Our Great Redemption from Above Did Bring

This is the month, and this is the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of heaven's eternal King,
Of wedded maid, and virgin mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring. 

- John Milton

Autumn Shyly Shaking Hands with Spring

"Governesses used to tell us that the seasons of the year each consist of three months, and of these March, April, and May make the springtime. I should like to break the symmetry, and give February to spring, which would then include February, March, April, and May. It has been said that winter is but autumn “shyly shaking hands with spring.” We will, accordingly, make winter a short link of two months—an autumnal and a vernal hand—December and January."

— Sir Francis Darwin, 1920

For the Lord Is Good; His Mercy Is Everlasting

Dear Blog Visitors:

Since east of Eden, the sands of time are stealing away, and the world spiraling down to its eventide. While the promise of entering His rest is to come, His ceaseless fountain of eternal riches is still available for all.

Because the holy God does not lie. By His oath and promise, He continues to watch over His sheep. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow His people, all the days of their lives, and they shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever. So it is the apostle Paul concludes, “to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).

On Thanksgiving Day, the object of our thankful remembrance, surely, must be Christ’s grace and mercy. It is He who ransomed and redeemed us from the pit of destruction, set us in His pasture green, and gave us a new song of praise to God.

L'

Who Said November’s Face Was Grim?

Who said November's face was grim? 
Who said her voice was harsh and sad? 
I heard her sing in wood paths dim, 
I met her on the shore so glad, 
So smiling, I could kiss her feet! 
There never was a month so sweet. 

—Lucy Larcom

October

The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown;
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.

—Emily Dickinson

Labor Day, 2022

And labor shall refresh itself with hope
- Shakespeare

The Eventide of Summer

September

Go forth at eventide, 
The eventide of summer, when the trees 
Yield their frail honors to the passing breeze,
And woodland paths with autumn tints are dyed; 
When the mild sun his paling luster shrouds 
In gorgeous draperies of golden clouds, 
Then wander forth, mid beauty and decay, 
To meditate alone—alone to watch and pray. 

—Emma C. Embury (1806-1863).

Sweet Dreams and Drowsy Charms of Tender Night

Dear B___:

Life’s tapestry is constantly stitching and unstitching. We have our days of wine and roses along with days of bitterness and sorrow. Through it all, our friendship is more than words can expressed. It is beyond wealth, eyesight, space, and time.

Do you know your birthday on 14 August has only 0.27% probability? Therefore, it is very precious. So then, it is my prayer that you go softly all your years in sweet harmony.

Sing songs of motherly love to your children and grandchildren. May their soul chorded and vibrates in your sweetness and calmness. May they always remember and return to the bosom of your care and love on all your birthdays and then some.

In closing, on your birthday celebration today/tomorrow, during your quiet hours of rest, “sweet dreams and drowsy charms of tender night.”

Always,

L'

Until the Angle of Its Saffron Beam

August
 - Yury Zhivago
Boris Paternak
"In the Interlude, Poems 1945-1960"
 
 This was its promise, held to faithfully:
 The early morning sun came in this way
 Until the angle of its saffron beam
 Between the curtains and the sofa lay,
 
 And with its ochre heat it spread across
 The village houses, and the nearby wood,
 Upon my bed and on my dampened pillow
 And to the corner where the bookcase stood.
 
 Then I recalled the reason why my pillow
 Had been so dampened by those tears that fell I'd
 dreamt I saw you coming one by one
 Across the wood to wish me your farewell.
 
 You came in ones and twos, a straggling crowd ;
 Then suddenly someone mentioned a word:
 It was the sixth of August, by Old Style,
 And the Transfiguration of Our Lord.
 
 For from Mount Tabor usually this day
 There comes a light without a flame to shine,
 And autumn draws all eyes upon itself
 As clear and unmistaken as a sign.
 
 But you came forward through the tiny, stripped,
 The pauperly and trembling alder grove,
 Into the graveyard's coppice, russet-red,
 Which, like stamped gingerbread, lay there and glowed.

A 4th July Reflection

Dear G:

Here are some thoughts from a guy who was taught in grade school U.S. history and respect for the American flag.

I am convinced the quick fire of youth light not their minds today, or in any generation. Seldom does one hear from the younger mindset the discourse on the “seven ages” of life came after the ubiquitous Shakespearean quote, “All the world’s a stage…” (As You like It, 2.7). These younger spirits would just as soon leave the introspection on the stages of life to folks like us.

