Novus Nomen Maximus

Last year my favorite name from history was Vindex. Of course, you have to know that in Latin (and this fellow was a rebellious Roman senator) a V is pronounced as a W. I know, silly, but hey, the seventh graders loved it.

Well, as of yesterday I have a new favorite, also from Roman history. Meet Mettius Fufetius. An unfortunate fellow, Mettius Fufetius was the leader of Alba who decided to betray his alliance with the Romans during a battle. But he was outmatched in intelligence by his opponent, Tullus Hostlilius. Is it just me or does it seem really unwise to fight a man named Hostilius? At any rate, the betrayal was a stupid (are we still allowed to use that word?) choice and ended with Mettius Fufetius being executed in a fashion that Livy says "was the first and last time that fellow-countrymen of ours inflicted a punishment so utterly without regard to the laws of humanity." Poor Mettius Fufetius.

Roman history is full of interesting, unusual names like Scipio Africanus (nothing poor or stupid about him!) or Quintus Quinctius Cincinnatus or Publius Manlius (another seventh grade snicker inducer). Another name new to me this year that could be a favorite is Spurius Fusius, appointed Roman spokesman of a compact that Livy says was "in a long metrical formula, which is not worth the trouble of quoting here." The compact was before the battle between the Horatii and the Curiatii, which is a story that is worth the trouble quoting, to, um, well, coin a quote.

As I leaf through Livy there is no shortage of names that sound slightly silly to us today. But I remember reading Wonder Woman comics from the 1940s when I was a kid and being surprised at the old-fashioned quality of the names that were then only 30 years old. I'm sure the Paulines and Abigails of that era didn't feel old-fashioned any more than the Romans sounded silly. And names aren't the only things that go in and out of style, later seeming foolish, humorous or bizarre--orange shag carpet anyone?

Hmm, do you think Mettius Fufetius wore bellus-bottomi? (Sorry, Matt J., but only a little.)



Painting of "The Oath of the Horatii" by Jacques-Louis David.

Drat!

More snow. :-( Or should I say >:-<

I'm not usually one to complain about the snow--I mean I do live in a place where I anticipate there will be lots of it every year. This year, however, I am just ready for it to not be in my way.

There, I've said it. Bleh!

Spring, come visit us.

Sad Irony

I come home from being at school all day with active, voluble young people and am ready for some still and quiet time. My son comes home from being at school where he has to be still and quiet and is ready to be an active, voluble young person. And ever the twain shall meet...

Something New, Something Sublime

I've added a link in the sidebar to a friend's new online workshops. I have followed Deryn since I first commented on her artwork in the Yahoo Altered Book Group years ago. Her work has always spoken to me and I love how she integrates her faith publicly, yet without being obnoxious. (Something I probably fail at frequently.) Her blog is fantastic, although I have to confess I haven't visited in a while, but that is solely a function of time and busyness. (I actually own a Yahoo group that I never visit either.) Anyway, take a peek.

Christianity Meets Abstract Art

Makoto Fujimura - The Art of "The Four Holy Gospels" from Crossway on Vimeo.

A Re-Posting of an Always Good Lesson

I originally wrote this post in January of 2008 and accidentally came across it while searching for something else tonight. I'm going to now prove to you why I was once "elected" the safety officer for our playgroup by sharing this bit of advice again. The first title was, "The Safety Officer Speaks, or Never Play with Fire," which is a title I like better than the one above. Note that the cute baby is now taller than I am. Enjoy, and more importantly, go vacuum! :-)

----------------------------------------

Getting down to brass tacks today, I finally finished vacuuming the after-Christmas rearranging and changing, etc. In the last couple days I have safely stowed the ornaments, the putting away of which revealed the pitiful state of the bookshelf and surrounding piles. And so that had to be dealt with. How could I have so many books that I still haven't read? I pulled them all out, stuck them in a basket by the bed and cleaned the area. Once the books were back into a satisfactory state, I finished the vacuuming, which included curtains, lamp shades and the fan blades above the table. (After finishing lunch, thank you so much mom!) By then I had the vacuum so close to the kitchen that I finally remembered a task that keeps catching my eye, just not at the right moment--the dusty state of my kitchen curtain. Having completed that task my eye fell on the refrigerator.

