Happiness is

Taking some pictures of your granddaughter, and seeing her decide to start striking different poses with each click sound: 

We did get to see both grandkids this weekend, but that one was too good to pass up and not post.  Nonetheless, never one to miss a chance to brag on them both, we had dinner with them today and that yielded a few good shots itself. 

The chunko whose favorite pastime is eating, and his sister invoking her inner hobbit

Telescoping cultural history

Internet age style.  One of the odd quirks I've noticed over the last decade or so is how so much of older culture is being forgotten, or at least devalued.  Outside of certain fanboy circles, what once was held with reverence and revered is today almost entirely irrelevant.  It isn't that I'm shocked that the 80s are now as far away as the 50s were when I was growing up.  But I'm shocked at how aware we were of the 50s culture versus how little awareness there seems to be regarding the 80s, 40s, or any other decade today.

Let me explain.  The reason why Back to the Future worked for my generation is not that we were stunned by the cultural differences that Marty McFly discovers on his way back to his parents' teen years.  It's that we knew the references very well.  We knew the music, the TV, the fashion.  We were aware of those things.  We knew who the biggies were.  We even admired some of those old icons.  We knew the movies, the stars, Elvis and the other early rock stars.  We also knew the older stars they were replacing: Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, even older Bing Crosby. We knew the TV shows, the movies.  We knew how people dressed.  And we sometimes admired and even liked their craft.

Today, when I read sites dedicated to culture, like movies, it's as if there really wasn't a film industry before 1992.  Oh sure, some will have the obligatory Chaplin movie, or Duck Soup, or The Seven Samurai.  But on the whole, you'd think if it wasn't laden with CGI or featuring the latest, hippest, it just didn't exist.  And if older movies are mentioned, there is almost an apology for the lack of sophistication, or old standard styles that existed at the time.

Which brings me to Steve Graydanus.  He's every Catholic's favorite movie critic.  And yet?  He exemplifies what I mean.  Set aside the fact that when it comes to movies influenced by American Protestantism, you can expect at least a finger wagging, if not a drop of a letter grade.  That's just the Catholic coming out.

But go to his site here, and see what he praises, what he doesn't, and what he doesn't even mention, which to me represents everything I'm noticing.  Movies like The Godfather, Gone With the Wind*, Cool Hand Luke, Cape Fear, Psycho, and The Sting - movies considered revolutionary, influential, or among the greatest ever made, aren't even mentioned.  You might say it's because his is a family guide site, and those aren't family.  Yet he has R rated movies (see The Silence of the Lambs).  Why not these?

When he does rate classics, such as Snow White or Stage Coach, he often injects slights at them for various era based distinctives, or seems to say 'nothing special, but an A for reputation', even if he ends up praising  the overall films for reasons his review doesn't reflect.  Or he dismisses them outright.  Yet he gives a B- to The Phantom Menace.  A B+ to The Lego Movie!  Are you kidding me?  Sure it was cute, but Lawrence of Arabia gets an A-, while the Lego Movie gets a B+?

It's as if the Internet age has changed things.  Changed what we accept as good, quality, acceptable, unacceptable, classic, legend.  Sometimes it's as if things that once were the "Essentials" have suddenly been tossed on the trash heap.  What was once legend is now antique at best.  Once the medal standard is now a forgotten footnote.  I don't know why. I don't even have a theory.

I just know that when my friends and I watched 1933 King Kong, in the post-Star Wars era, we thought it was awesome.  We got that it was old, the special effect weren't up to Star Wars.  We got that the acting was different than modern acting.  We hadn't been influenced by Multi-cultural PC enough to look for racism and bigotry in every frame of every movie, but we got that it was of its time.  Unlike modern movie review sites, we wouldn't lament the special effects, acting, racism, or anything else.  We took it for its time and praised it accordingly.  And any young, budding movie critic would also have to grapple with such films, even if they didn't care for them, because they were part of the whole cinematic package.  It's noteworthy that Decent Films doesn't even review the original Kong, mentioning it only in the review of Jackson's 2005 remake, and then more or less dismissing it as uninteresting and not worth much more acknowledgement than setting up the basis for Jackson's B Graded remake. A movie that once garnered praise and adoration from critics, movie buffs, film historians, and youngsters of every generation, reduced to an afterthought.  Such is the fruits of the Internet Age.

Mr. Graydanus is not alone.  Like so many modern film critics, he seems to have little to say about anything old, unless it tickles his fancy for this or that reason.  Likewise, fanboy that he is, his respect is reserved for the latest fantasy/comic book laden stories with copious amounts of CGI.  Sure, he gives bad reviews to movies, often when they flagrantly assault a major part of the Catholic ethos.  This isn't to pick on Mr. Graydanus.  In fact, I enjoy reading his reviews, even if I disagree with many of his conclusions.  But he represents a trend that is far more common, even among older critics trying to appeal to the Internet age, than it is the exception.  Just look at the IMBD top movies list for examples.

It's post-modern, mixed with the Internet cubicles of a fragmenting generation. I owe nothing to anything greater than myself or the particular clique to which I belong. If I'm a movie reviewer, and don't care about or want to look at a given movie, then so be it. And woe betide anything other than a small handful of old offerings that fail to measure up to the awesomeness of Now (compare his C rating for the delightful 1977 The Hobbit animated movie with his B level rating for Jackson's 2012 cinematic version - what was better in Jackson's other than the use of CGI?).  Back in the day, a movie critic who didn't include The Godfather would be like a Revolutionary War historian who had nothing to say about Washington.  But not today.  What that says about the greater trends of our post-modern Internet age, I don't know.  But I'm 100% convinced it says something, and eventually will say it loudly.

*It's worth noting that Decent Films has few reviews of the greatest movies from 1939, considered for almost all time as the Greatest Year in Movies.  Including Gone With the Wind.  Again, it says much, IMHO.

NOTE:  This is an old post from about a decade or so ago.  This was well before Deacon Greydanus banned me the first time, when we used to get on well even when we disagreed.  So this was not some slap at him over his clear swing to the Left of center.  This was when we got along, and he sometimes would admit I made a good point or two, even when we disagreed.  It just came up with a slew of visits, and I found it interesting.  Especially as I pondered how he did exemplify many of those old 'postmodern' traits, well before his shift left. I wondered if there might be a connection, somehow postmodernity being a gateway drug to the left of center so to speak.  Perhaps that's the loud statement I was expecting.  

A hobbit's holiday

Last year I posted a rambling about what autumn meant in the olden, agrarian days.  I noted that autumn, when the harvests were good, was a time of great celebration because it meant another year of life.  Of course if the harvests weren't good, autumn would not be as joyful.  

