Shardik, by Richard Adams
It isn't as good as Watership Down, but it's making me really want to read Watership Down again. For one thing, Adams doesn't write about human people in the same captivating way he writes about animals, and for another, he doesn't write about made-up fantasy kingdoms with the same skill that he writes about rural England. Still, it's excellent work and I've been enjoying making my way through it during my considerable tacet periods of Mahler 1 this week.
The Naked Public Square, by Richard John Neuhaus
I've been trying to read political discourse as a philosopher. I'd almost say as a logician, but really, when you get down to it, almost anything that's put forward in modern political language coheres logically. It's when you boil down the propositions to the meaning of their words and terms that you start to see what an idea is made of. What are you supposed to do, for instance, when someone writes that "everyone" has been misled by the idea that "the past is past and the future is not yet and the present is all we have."? What you end up doing (or at least what I've ended up doing) is going through the pages with a pen and putting a mark next to every proposition that could be demonstratively proved or disproved. (So far I haven't made very many marks.)
Ezra (from the Vulgate)
I finally finished reading Kings I-IV in translation, and I'm entering that literature in the Old Testament which I couldn't say for sure I've ever actually read in English. If I have, whether in some fit of responsibility in my youth or in Old Testament class as homework, I passed through quickly and without taking much notice of what I was reading. It all goes much better when you have to go at a slower, translated, pace.
Saturday, May 30, 2015
How to Tie a Tie-Blogging for Books Review
This is a good book to judge by its cover. Enclosing 127 helpful and well-illustrated pages is a beautifully bound nylon cover with a sharp Repp pattern. (If you don't know what a Repp pattern is, you can learn about it from the book.)
For those of us who didn't grow up in the world of high men's fashion, this book is a wonderful introduction to the many worlds beyond the half-windsor knot. It's always difficult to print instructions on something complicated and kinesthetic, like attempting your own bow-tie. But even if this book can't take you all the way there, it can give you an idea of what knots may lie within your grasp (and eventually around your neck) and you can perfect your technique on Youtube.
What I found most helpful were the introductory section (a tutorial on how to pair fabrics, colors, and styles) and the final fifteen pages. (A guide to "finishing touches," including square folds, cuff-links, shoes, etc.)
Unfortunately, the book is as depressing as it is instructive. My ties don't match my suits particularly well, my suits aren't well made or well fitted, and I don't have any of the fine accessories that I ought to be a well-dressed man. At least this way, however, I know better.
For those of us who didn't grow up in the world of high men's fashion, this book is a wonderful introduction to the many worlds beyond the half-windsor knot. It's always difficult to print instructions on something complicated and kinesthetic, like attempting your own bow-tie. But even if this book can't take you all the way there, it can give you an idea of what knots may lie within your grasp (and eventually around your neck) and you can perfect your technique on Youtube.
What I found most helpful were the introductory section (a tutorial on how to pair fabrics, colors, and styles) and the final fifteen pages. (A guide to "finishing touches," including square folds, cuff-links, shoes, etc.)
Unfortunately, the book is as depressing as it is instructive. My ties don't match my suits particularly well, my suits aren't well made or well fitted, and I don't have any of the fine accessories that I ought to be a well-dressed man. At least this way, however, I know better.
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
By Request
At the request of Lux, following his recent engagement to Melisa (yay!), the story of how J and I were engaged:
People love and need traditions, especially the ones who are convinced that they don't. No matter how determined someone is to buck convention at every opportunity and to be their own person, when it comes to getting married, having babies, paying off a mortgage, or turning twenty-one, they will do exactly what everyone else has done for hundreds of years, even if by handing out kazoos as party favors instead of candles they've managed to convince themselves that they are doing something original. This is a very good thing. A healthy human community is one that is strongly connected to its past by way of these traditions, and the western traditions of love and romance are well worth keeping up.
I had a ring in my pocket.
It was Christmas break, and I was flying with J back to her parent's house to spend a little bit of the holidays with them before coming back to New York for Christmas at my parent's during my last year of graduate school. J was pretty sure that a proposal was coming. Her parents certainly knew that a proposal was coming. I knew that a proposal was coming, and I was attempting to work out the last few details of how to pull it off.
I felt like it needed to be creative. It wouldn't be enough to just take a knee and open the ring box. I'd been teasing and hinting J all semester long that this was going to happen and that it was going to be special. It was characteristic of our relationship at that point to write elaborate and extravagant letters to one another which might be coded in characters or contain crossword puzzles or be written from five years in the past or five years in the future. We hardly ever saw each other, and it was one of the ways to make letter (and email) writing more interesting for two people who were expecting to get married and (in my case, at least) just waiting for school to be over.
I did my research beforehand, and tied in what I planned to do with an idea that had been coming up in our letters for the previous few months. The idea was that J was a princess. I was particularly into the theological idea of the Messiah as a royal figure and his people as adopted into the royal family in my reading and thinking at that point. I think, though you'd have to ask her, that J was in a place where she found it encouraging to be told that she was special--special like a princess. At any rate, I repeated some variation of that sentiment to her quite often.
We started the evening by dining at a restaurant in Hanover that I knew she held in high regard, a place where she'd only ever been a handful of times on special occasions. She knew almost from the beginning that something was afoot, and her Mom confirmed it further when she told her to relax and enjoy herself no matter what happened.
