even mentioned them in my hearing. Last year, I didn’t make any. Without intending to make a fine list of goals for the purpose of forgetting them all by the fourth of January, however, there are a few things I’d like to accomplish in 2009. I want to write—to keep up this blog more, create new songs, and return to my long-loved fiction, where I hear the worlds of faerie calling. I’d like to do more recording. I want to get more exercise and lay off the stress, hopefully to get some of my once-strong health back. And maybe at some point God will consider it time to give me the gift for which I’ve begged him, quite shamelessly, since my wedding.
Time in great increments is a fearsome thing to stare in the face and usually much less imposing to look back upon. I don’t know what this annual giant holds, but I’ll take it as it comes. Starting with tomorrow.
Happy New Year, everyone.
12.23.2008
New Article
I've got a new article up on Silhouette today! This one's about one of my favorite, favorite pastimes: re-reading. And in case you want to know which of the books mentioned at the end made it off the shelf first, it was Austen's Persuasion. I finished it again tonight, and couldn't even guess at the number of times I've read it through.
12.20.2008
My Husband
... is brilliant.
This piece of his on what has been lost in the removal of the word "Christmas" from Christmas is both thought-provoking and hilarious. It's well worth the read. Among other great lines:
"... it was the left that changed "Happy Holidays" from a synonym for "Merry Christmas" to a political antonym--the Yuletide equivalent of "Keep Your Rosaries Off My Ovaries"."
* * *
He's also good to me. Tonight he took me to see Twilight in the theaters. As a general rule, he doesn't like movies much. I didn't think he would like this one, and wasn't even sure I would--two reads through all four books have left me a lot of appreciation for the story (and enjoyment of it!) but still some mixed/uncertain feelings about parts of it.
As it turned out, we both really liked the movie. A lot. I'd like to write more, but would be here all night trying to think my way through it--for now, I'll just say that it was well written, well acted, and very well filmed. Special props to Stephenie Meyer for having a cameo in her own movie. And the cinematography exquisitely captured the look and feel of the Pacific Northwest (the story is set in Forks, WA, over on the Olympic peninsula.) I'll have to post more later about both books and film.
Best movie I've seen in the theaters in a very, very long time, though! I could definitely be tempted to see it again. But oh! if you go, and one of the trailers on the front begins with a woman talking on her cell phone and listening to her baby monitor: cover your ears, close your eyes, and count to sixty at least twice. Believe me. You do NOT want to see that preview.
This piece of his on what has been lost in the removal of the word "Christmas" from Christmas is both thought-provoking and hilarious. It's well worth the read. Among other great lines:
"... it was the left that changed "Happy Holidays" from a synonym for "Merry Christmas" to a political antonym--the Yuletide equivalent of "Keep Your Rosaries Off My Ovaries"."
* * *
He's also good to me. Tonight he took me to see Twilight in the theaters. As a general rule, he doesn't like movies much. I didn't think he would like this one, and wasn't even sure I would--two reads through all four books have left me a lot of appreciation for the story (and enjoyment of it!) but still some mixed/uncertain feelings about parts of it.
As it turned out, we both really liked the movie. A lot. I'd like to write more, but would be here all night trying to think my way through it--for now, I'll just say that it was well written, well acted, and very well filmed. Special props to Stephenie Meyer for having a cameo in her own movie. And the cinematography exquisitely captured the look and feel of the Pacific Northwest (the story is set in Forks, WA, over on the Olympic peninsula.) I'll have to post more later about both books and film.
Best movie I've seen in the theaters in a very, very long time, though! I could definitely be tempted to see it again. But oh! if you go, and one of the trailers on the front begins with a woman talking on her cell phone and listening to her baby monitor: cover your ears, close your eyes, and count to sixty at least twice. Believe me. You do NOT want to see that preview.
12.17.2008
I’ve seen 67 out of 239 films
We have more snow here, and cold--it's in the 20s today, but has been in the teens for the early part of this week. It looks like Christmas. I love Christmas, but I'm not fond of the cold. It makes me miss summer--sitting on rocks by the bay, dangling my feet in the water; bright sunshine and blue and green life everywhere; flowers and short-sleeve shirts and my skort; reading books under trees. I miss summer very much.
* * *
Whether it's narcissistic or just juvenile, I'm not certain, but I've a hard time resisting this sort of thing.
I quote Greg Willits here:
"SUPPOSEDLY if you’ve seen over 85 [of these] films, you have no life. Mark the ones you’ve seen. There are 239 films on this list. Copy this list, go to your own Facebook account or website, paste this as a note or blog entry. Then, put X’s next to the films you’ve seen, add them up, change the header adding your number, and click post at the bottom. Have fun."
