Cramming

I feel 16 again because I spent my past two weeks cramming for SATs. I am "casting bread on many waters," when it comes to my future, tapping open as many doors as I can so that God can push me through the right one. This includes application to a handful of universities. Several of which, I discovered, require two SAT subject tests in addition to the regular SATs. So I chose the ones I liked, on world history and literature, and set to studying with my remaining ten days before the test. Literature, no problem. World history... well. I know it generally. I know Western history even better. I love the story of mankind - it's a fascinating epic. The imports and exports and dates of the dynasties of said mankind though... that's another matter entirely. Cramming ensued. Now, tests are over and Christmas is goldenly, spicily here and I am gleeful with the scent of fir and sugar cookies and glint of star-like lights. I still have a book deadline of December 31, which means I'm breathing hard. But I intend to think and read and see many beautiful things this Christmas, and I'll drop postcards of it all here. I'll start with the poem below, which startled me with its poignancy. I found it via my daily email dose of poetry from Davey's. If you want a poem a weekday (with fun, short commentary) in your inbox, you should sign up here. It's an easy way to follow Goethe's maxim to "...hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day ... in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul." So here's the poetry and picture for you. Let me know if you find some steal-your-heart music. Have a heart-always-open day.

may my heart always be open E.E. Cummings

may my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living whatever they sing is better than to know and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry and fearless and thirsty and supple and even if it's sunday may i be wrong for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully and love yourself so more than truly there's never been quite such a fool who could fail pulling all the sky over him with one smile 

Pilgrim's Inn

I'm glad you all like this cottage/house idea too! I'm going to run with it. I've decided to call it Pilgrim's Inn. Now, there are several reasons for this. First, the idea of journeying, as many of you know from my old site being about an itinerant idealist, is something that I think captures the essence of life here on earth. To have a house where pilgrims are welcome, where all who search and seek, and want with all their hearts to find that high, narrow road to Goodness, are welcome, I love it. We're all gypsies to an extent, and yet, we all need shelter, these houses and homes where we get a taste of what it is we are journeying toward. (I'll be blogging about this.)

Second, this name comes straight from one of my top five in all the world favorite books: Pilgrim's Inn by Elizabeth Goudge. The whole story captures the essence of what I want to accomplish in this home, virtual or real. The book is about a family, weatherworn in soul and body after WWII, who move from London to the country, buy a rambling old house that used to be a "Pilgrim's Inn" (a place in medieval and later times where religious pilgrims would be welcomed by monks on their way to cathedrals and shrines) and have their souls utterly renewed. This story, with the central character being an actual house, is one that has shaped my idea of home as an act of creation, and place of redemption, as almost nothing else has.

So. I will be majorly tweaking this site in the next weeks to make it feel like an actual house. Not sure how I'll manage that yet, but manage it, I will. It's an exhilarating design process. I'm having more fun than I thought I ever thought technologically-resistent me ever could. And yes, there will be room for as many souls as ever want to crowd in! I'd have ten kids over for a feast in a wink. My sister plans on having at least a dozen, and the celebrations we'll hold in this place will be rather epic.

As a parting thought: Goudge's Pilgrim's Inn has always been my model, but Rivendell from The Lord of the Rings was the first inspiration for my dreams. This quote sums up my plans for this place:

Frodo was now safe in the Last Homely House east of the Sea. That house was, as Bilbo had long ago reported, "a perfect house, whether you like food or sleep, or story-telling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all." Merely to be there was a cure for weariness, fear and sadness.

Isn't that lovely?