Humility -

There is every likelihood that the site counter will cross 10,000 today.  I'm more than a little excited about the prospect.  If it's you, please let me know.  I'm not much for web design, but I can send you a potholder.

In a surprise move, yesterday's blog made it onto the featured content list.  In an even more surprising move, it made it all the way to number 3 before the clock rolled past the magical 24 hour mark.  (Note to me - post Sunday blogs AFTER church for maximum proppage.  )

Yes, I was sitting here watching the featured content list this morning with all the fascination normally reserved for the Kentucky Derby.  It was something of a photo finish, I was way behind the first and second place entries, (who could compete with NotforProphet's brilliant blog about dying naked in the cemetery) but Daff and I kept going back and forth between 3rd and 4th place.  I'm sure that she has since passed my final tally, but at the crucial moment - I was 3rd.

So of course, I was naturally brought to consider the virtue of Humility.  My favorite author has some words about Humility in his masterpiece "Screwtape Letters."  In this book a senior demon - Screwtape - is advising his young nephew - Wormwood - on the proper care and handling of his first "patient."  The "Enemy" he refers to is God, and the object of Wormwood's attention is to divert the "patient" from any path that will lead him toward virtue and faith.  This is one of the few books I have on audio tape.  If you can imagine, it's read by John Cleese in a marvelously droll tone. 

My Dear Wormwood,

     Your patient has become humble; have you drawn his attention to the fact?  All virtues are less formidable to us once the man is aware he has them, but this is especially true of humility.  Catch him at the moment when he is really poor in spirit and smuggle into his mind the gratifying reflection, "By jove!  I'm being humble", and almost immediately pride, pride at his humility, will appear.  If he awakes to the danger and tries to smother this new form of pride, make him proud of his attempt, and so on, through as many stages as you please.  But don't try this too long, for fear you awake his sense of humor and proportion in which case he will merely laugh at you and go to bed.

     But, there are other profitable ways of fixing his attention on the virtue of Humility.  By this virtue, as by all the others, our Enemy wants to turn the man's attention away from self to Him, and to the man's neighbors.  All the abjection and self-hatred* are designed, in the long run, solely for this end; unless they attain this end they do us little harm; and they may even do us good if they keep the man concerned with himself, and above all, if self-contempt can be made the starting point for contempt of other selves, and thus for gloom, cynicism, and cruelty.

     You must therefore conceal from the patient the true end of Humility.  Let him think of it not as self-forgetfulness but as a certain kind of opinion (namely a low opinion) of his own talents and character.  Some talents, I gather, he really has.  Fix in his mind the idea that humility consists in trying to believe those talents to be less valuable than he believes them to be.  No doubt they are in fact less valuable than he believes, but that is not the point.  The great thing is to make him value an opinion for some quality other than truth, thus introducing an element of dishonesty and make-believe into the heart of what otherwise threatens to become a virtue.  By this method thousands of humans have been brought to believe that Humility means pretty women trying to believe they are ugly and clever men trying to believe they are fools.  Since what they are trying to believe may in some cases be manifest nonsense, they cannot succeed in believing it and we have the chance of keeping their minds endlessly revolving on themselves in the effort to acheive the impossible. 

     To anticipate the Enemy's strategy we must consider His aims.  The Enemy wants to bring the man to a state of mind in which he could design the best cathedral in the world, and know it to be the best, and rejoice in the fact, without being any more (or less) or otherwise glad at having done it than he would be if it had been done by another.  The Enemy wants him in the end to be so free from any bias in his own favor that he can rejoice in his own talents as frankly and gratefully as in his neighbors talents - or in a sunrise, an elephant or a waterfall.

     He wants each man, in the long run, to be able to recognize all creatures (even himself) as glorious and excellent things.  He wants to kill their animal self-love as soon as possible; but it is His long-term policy, I fear, to restore to them a new kind of self-love - a charity and gratitude for all selves, including their own; when they have really learned to love their neighbors as themselves, they will be allowed to love themselves as their neighbors.  For we must never forget what is the most repellent and inexplicable trait in our Enemy, He really loves the hairless bipeds. . .

Your affectionate Uncle
Screwtape

*Screwtape freely admits that though all Hell has tried, they have no real understanding of "Love" and thus they regularly misinterpret love's methods while they are astounded by it's outcomes. 

