Life Lessons from Centenarians

This is simply lovely.

Something Real

I had a dream once
That you came to me
I was lying in a hospital
Some friends were there
And unexpectedly, you walked in the door

Some dreams are vague
This one was vivid
I could feel the weight of your body
as you sat down next to me on the hospital bed
You put your arms around me
leaned in close
I felt your breath as you said,
"It's all going to be worth this moment."
Then you kissed me
I felt your warm softness underneath my hands
your skin
your hair
your clothes

Is it all worth that moment?
What if it never comes?

I've been told
over and over
and over again
That I should be sensible
practical
realistic
There are so many women who would love to have me
who would do anything to be loved
the way I love you
I should find one, and make her happy
or choose one from my past
who already loves me

But the thing is, you see
I don't love any other woman like I love you
I can't love any other woman like I love you
I won't love any other woman like I love you
Because no other woman is you

Yes, it would be easier
It would be more practical
More rational
More sensible

But nothing worthwhile is easy
The more precious a thing is, the harder to obtain
Pearls come from the bottom of the sea
and diamonds are not found
lying on the surface of the ground, among the rocks
for anyone to pick up
They must be dug out of the depths of the earth
with much labor, sweat, expense, and blood
And danger
For also, nothing worthwhile is obtained without risk

Your love
is the world's most exquisite treasure
rarer than diamonds
more precious than pearls
and I will have no other
If the cost to earn it
is my entire life
or my life itself
then I will pay it
And if I spend my whole life striving
for the best thing in the world
but fail
and die alone
without having ever lived that moment
which will make it all worthwhile
I still will not regret
having lived my life for something real
something true
something magical
something extraordinary
something beautiful
For Love
For You

Judy Garland - Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

This is the only good version of this song: the original lyrics, which capture the exquisite melancholy of being separated from someone you love at Christmas. Note the date: 1944. Bing Crosby's and Karen Carpenter's voices were fantastic, but they ruined it by trying to make it more "positive" and "upbeat". I don't know the story behind the changing of the lyrics, but I can just picture Bing Crosby or Frank Sinatra saying "Say, how 'bout we make this a little more upbeat? This song is depressing!" Bah, same mentality that added that dumb final verse to "Gloomy Sunday" about waking up and finding it was all a dream when they translated it to English. But by taking away the melancholy of the song, they took away its deeper meaning; because it's also a song of courage, and of hope. Foolish hope, perhaps. Many, many people who were separated from their loved ones in 1944 were never going to spend another Christmas with them. But when you're living on hope, it's all you have, and you have to do just what the song says: make the best of here and now, and keep hoping that that thing, whatever it is, is going to get better. Otherwise, the only alternative is melancholy's hideous cousin, despair.

"Minuet no. 60" - Danish String Quartet

This is lovely. My daughter heard this quartet on NPR and told me about them.

I danced a minuet in my first acting job (outside school plays). It was Cinderella, and I was a courtier and the captain of the guard. Also, in my brief time taking piano, I complained about having to learn children's songs like "Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star", and my teacher in frustration said, "Well, how about some Bach, then?" To which I replied, "Yes, please!" So the only thing I ever really learned on piano was Bach's Minuet in G. I was kind of a pain in the ass when I was young. Ha ha, yes, I know what you're thinking, so let me say it for you: "You're still a pain in the ass, Mike!"

Your pardon, if the nudes offend anyone. I didn't make the video. Although I personally have no objection to the aesthetic admiration of the feminine form, as long as one can do so without inordinate lust (which I can). God made the universe beautiful, and the very last thing he created was the most beautiful thing of all: the woman. "Rejoice in the wife of your youth...let her breasts satisfy thee always." (Proverbs 5:18-19)

The Scarred Princess (part 14)

Viola rode on through the night, until she was so exhausted that she began to be afraid that she would fall from her horse. In the dark, cold hours before dawn she found a peasants' croft, and stole quietly into the stable. She placed Sunshine in an unused stall, and climbed into the loft to sleep among the hay, too tired to care if they were found in the morning.

When she awoke, she was alone, and the light had a mid-day feel. But she found that Sunshine had been brushed and cared for, and had a full manger of hay and a trough of water. Timidly, she peeked out of the door. As soon as she did, however, she was recognized, and three small children rushed to her, followed by their mother, who came out of the house wiping her hands on her apron. The children crowded around her, while the woman curtsied and said, "You are most welcome, your Highness, to our simple home. Will you come inside and have something to eat?"

