New Year's Eve

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

The Death Of The Old Year
by Lord Alfred Tennyson

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing:
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.
Old year you must not die;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year you shall not die.
He lieth still: he doth not move:
He will not see the dawn of day.
He hath no other life above.
He gave me a friend and a true truelove
And the New-year will take 'em away.
Old year you must not go;
So long you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,
Old year, you shall not go.

He froth'd his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho' his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho' his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.
Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,

He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er.
To see him die across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he'll be dead before.
Every one for his own.
The night is starry and cold, my friend,
And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,
Comes up to take his own.

How hard he breathes! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro:
The cricket chirps: the light burns low:
'Tis nearly twelve o'clock.
Shake hands, before you die.
Old year, we'll dearly rue for you:
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.

His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone,
Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:
Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,
And waiteth at the door.
There's a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door.

Christmas 2007

Christmas '07 was a blessed time for our family. Here are some of the gifts given and received:
Chuck
Bass Guitar DVD and Instruction Book
Starbuck’s Travel Mug
Good to Great by Jim Collins

Karie
16 Month Biblical/Jewish Calendar
JPS Hebrew-English Tanakh
Initial Bracelet

Eric
IPod Nano 8GB with case (Needed because the video I-Pod he got last year was broken.)
I Tunes cards
New Bible
Chuck Missler CDs
Bright Eyes CD
Clothes

Aimee
Nintendo DS with several games
Changing table for her American Girl Bitty Baby
Slippers
New Bible
Books

Both kids got some cash from Grandma.

Christmas Past

My blogging friend Muley got me thinking about Christmas toys from my childhood. Christmas at my house was always a glorious affair. My mom would stay up late into the night on Christmas Eve, playing Santa, putting together toys and arranging them under the tree. Christmas morning was always a joyous time for me and my brother.

I spent some time yesterday trying to remember my favorite toys from my childhood in the 60s. I wish I still had some of them, they'd probably be worth a fortune.

I had what are now called "vintage toys". It was a fun romp down memory lane to try to remember the dolls I had. For example, I knew I had a Barbie doll and some of her friends. I also had a Barbie house and I think I had a car. But I couldn't tell you the particular model of the Barbie I had. Well now, thanks to the miracle of Google, I know that I had a Fashion Queen Barbie. She had plastic hair and came with three interchangeable wigs. I couldn't find a YouTube commercial for the Fashion Queen Barbie but here are some vintage 60's Barbie commercials.



I remember the Barbie house I had was green and had cool sixties furniture. Thanks to YouTube I can see exactly what it looked like. It was a "Barbie Dream House". I loved that house! Check out this great Barbie Dream House Commercial from 1963.


I also know that I had a number of baby dolls, a ballerina doll, and a Chatty Cathy doll. Except that thanks to Google, I now know that it wasn't an ordinary Chatty Cathy, but a Charmin Chatty Cathy. I remember, it came with a desk and it had little records that you slipped into a slot in the doll, and she could say all kinds of phrases when you pulled her string. Now I know that she could say 120 different phrases. I remember that the doll I had was blonde, like me. Here is an original 1963 commercial for Charmin Chatty Cathy:


As an added bonus for all you baby boomers out there, can you identify the little girl in the commercial? I can, she's Angela Cartwright, of Sound of Music and Lost in Space fame. "That does not compute!"

One of my all-time favorite board games was the Mystery Date game. I liked it so much as a kid that I bought Aimee an updated one for Christmas last year. Here's an original commercial. I remember I liked the prom boy the best, but I also secretly thought the "dud" was cute too. Here's another walk down memory lane with the original 1960's Mystery Date game commercial:


And, in case you think I was all girly back then, one of my favorite toys was a Johnny West, Best of the West Action figure with his pal Geronimo. I had the covered wagon too. Here's the commercial: .

What were your favorite toys?

New Orleans on my Mind

From: Valerie Martin, End of the Year Lagniappe

The Last Page of author Valerie Martin's 1987 Novel, A Recent Martyr:

It's an odd sensation to recognize in oneself the need to be in a particular physical environment, when one longs for the home ground no matter how terrible the memories it holds, no matter how great the efforts made to leave it behind. So I have left this city again and again and thought myself lucky to escape its allure, for it's the attraction of decay, of vicious, florid, natural cycles that roll over the senses with their lushness. Where else could I find these hateful, humid, murderously hot afternoons, when I know that the past was a series of great mistakes, the greatest being the inability to live anywhere but in this swamp? I can't do without those little surges of joy at the sight of a chameleon, of a line of dark clouds moving in beneath the burning blue of the sky. I am comforted by the threatening encumbrance of moss on trees, the thick, sticky plantain trees that can grow from their chopped roots twenty feet in three months, the green scum that spreads over the lagoons and bayous, the colorful conversation of the lazy, suspicious, pleasure-loving populace. I don't think I will leave the city again.

