Today, I'd like to remember my grandfather, who died four years ago. The movie Harvey always reminds me of him, not because Elwood P. Dowd is crazy, but because he is simply nice, just like my grandpa.
One of the things I'll always remember about Grandpa is his ability to make conversation with anybody. That polite, interested character played so perfectly by Jimmy Stewart is exactly the same. They both care about people. I remember being in a hardware store, the Children's Museum, or an ice cream shop and he'd just talk to people; he'd ask them about themselves or ramble off on some story. But he'd always listen. I like that. I didn't appreciate it at the time, but now I realize that more people [me] need to be like that.
When Elwood listens or speaks, I see the gangly figure of my grandfather. Even if he could be anywhere else, thanks to Harvey, he tells the doctor, "I haven't been able to think of any place I'd rather be. I always have a wonderful time, wherever I am, whomever I'm with. I'm having a fine time right here with you, Doctor."
Here's to a fine time and a fine man.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
word pictures...
This is my favorite design project. Our challenge was to show movement using text and paper in a grid format.
Let us know.
Let us pursue the knowledge of the Lord.
His going forth is established as the morning;
He will come to us like the rain,
Like the latter and former rain to the earth.
[hosea 6:3]
Let us pursue the knowledge of the Lord.
His going forth is established as the morning;
He will come to us like the rain,
Like the latter and former rain to the earth.
[hosea 6:3]
new to notice...
"Now it came to pass, about eight days after these sayings, that He took Peter, John, and James and went up on the mountain to pray.
As He prayed, the appearance of His face was altered, and His robe became white and glistening.
And behold, two men talked with Him, who were Moses and Elijah,
Who appeared in glory and spoke of His decease which He was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.
But Peter and those with him were heavy with sleep; and when they were fully awake, they saw His glory and the two men who stood with Him."
[Luke 9:28-32]
Strange, I had never really noticed [or even considered] what Jesus, Moses, and Elijah were talking about, but this makes sense. Wouldn't you have liked to listen in on that conversation!
Alas, I too, am heavy with sleep...
As He prayed, the appearance of His face was altered, and His robe became white and glistening.
And behold, two men talked with Him, who were Moses and Elijah,
Who appeared in glory and spoke of His decease which He was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.
But Peter and those with him were heavy with sleep; and when they were fully awake, they saw His glory and the two men who stood with Him."
[Luke 9:28-32]
Strange, I had never really noticed [or even considered] what Jesus, Moses, and Elijah were talking about, but this makes sense. Wouldn't you have liked to listen in on that conversation!
Alas, I too, am heavy with sleep...
Monday, February 26, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
hungry weather...
This morning I was feeling rather stressed out, so instead of diving right into a poetry analysis paper [sandburg or masters or frost?], I sat right down in the library and read Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. I have been having a difficult time making simple decisions [what to wear] lately, so I'm hoping this helped.
I like this book; for some reason it's been on my mind frequently for the past several weeks. I had forgotten how much I enjoy the charming illustrations and the delightful idea of food weather.
It did remind me, however, that my lack of clothing decisiveness left me no time for breakfast this morning. I wish it would rain some fresh bread and butter right now or maybe snow a few of those Grand Central Bakery chocolate chocolate cookies.
I like this book; for some reason it's been on my mind frequently for the past several weeks. I had forgotten how much I enjoy the charming illustrations and the delightful idea of food weather.
It did remind me, however, that my lack of clothing decisiveness left me no time for breakfast this morning. I wish it would rain some fresh bread and butter right now or maybe snow a few of those Grand Central Bakery chocolate chocolate cookies.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
convergence...
I love it when information pieces fit together so perfectly. Like when I'm studying a painting in Art History and read a poem in Modern American Poetry which refers to that masterpiece. The words of Lowell's poem capture the image and emotion so beautifully, yet create something entirely new through knowledge of tradition [see previous post on eliot].
Tell me,
Was Venus more beautiful
Than you are,
When she topped
The crinkled waves,
Drifting shoreward
On her plaited shell?
Was Botticelli's vision
Fairer than mine;
and were the painted rosebuds
He tossed his lady,
Of better worth
Than the words I blow about you
To cover your too great loveliness
As with a gauze
Of misted silver?
For me,
You stand poised
In the blue and buoyant air,
Cinctured by bright winds,
Treading the sunlight.
And the waves which precede you
Ripple and stir
The sands at my feet.
[Amy Lowell - Venus Transiens]
I like school.
Tell me,
Was Venus more beautiful
Than you are,
When she topped
The crinkled waves,
Drifting shoreward
On her plaited shell?
