Since my trips to the library hardly afford leisurely browsing, seeing that I have three kids in tow, I usually grab a few biographies from the juvenile shelf. It's an easy way to learn little about mere names: Grover Cleveland, James Garfield, Gerald Ford, and Millard Fillmore. One great find from that shelf was a book called, Small Steps: The Year I Got Polio by Peggy Kahmet (Kahnet? Kamhet?). We've heard about the polio epidemic a generation or two before us, but this first-person account gave a good picture of what a terrible time it was. The author was stricken when she was twelve years old -- she went to bed with a fever and muscle aches, and woke up paralyzed from the neck down. The book tells of her year-long recovery: she was fortunate in that the hospitals had begun a method of physical therapy that kept the muscles working until the virus had run its course. Not only is it an inspiring story, but the author makes herself sound spunky and funny without being annoying.
***
Stuart got a book as a reward in the summer reading program at the library. It's called Dumb Bunnies (by Dav somebody). It starts out, "The Dumb Bunnies lived in a log cabin made of bricks..." and goes from there. It's not a book to read to Stuart in a quiet place like the library: his giggles resounded throughout the building. He read it to Darren last night, and could hardly force the words out through his laughter. This is the book for any mother or father who has ever demolished a fairy tale.
***
Just when you thought that there was something that Americans really can do all by themselves, there's Baby Name Consultants. Surely it isn't what it looks like... surely people aren't hiring other people to help choose their child's name? Surely people have a broader perspective in life, more confidence in themselves, than that? Surely you're wrong. These consultants charge $350 just to help people choose Top-20 names that they'd probably have chosen anyway. I think I've found my calling.
***
We came across a couple of references to the movie "Xanadu" on some trivia cards, and got curious. Peter and Kelly S, our resident movielenders, got the DVD for us. Having looked it up on IMDB.com, we knew the gist of the plot: Olivia Newton-John is a Greek muse come to life to inspire a young artist to start a roller-rink disco club. We expected the movie to be bad, but once we got into it, we were surprised. It wasn't bad. It was absolutely abysmally terrible. The dialogue was trite, the acting was painful (it looked like the director let a few of the studio receptionists play some parts just for a lark), and the movie itself was bizarre. When it was released in the early 80s, it inspired one of shortest reviews ever: "One word: Xanadon't."
-- SJ
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Seven About Darren
Sara did this a couple weeks ago, and I've been procrastinating since then.
1) When I was in Bible School, I was part of a secret literary society, the Inklings. (Yes, I know the name is highly original.) There were four of us: Galahad, Taliesin, Beowulf, and Israfel. We read our favorite passages from books to each other, wrote and read poetry, and generally had a good time.
2) My favorite belt is 13 years old. When I was entering college, Grandpa and Grandma Jones bought me a lot of clothes, including a belt from a saddle shop in New Brunswick. My second favorite belt looks exactly the same, just newer, because it was purchased from the same shop, again by Grandpa and Grandma, last year. Thanks, guys!
3) I keep a Word document on my computer at work entitled "Books to Read." It's currently 13 pages long.
4) When I was an older teenager, I house-sat for the Wiley family when they went to England and Wales. As a gift, they brought me back a carved wooden spoon, which is a traditional "courting gift" in Wales. I gave it to Sara the first night of our honeymoon.
5) I read 30 blogs that I check at least daily.
6) In the comments to Sara's "Seven Random Facts" post, QoC said that she made sure to get a large basket of all the reception food to take home with them. Sara's mom, Miss Mary, did that for us. We accidentally left the basket on the ground in the parking lot of our honeymoon night hotel when we left the next morning. We did, however, remember to bring a small box of cream puffs from the reception, since they weren't in the basket. I ate one the next evening and spent the night and the next day throwing up from food poisoning. Don't mention cream puffs to Sara - I was so nauseated that I couldn't bear to be touched.
7) My fourth toe is shorter than my fifth toe. Apparently I inherited this from Dad, because his is similar, although not as pronounced.