Viola was a little disappointed to be so easily recognized, but not very surprised, upon reflection. She accepted the offer gratefully, as the only provisions she had were what had been left over on her board in her chamber. The woman bustled around, waiting upon the princess and fussing over everything, while keeping up a continual stream of happy chatter. She told Viola that her husband had found her Highness sleeping in his loft early this morning, but had left her to her rest after attending to her horse along with his own livestock, before leaving for the fields and his day's labor. She then proceeded to related how she recognized the princess because she had visited their neighbor when his wife had been very sick, and had played such beautiful music that she was sure it was because of it that the poor woman had recovered. And she furthermore told how they had all heard the rumours of the princess's enchantment, but had never been at all convinced that it was so, and that they were so pleased to see that her Highness was well, and were at her service to aid her however they could in her flight, and the king could do to them as he may, for it was plain to see that she was fleeing.

Viola answered that she was very touched and grateful, but that they must in no wise put themselves in danger for her. She said that if they would but give her some bread to take on her road, and then keep the matter quiet, that she would ask nothing more of them, but would be on her way as soon as she had eaten. And she forced the good woman to accept some silver coins.

The woman tried to insist that the princess stay one more night, or at least wait until her husband returned from the fields, but Viola was adamant that she must move as quickly as she could, for her father's men would be close behind her. So, with a satchel filled with bread, cheese, sausage, and apples, for the good woman had refused to hear of sending Viola on her way with only bread, and a new skin full of water, she found herself on the road an hour or two past noon. As soon as she was out of sight of any habitation or dwelling, she took out the mirror and found that, as the hermit had promised, it showed her the way. She turned her palfrey's head, and followed.

She found, as she traveled, that the mirror guided her well. It led her by secluded and little-used paths, and always, it seemed, to places where she was known and loved; places to which she had been before, on her long rides and adventures. Soon she began to trust it confidently, and ceased to be afraid that she would be caught and captured. For not only did the mirror help her, but the common people she met were all very much on her side, and she was very surprised how ready they were to defy their king and oppose his soldiers for her sake. If the searchers came close to where she lay hidden, they would deny ever having seen or heard of her. Or they would give false directions, to get them lost on purpose while she made her escape in the other direction. And everywhere, she was given as much food, drink, and hospitality as she could desire, as well as much more of the tale of her own kindness and generosity than her modesty could bear.

Eventually, she came to the borders of her father's realm, and crossed over the edge of the Wild, and it was here that she first began to be genuinely afraid. But the courage of a woman in love, who has made up her mind and given her heart, is not to be outmatched by the boldest of knights or the most hardened of soldiers, and she rode on with a resolve that would have impressed Sir Perditus so to move him to tears of admiration and love, if he could have seen it.

The mirror led her to the hermit's cell, which, she was very sad to see, was unoccupied. But there was a note, praising her for her courage in coming thus far, and inviting her to rest here a few days, and to make herself free with whatever she found here, which was enough food to fill her stomach as well as her saddlebags. She did as the note had bidden her, sleeping well and securely for several nights, then left with as much provision as she could find a way to carry, riding away with a lightened and encouraged heart.

Now the mirror led her by the same path that Sir Perditus had taken before her. She found her way through the forest easier because he had cleared it ahead of her. And when she found his surcoat lying on the ground where he had left it, she picked it up and wrapped it around herself, tying it tight with her own thin leather girdle, and it felt as if it afforded her more warmth and comfort than its thin fabric could account for. And when she felt afraid, or alone, or unsure, she thought of how her knight had walked this same road before her, and how much he had suffered for her, and of how much he loved her, and she was comforted.

But when she looked in the mirror to see Sir Perditus, she could see naught but darkness. She thought she could hear his voice, occasionally, faint and low, as if from a distance, or perhaps he was sick or weak. She wondered with much apprehension what this could portend, but she had promised to trust the old man, and he had said there was a chance, and so she persevered steadfast in hope.

And thus she continued: across the river, which her horse swam with much more ease than Sir Perditus had (for the spring floods had passed), and where she found his mail hauberk. She was much surprised to find that it had not rusted, but shone as if new-burnished; perhaps the holy hermit's touch had imparted to it some magical protection. She put it on, and though it was much too big, it made her feel safe and gave her courage. Across the plain, where she retrieved his helmet, which she donned, tying up her hair underneath it to keep it from falling over her face, and over the mountains where she picked up his shield. She was armed only with her lady's dagger, but from a distance she could be mistaken for a page or a young esquire. As her load of food grew lighter, Sunshine was able to carry the added weight without trouble, though in the mountains Viola had to dismount and walk beside her in some places. Until one day, before she even realized how far she had already come, she found herself looking down upon the same landscape that the knight had seen many months before.

