Blogger is best

I did some experimentation the other night and decided to stick with Blogger. Although I am in love with Wordpress, it has a size limit (unless you pay) and I want to be able to keep uploading my photos until kingdom come. And although Wordpress’s canned templates are lovely and Blogger’s are hideous, Blogger allows you to modify your template, and Wordpress doesn’t (unless you pay). I hope someday to find the time to make my blog visually exquisite.

Alas, there is one thing I would dearly like to have, and that is the “recent comments” sidebar item you can get in Wordpress. How else will you know that I have added a significant comment to the post on yams? It is important to read it, because it completely alters the existential equilibrium reached at the end of the main post and proves that life is forever unresolved.

I am never going to catch up with all the things I want to write about. There are times when I have nothing to blog about and there are times when I have billions of things. Currently I have billions.

Oh how I love your law!
It is my meditation all the day.
Your commandment makes me wiser than my enemies,
for it is ever with me.
I have more understanding than all my teachers,
for your testimonies are my meditation.
I understand more than the aged,
for I keep your precepts.
I hold back my feet from every evil way,
in order to keep your word.I do not turn aside from your rules,
for you have taught me.
How sweet are your words to my taste,
sweeter than honey to my mouth!
Through your precepts I get understanding;
therefore I hate every false way.

Happy visit review

I went to the Texas State Fair twice this year. I still didn’t see all there was to see. I love the Texas State Fair. But the coolest thing was the people who went there with me.

First, I took a friend I’ve known since first grade who came to visit me for a weekend. I treasure my times with faraway friends, and this is the first time an old friend from my hometown has come to visit me on my home turf. I’m not used to being around someone who shares so much of my life history. It was very refreshing.

My grandparents stopped by a couple days later. I went to the fair again with them. Their average age is 80, as they put it, and they traveled around the country in a camper van for several months this year. They used to run a campground in the summers, and Grandpa was a forest ranger for a while, and they still cultivate their adaptability.

“You know, we’re campers,” Grandma says when I apologize for the limitations of my guest suite. “We’re used to it.”

My friends and coworkers were amazed to hear that they slept on my futon for a couple of nights. We walked all over Dallas in cold weather. We rode buses and trains and trolleys. We climbed in and out of my little two-door car. As octogenarians go—as anyone goes—they’re low-maintenance guests.

It has struck me lately that Grandma and Grandpa never complain. Being with them is nothing but pleasure. Grandpa is curious about everything and has great stories. Grandma is humorous and sincere. They’re both good at being grandparently, making you feel special and interesting and loved. And I like seeing them work together like people who’ve been together for decades and decades do.

Forever, O Lord, your word
is firmly fixed in the heavens.
Your faithfulness endures to all generations;
you have established the earth, and it stands fast.
By your appointment they stand this day,
for all things are your servants.
If your law had not been my delight,
I would have perished in my affliction.
I will never forget your precepts,
for by them you have given me life.
I am yours; save me,
for I have sought your precepts.
The wicked lie in wait to destroy me,
but I consider your testimonies.
I have seen a limit to all perfection,
but your commandment is exceedingly broad.

Yams

In the kitchen at work, as I was preparing some coffee, my ears sent me rumors of a conversation on a topic that greatly concerned me. Were they really talking about the difference between sweet potatoes and yams in the reception area just outside? It became clearer and clearer to me that they were. Eventually, as I hovered closer and closer, their eyes turned to me, and to me they directed the wobbling queries that had been looping around in ever-wilder orbits of indecision.

There are many cases of children being raised in exotic locations and coming back to the dreary colonial homeland with airs of Kubla Khan. These insufferable children, described with sympathy in Frances Hodgson Burnett’s books, for example, alienate their playmates with the false grandeur they feel for having seen untamed landscapes and eaten indescribable tropical fruits. I am afraid I might have been such a child for a while after a short, barely remembered Caribbean sojourn in my near-infancy, and I now take pains to avoid projecting such privileged superiority. Still, when yams are misidentified I feel it deeply.

Sweet potatoes are clearly understood. When asked to indicate a sweet potato, no one will hesitate to point out the lovely orange potatolike root with its delicious properties and important vitamins.

