Friday, February 24, 2012

Old, But Valuable

Too much can be lost when books and music have a limited audience and then go out of print.  You might happen upon them in a thrift store or Ebay or even on Amazon, but there’s a reason they are no longer in print; they would be unprofitable.  Out of print and unprofitable don’t mean without value, however. 

I ordered this out of print book of poetry for a single poem and found others that touched me.  Here are two of them.

You! Jonah!: Thomas John Carlisle: Books
ASIN: B001CJQS5Y

by Thomas John Carlisle, published in 1968, a collection of poems about Jonah.

 

NEGOTIATION WITH A HIGHER POWER

I will demonstrate

my immediate

obedience

providing You comply

with my demand

for a more satisfying

assignment.

 


COMING AND GOING

The word came

And he went

In the other direction.

 

God said: Cry

tears of compassion

tears of repentance;

cry against

the reek of unrighteousness;

cry for

the right turn

the contrite spirit.

 

And Jonah rose

And fled

In tearless

silence.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

True Art

What follows is a quote from Makoto Fujimura, a New York artist and founder of the International Arts movement.  It was taken from the commencement speech he gave last spring at Belhaven University in Jackson, Mississippi.  You can find the complete text of the speech here.

True Art does not chase after novelty—it is a sensory quest toward the New order of what God is creating, toward fully realized humanity. Using our senses, Art poses deeper questions, rather than giving easy answers.  To be truly human in a liquid reality, we must re-define what the culture of fear and cynicism deems as the “world that ought to be.”  "The World that Ought" to be is not an utopia; it is instead created out of sacrificial love. To love is to quest for the “World that Ought to Be.” Love is enduring and love uses all of our senses. Love is generative, and will create the stage for the New to appear. The role of the artist in a liquid reality is to awaken all of our senses through creativity and love. 

He tells us what, but not how.  The how is for us to find.  On to the search to awaken my readers through creativity and love . . .

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

The Door Into Summer

There is one book I can never forget, but I rarely admit to reading.  It’s time for true confessions.  In the book, the cat—yes, it’s a cat book and it’s not my other favorite cat book:

Millions of Cats (Gift Edition) (Picture Puffin Books) A repetitive story for young children)

--in

The Door into Summer

the cat, in winter, cries and meows at every door of the house, always hoping that one will open into summer.  There’s something in all of us that hopes for that one elusive opportunity/adventure that might be just around the corner, over the hill, around the bend, or through the door.  Especially under the bleak skies of winter, we need that hope. 

In this short novel of my childhood, the protagonist’s life has fallen apart; he needs his own door into summer.  The way he finds it is pure science fiction involving cryogenics and time travel.  We don’t have that technology at our beck and call.  How do we find our door into summer?

By now you’re wondering if I have the answer. . . I could drag this on and let you keep wondering, but I’m not cruel.  Sometimes finding that door requires waiting.  How long?  Minutes, days, weeks, months, years. . .decades?   Scientists may spend decades or a lifetime looking for a breakthrough.  Students spend years in school waiting for that first job that will take them on a new adventure.  Parents spend months awaiting the birth of their child and making preparations for that child’s homecoming.

Our wait is not passive.  Like the cat, we have to check out those doors.  One of them may lead to summer.  But when they don’t, we wait.  The word most non-Americans use to describe a waiting line is “queue,” a word that sprang from the French word for tail.  A cat looking for the door into summer has a tail that drags on the ground in disappointment.  The cat who waits in expectation has a tail held high with a quiver and a shake as thoughts of what might be run through the cat’s mind.

The scientists prepare for that breakthrough every day they study and experiment.  The students study, and search out internships, to narrow their field of interest.  Expectant parents delay their own needs to make the baby’s entrance smooth, even to changing their diet, their transportation, and their abode.  And like the cat, we prepare with tail held high in expectation of what lies through the next door.

That not so easy for we of the complex minds.  Cats have few desires—eat, attention, sleep, play.  My more complex mind is filled with the stuff of business: taxes, marketing, paperwork, and the stuff of life: cooking, cleaning, paying bills, buying groceries, accommodating a dying parent, planning upcoming birthdays, and other mundane activities.  How do we look past these and leave space to prepare and be expectant?