Two hundred thirty-five years ago, on the last day of the Constitutional Convention in 1787 (eleven years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence), Benjamin Franklin offers a profundity of thought. If the Republic of the United States were to abide as one, the people must accept and defend the governance of the Constitution.

Unequivocally, the Franklin pundit is put to rest. To this day, this country is bruised but not broken, smoldering in upheavals but not quenched. The strong oak of this Republic has not torn asunder since the shot that heard around the world in 1775. To this day, the Constitution of these United States holds. To this day, our Republic stands indivisible.

Notwithstanding learned professors could render the War of Independence and much more in winsome edification to the readers. Nevertheless, from a Christian perspective, apart from the agency of God (cf. Psalm 127:1-2), the ‘A Train’ to Zarathustra pursuits, as it were, are useless of human effort. It is in Christ “in whom are hidden all the treasure of wisdom and knowledge” (Colossians 2:3). When Christ comes again, He will deliver the kingdom of this world to God the Father (1 Corinthians 15:24).

It is the special grace He bestowed on His people. In life and in death, (Romans 14:7-9) they belong to Christ the Savior (1 Corinthians 3:23; Titus 2:14).

In the meantime, we thank Him for the showers of general grace, with another celebration of 4th July in this Republic!

L'

4 July 1776, The Declaration of Independence

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world. 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
The Concord Hymn, First Stanza Engraved
The Battle Monument, July 4, 1837.

First Day of Summer, 2022

Summer
by John Clare (1793-1864)

Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come,
For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom,
And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest,
And love is burning diamonds in my true lover's breast;
She sits beneath the whitethorn a-plaiting of her hair,
And I will to my true lover with a fond request repair;
I will look upon her face, I will in her beauty rest,
And lay my aching weariness upon her lovely breast.

The clock-a-clay is creeping on the open bloom of May,
The merry bee is trampling the pinky threads all day,
And the chaffinch it is brooding on its grey mossy nest
In the whitethorn bush where I will lean upon my lover's breast;
I'll lean upon her breast and I'll whisper in her ear

That I cannot get a wink o'sleep for thinking of my dear;
I hunger at my meat and I daily fade away
Like the hedge rose that is broken in the heat of the day.

There Lives a Glory in These Sweet June Days

June

There lives a glory in these sweet June days 
Such as I found not in the days gone by, 
A kindlier meaning in the unclouded sky, 
A tenderer whisper in the woodland ways; 
And I have understanding of the lays, 
The birds are singing, forasmuch as I 
Have learned how love avails to satisfy 
A man's whole heart, and fills his lips with praise. 

—Percy C. Ainsworth (1873-1909)

Your Sacred Dust Be the Choice Trust

Memorial Day, 2022

Our martyred dead! on each low bed,
Green be the chaplet, fresh the roses;
No marble cold may guard your mold,
But loving hearts around are swelling.

Oh, lightly rest, on each calm breast,
The turf where each in peace reposes;
Each daring deed shall gain the meed
Of praise from all hearts richly welling.

Hail! hero shades, your battle blades
A wall of steel our homes surrounded;
Your sacred dust be the choice trust
Of Freedom's grateful sons and daughters.

- Anonymous

Beneath the Concave of a Mother’s Wing

Before mine eyes had seen the light of day,
Or that my soul had come from Heaven’s great King⁠—
A harmless, tiny, helpless little thing⁠—
You loved me!—While my tender being lay
In the soft rose-leaves of your heart at rest,
Like some lone bird within its downy nest,
Beneath the concave of its mother’s wing,
Unborn—your soul came in my heart to dwell,
Like perfume in the flower, each part to bring,
As warmth unto the young bird in its shell,
And built me up to what I was to be,
A semblance of thyself. Thus, being cast
In thy heart’s mould, I grew up like to thee,
And lost in thee my first friend with my last!
		
    - T. Holley Chivers, M.D. (1842)
    

Till That May Morn

  
Such a starved bank of moss 
Till that May morn, 
Blue ran the flash across: 
Violets were born. 

—Robert Browning

On a Bright Summit of Some Glory Cloud

Dear B_:

Tomorrow is the first day of May. O, well.

In April, I was writing a book review-a project fading fast-on a historical fiction based on the Gilded Age. In my opinion, one should include the prop (i.e., the Gilded Age) to support the scenery (i.e., the characters) of this novel. Intentionally or not, the author only implied this momentous epoch in American story. There were no supports or the “whys” in the novel. To me, the “whys” always influenced the character behavior in a story.

