And, furthermore, she looks dazzling in print.
If you have not already picked up the October issue of Liberty magazine, I urge you to do so before they sell out. Liberty is a smart monthly brimming with thought provoking articles and clever cartoons about the subject of freedom or lack thereof in our society and is a good read in and of itself. But when Justine contributes, this fantastic magazine is made even better.
For her debut article she treats us to, of course, a book review. Desperately Seeking Shakespeare examines the issue of authorship of the entire cannon of plays and poems commonly attributed to William Shakespeare of Stratford-on-Avon by reviewing two books on the subject that come to the same conclusion but use widely divergent approaches to do so.
Like always, peering into her generous mind is a pleasure and the reader - I - am left both informed and, in an odd way, grateful. I love the way she fluidly links her thoughts for the reader so deftly that by the end you not only know the facts as she's presented them but you feel her passion. She leaves you with a bit of her heart beating in your hand. She is not a great writer because she can put pretty words on a page, although she can. She is a great writer because she possesses authentic, original thoughts that she expresses with the grace and panache you'd expect out of a true artist.
Here's to you Justine, and your growing readership.
by C. C. Kurzeja
2006 All Rights Reserved
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Friday, August 11, 2006
Monday, July 24, 2006
Because You're Not A Muskrat
More From My Continuing Frontier Education, or, In Order to Better Understand Freedom: The Ingalls' are now in Dakota, packed up and moved from their farm in Walnut Grove, Minnesota. This will be their last move, Ma insists, because the girls will have a formal education.
The government is giving a homestead, 140 acres, to anyone willing to brave the untamed, uncivilized frontier and farm the land for four years. Pa takes the bet and claims a beautiful patch of land. He plans to raise cattle on it. Buffalo once dominated that part of the country. They are gone, but their wallows still pock mark the prairie. He figures if the land was so good for buffalo, it will due for his cattle.
Mary is blind. Scarlet fever took her sight and her long, golden locks. Her head was shaved to bring down the fever, but it was too little too late. And that is that. She doesn't complain.
And so now, Laura is expected to become the school teacher. The money she makes will help put Mary through college for the blind. Laura can't stand schools, tight places, or strange faces. But she will go to school and learn because she has to for Mary. And that is that. She doesn't complain.
One day in late summer while Laura helped Pa stack hay, she spotted what looked to her another hay stack. Pa pointed out that it was a Muskrat house and then invites her to check it out with him. He explains the ways of the Muskrat to her and then says: "We're going to have a hard winter."
"Why, how do you know?" Laura asked in surprise.
"The colder the winter will be, the thicker the muskrats build the walls of their houses," Pa told her. "I never saw a heavier-built muskrats' house than that one."
"Pa, how can the muskrats know?" she asked.
"I don't know how they know," Pa said. "But they do. God tells them, somehow, I suppose."
"Then why doesn't God tell us?" Laura wanted to know.
"Because," said Pa, "we're not animals. We're humans, and, like it says in the Declaration of Independence, God created us free. That means we got to take care of ourselves."
Laura said faintly, "I thought God takes care of us."
"He does," Pa said. "so far as we do what's right. And He gives us a conscience and brains to know what's right. But He leaves it to us to do as we please. That's the difference between us and everything else in creation."
"Can't muskrats do what they please?" Laura asked, amazed.
"No," said Pa. "I don't know why they can't but you can see they can't. Look at that muskrat house. Muskrats have to build that kind of house. They always have and they always will. It's plain they can't build any other kind. But folks build all kinds of houses. A man can build any kind of house he can think of. So if his house don't keep out the weather, that's his look-out; he's free and independent."
I'm launching a movement to make the entire Laura Ingalls Wilder series part of every public schooled child's education. Every boy and girl in this nation should be made to not only read the series, but discuss this profoundly American family and their lives- how they lived them, why they lived them- in classrooms, ponder the implications of the actions and choices made by the Ingalls and identify the philosophy motivating them.
But to stop there would be to stop short. Every child should also be required to identify opposing world philosophies and demonstrate how they motivate people and to what end, and for what purpose.