We went to Bay City and ordered some food of which I have no recollection. I was too nervous to have much of an appetite, and I don't think that she was particularly hungry either. She was apprehensive about being proposed to in public, and I wanted dinner to be over quickly so that we could get to her church.
I'd planned something like a coronation service at a church. I had originally planned for it to take place at a grand looking cathedral-style Methodist church downtown, but the plans had fallen through at the last moment and I ended up resorting to her home church, which was not particularly impressive looking on the inside but may have helped her to be more at ease as we drove into the parking lot.
There were other people there. Other people that we knew.
As she asked why her friend Meg was there, I could only stammer that I truly didn't know as I tried to think of a way to clear out the space. The friend was meeting and counseling another woman in one of the back classrooms of the church. J went to say hello to them and I attempted to complete the setup that I needed to do in the sanctuary. I gave her a pink gown that I'd hidden in the back of the car and asked her to change into it, if she wouldn't mind.
She obliged, and then I came out of the sanctuary to look for her. Everything was ready.
One of the ongoing differences I've had with J's religious upbringing is the whole point about the rapture and the so-called "last times." Occasionally I'll chat about it in a friendly sort of debate with her father or brothers, and it remains a big part of her church's worldview.
I walked out behind the sanctuary to the big Sunday School timeline of bible history that shows approximate dates of the patriarchs through the New Testament times, the early church, Protestant reformation, and ending in a giant question mark slightly past the modern era with the word RAPTURE? written over a picture of a big cloud. Underneath the cloud were J's shoes, coat, and clothes.
I pursed my lips, looked at the pile of clothes and shoes for a moment, and thought to myself: "Well, I'm PRETTY sure I wasn't wrong about that."
J appeared several minutes later having changed into the gown. She looked beautiful.
The details of the service are embarrassing. I recently found a copy of what I'd prepared to say to her (because of course I wrote it down beforehand) and apparently my instincts on how to have human conversation haven't changed at all in seven years. (I might be a little better at self-restraint now.) There were a lot of pompous things said that sounded quite lofty, including some Latin words with a definition. I talked about how she really was a princess in Real Life, and gave her a tiara. For some reason which I don't currently recall, I put on a wumple at one point. I think that I'd come up with another reason related to the service, but mostly I just liked the word wumple.
When it came time to take the ring out, I couldn't remember whether I was supposed to descend to one knee or both knees. I frantically tried to recall a time when I'd heard the tradition talked about, and the only association I could come up with for the phrase "take a knee" (in the singular) just echoed of Bills games ending sadly. I decided I ought to get down on both knees, just to be safe. (This turned out to be wrong.)
She waited a moment and looked at me, unconsciously twirling her dress back and forth, before she said yes.
She changed again before we left, and her friend Meg was the first to know the news. She even snapped a picture of us (I think I still had the wumple on) before we left.
Traditions are very good things. The best parts of that night were the parts most traditional, and the parts that ended up being a little silly were the parts that I thought were original and creative at the time. But I wouldn't ever take back having to formally ask the question, or having to get into a bowing posture to do so, or even having to save and scrimp for months beforehand to purchase a precious stone.
When you're going to speak with a real Princess, it's best to follow the practices of time-honored tradition.
People love and need traditions, especially the ones who are convinced that they don't. No matter how determined someone is to buck convention at every opportunity and to be their own person, when it comes to getting married, having babies, paying off a mortgage, or turning twenty-one, they will do exactly what everyone else has done for hundreds of years, even if by handing out kazoos as party favors instead of candles they've managed to convince themselves that they are doing something original. This is a very good thing. A healthy human community is one that is strongly connected to its past by way of these traditions, and the western traditions of love and romance are well worth keeping up.
I had a ring in my pocket.
It was Christmas break, and I was flying with J back to her parent's house to spend a little bit of the holidays with them before coming back to New York for Christmas at my parent's during my last year of graduate school. J was pretty sure that a proposal was coming. Her parents certainly knew that a proposal was coming. I knew that a proposal was coming, and I was attempting to work out the last few details of how to pull it off.
I felt like it needed to be creative. It wouldn't be enough to just take a knee and open the ring box. I'd been teasing and hinting J all semester long that this was going to happen and that it was going to be special. It was characteristic of our relationship at that point to write elaborate and extravagant letters to one another which might be coded in characters or contain crossword puzzles or be written from five years in the past or five years in the future. We hardly ever saw each other, and it was one of the ways to make letter (and email) writing more interesting for two people who were expecting to get married and (in my case, at least) just waiting for school to be over.
I did my research beforehand, and tied in what I planned to do with an idea that had been coming up in our letters for the previous few months. The idea was that J was a princess. I was particularly into the theological idea of the Messiah as a royal figure and his people as adopted into the royal family in my reading and thinking at that point. I think, though you'd have to ask her, that J was in a place where she found it encouraging to be told that she was special--special like a princess. At any rate, I repeated some variation of that sentiment to her quite often.
We started the evening by dining at a restaurant in Hanover that I knew she held in high regard, a place where she'd only ever been a handful of times on special occasions. She knew almost from the beginning that something was afoot, and her Mom confirmed it further when she told her to relax and enjoy herself no matter what happened.
We went to Bay City and ordered some food of which I have no recollection. I was too nervous to have much of an appetite, and I don't think that she was particularly hungry either. She was apprehensive about being proposed to in public, and I wanted dinner to be over quickly so that we could get to her church.
