Life of Pride
After one of the most horrendously terrible travel experiences of my life, I am home at last. I am also exhausted, so I will have to save the horror story for tomorrow. I just wanted to say - and this will make much more sense for the PHC students - I talked to
Dr. Mitchell at the big reception on the last day of the ISI conference! Imagine the coolness - spending a week hob-nobbing with the intelligentsia, and then meeting one of your own
very favorite professors during the
summertime! He was standing rather meekly off to the side discoursing with a Dr. Bobb from Hillsdale.
Actually, it felt rather funny. Other people's professors can skedaddle around the country as they please, but one's own sort of belong at one's college. Permanent fixtures in a way, like the flagpole in the center of the grassy circle. Once displaced, they become somehow smaller. More human. But still brilliant. I found out that Julia Austin, the lady in charge of the undergrad program, had asked Dr. Mitchell to give us a lecture, but he had opted instead to attend classes himself at the faculty conference. !!! I wish he had given us a lecture. I would have been so proud of him!
Well, hm. This is the last day of my conference, and I'm not sure how it got here already. This means June is almost over as well, which in turn means that I have only about 50 days until it's time for school again. I'm almost to summer's halfway point!
I think this is one of my best summers I can remember. I know it is much happier than my last two, because I am at peace. The days slip by, and I am accomplishing worthwhile things. Further, I am staying in contact with my lovely friends, some of whom actually visit me here on my blog. :) And - wow! - I am making new friends, too! Life is good.
So, yes, tonight we dress up all fancy. I get to wear my new dress that I went shopping to buy the day before I flew over here. :) (Actually, to tell the truth, I bought a
lot of new clothes for this trip, but I needed them anyway.) Lt. Gen. Josiah Bunting, the former commandant of Virginia Military Institute, is going to give us a lecture at dinner, and we will meet up with people from the junior faculty conference that has been running alongside ours. As of now, however, our official classes are over. I am somewhat sad, because I have
so enjoyed meeting everyone this week. These are great people with serious morals, whether Protestant, Catholic, or undisclosed. Still, I will be glad for the time at home to process my experience.
I didn't mention this before, but I'm writing an article about the ISI conference for my parents' magazine,
Practical Homeschooling, so I'm glad I've been typing this blog and writing in my hard copy journal. Also, I have numerous class notes from which to draw. I don't know if I'll be able to summarize this week properly, but I look forward to trying. :)
Next time I post, I will probably be home. :)
Wow. I am learning
so much! Last night I had a long argument/discussion at dinner with one of the professors about his class on Locke, Hume and the American Founding. I debated how relatively important Locke was to the American Revolution after all. All of the Freedom's Foundations class from PHC came flooding back. The tradition leading down from Augustine -> Aquinas -> Calvin and Luther, of course, spoke against revolution. That Protestant tradition mixed in with the thread that stretched in English Common Law from Alfred's Dooms -> Magna Carta -> Cromwell -> Blackstone, that there is a
law that is higher than even rulers, which they must obey. The third strand was natural law/organic theory of the state, which came through people like Hobbes, Rousseau, and then Locke. Locke, of course, espoused a somewhat Christianized version of social contract theory, which is why some of the Founders referred to him. Scholars now want to say Locke was
very influential, more so than the rest, because he said it was all right for people to break their "social contract" with their rulers if the latter were unjust.
The question is, how did the Americans decide it was all right to rebel? And the answer is, did they? If they were operating on the Common Law tradition, which seems likely when you read documents such as the
Mayflower Compact, they considered law to be higher than George III. If he was breaking common law, and, further, trying to harm Americans by housing British in their homes and ignoring their peaceful letters, should they not force him to conform to that law? Can that be called a rebellion? It is more a long-standing tradition, one both Locke and the Founders shared. They would not have to look to Locke at all for that.
On the other hand, it is irrefutable fact that preachers began more and more to refer to "contracts," and even to Locke specifically, in the decade just before the Revolution. The voices that were heard in the first stages of asking England for redress were much more moderate. As time continued, voices became more strident. They asked for the king to pay attention to their "rights." It is probably true that many different people came together for the American Revolution for quite opposing reasons. And it is fascinating to study. I have been able to look at it to the middle layer of intensity, but now I feel the itch to plumb the matter to its depths and find out who exactly said and believed what.
And that is just
one of the conversations we've had. I am glutted with new things to read and learn. ;) You know, if this is what graduate school will be like, I think I could quite enjoy it.
Only a couple minutes to post today... I have to go walk 15 minutes back to the dorm, change clothes, and walk 15 minutes back up this same road to dinner. :D I just want to say a few things about the neat perks of this conference. They take us out somewhere nice to eat every night. I get to talk to people about de Tocqueville - people who don't go to PHC and yet know what they're talking about! Sometimes they have different perspectives than I'm used to, and they
teach me things! It's wonderful. :)
It's amazing how many people here have this entire list of all conservative colleges memorized, with a complete ranking of which is best in which area, and which professors have written what. I don't know that stuff. I know historians, many many ancient and medieval people, and a few recent philosophers, but I don't know who is scuffling with whom, and why. I sit and listen.
Also, people here like theorizing. They start drifting off into grand theories all the time, and have to be pulled back down by historical fact. In one way, it is entertaining. :) In another, it is disturbing. I think, this is how trouble starts. Important people start theorizing, and there's nobody who dares to pull them back down. I'm glad I'm a History major, because I tend to stay anchored that way. :)
OK, that was a few random ramblings. Hey everyone! Gotta run.
Back in the library again. Today we discussed the religious dimension of Socrates, how Edmund Burke fits into American conservative thought, and Whittaker Chambers'
Witness. A topic that came up over and over again in the latter class was Chambers' comment that he left Communism because it was evil, but he felt himself on the "losing side" of history as a result. He thought Communism would win, because of the corruption he saw in American society, a culture that claimed to be based on God. And yet he became a Christian. People's failings didn't keep him from God. I thought that was neat.
