Kyrielle

2011-10-23T17:35:00.001-05:00

Photo: Gulls, Santa Rosa Beach

In Which Mr. A. Plans a Surprise

2011-10-05T08:40:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, Mr. A. took us for a drive, but he wouldn't tell us where we were ultimately destined. After breakfast in St. Charles, we took the ferry over to Brussels Island in the Mississippi. The island seemed enchanted with its rolling cornfields and little farms tucked away from the road. It was like revisiting the past or being in another country. I wanted to stay on the island forever.

But Mr. A. said no, he had other places to go and things for us to see.

We circled back and took another ferry off the island.

And then we were at Eckert's Orchard.

We rode the hayride out to the trees. Apples lay thick in the shade. Apples, everywhere! We stomped on apples that had wandered into the path. Crunch! We tossed a few into the neighboring field. Kerplunk! One precocious youngster with a keen aim tossed an apple in Mr. A.'s direction and it landed squarely on his foot! Owwch! We probably tasted as many apples as we took away: Tart Jonathans and mellow Red and Golden Delicious. Crisp apples on a crisp day, with a cloudless azure sky and the company of those I love: could anything be more perfect?

Photo: Jonathans

"Much madness is divinest sense to a discerning eye"

2011-10-03T13:16:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to write a paper from my Biblical Interpretation class, but it isn't going well at all. In fact, it is already 3 weeks late. This is the admission of a woman who has never been late turning in an assignment in her life.

It is difficult not to feel like a complete failure as a person, much less as a student. I can't blame my tardiness on any good reason. It's true that I've been spending a significant amount of time with Mr. A; that is a good reason. I spend a little bit of time every day gazing at the ring on my finger; that is less of a good reason, but still a reason. I spend a lot of time with nothing on my mind at all, as though my rational processes had entirely ceased! It is as though I couldn't formulate an argument to save my life!

The amusing thing is that people still mistake me for a deep thinker, including Mr. A. Just because I have a pensive expression on my face doesn't mean I'm thinking great profundities. I might be composing nonsensical poetry.

I asked Mr. A. how he felt about being the main cause of my madness.

"I like it just fine. Thanks," he said.

He says he doesn't mind if I'm crazy as long as I am crazy about him.

Quite sensible, that man. At least I'll be getting an A in his class.

"Yes!"

2011-09-28T22:56:00.000-05:00

One month ago today, Mr. A. asked me to be his wife, and I said yes. Actually, I was so surprised, I didn't say anything at first. The question, while all along anticipated, came at a most unexpected moment: after church on a Sunday night. I didn't think Mr. A. could surprise me, because from the the first time we met and visited at a church conference, we knew we would be getting married. It was a matter of when, not if. In fact, on our first official date, we were discussing the details of the wedding! But surprise me he did. I was teary and speechless; all I could do was nod my head.

"I'm taking that as a yes," he said.

"Yes, yes!" I said at last.

Image: The Ring

Lilacs in May II

2011-09-28T09:07:00.000-05:00

Remember the Lilacs in May? Here is part two: a picture of the lovely ladies with their bouquets! (Thanks to the Bride for sharing this image.)

Sewing for weddings is such a delight. Once I finish sewing for my own wedding in March, I am planning to start accepting custom orders on a regular basis.

So if you're planning a wedding after next April and are looking for custom bridesmaids' gowns, or even a custom bridal gown, do let me know.

At the Cathedral

2011-09-13T14:55:00.000-05:00

Our plans to visit the Greek festival didn't pan out. Apparently everyone in the City had come out to enjoy a gyro on balmy Saturday afternoon. The lines were miles long. We could have been in Greece by the time we got through the lines.

So instead we went to the Cathedral Basilica to be awed by the scintillations of millions of mosaics. And we had the place pretty much to ourselves. For moments like this one wherein my fiancé caught me in a thoughtful pose.

Yes, besides studies at seminary, my summer has entailed a lot of sightseeing around the City, dining out, and a whirlwind romance with a wonderful man.

There's an engagement ring on my finger and a wedding coming in March.

I hope to be sharing more snippets from our story as time permits.