1) When I was in Bible School, I was part of a secret literary society, the Inklings. (Yes, I know the name is highly original.) There were four of us: Galahad, Taliesin, Beowulf, and Israfel. We read our favorite passages from books to each other, wrote and read poetry, and generally had a good time.
2) My favorite belt is 13 years old. When I was entering college, Grandpa and Grandma Jones bought me a lot of clothes, including a belt from a saddle shop in New Brunswick. My second favorite belt looks exactly the same, just newer, because it was purchased from the same shop, again by Grandpa and Grandma, last year. Thanks, guys!
3) I keep a Word document on my computer at work entitled "Books to Read." It's currently 13 pages long.
4) When I was an older teenager, I house-sat for the Wiley family when they went to England and Wales. As a gift, they brought me back a carved wooden spoon, which is a traditional "courting gift" in Wales. I gave it to Sara the first night of our honeymoon.
5) I read 30 blogs that I check at least daily.
6) In the comments to Sara's "Seven Random Facts" post, QoC said that she made sure to get a large basket of all the reception food to take home with them. Sara's mom, Miss Mary, did that for us. We accidentally left the basket on the ground in the parking lot of our honeymoon night hotel when we left the next morning. We did, however, remember to bring a small box of cream puffs from the reception, since they weren't in the basket. I ate one the next evening and spent the night and the next day throwing up from food poisoning. Don't mention cream puffs to Sara - I was so nauseated that I couldn't bear to be touched.
7) My fourth toe is shorter than my fifth toe. Apparently I inherited this from Dad, because his is similar, although not as pronounced.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
The End of Harry Potter
It is done. The saga of Harry Potter has come to a close.
Darren and I, each with our own copy, spent this weekend reading the seventh and final book of the Harry Potter series. The story is good, the characters are beloved, but most amazing is J.K. Rowling's ability to keep her world alive and interesting even after seven (long) books. (That's even when she doesn't keep all of her characters alive.)
We reserved final judgement of the series until all came out, but now that judgement is that we'll happily let our children read these books when they're teenagers. Heck, I'll probably still be reading these books.
The title of this post shouldn't be taken as a hint as to what happens to Harry at the end of the book. Or maybe it should. How do you know? Read it!
-- SJ
Darren and I, each with our own copy, spent this weekend reading the seventh and final book of the Harry Potter series. The story is good, the characters are beloved, but most amazing is J.K. Rowling's ability to keep her world alive and interesting even after seven (long) books. (That's even when she doesn't keep all of her characters alive.)
We reserved final judgement of the series until all came out, but now that judgement is that we'll happily let our children read these books when they're teenagers. Heck, I'll probably still be reading these books.
The title of this post shouldn't be taken as a hint as to what happens to Harry at the end of the book. Or maybe it should. How do you know? Read it!
-- SJ
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Portionately Speaking
It used to be that when I'd whimper about needing to lose a few pounds, I'd get a disgusted look and "YOU don't need to lose any!" Now, instead, I get sympathetic murmurs. It doesn't help matters that I was flipping through a weight-loss book in the library and found an illustration of three different body types, and my type corresponded to the "apple-shaped woman." I don't want to be shaped like an apple. Apples are not exciting, exotic, and mysterious. Granted, neither am I -- there probably isn't another set of adjectives that apply to me less; still, sometimes I can pretend. Not, however, if I'm shaped like an apple.
I hold out hope for change. About two years ago, I came across a book with a great approach toward weight-loss. I had to pause for pregnancy; but now that I've lost the baby-fat from Daphne's pregnancy, I'm free to work on what's left over from Addie's and Stuart's. I checked out the book again, and am all set to return to the land of the fit.
Portion Savvy by Carrie Latt Wiatt is an approachable method to dieting because you don't really diet. You don't start out by cutting out breads (or meats, or dairy, or everything except raw vegetables...). The premise is that while you gradually change your eating habits, you begin where you are. Eat what you like, just eat less of it. There's some calorie-counting involved, but the thrust of the book is that you teach yourself what a reasonable portion of food looks like. Once you know how big a chicken breast is supposed to be, you won't overeat even in a restaurant. Once you can judge your rice portion, you won't load up on it unknowingly.
