The changing backgrounds...

I now have a wonderful background that will hopefully see me through the new year! 
Cheers!

Yes, Virginia...

Christmastime!  What a wonderful time of year!  Not because of the snow or the blustery wind that takes your breath away in one cold nip - but because it brings back the warmth of past Christmas memories which have been packed away as neatly as ornaments in their boxes.  Although Easter has always meant more spiritually to me than Christmas, the thought of mankind giving to others because God gave to us fills my soul with liquid cheer and goodwill.  Truly, out of a life that is mostly concerned with bureaucratic intangible constructs, it is this time of year in which action is met with word. The supernatural intangible is made real.  Society is filled with givers instead of takers.  The question asked is "Can I help?" instead of "Why should I?".  The best of us is unearthed and we remember a magic and miracles which are normally stuffed down under cynical workday demeanors.  I am putting that famous letter in the Sun here to warm the cockles of your heart!

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
Francis Pharcellus Chruch - Sun, New York, September 21, 1897
http://www.newseum.org/yesvirginia/

Thanksgiving is Upon Us

It's been a while since I was able to take a breath and write something here.  I miss it.  I have been off-kilter and running ragged with "to-do's" for the last couple months.  OK, so perhaps even longer than that. 

However, with only today and tomorrow in class and the Thanksgiving break looming large before me, my spirits are lifted and I think this may be the best Thanksgiving ever!  Adding to this rarefied state is the fact that the only contribution I need make for Thanksgiving is an apple pie!  I thought prior to last week I was going to host the dinner in some wild mad rush since I had previously committed to being two states away earlier in the day.  Now, life is looking good.

Add to this that almost all my Christmas decorating is finished and the presents are wrapped as they are bought - All is calm, All is bright!

Hemlocks

Now that the trees have shed their leaves and it appears that a person is looking at the world's bare skeleton, the view is so remarkably different.  The Hemlocks are standing out.  It's all very reminiscent of the forest primeval of Longellow's Evangeline:

"This is the forest primeval.  The murmuring

pines and the hemlocks,

bearded with moss, and in garments green, indis-

tinct in the twilight,

Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and

prophetic,

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on

their bosoms." (1-8)

On days when the fog lies heavy on the fallen leaves and moves in and around the trunks of the oaks which stand like sentinels, I am reminded most of Longfellow.  The way the branches of the young hemlocks sweep the ground and the majesty of the ancient ones towering over the earth gives me romantic impulses (historic romantic, not emotional romantic).  Of course, there is also the poisoned cup of hemlock taken by Socrates.  However, the 1st Nations people supposedly used the leafy twigs of hemlock for tea used to treat colds, fevers, stomach and instestinal issues and scurvy.  They also used it for steam baths.  I know I had an anthropology professor who had some pictures of the boughs lining a teepee, which I thought were hemlock but may have been spruce.  So you may well ask, what is the point to these ramblings? 

To which I reply, merely this: when the leafy distractions of nature have blown off and the world once more seems stark and we can view the bare bones of life, we can appreciate the underlay that is normally overlooked and all that it connotes.

The Basis of Language as Difference

One of my professors (in discussing critical theory) mentioned again that the basis of language is difference.  I know, I know, this concept has been around since the first survey literature course taken in freshman year.  The thing is, today it seemed like all constructed systems (psychoanalysis, science, etc) are based upon difference and, still further, the interpretation of difference.  This has led me to a whole framework in which to interpret reality and, I believe, a really good paper to submit to a philosophical publication.  It's all very exciting.  I've been bereft of inspiration in terms of writing (hence the two week hiatus from this blog), and now I feel it springing forth in droves.  Isn't it amazing how some new idea or, in this case, an old idea seen in a new way can make all the difference?  (Pun intended).