() Rocky Horror Picture Show
() Grease
(x) Pirates of the Caribbean
(x) Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest
() Boondock Saints
() Fight Club
() Starsky and Hutch
() Neverending Story
() Blazing Saddles
() Airplane
Total: 2
(x) The Princess Bride
() Anchorman
(x) Napoleon Dynamite
() Labyrinth
() Saw
() Saw II
() White Noise
() White Oleander
() Anger Management
(x) 50 First Dates
(x) The Princess Diaries
(x) The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement
Total: 5
() Scream
() Scream 2
() Scream 3
() Scary Movie
() Scary Movie 2
() Scary Movie 3
() Scary Movie 4
() American Pie
() American Pie 2
() American Wedding
() American Pie Band Camp
Total: 0
(x) Harry Potter 1
(x) Harry Potter 2
(x) Harry Potter 3
(x) Harry Potter 4
() Resident Evil 1
() Resident Evil 2
(x) The Wedding Singer
(x) Little Black Book
() The Village
() Lilo & Stitch
Total: 6
(x) Finding Nemo
(x) Finding Neverland
() Signs
(x) The Grinch
() Texas Chainsaw Massacre
() Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning
() White Chicks
() Butterfly Effect
(x) 13 Going on 30
() I, Robot
() Robots
Total: 4
() Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story
() Universal Soldier
() Lemony Snicket: A Series Of Unfortunate Events
() Along Came Polly
() Deep Impact
() KingPin
(x) Never Been Kissed
(x) Meet The Parents
() Meet the Fockers
() Eight Crazy Nights
() Joe Dirt
() KING KONG
Total: 2
(x) A Cinderella Story
(x) The Terminal
() The Lizzie McGuire Movie
() Passport to Paris
(x) Dumb & Dumber
() Dumber & Dumberer
() Final Destination
() Final Destination 2
() Final Destination 3
() Halloween
() The Ring
() The Ring 2
() Surviving X-MAS
(x) Flubber
Total: 4
() Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle
() Practical Magic
(x) Chicago
() Ghost Ship
() From Hell
() Hellboy
() Secret Window
(x) I Am Sam
() The Whole Nine Yards
() The Whole Ten Yards
Total: 2
() The Day After Tomorrow
() Child’s Play
() Seed of Chucky
() Bride of Chucky
(x) Ten Things I Hate About You
(x) Just Married
() Gothika
() Nightmare on Elm Street
() Sixteen Candles
(x) Remember the Titans
(x) Coach Carter
() The Grudge
() The Grudge 2
() The Mask
() Son Of The Mask
Total: 4
() Bad Boys
() Bad Boys 2
() Joy Ride
() Lucky Number Slevin
(x) Ocean’s Eleven
(x) Ocean’s Twelve
(x) Bourne Identity
() Bourne Supremacy
() Lone Star
() Bedazzled
() Predator I
() Predator II
() The Fog
(x) Ice Age
() Ice Age 2: The Meltdown
() Curious George
Total: 4
() Independence Day
() Cujo
() A Bronx Tale
() Darkness Falls
() Christine
() ET
() Children of the Corn
() My Bosses Daughter
(x) Maid in Manhattan
() War of the Worlds
(x) Rush Hour
(x) Rush Hour 2
Total: 3
() Best Bet
(x) How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
() She’s All That
() Calendar Girls
() Sideways
() Mars Attacks
() Event Horizon (Note courtesy of Greg: Most Evil Movie EVER - DO NOT WATCH)
(x) Ever After
(x) Wizard of Oz
(x) Forrest Gump
() Big Trouble in Little China
() The Terminator
() The Terminator 2
() The Terminator 3
Total: 4
(x) X-Men
(x) X-2
(x) X-3
(x) Spider-Man
() Spider-Man 2
() Sky High
() Jeepers Creepers
() Jeepers Creepers 2
(x) Catch Me If You Can
(x) The Little Mermaid
(x) Freaky Friday (the original only!)
