Today's Cats and Flowers

Giant and lovely snapdragon

Reasons these cat pictures are bad: 1) I took them through a dirty window  2) I had to zoom in so as not to scare away the cats, so they are blurry  3) The glare made streaks in some photos 4) my garden hose is always lying around cluttering up the background.

I wasn't prepared for having so many cat visitors in one day. The first one to arrive was the one I will name Boots. He was so interested in my clogs. I decided to put some food out for Boots, because, I'm very sad to report, Jim hasn't been around for a month. I might as well try to make new friends by means of my leftover cat food, because I'm afraid he won't ever come back.

Boots

The next picture shows Boots eating, and looking nicer. Except for the white feet, he isn't the prettiest. But then, Jim wasn't very good-looking until he had eaten regularly at my step for a few months.

Pincushion

I watered the yard thoroughly this morning, and will again Friday before we leave for Oregon to visit kids and grandkids. So I had to take pictures of flowers. I love my garden, even if it is pretty messy. If I loved it better I'd coil up the hose every evening.

Boots didn't eat all the food, so there was still some later on when Girlfriend came by.

Girlfriend

Last of all, just at dusk, came this odd-looking feline whom I'll call Two-Tone....

Two-Tone

Oh, I take that back. It's almost dark now, and Cow Cat is here -- I can see through the window as I type -- and what do you know, there is still food in the bowl. Cow Cat visits several times a day, usually, and always looks in the window and in the bowl, even though we have shooed him away many times.

Cow Cat a year ago

We didn't like him because he's ugly. But Goldilocks questioned the morality of that opinion....at least, that's the challenge I felt in my heart when she said, "Why won't you feed him?"

Calendula with oregano

Last year when I wrote about the cat visitors, I had chosen Jim, the black cat at the bottom of this post, as my favorite. So we discriminated against Cow Cat. Pippin said he may have a classic deformity of the face that makes him look the way he does. It's not his fault. So perhaps I will take pity on him after all. Will he forgive me my past unkindness?

This yellow California poppy is very beloved, because it is unusual. The bright orange are much more vigorous and easy to grow, but I managed to get this one established, and it comes back most years.

Cow Cat is unusual, and he keeps coming back. Maybe I could learn to love him, too.

Fairy finery, honey and roses

Many people were already in the church when I arrived about 11:00 p.m. on Saturday night. On the carpet in the transept opposite the choir several blankets and children were laid out. I bought a fat candle to have ready for the procession, but it wasn't lit until an hour later, and in the meantime I was getting intoxicated by the honey-warm scent rising to my nose, feeling as though I was already breaking the fast with some rich dessert. It smelled richer than baklava.

Then the Easter lilies came into olfactory focus, blending with the beeswax. By this time my ears were full of the hymns reminding me of Christ's rising from the tomb, in a garden, in a real place on the earth, because He was really a man of flesh and blood as we are. When He rose He must have noticed whatever flowers were blooming in that garden.

Camellia in our church garden during Holy Week

Families were arriving, and while most males were dressed in their "ordinary" best Sunday clothes, the clergy wore white vestments, and many women and girls had put together very springy and bright, often all-white, outfits. A score of little girls had flouncy skirts that would have been fancy enough for a ball, or for acting the role of a fairy in a drama. I was so happy for their being able to commemorate their Lord's Resurrection by being their prettiest.

Even I had found a long and full eyelet skirt at a discount store, to wear with an odd assortment of other white things, and switched from black to flowered purse. There were lots of us, then, adding our white forms to the press of bodies, including the Eritreans who always wear beautiful white gauze. On this day more Eritrean men than usual wore their white gauze, too.

When the deacons and priests started around with censers, it was with the incense that is so heady I want to cry over it, knowing that "Jesus is fairer, Jesus is sweeter...." Is it made from roses? I must find out about this.

When we made our procession around the property -- it was a longer route than merely around the church building -- yes, there was some drizzle, but very fine, and not enough to put out anyone's candle. We were singing our new Paschal processional hymn, which the choir tried to teach the rest of us last week, but I know I didn't get it. Several of us noted as we were trailing along silently, too far behind in the train to hear the choir, that it had taken us ten years to learn the old Paschal hymn; it would have helped to have the choir members scattered along the line, interspersed with the rest of us and leading us.

But I think everyone was content. We were at Pascha! At one point we who were closer to the front of the long line could see across the lawn to a stream of worshipers at the end of the procession, and the view was stunning, their white garments reflecting the flickering candles they were holding up in the dark. There were hundreds of us! I didn't think it seemed that crowded in the building.

