The Surrender of the Letter

I've been thinking - when you're beginning to look like an eccentric silly old woman to the young set in your family it's time to make some changes.  I think I'm starting to look that way because I've persisted in sending them postal mail - maybe not frequently, but regularly.  And I have wondered why a letter in the mail doesn't thrill them like it thrilled me in my youth.

Why were letters so thrilling when I was young?  Because they were the only line of communication, of course.  No, I wasn't born before the telephone was in common use, but long distance calls were costly, and so the only way to communicate inexpensively was the postal service.  I suppose I still like letters because they bring back memories of the excitement I always felt when Daddy came home from the post office with letters from far-off relatives.

You learned about deaths and catastrophies via a long distance call, so you could count on a letter to have happy news or at least the news of everyday life.  Letters were often saved - sometimes in pretty old hat boxes or attractive candy boxes after the candy was gone.  It wasn't unusual for them to be passed down to the next generation.  A lot of family histories have been preserved in letters.  In fact, a lot of our nation's history has been passed down in letters.

But today a letter is hardly a blip on any young person's radar screen.  And - now that I think about it - why should it be?  We all communicate by text now.  Even e-mail is outmoded for personal communication.  As fast as a thought comes into our heads, we can communicate it to someone else and they receive it instantaneously.  No wonder today's youth view letters as unneccessary or even annoying.  No doubt I'd feel the same if I had grown up in this hi-tech age.  

So I've decided to surrender to technology and discontinue postal mail to the young set.  When you have to text to inquire if a letter was received two or three weeks after it was mailed, it's time to make a change. I'll continue to write to my old friends - or, to be more precise - to my friends who are old.  They have the same thrilling postal memories that I have.

Slosh, Slosh, Slosh

Ten days ago I wrote this in an unfinished blog post:

Two more inches of rain last night.  The horses are beginning to think they are water buffalo.  We put them in the barn at night with plenty of hay.  If I were a horse, I'd be happy to stay in my nice dry stall in this cold wet weather, but they don't like to be stalled all the time.  I've let them out in the pasture where they are sloshing and squishing around in the mud and nibbling on the precious little bit of grass they can find.  I'm praying that a good crop of grass will make its way through the mud when spring arrives.  Spring!  The very word is beautiful!  I've never looked forward to spring like I'm looking forward to it this year!

Since writing this, we've had some spring-like weather with daytime highs in the upper 70s and warm, humid nights that required air-conditioning.  A line of thunder storms passed through last night bringing more rain, cooler temperatures, and plenty of sun.  I don't want to return to the ice we had earlier this month, but I'm not ready for the heat either, so I'm glad to have a little cool down.  It's a fine day!

I'm sitting at the tack room desk where I have a good view of the pasture.  I see that Rocky is celebrating the fine weather by having a good roll in the mud.  From the looks of Fay and Tesoro, they've already had their roll.  I guess it's just as well that I didn't spend any time grooming them this morning.

The barn kitchen/tack room project is coming along.  Originally these two rooms (with a bath room in between) were meant to be a general storage room and a tack room for all the horse stuff.  The walls and ceilings were finished, but we had never put anything on the concrete floors.  Over the years the storage room became Jerry's makeshift kitchen and the tack room became a catch-all.  Now there are new floors, new kitchen cabinets, and freshly painted walls and ceilings. 

The barn aisle is cluttered with stuff that had to come out of these rooms when the flooring was installed.  We are now at the inevitable slow part of any project - all the little details.  The clutter has to be gone through and decisions made about what's to be gotten rid of and how to organize and place what we're keeping.  

I miss the barn aisle where all the horse grooming is done.  It's not functioning very well because of all the clutter.   There's not much grooming going on, and the horses are overdue for a worming.  I knew we had wormers, but had no idea where they were until Jerry ran across them this morning when he was moving some boxes.  

Well, dear Reader, I must be off to clean something - or organize something - or steal a few minutes to read a page or two in Susan Branch's new book, A Fine Romance:  Falling in Love with the English Countryside.  I'm taking my good old sweet time reading it because I do not want it to end!  More about it later . . .

Life on the Bayou

It's not every year that we have a bona fide winter here in southern Louisiana, but we're having one this year.  We've had gray days with ice and sleet and bitter north winds over the bayou.  The horses started putting on their winter coats early in September.  I wondered then if it meant that a cold winter was coming and apparently it did.

The bayou is teeming with beautiful white pelicans, cormorants, and even a few sea gulls - from regions that make our winter seem mild, I guess.  I bundled up in two jackets, hat, scarf, and gloves and stood on our little dock with my camera, hoping to get some good pelican pictures.  I thought I might scare them away, but they didn't seem to notice me.

