Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Rumi & Nader Khalili

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I seem to come to things later than I should. The poetry of Rumi has been popular for centuries and even particularly popular in recent years, and yet I have just found him. Nader Khalili, an architect and author, has translated Rumi poetry while building sustainable housing and I have only just discovered his work. I find the poetry, the architecture and the heart behind it all inspiring.


all the precious words, you and I have exchanged, have found their way, into the heart of the universe, one day, they'll pour on us like rain, helping us to arise, from our roots again. Rumi ... 13th century mystic and poet.

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Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Another Attempt at Lavender

Provence%20Lavender%20field%2002 Lavender: Every year I long for a lavender field like the ones in France or California. But, as you know, I live in western Pennsylvania and the difference between what I attempt to grow and what flourishes in drier, sunnier climates is discouraging. Yet, I plant the herb again and again just to see if I can make it bloom. The problem is that we have very rich soil and lots of rain ... but, never mind, I just filled three pots with tiny lavender plants and we will see how long we can keep them alive. I noticed that the April Martha Stewart Living magazine and the Spring Intermezzo magazine both feature articles on lavender and one of the farms is in Bucks County, PA ... so obviously someone is growing the herb successfully in PA.

I look forward to making the lavender lemonade recipe in Intermezzo: Make a simple syrup by boiling 1 cup of sugar in 1 cup of water until the sugar is dissoved completely. Stir in 1 T dried culinary lavender and steep for at least 1 hour. Strain mixture and discard lavender. Pour into pitcher, add 1 cup of fresh lemon juice and 4 1/2 cups of water. Chill until ready to serve over ice with garnish of lemon slice and sprig of lavender. 

 

Saturday, May 31, 2008

Leonard Cohen Lyrics

Nishimura_organic04_front I recently watched a Leonard Cohen documentary. He is one of the most celebrated songwriters/poets today. He is a Jewish Buddhist with a fixation for Christian imagery. Cohen is broken, brilliant, a remarkable word artist; but, above all, he is real and honest. His song ... If it be your will ... is deeply moving:
 
If it be your will 
That I speak no more 
And my voice be still 
As it was before 
I will speak no more 
I shall abide until 
I am spoken for 
If it be your will 

If it be your will 
That a voice be true 
From this broken hill 
I will sing to you 
From this broken hill 
All your praises they shall ring 
If it be your will 
To let me sing 

If it be your will 
If there is a choice 
Let the rivers fill 
Let the hills rejoice 
Let your mercy spill 
On all these burning hearts in hell 
If it be your will 
To make us well 

And draw us near 
And bind us tight 
All your children here 
In their rags of light 
In our rags of light 
All dressed to kill 
And end this night 
If it be your will 

If it be your will.

So Long Since Posting

KEIKO2_Nishimura_Organic It has been so long since I last posted here. I have spent many hours in the last two months working the leadership program (with bouts of being slightly unwell) but today we graduate one class and the next class is nearly online to start in August. So ... I apologize for being offline for so long and I wish you all well and am happy to be back to blogging.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Forcing Spring

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Remarkable in its timing, an old friend, from whom I have not heard in many years, sent me a note ... actually three notes, plus the book Into the Silent Land by Martin Laird. He tells an interesting story of a famous ballerina racked by perfectionism, fear and anger. It ends like this: "She did find solace. She took long walks out on the Yorkshire moors. If she walked long enough, her roiling mind would settle. The expanse of heather was scented balm that soothed the throbbing anger, fear, and pain. She described how on one occasion her anxiety began to drop like layers of scarves. Suddenly, she was aware of being immersed in a sacred presence that upheld her and everything."

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"While this experience out on the moors happened only once, it proved a real turning point in her life and drew her into the way of prayer. She knew from her own experience that there was something in her that was deeper than her pain and anxiety and that when the chaos of the mind was quieted, the sense of anguish gave way to a sense of divine presence."

"RS Thomas recounts this sentiment movingly in his poem, "The Moor." "It was like a church to me. I entered it on soft foot, Breath held like a cap in the hand. It was quiet. What God was there made himself felt. Not listened to, in clean colours That brought a moistening of the eye, In movement of the wind over grass." "There were no prayers said. But stillness of the heart's passions - that was praise Enough; and the minds cession Of its kingdom. I walked on, simple and poor, while the air crumbled And broke on me generously as bread."

