Anam Cara

Run............

"Few of us know what we are capable of doing...we have never
pushed ourselves hard enough to find out."

~Alfred A. Montapert

Twenty-two miles today.  Gorgeous sunshine all the way.  Thirty-
eight degrees when I began, sixty-two when I was through. 
Trademark Tennessee fall weather.  Layers.  It's all about layers. 
Four hours and twenty minutes.  Just under an eleven minute
pace.  It felt great, although I was pretty tired afterward.  I have
been craving a nap all afternoon, but it was not in the cards. 
Transporting kids right up until trick-or-treating started.  I am
actually writing this on my front porch while the little ghouls and
goblins continue to come.  I will look forward to climbing into bed
tonight.  Two weeks and two days until San Antonio.  I think I am
ready.  Since this is my first marathon, my primary goal is just to
finish...alive.  I would love to come in under five hours, but I just
don't know.  Now comes the hardest part, the two week pull back
to let my body rest.  This is when I realize just how addicted I am
to running and working out and how hard it is to ease up, even for
a bit.  But, since I want to be running for a LONG time, I will do it. 
To be continued......

A Gift....of Images and Words

"Colour is the keyboard, the eyes are the hammers, the soul is the piano with
many strings.  The artist is the hand which plays, touching one key or another,
to cause vibrations in the soul."

~Wassily Kandinsky

The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted.  Mark the music.

~William Shakespeare

"Shades of colour, like those of sound, are of a much finer texture and awake
in the soul emotions too fine to be expressed in words.  Certainly each tone
will find some probable expression in words, but it will always be incomplete,
and that part which the word fails to express will not be unimportant, but
rather the very kernel of its existence.  For this reason words are, and will
always remain, only hints, mere suggestions of colours."   ~WK

"Painting is an art, and art is not vague production, transitory and isolated, but
a power which must be directed to the improvement and refinement of the
human soul..."  ~WK

"It is very important for the artist to gauge his position aright, to realize that
he has a duty to his art and to himself, that he is not king of the castle but
rather a servant of a nobler purpose.  He must search deeply into his own soul,
develop and tend it, so that his art has something to clothe, and does not
remain a glove without a hand.  The artist must have something to say."  ~WK

"There is nothing on earth so curious for beauty or so absorbent of it, as a soul. 
For that reason few mortal souls withstand the leadership of a soul which gives
to them beauty." 

~Maurice Maeterlinck

All paintings by Wassily Kandinsky
Quotes excerpted from Concerning the Spiritual in Art

Adzukus on a Plane...

Like daughter, like father.  Tomorrow Mike leaves, with sixteen
other folks from our church, for Malawi, to love on the folks that
stole Kelsey's heart this summer.  They will be building another
house for a family that has taken in aids orphans and will also
work on the school.  It is a significant moment for our family as
Mike gets to experience these people that are so dear to our
daughter. 

Godspeed, friends.  Be well.  Love extravagantly.  Have fun.

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is
this:  to look after orphans and widows in their distress..."   
                                                                               James 1:27

Magnolia

Twenty-four hours.  Beginning to end.  Nine lives.  Completely unconnected, yet mysteriously connected.  Captive...All of them.  Captive to regret, and lost fame, and past abuse, and cocaine, and bitterness, and fear, and loneliness.  Prisoners.  Prisoners desperate for freedom...for healing...for love.  Twenty-four hours that will weave their lives into one remarkable coincidence.  Twenty-four hours during which each of their lives will change.......forever.  

When William Romanowski spoke to us at Oxbridge this summer about film and faith, he adressed that which constitutes a "Christian film".  He threw out a couple of popular approaches.  The easy one is to look for a film that was made for specifically religious purposes by Christians for Christians.  That yields a short, uninspiring list.  A method employed by a larger number of  households might be to tally the number of curse words, or acts of violence, or sexual situations/nudity.  He  contended that the most important consideration when evaluating what you want to feed your mind and the minds of your children is the world view/message of the film.  It might not be blatant.  In the most artfully made films it will be subtle, but it will be there.  He pointed to a film that would fail two of the above tests, but which has a rich, redemptive message woven so intrinsically and artfully through it that it is difficult to articulate, though it is unmistakable. 

I have watched Magnolia all the way through twice...so far...no small task given that it is almost three hours long.  And I am not done.  Not nearly.  This one takes a while to fully digest.  The film opens by relaying three bizarre stories of real life "coincidences" that will boggle your mind.  This sets the stage for the interaction and impact of nine lives over a twenty-four hour period in the San Fernando Valley in Los  Angeles.   I found myself grieving with the characters, feeling their sense of entrapment and despair.  And, I should say, this is not a happily ever after story.  But it is authentic and raw.  It is willing to ask some hard questions and wrestle and push and dig...  And when it is all over, we know something sacred has happened, although it looks decidedly unsacred.  It is the kind of sacred that shares a table with thieves and whores.  It is the kind of sacred that touches lepers and dead people.  It is the kind of sacred that stretches itself out on rough beams while nails are driven through bone...the kind of sacred that bleeds.....

In one of the more creative elements of the film, the storm which has been a continual backdrop throughout the film takes an intriguing turn at the end.  See if it does not point, rather ironically, to liberation...to redemption...to......exodus.....

Cognoscenti...

co⋅gno⋅scen⋅ti  [kon-yuh-shen-tee, kog-nuh-]  persons who have superior knowledge and understanding of a particular field, esp. in the fine arts, literature, and world of fashion.

It was my great good fortune yesterday to encounter cognoscenti in two very different arenas.  Always inspired by beauty and excellence in whatever forms they present themselves, I was captivated by both. 

