"Outside of literary study, life has no meaning or attraction for him...he is adapted for nothing else. You may make up your mind to that."
--Written to C. S. Lewis' father by his tutor
How convenient to be adapted only for literary study! I feel especially jealous of Jack as I wade through endless college applications, barely able to read and study anything else, ironically enough. Yet, I know that at the end of this tunnel are literary studies galore, so I can't complain. Must hang on for a few more weeks and get my intellectual sustenance in the meantime by filling out financial aid forms.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Je suis fanatique des bouquinistes.
I'm currently sitting in Soj's world famous reading chair, relaxing after a long tour of practically all the bookshops in Paris. (See her blog for proof that I am actually here.)Why did we spend most of one of my few days in Paris doing that? Well, in the last thirty-six hours, I had already seen for the first time all of the following:
~ Tower Bridge
~ Big Ben
~ Parliament
~ Westminster Abbey
~ Eiffel Tower
~ Notre Dame
~ the Louvre
~ Sacre Coeur
Admittedly, some of these were seen briefly and from a distance (Every time I say "from a distance," Soj bursts into a Bette Midler song.), but, still, I would say that I had already seen plenty of major sites of London and Paris in the last day and had my fill (at least for the moment) of tourists.
Yes, I do know that I currently could fall into the tourist category, but I prefer to consider myself a "traveller." If I think of it that way, I feel less guilty about turning up my nose at all the other people in front of me in lines, many of whom I will be hating tomorrow when I actually visit the Louvre and other well-known places.
Anyway, we did the "traveller" thing today and wandered through many little Parisian streets in search of the perfect used bookshop. We visited Shakespeare and Co., the Village Voice, Tea and Tattered Pages, and many of the bouquinistes along the Seine. I never actually bought anything, except overpriced postcards, but, now, having seen some of my choices, I will probably retrace my steps tomorrow and take my picks.
In the meantime, I am sleepy, as is my hostess. I need to be rested up to see Mona Lisa tomorrow, and I also need to get Soj to stop singing cheesy songs to me, so I bid you adieu. (Soj sings, "To you, and you, and you.")
~ Tower Bridge
~ Big Ben
~ Parliament
~ Westminster Abbey
~ Eiffel Tower
~ Notre Dame
~ the Louvre
~ Sacre Coeur
Admittedly, some of these were seen briefly and from a distance (Every time I say "from a distance," Soj bursts into a Bette Midler song.), but, still, I would say that I had already seen plenty of major sites of London and Paris in the last day and had my fill (at least for the moment) of tourists.
Yes, I do know that I currently could fall into the tourist category, but I prefer to consider myself a "traveller." If I think of it that way, I feel less guilty about turning up my nose at all the other people in front of me in lines, many of whom I will be hating tomorrow when I actually visit the Louvre and other well-known places.
Anyway, we did the "traveller" thing today and wandered through many little Parisian streets in search of the perfect used bookshop. We visited Shakespeare and Co., the Village Voice, Tea and Tattered Pages, and many of the bouquinistes along the Seine. I never actually bought anything, except overpriced postcards, but, now, having seen some of my choices, I will probably retrace my steps tomorrow and take my picks.
In the meantime, I am sleepy, as is my hostess. I need to be rested up to see Mona Lisa tomorrow, and I also need to get Soj to stop singing cheesy songs to me, so I bid you adieu. (Soj sings, "To you, and you, and you.")
Saturday, August 18, 2007
The Umbrella
Dear Umbrella,
I have a confession.
I used to think umbrellas were only for elderly people. When cute little old ladies hobbled by me, carefully shielding their blue perms from the rain, I would smilingly note their quaintness. When young people carried them, I would scoff at their lack of fortitude. After all, I didn't need an umbrella. I could handle whatever moisture I accumulated between the house and the car, and I was smart enough not to walk anywhere in the rain.
Only old people needed umbrellas. And maybe the Wicked Witch of the West.
Umbrella, I have seen the light. Er, maybe it would be more accurate to say that I have seen the clouds. And the rain. And I have wished dreadfully for one of your kind.
In fact, last Thursday, I wanted you so badly that I said aloud, in public, that I was ready to kill for you. Unfortunately, I didn't feel like killing the little Asian couple that appeared around the corner a minute later, so I remained damp.
The day had started off sunnily enough, so much so that I smiled at Karena's predictions of rain and turned down her offer of a rain jacket or umbrella. My little brown coat was just fine, I assured her. And so it was, for most of the afternoon.
As I exited a bookshop, looking homeward (I thought.), a few drops fell to the ground. The local Britishers promptly opend their umbrellas and tied on their waterproof hoods, to my amusement. A few unprotected souls stepped into doorways (Just like in the books!). I was amused. A little drizzle wouldn't hurt anyone.