Our own discussion, though, revolved around the pervading feeling that the effort to maintain morality in our culture is failing. Some of us felt this pessimism; some didn't. Some, like me, felt both pessimism and optimism working together. I tried to pin down this conflict inside me, and I came to the conclusion that I feel essentially pessimistic for this world, but optimistic for eternity. The pessimism comes from human pain, and the way our race continually tries to harm itself. The optimism comes from the fact that God wants to save some of us, and plans to save some of us who will listen to Him. I feel very sad that He will not save everyone, but I am also certain that He can do whatever He wants with His creation, and I am very thankful that He has chosen me and many of my friends. The good thing is that, if I am a Christian, God will never leave me. He will always pull me back before I get too far away.
Today I am very tired, and I need a nap. I am thinking about watching that ballroom dancing documentary that recently came out, however. I located the Princeton movie theatre, which is showing it. None of the theatres in my area decided to carry the documentary, so this may be my only chance. :) If necessary, I can just nap in the theatre itself. :D
I am at Princeton University, standing in my pinching high heels at a computer in the huge, lovely university library. They gave all us conference participants a library card yesterday afternoon when we arrived. Along with that, we received our room key and a blue portfolio packet full of materials about ISI fellowships and conservative activities. Then we crashed for an hour or so. The dorm rooms here are miniscule, with no carpeting. I have a hard, military-style twin bed with a furry red wool sheet, a desk with no chair, and a closet. I share a bathroom with another girl in the other bedroom across the suite. This is a far cry from PHC, where the rooms are twice as big and the furniture is made of sturdy, attractive hardwood. Of course, I don't have to share this one with anybody, which is a plus. :)
The campus is lovely, though I've hardly had time to see it. We rushed from place to place yesterday evening and ate a formal dinner of steak :), and then we walked about a mile across campus this morning (in heels for me!) to get to the building where our classes are held. So far today we've had classes on Russell Kirk, St, Augustine, and Hayek's book
Road To Serfdom. I felt stilted at first, as I think we all did, but I asked right up front about Christianity and its place in the state during the Q&A of the first lecture, and then I felt much better. I'm here to learn, not to prove anything. As long as I remember that, I'm fine.
Last night was different. I felt tired and out of place, both in body and in soul. I knew I needed to pray, so I left the after-dinner reception early, showered, called home, prayed, and read the first chapter of Ecclesiastes. That certainly put everything in perspective: "And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly: I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow" (Ecc. 1:17-18). So true. I was out of it because I felt that these people were also very smart, and they didn't especially recognize
my intelligence. Good grief! *smacks forehead* If I am intelligent, emphasis on the if, what does it get me anyway? Absolutely nothing, unless I use it properly! So now I'm free. I don't worry what people here think of me any more, so long as I prove a good example for Christ.
Free time lasts for another two hours and ten minutes. I want to exercise and nap during this time, so I'd better sign off here.
I love being at home with my family. No sooner do I finish the previous, very serious post about conservative thought, then I walk out into our living room and find my two youngest sisters, Lillian and Madeleine (ages 11 and 13), sitting on the couch and talking comfortably. I sit down next to them, drape my arms over their shoulders, and join in. The next thing I know, I've sent Lillie scampering for paper and pens, and we're all three writing down lists of characteristics for our "Ideal Man." Then we exchange lists and read them out loud; theirs are quite thoughtful. I fold mine up, tape the edges, and place it in my backpack, "To Be Opened Upon Receiving An Offer of Courtship." Maddy does the same, only hers proclaims, "Open When Someone Pops the Awfull Question." She surrounds this sentence with warning signs and underlines it darkly. Lillie, on the other hand, carefully examines our papers and adds several more items to her own list. She suggests that she and Maddy put theirs in our family's combination safe and take them out when they are 18 years old. I think it is an eminently sensible idea.
And of course, all this time I should have been finishing my ISI reading. I leave Thursday morning, after all. :P
After I thought about it, I decided to pass on
Mr. and Mrs. Smith. It didn't seem, after I had read some reviews, that it would be a very profitable use of my time. Further, I still had a lot of ISI reading to do. They assigned us four entire books, not to mention a 40-page excerpt from Augustine's
City of God. They're not inconsequential books, either. The lineup is as follows: Whittaker Chamber's
Witness, Russell Kirk's
The Conservative Mind, F.A. Hayek's
The Road to Serfdom, and Richard Weaver's
Ideas Have Consequences. They describe the history of conservative thought, the Western world's steady slide into socialism, and the overall, underpinning thoughts that must support true freedom.
It's quite simple, really. Successful human governments are founded on the knowledge of men's fallen nature. They exist to limit our evil so that we can live as close to free as is practicable. The only thing that limits a will to power is opposing power, so every constitution is a compromise, a balance of powers. Otherwise, a single side would reign, and its laws would merely be sanction for enforcing its will on everyone else via absolute rule.
Power is a fact; some have more of it than others. Any attempt to "even out" the playing field merely displaces the power and puts it into the hands of a less intelligent and knowledgeable majority. The majority does not know what to do with its power, so it gives it away to whoever is the most persuasive. Government officials then gain authority through emotional appeal instead of rational. All officials are dependent on the majority for their power, and so they will not/cannot counter their people's appetites in any way, or they will quickly lose their positions. The legal system, too, finds itself listening to heartwarming appeals for the underdog instead of to justice. (Thus, if a murderer kills someone small and cute, he is likely to receive a much worse penalty.)