Case in point. The opening paragraph in Edith Wharton’s story, The Age of Innocence, she set the tone the “old money” New York folk neither welcome nor want the “new money” (e.g., Vanderbilt, Carnegie, etc.,) into their club, the Acadamy of Music . Not in the story, the “new money” said fine. They built the Met. Metaphorically, the Met killed the Academy of Music. The rest, as they say, is history. Wharton only implied the reader knew or cared about the Gilded Age. The protagonist in the book, Newland Archer was ambiguous throught out the book. He even was to the point of rebellion against the informal rules of the time. The Gilded Age was really the “why” that gave a more in-depth meaning to the Wharton story.

But I digress.

Given the American Civil War was the first industrial war of the world, it was also the first “why” that spawned the Gilded Age. Below, each of the paragraphs or a combination, I could use as a lead-in or part of a critique in my vapor book review.

The word “April” got me started on writing the review (maybe). Why waste the verbiage, as I thought of Victor Hugo’s play, Le roi s’amuse. Anyway, I strung together the italized paragraphs below for your reading and amusement. The paragraphs sort of meshed. Note that each paragraph contains the word “April”.

When the army of the South surrenders to the Union forces of the North on April 9, 1865, a bittersweet closing the four-year American Civil War. At the Appomattox Courthouse, Virginia, in the fourth spring hence 1861, lasting peace is achieved from the internecine carnage.

Metaphorically, “Aprill with his shoures soothe.” Spring rain would bathe and debride the throbbing wounds of the civil bloodshed. The wind which billows the war, its tail transforms into warm April breezes. The season’s warm winds would assuage the inflamed veins of braving the four-year war.

For the Confederacy, “April is the cruellest month.” At Appomattox, the knell peels for King Cotton of the South. Strewn thick on the “all the fertile land within that bound,” are detritus of a once proud civilization. The “road to Tara” is a byword of forgotten grandeurs. Scorned are polite society ascribing to “every gesture dignity and love”. Lying fallow are plantations groaned “underneath a weight of slavish toil.” Trampled underfoot are manicured gardens of yesteryears, “frothing of pink peach blossoms and dogwood dappling with white stars.” Dismissively neglected are carcasses of antebellum estates. All are gone with the wind of war. The memento mori of the South, indeed, does “take all feeling else.”

Pulsing in the bosoms is once shackled, scarred, and bartered frames. All are wearing one heart the insatiable spirit to “be free as is the wind.” Tender leaves of hopes are emerging in the soil of emancipation. At Appomattox, “a day in April never came so sweet.”

The assassination of President Lincoln in April 1865 is the penultimate of the Civil War. His death and burial bring to a close this chapter of horrific upheaval in American history. Unequivocally, the war answers a haunting profundity. Eighty seven year ago, on the last day of the Constitutional Convention in 1787, Benjamin Franklin proffers a challenge. That is, if the Republic of the United States were to abide, the people must accept and defend its governance (i.e., the Constitution). To this end, the death of President Lincoln and many others affirms this Franklin conjecture. The Constitution holds with the Republic stands indivisible.

On a “bright summit of some glory cloud,” the Gilded Age unfurls…

L'

Of the Blue April Air with a Most Sweet Refrain

 EASTER BELLS

  Oh bells of Easter morn, oh solemn sounding bells,
     Which fill the hollow cells
   Of the blue April air with a most sweet refrain,
     Ye fill my heart with pain.
  For when, as from a thousand holy altar-fires,
     A thousand resonant spires
   Sent up the offering—the glad thanksgiving strain—
     "The Lord is risen again!"
  He went from us who shall return no more, no more!
     I say the sad words o'er,
   And they are mixed and blent with your triumphant psalm,
     Like bitterness and balm,
  We stood with him beside the black and silent river,
     Cold, cold and soundless ever;
   But there our feet were stayed—unloosed our clasping fond,
     And he has passed beyond.
  And still that solemn hymn, like smoke of sacrifice,
     Clomb the blue April skies,
   And on our anguish placed its sacramental chrism,
     "Behold, the Lord is risen!"
  Oh, bells of Easter morn! your mighty voices reach
     A deeper depth than speech;
   We heard, "Because He liveth they shall live with Him;"
     This was our Easter hymn.
  And while the slow vibrations swell, and sink, and cease,
     They bring divinest peace,
   For we commit our best beloved to the dust,
     In sure and certain trust.
     