However, a horrifying number of people, especially in the South, will call this same tuber a “yam.” My mother used to cook yams. If you have ever tasted their dense, buttery texture, their sweet, hard, grainy flesh, you will know that this is an unforgivable confusion. It is hopeless to explain it to anyone, for the reasons mentioned above and because yams are not commonly available here.

Does this explain the immense good fortune of being asked to discuss the difference between the two vegetables, twenty-three years after my transplantation to this country, at 9:30 in the morning in an office building in Dallas? And after a heartfelt exposition on the subject, allowing all the respect in the world for those who retained their own (mistaken) opinions, to receive this vindicating link from a coworker who had researched the matter after our conversation?

My soul longs for your salvation;
I hope in your word.
My eyes long for your promise;
I ask, “When will you comfort me?”
For I have become like a wineskin in the smoke,
yet I have not forgotten your statutes.
How long must your servant endure?
When will you judge those who persecute me?
The insolent have dug pitfalls for me;
they do not live according to your law.
All your commandments are sure;
they persecute me with falsehood; help me!
They have almost made an end of me on earth,
but I have not forsaken your precepts.
In your steadfast love give me life,
that I may keep the testimonies of your mouth.

Paris frames

The previous photo (before Chevènement) was on Mockingbird Lane in Dallas. Maybe you are beginning to guess the theme.

You have dealt well with your servant,
O Lord, according to your word.
Teach me good judgment and knowledge,
for I believe in your commandments.
Before I was afflicted I went astray,
but now I keep your word.
You are good and do good;
teach me your statutes.
The insolent smear me with lies,
but with my whole heart I keep your precepts;
their heart is unfeeling like fat,
but I delight in your law.
It is good for me that I was afflicted,
that I might learn your statutes.
The law of your mouth is better to me
than thousands of gold and silver pieces.

Chevenement

I just discovered that a former neighbor of mine is once again running for president of France. Above are a couple of pages of the scrapbook my friend and I kept back in those months when we lived so close to him.

The Lord is my portion;
I promise to keep your words.
I entreat your favor with all my heart;
be gracious to me according to your promise.
When I think on my ways,
I turn my feet to your testimonies;
I hasten and do not delay
to keep your commandments.
Though the cords of the wicked ensnare me,
I do not forget your law.
At midnight I rise to praise you,
because of your righteous rules.
I am a companion of all who fear you,
of those who keep your precepts.
The earth, O Lord, is full of your steadfast love;
teach me your statutes!

Eternal sunrise

After a disappointing dry spell, On the Bus Today has some great recent entries. I laughed out loud today at “A tale of two journeys,” “Santa,” “Giant,” and “Seat!”

I wish I had had a camera at White Rock Lake yesterday afternoon. I was running before sunset, and the sky stayed pretty the whole time. Not the bright sunset light you see a lot in Texas, but a pale winter sunset. The lake was sapphire-blue, sparkling, and the clouds were amethyst, and the rushes and the grass by the lake were minty green. I was on the shadowy side of the lake and the ground where I ran was in that dead light, cold and pale. There is one place where I run on the grass down a hillside, and I felt like I was in northern England or Scotland in the summer when it’s still light in the late evening, silver-green grass, silver-yellow dead grass, silver-blue sky, none of it quite gleaming but almost, rolling fields of grass, ruins of castles certainly lurking over the next hill. I am in between reading a book on Alaska and a book on medieval Wales, which probably explains my geographical illusions. On the long days in Alaska, when the sun never really rises or sets, are there hours and hours of pretty sunset skies?

I want to do some reflection about 2006. Mostly it’s been a really hard year for me, because of the end of an important relationship. I don’t know how you deal with that. But there were lots of good things too. I wanted to do a post-Keatsmas post back in October, and then a Thanksgiving post after I had some special guests. Then last weekend there was the Party of the Century at my apartment, which was vastly fulfilling. Maybe I will do a couple of entries about those things. I hope the coverage does not disappoint because it’s so late. I am also unveiling a new photo series with this entry.

Remember your word to your servant,
in which you have made me hope.
This is my comfort in my affliction,
that your promise gives me life.
The insolent utterly deride me,
but I do not turn away from your law.
When I think of your rules from of old,
I take comfort, O Lord.
Hot indignation seizes me because of the wicked,
who forsake your law.
Your statutes have been my songs
in the house of my sojourning.
I remember your name in the night, O Lord,
and keep your law.
This blessing has fallen to me,
that I have kept your precepts.

