A Free Christmas Tree Story

Last year two of my neighbors drove to the neighborhood Weigel's gas station about a half mile from our house, parked the car and walked over to the adjacent empty lot and cut down two somewhat shabby evergreens for Christmas trees. I loved them! A superb Charlie Brown tree and free to boot. I so wanted a tree like that for our family, despite the fact that my kids were not as overjoyed about the idea as I was. Plus it is true that I am not really a risk taker, and I envisioned someone calling the police and fining us hundreds of dollars for trespassing and stealing. But the idea of a free Charlie Brown tree stayed in the back of my mind all year, and often when I drove by the empty lot, I noticed a number of likely prospects.

In early December we called Mary and ask her if she wanted us to wait to get the Christmas tree till she got home just a week before Christmas, or go ahead and get it early. She wanted us to wait. So I nobly tabled my ideas about the "free" tree so we could do our usual drive north for a tree hunt with pictures, videos--interviews of trees and the tree hunters, and hot spiced apple cider or hot chocolate after the hunt. (Walking over to a vacant lot on a busy street and cutting down a tree was definitely not a Mary kind of activity.)

The day after Mary arrived, we drove off to the tree farm complete with video camera, digital camera, gloves, scarves, water bottles, extra coats just in case, ropes and Christmas CDs. And Stephen started to cough and wheeze. I said to him in my not-very-happy voice, "Have you been taking your Singular? Do you have some at home? Have you completely run out? Because if you don't have any we are going to the doctor's since I don't plan on you dying of an asthma attack this Christmas, thank you very much!" I asked all these questions at once in a rather shrill voice to preempt his usual evasive answers. Turns out he did not have any at home and so had not been taking any for several days, but he did have some at his apartment, which was on our way to the tree farm. So we detoured off the interstate over to 17th Street and Forest Ave.

As we turned onto Forest Ave, there were a bunch of Christmas trees thrown by the side of the road directly in front of Stephen's apartment. My heart started to beat rapidly, and I exclaimed wildly, "There are Christmas trees!" I wanted desperately to run over and grab one or possibly two and throw them on the car, but I restrained myself thinking that we must do the traditional tree hunt because that is what Mary would want to do. Stephen said they weren't actually Christmas trees, but the tops of some very tall pines that the city had topped. We went into the apartment, and after a modest amount of picking up and straightening Stephen's room and enjoining him to be more neat we headed out the door with the Singular. And there, much to my surprise, were Mary and Dad tying one of the trees on the top of the car!! And I was so happy.

So we joyfully headed back home wondering if there were somewhere we should stop to blow the $40 we just saved. I was all for keeping our forty bucks, but then noticed the new Earth Fare that had recently opened in the east part of Knoxville. I love Earth Fare. So we veered on over. We walked in to the produce section and found the usual little open trays of free samples: pineapple, apples, and–apple cider! So we all got our (several) little cups of free apple cider feeling like surely the world was tilting to just the right angle that day. We picked up some bottles of Tazo pomegranate green tea, some dried cranberries, huge delicious dates, and crispy pea pods, and we tried out a variety of yummy lotions and potions for our dry winter hands.

When we arrived home, we put up the tree only to find that it was the best Christmas tree ever.

Wow Wow

I think this house is in Utah--Pleasant Grove or something. Try this hot link:

hot:

more Snowflakes!

Get 'em while you can.

Remember the Michael Oher story?

Three or four years ago I sent out to the fam a very long article about a Christian family in Memphis who had adopted a black football player. The magazine story about Michael Orr included a reference to BYU online courses (that saved Michael's GPA so he could get into college), and also a reference to Mormons going to hell--all in good fun of course. ;) Anybody remember that story?

Well now they have made a movie about it. And a couple of weeks ago The Blindside blindsided New Moon and took over the top movie spot for a week or so. Anyway it's a pretty fun movie with Sandra Bullock--though a bit too slick for my taste. Sandra Bullock, who I really like, was typical Sandra, and really just a caricature of the real woman who took Michael in. The movie is good for a few laughs, but the story itself is wonderful. As for Michael, he's been drafted into the NFL to play for the Ravens. His contract is for 13.8 million dollars for five years. A happy ending to a difficult life that would never in a million years turned out as it did without the help he got from his rich, white, Christian family.

Make a Snowflake!

Hey, I'm dreamin of a white Christmas too! (Thanks for the song, Lloya) But it's pretty unlikely we will receive any signicant white stuff here in Tennessee, so instead, I'm making my own flakes--and you can too. You probably have all made your own in the past, but just in case you lost the link, here it is. If you make one, please send a note (you can do this on the site) to my email address: rebrrah@yahoo.com. Here's the link.