I'd planned something like a coronation service at a church. I had originally planned for it to take place at a grand looking cathedral-style Methodist church downtown, but the plans had fallen through at the last moment and I ended up resorting to her home church, which was not particularly impressive looking on the inside but may have helped her to be more at ease as we drove into the parking lot.
There were other people there. Other people that we knew.
As she asked why her friend Meg was there, I could only stammer that I truly didn't know as I tried to think of a way to clear out the space. The friend was meeting and counseling another woman in one of the back classrooms of the church. J went to say hello to them and I attempted to complete the setup that I needed to do in the sanctuary. I gave her a pink gown that I'd hidden in the back of the car and asked her to change into it, if she wouldn't mind.
She obliged, and then I came out of the sanctuary to look for her. Everything was ready.
One of the ongoing differences I've had with J's religious upbringing is the whole point about the rapture and the so-called "last times." Occasionally I'll chat about it in a friendly sort of debate with her father or brothers, and it remains a big part of her church's worldview.
I walked out behind the sanctuary to the big Sunday School timeline of bible history that shows approximate dates of the patriarchs through the New Testament times, the early church, Protestant reformation, and ending in a giant question mark slightly past the modern era with the word RAPTURE? written over a picture of a big cloud. Underneath the cloud were J's shoes, coat, and clothes.
I pursed my lips, looked at the pile of clothes and shoes for a moment, and thought to myself: "Well, I'm PRETTY sure I wasn't wrong about that."
J appeared several minutes later having changed into the gown. She looked beautiful.
The details of the service are embarrassing. I recently found a copy of what I'd prepared to say to her (because of course I wrote it down beforehand) and apparently my instincts on how to have human conversation haven't changed at all in seven years. (I might be a little better at self-restraint now.) There were a lot of pompous things said that sounded quite lofty, including some Latin words with a definition. I talked about how she really was a princess in Real Life, and gave her a tiara. For some reason which I don't currently recall, I put on a wumple at one point. I think that I'd come up with another reason related to the service, but mostly I just liked the word wumple.
When it came time to take the ring out, I couldn't remember whether I was supposed to descend to one knee or both knees. I frantically tried to recall a time when I'd heard the tradition talked about, and the only association I could come up with for the phrase "take a knee" (in the singular) just echoed of Bills games ending sadly. I decided I ought to get down on both knees, just to be safe. (This turned out to be wrong.)
She waited a moment and looked at me, unconsciously twirling her dress back and forth, before she said yes.
She changed again before we left, and her friend Meg was the first to know the news. She even snapped a picture of us (I think I still had the wumple on) before we left.
Traditions are very good things. The best parts of that night were the parts most traditional, and the parts that ended up being a little silly were the parts that I thought were original and creative at the time. But I wouldn't ever take back having to formally ask the question, or having to get into a bowing posture to do so, or even having to save and scrimp for months beforehand to purchase a precious stone.
When you're going to speak with a real Princess, it's best to follow the practices of time-honored tradition.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
The Ancient Path-Blogging for Books review
The Ancient Path is supposedly a book about the early Fathers, but it turns out to be much more a story of a modern monastery in Arkansas founded and sustained by the author of this book, John Michael Talbot. The Fathers are present, to be sure, but only as one element in a complex and well-told journey from rock and roll to the monastic life. Perhaps it is because the story ends in a monastery that Mr. Talbot chooses to describe his path as "ancient," but his reading of the Fathers is much more in dialogue with the modern evangelical Protestantism which he chose to leave partway through his Christian life than with the early controversies of the primitive church. Each of the thirteen chapters corresponds to some topic on which Mr. Talbot has clearly meditated, sung, and prayed. From analyses of Community to Jesus Christ to the Episcopate, he unfolds his meditations slowly and conversationally. At worst, they sometimes sound like old Sunday School lessons and twist texts like the Didache into making points in contemporary controversies that were never intended by the authors. At best, he is a wise Christian elder unfolding the wisdom of many centuries worth of prayer and contemplation. The Ancient Path is not a gateway to the Patristic literature, but a wonderful portrait of a man who found and loved the Fathers on his own journey.
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
The Family
James:
-wanted more than anything else in the world to buy a watermelon at the Public Market. Not sure why, or even if he enjoyed it once it was purchased. But he sure was excited
-is playing kickball in the backyard at every opportunity. Still playing baseball and hockey regularly as well, but I think he knows that we're more likely to play along with him if we do a game (like kickball) that can be played while holding Owen
-has discovered s'mores toasted over the fire pit
-regularly loses one or both of his shoes without meaning to
-stands at the door and waves now whenever a parent needs to leave. (Also, clings to their leg and begs them not to go as soon as he detects that they're getting ready to depart.)