I'm still in the weighing-counting-figuring out stage. Still, even a general idea of portions has been helpful. Although my memory had fuzzed since my first reading of the book, I was able to keep my weight gain with Daphne down to 25 pounds (most of which came off almost immediately), and the same idea has helped me lose ten pounds since April.
I cherish the thought that while I'm still nursing, my body will cling to the next ten or fifteen pounds; once Daphne is weaned, the weight will melt off. I might not be exciting, exotic, and mysterious, but maybe -- just maybe -- I no longer will be shaped like an apple.
-- SJ
Note: Before I found Portion Savvy again, I read The Portion Teller instead. I forget the author's name, but this book wasn't as helpful. She tried too hard to make it too simple. It was like having someone give you directions: "It's REALLY easy! Just go here and here and here. OR, for another EASY way, go there and there and there. And remember that you have to turn left the first way, but right the second way, but that's easy to remember..."
Second Note: I would like to point out that I resisted every single opportunity to capitalize on the apple theme, thus sparing you puns involving the "core" of my being, my "fruitful" research, and my attempts to look more "a-peeling."
I hold out hope for change. About two years ago, I came across a book with a great approach toward weight-loss. I had to pause for pregnancy; but now that I've lost the baby-fat from Daphne's pregnancy, I'm free to work on what's left over from Addie's and Stuart's. I checked out the book again, and am all set to return to the land of the fit.
Portion Savvy by Carrie Latt Wiatt is an approachable method to dieting because you don't really diet. You don't start out by cutting out breads (or meats, or dairy, or everything except raw vegetables...). The premise is that while you gradually change your eating habits, you begin where you are. Eat what you like, just eat less of it. There's some calorie-counting involved, but the thrust of the book is that you teach yourself what a reasonable portion of food looks like. Once you know how big a chicken breast is supposed to be, you won't overeat even in a restaurant. Once you can judge your rice portion, you won't load up on it unknowingly.
I'm still in the weighing-counting-figuring out stage. Still, even a general idea of portions has been helpful. Although my memory had fuzzed since my first reading of the book, I was able to keep my weight gain with Daphne down to 25 pounds (most of which came off almost immediately), and the same idea has helped me lose ten pounds since April.
I cherish the thought that while I'm still nursing, my body will cling to the next ten or fifteen pounds; once Daphne is weaned, the weight will melt off. I might not be exciting, exotic, and mysterious, but maybe -- just maybe -- I no longer will be shaped like an apple.
-- SJ
Note: Before I found Portion Savvy again, I read The Portion Teller instead. I forget the author's name, but this book wasn't as helpful. She tried too hard to make it too simple. It was like having someone give you directions: "It's REALLY easy! Just go here and here and here. OR, for another EASY way, go there and there and there. And remember that you have to turn left the first way, but right the second way, but that's easy to remember..."
Second Note: I would like to point out that I resisted every single opportunity to capitalize on the apple theme, thus sparing you puns involving the "core" of my being, my "fruitful" research, and my attempts to look more "a-peeling."
Sunday, July 15, 2007
A Modern Parable
I preached today, and one of the readings was from Luke 10, the story of the Good Samaritan. As part of the sermon, I adapted the story to tell it in modern terms.
****************
Amy had had a great day at the pro-life rally in Washington, DC. Sure, it was cold out, but it was so cool to see all the people standing up for life. And all the young people! It really looked like abortion might end in her lifetime. She had proudly worn her “Vote Pro-Life Now!” sweatshirt, had stood in prayer in front of the Supreme Court with all her friends from Regent University, and marched with two old nuns from a convent in Massachusetts. And besides, there was that cute guy who had given her his card – some sort of legislative aide to a Congressman, she thought.
