Give me a book and I am like a dog with a bone. I can’t put it down. Such was the case with my latest choice, The Peaceable Kingdom by Jan de Hartog, 1971. “Massive book” “epic fiction,” and “sweeping saga” are just a few of the descriptions given it by various newspaper reviewers. My paperback copy ends on page 896.
Having adopted the motto, “So many books, so little time,” I had stopped reading anything of this length, so it was with some trepidation when I started it. But the book was mentioned by E. Glenn Hinson in an essay entitled “Elpisizing*” (Weavings - A Journal of the Christian Spiritual Life, Volume XXVII, Number 2), and I was intrigued.
How did someone bring hope to young children who were imprisoned in a windowless, smelly, bug-ridden cell in 17th-century England? It was a Quaker, Margaret Fells, the wife of a judge, who did it by moving in with the little ones and improving their conditions. Throughout the narrative in Part One (the first 446 pages), the reader is informed of the origin of the Quaker religion and its tenets and sees it in action.
It’s about one hundred years later when Book Two begins, and the descendants of the Quakers in Part One are residing in Pennsylvania. The theme is no longer prison reform. Slavery and conflict between settlers and Native Americans are addressed. I was spellbound, and so today I decided to just read until I came to the end.
Let me digress a bit. I assume the book is out of print because I had to order a used copy on the Amazon website. I’ve had fairly good luck ordering used books, and the one I chose was supposed to be in good condition. I was a bit surprised when it arrived with the back cover torn (a piece missing) and the page edges looking well-worn. I was more surprised when I was on page 168, opened the book wide, and that entire part of the book just fell off! However, I was the most surprised when I read page 880, and the next page was 893!
What??? What??? How can this be? Here I am at the end of the book, a new generation of Quakers is heading westward, and the narrative stops. It’s gone. I’ve read 880 pages and have no end to the book. I begin stomping around the house in disgust.
I’m not thinking such peaceable thoughts about the bookseller from whom I bought my book. I can think of only one solution to my dilemma. I sit down at the computer and order another copy of the book. A hardbound this time, $7.00. It says I will receive it in A MONTH! I can hardly believe it. By then, I will have met other characters who will have taken over my imagination. But still, I need a resolution after 880 pages.
And now I am going to digress once more. Probably a year ago I received from a friend an e-mailed survey that would reveal how my beliefs related to the tenets of various religions and Christian denominations. Turned out the Quakers and I were in 100% agreement. With my anti-war stance, it shouldn’t have been unexpected, but I knew little about the Friends. Now I understand more, and from what I’ve read, I think my beliefs are very similar to theirs. As it says on page 701, If God is anything at all, He is what St John said he was, what George Fox [who began the Quaker religion] said He was and what Margaret Fell, bless her soul showed He was: love. All other definitions are efforts on our part to evade the demands of that final realization. Yes, that’s what I believe, 100%.
This blog? It’s twofold. It’s the story of this frustrated reader who couldn’t finish her book, and it’s about my continued spiritual quest. It’s about peace and love. I recommend that you read the book, but before you start, be sure all the pages are there.
*the Greek work for “hoping”
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
Memorial Day Observed
Out my window, I see four little children. The two girls stand almost knee-deep in the calm lake water and chat. The two little boys, feet buried in the warm sand, hit each other with water noodles. It’s a perfect example of why women should run the world.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Green Commute Week
Bob was looking across the lake this morning and commented that he had seen only one car go by on South Shore Drive. I replied with a “halleluiah” and an explanation
“Go Green!” It’s the cry of many in Holland, Michigan who participate in caring for our planet. This week’s special emphasis is on using green modes of transportation, such as bicycles and public transportation, to get to work and around town. There are a lot of incentives being offered too, from free rides to goodie bags to special discounts at business “recharging stations.”
We’ve joined the event and bicycled to a greenhouse, hardware store, and “Captain Sundae.” It felt good. How about you? This week can you let the car stay in the garage for one of your trips to work or to run an errand? It will make you feel good, too.
“Go Green!” It’s the cry of many in Holland, Michigan who participate in caring for our planet. This week’s special emphasis is on using green modes of transportation, such as bicycles and public transportation, to get to work and around town. There are a lot of incentives being offered too, from free rides to goodie bags to special discounts at business “recharging stations.”
We’ve joined the event and bicycled to a greenhouse, hardware store, and “Captain Sundae.” It felt good. How about you? This week can you let the car stay in the garage for one of your trips to work or to run an errand? It will make you feel good, too.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
In Memoriam
My mother grew up in Litchfield, in southern Illinois, the second of five children. She was a child of the depression, and, like others of that generation, it forever colored her life.