Soon we arrived again at the doors of the church, at which the priest knocked, and then, "He is not here! He is risen!" When we went inside we heard as always on this night the Paschal homily of St. John Chrysostom, which he gave about 1600 years ago and which has never sounded sweeter to my ears, full as it is of the love and grace of God. As we float through Bright Week and through the next 50 days, its glad tidings will remind us to keep greeting one another with "Christ is risen!"

This year our Father Michael, who is over 80 years old, read the homily. Somehow his voice never weakens, and retains the strength and authority of a strong spirit. Every time he serves or preaches I am so thankful for the grace that enables him to keep going, because he is so dear. His heart is such that the message of this sermon is of the sort that would flow from his own pen and lips.

At every repetition of the phrase, "Hell [or it] was embittered," Fr. Michael paused so that the congregation could answer with a shout: "It was embittered!" -- a sort of boisterous participation that we all seem to enjoy this one time in the year.

In a hearty baritone, this is what he proclaimed:

If anyone is devout and a lover of God, let him enjoy this beautiful and radiant festival.

If anyone is a grateful servant, let him, rejoicing, enter into the joy of his Lord.

If anyone has wearied himself in fasting, let him now receive recompense.

If anyone has labored from the first hour, let him today receive the just reward.

If anyone has come at the third hour, with thanksgiving let him feast.

If anyone has arrived at the sixth hour, let him have no misgivings; for he shall suffer no loss.

If anyone has delayed until the ninth hour, let him draw near without hesitation.

If anyone has arrived even at the eleventh hour, let him not fear on account of tardiness.

For the Master is gracious and receives the last even as the first; He gives rest to him that comes at the eleventh hour, just as to him who has labored from the first.

He has mercy upon the last and cares for the first; to the one He gives, and to the other He is gracious.

He both honors the work and praises the intention.

Enter all of you, therefore, into the joy of our Lord, and, whether first or last, receive your reward.

O rich and poor, one with another, dance for joy!

O you ascetics and you negligent, celebrate the day!

You that have fasted and you that have disregarded the fast, rejoice today!

The table is rich-laden: feast royally, all of you!

The calf is fatted: let no one go forth hungry!

Let all partake of the feast of faith. Let all receive the riches of goodness.

Let no one lament their poverty, for the universal kingdom has been revealed.

Let no one mourn their transgressions, for pardon has dawned from the grave.

Let no one fear death, for the Saviour's death has set us free.

He that was taken by death has annihilated it!

He descended into Hades and took Hades captive!

He embittered it when it tasted His flesh! And anticipating this, Isaiah exclaimed: "Hades was embittered when it encountered Thee in the lower regions".

It was embittered, for it was abolished!

It was embittered, for it was mocked!

It was embittered, for it was purged!

It was embittered, for it was despoiled!

It was embittered, for it was bound in chains!

It took a body and came upon God!

It took earth and encountered Ηeaven!

It took what it saw, but crumbled before what cannot be seen!

O death, where is thy sting?

O Hades, where is thy victory?

Christ is risen, and you are overthrown!

Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen!

Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice!

Christ is risen, and life reigns!

Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in a tomb!

For Christ, being raised from the dead, has become the first-fruits of them that have slept.

To Him be glory and might unto the ages of ages.

Amen.

As I finish this post, it is Bright Tuesday. I went to church, and the gospel for today was the story of Christ meeting some of His followers on the Road to Emmaus soon after His rising from the dead. The unfolding of the scene, and imagining the Lord walking alongside and hearing them telling about the recent events -- then their eyes being opened, His vanishing from their sight.... They said, "Didn't our hearts burn within us?" And I got chills.

The altar is open all during Bright Week.

Who lives and was dead

Today was full of the Lord! The first thing I did on rising was go to church and take a turn reading Psalms by candlelight next to the "tomb" of Christ that had been erected on Friday and bedecked with Easter lilies. It is a special icon representing our Lord lying in the grave, and from the end of Friday night's service the Psalms are read continuously until the next service, which was at 1:00 today.

The Orthodox also read Psalms all night by the casket of any church member at death. And if one is all alone in the church in the near dark -- well, one is not alone, because God is there always, and not only He, but the saints who live and form that great Cloud of Witnesses, who are praying with us. It's a very intimate and loving hour, and a blessed opportunity to participate in such a work.

In the middle of the Vesperal Liturgy of Holy Saturday we had baptisms. Once again we are at the anniversary of my own baptism on this day, four years ago now, and that adds to the gravity and joy of standing with those who are being newly illumined. During Lent the catechumens have been preparing for Holy Baptism, and the rest of the church pray extra on their behalf, and in our hearts and in repentance rededicate ourselves, remembering our own illumination.