At Pumpkinfest in Downtown Franklin, I met Lundy Cupp.  He creates some of the most intriguing wood carvings I have ever seen.  They are so realistic and animated I half expected one of them to begin a conversation with me.  Cupp largely uses "found wood", and talked to me about how sometimes he picks up a piece and knows exactly what it will be.  At other times, he begins carving and lets the character reveal itself a bit at a time.  I like how he leaves the bark in places.  It adds color and texture, particularly on the cedar pieces where the red and gray are such a lovely pairing.  I also like how he exploits the natural shapes and inclinations of the wood for interest.  One of my very favorite pieces is a prime example of this.  "The Wizard" is carved from red cedar, and Cupp took advantage of a natural curvature and fragmentation in the wood to create a fabulous, flowing beard.  My photo did not turn out so great, but if you visit his website you will find it on the home page.  Incidentally, if you think you recognize his face, you are probably right.  In addition to making beautiful carvings, Cupp also acts in music videos, documentaries and most recently a film about the west.  Not a bad gig if you can get it.

In the evening Mike and I had the pleasure of sampling the culinary artistry at Sambuca.  The decor is urban chic and tastefuly oppulent.  Deep red, plush wallpaper creates a lush foil for the chunky black wrought iron candelabra and glittering chandeliers.  Candles sparkle in a room so romantically dim waiters use flashlights to grind pepper onto your salad.  The wine list and menus are delivered in heavy, cloth covered books that look library worthy.  The weight of those books in my hands bespoke extravagance.   And then, of course, there was the food.  Such gorgeous, delicious food!  Mike started with the shrimp and crab bisque which was perfectly seasoned, creamy and very rich.  Perfect on a cool fall evening.  I had the Gorgonzola salad; field greens with a delicate vinaigrette, Gorgonzola crumbles and these sweet, crunchy, utterly delectable caramelized walnuts.  Yum!  Pizzas are a new addition to the Sambuca repertoire, but there apparently is no learning curve here.  Mike had the Cosmo with a glorious spicy tomato cream sauce, smoked gouda, canadian bacon, portobellos, italian sausage and goat cheese served on the lightest, most tender crust I have ever eaten.  I had the chili-rubbed scallops on risotto coins with smoked tomato cream sauce and asparagus tips.  It was a savory potpourri of flavors and textures.  The peppery surface of the scallops, seared to a nice crust, enclosed sweet, tender flesh.  The rich, cheesy risotto complimented the crisp freshness of the asparagus.  And the smoky tomato cream sauce was perfect against all.  Tre magnifique!

 

Chili Rubbed Scallops:  the only food pic that turned out because I asked the waiter to shine his flashlight on it for me to take the shot.  :)  The Diggy Band, an 80's cover band, though they did squeeze in a couple of more recent numbers. 

Le Grand Voyage

"When the waters of the ocean rise to the heavens, they lose their bitterness to become pure again.  The ocean waters evaporate as they rise to the clouds.  And as they evaporate, they become fresh."

A sweet, new friend said to us in Bible study this week that God spends our whole lives making us like Him, but most of us want the accelerated program.  We resist the idea of process...of struggle and growth.  Tonight I saw a very good film about journey....about process.

Le Grand Voyage tells a story of of struggle, of pain, of discovery, of losing bitterness and becoming fresh.  Reda is a high school student studying for his college entrance exams when he is conscripted to drive his father from their home in France to Mecca for the Hajira, the pilgrimage he has dreamed of all his life.  Reda has no use for his father's faith and no desire to be part of this.  He is frustrated by the fact that his father refuses to fly to Mecca, but insists on traveling across Italy, Serbia, Turkey, Syria, and Jordan to Saudi Arabia by car.  His father explains his decision with the lovely words at the top of the post.  He goes on to say it is better to walk than ride a horse, better to ride a horse than a car, better a car than a boat, and better a boat than a plane.  The journey is not ancillary.  It is the whole point. 

Watching the father and the son find one another is a sometimes excruciating, but ultimately beautiful and redemptive experience.  Reda has always held his father somewhat in disdain because he doesn't know how to read.  But he finds on the trip that his father has a wisdom that completely eludes him.  On the other hand, the father comes to respect his son who has persevered in this task, that had no appeal for him, for love of his father.  A significant and radiant film.  Here is a little taste:

Through Kelsey's Lens....

 

"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see." ~ Edgar Degas

 

 

"The source of genius is imagination alone, the refinement of the senses that sees what others do not see, or sees them differently."
~Eugene Delacroix

A Taste of the Season...

Molasses Cookies aka Gingersnaps are a family favorite.  Now is the
perfect time for them.  They fill the house with the aroma of fall. 
They taste like fall.  And there is nothing better than a crispy on the
outside soft on the inside Gingersnap right out of the oven.  So,
from our family to yours:

3/8   cup   Butter, softened
3/8   cup   Oil
1      cup   Sucanat (or brown sugar)
1/4   cup   Molasses or Sorghum
1              Egg
2      cups  All Purpose Flour
2      tsp   Soda
1/2   tsp   Cloves
1/2   tsp   Ginger
1      tsp  Cinnamon
1/2   tsp   Salt

Cream together first five ingredients.  Add dry ingredients and mix
well.  Chill at least one hour.  Form into one inch balls.  Roll balls in
granulated sugar and place on baking stone.  Bake at 375 degrees
for 8-10 minutes.  Enjoy.

Serving suggestion:  Add a little blue cheese, and these make a
wonderful accompaniment for a glass of Cabernet or Merlot. 

Pas de Deux...

