I read quite a considerable amount more during October than I did during September. That's because in September, I was busy finding a place to live and moving there. Once moved in, there was no television to speak of. It's all digital out here, and we didn't have a way to watch digital. So I read and crocheted a lot. Harnessed my inner old lady. (And loved it, btw.)
Oh, and I didn't have much internet, either, so the lit blog got a *tad* neglected. It happens. Needless to say, I need to update the reading list on the sidebar.
I finished "Our New Nation" as well as "Sense and Sensibility."
I also picked up "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" as my New. I literally laughed out loud for minutes at a time upon reading the first chapter. However, it started dying about half way through. The story changes a little bit and I had a difficult time getting over the author doing that. Besides, the whole bottom half of the book felt like the author was rushing just to be done with it. It lost a lot of the flavor of the original that he had managed to keep in the first half. Which I considered a shame. I've heard there's "Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters" out, though. Not sure I'm ready to pick that one up, seeing how disappointed I was with the last of PP&Z.
I had some help picking out a Random. Pulled all the books from my bookshelf that I hadn't read yet (one of my goals is to have read all the books that I own) and narrowed it down to a couple. I was on the phone with a friend and asked them to pick right or left or 1, 2, or 3 or something like that. Didn't say what the titles were, so it truly was random. And it was a rather dry choice. Freud's "The Psychoanalysis of Everyday Life." I didn't even make it 50 pages before counting my breeze through "YHWH is NOT a Radio Station In Minneapolis" as my Random Read. (It's a short humor book. Sort of like the ABC's on Jewish beliefs.)
Then I picked up "The Greatest Virtue" by Pat Robertson as my True. (The answer is humility.) It's been okay. Not the most interesting thing I've ever read, but it does get me thinking about things while I'm reading it. Deciphering what I agree with and what I don't agree with.
For my Old, I'm doing a re-read of one of my faves: O Pioneers! by Willa Cather. I bought this book in the fall of 07, after I had been in Nebraska a short while. I had liked "My Antonia" well enough and assumed I'd like this one, too. I was right. I decided last November I wanted to read through it again. It's become an annual tradition of mine, I guess you could say. Because I picked it up just the other day (Nov. 22) and discovered a break-out slip from work that I must have been using as a bookmark the last time I read it. It was dated Nov. 21, 2008.
O Pioneers!
In the Barnes & Noble edition, there is an introduction by Chris Kraus which I browsed before reading this time. (I've probably read it before, though.) And one thing that he said shed some light as to why I enjoy this book so much. He spends some time talking about Cather's distaste for women authors because all they write about is romance.
"But as Joan Acocella points out, one of Cather's greatest achievements was to write fiction in which love and marriage comprise only partial aspects her female protagonists' destinies. Alexandra does marry Carl, but this isn't the point of the story. By the time they marry, Alexandra's character has already been formed--by her relationship to the land, and to others; she is not defined by her marriage."
Reading through it, I've recognized some quotes that often run through my head so often that they're memorized.
p.11
"There is often a great deal of the child left in people who have had to grow up too soon."
p. 27
A new favorite comes just before an old one here.
"A steady job, a few holidays, nothing to think about, and they would have been very happy."
"A pioneer should have imagination, should be able to enjoy the idea of things more than the things themselves."
p. 29
The exchange between Carl and Alexandra when he tells her his family is moving back to St. Louis; I have obtained more understanding about human emotion from this scene than probably any other literature I have read.
"She brushed the tears from her cheeks, not trying to hide them."
Alexandra to Carl: "It's by understanding me, and the boys, and mother, that you've helped me. I expect that is the only way one person ever really can help another." I actually used that in a letter I wrote to someone.
Carl to Alexandra: "We've someway always felt alike about things."
Alexandra to Carl: "Yes, that's it; we've liked the same tings and we've liked them together, without anybody else knowing....We've never either of us had any other close friend....and now I must remember that you are going where you will have many friends."
p. 35
"For the first time, perhaps, since that land emerged from the waters of geologic ages, a human face was set toward it with love and yearning. It seemed beautiful to her, rich and strong and glorious....The history of every country begins in the heart of a man or a woman."
2009-11-29
2009-08-12
Reading Journal
Yeah, there's a reason I haven't updated this one in a month...I haven't been reading for leisure much. Not because I don't have leisure time; I do. My first excuse is that I've been opening a lot, which requires me to be out the door by 4:40 a.m. to be there on time. Which makes reading my scriptures when I wake up not as possible as I'd like it to be. So I've been reading them on my break at work, which was when I normally did my leisure reading. Also, we've got cable. And it's been hot out, so not as much opportunity to sit outside and read.
I have managed to knock out a few pages in this month, though. But I feel a little guilty for renewing my library book online since I know a librarian who got laid off the other day.
Our New Nation
I didn't mark any quotations. So either I wasn't struck by anything or I was, didn't have an appropriate way to mark the page and have forgotten.
However, I do remember enjoying reading the section about "Cowboys on the Plains." Especially when the book went into great detail on the trek from Texas to the midwestern meat packinghouses.
Oh, but here's a little gem from p. 239, on the spreading of our nation into the islands of the Pacific.
"...and today the population [of Hawaii] is made up of brown-skinned Hawaiians, yellow-skinned people from China and Japan, and white people mostly from the United States."
How hilariously un-PC.
_________________________________
Sense and Sensibility
So I've apparently read more from this than I thought, considering my last quote came from chapter 19 and my first one for this post comes from chapter 22 and my bookmark is on 40. However, I had a piece of paper inserted randomly into the book, mistook it for my bookmark and read for 4-5 pages, thinking it was familiar from the movie. Just more proof that I have zero reading retention. (I'm hoping that my pulling out and posting quotes helps at least a little with that.)
Chapter 22
"I certainly did not seek your confidence," said Elinor (to Lucy).
I like the way that sounds and have felt that way many times. Especially during one circumstance this past month.
Chapter 23, near the beginning
Elinor's thoughts after Lucy's news on the way Edward had treated herself at Norland
"Her mother, sisters, Fanny, a had been conscious of his regard for her at Norland; it was not an illusion of her own vanity. He certainly loved her. What a softener of the heart was this persuasion! How much could it not tempt her to forgive! He had been blameable, highly blameable in remaining at Norland after he first felt her influence over him to be more than it ought to be. In that, he could not be defended; but if he had injured her, how much more had he injured himself! If her case were pitiable, his was hopeless. His imprudence had made her miserable for a while; but it seemed to have deprived himself of all chance of ever being otherwise. She might in time regain tranquillity; but he, what had he to look forward to? Could he ever be tolerably happy with Lucy Steele? Could he, were his affection for herself out of the question, with his integrity, his delicacy, and well-informed mind, be satisfied with a wife like her--illiterate, artful, and selfish?
"The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind him to everything but her beauty and good nature; but the four succeeding years--years which, if rationally spent, give such improvements to the understanding, must have opened his eyes to her defects of education: while the same period of time, spent on her side in inferior society and more frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity which might once have given an interesting character to her beauty."
That is why I love Austen.
Chapter 31, near the beginning
Marianne on Mrs. Jennings
"'No, no, no, it cannot be,' she cried; 'she cannot feel. Her kindness is not sympathy; her good-nature is not tenderness. All that she wants is gossip, and she only likes me now because I supply it."
How true that can be sometimes.
Chapter 36, near the beginning
"One thing did disturb her [Mrs. Jennings]; and of that she made her daily complaint. Mr. Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex, of all infants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive at different times the most striking resemblance between this baby and every one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his father of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like every other baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the world."
Chapter 37, smack in the middle
I wish I could quote this all...I've tried to pick out the good parts, but it's all good. The exchange between Marianne and Elinor in this chapter is one of my favorites of the story. When Marianne discovers not only how long Edward has been engaged to Lucy, but how long Elinor has known of it and Marianne accosts her sister...it's an exchange of sisterhood at it's finest. If you don't have a sister and want to understand the bond that sisters have, despite being so different in personality, read this exchange. (Or watch this scene in the movie, I guess. But the book does better at conveying the relationship, I think.)
Yet one more reason I love Austen.
I have managed to knock out a few pages in this month, though. But I feel a little guilty for renewing my library book online since I know a librarian who got laid off the other day.
Our New Nation
I didn't mark any quotations. So either I wasn't struck by anything or I was, didn't have an appropriate way to mark the page and have forgotten.
However, I do remember enjoying reading the section about "Cowboys on the Plains." Especially when the book went into great detail on the trek from Texas to the midwestern meat packinghouses.
Oh, but here's a little gem from p. 239, on the spreading of our nation into the islands of the Pacific.
"...and today the population [of Hawaii] is made up of brown-skinned Hawaiians, yellow-skinned people from China and Japan, and white people mostly from the United States."
How hilariously un-PC.
_________________________________
Sense and Sensibility
So I've apparently read more from this than I thought, considering my last quote came from chapter 19 and my first one for this post comes from chapter 22 and my bookmark is on 40. However, I had a piece of paper inserted randomly into the book, mistook it for my bookmark and read for 4-5 pages, thinking it was familiar from the movie. Just more proof that I have zero reading retention. (I'm hoping that my pulling out and posting quotes helps at least a little with that.)
Chapter 22
"I certainly did not seek your confidence," said Elinor (to Lucy).
I like the way that sounds and have felt that way many times. Especially during one circumstance this past month.
Chapter 23, near the beginning
Elinor's thoughts after Lucy's news on the way Edward had treated herself at Norland
"Her mother, sisters, Fanny, a had been conscious of his regard for her at Norland; it was not an illusion of her own vanity. He certainly loved her. What a softener of the heart was this persuasion! How much could it not tempt her to forgive! He had been blameable, highly blameable in remaining at Norland after he first felt her influence over him to be more than it ought to be. In that, he could not be defended; but if he had injured her, how much more had he injured himself! If her case were pitiable, his was hopeless. His imprudence had made her miserable for a while; but it seemed to have deprived himself of all chance of ever being otherwise. She might in time regain tranquillity; but he, what had he to look forward to? Could he ever be tolerably happy with Lucy Steele? Could he, were his affection for herself out of the question, with his integrity, his delicacy, and well-informed mind, be satisfied with a wife like her--illiterate, artful, and selfish?
"The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind him to everything but her beauty and good nature; but the four succeeding years--years which, if rationally spent, give such improvements to the understanding, must have opened his eyes to her defects of education: while the same period of time, spent on her side in inferior society and more frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity which might once have given an interesting character to her beauty."
That is why I love Austen.
Chapter 31, near the beginning
Marianne on Mrs. Jennings
"'No, no, no, it cannot be,' she cried; 'she cannot feel. Her kindness is not sympathy; her good-nature is not tenderness. All that she wants is gossip, and she only likes me now because I supply it."
How true that can be sometimes.
Chapter 36, near the beginning
"One thing did disturb her [Mrs. Jennings]; and of that she made her daily complaint. Mr. Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex, of all infants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive at different times the most striking resemblance between this baby and every one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his father of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like every other baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the world."
Chapter 37, smack in the middle
I wish I could quote this all...I've tried to pick out the good parts, but it's all good. The exchange between Marianne and Elinor in this chapter is one of my favorites of the story. When Marianne discovers not only how long Edward has been engaged to Lucy, but how long Elinor has known of it and Marianne accosts her sister...it's an exchange of sisterhood at it's finest. If you don't have a sister and want to understand the bond that sisters have, despite being so different in personality, read this exchange. (Or watch this scene in the movie, I guess. But the book does better at conveying the relationship, I think.)
Yet one more reason I love Austen.
2009-07-11
Reading Journal
I was bad. I bought a book today. Technically, I bought two. One was a birthday present, however. The other one I bought...I haven't decided if I'm going to keep it and put it in my "new" category, in case Pride, Prejudice and Zombies doesn't come through by the time I'm ready for it.
Our New Nation
It has really been interesting to see how time has changed how we view history. Textbooks like this today have more history to cover, so they can't really go into much depth, despite there being more information readily available. Journals being found and all that jazz.
Whenever I read general history books, it's always been interesting to see what gets revealed about Mormonism. A lot of the ones that I read during my schooling talked about Joseph Smith and some of the trials they went through on their way to Nauvoo. They also lumped the Mormon Trail into the unit with the Oregon Trail, mentioning Brigham Young in passing. And that was the end of the coverage of Mormonism. Except for the obligatory discussion on polygamy, which I found amusing more often than not.
This book takes a different spin. Smith didn't even make it into the index. The trials of the early saints discussed were not the persecution that drove them from place to place. Rather, it was the trek across the country and their settling Utah and making it a state. Since there were fewer states in 1948 and less wars to discuss the history of, "Our New Nation" has been able to discuss how many of the states were settled and became states. I don't remember getting that from my history books. Then again, maybe I would have learned this things in school had I been paying attention.
[Quotes]
Anyone know of Cornelius Cox? Starting on page 149, they quote some excerpts from his journal traveling to California during the gold rush.
"There is one young lady with our company, a Miss Wayland from western Texas. She is about sixteen and quite a pretty girl. I have claimed kinship with her mother, whose maiden name was Cox. But she refuses to acknowledge me unless I will shave, which is a condition I cannot comply with."
p. 163 explains, perhaps, why history can be so hard to understand.
"The long continued story which history tells is divided into many short stories. Often these short stories tell about happenings which were going on at the same time."
___________________________________________
"Sense and Sensibility"
I won't comment on the plot or writing in general, since there have been plenty of Austen critics who are much more qualified to do such, but allow me to say that I do understand why Emma Thompson made Sir John a widow, even though his wife provides an ample parallel in the relationship between family. That, and his wife is (by her nature) a rather minor character.
[Quotes]
I'll quote by chapter, since there are probably as many versions as there are chapters.
Chapter 4
Elinor discussing her opinion of Edward with Marianne.
"...I have seen a great deal of him, have studied his sentiments, and heard his opinions on subjects of literature and taste; and, upon the whole, I venture to pronounce that his mind is well informed, his enjoyment of books exceeding great, his imagination lively, his observation just and correct, and his taste delicate and pure. His abilities in every respect improve as much upon acquaintance as his manners and person. At first sight, his address is certainly not striking; and his person can hardly be called handsome, till the expression of his eyes, which are uncommonly good, and teh general sweetness of his countenance is perceived. At present, I know him so well, that I think him really handsome; or, at least, almost so."
Less wordy: She finds him pretty on the outside because she thinks he's pretty on the inside.
Chapter 15, nearing the end
Elinor discussing Marianne's possible engagement to Willoughby with their mother.
Mrs. Dashwood: "I have not wanted syllables where actions have spoken so plainly....Have we not perfectly understood each other? Has not my consent been daily asked by his looks, his manner, his attentive and affectionate respect?"
