Oxford,T.S. Eliot, and Wood Ducks

Well, this is new, this blogging often thing! But I suppose I brought this on myself. Yesterday I did some hardcore reminiscing of Oxford, and nothing quite sparks the need to write in me like reminiscing. So, I wrote something that I've been meaning to write for a long time, based on an experience I had mid-way through term on my way to the EFL...or perhaps it was Wycliffe for lecture and tea on Wednesday. It's all right if it sounds too melodramatic or like it's trying to be one of the "deep, introspective" things. I'll fully admit that I aspire to be one of those deep, introspective people, but suspect I might never become one because farts make me laugh. So if this piece sounds fake, I apologize, I didn't mean it to be. I just might have been distracted by some passing of gas or something.

The Wood Duck

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

–T.S. Eliot  "Four Quartets, Burnt Norton"

It was chilly. Not the type that makes you shiver as you walk, but the type that takes up residence in the tip of your nose as soon as you step out the door, to which the nose protests by running until it can breathe in warmer air. It’s a healthy sort of chill, one that gently reminds you that you are in fact alive. 

It was this type of reminder that caused me to stop on the path, on the bridge over that small daughter of the Thames tributary and realize that almost five weeks had passed. It’s a funny thing about time; it never can be measured by its duration, how long it feels—it almost always ends up being counted in other ways. In times opening a bright red door, in times pouring boiling water into a teacup, in words written, in miles traveled, in friends made.

The trouble is that in the middle of it, you forget to count these things—until a chill tweaks your nose, and suddenly you realize how much has happened, and is happening. The more experiences you have, the faster times feels. The world is turning.

So on that chilly day, I stopped on the bridge, and felt a bit paralyzed. Michaelmas term would be over before I realized it. Going backwards was impossible, but moving forward promised more of the same, being so caught up in the experience that I never stopped to look at it. 

So instead I watched the ducks. A gathering of mallards floated calmly in the water around bridge. And then—a wood duck. He was the only one, his long-feathered head standing out among his companions. I had seen him before, other times that I had passed this bridge. But today I noticed him, and remembered that he had been there; every time I passed by and looked beside the bridge, that one solitary wood duck in a crowd of mallard brethren was there.

And suddenly the world stopped spinning for one moment: anchored to a constant wood duck—something living that didn’t seem to change, only returned and returned again to the waters by the bridge.

Of course, he will change. If I return to Oxford, there probably won’t be a wood duck by that bridge. Who knows, the bridge might even be gone. But he reminded me to take time to stop and watch, and anchor myself in something constant; he reminded me of God—

The still point of the turning world.

"But you've got a Northern Accent!” “Lots of planets have a north.”

I am nearly finished watching Doctor Who season 1 of the 2005 series, and so far I'm finding it most excellent. I'm not sure what my favorite episode so far is...I like the introduction of the Captain Jack, but that episode was also creepy as all get out—zombie-like people in gas masks calling for their mothers? Eerie, to say the least.
Any way, that is all I will say for now. I will leave you with a picture of a t-shirt that was up for vote on threadless.com and which I do wish would be made, because I would probably buy it:

                       (from http://www.threadless.com/submission/343664/TARDamask?streetteam=HtCRU)
TARDIS and damask. What a great combination.


Next Topic—Books I Am Reading/Have Recently Read:

The Hunger Games book one: I finished it in a day. It was very well done, I thought, and the concept behind the book was a fascinating one...it was sort of Lord of the Flies mixed with scifi stuff mixed with reality T.V. After finishing it, I had thoughts similar to the ones I had after reading Brave New World, mostly that "Wow...I wouldn't be surprised if our world actually does these things someday."  So, I think I'll finish the series, if I can avoid spoilers. For these fantasy novels, the element of surprise is one of their best assets, so I will try to  preserve that for as long as I can. But, as with Doctor Who, most people have already encountered these, so it may be a challenge to hide from the " OH MAN HUNGER GAMES I LOVED THAT TIME WHEN SO AND SO DID SUCH AND SUCH...OH WAIT THAT WAS A MAJOR PLOT TWIST, WHOOPSY!"


The second book I'm reading is called Redeeming Laughter by Peter Berger. I have only read the preface and I can already recommend it. This guy is a great writer, and is approaching his topic with a great (and I would say necessary) combination of silliness and seriousness. It's an academic work, but it's also about the comic, so he's not ashamed to say that there are many jokes in the book. I'm really looking forward to reading an example of approaching humor from an academic standpoint while "saving the joke" so to speak. It will be most helpful for my honors project on humor this fall.