Home for Christmas

Mary is home! :)

Winter Snow

These are the words to a song I heard sung; it makes a nice poem, but it is even more beautiful as a song.

Winter Snow

Could've come like a mighty storm

with all the strength of a hurricane

You could've come like a forest fire

with the power of heaven in your flame

But you came like a winter snow

quiet and soft and slow

Falling from the sky in the night

to the earth below

Could've swept in like a tidal wave

or an ocean to ravish our hearts

You could have come through like a roaring flood

to wipe away the things we've scarred

But you came like a winter snow

quiet and soft and slow

Falling from the sky in the night

to the earth below

No, your voice wasn't in a bush burning

No, your voice wasn't in a rushing wind

It was still, it was small, it was hidden

You came like a winter snow

quiet and soft and slow

Falling from the sky in the night

to the earth below

The secret of weight loss revealed

I discovered the secret of weight loss: Eat very very little. No really, I know it sounds simple, but it works! Every day plan on eating nothing and when hunger pains drive you to the kitchen, nibble on an apple slice or clean out an empty peanut butter jar with your finger. If in the evening your tummy is objecting, you can make a batch of 97% fat free popcorn and eat half the bag! This will give your stomach a full feeling. This method is a bit more difficult for those with families because it does get tedious fixing food and then having to sit down with the fam and yet eating only a couple of bites. But, hey, nobody said you HAD to get married and have kids. Another added bonus is that after several days of basically eating nothing, you can actually eat a meal or two. Even a fairly large one–as long you get right back to nibbling carrots and celery. Merry Christmas!

Tiger Woods

So considering the excessive hoopla around Tiger Woods' transgressions, one woman quipped: I think the problem is everyone thought his name was Tiger, but it is really Cheetah. ha ha

Part II: on to the Post Office

So off I go to the Post Office. I need to turn right, but I get in the wrong lane and there is a solid line of traffic on all sides as I pull up to a red light. “But,” I think to myself, “it always happens that someone starts off slowly from a red light leaving a break in traffic, so I will have my chance to move over.” And that is exactly what happened. Some days are like that. :)

And just at that moment I remembered that I had a bunch of newspapers in the back of my car to drop off at the recycle center which happens to be very close to the Post Office! What luck I remembered that now rather than just as I was arriving at my next destination. True, I had several bags of cardboard and plastics to recycle that I could have thrown in the car before I left home, but these newspapers had been sloshing around in the car for a week. I drove into the recycle site and dumped them off feeling just a tinge of righteousness. I noticed the other people driving up and dropping off their recyclables: An old man in an old van wearing a golf cap, a well-dressed woman in a smallish SUV, a dad with his kid. I remembered the first time I started recycling which was only a few years ago. I drove into the recycle site and was quite amazed to see the good people of Knoxville–such ordinary folk–pulling in and dropping off their stuff. There was nary a Prius to be seen—well maybe there was one—I felt quite embarrassed that I was a newbie and had been negligent for so long. Though in my defense, for some of those years our garbage service had taken our recyclables–but they had long since decided that it wasn’t worth the effort.

I drove on to the Post Office; it was 12:30. “Perfect,” I thought, “Rush hour at the Post Office. Well maybe they will have all the windows open.” I walked in. Three of four were open. Well, it could be a lot worse. I counted the people in line: Only nine. Theoretically, I would be the “third” person in line, and if each person took just two minutes, I would be up in six. I didn’t quite make it in six, but close. But just as I was about to have my turn, another Post Office worker appeared; I thought he was going to open up the other window. But he asked if any of the workers needed to go to lunch. I turned around to look at the line which by this time had more than doubled. I stepped up to the window and the woman told me my box would be in California in two days for $32.50. I glanced at the computer screen to verify the $32.50; one other price also listed on the screen was much higher for overnight service. I asked if there was a lower, slower rate. $17.00 for delivery in a week. Wonderful! Funny that the $17.00 rate had not even appeared on the computer screen until I asked.

I returned to my car and headed to my next destination, Kmart! I never go to Kmart and at one point in my life had sworn off ever even so much as looking at a flyer for Kmart (because of repeated snafus I’d had), much less actually going there. But that was many years ago, and now I was looking for a particular item, and it so happened I had seen it right there in the Kmart circular. But as I drove off toward Kmart a faint alarm sounded in my brain. Kmart had closed down more than a year ago. I quickly called Russel and ask him to google Kmart and find out if there was one left in the area. But not so.

