Moral Dilemma

Here at the Hospitality House in STL (St. Louis for you more Missions-Minded people) I've been taking advantage of the on site Library of novels. For example today I finished a collection of Ray Bradbury and will be boldly going where many, many plots have gone before tomorrow as I start the Jonathan Frakes novel.

The difficult part is that (since I can read) it's hard not to notice all the well posted signs reminding me that I'm not to remove the books from the hospitality house. I immediately question the sign because it seems to be assumed that I will take a book over to the hospital (2 blocks from the house). I've gotten over that little bump in the moral road by generalizing "hospital"ity into one place - but what about the post-transplant apartments? If T is right, and I won't have connection again until Monday the 25th .... I will really ... really need books.

Here are my attempts at rationalization:

1. Most hospitality guests seem to be the sort of ladies that aren't going to choose a science fiction selection ... so even if the books didn't get back ... no harm - no foul.

2. The apartment rate is negotiated by the hospital and the hospital is requiring us to stay in town (though not necessarily there).

3. I will be at the hospital a minimum of every other day and will in fact, pick-up and drop-off my apartment keys at the hospitality house (making book return very easy).

Thoughts? ... and yes, I'll be able to see your blog comments via gmail on my handy-dandy phone.

Not Much Time To Type

My battery is almost gone .... but I was able to find a hard-line connection in the basement of the hospitality house that I'm staying in .... thanks to all that have posted encouraging comments.

Update: Dad is doing well and will likely be released to his post-transplant apartment tomorrow. Hopefully the new place will have wi-fi!!!

p.s. I found a library of old paperbacks in the basement too .... reading Ray Bradbury and Dorothy Sayers feels sort of educational and valuable ... on the other had reading a book by Jonathan Frakes (Cmdr. Riker from Star Trek) and his ghost writer isn't quite as noble.

I Blame the Stiff

T asked me last night if I'd given up on blogging forever. I haven't ... but on the other hand, I really can't express why I haven't been updating the dashboard more often. I hope the flurry of comments some of you recieved today wasn't too annoying (since I commented to posts that were nearly 30 days old).

I had gotten into a relatively good routine of posting twice a week - mainly about the current book that I was listening to. "Stiff" however, seems to have broken my stride. This was one of those micro-histories that I've been so interested in like "Salt: A World History", and "The Utilitarian History of the Pencil". Stiff is subtitled, "The Curious Lives Of Human Cadavers". I'll stop right there and point out that unless you want to hear about some truly unpleasant stuff, you shouldn't ask me about the book.

N noticed that I hadn't been talking about my current book at the dinner table. There was both a courteous and pratcial reason for this. Courteously, I know that it is not polite to discuss how decompositon works or how severed heads are used for face-lift practice at the dinner table. From a practical perspective, there aren't to many conversation prompts that lead you from dinner to cadaveric research - unless you take the obvious human dumplings in China road.

I told N when she asked about my book, that she didn't want to know ..... she responded that there at least had to be something about salt in the book. Saddly, she was right - but I won't get into the details here. I've only had one good opportunity to discuss the book - specifically the new body disposal options that are on the way: "Water Reduction" (aka Liquid Cremation) and Human Composting (aka Freeze-Dried Plant Food).

The good news is that I've moved on to the much more dinner-friendly "King of Torts" by John Grisham. So if anyone wants to debate the impact of pharmacutical malpractice on the legal system .... I can leave the human crash test dummy and landmine impact stories way back in the research section of my brain. Besides .... the History of the ScrewDriver wasn't available on Audiobook.

There's Stew On My Shirt

I'm just finishing up a fantastic helping of T's beef stew. As I enjoyed it, I had been wondering about why I haven't been able to find anything blog-worthy in the last month. (Yes it's been 31 days since Dash has been to the dashboard.)

I can't really say that I've been unusually stressed - or especially busy at work - or even all that melancholy; but I suspect it has a lot more to do with a change in my routine than anything interesting. With nothing else to expound on, I guess I will continue with my somewhat inconsistent trend of reviewing the books that I "read" on my way back and forth to work.

My latest adventure is 'The Witch's Boy' by Michael Gruber. I should start by telling you that I was embarrassed when the Librarian told me that the reason I couldn't find the title in the CD audio section was that it was in the "juvenile" area. This made me feel silly for trusting that silly NPR book reviewer, Nancy Pearl. It turns out though that Pearl was right and the Witch's Boy has been a delightful read.

