It used to be, whenever I went to my aunts’ house around Christmastime, they were watching this guy on television–Andre Rieu, with his Johann Strauss Orchestra. They loved him.
Well, now I can’t go there anymore. The very house has been torn down and replaced, no sign remaining that it ever existed, and they’ve all gone on before, leaving but a few of us on the earth. Aunt Joan is the last of us in her generation.
I will not forget. Hard for me to watch this video, but I wouldn’t want to miss it: the happy times that were shall be again, in Christ’s Kingdom. God has promised it.
My wife doesn’t want sibling rivalry to break out into open war, so here’s Peep getting equal time. She was feeling rather pensive when this picture was taken; but the content of her thoughts is hidden from us lowly humans.
Do cats think? Those who know them best believe they do. A penny for Peep’s thoughts? But she’s not selling.
My mother was a voracious reader with a love of history and legend, and she passed it on to me. I grew up on stories of King Arthur and his knights, especially her two favorites, Sir Lancelot and Sir Galahad. My brother and I had toy knights by those names: they wound up having a lot of adventures with animals, dinosaurs, cowboys, and cars.
In 1956-57 there was a TV show, Adventures of Sir Lancelot, which I made sure to watch. I remember particularly well an episode in which Sir Lancelot discovered an out-of-the-way Roman fort manned by legionaries who didn’t know the Roman Empire ended some hundred years ago. Very cool!
All these years later, thanks to my mother’s stories, I’m still a King Arthur buff, still reading and writing about him and his times. Someday I’ll have to tell you how I figured out how the story of the Sword in the Stone was very likely true, albeit somewhat garbled by the passage of centuries.
Oh, to put on my armor, sling that shield across my shoulder, hop up onto my mighty steed, snatch up my lance, and ride out on adventures! My mother lived long enough to see my Bell Mountain books in print: I hope she knows that she was the one who got me started.
This is what your eyes look like, after 100 miles on the Parkway.
It’s 112 miles, round-trip, to and from my sister’s house, most of it on the Garden State Parkway, and although the traffic wasn’t quite as bad as usual, it’s still what I would cal a long drive; and now that I’ve done it, my eyes are all oogy.
I try, I really try, to maintain a safe stopping interval between my car and the car in front of me. I may be the only driver in New Jersey who still tries to do that. A peek into the rear-view mirror tells me that mine is indeed an archaic attitude. I expect to have disturbing dreams tonight. But at least we got to see my brother and sister for a few hours.
I have had my cigar, and now y’know what I need, before I try to take a nap? A cat video! Let’s see if I can find a good one.
So the phone rang last night–never good news, when the phone rings at night–they’re taking Aunt Joan back to the hospital, her fever has returned. It hadn’t been 24 hours, I don’t think, since they’d discharged her.
Tomorrow we hit the terrifying Garden State Parkway for Thanksgiving dinner at my sister’s house. Once upon a time Thanksgiving meant a huge family gathering. Now there are only the four of us left, Patty and me, my brother and sister. Everyone else has either died or moved too far away for any personal contact. And we have to walk on eggs tomorrow because my brother is a hair-trigger leftid and we feel sorry for him. My sister has a new job, is being worked to a frazzle, but didn’t want to skip Thanksgiving.
I find that the more I need them, the more I get out of my memories. Their flavor is stronger and richer than it once was. The more evil grows this age, the more recourse I have to prayer and to the Bible. These call forth my thankfulness. God’s Word brings forth hope. And the more we need from it, the more it has to give.
This is a beautiful rendition by Alan Jackson: brings a tear to my eye. Sweet Hour of Prayer was one of the hymns my mother used to play on the record player as she did her housework. I’d hear it at Grandma’s house, too, from time to time. These loving memories stir my soul; and just at this moment I don’t think it’d be wise to try to talk about them out loud. Thank you, Mr. Jackson.
Yesterday we were all excited because my brother-in-law was back to writing stories–something we thought he’d never be able to attempt again. I told his wife that if he were able to finish one, I’d publish it for him here.
Well, last night she emailed us again to say that what he was writing “made no sense” and that he only “thought” he was writing a story, and she was happy because that thought made him happy. Oh, well.
Nevertheless, I believe that God is able even now to restore this man’s mind to him, and I ask you all to continue in your prayers for him. No one is ever beyond the reach of God’s mercy.
O Lord Our God, have mercy on this man: our hope is in you, and not the wisdom of this world. Even now, Father, you can heal him. Whether or not our God sees fit to save us from any of the tribulations of this world, He is able to save us. We ask you in Jesus’ name, O God, to heal Ray: and let the glory of it be to you, Our Father. In Jesus’ name, amen.
It was looking like my brother-in-law, Ray, was just about done for. But his wife emailed us today with the startling news that he has started writing stories–and sent a picture of him doing it. This was very good news! I mean, he seemed like he was pretty far gone, couldn’t read anymore–and suddenly he’s writing. His doctors would not have predicted he could ever do it: but our God is an awesome God, and He does awesome things.
Please join me in prayer.
Thank you, Father in Heaven, for this hopeful sign. We pray that you will heal Ray, knowing that you can: in Jesus’ name, amen.
It’s my wife’s birthday today, and this video shows what would happen if she had a cake and we left it out on the table while we took our nap. She opted for pizza instead of a birthday cake. It will not be left on the table.
Here’s one for Phoebe and other Catholic members of our little blog community, shared with us by “Optimal Play” from Australia–Sweet Sacrament Divine, sung by Marilla Ness.
It must be Catholic Day here. For the first time ever, we have a hit from Vatican City. My Aunt Betty, the nun, sure would’ve gotten a kick out of that! I miss her.
It would be silly to deny that there are controversies that separate Catholics and Protestants. But I don’t know how much that label, “Protestant,” is worth anymore. R.J. Rushdoony hired Catholics to help run Chalcedon and also published books by Catholics–and who could be more of a Protestant than he?
Anyway, the Lord has richly endowed His Church–the whole Church, the whole community of believers worldwide–with enemies: and we do well to remember that. We belong to Jesus Christ and ought to love each other.