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Inside the front cover of this book, this gift, Shelley wrote, "Refreshing your memory of your vocation." Sometimes unusual things happen that are a gentle, loving but strong blow to the chest.

Friday, March 21, 2008

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It's Good Friday and time to think about faith, sacrifice, great love ... cooking and table settings. The majestic and the mundane pressed against each other. Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song. Pope John Paul II.

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The great gift of Easter is hope - Christian hope which makes us have that confidence in God, in his ultimate triumph, and in his goodness and love, which nothing can shake. Basil C. Hume. Happy Easter!

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Monday, March 17, 2008

Veronica Stallwood

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Have just read Josephine Tey's A Shilling for Candles and Veronica Stallwood's Death and the Oxford Box. I had one of those once-every-fifteen-year flu's which actually kept me completely horizontal for over three days (very unusual) and anytime I could open an eye, I reached for the nightstand to finish one book or another. No, there's no comparison of authors. My personal feeling is that Tey is a master, fairly unreachable by most writers (I should start with The Franchise Affair if she were new to me).

But Stallwood's Kate Ivory series is enormously engaging and particularly enjoyable after a summer in Oxford (which we did two summers ago - photos are from that extraordinary visit). After the first chapter, I very nearly put the book down; but, by the second, I was hooked and read the remainder inside 24 hours. The main character, Kate Ivory, is a bright, very likable author of romantic historical fiction with a penchant for solving murder and she does it inside and outside of Blackwell's, an Oxford College, pubs and restaurants you all know and love. Now, I am beginning the next Kate Ivory ... good thing I have one more day of sick leave to cough incessantly and read.

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Thursday, March 13, 2008

Back to Betjeman

Betjbown2128_5For all the charming, nostalgic, light-hearted romps about the English, their customs, their idyllic countryside and architecture; the more I read, the more aware I become that Betjeman was not fundamentally the crown's teddy bear. Delightful, yes, and bright ... entertaining with an accurate and amusing ear for rythmn; but deeply conflicted and depressive.

Not every poet, in his heyday, was quoted in country lanes and pubs, as was Betjeman. But adulation, fame, and honor were not enough for the poet as he dealt with demons from his past and present. Deeply spiritual but overwhelmed by doubt; loving but uncertain about marriage, family and sexuality; enthralled by the upper classes while uncertain about his own social standing ... Betjeman is hard to classify and it certainly won't do to think about him sentimentally as simply the romanticized voice of "olde England."

Far from making the poet smaller in our eyes, it may be these very human struggles that make him more endearing to so many.

"Guilt." 

The clock is frozen in the tower,
The thickening fog with sooty smell
Has blanketed the motor power
Which turns the London streets to hell;
And footsteps with their lonely sound
Intensify the silence round.

I haven't hope. I haven't faith.
I live two lives and sometimes three.
The lives I live make life a death
For those who have to live with me.
Knowing the virtues that I lack,
I pat myself upon the back.

With breastplate of self-righteousness
And shoes of smugness on my feet,
Before the urge in me grows less
I hurry off to make retreat.
For somewhere, somewhere, burns a light
To lead me out into the night.

It glitters icy, thin and plain,
And leads me down to Waterloo-
Into a warm electric train
Which travels sorry Surrey through
And crystal-hung, the clumps of pine
Stand deadly still beside the line.

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Josephine Tey

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Josephine Tey, Elizabeth Mackintosh (1896-1952), is a remarkable writer. I have come to her late but having found her, I am reading right the way through her work and enjoying every book. A playwright and author, Tey/Mackintosh was a reclusive, brilliant Scot who died quite young denying us more of the powerful, engaging, smart writing for which she is known. There are two excellent reviews of her work ... one on a blog here and another from the Washington Post. This has been a truly enjoyable series to read and I highly recommended them.

Friday, March 07, 2008

Betjeman and Needlepoint

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Somehow I don't think Sir John Betjeman would mind my speaking of him here in the same breath used to praise needlepoint by my mother. He seems to be one of those down to earth poets who revel in the beauty of everyday. I am so enjoying reading a collection of his poetry, as well as his book In Praise of Churches. At the same time, I am having the needlepoint given to me by my extraordinarily gifted mother completed (one by one) as pillows to pile on my most beloved piece of furniture ... an old Irish settle given to me by my parents ... straight from an Irish crofter's cottage. Do read Betjeman if you get a chance (Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows).He is a delight.