Two players.  Two instruments.  One stage.  Brilliant!  Jake and I saw Chris
Thile and Edgar Meyer tonight at the Schermerhorn.  They were fabulous! 
The duo played selections from their new recording...original songs with titles
like Rabbit Cake, This is the Pig, and Slow Song for a Dog.  They showed their
versatility by also including a Prelude, a Gavotte, a Fugue, and an organ
transposition by Bach.  Their original compositions almost defy classification. 
One can certainly hear jazz influences, bluegrass and classical, but what they
create is unique.  It feels improvisational, like a conversation.  The free form
creations move from tender and quiet breathings to frantic, flying virtuosic
passages that dazzle and delight.

As I listened to Thile and
Meyer with my composer son
beside me, I could not help
but imagine what it must be
like for these two to create
together.  Then, in Jake's
favorite moment of the
evening, they created right
there on stage.  They asked
for words from the audience. 
The amazing accoustics of the Schermerhorn actually made
this a rather difficult process
as one word ran into another
and became impossible to
discern.  They finally came up
with "orange", "dirt", and
"squirrel".  They improvised a
theme for each word.  Then,
they created a story that
incorporated the three.  Finally,
they told the story musically
including the three themes. 
Creation.  Before our very eyes. 
It was truly remarkable.

Fabulous evening with my fabulous son.

Eucharist...

"Christ and history give to the Church her being, which becomes true being each
time that the Spirit con-stitutes the eucharistic community as Church.  In this
way, the eucharist is not a 'sacrament', something parallel to the divine word:
it is the eschatologization of the historical word, the voice of the historical
Christ, the voice of the Holy Scripture which comes to us, no longer simply as
'doctrine' through history, but as life and being through the eschata.  It is not
the sacrament completing the word, but rather the word becoming flesh, the
risen Body of the Logos"

~John D. Zizioulas in Being as Communion

Atomic Duathlon

Melton Hill Lake was the setting today for the Atomic Duathlon.  It
was a delicious, brisk, cool day with bright, warm sunshine.  The lake
sparkled, and the sun dappled the trees as we rode through forests on
both sides. 

The event consisted of a 5K run, a 30K bike ride, and another 5K run. 
After a pretty steep half mile hill at the start, the run course along the
lake was relatively flat.  HOWEVER, the bike course was a monster!! 
This is classic East Tennessee country where one hill stumbles over
another.  I did realize on the ride that I really am made for endurance. 
The first third of the ride was grueling, then all of a sudden, I hit my
stride and had a fabulous time.  My chip time was 2 hours, 23 minutes
and 11 seconds.  I placed second in my age division which was pretty
sweet.  Now life becomes all about running.  The San Antonio Marathon
is 4 weeks from today......

Cotton candy sky on the drive home.  Beautiful!

A Little Night Music...and Knight Music

Mike and I spent a glorious evening at the Schermerhorn Symphony Center last night with Yo-Yo Ma and Joseph Gramley.  These two Silk Road Ensemble artists along with the Nashville Symphony delivered a riveting performance combining progressive, exciting, strongly ethnic, recent works with Richard Strauss' whimsical, "heroic" Don Quixote.

The concert opener, Dmitri Yanov-Yanovsky's Night Music: Voice in the Leaves, was written for Yo-Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble.  The title is a nod to Bela Bartok's "night music" in Out of Doors which incorporated mysterious nature sounds.  He was also influenced by T.S Eliot's Four Quartets with it's rustling leaves, bird voices and waterfall and by Central Asian poet Alisher Navoi's Language of the Birds.   This was a fascinating piece to watch.  Many of the instruments are used in unconventional ways to elicit the atmospheric sounds the composer was after...prepared piano techniques, bowing of percussion instruments, long sliding strokes on the stringed instruments combined with plucking and complete exploitation of range, dissonant harp strummings, etc.....  I kept wanting to close my eyes and lose myself in the rich, evocative sounds, but I couldn't not watch.  I was mesmerized by the process. 

Watching Yo-Yo Ma interact with his instrument was a visual delight all by itself.  I have seen it before, that romance of sorts.  It is somewhat like watching a gifted horseman handle his animal.  There is a tenderness and affection.  It is almost as if the music is already in there and it simply has to coaxed and caressed to emerge.  It was most visible in this first piece, perhaps because it demanded so much from the instrument.  But, I contemplated it a great deal during Don Quixote as well.  I watched Ma, then I looked at the other players.  I don't know exactly how to explain it, but for many of them (not all) there seemed to be a distance, a polite reserve, a respect but not romance for their instrument.  I believe you can hear the difference.  I know you can see it.

The second piece was a percussion concerto by Chen Yi.  Chen began her instrumental studies when she was three.  During the Cultural Revolution she had to practice on a muted violin to avoid detection.  In 1986 she became the first woman in China to receive a master's degree in composition.  Her tenure with the Beijing Opera Company as well as her studies of Chinese traditional music profoundly influence her work.  This piece is a constant exploration of texture and sound.  The inclusion of a number of Chinese instruments throughout the piece surprise and delight the ear.  The first movement, "The Night Deepens" opens with mysterious sounds produced by four different percussionists which swell into an explosion of sound.  The second movement is my favorite.  A vocalist recites the poem "Prelude to Water Tune" by Su Shi (1036-1101) in exaggerated Chinese Operatic style against and into the "mysterious texture" being created on marimba, gongs, vibraphone, and mark tree.  It also featured splendid cricket sounds at one point.  (See picture below.)  The third movement is the most energetic, although all three are quite a workout for the principal percussionist who is constantly trading mallets and moving fluidly from one instrument to another, sometimes in a mad rush.  The movement is entitled "Speedy Wind" and the composer says this, "Speedy Wind is a fixed rhythmic pattern in Beijing opera percussion performance used in martial arts scenes".  There is a dazzling solo cadenza just before the piece comes to its fiery end.  A spectacular performance visually as well as aurally.

