Thoughtful Spot

Thoughtful's Thursday Book Faire and Literary Pursuits

i love words, the way they sound, the emotions they evoke; i love a cleverly constructed phrase that makes me laugh, then think; i love poetry and lyrics woven into prose; i love going places i've never been in a sailboat made of words.

i have made the happy discovery that the best places to find words are in books, which is indeed good fortune, because i love books, too.
There are book cases in every room of Round Rock, stacks of books on every tabletop, books piled in baskets, and books stored in the attic and garage.

Remember Rory Gilmore? Like that.
(Only not as smart.) 

Today is the launching of
Thoughtful's Thursday Book Faire.
A Faire sounds just the way i feel about books, like a medieval festival with dancing and feasting;

the word brings back memories of the best week of any elementary school year: the annual Book Faire Week, when the library and lunch room overflowed with tables loaded with books for sale and i had money to spend.
i get goose bumps thinking about it.

(If you don't love to read, i'll look at you like you're an alien. i'll still love you, but i will never understand you.
just sayin'.)

i hope you will join me on Thursdays for 
Thoughtful's Thursday Book Faire and Literary Pursuits.
There will be book lists and reviews (sans spoilers, i promise) and quotable quotes and inspiring passages and links to other sites of Bibliophiles. i hope you will talk back. if there is anything i love better than reading words, it is talking about them with friends. In the comment section, leave a note about what you are reading. i'll treasure every word.

This week at Round Rock, on the nightstand (at night) and in the straw bag (by day):

Happy Reading, Dear Hearts!

Daddy's Little Girl

He has two.
My Man has two beautiful daughters,
and they both are, and always will be, his little girls.

I see a different side of him with these two,
the one away from home,
he calls every night when he leaves work.

The other, we are a little protective over,
she is small as a bird, and sweet beyond bearing,
he checks on each night.

Yesterday morning, before dawn,
I heard him checking on her.
He prayed with her.
She had a Big Wisdom Teeth Deal in a few hours,
and she was being a brave twenty-year old.
But she is still his little girl.

He called once in the morning to check on her, finding time in his busy day,
and on the way home, at the end of a twelve hour shift, covered in a fine, sooty dust from the factory, he stopped for these.


He walked into the back door where I stood at the stove, holding them in his calloused hands,
and everything good about life was in the gesture.
I sent  him to the garden for a few roses to tuck inside, and slid off the cellophane, dumped the packet of preservative in a vase of water, and trimmed the bouquet.
The roses were between-times for pruning, and so when he returned, he held before him three, plump, blue hydrangea.

Beautiful.

Then I watched as he carried the vase around the corner to the sofa where she lay,
chipmunk-cheeked and groggy from surgery.
And I wondered what it did to a little girl's heart when her daddy brings her flowers.

I believe it protects her.
I believe she feels cherished at her core, and protected from trying to please the wrong kind of man.
I believe she will not settle for a false love that she has to work to maintain.
I believe she will soar. . .

I know because that is what the love of my Heavenly Father has done for me. . .

In a desert land He found me,
    in a barren and howling waste.
He shielded me and cared for me;
    He guarded me as the apple of His eye . . .

~Deuteronomy 32: 10

He longs to be your Father, too, my friend.

 

The Walk Across Campus

Continuing to revisit special memories of Commencement Weekend this week. . .

Ancient Campus.
That's where the Walk begins.
Under the sheltering portico of the gentle behemoth Wren, overshadowed by its two great wings.

Sixteen Hundred and Ninety Three.
That is the year the King and Queen

signed the College into being by Royal Charter.

In a country as relatively young as the U.S., the College is quite old.
Alma Mater of a Nation.

George Washington,Thomas Jefferson, John Tyler, James Monroe.
It's hard not to notice that your fellow alumni Played a Significant Role in the founding of a nation. . .your nation. Not just presidents, soldiers, great businessmen, or (heaven bless us) celebrities and reality stars...but

Founders.

That does something to a place.
It rises from the green lawn in splendid mortar and brick, cathedral windowed, spire tipped glory. . .

sleepy, silent, wise, and like old money and genteel families, unpretentious.
It just is what it is.Excellent. Purposeful. Strong.
Still delivering leaders to a nation.

Tradition here is plum sweet and delicately boned.
No pretense. No legalism.
A sort of gentle irony and humble thankfulness.
You are taught not to take this education for granted.
You are exhorted to give back by finding a place to serve in the world.

So it means something, that on the first day of your first year, at Opening Convocation, the President leads your class through the cool, dark hall of the Wren into the sunshine of the Courtyard where you are encircled, cheered, and welcomed by those who will teach you, those who are ahead of you.