Elinor: "I confess...that every circumstance except one is in favour of their engagement, but that one is the total silence of both on the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every other."
Chapter 18
Marianne and Edward, discussing art and beauty.
Edward: "Remember, I have no knowldge in the picturesque, and I shall offend you by my ignorance and want of taste, if we come to particulars."
Chapter 19
Good advice
"You are are in a melancholy humour, and facny that anyone unlike yourself must be happy. But remember that the pain of parting from friends will be felt by everybody at times, whatever be their education or state. Know your own happiness."
Our New Nation
It has really been interesting to see how time has changed how we view history. Textbooks like this today have more history to cover, so they can't really go into much depth, despite there being more information readily available. Journals being found and all that jazz.
Whenever I read general history books, it's always been interesting to see what gets revealed about Mormonism. A lot of the ones that I read during my schooling talked about Joseph Smith and some of the trials they went through on their way to Nauvoo. They also lumped the Mormon Trail into the unit with the Oregon Trail, mentioning Brigham Young in passing. And that was the end of the coverage of Mormonism. Except for the obligatory discussion on polygamy, which I found amusing more often than not.
This book takes a different spin. Smith didn't even make it into the index. The trials of the early saints discussed were not the persecution that drove them from place to place. Rather, it was the trek across the country and their settling Utah and making it a state. Since there were fewer states in 1948 and less wars to discuss the history of, "Our New Nation" has been able to discuss how many of the states were settled and became states. I don't remember getting that from my history books. Then again, maybe I would have learned this things in school had I been paying attention.
[Quotes]
Anyone know of Cornelius Cox? Starting on page 149, they quote some excerpts from his journal traveling to California during the gold rush.
"There is one young lady with our company, a Miss Wayland from western Texas. She is about sixteen and quite a pretty girl. I have claimed kinship with her mother, whose maiden name was Cox. But she refuses to acknowledge me unless I will shave, which is a condition I cannot comply with."
p. 163 explains, perhaps, why history can be so hard to understand.
"The long continued story which history tells is divided into many short stories. Often these short stories tell about happenings which were going on at the same time."
___________________________________________
"Sense and Sensibility"
I won't comment on the plot or writing in general, since there have been plenty of Austen critics who are much more qualified to do such, but allow me to say that I do understand why Emma Thompson made Sir John a widow, even though his wife provides an ample parallel in the relationship between family. That, and his wife is (by her nature) a rather minor character.
[Quotes]
I'll quote by chapter, since there are probably as many versions as there are chapters.
Chapter 4
Elinor discussing her opinion of Edward with Marianne.
"...I have seen a great deal of him, have studied his sentiments, and heard his opinions on subjects of literature and taste; and, upon the whole, I venture to pronounce that his mind is well informed, his enjoyment of books exceeding great, his imagination lively, his observation just and correct, and his taste delicate and pure. His abilities in every respect improve as much upon acquaintance as his manners and person. At first sight, his address is certainly not striking; and his person can hardly be called handsome, till the expression of his eyes, which are uncommonly good, and teh general sweetness of his countenance is perceived. At present, I know him so well, that I think him really handsome; or, at least, almost so."
Less wordy: She finds him pretty on the outside because she thinks he's pretty on the inside.
Chapter 15, nearing the end
Elinor discussing Marianne's possible engagement to Willoughby with their mother.
Mrs. Dashwood: "I have not wanted syllables where actions have spoken so plainly....Have we not perfectly understood each other? Has not my consent been daily asked by his looks, his manner, his attentive and affectionate respect?"
Elinor: "I confess...that every circumstance except one is in favour of their engagement, but that one is the total silence of both on the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every other."
Chapter 18
Marianne and Edward, discussing art and beauty.
Edward: "Remember, I have no knowldge in the picturesque, and I shall offend you by my ignorance and want of taste, if we come to particulars."
Chapter 19
Good advice
"You are are in a melancholy humour, and facny that anyone unlike yourself must be happy. But remember that the pain of parting from friends will be felt by everybody at times, whatever be their education or state. Know your own happiness."
2009-06-28
Reading Journal
After over 2 months of reading, I finally finished "A Marvelouis Work and A Wonder." I'm going to pick out the quotes here and take it with me to church. The sisters said there was an investigator who might be interested in reading it, and I know my Visiting Teaching companion said she'd like to read it.
It can get dry and repetitive, but that's par for the course of a reference book. I realized about half way through it that it wasn't intended to be read the way I read it: cover to cover. The best way to read this book is by section. Use the table of contents to discover what you'd like to learn more about, and read a chapter at a time.
p. 305
"There are many faithful people who have done all they consistently could to prove themselves worthy of the choicest blessings of the Lord but how have been deprived the privilege of having children through no fault of their own. On the other hand, there are many who have borne children whose lives have been such that they will be entirely unworthy of them in the eternal worlds. The Lord has provided a millenium, during which time, no doubt, necessary adjustments will be made."
That is probably my most favorite passage from this entire book.
______________________________________________
I'm also continuing to read "Our New Nation." Which is a 7th grade history book from 1948.
Allow me to quote from the preface, or "Purpose and Plan of this Book," on page 5.
"The history contains frequent quotations from our leaders. Some of these hae been simplified to meet vocabulary requirements. The authors have also occasionally used conversations that might have taken place in order to make America's past more understandable and interesting to the pupil."
I managed to find this little gem on page 13, which I feel says a lot about history and about life. It's sentences like this that make me like reading books I wouldn't normally read. Call it "the brown sugar in the oatmeal," if you will. It's placed after George Washington has denied petitions to make him king, and the telling of people's reactions to that.
"People were beginning to understand that it might be as hard to keep freedom as it had been to win it."
Here's something page 15 of the book attributes to Benjamin Franklin during the Federal Convention (when the Founding Fathers were drawing up the Constitution). Considering the confession in the preface, I'm not sure how accurate that attribution is.
"The longer I live...the more I hae come to respect other men's opinions. For I have noticed that when the carpenter wishes to make a perfect joint, he has to plane a little from each plank. In that way he is able to bring them together in a tight and perfect joint. Let us do the same thing. Let us each be willing to give up some of the things we want for the good of all. For, gentlemen, what we need in these meetings is light, not heat."
p. 82. I have intentionally left some of the words as blanks to prove how history can repeat itself.
"[General _______] believed that the _____(a)____ had been helping the ___(b)____. So he captured a ____(a)___ fort and drove out the ___(a)____ soldiers. He pulled down the ___(a)____ flag and raised the American flag instead.
"When news of this reached __(a)___, the king and his officers in the ___(a)____ government were very angry. They demanded that General _______ be punished for going into ___(a)____ territory. Our country hummed with excitement. The papers were filled with talk of war.
"But our government insisted that the invasion of _______ had been necessary. It refused to punish General _______ or dismiss him from the army."
___________________________________________
This afternoon, I plan on watching "Sense and Sensibility" so that it'll be easier for me to plow through the book. I'll need to really zoom through one of the two in order to get a "purse book," since neither of the books I'm reading will physically fit into my purse. Oh, well, I guess that means I'll have to write on my breaks at work, huh?
It can get dry and repetitive, but that's par for the course of a reference book. I realized about half way through it that it wasn't intended to be read the way I read it: cover to cover. The best way to read this book is by section. Use the table of contents to discover what you'd like to learn more about, and read a chapter at a time.
p. 3
Quoting a pamphlet entitled "The Strength of the Mormon Position," by Elder Orson F. Whitney
"One day he said to me: You Mormons are all ignoramuses. You don't even know the strength of your own positionn....The issue is between Catholicism and Mormonism. If we are right, you are wrong; if you are right, we are wrong; and that's all there is to it. The Protestants haven't a leg to stand on. For, if we are wrong, they are wrong with us, since they were a part of us and went out from us. If we are right, they are apostates whom we cut off long ago."
p. 115
After citing John 16:7, 12-14
"[The Savior], his Father, and the Holy Ghost are three distinct personages, and that their oneness referred to in the scriptures is only oneness of purpose and desire, else why should Jesus pray unto his Father and promise that the Father would send another Comforter? There cannont be another unless there is already one. Jesus is the one Comforter, and surely he would not pray unto himself, asking that he himself send himself as 'another Comforter.'"p. 305
"There are many faithful people who have done all they consistently could to prove themselves worthy of the choicest blessings of the Lord but how have been deprived the privilege of having children through no fault of their own. On the other hand, there are many who have borne children whose lives have been such that they will be entirely unworthy of them in the eternal worlds. The Lord has provided a millenium, during which time, no doubt, necessary adjustments will be made."
That is probably my most favorite passage from this entire book.
______________________________________________
I'm also continuing to read "Our New Nation." Which is a 7th grade history book from 1948.
Allow me to quote from the preface, or "Purpose and Plan of this Book," on page 5.
"The history contains frequent quotations from our leaders. Some of these hae been simplified to meet vocabulary requirements. The authors have also occasionally used conversations that might have taken place in order to make America's past more understandable and interesting to the pupil."
I managed to find this little gem on page 13, which I feel says a lot about history and about life. It's sentences like this that make me like reading books I wouldn't normally read. Call it "the brown sugar in the oatmeal," if you will. It's placed after George Washington has denied petitions to make him king, and the telling of people's reactions to that.
"People were beginning to understand that it might be as hard to keep freedom as it had been to win it."
Here's something page 15 of the book attributes to Benjamin Franklin during the Federal Convention (when the Founding Fathers were drawing up the Constitution). Considering the confession in the preface, I'm not sure how accurate that attribution is.
"The longer I live...the more I hae come to respect other men's opinions. For I have noticed that when the carpenter wishes to make a perfect joint, he has to plane a little from each plank. In that way he is able to bring them together in a tight and perfect joint. Let us do the same thing. Let us each be willing to give up some of the things we want for the good of all. For, gentlemen, what we need in these meetings is light, not heat."
p. 82. I have intentionally left some of the words as blanks to prove how history can repeat itself.
"[General _______] believed that the _____(a)____ had been helping the ___(b)____. So he captured a ____(a)___ fort and drove out the ___(a)____ soldiers. He pulled down the ___(a)____ flag and raised the American flag instead.
"When news of this reached __(a)___, the king and his officers in the ___(a)____ government were very angry. They demanded that General _______ be punished for going into ___(a)____ territory. Our country hummed with excitement. The papers were filled with talk of war.
"But our government insisted that the invasion of _______ had been necessary. It refused to punish General _______ or dismiss him from the army."
___________________________________________
This afternoon, I plan on watching "Sense and Sensibility" so that it'll be easier for me to plow through the book. I'll need to really zoom through one of the two in order to get a "purse book," since neither of the books I'm reading will physically fit into my purse. Oh, well, I guess that means I'll have to write on my breaks at work, huh?
2009-06-19
Reading Journal
Technically, this should be dated for 09-06-18...
I'm fudging my cycle/rules a little bit.
I had no idea how close I was to finishing the Review. I sat down to read some this afternoon (Thursday) and all I had left was a book review (which made me want to read the book) and a couple of poems. There were some art pieces I didn't look too closely at because I just wanted to be finished with it.
I then read a Dilbert book this afternoon as my Random, so the next label on the cycle is another True, but I'm only about 75% finished with A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and would therefore be reading two books from the same category. I said I didn't want to do that because if I can read 3 books in the time it takes me to push through one (I anticipate it most often being a True), then I should stop pushing and put it down. But AMW&W is one that I want to fnish. One problem is that the font is so small, and it's made even smaller every time they block quote scriptures. Which is quite often. There's simply more text in it than there are in the other books I've read since starting.
I'm planning on reading the history book c. 1941 I got at a garage sale as my next True. So, I'll be reading two True at the same time. Although for different reasons, and they're really different genres. I'd consider the garage sale book almost comical.
I haven't decided on my next Old, though. Maybe Pride and Prejudice, since my next New is going to be Pride, Prejudice and Zombies. But I'd feel like I was wasting my time reading that, since I've already read it 2 or 3 times in the past 5 years. You know what; I'm going to the library to check for the Zombie book. I might just pick up another Austen book I haven't read yet. (Like Emma or Persuasion, probably whichever one's shorter or more available.)
Update: I picked up Sense and Sensibility because the library branch I went to only had 2 Austen's available: S&S and Northanger Abbey. I've seen the movie, time to read the book.
In list format, here's my reading rotation:
True 1: AMW&W
True 2: Our Nation's History (c. 1941)
Old: Sense & Sensibility
New: Pride, Prejudice and Zombies
That ought to keep me busy for a while.
*off to read*
I'm fudging my cycle/rules a little bit.
I had no idea how close I was to finishing the Review. I sat down to read some this afternoon (Thursday) and all I had left was a book review (which made me want to read the book) and a couple of poems. There were some art pieces I didn't look too closely at because I just wanted to be finished with it.
I then read a Dilbert book this afternoon as my Random, so the next label on the cycle is another True, but I'm only about 75% finished with A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and would therefore be reading two books from the same category. I said I didn't want to do that because if I can read 3 books in the time it takes me to push through one (I anticipate it most often being a True), then I should stop pushing and put it down. But AMW&W is one that I want to fnish. One problem is that the font is so small, and it's made even smaller every time they block quote scriptures. Which is quite often. There's simply more text in it than there are in the other books I've read since starting.
I'm planning on reading the history book c. 1941 I got at a garage sale as my next True. So, I'll be reading two True at the same time. Although for different reasons, and they're really different genres. I'd consider the garage sale book almost comical.
I haven't decided on my next Old, though. Maybe Pride and Prejudice, since my next New is going to be Pride, Prejudice and Zombies. But I'd feel like I was wasting my time reading that, since I've already read it 2 or 3 times in the past 5 years. You know what; I'm going to the library to check for the Zombie book. I might just pick up another Austen book I haven't read yet. (Like Emma or Persuasion, probably whichever one's shorter or more available.)
Update: I picked up Sense and Sensibility because the library branch I went to only had 2 Austen's available: S&S and Northanger Abbey. I've seen the movie, time to read the book.
In list format, here's my reading rotation:
True 1: AMW&W
True 2: Our Nation's History (c. 1941)
Old: Sense & Sensibility
New: Pride, Prejudice and Zombies
That ought to keep me busy for a while.
*off to read*
2009-06-11
Writing Journal
The past few weeks/monthish, I've come up with some good lines/images and have tried some of them out in poems, but I don't like the poems as much as I like the lines. Some of them I have yet to try out, so I'm making a list. Because, sometimes, I like lists. Steal any of these, and someone else will kill you.
- "Like a rock in a river, he won't roll on his own."
- a bridge being repairable from only one side
- "You earn what you want by learning to love what you're given."