The plague continues, neither in nor out of control, but we have been promised a vaccine that will solve all our problems. We go on without it, and life is not intolerable. Our city is an island, physically and psychologically; we are tied to the rest of the country only by our own endeavor. The river from which we drink drains a continent; it has to be purified for days before we can stomach it. We smile to ourselves when people from more fashionable centers find us provincial, for if we are free of one thing, it's fashion. The future holds a simple promise. We are well below sea level, and inundation is inevitable. We are content, for now, to have our heads above the water.--Valerie Martin

The Library

I was doing some Christmas shopping at Barnes and Noble's Bookstore and I came across this book. I wanted to buy it, but Aimee really is past the picture book stage. Really, I wanted it for myself. I love the illustrations: Books stacked everywhere, nose in a book while vacuuming, books, books and more books.

So I had some self-discipline and I didn't buy it. But I googled the author and illustrator and found out that they are a husband and wife team. And that she has some good advice for aspiring writers which I've copied below. I especially appreciate the "Study Latin" tip.


SARAH STEWART’S RULES FOR ASPIRING WRITERS

1. Study Latin.
2. Read the great poetry written in your native language.
3. Find a quiet place and go there every day.
4. If there’s no quiet place where you live, find that place within you for a few minutes each day.
5. Put your ambition into writing, never into making money

O come, O come Emmanuel

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
and ransom captive Israel,
that mourns in lonely exile here
until the Son of God appear.
Refrain:
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, thou Wisdom from on high,
who orderest all things mightily;
to us the path of knowledge show,
and teach us in her ways to go. Refrain

O come, thou Rod of Jesse, free
thine own from Satan's tyranny;
from depths of hell thy people save,
and give them victory over the grave. Refrain

O come, thou Dayspring, come and cheer
our spirits by thine advent here;
disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
and death's dark shadows put to flight. Refrain

O come, thou Key of David, come,
and open wide our heavenly home;
make safe the way that leads on high,
and close the path to misery. Refrain

O come, O come, great Lord of might,
who to thy tribes on Sinai's height
in ancient times once gave the law
in cloud and majesty and awe. Refrain

O come, thou Root of Jesse's tree,
an ensign of thy people be;
before thee rulers silent fall;
all peoples on thy mercy call. Refrain

O come, Desire of nations, bind
in one the hearts of all mankind;
bid thou our sad divisions cease,
and be thyself our King of Peace. Refrain

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
and ransom captive Israel,
that mourns in lonely exile here
until the Son of God appear. Refrain

History of Blogging?

I wrote here about the art of commonplacing and how it has been compared to modern-day blogging. Another art which has been compared to blogging is the art of letter writing.

The Roman Orator Cicero had the following to say about his letter-writing habits:
(ht: ricoblog)

I have no doubt that my daily letter must bore you, especially as I have no fresh news, nor can I find an excuse for a letter. If I should employ special messengers to convey my chatter to you without reason, I should be a fool but I cannot refrain from entrusting letters to folk who are bound for Rome, especially when they are members of my household. Beleive me, too, when I seem to talk with you, I have some little relief from sorrow, and, when, I read a letter from you, far greater relief. (Cicero, Att 8.14.1, quoted by Dormeyer in Porter, Pauline Canon, 60)

Sometimes just the act of writing, without even having much to say, can provide relief. Other times not.

And, speaking of blogging, here is How Blogs are Born.
(ht: The Point Blog)

The Lesser of Two Weevils

In honor of Patrick O'Brian's birthday today, here is a quote from one of the volumes of Master and Commander series, The Fortune of War. This scene is one of my favorite from the Master and Commander movie.

Two weevils crept from the crumbs. “You see those weevils, Stephen?” said Jack solemnly.

“I do.”

“Which would you choose?”

“There is not a scrap of difference…. Theey are the same species of curculio, and there is nothing to choose between them.”

“But suppose you had to choose?”