The only force that can convince anyone that he ought to submit to a mind greater than his own is religion. The reason for this is that, without religion, science teaches that this world is all we have. If so, bodily power holds much more weight than does the world of ideas. Ideals of duty and honor, the "brotherhood of man," mean very little when it comes down to the dirty nitty-gritty of everyday existence - unless there is something beyond. If people are swimming around in filth and nobody tells them to lift their heads out for air - well then, they'll just try to make the filth as pleasant as possible. And they'll work themselves to exhaustion so they don't have to notice their surroundings. In the meanwhile, they don't especially care about others who live outside their own family nucleus. They pay attention to their own affairs, and they expect the government to take care of everything else. Little by little, "everything else" begins to intrude into the private sphere. But people do not notice, because they don't remember how expansive the private sphere
used to be.
History is basically the tale of humanity's continual clash against unmovable force. That force is God, no matter how much we rage against him. The conservative, by very definition of his title, wants to preserve his nation. He wants to guide it back to the eternal laws that guarantee freedom. The conservative, therefore, also holds the best right to the name of "liberal." People who call themselves "Liberals" nowadays seek extraordinary freedom for some at the expense of others. In the process, they slowly leech away the liberty of everyone. Conservatives want to allow society to fall out into the natural hierarchy in which every person plays his or her best part.
Sheesh. I didn't intend to go on so long, and there's still a lot more I could say. The part of education, as Derby would say, is essential. I'm going to need to figure
that out sometime before next spring, as I'm supposed to write my history project about the history of homeschooling. I have a feeling it is inextricable from the overall history of education, so I have a lot of learning to do before then. :P Thankfully, I will still have a month and a half of summer after my ISI conference.
Garbled? Not? Thoughts? I
highly recommend all four of those books I've been reading, whether you are a public policy major or a literature major. Whether you are planning to fix a society or write one, they are excellent.
I feel as though I've been watching rather a lot of movies lately. That is probably because I have been. I watched
Episode III,
Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants,
Madagascar,
Cinderella Man (twice), and
Batman Begins. I'm thinking about watched
Mr. and Mrs. Smith later on this evening. How can I afford this? Simple; the theaters in the area sell student tickets for $6.75 and rush hour tickets for $5.75. :D And besides, that's what summer jobs are for.
The point of mentioning this is that I would like to post some reviews. Therefore, I shall.
Episode III: What can I say? Most of you have probably seen it by now, so I will critique anything I wish. From the first scene, as Anakin and Obi-Wan blithely romped through space in their too-cute spacecraft, totally uncaring about their shredded wingmates, I knew I would dislike the movie. The movie began too fast with no suspense, and it continued with the same clunky feel. Little details jarred, ruining the overall atmosphere. Why was Padme brushing at the ends of her extremely curly hair? I kept expecting her brush to stick or break, like in
Princess Diaries. Why did she later just give up and die for no apparent reason, despite her two lovely twin children? I'll tell you why! She died at some point before Episode IV, and Lucas was too eager to tie up loose ends.
Just as a movie, completely separate from the Star Wars heritage of novels,
Episode III would be OK. The last two-thirds at least were fairly convincing. It contained no subtleties, however, and for that reason it felt determined. There were no surprises. I felt deja vu, as though a story I already knew was playing itself out in front of me. Overall, I was disappointed again.
Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants: Characters are in general true to life. You feel for them. But the philosophy is confused, and in the end unsatisfactory. This movie is sentiment without metaphysical backing.
Madagascar: Hilarious! I wouldn't mind watching it again sometime soon, though I can wait until it comes out on DVD. The dialogue is excellent, and the characters (especially the lemurs!) tickle my visual funny bone as well. Contains some good moral truths - whaddayou know! The world is fallen, and therefore big things with teeth eat the little cute things, especially in the pristine state of nature.
Cinderella Man: Not my favorite movie, which is still
Gattaca, but it rates up there with the best. The first time I watched it, I
felt the Great Depression. I understood the desperation, the cold, the hunger. And further, I learned something about people. The best quote is from the wife of Braddock's manager, about a quarter from the end of the movie: "I don't know who has it harder, them or us. We have to wait for them to fix
everything - and they always think that they're failing us." That was a time of true men and true women, and they had to stick together - or else. Braddock became great simply because he
had to. There was no other option, and he would have lost his life rather than fail his family.
Further, it is stylistically a masterpiece. The second time through, I caught many little visual clues I had missed the first time. This is the sort of movie that will last through multiple viewings.
Batman Begins: I was disappointed. The movie is well worth seeing, but it doesn't pull all the elements of excellence together. Most of the plot is good, but there are so many holes. I will try to sum up without giving spoilers... In the first bit, a character finds Bruce Wayne without any explanation as to how. Batman's training is cheesy, and not nearly as developed as in the comics. The tank chase doesn't make sense, except that the movie makers wanted to show off their toys. They could have
killed people with that train! And the relationship with the girl just wasn't developed enough to explain the ending.
Besides, there were major stylistic flaws. First, they break up the fight scenes so that you cannot see what is happening, a technique I personally despise. Second, at various points the sound track is so loud that it covers up important pieces of dialogue. I spent the last twenty minutes trying to figure out what exactly was going on instead of enjoying the suspense.
But despite all this, there are some scenes I just loved. And Batman
looked like Batman, which made me happy. They used that guy from
Equilibrium; for once, a good Batman casting job!
The main reason I don't think that
Batman Begins will become a classic the same way as the Spiderman movies is that its philosophy is too liberal, and it doesn't answer the questions that it itself poses. It recognizes serious troubles with our justice system, and then it doesn't provide a solution. The problem is, the general "feel" nowadays is that most people know our justice system
does have difficulties. The viewer, then, is left with a darker, grittier, slightly despairing (because
we don't have a Batman) feel. Of course, that may be what the movie makers desired...
The Bible is very long. Startling news, I'm sure. But the thing is, I've read through Leviticus, Numbers, and 30 chapters of Deuteronomy so far this summer - yet I feel I've made hardly a dent. I've read most of the Bible before, of course, but not in a linear fashion. My normal method of jumping around and reading whatever book looks best has allowed me to skip Leviticus through Deuteronomy entirely, until now. I've also missed other sections. So this year I'm taking care to read the
entire Bible.