So I detoured over to Target. As I tried to turn left onto the main street the woman in the car a head of me was having difficulty turning left. An occasional car straggled by slowly from the other direction, and I know she did not want to hit it—and certainly did not want to disturb any Christmas reveries the occupants might be having. So while an entire brigade (a brigade consists of two to five regiments or battalions and approximately 4,000 to 5,000 troops) could have turned left, I sat there calmly, sitting up straight, smiling and loving everybody. Finally my turn came, and I squinched through before the light turned heavy red—pale red is still ok when there are no cameras at the intersection.

I took a parking space in the furthest possible corner from the entrance; I try to sneak in a little healthy walking whenever I can; (and it was also the only open space I could find.) It took me at least 10 minutes to locate the $35 sale duvet that I had noticed in the circular. I wasn’t really planning on buying a duvet, but I thought since I was there I would drift by the bedding department. So after searching each aisle twice, I finally located the sale duvets hidden on the pillow isle; the color was much different than the one pictured in the ad, so I moved on to other items on my list, Fortunately, by now I was out of the buying mood. (But in case anyone is in the market, Target has the best selection of cotton bed comforters and covers. That includes Bed Bath and Beyond, Linens and Things, Tuesday Morning, The Home Store, Marshalls, TJ Max etc. I know because whenever I am in such a store I drift by the bedding.) But right now I decided to drift on by the tools, which all looked much nicer than the Big Lots variety I had already bought. But, too late for Russel, sigh. Then I drifted by the Christmas DVDs. I love to watch the original Grinch cartoon and A Charlie Brown Christmas with the kids. I have home-taped VCR copies that are running a bit thin, so I thought I’d splurge and get the DVDs. I found the Grinch at McKays Used Bookstore some time ago, but am still on the hunt for Charlie Brown. A Charlie Brown Christmas had been advertised at Kmart for only $12.99; but at Target it was $19.99. So I turned up my nose and drifted out of the store, checking the price of the POST granola cereal our family devours on my way. It was a pretty good price, but as I said, the mood for standing in line with my plastic had passed.

So on I went to Walgreen’s. I have been feeling more positive about Walgreen’s of late and had noted a number of items I wanted to get or check out. Some years ago I swore off Walgreen’s (hmm if only these stores knew they had really ticked me off) because whenever I went in to get an advertised item it wasn’t there. “Oh our store didn’t get a shipment of those.” Or “We have sold out of that item.” But time goes by and I had forgotten all those bad memories. Plus I do most of my digital photos through Walgreen’s and have been quite happy with them. However, today I found nothing I had circled, and I wasn’t in the mood to ask about it. So again, I huffed off without buying a thing.

Starting the car, I began to feel quite proud of myself; my shopping day that had started out with ominous tones—spending $38.00 in Big Lots for nothing much, could have easily snowballed into a route. To reward myself, I stopped at JoAnne’s and bought the blue-polka dotted wrapping paper I had resisted a few weeks ago.

And so a Merry Christmas to all you shoppers. Actually I don’t have all that many items to shop for because I told my family that I was buying them garage sale items or 90% off clearance items throughout the year. Then in addition I would just give each person some cash to get what they really wanted. That way I wouldn’t end up buying things for them that they didn’t really want, or things that they wanted, but not enough to give their own money for—even if it was Christmas money. You with older kids have probably noticed that little phenomena. “Oh yeah, get me this and that or that and this.” But actually if they have the cold hard cash in their own little hands, they are not willing to part with it for said item. And I may even give up buying the garage sale items because I end up with too many little things to wrap and wrapping takes a long time. And they, poor souls, no doubt end up with too many little things to find a place for or to stick in drawers–though I have told them they are more than welcome, after a hearty "Oh! thanks Mom!" to recycle the items or send them to Goodwill. Hmm, perhaps I am sounding a bit scrooge-like. I’m not really feeling particularly scrooge-like and to prove it, tomorrow I will include the words to a beautiful Christmas song I heard today.

Merry Christmas to All

A Christmas shopping trip

The box of presents to mail to California is ready, and since I will be out and about, I decide I will pick up a present or two. I look over the Sunday ads, jot down a few notes and plan my trajectory for the day. I will go to Big Lots first since it is west, then hit the post office, and move east where the other stops are.

As I drive down Ebenezer Road a pop song comes on the radio that has a pretty good beat, and I am bopping happily along. Then the singer sings something like "a Jay Z song." A little corny, but I'm ok. Then she repeats the line two more times: "a Jay Z song, a Jay Z song. Now I am not ok; I change the channel. I might have lived with a repeated lame refrain like that at the end of the song, but not at the beginning–even if Jay Z is a cool dude.

I look in my rear view mirror and see Santa driving a van right behind me. I think "Well now isn't that jolly!" But, despite a turn or two, every time I glance in my mirror, I notice that Santa is still right behind me; I begin to see something sinister about him. "Santa driving an old van mid morning on a weekday?" Very strange indeed. Fortunately as I turn into Big Lots he goes on by.