Today there were six people baptized, praise God! Two couples, each with a very young boy-child, and they used our new sunken baptismal font that is just outside the church, filled with 90° water, which I'm sure made it easier for the little guys to suffer being immersed. The skies were dry, which made watching easier for all of us. In spite of the momentary displeasure and crying of the babies, everyone was beaming with smiles and songs.

Also during the service today we heard 15 Old Testament readings that have been familiar to me most of my life, but they are becoming even more beloved every year, as we hear passages as long as the whole book of Jonah and as short as the couple of paragraphs from Jeremiah that it has been my lot to chant three years in a row now. When Tom started reading the account of Abraham taking Isaac to the mountain to make a sacrifice, I realized that I have heard him read it every year, and from now on will never be able to read that moving story without hearing his voice.

We change all the altar cloths from purple to white in the middle of this service as well, two or three people nearby stepping up to do the quick work at the same time as men are lighting the chandelier and the choir is singing. Of course the choir is singing! There is rarely a quiet time during our services, filled as they are with prayers, Scripture, and hymns.

B. went with me on Thursday evening for the Matins of Holy Friday, during which 12 Gospel passages are read, including the whole of several chapters of John, by the clergy in the center of the church. It's a kind of total immersion in the events of Christ's Passion, and requires three hours to get the full effect -- but you get it.

Last night was Matins and Lamentations for Holy Saturday. The Lamentations consist of the whole chapter of Psalm 119, its verses interspersed with poetic verses pertaining directly to the Passion of Christ. But I didn't go to that. I'm too old to stay up past my bedtime several nights in a row, and I wanted to be sure to make it tonight.

At my baptism, anointing with Holy Chrism

Tonight about midnight we will process around the church with candles -- and maybe in the drizzle, if the weather doesn't change quickly. Once we are back inside, a large portion of the first chapter of John will be read, often in more than one language. We will begin the happy shouts and songs of "Christ is risen!" and hymns that are the most rousing of the whole church year.

The priests and deacons will make the rounds among the people innumerable times with censing and with recitations of "Christ is risen!" and "In truth He is risen!" in many different languages in turn. Sometimes I see a cheat sheet floating around that shows these phrases, but I'm always a little too scattered to make up for my lack of preparedness right then. It's very chummy, because we get a lot of visitors or once-a-year-ers and we fill the house. One has to pay attention to the candles to be sure that they don't catch someone's hair or long white scarf on fire.

Many children fall asleep on the floor as the festivities continue. The day of my baptism I was so thoroughly done-in that I couldn't help looking again and again at the sleeping children and wishing that I were a child so that I could conk out, too. Perhaps I was being obvious; eventually a man offered me his chair, and with sleeping babe in arms moved to sit on the floor. 

Of course, the highlight of the service is receiving the Holy Mysteries of Communion. When we have broken our Lenten fast with that heavenly food, and are giddy with fatigue, many of us go into the hall to share rich earthly treats that we've been doing without for many weeks. I'm not sure I will want to do that this year; I might need to come home and treat myself with sleep. We have a picnic Sunday afternoon with meat and everything one could want, when we are more rested.

So that's where I'm going after I finish writing this and don my festal garments. I wanted to post at least something in commemoration of this pivotal point in history, and in our salvation history, and then I got carried away. What I first thought to share is these lines that Fr. L read to us instead of a homily this afternoon, words of the risen Christ that I hope will keep echoing in my heart.

I am the First and the Last. I am He who lives, and was dead, and behold, I am alive forevermore. Amen. And I have the keys of Hades and of Death.   

The Hungry Soul - Struggle to Stand

Other posts on this book: The Hungry Soul -- Intro (Why I love this book) and The Hungry Soul -- How Science Disappoints

The charming children we get to know in the recent documentary "Babies" are, at the end of the film, struggling to become toddlers, persons enjoying the upright posture that is a mark of homo erectus. They don't even think about it, because it seems to be a given that children want very much to stand up and walk. 

That is, unless you are Lazy Tommy Pumpkinhead, who lives in an electric house that does everything for him; Tommy can't bring himself to get out of bed or even stand up without assistance. But his story is meant to teach any self-respecting child to be self-respecting, to be human, and not lazy. He is the hero of a children's book I liked to read to our children.

In the chapter on "The Human Form," in his book The Hungry Soul: Eating and the Perfecting of our Nature, Leon Kass examines how the erect and forward-facing posture that distinguishes us from most of the animal world contributes to our outlook and coordinates with our calling to be lords of creation, as it were. He takes many of his foundational ideas on this subject from the neurologist-psychologist Erwin Straus, and from his essay titled "The Upright Posture."