Plutarch on Marital Relations

"Some men, either unable or unwilling to mount themselves into their saddles through infirmity or laziness, teach their horses to fall upon their knees, and in that posture to receive their riders. In like manner there are some persons who, having married young ladies not less considerable for the nobility of their birth than their wealthy dowries, take little care themselves to improve the advantages of such a splendid conjunction, but with a severe moroseness labor to depress and degrade their wives, proud of the mastery and vaunting in domestic tyranny. Whereas in this case it becomes a man to use the reins of government with as equal regard to the quality and dignity of the woman as to the stature of the horse." -- Plutarch, Conjugal Precepts

I came across this today, and it struck me as a fine example of the inaccuracy of the standard modern feminist narrative of the past. That is, that before feminism came and enlightened us and set women free from the shackles and dungeons of patriarchalism, all women were everywhere oppressed by cruel men who valued them not at all except for the pleasure and fruit their bodies afforded. Here is an example from the first century A.D. of a man--a Greco-Roman and a pagan, no less, teaching other men that they should be respectful and gentle to their wives.

I, on the other hand, maintain that, though it is true, has been true, and unfortunately, always will be true (until the restoration of Justice and all things upon the Earth), that there are bad men who treat women badly, that the patriarchal past is not nearly so monolithically oppressive and evil as they pretend. There were men who treated their wives badly. And there were men who treated their wives well. Just as there are now. Different ages and cultures contained varying mixes of the two: one could very easily say, for example that women were treated much better on the whole in Victorian England than they were in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan. I would argue that women are treated much worse on average in relationships by men in our society today than they were a hundred, or even fifty years ago. But there have always been good men, who genuinely love women and desire and strive to treat them kindly and with respect and dignity.

But the feminist narrative is not about accuracy or truth. It is propaganda, pure and simple. In order to sell a radical ideology, one must create a dichotomy of oppressor class vs. victim class, and then re-write history and define the world according to that view. Communists use proletariat and bourgeoisie; Nazis used Jews and Arians; the French reign of terror used common and noble; and feminists use women and men.

As an example, feminists reading this passage will no doubt seize immediately upon the use of the horse as a metaphor, and claim that Plutarch is equating women to livestock. But in reality, it is just a metaphor: just as, when Jesus uses agricultural parables to demonstrate spiritual truths, he is not equating his disciples to plants in value or worth--it's just a metaphor. Focus instead, on his actual theme--that husbands should show "equal regard to the quality and dignity of the woman". And it's not equal regard to the quality and dignity of the horse--it's to the physical stature of the horse, in regard to mounting it. Again, metaphor. Meaning that the man must himself rise up to the challenge of being the husband of a woman of quality and dignity, as he must make the effort to mount a tall horse, rather than lowering the horse to his own level.

Offenbach: Les Contes d'Hoffmann / Act 3 - Barcarolle (Arr. For Violin, ...

I am left breathless.

"One who pricks the eye will make tears fall, and one who pricks the heart bares its feelings."

Ecclesiasticus 22:19

The Scarred Princess (part 13)

One day, as Princess Viola languished in her chamber, a strange old man wrapped in a heavy cloak, with his hood drawn so that it obscured most of his face, presented himself at the castle gate and asked to be granted an audience with the king. When asked his business, he told that he was one who knew about all kinds of enchantments, spells, and sorceries; that he had heard rumour of the princess's condition; and that he desired to offer his services to her and to the king.

He was admitted with all haste and not a little apprehension, and shown immediately to the king's presence. The king and queen, though no less appalled than their people at the appearance of such a wizard, received him eagerly, asking him if he really could cure their daughter of whatever spell she was under.

"First," the old man replied, "we must determine if she is indeed under any spell or enchantment. That is not at all to be assumed until I have seen and spoken with her. And that I must do alone." The old man stopped there, and waited for their reply, offering no further explanation nor excuse, as if he were accustomed to having kings waiting upon him.

The king felt a little affronted that his judgment in the matter should be thus questioned, but the queen felt strangely relieved, and hopeful for the first time in many weeks. Nevertheless, the king ordered that the stranger be shown to the princess's room and allowed a private audience with her. But he gave the captain of his guard a look which meant, "But be careful to watch him closely, and stand just outside the door, ready to enter at the slightest sign of anything amiss." The captain understood perfectly, and moved to carry out his orders, motioning the wizard to follow him and his men.

When Viola's door opened, she expected to see her mother, who was her most frequent visitor, or perhaps her father or the loathsome Sir Ictis, trying once more to worm his way into her favour. But when she saw the old man enter, lowering his hood as the door closed behind him, she was filled with sudden, almost violent joy, for here was the one who had brought her the mirror! She felt as if she were seeing a friendly face for the first time in long months, and she broke down without a single word, and fell to weeping on his shoulder.

