Coup de Grace

When I was about eight years old, or nine at the most, they built (O joy of joys!) a library at the end of my street. It was less than half a mile away, so I could walk there whenever I liked. Since it was a small library with a limited number of books, we were only allowed to check out four books at a time, so I made the trip frequently. Being the kind of child who preferred curling up with a book to playing outside, reading four books didn't take me long at all. 

Neither did it take me long to get to know the children's department very well indeed. In fact, I can still remember exactly where to find the Andrew Lang Fairy Books, and the All of Kind Family series, and the Edward Eager books about four children having magical adventures. I pretty much read my way through the children's department and almost surely there was a time when my very favorite series was the one about P. L. Travers's Mary Poppins. 

I really need a new camera, but I can't get one because I have new dishes and a new Kindle.

I loved Mary Poppins and the books were great fun to read, so when I heard there was going to be a movie about Mary, even though I was 13 and thought I'd outgrown the books by that time, I looked forward to seeing it. This was because I was young and had not yet learned what usually happens to your favorite books when then make movies out of them. When I saw the movie, I was very disappointed because that, my friends, was definitely not Mary Poppins.

Mary Poppins comes when she is needed and she does what needs to be done. She can be counted on to take you to strange and fascinating destinations and get you involved in endless adventures, and give you lovely things to eat, but she doesn't, dance or sing or even smile at you. She's not nice to you. You might even think much of the time that she actively dislikes you, but she never bores you. When she corrects you, she doesn't have a nice little twinkle in her eye that lets you know everything is really all right, in fact, she has small, rather peering eyes.

So, when I heard an interview on NPR with someone involved in the making of Savings Mr. Banks, the new Disney movie about P. L. Travers and the making of Mary Poppins, and when I heard that Mrs. Travers hated the movie and about the conflict between her and Walt Disney and the movie's writers, I was interested. I knew that there was going to be a definite slant in favor of Disney, of course, and I knew that they would make things turn out nicely, but I thought there might be some truth in the movie, so we went.

I found the movie to be entertaining, although pretty sappy in parts. Emma Thompson was very good as P. L. Travers, and I could occasionally catch glimpses of the Walt Disney that I grew up with in his portrayal by Tom Hanks, although I also caught that Tom Hanks Nora Ephron movie character peeking through. From what I've read, the background material on Mrs. Travers was fairly accurate, and the relationship with the writers and Disney has some basis in fact.

A couple of days later, though I started thinking more about the movie, about how Disney changed the character of Mary Poppins. In fact, it was more like they created the character they wanted, and dressed her up as Mary Poppins. They had no respect for the character herself. And then it occurred to me that not only had Disney done this with Mrs. Travers's character, they had done the same with Travers. They created the character they wanted, and dressed her up as P. L. Travers. Game, point, and match for Disney Studios.

AMDG

What More Could You Ask?

I don't know about y'all, but when I choose a dentist, there are certain things I look for--you know, like gift cards--or maybe a free iPad. Well, if you're as choosy as I am, this might be the dentist for you!

Not only that, but his/her giveaways are seasonal. In October, you could get free Halloween costumes. In November, where else would you go for your Thanksgiving turkey? (I have to admit that the Turkey offer somehow reminded me of WKRP in Cincinnati.) It almost makes you want to get a new cavity every month so that you can take full advantage this dental cornucopia. I'm thinking this dentist could teach the president a few tricks.

I can't wait to see what he/she has in store for the long dreary days of January. 

AMDG

Kerplunk

In which I learn that it's a mistake to take oneself too seriously.

I had this all planned. I was going to go to Mass on Christmas Eve and make an act of renunciation, and then on Christmas morning, I was going to throw a stone in the river as a symbolic act to seal this renunciation.  So, I did go to Mass, but I don't really remember much about it except that I kept getting sicker and sicker by the minute. I don't even remember if I even prayed about this thing I'm renouncing.

Then, when Christmas morning came, I would not have been able to propel a stone into a body of water to save my life, even if it meant dropping a piece of pea gravel into the toilet. So, I sat in the corner while Christmas went on around me and waited. 

