All posts by GretchenJoanna

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About GretchenJoanna

Orthodox Christian, widowed in 2015; mother, grandmother. Love to read, garden, cook, write letters and a hundred other home-making activities.

The Hungry Soul – Why I Love This Book

books, church, nature, philosophy,

Any self-conscious emotional eater might take notice of a title like The Hungry Soul: Eating and the Perfecting of our Nature. I had the added attraction to the book that came from having heard the author’s warm and thoughtful voice on the Mars Hill Audio Journal as he was being interviewed on an altogether different topic.

Leon R. Kass, currently a professor at the University of Chicago, was appointed to chair the controversial President’s Council on Bioethics at its creation in 2001 and remained on the council until 2007, during which time he wrote Life, Liberty, and the Defense of Dignity: The Challenge for Bioethics. Though he is naturally called a bioethicist, he prefers the term humanist, because it better conveys the breadth of his concerns. Kass is also a medical doctor, but this is not a book about eating disorders any more than it is a cookbook — rather, it is a pondering of “the truth about our human situation.”

At the outset I must submit that there is no way Kass can tell us the whole truth, because he ignores Jesus Christ who is The Truth. Christ reveals the Father to us, being His “express image,” and He was the only fully human person who ever lived on earth, showing us as He did what man can be when he lives in constant communion with His Father as humans were meant to do.

Given this severe omission, one might wonder how I could find such treasures in Kass; I have to admit that this book has to be one of my ten favorites, at least of non-fiction, and the numerous notes and underlinings I’ve made in pencil and in red and blue ball point show how much I am still interacting with the material. Each time I read a section (with a different writing implement at hand) I find morsels of bread on the path leading in the direction the author wants me to go, and also see other lanes he probably isn’t even aware of. As I walk along I eat the tasty bits that have been laid out with care, wanting to race ahead to whatever is at the end of the trail, but resisting that urge for a while so I can savor the food and enjoy the stroll, all the while making note of the forks in the road and the byways I need to explore later on a return trip.

I really think I could come back to The Hungry Soul again and again and find more philosophical paths to explore, but if I wait to share my discoveries I’m afraid the tale will never be told. So I will begin the telling, even though I’m pretty sure I haven’t chewed on these ideas enough to do justice to what the most eminent reviewers hail as “an intellectual feast” and “a profound and brilliant exploration.”

Kass is Jewish and does reveal his belief in a Creator. He wrote this book to demonstrate through the human activity of eating that man has a soul, refuting the claims of corporealists that we are only material beings and that all our thoughts are nothing but electro-chemical events. 

This introductory post is a good place to list the chapter titles or topics that I may draw from in future posts, though just the foreword, preface and introduction are the kind of appetizers from which one could make a full meal.

1. The Primacy of Form
2. The Human Form
3. Host and Cannibal
4. Civilized Eating
5. From Eating to Dining
6. Sanctified Eating

I can’t help but notice how the sights along this philosophical journey are related to other trails and books I’ve encountered, and of course I’ll have to mention those, too, in postings to follow.

As an example of humankind who are the crown of God’s creation, Kass himself is proof of his thesis. The fine mind and heart that are expressed in his writing testify to the fact that men were made in God’s image. And the reasoned and well-written arguments he makes, or even the questions he gently asks, are clear and flowing. It’s a pleasure to follow him when all the paths seem to lead me to God.

Part 2 – Struggle to Stand
Part 3 – How Science Disappoints
Part 4 – From Eating to Dining

Arugula and other flowers

books, garden, quotes
rocket in bloom

When arugula flowers it becomes obvious that it’s a member of the mustard family. We like to call it rocket — that name is easier to say and also hints at how fast it shoots up. This is one of those vegetables that one would do well to plant every three weeks or so, if you want to have some tender young leaves on hand at all times. I made some soup with some tall plants a while back and discovered that the stems get as tough as bamboo when they lengthen out.

It took a lot of oomph to get myself into the garden this afternoon, but when I tested the levels I found that in fact enough oomph had accumulated after two days of rest for me to work for a few hours and fill the yard waste can with weeds and spent blooms.


How could there be so many spent flowers already? Hmm…well, they were blooming when it was raining day after day in March and we didn’t go into the garden much. Then I was gone for ten days, and they bloomed some more!

Cecile Brunner rose

All the thoughts I’d had about how I’m ready to move to an apartment with no yard, because I hate all the yard mess that I can never keep up with — they all vanished as I dug my trowel and shovel into the dirt and cleaned up around the greens and the flowers. I found three little Johnny Jump-ups that had dropped in near the greens and I tucked them in again and gave them a drink. I found two patches of parsley that look like they have been enjoying the weather immensely.

While I was in Maryland the freesias all bloomed, and Dutch iris came up so that I could cut some for the table. I took out most of the rocket, cut some back, and left a few to wave their petals in the breeze.

In the front yard, my amazing single purple verbena plant is blooming again! It bloomed and bloomed and spread over a square yard and more last summer, and didn’t freeze back. Verbena that I buy in 6-packs is so hard to keep alive, but three 4″ pots of some kind of super verbena that I bought at a good nursery are so vigorous and hardy. The two pink ones are in the back yard and the snails had munched them so I didn’t take their picture. They are blooming valiantly in spite of being defaced.

Certain muscles will be complaining tomorrow, but I did enough today to give me hope for the coming months. And I found a good quote from a 1936 book called Garden Rubbish that encourages me to take care of my garden so that I will like it more:

It is utterly forbidden to be half-hearted about gardening.  
You have got to love your garden whether you like it or not. 
Forget-me-nots and columbine leaves

Like tidied toy shelves.

creativity, home, play, ,

When Pearl was a toddler, all her toys fit on two shelves held up by cinder blocks. Most every day, with sun streaming in through big windows of the old Victorian where we lived at the time, she would absorb herself in exploring all her belongings and scatter them around in the process.