() Reign of Fire
(x) The Skulls
() Cruel Intentions
() Cruel Intentions 2
() The Hot Chick
(x) Shrek
() Shrek 2
Total: 9
() Swimfan
(x) Miracle on 34th street
() Old School
() The Notebook
() K-Pax
() Krippendorf’s Tribe
(x) A Walk to Remember
() Ice Castles
() Boogeyman
() The 40-year-old Virgin
Total: 2
(x) Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring
(x) Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
(x) Lord of the Rings: Return Of the King
() Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark
() Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
(x) Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
Total so far: 4
() Baseketball
() Hostel
() Waiting for Guffman
() House of 1000 Corpses
() Devils Rejects
(x) Elf
() Highlander
() Mothman Prophecies
() American History X
() Three
Total: 1
() The Jacket
() Kung Fu Hustle
() Shaolin Soccer
() Night Watch
(x) Monsters Inc.
() Titanic
(x) Monty Python and the Holy Grail
() Shaun Of the Dead
() Willard
Total: 2
() High Tension
() Club Dread
() Hulk
() Dawn Of the Dead
(x) Hook
(x) Chronicles Of Narnia: The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe
() 28 days later
() Orgazmo
() Phantasm
() Waterworld
Total: 2
() Kill Bill vol 1
() Kill Bill vol 2
() Mortal Kombat
() Wolf Creek
() Kingdom of Heaven
() the Hills Have Eyes
() I Spit on Your Grave aka the Day of the Woman
() The Last House on the Left
() Re-Animator
() Army of Darkness
Total: 0
(x) Star Wars Ep. I The Phantom Menace
(x)Star Wars Ep. II Attack of the Clones
(x) Star Wars Ep. III Revenge of the Sith
(x) Star Wars Ep. IV A New Hope
(x) Star Wars Ep. V The Empire Strikes Back
(x) Star Wars Ep. VI Return of the Jedi
() Ewoks Caravan Of Courage
() Ewoks The Battle For Endor
Total: 6
(x) The Matrix
() The Matrix Reloaded
() The Matrix Revolutions
() Animatrix
() Evil Dead
() Evil Dead 2
() Team America: World Police
() Red Dragon
() Silence of the Lambs
() Hannibal
Total: 1
And the rules continue:
"Now add them up and… Put “I’ve seen [however many] out of 239 films” in the subject line and repost it on Facebook or your blog. And for that matter, leave a comment here on our website and let us know how many you’ve seen!"
I've seen 67 of these, most of them quite cheerfully. A few of them I could have definitely done without. The Matrix, for instance, and Meet the Parents. But I do have a life. It's official. We all know how trustworthy these internet quizzes are! It's the Internet! Don't talk to me about arbitrary.
* * *
Whether it's narcissistic or just juvenile, I'm not certain, but I've a hard time resisting this sort of thing.
I quote Greg Willits here:
"SUPPOSEDLY if you’ve seen over 85 [of these] films, you have no life. Mark the ones you’ve seen. There are 239 films on this list. Copy this list, go to your own Facebook account or website, paste this as a note or blog entry. Then, put X’s next to the films you’ve seen, add them up, change the header adding your number, and click post at the bottom. Have fun."
() Rocky Horror Picture Show
() Grease
(x) Pirates of the Caribbean
(x) Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest
() Boondock Saints
() Fight Club
() Starsky and Hutch
() Neverending Story
() Blazing Saddles
() Airplane
Total: 2
(x) The Princess Bride
() Anchorman
(x) Napoleon Dynamite
() Labyrinth
() Saw
() Saw II
() White Noise
() White Oleander
() Anger Management
(x) 50 First Dates
(x) The Princess Diaries
(x) The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement
Total: 5
() Scream
() Scream 2
() Scream 3
() Scary Movie
() Scary Movie 2
() Scary Movie 3
() Scary Movie 4
() American Pie
() American Pie 2
() American Wedding
() American Pie Band Camp
Total: 0
(x) Harry Potter 1
(x) Harry Potter 2
(x) Harry Potter 3
(x) Harry Potter 4
() Resident Evil 1
() Resident Evil 2
(x) The Wedding Singer
(x) Little Black Book
() The Village
() Lilo & Stitch
Total: 6
(x) Finding Nemo
(x) Finding Neverland
() Signs
(x) The Grinch
() Texas Chainsaw Massacre
() Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning
() White Chicks
() Butterfly Effect
(x) 13 Going on 30
() I, Robot
() Robots
Total: 4
() Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story
() Universal Soldier