Coming into the Country

I've praised McPhee’s writing before. His language is felicitous and sometimes startling.

Describing salmon in an Arctic river:

Looking over the side of the canoe is like staring down into a sky full of zeppelins. (p. 6)

He has a subtle and rewarding wit that plays out over the pages.

The grand theme of the book, and one much to my liking, is “the country.” If I were to write my dream novel, it would be one where settings were like characters. I’m not sure how this would be done. People are usually bored out of their skulls by the stuff I write and ask for plot development. So I read McPhee.

The sight of the bear stirred me like nothing else the country could contain. What mattered was not so much the bear himself as what the bear implied. He was the predominant thing in that country, and for him to be in it at all meant that there had to be more country like it in every direction and more of the same kind of country all around that. He implied a world. He was an affirmation to the rest of the earth that his kind of place was extant. (pp. 61-62)

In the society as a whole, there is an elemental need for a frontier outlet, for a pioneer place to go—important even to those who do not go there. (p. 436)

It’s true; I think. Nothing frees the soul quite like knowing there's somewhere to go, that like Huck Finn we can light out for the territories if things go wrong around here.

Many of the characters in the book are fiercely self-reliant.

I once asked [Ed Gelvin] if there was anything that could go wrong around his place that would cause him to seek help from elsewhere. He looked off into the distance and carefully thought over the question—this compact and gracefully built man of fifty or so with thick quizzical bifocals, a shy smile, a quiet voice. Finally, he said no, he guessed there wasn’t. (p. 233)

I find this all extremely appealing. I have always loved survival stories. I have welcomed the chance to learn new skills, just in case I ever might need them. Personal responsibility is one of my highest values.

There is a lot of talk of community these days, especially in my current social milieu, and who can deny its importance? I owe everything to my family and friends. It’s foolish to trust yourself and rely on yourself. We don’t see clearly, and we need correction. I couldn’t last a minute outside Eagle, Alaska, and all my fantasies of surviving like Robinson Crusoe are silly. Most of us need help frequently.

But it is important to do everything you can do to be a strong and responsible human being. That’s how you make a contribution to society. I have tons of admiration for the industrious, energetic people in this book who take care of themselves and have the power to be generous to others.

Teach me, O Lord, the way of your statutes;
and I will keep it to the end.
Give me understanding, that I may keep your law
and observe it with my whole heart.
Lead me in the path of your commandments,
for I delight in it.
Incline my heart to your testimonies,
and not to selfish gain!
Turn my eyes from looking at worthless things;
and give me life in your ways.
Confirm to your servant your promise,
that you may be feared.
Turn away the reproach that I dread,
for your rules are good.
Behold, I long for your precepts;
in your righteousness give me life!

Bunny

Bunny, so peaceful and intellectual, may soon have a companion. I’ve been joking about getting a live (notice I don’t use “real” to distinguish it from Bunny) rabbit for a while now and have decided that a fluffy lagomorph, hopping pleasantly across the carpet, gnawing sweetly on my computer cords, is no longer just a fantasy; it would greatly enhance the wellbeing of those in my household. I intend to do research for a few weeks and start seriously looking for one when I get back from Christmas vacation.

My soul clings to the dust;
give me life according to your word!
When I told of my ways, you answered me;
teach me your statutes!
Make me understand the way of your precepts,
and I will meditate on your wondrous works.
My soul melts away for sorrow;
strengthen me according to your word!
Put false ways far from me
and graciously teach me your law!
I have chosen the way of faithfulness;
I set your rules before me.
I cling to your testimonies, O Lord;
let me not be put to shame!
I will run in the way of your commandments
when you enlarge my heart!

Stranger on the earth

Last year my pastor had us read a stanza a day of Psalm 119 as an advent devotional. I liked the novelty of this, so I’m doing it again, and suggesting it on the blog in case you think it sounds good too. You don’t even have to go out and buy anything! You have to start the first day on December 4 to end on Christmas, so we’re on Gimel:

Deal bountifully with your servant,
that I may live and keep your word.
Open my eyes, that I may behold
wondrous things out of your law.
I am a sojourner on the earth;
hide not your commandments from me!
My soul is consumed with longing
for your rules at all times.
You rebuke the insolent, accursed ones,
who wander from your commandments.
Take away from me scorn and contempt,
for I have kept your testimonies.
Even though princes sit plotting against me,
your servant will meditate on your statutes.
Your testimonies are my delight;
they are my counselors.