One way is to celebrate the season of Lent, the 40 days (not including Sundays) preceding Easter.  Ash Wednesday, today, is that start of that.  What can we do to prepare room for God and remain expectant?  Sometimes it means letting go of something that deprives us of space and time for deeper thought like television or reading or listening to music or twitter or Facebook or games or radio.  Sometimes it means letting go of something we don’t think we could live without.  Perhaps that means to use public transportation or bum rides instead of using your car.  Or it might mean that you stop eating food that contains calories, but little nutritional value (candy, chips, pop), or food high in fat, or meat, or whatever.  Maybe it means sharing what you have been afraid others might misuse.  What might it mean for you?

Whatever it is, forty days is only a little over a month.  That’s not so long.  Yet, it’s long enough to form a new habit, a new way of life.  Are you, like me, looking for that door into summer this February.  Then join me for Lent and form a new habit of preparation and expectation.  Then you, too, will be able to hold your tail high, knowing that your wait will not be in vain.

 

Monday, February 13, 2012

Support the Buckeye Trail

 
I received the letter below and want to encourage you to support the Buckeye Trail.  I am offering a 2-night at my cabin for the silent auction. 
 
 
Monday, February 13, 2012
Dear Diana,
Hello, my name is Yvonne and I am an avid hiker and backpacker. From the Foothills Trail of North Carolina…the Sheltowee Trace of Kentucky…the Appalachian Trail reaching from Georgia to Maine and the great state of Ohio’s own Buckeye Trail, I have backpacked hundreds of miles on these footpaths. From the strenuous climbs of a rugged mountain, to the views of a peaceful valley spreading below, I am passionate about them all and because of that love I want to help build, maintain and promote the trails and to protect the lands on which they traverse.
I want to focus on just one of these beautiful trails today…Ohio’s Buckeye Trail. The Buckeye Trail is a 1,444 mile hiking trail located entirely within the state of Ohio. It traverses 49 of Ohio’s 88 counties. From the southern terminus at Eden Park overlooking the Ohio River…this trail follows old canal towpaths, abandoned railroad rights of way, rivers, lakeshores, rural byways and primitive footpaths over forested public and private lands. It passes through state forests, state and local parks and many small towns and urban areas where traveling on foot gives you a unique perspective of our state. It is truly a gem in our very own back yards…that needs to be preserved, protected and maintained for now and for future generations.
As a volunteer of the Buckeye Trail Association (BTA), a 501(c) 3, nonprofit organization formed in 1959, I am coordinating the Silent Auction to be held at the 1st Annual Buckeye TrailFest. On April 26th-29th, 2012, the Buckeye TrailFest will feature Presentations, Workshops, Field Trips, Hikes, and this fundraiser. This letter is a personal invitation for you to get involved and to possibly donate towards this Silent Auction. All proceeds from the auction will benefit the BTA and may be tax deductible.
Thank you, for reading this letter, for researching our websites and for considering making a donation to the Buckeye TrailFest. This Silent Auction will be a grand fundraiser and a romantic weekend package for two or any offer, will be greatly appreciated by myself, Andy Niekamp and the many hikers and backpackers of Ohio…Check out their websites at http://www.buckeyetrailfest.org/ and http://www.buckeyetrail.org/
Loving Life,
Yvonne Entingh
Buckeye TrailFest Silent Auction Coordinator

Friday, February 3, 2012

Trees and Utilities

This morning as I work on taxes—yes, the dreaded taxes—the Bumble beehorrifying sound of a chain saw splits the silence, as though millions of bees were buzzing in anger at the loss of their homes and food.  The white-painted steel pole lifted the orange-jacketed cutter high, into the marble limbs of the sycamore, one of our majestic trees, as beautiful in winter with it’s skeleton arms embracing the winds, as it is in summer with its shade.  I can tell you the reasons why these majestic trees are trimmed and downed.  Cities want the streets to receive full sun to aid in ice melt, telephone companies want to preserve the connection, and electric utilities want us to keep our lifestyle.  Let’s consider whether these reasons are valid. 