() Lemony Snicket: A Series Of Unfortunate Events
() Along Came Polly
() Deep Impact
() KingPin
(x) Never Been Kissed
(x) Meet The Parents
() Meet the Fockers
() Eight Crazy Nights
() Joe Dirt
() KING KONG
Total: 2
(x) A Cinderella Story
(x) The Terminal
() The Lizzie McGuire Movie
() Passport to Paris
(x) Dumb & Dumber
() Dumber & Dumberer
() Final Destination
() Final Destination 2
() Final Destination 3
() Halloween
() The Ring
() The Ring 2
() Surviving X-MAS
(x) Flubber
Total: 4
() Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle
() Practical Magic
(x) Chicago
() Ghost Ship
() From Hell
() Hellboy
() Secret Window
(x) I Am Sam
() The Whole Nine Yards
() The Whole Ten Yards
Total: 2
() The Day After Tomorrow
() Child’s Play
() Seed of Chucky
() Bride of Chucky
(x) Ten Things I Hate About You
(x) Just Married
() Gothika
() Nightmare on Elm Street
() Sixteen Candles
(x) Remember the Titans
(x) Coach Carter
() The Grudge
() The Grudge 2
() The Mask
() Son Of The Mask
Total: 4
() Bad Boys
() Bad Boys 2
() Joy Ride
() Lucky Number Slevin
(x) Ocean’s Eleven
(x) Ocean’s Twelve
(x) Bourne Identity
() Bourne Supremacy
() Lone Star
() Bedazzled
() Predator I
() Predator II
() The Fog
(x) Ice Age
() Ice Age 2: The Meltdown
() Curious George
Total: 4
() Independence Day
() Cujo
() A Bronx Tale
() Darkness Falls
() Christine
() ET
() Children of the Corn
() My Bosses Daughter
(x) Maid in Manhattan
() War of the Worlds
(x) Rush Hour
(x) Rush Hour 2
Total: 3
() Best Bet
(x) How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
() She’s All That
() Calendar Girls
() Sideways
() Mars Attacks
() Event Horizon (Note courtesy of Greg: Most Evil Movie EVER - DO NOT WATCH)
(x) Ever After
(x) Wizard of Oz
(x) Forrest Gump
() Big Trouble in Little China
() The Terminator
() The Terminator 2
() The Terminator 3
Total: 4
(x) X-Men
(x) X-2
(x) X-3
(x) Spider-Man
() Spider-Man 2
() Sky High
() Jeepers Creepers
() Jeepers Creepers 2
(x) Catch Me If You Can
(x) The Little Mermaid
(x) Freaky Friday (the original only!)
() Reign of Fire
(x) The Skulls
() Cruel Intentions
() Cruel Intentions 2
() The Hot Chick
(x) Shrek
() Shrek 2
Total: 9
() Swimfan
(x) Miracle on 34th street
() Old School
() The Notebook
() K-Pax
() Krippendorf’s Tribe
(x) A Walk to Remember
() Ice Castles
() Boogeyman
() The 40-year-old Virgin
Total: 2
(x) Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring
(x) Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
(x) Lord of the Rings: Return Of the King
() Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark
() Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
(x) Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
Total so far: 4
() Baseketball
() Hostel
() Waiting for Guffman
() House of 1000 Corpses
() Devils Rejects
(x) Elf
() Highlander
() Mothman Prophecies
() American History X
() Three
Total: 1
() The Jacket
() Kung Fu Hustle
() Shaolin Soccer
() Night Watch
(x) Monsters Inc.
() Titanic
(x) Monty Python and the Holy Grail
() Shaun Of the Dead
() Willard
Total: 2
() High Tension
() Club Dread
() Hulk
() Dawn Of the Dead
(x) Hook
(x) Chronicles Of Narnia: The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe
() 28 days later
() Orgazmo
() Phantasm
() Waterworld
Total: 2
() Kill Bill vol 1
() Kill Bill vol 2
() Mortal Kombat
() Wolf Creek
() Kingdom of Heaven
() the Hills Have Eyes
() I Spit on Your Grave aka the Day of the Woman
() The Last House on the Left
() Re-Animator
() Army of Darkness
Total: 0
(x) Star Wars Ep. I The Phantom Menace
(x)Star Wars Ep. II Attack of the Clones
(x) Star Wars Ep. III Revenge of the Sith
(x) Star Wars Ep. IV A New Hope
(x) Star Wars Ep. V The Empire Strikes Back
(x) Star Wars Ep. VI Return of the Jedi
() Ewoks Caravan Of Courage
() Ewoks The Battle For Endor
Total: 6
(x) The Matrix
() The Matrix Reloaded
() The Matrix Revolutions
() Animatrix
() Evil Dead
() Evil Dead 2
() Team America: World Police
() Red Dragon
() Silence of the Lambs
() Hannibal
Total: 1
And the rules continue:
"Now add them up and… Put “I’ve seen [however many] out of 239 films” in the subject line and repost it on Facebook or your blog. And for that matter, leave a comment here on our website and let us know how many you’ve seen!"