But it is long. Also, it takes a while to read, because it has to be digested. It is an extremely worthwhile activity, however, and I am finding it more indispensable than ever before.
Before Christmas break, Dr. Hake emailed me the document he sent his daughters when they went away to college. In it, he recommended that they spend at least two hours a day in some sort of activity that built their relationship with God. This could be anything from fellowshipping with other believers to reading Bible to praying to reading devotionals to singing, etc. The basic idea is, if we're here in this world to glorify God, surely we can give Him two out of twenty-four hours every day! I was so humbled to read that, and I've made it my goal. This past semester I worked the hardest I ever have in my life. I slept six hours a night or less for weeks on end, and I received worse grades than normal. It was also my best semester. My friendships strengthened; my writing improved; and I was at peace. Would I go back and spend that time studying in order to change a few of my Bs into As?
No way! God is so good to us when we remember to serve Him, even if we don't realize at the time how events will work for our good in the end.
I mentioned this to my good friend Nate Matias (Hi Nate!) on the phone during the semester. He's been trying to spend a similar amount of time learning about or talking to God. I would be interested to hear how that is going.
That reminds me of something else. This is quite funny. My brother answers our business phone. One time yesterday it rang while he was busy somewhere else in the house. Since the answering service picks up after four rings and he wouldn't be able to make it to the phone in time, he shouted for someone else to get it. I dashed and grabbed the receiver. "Home Life and
Practical Homeschooling; how may I help you?" I said perkily.
"Um, hello, may I speak to Sarah Pride?" asked the male voice on the other end.
I held the phone away from my ear and looked at it, eyebrow raised. I hadn't answered that line for several months. The one time I do, someone asks for me by name? I put it back to my ear.
"This is she," I replied cautiously. "May I ask who's calling?"
"This is Isaiah."
*long pause from me*
"Hello?"
"Yes -
who is this?"
"Isaiah."
"Isaiah... Oh! Izzy! Isaiah
McPeak!"
Turns out he wanted Nate M.'s email address so that he could ask him if he wanted to preside as parliamentarian for some business meeting or other. I was delighted to hear from Izzy, even on the business 800-number, because he is sorta my fellow conspirator on student government stuff. And besides, it was such a bizarre coincidence that he was calling just then, the one time I answered the phone. Makes it a weird enough story to share. :)
I printed my 30 pages of
Erthe, and I was trying to read them with an objective eye. The first six pages or so will need some serious rewriting when the book is done. Somewhere in the middle of Chapter 2, things pick up. I think this was part of the section I wrote during Christmas break last year:
"Please, sir... ma'am..." She stopped again in confusion.
"I am male, and my name is Pharr," said the bird, sounding amused. "I have been and will be Pharr the Phoenix for as long as I can remember."
His statement hadn't entirely made sense, but Susan pressed on anyway.
"Then Mr. Pharr," she said, "what is this world? Why are some people in it so unfriendly? And why do some hear music and some do not?"
"I am not a 'mister,' in the way of faeries and men," replied Pharr, "and this world we live in is called Erthe. (He pronounced it 'ERTH-uh.') As for the music, it is a way of calling. Some of us are meant for extra danger, and in the end, extra joy. We live life a little more - wildly." And he ruffled his feathers again, sending waves of silver flashes up and down his body.
Susan mulled over his answer. "What about nasty folks like those leprechauns? I never met anyone like them before."
Pharr sighed. "Then you're lucky. Sometimes I think there's many more nasty folks than nice, at least out here. I've never met a nice leprechaun, in fact. The answer for their nastiness lies somewhere back in my Old Memory, but Old Memory's not the sort of thing one can
tell to other folks, you know? It's a little too deep and rich. Takes too much training. But then..." He looked Susan up and down. "How old did you say you were?"
"Not very," replied Susan.
"It's too bad," said Pharr, "because I hate waiting. It seems like such a pointless waste of time to wait while everything else in Erthe catches up with Memory To Come..."
Heehee, I like that bit, even if I wrote it myself. And this bit:
"Can't you just fly me back into the valley?" she begged.
Pharr spread his wings in a gesture of helplessness. "I would if I could, little one, but your elders and the gravities have made an agreement. The gravities have made a shield over your valley that reverses the approach of all flying creatures; else, you would have received many visits from the air by this time."
Leprechauns, rocs, and now gravities? "What else lives out here?" Susan ejaculated.
"Oh - men. Mer-people. Fires, lightnings. And gravities. You've met the rest." Pharr waved a wing in dismissal. "Some are good, some are bad, some are both, and some are neither. You'll get used to it..."
Ooh, this is fun. Of course, I am ignoring the more mediocre bits in between... And these were sections I wrote before the summer. Let's see if I can find a bit I like in the new chapters.
Hm, this is a lengthy section, and I can't decide where to cut it. :( Maybe I'll just put it all:
"Now. How can numbers be infinite?"
He snapped out the question just as he had snapped his fingers a second before. Susan raised her hand. At Dr. Amosoph's expectant nod, she spoke.
"Each number by itself has an end," she said. "'Four' is a unit. It doesn't go anywhere or change. But when you set numbers going, they don't stop. If you start counting, you never reach an end. The numbers march along in neat rows. They travel as far as we can imagine."
Dr. Amosoph beamed. He glowed. He seized his flyaway hair in both fists and pulled it straight up. "Yes!" he cried. "Yes! Did you others hear that? A number sitting in itself, in its own lumpish imaginary state, is never infinite. Infinity grows in iteration upon iteration of numbers in
movement. Numbers that
change. Yes, my little kinder, I am going to introduce you to the study of
change - the study of..." he leaned in again, "...
Calculus!"