The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;         5 Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,         10 And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.         15 I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.         20

 - Robert Frost (1874–1963).  Mountain Interval.  1920. [http://www.bartleby.com/119/1.html]

Moods and the Weather

It's pouring out I am in the midst of writing a paper (due at 2:45 today) about the effect that contemporary critical literary theories have had upon reading.  Although I was originally stoked to write about this, now that I've had some seminal conversations with my husband and took a beating on a stock, I really just want to hide my head under the covers somewhere and never come out.  This is not like me at all.  I feel so defeated and would just like to get away and nurse my wounds like a wild thing would.  I think I have run headlong into the brick wall of reality and smashed up against it.   I hope that something changes for the better, but I feel so utterly at sea and I'd  just like to be able to stop and let the tears flow before trying to gear up and move on.

Sole Survivors of a Hot Summer!

 These are the last holdouts to the crisp weather - I thought they deserved to be remembered.

The last, tiny gerbera

Petunias and Mums



The last Beebalm



Impatiens



Echinacea (close up)

The final clematis







Morning Glories that are still greeting the morning

The lavender is huge! (this pic is a long shot where the others are close-ups)



And last, but not least, my Gardening Buddy from across the street



I like the blog Fairegarden, which has a photo of morning glories posted.  That blog inspired me to add a picture of ours to my blog.  Considering the weather we've been having, they are really strong plants!

Foucault's Quilt

I changed my background from the lemons of summer to a quilt.  For one thing, its warm and seasonal and for another it means something to me.  Foucault (the French philosopher) had a theory that our individual worlds are made up of bits and pieces that we each may choose to incorporate into it.  For instance, although you may grow up in a capitalist country, you could be a staunch proponent of socialist policy. You may have become a believer in Islam despite growing up in a Judeo-Christian culture.  It all depends upon the bits and pieces, the squares of the quilt that you were exposed to and decided to interweave into your life.  It may be as simple as what television show you decide to watch, the way the words affect your outlook on life.  Of course, for Foucault, it was about enculturation and a process that allows us to view the world and reality.  The main focus is about knowing what you are choosing and not falling into the trap of confusing your view or reference upon nature or the interpretation of facts as the only one.  In other words, be aware of the patches you have sewn to make your quilt and don't confuse them for the only one. Indeed, being cognizant of the fact that humanity operates on a give and take basis is a major idea.  (Note: his ideas deal with philosophy and viewpoints, please don't confuse my silly example about t.v. programs with his sophisticated interpretation of linguistics and philosophy.)

Ok, so I am trying to consciously choose what I need to put in my quilt because right now it's falling apart at the seams.  Seams are a strange word, when you think about it.  When done correctly, they overlap and remain strong, bound together.  When done perfectly, when everything has gone right, it is 'seamless', as if there are no seams there.  The reverse? Being undone.  A seam is broken loose. 

I started this semester taking 6 classes.  I know this is exactly what the University says not to do, but my husband and I had our reasons.  Now, however, after taking 8 classes last semester in a 6 week period, I find I cannot schedule any more than 3 classes without a problem.  If I had only school, well, I think it would be fine.  However, there is daytrading, the conversion of the corp. to an llc, all the taxes and contracts, a beautiful highschooler that I don't give enough attention to, loving in-laws, 3 dogs, a cat and a bird to think about as well.  Although my husband is probably the most supportive, loving man in the world and I feel terribly lucky to have married him, he's not around during the week (and even if he were it probably wouldn't make a difference). The think is I have responsibility.  I love them, chose to have them and wouldn't change them.   These things make up my quilt and although the bright exotic squares of classes and lectures add pizzazz, the neutral blending of colors that constitute the backbone of the design are also really important.  After last semester, I have a lot of bright crazy patches but the rest of the quilt, the support to it, was largely ignored.   Let's face it, as any quilter knows, you will wind up in a mess if you continue sewing pieces together like that and that is exactly where I am.

So here's to double-stitching the seams, choosing to make family important and taking care of business and most importantly, seeing clearly what is most dear to me.  I could say to Foucault that I believe in a culturally specific way of raising my daughter, that education is important but not the only thing, that love and the effects of family strongly influence my perspective on the world and most importantly that I believe God is in charge of it all.  These are the ideas and beliefs that affect my view of the world, the basis of my reality and the quilt that is my life.

Autumn Musings

Autumn, Fall, whatever you want to call it, it is here!  Pumpkins are on the porch, mums in the yard and the leaves are turning the most beautiful colors. 

