Christmas Break

Partial list of my activities since the end of the term:

1. watched "Miracle on 34th Street"
2. sewed Christmas dresses for two small sisters
3. watched "The Bells of St. Mary's" (second favorite Christmas movie)
4. sang "What Child is This?" in church Christmas program (dreadful experience)
5. met a fellow Distance Learning classmate
6. finished reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
7. watched "It's a Wonderful Life" (favorite Christmas movie)
8. read "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell" by William Blake
9. read Rasselas by Samuel Johnson
10. sewed Christmas potholders (harder than Christmas dresses)
11. joined Mom in dancing the chimney sweep dance from "Mary Poppins"

Shall We Devote a Whole Month to Christmas?

"All the old wholesome customs in connection
with Christmas were to the effect that one
should not touch or see or know or speak of
something before the actual coming of Christmas
Day. Thus, for instance, children were never
given their presents until the actual coming of the
appointed hour. The presents were kept tied up
in brown-paper parcels, out of which an arm of a
doll or the leg of a donkey sometimes accidentally
stuck. I wish this principle were adopted in respect
of modern Christmas ceremonies and publications.
The editors of the magazines bring out their
Christmas numbers so long before the time that
the reader is more likely to be lamenting for the
turkey of last year than to have seriously settled
down to a solid anticipation of the turkey which
is to come. Christmas numbers of magazines ought
to be tied up in brown paper and kept for Christmas
Day. On consideration, I should favour the editors
being tied up in brown paper. Whether the leg
or arm of an editor should ever be allowed to protrude
I leave to individual choice."
--G.K. Chesterton, All Things Considered


Dear Mr. Chesterton,

Humbly acknowledging the vast superiority of your intellect to mine, I must beg to differ with you here.  Why should Christmas be restricted to one day? We look forward with anticipation to the commemoration of the birth of our holy Saviour; why therefore should we repress our celebration? Let us bring out our tree the day after thanksgiving and watch our Christmas movies--the modern equivalent of your Christmas magazines--every other day from now until then.  Your own church, Mr. Chesterton, holds an Advent season every year; and if we begin early to pray, may we not also rejoice?

Your devoted reader,
Sarah

Review of The Story of the Other Wise Man

     Since its first publication in 1895, Henry van Dyke’s novella, The Story of the Other Wise Man, has been an annual Christmas favorite and has been reprinted in a new binding nearly every year. Often considered a story for children, but enjoyed by adults as well, this poignant tale follows the adventures of Artaban, “the fourth wise man”, as he searches for the One foretold by the star he has seen, and how in not finding—he finds.
    The book was well researched and as a result, is rich with the flavor of the Orient.  Older readers may enjoy the first part of the book the most, where Artaban explains the reasons for his quest, and find the ending a little clichéd though still well handled.  Younger readers may find the late nineteenth century writing style difficult to read, but with a little patience, they should be able to understand and appreciate it.
    Making a great holiday read-aloud, this thought provoking story reminds us that the real story of Christmas does not end with Jesus’ birth.  For those who still seek Him, that is only the beginning.

All Roads Lead to Rome, but Only One to Heaven

 After the removal of an old Roman altar, and shortly before Christianity became the official religion of Rome, Quintas Symmachus wrote to the Senate, requesting the restoration of the Roman gods:

"We ask, then, for peace for the gods of our fathers and of our country. It is just that all worship should be considered as one. We look on the same stars, the sky is common, the same world surrounds us. What difference does it make by what pains each seeks the truth? We cannot attain to so great a secret by one road." (Sources of The Making of the West)


I'd guess that Symmachus had never tried hunting for buried treasure, without having the treasure map, otherwise he would have known how important it is to have the right road.  
But there is nothing new under the sun is there?  People still express that idea today, though rarely do they put it as beautifully as Symmachus did. 

Truth and Fiction

"Truth must necessarily be stranger than fiction; for fiction is the creation of the human mind and therefore congenial to it." --G. K. Chesterton

Hmm...I wonder if Beowulf really did swim in his armor.

Typing Troubles

Woe is me.  I must apologize for the brevity of this post.  My typing capabilities have been sadly inhibited by the sudden removal of my long fingernails.  I broke one while I was doing laundry this evening, so I decided to take them all off.  Sadly, my fingers are in a strange state of shock, and I am finding it difficult to punch the keys correctly.


And I have a pile of block quotes to type for a rough cut outline due tomorrow.  Oh, woe is me.

Scribblings

A crazy piece of a story I was working on once...

Supremacy

“Go West!” Greeley said. And we have gone west. We have gone to the farthest places of the earth. We have gone even to the moon. And why should we not go to the red planet also? So here I sat, in the Santa Maria of the 21^st century, waiting to set foot on the New World. My eyes eagerly peered from my window, wandering in delighted admiration over the vast frontiers of the unexplored continent, and I thought that I had never before beheld such unparalleled grandeur. I thought to myself, “This then is the supreme entity—land—the ground beneath a man’s feet. What is there greater in the universe? What is more truly the basis of civilization than the ground on which it is built? And who greater than the men who discover it?” In my mind, I reviewed the names of all the explorers of whom I had ever heard. Erickson, De Gama, Columbus, Magellan, Livingston, and Armstrong passed in a great parade before me till the last in the line held out his hand to me and I became one of them.

