All over the blogosphere, people are making resolutions, plans, and otherwise evaluating their lives. A new year has begun, so why not? Well, personally ... I don't make New Year's resolutions. They've never interested me. I loathe personal disappointment, and Adam will tell you that the biggest thing I fear is regret. Oh yes. I avoid failing and regretting the attempt later. I'm not a risk-taker. If I take a risk, you can be sure it's because God pushed me over the cliff's edge.
But one blogger had a series of questions that I did find interesting. I've picked out some of her twenty questions. I've had such an upheaving kind of year, so much chaos, change, leavings and goings, losings and gettings. Here are the ones I liked:
What was the best thing that happened this past year?
What was the most challenging thing that happened?
What unexpected joy came your way this past year?
What unexpected obstacle?
What were the best books you read this year?
What was the biggest personal change that happened in you this past year?
What was the most enjoyable part of your work?
What was the most challenging part of your work?
What was the single biggest time-waster in your life this past year?
How did you use your time wisely this past year?
Asking these forces me to look back over the previous year and demand some sort of order from it. Rather than a jumble, I must sort through the mess and find the gems there. What is the single best thing in my year? What unexpected joy came my way? Did I change this past year? What horrifying obstacles did we surmount? How am I wasting my time? ((Sigh))
I need to sit and have a pow-wow with these questions, yes, I do.
If you check out the same link above, you'll see she has questions also for the coming year. They seem geared to a younger woman. But there are a few topics there that cry out for attention in my life. Vacations. We don't take them. We never have the money, or if we do, we don't have the time. Adam and I really must start taking at least a little time away for our anniversary. We've kind of given that up, told ourselves, "next year." Living space -- ouch! That one hurt! No, our living situation is not at all suitable to our family, at least when our college kids are home four months out of the year. It's simply impossible to house six full-sized people in a 2-bedroom house, in our culture. Before this summer, I really hope something will change, so I don't have to wrestle with this again.
And relationships -- the blogger asks what relationships are uplifting and helpful to me, what friendships are godly. She asks are there damaging relationships, ones that are tearing me down emotionally, spiritually. Very important to look at these matters occasionally before they get out of hand. Have you asked any of these questions recently? Do you need to?
I may address some of those niggling questions in a post soon.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Winter Masts
A bright blue sky and temperatures around 50 pulled me outside today on a walk. I went to the nearby boatyard. I never tire of looking at the boats.
Along the way I saw again this tree, laden with mistletoe. In winter it stands out so green against the stark branches.
Usually mistletoe is high in the trees, and you can't see it well. But this tree has a clump down low, almost at eye level. See how the mistletoe is actually growing out of the tree itself? It's a parasitic plant that takes nourishment from the host plant.
Right now it has clusters of pale white berries that it didn't have a month ago.
On my walk I passed this house. Many houses in Oriental have this type of shutter on the windows. I love them; they remind me of summer and sun, warmth and relaxation, sand and naps. And do you notice that rose bush still blooming in front? Yes, roses are still blooming in Oriental. I told you that you want to move here!
It all started yesterday when I drove near the grocery store. All of a sudden, I saw this bright spray of pink!! Early January, and there's a tree in full bloom!
It's not that we've had an unseasonably warm winter; I imagine it's rather average for here. We just live in a warm place, period. This explains the mosquitoes in summer, but it also explains the other infestation: many, many Yankees weary of shoveling snow and slowly freezing to death :) We're happy to have them.
And a little more bloom in someone's bed:
Each spring, don't we all keep an eye out for the first bulbs to pop out of the ground? I saw them today, under this mailbox ... a mailbox still ornamented with Christmas ribbon and greenery.
That's Oriental in winter!
And a little more bloom in someone's bed:
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
On Dreaming
Do you read Susan Branch's blog? Her post yesterday was The Care and Feeding of Dreams. I love Susan's blog. She's happy, whimsical, encouraging, and always beautiful. I know her life must be like other lives, but her depiction of her home, her happiness in Martha's Vineyard is pure, unmitigated beauty.
Several things about the post struck me. She asks us how do we keep our dreams alive, and I found myself asking, "What are my dreams? Do I have dreams anymore?"
Is a nearly-50-year-old woman supposed to still have dreams?
Susan recommends writing your dreams down -- not the dreams you have at night, haha! The things you long and hope for and want to happen in life. She says to make things you can give away, to keep some fun, some joy ahead of you on your calendar. Have breakfast in bed, and not rarely. Take a walk outside.
To have dreams is to believe in yourself, I think. To believe that the things your heart longs for, can happen, will happen. Is it foolish? Or is it necessary, even essential, for a healthy mind?