The story starts with (what else) a witch finding an abandoned - and quite ugly - baby in the forrest. She names him Lump and raises him as her own balancing her new mothering duties with her magical ones (think cat's in the cradle .... but more literally). Lump grows up in her house with a she-bear for a nurse and a malevolent-though imprisoned jinn for a schoolmaster. These colorful characters, along with the aforementioned cat make up his universe. He never meets other people, never knows a world without magic, and all the stories he sees acted out on his enchanted bedroom walls are filled with handsome heroes that look just like him.

Not surprisingly, when Lump does meet other human children the results are rather disastrous and in the chaos and resulting magical council, Mom loses most of her powers. She along with a now transformed cat-become-coachman perform at circus shows with acrobatics and parlor tricks throughout the kingdom.

If you thought the bit about a cat turning into a coachman sounded familiar ... add to it the fact that he drove a carriage made from a pumpkin ... and the carriage was pulled by two rats that were made into horses ..... and you'll catch on to the fact that the Witch's boy is liberally sprinkled with classic fairy tales. So far I've caught: Cinderella, Rapunzel, Hansel and Gretel, Red Riding Hood, Aladdin, Snow White (which is really funny) and Rumplestiltskin. Each story is rather turned on it's head in an almost "fractured fairy-tale" way reminiscent of the old shorts on Rocky and Bullwinkle. I won't give away too much here other than to say that the reader should remember that Lump's mother is quite sensible and knows most if not all of the people in these stories (she's is red riding hood herself) and has a decidedly practical take on their behavior.

As is too often the case, I've not waited until finishing the book to write my little blog entry. So, keep in mind that it might end terribly - but I hope not.

Not sure how the stew-spot on my shirt got me here. But it was certainly yummy.

Descent

My current summer reading selection, Donna Tartt's The Little Friend keeps going further and further downhill. I've previously described it as being like To Kill a Mockingbird - but I'm going to have to take that back. Mockingbird was about facing our childhood fears, realizing that there was evil in world - and that it (like the true good) wasn't always where you expect it. This is the type of story you expect from TLF; but it seems to slope away from Attiticus and Scout at an alarming rate.

Oddly, the most sinister indication of the slippery slope (the date) is never directly identified in the story. The first few pages, seem to evoke the days of innocence following the first world war in the deep south. Bicycle rides down to the grain bin and catching frogs by the fishin' hole reminded the reader of a Norman Rockwell painting. Even hearing the story of Robin death (Harriet's older brother) that happened when she was just a baby is quaint and nostalgic as if it was the only evil thing to ever happen in Alexandria Mississippi. Gradually though, as the story progresses, little hints appear that jar the reader into the realization that this isn't the late 30's (a neighbor's son died in the South Pacific) .. It isn't the 40's (There is a TV in a poor family's living room) ... It isn't the 50's (an "old" car was made in 1956) ... It isn't the early 60's (Kings march to Selma has already happened). Finally, a third into the book we are given hard clue when we learn that Harriet's sister Allison watches Dark Shadows (66-71). This date-creep is unsettling and leaves the reader with a wholly different view of the events.

Robin's death, which is described initially as a composite of fragmented memories Harriet has heard about all her life from her family, is telegraphed early in the story as the worst kind of evil quickly becomes but a single symptom of the communities failing moral health. We soon see that Harriet's family (mom, sister, grandma, and great aunts) only acknowledge the death because they are incapable of hiding it. All the other darkness that surrounds them is too horrible to be seen. It starts slowly: Harriet's Dad lives in Nashville (with another woman) .... The local car dealer (and Sunday School Teacher) is greedy ...There is domestic violence in the neighborhood ... Racism still permeates the community .... And then there is the Meth.

About the same time we figure out what year it is, we get to see life through the eyes of a Crystal Meth-freak named Johnny Ratlin. Johnny was in school with Robin and now lives in a trailer next to the Taxidermy/Meth Lab shack of his older brother. He fires his pistol at old black ladies down by the fishing hole and beats us pool sharks for money. But Johnny's actions aren't all that troubling - but seeing the world from his eyes while 'tweaked' is horrid - yet euphoric.


I'm still only half-way through the novel ... But I wonder how far into despair this town will fall?

Since Forrest Brought It Up (# 92)

I remember watching one of those history channel documentaries on the Davinci Code and thinking, "people actually believe this stuff?"

I don't see how the great conspiracy would have even gotten started in the first place. To a Roman, it would take a bit of faith to see an absent (and presumed dead) Jewish guy as the Son of God; but the idea of Gods or Demi-Gods having wives and children was nothing new. If anything the Gomer-ized Magdalene and her child would have made more sense to polytheists being 'converted' into the catholic church.