In my reviews I'm skipping around in the book, but I should explain that the first chapters make a case for the primacy of form. That is, all living beings are more than a collection of the same kinds of particles. Even though absolutely all our material is replaced during our lifetime, we retain the same recognizable form. And as this is a book about the human soul, the subject is next narrowed to the human form. From there the author goes on to discuss what humans do with these bodies.

The uprightness of our form is what I am trying to stick to in this post. I think of this a lot now, when I wake up in the mornings and am lying in bed for at least a few seconds. Rarely do I have to get up with an alarm clock, for which I am grateful. But at this time of my life no baby is demanding that I get up to feed her and no child will be late for school if I linger a bit. This morning when I woke I realized that God had answered my prayer to be wakened in time to go to Bridegroom Matins, so I hopped out of bed.

But it isn't always so easy. Wouldn't it be lovely if we could keep that verve that children have, that makes them get up, or cry to be let out of their cribs, as soon as they wake up? It seems that God gives us a special grace, when we are new to the world, to work hard at standing before we know what work is.

Though upright posture characterizes the human species, each of us must struggle to attain it. Our birthright includes standing, but we cannot stand at birth. Feral children who have survived in the wild were not found upright but were able to become so. As with other distinctively human traits (speech, for example), human beings must work to make themselves do or become what nature prepares them to be or do. Upright posture is a human, and humanizing, accomplishment.

Kass quotes Straus:

Before reflection or self-reflection start, but as if they were a prelude to it, work makes its appearance within the realm of the elemental biological functions of man. In getting up, in reaching the upright posture, man must oppose the forces of gravity. It seems to be his nature to oppose nature in its impersonal, fundamental aspects with natural means. However, gravity is never fully overcome; upright posture always maintains its character of counteraction.

And Kass elaborates:

Effort does not cease with rising up; it is required to maintain our uprightness. Automatic regulation does not suffice; staying up takes continuous attention and activity, as well it should, inasmuch as our very existence is at stake. Awakeness is necessary for uprightness; uprightness is necessary for survival. Yet our standing in the world is always precarious; we are always in danger of falling. Our natural stance is, therefore, one of 'resistance,' of "withstanding,' of becoming constant, stable.

It doesn't get any easier, does it? As we get older and weaker, the temptation is to sit down more often. I notice that tendency in church, where in my tradition we stand during the services, which means for one or two hours at a time we stand. What better attitude could we take toward The Holy Con-substantial Life-Creating Trinity?

Yes, we can prostrate ourselves, and I know people who do that when their ailing backs prevent their standing in prayer. But I notice in the Bible that after people fall on their faces before messengers of God, they are told to stand up. The Psalms speak of standing in His presence, and in the New Testament we are told, "...having done all, to stand."

Stand firm, stand in the gap, stand still and see the salvation of the Lord...The posture is both a metaphor for and a support to our efforts, the whole Christian life being a struggle against laziness, even to the point of, "Let us labor therefore to enter into that rest." (Hebrews 4) Perhaps if I stand a little longer than is comfortable in church, or work a few more minutes at my household chores before sitting down, it will make me call out to God and ask for help to be the kind of person He wants.

And if I doubt my ability, let me remind myself, "You've been doing this your whole life, resisting gravity, walking this precarious walk against natural forces that want to pull you down. You can keep doing it, you can!" I will call to mind the words of T.S. Eliot: "Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go." And not forgetting the difference between the metaphor and the reality, I'm only too aware that some people who are no longer able to stand with their bodies are standing in the gap for me.

As to lying in bed, for most of us it is a near necessity, though the saints' lives testify that some of them avoided it like the plague. One wants to avoid the condition described in Proverbs 26, "As a door turns on its hinges, so a sluggard turns on his bed." I haven't yet figured out how exactly it fits in without spoiling my thesis, but I have to mention my dear G.K. Chesterton's delightful essay, "On Lying in Bed," in which he cautions tongue-in-cheek against legalism and hypocrisy, mostly about how early one rises:

A man can get used to getting up at five o'clock in the morning. A man cannot very well get used to being burnt for his opinions; the first experiment is commonly fatal. Let us pay a little more attention to these possibilities of the heroic and the unexpected. I dare say that when I get out of this bed I shall do some deed of an almost terrible virtue.

This drawing of Lazy Tommy illustrates what happens after he is all dressed and fed, and the long afternoon stretches ahead of him with nothing to do but propel himself up the stairs -- not walking, but crawling, it should be noted -- but his bed is the attraction that gives him that much energy.