I've seen 67 of these, most of them quite cheerfully. A few of them I could have definitely done without. The Matrix, for instance, and Meet the Parents. But I do have a life. It's official. We all know how trustworthy these internet quizzes are! It's the Internet! Don't talk to me about arbitrary.
12.14.2008
Christmas Decorating 2008 and other stories
My knee hurts. I just pulled off a spectacular wipe-out on the kitchen floor--full-body impact--due to an unfortunate combination of fuzzy socks and linoleum. The negative part of being as tall as I am (well, this and towering over half of the men on the planet and almost all women) is how far one has to fall.
The fuzzy socks were a necessity today; it's very, very cold. But that's part of a longer story.
* * *
Christmas decorating, for Lou and I, began last Sunday with my parents. My whole immediate family was there, and we succeeded beautifully at the usual ornament-packed tree and not so well with the chocolate donuts (we couldn't find the original recipe and the new one just wasn't as good.) I missed the usual stuffed-snowball fight. This made me feel sorry for myself, but Lou did stuff one of those snowballs down my shirt, so I didn't completely lose the experience.
Decorating continued with a busy Thursday and Friday at work, and our department has now won the company Christmas decorating competition for the fourth year running. We win because we don't think it's half so much fun if we aren't part of the decorations. This year our theme was "Night at the Christmas Museum" and my responsibilities included calling the manager on his cell phone so he could pick it up and say "Buddy the Elf! What's your favorite color?", dancing to the Linus and Lucy theme in the Charlie Brown Christmas exhibit, and leading the angel choir that sang from the loft as the judges looked on my team leader and her new baby dressed up as Mary and Jesus.
The winning department was announced at the Christmas party last night in Ferndale. Lou and I sang in the company choir there, me in the soprano section and he with the basses. The choir is one of the highlights of my year. Our closing number was a medley that started with Vivaldi's Gloria and ended in the last part of the Hallelujah chorus.
I had planned to wear my short-sleeved black cocktail dress to the party, but it was getting so cold out that I changed my mind and wore a glittery red shirt and ankle-length black wool skirt. This proved to be a wiser decision than I could have expected. We arrived an hour early to practice, and the growing wind held an uproarious little gala in my carefully-arranged hair. When we left four hours later, the wind was driving powdery snow in sharp, white, level horizontal lines across the parking lot.
Usually the worst of the weather can be found north of the Bellingham airport, but when we got south of that exit on the freeway, the raise in temperature and slackened winds meant bigger flakes and more snow sticking to the road. We passed at least one car in the ditch as we neared town, and the road got more and more slippery.
We went straight to Mom and Dad St. Hilaire's, planning to decorate the tree at their house since Andy and Lindsey were in town. They live in a somewhat more level part of town than we do, but it was still challenging getting there and we did bounce off a curb at one point. Andy and Lindsey, coming from a wedding in another part of town, must have had some major protection by guardian angels; they hit a patch of ice and slid into another car that had spun out from the same patch. When we arrived at Lou's parents', Andy and Lindsey had just arrived and Lindsey was almost in tears. I'm sure the full story will go up on their blog, but the short form is that the other driver had been crazy enough to get out of her car and had only just gotten back in; had they been a few seconds earlier, their car would have pinned her to hers.
Mom and Dad S. invited us to stay the night. Lindsey begged us not to go, and neither of us particularly wanted to try the route home before it got good and sanded down, so we decorated the St. Hilaire tree and had a fun impromptu slumber party. Mom and Dad provided us with everything from warm pajamas to new toothbrushes. The howling wind made everything seem colder, so Lou and I, staying in his siblings' old bedroom, instead of sleeping in twin beds like in 1960s TV shows, and instead of pushing a couple of those beds together, climbed into one twin bed. We slept in awhile this morning, had a comfort-food breakfast--sausage souffle, English muffins with sorghum and marshmallow fruit salad--and went to church together in the icy sunshine, and Lou and I finally headed home on sanded streets.
This afternoon I took a nap and Lou wrote a letter to the editor, and then we decorated our own first Christmas tree:
We had a great time putting up the decorations, he taking the traditionally male role of stringing the lights and me unwrapping the ornaments and setting them out as both of our moms do. Starting our own traditions is all the more fun because we're drawing them from his family's, my family's, or both. And it felt good to be quiet and homey together; the fitting end to a happy and adventurous weekend.
