The Thinking Housewife Book Club

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Like most women, I cherish the company of other women and welcome the opportunity to bask in female affection or talk about mutual interests. But I have turned down invitations to be part of any women’s book club. A disturbing cultural phenomenon has swept the nation. On the face of it, it seems a sign of progress, an awakening of  intellectual enlightenment and refinement. Women gather in living rooms to sip wine and discuss literature. What could be unhealthy or backward about that?

The truth is the women’s book club has too often become a self-justification society, a bastion of thought-control. Within the intimate enclosure of these gatherings, female supremacy is sometimes stroked and preened, like a spoiled Persian cat sitting on the lap of a spinster.

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The Living

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In James Joyce’s short story “The Dead,” friends and relatives gather at a Dublin townhouse for a yearly Christmas dance at the home of the elderly Morkan sisters, Julia and Kate. The guests dance to piano waltzes played by the Morkans’ niece Mary Jane, who like her aunts is a music teacher. Freddy Malins shows up not as drunk as expected. The conversation includes opera and a local monastery where the monks sleep in coffins. The guests are served goose and ham, punch and steamed pudding while the elderly spinsters fret over their welfare. Every year, Gabriel Conroy, nephew of the Morkan sisters, gives a toast at the close of the meal.

Gabriel leaned his ten trembling fingers on the tablecloth and smiled nervously at the company. Meeting a row of upturned faces he raised his eyes to the chandelier.

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Merry Christmas

  The Mystical Nativity, Botticelli   Heav'ns youngest teemed Star, Hath fixt her polisht Car,    Her sleeping Lord with Handmaid Lamp attending: And all about the Courtly Stable, Bright-harnest Angels sit in order serviceable.             - from "On the Morning of Christ's Nativity," John Milton

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Apple Tree

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The tree of life my soul hath seen,
Laden with fruit and always green:
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the apple tree.

His beauty doth all things excel:
By faith I know, but ne’er can tell,
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the apple tree.

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Single Mothers Deserve Sympathy

 

Brittany writes:

I think you are too harsh on single mothers. Not all unwed mothers are bad people; they just made a mistake. Maybe their boyfriend pressured them into sex and he left when she got pregnant. You can have sex one time and get pregnant. I was born before my mom and dad were married but if my dad had left my mom would have been a single mother. Yes, my mom did have premarital sex but that did not mean she was a slut because she was only with my dad and thbigstockphoto_Abstract_Floral_Decoration_Com_1081762[1]ey were engaged. Yes, some single mothers did not care but what about the ones that just made a mistake?

 

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Further Defense of Scrooge

 

Scrooge movie poster

M. writes in regard to the previous entry:

I have to disagree with Alex A. when he says that Scrooge’s transformation wasn’t as a result of seeing the light but of fear of the horrors to come if he doesn’t change. 

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The ‘Single Mom’ Gravy Train

  In the previous post on welfare and motherhood, Karen I. writes: I thought of a few more things the poor children of single moms get, including free lunch and often breakfast at school, free coats from the local newspaper charity, free filled backpacks from my church at the start of school, free rides to and from doctors appointments if they need them with the state insurance, fee waivers to attend summer camp free or cheap at the YMCA and free transportation to and from that camp. Add that to what I already listed and try to convince some single young tramp with a baby on the way she ought to marry her baby's Daddy and get a job. Morals are not going to convince her because she does not have any or she would not be in that situation to begin with. She has no education to use at a job, so that argument is out the window, too. So, she has to choose between working at a low paying, miserable job and sitting home "poor" with all the State is just dying to hand her the minute the baby arrives. No wonder 40% of births are to single mothers these days.  I used to be the first to give to the food pantry, the backpack drive, etc. After seeing who really benefits from these things, I don't do that anymore. Now, if I want to give something, I…

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A New Kind of Welfare Mother

 

Should a family with an educated mother and a father attending graduate school be entitled to welfare payments so that the mother can remain home with the children? A reader says she knows such families and asks for my opinion. My answer: No. The mother should go to work temporarily or the family should live with relatives. Here is our exchange.

Intensely Curious writes:

I, like you, believe that families need their mothers to stay home and be the prime homemaker, making the family home a place of solitude, serenity and a warm environment in which everyone in the family can thrive. When voicing this opinion, which is not the smartest thing to do, I often hear things like, “Children need to know the value of the dollar,” and “Children need to see a good role model,” etc. Those responses are usually given in regards to situations similar to the one I’m about to share with you. (more…)

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Modern Architecture and its Crusade Against Intimacy

  The post "Terrible is This Place," on the architectural revolution in one Catholic parish, mentioned the importance of verticality in sacred buildings. The same can be said of domestic architecture and secular public buildings, often geometric boxes that resemble cages today. Verticality, which is not the same as mere height, is one essential aspect of a livable environment, whether in the form of steep-pitched roofs or windows and gables that draw the eye upward. It is no accident that verticality is noticeably missing from our built environment. We live in a world of deadly horizontality. It exists even in the highest skyscrapers. Modern architecture is an enemy of intimacy, beauty and enthusiasm. Commenting in that post, Fitzgerald writes: It is essential traditional architecture be revived both in our sacred structures as well as our homes. Note how the homes the wealthy and powerful today inhabit are barren and cold, empty of life and progeny. The bohemian radicals that transformed architecture have succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. They ripped architecture from its traditional moorings and erected soul-crushing living machines to foist their radically selfish and self-serving lifestyles, lived in opposition to the family and the traditions designed to nourish and support it, upon the unwitting and unfortunate inhabitants of the very structures they produced.  I recommend the remainder of Fitzgerald's comments.