Maybe this is perversely appealing for me because I always found this one of the most boring psalms alive. Laws, rules, commandments—how could they possibly have the attraction the writer claims? Is he lying? Why does he repeat himself so much? Is he trying to convince himself? If you faithfully read your part every day, though, you almost start convincing yourself you love the word. There are some cool lines in there every now and then.

I forget the seminary lingo for this, but there’s one way to read the Bible where Jesus lurks behind every statement and description in the Old Testament. It’s not that far-fetched. The people who wrote the New Testament have some pretty creative interpretations of the Old Testament, and they’re in the Bible, so it must be OK.

What if you read it as if Jesus is speaking? He has been known to pass off Psalm quotes as his own words.

While I’m sharing clever tips, I have discovered a very handy approach that defangs two of life’s poisonous tasks. I am a firm believer in abdominal exercise, ever since Foundations of Wellness in college. Apparently a strong stomach also keeps your back strong and pain-free. However, I have a hard time bringing myself to do sit-ups. There’s always something more fun or interesting going on.

Another unpleasant task, during the winter, is taking off your nightshirt and exposing your poor bare skin to the chilly air so you can put on your clothing for the day. I find myself wasting countless minutes thinking about it and not doing it.

Guess what? I have found a way to combine the two unpleasant activities so that neither is unpleasant any more! Just a few sit-ups makes you warm enough to want to take off your shirt even on the chilliest morning! It is absolutely fabulous. I can’t believe I’ve lived nearly 30 years before discovering this efficient and health-promoting practice.

Another brief appellation

Which is a better name, Donut or Kozy? I can see points in each one’s favor. Donut is 25% longer than Kozy. However, Donut has the advantage of being a noun and, what’s more, indicating what the business sells. Neither one would be considered the traditional spelling of the word in the dictionary, but Donut may actually be in the dictionary. Kozy’s hand-sprayed look is more charming.

What’s your vote?

Where the fish are

They adorn a women’s restroom (now closed for the winter) at White Rock Lake. The men’s bathroom has similar embellishments.

There’s a steep hill on the south end of the lake where pedaling doesn’t really do any good, so I like to stand up on the pedals and pretend I am a human sail, slowing the descent of my bike. The sidewalk is narrow along this stretch and curves onto a narrow bridge at the bottom, so I only do this if there isn’t much traffic. It’s breathtaking and fun.

Today, though, as I was unfurling myself and swooping down the hill, something went wrong and I almost lost control of my bike. I hunched down against the handlebars and the seat, braked, and swerved a few times to regain my balance. I wanted to avoid two things: plunging headlong onto the asphalt and hitting an oncoming cyclist. Amazingly, I regained control by the time we passed. What a wonderful vehicle a bicycle is. It’s so much more stable than you think. And I always love finding out that my body knows what to do in these situations.

The oncoming cyclist smiled in a concerned way as he passed me and asked if I was OK. I laughed and said something about how it had been a close call, and I continued on, seated. This was a better scenario (for his sake) than if I had died and the poor guy had had to witness that, but it was a worse scenario (for my sake) than if there had been no one to witness the whole sailing disaster at all.

I had another scene of public humiliation last week as I was walking home from work at dusk and singing “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” in full voice. Not just the normal melody part, but the dramatic cadenzas at the end of my high school choir’s arrangement of this song, where you repeat “It’s the most wonderful time” three times, and one of the times the syllable “der” is a step higher than usual, adding a fascinating touch of variety and excitement. I thought I had hit the pitches pretty accurately and was feeling pleased with myself when I heard a shuffling noise to my left, just a bit behind me, and realized a person was standing in their front yard with their dog. I suppose I could have said, “Oh, hi!” but instead I continued singing, a little more quietly, making up more words, until I got out of earshot. This seemed to be the most nonchalant course of action.

I think these humbling occasions are very good for us. I think that not taking oneself too seriously serves one well in life. And it is also good for society in general when we admit our foolishness to each other. It helps us all feel better.