-as of tomorrow, is halfway to being 4 (!) years old
Owen:
-weighs 17 lbs, took his shot like a champ, and attempted to eat all of the sanitary paper that was laid out at the doctor's office
-communicates that he'd like more solid food by banging on his tray repeatedly
-is making rudimentary attempts at talking by shouting a single pitch in the face of whoever is holding him, or in James' case, leaning over him and shouting back
-is quite near sleeping through the night consistently, but making both ends of the night more difficult by staying up later before he falls asleep and getting up before 6 AM with no prospect of returning to sleep unless he can get in bed with J
-has no interest in formula from a bottle, except to play with the bottle and spit it out
J:
-is making lots of smoothies with exotic ingredients like coconut water and chia seeds
-played the Hindemith sonata on Monday and the LCS concert on Tuesday, during which she ran back and forth between the flute, piccolo, and piano
-has temporarily given up coffee in the hopes of avoiding the caffeine/sugar crashes mid-afternoon
-entered James' room yesterday and by some act of trickery convinced him to help clean it
-couldn't be more thrilled with the hot weather
-will take the boys to PA this weekend
Me:
-attempting to practice all sorts of fundamentals and back-burner technique projects now that I have no big concerts or auditions for the next few months
-have struggled to get up early and do my morning routine the last few weeks because of odd late nights and travel
-finished the annual LCS concert
-am less than thrilled with the hot weather and consequent sweaty, grimy, sticky, lethargic afternoons
-spilled birdseed all over the garage when the bottom of the bag ripped open
-need to figure out how to trim the odd bits around the house that the lawn mower can't reach and where exactly the water in the northern wall of the basement is coming from
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
On This Day
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
I was sending emails about missing Wednesday night choir rehearsal at church because I had a BPO concert that evening. Trumpet lessons were also being rescheduled, and we were watching the "likes" pour in on a facebook photo that we'd posted two days before--James holding a photo of an ultrasound on the couch of our Clover Park apartment. We were enjoying the (mostly) new car smell of the Toyota Yaris that we'd purchased the day before.
Monday, May 13, 2013
I was hiring my brothers to play at the LCS concert. Julie had just bought a bathing suit. James (about 18 months old) was in the habit of smashing his face up against the screen door of our Washington Street apartment. I was busy writing a 15 minute devotional on ecclesiology to present at LCS that Wednesday.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
It was Mother's Day, and James (about 6 months old) was bouncing most energetically in his bouncy chair. I wrote a position paper (never published) on the Amendment One controversy unfolding in North Carolina (to which we, being connected by Facebook, had intimate theater), I was researching Romans chapter VI as part of a commentary project, and J and I had the following to-do list:
1) Plan International Date Night
2) Write a James D Bear story
3) Drink the rest of a bottle of wine we'd opened the night before
4) Finishing organizing our books. (n.b.--this is still not done)
5) Read Dave Barry out loud together
6) Hang up a white board with a detailed budget in the kitchen (n.b.--this is still not done)
7) Email J.L. Smith about selling her old Powell flute
8) Email a fundamentalist church about recruiting students
9) Go for a walk
10) Price umbrella strollers
Friday, May 13, 2011
J was just a few months pregnant with James, and we were pricing glider rockers at an estate sale. We were excited to visit them and break the news of her pregnancy. We were attempting to figure out whether we needed to watch baby Hayden for part of the weekend, and I had just been offered a long term sub position in choral music in Albion. (I truly do not remember whether I accepted it or not...I think I might not have.)
Thursday, May 13, 2010
I sent an email requesting information about a position with the Dallas Brass, which I ended up not auditioning for. J was preparing to graduate from UNCG and was borrowing her academic regalia from various professors who wouldn't be attending the ceremony. One of her supervising professors took her out for end-of-the-semester Thai food, and we were in the middle of a debate about how high the fan ought to be turned up at night. I expressed my distaste for going running in the North Carolina heat.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I was attempting to get ahold of a pdf 4th trumpet part for the Planets, which I would be performing with RPO the following week. I had just made the finals in the Charlotte Symphony principal trumpet audition and was disappointed that I hadn't won the job but expressed my confidence that this was surely a sign that I would win another position very soon. I attempted to help J compile an attendance spreadsheet for the class she was T.A.-ing instead of working on my actual job.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
I played Let the Bright Seraphim on J. Keim's senior recital and then went to a Westside Brass Quintet rehearsal immediately afterwards, partially in preparation for a trombone recital later in the week. I owed an apologetic email to a fellow teacher at Notre Dame High Dame high school because I'd allowed two of my students to go up to her library without passes instead of sorting music. (Their concert was over and I was running out of ideas to keep them busy)
I was sending emails about missing Wednesday night choir rehearsal at church because I had a BPO concert that evening. Trumpet lessons were also being rescheduled, and we were watching the "likes" pour in on a facebook photo that we'd posted two days before--James holding a photo of an ultrasound on the couch of our Clover Park apartment. We were enjoying the (mostly) new car smell of the Toyota Yaris that we'd purchased the day before.
Monday, May 13, 2013
I was hiring my brothers to play at the LCS concert. Julie had just bought a bathing suit. James (about 18 months old) was in the habit of smashing his face up against the screen door of our Washington Street apartment. I was busy writing a 15 minute devotional on ecclesiology to present at LCS that Wednesday.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
It was Mother's Day, and James (about 6 months old) was bouncing most energetically in his bouncy chair. I wrote a position paper (never published) on the Amendment One controversy unfolding in North Carolina (to which we, being connected by Facebook, had intimate theater), I was researching Romans chapter VI as part of a commentary project, and J and I had the following to-do list:
1) Plan International Date Night
2) Write a James D Bear story
3) Drink the rest of a bottle of wine we'd opened the night before
4) Finishing organizing our books. (n.b.--this is still not done)
5) Read Dave Barry out loud together
6) Hang up a white board with a detailed budget in the kitchen (n.b.--this is still not done)
7) Email J.L. Smith about selling her old Powell flute
8) Email a fundamentalist church about recruiting students
9) Go for a walk
10) Price umbrella strollers
Friday, May 13, 2011
J was just a few months pregnant with James, and we were pricing glider rockers at an estate sale. We were excited to visit them and break the news of her pregnancy. We were attempting to figure out whether we needed to watch baby Hayden for part of the weekend, and I had just been offered a long term sub position in choral music in Albion. (I truly do not remember whether I accepted it or not...I think I might not have.)