Her father, James, started working in the coal mines at age 14, served in WWI, and believed in the tenets of the unions. My mother thought he should have worried a little bit more about putting food on the table.
Her mother, Ruth, worked at the Brown Shoe Factory, did beautiful handwork, and loved to garden so much that she had to “cook on the high burner” to have dinner on the table in time to suit her husband.
Part of what Tom Brokaw called “The Greatest Generation,” my mother married her high school sweetheart, Glenn, in 1944, when my dad was home on leave from the Army. After the war, they moved to Champaign so that he could attend the University on the GI Bill. They were married for 62 years, and my dad said, “That wasn’t long enough.”
I was just two when they built their own home, relying on the help of family and friends. I grew up during those “Leave it to Beaver” years, but, instead of June Cleaver, my mother was “Ethyl” to her friend Jane’s “Lucy.” Only once did they ever have a real falling out. They did not speak for perhaps two hours, before “Lucy” came to our door bearing a broomstick with a white flag attached.
But we all know that real life was much more complicated than that depicted in the sit-coms on television. My mother suffered for decades with near debilitating agoraphobia. However that never affected her ability to provide a home rich in love for my dad and I and all her extended family. She never ceased trying to conquer the disease and finally did after many decades with the help of a newly-developed medication.
My mother was known by other names in addition to “Ethyl.” She was named “Sweetie” by Mark, her nephew, when he was quite young. The nickname stuck because it was so appropriate. She generously knitted numerous baby blankets and more than 150 Christmas stockings for family and friends. For many years, she and I made Christmas cookies by the thousands, something the neighbors especially anticipated. But most of all, my mother was generous with hugs and kisses, whether welcomed or not!
My dad often called my mother “Patty Perfect,” as she strove to do things perfectly and usually succeeded. Quite an accomplishment for a mere mortal. Only recently did I realize that when something unexpectedly went wrong, my mother was quick to assign blame to someone else. My dad and I were easy targets.
A “Disciple of Christ.” That was another of my mother’s names. As a child she walked with her family to church every Sunday and upon the move to Champaign, she and my dad joined the Disciples church there. She loved her church family and enjoyed being with it through worship, women’s circle, and book club. She made so many golden glow Jello salads for church-served funeral dinners, that every Easter when she made it for our family, she just told us she was serving “funeral salad.”
Yes, she was known by many names: daughter, sister, beloved wife, mother. But, best of all, she has always and will forever be a child of God. She is at peace. She is home. All is well.
Her father, James, started working in the coal mines at age 14, served in WWI, and believed in the tenets of the unions. My mother thought he should have worried a little bit more about putting food on the table.
Her mother, Ruth, worked at the Brown Shoe Factory, did beautiful handwork, and loved to garden so much that she had to “cook on the high burner” to have dinner on the table in time to suit her husband.
Part of what Tom Brokaw called “The Greatest Generation,” my mother married her high school sweetheart, Glenn, in 1944, when my dad was home on leave from the Army. After the war, they moved to Champaign so that he could attend the University on the GI Bill. They were married for 62 years, and my dad said, “That wasn’t long enough.”
I was just two when they built their own home, relying on the help of family and friends. I grew up during those “Leave it to Beaver” years, but, instead of June Cleaver, my mother was “Ethyl” to her friend Jane’s “Lucy.” Only once did they ever have a real falling out. They did not speak for perhaps two hours, before “Lucy” came to our door bearing a broomstick with a white flag attached.
But we all know that real life was much more complicated than that depicted in the sit-coms on television. My mother suffered for decades with near debilitating agoraphobia. However that never affected her ability to provide a home rich in love for my dad and I and all her extended family. She never ceased trying to conquer the disease and finally did after many decades with the help of a newly-developed medication.
My mother was known by other names in addition to “Ethyl.” She was named “Sweetie” by Mark, her nephew, when he was quite young. The nickname stuck because it was so appropriate. She generously knitted numerous baby blankets and more than 150 Christmas stockings for family and friends. For many years, she and I made Christmas cookies by the thousands, something the neighbors especially anticipated. But most of all, my mother was generous with hugs and kisses, whether welcomed or not!
My dad often called my mother “Patty Perfect,” as she strove to do things perfectly and usually succeeded. Quite an accomplishment for a mere mortal. Only recently did I realize that when something unexpectedly went wrong, my mother was quick to assign blame to someone else. My dad and I were easy targets.