And each year, you go back to welcome the next incoming group, because you remember what it meant to you.

Until it is your turn,

to reverse the tread, step back through the heavy double doors, and return to the other side.

That long Last Walk across Campus will be one of the memories that will stay with you your whole life.

For me, it was this. . .

I saw them. . .Father and and your daddy (so young then) stationed there along the path, was it behind a tree? with cameras and cheers.

And then again, beneath the bridge? waving.
Slipping around the corner near the cafeteria? calling my name.

Whispers of light and shade they went before, surrounded, reconnoitered, guarded my journey,
cheering me on, always there.
That is an image I have never forgotten.

It has carried me for the long years to come.

And I know how you felt, Dear One, each time you looked and saw us cheering you on. . .

Well done, little one, well done.
Remember, you are never alone.
Take joy in the journey.

 

Jeremiah 29:11

Graduation Dinner at King's Arms Tavern

Re-visiting special memories of Commencement Weekend this week. . .

    Once ensconced at our comfortable accommodations on South Henry Street, we traveled everywhere by foot. Williamsburg in spring is a feast for the eyes, cobble stones underfoot, lamp posts, white clapboard buildings. . .and the gardens. Oh, the gardens. May blossomed gently behind picket fences, bobbing her many bonnets on tall foxglove stems. Heavy gates swung closed quietly behind us on ball and chain as we passed through the kitchen garden of the tavern, past rows of billowy cabbages and feathery dill, past the open door of the kitchen where an aproned lady in white bob cap was busy at preparations, and one last gate opened onto the street and the clip clop of carriage horses reverberating softly around the  conversation of the waiting diners. . .For four years in four seasons, this little village has welcomed me with its sleepy peace, wood fires, clanging blacksmith hammer, swinging placards over merchants' shops. I have watched the nimble fingers of artisans, weaving baskets, spinning thread, fashioning ribbons on broad brimmed hats. I have tasted the apothecary's rock candy, wandered by the creek in the Palace Gardens, become lost in the maze, and threaded through rooms tapestried, wainscoted and serene. Here I was a student at the College, took classes on the top floor of the Wren building overlooking the triangle of green and the village beyond, and worked in the kitchens of the Tavern. That was thirty years ago. This night I was a guest in the Tavern, and our daughter was graduating. Time was coming full circle, and while we laughed and ate and made merry, my heart listened for the Voice of One Who had given me safe passage. In those days of youth and mischief, He knew this moment.  And marvelled me at the love I had known.

Arriving on the street from the garden, Lori with her Granddaddy. That handsome guy peaking over the gate was with me thirty years ago, Lori's daddy.

Braveheart chooses the Colonial Game Pye: venison, duck and rabbit. "The whole Disney cast - Bambi, Donald, and Thumper- in one pie," we teased her.

A copy of the Evening Bill of Fare may be found here.

Mrs. Vobe's Tavern opened in 1772, and became one of the town's most genteel establishments.

Candlelight dinners are the norm in the village.

Nana dons her yard square delighted with the custom, "A lady tucking her yard square into the front of her bodice indicated that she was willing for the gentleman to pay for her meal."

A gentleman tied a yard square around his neck to pay a compliment to the ladies.

Sally Lunn bread. . .simple taste, light texture.

The food of the 18th century did not contain any artificial colors, preservatives, chemicals or pesticides, and was local, fresh and unprocessed.

On occasion, Mr. Jefferson introduced wines and foods from his travels abroad. I particularly favored the  Parmesan he brought back from Italy in the creamed spinach.

Sweet tea was not yet a Southern icon.
Very difficult to sweeten the tea with raw sugar. . .but delightful nevertheless.

Colonial Game Pye.
Our waiter demonstrated how to detach and lift the top of the pie and deposit it on a platter, and then scoop the stew over it. Lori mastered the skill.

 Gentlemen guests often brought forth musical instruments after a meal. We sang songs peopled with sailors and lost ladies.

"We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar on deck and below,
Until we sight Lizard off the coast of Old England
Then straight up the channel to Portsmouth we'll go!"



Gifts between roommates. . .four years. . .heart friends from the moment they met.
"We have reached the open sea. . ."
a quote from a favorite book.

And a sweet end to the meal. . .


Thomas Jefferson’s Brandy-spiked Bread Pudding
With a warm Vanilla Bean Sauce.
(Hard to believe this was half a portion!)