Don Quixote: Fantastic Variations on a Theme of Knightly Character was quite avant garde in it's day.  As I watched the creative use of mutes and listened to the pictorial effects and dissonant harmonies, I could imagine how audiences a hundred years ago must have struggled with this piece.  In contrast to the first half of last night's performance, it seemed rather safe.  I loved the way Strauss placed the themes for the Don and his partner Sancho Panza in a particular instrument.  The cello "portrays" the Don whereas the viola usually voices Panza.  It makes for an entertaining performance as the players hand lines back and forth.  Strauss' program notes were shown on the screen during the performance.  This added a definite comical note as the narrative itself is ironic and somewhat preposterous.  The most entertaining "pictorial effect" was the bleating of the sheep when Don Quixote attacks a flock of them thinking they are the armies of the King of Garamantes.  this is accomplished with muted brass and woodwinds playing in flutter-tonguing.

Splendid performance.  Splendid evening.  Here are some other photos:

The gorgeous Schermerhorn Symphony Center (no photos allowed during the performance). And, Calvin the cricket fresh from his big debut.  Our friend, Jeff Anderson (on left) has created the CRICKETtoy for those awkward pauses when no one knows quite what to say.  The Chen percussion piece calls for a cricket sound during a quiet moment in the second movement.  The sound is to be made by several players simultaneously.  Last night it was made by several CRICKETtoys.  Nice!

Dinner was on the porch at the Cheesecake Factory.  Perfect cool, clear fall evening.  Lovin' the patio heaters.  Mike had the Ahi Tuna Carpacchio and the Avocado egg rolls.  Yummy!

 

I had the Caribbean Black Pepper shrimp with black beans, plantains, mango salsa and rice.  Zesty and delicious.  I should say that we also took a Kahlua cheesecake home for later.  Oh Baby!

Songs of Joy and Peace...

My on again, off again companion today has been Yo-Yo Ma.  Not in the flesh, you understand.  At least, not yet.  Tonight, ahhhh, tonight Mike and I will see him with the Nashville Symphony.  But, in the meantime, I have been enjoying his new cd, Songs of Joy and Peace.  It is a Christmas album of sorts.  He has invited a few friends along and has created a delightful variety of textures, styles and moods; all impeccably articulated.  There are twenty-two tunes on the Deluxe album plus five videos.  There is not a bad song in the bunch, but here are a few highlights:

The whole work is tied together by recurring theme and variations on Dona Nobis Pacem.  Ma states the melody first with solo cello, then a duet, executed with Baroque precision.  Edgar Meyer and Chris Thile bring my favorite variation.  It contains a plethora of moods, textures, and rhythms.  It is alternately playful, funky, spare, sweet, and raucous.  A most satisfying parallel passage brings the piece to a close.  Sergio and Odair Assad do a lovely rendition on classical guitar.  Paquito D'Rivera and Alon Yavnai  make it dance with clarinet and piano.  And, Ma and Chris Botti partner it with Auld Lang Syne with most satisfying results.

Wexford Carol:  This haunting melody in Allison Krauss' clean, clear voice threads its way right into my heart.  The first verse is accompanied only by a mournful, sustained bass line.  It builds with pizzicato accents on the cello and a lyrical violin (viola?) line which alternately intersects then overlaps the cello.  Sparkling hints of percussion throughout, and finally a bodhran line on the last verse are the perfect compliments.

You Couldn't Be Cuter:  Sit back and relax as Diana Krall and an upright bass join Ma to bring hot licks and sweet sultry jazz on this one.

Here Comes the Sun:  James Taylor and Yo-Yo Ma deliver a tender, soothing, uncluttered take on a Beatles classic.  The atmosphere of this song conjures images in my mind of a crackling fire, sweaters, afghans, and steaming mugs of coffee.

Panxolina a Galician Carol:  This song is a rollicking good time.  It opens with Cristina Pato on a plaintive bagpipe aire.  But, very quickly it becomes a raucous celebration with a definite Spanish edge--a Fiesta Grande!

My One and Only Love:  The interplay between Ma on cello and Joshua Redman on Sax is like the most elegant, sensuous dance between lovers with stars in their eyes.  The give and take of sumptuous melody lines is completely enthralling.

Concordia:  The cello seems right at home in this lively fusion jazz number.  Dave Brubeck slaying on piano and a little mixed meter just for fun; what's not to love?

My Favorite Things:  (with Chris Botti)  The opening is subtle flirtation and intrigue.  Then, when the jazz trio joins in, all is pure romance...a slow walk along a country lane on a sunny fall afternoon, fluffly white clouds, rustling leaves, exquisite color....

Silent Night:  The final selection on the album is a soothing reverie...a warm flood of liquid serenity......Peace.....and Joy........

Mystery.....

"In everyday English, the word mystery implies a puzzle to be solved, a conundrum to be unraveled...In the east, on the other hand, a mystery is an area where the human mind cannot go, where the heart alone makes sense--not by knowing, but by being.  The Greek word mysterion leads you into a sense of "not knowing" or "not understanding" and leaves you there.  Having arrived, all you can do is gaze and wonder; there is nothing to solve."

~Archimandrite Meletios Webber in Bread and Water, Wine and Oil

Vespers...

As light departs to let the earth be one with night
Silence deepens in the mind and the heart grows slow;
The basket of twilight brims over with colours
Gathered from within the secret meadows of the day
And offered like blessings to the gathering Tenebrae.

After the day's frenzy may the heart grow still,
Gracious in thought for all the day brought,
Surprises that dawn could never have dreamed,
The blue silence that came to still the mind,
The quiver of mystery at the edge of a glimpse,
The golden echoes of worlds behind voices.