Was Botticelli's vision
Fairer than mine;
and were the painted rosebuds
He tossed his lady,
Of better worth
Than the words I blow about you
To cover your too great loveliness
As with a gauze
Of misted silver?
For me,
You stand poised
In the blue and buoyant air,
Cinctured by bright winds,
Treading the sunlight.
And the waves which precede you
Ripple and stir
The sands at my feet.
[Amy Lowell - Venus Transiens]
I like school.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
good country people...
Flannery O'Connor is hilarious and poignant.
"Mrs. Hopewell," he bagan, using her name in a way that sounded almost intimate, "I know you believe in Chrustian service."
"Well yes," she murmured.
"I know," he said and paused, looking very wise with his head cocked on one side, "that you are a good woman. Friends have told me."
Mrs. Hopewell never liked to be taken for a fool. "What are you selling?" she asked.
"Bibles," the young main said and his eye raced around the room before he added, "I see you have no family Bible in your parlor, I see that is the one lack you got!"
Mrs. Hopewell could not say, "My daughter is an athiest and won't like me keep the Bible in the parlor." She said, stiffening slightly, "I keep my Bible by my bedside." This was not the truth. It was in the attic somewhere.
"Lady," he said, "the word of God ought to be in the parlor."
[good country people]
"Mrs. Hopewell," he bagan, using her name in a way that sounded almost intimate, "I know you believe in Chrustian service."
"Well yes," she murmured.
"I know," he said and paused, looking very wise with his head cocked on one side, "that you are a good woman. Friends have told me."
Mrs. Hopewell never liked to be taken for a fool. "What are you selling?" she asked.
"Bibles," the young main said and his eye raced around the room before he added, "I see you have no family Bible in your parlor, I see that is the one lack you got!"
Mrs. Hopewell could not say, "My daughter is an athiest and won't like me keep the Bible in the parlor." She said, stiffening slightly, "I keep my Bible by my bedside." This was not the truth. It was in the attic somewhere.
"Lady," he said, "the word of God ought to be in the parlor."
[good country people]
Monday, February 19, 2007
promises...
I almost never write about the things I promise to discuss. You can nearly be sure that if I mention something offhandedly in one post and my desire to expand on this issue, I will never discuss it again. Usually it's because I get distracted; I still think about it, but rarely find myself discovering large pockets of time to organize my thoughts [i think, therefore i blog?].
I do have thoughts on Regionalism [and a defense of my ever growing midwest accent] and Globalization [and thoughts about ease of travel and evangelism]. Maybe if I mention these topics twice, I'll be able to psych myself up to discuss? [hey, remember that time when i was more excited about interstate commerce that nearly anything else?]
hey, remember that time when
i would only read shakespeare?
hey, remember that time when
i would only read the backs of cereal boxes?
[regina spektor]
Of course, the only thing that I do want to discuss this morning is the extremely important subject I was considering [and finally conquered with incredible logical prowess] right before I fell asleep. Whatever it was.
I do have thoughts on Regionalism [and a defense of my ever growing midwest accent] and Globalization [and thoughts about ease of travel and evangelism]. Maybe if I mention these topics twice, I'll be able to psych myself up to discuss? [hey, remember that time when i was more excited about interstate commerce that nearly anything else?]
hey, remember that time when
i would only read shakespeare?
hey, remember that time when
i would only read the backs of cereal boxes?
[regina spektor]
Of course, the only thing that I do want to discuss this morning is the extremely important subject I was considering [and finally conquered with incredible logical prowess] right before I fell asleep. Whatever it was.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
tradition and art...
Meditation for a sunny Sunday Art afternoon:
In a particular sense [the poet] will be aware also that he must inevitably be judged by the standards of the past. I say judged, not amputated, by them; not judged to be as good as, or worse or better than, the dead; and certainly not judged by the canons of dead critics. It is a judgement, a comparison, in which two things are measured by each other. To conrom merely would be for the new work not really to conform at all; it would not be new, and would therefore not be a work of art.
...
What is to be insisted upon is that the poet must develop or procure the consciousness of the past and that he should continue to develop this consciousness throughout his career.
...
The poet's mind is in fact a receptacle for seizing and storing up numberless feelings, phrases, images, which remain there until all the particles which can unite to form a new compound are present together.
[t. s. eliot - 'tradition and the individual talent']
In a particular sense [the poet] will be aware also that he must inevitably be judged by the standards of the past. I say judged, not amputated, by them; not judged to be as good as, or worse or better than, the dead; and certainly not judged by the canons of dead critics. It is a judgement, a comparison, in which two things are measured by each other. To conrom merely would be for the new work not really to conform at all; it would not be new, and would therefore not be a work of art.
...