I cruise into Big Lots and don't bother with a cart. I'm just going to look at the tools to see if there is something to put in Russ's stocking and then glance at the men's cologne. (I checked out cologne at Dillards a few days ago just for laughs.) As I head to the back of the store, I notice an attractive roll of wrapping paper. I'm pretty sure I need this, and it's so cute and cheap. So I move on back to the tool section carrying my Christmas-blue wrapping paper. Sure enough there are some really cheap tools. And most of them look really cheap. But I pick up a couple of interesting items and grab a flashlight--Russ has a thing for flashlights. Then I head toward the men's cologne, passing down the Christmas goody isle on the way. A big bar of "European" chocolate with peanuts catches my eye. It has a cool looking wrapper, and it is only two dollars, so "What the heck," I think, "we'll have it for Christmas." The trouble with buying unknown chocolate at Big Lots is that you never know if it's a super deal and you really ought to buy two, or if it's junk disguised as a super deal. There is only one way to find out. Buy it and taste it. Once you open it, however, it loses some of its gifting possibilities. But at least you know whether you should return later and buy more–and to replace the one you already ate. So as I am picking up the chocolate bar, I notice some very yummy-looking peanut butter nuggets to my left. I return to the front of the store and get a cart. When I get back to the nuggets, I notice that there is only one jar left of the H. K. Anderson Peanut Butter original nuggets, so if I'm going to get it, I'd better grab it now. "Won't that be a really fun thing to put out on the counter when all the kids are home?" I say to myself. And since there is only one jar left, it's a good sign people are snapping these up like crazy. Probably H. K. Anderson is an expensive specialty shop in Europe, er a Denmark. Then as I'm zooming over to the men's cologne, I notice a book of Lifesavers--just like we had when I was a kid! Certainly I have to have that. I can put a roll in everybody's stocking, and I just know their hearts will warm with nostalgia.

Finally at the toiletries aisle, I notice a half-gone bottle of English Leather for $1; so I open it and take a whiff. Not bad, not bad at all. So I find some unopened packages and toss one in the cart: Five bucks, now that is a deal! But maybe there is some even better cologne, so I keep looking: Blue Desire pour Homme, Cool Water, Brut--I rather like Brut, but the name is so funny I have mixed feelings–plus it's been around since I was a teenager. By the way, checking out the names of men's (or women's) cologne--and the pics on the boxes--is a good deal of fun anytime you're looking for a cheap date: Lucky you, Eternity, Obssession (for men), Euphoria, Polo Sport, Canoe, Grey Flannel, Mesmerize, Stetson, Neo, True Religion, Prada for men, etc. etc. I rather liked Neo, but it was a bit pricey. I decide to stick with English Leather and also toss in the knock off of Dolce Gabbana Light Blue--Blue Desire.

As I stand in the check out line, I notice a man with his back to me in the next line wearing a North Face fleece jacket. It's a real nice looking jacket. I think what drew my attention to it was the lack of any cat hairs or lint on the lovely medium-dark brown fleece. The collar is turned up in back, and it looks very cool–not obviously cool, just cool. I think to myself, "What's a guy with such a nice jacket doing in Big Lots?" So then I check out his jeans. Not bad, not bad at all. Light, acid wash, nothing fancy, just pure coolth. I begin to think about the fact that with all the shopping and spending on clothes people do, it's strange that we somehow mostly end up looking pretty tacky and grungy when we go out. But here is this guy dressed nicely in an understated way, looking like he should be in a magazine. I haven't seen his face yet, but I'm hoping to get a glimpse of him when he checks out. So meanwhile, I look down the line to verify my notion that the rest of us look pretty thrown together. And I notice that, well, actually most everybody in line looks pretty dang good. Not as good as the guy, granted, but their hair is fixed, they have on nice clothes, some jewelry–obviously they spent a little time before they went off to Big Lots. That is everybody did except me. I start to think maybe I should go home and wash my hair and put on some earrings . . . , but, I need to get to the post office at least, so I stay in line. Then I get distracted when there is actual movement in the line I'm standing in, and I watch another couple of shoppers move from one line to another, trying to decide which line will move the fastest. So I forget to check out the guy with the North Face to see if he is cute, sorry.

I get in my car and pull out. But immediately I find myself stuck behind a car that is stuck behind another car the driver of which does not want, apparently, to turn into the McDonalds drive-thru–anyway not just yet, even though there is room. Eventually she decides to make her move into the drive thru, allowing the rest of us to head on toward Kingston Pike. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra's song "Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24" is playing and it's very cheering. I'm starting to regain my Christmas spirit despite my appearance and the $38 I just spent on who knows what. Now it is off to the post office.