By the time canon was being decided on, the church was hardly Jewish in culture (presumably the reason the divine feminine was obscured). If it was just a sexist thing .. why not leave in the concubine/wife figure and tweak Jesus into the image of a slipper-wearing, pipe-smoking, lovey-poor-me-a-drink patriarchal mysoginist?

I can see twisting the facts to support a premise ... that's just everyday bad theology (not a vast papal conspiracy). On the other hand though, suppressing huge portions of scripture, killing/silencing large numbers of people and fighting an ages old struggle with the Templars seems to be a bit out of scope.

Think of the poor monks that took all those vows. All they would have had to do was "erase" the little bit about Paul saying it was better for him not to be married and they could have had it all: power, women, land etc. Even (recovering) prostitutes would have been acceptable ... and how fun is that!?

It's fine to suppose that after a millennium or so, the church would want to keep something quiet that would make them look fallible (a.k.a. stupid). But I still haven't seen what the motivation was to tell the lie in the first place. Conspiracies are formed to protect a deeply held secret or maintain control. In this case, I don't see what control or privilege would have been lost if the secret had not been kept from the beginning.

The Dead Blue Bottle

I had one of those Google-whims a few moments ago that inspire a quick search for something that floated across my consciousness. Forrest, BB, and others have given me a bit of a hard time over my critique of the Dead Blue Bottle that was missing in the recent Narnia movie. I wondered if I there might be other fans that had missed it and were beginning a groundswell of support to have it added in the special edition ala Greedo's blaster.

I was not the only person to notice that the bottle was missing from the window sill. In fact several other kindred spirits remarked that they had been looking forward to it. Granted none of them seemed to rant quite as much as I did about the apparently wasted money and time spent on the pointlessly stupid dying fly.

But then I scrolled further down through the results...... In the middle of a discussion group on how to store unsorted screws, bolts, and useless work-bench collections I saw it and laughed.

While writing about a particularly good way of sorting his wing nuts into various sizes of paint cans, one contributor mentioned that his workbench storage solutions also tended to collect dead blue bottle flies.

Another quick Google got me this picture.

I feel so silly to have gotten something so wrong for so long. I still think it would be better if it had looked like this.

The Wrong Name

So nobody will remember this but ... about a year ago (at Homer's) I mentioned a book by Robert Lois Stevenson and his son-in-law called, "The Tonkin". The story is about what happens to a family of 2 brothers that are entered into an insurance game which pays out a pool of matured investments to the last living member of the club.

Apparently I had been watching too many vietnam era documentaries on the history channel because I got the name wrong. Tonkin, of course was a gulf in southeast asia, not an investment game ... it is actually called a "tontine". To further confuse matters, the electronic copy that I read was called "The Tontine" when it was converted to ebook. The book is actually titled "The Wrong Box".

I heartilly recommend the story to those with taste for 1800's literature that dosen't involve a single character named Mr. Darcy. If however, you like a bit of romance in your stories - there is a satisfying love interest in one of the subplots.

To read "The Wrong Box", stop by Project Gutenburg. I recommend the HTML version.

The Little Boy that Stuck His Thumb in the (Levee)

I recently read an article about Dutch folktales, and much to my surprise, learned that the famous story about the little boy that saved the town from the encroaching sea is not a Dutch story at all, but an American invention by the author of Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates. This story was part of my “Children’s Bookshelf of Great Literature”. T and I found that we both had the same set of stories growing up and we have my old one on our family bookshelf for the kids.

If you are unfamiliar with the legend, here is a brief synopsis:

A little boy coming home from a neighbor's house late at night stops in the woods near the massive dike that is holding back the sea from overcoming his industrious little village. As he pauses to pick up a stone, he hears a trickle of running water and soon finds that the dike has a small hole in it. The brave little boy knows his duty to the town and immediately sticks his finger (usually his thumb) into the dike to prevent the hole from growing larger and breaking open a great inlet for the sea. Though he is tired and hungry - and chilled to the bone by the frigid water that has made him thumb grow numb and swollen - he does not leave his post 'til a pastor spots him on his way home from town the next day. The boy is a hero; but in true Dutch fashion, not someone to be idolized ....only an example of what we all should do.
Even though this is an American story (fictionally told to Hans Brinker and his classmates one day in school), there are at least 2 statues honoring the “little boy that did his duty” in the Netherlands. Both are the work of City councils trying to make a bit of coin and give the American Tourists something to look at after they buy their wooden shoes and look at the windmills.