My Place in Time

Old-fashioned things appeal to me.  I like to grind the wheat I use to make bread.  I prefer quilting or crochet to web design.  I like to read classics.  But, I like to enjoy all these pursuits in the comfort of my airconditioned home.  The Eighteenth Century might be a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

I imagine that my wheat grinder would be a terrifying contraption to bakers of millenia past.  It makes a sound like a jet engine taking off in my kitchen, and it produces flour much finer than that which was offered to kings of old.  But, they would still recognize that the bread is bread.

When I design a quilt and sew the little bits of fabric together, I feel a connection to the women of previous generations.  What did they think about as they performed the same tasks and steps?  Did they know they were creating art, or did they see quilting as just another chore, something that must be done to care for their family?  I use a fancy schmancy rotary cutter and quilting grid that my grandmother couldn't even imagine.  I buy quilters fabrics instead of using feedsacks.  But, in the end, it still comes down to a quilt.

When I read a book, its an exhausting process.  I ask - Where does it fit in the stream of ideas?  Is this author making certain statements in order to answer questions or argue against conclusions that some other author wrote?  Would he still have written this sentence if he'd known about what his sons in philosophy would take to be self-evident truth?  I can sit at their feet, but I can't ask them what they meant by that statement. 

So what's an old-fashioned person like me doing with a new-fangled thing like a web log?  I read your sites and think about the ideas that you bring up.  From you I pick up a topic and bring it back here for a blog of my own.  I came to Xanga to hone my writing skill and style.  I've tried keeping a journal, but you know what, journals don't talk back.  I crave your comments.  In the past year as a direct result of your comments, I've been led to a whole bookshelf of new material and ideas.  Some of the topics that I talked about as recently as six months ago, I'd take an entirely different angle on now, because you have broadened my perspective. 

Sometime this week, I'll cross a milestone with my Xanga blog.  My 10,000th visitor will open this page.  None of you have to come here.  There are thousands of Xanga pages that are funnier, smarter, better written.  You certainly don't have to comment here.  But, if it weren't for you and the kindness of your participation, I wouldn't be here.  I'd be sitting in my corner talking to my wall.  While it's true that the wall never argues with me, it's never challenged me, stimulated me, intrigued me, made me laugh at myself, encouraged me, or spoken kind words to me either. 

Because of you the ideas have been ground finer and the quilt is more colorful than anything I could imagine producing on my own.  Thank you.

I've decided to answer a question. 

Does Quiltnmomi Actually Quilt?

Yes.  But, I've been stuck on the latest project for about a year.  I like to piece the little pieces.  I like to play with color vaue, and patterns.  But when it comes to actually quilting the thing together into a finished product - I get stage fright.  I'm pretty good at piecing.  I can do some elaborate and innovative things.  My designs look like stained glass windows, or kaleidescopes, or antique patterns that might have graced the home of my great great grandparents.

But, its a funny thing about quilting.  For the math to work out, the pieces are sewn with a quarter inch seam.  Do you know how thin that is?  I don't think much about it until I start picturing one of my quilts holding up under actual use.  Then I panic.  I kept the very first quilt I made, but all the rest have been given away.  What if I give a quilt away and it comes apart at the seams!  How embarrassing.

The one I'm (not) working on is an Arkansas Crossroads pattern done in Christmas colors.  Its promised to my Mother-in-Law if I ever finish it.

Not finishing things has become a leitmotif around here in the past several years.  I start something - be it a quilt, a potholder, or dinner - and then something happens.  I get distracted.  I lay aside my work to take care of the urgent thing, and then I never go back to it.  (This has led to us sending out for more than one pizza.) 

I've never thought of myself as flaky.  I prefer to think of it as the "absent-minded professor" syndrome.  But, yesterday, my son brought it into focus for me.  "Mom, did you remember to eat lunch?  I didn't see you do it."  When your kid starts reminding you to eat, it isn't absent-minded - it's flaky.

Raising Parents -

Sometimes I wonder when I'm ever going to get my parents raised.  They just keep drifting along in the same self-destructive patterns that I've observed for my entire life, and apparently oblivious to all my excellent advice.