12.04.2008
Notes
I should blog more often. Blogging is good. Blogging is much more fun than being busy.
* * *
Thanksgiving, of course, was a good kind of busy. Lou and I spent time with both of our families and still had some time in the weekend to relax at home. That, in and of itself, was much to be thankful for, but I also had him, and I could never be too thankful for my husband.
* * *
Back in the spring I served as a judge for a local private academy's writers' conference. I read something like twenty-five plays. The school gave me a Barnes & Noble gift card as a thank-you, so Lou and I braved the crowds on Black Friday and had some fun. I bought Brian Jacques' Redwall (the first book in the series) and ordered in John Granger's Deathly Hallows Lectures.
Thus far I have not managed to get very far into Redwall; a problem which can be blamed on Stephenie Meyer and two of my friends. I picked up the first book in Meyer's Twilight Saga in a bookstore awhile back, flipped it over, read the little excerpt and burst out laughing. Had it not been for Briana and Leigh, I don't think I'd have ever read the books, but Leigh talked me into listening to part of the first book, after which I of course had to know the ending. Briana mailed me her copies so I could read them without having to get on the immensely long library waiting list.
I really really really want to post a good long review of the books here, but that's going to take some time and thought. Right now I'm still on my second trip through book 3, and I have the same mixed feelings I had on the first trip through. Those feelings are gradually separating and clarifying, though, and should eventually distill into something expressible.
Granger's book almost stopped me blogging tonight. I may email him and beg to be allowed to proofread his next book before it goes to press, but his ideas are positively enthralling and I'm not even past the stuff I already knew.
* * *
Speaking of books, I've recently had a run-in with the worst set of Bible commentaries ever. They contain an appalling combination of bad doctrine, strange ideas, pompous proclamations, and--worst of all--horrific grammar and spelling (he actually talked about 'concrete examples' of God 'damming' people, which sounded a lot more like my old Swiftwater Rescue class than a theological exposition.) Listening to the guy talk about Catholicism is like listening to someone who, having heard a Londoner speak the King's English, automatically assumed that 'the bush' meant the shrubbery on the front lawn.
He has tempted me greatly to make fun of him in various ways. And I admit that I haven't managed to resist the chance to fuss, rather laughingly, to family and friends about his work. But I wonder what, for me, would be the most appropriate response to a guy like this. After all, he calls himself a Christian (although he would certainly say I'm headed for hell if I don't repent of my membership in the apostate church.)
What is the right way to treat, especially in a public forum, Christians with whom I disagree? And should someone who gives fundamentalism a bad name get the same treatment as someone like Biden or Pelosi, whose views on abortion are in direct contradiction with the very clear teachings of the church in which they hold membership? Can I attack untruth without attacking its purveyors? Should I?
I see different philosophies about this in action across the web, and until I challenged the Harry Potter Alliance on their extreme anti-Proposition 8 stance, I didn't really think about it much. But discussion with a member of the HPA and various commenters, hearing the way they think about Christians, and becoming aware of the vast difference between their narratives and mine, has sickened me a little on confrontation between Christians. Because some of what I hear from Christians—even people who believe much like I do politically—is almost a pander to those who hate Christianity, a "We're not like those Christians" attitude that cuts back at errant or dissenting brothers.
This bothers me; it's much more than a simple "THAT guy is off his rocker" statement about this or that public Christian. And I think I'm guilty of it myself, perhaps less in the blogosphere than in my own thoughts and words. I don't know. What I do know is that tonight, I can't mock that author publicly by name. Maybe it would just be calling a spade a spade. Or maybe not. I'd like to straighten out his thinking, and I certainly don't appreciate his arrogance, but in the end I guess I just hope he really is my brother. A mixed-up one, yes--but we've all got somebody in our family who is more than a little nuts.
Yes, a lot of Christians believe some very bizarre things, and no, I'm not afraid to admit that some of them may even be "real" Christians. But atheists and Wiccans and pseudo-Buddhists, etc., are just as goofy. I'm glad to call myself a Christian even in the company of a few weirdos. We Jesus freaks aren't the only ones who need to question our narratives.
* * *
Thanksgiving, of course, was a good kind of busy. Lou and I spent time with both of our families and still had some time in the weekend to relax at home. That, in and of itself, was much to be thankful for, but I also had him, and I could never be too thankful for my husband.
* * *
Back in the spring I served as a judge for a local private academy's writers' conference. I read something like twenty-five plays. The school gave me a Barnes & Noble gift card as a thank-you, so Lou and I braved the crowds on Black Friday and had some fun. I bought Brian Jacques' Redwall (the first book in the series) and ordered in John Granger's Deathly Hallows Lectures.