Even after the long car ride home to her tiny apartment, she was still so pumped up as she walked to the ATM that she didn’t see the three teenagers step out from behind the dumpster. The only warning she had was a flicker in the corner of her eye as one of them swung a metal bar down on her head. Dimly, as she lay on the ground in agony, she felt someone grabbing her purse and the envelope of cash she had just withdrawn. And then there was silence.
Suddenly she heard footsteps. Very fuzzily, she saw an older man with a black shirt and a priest’s collar walk by. There was a slight pause in his gait as he looked down at her, but then he looked around at the dark alleys and hurried by.
Amy lay on the ground, getting colder. She couldn’t move; her head hurt, and she thought one of the guys might have kicked her in the back.
More footsteps. This time, she couldn’t even muster the strength to open her eyes. She heard one woman say, “Well, Beth Moore says that we always have to be open to the work of the Holy Spirit.” “Yes,” said another voice, “that’s just what Pastor Joe said on Sunday. Oh, look over there! I think she’s hurt.” “No,” said the first voice, “it’s just a crackhead. They hang out in this area. Come on, we’ll be late for Bible study.”
Silence. Amy was starting to shiver uncontrollably. Then she heard a rattling car engine pull up beside her. The door opened, and she heard high heels clicking quickly across the pavement toward her. A deep woman’s voice said, “Oh, baby, you don’t look so good. Let’s get you an ambulance.” Amy felt a coat being laid down on her, and then the voice said, “911? I’ve got a woman at Maple and Thirteenth, looks like a mugging victim. Need an ambulance, probable head trauma and shock.”
Just before Amy finally passed out, she opened her eyes to see the woman above her. With her jacket over Amy, Amy could clearly see the “My Body, My choice” T-shirt.
--DJ
****************
Amy had had a great day at the pro-life rally in Washington, DC. Sure, it was cold out, but it was so cool to see all the people standing up for life. And all the young people! It really looked like abortion might end in her lifetime. She had proudly worn her “Vote Pro-Life Now!” sweatshirt, had stood in prayer in front of the Supreme Court with all her friends from Regent University, and marched with two old nuns from a convent in Massachusetts. And besides, there was that cute guy who had given her his card – some sort of legislative aide to a Congressman, she thought.
Even after the long car ride home to her tiny apartment, she was still so pumped up as she walked to the ATM that she didn’t see the three teenagers step out from behind the dumpster. The only warning she had was a flicker in the corner of her eye as one of them swung a metal bar down on her head. Dimly, as she lay on the ground in agony, she felt someone grabbing her purse and the envelope of cash she had just withdrawn. And then there was silence.
Suddenly she heard footsteps. Very fuzzily, she saw an older man with a black shirt and a priest’s collar walk by. There was a slight pause in his gait as he looked down at her, but then he looked around at the dark alleys and hurried by.
Amy lay on the ground, getting colder. She couldn’t move; her head hurt, and she thought one of the guys might have kicked her in the back.
More footsteps. This time, she couldn’t even muster the strength to open her eyes. She heard one woman say, “Well, Beth Moore says that we always have to be open to the work of the Holy Spirit.” “Yes,” said another voice, “that’s just what Pastor Joe said on Sunday. Oh, look over there! I think she’s hurt.” “No,” said the first voice, “it’s just a crackhead. They hang out in this area. Come on, we’ll be late for Bible study.”
Silence. Amy was starting to shiver uncontrollably. Then she heard a rattling car engine pull up beside her. The door opened, and she heard high heels clicking quickly across the pavement toward her. A deep woman’s voice said, “Oh, baby, you don’t look so good. Let’s get you an ambulance.” Amy felt a coat being laid down on her, and then the voice said, “911? I’ve got a woman at Maple and Thirteenth, looks like a mugging victim. Need an ambulance, probable head trauma and shock.”
Just before Amy finally passed out, she opened her eyes to see the woman above her. With her jacket over Amy, Amy could clearly see the “My Body, My choice” T-shirt.
--DJ
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Inspiration
If you've ever found yourself in a spiritual calm, a doldrum, a plateau, what gave you the inspiration and the energy to move again?