The Secret Agent

Conrad appears to have gotten some criticism for the “sordid surroundings” and “moral squalor” of this tale. Yet when I discussed it with some friends, we all admitted that we had an impression of comedy and even absurdity, not horror. Sure, the plot is scary and tragic, but he treats it in such a way that you are never really scared, just kind of incredulous, and scornful of all the characters.

I know I have read at least one article or review of this book that said it was an illuminating read in connection with September 11. But the mood of the book seemed incompatible with that type of terror.

The book is quite different from Heart of Darkness or Lord Jim. I read those a long time ago, but I don’t remember much humor in those books. I loved Heart of Darkness as an angst-ridden adolescent. I sought out Lord Jim as an angst-ridden college student. The Secret Agent, however, is laugh-out-loud funny at some points, and impossible to ever really take seriously.

However strange this book was, Conrad is a consummate artist, and we were all impressed by his brilliant decisions about when to disclose what, what to disclose at all, and what to have take place offstage. The book was finely crafted.

I am generally more gullible than suspicious as a reader, and I grew in compassion for the characters, who were initially presented with quite a bit of irony and amusement. My friends who read the book did not seem so moved. I found things to admire about most of the characters. Seeing Conrad deal so thoughtfully with a domestic relationship was interesting for me, since I was only previously familiar with his nautical settings. There was a melodramatic scene with gas lamps and a grotesque cabdriver that I enjoyed very much and everyone else seemed to think was dumb.

Mystery fish

Here’s a place I’ve never had the chance to show anyone before. I pass by it fairly often myself.

Bald cypress

It was a lovely day for a bike ride, 60 and sunny. This picture’s a little blurry, but I like it because it captures the interesting colors of the day.

Sometimes, usually at the darker times of the day, the lake is a fascinating iridescent color than I can only describe as the color of magnetic tape or shiny black garbage bags. It is so lovely that I feel bad not having a different way to describe it. It’s mostly a dark, dark blue, but it shows off different brilliant hues with light and movement.

Today the wind was strong, displaying a muddy brown in the shadows of the waves and a slate blue elsewhere. Also you can see that the bald cypresses, White Rock Lake’s signature trees (you can see their attractive cone shape across the lake, where they’re planted at regular intervals from each other, give or take a tree here and there) are turning color. They don’t really lose their leaves, but they start looking like they’ve been scorched in a forest fire. I am very fond of them.

It was a beautiful day, but I think I like the weird times better, the times just around dawn, or on a foggy morning, or in the evening at sunset.

The Fellowship of the Ring

This is at least the fourth time I’ve read this book. It’s nice to go back after a few years and still be charmed and delighted. A lot of people think of strange creatures and battles when they think of Tolkien, but what I was impressed by this time was the human subtlety among the characters.

He turned to Strider. “Where have you been, my friend? Why weren’t you at the feast? The Lady Arwen was there.”
Strider looked down at Bilbo gravely. “I know,” he said. “But often I must put mirth aside. Elladan and Elrohir have returned out of the Wild unlooked-for, and they had tidings that I wished to hear at once.”
“Well, my dear fellow,” said Bilbo, “now you’ve heard the news, can’t you spare me a moment? I want your help in something urgent. Elrond says this song of mine is to be finished before the end of the evening, and I am stuck. Let’s go off into a corner and polish it up!”
Strider smiled. “Come then!” he said. “Let me hear it!”

“I want your help in something urgent” seems incongruous at first look. One might judge Bilbo for being insensitive or completely out of touch. This happens often with the hobbits’ speech.

“Strider looked down at Bilbo gravely.”

Much has already been made of the unacknowledged work of Strider and the Rangers to protect an obscure country full of ignorant people. This is a huge, beautiful theme of the books. But there’s more going on here than just Strider graciously overlooking the errors of a bumbling, sheltered, homely hobbit who has been thrust into the world-changing activities of ancient and noble people.

With Tolkien, not all that is being thought is not being spoken. The hobbits know more than they let on, and they have virtues of their own. Here Bilbo is being funny, lightening Strider’s load, and Strider gets the joke. There’s a deeper understanding between people who have learned to trust each other’s character over time.

I think playing with all kinds of levels of seriousness like this, all at once, is great writing.