Thursday, May 13, 2010
I sent an email requesting information about a position with the Dallas Brass, which I ended up not auditioning for. J was preparing to graduate from UNCG and was borrowing her academic regalia from various professors who wouldn't be attending the ceremony. One of her supervising professors took her out for end-of-the-semester Thai food, and we were in the middle of a debate about how high the fan ought to be turned up at night. I expressed my distaste for going running in the North Carolina heat.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I was attempting to get ahold of a pdf 4th trumpet part for the Planets, which I would be performing with RPO the following week. I had just made the finals in the Charlotte Symphony principal trumpet audition and was disappointed that I hadn't won the job but expressed my confidence that this was surely a sign that I would win another position very soon. I attempted to help J compile an attendance spreadsheet for the class she was T.A.-ing instead of working on my actual job.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
I played Let the Bright Seraphim on J. Keim's senior recital and then went to a Westside Brass Quintet rehearsal immediately afterwards, partially in preparation for a trombone recital later in the week. I owed an apologetic email to a fellow teacher at Notre Dame High Dame high school because I'd allowed two of my students to go up to her library without passes instead of sorting music. (Their concert was over and I was running out of ideas to keep them busy)
Quick Hitters
I.
I finished reading Evelyn Waugh's Officers and Gentlemen a few weeks ago, and didn't know quite how to put my thoughts together about the sad, darkly funny ending. The title character (Guy Crouchback) ends up joining the Royal Halbediers at the outbreak of WWII out of a sense of honor (or honour, properly) and ends up discovering there is no longer such a thing in the modern world. The novel ends with the surrender of Crete and a dark conversation about how 100 years ago duels were a necessary part of the honorable life, but now there is no longer any honor tied up in the practice. Yet somewhere between then and now was the awkward moment at which all the honor was ebbing out of the institution. Crouchback looks at warfare (or at least soldiering as it was conceived and attempted in Britain) and finds it somewhere between an honorable and a ridiculous activity, moving fatally towards the ridiculous.
I asked J whether there were any such activities in the modern world, to which honor (or honour) is such a binding pressure. We couldn't come up with any, and I couldn't even think of a way to properly describe what honor is. I still don't have a good working definition, but I think I had a bit of a revelation than honor is NOT something that ends up being tied into an ideology. For a principle to be honorable, it has to run deeper than that. Ideologies (this all comes from having read Oakeshott recently) appear a posteriori to the real world, and a principle thus deeply ingrained has to either have been inherited earlier or been made native by some means other than intellectual abstraction. Thus, it's impossible to have any sense of honor about the sexes when one's conception of the sexes is primarily ideological, and the same thing goes for politics and warfare.
If everyone could write up a quick five page paper on the topic of honor in the modern world and email it to me, that'd be great. I look forward to your submissions.
II.
That Oakeshott essay was great. I'm doing my darndest to read the best of the historical conservatives this summer. Also on the list are William F. Buckley, Richard Neuhaus, de Tocqueville, and Edmund Burke. I'm thinking now about the past as an inheritance, avoiding knowledge as a reduction to technique, and wondering what exactly the American political tradition (worth keeping) exactly is. One thing that Oakeshott doesn't talk about (at least in Rationalism in Politics) is the importance of how you tell the story of history in order to spell out what exactly you ARE inheriting from the tradition that goes before you.
III.
I've read two sad books in the last two days, first Of Mice of Men almost all in one sitting yesterday, and now Cry, the Beloved Country. I'd forgotten how much I love Cry, the Beloved Country. I don't particularly resonate with African literature, but everything in that novel touches me as a Christian. It is absolutely the best novel I've ever read in dealing with race, injustice, grief, and somehow prayer in the midst of it all. As dark and hopeless as Of Mice and Men is, Cry, the Beloved Country brims over with a real hope in the midst of its tragedy. They were good books to read back-to-back.
--He is a stranger, he said, I cannot touch him, I cannot reach him. I see no shame in him, no pity for those he has hurt. Tears come out of his eyes, but it seems that he weeps only for himself, not for his wickedness, but for his danger.
The man cried out, can a person lose all sense of evil? A boy, brought up as he was brought up? I see only his pity for himself, he who has made two children fatherless.
It's about such things that our own tribe most needs authentic Christian hope.
I finished reading Evelyn Waugh's Officers and Gentlemen a few weeks ago, and didn't know quite how to put my thoughts together about the sad, darkly funny ending. The title character (Guy Crouchback) ends up joining the Royal Halbediers at the outbreak of WWII out of a sense of honor (or honour, properly) and ends up discovering there is no longer such a thing in the modern world. The novel ends with the surrender of Crete and a dark conversation about how 100 years ago duels were a necessary part of the honorable life, but now there is no longer any honor tied up in the practice. Yet somewhere between then and now was the awkward moment at which all the honor was ebbing out of the institution. Crouchback looks at warfare (or at least soldiering as it was conceived and attempted in Britain) and finds it somewhere between an honorable and a ridiculous activity, moving fatally towards the ridiculous.