I always believed this time of year was sad, second only to winter, because it was the transition to an end.  Now, I see it as a time of bustling activity.  The time of year when you can get things done outside before settling in for a long winter's nap. 

My thoughts are turning to all the events coming up and I have been wondering if this last century or two in human history, when people have begun to look upon the frigid and often extremely difficult season of winter in terms of excitement, should actually be noted as a turning point in our civilization. 

In the middle ages and Renaissance, and really up to the modern age, winter was a time when few survived.  So, all in all, I feel that the literary custom of using fall and winter to denote middle and old age respectively should be determined to be outdated.  Perhaps as much as the characteristics of middle-aged and elderly people are now.  For certain there are octogenarians with more hutzpah than the average 20-something.  Middle-age has become hard to classify as people are living energetic, self-actualized lives in their 40's and 50's and decades beyond that. 

Perhaps it is just that I am in the autumn of my life, and I'm enjoying the season.  So, when I looked for poetic inspiration about autumn, I thought the following, John Keats' "Ode to Autumn" (of which my favorite line is "thou hast thy music too") would be appropriate:

Ode to Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Work Cited:
Keats, John. Ode to Autumn. The Literature Network. 3 October 2010. Web. [http://www.online-literature.com/donne/480/]

Peaceful Acceptance

On another note, I wanted to mention the Buddhist practice of peaceful acceptance.  When you feel angry about something, it's usually because there is something that you perceive as wrong that you can't change.  However, this presupposes something else was suppose to happen in life and that the event that occurred was wrong in some way.  I am not Buddhist, but I think that this has applications for everyone.  I have been trying to remind myself about this concept but am really bad about it.  So, I am going to look for the good in the way this morning went.  Perhaps God will work somehting for the better out of it.  Perhaps I will be a better person for it than I would if my morning went ideally.  Great things occur out of imperfect experiences, not out of a utopian life.  Speaking of which, when I was previously writing about my idea of the perfect morning, I was doing so a little tongue in cheek.  I just finished reading Thomas More's "Utopia" and am reminded that the Greek U Topos can either mean "good place" or "no place". 
In so much philosophy, reasoning and meaning is dependent upon a differential.  In looking at the difference between my ideal morning and the reality, the difference really is that in one I am alone and in the other, I am connected to so many other lives.  There.  Now I can smile and feel grateful.