Perhaps I'm not so different from other women who've been too busy, had children, moved a dozen times and expended themselves on surviving and occasionally just enjoying today. Just today. But we forgot about our dreams. Is it wrong for Christians to dream? Sandra over at Thistle Cove Farm reminds us of this: "Where there is no vision, the people perish" -- Proverbs 29:18. We're supposed to have vision. I've been so enraptured lately of my hope of heaven, of my eagerness for the New Earth (which is all good, you know) that I've stopped thinking about dreams for this world. Are they a waste of time? A worldliness?
One last quote from Susan's blog caught my eye and has niggled at my brain ever since. "All my life I've been circling and circling the tower of the Lord, and I still don't know if I'm a poet, a storm, or a song." (I have no idea who first said that quote.)
Yes, I have spent a lifetime around (and sometimes in) the tower of the Lord. That doesn't mean that I don't still have some confusion, some wonder and wandering. Looking at the tower but still uncertain of what I am. To dream is to believe in myself. I'd like to learn to dream again. Enjoy Susan's post.
Several things about the post struck me. She asks us how do we keep our dreams alive, and I found myself asking, "What are my dreams? Do I have dreams anymore?"
Susan recommends writing your dreams down -- not the dreams you have at night, haha! The things you long and hope for and want to happen in life. She says to make things you can give away, to keep some fun, some joy ahead of you on your calendar. Have breakfast in bed, and not rarely. Take a walk outside.
To have dreams is to believe in yourself, I think. To believe that the things your heart longs for, can happen, will happen. Is it foolish? Or is it necessary, even essential, for a healthy mind?
Perhaps I'm not so different from other women who've been too busy, had children, moved a dozen times and expended themselves on surviving and occasionally just enjoying today. Just today. But we forgot about our dreams. Is it wrong for Christians to dream? Sandra over at Thistle Cove Farm reminds us of this: "Where there is no vision, the people perish" -- Proverbs 29:18. We're supposed to have vision. I've been so enraptured lately of my hope of heaven, of my eagerness for the New Earth (which is all good, you know) that I've stopped thinking about dreams for this world. Are they a waste of time? A worldliness?
One last quote from Susan's blog caught my eye and has niggled at my brain ever since. "All my life I've been circling and circling the tower of the Lord, and I still don't know if I'm a poet, a storm, or a song." (I have no idea who first said that quote.)
Yes, I have spent a lifetime around (and sometimes in) the tower of the Lord. That doesn't mean that I don't still have some confusion, some wonder and wandering. Looking at the tower but still uncertain of what I am. To dream is to believe in myself. I'd like to learn to dream again. Enjoy Susan's post.
Chicken and Biscuits
I already had cooked chicken from the previous night -- chicken parts cooked in a wine gravy with cream, rosemary, onion, garlic, and baked until very tender. We took the leftover chicken off the bone and cut it in small chunks. But you could start with raw chicken breasts (or whatever), boiled in water.
For the gravy above, I put 1/2 stick of butter in the skillet, plus some of the congealed gelatin off the chicken, and melted that. I added about 1/4 cup of flour and stirred to combine. Then I poured in (gradually) a couple of cups of hot water that I'd set to boil in the kettle. Keep stirring gently with a whisk until smooth. I added finely diced celery and carrots, and 2 cubes of chicken bouillon. If you started with raw chicken breasts, you would just use the water you'd boiled it in, as your hot water/broth.
Let all this stir and bubble away until it's nicely thickened, and add all that chicken. I had quite a bit -- probably 2 1/2 cups of cut up chicken at least. The gravy/stew needs to be piping hot because it will cook the biscuits on their bottoms. You can also add diced onions to this gravy, or peas.
Make a batch of biscuits. I made mine from scratch with about 2 1/4 cups of flour, plus the needed amount of coconut oil, 1 tbsp baking powder, 1 tsp salt, 1 cup milk. The biscuits should cover the entire top. Bake at 400ยบ until biscuits are done and golden brown. I turned on the broiler at the end, to finish them off. This fed the five of us fine, with some leftovers for lunch today.
A Little Crocheting
All handwork has not ceased around here over the holidays. I finished 2 shawls last week, which was a relief. And Julia became enamored with owls. She made some little crocheted owls, like this one:
She made a pink one for a friend for Christmas and liked it so much, she made the blue one for himself. His name is Nero -- not for the Roman emperor but for Nero Wolfe, the great detective of literature.