Blessings, all!

Photo: "The Thinker, Revisited" by J.A.A.

Sonnet XXVI from the Portuguese

2011-07-08T07:04:00.001-05:00

I lived with visions for my company
Instead of men and women, years ago,
And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know
A sweeter music than they played to me.
But soon their trailing purple was not free
Of this world's dust, their lutes did silent grow,
And I myself grew faint and blind below
Their vanishing eyes. Then thou didst come--to be,
Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining fronts,
Their songs, their splendours, (better, yet the same,
As river-water hallowed into fonts)
Met in thee, and from out thee overcame
My soul with satisfaction of all wants:
Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.

~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Re-Christening

2011-06-13T21:19:00.000-05:00

Devoted readers will notice the recent re-christening of this blog. As noted in a previous post, I am rather taken with the kyrielle form in poetry. I am also captivated by the recurring mercies of God and the way in which our vocations, the things we do in response to a sense of calling, are part of worship of the Creator.

You may notice the content of this blog taking a decidedly theological/philosophical turn, as I am now attending seminary, but I hope to balance things out with creative projects and pictures.

Thank you for your continued interest and blessings to you all!

Whitsunday by John Keble*

2011-06-12T20:49:00.005-05:00

Today being Pentecost Sunday (or Whitsunday as it is known in the Anglican calendar), I thought it would be fitting to share a poem that highlights the significance of this holy day. The celebration of the Holy Spirit's being poured out after Jesus' ascension corresponds to the Jewish festival of Shavuot, which commemorates the giving of the Mosaic law.

When God of old came down from Heaven,
In power and wrath He came;
Before His feet the clouds were riven,
Half darkness and half flame:

Around the trembling mountain's base
The prostrate people lay;
A day of wrath and not of grace;
A dim and dreadful day.

But when he came the second time,
He came in power and love,
Softer than gale at morning prime
Hovered His holy Dove.

The fires that rushed on Sinai down
In sudden torrents dread,
Now gently light, a glorious crown,
On every sainted head.

Like arrows went those lightnings forth
Winged with the sinner's doom,
But these, like tongues, o'er all the earth
Proclaiming life to come:

And as on Israel's awe-struck ear
The voice exceeding loud,
The trump, that angels quake to hear,
Thrilled from the deep, dark cloud;

So, when the Spirit of our God
Came down His flock to find,
A voice from Heaven was heard abroad,
A rushing, mighty wind.

Nor doth the outward ear alone
At that high warning start;
Conscience gives back th' appalling tone;
'Tis echoed in the heart.

It fills the Church of God; it fills
The sinful world around;
Only in stubborn hearts and wills
No place for it is found.

To other strains our souls are set:
A giddy whirl of sin
Fills ear and brain, and will not let
Heaven's harmonies come in.

Come Lord, Come Wisdom, Love, and Power,
Open our ears to hear;
Let us not miss th' accepted hour;
Save, Lord, by Love or Fear.

~from The Christian Year, 1827

*John Keble was a member of the Oxford movement that was so influential in the poetry of Christina Rossetti and Gerard Manley Hopkins. You can read more about him on Wikipedia to start, and then toggle over to the Victorian Web for a more scholarly treatment.

Photo: Stained Glass Window, St. Michael's & All Angels Parish Church in Haworth, West Yorkshire

Lilacs in May

2011-05-28T14:03:00.006-05:00

There really isn't anything as lovely as lilacs in May, but these dresses, I have to say, come pretty close!

Last winter, with snow still on the ground, I had a very unexpected call from Liz, the friend of a friend, whose daughter, Mary, was to be married in May. She had seen the dresses I had done for Maria's wedding and wondered if I would be available to consult.

I do love sewing for weddings. Of course, I had to say yes!

Over the next several weeks, we hashed out the particulars. The bride insisted on this pattern (Vogue 8555) from the beginning, with its smart inverted pleats and the tucks around the sweetheart neckline. The separate bolero would meet the modesty requirements for the formal Mass, but could be removed later at the reception. We selected silk dupioni for the dresses and silk pintucked organza for the bolero jackets. Despite silk's tendency to fray and leave strings everywhere, it really is a dream to work with.