Ah yes, the refrigerator. Did you know that you have to clean the underside of your refrigerator periodically? Especially if you have A) pets, B) a very dusty house, C) a lint-source very near, or D) children. Hmm, we fit all of these qualifications, so we try to clean this under-fridge space at least once a year, but preferably twice. But we didn't always know about this important cleaning chore, which brings up the subtitle of this post.







Once upon a time, in a house far, far away (okay, really only about 10 miles away) there lived a mostly young couple with a brand-new baby. Oh, and cats--three cats. The happy, unknowing couple had lived in this little yellow house for about 6 years, all of them with the cats, when one day mommy and baby went to visit grandma in another town. Poppa was planning to go away for the weekend on an important fishing trip with clients from work, but as things so often go, something else came up and he didn't make it on the trip. Instead, he went home to the little yellow house. When he came in the door, after petting the cats, he immediately noticed a bad smell. A terrible, something-is-catching-on-fire smell, and a scary electricity-gone-bad sort-of-sound. All of it coming from the kitchen. And those lights--they never came out from under the refrigerator before! Quickly Poppa raced over, unplugged the fridge and grabbed whatever was handy to put out the potential fire. Blessedly, cutting the electrical current was all that was needed and no fire ensued. Poppa spent some time moving the fridge and suveying the damage (yup, we needed a new fridge), then opening windows to air out the house. At which point mommy and baby arrived home. They were surprised to see Poppa, but boy were they happy to have a home!

Of all the things my mom taught me to clean, she never mentioned this one. Years worth of cat hair had collected underneath and caused all the problem. To some of you, this may seem like a no-brainer, but I once had a college roommate who couldn't change a light bulb--we all have our failings. Truthfully, I just never thought about it. Fast forward to today, when I thought to clean this so-convenient-to-get-to-space. Here's a pic of some of the fun.
Mind you, this is after I'd already vacuumed quite a bunch, so what you see here is just a little bit of the lint. The whole space underneath was full of this stuff and we just cleaned it about seven months ago or so. Go ahead--if you haven't cleaned yours, go take a look. Should I tell you here that if you haven't cleaned your fridge bottom lately and you're thinking you should, please, please, please! UNPLUG IT first! The power won't be off long enough to cause any problems, but crispy friends are never a good thing. And be prepared--you may have to come up with some creative options for cleaning--see my stick with a paper towel for swiping the really-hard-to-get-to-spots? I'm not, btw, going to recommend you undo any screws or bolts without consulting someone who knows more about these things because you never know what may come loose if you do, but please do the best you can.

And while I was thinking back to our almost fire so long ago, I realized that it was exactly one year ago today that the ground wire from the street to our house burnt out and shot 220 through our home, killing some appliances and starting a near-fire in our basement. Remember that a power strip is just a way to add more outlets for your convenience. A small surge protector keeps the electricity flow even to whatever items are plugged into it, but it does not protect against any kind of catastrophic event. If you have a major surge, those little things can blow-up/melt-down and start a fire. Keep the areas around them clean. BTW, they don't protect your computer, either. If you want to make sure your computer is safe through that kind of event, you want it plugged into something more substantial. When I left my graphics job (ten years ago this spring!) I bought a major battery back-up unit that has saved my computer twice: once when lightning struck our home and came in through the phone line, and last winter through the 220 episode. This little back-up unit died over Christmas (I probably should have replaced it sooner) and I almost went with a heavy-duty-looking surge strip, until I asked for help. The guy said to not be fooled; even the big-looking surge protectors aren't enough in a catastrophic event. Well, since we've lived through two, so I'm not taking any chances.

Oh, and don't play with matches either! The safety officer has spoken.