 

 

They have what looks like a well choreographed routine.  They float along like swans for a while.  Then all of a sudden they all take wing at once and fly a little ways up the bayou where they skid back on to the water to float a minute or two.  Then they all take wing again and fly back down the bayou.  This goes on and on - back and forth.  It must be nature's way of keeping them warm - and keeping them fit enough to fly home when spring comes.  As a

bonus - while taking pictures of pelicans - I got a lucky shot of a heron having his breakfast.

There's not as much boat traffic on the bayou as there is bird traffic these days.  But this morning the birds had to make way for a very large tow passing by - large enough to need a tug in front pulling and one behind pushing.  The spiffy red tug reminded me of "Little Toot," the tug boat in one of my favorite childhood books.  I don't know what the large vessel on the barge is - probably equipment for one of the local chemical plants.

Our latest project is a renovation of the tack room and kitchen in the barn.  Chaos reigns right now since a lot of "stuff" had to be moved into the barn aisle so that work could proceed.  More about this in my next post.

 I'm off now to do a little work in the barn.  It's still cold, but the glorious sun is lifting my spirits after a string of gray dismal days.  Spring will be more welcome than usual this year.

 

Down the Bayou Theology

Wow!  Ol' Phil Robertson really started some hoopla with his comments to GQ magazine.  You can read about his interview with GQ HERE.  I doubt that Phil is surprised at the reactions or the consequences.  Phil is not a fool, and he's not a coward either.  I might wish that his remarks had been less crass, but for the most part Phil and I are simpatico - although I am not a fan of long, unkept beards, but that's another story.

Phil has got me to thinking about the reality of sin - all kinds of sin, not just sexual sins.  Sin is a reality in spite of the politically correct decree that it doesn't exist.  The law of gravity would exist even if the PC crowd railed against, and so it is with sin.

It's our sins that separate us from God.  It seems to me that there are two broad categories of sin.  There's the wilful, premeditated, planned-ahead-for sin.   And there's the accidental, "I honest to goodness did not mean to do that" kind of sin.

I think there are three ways that we can react to our own sinning, and here they are.

We can keep on sinning, as secretly as possible so we can pretend to be something in public that we know we're not in private.  This method is called hypocricy.  Hypocrisy is bad, and I don't mean to white wash it.  But if we practice hypocrisy because we would be ashamed to be found out, it's an indication that we have some standards although we're not living up to them.  

The second method is to boldly declare that our sin is not sin, it's simply a different way of living.  We can defend our position by declaring that anyone who doesn't agree with us is a bigot.  This method is called decadence.  Hypocrisy is bad, but decadence is worse, even if they did name a popular perfume "Decadence."   Decadence means we've shamelessly tossed the standards.

The third method is repentance.  We can admit we have sinned and throw ourselves on the mercy of God.  While we're about it, we can admit that we are frail, weak human beings and will continue to sin if we don't get some divine assistance.  And divine assistance is always available through faith in Our Lord Jesus Christ.  

Repentance may lead some people to a steady ascent to sainthood, but that hasn't been my experience.  For me repentance has meant that I'm slowly moving in the right direction, but sometimes it's three steps forward and two back.  But progress in the right direction, albeit slow, is infinitely better than progress in the wrong direction.  And I don't think there's any such thing as standing still.  We're always progressing in one direction or the other.

The most difficult of these three methods is repentance.  Good things never come easy, and repentance is good because it's the only one of these three methods that leads to happiness.

This and That

 And you thought Alice's White Rabbit was late . . .
     I mentioned this stuffed rabbit project in my last post.  It may have taken 21 years to finish Miss Bunny, but she's a cute little thing!  Who says I don't follow through?

Ergonomics
     Bending over a table to cut out fabric is hard on the back.   I've tried cutting out on the bar in the kitchen, but find that it's a little too high -

especially if I'm using a rotary cutter.  The table in my craft room is 29.5 inches.  The bar is 36 inches.  Obviously, I needed something in between, and this got me to wondering.  I'm about 5 ft. 5 in. tall. What is the ideal work table or

counter height for me?  According to ergonomic experts on the internet, ideal counter height is three to four inches below your elbow.  No kidding!  Who knew?   This means my ideal counter height is 33 to 34 inches.  After looking around on the internet, I found this set of furniture feet, and my enterprising hubby attached them to the table legs.  Now my table is 33.5 inches high, and what a difference it makes to my temperamental back!  Someday I'll get around to painting the feet to match the table legs; but I've got too many projects going right now, and I need the table.  (Yes, I know my craft room is a mess.  It's even worse than this sometimes.)

Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin
     I've been re-watching the Nero Wolfe DVDs that Charmain gave me for Christmas several years ago.  I'll paraphrase an interesting conversation between Nero, the detective, and Archie, his assistant.  This calm exchange came after a heated argument between the two of them.

Nero:  It can't be helped, Archie.  It's just the way we are.  You are hot-headed and impulsive while I am . . . (he pauses to think) . . . magisterial.  We are bound to clash.  It's a miracle that we get along at all.
 
Archie:  (on his way out the door) . . . Yeah, well, I've got errands to run, and I need a break from the "miracle."

Don't we all have a few "miracle" relationships like this in our lives?  And don't we all need a break from them sometimes?

Creativity and Order (or How I've Been Pulled Apart by a Rabbit)

There are times - even in the best of marriages - when you can hardly live with each other, but you know your life would be empty and meaningless if you were apart.  Creativity and Order are married, and that's pretty much how they feel about each other.  

For the sake of personification, I'm going to refer to Creativity as "she" and Order as "he" - probably because my father was a meticulously organized man; and although my mother was pretty well organized, she was willing to put up with a certain amount of mess for the sake of progress on a creative project.  But if you want to think of Creativity as masculine and Order as feminine, go right ahead.

As individuals, I think we all have a creative side and an orderly side.  Creativity in some people is dominant, and they don't pay much attention to Order.  They are happy creating in the middle of a perpetual mess.  In other people, Order is dominant, and Creativity is squelched.  These Order dominant people are happy in their pristine, uncluttered, highly organized environment where very little, if anything, is ever created.  The Creativity dominant person and the Order dominant person live very different lives, but they are both content with their circumstances.

But then there's the hybrid - and I'm one of these - in whom Creativity and Order are pretty well balanced.  Hybrids often suffer from inner turmoil.  After all, Creativity just wants to create.  She's got a kajillion ideas running around in her head, and she wants to implement them.  She feels like time spent organizing is taking away from the time she could spend on her numerous projects.  On the other hand, Order likes things to be tidy - really tidy.  He tries to talk Creativity into neatness by telling her she will be able to find her tools and other supplies easier if things are organized.  She knows this is true, but she suspects that Order doesn't really care if any projects get done or not as long as everything has its place and stays there.  Needless to say, their relationship is rocky.

A few days ago, my own inner Order got the upper hand, and I started doing some straightening up in my sewing closet.  I came across a plastic bag on a high shelf.  In it was a naked stuffed bunny with very long ears and a cute embroidered face.  Included in the bag was the pattern I had used to make the bunny as well as patterns for the bunny's clothes.  The clothes - pantaloons, dress, and apron - were cut out of coordinating fabric and neatly organized with the instructions.  I had written the date on the pattern - November 10, 1992. I don't remember exactly why this project got put on the back burner; but when I found it, Order was soooooo proud of how well organized everything was!  Creativity was downright mad!  Who in the world takes 21 years to finish a simple stuffed bunny project?!  Creativity is now busy at the sewing machine and will have the upper hand until that naked bunny's clothes are finished.

American Exceptionalism (or Who Do You Think You Are, Mr. Putin?)

Who says America is not exceptional? Russian leader, Vladimir Putin, for one. He said so yesterday in an opinion article he wrote - an article that the New York Times thought was worthy of publication. Maybe you would have to be my age to see the irony in this.

My generation grew up during the Cold War when the Soviet Union was our arch enemy.  The Cold War was the back drop of our childhood years.  We had drills at school so we would know what to do if the Soviets (Russians) bombed us during school hours.  Every little town in America had meetings about how to prepare your family in case of a Russian attack.  A lot of people had bomb shelters built in their back  yards.  My parents considered doing this, although they never quite got around to it.  I remember that they went to a meeting once to learn how a bomb shelter should be constructed.

I remember the cranky Russian leader, Nikita Khrushchev, who liked to bang his shoe on the table to be sure he had everybody's attention.  In 1956, at a meeting in Moscow with Western diplomats, he shouted, "We will bury you!" - meaning America.  Now it's said that this statement was mistranslated, and that what Khrushchev really said was, "We will show you!" or "We will outlast you!"  Whatever.  He was mad when he said it, and it came across as a thinly veiled threat.  That's when the bomb shelter business started to boom.