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Christmas Past in the Kitchen

Modern kitchen technology is wonderful, especially at this time of year. I was reminded of this yesterday when reading this very tragic story on the front page of The Philadelphia Inquirer of Dec. 26, 1909: Miss Bessie Ziv, aged 17 years, had already spent several hours with her mother in the kitchen of their home at 2553 East Clearfiled Street in preparing the Christmas dinner, when she opened the oven door to baste a turkey that was slowly turning a tempting nut brown. "Is not the turkey cooking nicely?" she remarked to her mother as she poured the drippings in the pan over the big bird with a spoon. She leaned too near the open coal fire in the range and her apron caught fire. From an open window a gust of wind fanned the first sparks into flames that quickly enveloped her. The story goes on to say that Miss Ziv's injuries were probably fatal; those of her mother, who used her hands to put out the flames, were serious. It reports a similar case of a woman badly burned the same day elsewhere in the city when cooking her turkey to "a requisite degree of brownness."

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Neither Tiger nor Man

  Lawrence Auster says this about Tiger Woods, whose wife is now reportedly preparing for divorce: His excessively toned and shaped physique--a body-builder's physique which by the way does not fit the aesthetic of golf--adds to the negative impression I've always had of him as a kind of machine, a walking corporation and product endorsement, not a human being. He's manufactured. And inside that synthetic, manufactured image, there is the reality of his tawdry sex life, in which he's engaged in the nonstop pursuit and management of multiple girlfriends at the same time. So, he's a mechanical man on the outside, and a relentless, soulless skirt chaser on the inside. This is the reality of Woods. 

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“The Close and Holy Darkness”

Dylan Thomas’ poetic tale, A Child’s Christmas in Wales, is a moving evocation of Christmas from a child’s point of view. It was made into an excellent movie in 1987 starring the British actor Denholm Elliott. It is well worth purchasing and watching once a year with children or grandchildren, remarkably faithful to the text and a Christmas movie likely to survive for generations.

All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged, fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea, and out come Mrs. Prothero and the firemen.

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Feminism, Technology and Manhood

 

Fitzgerald writes:

Your broadsides against feminism, in all it’s many forms, have been both gratifying and enlightening. As a white, male professional, I must be careful at all times within professional arenas to mind what I say to avoid the backlash of the feminist apparatchiks that haunt the corridors of companies today, especially in Human Resource departments where they reside like jack-booted secret police always probing and searching for pockets of resistance in the white male population. Should it be discovered or exposed I may harbor any facets of a decidedly un-PC perspective on these topics I could incur immediate and swift censure. The peasants must be quelled.

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Futile Wars and Our Feminized Military

 

Laurence B. writes:

I’d really like to blow some steam off about the Army. I should first include some context: I am from a military family—my grandfather flew in three wars and my father was in the last class at the Air Force Academy that was all-male.

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A Man in the Cold

 

The Rev. James Jackson writes:

I’ve many favorite poems about manhood, but I particularly like the attached. Robert Hayden was a student of Auden (he sounds like Auden), though he has his own style. The discussion on your blog touches many things which Hayden expresses well, so I thought you might want to share it with your readers. 

I like it for the priesthood too. The thought of being on my knees and praying for the parishioners before most of them are up (I usually start the Office of Matins at 4:45 AM) appeals to me. It’s just right.

 

Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well.
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of love’s austere and lonely offices?

Robert Hayden, 1913-1980

 

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‘Terrible is This Place’

 

1 OLMC Original 

The state of ecclesiastical architecture is abysmal and is not likely to become non-abysmal anytime soon. The most beautiful churches in America and Europe were created in places and times where entire communities were united behind a single building project, a collective monument to the sacred. Neither the cathedral at Chartres or the more austere white steepled churches of New England were the efforts of cafeteria-style Christians who had a choice where to devote their tithings.

Today church buildings do show some variety, including “strip mall classical” and “Disneyland Gothic,” but many overtly scorn the divine, a concerted rejection of historic European Christianity. There are soaring rafters suited to ski lodges; over-sized crucifixes bearing angular, non-human Christs; blank walls without statuary, stained glass or other iconography;  and altars-in-the-round lit by skylights and surrounded by potted ferns and pews with padded kneelers. These churches are accommodating, but so are convention halls and firehouses. For Catholics, Vatican II brought in an era when secular modernism was embraced and churches were redefined as meeting places. Many threw out treasured artifacts.

Architecture isn’t everything. But it isn’t nothing either.

Fortunately, there is hope in a small but growing movement for traditional architecture. Here and there congregations resist the trend. They either tirelessly preserve old buildings or attempt to bring to new life the highest principles of sacred architecture. One exemplar of this is Our Lady of Mount Carmel Catholic Church in Littleton, Colorado, a church attempting its own architectural revolution, hoping to convert its current building, above, into the structure below. 

I don’t mean to be unkind and truthfully I’ve never seen it in person, but the structure above looks like the check-in building for a middlebrow ski resort, a place where you sip hot chocolate and coffee before retiring to your room. Architecture isn’t everything and a congregation can conjure flying buttresses, gargoyles and rose windows. I’m sure Our Lady of Mount Carmel has seen the heights, but human beings are weak and it’s hard to conceive of the transcendent in an ersatz chalet.

New View

 

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