With this thought it occurred to me that I was looking in the wrong direction. Surely, it was not land that was greatest, but the men who conquered it. I turned my eyes from the window, to the interior of the spaceship. The majesty which I had at first seen outside, now seemed to be outshone by the glory of ourselves. The men who surrounded me seemed to radiate it, but I thought myself the brightest. The thought flashed through me that at last we had conquered the Olympus of the gods and had ourselves become gods.

The order came to land, and instantly there was a great rush for the door. I had thought we were gods; now I wondered if we were even men. We became almost beasts each in our wild efforts to be the first to set foot on the new territory. I struggled as hard as the rest, but though I bit and scratched, it was my misfortune to be the smallest of the party, and I stepped out last.

Immediately, I was oppressed with a sense of my own insignificance. Could I actually have made a god of such a puny creature as I? Quickly, I looked at my companions. They seemed to have shrunk to half their former size. I found that I was afraid—terrified—a small child alone in the dark. If this was Olympus, then we had not conquered it, nor the god of it. I turned to flee to the spaceship but it also had shrunk. Where could I hide from the glory to which I had foolishly climbed? I fell to my knees and cried, “Oh God, when will we reach the bounds of our habitation? How long till Thou sayest ‘Thus far and no further’? Have we not built Babel high enough?”

Then I looked at the blackness of space around me and I laughed. The universe was not large enough to hold the Eternal and had I thought that I had reached His dwelling place? We had not come so far. We were but human and the creation stretched beyond Mars. 

...kinda fun making the poor guy go through so many wrong attitudes towards man and the cosmos before he hits on the right one.

A Piece of Poetry

One day I was sitting in a rocker comfortably reading Marcus Aurelius (this was in the days when I still read philosophy for personal enjoyment), when one line suddenly popped out at me.  I had to write a poem on it at once, which I did, and hear it is.  

The End of the Play

“For what shall be a complete drama is determined by him who was once the cause of its composition, and now of its dissolution: but thou art the cause of neither. Depart then satisfied, for he also who releases thee is satisfied.”

--The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius

When Shakespeare cries out “Finis”

Who will say he doeth wrong?

Will Romeo plead for one last kiss,

Or Falstaff one last song?

When Rostand ties the curtain fast

Who will argue with his will?

Will Cyrano wave his nose and blast,

“I’ve three more men to kill"?

Shall love and laughter bind us

Close to the props and the stage?

Will sham-fight thrill and glory case us

In plastic armor’s cage?

Chekhov ends his one-act play,

And who will rise to his height?

Not justly so will the actor say,

“Playwright, the play’s not right.”

But short or long, the play’s the thing.

We the players must be tried.

Then play your part, the author watching,

May watch, well satisfied.

Don Quixote

George Bernard Shaw once said, “Reading made Don Quixote a gentleman. Believing what he read made him mad.” Shaw was wrong. Don Quixote was a gentleman by birth, long before he began to read. And as for the accusation that believing what he read made him mad, I deny that it ever had any such effect. He simply had an extraordinarily keen sense of chivalry and romance, and was unfortunately born in an age of people who were lacking in that faculty. That he saw giants where others saw only windmills, was not a sign of his supposed mental degeneracy, but of the rest of the world’s blindness. The giants were not imaginary. Can anyone fail to see in those windmills, a symbol of the growing power of science and technology, and fault Don Quixote for wanting to take them down a peg or two? Do we blame him because it happened that the windmills took him down instead? Don Quixote was one of the great people who are able to find adventure even in common experiences, but let us hope that he is not the last. To look at a broken down nag and say “Rocinante”—not the nag that you were, but what I will make of you now—what is that but to follow in the footsteps of the Highest? Let there be more such men.

My Blogging Debut Speech

Today begins a new epoch in my life.  I have become a blogger.  At this juncture, I am moved to analyze the causes leading to this revolution.  Why have I become a blogger?  I never even liked blogs before.  And I've never kept a journal for longer than three months.  Why have I suddenly decided to take on the burden of maintaining a blog?

Mainly because I have become a college student, I believe.  On the surface, it may appear that a college student would have even less time for blogging than anyone else.  Which is quite true.  But it isn't a matter of time.  It's a matter of what college does to your mind.  The intellectual strain must find relief somewhere--hence my blog.  After research papers and history exams have worn me thin, this blog shall be an escape into random musings.  What traces of brilliancy may appear here, will be G. K. Chesterton's, not mine. 

Which brings us to the question of Chesterton.  Why is my blog so heavily devoted to him?  I shall list several reasons, in the order in which they occur to me.

1.  Chesterton is the reason I survive in college.  He can be consulted beneficially on every subject.  He deserves a blog in his honor.
2.  Chesterton can provide interesting posts for me, when I am too lazy to come up with anything of my own.  (Yes, Prof. C., they will be properly referenced.)
3.  If I post Chesterton, I will actually enjoy reading my posts.
4.  If I didn't devote this blog to Chesterton, I would still end up bringing him into it anyway.  I might as well do it at the beginning officially.
5.  Because I want to.  And I shouldn't live with unfulfilled desires should I?

This concludes my presentation speech.  As my mouse arrow moves toward the "publish post" button, I say a bittersweet good-bye to my pre-blogger life, and embrace the new blogger life before me.