Lacking Inspiration

Well, here I am.  It is a morning that is decidedly brightening and a part of me feels that as the sun comes up, so my spirits should rise.  However, I am finding that quite the opposite is true.  I believe that in my mind, I have a pleasant idea of how mornings should run and when they are chaotic and frustrating in the first half hour after one gets out of bed, it just imposes the banality of the world upon a psyche that would, indeed, find inspiration in the fresh sunlight flitting upon the dew of morning grass.  In my perfect world, I would rise to the sunshine hitting my eyes through the open window.  I'd shower and dress, applying lotions to keep my body soft and wrinkles at bay.  I would attend to my nails and any necessary hygenic matter.  This would all be done in a sparkling clean bedroom free from dog hair or dirt of any sort.  Classical music would play in the background, maybe Pachelbel.  Hmm...this area needs more thought.  Still, I would go downstairs to either a steaming pot of the finest and most robust coffee, so good that the hair in your nose prickles in delighted anticipation. I'd pour a cup and sit at the table with that and a morning paper.  (Which, of course, would magically appear on the table).  I'd hear the bird's sing and contemplate all that is good with the world.  What really happened this morning was: I woke at 5 something a.m. to the sound of our littlest dog, Diana, barking on the back porch.  That gets our other two dogs, Jake and Bailey, up when they had been perfectly happy sleeping.  I go downstairs with them, after trying unsuccessfully to pretend the repetitive ear hammering obnoxious barking does not exist.  Downstairs Bailey jumps up on a couch with a bone and gives me a look like "I really don't want to go anywhere" while Jake heads to the bathroom to drink water out of the toilet.  I get Jake out of there and drag Bailey off the couch, all to the musical melodies of 9 month old barking puppy, who is still on the back deck.  I try to open the door and can't with both collars in my hands, so I mistakenly let go of Jakes and he makes a beeline back to the toilet.  I again retrieve him from the bathroom, this time making sure the door is solidly shut.  He gets away and runs around the other side of the stairs.  I now notice a very unpleasant odor, but continue on!  I have Bailey in one hand and try to get Diana off the back porch with the other.  It does not go well.  I end up bringing Bailey to the enclosure, checking the food and giving new water while Diana runs around the house like a wild thing.  After trying to catch Diana 4 or 5 times, I finally nab her when she stops for a drink and get her into the enclosure as well. I retrieve Jake from inside the house, where he has waited patiently.  Good Jake!  I deposit him into the penned area and notice Diana has knocked over the extra water bucket I was going to fill.  I go into the enclosure with the same trepidation that Dante exhibits traveling through hell in "The Inferno".  At this point I am clawed and gucked up by Diana, who has taken her few minutes in the pen to become as dirty as possible. I right the water bucket, half-fill it with water and wander back to the house.   Getting an idea of my morning yet?  It gets better.  Because when I get back to the house, I notice that Diana has pooped (a lot) on the back deck and my daughter, who is in charge of giving her dog love, care and attention has not been doing many of the afore-mentioned to any degree of sufficiency.  I take care of the dog poop.  Please note that I am still in my pajamas.  I then go inside to be assaulted by the terrible odor my husband refers to as "dawg poopay".  Yes, that's right.  Diana has done number 1 and number 2 right next to the table.  I clean this up.  I go to shower because now not only am I covered with mud and who knows what else, but I realize I need to take my daughter down to a store to ask for a donation for the cheerleading team.  I go into a messy bathroom (this is what Anjelica was doing while Diana was barking - the noise of the water must have pleasantly masked the incessant barking).  Feeling pleasantly surprised to find a towel on the floor that I can use to step on, I clean the shower a bit and step in.  It's not until afterward that I find Anjelica has used the last towel.  I am, in fact, probably stepping on it.  I will now have to run dripping wet and naked through the house.  Perhaps I should grow my hair longer so at least I can think of Lady Godiva as I do this, since this seems like it is getting to be a common occurrence.   Ok, Lady Godiva sans horse.  I get upstairs, dry off with a towel I have stashed in my closet for such emergencies and give Anjelica a talking to about meeting her responsibilities.  Then I get dressed and look out the window to see the sun rise over the tree tops and realize that I feel completely uninspired in the day.  I think you can see why.

In the Beginning was the Word

   It's a beautiful Saturday morning here in Kennebunk.  Now that Earl has passed through, there are cornflower skies and breezes that smell of the salt sea.  The leaves on the bushes and trees ripple like waves on the ocean.  All the world seems bright and new.  So... I thought this would be a good day to start a blog.  Produced solely for my own satisfaction and to provide me with a sense of order and structure, I thought I would take the time to post my own writings and the things that I found most interesting and beautiful about God, the world and the english language.  Hopefully, this will elucidate the connections between them all and my own psyche.  (I just finished a class on Jung and Fairy Tales which highlights the process of individuation and relation to culture). 

   There is something wonderful about a sense of schedule and structure as a rebellion against what seems to be the chaos of my life.  Since I believe that God is always there waiting for us, I hope this blog gives me time to meditate on the great blessings he has given me and offers a sequeway into a scheduled prayer time.  I think I've always tried to comply with the way other people do things and it hasn't worked.  Somehow meditation for me involves writing - even though the two may seem to be mutually exclusive.  Although I'm attracted to metaphysical understanding, I believe that God has shown me that no matter how much humanity learns or ascribes to understand, we can never know or really, truly ken the world or God's purposes and plans. 

   The title of this blog has multiple meanings: 1) Believing there is a rhyme and reason to our lives and that God is in control of that 2) Knowing I will never understand the rhyme and reason for the great ideations in life: matter, functioning, and spirituality 3) Enjoying how verse can appropriate an experiential ideal in use of both rhyme and reason and 4) providing rhyme and reason in the literal sense, ie. allowing me to post rhymes and think through the everyday of life.  So here's a virtual toast to the best of intentions and auspicious beginnings!