Yesterday, my Mom experienced a "dizzy spell" accompanied by numbness/tingling in her left arm, and numbness in her lips.  Wouldn't you think it would be reasonable that if the woman couldn't walk that she would at least consider a visit to the ER for a quick check-up to make sure she wasn't going to drop dead?  Wouldn't you think that the confession that she's had at least three of these "spells" since the weekend be enough to motivate my Dad to insist that she see a doctor?

The most we could get her to agree to do, is that she's going in to the lab this morning to have her blood sugar checked.  My poor dad.  In all his married life I can never remember him insisting to have his way once my mom had taken her stand.

Relationships are fraught with peril.  Not just the obvious perils, but sometimes the more dangerous ones that we just don't notice anymore.  Our habits of relating to each other can carry us right through day after day in which one person sees a problem/issue but can't bring him/herself to violate years of tolerance for the other person's right to make his/her own decision.

Armed with this insight, I took a look at my own relationship with my husband and children.  (And friends and sisters and brother and the dog - I'm nothing if not thorough.)

My husband has said that if I refuse to seek medical treatment when I obviously need it, he'll take me to the hospital, tell them that I'm his wife and that my name is Sadie Threadgill, and that he's very worried about me becuase I don't seem to know who I am.  It's sneaky and you know, it might work.  For the first time in my life I'm considering a tatoo.  Something small and discrete - like my driver's license and social security card stamped on my backside.

My kids said, "Mom if you ever look like you are sick and can't take care of yourself, we know what to do."  Michael said he gets to be in charge and Tucker said he gets to eat all the banana popsicles that he wants.

My sister said, "If I tell you to get your ass to the doctor, it better show up wearing bells and a smile."  I'm not exactly sure what this means, but I'm looking into the fashion magazines today, because I'm thinking I may have missed something.

When I asked my dog what she'd do if I showed signs of imminent incapacitation, she got a terrified look on her face and squatted on the carpet.  I barely got her outside in time to avoid a major catastrophe.

I spoke with one representative friend, and she said that it was hard for her to imagine a time in which I would be the needy one.  But if it ever happened, she'd be happy to babysit.  And hopefully, that time would come long after my kids/dog/husband have grown up and moved out so all she'd really need to worry about is watering my plants.

Do you ever wonder if we take this whole independence thing too far?  Are we so respectful of each other's right to self-determination that we are afraid to speak up and attempt to influence another person.  Do we feel so little responsibility for our fellow man that we cannot even bring ourselves to speak when we see the yawning pit ahead and the "bridge out" signs?

I know there are people who live in the other extreme.  There are some people who have such a need to manipulate and control others that their lives become models for CSI episodes.  (Is anyone else glad that there will be TWO CSI's this fall?)  But, it seems to me that in this day and age the consensus is for independence to the point that even people in controlling relationships go out of their way to deny the reality of their situation to others.

Mutual Interdependence - The day that I start thinking that I know better than to listen to the perspective of the people who love me (even those with questionable fashion suggestions), I have crossed a line that leads to destruction.  If I forget that though I may have some insight I don't possess infinite insight, I lose access to that one bit of knowledge that has escaped me but which I need to make my life safe.  The knowledge is still there, but I've created a barrier so that it can't get to me.

Good Evening -

Tim's away for the evening.  So I'm home trying to figure out how to entertain myself.  The boys had library day today, so they are watching a science video.  I could surf the web.  I could go around and read all the posts that I've missed for the past two days.

But, i think I'll play SIMS.  I haven't played in a while, but I have figured out how to make the game more interesting for me.  There is a way (is it a cheat?) to make your SIM more or less autonomous.  So I created a neighborhood in which each of the characters have free will.  Whooo Hoooo.  No more nice deterministic diety.  Oh, no.  There is no Godlike intrusion upon their natural tendencies to do whatever they want.  I've had a couple houses burn down, and not everyone can keep a job.  One guys' wife walked out on him because he was a major slob.  It's amazing what all trouble they get into when I leave them alone.

And if you haven't heard, there is a new SIMS module due out later this month (SIMS Unleashed.)  I'm looking forward to this one.  The primary innovation is that the SIMS will be able to own pets.  But, I noticed in the fine print that there are five new career tracks now.  Natasha Simdilius will have her chance to see how she likes being a SIM-Teacher.  She was doing pretty well in the psychic business, but she's been bored for a while, and she really doesn't like all these people depending on her to make their lives wonderful with her on target advice.