PS--I don't know why the pics came out with the strange white spaces. I've tried adjusting and re-exporting, but it's not helping. It's late and I haven't read any of those books, so we're just living with it. But, if you have any tips on how to fix it, please share--they really look dorky...

A New Year

I can't believe it is already another year. Not only that, but it's eight days in. The only remnants of Christmas are some decorations on the table, a poinsettia and two snowmen, who, technically aren't just Christmas and could stay up all winter if I feel so inclined (or maybe that should read "lazy").

Unfortunately I never returned from my music post to talk about how much I love the Christmas season. The lights and the anticipation speak to me in the same way as the Vivaldi music of the last post. While many people do not like the long, dark days of this time of year, I look forward to the changing of the days and the seasons. The dark makes me long for the light, which is doled out in little bits this time of year by all the lovely illuminations of Christmas. Counting the days until the magical pinnacle of Christmas Eve is sort of like Mary treasuring up things in her heart for me. The beauty and sparkle of the decorations dazzle for a brief moment, then they are put away and replaced with a clarity that is almost emptiness.

The New Year arrives and the house seems barren without the tree and all its accoutrements. Then the days slowly grow longer and the light grows. Both are welcome changes, arousing in me a desire for spring and the rebirth of the earth.

For me all of this is a reminder of what Jesus has done for me. I live in the world and see the dark until I long for the light. Just when it seems the dark will overtake all of life I see glimmers and sparkles of the miraculous, which make me long more, until the longest night is past and I remember the glorious rebirth I have been given.

Why is God's gift so easy to forget? My frailty makes it too easy for me to look the other way just when I need the light the most. The last three years have contained far too many moments and elements of darkness. I am ready for the light. I am longing.

And just like that a new year is here. May this be the year of light and growth, a year of moving ahead. Amazingly, when I look back the dark things begin to fade and I remember mostly the sparkling moments. No, I am not some starry-eyed optimist, but I am glad that this is also the way the Lord sees me through Christ. So, here's to the light and the One who brings it. Here's to a year of light and growth.

Music

I just listened to Vivaldi's "Winter" and it was so good that I'm wanting it to not end. I want to hear it again and somehow be in the middle of the orchestra. Why don't I hear music in that way all the time? My husband does.

I think I don't take the time to really listen to the music and in the moments when it really reaches out and grabs me it takes me by surprise. Some Christmas songs are like that for me, "I Wonder as I Wander" having always had that effect. The first time I heard it was when a classmate sang it at a school concert in high school. She sang it acappella and from the first hearing it gripped my soul. Since then my favorite Christmas songs have always been unusual and not often heard ones. Maybe the ones we hear all the time are the ones we quit hearing first. Too much repetition robs them of their beauty perhaps--the old despising the familiar.

When my children brought home their Christmas song books from school, I was thrilled to see "The Wexford Carol" included. It's another favorite, but one I learned on my own. "In the Bleak Midwinter," "Gabriel's Message" (Sting's version is haunting, but he changes the words to present a different message than the Bible; the best one I've heard is on a CD from Our Daily Bread), "Love Came Down at Christmas" (not the Jars of Clay version, btw), and "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" are other favorites. I know I'm missing others, and at different times more standard songs have been more esteemed. But these are the ones that touch deeper than my emotions in the last few years. These are the ones that reach my soul.

I realize, now that I've written these words, that it isn't quite Thanksgiving yet. For the first time in a long while I suppose I am feeling very ready for rejoicing. I'm not sure why. The last three years have brought enough challenges to make me feel like I have walked through a fiery place moved to the top of earth's crust (unemployment, finances, health scares, multiple deaths, constant car troubles, work challenges and on and on--I'll spare you the details; chances are you can just fill in your own name and the story would sound similar, times are hard for everyone). Even though we are still in the midst of the journey, though, I still feel ready for rejoicing. Maybe reading Lewis's "Till We Have Faces" and the ending of the book of Job have reminded me that in the end of all the pain, when we have questioned the most, that God Himself, the very one we question, is the answer. And this is the time of year we celebrate His coming.