I asked J whether there were any such activities in the modern world, to which honor (or honour) is such a binding pressure. We couldn't come up with any, and I couldn't even think of a way to properly describe what honor is. I still don't have a good working definition, but I think I had a bit of a revelation than honor is NOT something that ends up being tied into an ideology. For a principle to be honorable, it has to run deeper than that. Ideologies (this all comes from having read Oakeshott recently) appear a posteriori to the real world, and a principle thus deeply ingrained has to either have been inherited earlier or been made native by some means other than intellectual abstraction. Thus, it's impossible to have any sense of honor about the sexes when one's conception of the sexes is primarily ideological, and the same thing goes for politics and warfare.
If everyone could write up a quick five page paper on the topic of honor in the modern world and email it to me, that'd be great. I look forward to your submissions.
II.
That Oakeshott essay was great. I'm doing my darndest to read the best of the historical conservatives this summer. Also on the list are William F. Buckley, Richard Neuhaus, de Tocqueville, and Edmund Burke. I'm thinking now about the past as an inheritance, avoiding knowledge as a reduction to technique, and wondering what exactly the American political tradition (worth keeping) exactly is. One thing that Oakeshott doesn't talk about (at least in Rationalism in Politics) is the importance of how you tell the story of history in order to spell out what exactly you ARE inheriting from the tradition that goes before you.
III.
I've read two sad books in the last two days, first Of Mice of Men almost all in one sitting yesterday, and now Cry, the Beloved Country. I'd forgotten how much I love Cry, the Beloved Country. I don't particularly resonate with African literature, but everything in that novel touches me as a Christian. It is absolutely the best novel I've ever read in dealing with race, injustice, grief, and somehow prayer in the midst of it all. As dark and hopeless as Of Mice and Men is, Cry, the Beloved Country brims over with a real hope in the midst of its tragedy. They were good books to read back-to-back.
--He is a stranger, he said, I cannot touch him, I cannot reach him. I see no shame in him, no pity for those he has hurt. Tears come out of his eyes, but it seems that he weeps only for himself, not for his wickedness, but for his danger.
The man cried out, can a person lose all sense of evil? A boy, brought up as he was brought up? I see only his pity for himself, he who has made two children fatherless.
It's about such things that our own tribe most needs authentic Christian hope.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Relationships
"Alexa was tired, and I was tired. I didn't want to play the princess game. I just wanted to play hockey."
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Owen's Habits
Poor Owen gets the short end of the stick.
He doesn't talk or crawl yet, so when I sit down to write about the interesting things that happened in the Smith house at the end of the day, he often doesn't have many interesting accomplishments that are worth contrasting to James. He can't, for instance, run a toy John Deere tractor through the entire length of the downstairs for the purpose of "cleaning the ice" before the teams come back on. He also doesn't have any cute backwards turns of phrase, like calling hot things "too cold" or little things "too big."
But he is growing into an adorable, healthy, very happy little baby boy, and it's been fun to watch some bits of personality emerge in him. He's a little surprising to look at almost every time I see him, because his eyes are SO blue and his hair is SO blonde, and there's a little shock of it that sticks up in the back no matter where his head has been for the last hour.
When I get him up in the morning he always greets me with a grin as soon as he recognizes me, and when I take him to his mother he gets so excited that he nearly bounces out of my arms with delight before he reaches for her. (And, getting into her arms, immediately begins attempting to nurse from the side of her arm or whatever other body part he manages to get into his mouth.)
He is slowly getting more mobile, mostly by rolling over on his side repeatedly until he's crossed the room and usually made some sort of diagonal motion as well. He lifts his head up periodically to check his progress and will making climbing motions while on his stomach, which look to me like the rudimentary first elements of crawling. He tends to spit up when he's on his stomach, so whoever's with him usually needs to follow close behind with a burp cloth when he's busy making his travels.
He's just as content, however, to be put in any number of bouncy seats that we have around the house and there to exercise his legs as hard as he can to at least his own amusement and to even greater joy if he notices that someone is watching him. (James is particularly good at giving him encouragement.)
The defining motion of his little life so far is the big, sweeping, both-legged kick downwards that bounces him up in his bouncy chair and also soaks the bathroom while he's in the tub. He and James are in the bath together most nights now, and Owen will begin to kick excitedly as soon as he hears the tap running. He smiles broadly when you begin to strip his clothes off, and then once he's placed naked in the tub with his brother he assumes a look of deep concentration before beginning twenty continuous minutes of kicking and splashing. He doesn't even stop kicking to have his legs washed. If you are holding one leg and attempting to soak it off, the other will keep going with mechanical accuracy in exactly the tempo that he had set earlier, and then the soaped leg will resume in time as soon as you release it to soap the other. James mostly amuses himself by giving Owen instructions and attempting to wash him off with cupfuls of water, but I don't think Owen even notices him. He's too busy doing his job, which is kicking.
Owen spends a lot of time in the Ergo carrier as well, when out on walks, when parents need to get dishes done, and when he needs a nap while his older brother wants to play baseball. Because he's a good and easy little baby, he can be relied upon to fall asleep within a few minutes of being strapped into the carrier, so long as the parent holds up their end by staying in constant motion. The surrounding noise and weather don't matter a bit, so long as he's strapped in tight.
He's looked happy out in the grass so far while we've spread out blankets for picnics or tossed a baseball in the backyard with James. I remember the first summer that I was home to be with James after months and months of busy season, and I felt like I was able to make up for a lot of long days on the road and away during those leisurely months.
This is going to be a good summer with Owen.