What is to be insisted upon is that the poet must develop or procure the consciousness of the past and that he should continue to develop this consciousness throughout his career.
...
The poet's mind is in fact a receptacle for seizing and storing up numberless feelings, phrases, images, which remain there until all the particles which can unite to form a new compound are present together.
[t. s. eliot - 'tradition and the individual talent']
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
little house in the big woods...
We are having a right-on blizzard outside right now. Another six inches on top of the six we already had, with another four-six adding on tonight. That, in itself, wouldn't be so terrible, if it weren't for the wind [and by terrible, i mean really cool and exciting, as long as you stay indoors].
The wind has drifted the snow in strange patterns and rises, completely covering the sidewalks that were constantly being cleared all day. Occasionally, you can still see patches of raw sidewalk, but mostly you have to pick your way through drifts based on the footprints left by predecessors or the suggestion of a valley ['do you see those hills? my house is between those hills...']. It's kind of surprising when you step on a supposed sidewalk and find your boots sunk in two feet of snow because you accidentally walked off the curb. It's even more surprising when you have forgotten to wear boots.
I feel a little like Laura Ingalls Wilder. Remember when Pa had to walk holding on to a rope stretched between the barn and the house? Maybe I will read those books again after I graduate. I've been thinking about regionalism, globalization, and pioneers lately. I will write about that, soon.
Tomorrow is suppose to bring the end of this weather pattern. While it will be a little easier to stand up straight against the wind to walk up the hill [do you know what i mean when i say that? 'up the hill' refers to most of our campus buildings: dining, most classrooms, student center, offices, my job at central hall, library, etc, which are on a hill above all the dorms, music building, art building, etc], I kind of like the idea of being in a blizzard. From inside my room, that is.
The wind has drifted the snow in strange patterns and rises, completely covering the sidewalks that were constantly being cleared all day. Occasionally, you can still see patches of raw sidewalk, but mostly you have to pick your way through drifts based on the footprints left by predecessors or the suggestion of a valley ['do you see those hills? my house is between those hills...']. It's kind of surprising when you step on a supposed sidewalk and find your boots sunk in two feet of snow because you accidentally walked off the curb. It's even more surprising when you have forgotten to wear boots.
I feel a little like Laura Ingalls Wilder. Remember when Pa had to walk holding on to a rope stretched between the barn and the house? Maybe I will read those books again after I graduate. I've been thinking about regionalism, globalization, and pioneers lately. I will write about that, soon.
Tomorrow is suppose to bring the end of this weather pattern. While it will be a little easier to stand up straight against the wind to walk up the hill [do you know what i mean when i say that? 'up the hill' refers to most of our campus buildings: dining, most classrooms, student center, offices, my job at central hall, library, etc, which are on a hill above all the dorms, music building, art building, etc], I kind of like the idea of being in a blizzard. From inside my room, that is.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
so you can see...
I'm Stage Manager for the Tower Dancers show this weekend, so I've been in rehersals every night this week. Even though I sit in a tall chair, wear a headset, and call the entire show, I feel slightly useless. It's good times, though. Reminds me a little of Reliving Radio [gosh, was that really so long ago?]. It also refreshes that still small voice calling me to film school and a career in film production.
Since few of you will be at the show this weekend, I thought I'd give you a glimpse at my section of the Cast/Crew board.
"This is Emily's second year with the Tower Dancers. She is excited to be working with this year's highly entertaining crew and fantastic dancers. When she's not talking on the headset, Emily bosses Freshmen as the Head RA in McIntyre Dorm, devours American novels, plans travel adventures, and enjoys only the finest Italian coffee. She sends love to her family in Oregon and friends across the country."
Since few of you will be at the show this weekend, I thought I'd give you a glimpse at my section of the Cast/Crew board.
"This is Emily's second year with the Tower Dancers. She is excited to be working with this year's highly entertaining crew and fantastic dancers. When she's not talking on the headset, Emily bosses Freshmen as the Head RA in McIntyre Dorm, devours American novels, plans travel adventures, and enjoys only the finest Italian coffee. She sends love to her family in Oregon and friends across the country."
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
charmed, i'm sure...
As a homeschooled Christian girl, I've always felt the Proverbs 31 Woman lurking behind me. It just sort of hit me that when I was younger [okay, maybe like yesterday], I always sort of imagined her snickering as she followed me around: enjoying being everything I'm not, pointing out my shortcomings, keeping me from having any harmless foolish fun, and generally setting the bar so high I'd rather ignore her than bother to attempt any sort of imitation. I mean, come on, she's not even real! Why should I beat myself up trying to be someone I'm not?