- "...desire to be consumed."
- purposes for different bone structures
- Since there is no limit to the mistakes we can make, there is no limit to the rectifying of those mistakes (in God's eyes)
- "I'm musing you."
- Image: hiking packs, taking lead out of ours and putting into the one Christ is carrying.
Christ's burden:my burden::coin purse:Mary Poppin's carpet bag - "So busy looking back, I didn't see what was ahead."
- Meaning of "Grace shall be as your day"
- "He heard her voice across the room/and perked up in nervousness"
Just now, this very instant, while parading through my notes and listening to Airborne Toxic Event on youtube, I pulled out this haiku.
Dependency
Sans emotion, things
Are crystal clear. Desire
Disguises the truth.
2009-06-02
Writing Journal
Last summer, I was inspired by some unusual noise in a Sacrament meeting. Most of the time, there's dead silence in a Single's Ward during that ordinance. But, this one time, in Sacrament meeting, there were a bunch of people and everyone uses the plastic cups instead of the old paper ones now. The noise was distracting until I found symbolism in it. Then it became beautiful.
Ever since then, I've been trying to write a poem about it. I don't know that I've ever been successful. I never feel that any of them are finished. Like this one I wrote during the Lenten Writing Challenge.
I came up with a haiku about it today. Title is WIP (Work in Progress), as usual.
Forgiveness
Plastic cups fall into
The tray, sounding of sweet, pure
Forgiveness
Ever since then, I've been trying to write a poem about it. I don't know that I've ever been successful. I never feel that any of them are finished. Like this one I wrote during the Lenten Writing Challenge.
I came up with a haiku about it today. Title is WIP (Work in Progress), as usual.
Forgiveness
Plastic cups fall into
The tray, sounding of sweet, pure
Forgiveness
2009-05-21
Reading Journal
I am loving, loving, loving the prose in the BCR. Except for maybe the fiction contest winner. But the last fiction and non-fiction pieces I read were both amazing!
"Accordian Lessons"
When I told one of my roommates that I really liked this story, she asked, "What's it about?" I realized that when most people ask that, they don't really want to know what it's about in a philosophical sense; they want to know what happens in the story. That answer is: not much. A youngish woman, living on her own, takes accordian lessons and makes an awkward visit to her mom and baby half-sister. Big whoop.
But the way the story probes into human nature is astounding! How this woman learns to shrink her bubble and get intimate with people she barely knows is almost inspirational. (FYI: by "intimate" I don't mean "sexual," although the end scene might be risque for the extremely conservative reader.)
"Changing Seasons"
The author of this should totally hook up with the fictional protagonist in "Accordian Lessons." They're like peas and carrots.
Again, this is a piece that explores the depths of human emotions and other such intangibles. If I could say this is "about" anything, I'd say that it's one man's perspective on growing older. A perspective that I thought, at first, was unusual, until I thought about all the people I know who I think would find themselves nodding and agreeing through the whole piece. Just like I did. Reminds me of the line from my favorite black and white movie: It's a Wonderful Life. "You were born older."
"Accordian Lessons"
When I told one of my roommates that I really liked this story, she asked, "What's it about?" I realized that when most people ask that, they don't really want to know what it's about in a philosophical sense; they want to know what happens in the story. That answer is: not much. A youngish woman, living on her own, takes accordian lessons and makes an awkward visit to her mom and baby half-sister. Big whoop.
But the way the story probes into human nature is astounding! How this woman learns to shrink her bubble and get intimate with people she barely knows is almost inspirational. (FYI: by "intimate" I don't mean "sexual," although the end scene might be risque for the extremely conservative reader.)
"Changing Seasons"
The author of this should totally hook up with the fictional protagonist in "Accordian Lessons." They're like peas and carrots.
Again, this is a piece that explores the depths of human emotions and other such intangibles. If I could say this is "about" anything, I'd say that it's one man's perspective on growing older. A perspective that I thought, at first, was unusual, until I thought about all the people I know who I think would find themselves nodding and agreeing through the whole piece. Just like I did. Reminds me of the line from my favorite black and white movie: It's a Wonderful Life. "You were born older."
2009-05-13
Writing Journal
Frustrated.
That's what I am right now. I'm feeling so motivated and more inspired to work on some prose. So why am I not? Partially because I want to really work on LHM, but that isn't available to me at the moment. Why is it not available to me? Because Adam has my computer, that's why. Why does he have my computer? Because he's a computer "doctor" and Lucy's in a coma. Has been for months. And he hasn't volunteered any information on how she's doing. And it's too late in the evening to ask him. He likes to go to bed early. Stupid smart kid.
Over a month ago, I came up with the ending for LHM and wrote it out on paper. I want it to be in place. I want to flesh it out, which I can't do very successfully with old school methods. The speed of my fingers on a keyboard is much closer to the speed of my thoughts than the speed of a pen or pencil in my fingers. If news is bad tomorrow (like he's tried and failed more than miserably), I may give up and type it out as a fake-out entry in this blog. That way I can label it, title it, save it and just not publish it. (It wouldn't be ready for external critiquing.)
The reason I haven't done that already is because I'm afraid of the hassle I wouldn't feel like going through when it comes to combining them......I'm making excuses again, aren't I?
Another reason I really want to write? I've got a new CD I want to try out in the writing realm. I've got high hopes for it. That's what I'll probably do tomorrow: clean the kitchen (that's my chore for the period, even though that hasn't been made explicitly clear) and write. Oh, and hit the bank so I know how much I can spend on tickets for Vancouver 2010.
That's what I am right now. I'm feeling so motivated and more inspired to work on some prose. So why am I not? Partially because I want to really work on LHM, but that isn't available to me at the moment. Why is it not available to me? Because Adam has my computer, that's why. Why does he have my computer? Because he's a computer "doctor" and Lucy's in a coma. Has been for months. And he hasn't volunteered any information on how she's doing. And it's too late in the evening to ask him. He likes to go to bed early. Stupid smart kid.
Over a month ago, I came up with the ending for LHM and wrote it out on paper. I want it to be in place. I want to flesh it out, which I can't do very successfully with old school methods. The speed of my fingers on a keyboard is much closer to the speed of my thoughts than the speed of a pen or pencil in my fingers. If news is bad tomorrow (like he's tried and failed more than miserably), I may give up and type it out as a fake-out entry in this blog. That way I can label it, title it, save it and just not publish it. (It wouldn't be ready for external critiquing.)
The reason I haven't done that already is because I'm afraid of the hassle I wouldn't feel like going through when it comes to combining them......I'm making excuses again, aren't I?
Another reason I really want to write? I've got a new CD I want to try out in the writing realm. I've got high hopes for it. That's what I'll probably do tomorrow: clean the kitchen (that's my chore for the period, even though that hasn't been made explicitly clear) and write. Oh, and hit the bank so I know how much I can spend on tickets for Vancouver 2010.
2009-05-11
Writing Journal
You know those poems you read in school and the teacher asks, "What do you think the author was thinking when this poem was penned?" Well, when students and other sources would come up with multiple possibilities for interpretation, I had a hard time believing they could all be applicable. How can someone write a poem that's about more than one thing? Sure, I believe more than one interpretation can be applied to something written, but how can they know that while they're writing it?
I still don't know how it's possible, but writing this poem helped me figure out that it is.
Official inspiration for the following, untitled hiaku, (which I define as my surroundings during the conception and development of the poem or other piece of writing) was a series of quotations I discovered while reading a little something not on my lit list. Feel free to assume whatever you like to regarding what this poem is "about;" I developed no less than three alternative interpretations myself, so chances are you could be right about something.
As always with my untitled work, feel free to suggest something.
I still don't know how it's possible, but writing this poem helped me figure out that it is.
Official inspiration for the following, untitled hiaku, (which I define as my surroundings during the conception and development of the poem or other piece of writing) was a series of quotations I discovered while reading a little something not on my lit list. Feel free to assume whatever you like to regarding what this poem is "about;" I developed no less than three alternative interpretations myself, so chances are you could be right about something.
As always with my untitled work, feel free to suggest something.
Wrong falls upon my
Sinful head, then into your
Ever-loving hands.
2009-05-03
Reading Journal
I finished "Circle of Friends." Amazing, as always. Didn't take very long, mostly because I spent the bulk of Thursday in bed with it. I had forgotten a lot about what happened, since it had been so long since I last read it. (About 5 years, at least.) But as I read, I started to remember more.
One of my managers at work saw me reading it and mentioned she liked that one, too. I saw her on Friday and told her I had finished it. She said she'd always wish Binchy had written a sequel to it, because she wants to know what happens with Benny and Jack.
Spoiler Alert
We both agreed that we were glad that Benny and Jack aren't together at the end of the book. But we disagreed about whether or not they would eventually get together later on. She thought they would, but I said I thought Benny was too smart for that. I think she realized what it would take to keep him around, and she wasn't willing to do that. It's not the kind of person she was, and she was too smart of a gal to go changing for the likes of him.
Spoiler's Over
I got my copy of this year's Briar Cliff Review last Friday. Ironically, I got it about the time I was visiting Briar Cliff, hoping to catch the Head Editor. Managed to catch the Poetry Editor, and I may mail some submissions out this August. Fiddle with "The Gleamer and the Thief" so it's either one page or two. It would drive me nuts to have it any other way. I'd also want to look through some of my poetry and find 2 more that I could submit along with it.
Someday, I'd like to write something on Calvary Cemetery and submit it to the Review. Something like that would be a prize for their Siouxland section. The only problem is I'm not sure what direction I want to take. The story of how I found it is rather interesting, but it's not really enough for a feature. Trust me, I've tried. I'd almost have to include all of the experiences I've had there to fill up two of their pages. (They use a pretty small font and single spacing.) Doing that would certainly provide me with enough challenges in terms of coming up with transitioning between those experiences, though. So many decisions to make with that project! Is it any wonder my sandwich book has been tabled?
I haven't read very many things in the Review yet. Just the Fiction and Poetry Contest Winners. Wasn't all that impressed with the Fiction one; it just didn't seem long enough. There wasn't enough there. The action happened much faster than I was prepared for, but the idea of it was nice. The poem was good, though. I really enjoyed the ending. Wish I had it right next to me to quote it, though.
One of my managers at work saw me reading it and mentioned she liked that one, too. I saw her on Friday and told her I had finished it. She said she'd always wish Binchy had written a sequel to it, because she wants to know what happens with Benny and Jack.
Spoiler Alert
We both agreed that we were glad that Benny and Jack aren't together at the end of the book. But we disagreed about whether or not they would eventually get together later on. She thought they would, but I said I thought Benny was too smart for that. I think she realized what it would take to keep him around, and she wasn't willing to do that. It's not the kind of person she was, and she was too smart of a gal to go changing for the likes of him.
Spoiler's Over
I got my copy of this year's Briar Cliff Review last Friday. Ironically, I got it about the time I was visiting Briar Cliff, hoping to catch the Head Editor. Managed to catch the Poetry Editor, and I may mail some submissions out this August. Fiddle with "The Gleamer and the Thief" so it's either one page or two. It would drive me nuts to have it any other way. I'd also want to look through some of my poetry and find 2 more that I could submit along with it.
Someday, I'd like to write something on Calvary Cemetery and submit it to the Review. Something like that would be a prize for their Siouxland section. The only problem is I'm not sure what direction I want to take. The story of how I found it is rather interesting, but it's not really enough for a feature. Trust me, I've tried. I'd almost have to include all of the experiences I've had there to fill up two of their pages. (They use a pretty small font and single spacing.) Doing that would certainly provide me with enough challenges in terms of coming up with transitioning between those experiences, though. So many decisions to make with that project! Is it any wonder my sandwich book has been tabled?
I haven't read very many things in the Review yet. Just the Fiction and Poetry Contest Winners. Wasn't all that impressed with the Fiction one; it just didn't seem long enough. There wasn't enough there. The action happened much faster than I was prepared for, but the idea of it was nice. The poem was good, though. I really enjoyed the ending. Wish I had it right next to me to quote it, though.
2009-04-17
Reading Journal
I finished up "Ender's Game" the other day. And I absolutely loved it! Definitely worth a re-read sometime in the future. Brian suggested the next book in the series, but from the way it ended, I'm not sure I'd enjoy the next one as much as I enjoyed this one. Mainly because it was the suspense that I enjoyed most. Here are some quotes I enjoyed from the last part of the book:
p. 177
"I'll become exactly the tool you want me to be, said Ender silently, but at least I won't be fooled into it. I'll do it because I choose to, not because you tricked me..."
p. 193
"...These are your advantages. Your disadvantage is that you will always, always be outnumbered, and after each battle your enemy will learn more about you, how to fight you, and those changes will be put into effect instantly."
Ender waited for his conclusion.
"...instead of mindlessly following these same patterns, I will be controlling the enemy simulation. At first you will see easy situations that you are expected to win handily. Learn from them, because I will always be there, one step ahead of you, programming more difficult and advanced patterns...so that your next battle is more difficult, so that you are pushed to the limit of your abilities."
__________________________
Having finished one book, that means it was time to move on to another one, a True one. (Or, rather, one that falls into the True category.) I threw the plans I had out the window and went with "A Marvelous Work and Wonder" by LeGrand Richards. You can tell the copy I have is old but unread, and that made me sad. So I decided to change it. This will be my work book. (The book I take with me to work.)
In the interest of efficiency and unwasted time, I decided a while ago that it would be unacceptable to be reading two books of the same category. That, and it defeats the purpose of the cyclic categories, which is to provide seashmore with some variety in her reading. If I finish 3 other books before I finish one, it shall remain unfinished. So I'm reshelving "One Thing..."
Which left a position open in my reading schedule. I pulled down an old favorite, in the spirit of reading something "old" (which I have expanded to mean "familiar," either to myself or a respectable canon). Maeve Binchey's "Circle of Friends." Some of you may have seen the movie, but I recall the book being better. It's rather long, but it moves quickly. And it would go perfect with some Celtic Woman. mmmmmmmm...............*drools*
p. 177
"I'll become exactly the tool you want me to be, said Ender silently, but at least I won't be fooled into it. I'll do it because I choose to, not because you tricked me..."
p. 193
"...These are your advantages. Your disadvantage is that you will always, always be outnumbered, and after each battle your enemy will learn more about you, how to fight you, and those changes will be put into effect instantly."
Ender waited for his conclusion.
"...instead of mindlessly following these same patterns, I will be controlling the enemy simulation. At first you will see easy situations that you are expected to win handily. Learn from them, because I will always be there, one step ahead of you, programming more difficult and advanced patterns...so that your next battle is more difficult, so that you are pushed to the limit of your abilities."
