A different interpretation of Isaiah 2:4

I have always thought that Isaiah 2:4 was referring to a peaceful time when people will no longer choose to make war on each other because they are subject to God's law. It says:

"And he shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."

My husband and I were discussing this verse the other day, though, and he proposed a different interpretation. The reason people will beat their swords into plowshares could be because there is such a bad famine that they must put aside their differences and focus all their attention on growing food just to stay alive. Maybe they have to stop warring with each other and work together to survive.

Looking at the food shortages and predictions about coming famine, he could possibly be right. At some point on the continuum, people fight each other for territory or resources. But when it gets really bad and there are no resources, they turn their attention inward. It becomes the survival of the individual, not the nation. There is no energy for collective warfare.

And on that note, I'm going to go out and see how my garden is doing... 

I miss the card catalogue

These days, we are fed a stream of things on the internet based on our past searches and activity. I look up greenhouse kits once, and blam! I'm inundated with ads for greenhouse kits, and the Youtube videos that come up for me suddenly include things about greenhouse use and care. I bought a Nissan, and suddenly I'm getting ads for Nissans (as if I'm going to buy another when I've just bought one!). I watch one video on Croatian cookery, and I get spam emails for cooking pans and travel companies. Before long, all my internet "feeds" are limited to about four topics. I may think I'm accessing lots of information on the internet, but actually I'm being restricted to those limited "feeds." Sometimes I type in a really wild search, completely off topic, just to refresh my feeds a bit.

Remember the good old days when you walked into the library and were faced with banks of tiny drawers filled with index cards? They pointed you to sources of information on any topic you could imagine. (And they really satisfied my compulsion to organize things into little boxes.) Yes, Google searches can theoretically look up any information on any topic -- but the results that come up are based on popularity. What comes up one day may be different from what comes up tomorrow. On the internet you are restricted to what it wants to show you, and it keeps track of what you search. At a library, you have access to every book, all books, on whatever topic, any genre, on every shelf. It's all there for your perusal. And no one knows what you looked up unless you check the book out.

We need to protect our libraries, support them financially, support hardcopy books, and take a deep look at the idea of book banning. Libraries are the last safe haven of information. And when the EMP goes off and takes out your internet, libraries may be the only source of information.

The perfect friend

I was thinking over some fond memories, and I've come up with the definition of the perfect friend: You haven't seen each other in a year or two, but when you finally get together, you head for the beach with folding chairs and snacks, get yourselves all set up, and then sit side by side for hours...reading.

Sober Thoughts on the Death of a Neighbour

A woman I know died very suddenly and unexpectedly last week. It is the second time I've had a friend die without warning. The last time I saw her, I was out walking the dog and she rode past me on her bicycle and called out a hello. She was always on the go, busy with her children, involved in life. I didn't know her well enough, but everything I did know about her was likeable. She was young and vibrant, and she wasn't finished yet.

The conflicts and worries and stresses of this life really aren't that significant, you know, when you stop to think about it. It can all be gone in a moment, the unfinished projects, the half-read books, the unsaid apologies, the secretly-nursed hurts, the triumphs and acquisitions, the carefully-built bank account, the reputation, the granite countertops. The things we get caught up in -- paint colours, career choices, waist sizes -- don't matter in the end. For all of us, what matters will be who we have become as people, what we have learned, and how we have loved and served others -- those are the only things we take with us.

I watch leaders of the world get caught up in ego and posturing and flexing of muscles, and I just roll my eyes. We are hurtling through space on this teeny tiny speck in the universe. None of us are driving it. None of us can control it. None of us will be here for long. And yet we still argue and shove each other around on this speck and forget we're just plummeting through space for a very limited time. Surely there are better ways to spend what time we have.

Thought

There are days I look up from churning butter or threading my loom and get the weirdest feeling I was born in the wrong century.

Sparrow Saga - or - Bring out the Flame Throwers

Have you ever seen the movie where Rowan Atkinson house-sits for someone and encounters a bee? And goes to great lengths to destroy it, and ends up destroying the house by the end?

We have some sparrows nesting in our eavestrough. We wouldn't mind so much, except they are right outside our bedroom and are very noisy very early in the morning. The obvious solution would be to remove the gutter guard and expose the whole length of the gutter to the elements, but we can't get onto the steep roof, and we can't afford a handyman willing to attempt it. So we've tried other approaches.

We tried blocking the gutter with chicken wire, and they pulled it out and went back to nesting inside. We offered a birdhouse as alternative housing. We tried fake owls and sonic devices. The birds sat on the owl's head and sneered at us. We sprayed the entrance with chili and vinegar. We applied WD-40 to the lip of the roof to make it slippery. We wedged chicken wire into every possible crevice. We sprayed wasp poison into the cracks. We poured bleach into the gutter. Against all conceivable odds, the happy couple got back in. This morning Mr. Sparrow sat on our window sill outside our bedroom with nest-making grasses in his beak and very clearly said, "Looky what I'm doing! Nyaa nyaa nyaa!" before flying back into the eavestrough.

Maybe we tip our hats in acknowledgement of their tenacity and admit defeat. Maybe we bring out the flame throwers. Not sure how it will go yet.

Mother's Day - random memories of Mom, in no particular order

Sewing my school clothes, Easter dresses, dance outfits, swim suits...and teaching me how to sew. Brushing my hair with that wire-haired brush and No More Tangles, despite my whining. Coming home from church to the wonderful smell of Sunday roast. The best blueberry cheesecake ever. Somehow making all the flowers in the garden blossom blue at once for my sister's backyard wedding reception. The amazing homemade bread (we ate an entire loaf before Dad came in from mowing the lawn). Thick paperbacks everywhere in the house, including the bathroom. Stuffed calico birds and delicate crocheted snowflakes on the Christmas tree. Playing hymns on the organ (I was envious that she got to remove her shoes in church). Teaching me to sing alto. Reading stories to us on long drives in the car. Letting me bring a sick rabbit into the house for close care. Making me take the field mouse back when I brought it home in a Dixie cup. Playing ragtime duets with my brother on the piano. Presenting hourly surprises on long trips, too, like paint-with-water books and soy-oatie squares. Making us matching pajamas for Christmas. Making us fantastic cloth Holly Hobbie dolls and Winnie-the-Pooh bears and pig-shaped gingham pillows and---my favourite---corduroy frogs stuffed with wheat (I still have mine). Multiple kinds of homemade jam in the fridge, all open and available at once. Bags of licorice while watching Cary Grant movies. Shuttling all us kids to all of our music and dance lessons and sports events. Teaching us how to dehydrate or bottle food from the garden. Teaching me to knit and crochet. Never forgetting kids' and grandkids' birthdays. Taking care of the home front while Dad worked on his book. Mailing boxes of homemade goodies at Easter and Halloween and Valentine's Day. Putting faces, hats and earrings on the squash. Teaching us service by taking a wonderful chicken dinner to the neighbours and then giving us bread and milk for supper. Studying German and Hungarian. The magical closet full of games and puzzles. Caring for an ill neighbour's children. Painting beautiful landscapes and Victorian decorations. Rolling up her pant legs and wading in the gutter with us kids after a heavy rain. Dropping everything to go help a sick family member. Cheering when a grandkid did something notable. Cheering when a grandkid didn't do anything notable.

All this and so much more. Love you, Mom.