The wedding was today. Let's hope we get to see some pictures of the lovely ladies in their lilac frocks!

Even after spending weeks with this shade, I'm still loving lilac and purple in general, so be watching for other sightings of my new passion!

Just My Cup of Tea

2011-05-26T22:46:00.004-05:00

When you've got a wedding to sew for, and there are eight attendants, there is a lot of lilac silk and it is everywhere. Your dark green carpet is webbed with the threads from night after night of toiling over these eight dresses. At night your dreams take on a lilac tint. In the morning, the threads cling to your black skirt. You're still peeling them off at the office.

Between the hours of six and eleven in the evening and on Saturdays you realize the importance of pacing yourself. You take a break for tea. And on this evening, when you return to the sewing scene that is burgeoning in lilac silk, you think, it really is a shame to throw the good silk scraps away. They look so lovely, just laying in a pile on the light maple of your Jenny Lind dresser. But what if...?

And when you've swallowed the last drop of Earl Grey, and rinsed the cup, you know just what you'll do.

Teacup: Royal Southerland, Staffordshire, gift from Mrs. H.

More on the bridesmaids' dresses coming soon...

Reading from an Early Age

2011-05-19T16:25:00.008-05:00

It's really never too early to start reading with your children. When my niece Aaliyah came to visit a few weeks ago, we gave her a wingback chair and some books just her size. She is four months old and already an aspiring reader.

She was also quite smitten with Grammy's gold teacup. Perhaps we'll put the kettle on when she comes again.

A Postcard for Katie

2011-03-21T20:38:00.005-05:00

Miss Katie W. got engaged!

Her suitor, Chandler, friended me on Facebook a while back. "I want to be your friend. And I have a favor to ask."

I don't know Chandler very well, as his and Katie's courtship has unfolded since I moved away from the Ozarks. But well I remember the time Chan brought German chocolate to me when he came to talk to the Dean. I was doing a work study, and I saw lots of students in and out of the Dean's office that summer. What a nice boy to bribe the admin assistant with chocolate, I thought. Very nice. I've had a soft spot in my heart for him ever since.

My curiosity piqued, I messaged Chandler back: "Anything you desire, up to half my kingdom." Turns out, Chandler wanted me to write something about his and Katie's relationship, photograph the result, and email it to him for a surprise he was planning for Katie. He asked lots of their friends to contribute to the project.

What ever was he planning? A proposal? I didn't dare ask. Pertinent to me: what was I going to write?

A postcard would be perfect. I like a postcard as a literary genre. There's only so much room to say what you mean, even when it's super-sized. For this "post-card," I cut down from a poster that hung on my dorm room wall. My window to England.

Cottages of Dorset

I love the two figures in the fore-ground, surveying the scene. It could be Katie and Chandler, who knows?

Hello Katie

Every day in England, Katie and I came in from the cold and put the kettle on for tea. At school, we drank tea and ate chocolates when we should have been studying. These two commodities were essential to the economy of our friendship. Chandler is a smart man.

Chandler & Katie: Commemorative Stamp

For the postcard's crowning touch, I converted Chandler's profile picture into a commemorative "stamp," celebrating the couple's sweet love.

If any gentlemen are reading this blog and need ideas for surprising their sweethearts, Chandler H. would be pleased to consult, I'm sure. This project involving the larger circle of friends was just one of many he organized in the wooing of Miss Katie W. Math major or no, the man knows how to win a woman's heart. My thoughts? Chocolate is a good place to start. ;-)

Photo credits: "Kate and Chan," by Emma M.

Sweet Questionings

2011-03-14T22:02:00.012-05:00

Methinks this blog has gone too long without a definitive, imaginative, evocative name. I don't know what to do about it. Every time I come over to post something, I get distracted by the title dilemma. My apologies to Juliet, but a rose by any other name is not as sweet.

You might have seen us trying on "Sweet Questionings" for size. I like it, and I don't. Do you? Does it make you think immediately of Wallace Stevens' "Sunday Morning"? Because it should:

She says, "I am content when wakened birds,
Before they fly, test the reality
Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;
But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields
Return no more, where, then, is paradise?