(See Part II tomorrow: At the post office.)

Russ and Reb were 91 years old and . . .

The couple, Russ and Rebecca, were 91 years old and had been married for sixty years. Though they were far from rich, they managed to get by because they watched their pennies, and bought most of their things at garage sales and through Craigslist. Though not young, they were both in very good health, largely due to Rebecca’s insistence on healthy foods and yoga and other exercise, and especially her insistence on dieting and Weight Watcher points, particularly during the last decade of their lives.

One day,

their good health didn't help when they went on a rare vacation and their plane

crashed, sending them off

to Heaven (a place Russel could never have

managed to arrive at on his own, but Rebecca’s

management of his soul had finally gotten him into shape

for the place).

They reached the pearly gates, and St. Peter

escorted them inside. He took them to a

beautiful mansion, furnish

ed in gold and fine silks, with a fully stocked kitchen and a

waterfall in the master bath. A

maid could be seen hangin

g

their beautiful clothing in the closet, and another was arranging Rebecca’s dazzling aquama

rine jewelry on a dresser. The couple gasped in astonishment when St. Peter

said, 'Welcome to

Heaven. This will be your home now.'

Russel asked

Peter how much all this was

going to cost. 'Why, nothing,' Peter replied; 'remember, this is your reward in Heaven.’ Russ looked out the window and right there he saw

a

beautiful trout stream,

absolutely lovely and jumping with big trout. An awesome-looking fishing kayak, bearing his name emblazoned in gold, was docked at the shore. 'How much does the fishing license cost up here, and how much is that kayak?' grumbled Russ. 'This is Heaven,' St. Peter replied. 'You can fish for free, every day, and the creel limit is infinity. And the kayak is a gift.' Next they went to the clubhouse and saw the lavish buffet lunch, with every imaginable cuisine laid out before them, from seafood to steaks to exotic deserts, free flowing beverages. 'Don't even ask,' said St. Peter to Russ. This is Heaven; it is all free for you to enjoy.' Russ looked around and glanced nervously at Rebecca. 'Well, where are the low fat and low cholesterol foods and the Weight Watcher notebooks?,' he asked. That's the best part,' St. Peter replied. 'You can eat and drink as much as you like of whatever you like and you will never get fat or sick, and Rebecca will always think you’re sexy. This is Heaven!' Russ pushed, 'No exercise routine I’ve got to keep up?' 'Not unless you want to,' was the answer. 'No testing my blood pressure, and no colonoscopies?' 'Never again. All you do here is enjoy yourself. Russ glared at Rebecca and said, 'You and your damn Weight Watcher points. We could have been here ten years ago!

Submitted by Russ :)

dogging my steps

In case anyone wonders where the phrase "dogging her steps" comes from, let me assure you, it is simply very very descriptive. Before Mary left for college, Shelby would follow me around in the morning, wagging his tail and dogging my steps a bit until I took him for a walk. Then he would spend most of the rest of the day sleeping in Mary's room.

Now he follows me up down and in out of every single room every single time I change locations--which is quite frequently!! He pulls himself out of a dead sleep if I decide to go downstairs or upstairs. And usually I have to retrace my steps several times, retrieving a cell phone, a coupon, a dirty dish, a book, and Shelby dear is with me every step of the way. I hardly need to walk him anymore, since he gets plenty of exercise all day long. He is getting old, about 15, and has some arthritis, so it is very sad watching the poor dear gather himself together to descend and ascend the stairs a bit haltingly, one at a time. I have taken to closing my bedroom door, leaving him inside, that way he can't follow me.

He used to sleep in Eliz's room, but then she left; he moved to Mary's room and now she has left. And Stephen is an inconsistent visitor. Who can blame the poor old mutt for being a little paranoid? I'm starting to feel that way myself. :)

Far from the Madding Crowd

I love Thomas Hardy. I love his deliciously depressing poetry. "Channel Firing" is on my top ten list, and I have it memorized forward and back. Hearing one of my profs recite it in an English class was one of the highlights of my undergraduate life. And "The Darkling Thrush" rates up pretty high as well. (I leant upon a coppice gate/when Frost was spectre grey/and Winter's dregs made desolate/the weakening eye of day) So when I read Hardy's novel Far from the Madding Crowd for a book group, I was surprised and a bit let down. I was expecting something more along the lines of Tess of the d'Urbervilles or Return of the Native--nice depressing fatalistic stuff--though I'm not a fatalist myself. The whole time I was reading, I kept expecting something dreadful to happen: Bathsheba's vanity to bring her to ruin, Gabriel's steadfastness to bring him to ruin, and Francis Troy's careless gallantry to be the probable catalyst of all the ruin. And while it is true that Boldwood did come to a somewhat tragic end, the reader didn't feel too tragically about it since that made way for the right man to get the beautiful heroine. (And Boldwood's love for her is the most anemic of all. Hardy might have fleshed out a little more of his personality to account for such foolishness--total oblivion to total infatuation.) All in all, and in respect for Hardy, I would give the book a "thumbs out" (not down, not up).