Jason sat stolidly, pudgy face unmoved. "Why?" he asked.
Dr. Amosoph stopped and stroked his small gray goatee meditatively. He spoke in a calm, even tone that was quite different from his previous bombastic style. "Why? Well, for one thing, I have to. I'm supposed to teach math to you ungrateful lumps - ungrateful except for you three of course, Megan, Joey, and Susan - and I'm supposed to make you like it. So humor me. I'm trying to enjoy myself in the process."
Susan grinned. Dr. Amosoph caught it and winked.
"Ha!" he announced. "I made the ice princess smile. I must be doing something right." He spun around and raised his arms to the mushroom ceiling above, gazing up in a grandiose gesture - then stopped, mid-raise.
"Oh," he said, "of course. We can't discuss infinity in here. No wonder he doesn't understand. Come on, come on you urchins. It's outside for us."
The class, except Jason, cheered and grabbed their slates. Jason pushed himself to his chubby legs with difficulty, and the students followed Dr. Amosoph. They shoved through the wall-fronds and blinked in the light of noonday. Their teacher gazed up and smiled blissfully.
"That's more like it," he breathed.
The young faeries, who had been chattering eagerly as they trooped outside, stared up too. They fell silent. It was very blue.
Blue indeed. The sky started with aquamarine in the center, which sparkled brighter than the stones the North Quarter faeries picked from the ground with their sharp tools. The sun blazed, round and hot, almost overhead, bleaching the sky paler at its edges. The kinder trned round and round, squinting past the bright light and drinking in the blueness.
"Imagine," began Dr. Amosoph, his voice hushed, "that we push ourselves into the air and soar, trying to reach the place where the blue is perfect. We fly very, very fast for a very, very long time. The air sparkles around us, heavy with blueness, and each minute it becomes a shade more intense. But there is always more blue to find. That -" with finality, "- is infinity."
I shouldn't spoil my favorite sections for Lisa and the rest of the writing group, but I imagine I will have written more by then anyways. Besides, chances are I will have to alter or cut some of these segments in the years to come, so I might as well enjoy them now.
I like these sentences: "Fiddles jigged out their happy swirls. Here was uncomplication, music that brought tears with its sheer joy."
And the romance begins:
"Yes, you know, the children's story?" Louis looked down at her. "Bad children lose their wings. Surely
your mother told you that one?"
Susan caught the emphasis and flushed. Her chin jerked upward, and she stared Louis full in the face. Her violet eyes uncloaked and unleashed all the violent life behind them in sparks of fury and hurt. Louis stared into her wonderful eyes in amazement. He loosened his rough grip on Susan's waist and hand. But it was too late. He gasped in pain as she stepped purposefully on his foot. "I didn't ask you to dance with me," she hissed. "You could at least be civil!"
And later:
In that second after she stared Louis in the face and he had seen her eyes, his face had gone very still. He had lost his train of thought, and her own eyes had done that. She smiled, deep inside herself.
But the adventure continues:
Light. What a relief, that she wouldn't have to climb down into a dungeon of unknown darkness. Now she looked up at the torch, keeping its flickering tongue as her focus as she climbed down. Strange how alive it looked here, as if it were the only living thing, and as if Susan and the Guardsman were merely animated corpses. Strange how she had never seen fire used as a light before. What had Pharr said - something about fire being a sort of creature? She gazed more deeply into the torch's flame. Some part of herself, the part that felt angry, hurt and mistreated, drew her closer yet. Was there something there, sitting and laughing at her, and calling to her at the same time? She could almost make it out, just a glimpse of an eye.
"Pretty, innit?" said the Guardsman. She jumped, and one of her hands almost slipped off the ladder. She realized she was sweating heavily, and her palms were slick. "What?" she asked, a bit breathlessly.
"The fire. We use it down here because there's nothing to burn, and because fireflies refuse to light. They don't like it underground."
Ai yi yi, my work is so imperfect. Its imperfections protrude everywhere I look. But I am learning and improving, and that is all I can ask. :)
*yaaaawn*
I'm taking a break from work in order to post. I have been editing reviews of homeschool products for the past three hours or so. My job is to turn sentences like this into clear, grammatical English:
"This up-beat CD will provide enjoyable practice learning useful vocabulary words and expressions designed to greatly increase comprehension and improve pronunciation of the language. While listening both the French and English will be repeated. The CD reviewed contains 500 words and expressions plus related conversation. The music is upbeat and helps to involve both the right and left brain for optimal learning."
Note the two uses of "upbeat," one hyphenated, one not. Note the passive sentence. Note the way the first sentence causes you to stop halfway and go back in order to be sure you have all the words in the correct mental order. Note...
Some homeschool moms should not be writing reviews. That paragraph was actually pretty good compared to some of the phraseology I have to deal with. Hehe, but I love my job. I get to delve into our database of thousands of homeschool companies, find out who has bought whom, and scan their websites for up-to-date pricing. It's a unique experience.
I am very physically sore, however, which means that I become stiff when I sit still for any period of time. Like, at a computer, editing homeschool reviews. My upper chest, shoulders, and triceps are screaming from a weights workout yesterday. My hip flexors aren't too happy from Tae Kwon Do class last night, and my calves feel tight from running this morning. It is a lovely pain that sets my mind more at rest; I am doing something to remove my extra 10#. :) Starting yesterday, Magda (sister, age 20) and I dove into more regimented workout program.
That's why the yawn at the beginning of this post, too. We're switching all at once from sleeping until 9am in our regular summer fashion to getting up at 7am to exercise. We've planned three weights and three cardio workouts per week, on alternate days. In addition, I have TKD class for an hour in the PM on Monday and Wednesday. Oughtta be good for us.
Yes, I'm settling into summer. I am more a morning person than anything else. Having my mornings back means that I have finished exercise, breakfast, and quiet time before work begins at 10am. It removes pressure. Besides, I love the cooler, fresher air of mornings in the summertime.