This afternoon I was feeling a bit better and it was warm enough to go outside, so I figured the time was right. I went outside and found a stone I liked, and even brought it inside to take a picture. Here it is.

And off I went to throw it in the river.

As I was driving down the highway that crosses over the Coldwater River to the place where I planned to throw the stone in, I noticed something troubling. The river wasn't there. The bed of the river was there revealed in all its glory, and there was one deep channel where people were fishing, but it was narrow, and just wasn't what I was looking for, and besides, I was afraid I'd hit one of the fishermen. So, I drove on to the site I had chosen, but no luck--barely any water. I was stymied for the moment.

Finally, I decided to go down the highway to place where we liked to walk before the highway was actually open. I have some pictures of it someplace on the blog, but the search engine doesn't seem to be working. This is the way it looked a few months ago.

Strangely enough with the river so low, the water here is deeper now, and all the flowers are gone, so I decided this would have to do. I stood near the top of the bank in a place you can't see in the picture and threw the stone as hard as I could. I heard a soft thud. I don't know where the stone went, but it didn't even reach the water. I climbed back up a bit, selected another stone. Walked down. Threw it. Thwack! It hit that plastic barrier you see there. Another try. Still no luck. By this time I had remembered a few things about myself: 1) I've never had any strength in my arms, 2) I'm missing one of the bones in my right elbow, and 3) I throw like a girl. I was also conscious of the people driving by wondering what the heck that crazy woman was doing. I was really afraid somebody would stop.

For the fourth try, I moved closer to the barrier. It's pretty soft down there, so I was worried about going too far down. I managed to get the stone in the water, but just barely. So, up I went again to get another stone. By this time I didn't care if the stone was round or square, beautiful or ugly, I was just trying to figure out whether a big or small stone would work best. Then I bent over and saw a white, heart-shaped stone. It wasn't a "use your imagination and close one eye and hold it in just the right way and you can see it's shaped like a heart" heart-shaped stone. Anybody would have recognized it as heart-shaped. So, I picked it up and walked all the way down to the barrier and flung it in. I have to admit that it didn't go a great distance, but it did go far enough, and it was the best I could do.

On the way to river, I had had this sort of tragic, romantic image of myself standing by the river and gracefully slinging this stone way out into the water--a saint, really--sort of like Joan of Arc walking up to the stake to be consumed in flames for the love of God. By the time I finally managed to do the deed, I was laughing at myself so hard that I couldn't even dredge up a little bit of self pity. The more I think about this entire experience, the more I see that it's an even better metaphor for what has been going on in my life than I thought. But that's a story for another day--and you won't see it here.

AMDG

Dorothy Day's Therese

Until last week, I didn't know that Dorothy Day had written a book about St. Thérèse, much less that I

owned a copy. The fact that I came across it at all is a happy accident of the book-dusting marathon, although I didn't really notice what it was when I was dusting it and putting it on the shelf with the saint books. I don't even remember now what finally made me realize what it was.

Whatever it may have been, I thoroughly enjoyed Ms. Day's retelling of the life of St. Thérèse. She says in the preface that she first encountered the Little Flower shortly after her own conversion when her confessor, Fr. Zachary, gave her a copy of Story of a Soul saying it would do her good. Ms. Day was still working for the Communist Party and thought that it was "pious pap," and that Fr. Zachary and other priests were insulting to women. She says it took her a long time to realize the value of Thérèse, and sadly, she never tells us what changed her mind. It's too bad because I would really like to know.

Although Ms. Day's political views make a few brief appearances in the narrative, for the most part it is all the Little Flower's story, and a very straightforward story it is. There's none of the sentimentality that one finds in some works about St. Thérèse, but Ms. Day's admiration for and devotion to St. Thérèse is always quietly obvious. On the surface, these two--the sheltered, innocent virgin who died at 24, and the wordly-wise activist who lived to the age of 83--seem to be an odd pair, but on closer observation one sees that insistent, unswerving determination to follow God's call that characterizes them both. There's also that willingness to buck authority when they are sure they are doing the right thing.