The development of the characters, as I already mentioned was not too impressive. Bathesheba is beautiful, which is, I suppose, a reason to find her sympathetic; at any rate that fact worked well for all of the suitors in the story. But we only get unfullfilling development of her character, and in several cases the details of her vanity and the early picture of her did not jive with her unusual drive--unusual for that time period–to run the farm herself.

Gabriel is somewhat better developed. His restraint, competence, long suffering, and faithfulness make him a sympathetic character. (Though I kept hoping he would meet up with Fanny Robin and run off with her.) And I suppose Francis Troy's character had to remain stagnant because we didn't want to feel too terribly sad when he was shot. And since he was still a cad, well, hmm, bye bye, nice knowing you. But I really didn't think Hardy should mind terribly if we mourned him, so why not make him a bit more interesting and repentant before the big bang at the end?

And Bathesheba, darling that she is, never gets over her infatuation with him. Yes, she recognizes Troy for what he is, but she is still enthralled by him, and would have let him back into her life, albeit to mostly suffer. Only after a lot of trauma and drama do we find her turning to Gabriel, when all the other choices are off the table. Really not all that impressive a heroine.

I almost wish I hadn't read the book because I've always loved the title–it's a good title to just repeat to yourself in poignant moments of life; even though no one is actually sure what it means in relation to the story, other than madding means insane or passionate, and it is taken from a line of poetry by Thomas Gray called "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." Now that I've read the book, the longing and romance of the title is somewhat lost. (But with a little time, I will regain it.)

Still despite my bit of dissillionment with it, the story did keep me turning pages, and I remember why I don't read novels much anymore: I just have to find out what happens! And nothing else much gets done in my life till I find out. Also on the plus side, there were some good Hardyesque poetic lines of description:

The sky was clear, and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse. The North Star was directly in the wind's eye, and since evening the Bear had swung round it outwardly to the east, till he was now at a right angle with the meridian. A difference of colour in the stars--oftener read of than seen in England--was perceptible here. The sovereign brilliancy of Sirius pierced the eye with a steely glitter, the star called Capella was yellow, Aldebaran and Betelgueux shone with a fiery red.

To persons standing alone on a hill during a clear midnight such as this, the roll of the world eastward is almost a palpable movement.

This was only Hardy's second novel; it came out in serial form and no doubt was written more for the publication than for Hardy. I don't want to complain too much because later on in his life when Hardy became famous, people were always having fits about his novels. Which is why he turned to poetry and gave up novel writing. So all in all I have no hard feelings about the story and may still read more of his works--I hope they are not too depressing! :)

New Moon wolfs down $140.7M opening weekend

If you missed the numbers on the "New Moon" weekend here they are:

"New Moon" placed third on the all-time domestic chart behind last year's $158.4 million opening weekend for the Batman blockbuster "The Dark Knight" and 2007's $151.1 million haul for "Spider-Man 3."

Among the top-10 all-time openings, "New Moon" is the only one that came outside of Hollywood's busiest time, the summer season. The movie adaptation of Meyer's next "Twilight" chapter, "Eclipse," arrives in the heart of summer, next June 30.

On Friday, "New Moon" set an all-time domestic high for opening day with $72.7 million, topping the previous record of $67.2 million by last year's "The Dark Knight."

twilight reply

I wrote such a long reply on Allysha's blog about Twilight that I thought I would post it here (slightly expanded) since Mary and Eliz probably won't read it there, and they might find it interesting.

Enjoyed your comments about Twilight. I didn't realize until you mentioned it that I didn't like the fourth book either. (Though that was the book where I saw the most Mormon theology-- I haven't read any reviews of the similarities.) But I think I let myself live with the characters less critically, so I didn't hate them--just some of the plot. Since I find many of the characters rather swoon-worthy, I didn't blame them for any foibles of the plot. :)

Also, I am still ever-so-impressed that a young mother of three who had never written even so much as a short story did such an amazing job. That woman certainly does not lack for plot ideas. It could be her blessing and curse. A little more development of the twists and turns would have been better. The book--till book 4--moved through numerous plot intricacies at break neck speed. (No pun intended.)

