The Gift Outright

The Gift Outright
Robert Frost
The land was ours before we were the land's.
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia,
But we were England's, still colonials,
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Something we were withholding made us weak
Until we found out that it was ourselves
We were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.

I visited Lexington and Concord today, a Veterans' Day tradition I've been keeping for most of the past two decades. I often start my Christmas shopping in these two lovely colonial towns, but I mostly go there to remember...remember my way-back heritage (my mother is a Daughter of the American Revolution), remember what "they did here" that we might freely live here in this country we love that embraces democracy so fiercely and proudly.

I walked around the Lexington Green listening to a Veteran of much later wars play tribute (bottom right hand corner of the picture) on his trumpet ("Taps," "Star Spangled Banner," "The Navy Hymn," and other appropriate pieces). A moving experience, walking through the November winds with the haunting melodies floating over the fallen leaves.

I stopped by the homes of inspiring American writers (Emerson, Hawthorne, Thoreau, Alcott), by the rude bridge that arched the flood, by the homes of those who gave their lives that others might live.

I ate lunch at my favorite Market Cafe in Concord and went to my favorite local book store, The Concord Bookstore. There, I gave in to temptation and bought yet another Jane Austen-related book, A Truth Universally Acknowledged: 33 Great Writers on Why we Read Jane Austen. The clerk asked me if I belonged to the Jane Austen Society. When I answered "not officially," she told me about a MA chapter of the Society that was meeting this coming Sunday and said I ought to go, that I would love it. She is a member herself and said she'd look for me there! Dare I say I am going?!

In all, it was five hours of refreshment, both physically and spiritually. In all, it was exactly what I needed this day. A Gift Outright...

Autumn

"The leaves are falling, falling as from way off,
as though far gardens withered in the skies;
they are falling with denying gestures.
And in the nights the heavy earth is falling
from all the stars down into loneliness.
We all are falling. This hand falls.
And look at others: it is in them all.
And yet there is one who holds this falling
endlessly gently in his hands."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson, Autumn

Listen my Children and you shall hear...

It's been a beautiful New England holiday. The colors have become brilliant, and they stood out particularly against wildly cloud-filled skies on Saturday when I did quite a bit of driving. In the morning, I drove about 50 miles west to attend alumni weekend activities for South Lancaster Academy, the school I used to teach at in the 1980s and early 90s.

Many of the 35-year class became my friends in college. The 25-year class were seniors my first year there, and the 20-year class was one of my favorite (dare I say it) classes ever. We went through a lot together, traveling to Puerto Rico and Montreal, as well as all over New

England for choir and drama performances. Trips like that create bonds that don't break.

Later, after I had come back home, I decided to go find some color and drove out to Lincoln and Concord. I was not disappointed. First, I stopped off at Hartwell Tavern and discovered that they had an event planned for that evening that interested me. I had about 90 minutes to kill, though, so I drove on to Walden Pond and the Old North Bridge where I watched the sun set.

It was dark by the time I got back to the Tavern for the Living History event, "Heroes of Battle Road," a series of vignettes telling the story of April 19, 1775. The Lincoln Fife and Drum Corp was playing wonderful Revolutionary music. Visitors received tea bags as their tickets and groups of 20 walked the road through the woods to the Tavern (about 1/4 mile). Along the way, we were stopped by Minutemen guarding the woods between their captain's house and the tavern, a woman bringing nourishment to the men, and a rogue band of Redcoats. We met General Gage and his wife in the barn, and overheard a group of British regulars talking about Gage and various war strategies.

Inside the tavern, we were privy to a conver- sation between Mary Hartwell and her friend Katherine, wife of the captain of the Lincoln militia describing their experience on that day when the Redcoats marched to Concord and Lexington. We met the captain who told us all about how the Minutemen were paid (1 cent for every mile they came to fight in a battle and 2 cents for each meal). We also met Innkeeper Hartwell and learned about the food he served and why his was a higher class inn than most (he only allowed 4 to a bed instead of the usual 6).

It was a fascinated evening. We were not allowed to photograph during the tour because it would distract the interpreters, so I was glad I had been there earlier, in the daylight.

People were Talking

So, I'm watching my guilty pleasure, Dancing with the Stars, and a long-ago memory suddenly flashes in front of me. I'm with my journalism class from 1988 at Boston's channel 4, WBZ-TV, at a live show of "People are Talking," an afternoon talk-show hosted by local guy, Tom Bergeron!