One of the reasons that this story has never taken hold in the Netherlands (except for the tourist statues) is that our understanding of what a dike is (a stone or concrete wall) differs from the reality of giant sand dunes and sluice gates that hold back the sea in Holland. Water walls similar to the ones described in the story are found alongside some rivers or by a lake – but never the ocean.

I’m not usually a “current events” blogger; and perhaps I’ve waited long enough since Hurricane Katrina to avoid sounding like a trend following purveyor of self-righteous glurge. Still when all the mess was happening in the 9th Ward, I couldn’t help but think of the little boy that did his duty. There has already been enough (rather bigoted) commentary about the actions and reactions of the residents of New Orleans to the catastrophe and I don’t mean to rehash that. Instead, as I usually do here on the dashboard, I’ll wonder aloud how I would have reacted in the midst of flooding – assuming for some reason I was still in the city when the levies broke.

How do I determine my “duty”? How far would I have gone to help myself, my family, and my fellow man? My company let us know that if we had specialized skills that could help during the first few weeks after the disaster, we could make arrangements with the company to take leave (sometimes – even paid) to go and help. I know of a few that went to help loved ones or participated with their family members that were already on the scene helping with relief groups and other NGOs. It bothered me a bit that I never once considered going or asking myself if there was anything I could do.

My limited knowledge of engineering (which would fit nicely in a pocket-sized first aid kit) tells me that there was nothing that a single person or several hundred persons could have done the night of the hurricane to keep the levees from breaking. Still, the haunting faux legend of a little boy and his thumb shames me.

And One Time ... At Band Camp ....

Back in the Bixby days, I was captivated by classical, medieval, and renaissance art. I had books and books of paintings and sculptures and mosaics. I couldn't do it now, but I used to be able to identify all sorts of famous pieces. This made be a bit of a nerd, but it fueled my great passion towards all things Knightly. I would spend hours sketching the "perfect" suit of armor for king, or his champion defender of the realm. Keep in mind that this was all in elementary school - so I didn't think to much about how heavy it would be to walk around in or how much he would be able to see in battle ... or how the courageous knight would get in and out of the thing for that matter.

As we are in the "Season of the Lion", I'll go a bit off track here to recall just how wonderfully it was to see the 4 kings and queens back in their old hall in 'Prince Caspian'. I got so excited when Susan found the golden chess piece (a knight of course). By the time they had broken the wooden door and gone down into the old treasure hall full of suits of armor and mail and swords and helms .... oh it was heaven. Alright then - back on track.

My love of "sketching" went rather dormant in Jr. High School, but when I had a chance to pick my first elective in 9th grade, I of course took Art - thinking that all my hereto unheralded talents would spring forth fully formed like Athena from Zeus's open head! Alas, it was not so - I was horrible. And not just in sketching; I was equally as improficient in watercolors, clay, and natural material dioramas. The art teacher mercifully gave me a "C" and let me transfer to my next great conquest, music.

There was an especially tall (and very red-headed) Junior in the orchestra that year. She played percussion in the back - so cool - so .... errrrr, black dress-wearing. - Ok, back on track. Her name was Chrissy, I think. Anyway, I asked the director if I could join the orchestra. He asked me what I played and when I told him "nothing" but I wanted to be a percussionist, suggested that I take some private lessons. I did and by the time the semester ended, I was sitting next to Chrissy (who wasn't nearly as nice as I had hoped) counting my way through long symphonic pieces while waiting for my occasional triangle or tambourine part. You see Chrissy had all the experience and was therefore the only one in the school that was allowed to touch a drum during and orchestral piece. - I'm not bitter ... really, I'm not.

The next year, we moved to another part of Springfield and a different high school. The Orchestra at Kickapoo H.S. required all percussionists to play in marching band as well ... soooo there I was at Band Camp. They called themselves "The Line". Six snare drums, 4 bass drums, 2 quads, and 3 cymbals and they were most of my world for 3 years.

To call it hazing, would be an overstatement; but I almost wish that it would have been tougher. Finally, I was a part of an army - my bass drum before me like a mighty shield. Two sword-like mallets and swiveled between puffy and staccato tips were my weapons. I had a faceless uniform - and a hat with a plume .... oh, and a cape!

I followed orders, stood at attention for what seemed like days and walked around with sheet music taped everywhere. When you are a drummer in a marching band, you learn to "sing" the parts. This sounds a lot like Klingon Yodeling, but it's very effective. I can probably sing the bass drum part to 'Aztec Fire' and the Quad's part for 'West-Side" story even today. I'm also, pretty sure that I know every part (even the cymbals) of a Russian dance piece called "Tanz" that was our drum feature my senior year.

Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like to go to one of the big state schools and play for a college marching band (Evangel never had one). As a drummer, field percussion is about as exciting as it gets. Still I wouldn't trade my life now - even for a few more years in "The Line".

Mrs. Beaver's Sewing Machine & A Dead Blue Bottle

I saw the Narnia movie tonight and have to say, it was better than I expected. I actually enjoyed how the filmmakers were able to portray the emotions and motivations of the children. This was something that Lewis stayed away from (at least in the Wardrobe). Later on, he does quite a bit more exposition on how characters like Eaustace feel and what drives them to make the choices they encounter.

Some of the settings were wrong (i.e. the very hobbit-ish hollow they hide in from Father Christmas instead of the nice cozy cave that Mr. Beaver takes them too). Some of the scenes seem to have been made for the video game (frozen river fight with the wolves) And worst of all, some of the characters were more than they should have been (the gallant fox that should have quietly been turned to stone at the Christmas Party) ... or Tummnus's "I believe in a Free Narnia" gagg...cough cough).

I mention these nitpicks not to make less of the movie, but to recognize that as we've seen many times before - sometimes you have to put stuff in to get an audience to the place you need them to be in the story. I don't mind that so much .... I rather enjoyed the battles and all the animals treating the children like royalty. What bothers me though is the stuff that was left out that could have been dropped in for the book fans - and this finally brings me to the title of the blog.

One of the things that makes the visit from Father Christmas so special (who didn't wear red though Susan said he did) was that he mentions leaving presents back at the dam including a new sewing machine for Mrs. Beaver. Even if the screen writer picked the throw-away line about having a hundred years to catch up on over talking to the beavers, we could have seen a sewing machine sitting in the sleigh. This type of little something extra was part of what made the LOTR rings movies so much fun to watch even when they story got mixed up a bit.

Since the Wardrobe was the first fantasy story I ever read, it still has a special place in my heart. As an adult though, I find it my least favorite of the Chronicles. What I still hold on to are those images. Many of them, like the way the coats gave way to branches and moth balls to crunching snow were wonderfully included. Others, like the "dead blue bottle" sitting on the window sill in the wardrobe room would have literally cost $5. I'm sad to have it missing ... especially when the death of CGI fly that probably cost more than my annual salary took it's place.

A short "comment" in the HP discussion

I concur that their are several logical problems with trying to say that the HP books are "evil" and that others are not. Rational arguments about the use of magic in stories and the "moral-ness" of the books are also discussions too often ignored in favor of trench warfare topics like:

* "Why Christians against HP are stupid illiterate gits." or
* "Why anyone that has ever read as far as page six hundred and sixty-six in GOF is now dammed to hell".

Both sides seem committed to this sort of brinksmanship and little good will come from either blog flames or pulpit slams.

I can't say much to the non-Christian HP community about their actions, because (unlike believers) they don't hold themselves to a non-relative standard of right and wrong. The HP philosophy is not satanic - or even pagan: It's humanistic. As a certain headmaster so often says, It's not our history or abilities, but our choices, that determine who we are.

Making right choices about good and evil is at the heart of the HP series; it is the central theme. This sounds well and good - and it is for the humanist - but as Christians, we are called to an absolute truth that is "TRUE" regardless of our choices. With that in mind, HP is not evil, merely a reflection of the fallen world we live in.

If there is value in Lewis or Tolkien over Rowling, it is not in how women are treated or how violence is portrayed (Rowling is much more "enlightened") Neither is it in how good magic is handled or how many dark arts are exposed or triumphed over. The difference is that the HP universe points to nothing beyond ourselves, while Middle Earth points to a great something that should be reverenced and explored and Narnia points directly to scripture with a flashing arrow. This lack of "pointing to" isn't a malevolent evil - it's simply the absence of that divine perspective that believers are blessed with - faith. Rowling has hope and even a bit of love, but it's devoid of The Answer and real truth.

Without this guiding standard, the HP books can be a pitfall. As I mentioned, there is no TRUTH, but it smacks of faith-ishness. I'm pretty sure that the Superman effect forrest mentioned will clean up some misunderstandings; but because the books are set in a world so near our own - there is a potential that some seeking answers might be more receptive to those all to happy to provide them. I say this is might be a pitfall - because all of the ecclesiastical trash talk and spiritual sound bites will likely get in the way of our ability to share the gospel with some HP fans. They won't find this lack of "love" among the true pagan missionaries that are seeking converts.