I don't want something so melancholy as "Sunday Morning." I love Stevens. I love this poem. It strikes some deep chord in me, but without fail, it makes me weep myself into a puddle every time I read it. I don't want that to happen to you when you read my blog. I want to consider the questions of human experience. But I also want to help keep hope warm in each of us. Our Father who sees when the sparrow falls certainly knows each of our frailties and loves us still.

Hope was but a timid friend.
Hope is thing with feathers.

Yet Robin sings thro’ Winter’s rest,
When bushes put their berries on;
While they their ruddy jewels don,
He sings out of a ruddy breast;
The hips and haws and ruddy breast
Make one spot warm where snowflakes lie,
They break and cheer the unlovely rest
Of Winter’s pause—and why not I?*

*Lines borrowed from E. Bronte, E. Dickinson, & C. Rossetti

T.S. Eliot's "Journey of the Magi"

2011-01-06T06:00:00.000-06:00

January 6th is Epiphany, the day we remember the Wisemen's coming to worship the child Jesus. One of my favorite poems of this season is Eliot's "Journey of the Magi" in which the voice of the poet is that of one of the Magi as he recalls the journey taken to Bethlehem.

I thought I would share the poem with you all, a small token of Epiphany. When I went to google the words, I found something even better: a recording of Eliot himself reading the poem!

May your journeys in the coming year bring you closer to the One who came to bring us more abundant life.

Source: The Poetry Archive (http://poetryarchive.org)

The Bookseller

2010-11-22T20:31:00.005-06:00

Once upon a time, there were bookstores on every other corner. Not anymore. But there are still a few, and we chanced upon one in Ardmore, OK, on our way home from Texas.

On my birthday.

O, serendipity!

The Bookseller has been the shop around the corner for forty years. That seems like a long time, but I've been around thirty. Can it be true?

At least we have our priorities straight, Erasmas, the Bookseller, and I.

I spent an hour delighting over the selections in the store, from the children's department to the literary fiction, to the local history. And because I couldn't leave without buying at least one book and I couldn't decide which one it should be, I asked the bookseller behind the counter what she would recommend for a friend's birthday.

And she thrust this at me: "It's a Book." Obvious choice for an English major to give an English major. A quirky volume celebrating the simple delights of reading from The Bookseller.

The End.

G.M. Hopkins on Faith & Writing

2010-11-13T19:25:00.007-06:00

When a man has given himself to God's service, when he has denied himself and followed Christ, he has fitted himself to receive and does receive from God a special guidance, a more particular providence.

This guidance is conveyed partly by the action of other men, as his appointed superiors, and partly by direct lights and inspirations. If I wait for such guidance, through whatever channel conveyed, about anything, about my poetry for instance, I do more wisely in every way than if I try to serve my own seeming interests in the matter.

Now if you value what I write, if I do myself, much more does our Lord. And if he chooses to avail himself of what I leave at his disposal he can do so with a felicity and with a success which I could never command. And if he does not, then two things follow; one that the reward I shall nevertheless receive from him will be all the greater; the other that then I shall know how much a thing contrary to his will and even to my own best interests I should have done if I had taken things into my own hands and forced on publication.

This is my principle and this in the main has been my practice: leading the sort of life I do here it seems easy, but when mixes with the world and meets on every side its secret solicitations, to live by faith is harder, is very hard; nevertheless, by God's help I shall always do so.

~Excerpt from a letter to R.W. Dixon, 1 December 1881

Recommended listening: Jeremy Northam's expressive readings of Hopkins' poems. Also available in MP3 format.

Margaret-of-Goldengrove, Meet Merchant

2010-11-02T21:43:00.004-05:00

If Natalie Merchant were only my look-alike and had nothing more than her honeyed voice to recommend her, I'd like her. But I wouldn't call her a kindred spirit.

But the fact that she has, on her latest recording project, Leave Your Sleep, set Gerard Manley Hopkins' beloved autumn poem "Spring and Fall to a Young Child" to music makes me quiver with joy, despite the poemsong's melancholy strains.