Tense faces unable to hide what gripped the heart,
The abrupt cut of a glance or a phrase that hurt,
The flame of longing that distance darkened,
Bouquets of memory that gathered on the heart's altar,
The thorns of absence in the rose of dream.

And the whole while the unknown underworld
Of the mind turning slowly in its secret orbit.

May the blessing of sleep bring refreshment and release
And the angel of the moon call the rivers of dream
To soften the hardened earth of the outside life,
Disentangle from the trapped nets the hurt and sorrow
And awaken the young soul for the new tomorrow.

~John O'Donohue

Painting by Louis Anquetin

"The Splendor, The Love, and The Strength be Upon You."

While I was at Oxbridge this summer, I was told this story:  Apparently J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis were lamenting the fact that there simply were not enough of the kind of books they liked to read.  It was decided that they would simply have to write them.  They decided that one of them would write about time travel and the other would write about space travel.  As to who would write which, well, that was decided with a coin toss.  And thus were born two trilogies.  Tolkien's Lord of the Rings and Lewis' Space Trilogy.  I just finished reading Perelandra, book two of the space trilogy, today.

In the first book our protagonist Ransom becomes an unwilling traveler to the waning planet of Malachandra (Mars).  There he experiences a world unlike any he has ever seen, and he encounters the Eldil, lesser gods in the service of Maleldil.  He is compelled by these, in the second volume, to travel to the very young planet of Perelandra (Venus).  There he beholds a world that is still pristine and pure.  It is completely uncorrupted.  All things live in harmony.  And the beauty is overwhelming.  Jake has also read these books, and he and I talked about how much fun it would be to create your own world.  Lewis' world is a sumptuous feast of texture and fragrance and taste and color...vibrant, dizzying color.

Do you remember that moment in The Wizard of Oz where Toto pulls aside the curtain and you see "inside" the "Great and Powerful Oz"?  ...when the truth of how things really are is revealed?  It seems to me that Lewis was given the ability to see behind the curtain.  He perceived things...he understood things...that few of us see.  Over and over he lifts that curtain for us in this book, giving profound insight...a more complete truth.

Consider his first personal encounter with the Eldil at Ransom's home.  "I felt sure that the creature was what we call "good", but I wasn't sure whether I liked "goodness" so much as I had supposed.  This is a very terrible experience...Here at last was a bit of that world from beyond the world, which I had always supposed that I loved and desired, breaking through and appearing to my senses: and I didn't like it."

His descriptions of this new world are positively delicious.  Just a hint: "The water gleamed, the sky burned with gold, but all was rich and dim, and his eyes fed upon it undazzled and unaching.  The very names of green and gold, which he used perforce in describing the scene, are too harsh for the tenderness, the muted irridescence, of that warm, maternal, delicately gorgeous world.  It was mild to look upon as evening, warm like summer noon, gentle and winning like early dawn...There was an exhuberence or prodigality of sweetness about the mere act of living which our race finds it difficult not to associate with forbidden and extravagant actions...The smells in that forest were beyond all that he had ever conceived.  To say that they made him feel hungry and thirsty would be misleading: almost, they created a new kind of hunger and thirst, a longing that seemed to flow over from the body into the soul and which was heaven to feel...it was so different from every taste that it seemed mere pedantry to call it a taste at all.  It was like the discovery of a totally new genus of pleasures, something unheard of among men, out of all reckoning, beyond all covenant."

He encounters the beautiful, serene "Eve" of that world in all her innocence and goodness.  "Beautiful, naked, shameless, young - she was obviously a goddess: but then the face, the face so calm it escaped insipidity by the very concentration of its mildness, the face that was like the sudden coldness and stillness of a church when we enter it from a hot street...As he stood looking down on her, what was most with him was an intense and orphaned longing that he might, if only for once, have seen the great Mother of his own race thus, in her innocence and splendour."  And of the king and queen together: "I have never before seen a man or woman.  I have lived all my life among shadows and broken images."

But, to this pristine world where all is harmony and beauty, the tempter comes.  He comes in the form of Weston who had been Ransom's "companion" on the voyage to Malachandra.  "...what Pantheists falsely hope of Heaven, bad men really received in Hell.  They were melted down into their Master, as a lead soldier slips down and loses his shape in the ladle held over the gas ring.  The question whether Satan, or one whom Satan has digested, is acting on any given occasion, has in the long run no clear significance."  "What the Un-man said was always very nearly true...the fatal step which, once taken, would thrust her down into the terrible slavery of appetite and hate and economics and government which our race knows so well, could be made to sound so like the true one."

It is an epic battle and Ransom has been chosen to play a far more significant role than he ever would have chosen for himself.  It is an adventure you do not want to miss.  You will travel to Venus, only to find yourself.  I give to you the blessing of the king:  "The splendour, the love, and the strength be upon you."

Intrigued....

...by Apocalyptica.  Jake introduced me to them.  They are virtuoso cellists, but they are far more than that.  They have stepped beyond the bounds of your well-behaved classical cellists.  They are creating original, passionate music that moves easily between and beyond genres.  I should advise you that lyrics in some of their works are disturbing.  Stick to the instrumental stuff.  Pretty amazing.  Here follow two favorites: one mine, and one Jake's.  The second is a cover of Edvard Grieg's In the Hall of the Mountain King.  I rather think he would have liked it.  Click the links below the videos to see others I fancy.

Path Creative video done with shadows in black and white
S.O.S.  Visually stunning.  Heavy subject matter.
Medley played at Eurovision Song Contest complete with circus performers.  Nice!
Somewhere Around Nothing
Alternate version of In the Hall of the Mountain King

Remains of the Day....