__________________________
Having finished one book, that means it was time to move on to another one, a True one. (Or, rather, one that falls into the True category.) I threw the plans I had out the window and went with "A Marvelous Work and Wonder" by LeGrand Richards. You can tell the copy I have is old but unread, and that made me sad. So I decided to change it. This will be my work book. (The book I take with me to work.)
In the interest of efficiency and unwasted time, I decided a while ago that it would be unacceptable to be reading two books of the same category. That, and it defeats the purpose of the cyclic categories, which is to provide seashmore with some variety in her reading. If I finish 3 other books before I finish one, it shall remain unfinished. So I'm reshelving "One Thing..."
Which left a position open in my reading schedule. I pulled down an old favorite, in the spirit of reading something "old" (which I have expanded to mean "familiar," either to myself or a respectable canon). Maeve Binchey's "Circle of Friends." Some of you may have seen the movie, but I recall the book being better. It's rather long, but it moves quickly. And it would go perfect with some Celtic Woman. mmmmmmmm...............*drools*
2009-04-08
Reading Journal
I am really liking Ender's Game. Is it my favorite book? Probably not. But is it worth my reading again? Most definitely. I should be moving through it faster, though. I'm sure I would have finished it this weekend had I not been feeling a little carsick.
What I really like about this book is it's ability to be a mind boggler if you give it that opportunity. Or you can take it as a light read. Absolutely fabulous, and I can't wait to tell the friend who got it for me that I like it. I told one of my managers today that I was liking it (she saw it sticking out of my purse) and she said she couldn't stand it. But that her husband is a huge Orson Scott Card fan; has all of Card's books in hard copy and autographed.
I wish I'd have gone through or kept track of some of my favorite quotes. As it is, all I've got are these from page 26
"Human beings are free except when humanity needs them."
And these from 162 and 163, respectively:
"Real respect takes longer than official respect."
"Perhaps it's impossible to wear an identity without becoming what you pretend to be."
What I really like about this book is it's ability to be a mind boggler if you give it that opportunity. Or you can take it as a light read. Absolutely fabulous, and I can't wait to tell the friend who got it for me that I like it. I told one of my managers today that I was liking it (she saw it sticking out of my purse) and she said she couldn't stand it. But that her husband is a huge Orson Scott Card fan; has all of Card's books in hard copy and autographed.
I wish I'd have gone through or kept track of some of my favorite quotes. As it is, all I've got are these from page 26
It isn't the world at stake, Ender. Just us. Just humankind....As a
species, we have evolved to survive. And the way we do it is by straining
and straining and, at last, every few generations, giving birth to genius.
The one who invents the wheel. And light. And flight. The one
who builds a city, a nation, an empire.
"Human beings are free except when humanity needs them."
And these from 162 and 163, respectively:
"Real respect takes longer than official respect."
"Perhaps it's impossible to wear an identity without becoming what you pretend to be."
2009-04-01
Writing Journal (Day ##)
I don't remember which day I wrote this on. Maybe Thursday, since it falls on a page between something I wrote on Wednesday and something I wrote on Saturday. And I seem to remember writing it while eating a sandwich on break, which I didn't do on Friday because I didn't work that day.
But I've realized that it's not necessarily one poem every day, but rather 40 poems in 40 days. So there's an amendment to the challenge, halfway through it. See what Shania Twain has to say about women changing minds, mmkay?
Deliciousness
My mouth wants more
To chew over;
My brain, less.
My mind is longing to escape
To the flavors
Brewing on my tongue.
A habitual exhaustion
And peaceful yearning
Always follow the joyful bliss.
I try to slow the excitement
And savor each tender tonguing,
But the excitement is overwhelming.
But I've realized that it's not necessarily one poem every day, but rather 40 poems in 40 days. So there's an amendment to the challenge, halfway through it. See what Shania Twain has to say about women changing minds, mmkay?
Deliciousness
My mouth wants more
To chew over;
My brain, less.
My mind is longing to escape
To the flavors
Brewing on my tongue.
A habitual exhaustion
And peaceful yearning
Always follow the joyful bliss.
I try to slow the excitement
And savor each tender tonguing,
But the excitement is overwhelming.
2009-03-26
Reading/Writing Journal (Day 28)
Finished "Draglines" tonight. Whoo-hoo!
I just about laughed when I saw the title of the final poem in the book: "Peonies." Considering that's what the poem I wrote for Day 27 started off with. The content of the poem would be nice: I'd love for the parent with the peonies would only talk about what's growing. I love the look of peonies--my mom's get huge--but I couldn't stand all those black ants! The way they defile the blooms disgusts me.
"Winter Counts" had a really interesting theme at the end of it: history in reverse. The narrator is looking at a a buffalo hide in which Native Americans mark the years and depict stories of their people. I think my favorite lines from this poem are the first three in the final stanza: "But when these winter counts are read backwards,/the buffalo multiply, prairie schooners are driven away,/and the land-stakes are replanted with bur oaks."
It reminded me of a scene in my favorite childhood book: Bridge to Terabithia (hm...if I have twin girls, I might name them Tera and Tabitha). Jess and Miss Burke go to a museum in D.C. and Jess is both frightened and fascinated by a three-dimensional scene of Native American life. So I opened the book to page 100, and discovered the scene is only two paragraphs. Considering I haven't read that book in a long time, it's amazing to think I remembered that much about it. Although, I have read it dozens of times. I love it. Actually, I think I read it in late 2007. And I cried, like I always do. At least one tear.
But now I can begin "Ender's Game" by Orson Scott Card. I read the acknowledgements (since I'd rather be acknowledged for helping an author than actually be one) and the first paragraph of the introduction. Why only the first paragraph? Because that one ends as follows: "the novel stands on its own, and if you skip this intro and go straight to the story, I not only won't stand in your way, I'll even agree with you!"
Sorry Card, I couldn't help but also read the final paragraph. Which is poetry in the form of prose.
I just about laughed when I saw the title of the final poem in the book: "Peonies." Considering that's what the poem I wrote for Day 27 started off with. The content of the poem would be nice: I'd love for the parent with the peonies would only talk about what's growing. I love the look of peonies--my mom's get huge--but I couldn't stand all those black ants! The way they defile the blooms disgusts me.
"Winter Counts" had a really interesting theme at the end of it: history in reverse. The narrator is looking at a a buffalo hide in which Native Americans mark the years and depict stories of their people. I think my favorite lines from this poem are the first three in the final stanza: "But when these winter counts are read backwards,/the buffalo multiply, prairie schooners are driven away,/and the land-stakes are replanted with bur oaks."
It reminded me of a scene in my favorite childhood book: Bridge to Terabithia (hm...if I have twin girls, I might name them Tera and Tabitha). Jess and Miss Burke go to a museum in D.C. and Jess is both frightened and fascinated by a three-dimensional scene of Native American life. So I opened the book to page 100, and discovered the scene is only two paragraphs. Considering I haven't read that book in a long time, it's amazing to think I remembered that much about it. Although, I have read it dozens of times. I love it. Actually, I think I read it in late 2007. And I cried, like I always do. At least one tear.
But now I can begin "Ender's Game" by Orson Scott Card. I read the acknowledgements (since I'd rather be acknowledged for helping an author than actually be one) and the first paragraph of the introduction. Why only the first paragraph? Because that one ends as follows: "the novel stands on its own, and if you skip this intro and go straight to the story, I not only won't stand in your way, I'll even agree with you!"
Sorry Card, I couldn't help but also read the final paragraph. Which is poetry in the form of prose.
The story of Ender's Game is not this book, though it has that title emblazoned on it. The story is one that you and I will construct together in our memory. If the story means anything to you at all, then when you remember it afterward, think of it, not as something I created, but rather something that we made together.
I hope my copy of it fits well enough in my purse to take to work. Otherwise I might not finish it before Good Friday, when I want to start whatever is next on my list. (I can't remember right now, but I know it's documented and owned by me.)
Oh, and I feel inclined to point out that the back jacket said the name of one of Ender's siblings (I think it's a sister) is Valentine. Which is likely to be a tribute to the last sci-fi/fantasy book I read: Stranger in a Strange Land. Valentine Michael Smith is the name of the man from Mars.
_________________________________________
Driving home from Institute, I looked over into the lane next to me and noticed the hubcaps on the car passing me as I slowed to get on the on-ramp looked like they were moving backwards, when they were clearly moving forward. Within a mile, I had decided to change the radio station and ended up on one of the public radio stations. I have no idea which one or what show was currently on, much less what artist was being featured. And, part of me wishes I cared because I'd like to listen to the song whose ending helped inspire part of today's poem.
Here are the lines I scribbled while driving. (Yes, I know it's dangerous, but if you saw the poor manner in which they're written, you would conclude that I was concentrating on driving. And I always keep a pen within arm's reach while I'm in the car.)
"Wheels moving forward/Looking like backward/Sounding despairing/yet full of hope & joy"
Dichotomy
Forward, moving motions
Make the wheels appear in reverse.
Those atop the spinning circles
Know which way they're headed.
A song comes on, and the
Volume goes up.
The listener can hear
A high run and a low line,
With a gentle, hurried rhythm.
It sounds like something old
But is new in every moment.
The song is sounding despairing
With undertones of hope and joy.
2009-03-25
Writing Journal (Day 27)
I was listening to Pink Floyd, and the song "High Hopes" came on. Which I describe as a song about the reminiscenes of childhood. Got me to thinking about the 7 kids I grew up with. Man, we had some good times! I could write an entire book of poems about it...hmm...add that to my list of books to write! Here's the start of it: (although, if I do compile a chapbook, I'll probably want this title for the book and not any individual poem.)
Averbeck Alley
The black ants crawl
In large quantities
Over the peonies in the
Tractor tire that tried to be a sandbox.
It managed to succeed
In giving us a place to play chicken
And stir up Stink Soup.
Popcorn kernels, old rain water,
Random berries, greens, tree bark, and
Dirt in a pickle bucket.
I wonder if words
Under rotting stairs get faded.
Sitting on cemented gravel,
We wrote things unmentionable.
In black, permanant marker.
The mulberry tree that was
So easy to climb
Still bears the summer-long jump rope scar.
The snow bush, love pines, and yellow worm tree
Have all been ripped out by the roots.
As has the black walnut tree.
We used to climb high
Up that one on Friday the 13th,
Jumping down, tempting fate.
Thought most of the five wire lines are gone,
The crossbars to the clothesline pole remain.
Are there any footprints
One the side of the garage
From any recent flippers?
It's still a clear shot between those garages
To the hill of horse bones.
Strange that we never found any while
Digging to China.
That homemade ditch-hole made a sweet jump.
The grass grows greener over The Pit.
______________________________
This is pretty closed to being finished! Go me! I still want to work on that last stazna, though. I am absolutely in love with that last line, not only because it's true but because it pays homage to the inspiration. And symbolizes how the evidence of 8 childhoods is still slightly visibile to those who know it was once there.
Averbeck Alley
The black ants crawl
In large quantities
Over the peonies in the
Tractor tire that tried to be a sandbox.
It managed to succeed
In giving us a place to play chicken
And stir up Stink Soup.
Popcorn kernels, old rain water,
Random berries, greens, tree bark, and
Dirt in a pickle bucket.
I wonder if words
Under rotting stairs get faded.
Sitting on cemented gravel,
We wrote things unmentionable.
In black, permanant marker.
The mulberry tree that was
So easy to climb
Still bears the summer-long jump rope scar.
The snow bush, love pines, and yellow worm tree
Have all been ripped out by the roots.
As has the black walnut tree.
We used to climb high
Up that one on Friday the 13th,
Jumping down, tempting fate.
Thought most of the five wire lines are gone,
The crossbars to the clothesline pole remain.
Are there any footprints
One the side of the garage
From any recent flippers?
It's still a clear shot between those garages
To the hill of horse bones.
Strange that we never found any while
Digging to China.
That homemade ditch-hole made a sweet jump.
The grass grows greener over The Pit.
______________________________
This is pretty closed to being finished! Go me! I still want to work on that last stazna, though. I am absolutely in love with that last line, not only because it's true but because it pays homage to the inspiration. And symbolizes how the evidence of 8 childhoods is still slightly visibile to those who know it was once there.
2009-03-24
Writing Journal (Day 26)
This weekend, I had some pretty dang good ideas for some pretty dang good poems. And I didn't even write the ideas down, much less turn the ideas into poems. Now, they're gone. This is a stream-of-consciousness that developed from that.
Lost
I had all this inspiration the other day,
And laid it all aside.
As punishment, I guess,
Nothing came today.
I'd like this to be longer,
But there's nothing more to write.
I've failed to use
The triggers pulled for me.
Now the gun is pointed elsewhere.
(What's with all
This violent imagery, anyway?
Am I trying to tell myself something?)
Maybe I do need a good grounding.
One with an Enforcer!
So ground me, pound me,
Beat the sense into my skull.
No-not the skull!
Elsewhere,
Somewhere secret,
Where the words need to be
Drawn and quartered-
Pulled apart and cheered at.
Lost
I had all this inspiration the other day,
And laid it all aside.
As punishment, I guess,
Nothing came today.
I'd like this to be longer,
But there's nothing more to write.
I've failed to use
The triggers pulled for me.
Now the gun is pointed elsewhere.
(What's with all
This violent imagery, anyway?
Am I trying to tell myself something?)
Maybe I do need a good grounding.
One with an Enforcer!
So ground me, pound me,
Beat the sense into my skull.
No-not the skull!
Elsewhere,
Somewhere secret,
Where the words need to be
Drawn and quartered-
Pulled apart and cheered at.
Writing Journal (Day 25)
Once I was challenged by a Creative Writing teacher to try and write something bad. Back then, it was harder than I thought. I tried it again on Day 25, so this is supposed to be chock-full of cliche's and obvious attempts at rhymes. It was surprisingly easy. Maybe that's not a good sign...
My Son
I raised you up,
They shot you down.
I saw you from my body,
Now I'll see you in the ground.
Your friends,
They could not save you.
But they have done enough-
What more is there to do?
They got you into guns,
They got you into gangs,
They got you into drugs,
They all but said the "bang!"
__________________________
I've got to be honest; I've been failing miserably at this challenge. Hardly any of these poems are finished. So I'm really only starting a poem every day, which is not the same as writing a poem every day.
My Son
I raised you up,
They shot you down.
I saw you from my body,
Now I'll see you in the ground.
Your friends,
They could not save you.
But they have done enough-
What more is there to do?
They got you into guns,
They got you into gangs,
They got you into drugs,
They all but said the "bang!"
__________________________
I've got to be honest; I've been failing miserably at this challenge. Hardly any of these poems are finished. So I'm really only starting a poem every day, which is not the same as writing a poem every day.