Then it started to rain harder.
Then I got lost.
When I finally consulted the map, I couldn't find the street I was on on the silly thing. That's because I had walked so far in the wrong direction that I was not in the part of Cambridge I expected to be in. But I didn't know that yet.
Rain started running off my nose, so I put my coat over my head.
"Maybe it will stop soon, I thought," and stepped into a doorway myself. Unfortunately, no P.G. Wodehouseish fellow was on hand with an umbrella to rescue a maiden in distress.
The rain did indeed slacken. It slackened three or four times in the next hour, in between downpours.
One especially torrential downpour found me sheltering under a tree on a green as I tried to turn the pages of a rather soaked map. I felt quite happy to be on a green, because the map showed that I should cross one on my way back to Karena's.
However, I crossed the green and the Cam River, only to find nothing familiar.
"Newnham?" A kind passerby raised her eyebrows at my request. "Oh, you're totally in the wrong direction." (Imagine this in the precisest of English accents. The beauty of it almost softened the blow of the words.)
I retraced my steps.
About the time I was back in the city centre (note brit. spelling) was when I resolved to kill for the umbrella.
My coat was soaked through. My shoes were soaked through. My purse was soaked through. My hair had come down and was soaked through. My jean skirt was soaked.
I was too wet to bother about waiting for the rain to let up, so I forged ahead. I remembered Brandon's little trick of singing, "Oh, how I love Jesus," when he was feeling miserable, so I tried it. Yes, I trudged along the streets of Cambridge singing about Jesus and trying to decide if I was up to murdering someone.
Eventually things looked familiar. St. Mary's swam into my ken. Then, as I stared with wild surmise, Charlie, Lexie, and Arthur did as well. Except they weren't swimming. They were mostly dry because they were standing in the doorway of St. Mary's waiting for either the rain to stop or Karena to arrive with the car, whichever came first. I decided to stick with them and was subsequently rescured along with them by Karena.
And, so, dear umbrella, since I survived the results of my foolishness, I do repent. Henceforth, (at least while I am in England, where rain clouds pop up at the oddest moments, and where I walk everywhere) I will carry an umbrella. Or at least wear a rain coat or something. I also resolve not to secretly mock those who carry umbrellas (at least, not those who carry them on this Island).
Perhaps this repentance is not as complete as it could be. However, allowances must be made for one brought up on Little Women. After all, "Under the Umbrella" would have had to be "Under the Umbrellas" if Jo had carried one of you with her, and that would rather have ruined the story.
That aside, I do respectfully and appreciatively remain your humble admirer,
Bria
I have a confession.
I used to think umbrellas were only for elderly people. When cute little old ladies hobbled by me, carefully shielding their blue perms from the rain, I would smilingly note their quaintness. When young people carried them, I would scoff at their lack of fortitude. After all, I didn't need an umbrella. I could handle whatever moisture I accumulated between the house and the car, and I was smart enough not to walk anywhere in the rain.
Only old people needed umbrellas. And maybe the Wicked Witch of the West.
Umbrella, I have seen the light. Er, maybe it would be more accurate to say that I have seen the clouds. And the rain. And I have wished dreadfully for one of your kind.
In fact, last Thursday, I wanted you so badly that I said aloud, in public, that I was ready to kill for you. Unfortunately, I didn't feel like killing the little Asian couple that appeared around the corner a minute later, so I remained damp.
The day had started off sunnily enough, so much so that I smiled at Karena's predictions of rain and turned down her offer of a rain jacket or umbrella. My little brown coat was just fine, I assured her. And so it was, for most of the afternoon.
As I exited a bookshop, looking homeward (I thought.), a few drops fell to the ground. The local Britishers promptly opend their umbrellas and tied on their waterproof hoods, to my amusement. A few unprotected souls stepped into doorways (Just like in the books!). I was amused. A little drizzle wouldn't hurt anyone.
Then it started to rain harder.
Then I got lost.
When I finally consulted the map, I couldn't find the street I was on on the silly thing. That's because I had walked so far in the wrong direction that I was not in the part of Cambridge I expected to be in. But I didn't know that yet.
Rain started running off my nose, so I put my coat over my head.
"Maybe it will stop soon, I thought," and stepped into a doorway myself. Unfortunately, no P.G. Wodehouseish fellow was on hand with an umbrella to rescue a maiden in distress.
The rain did indeed slacken. It slackened three or four times in the next hour, in between downpours.
One especially torrential downpour found me sheltering under a tree on a green as I tried to turn the pages of a rather soaked map. I felt quite happy to be on a green, because the map showed that I should cross one on my way back to Karena's.