In the following interview, Ms. Merchant discusses the Leave Your Sleep project and the artistic influences that inspired it, including Hopkins' life and poetry.

Natalie Merchant? Who Me?

2010-10-26T22:06:00.005-05:00

When I am in a large group of strangers, I like to keep a fly-on-the-wall vantage and watch the individuals who make up the crowd. But sometimes as the beholder, I'm given a new perspective on myself.

Before the afternoon editorial session at the Nimrod writing conference, I first sit down at a table in a lounge area outside the conference room. People in various waiting stances surround me, many of them visiting with friends or new acquaintances. A girl with a hijab is rummaging through her notebook at a another table nearby. Highschool students sit on the floor near the windows.

I lose my seat at the table when I got up to toss out my styrofoam cup from which I'd gulped a few sips of lukewarm tea.

So when I return to wait my turn, I find myself elbowing my way through the crowd to an empty place against the wall that juts out a foot or so between the windows.

I realize when I stand in this spot why no one else is already here. I feel suddenly conspicuous and as though every eye in the area is suddenly turned upon me: the girl in a denim skirt, red shirt and khaki blazer with her hair up. I decide, with just minutes before being called for my appointment with the editor, it would be silly to move again, so I strike the most confident pose I know, my "Keep Calm, Carry On" tote beside me on the floor.

I am standing, weight on my back foot with my other foot at the two o'clock position and my arms folded across my chest when I noticed a middle aged man 8-10 feet away, looking on with interest. I don't get a lot of masculine attention when I'm out, and this man's expression struck me as more complimentary than predatory. When he saw he'd caught my eye, he stepped a few feet closer.

"You look like Natalie Merchant. Has anyone told you that before?"

"No," I said, with a curious but guarded smile. "Who is she?"

"A singer. You haven't heard of her?"

"No, no, I don't think so. No. What genre?"

"Oh, I don't know. She was big, though. Really popular."

At this point I am summoned for my audience with the editor, and the man is still remarking on how much I resemble Ms. Merchant.

On my way into the conference room, I whip out my Molskine journal to record "Natalie Merchant: a man says I look like her."

And on further observation, I'd have to agree.

(More on Natalie next time! Despite her former liaison with the band 10,000 Maniacs, I feel I've been introduced to a kindred spirit!)

Image: Natalie Merchant, Google Images

Nimrod Ahead

2010-10-23T07:45:00.004-05:00

Well, folks, it's off to Nimrod today for a day of hob-nobbing with writers. And wouldn't you know? It's raining.

Be back soon!

"My hasting days fly on with full career..."

2010-10-18T21:24:00.006-05:00

I only wish it were my three and twentieth year drawing to a close as November and the rainy season approach!

And what do I want?

I want that poster, for one! All $25 of it! But beyond the noir graphic, this question has been plaguing me for the past several months as I contemplate my upcoming milestone. I want a lot of things, that, at this point in life seem entirely unattainable. (Even more so than that poster.) I want to marry a kind man and buy a rambling old house with plenty of room for children and guests. I want to travel the world and love the people in it.

Right now, if money were no object, I should want to fly straight away to England for a walking tour in the Lake District or a week of shopping in London. But I have spent a birthday in England already, and it seems a frivolous expense when I am looking at grad school in the next year or two. I'm already bad enough about indulging my whims and buying little presents for myself whenever I like. (But I buy presents for others, too!)

But my gift to myself this year, I've decided, must be attainable, affordable, and instead of merely satisfying a whim, must pose a challenge to my character.

I've decided, my youthful ambition on the wane, to dedicate the month of November working on my writing. I'd always supposed I would write a book by the time I turned 25, but that didn't just magically happen. And in discussing my writing woes with a friend, I've discovered something about myself as a writer. While it seems I have little control over my creativity, I do have a little self control. I know what it takes to write good stuff: time and focus and a lot of black ink. I'm not claiming I'll actually write a novel, or a book at all, but I'm going to work at it and see what comes of the attempt.