I like this picture, only because it shows that even Tommy is capable of struggling. Maybe we could think of him as a late bloomer, crawling when he should have learned to walk -- but at least he is showing some spunk. At the end of the book he experiences enough discomfort resulting from an electrical outage and the failure of technology that he resolves to "turn over a new leaf."

As I finish this post we are in Holy Week. All through Lent I wanted to write something about the wonderful midweek services that we have (and at which I hope to worship tonight), but it seemed to be beyond my ability to capture even a bit of the sweetness in words. One thing I love about them is that all the Psalms that are called Songs of Ascent are read at each service. And the last of those, Psalm 134, provides a fitting picture of our souls' posture before our God.

Behold, bless ye the LORD, 

all ye servants of the LORD, 

which by night stand 

in the house of the LORD. 

Lift up your hands in the sanctuary, 

and bless the LORD. 

The LORD that made heaven and earth 

bless thee out of Zion.

Further posts on this book: The Hungry Soul - How Science Disappoints

The day started with callas

This morning I went out in the fog to cut as many nice calla lilies as I could find in my three patches, to contribute to what 

our Flower Lady and her team would use 

to decorate the church for Palm Sunday and Holy Week.

B. came out with me and found a snail on the slab of schist that Soldier brought me from the mountains a while back.

Today was Lazarus Saturday, which is like a foretaste of Christ's own resurrection. It marks the end of Lent, and helps us remember Christ's power over death and hell which He demonstrated at The Event of all history, which will come to us at Pascha whether we are ready or not.

I dropped off the bucket of blooms right before Divine Liturgy (Holy Communion service) in the morning. In the afternoon, people cleaned and decorated the church.


 
In the evening was the Vigil for Palm Sunday, a gloriously rich beginning of the feast. The callas had been added to other flowers, including something that looked like campanula, and some unusual orange woody stems with berries (?) on them.











The palm fronds were all laid out at the ready.


 In the middle of the service, while the sun was still up, we processed outside and stood singing and praying for a while; I was next to the wisteria and noticed the bees buzzing and the sweetness of the flowers adding to the flavor of the Holy Spirit.


Not long after that -- I am leaving out so much that was wonderful, like the flower-covered chandelier set to swinging, and special breads, but You Had to Be There -- the palm fronds were given out, and once they had a branch to hold, the children found it easier to last another while.

 Blessed is He that comes in the name of the Lord!

Listening at the end of Lent

About now I begin to think I really should hold my tongue and start listening harder. Here are some things I'm hearing:

1. Do not show forth a useless fast.

2.    Can’t you see that the world is on fire, burning! Temptation is everywhere. The devil has set such a fire that even all firefighters in the world could not put it out. It is a spiritual fire. Nothing but prayer is left for us now, prayer that God may take pity on us! You see, when a fire spreads and the firefighters can do nothing about it, people turn to God and pray for a heavy rain. The same happens with the spiritual fire started by the devil; only prayer is needed so that God may help us.
       Wherever you may turn, one thing is clear: things are falling apart! It’s not, for example, that we have a house and a window or something else that needs fixing and we can take care of it; it is the entire house that is in shambles––and worse yet, the entire village. We are spinning out of control. Only God can step in and make a difference. He’s got to roll up His sleeves, take a screwdriver and with a slap here and a caress there fix the mess. The world is harboring a blistering wound, full of puss, that needs to be opened and treated; but it’s too soon to open it now. Evil must come to term as it did in Jericho, a long time ago.
     ––Elder Paisios in With Pain and Love for Contemporary Man [thanks to Arsenios]

3. A word about how we relate to the saints.

4. "There's no taking snakes with sugar-tongs."  -Proverb

5. From yesterday's Orthodox matins service:

O wise Lazarus, prepare now for thy burial; for tomorrow thou shalt die and leave this life. Look at the tomb in which thou shalt dwell. But Christ will bring thee back to life again, raising thee on the fourth day.
Be glad, O Bethany: for Christ shall come to thee, performing in thee a great and fearful miracle. Binding death with fetters, as God of all He will raise up Lazarus, who was dead and now magnifies the Creator.
Come, let us make ready to meet the Lord, bringing to Him palms of virtue. So shall we receive Him in our souls as in the city of Jerusalem, worshiping Him and singing His praises.

icon from Sinai-12th century

More flowers showing their bright faces

The tulips in "my" barrels at church had faded when I returned after my Maryland trip, but the Iceland poppies and violas are putting themselves forward.

In the fall I planted some of these poppies at church, and some at home. The only yellow one I have at home is very bright. These pale yellow ones at church are as big as saucers.