Busy, sunny, unseasonably warm fall day in Franklin.  After an early morning workout and run, followed by homemade pancakes and turkey bacon, Joshua and I headed across the street to Gentry's Farm.  A visit to Gentry's Farm is an annual tradition for our family.  The past couple of years, it has been just Joshua and me.  We spent a couple of hours there this morning navigating the corn maze and the hay maze, playing games and doing all the activities in the kids' barn, visiting goats, turkey, geese, pigeons, etc..., strolling down the nature trail, and finally picking our own pumpkins directly from the patch.  Here are a few photos:

 

Tire swing.  100 year old wagon.  Morning Glory climbing cornstalk.

Lincoln Log creation.  The wheelbarrow man with our selections.  Sweaty, happy faces.

After taking my second shower of the day, the family and I headed to a sacred event.  Kasey Cobb and Jon Shepherd celebrated the covenant of marriage today in a lovely outdoor wedding.  It was a significant, sweet ceremony in the presence of family and friends.  Congratulations Kasey and Jon!  Thanks for sharing your beautiful day with us.  Blessings!!

 

Sweet treats, Joshua's first stop.  The cheese table, Stilton with honey and walnuts on cranberry walnut bread.  Wow!  Mother and brother of the bride.

Sweet favors from the bride and groom; "How sweet it is to be loved by you."  Ring bearer and flower girl with the maid of honor.  Beautiful bride and her father.

Kelsey enjoying the amazing cupcake that replaced the traditional wedding cake.  And Liza with one of the caramel apples.  Yum!

Converging Territories...

"Take a person out of her cocoon and watch her quiver in confusion...Holding onto ideas, sleeping (sometimes not) with a vision so real, so defined, a vision of a perfect world."

~Lalla Essaydi

Kelsey and I enjoyed a cultural feast this afternoon.  It came to us in various, beautiful forms. 

We began at the Frist Center.  I took my photographer daughter to see two exhibits which opened today.  The first is called Indelible: The Photographs of Lalla Essaydi.  A native of Morocco, Essaydi's unique art gives the Arab woman a voice that has been largely unheard.  She uses a combination of calligraphy, an art form largely prohibited to women in Islamic culture, and Henna body art, a traditional feminine art form which has played an important role in the rituals which mark rites of passage for women.   She feels a responsibility, in part, to redefine for the western world the picture of the odalisque.  Odalisque translates literally "to belong to a place".  The odalisque was a subject of great fascination for 19th century western artists like Delacroix and  Matisse.  Essaydi contends that the images they created were more influenced by their own fantasies than by the truth of who these women really were.  She would like to present them in all their complexity in images "as vividly present and elusive as woman herself".

It was our great privelege today to hear about the works from the artist herself.  She is articulate and passionate.  She talked about photographing in a family home which was used, when she was a girl, as a place to send women who were not behaving properly.  They would be isolated here for a period of time so that they might correct their wayward attitude.  Coming back to this place and creating new memories here was a healing experience for the artist.  After living in Saudi Arabia, being educated at L'Ecole des Beaux Arts in Paris, and now dividing her time between homes in New York and Boston and regular trips to Morocco, she has a  unique ability to view Islam from both inside and out.  This perspective informs the works in the group of photos called Converging Territories.  The photo above right is from this collection.  It features the artist herself, henna brush in hand, writing the words you see at the top of the post.

The photographs in the exhibit are drawn from four collections.  The photographs in Apparel depict bridal gifts received on the "Night of Henna" when a bride is adorned for her wedding.  All the gifts are white to symbolize purity; eggs (for fertility, fragility, and femininity), sugar cones, lilies, and candles.  In Essaydi's photographs, all are covered with calligraphy.  Silence of Thought illustrates the containment of women in certain spheres beyond which they are not permitted to pass.  In La Femmes du Maroc, we see Arab women as complex, enigmatic, mysterious and strong. 

Also new at the Frist is the George Eastman collection of Photos and Film.  This is a visual chronicle of life over the past hundred years.  There are famous names like Ansel Adams, Alfred Stieglitz, and Matthew Brady, and famous photos like the raising of the flag over Mount Suribachi and Dorothea Lange's Migrant Mother.  But, a couple of our favorites were from Harold E Edgerton, who takes photographs that capture a breath of time in remarkable images.  Featured here are .30 Bullet Piercing an Apple and Milk Drop Coronet.

After our adventures at the Frist Center, we indulged in a little culinary diversity by checking out the relatively new Gojo Ethiopean Cafe.  Gojo serves a lunch buffet which gives one an opportunity to indulge in a variety of dishes.  We used our enjera to scoop up Mise W'et, Kik Aletcha, Ikle Gomen, Foul, Deqa, and fresh, spicy enjera salad.  The most singular experience, though, was having Ethiopean coffee.  It is a ritual, Shemsia explained to us.  First, she hand roasted the beans to a dark brown.  She brought them to the table sizzling and aromatic for our pleasure.  Some time later, she returned with a lovely wooden incense burner emitting curls of delicious, earthy fragrance.  The particular scent was very like that used in Orthodox worship.  It contributed greatly to the sense of sacrament that already hung in the air.  She then began to pour the rich, strong coffee from the graceful clay Jebana into the delicate handleless cups.  The combination of the incense and coffee was an immensely satisfying experience.  Splendid.
 

Scintillating Satire...

"Voltaire alone declared war against the coalition of all the social iniquities, against that enormous and terrible world, and he accepted battle with it.  And what was his weapon?  That which has the lightness of the wind and the power of the thunderbolt.  A pen.  With that weapon he fought; with that weapon he conquered."