"Courage, dear heart," he said after allowing her a few minutes to vent her emotion, holding her tenderly as a grandfather would a newborn babe. "I am here to help, but you must be strong." He backed away from her and looked her in the eye, and she found new strength, hope, and peace, for she trusted him completely, though she knew not why.

"Have you gained any new insight into your heart, dear, since we spoke last?" He asked.

"Yes, Father," she answered, trying and failing to stifle a sob, "I have. I see now that I have been not only foolish, but cowardly and cruel. I have been unfeeling, hard-hearted, and cold to the best of men, whose only offense was loving me. And now he has been falsely and vilely slandered, and defamed such as no good knight could possibly bear." Here she burst into tears anew. "And it is all my fault!"

"Do not judge yourself so hardly, Dear One," answered the hermit. "Though you were mistaken, you meant no harm, but were only afraid. Is that not so?" She nodded. "Then dry your eyes, and have courage, for there is still hope that all will be well."

"But how?" she asked. "For Sir Perditus is gone I know not where, and I am prisoner, and even if I could find him again, and my father's knights did not hunt for him in all corners of the land, how could he ever forgive me? And how could I ever face him, after what I have done?"

"To him, there is no forgiveness called for. He loves you still, and blames himself for your quarrel, as you do. And he hopes, every day, every hour, and every moment to see you, or to hear from you, and little else."

"But there is still..." Viola began, but stopped, afraid to speak of her scar. But her hand went instinctively to her breast.

The hermit touched her chin and raised her face, and looked into her eyes most knowingly. "He knows," he said, and she felt as if he were speaking directly into her soul. "He has seen. He did not mean to see, but let us say that it was destined to be so." And here the old hermit placed his hands on her shoulders, never releasing her from his gaze. "My sweet, tender, lovely princess; my dear, beloved daughter: it is because of your scar that he fell in love with you."

Princess Viola felt as if the veil of the world had just opened up, and she had stepped through, out of the grey, drab, and sad world of men into a realm of joy such as mortal heart had never known; of music such as mortal ear had never heard; of colours such as mortal eye had never seen: a land of golden sunlight, sparkling starlight, and brilliant rainbows. She had no more doubt of what she must do.

"I must go to him," she said simply. "Will you help me?"

"Yes, you must," the hermit answered. "For he is in peril, and suffers much. But for this, you must have courage, and you must have faith. Will you trust me?"

"I will," she said, without hesitation. And now there was a fire in her eye that might make the boldest of warriors to step back.

"Good!" he said, "Then listen to me. When I leave you, I will say that I must examine the rose and the mirror, and I will arrange that both your door and the one across the hall, where they have locked them, are left open. Then I will return to your father and tell him the truth, that you are not bewitched, but in love. He will grow angry, and I will cause such a disturbance that he will call for his guards, and the maids and others will rush to see what is happening. Do not worry, though!" for here she looked concerned. "I will not harm anyone, nor will they be able to hurt me. Take the time as soon as I leave to gather what you may, and as soon as you hear the shouting, take the mirror and the rose, and make your way to the stables. There you will find Sunshine, your palfrey, already saddled. Get on her at once, and ride as fast as you can, east, out of your father's kingdom. After that, look into the mirror, and it will guide you." She nodded, to show she understood and was eager to obey.

"One last thing: I cannot tell you how all this will end. You will be taking a risk. And if you do succeed, you may be forever leaving behind all that you have ever known, and everyone you have ever loved. Are you still willing?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes," she said, and it was enough. The old man embraced her and kissed her forehead, then turned to leave. She heard him telling the guards that he must examine the objects which caused the enchantment, and in their confusion, sure enough, the guards forgot to lock the door behind him.

Viola rushed around her room, gathering what she thought she might need on such a journey. She was thankful that she had gone on her adventures, for now she had some idea what that might be, and also confidence that she would be able to make her way alone to wherever the magic mirror guided her. That done, she stood by her door, waiting for what seemed both far too short and far too long a time for the commotion to begin. Soon she heard distant shouting, and the guards outside her door running down the hall. As soon as she heard them turn the corner and their footsteps fade away, she stole out of her chamber, shutting the door behind her, and into the one across the hall, which was normally for her maids but now was empty, and found her beautiful mirror and rose. These she placed gently into her satchel, and slipped noiselessly, flitting from shadow to shadow, down the stairs, out the door, across the courtyard, and to the stable, where she found her palfrey waiting for her, just as the hermit had promised. She leapt onto her back, turned her head, rode out through the gateway, and was gone.