Later in the day, or the next morning, she’d show no interest in the toys that had been removed from the organized rows. She would wander aimlessly, unhappy and bored. But as soon as I tidied up the collection of blocks and dolls and plastic pull-toys, they were fascinating again and good for another long spell of play.

My own toy shelves hadn’t been tidied in at least 20 years until last summer when I tackled the chaos. I’m speaking of the boxes and baskets that held bolts and scraps of fabric, scissors and embroidery thread and patterns. Binder paper on which I’d written the body measurements of my granddaughters’ dolls, and the design for a copy of Bird’s tattered apron. Inherited notions, thimbles & thimble keeper.

Because I was known to like to sew, people thought of me when a grandmother or aunt died and left a button box or collections of needles and zippers, and I welcomed the gifts with open arms. You would think it was I and not my parents who grew up in The Depression; I even followed the example of my foremothers and snipped the buttons off before tossing out any raggedy shirt.

My grandmother Grace’s button box at least did keep all the buttons in one place. I still can’t bring myself to throw out the cards of odd old buttons in the bottom of it, and every year or two I pore over the loose ones in the top tray and imagine what I could stitch them on to.

You can see the closed button box on the floor.

All my wealth of possibilities grew without much notice because for a long time I couldn’t decide which spot or room would be my sewing area, and sometimes I’d let a year or more go by without even opening my sewing machine. But once everything had been deposited in one room, I saw that it was a burdensome barnful.

The chosen spot is a bedroom where I can have my sewing machine near the door and while I sit at it I can face outward toward the rest of the house; I didn’t want to lose touch with what might be going on downstairs. I had tried out the great room that is far removed from everything and often too cold, and I had also tried another bedroom that was too cramped, even though it was prettier.

Once I had invested in some storage racks and containers, and put things into their places, I could jump at the chance to sew doll clothes last year, knowing that my tools and materials were where I could find them. In the process of organizing, I found some interesting antique notions. And one of the doll clothes hangers that I had made and completely forgotten about.

Now that all my pins are in one box, all the spare buttons from purchased garments are in another, and there are no boxes of Hodgepodge anymore, my needlecrafting spirits have been lifted and I feel like playing again.

Maryland Report

dolls, family, nature, travel, , ,

I’m back from my visit to family and friends in Maryland. Some things went as expected: Cooking and playing games and exploring the woods with the daughters and grandchildren…

Bed for deer

We walked along the creek, and then up to the top of the ridge where we flushed out a thundering herd of deer, and saw their resting place.

Many little plants were pushing up through the thick layer of leaves, but most of the trees were just budding. These mystery trees at the top were an exception.

Skunk cabbage coming up


onion grass

I took walks with Pearl and Kate and had cozy teatimes and visits with their friends: except for the warm day I blogged about, we had to bundle up like this to take our walks.

Maggie and I embroidered together, and Philosopher read to me many stories of Warrior Cats. Most school days I was able to rouse myself in time to walk them up the hill to the bus stop. The older boys have to get on the bus an hour earlier.

Rolling out gnocchi

When Kate came over, we cooked up a storm, including sweet potato gnocchi.

Me draining gnocchi
Maggie spying on whatever was in the oven.

There were surprises, too: someone’s back injury that made me glad I was around to help out more; meeting a fellow blogger face-to-face; and a rain shower we were unprepared for. Maggie had gone to great lengths packing a picnic to eat with me at Philosopher’s soccer game, and was loaded down with cloths to spread on the ground, her picnic basket, and a bag full of coloring supplies.

None of us had remembered to bring an umbrella, so while we were waiting around for the game, which was canceled in the end, Maggie used the tablecloth for a hood.

 
I was surprised to see a bear wearing the coat I sewed about 30 years ago for My Friend Mandy. He was hanging out with Lucy who was wearing her new togs.

The biggest surprise of my trip was on the way home, when I opened my wallet at the Baltimore airport and found that my I.D. and almost all my important cards were not there. I had left them back at Pearl’s in a purse I’d borrowed from her earlier in the week, as I realized eventually. I did get through airport security without them. First, though, I had the dreaded experience of rummaging through my giant suitcase on the sidewalk in plain view of a hundred people because I was sure the missing items were in there. I’m so glad I had packed most everything in one- and two-gallon ziplock bags.

It was a learning experience. Switching from one purse to another will demand a thorough double-checking from now on.

Two whole days of the trip were given to traveling. I got on the bus to the airport at 5:15 a.m. at the beginning of my trip, and it took me a couple of hours before I could get over being homesick that morning. I finally arrived at Pearl’s house about 8:15 at night, on the other side of the continent. It’s always a surprise, if I think about it very much, that I could cover so much territory so….quickly?

I actually enjoyed my time in the air. I was able to really get into the book I am going to start blogging about. On two of the four flights I had a one-seat row to myself, and could look out the window and not need to even say hello to anyone. But the long hours take their toll.

It’s only to be expected, that I am t-i-r-e-d. I know I sound tired. It’s odd that I am already home again, and not surprising that I am feeling the weight of all the work I have to do, in contrast with the easy life of helping with someone else’s housework, walking in the woods, and hugging people I now miss.

Lewis Carroll said, “Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop.” I have come to the end of my Maryland trip, and am at the beginning of a three-week period that includes Pascha — the feast of feasts! In three weeks B. and I are going together, Lord willing, on another trip, to see other family and grandchildren.

I should be revived by then.