Writing Journal (Day 24)
I went somewhere on Saturday...where was it? I was driving home while it was dark and rainy. Seriously...where was I coming back from? Or maybe I skipped a day and wrote two on Day 25 instead. I think that's what happened. Either way, it's not one of my best...
Stormy Ride
Dirty rain
Streaks the glass.
I crack the window
To take in the scent
Of the pavement as I pass.
The beautiful reflection
Of a double green
Captures my gaze, and
I almost miss my turn.
Lightning is beautiful,
Surrounded by dark, wet silence.
Stormy Ride
Dirty rain
Streaks the glass.
I crack the window
To take in the scent
Of the pavement as I pass.
The beautiful reflection
Of a double green
Captures my gaze, and
I almost miss my turn.
Lightning is beautiful,
Surrounded by dark, wet silence.
Writing Journal (Day 23)
Day 23 was a Friday, and was easily one of the worst days I've had at work. Summing it up (full story here): a good friend of mine yelled at me. Loudly. Over nothing.
On the plus side, the calm I was able to maintain (through little help of my own) gave me a story for the lesson I had to teach on Sunday as well as this poem.
Smoldering
The purposes of evil are frustrated
When you remain calm.
To not quiver with fear
Or shout back with defensive anger
Is to throw a brick wall
In the face of damnation.
Standing firm in the
Truth of Love
Will harrow the barrel of hate
That is staring you down.
Lashing back and
Punching the abuse down
Will cause it to
Rise higher with fury;
Remaining calm allows the
Fire to burn bright but
Quickly upon the pyre.
On the plus side, the calm I was able to maintain (through little help of my own) gave me a story for the lesson I had to teach on Sunday as well as this poem.
Smoldering
The purposes of evil are frustrated
When you remain calm.
To not quiver with fear
Or shout back with defensive anger
Is to throw a brick wall
In the face of damnation.
Standing firm in the
Truth of Love
Will harrow the barrel of hate
That is staring you down.
Lashing back and
Punching the abuse down
Will cause it to
Rise higher with fury;
Remaining calm allows the
Fire to burn bright but
Quickly upon the pyre.
2009-03-20
Reading/Writing Journal (Day 22)
"Draglines" is pretty great. I'll have to go back through the BCR's and read what work of his we published. (I think it might have been fiction.) A lot of his themes would be really familiar to the parents of the Baby Boomers. He takes some really cool perspectives.
How I came about this book:
Patrick Hick's came and did a reading at BCU and had some books for sale. Maybe he only had the one chapbook, maybe he had more and I could only afford the chapbook; I don't remember. Anyway, I had him autograph my copy. Last night, I found something I had written on the back page of the chapbook that must have been something he said during his reading: Inspiration is that moment when you see things in a way no one else sees them. Totally love that! Thanks, former seashmore, for documenting that quote.
Some of my favorite poems are:
Lipstick Traces
The Corpse
The Four Elements
The Unimagined
Some quotes (which means, according to the copyright, that this is to be considered a critical article)
The Four Elements
"amid the geometry of the dead."
"The horizon is a peaceful monotone,"
This poem really struck me and I'm a huge fan of the symmetry between the second and third stanzas. It highlights how people all over are simultaneously different and the same. From an individual basis to a general one.
The Unimagined
"At the lighting of each dawn,/he ['my imaginary friend'] collects my old dreams/and carts them away."
No wonder I can't remember some of my dreams! A forgotten imaginary friend has stolen them away! (My imaginary friend is so forgotten and long gone that I don't remember having one. Unless Jonathon Crom has forever been a powerful figment of my imagination that once left me alone. I don't have my old school class pictures from elementary school to prove that he really existed; they're in Wisconsin.)
________________________________
The other day, we rearranged our front room. The couch fits perfectly in the little space in front of the windows. Which means it faces the stairs. Not a big fan of staring at the stairs, but it might grow on me. Of course, it would grow faster if we weren't going to be storing a wedding dress from the banister so my roommate's sister's fiancee doesn't see it. Keep in mind my roommates and I are all 100% single, "with no prospects that anyone can detect." (Utah Philips) Last night, I sat on the couch and wrote this poem:
The Stairs
As much as I'll hate
Staring at the stairs,
I suppose it beats
The table and folding chairs.
Soon the white dress
Will be hung
As a constant reminder
Of what is to come.
The struggles we'll
Have with their troubles;
How there will be triples,
Not doubles.
That looming bag
From the stairs--
We'll try to hide it
To stop the ripping of our hairs,
But it will
Be of no use.
We'll all still know
How men are obtuse.
How I came about this book:
Patrick Hick's came and did a reading at BCU and had some books for sale. Maybe he only had the one chapbook, maybe he had more and I could only afford the chapbook; I don't remember. Anyway, I had him autograph my copy. Last night, I found something I had written on the back page of the chapbook that must have been something he said during his reading: Inspiration is that moment when you see things in a way no one else sees them. Totally love that! Thanks, former seashmore, for documenting that quote.
Some of my favorite poems are:
Lipstick Traces
The Corpse
The Four Elements
The Unimagined
Some quotes (which means, according to the copyright, that this is to be considered a critical article)
The Four Elements
"amid the geometry of the dead."
"The horizon is a peaceful monotone,"
This poem really struck me and I'm a huge fan of the symmetry between the second and third stanzas. It highlights how people all over are simultaneously different and the same. From an individual basis to a general one.
The Unimagined
"At the lighting of each dawn,/he ['my imaginary friend'] collects my old dreams/and carts them away."
No wonder I can't remember some of my dreams! A forgotten imaginary friend has stolen them away! (My imaginary friend is so forgotten and long gone that I don't remember having one. Unless Jonathon Crom has forever been a powerful figment of my imagination that once left me alone. I don't have my old school class pictures from elementary school to prove that he really existed; they're in Wisconsin.)
________________________________
The other day, we rearranged our front room. The couch fits perfectly in the little space in front of the windows. Which means it faces the stairs. Not a big fan of staring at the stairs, but it might grow on me. Of course, it would grow faster if we weren't going to be storing a wedding dress from the banister so my roommate's sister's fiancee doesn't see it. Keep in mind my roommates and I are all 100% single, "with no prospects that anyone can detect." (Utah Philips) Last night, I sat on the couch and wrote this poem:
The Stairs
As much as I'll hate
Staring at the stairs,
I suppose it beats
The table and folding chairs.
Soon the white dress
Will be hung
As a constant reminder
Of what is to come.
The struggles we'll
Have with their troubles;
How there will be triples,
Not doubles.
That looming bag
From the stairs--
We'll try to hide it
To stop the ripping of our hairs,
But it will
Be of no use.
We'll all still know
How men are obtuse.
2009-03-18
Writing Journal (Day 21)
Over halfway there!!
Today was my day off, which I love. And being in the outdoors, enjoying the beautiful weather we've been given, was the inspiration for this. How it came to be: I went for a walk. Intending to go to the bank and back. But then my friend called me and it sounded urgent. I wanted to talk to her, but without the noise of traffic. Well....there was an entrance to a recreational trail (used for biking and walking alike) nearby, so I figured, what the heck? Gets me away from traffic and it's nice out.
Well, after I got off the phone, I kept on because I knew there was a bench up ahead that another friend of mine mentioned he wanted to capture on film. At the time he showed it to me, I couldn't think of a way to do that. I thought I'd see what I could come up with. So I kept walking. Good news: I think I might have found a way! (Yay!)
Anyway, there's a park near the bench. It was empty, being a school day and still fairly early in the morning. I guess. I don't really know why people weren't using it. At the beginning of my walk, I had seen a swingset at a church/school and thought "that looks like fun; I haven't been on on a swing in a long time." Well.....the park was empty, there were swings, everything was pretty far from the road. (Not that doing something childish would embarass me or anything...) So I took off my shoes and my socks (but kept my coat on) and went for it!
Here's the poem that ensued:
On the Swing
The stillness turns to breeze
As I soar into the sky.
My hair falls back while
I fly forward,
Through the trees
Into the cloudy blue.
The sand falls from between my toes,
Back down to another place
Along the leafy ground.
"Soar,
two-three,
four"
Drowns out the gentle
Squeaky creak of an
Otherwise flawless flight.
The smile on my face fades
As I glimpse the shadow that shows
Me to be older than I feel.
The blue plastic seat
Only reaffirms
My battle with the ages.
Today was my day off, which I love. And being in the outdoors, enjoying the beautiful weather we've been given, was the inspiration for this. How it came to be: I went for a walk. Intending to go to the bank and back. But then my friend called me and it sounded urgent. I wanted to talk to her, but without the noise of traffic. Well....there was an entrance to a recreational trail (used for biking and walking alike) nearby, so I figured, what the heck? Gets me away from traffic and it's nice out.
Well, after I got off the phone, I kept on because I knew there was a bench up ahead that another friend of mine mentioned he wanted to capture on film. At the time he showed it to me, I couldn't think of a way to do that. I thought I'd see what I could come up with. So I kept walking. Good news: I think I might have found a way! (Yay!)
Anyway, there's a park near the bench. It was empty, being a school day and still fairly early in the morning. I guess. I don't really know why people weren't using it. At the beginning of my walk, I had seen a swingset at a church/school and thought "that looks like fun; I haven't been on on a swing in a long time." Well.....the park was empty, there were swings, everything was pretty far from the road. (Not that doing something childish would embarass me or anything...) So I took off my shoes and my socks (but kept my coat on) and went for it!
Here's the poem that ensued:
On the Swing
The stillness turns to breeze
As I soar into the sky.
My hair falls back while
I fly forward,
Through the trees
Into the cloudy blue.
The sand falls from between my toes,
Back down to another place
Along the leafy ground.
"Soar,
two-three,
four"
Drowns out the gentle
Squeaky creak of an
Otherwise flawless flight.
The smile on my face fades
As I glimpse the shadow that shows
Me to be older than I feel.
The blue plastic seat
Only reaffirms
My battle with the ages.
Writing Journal (Day 20)
I finished "The Bluest Eye" and started "Draglines" by Patrick Hicks. One of the poems in there inspired the following. I'm not sure of the inspiring poem's name, but it's about how the Miss America in 1945 was Jewish. It's very short.
I, again, had title difficulties...
Did Anyone
Did anyone think to ask her
What she thought
As they paraded her through towns?
Today, she'd be
Questioned to death
On the death of the
Kin she never asked for.
Star-shaped yellow ash
Would forever be linked to her.
I, again, had title difficulties...
Did Anyone
Did anyone think to ask her
What she thought
As they paraded her through towns?
Today, she'd be
Questioned to death
On the death of the
Kin she never asked for.
Star-shaped yellow ash
Would forever be linked to her.
Reading/Writing Journal (Day 19)
As General Conference approaches, I'm reminded of when I was reactivated. Here's a poem. That isn't very good. But I am rather fond of the title.
Reactiversary
Another year is fast approaching.
The marking of time
Is no longer on a clock.
Now it's on a calendar,
As a beautiful time to gather together.
Another six months to work within me,
Using words I need to hear;
I hope they come in time.
(Lovely how hope can be
Replaced by prayer.)
To think of millions
Standing as one,
Singing from the
Basement of their lungs.
How else could
Love be known and shown?
To stand is to fall,
To fall is to be caught,
To be caught is to be grateful.
And so I am.
Reactiversary
Another year is fast approaching.
The marking of time
Is no longer on a clock.
Now it's on a calendar,
As a beautiful time to gather together.
Another six months to work within me,
Using words I need to hear;
I hope they come in time.
(Lovely how hope can be
Replaced by prayer.)
To think of millions
Standing as one,
Singing from the
Basement of their lungs.
How else could
Love be known and shown?
To stand is to fall,
To fall is to be caught,
To be caught is to be grateful.
And so I am.
2009-03-16
Reading Journal
I'm almost done with "The Bluest Eye!" This means I'll be getting to "Draglines" soon!
p. 164
"Knowing his label provided him with both comfort and courage, he believed that to name an evil was to neutralize if not annhiliate it."
I really identify with this. It wasn't until I discovered more about Seasonal Affective (Depression) Disorder that I was able to fight it. When I learned about it, I realized that I had had it for a number of years but had dismissed it for various reasons. Once I was educated, I learned how to take hold of the disorder and have been able to neutralize it more often than not. Which is much improvement from where I was before I knew what was going on with my body and emotional life.
p. 206
"Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly..."
Hard to believe this is Morrison's first novel. I might re-read "Beloved" again as my next "Old."
p. 164
"Knowing his label provided him with both comfort and courage, he believed that to name an evil was to neutralize if not annhiliate it."
I really identify with this. It wasn't until I discovered more about Seasonal Affective (Depression) Disorder that I was able to fight it. When I learned about it, I realized that I had had it for a number of years but had dismissed it for various reasons. Once I was educated, I learned how to take hold of the disorder and have been able to neutralize it more often than not. Which is much improvement from where I was before I knew what was going on with my body and emotional life.
p. 206
"Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly..."
Hard to believe this is Morrison's first novel. I might re-read "Beloved" again as my next "Old."
Writing Journal (Day 18)
This is the result of my late-night, exhaust-filled attempt at writing a poem from the perspective of another person. Due to distraction, I was not able to give it my utmost attention while composing. Certainly didn't help matters that the event inspiring the poem had happened earlier in the week, so the memory was not fresh. Not my best. I'll be lucky to get 2 decent poems out of this challenge. *le sigh*
Little Girl
Would she have laughed so hard
Had she known what I knew?
I couldn't help but notice
How happy she seemed.
It wasn't a facade;
Those smiles were really real.
And beautifully flushing her cheeks.
Still, I desired to see her
As distraught as I felt.
I wished to take back my knowing,
To pack it all away.
Since I can't share it,
I take solace in knowing
It isn't my place
To fuel her fears
And spoil her smile.
Little Girl
Would she have laughed so hard
Had she known what I knew?
I couldn't help but notice
How happy she seemed.
It wasn't a facade;
Those smiles were really real.
And beautifully flushing her cheeks.
Still, I desired to see her
As distraught as I felt.
I wished to take back my knowing,
To pack it all away.
Since I can't share it,
I take solace in knowing
It isn't my place
To fuel her fears
And spoil her smile.
2009-03-14
Reading Journal
Finsihing up a chapter in "The Bluest Eye," I came across this passage and it's my new favorite. Even better than the definition of "to the pain" given by Wesley in "The Princess Bride."