I love this orange-flowered perennial which I did plant well over a year ago, but I don't remember now what it is.

This particular year's spring showing is unique, of course. But if I am diligent about watering these containers it will be like every season's display in colorfully giving glory to God. It is really a lot of fun to be an assistant gardener to the Creator.

The Hungry Soul - Why I Love This Book

Any self-conscious emotional eater might take notice of a title like The Hungry Soul: Eating and the Perfecting of our Nature. I had the added attraction to the book that came from having heard the author's warm and thoughtful voice on the Mars Hill Audio Journal as he was being interviewed on an altogether different topic.

Leon R. Kass, currently a professor at the University of Chicago, was appointed to chair the controversial President's Council on Bioethics at its creation in 2001 and remained on the council until 2007, during which time he wrote Life, Liberty, and the Defense of Dignity: The Challenge for Bioethics. Though he is naturally called a bioethicist, he prefers the term humanist, because it better conveys the breadth of his concerns. Kass is also a medical doctor, but this is not a book about eating disorders any more than it is a cookbook -- rather, it is a pondering of "the truth about our human situation."

At the outset I must submit that there is no way Kass can tell us the whole truth, because he ignores Jesus Christ who is The Truth. Christ reveals the Father to us, being His "express image," and He was the only fully human person who ever lived on earth, showing us as He did what man can be when he lives in constant communion with His Father as humans were meant to do.

Given this severe omission, one might wonder how I could find such treasures in Kass; I have to admit that this book has to be one of my ten favorites, at least of non-fiction, and the numerous notes and underlinings I've made in pencil and in red and blue ball point show how much I am still interacting with the material. Each time I read a section (with a different writing implement at hand) I find morsels of bread on the path leading in the direction the author wants me to go, and also see other lanes he probably isn't even aware of. As I walk along I eat the tasty bits that have been laid out with care, wanting to race ahead to whatever is at the end of the trail, but resisting that urge for a while so I can savor the food and enjoy the stroll, all the while making note of the forks in the road and the byways I need to explore later on a return trip.

I really think I could come back to The Hungry Soul again and again and find more philosophical paths to explore, but if I wait to share my discoveries I'm afraid the tale will never be told. So I will begin the telling, even though I'm pretty sure I haven't chewed on these ideas enough to do justice to what the most eminent reviewers hail as "an intellectual feast" and "a profound and brilliant exploration."

Kass is Jewish and does reveal his belief in a Creator. He wrote this book to demonstrate through the human activity of eating that man has a soul, refuting the claims of corporealists that we are only material beings and that all our thoughts are nothing but electro-chemical events. 

This introductory post is a good place to list the chapter titles or topics that I may draw from in future posts, though just the foreword, preface and introduction are the kind of appetizers from which one could make a full meal.

1. The Primacy of Form
2. The Human Form
3. Host and Cannibal
4. Civilized Eating
5. From Eating to Dining
6. Sanctified Eating

I can't help but notice how the sights along this philosophical journey are related to other trails and books I've encountered, and of course I'll have to mention those, too, in postings to follow.

As an example of humankind who are the crown of God's creation, Kass himself is proof of his thesis. The fine mind and heart that are expressed in his writing testify to the fact that men were made in God's image. And the reasoned and well-written arguments he makes, or even the questions he gently asks, are clear and flowing. It's a pleasure to follow him when all the paths seem to lead me to God.

Part 2 - Struggle to Stand
Part 3 - How Science Disappoints

Arugula and other flowers

rocket in bloom

When arugula flowers it becomes obvious that it's a member of the mustard family. We like to call it rocket -- that name is easier to say and also hints at how fast it shoots up. This is one of those vegetables that one would do well to plant every three weeks or so, if you want to have some tender young leaves on hand at all times. I made some soup with some tall plants a while back and discovered that the stems get as tough as bamboo when they lengthen out.

It took a lot of oomph to get myself into the garden this afternoon, but when I tested the levels I found that in fact enough oomph had accumulated after two days of rest for me to work for a few hours and fill the yard waste can with weeds and spent blooms.


How could there be so many spent flowers already? Hmm...well, they were blooming when it was raining day after day in March and we didn't go into the garden much. Then I was gone for ten days, and they bloomed some more!

Cecile Brunner rose

All the thoughts I'd had about how I'm ready to move to an apartment with no yard, because I hate all the yard mess that I can never keep up with -- they all vanished as I dug my trowel and shovel into the dirt and cleaned up around the greens and the flowers. I found three little Johnny Jump-ups that had dropped in near the greens and I tucked them in again and gave them a drink. I found two patches of parsley that look like they have been enjoying the weather immensely.