However, I crossed the green and the Cam River, only to find nothing familiar.
"Newnham?" A kind passerby raised her eyebrows at my request. "Oh, you're totally in the wrong direction." (Imagine this in the precisest of English accents. The beauty of it almost softened the blow of the words.)
I retraced my steps.
About the time I was back in the city centre (note brit. spelling) was when I resolved to kill for the umbrella.
My coat was soaked through. My shoes were soaked through. My purse was soaked through. My hair had come down and was soaked through. My jean skirt was soaked.
I was too wet to bother about waiting for the rain to let up, so I forged ahead. I remembered Brandon's little trick of singing, "Oh, how I love Jesus," when he was feeling miserable, so I tried it. Yes, I trudged along the streets of Cambridge singing about Jesus and trying to decide if I was up to murdering someone.
Eventually things looked familiar. St. Mary's swam into my ken. Then, as I stared with wild surmise, Charlie, Lexie, and Arthur did as well. Except they weren't swimming. They were mostly dry because they were standing in the doorway of St. Mary's waiting for either the rain to stop or Karena to arrive with the car, whichever came first. I decided to stick with them and was subsequently rescured along with them by Karena.
And, so, dear umbrella, since I survived the results of my foolishness, I do repent. Henceforth, (at least while I am in England, where rain clouds pop up at the oddest moments, and where I walk everywhere) I will carry an umbrella. Or at least wear a rain coat or something. I also resolve not to secretly mock those who carry umbrellas (at least, not those who carry them on this Island).
Perhaps this repentance is not as complete as it could be. However, allowances must be made for one brought up on Little Women. After all, "Under the Umbrella" would have had to be "Under the Umbrellas" if Jo had carried one of you with her, and that would rather have ruined the story.
That aside, I do respectfully and appreciatively remain your humble admirer,
Bria
Friday, July 20, 2007
Half a Mustard Seed?
After discussing a disappointing situation with a friend yesterday, the friend told me she was going to pray for a miracle in said situation.
My thoughts as I mulled over the conversation later went something like this:
"I appreciate her faith, but I'm not going to waste my faith on that. I'm saving up for a miracle for Paige."
Fortunately, the Holy Spirit stepped in at that point and reminded me that He isn't limited to one miracle at a time. He doesn't wear Himself out working on one situation and find Himself too taxed to take care of one more.
And, no, faith isn't a currency I can hoard until I have enough to purchase a miracle from my own private Max the Miracle Man.
Enough of trying to screw my faith to the sticking place. I don't get it, so I'm just going to plain believe God can do what He wants and that He wants what is good. That takes enough effort as it is. Maybe that's all He's looking for, anyway?
My thoughts as I mulled over the conversation later went something like this:
"I appreciate her faith, but I'm not going to waste my faith on that. I'm saving up for a miracle for Paige."
Fortunately, the Holy Spirit stepped in at that point and reminded me that He isn't limited to one miracle at a time. He doesn't wear Himself out working on one situation and find Himself too taxed to take care of one more.
And, no, faith isn't a currency I can hoard until I have enough to purchase a miracle from my own private Max the Miracle Man.
Enough of trying to screw my faith to the sticking place. I don't get it, so I'm just going to plain believe God can do what He wants and that He wants what is good. That takes enough effort as it is. Maybe that's all He's looking for, anyway?
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Because I Love and Adore Claire (and part of me really does want to do this, too.)
Claire tagged me. Now, I have not blogged in months. However, since Claire is one of my absolutely favoritest people, I will sort of play the game by listing seven random things about myself. (A nice painless way of blogging for a backslidden blogger, no?) I'm just too lazy to think of seven more people.
1. I used to regularly read the encyclopedia for fun.
2. I would love to be a librarian. Most people who hear that exclaim, "Oh, you look like one!" I still am not sure how to react to that.
3. I want to walk across England someday.
4. I miss Jerry Trupiano.
5. I once pulled a muscle in my face while trying to spit into the sink.
6. Oh dear. I guess I won't feel bad for Mariano Rivera anymore this year.
7. I have never mowed a lawn in all my nineteen years.
Voila. A post.
1. I used to regularly read the encyclopedia for fun.
2. I would love to be a librarian. Most people who hear that exclaim, "Oh, you look like one!" I still am not sure how to react to that.
3. I want to walk across England someday.
4. I miss Jerry Trupiano.
5. I once pulled a muscle in my face while trying to spit into the sink.
6. Oh dear. I guess I won't feel bad for Mariano Rivera anymore this year.
7. I have never mowed a lawn in all my nineteen years.
Voila. A post.
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