Still I remain very impressed with her. And to think she did not even start out to write a book, much less a blockbuster. The story just poured out of her. I remember having strange fantasies when I was young--fantasy life fades a great deal with age, for better or worse; but I never went out on a limb and tried to write a story. Yet a lot of the best things in my life happened when I took myself out of my comfort zone. I have a huge tendency to "cocoon." What a ride she has had! (Oh and by the way, after the first book, someone else was probably doing the vacuuming--which imho is a great blessing. After a certain amount of vacuuming, you really don't need any further experience with it. )

From today's paper: Edward's bumper sticker: "I can totally be a pain in the neck!"; Jacob's bumper sticker, "My bark is not worse than my bite!" Ha ha! I find the whole hoopla very entertaining. And really who can complain when the whole teenage female world is reading (and watching pg movies) that we can choose to overcome our baser "animal" instincts, love triumphs over all, no sex before marriage is a possibility, babies are wonderful and a "must have" even for vampires, and although parents are quirky and flawed you can still love them and want to be in relationship with them. Yes, yes, I know the nuances of reality are missing, and the books would have been better with them, and real love is not like Twilight love. But still, a few–too many–smoldering eyes evoke a smile in addition to the eye roll; and probably most of us have experienced similar heart-racing moments that, usually, came to nothing--or perhaps matured into something.

I'll be going to see the movie, but I'll wait till Mary comes home for Christmas, otherwise I would be in line with her for the first showing. She will have seen it when she gets here, but will want to see it again.

PS: I do smirk a bit when I picture the BYU English Department profs being a tad stunned and horrified at the same time. But I suspect they will eventually invite her back for a lecture or two.

PSS: I tried to get those pics to load as a "large" file, but they wouldn't! You'll have to get your own poster. :)

the meaning of life

The other evening Russ and I were bantering about nothing in particular. I was sitting at the computer, so I asked him what he wanted me to google. “Oh, the meaning of life” he said jokingly. So I googled it. And sure enough Wikipedia had an entry–I love Wikipedia: The meaning of life constitutes a philosophical question concerning the purpose and significance of human existence or biological life in general.

Then there followed an amazing array of isms and their respective takes on the meaning of life (mol):

Platonism, Aristotelianism, Cynicism, Cyrenaicism, Epicureanism, Stoicism, Classical liberalism, Kantianism, Utilitarianism, Marxism, Nihilism, Pragmatism, Existentialism, Absurdism (I’m not making these up), Secular humanism, Logical positivism, Postmodernism, Naturalistic pantheism, Zoroastrianism, Judaism, Christianity ism, Islam ism, Bahai’I Faith ism, Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism, Sikhism, Shintoism, Taoism, Confucianism! Plus the meaning of life in popular culture: The Highhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life, The Simpsons, The Matrix and more.

You are probably all dying to know what the meaning of life is according to The Simpsons. But alas, apparently in this episode, just as the audience is about to find out, the credits start to roll and the end music plays over the explanation from God; the viewer never finds out. Sigh.

But if you want to know what different peoples have thought through the centuries, here are a few random, interesting, cribbed (very narrow) summaries:

Platonism. The meaning of life is in attaining the highest form of knowledge, which is the Idea (Form) of the Good from which all good and just things derive utility and value. Human beings are duty-bound to pursue the good.

Aristotelianism. Aristotle argued that ethical knowledge is not certain knowledge, but is general knowledge. Because it is not a theoretical discipline, a person had to study and practice in order to become ‘good,’ thus if the person were to become virtuous, he could not simply study what virtue is, he had to be virtuous, via virtuous activities. The good has rightly been defined as the object of all endeavor: Everything is done with a goal, and that goal is ‘good.’

Cynicism states that the purpose of life is living a life of Virtue that agrees with nature. Happiness depends upon being self-sufficient and master of one’s mental attitude; suffering is consequence of false judgments of value, which cause negative emotions and a concomitant vicious character. The Cynical life rejects conventional desires for wealth, power, health, and fame, by being free of the possessions acquired in pursuing the conventional.

Epicureanism states that the greatest good is in seeking modest pleasures, to attain tranquility and freedom from fear via knowledge, friendship, and virtuous, temperate living.

Marxism says the meaning of life is to serve one another, in peace and with integrity as equal and just beings.

Existentialism says that each man and woman creates the essence (meaning) of his and her life; life is not determined by a supernatural god or an earthly authority, one is free. As such, one’s ethical prime directives are action, freedom, and decision. In seeking meaning to life, the existentialist looks to where people find meaning in life, in course of which using only reason as a source of meaning is insufficient; the insufficiency of reason gives rise to the emotions of anxiety and dread felt in facing one’s radical freedom, and the concomitant awareness of death.