While I was in Maryland the freesias all bloomed, and Dutch iris came up so that I could cut some for the table. I took out most of the rocket, cut some back, and left a few to wave their petals in the breeze.

In the front yard, my amazing single purple verbena plant is blooming again! It bloomed and bloomed and spread over a square yard and more last summer, and didn't freeze back. Verbena that I buy in 6-packs is so hard to keep alive, but three 4" pots of some kind of super verbena that I bought at a good nursery are so vigorous and hardy. The two pink ones are in the back yard and the snails had munched them so I didn't take their picture. They are blooming valiantly in spite of being defaced.

Certain muscles will be complaining tomorrow, but I did enough today to give me hope for the coming months. And I found a good quote from a 1936 book called Garden Rubbish that encourages me to take care of my garden so that I will like it more:

It is utterly forbidden to be half-hearted about gardening.  

You have got to love your garden whether you like it or not. 

Forget-me-nots and columbine leaves

Like Tidied Toy Shelves

When Pearl was a toddler, all her toys fit on two shelves held up by cinder blocks. Most every day, with sun streaming in through big windows of the old Victorian where we lived at the time, she would absorb herself in exploring all her belongings and scatter them around in the process.

Later in the day, or the next morning, she'd show no interest in the toys that had been removed from the organized rows. She would wander aimlessly, unhappy and bored. But as soon as I tidied up the collection of blocks and dolls and plastic pull-toys, they were fascinating again and good for another long spell of play.

My own toy shelves hadn't been tidied in at least 20 years until last summer when I tackled the chaos. I'm speaking of the boxes and baskets that held bolts and scraps of fabric, scissors and embroidery thread and patterns. Binder paper on which I'd written the body measurements of my granddaughters' dolls, and the design for a copy of Bird's tattered apron. Inherited notions, thimbles & thimble keeper.

Because I was known to like to sew, people thought of me when a grandmother or aunt died and left a button box or collections of needles and zippers, and I welcomed the gifts with open arms. You would think it was I and not my parents who grew up in The Depression; I even followed the example of my foremothers and snipped the buttons off before tossing out any raggedy shirt.

My grandmother Grace's button box at least did keep all the buttons in one place. I still can't bring myself to throw out the cards of odd old buttons in the bottom of it, and every year or two I pore over the loose ones in the top tray and imagine what I could stitch them on to.

You can see the closed button box on the floor.

All my wealth of possibilities grew without much notice because for a long time I couldn't decide which spot or room would be my sewing area, and sometimes I'd let a year or more go by without even opening my sewing machine. But once everything had been deposited in one room, I saw that it was a burdensome barnful.

The chosen spot is a bedroom where I can have my sewing machine near the door and while I sit at it I can face outward toward the rest of the house; I didn't want to lose touch with what might be going on downstairs. I had tried out the great room that is far removed from everything and often too cold, and I had also tried another bedroom that was too cramped, even though it was prettier.

Once I had invested in some storage racks and containers, and put things into their places, I could jump at the chance to sew doll clothes last year, knowing that my tools and materials were where I could find them. In the process of organizing, I found some interesting antique notions. And one of the doll clothes hangers that I had made and completely forgotten about.

Now that all my pins are in one box, all the spare buttons from purchased garments are in another, and there are no boxes of Hodgepodge anymore, my needlecrafting spirits have been lifted and I feel like playing again.

Maryland Report

I'm back from my visit to family and friends in Maryland. Some things went as expected: Cooking and playing games and exploring the woods with the daughters and grandchildren...

Bed for deer

We walked along the creek, and then up to the top of the ridge where we flushed out a thundering herd of deer, and saw their resting place.










Many little plants were pushing up through the thick layer of leaves, but most of the trees were just budding. These mystery trees at the top were an exception.

Skunk cabbage coming up

onion grass

I took walks with Pearl and Kate and had cozy teatimes and visits with their friends: except for the warm day I blogged about, we had to bundle up like this to take our walks.

Maggie and I embroidered together, and Philosopher read to me many stories of Warrior Cats. Most school days I was able to rouse myself in time to walk them up the hill to the bus stop. The older boys have to get on the bus an hour earlier.

Rolling out gnocchi

When Kate came over, we cooked up a storm, including sweet potato gnocchi.

Me draining gnocchi

Maggie spying on whatever was in the oven.

There were surprises, too: someone's back injury that made me glad I was around to help out more; meeting a fellow blogger face-to-face; and a rain shower we were unprepared for. Maggie had gone to great lengths packing a picnic to eat with me at Philosopher's soccer game, and was loaded down with cloths to spread on the ground, her picnic basket, and a bag full of coloring supplies.