But I've been thinking about a few things lately and my perspective is starting to shift. This alteration is brought on partly by my rereading of a Lewis essay titled The Weight of Glory and partly by my bible study on Hosea. Most of my thoughts apply to the idea of being content with less than we should, particularly in the area of relationships. And I think I'm starting to appreciate good ol' 31 just a little bit more.
We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.
[the weight of glory]
The Israelites were content to chase after an unresponsive Baal when the God of the universe was corporately pursuing them. I am content to avoid that person in the hall so I don't have to actually talk to them, to post silly things on a facebook wall rather than call and question a friend's relationship with Jesus, and to miss taking a few minutes to set my heart right in the morning so I can snooze for an extra half hour.
I'd rather ignore the call to model my life after Proverbs 31 virtue and focus on being a lovely, charming, friendly, surface dweller when it comes to relationships. I enjoy expressing myself through intellectual and creative means: ie, developing a sharp mind and artistic abilities. This of course, is a legitimate exercise when properly placed in the scope of reality. At the end of the day, I might like the attention and comments my [intentionally] charming myspace persona attracts, but it's pretty much empty.
Charming is not bad, but it must be recognized and balanced carefully. I'm beginning to realize that making mud pies at a Miss Congeniality Competition doesn't even begin to compare to enjoying authentic interactions [and besides, with this sub-zero weather in michigan, i could totally go for a holiday by the sea right now].
Real, productive relationships take time, purpose, and effort. They require occasionally uncomfortable situations, returned calls, and following up on that 'hello' in the hallway.
This post turned out to be a lot more stream-of-consciousness than I had planned. My point, however, is that being charming and funny isn't enough. Don't ever let your relationships digress or remain at that point. There is something much more rewarding. Even though I've heard it a thousand times, tonight there is new life [and a little less intimidation] in the description of Lady 31.
charm is deceitful and beauty is passing,
but a woman who fears the Lord,
she shall be praised.
[prov 31:30]
But I've been thinking about a few things lately and my perspective is starting to shift. This alteration is brought on partly by my rereading of a Lewis essay titled The Weight of Glory and partly by my bible study on Hosea. Most of my thoughts apply to the idea of being content with less than we should, particularly in the area of relationships. And I think I'm starting to appreciate good ol' 31 just a little bit more.
We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.
[the weight of glory]
The Israelites were content to chase after an unresponsive Baal when the God of the universe was corporately pursuing them. I am content to avoid that person in the hall so I don't have to actually talk to them, to post silly things on a facebook wall rather than call and question a friend's relationship with Jesus, and to miss taking a few minutes to set my heart right in the morning so I can snooze for an extra half hour.
I'd rather ignore the call to model my life after Proverbs 31 virtue and focus on being a lovely, charming, friendly, surface dweller when it comes to relationships. I enjoy expressing myself through intellectual and creative means: ie, developing a sharp mind and artistic abilities. This of course, is a legitimate exercise when properly placed in the scope of reality. At the end of the day, I might like the attention and comments my [intentionally] charming myspace persona attracts, but it's pretty much empty.
Charming is not bad, but it must be recognized and balanced carefully. I'm beginning to realize that making mud pies at a Miss Congeniality Competition doesn't even begin to compare to enjoying authentic interactions [and besides, with this sub-zero weather in michigan, i could totally go for a holiday by the sea right now].
Real, productive relationships take time, purpose, and effort. They require occasionally uncomfortable situations, returned calls, and following up on that 'hello' in the hallway.
This post turned out to be a lot more stream-of-consciousness than I had planned. My point, however, is that being charming and funny isn't enough. Don't ever let your relationships digress or remain at that point. There is something much more rewarding. Even though I've heard it a thousand times, tonight there is new life [and a little less intimidation] in the description of Lady 31.
charm is deceitful and beauty is passing,
but a woman who fears the Lord,
she shall be praised.
[prov 31:30]
Monday, February 05, 2007
a late walk...
when i go up through the mowing field,
the headless aftermath,
smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
half closes the garden path.
and when i come to the garden ground,
the whir of sober birds
up from the tangle of withered weeds
is sadder than any words
a tree beside the wall stands bare,
but a leaf that lingered brown,
disturbed, i doubt not, by my thought,
comes softly rattling down.
i end not far from my going forth
by picking the faded blue
of the last remaining aster flower
to carry again to you.
[robert frost]
the headless aftermath,
smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
half closes the garden path.
and when i come to the garden ground,
the whir of sober birds
up from the tangle of withered weeds
is sadder than any words
a tree beside the wall stands bare,
but a leaf that lingered brown,
disturbed, i doubt not, by my thought,
comes softly rattling down.
i end not far from my going forth
by picking the faded blue
of the last remaining aster flower
to carry again to you.
[robert frost]
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