A friend recently asked this question, and I've been mulling on it ever since. I was all too dead in the water a few years ago, and something changed so that I feel as if I'm always moving now. Sometimes rapidly, sometimes almost imperceptibly, but never completely becalmed. What brought about the change?
The Sunday school answer, of course, is "Jesus!" So I guess I ought to ask, What means did He use to bring about a change? And here I utterly betray my background as a Reader: it wasn't through books. Just as I don't go to parenting manuals for help, I don't go to spiritual books for inspiration. In my case, I noticed the change when I began praying that God would send me a mentor. I needed an older woman who could look at my intact spiritual surface and see the tears underneath it. He answered the prayer surprisingly quickly: we became involved in a church plant, and the pastor's wife immediately took me under wing.
At the same time, I discovered the sacraments: physical means that God imparts grace. I partook of Communion, I went to confession, and every week for about six months I was prayed for and over -- often without my asking for it, because I wouldn't ask. It was an intense year in my life; at the time I felt weary and bruised. I also was amazed to recognize the spiritual trash I carried around with me: fears, anger, doubts, and discontent that I'd held onto for so long, I thought it was part of myself. As God cleansed me, I saw more of the person He made me to be, and for the first time in years, I liked that person.
That was three years ago. My spiritual life hasn't been sparkling and exciting forever after. The difference now is that I better recognize spiritual trash, and know better how to deal with it.
What is your inspiration?
-- SJ
A friend recently asked this question, and I've been mulling on it ever since. I was all too dead in the water a few years ago, and something changed so that I feel as if I'm always moving now. Sometimes rapidly, sometimes almost imperceptibly, but never completely becalmed. What brought about the change?
The Sunday school answer, of course, is "Jesus!" So I guess I ought to ask, What means did He use to bring about a change? And here I utterly betray my background as a Reader: it wasn't through books. Just as I don't go to parenting manuals for help, I don't go to spiritual books for inspiration. In my case, I noticed the change when I began praying that God would send me a mentor. I needed an older woman who could look at my intact spiritual surface and see the tears underneath it. He answered the prayer surprisingly quickly: we became involved in a church plant, and the pastor's wife immediately took me under wing.
At the same time, I discovered the sacraments: physical means that God imparts grace. I partook of Communion, I went to confession, and every week for about six months I was prayed for and over -- often without my asking for it, because I wouldn't ask. It was an intense year in my life; at the time I felt weary and bruised. I also was amazed to recognize the spiritual trash I carried around with me: fears, anger, doubts, and discontent that I'd held onto for so long, I thought it was part of myself. As God cleansed me, I saw more of the person He made me to be, and for the first time in years, I liked that person.
That was three years ago. My spiritual life hasn't been sparkling and exciting forever after. The difference now is that I better recognize spiritual trash, and know better how to deal with it.
What is your inspiration?
-- SJ
Friday, July 06, 2007
She Is Six!
Folks, she's passed up five and is officially six now! Today is Addie's birthday, which she announced audibly to herself as soon as she woke up this morning. We ate at Chik-Fil-A for lunch, and Stuart bought Addie a present at the Dollar Store. Also he bought himself something.
She's still the literal-minded, melodramatic, quirky girl she's always been. She borrows phrases from her extensive reading and works hard to fit them into what she wants to say. She has a wide vocabularly and uses words correctly, but the great thing is that most of it is phonics-based. Recent pickups are scepter, rumor, bouquet, and manure, and they show up in conversation like this:
"I'm a fairy princess. And this is my skepter."
"So THAT'S how that rummer got started!"
"I want to buy these beautiful red flowers for a birthday bo-kwet."
"Oh, no! Bird poop! I mean, bird manyure."
She's very much her father's daughter -- always retreating to read -- with a generous dollop of her mother's sense of melodrama -- always exaggerating her woes, loudly. It's hard to believe she's the tiny bundle that they handed us six years ago. That day, I didn't feel like a mother and she didn't feel like my daughter. Now, I'm not sure who I would be without her.
Happy birthday to Adelaide!
-- SJ
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