“I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house." Nathaniel Hawthorne here
The quote caught my eye but now I want the journals. Speaking of which I am going back through this one and finishing up this. Years and years and years that last one has taken me but I feel like I have digested it in chunks and each next section hits me at a certain point in life, no doubt the very right point at which to read it. I was drawn to finish this last section after recent discussions about end of life laws and suffering in general. The accounts of Louis Martin's last years came to mind during these talks and I am revisiting his final trials now.
Anyway, today found us discussing Ghandi and hence, Tolstoy, Thoreau, and Martin Luther King. (maybe tomorrow we will just discuss fashion or latte or something but you know, probably not) Can you guess why? The increasing inability to disagree with others and the tendency towards coercion that seems to be rampant everywhere I turn lately. Lawsuits, slander. Gah. After reading a comment on an article that insisted, "It's ok to hate a bigot," I realized our current teens missed the first round discussion years ago about how to oppose civilly. That it is ok and sometimes necessary to challenge a wrong position but it is never ok to hate anyone, no matter how terrible their actions may be. Digging up some examples of what that looks like in history. Much of this they smile and nod over and it no doubt goes over their heads but I pray they leave our home with this message firmly planted in their hearts. We hate the sin, and we oppose wrong always, but we love the sinner - because we are that too. Respect is not just for the few.
What else? I read part of Beowulf aloud to Moira for her lit class and became fascinated and inspired. Tutored some Spanish, which is funny because I don't actually speak Spanish. What they say about the Romance languages seems to be true though. Somehow it's clicking after dabbling in French and latin.
We made birthday cupcakes. That was enough though since Moira and I are catching a cold so husband brought home pizza. Abbie practiced a song she wrote for the piano. Moira put the letters on the keys with washi tape so now Abbie is bent on writing songs as a series of letters and then replaying them.
And the Aga is on. ahhhhhhhh. It is so very nice to be warm at night. I will never again read Dickens nor any other British author describe the cold months without a slight shiver. There is something especially chilly about an English autumn and winter though the thermometer teases and assures that it isn't as cold as many other places. Damp I guess.
Daytimes are still lovely and crisp though. These are from a walk on a new trail locally.