“Then I should choose the right hand weevil; it has a perceptible advantage in both length and breadth.”

“There I have you,” cried Jack. “You are bit—you are completely dished. Don’t you know that in the Navy you must always choose the lesser of two weevils?”

For some reason this quote makes me think of the current Presidential race.

More on Milton

I still haven't made it to the library for Paradise Lost. I did find the text online, but I would rather read the book than an online version. But I did find out some interesting things about Milton.

Such as, part of the quote I posted yesterday from Milton's Areopagitica is a popular quote for public libraries:

From Wikipedia on John Milton:
"A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life" – is seen in many public libraries, including the New York Public Library.

I also learned that Milton kept a commonplace book, which is now kept in the British Library.

A commonplace book was used by writers, readers and students to keep useful concepts or facts that they had learned. Here is a quote from 1799:

"The man who reads, and neglects to note down the essence of what he has read; the man who sees, and omits to record what he has seen; the man who thinks, and fails to treasure up his thoughts in some place…will often have occasion to regret an omission, which such a book, as is now offered to him, is well calculated to remedy."

quote from:RENAISSANCE COMMONPLACE BOOKS FROM THE BRITISH LIBRARY

I can see why commonplacing has been compared to blogging. Actually, I always have a notebook that I jot down anything that I want to remember. Only some of what I write in my notebook makes it to the blog.

Pearl Harbor and Milton

Today is Pearl Harbor Day.

I think that because the ranks of the Greatest Generation who lived through that time are growing thinner each day, it’s important for those of us in later generations to remember the sacrifice made by those more than 2400 Americans who lost their lives on December 7, 1941.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I haven’t talked about the Great Conversation reading group I belong to in a while. Here’s a description of the group from the group’s web page at : http://www.greatconversation.org/

The Great Conversation is a reading group dedicated to reading the great works of Western civilization. The name and original inspiration of the group is Britannica Great Books of the Western World, edited by Mortimer Adler. Adler believed the great books could be viewed as a dialog, a conversation. The goal of our group is to listen in on that conversation and even to begin to participate in it.
The goal is to read many of the original texts of these authors directly and unfiltered.
Anyone is free to join and read. Having a copy of the Britannica Great Books is not required, as these books are also available in other formats by other publishers, such as Penguin.

The readings for December are:
SHAKESPEARE: Macbeth
MILTON: Paradise Lost


Even though having a copy of the Britannica Great Books is not required, it would be very helpful. I still haven’t made it to the library to pick up a copy of the December readings, and there’s no guarantee that the copies will be available when I go to the library. So today I went downstairs to look in our own library to see if I might actually own these Great Books.

I inherited an incomplete set of the Harvard Classics from my parents. I knew that the Harvard Classics included works by both Milton and Shakespeare, so possibly I could already have the works in my possession. Well I scored a 50% success rate on that search. Macbeth was one of the Shakespeare plays but Paradise Lost was not one of the Milton selections.

Since I didn’t have Milton’s Paradise Lost yet, I took some time today to sit down and read some of Milton’s writings that were included in the Harvard Classic volumes. One of them was Areopagitica, A Speech, For the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing. In it Milton makes a plea for freedom of the press and freedom from censorship in printing. Here is a sample of his against the censorship and destruction of books:

… for books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them. I know they are as lively, and as vigorously productive, as those fabulous dragons teeth; and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men. And yet on the other hand unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God’s image; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were in the eye. Many a man lives a burden to the earth; but a good book is the precious life-blood of a master spirit, imbalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life. It is true, no age can restore a life, whereof perhaps there is no great loss; and revolutions of ages do not oft recover the loss of a rejected truth, for the want of which whole nations fare the worse. We should be wary therefore what persecution we raise against the living labors of public men, how we spill that seasoned life of man preserved and stored up in books; since we see a kind of homicide may be thus committed, sometimes a martyrdom, and if it extend to the whole impression, a kind of massacre, whereof the execution ends not in the slaying of an elemental life, but strikes at that ethereal and fifth essence, the breath of reason itself, slays an immortality rather than a life.

And from his tractate On Education:

The end then of learning is to repair the ruins of our first parents by regaining to know God aright, and out of that knowledge to love him, to imitate him, to be like him, as we may the nearest by possessing our souls of true virtue, which being united to the heavenly grace of faith makes up the highest perfection.

I need to get to the library and pick up Paradise Lost.