Thus far I have not managed to get very far into Redwall; a problem which can be blamed on Stephenie Meyer and two of my friends. I picked up the first book in Meyer's Twilight Saga in a bookstore awhile back, flipped it over, read the little excerpt and burst out laughing. Had it not been for Briana and Leigh, I don't think I'd have ever read the books, but Leigh talked me into listening to part of the first book, after which I of course had to know the ending. Briana mailed me her copies so I could read them without having to get on the immensely long library waiting list.
I really really really want to post a good long review of the books here, but that's going to take some time and thought. Right now I'm still on my second trip through book 3, and I have the same mixed feelings I had on the first trip through. Those feelings are gradually separating and clarifying, though, and should eventually distill into something expressible.
Granger's book almost stopped me blogging tonight. I may email him and beg to be allowed to proofread his next book before it goes to press, but his ideas are positively enthralling and I'm not even past the stuff I already knew.
* * *
Speaking of books, I've recently had a run-in with the worst set of Bible commentaries ever. They contain an appalling combination of bad doctrine, strange ideas, pompous proclamations, and--worst of all--horrific grammar and spelling (he actually talked about 'concrete examples' of God 'damming' people, which sounded a lot more like my old Swiftwater Rescue class than a theological exposition.) Listening to the guy talk about Catholicism is like listening to someone who, having heard a Londoner speak the King's English, automatically assumed that 'the bush' meant the shrubbery on the front lawn.
He has tempted me greatly to make fun of him in various ways. And I admit that I haven't managed to resist the chance to fuss, rather laughingly, to family and friends about his work. But I wonder what, for me, would be the most appropriate response to a guy like this. After all, he calls himself a Christian (although he would certainly say I'm headed for hell if I don't repent of my membership in the apostate church.)
What is the right way to treat, especially in a public forum, Christians with whom I disagree? And should someone who gives fundamentalism a bad name get the same treatment as someone like Biden or Pelosi, whose views on abortion are in direct contradiction with the very clear teachings of the church in which they hold membership? Can I attack untruth without attacking its purveyors? Should I?
I see different philosophies about this in action across the web, and until I challenged the Harry Potter Alliance on their extreme anti-Proposition 8 stance, I didn't really think about it much. But discussion with a member of the HPA and various commenters, hearing the way they think about Christians, and becoming aware of the vast difference between their narratives and mine, has sickened me a little on confrontation between Christians. Because some of what I hear from Christians—even people who believe much like I do politically—is almost a pander to those who hate Christianity, a "We're not like those Christians" attitude that cuts back at errant or dissenting brothers.
This bothers me; it's much more than a simple "THAT guy is off his rocker" statement about this or that public Christian. And I think I'm guilty of it myself, perhaps less in the blogosphere than in my own thoughts and words. I don't know. What I do know is that tonight, I can't mock that author publicly by name. Maybe it would just be calling a spade a spade. Or maybe not. I'd like to straighten out his thinking, and I certainly don't appreciate his arrogance, but in the end I guess I just hope he really is my brother. A mixed-up one, yes--but we've all got somebody in our family who is more than a little nuts.
Yes, a lot of Christians believe some very bizarre things, and no, I'm not afraid to admit that some of them may even be "real" Christians. But atheists and Wiccans and pseudo-Buddhists, etc., are just as goofy. I'm glad to call myself a Christian even in the company of a few weirdos. We Jesus freaks aren't the only ones who need to question our narratives.
11.25.2008
11.05.2008
Morning-After Tears
Actually, I didn't cry this morning. It was last night, and it wasn't because Barack Obama won the presidency, although so much emotion has gone into this election that simple decompression would probably have been enough to set me off.
It is truly great that an African-American made it to the White House, and I am glad that no one has today accused me of racism for voting my conscience, as they almost certainly would have done had McCain won. It's long about time that someone non-Caucasian had the honor, and I'm proud of my country for coming so far from the days of segregation (not to mention slavery). It is good to see a 'black' man win the presidency. I just wish it was someone more like Alan Keyes.
I voted for McCain/Palin; I'm not tempted to apologize for this. Though I have many friends who voted for Chuck Baldwin, all of whom had excellent reasons for doing so, I voted to the best of my conscience and did so for the sake of several issues; one in particular, for I hardly think we'll get much else straight until we've resolved it. I voted for the candidate who appeared to me most likely to reduce abortion in this country. Likelihood of getting elected was part of that decision.