Needless to say, I never thought I'd live to see the day when a Communist Russian leader could get an article, critical of the United States of America, published in the New York Times.  But this is 2013, and President Obama has had a great deal of success in "fundamently transforming America."  Read Comrade Putin's entire article here.

I'm not going to say that there's no truth in Putin's article.  Even the devil has been known to speak the truth when it suits his purposes.  But don't be deceived by Putin's saying that Americans should not think of their country as "exceptional" - that it's even dangerous for us to think we're exceptional.

What does "American Exceptionalism" mean anyway?  President Obama has put his own erroneous spin on this phrase.  In his recent speech about Syria, here, he said this:

" . . . when, with modest effort and risk, we can stop children from being gassed to death and thereby make our own children safer over the long run, I believe we should act. That's what makes America different. That's what makes us exceptional."

When you put it that way, Mr. President, who can argue with the goodness, the rightness, the virtue of keeping children from being gassed?  But alas!  That's not what is meant by "American Exceptionalism."  I begin to think there is at least as much truth in Putin's article as there is in Obama's speech.

We have to review history to understand why America is exceptional.  Since the beginning of recorded history, far more people - the vast majority of people - have lived under monarchs, dictators, or tyrants.  Whatever rights they had were given to them by the monarch, dictator, or tyrant to whom they were subject.

But God created human beings, and the rights they have come from God himself, not from any earthly ruler.  Throughout history human beings have instinctively known this and have made various attempts to assert their God-given rights.  Some attempts have been more successful than others.

In 1215, on a summer's day, a group of feudal barons met at Runnymeade, about 20 miles west of London, England; and here the Magna Carta (Great Charter) was born.  This document was a milestone in human history because it limited the king's powers and guaranteed the baron's rights.  An ancestor of mine, named Fitzwaren, is said to have attended the meeting at Runnymeade, but he refused to sign the Magna Carta.  He didn't think it was strong enough to accomplish what he and the other barons wanted to accomplish - securing their God given rights.  He may have missed out on the fame of having history record him as a signer of the Magna Carta, but history proved him right.  As time passed, most of the clauses of the Magna Carta were repealed. Today the United Kingdom has a lot in common with a socialist state where individual rights are more restricted than they are here in the United States.

The French were a bit more strident in their efforts to get out from under the rule of Royalty.  They beheaded as many members of the aristocracy as they could get their hands on during the French Revolution (1789-1799).  What they ended up with after the revolution wasn't exactly freedom - it was Napoleon Bonaparte who declared himself Emperor.  By 1814 the French had had enough of Napoleon, and so they ousted him.  There were a few royals left who still had their heads, so Louis XVIII was installed on the French throne.  Today France, like England, is socialist in nature.

And then there's Russia, Mr. Putin's country.  The Russian Revolution began in 1917.  The Russians forced Czar Nicholas to abdicate.  Later they executed Nicholas, his wife, his son, his four daughters, the family doctor, a maid servant, and the cook - and maybe the family dog, too.  I don't know.  At any rate, I guess the Russians thought they had been thorough enough that freedom would surely reign for the common people.  But what did they get?  Communism and tyrants far more ruthless than the Czar and his family.

It's worth noting that both the French Revolution and the Russian Revolution were atheistic in nature.  Napoleon went so far as to come up with his own calendar that had nothing to do with Our Lord Jesus Christ.  Success in the Russian Soviet Union required publically professing atheism and avoiding religious activities.

After discussing failed attempts to lay hold of God given rights, let's talk about a successful attempt - The American Revolution, wherein we won our independence from Great Britain and King George.  The aftermath of the American Revolution saw the creation of a political system that had never been seen in the world before - a system of laws to protect its citizens, and - at the same time - a system of rights that gave the individual an opportunity to flourish whether that individual's origins were humble or great.  When we compare this to the rest of the world's history, how can anybody say that the United States of American is not exceptional?

Why was the American experiment so successful in spite of its internal squabbles and flaws?  Because we were not founded on atheism.  We were founded on a belief in God Almighty.  All those who were instrumental in the founding of this country believed in God, and most were professing Christians.  God blessed us with success.

And now - a cautionary note.  Just because we have been and are exceptional does not mean we always will be.  We're skating on thin ice now as we let atheistic forces have undue influence, and as we allow truth to be sacrificed on a daily basis on the altar of political correctness.  May we see the error of our ways!

But in the meantime, don't let Mr. Putin tell you we're not exceptional, and don't let Mr. Obama change the definition of American Exceptionalism to some watered-down politically correct idea.  The history of the world is evidence of American Exceptionalism, and so is the fact that millions of people all over the world are striving to come here.  God bless America!