None of us had remembered to bring an umbrella, so while we were waiting around for the game, which was canceled in the end, Maggie used the tablecloth for a hood.

 

I was surprised to see a bear wearing the coat I sewed about 30 years ago for My Friend Mandy. He was hanging out with Lucy who was wearing her new togs.

The biggest surprise of my trip was on the way home, when I opened my wallet at the Baltimore airport and found that my I.D. and almost all my important cards were not there. I had left them back at Pearl's in a purse I'd borrowed from her earlier in the week, as I realized eventually. I did get through airport security without them. First, though, I had the dreaded experience of rummaging through my giant suitcase on the sidewalk in plain view of a hundred people because I was sure the missing items were in there. I'm so glad I had packed most everything in one- and two-gallon ziplock bags.

It was a learning experience. Switching from one purse to another will demand a thorough double-checking from now on.

Two whole days of the trip were given to traveling. I got on the bus to the airport at 5:15 a.m. at the beginning of my trip, and it took me a couple of hours before I could get over being homesick that morning. I finally arrived at Pearl's house about 8:15 at night, on the other side of the continent. It's always a surprise, if I think about it very much, that I could cover so much territory so....quickly?

I actually enjoyed my time in the air. I was able to really get into the book I am going to start blogging about. On two of the four flights I had a one-seat row to myself, and could look out the window and not need to even say hello to anyone. But the long hours take their toll.

It's only to be expected, that I am t-i-r-e-d. I know I sound tired. It's odd that I am already home again, and not surprising that I am feeling the weight of all the work I have to do, in contrast with the easy life of helping with someone else's housework, walking in the woods, and hugging people I now miss.

Lewis Carroll said, "Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop." I have come to the end of my Maryland trip, and am at the beginning of a three-week period that includes Pascha -- the feast of feasts! In three weeks B. and I are going together, Lord willing, on another trip, to see other family and grandchildren.

I should be revived by then.

I can't lose interest

How can we ever lose interest in life?
Spring has come again
And cherry trees bloom in the mountains.

~ Ryokan (1758-1831), Japanese poet, hermit, and Buddhist monk

[there was a picture of cherry blossoms here originally]

Thanks to Maria who gave us a whole month of Spring-y poems!

Summer Breeze

It was a taste of summer today, and I mostly felt it in the evening, when the warm breeze kept the air balmy, and little girls pedaled their Raleighs up and down the neighborhood streets all in their short skirts. Pearl and I sat on the front step at dusk drinking our tea and enjoying the softness. This all makes me think of long-ago days before I lived in a city with too much coastal influence, where the fog comes in and the thermometer drops well before suppertime even in high summer. It was...I groped through my mind for the right word...transporting.

Tonight there are likely going to be thunderstorms again, and tomorrow the weather will demand sweaters and leggings once more. But it's been lovely.

Last (late) report on wet spring

I'm in Maryland as I write, but I just have to post a couple of pictures of the California scened as it was just before my departure day.

It had been so cold that I was able to enjoy a fire in the wood stove on my birthday -- a first! and so rainy, that the Iceland poppies and even ranunculus were always drooping their fragile petals under the weight of water.



Maybe this rainbow was a signal of the end of the rainiest season. It's lucky I was the one driving the car when we saw it so I could make the decision to stop and shoot.


 

Even in the midst of rain the tulips I'd planted at church last fall seemed better able to hold their heads up. I had forgotten that I'd planted them which made them even more of a joy. They probably will be gone by the time I return, because the weather turned balmy.

Maryland weather also changed since last week. I couldn't take as many neighborhood walks I was hoping for because we had "wintry mix" of rain, hail, sleet and snow. But on The Lord's Day it turned, and in spite of thunderstorms last night the temps are in the 70's today and we went for a long walk.

But to finish up my report of last month, I want to tell you about our new coffee press. We had an old black Bodum something like this; we'd had it for at least 15 years, but I banged it against the bottom of my new sink and broke the spout one night. B. ran over to Target and found a new one for about $20, and I didn't complain about the fact that it was red and didn't really go with my new kitchen. It would be in the cupboard most of the time anyway. A few days later B. broke the spout of the new red one ! and I steered us to a different Target where they had more colors, including orange, which fits in better. And now we will both treat our coffee press like fine china.

Monday is a school day for all the grandchildren here, which gives me some time to finish this blog post. I haven't yet figured out if I can upload pictures to this computer, but there's not much time left now before I go home, so if I make a report of my family visit here it will probably have to wait until then.

This modern phenomenon of being able to be in Blogland no matter what other spot on the globe one might occupy is really fun!