He doesn't talk or crawl yet, so when I sit down to write about the interesting things that happened in the Smith house at the end of the day, he often doesn't have many interesting accomplishments that are worth contrasting to James. He can't, for instance, run a toy John Deere tractor through the entire length of the downstairs for the purpose of "cleaning the ice" before the teams come back on. He also doesn't have any cute backwards turns of phrase, like calling hot things "too cold" or little things "too big."
But he is growing into an adorable, healthy, very happy little baby boy, and it's been fun to watch some bits of personality emerge in him. He's a little surprising to look at almost every time I see him, because his eyes are SO blue and his hair is SO blonde, and there's a little shock of it that sticks up in the back no matter where his head has been for the last hour.
When I get him up in the morning he always greets me with a grin as soon as he recognizes me, and when I take him to his mother he gets so excited that he nearly bounces out of my arms with delight before he reaches for her. (And, getting into her arms, immediately begins attempting to nurse from the side of her arm or whatever other body part he manages to get into his mouth.)
He is slowly getting more mobile, mostly by rolling over on his side repeatedly until he's crossed the room and usually made some sort of diagonal motion as well. He lifts his head up periodically to check his progress and will making climbing motions while on his stomach, which look to me like the rudimentary first elements of crawling. He tends to spit up when he's on his stomach, so whoever's with him usually needs to follow close behind with a burp cloth when he's busy making his travels.
He's just as content, however, to be put in any number of bouncy seats that we have around the house and there to exercise his legs as hard as he can to at least his own amusement and to even greater joy if he notices that someone is watching him. (James is particularly good at giving him encouragement.)
The defining motion of his little life so far is the big, sweeping, both-legged kick downwards that bounces him up in his bouncy chair and also soaks the bathroom while he's in the tub. He and James are in the bath together most nights now, and Owen will begin to kick excitedly as soon as he hears the tap running. He smiles broadly when you begin to strip his clothes off, and then once he's placed naked in the tub with his brother he assumes a look of deep concentration before beginning twenty continuous minutes of kicking and splashing. He doesn't even stop kicking to have his legs washed. If you are holding one leg and attempting to soak it off, the other will keep going with mechanical accuracy in exactly the tempo that he had set earlier, and then the soaped leg will resume in time as soon as you release it to soap the other. James mostly amuses himself by giving Owen instructions and attempting to wash him off with cupfuls of water, but I don't think Owen even notices him. He's too busy doing his job, which is kicking.
Owen spends a lot of time in the Ergo carrier as well, when out on walks, when parents need to get dishes done, and when he needs a nap while his older brother wants to play baseball. Because he's a good and easy little baby, he can be relied upon to fall asleep within a few minutes of being strapped into the carrier, so long as the parent holds up their end by staying in constant motion. The surrounding noise and weather don't matter a bit, so long as he's strapped in tight.
He's looked happy out in the grass so far while we've spread out blankets for picnics or tossed a baseball in the backyard with James. I remember the first summer that I was home to be with James after months and months of busy season, and I felt like I was able to make up for a lot of long days on the road and away during those leisurely months.
This is going to be a good summer with Owen.
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Manners
I've had manners on my mind for the past several days
A friend who I wouldn't have expected to care about or notice such things made a comment in my company about how much it bothered him when people used their smartphones in the middle of a conversation, particularly if the conversation wasn't particularly deep or interesting. I'm glad he said something, as I'm quite sure that I'd done exactly that in his presence before. It doesn't bother me in the slightest if someone uses their phone while we're talking, but I don't grudge his opinion, especially since he's slightly older.
Secondly, I've been listening to Edith Wiggin's Manners for Home and School Use read aloud on a podcast. Last week I finished several podcasts all at once and am now in the middle of some new ones, including Rousseau's Social Contract, the Arabian Nights, a collection of Wodehouse stories, and this new one. At first I only downloaded some episodes for a laugh (the book is very old) but have been surprised to find that most of the advice is quite wise and timeless. The more I think about it, the more I realize that an enormous amount of the habitual manners I take for granted will take some concentrated effort to show to James, and that there's quite a bit to learn.
He's picking up bits and pieces, but he still needs to be reminded more often than not to ask with a please and say thank-you afterwards. He knows to say "sorry," but most often uses the word in the place of "excuse me." For example, I'll be standing in the kitchen, and then I'll feel someone trying to push through my legs with a little voice saying "sorry, Daddy" and then I see him run off to wherever it was he was going. We also are working on getting him to say "excuse me" after he passes gas, but he usually just giggles and when asked what he ought to say dons a momentary expression of careful thought before declaring "I butzed."
Owen, thankfully, is still too young to be concerned about teaching or using manners. If he were old enough to be instructed, I should tell him that it is excellent manners to bestow a happy grin on every stranger that you meet and to attempt to engage them in friendly conversation, but that it is not very nice manners to wake up at 6 in the morning and shout until someone comes to get you.
A friend who I wouldn't have expected to care about or notice such things made a comment in my company about how much it bothered him when people used their smartphones in the middle of a conversation, particularly if the conversation wasn't particularly deep or interesting. I'm glad he said something, as I'm quite sure that I'd done exactly that in his presence before. It doesn't bother me in the slightest if someone uses their phone while we're talking, but I don't grudge his opinion, especially since he's slightly older.
