House of Mirth--Not Wharton's, Mine

Despite the gloom of this foggy day, I feel mirth gurgling inside, and it keeps spilling over at the oddest moments.

I laugh when I learn I forgot a supervisor's meeting in the writing center--I was the one who sent out the reminder email yesterday!

I laugh when I realize I don't have a clue about trigonometry--it's the first "new" information I've encountered in my math class.

I laugh at the professor's delight at seeing me show up to observe in a class on a day when his students are peer-reviewing each other's annotated bibliographies--how nice it is to feel useful and be appreciated.

I laugh when I get to my French professor's office and my application essay I wanted her to review is nowhere to be found in my online file and when the only items in her inbox are two "new" messages from last year--who knows where we would be without computers?

I laugh when three quarters of the cake Mrs. B. baked for one of my co-workers is consumed before the birthday boy arrives for his shift--Happy birthday, Zak! The cake was great and I hope you get some.

I laugh when the Greek test reveals how little I really know about the language--for all the study and review, my mind is a tubula rasa--oh, wait, that's Latin, isn't it?

I laugh when I, a student of language, literature, and writing, find words inadequate to convey meaning--if I can't write something meaningful, where does that leave the rest humanity?

I laugh, when for all the reasons in the world, and for the weather, too, I should be gloomy--tears have their place, but not for me, and not today.

Straighten Up

When I was a little girl, my grandfather was constantly reprimanding me for my bad posture. He suffered from scoliosis and so was hyper-conscious of others' form. As most children tend to do, I slumped. Despite his words echoing in my memory, I still slump. I'm slumping now at my desk as I type. Some people never learn, do they?

It's not just my physical posture that could use improvement these days. It's my posture as a thinking believer, too. And for that reason, I'm thankful for this reminder by Anna Blanch on prayerfully approaching research. I should learn the Aquinas meditation my heart.

How Sweet the Sound

Video: Il Divo, "Amazing Grace"

When John Newton's testimony is retold in four-part harmony, against the stunning backdrop of the Coliseum that was once the site of horrific persecution, it reminds me of the lasting and redemptive power grace has in the human experience. Thanks be to God.

Where have you experienced grace, and what did it look like?

Bright Star

One of the beauties--or banes, if you prefer--of the internet is that you can nearly always find someone who shares your opinion of any given subject. Take the recent film Bright Star about John Keats' love affair with Fanny Brawne, for instance. It's rare that I go see a movie, but this one called me out from among my books, being about one of my favorite poets. My roommate and I saw it a few weeks ago, and all this time, I've been wanting to write a review of it. But what to say? I found myself left dumb in the wake of such an exquisite piece of work. But Meredith says it all so I don't have to. See her post "Laboring to be beautiful" on her blog, For Keats' Sake.

Violent Meditation

C.S. Lewis, in his introduction to his Reflections on the Psalms, called poetry "a little incarnation, giving body to what had been before invisible and inaudible."

I love the way Mary Karr's poem "gives body" to her meditation on the Incarnation in her sonnet "Descending Theology: The Resurrection."

From the far star points of his pinned extremities,

cold inched in—black ice and squid ink—

till the hung flesh was empty.

Lonely in that void even for pain,

he missed his splintered feet,

the human stare buried in his face.

He ached for two hands made of meat

he could reach to the end of.

In the corpse’s core, the stone fist

of his heart began to bang

on the stiff chest’s door, and breath spilled

back into that battered shape. Now

it’s your limbs he comes to fill, as warm water

shatters at birth, rivering every way.

Poem text: The Poetry Foundation

Strict Joy

Defining serendipity:

• turning on the radio yesterday to hear Marketa Irglova and Glen Hansard being interviewed on NPR
• finding out I could listen to The Swell Season's new album, Strict Joy, on Pandora.
• learning the duo will be performing in St. Louis, December 4th.
  

A Little Cottage is Always Very Snug

How about this for a coincidence? The cute little cottage around the corner from us that's getting a makeover, the white one with shutters and whose lights were on, illuminating a buttery interior and its owners were there working a few evenings ago when my roommate and I were out for a stroll in the mist, the one I loved, is the house Dr. and Mrs. B. are fixing up. Mrs. B. saw us enjoying an afternoon stroll in the sun today and came out to say hello. I'm glad she did. We got to see inside.

Words at Play

I'm back! A little jaunt this weekend over to the 2009 Nimrod writing conference, Words at Play, at the University of Tulsa. How do you like to play with words? Or is writing all business for you?