I am firmly persuaded such an education would eradicate the disease of socialism that infects our society to death inside of a generation and, more importantly, teach us what it means to be free and how to go about living in that freedom. It's not too late. It's not over till the trumpet sounds.
Contrast Pa's attitude with the demands from entitled socialists running our institutions today. Recently, with Israel at war with Hezbollah in Lebanon, our military rescued Americans living in Lebanon from the dangers of war. We hauled our naval ships over to the coast of Lebanon and ferried our citizens by helicopter to the island of Cypress where they were free and safe to make arrangements to get home.
You'd think they'd be grateful, but no. Many of these rescued proved what brats they were by complaining that the war ships took too long in getting to them, and besides the long delay, they asked with indignant fury "Why should we have to spend our own money getting ourselves home, anyway?"
The answer should have been immediately obvious to everyone: Because, you're not a muskrat. And taking care of yourself is as American as the Declaration of Independence. (See how easy life's most pressing questions become when placed into Pa's paradigm?) You're free to roam where ever you want over God's green earth and upon her blue waters. So, if you choose to locate near vermin and get caught in the cross-fire between terrorists and a sovereign state, that's your look out; you're free and independent.
by C. C. Kurzeja
2005 All Rights Reserved
The government is giving a homestead, 140 acres, to anyone willing to brave the untamed, uncivilized frontier and farm the land for four years. Pa takes the bet and claims a beautiful patch of land. He plans to raise cattle on it. Buffalo once dominated that part of the country. They are gone, but their wallows still pock mark the prairie. He figures if the land was so good for buffalo, it will due for his cattle.
Mary is blind. Scarlet fever took her sight and her long, golden locks. Her head was shaved to bring down the fever, but it was too little too late. And that is that. She doesn't complain.
And so now, Laura is expected to become the school teacher. The money she makes will help put Mary through college for the blind. Laura can't stand schools, tight places, or strange faces. But she will go to school and learn because she has to for Mary. And that is that. She doesn't complain.
One day in late summer while Laura helped Pa stack hay, she spotted what looked to her another hay stack. Pa pointed out that it was a Muskrat house and then invites her to check it out with him. He explains the ways of the Muskrat to her and then says: "We're going to have a hard winter."
"Why, how do you know?" Laura asked in surprise.
"The colder the winter will be, the thicker the muskrats build the walls of their houses," Pa told her. "I never saw a heavier-built muskrats' house than that one."
"Pa, how can the muskrats know?" she asked.
"I don't know how they know," Pa said. "But they do. God tells them, somehow, I suppose."
"Then why doesn't God tell us?" Laura wanted to know.
"Because," said Pa, "we're not animals. We're humans, and, like it says in the Declaration of Independence, God created us free. That means we got to take care of ourselves."
Laura said faintly, "I thought God takes care of us."
"He does," Pa said. "so far as we do what's right. And He gives us a conscience and brains to know what's right. But He leaves it to us to do as we please. That's the difference between us and everything else in creation."
"Can't muskrats do what they please?" Laura asked, amazed.
"No," said Pa. "I don't know why they can't but you can see they can't. Look at that muskrat house. Muskrats have to build that kind of house. They always have and they always will. It's plain they can't build any other kind. But folks build all kinds of houses. A man can build any kind of house he can think of. So if his house don't keep out the weather, that's his look-out; he's free and independent."
I'm launching a movement to make the entire Laura Ingalls Wilder series part of every public schooled child's education. Every boy and girl in this nation should be made to not only read the series, but discuss this profoundly American family and their lives- how they lived them, why they lived them- in classrooms, ponder the implications of the actions and choices made by the Ingalls and identify the philosophy motivating them.
But to stop there would be to stop short. Every child should also be required to identify opposing world philosophies and demonstrate how they motivate people and to what end, and for what purpose.
I am firmly persuaded such an education would eradicate the disease of socialism that infects our society to death inside of a generation and, more importantly, teach us what it means to be free and how to go about living in that freedom. It's not too late. It's not over till the trumpet sounds.
Contrast Pa's attitude with the demands from entitled socialists running our institutions today. Recently, with Israel at war with Hezbollah in Lebanon, our military rescued Americans living in Lebanon from the dangers of war. We hauled our naval ships over to the coast of Lebanon and ferried our citizens by helicopter to the island of Cypress where they were free and safe to make arrangements to get home.
You'd think they'd be grateful, but no. Many of these rescued proved what brats they were by complaining that the war ships took too long in getting to them, and besides the long delay, they asked with indignant fury "Why should we have to spend our own money getting ourselves home, anyway?"
The answer should have been immediately obvious to everyone: Because, you're not a muskrat. And taking care of yourself is as American as the Declaration of Independence. (See how easy life's most pressing questions become when placed into Pa's paradigm?) You're free to roam where ever you want over God's green earth and upon her blue waters. So, if you choose to locate near vermin and get caught in the cross-fire between terrorists and a sovereign state, that's your look out; you're free and independent.
by C. C. Kurzeja
2005 All Rights Reserved
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Ode to Mom
I have the world's best mother.
We all say that, don't we? At least those of us who have great mothers.
"But it's true!" I say, and you say when you read this, "My mother is the best!"
And it is true. Your mother is the best- to you. And, I have the world's best mother. We can all be right on this matter.
The thing I most appreciate about my mom is the spiritual guidance and support she gives me as an adult. I can always count on her to lead me in the paths of righteousness for His name sake. Not for my sake, or my over fed ego, but for His name's sake. You can never go wrong submitting your life to God's word and my mother knows this. So whatever the issue, whatever the obstacle, my mother always points me like a beacon back to God's word and His will for my life and buttresses me while I walk in the Way. Because, sometimes it can be tough.
But, nothing is too tough, or too long, or too high, or too wearisome when you have a constant friend by your side, and that is what my mom is to me.
I love how goofy she is and the way she makes me laugh when we embark on an adventure with my kids.
I love the way she teaches my children truth and loves them. They are so lucky to have her. They are as blessed to have her as a Grandma as I am to have her as a mom.
I love how youthful and spry she is. She is not only beautiful and young looking - "Oh, my gosh! Christy, that's your mom? I thought she was your sister!" - She is full of boundless energy. She can keep up with any toddler with a dirty diaper, any baby who wants to go to certain places but only when she is on your hip, and any five year old who's forcing you to listen to him count to a "google". And still be able to say to me at the end of the day, when the kids are in bed and I'm like putty that needs to be scraped off the floor, "I've got two more days here. I can tear that wall paper down and prime the walls if you let me."
I love that, at fifty-something, she's just getting started. God is growing her, every day, every year. She's like a one woman evangelizing machine. Every time she flies (she is a flight attendant, The-Flying-Nun) she witnesses, prays, shares the Gospel. It is truly faith building to see the people God brings into my mother's life, and the way she is faithful to her calling. I expect exciting things in the future.
Her mother rises up and calls her blessed, her husband rises up and calls her blessed, her employer rises up and calls her blessed, her friends rise up and call her blessed. It is no surprise that her children should also.
Mother, you are wonderful, lovely, an example to strive for. You not only gave me life, you make my life something special.
Happy Mothers Day!
by C. C. Kurzeja
2005 All Rights Reserved
We all say that, don't we? At least those of us who have great mothers.
"But it's true!" I say, and you say when you read this, "My mother is the best!"
And it is true. Your mother is the best- to you. And, I have the world's best mother. We can all be right on this matter.
The thing I most appreciate about my mom is the spiritual guidance and support she gives me as an adult. I can always count on her to lead me in the paths of righteousness for His name sake. Not for my sake, or my over fed ego, but for His name's sake. You can never go wrong submitting your life to God's word and my mother knows this. So whatever the issue, whatever the obstacle, my mother always points me like a beacon back to God's word and His will for my life and buttresses me while I walk in the Way. Because, sometimes it can be tough.
But, nothing is too tough, or too long, or too high, or too wearisome when you have a constant friend by your side, and that is what my mom is to me.
I love how goofy she is and the way she makes me laugh when we embark on an adventure with my kids.
I love the way she teaches my children truth and loves them. They are so lucky to have her. They are as blessed to have her as a Grandma as I am to have her as a mom.
I love how youthful and spry she is. She is not only beautiful and young looking - "Oh, my gosh! Christy, that's your mom? I thought she was your sister!" - She is full of boundless energy. She can keep up with any toddler with a dirty diaper, any baby who wants to go to certain places but only when she is on your hip, and any five year old who's forcing you to listen to him count to a "google". And still be able to say to me at the end of the day, when the kids are in bed and I'm like putty that needs to be scraped off the floor, "I've got two more days here. I can tear that wall paper down and prime the walls if you let me."
I love that, at fifty-something, she's just getting started. God is growing her, every day, every year. She's like a one woman evangelizing machine. Every time she flies (she is a flight attendant, The-Flying-Nun) she witnesses, prays, shares the Gospel. It is truly faith building to see the people God brings into my mother's life, and the way she is faithful to her calling. I expect exciting things in the future.
Her mother rises up and calls her blessed, her husband rises up and calls her blessed, her employer rises up and calls her blessed, her friends rise up and call her blessed. It is no surprise that her children should also.
Mother, you are wonderful, lovely, an example to strive for. You not only gave me life, you make my life something special.
Happy Mothers Day!
by C. C. Kurzeja
2005 All Rights Reserved
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Sweet Home of Mine
The move is over, is over, is over; And, I feel like crying.
Tired, like an empty barrel with legs that shake underneath me.
Sore.
Bruised.
The move itself was horrendous, a lesson in abject incompetence. Being Good Friday, there was nothing to do but grovel at the feet of the bully with the truck and entreat him to complete the job with as little damage to our possessions as we could manage.
Having come through to the other side of the great tumbling cyclone, I am changed.
But the home is lovely, is lovely, is lovely; It makes me want to sing.
I have been twelve years homesick for Southern California. Every day desiring for her sun bleached, boulder strewn hills and the rolling thunder of the deep blue Pacific, and night blooming jasmine, and archways trained with fuscia, sand squishing beneath my toes and salt in the air.
That was then.
But, my how things have changed. Now I own a classic California ranch in the heart of country that speaks comfort to me. Laden with architectural detail and pretty, elegant, with a good dose of artsy-fartsy thrown in, this home fills me.
I feel like God has given me a piece of my heart back.
At the walk-through, I opened what was-not-yet-but-was-soon-to-be my front door to see four boys, one of them in his pajamas, and two men on the front lawn going through the trash. It seems the owners were throwing away some good stuff with the move. They were casual, unhurried, and very relaxed, smiling and waving.
I thought: There are little boys running all over my lawn. What a gift!
"Hey, you look really familiar." I said to the one guy, my soon-to-be next door neighbor. "Are you a doctor? I think you gave me a couple of cortisone shots in my shoulder."
Turns out he was.
His wife joined our circle. She's tall with dark hair and eyes, olive complexion, trim, very beautiful and giggly. We told her of our connection.
She said, "Great. For our first get together you can bring the main course, we'll bring the steroids."
I liked her immediately. Turns out she's a dermatologist. Dr. Mom and Dr. Dad.
Three of the boys belonged to them, including the one in pajamas. Our home is on a cul-du-sac and it seems the street belongs to the neighborhood children. They ride their bikes, play ball, chase eachother.
I thought: I'm going to love it here.
We discovered that one of my daughter's little friends lives only a few doors down from us, a delightful bonus. Her parents had a barbecue on the second night of our move and invited us. When I declined because we were still getting our furniture into our home, they told us to send the kids over anyway. They could play with the gazillion neighborhood kids, they'd feed them, and then send them home.
I thought: My neighbors are awesome.
Later, as I was hiding out in my car, hair wet and in my pajamas, waiting for my mother to retrieve my children for me from the barbecue, the father of my daughter's friend sauntered over to my car.
I rolled down the window.
"Hi." I said sheepishly. "I'm just kind of hiding out here waiting for the kids 'cause I changed into my pajamas already." I crinkled my nose, trying to look cute instead of incredibly stupid.
It was late. We had been moving for two days. I was beside myself with exhaustion. That's my excuse.
"Well, they're in there having ice-cream. It's gonna be a while." He warned me.
"That's okay." I said, feeling like a big jerk. "I'll just kick back here. It's just a good thing you don't have a digital camera with you." Ha, ha. Nervous laughter.
Just then, the neighbor across the street joins him. Now I'm looking like a jerk in front of two guys.
"Hey," He asks the neighbor as he pulls out a digital camera, "what's the hazing initiation for new neighbors?"
I screamed like an animal caught in a trap as he snapped dozens of pictures of me looking like a felon trying to avoid the camera. I should have just posed but I freaked out instead. I'm sure he and his wife laughed themselves to sleep that night. I know I did.
I thought: What a great welcome.
They are going to do something artful with the pictures for the progressive dinner being held soon.
Ahhh.....
by C. C. Kurzeja
2005 All Rights Reserved
Tired, like an empty barrel with legs that shake underneath me.
Sore.
Bruised.
The move itself was horrendous, a lesson in abject incompetence. Being Good Friday, there was nothing to do but grovel at the feet of the bully with the truck and entreat him to complete the job with as little damage to our possessions as we could manage.
Having come through to the other side of the great tumbling cyclone, I am changed.
But the home is lovely, is lovely, is lovely; It makes me want to sing.
I have been twelve years homesick for Southern California. Every day desiring for her sun bleached, boulder strewn hills and the rolling thunder of the deep blue Pacific, and night blooming jasmine, and archways trained with fuscia, sand squishing beneath my toes and salt in the air.
That was then.
But, my how things have changed. Now I own a classic California ranch in the heart of country that speaks comfort to me. Laden with architectural detail and pretty, elegant, with a good dose of artsy-fartsy thrown in, this home fills me.
I feel like God has given me a piece of my heart back.
At the walk-through, I opened what was-not-yet-but-was-soon-to-be my front door to see four boys, one of them in his pajamas, and two men on the front lawn going through the trash. It seems the owners were throwing away some good stuff with the move. They were casual, unhurried, and very relaxed, smiling and waving.
I thought: There are little boys running all over my lawn. What a gift!
"Hey, you look really familiar." I said to the one guy, my soon-to-be next door neighbor. "Are you a doctor? I think you gave me a couple of cortisone shots in my shoulder."
Turns out he was.
His wife joined our circle. She's tall with dark hair and eyes, olive complexion, trim, very beautiful and giggly. We told her of our connection.
She said, "Great. For our first get together you can bring the main course, we'll bring the steroids."
I liked her immediately. Turns out she's a dermatologist. Dr. Mom and Dr. Dad.
Three of the boys belonged to them, including the one in pajamas. Our home is on a cul-du-sac and it seems the street belongs to the neighborhood children. They ride their bikes, play ball, chase eachother.
I thought: I'm going to love it here.
We discovered that one of my daughter's little friends lives only a few doors down from us, a delightful bonus. Her parents had a barbecue on the second night of our move and invited us. When I declined because we were still getting our furniture into our home, they told us to send the kids over anyway. They could play with the gazillion neighborhood kids, they'd feed them, and then send them home.
I thought: My neighbors are awesome.
Later, as I was hiding out in my car, hair wet and in my pajamas, waiting for my mother to retrieve my children for me from the barbecue, the father of my daughter's friend sauntered over to my car.
I rolled down the window.
"Hi." I said sheepishly. "I'm just kind of hiding out here waiting for the kids 'cause I changed into my pajamas already." I crinkled my nose, trying to look cute instead of incredibly stupid.
It was late. We had been moving for two days. I was beside myself with exhaustion. That's my excuse.
"Well, they're in there having ice-cream. It's gonna be a while." He warned me.
"That's okay." I said, feeling like a big jerk. "I'll just kick back here. It's just a good thing you don't have a digital camera with you." Ha, ha. Nervous laughter.
Just then, the neighbor across the street joins him. Now I'm looking like a jerk in front of two guys.
"Hey," He asks the neighbor as he pulls out a digital camera, "what's the hazing initiation for new neighbors?"
I screamed like an animal caught in a trap as he snapped dozens of pictures of me looking like a felon trying to avoid the camera. I should have just posed but I freaked out instead. I'm sure he and his wife laughed themselves to sleep that night. I know I did.
I thought: What a great welcome.
They are going to do something artful with the pictures for the progressive dinner being held soon.
Ahhh.....
by C. C. Kurzeja
2005 All Rights Reserved
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