Syllabub.
Wine-laced Cream whipped to a Froth,
seasoned with Lemon Zest,
and garnished with seasonal Berries
(Someone forgot to tell Little Lady Curls about the wine and sherry at the bottom.)
Meringue Shell
Baked Egg Whites
served with Vanilla Ice Cream
and fresh Strawberries

Sweetly, the evening ended at the Tavern,
and arm in arm we strolled back up the center of Duke of Gloucester, the setting sun gilding shop windows and evening blooming blue in the east.
Thank you, dear hearts, for sharing this with me.

Tomorrow: the Walk Across Campus

I Only Blinked my Eyes Once. . .

What I saw. . .

what the photograph revealed. . .

Congratulations, my Lori Ann!
the College of William and Mary
Class of 2012

~

Dearest Thoughtful Friends. . .I have been away for awhile and now you see why. Much planning, preparation, and celebrating. . .
and now collapsing.

Happy times, I do not take for granted. . .

"I will extol the Lord with all my heart
    in the council of the upright and in the assembly."

~Psalm 111:1

#0678 - for today, just this moment, inexpressible now.

Counting with the Community at. . .

I Do Not Take Education of Young Girls Lightly

The ribbons on the bonnets have been changed for May.
Lovely in the afternoon light.

Soon we will take a route once travelled by horseback,
past newly turned fields of young corn and cotton,
through sundappled woods,
following the broadening river. . .

a path taken by generations before us. . .

this time to celebrate and cheer on this little one
who is graduating from The College

in a different sort of hat, with a different sort of ribbon.

Much to be thankful for.

Blessings, dear ones.

The Basil and The Westie

Into five perfect little pots, stone colored and 9" deep, i poured a layer of river pebbles. Breathing fresh scent deeply, i scooped layers of potting soil next, watering gently as i went. Then Placements: perfectly scented basil, four, and curly leaf parsley, one, took their seats. The work was pleasant in late afternoon, as sun beat on the shed roof and the twin engines of mosquitoes whine near my ear. (Smack!) In Virginia, spring begins in March and ends in April. Now that May is here, summer's heat is already rising, thickening the air with humidity, swelling into early evening, and deep in your bones you know that relief will come with a storm.  News said the hail in the western counties was over an inch in diameter, but we were safe.

At 2 a.m., I heard the first bark of thunder. I confuse my metaphors here because Sam the Westie is terrified of storms.  How useless the few minutes were spent trying not to worry about the tender basil and parsley in the dark on the deck.
And so i rose, night gown billowing like a pale ghost in the night, and brought the pots in to safety, Sam dancing happily at my feet. Yes, he was rescued, too, from his lonely sleeping spot where shards of lightning and bellows of thunder threatened to undo him, to slept peacefully at his master's feet.

All is well.

Special Delivery

Unexpected.

Undeserved.

Right on time.

Just what I need.

Just enough.

Custom fit.

Always in stock.

No need to call.

You did open yours today, didn't you?

At last. . .May

A bouquet for you, my Friends to celebrate the most lovely of Months. . .

A delicate fabric of bird song
Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
Is everywhere.

Red small leaves of the maple
Are clenched like a hand,
Like girls at their first communion
The pear trees stand.

Oh I must pass nothing by
Without loving it much,
The raindrop try with my lips,
The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May
Shining after the rain?

~Sarah Teasdale

Come Awake! Come Awake!

This is for me today . . .
but if it benefits you my friend. . .all the more reason to post.
You are loved.

____

Where are you today?

Come awake. Come awake
Come and rise up from the grave. . .

 

I am not sure where you are today.
But I know where He was that day.
He was standing in your place.
He was surrendered to God's will.
He was mocked before men.
He was unwavering through torture.
He was nailed to a tree.
He was burdened with your sin (dishonesty.gluttony.lust. greed. selfishness)

I'm not sure where you are today, but I know what He was doing for you that day.

 

Christ is risen from the dead
Trampling over death by death.

Come awake come awake
Come and rise up from the grave

 

 O death.
Where is your sting?

O hell.
Where is your victory?

O! Church!
Come stand in the light. . .

 Our God is not dead! He's alive. . .
He's alive!

I am not sure where you are today.
But I know where you could be.
You could be a new creation.
You could come awake with Christ today.

 

 

Counting the Grace Gifts. . .

#0671 - after all these years, still teaching. . .

#0672 - gentle rain for days

#0673 - sweet william, startling blue salvia, foxglove, and peonies. . .heart melts

#0674 - finding the herb stand with chalkboard

#0675 - forgotten treasures on the library shelves

#0676 - finding self again. . .the one I forgot I knew

#0677 - Being found

All Grace. All from Him.

Counting with the Community at. . .