TKD helps too. It is such a staple of my home life. Some of my best times were spent kicking people around the mat. I spent hours perfecting my poomse (choreographed forms; pronounced "POOM-say"), sending more power into my roundhouses, and drilling, drilling, drilling. The repetition and constant honing just suits my mind, because it harmonizes aggression with a sense of beauty. The endorphins don't hurt anything either. :)
I am very happy today. Mentally and spiritually, I am at peace. I almost hesitate to post this, because no doubt it is quite obvious to many of my friends, but I think having my quiet time early in the day makes a tremendous difference. At the end of the day, of course, it sends me restfully to sleep. But in the morning, it sets me off on the right foot. I think both morning and night would be ideal; that's probably why Psalm 1 says "and on His law doth he (the wise man) meditate
day and night."
What have I been praying? Well, for my friends, natch. And I have been asking for excellence in writing. As long as I am capable in most things, I am happy. In writing, however, I want excellence more than I want anything. It's a need, actually. I
need to do this, to write excellent books, because so few people are doing so. I think writing may be one of my special callings.
My last post instigated some interesting comments, which in turn compelled some return thoughts of my own.
First, yes, America has "a" culture. Sorry people, I didn't write very clearly what I meant. :) It all depends on how you define the word. If you make it an absolute standard of good taste and discernment, our society has in many ways lost it. If you think it is arbitrary, that no society has better and worse taste than another, that each is just
different, then of course our country has a culture. This discussion becomes moot, because there is no way to judge whether it is better or worse than it was. "Better" and "worse," in fact, become nonsense terms. I choose the first option, in order to say that the culture at large has lost sight of what is beautiful. It has corroded. You have only to go into a Borders bookstore and skim through the titles of new books to see that this is true.
We've lost God, and with Him we've lost the standard of proper action and good taste. I honestly don't have the words yet to put together all I've learned in the last three years that shows this is true. I can only try.
Why does the public need to know every detail of a movie star's life, for example? Where is the natural sense of decency? Sure, they let themselves be open to the public eye. But does this mean we have the right to look?
Why is information about sex shoved into kids from such a young age? To keep them from getting STDs? Oh, and
that works so well. What if they were taught, when they were ready, that sex is a precious and beautiful thing, to be guarded and kept for the proper time and place? They are taught it is natural and healthy, but they are given no discernment for what is
best.
I talked to a teacher of special ed children this past Tuesday and told her I wanted to be a college professor. She smiled a grim smile. "Teaching," she said, "is not what it used to be. My colleagues and I know; we don't teach any more. We indoctrinate. I tell kids to become anything but a teacher. Me, I'm just holding on 'til retirement." Why are thousands of kids made to stay in classrooms where they don't want to be and where they're not learning anything anyway? What kind of country will they grow up to make?
I could go on. How does this come from not having God? Nietzsche describes the situation very bluntly and very honestly. The most basic choice of humanity is to choose whether or not to believe in God. Without God, every man is on his own. Nobody really has a right to tell him what to do. He can make his own moral choices, and he has no real rational reason to "act properly." He doesn't even have a rational reason to say what "properly" means. "The greatest good for the greatest number of people?" Why should he care about other people's good?
"All you need is love." The hippies tried that in the 1960s, and it didn't work for them. It only works if
everyone loves everyone else. No matter how much you personally love your fellow man, the first person who comes along and does not love other people will muck up the whole works. He tyrannizes, becoming Nietzsche's Ubermensch (Over-man). And you can't say that he
must love, because that would be constraining him. You can't force someone to love. So what do you do with him? You imprison him. At that point you need a system of law, for which you need standards. So you're back to the same problem. Where do you find your standards?
Why ought a person to love? Only because of Jesus Christ: "Because God so loved the world that He sent His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall have eternal life." His life becomes the standard of righteousness, because He had perfect knowledge. He lived the same life as us, with exactly the same struggles and with (probably) far more pain, and yet He lived it all properly. It still amazes me every time I think about it, and it is that awe that allows us to truly love others.
More ramblings. Thoughts?
Ahh, less than two weeks until my Intercollegiate Studies Institute seminar at Princeton! I am excited, if only because they assigned us some truly stupendous books to read in order to prepare. I'm going to have to make a later post with some quotes from these books, I think.
They are all about the decline of Western civilization, the corrupted world we have inherited. People of the last generation were not too optimistic about our chances, it seems. I'm not optimistic either; I watched the movie
Cinderella Man last night, and it displayed the fact that every generation of the world has its own problems - some more obvious than others. But I am hopeful, because I know God can turn any culture around.
The main question is: Do we even
have a culture? What are its defining factors? No, we have a mass of people living in the same geographic area. What does America stand for any more, without God? Sneakers and bad manners, that's what. Nothing stupendous happens.
It reminds me of the little boy on his tricycle in
The Incredibles. Mr. Incredible asks him, "So what are you waiting for?" He replies, "I don't know. Something amazing, I guess!" We are beginning to realize, with this latest slate of hero movies, that we again want something amazing. This world of bland sameness needs its heroes, its true leaders.
To be a leader, however, requires self-sacrifice in favor of an ideal, something bigger than visible reality. Too many people today live only in the world they see. Materialists and capitalists are unable to be heroes, so long as they don't subscribe to a higher reality.
All right, these are just random ramblings. I'm probably getting myself into trouble. Any thoughts?
I gotta post. It's nearing that part of the summer a third of the way through when people post to their blogs less frequently, and when they do their posts are full of introspection. I'm full of introspection. I'm processing myself, my friends, and how we've all changed. Me, I stayed up until 2am last night reading through my journals of the last year and a half. And I got to talk to Christy on the phone Tuesday evening.