I, however, turned my hand to penguins. This is a penguin snuggie. I made one for Peter's girlfriend Kara, and Anna pleaded for one too, so I made one for her. The penguin disc passes through a hole in the other end of the snuggie, working like a big button and keeping the snuggie (which is just a short scarf) secure around your neck. Scarves tend to slide around and one end drapes down lower, and they get tangled in your sleeves. Snuggies don't do that.
Anna and I were at Paula's Italian Restaurant (my favorite restaurant in New Bern) when I took these pics. We were headed to see Les Miserables. Here she shows you her penguin earrings that a hallmate made last year for her. They're beaded.
What is it with these girls and their penguins?
I, however, turned my hand to penguins. This is a penguin snuggie. I made one for Peter's girlfriend Kara, and Anna pleaded for one too, so I made one for her. The penguin disc passes through a hole in the other end of the snuggie, working like a big button and keeping the snuggie (which is just a short scarf) secure around your neck. Scarves tend to slide around and one end drapes down lower, and they get tangled in your sleeves. Snuggies don't do that.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
New Year's Sailing
It was an impulsive decision, but around 10:30 this morning, Adam said, "If I borrow an outboard motor, do you want to go sailing?" I said, "You just see how fast I get out of these fuzzy socks and warm robe!"
It was not a warm day, nor an entirely dry day. But there was good wind. As soon as he got the motor running, Adam handed me the tiller and told me it was mine for the day. Yippee! That's kind of like handing your five year old the steering wheel.
Today on the Neuse River they were having the Football Regatta. That means "go sailing instead of watching boring old football while you're a slug on the couch." Philip opted for football.
Julia spent most of the time out on the deck of the boat, pretending to be a figurehead. I think she napped a little. I told her that was dangerous, since I truly did not know what I was doing.
She liked it out there. She is such a sailing girl.
Anna came along. She had fun, but I think she was cold. She and Julia both forgot to bring gloves.
Julia took the tiller for a bit while I drank a cup of hot tea. Yumm.
And we all know who did the really heavy, hard work -- that fellow over there. And he loves every minute of it. He wants me at the tiller so he can do all the sail work :) He's all about sheets and cleats and winches.
I mean really -- how many active sports can you think of, where you can drink a cup of hot tea while you're doing them? Adam and I both love sailing, and I hope we have many years of it ahead of us.
Altogether, we spent about 3 hours on this adventure, with about 2 hours on the water. We sailed 7 miles. Our maximum speed under sail was 7.4 mph, with an average of 4.1 mph. The only nervous part was when we had to come about to head home. After all of us saying, "Watch the boom!!" of course it was Adam who got smacked in the head, and his cap fell into the water. We had fun tacking about to retrieve it. Anna was the one with the pole who pulled it in on the second try. That was fun, and a good man-overboard drill too.
I hope to post many more pics of me, sitting happily by the tiller. Adam has plans for him and me and a boat.
Julia spent most of the time out on the deck of the boat, pretending to be a figurehead. I think she napped a little. I told her that was dangerous, since I truly did not know what I was doing.
I hope to post many more pics of me, sitting happily by the tiller. Adam has plans for him and me and a boat.
Les Miserables
Yesterday, after asking unsuccessfully for family members to accompany me to see Les Miserables, I finally took Anna along to town, and we went to the movie. Since I'd heard so many varied assessments of the movie, I thought I'd give my own.
I expected to be overwhelmed emotionally and aesthetically by the film. Several friends had acclaimed it as the best film ever. Quite a few warned me to take lots of kleenex along; Anna took a box. Perhaps I entered the theater with exalted expectations? But I did not find myself overwhelmed by the event. I'm not even quite sure that I found it good. I did find the experience intriguing. I needed no kleenex.
I knew I was going to a musical, and that many songs would be familiar. I didn't realize that the movie was nearly all singing, i.e., the characters rarely spoke at all. Even simple conversations were sung. I'm a musician myself, so I have nothing against music. But I like movies to be movies, and music to be music. I did not enjoy this kind of blending. By the end of the movie I found myself missing the sounds of the actors' voices, wishing they would just speak.
So, the voices first. It's true, Russell Crowe is no great singer. From my listening, he sounds like a bass or low baritone, trying to oversing those high notes. When he sang softly in his lower range, his voice was lovely. When he reached very high, his tone went dull. His voice did not fill the large spaces the cinematography required it to. This weakened the character presentation of Javert, who is supposed to personify power.
And Hugh Jackman, whom I adore! I found his voice unpleasantly nasal, especially in the opening scenes. The pathos of his emotional songs was wonderful to behold, but the voice itself was not pleasant. Perhaps it wasn't supposed to be pleasant? They are miserable, after all.