If you are interested in reading the blurb about the new module, they describe it HERE.  With any luck I'll have it before Fugitive comes to visit so she and I can explore it together. 

Good Morning -

It is a good morning here.  We had a brief rain last night.  Not enough to even really water the flowers, but hey, every little bit helps.  Tim left with the boys for fun time with Daddy as soon as dinner was over.  I slept.

Every life has a certain amount of grief and pain.  Your life has sorrow, and so has mine.  At one time I used to tell myself that "other people have more / bigger / more unbearable sorrows than I do."  I persuaded myself to "rise above" and "move on" instead of acknowledging the sorrows and pains that are mine alone to carry.

Funny thing about pain and grief.  You can deny it for a time, but not forever.  On Monday night I was visited by an old grief.  In my dreams I relived the sense of helplessness, loss, and anger that accompanied the original event.  Yesterday, I was a crushed person.  I went through my day in a daze.  Bewildered by the sheer weight of sorrow on my shoulders.

In the Bible there is an incident in which the prophet Elijah reaches a place of such sorrow that he cries out to the Lord for his life to end.  Instead of ending his life, God sends him rest.  Elijah sleeps and sleeps.  The the Lord wakes him, feeds him, gives him clear water to drink - and puts him back to sleep.

I've noticed that this remedy works very well for me as well.  When sorrow crushes and griefs cannot be outrun, I must stop and face them.  I must drink the full cup to the last sip.  Then, because grieving is hard work, I need to rest.

Tim knows me.  He knows me well, and he loves me.  So last night, he gave me time to sleep.  He may not be God, but sometimes his methods are similar.   

Today, I woke to a good day.  My sorrows have returned to their home in my memory where I can nod to them occasionally and they are content.  They know that I'm not denying them, not pretending that they aren't there.  My life moves on, but they are a part of my life, and cannot be left behind.

Behind the Scenes -

I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend.  I certainly did.  I read, and read, and napped and napped.  I have to tell you I'm REALLY disappointed in the George R. R. Martin books.  You would think that a book with 900 pages would last longer than ONE DAY!  Seriously, I sat down thinking that I'd get started on book 1 (A Game of Thrones) this weekend, and I could not stop reading until I finished book 2 (A Clash of Kings).  Ladies and Gentlemen - this is a lot of reading even for me.  Book one has 807 pages (in the mass market paperback version that I'm holding) and there are 969 pages in book two. 

Of course, this doesn't count appendices and the first chapter of the next book that is thoughtfully included at the end.  I LOVE the Lord of the Rings trilogy - but can I make a confession?  There are a few pages that I (ahem) . . . skim.  I know, I know, I'm a cretin, but really, the adventure is one thing, but Tolkien's love of words is quite another, and I DON'T speak elvish, so why should I read the many many poems that are WRITTEN in elvish? 

Now, Martin's A Song of Fire and Ice on the other hand, made me afraid to skip a page.  Something happens on every page that's interesting and important to the story.  Hard to believe with that many pages, but it's true.  The reason that this is so is that Martin hasn't written one story here, he's written at least 6.  Each "chapter" is told from a different viewpoint.  Each viewpoint represents another person who is the hero(ine) of his or her own story.  It's a fascinating look at the way our choices shape us and impact the people around us. 

Another thing I especially appreciate about Martin's plotting is that he never tells the same event twice.  The technique of shifting viewpoint usually gets really old with me because the author gives into the the temptation to "retell" scenes from a he said/she said perspective.  In this series, you get one chance to see the action and you have to work out whether the character "saw" it truly, was deceived in some way, or focused on the wrong thing.

Oh, what's the series about?  It's about birth and death, rising and falling, honor and betrayal, magic and alchemy, the pageantry of Kings and the mud of battle. 

If I have one quarrel with the way that Martin tells the story, it is in the sheer number of rape scenes he includes.  Yes, I KNOW that mercenaries rape and pillage in lieu of pay - but really.  After a certain number of rape scenes, I feel like a peeping-tom at the windows of a whorehouse.

This series is one huge "behind the scenes" look at any epic story you've ever heard.  Everyone has a viewpoint, and anyone could tell it differently than you've ever heard it before.  In the hands of a lesser author, this project would be tedious and preachy, in the hands of George R. R. Martin - it becomes a work of art.  

<Many thanks to Virgil who recommended the Martin series to me.>