Who am I now, anyway? I'm a "ma'am" to the teenagers behind the counter at McDonald's. To the parents and elderly men at my Civil Air Patrol squadron, I am a colleague. I wear long skirts sometimes when I go into public, instead of jeans. Even my parents sense it. We don't argue when I need to drive myself someplace. I just go.
Who is this slightly solemn adult who has taken over my body? I feel decades old, instead of 21. I have to look in the mirror to remind myself that I am still young. How can a single year have made such a difference?
It was only last spring that I turned everything in my life, all my plans, over to God and bowed down to Him as Lord. Only last summer, I began to learn the importance of prayer and how God does answer. Just these past nine months, I found the blessing of putting people before schoolwork. Wisdom was and is my constant prayer.
God is so good to me, and I surely don't deserve it. In bowing me down to Him, He has been slowly teaching me to give in to earthly authorities too. He's been bending my stubborn head to His gentle yoke, and I love Him for it. I am filled with awe whenever I look at what He has done for me in such a small number of years.
I'd better leave it there, 'cause it's late and I'm gettin' tired. :)
I feel doomed to speak mainly with the written word this summer. I just finished hand-writing three letters. Five pieces of stationery total, both sides, in little cursive letters. Last night I wrote more than 1500 words of
Erthe: The Faeries' Story, and I completed 2000+ on Saturday. I hope to finish a few more pages this evening, at least enough to get Susan, my heroine, out of the sadness I put her in last night. I am eager to polish off this section of the book and get on into the next, which ought to be entertaining - Pharr the phoenix training her in the lost faerie arts. Turns out that Erthe is in a bit of a dark age. All the good civilizations have in general forgotten their roots. Turns out they will have to find them again, because the world is about to undergo a war. And I am the one who gets to write it! *rubs hands together and grins*
Being a writer is joyful when all goes well. When the words refuse to come properly, or one suffers spells of doubt as to whether one possesses any skill at all, it can be quite humbling and terrifying. I just have to keep writing, writing, writing, and watch myself improve. I remember that only three years ago I had never finished a story, and I had begun few. Now I am trying to create a book. The time in between marks mountains.
I can
see my book. Its cover is dark brown leather, patterned with lightning bolts and small winged creatures. In the center of the front plate stands one small faerie, dressed in a short brown garment that ends at the knees and leaves her arms bare. Her long silver hair is braided around her head. Her face is young, but her eyes are old, and she doesn't smile. She holds an open book that spills over the edges of her arms, and she reads it standing up. A spear leans against a tree nearby. She is alone.
Only problem is, I'm not sure what the book is or why Susan is reading it. I still have some difficult theological issues to settle before I'll be happy. I've settled enough to write for the next several days, and that's all I know.
Today marks a week since I returned from CA. I suppose I've accomplished some good things in that time. I know I wrote over 2000 words of Erthe yesterday. That's something. I intend to write more this evening, however, so I must keep this blog post short.
Do weeks of life always fly by this quickly? I know that I don't feel I've been especially busy. I've been sick with a cold, so I've slept a lot. That may explain some of the brevity. But otherwise, the days have just slipped through my fingers.
Yesterday I drove Thing (my white '87 Pontiac Grand Am) to the Headquarters branch of the St. Louis Public Library. We have an excellent library network in this area, and Headquarters is the best branch of all. The open shelves cover probably over 2000 square feet, and mysterious Closed Stacks lurk somewhere below. These Closed Stacks are one of the secrets I long sometime to access for myself; when one requests a book that is on these hidden shelves, the librarian at the desk disappears for fifteen minutes and returns, sometimes with the object of her search, sometimes not. The general impression is that of an elevator somewhere in the back that whisks the respectable, middle-aged lady down several underground levels and deposits her amidst rows of forgotten volumes. Imagine all the knowledge that is secreted away, never to see the light of day because library visitors don't know specifically to ask for it!
I love libraries. At this particular one yesterday I took out a few diaries of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, wife of Charles Lindbergh. I've read one of them before, in which she describes meeting her future husband. It is an incredibly poignant story, of a young girl much like myself - sheltered, privileged, and intelligent. I want to read it again. But I am also trying to gain some context for the story, by reading Charles Lindbergh's personal account of his historic transatlantic flight. Anne Morrow met him for the first time shortly after this flight, when he was a bemused and humble hero.
What I've really been reading lately, however, is
Witness, by Whittaker Chambers. It's one of the books assigned for my ISI summer seminar in Princeton. If I take nothing else away from the seminar (at the end of this month), I think I will always be grateful that I read this book. It puts the crisis of Western civilization into the clearest possible light: We are humans struggling against God. Chambers writes poignantly and eloquently, describing his entire life from birth, to Communism, away from the Party, and to Christianity. I cannot put into words the impact his book is having on me, but I know I can feel my perspective of the world enlarging. It complements neatly my new fascination with China, one of the few countries still clinging to Communism. Communism is evil. But nobody sets out to be evil. People wrapped up in wrong philosophies earnestly think they are acting the best they can in the world as it is. And it is never too late for God to turn a false path around and help a man make a stand for truth. I am inspired.
More to say. It can be said later.
You know what? I don't especially want to write about my brother's wedding any more, and I doubt anyone wants to read a description of it, either. It all went as expected. Frantic last-second dashing around... Magda hadn't finished the wedding cake until an hour before the ceremony. :) The ceremony itself was delightful - about half an hour long. To all our relief, the ringbearer, a four-year-old cousin of Naomi's, did
not pull his shirt over his head to admire his belly button the way he had during the rehearsal. There were a few minor mishaps, however... One of the deaconesses from the Bisagno's church (yes, female - I wasn't quite sure what to think about that) who was helping out told us bridesmaids to start walking up the aisle before the bridesmaid processional started. Heehee! Joe and his groomsmen had to dash on stage in a dignified fashion to get there before we did. They played only about two bars of the bridesmaid processional, but I don't think anyone noticed. :) Other than that, all was good, except standing there in our high heels for half an hour. It wasn't about us, anyway. It was about Naomi, and she looked lovely. She claimed she wasn't nervous at all until she started walking, but by the time she came up the steps, her bouquet was shaking. When they proclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Pride, she looked very solemn. Joe looked delighted. :)
lol at self. I seem to be writing a description after all. C'est la vie.