And this is what intrigued me: how much do these actors depend on their speaking voices, to deliver the power of their performance? It seemed to me that Russell Crowe was nearly stripped of his ability to act well, when his speaking voice was taken away. I found his character to be very plain and undeveloped, until the very end when he jumps from the bridge, and that development was brief. It's almost as if he couldn't present a fully fleshed character, in song. Every time he came on the screen, my mind said to me, "Here comes Russell Crowe. Let's see how he sings this time." The musical format crippled my Willing Suspension of Disbelief as I watched the movie.
The women were amazing. I was sad that Fantine died so early because I wanted more Anne Hathaway. She was able perfectly to combine the singing voice and the acting. And Cosette was rendered beautifully, although her character is rather simple. The actress's singing voice is elegant, light, and high as a kite. I also enjoyed all the tenors in the barricade gang, particularly Marius. Their voices were clearly better trained. And therein lies, I guess, my complaint against Crowe and Jackson, excellent actors though they certainly are: they're not great singers.
Who can argue against the story itself, however? Not me! What a tale! What a story of inner spiritual conversion! Jackman did this so very well. Jean Valjean's struggle to redeem himself and deal with his shame and secrets is a great human story. I'll add that I found the entire movie too dark -- like some of those Harry Potter movies. Yes, they're miserable, but I'm sure even miserable people have daylight every 24 hours.
And I have one nit-picky complaint about Anne Hathaway. After dying and being in heaven all those years, don't you think God would have grown her hair back out to its beautiful length? When she shows up to escort Jean to God, I was unimpressed with her shorn look.
I enjoyed the movie. I enjoyed the big songs. The lengthy barricade section I found a little tedious, for some reason. I thought Helena Bonham-Carter was fabulous, by the way. What a face she can put on! But I did not enjoy the constant running sing-speak that never gave my ears a break. Just my preference though.
 |
| the child, Cosette |
I knew I was going to a musical, and that many songs would be familiar. I didn't realize that the movie was nearly all singing, i.e., the characters rarely spoke at all. Even simple conversations were sung. I'm a musician myself, so I have nothing against music. But I like movies to be movies, and music to be music. I did not enjoy this kind of blending. By the end of the movie I found myself missing the sounds of the actors' voices, wishing they would just speak.
So, the voices first. It's true, Russell Crowe is no great singer. From my listening, he sounds like a bass or low baritone, trying to oversing those high notes. When he sang softly in his lower range, his voice was lovely. When he reached very high, his tone went dull. His voice did not fill the large spaces the cinematography required it to. This weakened the character presentation of Javert, who is supposed to personify power.
And Hugh Jackman, whom I adore! I found his voice unpleasantly nasal, especially in the opening scenes. The pathos of his emotional songs was wonderful to behold, but the voice itself was not pleasant. Perhaps it wasn't supposed to be pleasant? They are miserable, after all.
And this is what intrigued me: how much do these actors depend on their speaking voices, to deliver the power of their performance? It seemed to me that Russell Crowe was nearly stripped of his ability to act well, when his speaking voice was taken away. I found his character to be very plain and undeveloped, until the very end when he jumps from the bridge, and that development was brief. It's almost as if he couldn't present a fully fleshed character, in song. Every time he came on the screen, my mind said to me, "Here comes Russell Crowe. Let's see how he sings this time." The musical format crippled my Willing Suspension of Disbelief as I watched the movie.
The women were amazing. I was sad that Fantine died so early because I wanted more Anne Hathaway. She was able perfectly to combine the singing voice and the acting. And Cosette was rendered beautifully, although her character is rather simple. The actress's singing voice is elegant, light, and high as a kite. I also enjoyed all the tenors in the barricade gang, particularly Marius. Their voices were clearly better trained. And therein lies, I guess, my complaint against Crowe and Jackson, excellent actors though they certainly are: they're not great singers.
Who can argue against the story itself, however? Not me! What a tale! What a story of inner spiritual conversion! Jackman did this so very well. Jean Valjean's struggle to redeem himself and deal with his shame and secrets is a great human story. I'll add that I found the entire movie too dark -- like some of those Harry Potter movies. Yes, they're miserable, but I'm sure even miserable people have daylight every 24 hours.
And I have one nit-picky complaint about Anne Hathaway. After dying and being in heaven all those years, don't you think God would have grown her hair back out to its beautiful length? When she shows up to escort Jean to God, I was unimpressed with her shorn look.
I enjoyed the movie. I enjoyed the big songs. The lengthy barricade section I found a little tedious, for some reason. I thought Helena Bonham-Carter was fabulous, by the way. What a face she can put on! But I did not enjoy the constant running sing-speak that never gave my ears a break. Just my preference though.
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