I'm not ready to say I know my own face, but I am ready to rejoice.

Opening image by Sir Edward Burne-Jones.

Melozzo da Forli Angel

A beautiful image by Melozzo da Forli, a fifteenth century Italian artist. He was influenced by Piero della Francesca. Mostly known as a fresco artist, he was adept at the use of foreshortening.

Cool Places I've Visited Lately...

One was exceptionally cool, as in not much indoor heating: Pilot Books. However, in my mind the books more than made up for the chill. My chilled-dren (sorry, I know it's a bad pun) weren't so convinced. Score for the day? A fabulous book of Giotto's Arena Chapel frescoes illustrating the story of Christ, and two Asterix and Obelisk books in French. Yes, they can sit next to my French Tintin until I learn French someday. Sadly I did not take my camera to be able to share the fabulously old (for our area) architecture with you.


The other cool place was Mariupol Market, where I went on a Russian Club field trip. And before you ask, no I don't speak Russian either. But my son is learning it. Of course, being only eight years old, he was more excited about the candy by the pound bins than being surrounded by Russian words. I thought the shelf goods were beautiful--so different looking than American goods. And those pastries, well, they just looked plain good!

Helpful?

I was going to change my blog header tonight, but then I remembered that I would have to pull an old header off my stick drive. I really would like to create a totally new one, using a snippet of a more recent photograph. However, the program I once used to make the headers is probably about three generations (that's optimistic) behind current and the computer I used to use it on is now a rather expensive paperweight. I'm too afraid to attempt to install the old software on the computer I use now because it belongs to my school and I've had too many bad experiences with graphics software and system compatibility in my old professional life. So now in order to create a new header I'm going to have figure out some new software, then re-learn some things, which I do not currently have time to do.

All of which makes me wonder how helpful technology really is sometimes... I think I'll go heat my tea in the microwave now.


Ha!

Lost Lore, or, Reading Rescue

My daughter and I almost effected a book rescue last weekend. As we drove down the street toward home, eagerly anticipating lunch when we arrived, we saw a book in the middle of the road. Yes, just existing there quietly in the middle of the street--shocking, but true. What could I do?

I knew immediately I had to turn around and rescue it. Despite the traffic and despite the setback in the feeding schedule, we had to go back. I quickly steered Jimmy (the children's name for one of our vehicles; the pickup is conveniently called Jerry) into the unfamiliar turn lane, which finally roused my daughter's attention. She had her nose buried deep in a book.

"What are you doing, Mom?" she inquired (note the strong verb). "Z, there's a book in the road back there."

Scarcely had the words left my mouth before she exclaimed, "What?! A book? In the road?"

"Yes," I answered, "And we're going back to rescue it. I think it might be a library book."

"What?! Not a library book! We have to go back!"

"Yes, I know. Here's the plan: I'm going to drive around the block and find a convenient place to pull over. If it's safe, I want you to jump out and grab it."

"Got it, Mom."

"Don't unbuckle yet, we're not there!"

"Oh, okay."

We pulled to the stop sign and signaled for the right turn that would take us to the intersection where I had seen the unfortunate volume. Was it a library book? The glassy cover had made it seem so. But there was no orange sticker--oh wait, that's only at Hayden. Yes, I was pretty sure. The book belonged to John Q. Public. Or duty was clear.

Accelerating out onto the road (I can't say into traffic because this piece of road is really small and it just wouldn't be true), we looked toward the place where the victim awaited rescue. Just beyond the next stop sign. The book was almost in sight. Z was peering through the windshield, hand on her buckle, personal music device safely stowed next to her own borrowed novel resting on the console, ready to make her move.

But as we braked at the stop sign we realized the intersection was empty. Nothing remained but asphalt. The book had vanished! Glancing to the right we saw a white car accelerating, moving to the left back into traffic. Ahhh, another book lover.