Humanism affirms our ability, and responsibility, to lead ethical lives of personal fulfillment that aspire to the greater good of humanity. Humanists promote enlightened self interest and the common good for all people. The happiness of the individual person is inextricably linked to the well-being of humanity, as a whole, in part, because we are social animals, who find meaning in personal relations, and because cultural progress benefits everybody living in the culture.

Buddhism believes that life is suffering or frustration. Which does not mean that there is no pleasure in life, but this pleasure does not cause everlasting happiness. The suffering is caused by attachment to objects material or non-material which in turn causes one to be born again and again in the cycle of existence. The Buddhist does not speak about “the meaning of life” or “the purpose of life," but about the potential of human life to end suffering through detaching oneself from cravings and conceptual attachments. Nirvana means freedom from both suffering and rebirth.

Taoism symbolizes the unity of opposites between yin and yang.

The Taoists cosmogeny emphasizes the need for all sentient beings and all man to return to the primordial or to rejoin with the Oneness of the Universe by way of self cultivation and self realization. The meaning in life is to realize the temporal nature of the existence. Only introspection can then help us to find our innermost reasons for living...the simple answer is here within ourselves.

Jainism promotes self discipline above all else. Through following the ascetic teachings of Jina, one can achieve enlightenment (perfect knowledge). Happiness is the result of self-conquest and freedom from external objects. Jains believe all souls are equal because they all possess the potential of being liberated and attaining Moksha. The Jain view of karma is that every action, every word, every thought produces not only a visible but an invisible transcendental effect on the soul.

The Baha’i Faith views humans as intrinsically spiritual beings. Our lives in this material world provide extended opportunities to grow and to develop divine qualities and virtues, and the prophets were sent by God to facilitate this.

Logical positivism say that a person’s life has meaning (for himself and others) in relation to the life events resulting from his achievements, legacy, family, et cetera, But, to say that life itself has meaning, is a misuse of language, since any note of significance, or of consequence, is relevant only to the living, so rendering the statement erroneous.

Postmodernist thought sees human nature as constructed by language, or by structures and institutions of human society. Anything resembling a ‘meaning of life,’ in postmodernist terms, can only be understood within a social and linguistic framework. In other words we do not know what we know with certainty; we only know what we know relative to the tradition within which our knowledge is articulated. There is no firm place to stand outside of our traditions that would provide us with the possibility of purely objective discernment. I achieve a certainty only within and with respect to the traditions and communities of which I am a part.

Sikhism. The term “sikh” means student, which denotes that followers will lead their lives forever learning. Salvation can be obtained by following various spiritual paths, so Sikhs do not have a monopoly on salvation: “The Lord dwells in every heart, and every heart has its own way to reach Him.” Sikhs believe that all people are equally important before God. Sikhs balance their moral and spiritual values with the quest for knowledge, and they aim to promote a life of peace and quality but also of positive action.

Well I doubt you’re still with me, but if you are, I will also give a definition from Viktor E. Frankl Man’s Search for Meaning. I started reading this little book a month or two ago just because I ran onto while I was cleaning. I had read it in college and have often thought about some of Frankl’s profound and moving examples from his experiences as a prisoner at Auschwitz. Particularly his insight of “the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” I had put it down for a few days, but then picked it up randomly shortly after the googling-of-the-meaning-of-life episode. I hadn’t really put the two together or even thought about the fact that Frankl’s book is a treatise on the meaning of life—duh–it’s in the title. But when I picked it up again, I read this:

“We had to teach the despairing men, that it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life—daily and hourly.

“According to logotherapy [Frankl’s theory], the striving to find a meaning in one’s life is the primary motivational force in man. That is why I speak of a will to meaning.”

“Man is never driven to moral behavior; in each instance he decides to behave morally. Man does not do so in order to satisfy a moral drive and to have a good conscience; he does so for the sake of a cause to which he commits himself, or for a person whom he loves, or for the sake of his God.”

Anyway all these ideas and beliefs about life make for fruitful meditations. So many profound and overlapping views—I was quite taken with Cynicism, Taoism, and Marxism, among others. Oh and I forgot to mention Wikipedia’s take on Christianity:

Christianity Life's purpose in Christianity is to seek divine salvation through the grace of God and intercession of Christ. I thought that line, without a good deal of unpacking (which should be said about all of the above), was a bit anemic, and preferred this line from the Westminster Confession, further down in the reference: Man's chief end is to glorify God, and enjoy him forever.

Well there you have a few musings on the mol.

PS: The caption for that three-paneled pic above is: Hans Memling's The Last Judgment, which depicts St Michael the Archangel weighing souls and driving the Damned towards Hell. Kinda cool, huh? (I still have not figured out to arrange things on a post!)