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It took me about a billion years and all, and I felt sick like I was going to vomit or pass out or something, but I finally read The Catcher in the Rye. I really did. I was probably supposed to read it back in that crazy school I went to, but my teacher was a phony and all, and back then I was a little kid and all, and I acted like a madman, and I didn’t know what the heck I was doing. Besides, you never know what the heck you’re doing when you’re a kid. You really don’t. That just kills me.

Um, no, that wasn’t my voice in the first paragraph. Holden Caulfield’s voice is so narrow, so repetitive, and so annoying that it’s hard to get out of your head and all after you’re read the same expressions about a trillion times on every page. It really is. [Okay, I'll try to stop - I really will!] (more…)

I’d be interested to know what you think of this article (or the book, if you have read it).

Last week when we were in Krakow we had a clear, windy, and downright frigid day of walking around town. The boys and Paula didn’t have good insulated footwear, so they went back to the room, while Petra and I finished our exploration of the Jewish Quarter. When we returned to our flat, I confess that it warmed my heart to find Kristian in bed reading Pride and Prejudice, and Ethan in his bed across the room reading a story of Jeeves and Wooster. And there was a television in the apartment.

No, we didn’t take our computers on vacation with us….

I stumbled across this poem by Matthew Arnold and found it to be something I could pray:

        THOU, who dost dwell alone:
        Thou, who dost know thine own:
        Thou, to whom all are known
        From the cradle to the grave:
                Save, oh! save.
        From the world’s temptations,
            From tribulations,
        From that fierce anguish
        Wherein we languish’
        From that torpor deep
        Wherein we lie asleep,
Heavy as death, cold as the grave,
                Save, oh, save.

        When the Soul, growing clearer,
            Sees God no nearer:
        When the Soul, mounting higher,
            To God comes no nigher:
        But the arch-fiend Pride
        Mounts at her side,
        Foiling her high emprise,
        Sealing her eagle eyes,
        And when she fain would soar,
        Makes idols to adore;
        Changing the pure emotion
        Of her high devotion,
        To a skin-deep sense
        Of her own eloquence;
Strong to deceive, strong to enslave—
                Save, oh! save.

        From the ingrain’d fashion
        Of this earthly nature
        That mars thy creature;
        From grief that is but passion;
        From mirth that is but feigning;
        From tears that bring no healing;
        From wild and weak complaining;
            Thine old strength revealing,
                Save, oh! save.

        From doubt, where all is double;
        Where wise men are not strong;
        Where comfort turns to trouble;
        Where just men suffer wrong;
        Where sorrow treads on joy;
        Where sweet things soonest cloy;
        Where faiths are built on dust;
        Where Love is half mistrust,
Hungry, and barren, and sharp as the sea:
                  Oh! set us free.
       O let the false dream fly
       Where our sick souls do lie
            Tossing continually!
                O where thy voice doth come
                    Let all doubts be dumb,
                    Let all words be mild,
                    All strifes be reconcil’d,
                    All pains beguil’d:
                    Light bring no blindness,
                    Love no unkindness,
                    Knowledge no ruin,
                    Fear no undoing.
                    From the cradle to the grave,
                        Save, oh! save.