So glad to know we're not alone in the world. Satisfied, we turned toward home where lunch still waited.


(Of course, there could be an alternative ending or two, like the person was really a book thief who had safely purloined another volume, most likely from the library, sticking some poor soul with a lost book fine and a permanent blot in the library records--Loser. Book Loser. What could be worse than that?)

Books, books and more books

Buying books.
Moving books.
Sorting books.
Looking for books.
Loaning books.
Borrowing books.
Arranging books.
Shelving books.
Moving books.
Moving books.
Moving books.

The implied subject is "I" and the helping verb is "am".

History books, literature books, children's books, art books, old books, new books, writing books, coloring books, small books, large books, heavy books, paperback books, music books, map books, used books, new books, musty books, fresh books, funny books, inspiring books, borrowed books, my books--they're all on my shelves at home and at school.

And that is my life right now as another school year comes hurdling toward me. At this time next week I will have completed the first day of the first operating year of Pascal Academy, a brand new Great Books school.

It's a good thing I like books!

While we're on the topic, anyone want to share something you read or enjoyed or hated or re-read in the last six months? I'd like to know what books are in your life.

The Importance of Being Earnest (at Least in All Things Grammatical)

Today I was given a rug for our new school. Somewhere in between finishing "The Eumenides" and beginning "Medea" I found time to wash the rug out in the front yard. To help remove extra water I scrounged up a plastic ruler to use in a squeegee-like fashion (the effects of which greatly impressed my little people). Being well trained to read any letters that enter my vision (a tendency I now fight, given the sad decline in the civility of most bumper stickers), I took in the words on the ruler and continued squishing water with it.

Then I stopped and examined the ruler more carefully. Yes, there was a reason my brain was flashing red alert signals to the part of my anatomy that is connected to a red pen much of the year. The ruler, which was most likely a freebie from a fire safety booth at last year's fair, featured the ubiquitous Smokey the Bear and his earnest message about fire safety. The message, however, didn't convey quite what was intended, I'm sure: "Smokey friends don't play with matches".

Now I ask you, if my smokey friends don't play with matches, then how do they become smokey? Cigarettes? Campfires? Arson?

In all earnestness, the only thing left for me to say is that Smokey's friends should play with a grammar book sometime soon. It will make a nice replacement for the matches.

(Oh yes--and remember, only you can prevent forest fires...)

Practice after Delacroix

I'm trying to draw more often to build up my confidence for demonstrating--something I have long felt is a weakness in my teaching. Because I don't draw often enough it takes longer to arrive at a good place than minutes available in my class time. More practice would help me achieve better results in less time so my demonstration drawings wouldn't be sketched with profuse explanations/excuses/apologies. So with that thought, here is my drawing after Eugene Delacroix.



I have long liked the strength of this piece, which I found in a book somewhere. I'm hoping the label is correct and that it is a drawing by Delacroix and not of Delacroix. (A quick internet search of about 15 pages of Google image results does not help me in answering this question, it does, however allow me to see a hundred or so copies of his famous Liberty Leading the People and show me his amazingly simple and expressive sketch for Attila the Hun.)

I wasn't patient enough to copy the lines of his classical style shading. Deep sigh; but at 1 a.m. my desire to work slowly was asleep without the rest of me (I did not intend to be up that long and it must be understood that I only began the drawing at 11 p.m. or so, so I didn't labor for too many hours on this piece). Instead I dug out my smudging tool and defaulted to a combination of smudge and scribble/hatch. See the shiny graphite--the best drawings avoid this build up by slowly building layers of graphite, rather than pressing hard on the pencil and creating shine.

I'm not sure I like the blue, but again, at that late hour I opted to be adventurous--a choice I rarely make with my drawings. Collage, yes; drawings, no.

I could share a number of other criticisms, but I won't. As long as I see them and know where I went wrong, I know what to watch for next time.

Begin Again

Starting afresh,
bringing me peace,
breath.