The day's theme was upstart entrepreneurs, and two of the guests were Ben and Jerry, of Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream fame, just named "Small Businessmen of the Year" by President Reagan. My students and I had a great time. Part of the show involved audience Q and A and several of them asked questions and in the end, we all got samples of Ben & Jerry's ice cream.

I had forgotten that until now, but think it's kind of cool, now that I think of it. Of course back then, Tom wasn't the mega-star he is now. He was just a home-town guy hosting a very popular local show. Little did we know that our experience would become one of those "we knew him when" moments = )

Catching our Second Wind

A week ago, I was up at Second Wind with 4 couples from school, their kids, and another of the teachers. We'd just completed our 4th week of school and were really needing a break. It was a beautiful weekend, spent relaxing in the fresh pure air of Maine's western lake district. The only rule: no school talk! It was an amazingly simple rule to follow, even though we could have spent the entire weekend talking school. We didn't. Instead, we spent time talking about God, religion, politics, nature, our families... We came away refreshed and revived.

That's what I love about where I work. We really like each other and enjoy spending time

together, both in and out of work. It makes our days easier because we like working together. Some of us have known each other since high school, others since college. Even the new staff soon finds comfort and ease in the group. We haven't always been this way. There were a few years where it was not easy to be together. Thankfully that's not the case this year.

Our time at Rangeley was punctuated by laughter, underscored by a common admiration
and respect for each other. All that plus good food (we had a Fiesta Saturday night) and beautiful scenery! You can't ask for much more!

All Ye Who Labor

In honor of Labor Day, I thought I'd share a meditation I wrote for the staff at the beginning of the school year last year. The pictures come from various scenes this summer.

There's an old Jewish proverb that says "God gives burdens; also shoulders." Five words offering paradoxical truths about God; five words offering an emphatic definition of God.

"God gives burdens." Taken alone, these three words could very well make a person want to run away from God rather than stay with Him. And many, looking at their own lives, might even blame God for allowing tribulation to fall upon them. They look so long at their troubles that before they realize it, they can see nothing else but an unjust, merciless God and a world no longer fit to exist in.

It's a good thing the proverb doesn't stop there. Instead, it goes on. "God gives burdens; also shoulders." The shoulders He has given us are the shoulders of our family members and friends, our colleagues, mentors, and of God Himself. They are the shoulders we see ahead of us as we listen and learn with—and from—each other. They are the shoulders we sense behind us as we listen and learn with our families and friends. They are the shoulders we feel next to us as we listen and learn with our classmates. And they are the shoulders we feel under us, lifting us up as we listen and learn from the still small voice which comforts us:

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." Matthew 11:2

Isn't that beautiful? I am grateful every day that God has provided so wondrously for all of my needs. For the past couple of weeks I’ve been thinking about the enormous responsibility that comes with working with kids. Sometimes that responsibility seems like a burden that is overwhelming, almost paralyzing. And I’ve been thinking how impossible it will be to do this without a good team, without some powerful shoulders working side-by-side with me. That knowledge has made it easier to sleep at night, has made the thought of this school year bearable for me.

Galations 6:2 tells us that we are to bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ—the law of love—of caring for our brother, our sister. But while you are being there—being a shoulder—for someone else, let God be there—be a shoulder—for you, and let Him work with you. The Psalmist tells us to give Him all our cares (Ps. 55:22). And Peter says to "Cast all your anxieties on Him, for He cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7)

So yes, God gives burdens. But also shoulders.

The importance of every day

Teach us . . . that we may feel the importance of every day, of every hour as it passes." ~ Jane Austen

I spent the first week of July immersed in all things Jane Austen. It was a fascinating and inspiring week, researching her life, her works, her surroundings. I was writing a teaching unit on Austen that required several multi-media presentations plus 60 pages of content. I got a good head start on the project, but once the week ended, have not had time to finish it. I have until the end of September. Good thing (although who am I kidding if I think I'll have more time once school starts?!!! I tell myself I work better under pressure. We'll see, won't we?!)...

One of the things I had fun with was using my Jane action figure to create photos to illustrate my presentations. I got a kick out of the way I could use her to walk through books about her life.

