Sherry is compiling on long list of 2011 book lists which vary in focus, some being recommendations, some being what someone has read. Here is her second list. Here is her first list. And there’s more to come.
Signs You’re Reading Too Much Young Adult Literature.
Bookriot has a list of five signs you are reading too much of the current swath of YA Lit. For examples: “You keep a spreadsheet to try to determine whether you exist in a utopia or a dystopia. (Corporate ownership of media? Dystopia. New Muppet movie on the horizon? Utopia.) You secretly hope it turns out to be a dystopia so you can demonstrate your awesomeness in some world-liberating way.”
Life as a Walk Through a Dark Wood
Jean Burden writes, “it is a wood to be gone through at night/ with no road to follow, /with no light,” such is life in a way. Patrick Kurp reflects on this, a kind of contrast to the light of Christmas.
In Norwegian we say, "God jul!"
I hope your Christmas was good. Mine was unusual, at least for me. I spent it with the young Norwegian relative I wrote of before, along with his mother, who came to America to be with him for the holiday. I took them to dinner on Friday evening. On Saturday afternoon we joined the family of one of my dad’s cousins, not too far from here, at one of their children’s homes. They have a very large family, so it was a rather different celebration than my less-fecund branch of the Walkers enjoys. But it was very nice, and everyone said they were glad we came. My lefse and pumpkin pie were received with appreciation.
On Sunday we went down to Kenyon, the old family seat, and we showed them the cemetery (where most of the Walkers in Kenyon are now to be found), our church (both the present one and the old stone one in the country), and the farm where my great-grandfather settled in 1915, after moving from Iowa. We also took them to the local nursing home, where they met Aunt Ordella, that great-grandfather’s sole surviving child. She’s 101.
I shouldn’t have been surprised, but meeting Aunt Ordella seemed to be the high point of the visit for the Norwegians. If I understand their comments correctly, they don’t see Ordella as only our oldest relation, but their own oldest relation too. They came to Minnesota in part to touch the lives of their grandparents and great-grandparents.
My branch of the Walkers will meet this weekend. Last weekend was impossible due to scheduling, and this way we can save money by buying presents in after-Christmas sales. At least that’s my strategy.
"Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!"
Sissel and the MTC again. A short version, but they haven’t PC’d the lyrics.
Merry Christmas to you all.
A Thousand Christmas Trees
Merry Christmas. Robert Frost’s pleasant holiday poem “Christmas Trees” is a good addition to your reader’s holiday.
The city had withdrawn into itself
And left at last the country to the country;
When between whirls of snow not come to lie
And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove
A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,
Yet did in country fashion in that there
He sat and waited till he drew us out
A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.
He proved to be the city come again
To look for something it had left behind
And could not do without and keep its Christmas.
He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;
My woods—the young fir balsams like a place
Where houses all are churches and have spires.
Snippet Four, Troll Valley
“Meadow Elves,” by Nils Blommer (1850)
I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see Miss Margit’s face, faceted in my tears. That face, longish and stern, with the gold blaze in the black hair above her right eye, could be gentle when she chose, and her gray eyes would soften with a sweetness that had nothing of sentimentality in it.
“What’s the matter, Kjære?”
I told her, between sobs.
She sat, elegantly careless of her black dress, in the straw beside me. She took my left elbow and fingers in her hands. I shuddered as I always did when someone examined my deformity. There is no nakedness like it.
My arm was permanently bent. More than anything else it resembled a plucked chicken’s wing. The useless fingers curled back toward the elbow, and the flesh hung loose and flaccid on the forearm. I never willingly rolled up my sleeves where anyone could see, which hid the worst of it, but I was an obvious cripple. I had learned early to expect the quick-glance-and-look-away that people use for politeness, or pity.
“You think you are to blame that your papa is unhappy?” Miss Margit asked, stroking the arm, making me shudder.
“If it weren’t for me—ʺ
“If it weren’t for you your family and Mr. Lafferty would find another way to persuade him. Your papa hasn’t the strength to withstand them. If he must be overborne, it’s just as well he do it for love. It’s a kindness you do him, Christian.”
“It doesn’t feel like a kindness.” Continue reading Snippet Four, Troll Valley
Why He Stopped Reading Your Blog
Michael Hyatt explains why he stops reading a blog. He would probably say we’re undisciplined.
Drawing Close to the Others
“Father Damien was a priest who became famous for his willingness to serve lepers.” Trevin Wax quotes a Christmas meditation from the life of a man willing to live close to lepers.
Also via Mr. Wax, Alan Jacobs’ essay, “Christianity and the Future of the Book.” If Christians are people of the book, how would we change if “the book” as we know it disappears? “This interweaving of technology and theology is extremely complex, and the arrows of causation run in both directions.* Christians adopted the codex before other groups — Jewish and pagan alike — for serious theological reasons…”
The best of Norwegian Christmas tradition
The devastatingly handsome figure you see above is a piece of lefse. I’m also in the picture, in the maroon sweatshirt. Last night I joined my friend in St. Paul, making lefse at his house for the second year in a row. I know how excited you already are about this, but this year it’s better because we have pictures!
This is what lefse looks like when it’s finished. My friend says it’s the best batch of lefse he’s ever made in his life (and he’s made a lot). On the basis of my own on-site research, I can’t dispute that.
Below, after the fold, a Christmas song from Sissel Kyrkjebø: Continue reading The best of Norwegian Christmas tradition