In the post, I quoted from Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.  It detailed many of the scrumptious vittles that Mr. Crane beheld as he strolled across the Hudson River landscape.  It included not only baked and cooked wares, but also the succulent fruits of the harvest, from pumpkins to apples and everything in between. 

I was thinking on that as I read through The Hobbit this year. As I've said in the past, for the longest time I was never much of a fan of The Hobbit.  I have been a huge fan of The Lord of the Rings since I was in college.  But The Hobbit was part of that broader fantasy and sci-fi genre that has never - to this day - interested me that much.

Nonetheless, it has grown on me over the years.  I've come to appreciate its place in the greater Tolkien canon.  Unlike LoTR, The Hobbit is pure fairy tale.  A children's book  in the best sense, you see some of Tolkien in its pages in ways you might not in his more influential follow up. 

One way was Tolkien unpacking that rural, later Victorian era social setting that finds its way into his Shire.  It's there in Rings, at least at the beginning.  But as more than one literary commentator has pointed out, as the hobbits move from Hobbiton to take part in the greater War of the Ring, they leave that English pastoral setting and enter a vast, sweeping epic tale of mythical heroism.  

In The Hobbit, however, that Victorian setting oozes through the entire narrative.  And one way it raises its head is through Tolkien's emphasis on food.  In The Hobbit, Tolkien lays out what for him must have been standard, and at times coveted, items for a Victorian era menu.  Not only in the Unexpected Party, but nowhere else as much as in that first chapter.  Nor is it to say he never addresses menu items or the contents of a table in Rings.  It's just not quite unpacked to the same level.  

So I thought we could look at the world's first introduction to Middle Earth in The Hobbit.  Below is what I came up with looking at that party menu in Chapter One.  It is the most extensive list of foods that I'm aware of in any of his writings. Here he lets us see what the table should have looked like, at least as Tolkien envisioned it. 

At the unexpected party, before Bilbo meets the dwarves, he is preparing a 'low tea' for Gandalf the wizard.  For us Yanks, we might think that means a mundane, working class tea.  But in one of those linguistic twists in a culture, in Victorian England the 'low tea' was for the upper class.  It was set on a 'low' table, around plush furnishings, with the dainties and the pastries and the fine China we associate with your classic British tea.  The 'high' tea was called that because it was set on the higher tables associated with the working class, the servant class, and others who used higher set tables. Such teas would be for a later time of day, combined with dinner, and accompanied more with cold meats and cheeses and such.  

Close up of a 'beautifully round' seed cake

Anyway, Bilbo's tea is essentially sideswiped by the arrival of two dwarves, rather than Gandalf.  These two, Balin and Dwalin, are offered tea but dismiss the offer and ask instead for seed cakes, along with beer rather than tea.  Bilbo obliges with pints of beer and two 'beautiful round' seed cakes, which he appeared to possess in numbers.  

The other dwarves appear over time, up to the total number of thirteen plus Gandalf.  Fili and Kili arrive and join in and appear to accept what the first two are eating.  Nothing else is mentioned.  When Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin and Gloin arrive, however, we're told they ask for cakes as well, along with a different list of beverages:  ale, porter and even coffee.  

The joke there is that in English parlance, the terms 'ale' and 'porter', are basically two different terms for the beer mentioned above. The only difference is that the 'porter' references what we nowadays call stout, as in Guinness.  The other two terms are interchangeable for ale, as opposed to beers that we call lagers.  Eventually the seed cakes are gone, and they are treated to buttered scones in their place. 

The remaining dwarves finally arrive along with Gandalf and Thorin. It is here you get the biggest list of specific foods and drink.  It is implied they are offered tea again when Gandalf asks if there is anything left, but like the first two dwarves, he responds with a hearty 'no thanks'.  I wonder if that was Tolkien digging at England's most famous beverage based pastime.  Instead Gandalf asks for a little red wine, and Thorin jumps in with his only request by asking for the same. 

The other dwarves in this last arrival then interject a series of specific requests.  Bifur asks for raspberry jam and apple tart, while Bofur asks for mince pies and cheese.  Bombur - who Tolkien repeatedly points out is especially fat - asks for porkpie and salad.  The other dwarves call in through the door and ask for more cakes and ale and coffee.  To this Gandalf adds a request for a few eggs, as well as cold chicken and pickles.  Whether by more cakes they meant more seed cakes, or different types of cakes, isn't said. 

So the whole menu of Bilbo's unexpected party looks a bit like this, based upon what information we are specifically given:

DRINK

·         coffee                                          Various

·         tea*                                             Offered only, never accepted        

·         pint of beer/ale                            Balin and Dwalin

·         ale/porter                                     Various

·         red wine                                      Gandalf and Thorin

MEATS/DAIRY

·         pork­pie                                         Bombur

·         cold chicken                                 Gandalf

·         eggs                                              Gandalf

·         cheese                                           Bofur

VEGGIES/PRODUCE

·         salad                                              Bombur

·         pickles                                           Gandalf

BREADS/PASTERIES        

·         biscuit                                            Bilbo

·         mince pies                                      Bofur

·         apple tart                                        Bifur

·         seed­cakes                                       Balin and Dwalin

·         buttered scones                              Various

·         raspberry jam                                 Bifur

I like that Bombur, the overweight dwarf, asks for porkpies (about the heaviest item on the list) and salad (the lightest).  I can't help but catch a twinkle in Tolkien's eye when he wrote that, and I don't think it was a random accident.   The pickles were a change from the original manuscript.  Apparently it originally read 'cold chicken and tomatoes.'  For some reason, Tolkien decided tomatoes didn't strike that appropriate Victorian/Middle Earth feel, and went for pickles instead. 

A traditional pork pie

So there you have it, at least in terms of the unexpected party.  The menu was what Tolkien no doubt experienced growing up in the English countryside.  With the exception of the red wine, none of it is 'high brow' fare.  In fact, the constant offer of tea by Bilbo, having planned a tea with Gandalf, and the one spread that would have echoed upper class British dining, is all but rejected. 

It's the middle class, working man's favorite foods you see here.  One food historian pointed out that in Leicestershire, there was a product called 'Mowbray Pork Pie' that had been sold since the 1830s, and was very popular through Tolkien's day.  Tolkien may have had those in mind when he has Bombur ask for the same followed by his request for a salad, perhaps to make it look good (a bit like ordering a Big Mac accompanied by a diet soda). 

So there you have it.  The introductory feast for first time visitors to Middle Earth. 

RIP Jules Bass

Jules Bass, of the famous Rankin/Bass productions, has died.  

What kid my age didn't wait with eager anticipation for the avalanche of Christmas specials that came our way in the month of December?  While the best was A Charlie Brown Christmas, Rankin/Bass did yeoman's work cashing in on the American Christmas story and bringing it into every living room possible.

As a kid I looked forward to them.  Mostly because they were my own visual advent calendar marking off the days to Christmas proper.  I remember watching different ones, though I don't think I paid much attention to them.  I did watch Grinch, Charlie Brown (and his Halloween offering The Great Pumpkin).   Those kept my attention. 

The Rankin/Bass were, on the other hand, something I tuned into and then spent part of the time watching or doing other things.  In later years it was easy to see the quality differences.  Some, it turns out, were quite charming and fun to watch, even as an adult.  Others were tough to endure.  It might be Christian bias, but The Little Drummer Boy is a favorite, even with the contrived plot.  After all, it does ultimately center around that baby in a manger.

Which is something, in the end, that the R/B catalogue featured very little.  There were some allusions in Santa Clause is Coming to Town.  The previously mentioned Drummer Boy of course.  But that was about it.  Unless there was some obscure R/B special I'm unaware of, that was about all we got from the Gospel.

Most of the R/B specials, in fact, hammered home that modernist message of messages: Christmas, it turns out, does come from a store.  Or at least Santa's workshop.  Takeaway Santa, you lose the toys.  Lose the toys, and no Christmas this year!  Even Seuss broke from that Wall Street narrative to point out Christmas can at least mean something beyond the packages, boxes and bags.

But not in the R/B catalogue.  Most of the specials were very clear: Christmas is all about getting gifts from Santa. Whether depression or bad weather, whatever keeps Santa from his appointed rounds jeopardizes Christmas itself.  Because there is no other reason for Christmas but gifts from Santa.

I guess it's because it was the 1960s culture and beyond that so many families, including church families, had no problem with the messaging.  In hindsight, it wasn't the best.  Plus, there were often decent enough messages to be found, even if they were often wrapped up in a 60's countercultural packaging.

R/B did other things than Christmas specials.  Chief among those, and my personal favorite, was their 1977 turn with Tolkien's masterful children's book The Hobbit.  I've posted on that more than once.  Always prisoners of the 'television children's time slot', they nonetheless managed to put together a fine, albeit simplified, version of Tolkien's work.  One that inspired me to eventually find and read the book, and in a way that didn't disappoint.  And that's not bad.  In many ways I owe my love for Tolkien to the R/B team, and that's saying something. 

So whatever messaging may have gone amiss, it did lead to many years of childhood memories and a love of Tolkien.  And those memories and that love continued with my sons.  After all, without R/B, we wouldn't have our annual trashfest of Frosty the Snowman, and that would be a loss!   Thanks, then, for all the memories Mr. Bass, and RIP. 

It's Fall!  Hurray.  And yesterday was Hobbit Day (being the birthdays of both Bilbo and Frodo).  This year I read through The Hobbit over summer to fulfill my yearly Tolkien obligation.  There are some books I haven't gotten around to, plus I've received some new ones because of a new local book store.  So I wanted to make room on my plate.

Things are changing in our home for sure.  With all the boys adults or teenage, the old time fall activities will be waning.  We'll still come together to do a few of the staples, but times being what they are, and time constraints being what they are, we imagine there will be fewer of the little things than in years past.  Which is fine.

After all, the world is changing fast, as is our society:

With an all out war on any tradition from west of the Urals, our society seems a strange mix of traditions most people do and those in the extreme fringes seeking to throw down those traditions.  In 2020 I actually saw articles from 'pagans' wanting to reclaim Halloween from the Church.  We all know what Thanksgiving has been hit with.  Christmas is still allowed as a more or less secular pagan consumerist feeding frenzy, but not much else. These are driven by the extreme fringes, but those fringes have been weaponzid by the media and the powers that be.  How long the old traditions last will be anyone's guess.

For our part, we'll still be those radicals and rebels.  We'll embrace the old time harvest feel.  No puss zombies or adult entertainment costumes for us.  It's caramel apples and apple cider, pumpkins and cornstalks, ghosts and goblins, haunted houses and spook movies. 

With that said, I'll step back and let old James Whitcomb Riley take it from here.  You can't do better than this for setting that autumnal mood:

When the Frost is on the Pumpkin

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pitcur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries --kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below -- the clover overhead!
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!

Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage, too!
I don't know how to tell it -- but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me
I'd want to 'commondate 'em -- all the whole-indurin' flock --
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!

The deadline approaches

 Tomorrow is the big day!

It was at this point that Bilbo stopped. Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did. The tremendous things that happened afterwards were as nothing compared to it. J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

Mark Shea, Gollum and a Lenten reflection

The late M. Scott Peck once wrote that the character Gollum, from The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, "is perhaps the finest depiction of evil ever written."  It was from his book People of the Lie. In that book, Peck took a look at evil from the view of psychoanalysis.  Much of that appraisal of Gollum could be wrapped up in the singular obsession Gollum had for the One Ring to the exclusion of almost anything other priority or action. 

I thought of that when I saw this over at The American Catholic:

Whew.  Tough to stomach.  Tough to imagine that this is what Mark came away with after that horrible news of mothers and babies killed and maimed in a war zone.  I think Donald McClarey says it right: 

Imagine hearing about a possible war atrocity and thinking that this is an opportunity to bash your domestic political opponents.

That's serious Gollum level obsession there on Mark's part.  I would like to think that Mark doesn't see every bomb and every dead child as an awesome chance to attack those white conservatives he so clearly despises. But I have a hard time doing so.

A word of warning to all of us:  Mark can make us rather complacent because, well, most of us aren't Mark, so we imagine we're not doing all that bad.  But as Elrond said of Sauron, even Sauron was not evil from the beginning.  Mark was not always this way, no matter what you think of him.  Why Mark is where he is now, I don't know.  How he incarnates almost everything he once condemned about Internet discourse, while spending his online life attacking so many things and people he once cherished or valued, I don't know.  I have my gut feelings, but I could never be sure.

What I do know is that I don't want to end up like Mark, or the many on Catholic sites and outlets who know what Mark is and cheer him all the more because he's on their side.  That sort of thing is as good as giving Jesus two black eyes and a bloody nose.

Therefore, especially during Lent, let us all reflect and make sure we're not heading down that broad path that Mark and so many of his supporters have chosen, and all for politics and defending the latest media narrative.  That could also include those fighting the latest media narrative, or siding so passionately with the other side of the political aisle.  As believers, our sights are supposed to be set on higher things.  Things that tell us the appropriate response to the awfulness of Mark's above Twitter post is simply to pray for his soul. 

Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.  Colossians 3.1-4

Covid update

So we've had Covid in the house this Christmas.  In terms of holiday celebrations, this particular season was - wanting.  But we'll get around to that some other time.

For now, an update.  It appears that most of us are more or less coming near the end of the tunnel.  A lingering cough and some congestion appears to be the main culprit in shaking the thing altogether.  For my mom and my third son, as well as me, that's the one thing that hasn't quite broken.  It's much better than it was even a couple days ago.  But it's still hanging around.  My wife seems overall better, but the limitations on what meds she can take, due to her heart condition, has made fighting the symptoms a bit tricky. 

Three of the boys appear to have moved on, with only a bit of congestion, and then only in small amounts.  There's still enough to warrant medicating, but the medications are dwindling in frequency.    A good thing, given the spike in medication prices. 

My second son has almost been asymptomatic the whole time.  He was mildly fatigued with a slight body ache for a couple days, but that's been about it.  Which makes us wonder.  Two years ago, he went to the doctor with flu like symptoms, especially fatigue he just couldn't shake.  He even missed work - something he almost never does.  They did a flu test, but it came up negative.  Nonetheless, they insisted he had some viral infection, they simply couldn't identify it. 

Given that he's the one in the family who has had few to no symptoms, even while testing positive for Covid, it makes us wonder if what he had two years ago was Covid.  It also makes us wonder about getting infected again.  I mean, if it doesn't keep you from not getting it, but it does keep you from getting it bad, then it might be worth our while to rethink our strategies.  But then, I'm no doctor.

So we're almost out of the woods it appears.  We're cautious, since Covid has the reputation of being rather wile.  As I said before, it's not like any virus I've ever seen.  My son said it's like a virus with AI.   As long as we have any symptoms, we'll be slow to celebrate.  Still, compared to a week ago, we're all about 80% healthy to almost 100% back to normal, and that's a massive improvement.

With that said, we're almost two weeks behind on everything.  Weeks of work and school have been missed and lost, and there is much to do around the old hobbit hole.  Therefore things will still be a bit sparse around here, even assuming we continue to improve and put it behind us.  Pray that we do.  If so, then hopefully by next week I'll be able to take a look at the crazy in the world and see what's been going on.  

Letting the World win again and again

 Over at The American Catholic, Donald McClarey posted this little gem:

Heh.  As one can expect, his claim is false.  Even though it's a favorite scapegoat for leftwing Catholics, we all know the growing demographic of 'former Catholic' is not due to some post-Trump phenomenon.  The Catholic Church has been bleeding numbers for decades.  As have so many historical religions.  Generally, the more religious traditions try to accommodate modern, progressive ideologies, the faster they die.  Ross Douthat pointed that out some years ago.  He noted that every attempt by a monotheistic religion to accommodate modern liberalism results in that religion's demise.  In this helpful little post from a couple years ago, Brandon Vogt goes to the trouble of laying out the numbers. 

Douthat is right.  That's because while we thought we were compromising and accommodating in order to evangelize the World, the World was zealously evangelizing the faithful.  Even when I was in school (c. 1980s), we learned Christianity was a religion started by Jesus, much in the same way Islam was started by Muhammad, or Buddhism by the Buddha.  That is, a secular anthropological spin on religion where religion is inspired, not revealed.  An enormous difference.

This last semester my son took a Classical Mythology course in college.  The same course that was offered when I went to OSU.  Back then, most of the Bible was taught as historically grounded fiction.  That is, no doubt there was a King David, likely an Abraham, and certainly a Jesus of Nazareth.  But the majority of events in their lives were made up fairy tales and fiction just like all religions.  After all, science has debunked the spiritual and miraculous, and scholarship has long shown all religions were simply invented by ancient man in lieu of modern research.  

Today, however, my son learned that most of the Bible likely never happened at all.  Perhaps there were shadowy kings of ancient kingdoms, but no David or Solomon.  Those were fictional creations no different than Harry Potter or Luke Skywalker.  Jesus?  They weren't so radical as to take the new atheist spin that no such  person existed.  Sure there was some obscure religious figure at that time, but later generations invented the whole 'you'll call His name Jesus' story along with all the rest.  Again, pure myth, fairy tales and fiction.  The next step in the World's great mission.   

And this has been in more than our schools and colleges..  Our media and popular culture have been indoctrinating against the teachings of Christianity for decades.  By the time I came along, Christianity usually scored about a .350 in American society.  That is, about one third of the time a pop culture reference would allude to Christianity in at least a non-negative way.  The rest of the time?  Almost exclusively negative. 

Should we be surprised, therefore that, contrary to Mark's silliness above, the main reason people are leaving the Catholic Church is THEY NO LONGER BELIEVE ITS TEACHINGS?  That is, they're apostates.  They're rejecting the Gospel and rejecting the existence of God Almighty.  They say in their hearts now that there is no God.  They have taken the Gospel and rejected it.  They believe the Bible no more than they believe The Hobbit.  They no longer believe there was a baby in a manger, a man walking on water, or a Messiah crucified by Rome.  THEY DON'T BELIEVE IT.  

It has nothing to do with politics.  Look at how little the abuse scandal has to do with their rejection of the Church.  Less so the Church being vaguely 'too political.'  It's because they have been converted by the World, have rejected the Gospel and God, and are now believers in a godless, Christless reality.  That's why. 

I can't help but think a big part of this is because the Church, and Christianity in general, has spent many generations meeting this Wordily evangelism with compromise, acquiesce, retreat or even surrender.  And that has done nothing but affirm what these modern generations have been taught: That all religion is made up stories and rules by people who make it up as they go for their own interests.  

They might be happy to see the Church declare that it's open to nothing but pleasure beneath the waistline where transgenderism or gay sex is concerned.  But they also know the Church isn't doing this because a bunch of Catholic sages just emerged from years of pouring over ancient tomes and concluded a new development in understanding the Scriptures is warranted.  They know it's because the World stood up like a colossus, smacked the Church, the Church immediately soiled itself and then scurried to change yet another teaching or doctrine because the World said so.  That is why they are leaving.  

To sum up: The generations in which Christians have accepted the World as right, and changed the Faith accordingly, haven't worked.  That's because it was never done in some objective vacuum of non-agendas, with the World just innocently seeking the truth.  The World all along (dare I say, Satan) was feverishly working to convert God's children away from Him, using whatever latest tools were available.  Each time the World demanded change and was met with a willingness to do so, it fed into the World's claims that religion has never been anything but made up tales and rules to begin with. 

As one young wag asked, if religions are willing to admit how wrong they have been about everything visible in this world - human nature, sexuality, justice, social ethics - why would any sane person believe what they had to say about some God or Spirit or Afterlife in the invisible other world?  It's a fair question.  And one the Church had best start pondering before it and it alone ushers any more disciples of Christ out the door and into the outer darkness.  

Now the Spirit manifestly saith, that in the last times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to spirits of error, and doctrines of devils  1 Timothy 4.1  

Friday Frivolity: A season of feasts and plenty

Autumn.  I've written often about my favoritist of all seasons ever on this blog.   I speak of memories and nostalgia, traditions with the family and old school memories.  I've written about the foliage and even the decay and thrown out some theological musings in the meantime.  At later times I've linked the season with the witching season of Halloween and thoughts along those lines.

But I've never stopped to muse about what Autumn really meant for so many ages to people who saw harvest as more than a time to buy football tickets and run out for the latest pumpkin spice flavored pizza (double yuck, yuck).  For our ancestors, Autumn was the season of life itself. 

It was the season of plenty, of harvest, of feasting.  It was the season that set the stage for winter and whether abundance or starvation or death would be the name of the game.  In short it was less about costume parties and yard decorations as much as it was keyed to the fruit of the year's labors and the bountiful blessings the Earth yields for those who work her.  When they rejoiced and celebrated, they did so for life itself. 

Here are a few passages from one of Washington Irving's most famous literary creations, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.  It describes the lands haunted by the Horseman as the ill fated Ichabod Crane would see them.  Being of modest means, Ichabod looked at such seasonal bounty the way a Manhattan stockbroker might look at a Lamborghini today:

"It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the air; the bark of the squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech and hickory-nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the neighboring stubble field... 

On all sides he beheld vast store of apples; some hanging in oppressive opulence on the trees; some gathered into baskets and barrels for the market; others heaped up in rich piles for the cider-press. Farther on he beheld great fields of Indian corn, with its golden ears peeping from their leafy coverts, and holding out the promise of cakes and hasty-pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them, turning up their fair round bellies to the sun, and giving ample prospects of the most luxurious of pies; and anon he passed the fragrant buckwheat fields breathing the odor of the beehive...

Such heaped up platters of cakes of various and almost indescribable kinds, known only to experienced Dutch housewives! There was the doughty doughnut, the tender oly koek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller; sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes and honey cakes, and the whole family of cakes. And then there were apple pies, and peach pies, and pumpkin pies; besides slices of ham and smoked beef; and moreover delectable dishes of preserved plums, and peaches, and pears, and quinces; not to mention broiled shad and roasted chickens; together with bowls of milk and cream, all mingled higgledy-piggledy, pretty much as I have enumerated them, with the motherly teapot sending up its clouds of vapor from the midst—Heaven bless the mark! I want breath and time to discuss this banquet as it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story." 

Ah, what a portrayal of autumnal abundance. Your stomach almost growls at the thought.  Even in our age of consumer plenty, online shopping and digital supermarkets, that sort of picture of pre-modern culinary anticipation is enough to get the old gastro pistons popping. 

Why not?  You read those passages above, or you read some of the poems praising this most colorful of all seasons, and you can't help but catch the celebratory feel.  It is almost bursting at the seams with joy and thankfulness for everything laid before the viewer.  It may be a season in which life turns to decay, but it was ever the season that pointed to life and what was needed to sustain it. 

That's what Autumn should really be about.  Perhaps it's because industrialization and technology have effectively divorced so much of humanity from our more earthen roots, we must supplement with traditions of tailgates and horror movie fests.  Nonetheless, it might be those roots long gone that still tug at us, and why so many people seem to get excited today, not at the thought of spring blossoms or even silver bells, but of colorful leaves and pumpkin patches and orchards. 

After all, in the day, people knew exactly why it was they were thrilled with the coming harvest season. And it wasn't the abundance of decorations.  It was the fruit of their labors, the abundance that the land provided.  To them, a cornucopia was more than a decoration.  It was a symbol of another year of life.  I can't help but imagine that was a more pure want than the things we drool over today.  Since most of us don't fear starving between now and next spring, much less next week.  

As a bonus, and because I'm a swell guy, here's a link to an online cooking site that walks you through your own Ichabod era harvest feast, early American style.  Try that some time.  We've done Hobbit feasts and Scrooge (or at least Cratchit/Fezziwig), and Henry VIII Tudor feasts.  Building a dinner around a particular book or historical era can be fun and, given how the other half feasted in the day, quite filling. 

Ichabod gets Autumn

I want to ask Pope Francis if it matters that I'm Catholic

Years ago Pope Francis sent shock waves through our little hobbit hole when he met with a pack of Protestant leaders and more or less told them to get to God where they're at.  After all, we had lost almost everything we had to become Catholic, and set ourselves on a future path in which my main retirement plans rest on doing a Fred Sanford after my last day on the job.  

It doesn't sound like much of a problematic statement I know.  It sounds pretty darn nice of him, not to throw fire and brimstone down on a bunch of non-Catholic Christians.  It seems completely ecumenical and the type of outreach I remember from Pope John Paul II that made Catholicism seem approachable to my Protestant eyes back in the day. 

And yet there was something bothersome the way Pope Francis said it.  Whenever I mused on Pope John Paul II's outreach to us "Separated Brethren", it always seemed in the broader context of wanting us to come back to full communion with the Catholic Church.  He - and others at that time - may have praised us Protestants and affirmed us and celebrated us and, heck, even said Catholics could learn from us.  But it was always done around the greater point that for all we have, we don't have it all until we have it in communion with Catholicism. 

When Pope Francis said that to those Protestant leaders, however, and when he has made similar statements about Islam, Atheism, or just about any particular religious belief system, I never feel it is in such context.  It sounds to me, and certainly sounded to us then, that he is more or less saying Catholicism is a right fine option; but it's merely one of many fine options out there in the world where the topic or religion is concerned.  

What really seems to matter when Pope Francis speaks is not so much being a fine Catholic, or even a fine Christian, but being a fine citizen of the world.  To that end, he seems most concerned about people being too rigid about their religion, especially their Catholic religion, while he demands nothing but rigidity when it comes to a host of sociopolitical movements and agendas sweeping the modern world, such as Global Warming, or Immigration, or Covid lockdowns, or economic justice.  

Let him talk about those things and Pope Francis comes across as having all the tolerance of a Jack Chick tract. Rigid doesn't even begin to describe it.  Same with judgmentalism.  He may not judge when it comes to things like abortion or gay sex, but let someone even question a dominant global narrative about police brutality, Global Warming or Covid restrictions, and Pope Francis is Johnny-on-the-spot for those advancing those agendas with not only condemning the lack of obedience of dissenters, but even suggesting how wretched and evil they are in their very hearts.  I'm not sure the 700 Club went that far.

But again, none of it is ever for Catholicism, or believing in Jesus, or caring about the Holy Spirit, or even caring about Heaven or Hell.  He may speak to the evils of abortion or that sex is best served between a man and woman in marriage. Those topics and other Catholic teachings he speaks on, and even affirms them at different times as well as their importance.  But if you disagree, I get the impression he wouldn't lose sleep over the fact.  He might even welcome you with open arms if your problems are only with a Triune God or the Real Presence.  

But question the dominant leftwing narrative about Global Warming, or suggest that perhaps tightening border security is a valid way to handle an immigration crisis, or question the latest narratives about Covid, then it's like watching Jerry Falwell in a mitre.  Which brings me back to my original question for Pope Francis. 

If I had only one choice, which would be more important: that I be a devout and practicing Catholic, even if I question various (predominantly liberal) political and social narratives, or that I dismiss the Gospel and the Catholic tradition while cleaving unto the various socioeconomic policy proposals and agendas of global secular liberalism.  Which one would Pope Francis want?  I know what I should assume he would want.  But whether it's me or him, I'd be lying if I said I know for sure. 

My November Book Club

Or books I read in the dead of fall. 

Let's face it, November is the neglected child of that illustrious Autumnal season we all celebrate.  Anyone who has spent more than a few months visiting my humble contribution to the digital decline of civilization knows my love for Fall and all things Autumn.  I won't even link to them here.  Check them out as you will. 

Most of that gushing over the season tends to happen early on.  It begins for me around the end of June, when we approach our first birthday of the calendar and look toward July 4th as the beginning of our time of year.  Then by August I begin anticipating the coming Fall season and everything to do with it.  The year 2020 notwithstanding, all of the things to do with Autumn begin drawing me forward.  Even though I was always careful not to 'wish my life away' by looking forward to future things, especially once we had children, I still get pretty anxious as the days counted down.

Then comes September and October, the football, the bonfires and homecoming parades, the college campuses and the foliage, the cooling temperatures, the apple cider, the pumpkin pastries - why the list is endless!  And the activities.  No other time in our calendar year are we, or have we been, as active.  Road trips and pumpkin patches, football tailgating, apple orchards and ghost runs through endless cemeteries, walks through the parks to see the changing leaves, ghost movies and Halloween specials, decorating for fall and All Hallow's (and let's not forget Columbus Day!), and all the buildup.  It leaves us exhausted, but even in this year of crazy, it still leaves us happy and satisfied.

But then comes November.  Oh we have Veterans Day, a day we still set aside for the important reasons it represents.  We have Thanksgiving to look forward to and get ready for.  And we know Christmas - that holiday of all festive days - is that much closer.   But from All Saints Day, there is a definite drop.  The morning after Halloween (on which is always Tricks or Treats in our little Ohio town), when I go out to survey the damage and pick up any stray candy, there is always a 'feel'.  Those crisp gray mornings, the leaves on the ground and the Jack O Lanterns burned out seem to bring a sense of 'it's over.'  Relief and rest.  And wait for the end of that next month. 

And that's November.  The 'also ran' of Autumn.  By now, most of the leaves are down and the branches bare.  The fireworks display of foliage is behind us.  Rains are common, cold, chilling to the bone rains.  Sometimes there is snow, though not as often as in days gone by.  Football is halfway done, and high school football has ended (at least for my high school since we never had a ghost of a chance to go to the championships).  Marching band was over and concert band began, though at least the first order of business was getting the year's Christmas Holiday Concert music going.  In college November marked the second half of the semester, midterms over (and the subsequent parties and celebrations), and back to the grind until that brief break before finals. 

Because of November's 'stuck in the middle' feel, things are a little different around these parts.  We do have some things we watch as a family, though we seldom watch all of these every year, save for Charlie Brown.   We don't have any particular feasts, holding out for that feast of feasts at the end of the month.  And there isn't much we do, unless I happen to have tickets for an Ohio State football game at this time.  

Therefore, one thing I've tended to develop over the years as a quasi-tradition, for me at least, has been to reread certain books at this time of year when I normally wouldn't otherwise.  Not that I don't like them or anything.  In fact, they're usually ones that I've read and reread a thousand times because they are among my favorites.  

It's just that I set my usual reading regiment aside and bring back the usual suspects - books that give me that 'fall feeling', whether in terms of history or fantasy or nostalgia or some other form of fiction that strikes my autumn nerves.  Unless I get a really big recommendation, I don't get new books at this time.  Below is a partial list of the most common, and indeed ones that I will usually read, if not every November, at least once in a two or three year period at this time of year.

1. The Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien  (one a year, rotating)

2. Beowulf, favorite translation being Howell Chickering, Jr. (it's also interlinear, and someday I'll have that Anglo-Saxon down!)

3. Ivanhoe, Sir Walter Scott  

4. Godric, Frederick Buechner 

5. 1066: The Year of Conquest, David Armine Howarth 

6. The Middle Ages, Morris Bishop

7. The Canterbury Tales, Geoffrey Chaucer 

8. Memoir of a Revolutionary Soldier: The Narrative of Joseph Plumb Martin, Joseph Plumb Martin 

9.  Darkness at Noon, Arthur Koestler (not a bad book to brush up on right now)

10. The Pilgrim's Progress, John Bunyan 

11. All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque 

12. Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe 

13. Mayflower, Nathaniel Philbrick 

14. Paradise Lost, John Milton 

15. Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte

Again, I don't read all of them every year.  Time simply doesn't allow it.  Though I don't make a habit of picking up newer books in November, if for no other reason Christmas and my birthday are around the corner.  Still there are times when a recommendation comes so strongly that I go ahead and get the book in question and read it, momentarily setting those above aside.  Plus time.  Time doesn't allow all of them in only a few weeks, given other obligations of life.

But for those dreary, raining, bare tree, gray November evenings, you can rest assured that at least a half dozen of the above list will be spread about the house, next to the bed, in our basement by my Grandma's antique rocking chair (my hiding place down there), or in the living room.  And there they'll be until I've gone through them in time to read whatever I inevitably get for my birthday, then Christmas, and then back to normal as another year begins afresh. 

Ohio's Coronavirus Dream Team

L to R: Dr. Amy Acton, Gov. Mike DeWine, Lt. Gov. Jon Husted

Governor Mike DeWine, Lieutenant Governor Jon Husted, and a rising star in the medical world, Dr. Amy Acton.   The three of them have led the state ahead of the Coronavirus curve, shutting down almost everything - except, strangely, daycares.  Husted and Acton look like charismatic Hollywood stars you would pick to play their parts.  Husted is tall, handsome, athletic (one conference had him dressed in outdoor gear and a recreational vest), and Acton is an easy-on-the-eyes medical savant who is amiable and down to earth.  Both are able to communicate their expertise clearly, taking abstract government lingo and complex medical terminology and filtering it so that anyone can grasp what they are saying.

Governor DeWine, who has stood firm where former governor John Kasich often faltered, has been a pleasant surprise.  One might mistakenly see him and think of a hobbit in glasses.  Like hobbits, however, he has taken a surprisingly strong and resilient line on issues near and dear to conservative hearts, while also being willing to reach across the aisle when policy doesn't conflict with core morality.  Ahead of many US governors, he jumped out early on this, prepping the state for the radical steps about to be taken.  His decisive leadership and calm demeanor (with frequent suggestions passed to him from his wife, Fran) have been crucial in helping keep Ohians grounded. 

For most Ohioans across the political spectrum, they generally have been well received.  There is a feeling of confidence they exude, and I've not heard from many (save the usual suspects on both sides) who aren't at least happy with their leadership, even if they don't care for all their decisions.

For my part?  Some might protest that I was one of those skeptic types who admitted there is a virus and we should do things, but feared we're causing more harm than good.  Here's how I am.  There is a television series from the late 1990s based on the Forester book series Horatio Hornblower, starring a young Ioan Gruffudd.  It was an early cable version of 'limited release series', with initially four separate episodes directed by different directors.  A BBC production, it's top rate.

The third episode, titled in the US "The Duchess and the Devil", has Horatio and a handful of his men captured by the enemy and set up in a Spanish prison.  Among the various storylines is one subordinate, named Hunter, whose resentment and jealously of the young up and coming Horatio is obvious.  Horatio, being Horatio, is taking the long game: to escape will require much planning, thinking, and considering all options.  Hunter takes a more direct approach.  Whipping up suspicion of Hornblower's intentions among the men, he manages to rally them to his cause, and one day rises up and attempts to force his way out of the prison and into freedom.

It's a lost cause, and Horatio knows it.  Hunter had acted against direct orders, and suddenly they were rushing down the corridors, heading into a certain trap.  Again, the calm and level headed Horatio can see it all too clearly.  Nonetheless, when his men rally behind Hunter, Horatio grabs what weapons he can - and joins them.  It turns out to be futile.  Men, including Hunter, are shot, and the prison breaks collapses as soon as it began.  The prison's warden even admits he knows the foolish ploy couldn't have come from someone as smart as Horatio.  Nonetheless, Hornblower had joined the uprising because, well, that's what you do.

That's what I do.  Even though I believe we are likely overreacting, and it might even cause long term harm, it's what we are doing.  We had best join and do our part to help as many as possible, and see each other through.  Who knows? Perhaps we'll look beyond this and realize that our problems predated the latest viral outbreak.  After all, a nation where suicide is one of the leading causes of death for ten year olds is not a nation that should have needed a virus to kick it into gear.  In any event, I may protest, but when the team commits, unless it is to grave and intrinsic evil, find me more or less willing to jump in and try to help.

One final observation. Regarding our vaunted leadership team, it is worth noting that there are many others who join them on different days for Ohio's daily briefings.  One group is missing, however, and that's religious leaders.  While DeWine makes several references to Catholic saint days and Catholic devotions, there are no leaders representing religion in general, or Christianity in particular.  In fact, churches have been reduced to the same category as barber shops and restaurants - told to do what they are told to do and expected to comply.  I find that telling.   What's more, the fact that the churches immediately comply without demanding some presence in the decision making is even more telling, if not expected in our secular age.

RIP Christopher Tolkien

Christopher Tolkien, the great J.R.R. Tolkien's son and prime architect of the vast Tolkien fictional universe, has died.

Words can't begin to express the gratitude I and millions around the world have for the work he did.  It was he who took the fragments of his dad's unending imagination and labors and put them together in a meaningful way.  He kept the publications churning, and over the later years we were treated to many works and ideals of Tolkien that fans have wanted to see for decades.

In the early 2000s, he came in for some heavy criticism by fanboys, who will always embrace the latest as the bestest, when he failed to give proper deference to Peter Jackson's vision for Middle Earth.   Many felt he was holding back a right proper take on his dad's works that would endear Middle Earth to all new generations.

Perhaps.  But by the time Jackson had mauled and vomited out the appalling Hobbit trilogy, it was mused by some that he had actually hurt the Tolkien franchise.  Many younger people, beyond the woke crusades against Tolkien one could expect, were simply tired of hobbits and dwarves and elves.  More than that, many who knew nothing but Jackson's cinematic dung heap concluded nothing that those movies could come from could possibly be good.

So in hindsight, Christopher was correct in being wary of turning everything over to Jackson, or even modern Hollywood in general.  He wasn't always that way of course.  Under his guidance, the Tolkien estate had given its blessings before, and of course signed deals with other production companies for early attempts to put Tolkien's vast universe into motion.

But it was always Christopher's goal to respect and give proper credit to all that his dad had created.  Watch dog and guardian of his dad's legacy, and passionately loyal to his memory, Christopher took the legendary works and their foundations and kept it in the public eye in his own way.   And it was his work that showed the world that beyond Tolkien's story telling and wit and wisdom, there was a deep and broad creation that we could spend our lives exploring, and still never discover it all.

God bless and may your soul join that father whose legacy you defended, preserved and maintained for the rest of us to enjoy. 

Some Harry Potter behind the scenes fun

When I say I like The Lord of the Rings, people will sometimes immediately assume I'm some big Sci-Fi/Fantasy fan.  I'm not.  I like LoTR despite the fact that it's fantasy, not because.  Same goes for The Hobbit and the rest of Tolkien's vast universe.  I appreciate the quality and the talent and passion behind it all.

Likewise, I dis on Harry Potter quite a lot, and people sometimes confuse that with some profound dislike for it.  I don't dislike it, though I feel the later books of the series lacked the same charm and quality that the earlier books possessed.  As one of my sons said, Rowling tried to make an epic fictional universe that ended up being too big for her talents to fill.  To me it was like the movie Titanic, not as bad as its harshest critics suggest, but nowhere near deserving the accolades and success it enjoyed.

In the same way, I enjoyed the movies, though their quality tended to diminish along with the books.  Those radfans who insisted Rowling was the holy mother of authors and Potter was the Gospel incarnate, and who blamed directors and Hollywood and evil fundamentalists and bad editors and everything else for the quality problems were just blowing fanboy hot air.  She just hit it big at the dawn of the  global internet era and Harry Potter Org. was the result.  The disparity with her abilities was more to do with market shifts and worldwide consumer base than a fool editor causing her books to be what they became.

Nonetheless, I have fond memories of that whole phenomenon, just as I do The Wiggles and Miss Pattycake and Barney the Dinosaur or everything else that defines my boys' younger days.   That, as well as The Lord of the Rings (and their subsequent delving into all sorts of fantasy RPG sci-fi interests) are, for me, a special part of my life.  I can still remember the final book release and the big midnight HP party at a nearby Barnes and Noble.  My oldest son, who looked a lot like the boy wizard, was quite the conversation piece (I think he enjoyed the attention no matter what he said at the time).  Likewise, when the credits of the last HP movie rolled, I felt a certain sadness that a period in my boys' life had come to a close.   The same feeling I had when Luke beat the crap out of Vader in Return of the Jedi.

But that's the way of things.  So this was a fun little piece to go back and look through.  I'm sure actual fans of the movies (and maybe the books) will have more fun with it.

A day of fun and snow

Since the whole family got snowed in, we figured we’d run out and make a snowman before it rained, while Mom watched from the cozy confines of our hobbit hole.  I’m not given to posting pictures of myself online, much less taking selfies.  But there are times when you want to be part of the collage, especially if by design or chance it will document when the whole gang got to spend an impromptu bit of frivolity together, courtesy of Ohio weather.  So there you go, family fun including me, 2019.

My sons slay me

So they all went to see the movie Black Panther.  Eh.  It was a typical Marvel comic movie (they insisted we see it later).  Nonetheless, they noticed that there were two main characters in it who weren't Black: Martin Freeman and Andy Serkis.  They also pointed out that those two had been in Peter Jackson's Adaptations of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. 

Therefore, they pointed out that (and here it comes) you might say they were the movie's 'Tolkien White Guys.' 

On behalf of International Women's Day, allow me to celebrate my four sons

It's been a bit since I posted anything about the family.  I got away from it during my time at Patheos.  Not that I thought people there would be mean or anything.  In fact, in a little reminder that we're more human than the internet encourages, when my Mom suffered a bad health scare last year, I was touched by how so many who spent most of their time trashing me stopped to wish her and us the best.

I just didn't do it because that wasn't what Patheos wanted me for, and I tried to do my part.  It was when Patheos wasn't doing its part as I saw it that I left.  So since it is a day to celebrate women, who are increasingly overtaking men on almost every front, while men are told the entire history of humanity was just patriarchal, sexist bilge, I thought I'd bring everyone up to date with my boys.

I have four of them, the oldest 22 and the youngest 8, with 19 and 17 rounding out the other twos' ages.  The two oldest have moved onto college, as I said here.  The third is wrapping up his senior year, while our youngest is in some broad area between third and fourth grade, depending on the subject.  Oh, and we homeschool.

Anyway, for our 25th wedding anniversary, our oldest boys decided to pull from their college savings accounts they have worked years to amass, and send my wife and I on a little second honeymoon.  They had planned on giving us a train trip out West, but then the series of train crashes that made the news got them to think better of it.  Instead they sent us to a hotel built by a military vet who had fallen in love with castles while he was stationed in Europe.  Having prospered in life, he decided to build himself a castle here at home.  His wife, however, suggested he make it so others could enjoy it, rather than keeping it for himself.  So a hotel in a faux European castle design was born.

Normally it would be out of our price range in any event, but our boys went all out and paid for the best suite in the hotel.  All days and nights, plus dinners and special amenities, paid for by their generosity.  As they said, it was in thanks for all we've done for them.  When I look at our run down hobbit hole, cars held together with tape and the fact that they have to work to put themselves through college, I often wonder just what it was we gave them.  Never one to look a gift horse, however, we accepted their generosity graciously, and it was everything a 25th Anniversary present could be.

Here are a few pics of where we stayed:

Where we stayed in the beautiful Hocking Hills region of Ohio.  The middle tower was ours, the other two were public.

That's our room, the rounded tower being on one end of it

The windows of the tower are visible, and that spiral staircase takes us to the tower.  A balcony was on the opposite side of the room

It being Ohio, we started with pouring rain one day, next day snow, followed by sunny and warm

The best picture.  I think I should submit it.

We arrived during the week when only one other room was occupied.  The staff left at 11:00 PM.  It was creepy

And here are the boys who made it possible, in a recent picture where the oldest ones came around to help their youngest brother build an all important snow fort (using recycle bins).  For years it hadn't snowed enough to do anything like that with him, so they thought it was unfair their youngest didn't have the chance to build a good old snow fort with his brothers while they were still in school.  I have no clue what it is they are all looking at, but it was something that captivated them: 

From L. to R.: Our third oldest, second oldest, youngest and oldest (kneeling on back snow blocks)

As for who and where they are?  I don't mention proper names on the net, just because.  But as of now, from L to R in the above pic, our third oldest is looking at entering law enforcement when he is done with school.  Or at least starting the process.  Our former gymnast and football star, he's the biggest of the four in everything: size, strength and the biggest heart with a AAA cubed personality.  Not the least intimidated by people, he will wade boisterously into any situation to help friend and stranger alike.  He wanted something that would play to those strengths, and over time began casting his eyes toward being a police officer.  He had thought of going by way of the military first, but recent developments in the news caused him to rethink that approach.  Must admit there is a little love/hate on our part for such a career choice, but we're still proud.

Our second oldest is aiming at law school.  Understated but quick witted, and at times a bit inscrutable, he's the natural scholar of the four with an inflamed sense of justice.  He wants to be a defense lawyer.  Even in elementary school we received calls from counselors who informed us that, when push came to shove, he was willing to stand his ground, whether defending a girl from bullies or calling out a teacher who told kids that the best way to avoid being bullied was to conform.  Even then he could have his way in an argument due to his quick thinking.  He's also a natural writer, far better than his old man, and thus far has climbed the corporate ladder faster than the other two.




Our youngest just comes along, learning from and combining traits of his older brothers, who have given more to him than almost any siblings I've ever seen with that age difference.  He didn't have money for our anniversary vacation, so he said he'd just pay us with hugs.  Being homeschooled, he already gets differences between Aristotle and Plato, the importance of 1066, Pierre's story arc in War and Peace and is pushing past fourth grade math halfway through third grade.  As of now he wants to 'build for a living', but that could change a thousand times.  As we've learned from the others, we're happy to keep him young as long as he sees fit.





Finally, our oldest is studying to be a gourmet chef.  Quiet, reserved, thoughtful and creative, he dabbled with journalism and even law, but his shy and reserved ways just pushed him away, until he settled on the one thing he has loved since he was his youngest brother's age, and that's cooking. Verging on obsessive at times, once he zeroes in on something he typically becomes among the best, whether running, music, cooking, or his encyclopedic knowledge of politics and sports.  So as a chef, he's already good.  Very, very good.  Which is why we get things like this for our birthday and anniversary respectfully:

Well done per ol'Dad's request, not usual preference for rack of lamb

The steak was expected, the lobster tails were a pleasant surprise

In both cases, it was his first attempt at those dishes (except the steaks, which he has down to an art and can cook them so as to be cut by a spoon).  Gourmet cooking is a nice college major that starts paying back in dividends early, let me tell you.

So there you have it: the Boys.  I think had God given me nothing but them, I'd reckon myself the richest man alive.  Added to the chance to help pay back my own Mom for her years of love by being her caregiver, and having the world's cutest wife:

Also long suffering being with me all these years

I'd say life has treated me, overall, pretty nicely.  Thanks God, even if I sometimes forget that little but obvious fact.

The Boys, for Women's Day 2018