After all, November is officially National Novel Writing Month, and it comes just on the heels of Nimrod, the creative writing conference held annually at the University of Tulsa that has so well nourished my writer's imagination in past years.

Let's see what comes from November showers, shall we?

(If you wanted to contribute to my poster fund, I wouldn't object. I might even mention you in my book's dedication!)

Title credit: John Milton, Sonnet VII, Luminarium.org
Image: NaNoWriMo.org

On the Practical Art of Quiltmaking

2010-08-21T21:42:00.003-05:00

On Saturdays, when I'm in town, a young friend comes over and we spend two of the most delightful hours of my week--and hers, I'll warrant--at the sewing machine. Our first project was a pink pillowcase. Now, we are working on a quilt for another friend. It was her idea to do it, and I said I would help, even though I have half a million other projects in line already.

I say those two hours of my week are most delightful because they draw me outside myself. I'm such an introvert, so given to ruminating on the perplexing questions of existence that I often think I must be on the verge of madness. But it's these interactions with others at some meaningful task, sewing for one, that bring me back into tangible, touchable reality.

Jenn over at Transpositions has written a philosophical piece on quiltmaking which coordinates prettily with my current frame of mind. If you've given any thought to quilting or done some yourself, I think you'll like it, too.

Banana Pancakes

2010-06-25T17:47:00.006-05:00

In our family, pancakes have been known as "p'akes" since my sister was a wee little lady. And we've made and consumed a lot of them in the last twenty-plus years. Nowadays my prowess in the kitchen is confronted with a new challenge: gluten-free baking.

The sister who coined "p'akes" can't eat a mite of gluten or she gets very sick. And that's a very sad thing for us all, because it doesn't really seem fair to bake things she can't eat. Isn't half the fun (at least) of making a meal is sharing it with one's family?

I haven't wanted to do much cooking or baking lately because I feel so limited: no wheat, rye, barley, or spelt. That leaves corn, rice, oats, buckwheat, and tapioca. Great as supplemental grains in recipes but not really stand-alones to my lights. But determined to make p'akes that Sis could enjoy, I threw together a recipe for gluten-free banana pancakes that surprised us all; they were that good! Here's how:

Mix in a medium bowl:
2 over-ripe bananas, mashed
2 eggs, beaten
1 Tbs. oil
1 cup milk
1/2 tsp. vanilla
3/4 cup quick oats

Sift in:
1 1/2 cups white cornmeal (Aunt Jemima's)
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt

Stir just until moistened and batter is still slightly lumpy. Let sit while pan or griddle is heating. Give mixture a final stir. Ladle 1/3 c. batter onto pan and let cook until bubbles appearing in the center of the pancake begin to pop and edges of pancake are slightly dry. Flip with spatula and let cook until underside is golden brown. Serve piping hot with butter, maple syrup or honey, and a dollop of fresh whipped cream. Makes 12, approximately.

Suggested listening: Jack Johnson's "Banana Pancakes" of course.

No pretending; the weekend is here!

Photo: "Emmeline" apron I made from Sew Liberated pattern.

Beautiful Minds: Jay McInerney on Jane Austen

2010-06-18T17:58:00.004-05:00

A more incongruous pair of authors I never thought to meet! Jay McInerney, author of Bright Lights, Big City, reveals his long-standing passion for Austen and her heroines. McInerney's is one of 33 essays featured in A Truth Universally Acknowledged, Random House, 2009.

Image: More.com

Cultural Icons of a British Sort

2010-05-17T22:27:00.009-05:00

As mentioned previously, I'm crazy for this relic from WWII. I like the poster format, but what I really want is the tote bag. And as I was considering my purchase from an Etsy seller, I googled the poster's history. Here we've got it: the story behind the poster that's been cropping up all over Britain after seventy years. You won't believe the serendipity. Rare bookshop. Northumberland. Crate of auction stuffs. Read it for yourself, and triumph in the rediscovery of a lost treasure from the past that's boosting morale in the current recession.

And for music in this vein, may we suggest Kate Rusby's "The Village Green Preservation Society"? (Not to be considered an endorsement of all items mentioned in the song, but just in celebration of some of what we love about Britain!)