I found the above quote in a Victorian catalogue earlier this evening. It is engraved on a copper cuff bracelet with her name signed on the back. It was a timely reminder to me of the importance of living our lives to make a difference. I was thinking that earlier today when watching Eunice Shriver's funeral service. I don't know if it was televised elsewhere, but Massachusetts TV had it well covered. I thought Maria's eulogy for her "Mummy" was wonderful. Such a different kind of tribute than we witnessed back in June! Such a different realization of your responsibility to humanity! "To whom much is given, much is expected." Eunice Shriver "got" that. And lived it.

The foundation of all things

This passage really spoke to me today. I know what it is to wonder, to remember, to be assured. I have been paying attention, but sometimes I forget. It is good to be reminded. (Pictures are from my days in Maine two weeks ago.)

Isaiah 40:21-31 (The Message)

^21-24Have you not been paying attention?
Have you not been listening?
Haven't you heard these stories all your life?
Don't you understand the foundation of all things?
God sits high above the round ball of earth.
The people look like mere ants.
He stretches out the skies like a canvas—
yes, like a tent canvas to live under.
He ignores what all the princes say and do.
The rulers of the earth count for nothing.
Princes and rulers don't amount to much.
Like seeds barely rooted, just sprouted,
They shrivel when God blows on them.
Like flecks of chaff, they're gone with the wind.

^25-26"So—who is like me? Who holds a candle to me?" says The Holy.
Look at the night skies:
Who do you think made all this?
Who marches this army of stars out each night,
counts them off, calls each by name
—so magnificent! so powerful!—
and never overlooks a single one?

^27-31Why would you ever complain, O Jacob,
or, whine, Israel, saying,
"God has lost track of me.
He doesn't care what happens to me"?
Don't you know anything? Haven't you been listening?
God doesn't come and go. God lasts.
He's Creator of all you can see or imagine.
He doesn't get tired out, doesn't pause to catch his breath.
And he knows everything, inside and out.
He energizes those who get tired,
gives fresh strength to dropouts.
For even young people tire and drop out,
young folk in their prime stumble and fall.
But those who wait upon God get fresh strength.
They spread their wings and soar like eagles,
They run and don't get tired,
they walk and don't lag behind.

Land-Locked

Black lie the hills; swiftly doth daylight flee;

And, catching gleams of sunset's dying smile,

Through the dusk land for many a changing mile

The river runneth softly to the sea.

O happy river, could I follow thee!

O yearning heart, that never can be still!

O wistful eyes, that watch the steadfast hill,

Longing for level line of solemn sea!

Have patience; here are flowers and songs of birds,

Beauty and fragrance, wealth of sound and sight,

All summer's glory thine from morn till night,

And life too full of joy for uttered words.

Neither am I ungrateful; but I dream

Deliciously how twilight falls to-night

Over the glimmering water, how the light

Dies blissfully away, until I seem

To feel the wind, sea-scented, on my cheek,

To catch the sound of dusky flapping sail

And dip of oars, and voices on the gale

Afar off, calling low, -- my name they speak!

O Earth! Thy summer song of joy may soar

Ringing to heaven in triumph. I but crave

The sad, caressing murmur of the wave

That breaks in tender music on the shore.

Celia Thaxter

An Island Garden

The days have been flying by. Even though summer work, for me, is much more relaxed and far less stressful, I've still be very busy. And now, it's almost August, which essentially means summer is over. Well, not quite, but it always feels that way. Last week, though, I took some time to really savor what New England is all about in the summer.

Thursday, my mother, sisters and I spent the day together exploring Appledore Island,

one of several islands that make up the Isles of Shoals 11 miles off the coast of Porstmouth, NH. In the late 1800s, Celia Thaxter, whose family operated a resort hotel on the island, was famous for hosting all the major writers, artists, and musicians of the time. She was also famous for her beautiful flower garden that spanned the breadth of her front porch. This garden has been recreated based on her book An Island Garden and is still a draw.

It was a misty, foggy morning for the 4

5 minute boat ride out to the island, but it warmed up and burned off the fogy as the day wore on. We had two guides who took us all over the island sharing details of Celia's life on the island interspersed with what is being done there now (Cornell University runs a marine biology center there for both grads and undergrads). It was a fascinating and beautiful day. And the fact that the four of us were together only made it all the better.

Seagulls and their fledglings were sometimes overpowering with their noise, but I was also

interested in the two varieties: Great black-backed gull and Herring gull. The mothers were very protective of their quite large babies =)

What we were most interested in, though, was the garden, all 97 varieties of annuals! Simply beautiful!

The Place I Want to Get Back To

is where
in the pinewoods
in the moments between
the darkness

and first light
two deer
came walking down the hill
and when they saw me

they said to each other, okay,
this one is okay,
let's see who she is

and why she is sitting
on the ground like that,

so quiet, as if
asleep, or in a dream,

but, anyway, harmless;

and so they came
on their slender legs
and gazed upon me
not unlike the way

I go out to the dunes and look
and look and look
into the faces of the flowers;
and then one of them leaned forward

and nuzzled my hand, and what can my life
bring to me that could exceed
that brief moment?
For twenty years

I have gone every day to the same woods,
not waiting, exactly, just lingering.
Such gifts, bestowed,
can't be repeated.

If you want to talk about this
come to visit. I live in the house
near the corner, which I have named
Gratitude.

by Mary Oliver

This is the poem that was posted on The Writer's Almanac yesterday. It took my breath away. It reminded me so much of one of my all-time favorite nature essays by Annie Dillard called "Living Like Weasels" where she describes locking eyes with a weasel in the woods. There's something magical about experiences like the two these ladies describe.

I am about to embark on a month of intense creativity. Tomorrow begins a week working on a 60-page teaching unit on Jane Austen, which I am eager to begin. This unit will eventually be published, which is also exciting (I'll post a link here when I'm done). Then, next week I'll spend a day with my mother and sisters visiting Celia Thaxter's beautiful ocean garden on the Isle of Shoals off the coast of Portsmouth, NH (at left is Childe Hassam's painting of the garden found at the MetMuseum site). I'll also spend three days at a writing retreat on memoir-writing. The rest of the month will be spent in following up on these 9 days of specific attention.

I can't wait! In fact, I've already been doing a lot of research for the unit I'm going to create next week, looking for projects to use in connection with the regular teaching activities. Here's a cool idea I found tonight that is actually a more sophisticated (read technological) version of a project I do now in connection with Medieval Literature. What you'll see here is an illuminated version of the wonderful e. e. cummings poem "i carry my heart with me."

i carry your heart with me i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) ee cummings

One of my friends just posted the loveliest poem set to music and video on his facebook page. It's a poem by Chilean poet Pablo Neruda which reads as follows:

Leaning Into The Afternoons Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets towards your oceanic eyes. There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames, its arms turning like a drowning man's. I send out red signals across your absent eyes that smell like the sea or the beach by a lighthouse. You keep only darkness, my distant female, from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges. Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets to that sea that is thrashed by your oceanic eyes. The birds of night peck at the first stars that flash like my soul when I love you. The night gallops on its shadowy mare shedding blue tassels over the land. Pablo Neruda

Call to Prayer

I just watched a Rick Steves episode on Istanbul, taking me back a year ago to my own visit to Istanbul. I was taken by the segment on the mosques. He showed how five times a day people are called to their mosque for prayer. The call is always the same (with a slight variation for the dawn call), saying that God is great and worthy of worship.

What caught my attention was when Rick said "after a short praise service, they go back to work." A simple phrase to him, perhaps, but it gave me pause to consider my own prayer practice. Each time I've been in a country where they do this, my first thought has always been of cacophony because to my Western musical ear, it sounds like a melancholy wailing. If several mosques are within hearing distance, the discord is stressful. Still, there is something to be said for stopping what you're doing and intentionally seeking out God several times a day.

In my own life, I always start and end my day with prayer, whatever time that may be. I attend church regularly, once a week, where we pray several times during our time together. During the school year, because I teach at a Christian school, we start our day together as a staff with worship and prayer, and we do the same each day with our students. As well, I have prayer before each class I teach and we pray before our meetings and other activities. But on my own, during the summer and vacations and such, there is not that same regularity. So, I'm wondering, am I missing something during those times, when I don't have a specific call to prayer built into my day?

Truth is, I think if you begin your day in an attitude of prayer, there is no need to stop what you're doing to intentionally pray as you've been in communication all along. That's the if, though, isn't it? And I suppose that's the theory behind that call to prayer, to remind those who have forgotten...