Every year I quote a poem written by a college friend, Steve Kopelic, some years back. Steve? You out there? Do you remember this epic? I found out this year that my oldest thought it was an American classic and was surprised that it did not come up on google. I am pretty sure it first appeared in print on the noteboard on my dormroom door, and maybe never since, until now. :) Without further ado:
Mr. Tom Turkey, your white meat's a winner. What say you come to our house for dinner? There's 'taters, and stuffing, and cranberries too. But most of all, Turkey, the main course is YOU.
Ahh, summer. Today we had company and I wanted simple and summer. We included my Mum's famous Q and O salad which I have always loved: cucumbers, onions, white vinegar and water, a little bit of sugar and some dill weed and then let it all marinate. Yum.
The fun story on this is that when my brother was very young, he told Mum not to worry, he had already planted the garden. She asked what he planted. He couldn't remember the name, but it started with a Q. Naturally Mum went through all the Q things she could think of before asking him where he had gotten the seeds, anyhow, and when he said, "from our salad," she realized he had planted cucumber seeds. Pretty sure they didn't grow.
Today my usual pomegranate-seeder is on her way to Valparaiso for Thanksgiving so I got this messy but beautiful task myself. (Valparaiso, that's fun to say!) I have always loved seeing the beautiful arils when you open the plain fruit, they sparkle like cut jewels hidden away inside. I have a theory that the pomegranate is the fruit offered to Eve in the garden. I would have taken it, myself. That would also explain how the Persephone story got its start.
Why do we have pomegranate at Thanksgiving? We cut a pineapple in quarters and then chunk each quarter and replace the pieces in the shell, and set three of them out on a platter. Then we sprinkle with pomegranate seeds. I did this one year because I thought it would be pretty, and my brother announced, "Look, the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria... and some of the pilgrims have been swept overboard." And thus a tradition was born.
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I will give you the treasures of darkness and the hoards in secret places, that you may know that it is I, the LORD, the God of Israel, who call you by your name. ~ Isaiah 45:3
For me one of the deep truths - the sparkling ornaments that I learn from during Advent seasons (the time of celebrating Christ coming to dwell with us) is that victory really does not come from the kind of might I think it does. I have been mulling over some of the lovely sides of that ornament. ~ ~ ~ I remember one of the first latin phrases I picked up in junior high, probably from a poem. Amor vincit omnia. Love conquers all. True of God's love. We are reminded of that love with the birth of Christ, and then again, so much at his death and resurrection. ~ ~ ~ Not long after that, I got the same idea about God's love often conquering us quietly and seemingly from a place of weakness, in the Edwin Markham poem Outwitted:
He drew a circle that shut me out —
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in!
We drew a circle that shut God out. But He showed how large His love is by drawing a huge circle with Christ to take us back in. ~ ~ ~ And James 2:13 includes "Mercy triumphs over judgment." Not the usual cry of power.
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Last week at a Christmas concert we heard this song, new to me. It moves a little fast, so the words are posted below.
This little Babe so few days old, is come to rifle Satan's fold;
All hell doth at his presence quake, though he himself for cold do shake;
For in this weak unarmed wise the gates of hell he will surprise.
With tears he fights and wins the field, his naked breast stands for a shield.
His battering shot are babish cries, his arrows looks of weeping eyes,
His martial ensigns Cold and Need, and feeble Flesh his warrior's steed.
His camp is pitched in a stall, his bulwark but a broken wall;
The crib his trench, haystalks his stakes; of shepherds he his muster makes;
And thus, as sure his foe to wound, the angels' trumps alarum sound.
My soul, with Christ join thou in fight; stick to the tents that he hath pight.
Within his crib is surest ward; this little Babe will be thy guard.
If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy, then flit not from this heavenly Boy.
"foil thy foes with joy" - there is the reminder that my soul longs for ~ ~ ~
Some online friends were talking about trying to make sense of the recent school shootings. One of my musically talented friends shared this quote:
“This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.” ~ Leonard Bernstein
I am no musician, but I love the kernel of that idea. I think God wants us to respond to the sin around us in faith, not in fear, and part of that is embracing His love for us and goodness to us and LIVING more and more abundantly in Him. John 10:10 ~ The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.
Our state requires standardized testing of homeschooled students every few years and today was the day for Mr Music to go. This gave me a quiet day, with Miss Dog Lover as the only student currently enrolled, so I had a bit of time. That is a good thing. I had time to call and talk to my Mum. <3 I had time to watch the birds who are new arrivals for the winter.
I had time to sharpen all my colored pencils that I use for Bible marking. I started using Kay Arthur study books and have taken her marking system to a new level. This works for me because I like coloring, and it slows me down and makes me think about what I am reading.
And this evening Devastatingly Handsome and I had time to try to find an old-style piece of blotting paper and have ice cream sundaes together. :)
Friday, March 2, 2012
Spring really is coming.
My favorite song from first grade keeps playing in my head:
I know a little pussy her coat is silver grey she lives down in the meadow not very far away she'll always be a pussy she'll never be a cat her name is pussy willow now what do you think of that? meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, SCAT!
I have cut some for inside to root and share with friends and take some to our new house. The parent plant for these is from my Mum's and it is ginormous, much more a tree than a bush. I love the smooth softness of the catkins. :)
This morning Mr Music greeted me with this little buddy he'd built for me for Valentine's day... so he has been named "Valentine." Is he not awesome?
And I am just a bit conflicted about whether I ought to post a picture of the Valentine dessert I made for tonight... see, Devastatingly Handsome has asked me not to post identifying photos on my blog, and, well, I made a mini-Devastatingly. So, here is the deal: I am going to post the picture and you are on the honor system that if you see Devastatingly IRL some day you will not say, "Oh, I know you. I saw your face on a cookie on carpebanana." Please. That would be bad for our relationship.
Each Thanksgiving these two (Blessings and Bradford) stop by my blog to wish my readers a happy Thanksgiving.
They are grateful to not be featured on the menu, and arrive bearing words from G. K. Chesterton ~ You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink.
This summer we were given a couple tiny tomato plants that grew the tiniest tomatoes ever. They are called Montreal Minis and they are so much fun that I hope to plant LOTS of them next year. Here they are, full grown and ready to slice onto your sandwich. :)
We have taken a cue from Ann Voskamp and started a journal counting our blessings. I wanted to share one pretty one that was a gift from Devastingly Handsome, number 5 as listed by Miss Language:
5. Small purple flowers clustered like unflung stars in a pot.