The Rose Suchak Ladder Company

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, you know, that “most wonderful time of the year”. One of our family’s favorite things to do during this time is to watch some classic and not-so-classic Christmas movies. I was thinking today about “The Santa Clause”, the movie where Tim Allen falls into becoming the new Santa Claus because he accidentally kills the old one. There are some great lines in that movie, for example, when Scott Calvin and his son run outside to see what all the commotion is about :

Guy fell. Not my fault.
Reindeer on the roof. That is hard to explain.

It's the ladder.

Where the h…’d this come from?

Look here, Dad. "The Rose Suchak Ladder Company."

Huh? - Out by the roof there's a Rose Suchak ladder.

Just like the poem. - Just like the poem?

The Rose Suchak ladder is a mondegreen for “there arose such a clatter” in the poem, “The Night Before Christmas.” A mondegreen, as I recently learned, is a mishearing of a popular phrase or song lyric.

I recently experienced this when Chuck, Aimee and I went to the movies last week and there was a band playing in the restaurant across from the theater. They were playing a popular Spanish-style song that I’ve heard before, but I have no idea what the lyrics are. I could swear that the main line repeated over and over again is: “I need a one-ton tomato.” I’m pretty sure that I was mishearing the words and therefore it’s a mondegreen.

Anyway, I thought you’d be interested to know that the word Mondegreen was coined in 1954 by the writer Sylvia Wright. She had enjoyed the Scottish ballad "The Bonny Earl of Murray" as a child and believed that one stanza went like this:

Ye Highlands and Ye Lowlands
Oh where hae you been?
They hae slay the Earl of Murray,
And Lady Mondegreen.

She was embarrassed to learn later in life that there was no Lady Mondegreen, but that, "They had slain the Earl of Moray, And laid him on the green."

You can read more about mondegreens here.

And here is a collection of Christmas Carol Mondegreens.
ht: Ralph the Sacred River on Mondegreens.

Jambalaya Recipe

I had a request in the comments for my Jambalaya recipe. It's the one that my dear departed mom handed down to me, so it's not really written anywhere but here's my best approximation:

Jambalaya

Ingredients

Onion
Vegetable Oil
Ham (or sausage or shrimp)
Rice – 1 cup
Tomato Sauce – 1 8oz. can
Seasonings: Salt or Garlic salt, Thyme, Bay Leaf, (Tabasco if desired)

Chop a small onion.

Chop ham into small pieces

Saute the onion in the vegetable oil until the onions are translucent.

Add the ham and sauté it with the onions

Add Thyme, Bay Leaf, salt, fresh garlic if desired

Add the tomato sauce and let it heat up and then add a cup of water. ( I use the tomato sauce can to measure the water and to get the rest of the sauce from the can.)

Here’s where you can add Tabasco sauce if desired.

Bring to almost boiling and then add the rice

When the mixture is boiling, turn the heat down to low and cover. Cook until the rice is done and the moisture absorbed.

(I usually make more than one cup of rice, just double or triple the recipe)

The recipe works as well with sausage or shrimp, just add them instead of the ham.

Also,in New Orleans, you can buy seasoning ham, but I haven’t seen that anywhere else. I just buy a small ham steak and use about half of it per cup of rice.

Where Legend and History Meet

On Fairy-Stories
By J.R.R. Tolkein
The Epilogue
(Read the entire essay here)

This “joy” which I have selected as the mark of the true fairy-story (or romance), or as the seal upon it, merits more consideration.

Probably every writer making a secondary world, a fantasy, every sub-creator, wishes in some measure to be a real maker, or hopes that he is drawing on reality: hopes that the peculiar quality of this secondary world (if not all the details) are derived from Reality, or are flowing into it. If he indeed achieves a quality that can fairly be described by the dictionary definition: “inner consistency of reality,” it is difficult to conceive how this can be, if the work does not in some way partake of reality. The peculiar quality of the ”joy” in successful Fantasy can thus be explained as a sudden glimpse of the underlying reality or truth. It is not only a “consolation” for the sorrow of this world, but a satisfaction, and an answer to that question, “Is it true?” The answer to this question that I gave at first was (quite rightly): “If you have built your little world well, yes: it is true in that world.” That is enough for the artist (or the artist part of the artist). But in the “eucatastrophe” we see in a brief vision that the answer may be greater—it may be a far-off gleam or echo of evangelium in the real world. The use of this word gives a hint of my epilogue. It is a serious and dangerous matter. It is presumptuous of me to touch upon such a theme; but if by grace what I say has in any respect any validity, it is, of course, only one facet of a truth incalculably rich: finite only because the capacity of Man for whom this was done is finite.