[Oh, and for the record, Forrest, Gandalf wasn't a wizard ... He was an angel. Men called them "wizards".]

Follow the Lion

I finished Prince Caspian last night on the way home from the grocery store.
I've tried, in several draft posts, to comment on the profound topics that are raised so effortlessly by the story. Everything from rather sharp criticisms of modern schools to practical spiritual truths such as the need to know Aslan better in our own world; seem to jump out from behind a tree (or under a bridge, as the case may be) to surprise you with how much is drilled in these little stories. Sadly, the more I try to work out a nice little truth, the bigger and more personally challenging I find it.

Over the last few days, I've cheered for Peter's chivalry, mourned Susan's choice (though she won't actually fall away for 5 or so more books) and remarked just how wise Edmund's own forgiveness drives him to be - make brave choices even when he can't believe them himself. But this reading, it has all been about Lucy. Though all 4 children are taught to "follow the Lion", it's Lucy that takes the brunt of the lesson. A part that hadn't struck me until last night was that Lucy learns that she should have left the others when they wouldn't believe her about seeing Aslan. This is something that I never really considered before.

I don't hear many Sunday morning messages about leaving others behind - but when I consider it for a bit, I remember that we are each challenged to do our own work ... to walk our own path. That sounds well and good in our individualistic society the offers at least 7 different flavors of chocolate chips in one aisle - catering to each loaner; I can't imagine how it sound to believers in the relationship focused 1st Century.

Ink Blots

All the talk about the ink blot test on Dirt's blog reminded me of something.

I read 'Flowers for Algernon" in 8th grade. After hearing the blob test refered to as the "Raw Shark" test so much .... I have to think of it first before remembering that it's called a "Rorschach". Does anyone else remeber this story. It was required reading for me, so I'm assuming a few other folks have it rustling about in their heads as well.

I often see Charlie Gordon when I look in the mirror. So many times, I'll look back over my life and see a part of me that seems to have slipped back into mediocrity - sliding quickly into being sub-standard. That is, if I'm honnest with myself, the greatest terror of my existence ... to lose what I so tightly clutch in my little hand. Like Charlie, I fear losing my ability to reason (such as it is) and I fear losing my compassion, my humour, my self.

I'm not sure, in this case, that it is better to have loved / thought and lost. Eventually the void would be so great that you don't recognize the parts that are missing. Still, there must be flashes of what you once were - what you once felt.

Yet, in spite of this fear, it is exactly what I often allow in my own spiritual walk. I conciously stop becoming a more perfect instrument and choose to regress into something less than I expect even the fallen to be. Like Charlie, I've grown so much that I can diagnose my own condition, but I'm powerless to stop its progress.


"Here I am again alone. Afraid I'll lose all that I own
Yet you see me as your own I cannot fall.
And what I am I still am not at times I count the cost
yet I find there's nothing lost if I give it all.

Too many times I'm back inside wanting desperately to hide
Yet I know, i know you say you have to die
Too many times you hear my cries I'm at the end of all my tries
So, I'm open Lord, so teach me how to die ."

(Cheesy 80s lyrics provided by: M.W.S.)

If I Post On Sunday....

.. will I just be talking to myself?

Forrest actually asked me what order I thought the Narnia books should be read in (see the Dragon Island post below). Not surprinsingly, I recommend that they be read in the order that I read them first using the Collier paper-back box set edition that had the covers of LWW, HB, VDT, and TMN on the sides. These were the American versions, so there are a few differences from the Macmillan set I picked up in college with the color illustrations - but they are still my favorite; and the ones that N borrowed to read them for herself.

So here is the order (along with the current publication order number)

The Order is:

The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe (2)
Prince Caspian (4)
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (5)
The Silver Chair (6)
The Horse and His Boy (3)
The Magician's Nephew (1)
The Last Battle (7)

I realize that this is a Sunday post, so I'm not counting on a many comments today. It would be neat though to see what favorite moments from the books stick out in your mind. Dragon Island is still my special passage, but there are so many more.

Dragon Island

The other day, I came upon an interesting discussion between 2 boys from western Kansas that were spending the night in a shelter they had built between 2 trees on an otherwise empty island. They were discussing the Chronicles of Narnia and how they would - or would not be portrayed in the upcoming movies. One of the boys said that he knew nothing but the first part of LWW but was going to try to read the whole series before the first movie comes out later this year. The other was convinced that any of Lewis's meaningful spiritual message would be ripped out.