A Little History Humor

I had the best moment in history this week when I realized that seventh grade is finally starting to get my dry humor. The irony of course is that we're almost to the end of the year...

How do I know they are catching on? Well, this week we encountered another one of those names that probably weren't quite as funny in AD 9 as they are now. This time it was a governor in Germania named Vindex. I wasn't going to share the name, in order to save on confusion, but I still had it written in my notes. When I saw it, I chuckled; of course I was standing in front of the class, and when I looked at their faces and saw the curiosity I couldn't keep it to myself. (I might have a sense of humor that is foreign to them, but I don't need to appear to be totally crazy!)

So I wrote the name on the board and reminded them of their Latin pronunciation. Comprehending faces burst into grins and little chuckles in different places in the room. What's so funny? The V in Latin is actually pronounced as a W. Silly humor I know, but most people today just don't name their children Windex.

How I Spent my Easter Vacation, or Let Someone Else Sweat the Small Stuff

Well, it's Easter vacation for our school. Starting late last week through the end of this one I have had and continue to enjoy (!) the ability to sleep in and move at a leisurely pace in the morning. I have actually read some books; they're still history related books, but I'm reading at my own pace and not at breakneck speed. Best of all I've had time to take care of some tasks that have been sadly neglected.

Ironically these are not tasks I would normally look forward to accomplishing. Things like mopping and dusting always take a back seat in my world, but when they haven't happened in my world since, say, late October or possibly further back, these chores turned into something I have been looking forward to for several weeks. I hadn't realized how back to nature we were growing (pun intended) until I discovered that the dust in some places was no longer dust, but had become actual dirt. I've never been the best housekeeper, but that discovery was a nasty surprise.
Wisely I divided the workload into smaller chunks to be done everyday, so as to not be overwhelming, but the division has also given me some time to ponder.

As I ran a cloth around the upper regions of my kitchen to catch the cobwebs today, I pondered how these messes started off so small. The cobwebs were once little and invisible, until they weren't taken care of and grew into larger dust traps, and then, when the airborne grease particles found the small collection of dusty webwork the problem grew again. Which made for more opportunity to catch dust and so on, until in the dark little recesses of the ceiling there was quite the disaster. Really, isn't that the way most messes begin, though?

Even our personal messes, whether they're financial or relationship-related or workplace problems or spiritual issues, usually begin as small things. But when we don't take care of them they grow. Just like the five cent fee per late item at the library that grows into several dollars when I check out so many items (maybe that's just me...), or the cart full of one dollar impulse purchases at the grocery store that blows the whole budget when it adds up at the end, those little problems left unchecked bloom into larger ugliness. A late payment accumulates fees and that unfortunate sharp word festers in the heart of a co-worker until the situation seems impossible and we wish we had taken the time to deal with it in the beginning, when it was still a small thing.

Those small things matter more than we realize in the moment. In between bouts of cleaning I've also enjoyed having some time to draw during this week and even in that activity I am surprised by how much the small things count. As I have often reminded my art students, the problems in a drawing are usually solved by small adjustments. The eyes are too far apart by fractions of a centimeter, not two or three. The fingers are just barely too long or too skinny or too far left or right--if they were off by a large degree the mistake would have been noticed early on and corrected. But do such tiny errors really matter? Yes. The tiny errors add up and my drawing of one person begins to look like someone entirely different.

And that's just the problem spiritually, too. The big mistakes are so much easier to see and correct. It's the tiny errors that feel like they don't matter that eventually shape who we grow into. Little lies that go unchecked grow too easily into integrity issues that begin to define who we are in the eyes of others. Small deceits that aren't rebuked too often encourage more occurrences until suddenly we find ourselves no longer trusted by those around us. These small moments become so pivotal in who we are later, but we don't always realize it until those small moments are past history and we're stuck in the dirty cobwebs of the present, wishing we had dusted sooner.