So ya, after the ceremony they took pictures. Many pictures, in many different combinations. Mrs. Bisagno had found a relative to be photographer, a very nice lady who was the mother of the belly-baring ringbearer. It was interesting rubbing elbows with all these relatives of Naomi's whom I didn't know very well. They were all extremely friendly. I'll say this for the Californians I met - they seemed in general more genuine than many of the Midwesterners I know, though everyone is polite in the Midwest.
After the pictures, we snuck out of the church sanctuary and hid again in the nursery, where we had been waiting for the ceremony to start. They seated everyone else, and then they called in the bridal party and introduced us all. We had to parade around all the tables and sit at a large rectangular one in the front, on display. Again, I was thankful for the relative anonymity of being just a bridesmaid. Nobody particularly cared about me, because it was Naomi's day. :) It was a little funny again, however, because nobody had told us how to sit. I sat with Greg on the wrong side of the table, next to Joe, while his best man, Rob Pole, sat with Jessica and Naomi on the other side. We all were very cool about it. We waited until they called for us to go get food, and then when we came back Rob and I switched places. Then all was good. We ate dinner and watched a slide show of Naomi's and Joe's lives.
I have to chuckle again, because right after the slide show and wedding cake, Naomi and Joe were supposed to throw the bouquet and garter. Unfortunately, the garter had been falling down from around Naomi's knee before, so Jessica and I had taken it off her and kept it with the intention of giving it back before the dance, when we had been told they would do the garter toss. But they changed plans without telling us. They called Naomi to sit on a chair in the middle of the room. We all at the bridal table just looked at each other, because we didn't have any idea what they were going to do. Then Naomi moved to the chair and sat there with a puzzled air. "You know what comes next!" boomed the DJ. We all still looked at each other. Then Jessica began to splutter, "Oh! Oh!" and wave frantically to Mrs. Bisagno. They dashed out together and fetched the garter from the nursery, gestured to Naomi to join them, and put it on her in the bathroom. Then the ceremony continued as before. Except, the groom is supposed to pull the bride's skirt up to the knee and reveal the garter, then remove it. Joe had never been to a wedding before, so he sort of reached up and groped around under Naomi's skirt. We at the bridal table were shaking with repressed laughter. Poor Naomi.
After this, the bridal party climbed into a swanky limo to take us to Naomi's grandparents' place for the reception. The limo driver had been commanded to cruise around for fifteen minutes to give us a chance to enjoy the swankiness. We found a bottle of champagne in the fridge and each tasted a little bit, feeling very daring. It was my first time drinking alcohol, except for communion wine. It was sort of interesting for that reason, but otherwise wasn't so special. I'm suspecting one has to drink more than two ounces to feel any sort of effect. Naomi said that it felt like a party, and that she had stopped being nervous.
The rest of the evening, we danced at the grandparents' place. Magda, Rob, Greg, Jessica, and some other people departed to "decorate" Naomi's and Joe's getaway car, but I didn't see them go. I just danced. It was fun. Before we knew it, it was 10:30pm and time for the newlyweds to drive away. By that point I was falling asleep on my feet, but I was awake enough to appreciate the little paper horses attached everywhere on their white Chevy Cavalier, and the shaving-cream messages on the windows. :) They drove away, tin cans rattling proudly behind them to call attention to the "Just Married" on the back windshield. Relatives waved and cheered. I felt sad and happy both at once, and I prayed hard at that second for God to keep their marriage safe forever. He's the only One who can.
So, there it is. I wrote it, and I enjoyed it. I left out all the details of relatives which, if described, could fill a book indeed. They would fill in nuances of the story, but they are ultimately irrelevant. God bless all newlyweds everywhere!
How can two friends be so different? My good friend Christy is sitting over in her blog simply revelling in her family, while I over here am criticizing mine. You know, I'm losing all inclination to write about the wedding, since it was several days ago now. I want to write about current stuff. But I ought to finish what I've started. So. Last summer. We're all getting to know Naomi better, and we like her. Right.
I hardly talked to the two of them over the school year, but then I hardly contacted the rest of my family either. I was encountering my most heinously busy (but also most enjoyable) school year so far. Whenever I did call home, my mom talked to me for over an hour about all the troubles she'd been having with Joe and Naomi and getting them to do what she wanted. I would explain to her that Joe, being a guy, naturally was trying to step out on his own and be a man. As the year wore on, the worried accounts turned to the upcoming wedding, which Naomi's mom was organizing in CA. Again, this became very stressful for me, so I didn't call home as often. Sometimes I went for weeks without talking to my family.
Then I myself had a fight with my mom right after Christmas break, which I won't describe here, and I became convicted that I needed to try to understand her and everyone else in my family who was different from myself. This is part of my ongoing growth in Christ, specifically in learning how to submit to authority. But I began calling home again, and I made a point of telling my family that I loved them.
I kept hearing different plans for how we were going to travel to the wedding in CA and for who was actually going. I know I was definitely attending no matter what, and besides, I was going to be a bridesmaid. :) Even without that fact, I wouldn't miss my favorite brother's (yes; we did everything together growing up, even if he is a dork. ;)) wedding. At the last second, my mom decided she wouldn't/couldn't go, and that my dad would fly in only the evening before. Magda, Greg, and I would drive over with Joe's car from MO, where it had been left. The other five siblings would have to miss out.
That takes the story up to the beginning of my summer break posts. Again, I have gotten too wordy. I need to stop for the day. I can finally talk about the actual wedding next time around. :)