~ Victor Hugo

I have just experienced a delightful encounter with Voltaire's witty and incisive philosophical tale, Candide.  Candide is a vibrant, clever, humorous adventure whisking one from Germany to Portugal to the Americas (including a brilliant stay in El Dorado) to France, Britain, and finally Constantinople.  One is eyewitness to events like the Seven Years War, the Lisbon Earthquake of 1755, and the Inquisition.  And, all the while, we accompany the likable but naive Candide who, after being expelled from the castle for "studying cause and effect" with the lovely Cunegonde, experiences war and natural disaster, betrayal and loss, disappointment and misfortune.  He persists in clinging to his tutor's credo that "All is for the best" although, admittedly, he is sometimes hard pressed to see just how this could be so. 

His mentor, Pangloss, tries to assist him.  For instance, when Candide expresses his dismay over the fact that Pangloss is dying from an infection he received while "tasting the delights of heaven" with Paquette, the tutor traces the honorable lineage of the infection back to the voyage of Christopher Columbus.  He then very sensibly points out that had Columbus not caught this disease "which poisons the source of generation" in some island of the Americas, we would not have chocolate or cochineal.

Voltaire has had the opportunity to speak his philosophy to the masses for two and a half centuries because he was a master story teller.  For example, when the old man in El Dorado explains that their religion consists of praising God continually from morning to evening and that all are priests, Candide is shocked.  "What?  You have no monks to teach, to dispute, to govern, to intrigue, and to have people burned who are not of their opinion?"  By making Candide a likable fool, and by making the tale so humorous and entertaining, Voltaire can say anything he likes without offense.  While I do not agree with all his assertions, I certainly enjoy being provoked and challenged to think.  And, if I can do all this while laughing hysterically, all the better.

Newsworthy....

Amongst all the tiresome campaign reports, the most recent edition of World Magazine has refreshing articles about three remarkable artists.  The cover article is about Albrecht Durer.  Durer was perhaps the most influential of the Northern Renaissance painters.  His travels to Italy acquainted him with the new practice of signing one's work.  The artist was, for the first time, obtaining reputation and respect.  Durer was the visual voice of the Reformation.  A big fan of Luther, though he never formally renounced the Catholic church, his Reformationist leanings inform his work.  He capitalized on the new technology of the day by creating woodcuts that could be reproduced in multiple copies for book illustrations.  He also published the first book to be designed and printed by an artist, The Apocalypse, in 1498.  I had the opportunity, while in Oxford, to see some of his study drawings.  The attention to detail is incredible.  He was extremely exacting and precise.  The article gives information about Durer, the man and the artist, in association with a travelling exhibit of his work currently on display in the U.S.  You can read the article HERE.

The magazine also features articles about two of my heroes in the contemporary art world, Dana Gioia and Makoto Fujimura.  Dana Gioia is an outspoken advocate for literacy.  His book, Can Poetry Matter, has proven so thought provoking that I can only read one essay at a time.  I then have to give myself time to ruminate and digest before moving on.  This is very counter-intuitive to someone who consumes books as voraciously as I do.  The article on Gioia explores how an inheritance of books from an uncle amounted to an inheritance of literacy for this working class son of immigrants.  It is a compelling article about the importance of simply having books in the home.  Read about a Modern Man of Letters.

In a related article, Makoto Fujimura relates how Gioia inspired him with a story about how he got his "second wind" of creativity when he felt like he was all spent.  His words are as beautiful as his paintings.  "...no matter how tired I am, when I prepare a panel with freshly spread handmade Japanese Kumohada paper and enter into the daily ritual of painting, I rediscover the joy of creating.  The process of creating renews my spirit...Creating art opens my heart to see and listen to the world around me, opening a new vista of experience.  This is the gift of the 'second wind'.  Such a state taps into what I now call eternal timefulness."  The Fujimura article is excerpted from his book Refractions: A Journey of Faith, Art, and Culture due to be released February 1, 2009.

40 days.....

...until San Antonio and my first marathon. 

Today I ran 21 miles.  I ran the first 4 or 5 in the dark.  Then, I was treated to a gorgeous sunrise with varying shades of blues and reds.  Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.  I could feel the rain coming.  It was in the humidity that lay in the air.  It was in the perfect stillness, occasionally punctuated with breezes carrying the scent of rain.  It was in the rainbow set against rich, deep slate blue clouds.  When it first began, I ran on.  You don't stop running for a little rain.  I happened to be standing beside my Jeep, refueling, when the deluge hit.  I had run 16 1/2 miles by then.  So, I had to defer to the treadmill for the final 4 1/2.  I detest the treadmill.  You don't see rainbows on the treadmill, or great blue herons.  You don't feel the breeze or smell the rain.  But, blinding rain and slick sidewalks sounded like a sure formula for injury.  So, I sucked it up and went inside.  I feel great.  I still can't get over how miraculous it feels every time I go out and run a distance I have never covered before.  I am in awe, and I feel very blessed. 

Mike and I are doing a duathlon in 12 days.  I will do my last long run 10 days or so after that, then I will start backing off in preparation for the big day.  Twenty-two miles.  That's as far as I will get.  I am counting on the marathon to give me those last four.

As The Ruin Falls...

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through:
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:
I talk of love --a scholar's parrot may talk Greek--
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back
From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking.

For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains
You give me are more precious than all other gains.

C.S. Lewis for Joy Davidman

A Love Tale....

The sun shone on a mild fall day.  A young man and a young
woman walked down a dirt road.  Scrubbed clean and fresh,
they wore the very best clothes they owned. The minister
met them at the end of the lane.  He left them standing
there and went to fetch his wife and children.  After he
returned, he said a few words and prayed a prayer.  And my
grandpa was married to my grandma....seventy years ago.