I would venture to say that approaching the Christian Story from this direction, it has long been my feeling (a joyous feeling) that God redeemed the corrupt making-creatures, men, in a way fitting to this aspect, as to others, of their strange nature. The Gospels contain a fairy-story, or a story of a larger kind which embraces all the essence of fairy-stories. They contain many marvels—peculiarly artistic, beautiful, and moving: “mythical” in their perfect, self-contained significance; and among the marvels is the greatest and most complete conceivable eucatastrophe. But this story has entered History and the primary world; the desire and aspiration of sub-creation has been raised to the fulfillment of Creation. The Birth of Christ is the eucatastrophe of Man's history. The Resurrection is the eucatastrophe of the story of the Incarnation. This story begins and ends in joy. It has pre-eminently the “inner consistency of reality.” There is no tale ever told that men would rather find was true, and none which so many sceptical men have accepted as true on its own merits. For the Art of it has the supremely convincing tone of Primary Art, that is, of Creation. To reject it leads either to sadness or to wrath.

It is not difficult to imagine the peculiar excitement and joy that one would feel, if any specially beautiful fairy-story were found to be “primarily” true, its narrative to be history, without thereby necessarily losing the mythical or allegorical significance that it had possessed. It is not difficult, for one is not called upon to try and conceive anything of a quality unknown. The joy would have exactly the same quality, if not the same degree, as the joy which the “turn” in a fairy-story gives: such joy has the very taste of primary truth. (Otherwise its name would not be joy.) It looks forward (or backward: the direction in this regard is unimportant) to the Great Eucatastrophe. The Christian joy, the Gloria, is of the same kind; but it is preeminently (infinitely, if our capacity were not finite) high and joyous. But this story is supreme; and it is true. Art has been verified. God is the Lord, of angels, and of men—and of elves. Legend and History have met and fused.

But in God's kingdom the presence of the greatest does not depress the small. Redeemed Man is still man. Story, fantasy, still go on, and should go on. The Evangelium has not abrogated legends; it has hallowed them, especially the “happy ending.” The Christian has still to work, with mind as well as body, to suffer, hope, and die; but he may now perceive that all his bents and faculties have a purpose, which can be redeemed. So great is the bounty with which he has been treated that he may now, perhaps, fairly dare to guess that in Fantasy he may actually assist in the effoliation and multiple enrichment of creation. All tales may come true; and yet, at the last, redeemed, they may be as like and as unlike the forms that we give them as Man, finally redeemed, will be like and unlike the fallen that we know.

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone

Today has been no-pressure day of cooking and eating and hanging with the family. I just woke up from a Tryptophan induced nap:

Here's our Thanksgiving Menu:

Turkey
Oyster Stuffing
Turkey Gravy
Potatoes Au Gratin
Jambalaya
Broccoli Casserole
Cranberry Sauce
Dinner Rolls

The Turkey carcass is now on the stove boiling for the stock to make Gumbo.

Like to the Artic Needle

Here's a poem I came across from the 17th century poet, Francis Quarles

I especially like the line:
Thus finding all the world's delight to be
But empty toys, good GOD, she points alone to thee.

Here's the whole poem:
by Francis Quarles

LIKE to the arctic needle, that doth guide
The wand'ring shade by his magnetic pow'r,
And leaves his silken gnomon to decide
The question of the controverted hour,

First frantics up and down from side to side,
And restless beats his crystal'd iv'ry case,
With vain impatience jets from place to place,
And seeks the bosom of his frozen bride ;

At length he slacks his motion, and doth rest
His trembling point at his bright pole's beloved breast.
E'en so my soul, being hurried here and there,
By ev'ry object that presents delight,

Fain would be settled, but she knows not where ;
She likes at morning what she loathes at night:
She bows to honour ; then she lends an ear
To that sweet swan-like voice of dying pleasure,

Then tumbles in the scatter'd heaps of treasure ;
Now flatter'd with false hope ; now foil'd with fear:
Thus finding all the world's delight to be
But empty toys, good GOD, she points alone to thee.

But hath the virtued steel a power to move ?
Or can the untouch'd needle point aright ?
Or can my wand'ring thoughts forbear to rove,
Unguided by the virtue of thy sp'rit ?