Across the wet November night ... The church is bright with candlelight ... And waiting Evensong. A single bell with plaintive strokes ... Pleads louder than the stirring oaks ... The leafless lanes along. It calls the choirboys from their tea ... And villagers, the two or three, ... Damp down the kitchen fire, ... Let out the cat, and up the lane ... Go paddling through the gentle rain ... Of misty Oxfordshire.

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Thursday, February 28, 2008

Reading for Sanity

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There are no words to describe the "cold turkey" reentry from 84 degree sunshine to 10 degree wind and weather! But ... reading keeps me sane. I finished Singing Sands by Josephine Tey (wonderful, fabulous) and have nearly completed the charming and very amusing novella by Alan Bennett, The Uncommon Reader. Then back to John Banville (an old flame) in the guise of Benjamin Black. Christine Falls is so very well written and as compelling a detective novel as I have read in years. Really the man is a genius.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Interlude

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It is hard to believe today ... in single digit temperatures and snowy conditions ... that it was 80 degrees and sunny with a soft warm breeze all weekend ... but that was in Naples, FL. I snapped this photo of our neighbor's beach umbrella while they were ordering a beer from the beach bar. It was a veritable Corona commercial.

There were alligators, egrets and turtles, bougainvillea and hibiscus. It was a different world where we woke at 7:30 am to a long slow cup of black coffee, then walked miles along the coastline. We lounged on beach chairs, then walked home ... sipped wine poolside and ate out every night. Three days felt like three weeks away (stress melts in high temperatures) and I returned to the snow with a golden tan. It is so good to get warm and breathe clear ocean air.

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Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Hibernating

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It is white and frigid, a mid-winter day of blowing snow and icy air seeping through the useless (but lovely) 1890's windows of our old Victorian here in Sewickley. Susannah and Bella try to sleep it away. I give up. Tomorrow, I leave for three days in Naples, Florida in search of a bit of sun and warmth - Josephine Tey, Isobel English AND Benjamin Black (John Banville) in tow. I won't read three books in three days ... but what a nightmare should I be stranded without one! I could be stuck for days in an airport. But, trusting that's not true, I'll be back on Monday. Have a wonderful weekend ... and next week, I look forward to a day of blogging and catching up on your wonderful photos and posts.

Friday, February 15, 2008

Needlepoint Projects

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A few recent needlepoint projects: a beautiful pillow from my mother and a belt as a birthday gift for my sister.

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Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Mysteries

Mysteries_merge_2 With two significant road trips in the past two weeks, Geoff and I have either read, listened to, or watched more mysteries than I should like to admit (especially to those of you who read far more exalted material). However, it's cold, wet, dark, the miles were long ... the Episcopal Church is sadly in a mess, the parish restless, job opportunities for my leadership scholars dismal. No better time to visit with Miss Pym, Agatha Raisin, Hamish Macbeth, Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, Albert Campion, Wimsey and Harriet Vane. They all happily, but hazily, merge one into another. Outside of prayer, mysteries are a sweet salve.

But seriously, I am intrigued with these authors (all women) - all but Beaton part of the golden age of British, female crime writers. Josephine Tey is new to me (thanks to my sister, the English teacher). Now here is a woman who fascinates me  ... an intelligent recluse. I look forward to reading all she  has written - though her work is not extensive, having begun writing later in life and then, very unfortunately, dying quite young. Agatha Christie is an old friend - for me and most everyone else in the world. Dorothy Sayers - with apologies to those who hate to hear people gush, my absolute favorite. Margery Allingham writes the brilliant Campion series. MC Beaton may not be quite in the same class of authors, but her books have been fun, quick reads. Perhaps anything "Scotland plus mystery" is appealing to me. So, it becomes more and more clear that female writers between 1880 and 1955 are of growing interest to me ... I am so delighted to find more and more remarkable authors in this period. I only wish I had begun my collection of this genre years ago.

What else did we listen to back and forth to Lookout Mountain, Georgia (home to my parents and sister - photos forthcoming)? A fabulous collection of CS Lewis fiction brought us home through the West Virginia highlands to the steel towns of western PA - actually an enormously beautiful trip. Sorry to be away from the blog so long.

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