Stefan Beck writes, “If you’re the type who likes to slink away from the holiday table with a tumbler of eggnog, hide in the attic among the Hummels and Good Housekeeping back issues, and bury your nose in a book, this list is a good place to start.” He is speaking of the NY Times Book Review list of 2008 books, asks where on the list Marilynne Robinson’s book is, and recommends Joseph O’Neill’s Netherland.
Another conversion story: Orson Bean
Sometimes I forget, but God is still at work in the world.
Over at Power Line, they’ve posted Orson Bean’s account of how he came to faith.
Eggnog
In a journal on his three months in the States, printed in 1867, Henry Latham wrote about celebrating Christmas in the Baltimore countryside:
Christmas festivities had begun ; every ten minutes or oftener a gun or a squib was fired off, giving one the idea that the war had not ended yet at Ellicott’s Mills. Christmas is not properly observed unless you brew “egg-nog” for all comers; everybody calls upon everybody else; and each call is celebrated by a solemn egg-nogging. Egg-nog is made in this wise: our egg-nog was made so, and was decided after a good deal of nogging around, to be the brew in Ellicott’s Mills: “Beat up the yolks of twelve eggs with powdered sugar, then beat up with them a pint of brandy, a quart of cream, and a quart of milk; lastly beat up the whites of your twelve eggs, and add them as a head and crown to your syllabub.” It is made cold, and is drunk cold, and is to be commended. We had brought a store of sugar-plums, as the children all expect presents at this time. They hang up their stockings on Christmas Eve, and in the morning find them filled with goodies. At New York this is done by Criskindle (Christ kinde) and at Baltimore by Santa Claus (San Nicolas).
I always enjoyed eggnog this time of year, but of course, I never make my own, and I doubt it could be called “nogging” even if I drank a whole quart myself. I prefer to buy the Southern Comfort brand. The flavor and thickness of this brand appeals to me most. Mayfield, which I believe is a great diary brand primarily in my region, has good flavor but it’s too thin. Borden tastes bad, and I don’t remember the others we rejected. Hood has some flavored eggnogs in my area, and they taste good, just not as good as Southern Comfort (which is non-alcoholic if you need to ask–do they sell alcoholic eggnog in grocery stores?).
I haven’t tasted the benefits of mixing my nog with brandy, though I’ve done that a few times. I see that George Washington had his own recipe which used rye whiskey, rum and sherry–a stout drink of the stout-hearted. I couldn’t handle it.
Do you like eggnog? Do you prefer one brand over another, or do you have a homemade recipe?
Sacramone reviews Eszterhas
Over at Strange Herring, Anthony Sacramone writes “a strange review” of Joe Eszterhas’ earthy memoir of his conversion, Crossbearer.
RIP, Cousin Andreas
Got the news from Norway this morning. Cousin Andreas died on December 1.
Cousin Andreas Andreassen (I call him a cousin, because they’re all some kind of cousin over there, and it’s too much trouble to work out the degrees) was my host the last time I visited the relatives in Norway. He was an elderly widower who lived in a house on a small wharf. He rented the lower floor to some kind of business and lived upstairs (or rented from the business; I never inquired). Living alone, he had plenty of room for a guest. What was notable was that he was a very quiet man; nearly as quiet as me. The upshot was that not a lot of talking got done while I was with him. Which was kind of relaxing, to tell the truth.
But I wish we’d talked more. I heard a few things about his life. He’d been a merchant seaman, if I recall correctly, during the Second World War, when the Norwegians who were at sea when the invasion happened found themselves the de facto navy of a government in exile. There must have been stories connected with that. I think I even heard one, one that was quite dramatic. But my Norwegian comprehension wasn’t up to following it, and I’ve lost the shreds I had.
You miss a lot when you’re pathologically shy.
This is a picture we took the last time I saw him, when I was doing my first lecturing cruise. Andreas is the one on your left. He and Cousin Tom-Erik and Cousin Arne drove up to Bergen to meet my ship, and they bought me a snack in a coffee shop.
While I’m thinking of Norway, I’ll link to this site, Haugelandet.net It’s in Norwegian, but most of the stuff is translated. It showcases photos from southwest Norway, the area around Haugesund (Karmøy Island, where Cousin Andreas lived, is just across the sound). The site’s proprieter, Eirik Hustvedt, hasn’t posted much for a while, but recently he’s gotten active again. So if you click over there, you’ll encourage him. And see some interesting scenery. This is really my favorite part of the world, my “quiet place.”
‘He Doesn’t Hide Things’
U.S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins doesn’t hide things like lesser poets do, according to poet Stephen Dunn. “He allows us to overhear, clearly, what he himself has discovered.” Read some of his work on this author’s blog, and note this poem on Poets.org called, “Introduction to Poetry.”
“. . . But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.”
Do people care about poetry anymore? Do they want only to know what a poet is trying to say and care nothing about beautiful words? [HT to SB]
Suicide, in theory
It’s winter now. Not full winter. It’s snowed a few times (it snowed a little today), but there’s no accumulation to speak of—yet. Winter has been sneaking up on us in an Avoidant manner—hanging around the edge of the conversation, gradually making its presence known without drawing too much attention to itself. But today was seriously cold. And naturally I began to have trouble with the starter on my car. Not the usual kind of trouble, but the peculiar variety that goes with the Chevy Tracker’s idiosyncratic ignition system, which involves tramping down on the clutch while turning the key.
Ah well.
Rev. Paul T. McCain of Cyberbrethren wrote a moving and thoughtful post the other day on the subject of suicide. A friend of his took his life recently, and in meditating on it, Rev. McCain quoted a statement of Luther’s I’d never read before. This is part of it:
“I don’t share the opinion that suicides are certainly to be damned. My reason is that they do not wish to kill themselves but are overcome by the power of the devil. They are like a man who is murdered in the woods by a robber. . . .”
This was one of many statements of Luther’s they never told us about in the church I grew up in. We were taught the view (which, I believe, used to be taught by the Roman Catholic Church as well) that suicide left one with no opportunity to repent of the sin of murder, and therefore could not be forgiven. This view doesn’t actually jibe very well with Lutheran grace-centered theology, but that never occurred to me.
It must be a great comfort to the families of suicides to believe this, and I’m glad of that.
But I have reservations, too. (If you’ve recently lost a friend or family member to suicide, I recommend not following on to the portion of this post below the fold. It might upset you, and I have no wish to do that. I want to consider an argument here, not rub salt in wounds.) Continue reading Suicide, in theory
Love Others As You Would Yourself
Line-Cutting Dispute Led to Wal-Mart Trampling Death (between those who stood in line and those who stayed in their cars during the hours before the doors opened)
Remembering Widows
Listen to ‘Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God’
Billed as “the most powerful sermon ever preached on American soil,” a presentation of Jonathan Edwards’ message, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” can be downloaded for free. This sermon shaped my understanding of salvation with its glorious imagery and biblical sense.