In short, it's about the inability to understand unconditional love. The love in particular it's talking about is from child to parent, but it can easily be applied to any unconditional love. One of the times I re-read it last night, I did so with an eternal perspective and was really moved. Our Heavenly Father loves all of us, despite some of us not knowing what to do with it. The answer (for me) is simple: love Him back.
p. 161
If he looked into her face, he would see those haunted, loving eyes. The hauntedness would irritate him--the love would move him to fury. How dare she love him? Hadn't she any sense at all? What was he supposed to do about that? Return it? How? What could his calloused hands produce to maker her smile? What of his knowldege of the world and of life could be useful to her? What could his heavy arms and befuddled brain accomplish that would earn him his own respect, that would in turn allow him to accept her love?
In short, it's about the inability to understand unconditional love. The love in particular it's talking about is from child to parent, but it can easily be applied to any unconditional love. One of the times I re-read it last night, I did so with an eternal perspective and was really moved. Our Heavenly Father loves all of us, despite some of us not knowing what to do with it. The answer (for me) is simple: love Him back.
p. 161
If he looked into her face, he would see those haunted, loving eyes. The hauntedness would irritate him--the love would move him to fury. How dare she love him? Hadn't she any sense at all? What was he supposed to do about that? Return it? How? What could his calloused hands produce to maker her smile? What of his knowldege of the world and of life could be useful to her? What could his heavy arms and befuddled brain accomplish that would earn him his own respect, that would in turn allow him to accept her love?
2009-03-13
Writing Journal (Day 17)
The inspiration for this poem came from today's entry on Colorfly Studio. (Which I am now publicly following.) It's a picture of an old letterpress drawer that reminded me of a shelving unit we had in our living room growing up. It was home to many knick-knacks and I decided to start a list poem. Again, not very good for anything other than practice and meeting the requirements of this challenge.
Knick-Knacks
R2-D2, a tigerish kitty cat,
Little toy trucks for Raisin Bran,
Pea-sized Disney characters,
California Rasins (or were those upstairs?),
That discus-posed figurine
With the black porcelain hair,
Those tea tins from a rummage sale...
(Had I been the least bit supersitious,
I would have been suspicious I was the one to blame.)
I can't even remember
What all was there, yet I know
Somehow those mementos
Have disappeared,
Faded to who knows where.
Knick-Knacks
R2-D2, a tigerish kitty cat,
Little toy trucks for Raisin Bran,
Pea-sized Disney characters,
California Rasins (or were those upstairs?),
That discus-posed figurine
With the black porcelain hair,
Those tea tins from a rummage sale...
(Had I been the least bit supersitious,
I would have been suspicious I was the one to blame.)
I can't even remember
What all was there, yet I know
Somehow those mementos
Have disappeared,
Faded to who knows where.
Writing Journal (Day 16)
Something happened on Day 15 that, while it was a big deal to a very dear friend of mine, it wasn't something I thought would effect my emotions too much. But I realized on Day 16 that it had. Quite a bit. I had to tap a lot of restraint before I was able to go on break and let some of those emotions out in poetic form.
Final Straw
Didn't think I'd be so mad,
But this so-called love
Is getting in the way.
It's where I eat,
Where I sleep,
What I breathe.
Three dead skunks remind me
Spring in the kingdom
Is not near--it's here!
He knows he did her wrong,
And now he wants her gone.
He battles the weak
And tries calling it fair.
His disadvantage is his advantage.
Final Straw
Didn't think I'd be so mad,
But this so-called love
Is getting in the way.
It's where I eat,
Where I sleep,
What I breathe.
Three dead skunks remind me
Spring in the kingdom
Is not near--it's here!
He knows he did her wrong,
And now he wants her gone.
He battles the weak
And tries calling it fair.
His disadvantage is his advantage.
Writing Journal (Day 15)
I was driving to work and saw a white SUV with dust on the back window and whitewalled tires. Maggie had recently painted the stairwell to the library, and it took a few days of running a fan and keeping the door (to the stairwell) open for the smell to at least fade a little.
I'll be the first (of few, since that's how many I expect to stumble across this) to admit this is straddling the line of crap.
Something So White
I see something so white,
And I start smelling paint again.
Even the dust on the back
Evokes the scent
Still lingering on the stairs.
I'll be the first (of few, since that's how many I expect to stumble across this) to admit this is straddling the line of crap.
Something So White
I see something so white,
And I start smelling paint again.
Even the dust on the back
Evokes the scent
Still lingering on the stairs.
Writing Journal (Day 14)
I took inspiration from the main event of the day: receiving a new General Manager at work. It reminded me of all the changes in management/leadership I've experienced in the past, well, 7 years. I had about 6 managers at Subway, a couple of changes in the caf, in my 2 years as an RA, I reported to no less than 5 Hall Directors (or acting Hall Directors). Learning to deal with changing superiors was actually something I considered putting in my skill set on my resume.
What's One More?
Another replacement,
Another adjustment,
Another life to break.
The trick to adapting
Is to embrace it.
Lick your wounds and
Pretend you like it.
Hating the allies of the new
Is guaranteed to
Lengthen the road.
Choose to take the higher ground.
Learn to love your life's changes,
Lengthen your stride
As you glide towards happiness.
What's One More?
Another replacement,
Another adjustment,
Another life to break.
The trick to adapting
Is to embrace it.
Lick your wounds and
Pretend you like it.
Hating the allies of the new
Is guaranteed to
Lengthen the road.
Choose to take the higher ground.
Learn to love your life's changes,
Lengthen your stride
As you glide towards happiness.
2009-03-11
Reading Journal
A book I wish I had: Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst. I'm going to put that on my list of books to look for when I go to Half Price Books. The other one on the list: The Princess Bride. I've loaned out two copies of that book and neither one of them have been returned. Believe me, I've learned my lesson. I'm so desperate to find it that if I don't see it listed under "Goldman" I look under "Morgenstern," just in case someone is interested in playing a joke. Like how Stacy and I didn't really lace that pineapple sherbert with iocane powder; we just didn't want anyone to steal it.
One Thing...
The second half of this book has made me realize that if I've completed a cycle before I've completed the book (because, seriously, who only has a bookmark in one book at a time?), I should give it up. It's just not holding my interest as much as it once was. But if my bookmark's still in it by the time I get to the next book in my "True" category, this one's going back on the shelf. To be donated the next time I get my boxes to Goodwill.
...going over the 4th out of 10 commandments to keep the Sabbath day holy...(p. 114)
"No matter what you consider as keeping the Sabbath, you have broken it--and so has everyone else."
That's all Cahill says on the subject. What? Excuse me? Say that again? So, to paraphrase, you're telling me that, no matter what I do, I can't keep this commandment? What? What?
The Bluest Eye
Normally books make me think about things. I try to make connections, see beyond the words on the page, stretch the story into my life and my experiences somehow. But Morrison's descriptions and observations leave me without thoughts. At least, they are this time around. This is the closest I've come to finding a book that truly allows me to entirely escape myself in a long time. Which is rather enjoyable for a spell.
One Thing...
The second half of this book has made me realize that if I've completed a cycle before I've completed the book (because, seriously, who only has a bookmark in one book at a time?), I should give it up. It's just not holding my interest as much as it once was. But if my bookmark's still in it by the time I get to the next book in my "True" category, this one's going back on the shelf. To be donated the next time I get my boxes to Goodwill.
...going over the 4th out of 10 commandments to keep the Sabbath day holy...(p. 114)
"No matter what you consider as keeping the Sabbath, you have broken it--and so has everyone else."
That's all Cahill says on the subject. What? Excuse me? Say that again? So, to paraphrase, you're telling me that, no matter what I do, I can't keep this commandment? What? What?
The Bluest Eye
Normally books make me think about things. I try to make connections, see beyond the words on the page, stretch the story into my life and my experiences somehow. But Morrison's descriptions and observations leave me without thoughts. At least, they are this time around. This is the closest I've come to finding a book that truly allows me to entirely escape myself in a long time. Which is rather enjoyable for a spell.
2009-03-09
Writing Journal (Day 13)
Not much inspiration behind this one. I came home from Family Home Evening, realized I hadn't eaten anything since 2:00, nor had I written a poem yet.
Waffle
The waffle so warm
Between my fingers
Burns the skin of my teeth.
I am standing in the kitchen,
Watching myself eat,
Wishing today was tomorrow.
Eventually, my bed doth call.
And when it does,
I'll solemnly give it heed.
Away to never-slumber-land
I readily will fly.
Thinking if only, if only,
And always asking why.
Waffle
The waffle so warm
Between my fingers
Burns the skin of my teeth.
I am standing in the kitchen,
Watching myself eat,
Wishing today was tomorrow.
Eventually, my bed doth call.
And when it does,
I'll solemnly give it heed.
Away to never-slumber-land
I readily will fly.
Thinking if only, if only,
And always asking why.
Writing Journal (Day 12)
Again, I was inspired by the physical act (and auditory sound) of dropping that little plastic cup into the metal tray during Sacrament meeting. A few months ago, I'm pretty sure I at least jotted some lines down, if not formed an entire poem that Lucy is holding hostage. (Or is in a spiral notebook/journal gone MIA at some point in time.)
Keep in mind, I'm considering this particular poem underdeveloped and unfinished. I still feel that it needs some rhythm and a direction that leads it to an ending.
Sins
There go my sins
Into the cup,
And then into the tray.
I willingly take upon me
The name which clears my own.
My dirtiness is thrown away
Without a second thought.
Keep in mind, I'm considering this particular poem underdeveloped and unfinished. I still feel that it needs some rhythm and a direction that leads it to an ending.
Sins
There go my sins
Into the cup,
And then into the tray.
I willingly take upon me
The name which clears my own.
My dirtiness is thrown away
Without a second thought.
Writing Journal (Day 10)
Friday, I conjured up a plan involving entering an apartment and removing thousands of dollars worth of merchandise. That plan involved a ransom note. Which I took it upon myself to turn into a ransom poem (with a clever title, I might add). I wish I had had the time to turn it into couplets because I'm really not a fan of the rhyme scheme I used.
Ransom Poem
Take a look around
And soon I'm sure you'll find
Your books cannont be found.
Please be warned: don't call the cops;
Your books are safe and sound,
Sitting in boxes once kept by the mops.
Don't you worry,
And don't you fret,
This was not done in a hurry.
Your books are being cared for
Just off the cul-de-sac
At (I'm not posting the address).
To see them once more,
You'll have to drive
To a house with a (color) door.
If you don't know who we are by now,
You don't deserve to know,
And we'll be trading you in for a pet cow.
____________________________
The story behind this is that, after I had constructed the library and realized it was missing such a large part of it, I had told SH that someday she would come home and all of her books would be gone. Well, when she told me on Friday that she wouldn't be back from out of town until Sunday afternoon before work, the light bulb went off. So I gathered a couple of accompliases and we became felon booknappers.
Which I hope explains why I skipped Day 11 of the challenge....
Ransom Poem
Take a look around
And soon I'm sure you'll find
Your books cannont be found.
Please be warned: don't call the cops;
Your books are safe and sound,
Sitting in boxes once kept by the mops.
Don't you worry,
And don't you fret,
This was not done in a hurry.
Your books are being cared for
Just off the cul-de-sac
At (I'm not posting the address).
To see them once more,
You'll have to drive
To a house with a (color) door.
If you don't know who we are by now,
You don't deserve to know,
And we'll be trading you in for a pet cow.
____________________________
The story behind this is that, after I had constructed the library and realized it was missing such a large part of it, I had told SH that someday she would come home and all of her books would be gone. Well, when she told me on Friday that she wouldn't be back from out of town until Sunday afternoon before work, the light bulb went off. So I gathered a couple of accompliases and we became felon booknappers.
Which I hope explains why I skipped Day 11 of the challenge....
2009-03-06
Reading Journal
Yaaaay!! I finally finished Twelve Ordinary Men and started The Bluest Eye. I forgot that I read it in college, so it's also a reread. And I was surprised to find I finished it (there are my markings on the last page), since I think I read it winter term freshman year, for one of Jim's classes. And I thought the only assignments I finished reading for him were the ones I got paid to do.
That's right, kids, I got paid to not only read, but I got paid to do my homework! I was doing workstudy for him (copying handouts, that sort of thing) and he wanted to make a handout for our Chekov assignments. See, classic Russian authors like to give their characters a name and then 5 or 6 pet names that may or may not be closely related to their given name. Jim asked me to make a handout with the alternate names for each of the stories.
But that's all tangental.
Final thoughts on Twelve Ordinary Men:
The third quarter of the book was the driest. The chapter on Judas Iscariot was interesting at first, but it got repetitive. I don't think this was MacArthur's intention, but his words really only invoked my pity for Judas I. Yeah, what the guy did was tragic, but necessary. I found myself paralleling him to Eve. But what I really think got my heart to bleed for J.I. was all the bashing he got from MacArthur. Just because the guy's a historical figure, doesn't mean you can judge his heart any more than you can judge your neighbor's.
That's right, kids, I got paid to not only read, but I got paid to do my homework! I was doing workstudy for him (copying handouts, that sort of thing) and he wanted to make a handout for our Chekov assignments. See, classic Russian authors like to give their characters a name and then 5 or 6 pet names that may or may not be closely related to their given name. Jim asked me to make a handout with the alternate names for each of the stories.
But that's all tangental.
Final thoughts on Twelve Ordinary Men:
The third quarter of the book was the driest. The chapter on Judas Iscariot was interesting at first, but it got repetitive. I don't think this was MacArthur's intention, but his words really only invoked my pity for Judas I. Yeah, what the guy did was tragic, but necessary. I found myself paralleling him to Eve. But what I really think got my heart to bleed for J.I. was all the bashing he got from MacArthur. Just because the guy's a historical figure, doesn't mean you can judge his heart any more than you can judge your neighbor's.
On page 215, MacArthur quotes Charles H. Spurgeon trying to reconcile free will/agency with foreordination. And I've come to this conclusion: God knows us so well, He knows what we will choose. Our choices can please or disappoint God, but they will never surprise Him.
p. 230
"Would that Judas were the only hypocrite who ever betrayed the Lord, but that is not so."
It always makes me sad when people who (seem to) have a close relationship with the Godhead (or any member thereof) sever ties. Nearly paralyzing.
From the first few pages of the Bluest Eye...
Toni Morrison has the most captivating descriptions of settings.
p. 6 (Just before the "Autumn" section.)
"But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how."
p. 23
"I learned much later to worship her, just as I learned to delight in cleanliness, knowing, even as I learned, that the change was adjustment without improvement."
I like that idea: change being adjustment without improvement.
Writing Journal (Day Nine)
In the same way that a Law & Order episode can be "ripped straight from the headlines" in the promo and they still show the "any resemblance to any real persons, events, etc. are unintentional" (or however their legal jargon phrases it), this poem has been influenced by events, emotions and experiences actually in my life, but any resemblance to any one in particular is purely coincidental. Believe me as you will.
