Things I Learned This Month | July 2018

It's still July?

Normally at the end of the month I think "How can the month be over already?"

That is so not where I am right now. This month has been so jam-packed with good things that I have trouble believing it was just a month.

I spent two weeks in Switzerland with my dad's extended family, five days in Malaga with a dear MK friend from college, and the rest of the time hanging out with family at home, talking on the phone with friends, and trying to get through Brothers Karamazov. July has been so great, but I'm kind of ready for August.

As per usual, I'm following Emily Freeman's lead to share a handful of the things I learned this month.

1. Cowbell is a very different instrument from what we hear in the classic SNL skit. We went to a folk festival in Wengen, the tiny Swiss town that we stayed in, and their troupe of cowbell wielders was quite impressive. I can't describe it in words, but here's a youtube video of the same performance from several years ago.

2. Songs are great conversation starters. While I was in Malaga, my friend Karis and I took turns sharing songs with each other - and each new song usually sparked a 10 minute conversation.

3. On the Enneagram, I'm Type 3 Wing 2. What does that mean? I really don't know. For now it's just an interesting fact I can pull out at parties. I plan to do some more investigating to see how this information can be of practical use. (FYI I've never figured out my Meyers-Briggs type, and I'm Hufflepuff. There. All personality bases covered.)

4. A calling is something that follows you anywhere. So often I can think of "calling" and "career" as synonymous, but that's not the case. Someone recently said that a calling is something that would be manifested even in a concentration camp. That's been interesting to think about as I consider what the Lord is leading me to after my second year in Germany.

5. I'm a fan of Spain. Malaga, at least. I've not been anywhere else in Spain, though I'm dreaming of doing part of the Camino del Santiago with a friend next year. At first it felt very Italian to me - similar Mediterranean cultures - but the longer I was there the more distinctive Spain felt. There's a lot of Moroccan influence on the southern coast of Spain, which added a really cool flavor to the art and architecture. And there is some amazing pottery. Not to mention beaches with crystal-clear water. And fresh salmon. Who knew? Apparently they try to come through the strait of Gibraltar, which makes them easy to catch. 

6. War and Peace  is a musical. Except that the title of the musical is Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812. That's quite a mouthful! I haven't had the chance to listen to the whole thing, but from the two songs I've heard I'm intrigued.

7. There is so much cool symbolism tied to pomegranates. I really love pomegranates. Eating a pomegranate is like consuming rubies. For fun I decided to look up their symbolism on my way back from Spain.

• Pomegranates featured prominently in the decor of the temple that Solomon built.
• In many different cultures, pomegranates symbolize life, fertility, abundance, and rebirth (think the myth of Persephone). 
• In Jewish traditions, the pomegranate calyx is the "model" for a crown. 
• In Christian art, broken or bursting pomegranates often symbolize the fullness of Jesus' suffering and resurrection.
• In the Eastern Orthodox church, the pomegranate is used in a dish that symbolizes the sweetness of the kingdom of heaven. 

I don't often draw, but I decided I needed a pomegranate on my wall, so I pulled out my old colored pencils to meet that need.

Additions to the Bookshelf | No. 1

via Pinterest

Now that I've got the bookshelf up and running, it's time to start the practice of regularly sharing what I've been reading. (I'm so excited for this.) Here's what I've been reading since setting up the bookshelf in May. These titles are also going up on the permanent page for ease of access.

Third Culture Kids 3rd Edition: Growing Up Among Worlds, by David C. Pollock, Ruth E. Van Reken, and Michael V. Pollock - This book is the seminal work on TCKs. Cathartic, insightful, wise, thought-provoking. I'm going to be mulling over this book for a very long time. If you are a TCK or are closely connected to one, this is a must-read. 

A childhood lived in, among, and between various cultural worlds is indeed becoming the norm rather than the exception. 

While parents may change careers and become former international businesspeople, former missionaries, former military personnel, or former foreign service officers, no one is ever a former third culture kid. TCKs simply move on to being adult third culture kids because their lives grow out of the roots planted in and watered by the third culture experience.

Grief is an affirmation of the good, not a negation. We don't grieve for the loss of things, places, events, and relationships we don't care about or love. Again, it doesn't mean there are not good days and wonderful new things, places, events, and relationships ahead. It means that something precious has been lost and there needs to be a time to mourn that loss in order to move on more fully to the good of the present. 

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte - I've read this four times and it gets richer every time. (This time around I read it for my Skype book club, and the discussion should be interesting in light of Wide Sargasso Sea.) I am in awe of Jane herself - her moral courage, her capacity for love, her independent spirit, and her faith. This time around I particularly enjoyed all the references to faerie - this book taps into folklore and fairytale on so many levels and I love it. 

Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigor . . . If at my convenience I might break them, what would be their worth?

The Dutchess of Bloomsbury Street, by Helene Hanff - Funny, short, and poignant, with lots of reflections on literature, England, and the contrasts between London and NYC. 

Somewhere along the way I came upon a mews with a small sign on the entrance gate addressed to the passing world. The sign orders flatly: 

COMMIT NO NUISANCE 

The more you stare at that, the more territory it covers. From dirtying the streets to housebreaking to invading Viet Nam, that covers all the territory there is.

Ballet Shoes, by Noel Streatfeild: Sweet book that to be perfectly honest I read because Kathleen Kelly recommends it in You've Got Mail. I picked up my copy at the books market on the South Bank of the Thames in London, and it smells wonderful. In the vein of Swallows & Amazons, The Railway Children, and All-of-a-Kind Family. Didn't love the ending, though.

The Fossil sisters lived in the Cromwell Road. At that end of it which is farthest away from the Brompton Road, and yet sufficiently near it to be taken to look at the dolls' houses in the Victoria and Albert every wet day, and if not too wet, expected to "save the penny and walk". 

Saving the penny and walking was a great feature of their lives.

via Pinterest

A Gentleman in Moscow, by Amor Towles - the same mastery of language, observation, and characterization found in Rules of Civility, with a very different feel. Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov spends most of his life under house arrest in a hotel in Moscow, but as the years pass his world expands rather than becoming confining. Food, friendship, fun and games - and a tumultuous era in Russia. Somewhat slow at parts, but immensely satisfying climax. Points for Casablanca references and an engaging child with a penchant for yellow.

"How do you spend your time?"
"Dining, discussing. Reading, reflecting. The usual rigmarole."

The Virgin of Bennington, by Kathleen Norris - I expected this to be a memoir, which it is in part, but it's more a tribute to Betty Kray, Norris' mentor and a hugely influential figure (though often unrecognized) in American poetry from the 1930s-1980s. Far more than an arts administrator, Kray was a hard sense businesswoman, brilliant instigator, builder of companies (in the Fellowship of the Ring sense of the word), and compassionate and beloved mentor to some of the most influential American poets of the 20th century. I found a new mentor in the pages of this book.

I had learned from Betty that being upset was not my job. Nor was I to judge. If a poet was so nervous that she showed up drunk for a reading, all I could do was try to bring the program off as well as I could. And if that failed, I might at least get some food into her before I sent her on her way.

Dakota: A Spiritual Geography, by Kathleen Norris - A bracing meditation centering around the sparse, harsh beauty of life on the Dakota plains. 

Disconnecting from change does not recapture the past. It loses the future.

I'm always eager to add new books to my TBR list: I'd love to hear what books you've been loving recently. Do share in the comments below!

the cow that tried to stop the little engine that could

Deep within the peaceful sublimity of the Swiss alps, a continuous contest is waged. 

Train conductors versus cowherds. 

Who will win? Nobody knows.

It had been a long day, with a strenuous 10 mile hike through the Swiss alps. Our group boarded a train, ready to get to our chalet in the next valley, eat food, and rest our weary feet.

The train chugged away from the station, moving slowly along the cog track that aids it up the steep incline. It lulled me into a semi-conscious state. There is nothing more soothing than a train ride after a long day hiking.

Until, that is, a truly ear-splitting whistle rent the air, and the train ground to a stop. Ears ringing, I looked out the window to see a cowherd flipping the conductor off. A cow had planted itself stubbornly on the tracks, bringing the train to a screeching halt.

One would think the cowherd would be glad that the cow survived the encounter. But it appeared that he was busy working to move an entire herd of reluctant cows up the mountain to greener pastures. The shrieking whistle had not only scared the cow off the tracks, but also scared the rest of the herd back down the mountain, to the ire of the cowherd.

The conductor was not particularly cheery, either. The train chugged to a start, resuming its journey up the mountain, and then it stopped. For quite a while. Just as we were getting antsy, it started back up again. Then stopped.

This time we heard a lot of banging from the front of the train. Then the conductor barreled through the train, muttering to himself something along the lines of "I can't believe this happened AGAIN."

The brakes had locked up after the stress of stopping to spare the cow. We were in no danger of rolling down the mountain, but it seemed that we might not move up it any time soon either.

More banging, then another false start.

Just as we began to wonder what would happen if they couldn't fix the train, it began to move again - and continued chugging. I thought of the little engine that could. One for the train conductor - cows scared down the mountain and a train that made it to its destination.

We wended our way home, glad that the only hamburger on the menu for the night was the hamburger that we'd bought at the store.