Recently in Beauty Category

Last Friday, I ended up at the local Target with my daughter and my Father-in-Law. Not a normal shopping experience for me, but FIL needed to buy a baby shower gift and daughter and I were along to help. Daughter and I basically picked the whole purchase out, but we didn't mind. We even had a bit of fun.

Anyway, as FIL was getting his bearings, I flitted like a nesting bird with ADD over to the Dollar section. Is there shiny? What is that pretty thing over there?

I spotted something, loved it, put it in my basket, and then took it out again. With the temorary mental powers of Einstein, I realized that this item must come home with me - for the betterment of mankind.

So, what was it?

This.

Isn't it lovely? Yes, I bought four TV trays and I am just a wee bit in love with them. I might even be planning an elopement soon.

Sturdy with a nice lip around the edge and only $2.50 each.

We watch a lot of TV together in the Family Room while we eat (oh, shame upon me) and these are very helpful.

They remind of school trays, but so much better. If my school trays had looked like these, I might not have minded the mystery meat so much.

This weekend, H went after his Honey-do list with a passion and one item he marked off the list was hanging some items above my sewing desk in the Family Room.

I know it's a bit late in the season to think of snowmen, but I wanted to show you this adorable miniature that D made for me. He's only 1 3/4 inches tall!

I asked her to make him look like a traditional snowman and she did. However, this little guy is made of polymer clay and toothpicks and he's been baked in the oven so I can keep him forever. No melting in the sun for this snowman. 

As we study the Medieval Age this term, D is reading and discussing with me Thomas Cahill's "How the Irish Saved Civilization". Yesterday, she came upon a very interesting quotation from mystery and fantasy author and Christian apologist G. K. Chesterton:

For the great Gaels of Ireland
Are the men that God made mad,
For all their wars are merry,
And all their songs are sad.

Isn't that so accurate? I have yet to meet an Irishman who didn't love a good fight, a melancholy song,..and a strong drink. I think many would agree with Chesterton.

The quotation comes from Chesterton's "The Ballad of the White Horse," a narrative poem published in 1911 about King Alfred the Great's defeat of the Danes in England.

Chesterton explains the ballad in his Prefatory Note:

This ballad needs no historical notes, for the simple reason that it does not profess to be historical. All of it that is not frankly fictitious, as in any prose romance about the past, is meant to emphasize tradition rather than history. King Alfred is not a legend in the sense that King Arthur may be a legend; that is, in the sense that he may possibly be a lie. But King Alfred is a legend in this broader and more human sense, that the legends are the most important things about him.

The cult of Alfred was a popular cult, from the darkness of the ninth century to the deepening twilight of the twentieth. It is wholly as a popular legend that I deal with him here. I write as one ignorant of everything, except that I have found the legend of a King of Wessex still alive in the land. I will give three curt cases of what I mean. A tradition connects the ultimate victory of Alfred with the valley in Berkshire called the Vale of the White Horse. I have seen doubts of the tradition, which may be valid doubts. I do not know when or where the story started; it is enough that it started somewhere and ended with me; for I only seek to write upon a hearsay, as the old balladists did. For the second case, there is a popular tale that Alfred played the harp and sang in the Danish camp; I select it because it is a popular tale, at whatever time it arose. For the third case, there is a popular tale that Alfred came in contact with a woman and cakes; I select it because it is a popular tale, because it is a vulgar one. It has been disputed by grave historians, who were, I think, a little too grave to be good judges of it. The two chief charges against the story are that it was first recorded long after Alfred¹s death, and that (as Mr. Oman urges) Alfred never really wandered all alone without any thanes or soldiers. Both these objections might possibly be met. It has taken us nearly as long to learn the whole truth about Byron, and perhaps longer to learn the whole truth about Pepys, than elapsed between Alfred and the first writing of such tales. And as for the other objection, do the historians really think that Alfred after Wilton, or Napoleon after Leipsic, never walked about in a wood by himself for the matter of an hour or two? Ten minutes might be made sufficient for the essence of the story. But I am not concerned to prove the truth of these popular traditions. It is enough for me to maintain two things: that they are popular traditions; and that without these popular traditions we should have bothered about Alfred about as much as we bother about Eadwig.