As I listened, I was intrigued by encountering these two people that were reading the books at the age I was when I first read them by flashlight in the back yard. When the older boy said that the other was reading them in the "wrong" order; the little guy said that he couldn't tell which was which because his library seemed to have 2 sets of books with contradictory labels. Then they turned to me and asked if I knew which was the "right" order to read the books.

(T is laughing right now as she reads this.) For those of you that are baseball fans, this is like handing me one of those giant red bam-bam bats and gently tossing a wiffle-ball right down the middle to me after calling the pitch.

Needless to say, the boys got a bit more than they were asking for. I covered the original publication order along with the chronological order as well as my recommended reading order. I also took the time to quiz the older boy about some of passages he seemed to know so much about and was sure to drop in a few too many references to the books throughout the conversation as we went on. When I started talking about the differences between the British and American versions of the books, the little guy's eyes seemed to roll back in his head.

It's funny how what you read as a child can become such a huge part of your life. I realize that I may be a bit abnormal with this, but I have to believe that there are a few others out there that can say they've been "perfectly beastly". I heard a song yesterday that reminded me of one of my favorite parts of the series. (No T, it's not from my Narnia-Inspired 2nd Chapter of Acts album "The Roar of Love")

The song, "Like a Skin", talks about how nice it is for a butterfly to look back and know that he'll never be a worm again. Even the snake leaves something behind when he goes through a change - yet we as believers don't leave a physical representation of our "old man" on the ground. Even though our change is real we still seem 'to struggle with the same old stuff'. Eustace got to leave his dragon skin behind in VDT and bathe in the cool water. I guess my point is that my gold arm band still won't come off ... and sometimes it hurts when I become as beastly to others as I truly am.

Books

T and I are rearranging and cleaning out our office to be able to handle the new arrivals, so we've been going through the stuff that we don't use very often to determine what should stay and what should go. We typically use the 6 month rule - if you haven't touched it for more than 6 months and can't reasonably explain why you still need to keep it ... it goes.

There were some easy decisions; like keeping my collection of C.S. Lewis and Tolkien related paperbacks. None of these are nice enough to go on the "fancy" bookshelves in the living room, but I still read / reference them from time to time. T didn't seem to have any problem with throwing out a few old Mary Kay instructional binders (they were already empty). Still, there were some hard calls - which brings me to my post for today.

It physically bothers me to throw books out, so even though my 5-inch reference on telecommunications is horribly out of date - I just don't want to part with it. We have a large trash bag of college textbooks like Anthropology, Abnormal Psychology, & Russian History; lots of Business texst too: Human Resources, Sales Force Management, Marketing etc. There are many more .... including a nifty 2-Volume History of the Assemblies of God. If you're looking to add some heft to your bookshelf and would like to rescue some of these books - I'll be happy to send them on their way at no charge.
ACT NOW!!!!
... oh - by the way, I've got a really creepy (somewhat misogynistic) copy of "Mars / Venus in The Bedroom" that someone gave T in a big stack of books. 21 and older on that one.

Wobegon Caution

Just a note of caution on my recommendation of Keillor's Summer of 1965. During this blissful summer of sitting on the front porch, typewriters, baseball and relatives, the main character - a 14 year old boy - discovers a publication called "High School Orgy" which he hides in a copy of Life magazine and reads on the front porch in the evening while his father listens to the ballgame and his mother reads the paper.

The reader (or listener) will encounter selections from this '50s men's magazine mixed in with his Father's commentary on baseball and the conversation that the narrator assumes Jesus and his Grandfather are having about him. Grandpa is worrying and thoroughly disgusted that someone with such good Protestant upbringing is sliding straight to hell. Even though there is supposed to be no worry in heaven, Grandpa just can't help it.

There's nothing explicit, although it might be R rated at times. As I listened to the account this morning, I had terrible premonitions of you recommending the book to your parents and then finding yourself in a spot like T and I did having recommended Jerry Maguire to her Mom. We all tend to remember, "you had me at hello" and forget meeting Jerry's first girlfriend in the movie.

... really mom, it's a great movie ... very clean ... a feel good movie.

The Lake Wobegon Effect

I've been listening to Garrison Keillor's 'Lake Wobegon Summer 1956' and thought I might take a moment to recommend it to those of you that might need more weight to keep the bedside table from floating away. Lake Wobegon, for the uninitiated, is a fictitious town in Minnesota. His weekly radio show: A Prairie Home Companion, features the news from Lake Wobegon, "where the women are strong, the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average." .... more about that in a bit.