O hath my leaden soul the art t' improve
Her wasted talent, and, unrais'd, aspire
In this sad moulting time of her desire ?
Not first belov'd, have I the power to love;

I cannot stir, but as thou please to move me,
Nor can my heart return thee love, until thou love me.
The still commandress of the silent night
Borrows her beams from her bright brother's eye;

His fair aspect fills her sharp horns with light,
If he withdraw, her flames are quench'd and die :
E'en so the beams of thy enlight'ning sp'rit,
Infus'd and shot into my dark desire,

Inflame my thoughts, and fill my soul with fire,
That I am ravish'd with a new delight;
But if thou shroud thy face, my glory fades.
And I remain a nothing, all compos'd of shades.

Eternal GOD ! O thou that only art
The sacred fountain of eternal light,
And blessed loadstone of my better part,
O thou, my heart's desire, my soul's delight!

Reflect upon my soul, and touch my heart,
And then my heart shall prize no good above thee ;
And then my soul shall know thee ; knowing, love thee;
And then my trembling thoughts shall never start
From thy commands, or swerve the least degree,
Or once presume to move, but as they move in thee.

From the Stacks Challenge

Yikes, it's already November and I am nowhere near reaching the number of books I read in 2006 for this year. I signed up for a challenge to read 5 books that I already own before the end of January. Maybe that will help me get through some books that are sitting on my shelf. You can sign up too at overdue books.

Here's my list (I have more than the required 5.)

1453 by Roger Crowley

Mary Poppins by P.L. Travers

House of Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne

The Truth War by John MacArthur

Under Crescent and Cross: The Jews in the Middle Ages by Mark R. Cohen

Decoding the Universe by Charles Seife

Genesis and the Big Bang by Gerald Schroeder

I Love my Life!

Today is Magic Mountain's annual Home School Family Day Private Party. If anyone needs to get in touch with me today I'll be PARTYING!

BTW (That's By the way for any non-IM-speakers) you won't find me on the above pictured ride.

What to do with Telemarketers

One of my pet peeves is people calling my house and telling lies over the phone in the interest of "telemarketing" some product to me. Well this is a funny audio clip of someone who decided to fight back against the telemarketers lies:

Tom Mabe funny phone call

Here's to 1957

I believe it's true.

You Belong in 1957

You're fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in!

What Year Do You Belong In?

The Blue Flower

I was looking through my online pictures and came across this one which Chuck took in our backyard last Spring. It reminded me of a C.S. Lewis quote that I like from "Surprised by Joy":

"They taught me longing - Sensucht; made me for good or ill, and before I was six years old, a votary of the Blue Flower."

I recently read Alan Jacob's biography of C.S. Lewis, The Narnian. He explains Lewis' quote as being a reference to a German romantic writer by the penname of Novalis. Here is the quote from pg. 40 of the Narnian:

In his first reference to it in his autobiography, he calls it by a more common name: remembering his youthful response to the sight of the Castlereagh Hills from his nursery window, he writes, "They taught me longing - Sensucht; made me for good or ill, and before I was six years old, a votary of the Blue Flower.

He is thinking of Novalis - the pen name of the German Romantic writer Friedrich von Hardenberg, who died in 1801 at the age of twenty-nine. The protagonist of Novalis's unfinished allegorical novel Heinrich Von Ofterdingen becomes obsessesed by a vision of a blue flower, which he first encounters in a stranger's tales and then in dreams:

There is no greed in my heart; but I yearn to get a glimpse of the blue flower [aber die blaue Blume sehn' ich mich zu erblicken]. It is perpetually in my mind, and I can write or think of nothing else . . .
Often I feel so rapturously happy; and only when I do not have the flower clearly before my mind's eye does a deep inner turmoil seize me. This cannot and will not be understood by anyone. I would think I were mad if I did not see and think so clearly. Indeed since then everything is much clearer to me.


He "yearns" or "longs" (sehn) for the flower - and yet nothing that he can grasp seems so desirable as that longing itself. This is the paradox of Sehnsucht: that though it could in one sense be described as a negative experience, in that it focuses on someting one cannot possess and cannot reach, it is nevertheless intensely seductive. One cannot say it is exactly pleasurable - there is a kind of ache in the sense of unattainability that always accompanies the longing - and yet, as Lewis puts it, the quality of the experience "is that of an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction."