Now Playing: Brahms, Symphony No. 4 in E minor, "Andante moderato." I love the opening to this movement so, so much. It's contending with the first movement of Beethoven's "Eroica" symphony for favorite Classical piece right now.

I discovered tonight one reason to be slightly melancholy about changing my last name: the codex in which Beowulf is found is often called the Nowell Codex, after a sixteenth-century antiquarian. Put that last name through a spelling permutation, and what do you get? Yes, yes, I know my family's last name is technically Dutch but hey, the connection always brings a certain glow to my heart whenever I stumble across that term for the manuscript.

Even when it comes early, I love this time of year. Above, tulips in the church parking lot. Below, the dogwood tree just outside Scott's dining room window.

Strong storms this evening--typical March weather for the "Midwest," I guess. (Does Indiana count as the Midwest?) Thankfully we had a rainbow out of it all.

Hail on our front porch.

All the trees are blooming, a glorious overabundance of flowers everywhere, even on campus.

Now Playing: Corelli, Concerto Grosso in F, Op. 6, No. 2, Grave - Andante Largo.

Another spectacular sunrise yesterday morning.

Daffodils at Scott's house are phenomenal right now. These ones with the pale peach centres, above, are a variety I've never seen before.

I've been reading Manalive by G.K. Chesterton over spring break, thanks to Anna.

Oddly enough, some of the moments that stood out to me most were when characters were talking about marriage (!). I was surprised to find so much wisdom in Chesterton about that particular subject since I usually think of him as being wise in matters of life philosophy, but I suppose that, given the topic of this particular book, I really shouldn't have been so shocked.

Anyway, a few quotes:

"'Imprudent marriages!' roared Michael. 'And pray where in earth or heaven are there any prudent marriages? .... You never know a husband till you marry him. Unhappy! Of course you'll be unhappy! Who the devil are you that you shouldn't be unhappy, like the mother that bore you? Disappointed! Of course we'll be disappointed! I, for one, don't expect till I die to be so good a man as I am at this minute...."

~

"'Oh, what's the good of talking about men,' cried Mary impatiently; 'why, one might as well be a lady novelist, or some horrid thing. There aren't any men. There are no such people. There's a man; and whoever he is he's quite different.'

'So there's no safety,' said Diana, in a low voice.

'Oh, I don't know,' answered Mary lightly enough; 'there's only two things generally true of them. At certain curious times they're just fitted to take care of us, and they're never fit to take care of themselves.'"

~

"'Don't you be frightened,' said Mary. 'All over, these men have one advantage: they are the sort that go out.'

A sudden thrust of wind through the trees drifted the dying leaves along the path, and they could hear the far-off trees roaring faintly.

'I mean,' said Mary, 'they are the kind that look outwards and get interested in the world. It doesn't matter a bit whether it's arguing, or bicycling, or breaking down the ends of the earth.... Stick to the man who looks out of the window and tries to understand the world. Keep clear of the man who looks in at the window and tries to understand you....'"

For one thing, Chesterton's sense of humour is often impeccable, with his peculiar blend of uproariousness and sarcasm. For another thing, the human balance of these ideas seems very appropriate. As a whole, the novella deals with loving the everyday:

"'... I think God has given us the love of special places, of a hearth and of a native land, for a good reason.... Because otherwise... we might worship that.'

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'Eternity,' he said in his harsh voice, 'the largest of the idols--the mightiest of the rivals of God.... if there be a house for me in heaven it will either have a green lamp-post and a hedge, or something quite as positive and personal as a green lamp-post and a hedge. I mean that God bade me love one spot and serve it, and do all things however wild in praise of it, so that this one spot might be a witness against all the infinities and the sophistries, that Paradise is somewhere and not anywhere, is something and not anything. and I would not be so very much surprised if the house in heaven had a real green lamp-post after all.'"

In other words, we love the specific, real, and concrete because we worship a specific, real, and concrete God, and not an airy-fairy generality that we've made up ourselves.

This is why the ideas about marriage seem apropos: Instead of worrying about "people out there," other possibilities, the vague exigencies of the future, it seems much more fitting to focus on this person in front of me, the one God has given me to love, right now, in this moment (and leave the future to take care of itself, if such a thing is possible for the human mind).

Which is why I love this quote that I stumbled across today in The Fellowship of the Ring, concerning Rivendell:

"The future, good or ill, was not forgotten, but ceased to have any power over the present."

A focus on the present good and the present blessings, thanking God for what He has given right now, without letting the future overshadow or overpower the present, specific, concrete reality of this moment here. This also precludes, one would hope, idolatry of the future, or of oneself in the future--or in the present, for that matter, since when you're busy being thankful and enjoying, it rather crowds out too much selfishness and introspection.

High ideals, and probably impossible--but good to think about, at least.

Crazy month, March: now the saucer magnolias are all in full bloom, the daffodils are out, and every bird in the world seems to be singing outside our windows.

Some absolutely amazing photos of our solar system here.

Now Playing: Chris Thile, "Not All Who Wander Are Lost," "Sinai to Canaan, Part I."

No existential musings today, just a quote stolen from Anna's blog: 

For the true apprehension of beauty, like faith itself, is an exercise in laying claim to what is already ours. There is a low door in the garden wall, and it opens on an inheritance: this is my Father’s world, and He has given it to me... In short, if we find ourselves wandering through this beautiful world of ours with ink-stained fingers and dreamy eyes and a slightly lopsided ivy crown, gazing about like we own the place, it’s because we do. 

-Lanier Iverson, "On Possessing Beauty"

From tornadoes on Friday to snow on Sunday. I'm wondering if it will ever really be spring here, but of course I wondered that last year, too, and it magically came eventually.

A crocus blooming today for the first time in Scott's yard. Thankfully, no white rabbits were nibbling on it.

After the recital.... Laura with her lovely chrysanthemums.

This past weekend, Scott and I drove to Beaver Falls, PA for Laura's junior piano recital. The drive back to Indiana was particularly striking since we took state highways down the Ohio River valley, past old steel towns. Old houses huddled in the shadow of abandoned mills, their views of the river entirely blocked by enormous sheds and towering smokestacks. Houses whose elegant wooden facades were peeling and crumbling, their porches sagging, their windows boarded over. It all seemed particularly haunting given the weather: a steel-grey sky, dry snow swirling endlessly across the windscreen. Hillsides cloaked with tall, straight, black trees, the river rolling steel-grey and flat under the flat sky.

Seeing my mother, Laura, and Stephen was delightful though, with Mrs. P, Stephen M, and Keith as well. Laura played beautifully; probably about seventy or eighty people came to the concert. On Saturday, we went out for breakfast at BFCAT for their legendary waffles, and then downtown to Athen's (yes, that's how it was spelled) for lunch. I think Scott and I both could've spent much more time with everyone, but we wanted to be back for church in Bloomington on Sunday, so we ended up driving fifteen hours out of the last thirty-six.... Sweetened with some Father Brown mysteries and a sermon by Pastor D, of course!

Church today was well worth coming back for. Pastor H has been preaching on Joshua, a surprisingly encouraging book, as it turns out. Today: Joshua 5, preparation for fighting against the Canaanites, about how God equips His people, sets them apart as His own, feeds them, provides for them, strengthens their faith. A timely reminder that it's not what we do so much as who we are that God cares about (of course, what we do flows from who we are, necessarily).

The weather today has also been gorgeous, a pleasant change from that bleak Ohio afternoon. Daffodils coming up and crocuses blooming in profusion.

Stargazers to help drive back the grey days.

This weekend Scott and I are driving up to Beaver Falls for Laura's junior recital. It will be a whirlwind fourteen-hours-in-two-days drive, but well worth it.

Now Playing: Some sort of Indie pop music in The Pourhouse where I'm sitting.

I'm grading essays for W131 right now. Slowly, slowly, slowly.

Scott has been painting away.... The office is now a lovely shade of robin's egg blue. Since it's up at the highest corner of the house, the room feels like an aerie or the cabin at the bow of a ship.

Now Playing: Brahms, Requiem, "Behold, all flesh is as the grass."

Scott and I went out for sushi yesterday for lunch. The colorful plate made a vivid contrast to the snow outside (by this morning, most of the snow has melted).

Now Playing: The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack by Howard Shore, "The Prophecy." I know, I know, but I just can't give it up. It's such good study music.

Right now I ought to be revising a short paper that's due tomorrow in my Cosmopolitanism in Medieval Literature class. The professor assigned it last Tuesday and gave us a week to complete it, but she also said she didn't want us to spend too much time on it. I feel sort of as though I cheated because all day Wednesday and Thursday, I had two documents open: this paper, and the poem I was writing for workshop tomorrow. I'd poke at them both by turns, but I'm not sure whether that approach helped or hindered.

Anyway, this past weekend was lovely: Laura, Mary, Cindy, and I drove up to Chicago. We stayed with Laura's grandparents overnight (they have a house by Lake Michigan, an hour's train ride east of Chicago) and took the train into the city the next morning. We ate brunch at the Bourgeois Pig, a restaurant about as delightful as its name would indicate. Some of the best waffles I've ever had.

We spent most of the day at the Art Institute. Balm to my soul: it's been a long, long time since I've been to a real art museum. Their collection of Impressionist paintings is fabulous. I stood for minutes on end, mesmerized by A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, Seurat's famous pointillist painting, and was startled into delight by one of Monet's Waterlilies, by vivid blue and deep green. They had Corot, Constable, and Turner as well--like running into old friends. Toulouse-Lautrec lent his nightmare-like gargoyles to the Impressionist wing, and Degas a few restrained, delicate pastels.

For a late lunch we joined one of Laura's friends at a pizza place for Chicago pizza. Crust as flaky as pie dough, and an enormous wedge of sausage down the middle. Then we took the train back to Beverly Shores and drove to Bloomington. The moon rose in the southeast, very low, enormous, orange and lavender.

And now it's back to work: paper for class tomorrow, poem for workshop tomorrow, film screenings in W131 this week, a presentation on Thursday, and so on and so forth.

Apparently, spring is the time for gorgeous sunrises. We're battening down the hatches for snow here. If Oklahoma got it, amazingly, then I'm guessing we will, too. Poor daffodils!

This morning I went running, and it was snowing. Little tiny snowflakes. So apparently spring isn't here yet after all....