That being said, I won't reveal what, precisely, from my past influenced the writing of this poem. Partly because they're very personal. But also because I'm not entirely sure. Some stanzas were from something that happened to me, some were from something that happened to someone I knew, some are purely fictional.
This one has been the hardest for me to title thus far.
__________________________________________
Freight Train
The trouble that you've been in
Is more than I can share.
I know that you've cried through your dark
For someone there to care.
With their own ears full of steam,
They simply could not hear you.
Not until it was far too late,
Did someone know they knew.
It was a lonely train whistle
Coming round the bend.
At merely seventeen years old,
You were ready for it to end.
But someone else had switched the tracks
And you were losing steam.
That lovely face appeared to you
In the middle of a dream.
She didn't try to stop you;
No way she ever could.
Instead she simply let you coast
While living as she should.
Sooner or later,
The time would come, she knew,
When you would finally see the light
And find yourself renewed.
That being said, I won't reveal what, precisely, from my past influenced the writing of this poem. Partly because they're very personal. But also because I'm not entirely sure. Some stanzas were from something that happened to me, some were from something that happened to someone I knew, some are purely fictional.
This one has been the hardest for me to title thus far.
__________________________________________
Freight Train
The trouble that you've been in
Is more than I can share.
I know that you've cried through your dark
For someone there to care.
With their own ears full of steam,
They simply could not hear you.
Not until it was far too late,
Did someone know they knew.
It was a lonely train whistle
Coming round the bend.
At merely seventeen years old,
You were ready for it to end.
But someone else had switched the tracks
And you were losing steam.
That lovely face appeared to you
In the middle of a dream.
She didn't try to stop you;
No way she ever could.
Instead she simply let you coast
While living as she should.
Sooner or later,
The time would come, she knew,
When you would finally see the light
And find yourself renewed.
2009-03-05
Reading Journal: The List
This could be dangerous, but...it's a reading list. My bajillionth one. I actually have a spreadsheet so I can sort it by title, author and category (see list below). There's also a place for me to document the last time I read it. However, said spreadsheet is on Lucy, who is currently in a coma. And since I can't find a spreadsheet program on this computer, the blog gets stuck hosting the list. I try following a memorable pattern; otherwise, I'll get caught reading the same kinds of things for too long. I've done pretty well with this one:
I try to read only one at a time, since I seem to read them faster that way. But every once in a while I sign myself up for something that gets dry or tedious. (10 months for Canterbury Tales, I think.) And by the time it's made me bored with reading in general, I feel I've invested too much time to just abandon it, so I start something else. Another reading rule I have comes at the suggestion of a Reader's Digest article: if it doesn't hold interest after 50 pages, ditch it. (Once you're 50, cut a page for every year. So once you're 60, only read 40 pages.)
Since I have it in mind to read everything filling up my bookcases (excepting textbooks and other general reference) as well as all of the books listed in "The Book of Great Books" by W. John Campbell, I'll save the huff and puff of typing those titles out. And since they pretty much work together filling up the next few rotations of the Old, Random, and True, I guess that just leaves me to go for the New, huh?
New"Freedom Writers"
"Draglines" by Pat Hicks
"Reading History at Lunch" by Chase Hart
"The Greatest Virtue" by Pat Robertson
Next CycleOld: "The Bluest Eye" by Toni Morrison
New: "Draglines"
Random: "Ender's Game" by Orson Scott Card
True: "Six Hours One Friday" by Max Lucado
My goal is to be on the last leg of this cycle by Easter, which is approximately 32 days from now.
Guess I'd better stop blogging and start reading, huh?
- Something old (classic, something from the canon)
- Something new (less than 3 years)
- Something borrowed, reccomended or random
- Something true (not fiction)
I try to read only one at a time, since I seem to read them faster that way. But every once in a while I sign myself up for something that gets dry or tedious. (10 months for Canterbury Tales, I think.) And by the time it's made me bored with reading in general, I feel I've invested too much time to just abandon it, so I start something else. Another reading rule I have comes at the suggestion of a Reader's Digest article: if it doesn't hold interest after 50 pages, ditch it. (Once you're 50, cut a page for every year. So once you're 60, only read 40 pages.)
Since I have it in mind to read everything filling up my bookcases (excepting textbooks and other general reference) as well as all of the books listed in "The Book of Great Books" by W. John Campbell, I'll save the huff and puff of typing those titles out. And since they pretty much work together filling up the next few rotations of the Old, Random, and True, I guess that just leaves me to go for the New, huh?
New"Freedom Writers"
"Draglines" by Pat Hicks
"Reading History at Lunch" by Chase Hart
"The Greatest Virtue" by Pat Robertson
Next CycleOld: "The Bluest Eye" by Toni Morrison
New: "Draglines"
Random: "Ender's Game" by Orson Scott Card
True: "Six Hours One Friday" by Max Lucado
My goal is to be on the last leg of this cycle by Easter, which is approximately 32 days from now.
Guess I'd better stop blogging and start reading, huh?
2009-03-04
Writing Journal (Day Eight)
Well, I got to that poem about the escalator I talked about the other day.
The analogy my friend gave was this: "Life is like going up a down escalator; if you're not running up, you're riding down." And, who knows? Maybe those words are more poetic than today's poem.
Up the Down
I’m so very weary,
For this illusion is killing me.
There is no wear that this place shows.
Nor is there place where these stairs go.
I’m just climbing up and climbing up
As these gridiron lines
Slide beneath me.
It seems like these steps
Should be moving faster,
Picking up the pace.
But they don’t.
They just continue on,
And on and on and on and on.
Never slowing,
Never stopping,
Never will I reach the top.
Never will I allow myself to reach the bottom.
The analogy my friend gave was this: "Life is like going up a down escalator; if you're not running up, you're riding down." And, who knows? Maybe those words are more poetic than today's poem.
Up the Down
I’m so very weary,
For this illusion is killing me.
There is no wear that this place shows.
Nor is there place where these stairs go.
I’m just climbing up and climbing up
As these gridiron lines
Slide beneath me.
It seems like these steps
Should be moving faster,
Picking up the pace.
But they don’t.
They just continue on,
And on and on and on and on.
Never slowing,
Never stopping,
Never will I reach the top.
Never will I allow myself to reach the bottom.
2009-03-03
Writing Journal (Day Seven)
Last night, during the FHE lesson, a poem was read that had some imagery that really struck me. I liked it; it was semi-unconventional. I'm working on getting a copy of the poem for my personal collection. It reminded me of one of my favorite images that someone gave one time about life being an escalator. I woke up still thinking about it, so I'm going to try and make today's poem about that.
(Update)
So the escaltor thing never got developed; maybe some other day.
Instead, I managed to come up with two things. One is barely considered crap and the other is too short; maybe I'll flesh it out someday. I lost where I was going with it.
Those Two
I worry that he'll be a dick
And leave her with their baby
In their house
For no place with no job.
I wish that I could take him in
And make him want to change.
It's sad to see her see
She's lost the power
I know she never had.
Poor sir (almost),
We all wish
She wasn't pregnant anymore:
You just had the balls to say it to her face.
______________________________
Those Two
Their bodies made a pup tent,
Their hands, they slept inside.
There was no place for them to run
Nor was there peace to find.
(Update)
So the escaltor thing never got developed; maybe some other day.
Instead, I managed to come up with two things. One is barely considered crap and the other is too short; maybe I'll flesh it out someday. I lost where I was going with it.
Those Two
I worry that he'll be a dick
And leave her with their baby
In their house
For no place with no job.
I wish that I could take him in
And make him want to change.
It's sad to see her see
She's lost the power
I know she never had.
Poor sir (almost),
We all wish
She wasn't pregnant anymore:
You just had the balls to say it to her face.
______________________________
Those Two
Their bodies made a pup tent,
Their hands, they slept inside.
There was no place for them to run
Nor was there peace to find.
Writing Journal (Day Six)
I was having some trouble with inspiration for today's. I tried figuring out which sense of mine was at it's peak, but couldn't come up with one. Did I want to write about what I saw? What I heard? What I felt (physically, as in with my fingers)? I was just having the hardest time finding something to notice!
After my break (where I had tried to work on the poem), I was talking with my crew-mates. Tab and I ended up talking about rap. Got me thinking back to the rap stage in my writing during high school. Very brief. But I asked around: what is something that a rapper wouldn't rap about? Because that's precisely what I wanted to "rap" about.
The answer I came up with: Trivial Pursuit.
I was going to come home after FHE, go down to the library and bust out my Genus Edition of the game and go to town. But when I got home, I got distracted by Maggie and Jay's Headlines and then the two movies that we watched before I went to bed....
So I struggled with this one, again about my younger years.
One of my goals for Wednesday (since I've effectually grounded myself until Institute) is to go through the poems I've forced out and see if I can't find something to work with here.
Echoes of the Past
Echoes of the past come back
To haunt me in my dreams.
Through the three-tiered windows,
I am taken back to a younger self,
Legs dangling out the middle
As I devise ways to sneak
In and back out when I was older.
I tried to be rebellious,
But I saw how that turned out:
No one home to know if I'd been a fool.
Even at my worst,
I never was that bad.
A lump on a log,
A knot in your throat;
You never did tell me
What it was all about.
After my break (where I had tried to work on the poem), I was talking with my crew-mates. Tab and I ended up talking about rap. Got me thinking back to the rap stage in my writing during high school. Very brief. But I asked around: what is something that a rapper wouldn't rap about? Because that's precisely what I wanted to "rap" about.
The answer I came up with: Trivial Pursuit.
I was going to come home after FHE, go down to the library and bust out my Genus Edition of the game and go to town. But when I got home, I got distracted by Maggie and Jay's Headlines and then the two movies that we watched before I went to bed....
So I struggled with this one, again about my younger years.
One of my goals for Wednesday (since I've effectually grounded myself until Institute) is to go through the poems I've forced out and see if I can't find something to work with here.
Echoes of the Past
Echoes of the past come back
To haunt me in my dreams.
Through the three-tiered windows,
I am taken back to a younger self,
Legs dangling out the middle
As I devise ways to sneak
In and back out when I was older.
I tried to be rebellious,
But I saw how that turned out:
No one home to know if I'd been a fool.
Even at my worst,
I never was that bad.
A lump on a log,
A knot in your throat;
You never did tell me
What it was all about.
2009-03-02
Writing Journal (Day Five)
Again another below-par poem for today. But, hey, the challenge issued was for one poem a day, not one good poem a day. Crappy title included.
Inspired by my wondering about my teenaged spiritual life (and lack thereof). I'm not even going to consider it good enough to be cliche.
What if...
What if I had done more-
What if I had finished?
Would someone there have seen the light?
Could someone else have chosen right?
The people in the dark are falling,
Calling for someone to save them.
How I wish I could.
But if I cannot be their savior,
I pray for someone to be sent in my stead.
Inspired by my wondering about my teenaged spiritual life (and lack thereof). I'm not even going to consider it good enough to be cliche.
What if...
What if I had done more-
What if I had finished?
Would someone there have seen the light?
Could someone else have chosen right?
The people in the dark are falling,
Calling for someone to save them.
How I wish I could.
But if I cannot be their savior,
I pray for someone to be sent in my stead.
2009-03-01
Writing Journal (Day Four)
I didn't make much time for writing on Saturday. Between working, watching curling, and shoveling, I just didn't have much time. I was lucky to snatch these lines while in the car:
Dirty snow covers the signs.
Light on a flag captures my eyes.
Slivers of a silvery moon hide in the skies.
Can I make it a haiku?
Winter Ride
Gray snow covers signs
Lighted flags capture my eyes
Silvers slice the skies
Dirty snow covers the signs.
Light on a flag captures my eyes.
Slivers of a silvery moon hide in the skies.
Can I make it a haiku?
Winter Ride
Gray snow covers signs
Lighted flags capture my eyes
Silvers slice the skies
Writing Journal (Day Three)
I'm not promising anything good with these poem-a-day's. I'm going to extend the challenge to give the poems titles, which is something I've always struggled with. Echoing my previous statement, I'm not promising anything good with these titles.
I've always liked the sounds of curling, especially in a traditional rink setting. So while I was on my break, I tried to tune out the jazz and focus on the memory of the sounds.
Good Game
Echoes of the evening shouts
Sink into the clean white sheets.
The scratches and the gliding
Are hardly heard
Beneath the hurries and the hards.
The stones across the pebbled ice
Are soothing to the soul.
Cheers arise as the
Click of a take-out fills the air.
I've always liked the sounds of curling, especially in a traditional rink setting. So while I was on my break, I tried to tune out the jazz and focus on the memory of the sounds.
Good Game
Echoes of the evening shouts
Sink into the clean white sheets.
The scratches and the gliding
Are hardly heard
Beneath the hurries and the hards.
The stones across the pebbled ice
Are soothing to the soul.
Cheers arise as the
Click of a take-out fills the air.
2009-02-26
Writing Journal (Day Two)
Not that yesterday's was any good, but today's will likely be worse, since I don't have all day to tinker with inspiration.
I started off this morning with a self-indulgent bit before work, fully intending to finish it while on break. But when I got to break, I found a voicemail from my mom and a text from my sister saying that Sgt. Daniel Thompson, a guy I graduated high school with, was killed in Afghanistan on Tuesday. (See story here.)
Naturally, I scrapped the first one and started one with the intent to memorialize him. Except it sounded like a hundred other poems that had been written. I scrapped that one, too, and wound up with this one.
_____________________________
Prayer for Daniel
The cuts on my hand
Seem like nothing compared to
The life your friends lost.
The extra bread he gave
Does not console me,
For I need little consoling.
I have but one simple memory of you:
In our eleventh year of school,
You showed me a poem
Written for your girlfriend.
The toothy grin you gave me
When I told you it was good
Will soon be buried under stars, stripes, and sand.
May you find peace on the other side,
For you did not find it here.
May those you loved behind
Carry your voice and smile in their hearts.
You will meet them in the hustle and the bustle
Of the Resurrection morn.
I pray that that is not the last you'll see of them.
I started off this morning with a self-indulgent bit before work, fully intending to finish it while on break. But when I got to break, I found a voicemail from my mom and a text from my sister saying that Sgt. Daniel Thompson, a guy I graduated high school with, was killed in Afghanistan on Tuesday. (See story here.)
Naturally, I scrapped the first one and started one with the intent to memorialize him. Except it sounded like a hundred other poems that had been written. I scrapped that one, too, and wound up with this one.
_____________________________
Prayer for Daniel
The cuts on my hand
Seem like nothing compared to
The life your friends lost.
The extra bread he gave
Does not console me,
For I need little consoling.
I have but one simple memory of you:
In our eleventh year of school,
You showed me a poem
Written for your girlfriend.