T will tell you that my favorite book is always the one that I'm reading and that I have "Fan" personality the way some people have addictive personality. By that I mean that given a sufficient amount of exposure to an author / director / world / universe etc., I will feel compelled to explore every dusty corner until the next thing grabs my eye. Observing a multitude of fandoms (as a newbie in each) has provided a rather varied perspective of what it means to be "into" something. Believe it or not, I consider myself a rather moderate fan in just about every category. This is mainly because I have met the "real" fans and well .... they scare me.

My first scare was when I stepped into Cosmic Planet, a comic book store in Tulsa OK. Comic books had been my thing for a few months and I had encountered my first real snag as a collector. You see, I had issues 2-6 of DC's Super Powers Miniseries (including the cool one with Mr. Fantastic on the cover) but I was missing #1. This was right before the "comics are a good investment" revolution of the late 80's when comic stores were made more friendly and staffed with eager friendly investment bankers.

It only took me about 5 minutes to find the book; but I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Not sure what the music was that was blaring through the store; but it probably had "death" in the title and a corpse on the album cover. The artwork on the walls was all gruesome and the employees were all scary older kids dressed in black. On the upside, Issue #1 (with Darkseid holding the all the heroes in his giant fist) is now worth $25 and the value of the other 5 is up because it's a complete set. I paid $3.00 for the book - 4 times what I had paid for the other issues at my beloved Safeway Grocery Store at the corner at 111th and Memorial in Bixby, OK.

I'm a Safeway kind of fan. I know that the long expected party was Bilbo's 111th birthday and like to make sure that I pronounce Tolkien's Elvish names correctly, but have never once considered buying the rings, swords, goblets, or anything else in the Noble House catalog of LOTR collectibles .... except the pewter chess set (which is down to $275 on eBay). As it was told - on a dirt road - I went to see Episode Three at midnight, but there is no storm trooper armor at my house .... although I think there are some second-hand light sabers - but they are in the little guy's room. I can name 26 Star Trek Captains, but have never been to a convention. I never lived in my parent's basement; and yes - Mr. Shattner, I have kissed a girl.

The internet has made it easier to tip-toe into a fandom without going all-in. I don't think I ever used the B'joran ensign profile I created for Star Trek.com to do anything more than review continuity guides and read articles about how Roddenberry's fictitious "star dating" might work ... even though he never bothered to work it out himself. The passing fan can click a bit, find his or her answer and go right back to have a somewhat normal life that more prepared to answer intelligent questions in canceled TV. series trivia.

Now back to Lake Wobegon .....

Sociological studies have shown that most really think their kids are above average. According to one frequently cited statistic that demonstrates this cognitive bias found by a study conducted by Ola Svenson, 80% of students believed they were in the top 30% of safe drivers. The effect has been found repeatedly by many other studies for other traits, including fairness, virtuosity, luckier and better investors, to name a few. While this is statistically impossible, maybe it helps explain my Fan-aticism. If a book or other artistic work is worthy of being experienced, I feel like I'm both cheated and cheating it I don't experience it fully.

I desperately want to be above average - even if it's just in my ability to tell you that while Lake Wobegon is fictitious, Keillor based his town on Anoka, Minnesota - which just happens to be the self-proclaimed Halloween capital of the world. They have a big parade every year ... well actually 2 parades - one during the day and one at night .... plus a kids mini-parade outside the elementary school the Friday before Halloween.

Oh, and there's a big high school football game called the Pumpkin Bowl .....

Nirnaeth Arnoediad

I'm listening to an unabridged reading of Tolkien's Silmarillion during my drives to and from work .. and the store ...and any other time I get the chance. I won't attempt (in this post anyway) to explain what the Silmarillion is other than to say that it is a book of histories that characters like Frodo and Aragorn look back to and - Galadriel and Gandalf actually remember it.

Because the History of Middle Earth itself covers an odd five thousand years of history, we have the joy of hearing about a rock, or a river that is named for a person or event long dead. It happens most often in the LOTR and the Hobbit as a nearby hill is mentioned or a City is named .... even a passing reference to where the good horses come from. Each has it's own story - great or small.

What has made this so striking is hearing all of Tolkien's languages pronounced in the names and places of the four peoples. It has me mulling over words in 2 elvish languages like tol, gol, minas, amon, mor. More than once in a meeting today, I found myself working on how to say 'Nirnaeth Arnoediad' - the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.

If you want to practice. it's pronounced: "neer'n(I)th arnoy'deead"