I am reminded of the parable of the talents in Matthew 25, which shows how God values the small things. Even the one talent was important to the master, who had many. Matthew 25 concludes with the exhortation to take care of even the least among us, which again is a reminder how important the least things are in the eyes of God, who looks not only at the big, abundant, rich things and people of life, but even at the smallest and least. The unfortunate thing for us is that even the smallest errors are noticed by God and separate us from Him. Romans 3:10-12 shows how we are perceived by God: "As it is written: "There is no one righteous, not even one; there is no one who understands, no one who seeks God. All have turned away, they have together become worthless; there is no one who does good, not even one." This is a bold statement that makes us quite uncomfortable--what if I'm taking good care of those least things mentioned in Matthew 25? Doesn't that make me good?

Well, it makes me good in the eyes of people around me. The problem is twofold. First there are all those other small things that add up like the dust in the cobweb. The second thing is also like those dusty cobwebs; from the ground all that mess wasn't quite so visible, and it was only as I stood on the stool and could see clearly that I could see the entirety of the dirt. Our hearts are like that, too, and even if we can show the best and good to those around us, there are always things that we cannot see. But God sees them, as we are reminded in 1 Samuel 16:7, as David was chosen king, contrary to what everyone expected: "The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart."

All of which convicts me and should convict each one of us. But it leaves me even more uncomfortable than before. If those small things matter so much what am I to do to overcome them? Here's the fortunate part for us all: we don't have to overcome them. "You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. ... But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." (Romans 5:6,8) These words are good news for us all. The Lord will take care of those small things if we let Him. First He cleanses us through His death on the cross. Then He cleanses us daily as we willingly walk with Him through all those small obstacles. He takes care of those dirty cobwebs in our souls and He doesn't need a step stool to see even the most hidden ones. If you have never thought about God's gift or the need for spiritual spring cleaning, I encourage you to do so. We all need it.

As we approach the day of celebration of His gift, I cannot think of a better way to spend my Easter vacation than to ponder His amazing cleansing gift, as I feebly attempt to clean my long-neglected home.

Conquering Time, or Notice that He Wasn't Called Alexander the Late

Time. Why does it seem that there is never quite enough of it? These days I have so many different areas of life that want snippets of my time, which makes me feel a bit like Bessus after he met Alexander*--pulled in too many directions. And like Bessus, sometimes the end result is painful. Worse, I suppose, is to be paralyzed by all the demands on my time. I frequently see that defect in my students, where they become immobilized by the quantity of choices: what should my thesis be? Which piece of art do I submit? Which college do I choose? Which hamburger do I pick?

Oh wait, that last stumper would be the one that plagues me.

I'm not denying the importance of some of the decisions--it's just that some aren't as life changing as others. And some of those decisions just affect our time. Do I stop to read the early history of Bactria? Is it essential to my knowledge of Alexander? Or would it just be an enjoyable diversion? Too many choices, too few hours.

Even my normal night owl routine is wearing thin, leaving me thinking that proskynesis may not be such a bad thing, if it just meant I could catch a few extra winks. How long will it take me to draw that horse example for class? How many maps of ancient empires do I need to look at before I find the one I need? Does my family really need to eat again tonight?

Yes, I suppose they do. And yes, I should be looking at yet more unhelpful maps in the search for the one that will make everything clear. I suppose part of the reason why there are so many demands on my time is that I care about the quality of the things I set out to accomplish. If I didn't care it would be easy to just take the shortcut. Perhaps it's that restless spirit that wants to explore and share it all, just like the Macedonian king who couldn't be satisfied. At least I don't have to take care of the whole kingdom. There's a greater One who does that.



*That would be in Plutarch's account. Great reading that Plutarch--if I just had more time...

The Geometry of a Window

We drew a rose window in fourth grade art today. Ours was based on the one from Grace Cathedral, which can be viewed in animation. After we were finished we watched another animation of Chartres Cathedral. After it finished playing the students applauded and cheered. I think they had a new appreciation for the complexity of the process.