I hear that his concession speech was truly gracious. Even the http://www.telegraph.co.uk couldn't find fault with it, although in typical fashion they found ways to take cheap shots at his supporters. His sense of honor reminds me of mine, which is easy to forget at memories of things said and done by some Obama supporters, arrogant young poets of the usual West Coast persuasions, etc.
It was the passing of I-1000 that had me sobbing in bed at midnight last night. The initiative authorizes assisted suicide by means of lethal drug overdose. Having sung in homes for the elderly and looked at their faces, having seen my grandma living at my parents' and dealing at times with terrible pain, having considered the possibility of someday needing to care for my husband, my parents, my in-laws, I feel the immense value of these people—the importance of every hour of the lives granted them—their irreplaceability. It horrifies me to imagine that human beings voted for a law that might make any of these people feel pressured to take themselves off my hands.
Sure, it might not be intended to do such—but it will—oh yes, it will apply that pressure to people. And the rules will be mishandled, and the secrecy of the whole thing will obscure from public eye what really goes on, and corrupt courts will make the same sort of ruling that happened in Terri Schiavo's case. Dear God, have mercy.
Add to that the promise President-elect Obama made to sign the Freedom of Choice act—a misnomer if ever there was one—and the thought of so many innocents prepared to lose their lives, and you have the reasons why some of us mourned as ecstatic young idealists shot fireworks off in the Bellingham streets at midnight.
But maybe I'll have to go look up The Ballad of the White Horse, as "Anonymouse" suggested in the comments on the post that encouraged me most today. It's time to dry my tears and live up to the truth of the matter. Here is a piece of that truth (as quoted by Anonymouse) in two short lines, reminding me that battles are lost now and again, but that good ultimately triumphs over evil:
"Men of the east may spell the stars and times and triumphs mark, but men signed of the cross of Christ go gaily in the dark."
It is truly great that an African-American made it to the White House, and I am glad that no one has today accused me of racism for voting my conscience, as they almost certainly would have done had McCain won. It's long about time that someone non-Caucasian had the honor, and I'm proud of my country for coming so far from the days of segregation (not to mention slavery). It is good to see a 'black' man win the presidency. I just wish it was someone more like Alan Keyes.
I voted for McCain/Palin; I'm not tempted to apologize for this. Though I have many friends who voted for Chuck Baldwin, all of whom had excellent reasons for doing so, I voted to the best of my conscience and did so for the sake of several issues; one in particular, for I hardly think we'll get much else straight until we've resolved it. I voted for the candidate who appeared to me most likely to reduce abortion in this country. Likelihood of getting elected was part of that decision.
I hear that his concession speech was truly gracious. Even the http://www.telegraph.co.uk couldn't find fault with it, although in typical fashion they found ways to take cheap shots at his supporters. His sense of honor reminds me of mine, which is easy to forget at memories of things said and done by some Obama supporters, arrogant young poets of the usual West Coast persuasions, etc.
It was the passing of I-1000 that had me sobbing in bed at midnight last night. The initiative authorizes assisted suicide by means of lethal drug overdose. Having sung in homes for the elderly and looked at their faces, having seen my grandma living at my parents' and dealing at times with terrible pain, having considered the possibility of someday needing to care for my husband, my parents, my in-laws, I feel the immense value of these people—the importance of every hour of the lives granted them—their irreplaceability. It horrifies me to imagine that human beings voted for a law that might make any of these people feel pressured to take themselves off my hands.
Sure, it might not be intended to do such—but it will—oh yes, it will apply that pressure to people. And the rules will be mishandled, and the secrecy of the whole thing will obscure from public eye what really goes on, and corrupt courts will make the same sort of ruling that happened in Terri Schiavo's case. Dear God, have mercy.
Add to that the promise President-elect Obama made to sign the Freedom of Choice act—a misnomer if ever there was one—and the thought of so many innocents prepared to lose their lives, and you have the reasons why some of us mourned as ecstatic young idealists shot fireworks off in the Bellingham streets at midnight.
But maybe I'll have to go look up The Ballad of the White Horse, as "Anonymouse" suggested in the comments on the post that encouraged me most today. It's time to dry my tears and live up to the truth of the matter. Here is a piece of that truth (as quoted by Anonymouse) in two short lines, reminding me that battles are lost now and again, but that good ultimately triumphs over evil:
"Men of the east may spell the stars and times and triumphs mark, but men signed of the cross of Christ go gaily in the dark."
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