The toothy grin you gave me
When I told you it was good
Will soon be buried under stars, stripes, and sand.
May you find peace on the other side,
For you did not find it here.
May those you loved behind
Carry your voice and smile in their hearts.
You will meet them in the hustle and the bustle
Of the Resurrection morn.
I pray that that is not the last you'll see of them.
2009-02-25
Writing Journal (Day One)
Today's poem is inspired by something I almost said in a message to a friend. I was suggesting she show up somewhere just as the event was starting and used the phrase "the edge of time." The message I sent actually used the phrase "barely on time."
I opened up the windows in the living room and busted out a pencil and notebook for this one. I prefer doing poetry on paper rather than keyboard (it's the opposite for prose, though). Give myself some natural light and a comfy place to rest.
Then came the walk to the grocery store for breakfast/snacks and milk. Saw a man picking up large branches that had been buried under the snow and saw a couple of cute little girls each going into the store with their respective parents.
Then came the bike ride, where I came up with the ending of the poem.
____________________________
The Edge of Time
The edge of time,
It stands to reason,
I sthe abysmal leap
Into the season.
The ray of hope
Is clouded over.
No light now shines
On this four-leaf clover.
Breaking earth
From all that matters,
Soon enough,
This ice will shatter.
Glory wins,
Then glory fades.
The brightest sun
Shines through the shades.
I opened up the windows in the living room and busted out a pencil and notebook for this one. I prefer doing poetry on paper rather than keyboard (it's the opposite for prose, though). Give myself some natural light and a comfy place to rest.
Then came the walk to the grocery store for breakfast/snacks and milk. Saw a man picking up large branches that had been buried under the snow and saw a couple of cute little girls each going into the store with their respective parents.
Then came the bike ride, where I came up with the ending of the poem.
____________________________
The Edge of Time
The edge of time,
It stands to reason,
I sthe abysmal leap
Into the season.
The ray of hope
Is clouded over.
No light now shines
On this four-leaf clover.
Breaking earth
From all that matters,
Soon enough,
This ice will shatter.
Glory wins,
Then glory fades.
The brightest sun
Shines through the shades.
2009-02-20
Lenten Writing Challenge
I just saw an event today on facebook challenging/suggesting current members of WREN to write 40 Poems or 40 pages in 40 days. So...starting Feb. 25 (that's this coming Wednesday), I'm going to participate.
I'll most likely be starting off with poems, seeing as all of the fiction I want to work on is trapped on Lucy. So close and yet so far...
Wish me luck. I'll be posting the results of the challenge here, under the title "Lenten Writing Challenge."
I'll most likely be starting off with poems, seeing as all of the fiction I want to work on is trapped on Lucy. So close and yet so far...
Wish me luck. I'll be posting the results of the challenge here, under the title "Lenten Writing Challenge."
2009-02-18
Reading Journal
Haven't read a whole lot, but was really struck by the account of the apostle Thomas that Johna MacArthur gave. Was also intrigued by MacArthur's relaying of the story of Lazarus. He had some interesting things to say about Christ's reason for tarrying before going to Bethany. I intend to study the story more closely for myself before I decide whether or not to agree with MacArthur's opinion on the subject. Maybe the JST has some insight that he wouldn't have considered.
His description of Thomas, though, was interesting. Most people call him "Doubting Thomas," because he didn't believe in Jesus's physical resurrection until he could touch the wounds himself. MacArthur points out that the other disciples didn't, either. It's just that Thomas wasn't in the Upper Room because he was so sorrowful about Christ's death that he didn't want to be around his friends. So he didn't believe that the other apostles had seen the resurrected body.
On pages 187 through 189, MacArthur describes Thomas's personality and the love that he had for our Savior. I wish I could quote the entirety of it all. But this excerpt from p. 188 sums things up nicely, and is one I find quite inspirational.
"Thomas obviously had a deep devotion to Christ that could not be dampened even by his own pessimism. He had no illusion that following Jesus would be easy. All he could see were the jaws of death opening to swallow him. But he followed Jesus with an undaunted courage. He was resolved to die if necessary with his Lord rather than forsake Him. He would rather die than be left behind and separated from Christ."
I think the motivation behind the book (which I'm almost finished with) can be summed up with this sentence on page 195:
"If the faults and character flaws of the apostles seem like a mirror of your own weaknesses, take heart. These are the kinds of people the Lord delights to use."
His description of Thomas, though, was interesting. Most people call him "Doubting Thomas," because he didn't believe in Jesus's physical resurrection until he could touch the wounds himself. MacArthur points out that the other disciples didn't, either. It's just that Thomas wasn't in the Upper Room because he was so sorrowful about Christ's death that he didn't want to be around his friends. So he didn't believe that the other apostles had seen the resurrected body.
On pages 187 through 189, MacArthur describes Thomas's personality and the love that he had for our Savior. I wish I could quote the entirety of it all. But this excerpt from p. 188 sums things up nicely, and is one I find quite inspirational.
"Thomas obviously had a deep devotion to Christ that could not be dampened even by his own pessimism. He had no illusion that following Jesus would be easy. All he could see were the jaws of death opening to swallow him. But he followed Jesus with an undaunted courage. He was resolved to die if necessary with his Lord rather than forsake Him. He would rather die than be left behind and separated from Christ."
I think the motivation behind the book (which I'm almost finished with) can be summed up with this sentence on page 195:
"If the faults and character flaws of the apostles seem like a mirror of your own weaknesses, take heart. These are the kinds of people the Lord delights to use."
2009-02-16
Reading Journal
I've made it through almost half of "One Thing You Can't Do in Heaven." And it's clearly written by someone who makes his living by giving speeches. I've got to give the guy (Mark Cahill) credit: he's got some interesting ideas. Like putting tracts in cases of pop and beer at the grocery store as a way to "witness." A word that's overused in the book, in my opinion.
I'm really interested to get to the chapters on what, specifically, he says when "witnessing," because the early, generic, motivational chapters really don't do much of that. Just him sharing stories of people he's run across spattered around his encouragement and directions. I find that, while his heart is near the right place, he is severely misguided. (And I haven't even read the chapters where he provides textbook answers to common questions yet.) That being said, I tend to make an effort to find wit and/or wisdom in all that I read.
Here's some now...
p. 39
This guy has a lot of stories about witnessing to prostitutes.
"Whenever I tell this story, it ruffles people's feathers. One person asked, 'What if someone from your church drove by and saw you picking up a prostitute?'
I answered, '...they would probably say, 'There goes Mark again witnessing to a prostitute; let's pray for him.' Then they would probably pray that if I ahd picked up that prostitute for the wrong reason, the Spirit would convict me so that I would not do anything to discredit the ministry."
p. 40
"I want every person I meet to be in a relationship with Jesus."
p. 56
"Are you sure you want to witness by your actions alone? I definitely don't want to do that, because sometimes my actions don't portray my Savior in a very good light."
p. 74
"I guarantee that you will be dead a whole lot longer than you will be alive."
p. 76
"Don't put your head on your pillow tonight unless you know exactly where you're going to spend eternity."
p. 79
"Personally, I don't have time for temporary friendships (that is, just hanging out with people who don't know the Lord). I do have a lot of temporary friends, but it's for the purpose of making them eternal friends."
Interesting concept....
____________________________
Because I was getting fed up with the word "witness" and it's various forms, I switched over to "Twelve Angry Men." Here are some insights I've found since the last time I posted about insights from this book.
p. 124
"Many people are just as imbalanced as John was....They place too much emphasis...on love....Some are merely ignorant; others are deceived; still others simply do not care about what is true. In each case, truth is missing, and all they are left with is error, clothed in a shallow, tolerant sentimentality. It is a poor substitute for genuine love. They talk a lot about love and tolerance, but they utterly lack any concern for the truth. Therefore even the "love" they speak of is a tainted love....
"On the other hand, there are many who have all their theological ducks in a row and know their doctrine but are unloving and self-exalting. They are left with truth as cold as facts, stifling and unattractive. Their lack of love cripples the power of the truth they profess to revere."
p. 125
"If you pursue anything in the spiritual realm, pursue a perfect balance of truth and love. Know the truth and uphold it in love."
"The authentically Christlike person knows the truth and speaks it in love. He knows the truth as Christ has revealed it, and he loves as Christ loves."
Holy smackdown!! (And, yes, I mean that both ways.)
p. 136
"And yet his love never slid into indulgent sentimentality."
I found that very poetic.
And this just occurred to me: I was talking with one of the sisters on my new Visiting Teaching list, and she commented how much of a page-turner the gospel of John was. And every single one of those quotes was from the chapter on John. Even things written about John are impressive. His awesomeness permeates even that which only mentions his name.
I'm really interested to get to the chapters on what, specifically, he says when "witnessing," because the early, generic, motivational chapters really don't do much of that. Just him sharing stories of people he's run across spattered around his encouragement and directions. I find that, while his heart is near the right place, he is severely misguided. (And I haven't even read the chapters where he provides textbook answers to common questions yet.) That being said, I tend to make an effort to find wit and/or wisdom in all that I read.
Here's some now...
p. 39
This guy has a lot of stories about witnessing to prostitutes.
"Whenever I tell this story, it ruffles people's feathers. One person asked, 'What if someone from your church drove by and saw you picking up a prostitute?'
I answered, '...they would probably say, 'There goes Mark again witnessing to a prostitute; let's pray for him.' Then they would probably pray that if I ahd picked up that prostitute for the wrong reason, the Spirit would convict me so that I would not do anything to discredit the ministry."
p. 40
"I want every person I meet to be in a relationship with Jesus."
p. 56
"Are you sure you want to witness by your actions alone? I definitely don't want to do that, because sometimes my actions don't portray my Savior in a very good light."
p. 74
"I guarantee that you will be dead a whole lot longer than you will be alive."
p. 76
"Don't put your head on your pillow tonight unless you know exactly where you're going to spend eternity."
p. 79
"Personally, I don't have time for temporary friendships (that is, just hanging out with people who don't know the Lord). I do have a lot of temporary friends, but it's for the purpose of making them eternal friends."
Interesting concept....
____________________________
Because I was getting fed up with the word "witness" and it's various forms, I switched over to "Twelve Angry Men." Here are some insights I've found since the last time I posted about insights from this book.
p. 124
"Many people are just as imbalanced as John was....They place too much emphasis...on love....Some are merely ignorant; others are deceived; still others simply do not care about what is true. In each case, truth is missing, and all they are left with is error, clothed in a shallow, tolerant sentimentality. It is a poor substitute for genuine love. They talk a lot about love and tolerance, but they utterly lack any concern for the truth. Therefore even the "love" they speak of is a tainted love....
"On the other hand, there are many who have all their theological ducks in a row and know their doctrine but are unloving and self-exalting. They are left with truth as cold as facts, stifling and unattractive. Their lack of love cripples the power of the truth they profess to revere."
p. 125
"If you pursue anything in the spiritual realm, pursue a perfect balance of truth and love. Know the truth and uphold it in love."
"The authentically Christlike person knows the truth and speaks it in love. He knows the truth as Christ has revealed it, and he loves as Christ loves."
Holy smackdown!! (And, yes, I mean that both ways.)
p. 136
"And yet his love never slid into indulgent sentimentality."
I found that very poetic.
And this just occurred to me: I was talking with one of the sisters on my new Visiting Teaching list, and she commented how much of a page-turner the gospel of John was. And every single one of those quotes was from the chapter on John. Even things written about John are impressive. His awesomeness permeates even that which only mentions his name.
2009-02-14
Reading Journal
During the month-long hiatus from this blog, I started and finished "Stranger in a Strange Land." It's apparently the most famous sci-fi novel ever written. Which explains why I've heard of it. A kid from work loaned it to me; he'd been bugging me to read it for a while.
Overall, I liked it. The premise, anyway. Humans make an expedition to Mars and a woman gives birth to a child conceived as a result of an affair, so she leaves him there. He gets raised by Martians and brought back to Earth. Loddy-doddy-this, loddy-doddy-that, I'm going to spoil the ending (since a truly good read is more about the journey than the destination, anyway) by telling you he runs off with the first woman he met and they establish a religious-based way of life. There were more parallels to Mormonism than I would expect from a European author in the early 60's, although I hesitate to say that. The hesitation comes from the unparallels.
I was also bugged by some editorial errors. I've returned the book, so I can't provide actual anecdotes, but there were things that editors should have caught. I don't know why they haven't. The loaner insisted that every mistake was intentional. And while there were some that I could view as intentional (you're going to have broken speech when you have a Martian learning English, after all), some of them were inexcusable.
Another downside to returning the book (on the day I was given the internet back, of all days) is that I can't reference any quotes I found particularly intriguing. However, there was one that struck me enough for me to write it down elsewhere.
p. 363
"Love" is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.
I'm still, erm, pacing through "Twelve Ordinary Men." Once we got to the especially ordinary ones, it got less interesting. I also just started a book called "One Thing You Can't Do in Heaven." And the answer to your question (I know you're asking because that's why I started reading it) is: ministering to a non-believer. Not really far enough into it to be able to say much. Maybe it'll help with my new church calling as a ward missionary. Funny, but I just now realized that the former owners of this house were professional missionaries for some other evangelical organization.
Overall, I liked it. The premise, anyway. Humans make an expedition to Mars and a woman gives birth to a child conceived as a result of an affair, so she leaves him there. He gets raised by Martians and brought back to Earth. Loddy-doddy-this, loddy-doddy-that, I'm going to spoil the ending (since a truly good read is more about the journey than the destination, anyway) by telling you he runs off with the first woman he met and they establish a religious-based way of life. There were more parallels to Mormonism than I would expect from a European author in the early 60's, although I hesitate to say that. The hesitation comes from the unparallels.
I was also bugged by some editorial errors. I've returned the book, so I can't provide actual anecdotes, but there were things that editors should have caught. I don't know why they haven't. The loaner insisted that every mistake was intentional. And while there were some that I could view as intentional (you're going to have broken speech when you have a Martian learning English, after all), some of them were inexcusable.
Another downside to returning the book (on the day I was given the internet back, of all days) is that I can't reference any quotes I found particularly intriguing. However, there was one that struck me enough for me to write it down elsewhere.
p. 363
"Love" is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.
I'm still, erm, pacing through "Twelve Ordinary Men." Once we got to the especially ordinary ones, it got less interesting. I also just started a book called "One Thing You Can't Do in Heaven." And the answer to your question (I know you're asking because that's why I started reading it) is: ministering to a non-believer. Not really far enough into it to be able to say much. Maybe it'll help with my new church calling as a ward missionary. Funny, but I just now realized that the former owners of this house were professional missionaries for some other evangelical organization.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)