Secondly, I've been listening to Edith Wiggin's Manners for Home and School Use read aloud on a podcast. Last week I finished several podcasts all at once and am now in the middle of some new ones, including Rousseau's Social Contract, the Arabian Nights, a collection of Wodehouse stories, and this new one. At first I only downloaded some episodes for a laugh (the book is very old) but have been surprised to find that most of the advice is quite wise and timeless. The more I think about it, the more I realize that an enormous amount of the habitual manners I take for granted will take some concentrated effort to show to James, and that there's quite a bit to learn.
He's picking up bits and pieces, but he still needs to be reminded more often than not to ask with a please and say thank-you afterwards. He knows to say "sorry," but most often uses the word in the place of "excuse me." For example, I'll be standing in the kitchen, and then I'll feel someone trying to push through my legs with a little voice saying "sorry, Daddy" and then I see him run off to wherever it was he was going. We also are working on getting him to say "excuse me" after he passes gas, but he usually just giggles and when asked what he ought to say dons a momentary expression of careful thought before declaring "I butzed."
Owen, thankfully, is still too young to be concerned about teaching or using manners. If he were old enough to be instructed, I should tell him that it is excellent manners to bestow a happy grin on every stranger that you meet and to attempt to engage them in friendly conversation, but that it is not very nice manners to wake up at 6 in the morning and shout until someone comes to get you.
Saturday, May 2, 2015
On the One Hand
Today has been up and down. I think the leading story of today would probably be, were I to publish a summary for all of those eager readers who for unfathomable reasons wish to know what exactly I'm doing when not behind a trumpet mouthpiece or chasing a toddler, that I locked my keys in my car during rehearsal. In many ways it's been exactly a "locked the keys in the car" sort of day.
I woke up slightly sick from two nights of draft party food, fought traffic and parking to get to the public marking, negotiated a chaotic mass of humanity with James on my shoulders (begging to get down) within the public market, received a text message that I needed to have a flugelhorn for rehearsal, made multiple panicked phone calls to try to get one, had a spirited debate with J about the merits of buying the cheapest available instrument on the way to rehearsal (given the financial drubbing we took in April), located an instrument available to borrow, drove off without my phone, missed the exit on the way to rehearsal, arrived just in time, came in without a pencil, locked said keys in said car while retrieving a pencil during break, and then was stuck in construction on the way up to Wegmans. (Since I didn't have time to pack a dinner.)
On the other hand...
My beloved brother and his wife are getting a beautiful house very much on the terms that they'd like, I sat by a campfire with my parents last night, there's plenty of reason to be excited for the football season this year and I'm even enjoying the final day of the draft in downtown Buffalo, I have three hours to read a book that I'm absolutely loving (I, Claudius), getting locked out of the car didn't actually cost me anything, we have a refrigerator full of fresh produce, I'm wearing a brand-new shirt today, the sun is out, and I have a tall cup of Wegmans coffee.
And do you know what? I'm going to get some pretty sweet doubling for the flugelhorn.
I woke up slightly sick from two nights of draft party food, fought traffic and parking to get to the public marking, negotiated a chaotic mass of humanity with James on my shoulders (begging to get down) within the public market, received a text message that I needed to have a flugelhorn for rehearsal, made multiple panicked phone calls to try to get one, had a spirited debate with J about the merits of buying the cheapest available instrument on the way to rehearsal (given the financial drubbing we took in April), located an instrument available to borrow, drove off without my phone, missed the exit on the way to rehearsal, arrived just in time, came in without a pencil, locked said keys in said car while retrieving a pencil during break, and then was stuck in construction on the way up to Wegmans. (Since I didn't have time to pack a dinner.)
On the other hand...
My beloved brother and his wife are getting a beautiful house very much on the terms that they'd like, I sat by a campfire with my parents last night, there's plenty of reason to be excited for the football season this year and I'm even enjoying the final day of the draft in downtown Buffalo, I have three hours to read a book that I'm absolutely loving (I, Claudius), getting locked out of the car didn't actually cost me anything, we have a refrigerator full of fresh produce, I'm wearing a brand-new shirt today, the sun is out, and I have a tall cup of Wegmans coffee.
And do you know what? I'm going to get some pretty sweet doubling for the flugelhorn.
Friday, May 1, 2015
Comparison
James' first solid food:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y49LyOKr8I8
Owen's first solid food:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8CNDAA9lYi4
If there was any doubt about the differences in their personality.
James ran outside (running the whole time) for about 40 minutes this afternoon. When we got back inside he reached up, felt his hair, and declared that "it needed to warm up." (He was panting and sweating.) So he put a full-sized orange traffic cone on his head. He then proceeded to lecture Owen about how silly he looked with his foot in his mouth.
Later, while I was in the shower, James appeared in the bathroom and tossed into the shower a cup, a basketball, the letter B. "Daddy, that stands for Book and for Bumblebee."
Owen was happy to eat everything set in front of him for the remainder of the evening.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y49LyOKr8I8
Owen's first solid food:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8CNDAA9lYi4
If there was any doubt about the differences in their personality.
James ran outside (running the whole time) for about 40 minutes this afternoon. When we got back inside he reached up, felt his hair, and declared that "it needed to warm up." (He was panting and sweating.) So he put a full-sized orange traffic cone on his head. He then proceeded to lecture Owen about how silly he looked with his foot in his mouth.
Later, while I was in the shower, James appeared in the bathroom and tossed into the shower a cup, a basketball, the letter B. "Daddy, that stands for Book and for Bumblebee."
Owen was happy to eat everything set in front of him for the remainder of the evening.
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