First, the cities.  We all want safe streets.  But at what price?  In the south, the beautiful tree-lined driveways and avenues draw us to their shade.  Even here in the north, the summer heat is fiercer and lasts longer than winter cold.  Would you prefer summer shade or winter’s speedier ice melt?  Consider the aesthetics.  The dappled shade of a street sheltered by overhanging branches has far more beauty than amputated limbs.  How much value to we place on shade and beauty?  When CEO’s and lawyers perform cost/benefit analysis, the individual person and the individual tree or creature, always loses. If a business releases fumes that affect only a few, but brings money into a region, we ignore the few, for the benefit of the many.  Follow the money and you will see what is important to the powers that be. 

Just as an aside, here, Jesus never sided with the many over the needs of one or a few.  He was the one of whom the local leader said, “Better one man should die than the nation perish.”  He spent time with the Samaritan woman (who others rejected), rescued the woman caught in adultery (who others would have killed), and was available to all who were disenfranchised.  Paul, his appointed ambassador to other nations, was almost killed for interfering with the local manufacturing economy, when he told people the truth about idols and convinced them not to purchase such things.  Follow the money, follow the power, follow the greed.

Next the telephone, the wired communication device still present in some homes.  During an electrical outage, wired phones will function, unless, of course, they are cordless.  My mother cannot use a cellphone, so I keep a wired phone at my mother’s house for this reason, and one at mine so she can contact me in an emergency.  But, my mother is dying.  In a few months, the reason for the phone at her house, and at mine, will be gone.  I know there are others in that situation and for them, phone lines are critical.  We need a phone that looks and works like a wired phone, but uses the cell system.  If such a device existed, we could all say “goodbye” to the wires.

Finally, the electric utility makes the harshest cuts, trimming the upper branches on the side of a tree nearest its lines, or topping a tree within 10 feet of where its lines run.  Although it sickens me to see a tree topped or improperly trimmed, we need a stable supply of electricity. I don’t know anyone who could live without electricity.

My husband and I have debated purchasing a generator to provide us with electricity during an outage.  We don’t need electricity for heat; we have a wood stove.  We do need electricity for our water; our well pump is electric.  We also would like to preserve food in our refrigerator and freezer.  But, a long-term electrical outage would also affect our ability to obtain gas for the generator.  Gas station pumps are electric.  A long term-electric outage could bring our cities, counties, and states to their knees.  I love the trees, but I may love electricity a little more, although it chills my heart to write that.  But, without electricity, we return to the days of our ancestors, days we have never known, a time without electric lights, without anything produced using electricity (everything we now own and use), and we would be reduced to producing our own food, clothing, shelter, and other needs from wood heat and human toil.

I am much too comfortable in my life to want to make soap or spin wool and weave clothing, even if I could learn to do it.  When I attended a workshop on orienteering a few years ago (navigating using a map and compass), I realized that GPS was simpler and more accurate (at least for me).  The same applies to almost anything done by hand; someone or something else can probably do it better than I. 

Here is where I stand.  Cities should stop cutting the trees that shade our streets.  Phone companies should preserve the lines only for people who really need them.  Electric companies must do all they can to ensure a reliable supply of electricity. 

What do you think?

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Gabriella’s Cabbage Rolls

 

I first met Gabriella one winter about 10 years ago.  It had snowed and I was going door to door obtaining signatures on a petition.  My boots were caked with show and I had snow on my cap and my gloves and on every surface to which that snow could stick.  I was about half finished with the houses in that neighborhood, when I stomped my way to her door.  I rang the bell and the door was opened by a blond diminutive whose smile filled her face.  “Come in, come in out of the snow,” she said. 

I looked at her clean house with white carpet and shook my head while I quickly explained the reason for the petition.  “You must come in,” she insisted.  “You can get warm and the snow won’t hurt anything.  You really must come in.”  She gestured and I knew she wouldn’t stop asking.  I stood on the mat inside the door and watched the snow slide from my boots.  “Take off you scarf.  Can I get you a cup of tea or cocoa?  How about some cookies?  Let me get you some nut roll.”

Her accent and the words “nut roll” brought back memories of a bakery I had visited as a child living in the Cleveland suburbs.  “Where are you from?” I asked.