Most of the story that Ms. Day tells was familiar to me, as it would be to anyone who has read Story of a Soul and Last Conversations; however, she fills out the better-known facts with information from other sources. I particularly appreciated her biographies of Thérèse's family, most notably those of her sisters. Before reading this book, her sisters were just a sort of amorphous mass to me, but now they are individual personalities, especially Marie and Leonie.

In the last chapter, Ms. Day comes back to her roots. She tells us, and this possibly explains part of the Little Flower's attraction for her, that St. Thérèse is a saint of the people, that it was the common man who spread the devotion to her "Little Way" and clamored for her canonization. She quotes Pope Pius XI's homily at the canonization Mass saying, "If the way of spiritual childhood became general, who does not see how easily would be realized the reformation of human society . . . ." How sadly this statement rings down through the years to us. We who live in a time when even children are too sophisticated for childhood. But the promise is still there. The narrow road of the "Little Way" still beckons.

AMDG

Spider Woman's Daughter by Anne Hillerman

I've missed Joe Leaphorn & Jim Chee, I really have, but when Tony Hillerman died in 2008 I resigned myself to their permanent absence. So, when I saw that Hillerman's daughter, Anne, had written "A Leaphorn and Chee Novel," I was tempted . . . tempted. Hillerman's daughter might know his work so well that she could step into his shoes. And I really wanted something to read that wasn't improving or serious. And it's so easy on a Kindle--one little click and there it was.

Is Spider Woman's Daughter the answer to every Hillerman fan's dream? Well, no. Is it a pretty good read? Well, I think so. I waver. I wonder if I just want it to be a pretty good read, but if she writes another novel, I will definitely read it. 

One thing that Ms. Hillerman did right was present most of the story from the point of view of Jim Chee's wife, Bernadette Manuelito. While we've met Bernie in a few of the Hillerman novels, we don't know her so well that we have exacting expectations for her character, and Ms. Hillerman's portrayal of Leaphorn and Chee is not as authentic as one might wish--I'm not sure it could be--so it's better that we see the better part of the action through Bernie's eyes. They are feminine eyes, and overall Spider Woman's Daughter has a more feminine atmosphere than its predecessors.

Unfortunately for the new novel, the atmosphere of the originals is one of the most important elements of mysteries. Gone is that dark, brooding sense of another world which is never entirely absent from Hillerman's work. Ms. Hillerman offers up plenty of Indian culture, but instead of drawing us into the Spider Woman's web, as her father did so well, she almost writes her lessons on a blackboard. She's more the teacher than the shaman.

Moreover, she hasn't mastered the legerdemain that's necessary for a writer of mysteries. It was obvious to me very early on who the villian was. I have to admit, though, that her father was sometimes a bit weak in that area, too, but I never minded much because his stories, his characters, and his ability to immerse one in the Native American ethos trump any shortcomings he might have had.

Despite the above weaknesses, and others which I haven't mentioned, I still enjoyed the book. Maybe I was just glad to meet up with Leaphorn and Chee again, even though they weren't quite themselves. Maybe, and I hope this is true, Anne Hillerman will be able to come closer to the mark in the future. We'll just have to wait and see. I obviously couldn't recommend this book unreservedly, but if you are a Hillerman fan, you might want to check it out. I have a sneaking suspicion that it might just be more of woman's book than a man's, and I'm curious to know if men find that to be true also, so I hope some of you will read it.

AMDG

Off to a Good Start

This morning while I was eating breakfast and reading The Way of Perfection on my Kindle, I noticed that something was trying to download and taking it's own sweet time. I was a bit worried about what it might be and if I should try to block it in some way. First Things appears like this every month, but I think I just got one, so I didn't think it was that. Then when I checked my email at work, I had received a notice from Amazon saying that I had purchased Prayer Journal. "What the heck is that all about?" And then it was this! I'd forgotten that I pre-ordered it and that today was the release date. 

I've only had a minute to glance at it, but the first paragraph augurs well.

Dear God, I cannot love Thee the way I want to. You are the slim crescent of a moon that I see and my self is the earth's shadow that keeps me from seeing all the moon. The crescent is very beautiful and perhaps that is all one like I am should or could see; but what I am afraid of dear God, is that my self shadow will grown so large that it blocks the whole moon, and that I will judge myself by the shadow that is nothing.

AMDG