One other consideration needs a note. Alfred has come down to us in the best way (that is, by national legends) solely for the same reason as Arthur and Roland and the other giants of that darkness, because he fought for the Christian civilization against the heathen nihilism. But since this work was really done by generation after generation, by the Romans before they withdrew, and by the Britons while they remained, I have summarised this first crusade in a triple symbol, and given to a fictitious Roman, Celt, and Saxon, a part in the glory of Ethandune. I fancy that in fact Alfred¹s Wessex was of very mixed bloods; but in any case, it is the chief value of legend to mix up the centuries while preserving the sentiment; to see all ages in a sort of splendid foreshortening. That is the use of tradition: it telescopes history.

G.K.C.

You can read the entire ballad online. You can view the actual White Horse in Uffington, England.

An aerial view of the 374 foot White Horse. 

It is an amazing Bronze Age landmark that was, sadly, unbeknownst to me.

Just another discovery made on a homeschooling rabbit trail. 

A little thrifting fest this weekend brought this glass bluebird to live on my desktop. It's not actually thrifted; I found it at Big Lots. It's turquoise, though I don't think you can tell in this photo. I'm a bit color blind and most "turquoise" items just look light blue to me. Does anyone else have this problem?

Did you know that Turquoise is the hot color for 2010? I picked up several turquoise pretties at Big Lots, in addition to the bluebird. I decorate with a lot of sunflower yellow, dark blue, and apple green, but I think turquoise will liven things up around here. I don't want to get bored and adding splashes of a new color is cheaper than redecorating.

By the way, in many myths and fairy tales, the bluebird symbolizes happiness. It must be true because I'm very happy with my little bluebird.

Movie buffs might recall that the Bluebird of Happiness was the focus of Shirley Temple's first childhood box office flop. Ironically, the movie also received two Academy Award nominations.

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries...

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh - Book VII

I can't say that Elizabeth Barrett Browning is a hero of mine, but long before my own body fell to ruin I admired her ability to learn, live, and grow despite illness and pain. The quotation above, taken from her nine book blank verse novel, is certainly a gem of truth.

Even a common blackberry bush is as full of God as Moses' burning bush. Some recognize this and honor the Lord; others can see nothing beyond a bush of blackberries.

I find it difficult to understand atheists. How can anyone observe the natural world and not acknowledge the Creator? Every living thing around us is born from the breath of God and possesses a touch of His majesty.

The whole world is afire with God. Let us behold His works and stand on holy ground.

The memorial service for H's grandmother was yesterday and I needed some mourning clothes for D, who had nothing appropriate. Thankfully, I managed to pull together a few thrifty pieces we had:

• Talbots charcoal gray lined wool skirt - thrift store, about $5
• Joneswear silk shirt - Bealls Outlet, about $5
• Black leather boots - Bealls Outlet, about $8
• Black vintage scarf - my mother-in-law, free
• White seed pearl necklace - mine
• Pearl earrings - hers
• (not shown) Black wool coat - my mother-in-law, free

D is probably the only fourteen-year-old who goes to a memorial service and gets a million compliments from the fellow mourners. Those who know her best were completely amazed to spy her in earrings AND a necklace.

In other news, the memorial service was short, respectful, and a good opportunity for those who loved H's grandmother to celebrate her life. All things considered, I think it went as well as possible.

Okay, I'm heading to the hospital tomorrow to try this surgery thing again. Once again, I beg your kind thoughts and prayers. 

I leave you with a photo of the lovely sunflowers my Mother-in-Law picked for me from her friend's house:

Can you believe such beauty was growing wild? Amazing!

While I missed the holiday on October 29, I did wear a skirt that day - as I do most every day. Avoiding dresses? Check out Erin at A Dress a Day and her responses for anti-dress excuses. The holiday's Flickr pool has dressy-goodness for those of us who missed the celebration.

Life is short. Use the good china, wear the pretty outfit.