“We’re Hungarian,” she said.  It wasn’t ‘til much later in our friendship (because that’s what it became) that I heard the story of her life in Hungary during the aftermath of the 2nd World War, and her need to apply for asylum in the United States.  The story of a young woman who would never see her parents again.  But that’s a story for another day.

One special night—because all nights at Gabriella’s home are special—she prepared dinner.  It began with small shots of liquor, then appetizers, then the main meal.  Just at the point when I thought we were ready for dessert, she presented us with a steaming pot of Cabbage Rolls.  She explained that these were so special that they were served as a special course just after the main course.

And they were unlike anything I had ever tasted.  I need to confess that I am not a meat eater.  Yes, I eat meat on occasion, but given the option, I would rather have beans or cheese or a vegetable pasta.  This was meat, wrapped in cabbage, layered with more meat, served with sour cream on top.  One of the most succulent meals I have ever eaten. But it’s meat with a story.  Not only the story of Gabriella, but a story going back, back, back, to the time when hunters would shoot the wild boar and prepare it outdoors in a large kettle over a wood fire.  Here is the recipe, in modern parlance, just as she shared it with me when I asked her to write it down.  And as for those nut rolls, she gave me the recipe for that, also, but it was too complicated for me to follow.  In pity, she provides me with a nut roll every winter.

 

From Gabriella: "Here is the cabbage roll recipe. Please study. You do know that it needs to be served with sour cream on the top and fresh French bread--nothing else, only crepes if you want to do dessert."

  1. Place in freezer 1 big or 2 small green cabbages. Leave for several days before thawing.

  2. 3 lbs. Bob Evans Sausage Rolls

    1 lbs. ground beef

    1.5 c. rice

    3 eggs

    Salt, pepper, red paprika to taste

    1 chopped onion

    2 chopped garlic cloves

  3. Mix well all ingredients in large bowl and add 2-3 c. warm water and mix.

  4. 5-6 lbs sauerkraut, drain juice and mix with 1-2 tsp. caraway seeds and 10 bay leaves.

  5. 1-2 lbs. smoked ribs or sausage.

  6. Carefully peel leaves off of cabbage and put in several T. of the meat mixture and wrap into packages.  Large pan. Place 1/3 sauerkraut on bottom then 1/2 smoked meat and place cabbage rolls on top. Then 1/3 sauerkraut, then cabbage rolls, the rest of the smoked meat, then the last of the sauerkraut. Add water to cover almost to top. Place in 350 oven and cook 3 hours then lower heat to 250 and cook 3 more hours. Before serving add paprika to top of pan.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Novel Prologue

PROLOGUE

Middle East, 9th Century B.C.

I shuffled to the edge of the cliff, tempted to keep moving, but my feet hesitated of their own accord. I looked down at the stream below, and then rolled my head up toward the clouds that always obscured the mountain; no help would come from there. I sloughed off my pack and sat on the edge. My legs dangled over the gorge; one push and I would have peace. The wind held echoes of the mocking voices. “What’s wrong now? Haven’t you done enough?” I tore a leafy twig from the wiry shrub growing out of the rocky cliff, leaving a green scar. The twig bent and twisted in my hands, until it snapped. I watched as the pieces fluttered down, down, down.

“I have had enough,” I whispered to no one in particular. I put my arms behind me and leaned back. He deserved to know.

“I DID EVERYTHING YOU ASKED,” I shouted up at the mountain. “I did everything you asked. . . Lord.” I had been spit on, burned, and betrayed, and now the Queen’s men would surely kill me.

“I am as good as dead, now. Take me. Kill me,” I shouted. There was no one to hear. Better to die by the hand of YHWH, the creator and destroyer of all, or by my own hand, than to fall into the hands of Queen Jezebel. She would never have what she wanted. I would not let that happen. I leaned back and lay on the ground, and waited. I had served and I was finished. If YHWH did not take me, all I had to do was sit up and push off, and I would join the ancients . . . or not. Right now, I didn’t even care. My heart beat through my bones, waiting for the thunder of horses’ hooves to overtake it. I closed my eyes and fingered the fine stitching on my sash. There had been better times.