The third book I am reading is Hebrews—and here is my thought for today, from chapter three. I thought it was pretty neat that one of the ways the author suggests to keep from getting a hard heart is to "Encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today, so that none of you may be hardened by sin's deceitfulness." So, basically, in order to keep yourself open to spiritual growth, you have to be encouraging others toward it as well. Just one more cool example of the communal nature of following Christ.

I will end, with this photo: 

                                       
It isn't true, I actually love sandcastles. But I love this baby's face, so he's staying.

The end.

Amish Romances?

Well, I thought it was about time for another blog post. And this one is devoted to Amish Romance novels.I will preface this by saying that I think the Amish are pretty neat in a lot of their ideas. Their response to the Nickel Mines tragedy was a reminder to all of us about forgiveness. So know that I'm not making fun of the Amish, but rather people who decide that the Amish would be a good subject for some mushy gushy fluff writing.

I will start by saying that I am biased. Just writing "Amish Romance novels" makes me snicker. Though, in their defense, all Romance Novels make me snicker. All this to say that this discussion of the genre will be not be balanced at all. You have been warned.

Last weekend, I went with some friends to a huge buffet restaurant in Lancaster. The restaurant had an enormous gift shop of which 65% were items I'm pretty sure no one would ever buy. How many people really collect Betty Boop figurines? Anyway, the best part of that shop was the book aisle, which was mostly composed of Amish Romances.
I did not realize this was a booming business, but apparently it is. Heck, they were even featured in the Wall Street Journal, with this headline: "They're No Bodice Rippers, But Amish Romances Are Hot."Apparently they're selling well. They're all written by non-Amish authors that apparently have researched their subject matter, but I'm skeptical.

Perusing the front and back covers of several of these novels, I had three observations:

1. The Amish women on the cover obviously plucked their eyebrows. Is that even allowed? Also, you're not fooling anyone; we can tell you're wearing mascara.

2. The visual ingredients for a winning cover are fences for ladies to lean on, buggies, fields, and a wistful, misty floating head of the heroine. Covers may have one, two or all of these! Because every knows, fences, buggies, fields and wistful ladies are the epitome of Amish culture.

3. Whoever wrote the back cover descriptions must have had loads of fun. They were all something along of the lines of this:
"Hepzibah feels trapped in the Amish life, dying for the day she can go on Rumspringa. Casting her bonnet aside, she runs to the world of the Englishers, falling for Lance Weatherby, the boy from town who bought cheeses and shoefly pie at her family's shop. But as she takes her life into her own hands, Lance becomes distant, wondering what became of that plain-clothes girl with no buttons he once admired from his pimped- out bicycle. Will Hepzibah discover her true place and true love, or will she lose everything she holds dear?"

Or this:

"Miriam is a young widow afraid to love, but in need of comfort. When her bachelor neighbor Obadiah agrees to help her with the chores her husband used to do, she finds herself gravitating to this strong, handsome, optimistic pig farmer. Just as she feel herself falling for his kindly bearded face, a tragic buggy accident leaves him physically and psychologically wounded, fearful of driving and missing several fingers. Now Miriam must be his anchor. Will she have enough strength for their chaste love to blossom? Hold onto your bonnets for this romantic buggy ride!"

I composed those myself, but you get the idea. Hang on...maybe I have a future in this biz! If they're selling so well, I should get on this bandwagon:

I leave you with an excerpt from my possible future book "Love Turns Like a Buggy Wheel":

"Dorcas struggled to lift the heavy butter churn paddle, her face flushing from shame. If she couldn't even do simple chores like this, how could she ever be the wife Jedidiah needed her to be? If only she had been more careful sewing that quilt and had curbed her zealousness at producing those miniscule stitches. Her fingers were still swollen painfully from her vigorous craftmaking. Jedidiah sat silently in the corner, scratching in his ledgerbook. He was always quiet, but Dorcas felt that since their marriage he was even more so. He probably regretted marrying such a bumbling, blonde haired, green eyed woman. She was wiping a hot tear from her eye, when she felt strong hands take the paddle from her hands. "Let me help," Jedidiah said with a shy little smile peeping out from his impressive beard. As the milk splashed in the churn, Dorcas wondered if this was the start of something new....."

And here's the cover: