Keats

In reading John Keats I one day came across this quote from his love letters to Fanny Brawne,  "I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death.  O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute."  The quote puzzled me.  That he brooded over his Love was easy enough to understand, but that he brooded over the hour of his death and looked forward to it with fondness, that was thought provoking.  I believe that I understand Keats now.  Keats did not live a life of ease and pleasure.  He saw much sorrow, and lived with more.  To be separated from his Love, both in distance and circumstance of life, was his greatest hell.  He was tormented from day to day, yea, even breath to breath, and though he may temporarily take pleasure in a fine cup of tea or a beautiful sunset, he was yet tormented in those pleasures, in that he took them alone, without his Love.  For Keats, the hour of his death was also the hour of his soul's delivery from torment and hell.  Yes, I do understand Keats...

In Passing

People have oft asked me how it is that I can work with sick children.  In disbelief they deny that they could ever do such themselves, stating that it takes a special kind of person to cope with the stress of nursing an ill child back to health.  The fact of the matter is children rarely let anything hold them back from playing with their whole capacity.  This attribute often disguises just how sick they may be, making it easy to forget that the child is even sick at all.

Today in passing a nurse who recognized me stopped me to inform me that one of my patients passed away recently.  This particular patient was the little girl that I've been giving oil painting lessons to.  I've worked with her for the past seven years.  She was one of my favorites.  I now know how it feels to loose a patient...

Barbaric

In response to an 'article' that I read yesternight, I'd like to relate a passage from my journal, titled "Running Off Without Your Head" from February 2005 (Yes, I title my journal entries).

"Our Society today has become quite accustom to the modern conveniences that has been yielded to us from the generations of toil before us.  For this reason I enjoy going to the mountains and slaying my own food, cleaning it, and cooking it over the open fire.  It reminds me of who we are and where we come from as a species, and truly what we have now.  (Though I'm sure my children will question how I grew up with such primitive technology).  It may seem barbaric to those who have never killed and prepared meat, but let them enjoy their fine plate of veal or their filet mignon at their fancy restaurant.  Let them enjoy their prepackaged meat, their processed food from the market.  Let them enjoy the convinces of society with little thought of where and how those convinces are brought to pass.  We go to the market, we buy cooked food and all that we must do is consume it.  Our common man has forgotten how to obtain and prepare food in its most basic form, and he is quickly forgetting how to even cook it, for all has been done for him.  I may be seen as the barbarian when I am hunting, but as I look down the sights of that rifle or bow, I give thanks to God, for his providence in my life.  And before I release that arrow or pull that trigger I view that animal in its glory and I give respect to it.  It is hallowed in my mind.  I was taught this when I was young, by whom I know not.  Now let me ask how many, who call me barbaric, look upon their plate in the walls of their fine dinning restaurant and reverence the animal that yields its life that they may eat.  Now who is the barbarian?  

Upon the farm there are acts that accomplished that many see as wild and barbaric.  I have memories of dad slaughtering chickens, that could be disturbing to the modern man.  What is done?  The chicken is caught (by no means an easy task), its head is placed across a log, and the ax falls.  Thereafter the nerves in the chicken continue to fire, and it runs around briefly without a head, and then falls to the ground.  Then the feathers will be plucked, it will be cleaned, then butchered, seasoned, and sold.  To live by the land, whether that be planting and harvesting, or raising and slaughtering, commands a respect to that land that all farmers posses.  They understand that they  are at the mercy of the land.  It is not barbaric to live and joy in life, but it is barbaric to live and joy in life without the understanding, respect, and thanks to God and the land for the life we have been given."  

What is more barbaric?  To kill and butcher an animal with reverence, or to buy and cook prepackaged meat with little regard that that was once a life?

Disney

As a child I had full rights to watch a Disney movie repetitively, non-stop, night and day, to the insanity of my mother (though I don't think that I ever was such a child, I rather played outside).  Now, as an adult, it would appear that the liberty to enjoy a good animated movie is no longer mine.  The ticket to Pixar's latest blockbuster hit really belongs to the children, and my ticket in is the child.  Can I reasonably view Cinderella with out my little Gracie, or can I lounge around on a Sunday afternoon watching Car's without my little James?  Yet I have no ticket, I have no child.  Those adults who are wise are able to enjoy their second childhood as fully as their first, as they discover the world with their children.  Sometime when I walk the halls of the children's hospital, overhearing the latest children's movies, I'm tempted to secretly return to my childhood, and rent Disney's latest and watch it all by myself.

Pain Perdu

Pain Perdu with an Amaretto Crème Anglaise Sauce. 

Pain Perdu is really just French toast, but as with most French food, it's pretty fancy eating.  The French themselves consider the dish a dessert, though I've chosen to host it as dinner tonight.  (Pain Perdu translates to "lost bread", which was a dish created to reclaim stale bread.)  

The dish is prepared by taking stale bread that has been sliced on a bias and dipping it in a wash of egg, heavy cream, vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon.  The bread is lightly fried, buttered, and dusted with confectioner sugar.  The dish is then topped with fresh berries and drizzled with amaretto crème Anglaise (English cream), consisting of egg yolks, sugar, heavy cream, vanilla bean, and amaretto (optional).  The dish is finished off with a sprinkle of confectioner sugar and served with a side of vanilla bean ice cream.  

Etiquette

Why should I become so frustrated with the apparent lack of etiquette in our society today.  After all, is it not the societal norms that determine what is couth and what is not?  Is it that society has become uncultured, or rather that the culture has changed?  I cling to the mannerisms of a past generation while living amongst a brash people, trying not to let the lack of pleasantries dishearten me, yet it does.  If I had children I would teach them manners beyond the simple sayings of please and thank you, which seems to be the extent of etiquette taught in the homes of today, thought even these small tokens are a feat to instill into the children of today.  Dinning etiquette is all but lost, dancing etiquette has passed into the void, and even the most basic etiquette of conversation is beyond us.  I fear that with the passing of the generations that such things will soon become extinct.

Forest of Healing

"Forest of Healing" 2011
Oil on Canvas 18x24"

Disease and ailments of the heart are ever upon us, striving to take the vitality that gives us life.  When all has been taken, and we are weak with nothing left, it is the passions of the heart that keeps us going.

There is a little girl with a chronic health condition who often frequents Primary Children's and art is the passion that keeps her going during her long visits to the hospital.  Recently I offered to give her oil painting lessons, and the above composition was painted with her.  For these reason I titled the pieces "Forest of Healing".  The piece will be given to my sister as a thank you for her contribution to Primary Children's play therapy programs.

Addendum:
The little girl that I referred to in the above passage passed away this Memorial Day due to complications of cystic fibrosis.  She passed at 12 years of age, the past 7 of which I have been privileged to share with her.