70 years, 7 houses (plus a barn they lived in while they
built one of those--my mom assures me it was actually
a house, it was only being used as a barn), 5 children who
lived, 1 tiny little one who was born too early and did not,
7 grandchildren--one of whom died in a tragic automobile
accident over a decade ago, 13 great grandchildren--the
oldest of whom will marry his bride next Saturday, 70
gardens and 69 summers of canning--Because of her stroke,
this was the first summer of my grandmother's married life
that she didn't can, thousands of cows milked--they made
their living putting milk on your table, hundreds of hay
houses built in the barn by happy grandchildren, 1 magical
Mimosa tree that transported same climbing grandchildren
to far away lands, a succession of friendly collies who
frequently smelled of skunk, 1 trip to Germany to visit their
daughter who was then in the air force as well as some
distant family relations, a life time of stories from my grandpa
who NEVER forgets anything, countless Sunday dinners where
there was always at least twice as much food as we could
possibly eat--but never quite enough of Grandma's chicken and
dumplings, dozens of chocolate ice cream cones bought at Nick
Tanner's, 1 church where they were charter members and my
grandpa has been a deacon for most of his adult life, 1 song they
always used to sing at church--A Light at the River--I can hear it
now in their voices; their harmony; the only way it will ever be right.

Today we honored them.  Today scores of people came to
say to them that it matters.  It matters that they stuck it
out.   It matters that they have given themselves to others. 
THEY matter.  They matter a great deal.  In many ways, this
has probably been their most challenging year.  My
grandmother's stroke in the spring has meant that, for the
most part, they have lived apart.  I remember when I stayed
in the hospital with my grandmother this summer watching my
grandpa.  He had visited with all of us, but when it was time to
leave he went to talk with grandma.  His voice changed.  I don't
know how to explain it.  But I could hear it.  He had this tone,
this way of speaking, that was only hers.  She will go home to
him in two weeks.

Today he gave her a gift.  She dreamed one night that he
had given her a ring for their anniversary.  So, her little
elven daughters set out, with grandpa's blessing, to make
her dream come true.  Today he placed the ring on her
finger.  She looked at it as if things were just as they
should be.  They were. 

Other shots from the day:

 

Some of the beauty my mom cultivates.  Is it any wonder I can not LIVE without flowers?

Great grandkids in their own magic tree.  Tucker smiling at his favorite aunt.

Tucker in Grandma's lap.  Anna feeling festive.  Lauren undercover.

Seth stopping by to say hi.   Father and Son love.

Food and Fun on a Friday Night

I suppose every town has that one ill fated location that seems to have all the right ingredients, yet a succession of restaurants try their luck and fail.  Tonight we visited the latest incarnation in that location in our town.  It is called Boxwood Bistro.  It had been recommended highly by some of our foodiest friends.   Boxwood Bistro is committed to the European tradition of using fresh local/regional ingredients.  You can taste the difference. 

We began the evening with a complimentary tidbit sent out by the chef.  It was a portabella mushroom with blue cheese and chive sitting on a red currant preserve.  It was delicious.  Next, we indulged in newly arrived Fanny Bay oysters on the half shell.  Yum!!  They were served with a sauce of cherry vinegar, shallots, garlic and basil.  It has been a year since I have had fresh, raw oysters.  Boy, were they good!!  We followed that with a salad of Heirloom tomatoes with fresh grated Parmesan and basil.   Then, I had striped Marlin with a savory, pungent ginger lemon sauce, shitake mushrooms and green beans.  Mike had Salmon with a potato hash and mushrooms.  The salmon was good, but the Marlin was out of this world!!  Wow!  We also had asparagus with lemon, bacon and breadcrumbs.  Perfect compliment.  All was accompanied by an old vine Zinfandel from Kenwood.  Rich, dark, mysterious and wonderful!  A long, leisurely dinner, good conversation, and delicious food is a blessing all by itself.  But, we were not through.  Not nearly.
 

We walked upstairs to visit the piano bar and ran into our friends, Ken and Chris.  We talked about important things.  We laughed.  We took lots of pictures.  Ken is getting ready to do a 20 date reunion tour with Amy Grant.  He has been having a blast connecting with old friends.  It was a great entroit for us to laugh about how he and Chris met in Australia while he was touring with Cher, and how she fell in love with him while he was wearing those horrid leather pants....  We talked about worship and faith and family....all the most important things.  An unexpected, but beautiful blessing.  So, below, our snapshots in all possible combinations...just for kicks....and Ken sitting in with his friend Laura for a little "At Last"...and a couple of outside shots.

Painted Sky

 
The sky was painted in exquisite layers of color tonight.  The dome of the sky was a
rich violet blue.  The skirting just at the horizon was golden orange, but not a fierce
orange...a soft, mellow, autumn orange...the orange of leaves and flame.  Between
the two could be seen layers of yellow, pink, and lavender.  Giving just the right
accent was a sliver of silver moon and the evening star just up and to the right like a
beauty mark.  I was without my camera, but made an attempt to get a hint of the
glory with my phone.  You have a suggestion above and below.  Extraordinary,
ordinary beauty.

Synchronicity...

Joan Miro * Radiohead

Joan Miro * Johann Sebastian Bach * Whimsy

Her Door

There was a time her door was never closed.
Her music box played “Für Elise” in plinks.
Her crib new-bought—I drew her sleeping there.

The little drawing sits beside my chair.
These days, she ornaments her hands with rings.
She’s seventeen. Her door is one I knock.

There was a time I daily brushed her hair
By window light—I bathed her, in the sink
In sunny water, in the kitchen, there.

I’ve bought her several thousand things to wear,
And now this boy buys her silver rings.
He goes inside her room and shuts the door.

Those days, to rock her was a form of prayer.
She’d gaze at me, and blink, and I would sing
Of bees and horses, in the pasture, there.

The drawing sits as still as nap-time air—
Her curled-up hand—that precious line, her cheek…
Next year her door will stand, again, ajar
But she herself will not be living there.

By Mary Leader