- Kate Seymour Maclean,1880

Matthew 28:6

"He is not here, for he has risen, as he said."

But Seek Thy Sheep, True Shepherd of the Flock

Good Friday
Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

Am I a stone, and not a sheep,
That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,
To number drop by drop Thy blood's slow loss,
And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved
Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;
Not so the thief was moved;

Not so the Sun and Moon
Which hid their faces in a starless sky,
A horror of great darkness at broad noon--
I, only I.

Yet give not o'er,
But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;
Greater than Moses, turn and look once more
          And smite a rock.

Ils Ne Connaissent Pas de Bonheur

Home Grown Roses, Mission Viejo, CA

Dear B:

The firsts line of a French poem by Francis Ponge (1899-1988), is “Les rois ne touchent pas aux portes.” It is lonely at the top, as the adage goes. So it was and continues to be that kings or the likes, never touch doors. Fortunately, it is left to us commoners, holding open the door to spring in embrace.

Thank you for the National Geographic flower pictures! They are the beauteous epitome of springtide. Let us appreciate the season while it lasts,“of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.”

Be well.

L'

April Charm

Le Jardins de Quatre-Vents, La Malbaie, Québec

When April scatters coins of primrose gold
Among the copper leaves in thickets old,
And singing skylarks from the meadows rise,
To twinkle like black stars in sunny skies;

When I can hear the small woodpecker ring
Time on a tree for all the birds that sing;
And hear the pleasant cuckoo, loud and long—
The simple bird that thinks two notes a song;

When I can hear the woodland brook,that could
Not drown a babe, with all his threatening mood:
Upon whose banks the violets make their home,
And let a few small strawberry blossoms come;

When I go forth on such a pleasant day,
One breath outdoors takes all my care away;
It goes like heavy smoke, when flames take hold
Of wood that’s green and fill a grate with gold.

- William H. Davies, 1920

February 2022 Personal Inflation Indice

The national CPI addressed the "average" expense for a basket of goods. The argument is the same for the analogy of not using the "average" national family size of 3.1. Thus national CPI average inflation indice should not apply to every family due to differences in demographics, age, dependents, and etc.

As applied to me, a fine tuning of the national inflation indice was appropriate. I calculated three life-style representative CPI categories. The conclusion for the inflation affect personally was less severely felt.

Here are the three CPI categories compared in February:

Food and Beverages (National Inflation Index): 7.6%

Personal: 2.5%

Transportation (National Inflation Index): 21.1%

Personal: 1.5%

Other Goods and Services (National Inflation Index): 5.6%

Personal (Monthly Bills Only): 3.4%

First Day of Spring, 2022: And So This Emblem Shall Forever Be

Lo, Spring comes forth with all her warmth and love,
She brings sweet justice from the realms above;
She breaks the chrysalis, she resurrects the dead;
Two butterflies ascend encircling her head.
And so this emblem shall forever be
A sign of immortality.

—Joseph Jefferson (1829-1905)

Could A St. Biden Be Next?

The Russian Bear Could Eat Half or All of This Fish

Valentine’s Day 2022

Then Came Old February

Then came old February, sitting
In an old wagon, for he could not ride,
Drawn of two fishes for the season fitting,
Which through the flood before did softly slide
And swim away; yet he had by his side
His plow and harness fit to till the ground,
And tools to prune the trees, before the pride
Of hasting prime did make them bourgeon wide.

—Edmund Spenser.

1 February, 2022 - Lunar New Year of the Tiger

My New Year’s Letter to All Visitors

1 January 2022, Local Atmospheric Conditions

Lat: 37.7° N
0657 Hours PDT
Current Conditions: 37°F/2.8°C, Cloudy
Humidity: 47%
Dew Point: 30°F
Wind: 3.0 mph

Astronomy:

1 January, 2022            Rise:        Set:
Actual Time            7:20 AM PDT  4:57 PM PDT
Civil Twilight         6:51 AM PDT  5:26 PM PDT
Nautical Twilight      6:18 AM PDT  5:59 PM PDT
Astronomical Twilight  5:46 AM PDT  6:30 PM PDT
Moon                   6:21 AM PDT  3:51 PM PDT

Waning Crescent, 1% of the moon is illuminated

Length of Visible Light 10h 35m
Length of Day 9h 36m
Tomorrow will be 00m 39s longer