A “Disciple of Christ.” That was another of my mother’s names. As a child she walked with her family to church every Sunday and upon the move to Champaign, she and my dad joined the Disciples church there. She loved her church family and enjoyed being with it through worship, women’s circle, and book club. She made so many golden glow Jello salads for church-served funeral dinners, that every Easter when she made it for our family, she just told us she was serving “funeral salad.”
Yes, she was known by many names: daughter, sister, beloved wife, mother. But, best of all, she has always and will forever be a child of God. She is at peace. She is home. All is well.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
A Real "Tulip Fest"
Bob and I were in the Netherlands for the tulip bloom several years ago, and it was truly indescribable. Look at these photos:
Keukenhof, known as the Garden of Europe, is the one of the best places to view the abundance of spring flowers in the South Holland region of the Netherlands ..
Amsterdam's flower market, the Bloemenmarkt, reflects the country's passion for cut flowers and plants.
Around seven million bulbs are planted each year in the park at Keukenhof, in an area of 32 hectares.
(Hectare equvalent to 2.471 acres x 32 = 79.1 acres)
The Bloemenmarkt - set on the capital's Singel canal and said to be the world's only floating flower market - has a score of stalls where you can buy all sorts of plants, flowers, bulbs and seeds.
The mild climate of Holland, with its wet springs, makes it an ideal place for bulb cultivation.
Tulips originated in the east and were brought to Holland from the Ottoman Empire in the mid 1500s.
In springtime, the lowland area by the North Sea is carpeted with fields of gladioli, hyacinths, lilies, daffodils, crocuses... and, of course, tulips.
Keukenhof - literally 'kitchen garden' - is part of the hunting grounds of the ancient Teylingen estate.
This year, the theme for the Keukenhof exhibition is Germany : Land of Poets and Philosophers.
The patchwork quilt of colours in the Keukenhof park, just outside Lisse in South Holland , is a veritable feast for the eyes.
The bulbs of Keukenhof are re-planted each year according to the current trends and in collaboration with a number of gardening magazines.
Spring in Keukenhof is one of the main tourist attractions of the Netherlands .
The best way to appreciate the full glory of the Dutch spring is to hire a bike and cycle one of the tourist routes among the bulb fields.
Keukenhof, known as the Garden of Europe, is the one of the best places to view the abundance of spring flowers in the South Holland region of the Netherlands ..
Amsterdam's flower market, the Bloemenmarkt, reflects the country's passion for cut flowers and plants.
Around seven million bulbs are planted each year in the park at Keukenhof, in an area of 32 hectares.
(Hectare equvalent to 2.471 acres x 32 = 79.1 acres)
The Bloemenmarkt - set on the capital's Singel canal and said to be the world's only floating flower market - has a score of stalls where you can buy all sorts of plants, flowers, bulbs and seeds.
The mild climate of Holland, with its wet springs, makes it an ideal place for bulb cultivation.
Tulips originated in the east and were brought to Holland from the Ottoman Empire in the mid 1500s.
In springtime, the lowland area by the North Sea is carpeted with fields of gladioli, hyacinths, lilies, daffodils, crocuses... and, of course, tulips.
Keukenhof - literally 'kitchen garden' - is part of the hunting grounds of the ancient Teylingen estate.
This year, the theme for the Keukenhof exhibition is Germany : Land of Poets and Philosophers.
The patchwork quilt of colours in the Keukenhof park, just outside Lisse in South Holland , is a veritable feast for the eyes.
The bulbs of Keukenhof are re-planted each year according to the current trends and in collaboration with a number of gardening magazines.
Spring in Keukenhof is one of the main tourist attractions of the Netherlands .
The best way to appreciate the full glory of the Dutch spring is to hire a bike and cycle one of the tourist routes among the bulb fields.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
"Tulip Time" without Tulips
Two weeks too late. Yes, Holland, Michigan’s “Tulip Time,” May 5-12, has turned into a “Stem Fest.” The very warm weather of March and April encouraged the bulbs to bloom the end of April, and all that remains are some misshapen spent flowers and lots of stems.
“Tulip Time” is the largest tulip festival in the United States and celebrates Dutch heritage and culture. The city plants one-half million bulbs in parks and along streets, while Veldheer gardens, a tulip farm, grows 5 million tulips, 50,000 daffodils, 10,000 hyacinths, and 20,000 crocus. I’m sure it was all very pretty…earlier… but it’s a disappointment for the main draw to be a no show.
There are parades, street cleaning, Dutch dancing, an art show, carnival and other events throughout the festival, but, oh, how I miss the star - tulips of every color and shape - parrot, fringed, triumph, Darwin, lily, peony, and even some that are fragrant! Oh well, better luck next year.
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