I have prayed desperately to die before he does. The old nun’s funeral was held at dawn, in accordance with her specific wish that her life be celebrated as holy light was reborn in the world, and also at her direction the ceremony was held at the school, in the auditorium, where, as she had written in her meticulous mathematical handwriting in her will, she had spent so many thousands of hours in work and prayer and song, and where she wished, in a manner of speaking, to conclude her story. Print. Like “Everyone thinks that the old days were better, or that they were harder, and the modern times are chaotic and complex, or easier all around, but I think people's hearts have always been the same, happy and sad, and that hasn't changed at all. Post was not sent - check your email addresses!

I'll tell you a story. I am full in joy. Chess can be a wonderful word for that. My pawns grappled and died. What’s This?

Four years ago I sat at the end of my bed at 3 in the morning, in tears, furious, frightened, exhausted, as drained and hopeless as I have ever been in this bruised and blessed world, at the very end of the end of my rope, and She spoke to me. They eat nothing to speak of but grow at stunning rates that produce mostly leg.

The Nun’s Funeral 28 likes. I’m doing some reading for my current MA class (Nonfiction Fundamentals) and ran across this fantastic excerpt: In nine years I have been graced with three children and here is what I have learned about them. ( Log Out /  921 SW Washington Street, Suite 750 Portland, OR 97205. And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a mighty rushing wind, and it filled the house where they were sitting, said the doctor. Being a parent and being a teacher is not nearly the same thing, although I’m sure a venn diagram could show some overlap. Yet they are endlessly kind, kind by nature, and among them there is often an artless democracy, a linking of arms against the vast puzzle of the long people. After the game we shake hands and I think never in the history of the world was there ever a man happier to be a father than me.

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Mongolian fried rice). ( Log Out /  Chess is a lovely word that can’t be spoken.

Now when they heard this they were pricked in their hearts, and they prayed and sang, and many wonders and signs were seen, and breaking rolls of all sorts and shapes even unto those stuffed with orange and red jam, they did eat with gladness and singleness of heart, and an acre of rolls and a sea of coffee disappeared with wonderful dispatch, and the school basement echoed with stories and laughter, and when finally they streamed forth from the school into the bright morning they walked in joy and peace, some to visit Daniel at the doctor’s house, and some to work, and some to sea, and their thoughts were various and intricate beyond understanding, being composed of yearning and content and joy and despair in unequal measures, but each one, male and female alike, young and old, walked with an elevated spirit, and was memorious of the old nun, who had a laugh like the peal of a bell, and was unfailingly tender with everyone, and cut her own hair, and twirled a lock of her hair with her right hand while she wrote with her left, and sang exuberantly, and never buttoned the top button of her coat, and never lost her temper with her students, and loved to watch storms at sea, and carried her worn wooden prayer beads everywhere, and knocked on doors with both hands at once, and wore only red hats, and gave away books after she read them, and wept sometimes for no reason she knew, and loved to walk along the beach, and ended each walk along the beach by staring longingly out to sea, and was fond of saying to Moses, as she undid her coat after a walk and hung up her hat and set the teapot going on the stove, Our paths are in the mighty waters, Moses, and so are holy and hidden.

Mud and jelly accrue to them. I often wonder if I have been a good enough father. To them you are a stone who has always been and will always be. They search for rules and rank, for what is allowed and what is forbidden, and poke the rules to see which bends and which is steel, for they wish to know their place in the world, where they might walk, what they may wear, which shows are allowed, how far they can go, who they are. I sent my bishops slicing here and there. What I remember best from that day is his slow smile when he and I realized, a few moves before the end, that he had toppled the king. Never in the whole long bristling history of the world. Doyle, Brian. Article excerpt. What we see of each other is only a bit of who we are. Ransom Fellowship was founded by Denis and Margie Haack in 1981.

tags: big-hearts, fierce, fierce-women, loving-women, thunderstorm, woman. Brian Doyle Says Chess is Another Word for Love Read an excerpt from the celebrated Portland writer’s final book. When they are ill they shrivel.

Their hearts are enormous and sensitive beyond calculation by man or machine. “Pop Art.” The Truth of the Matter: Art and Craft in Creative Nonfiction. Presented by Franciscan Publishing Brian Doyle has created a world painted so vividly that I had to remind myself frequently that it doesn't really exist. Budaatai Khuurga (a.k.a.

I taught him to play when he was five years old. And they were confounded and they were all amazed and marveled, said No Horses. The Department of Public Works arranged all details of the event and the doctor quietly paid for coffee and rolls and fruit afterward. ― Brian Doyle, Mink River. Presented by Franciscan Publishing What’s This? Brian Doyle. By Dinty W. Moore. I want to invent new words for what we mean when we say the word love.

They speak many languages of the body.

by Brian Doyle. They frighten me, for they will make a new world on the bowed back of the one I love; but they delight me, for to have loved them is to have tasted the furious love the Maker has for what He made, and fathers still, and always will. Excerpted from Eight Whopping Lies and Other Stories of Bruised Grace, the final book by Portland writer Brian Doyle. I would like to teach his children to play chess.

8/29/2017 at 4:42pm, “Chessay,” excerpted from Eight Whopping Lies by Brian Doyle. They are comedy machines.

They are headlong and hilarious. They are engines of incalculable joy and agonizing despair.

Revolutions and religions begin with ragged beggars from the wilderness. 43-44. By Doyle, Brian. To father them is not a brief noun but an endless verb that exhausts, enrages, edifies, elevates, educates; I am a thinner and grayer man than I was; and closer to joy. Sometimes I think the pawn is the most powerful piece of all. “Pop Art” by Brian Doyle I’m doing some reading for my current MA class (Nonfiction Fundamentals) and ran across this fantastic excerpt: In nine years I have been graced with three children and here is what I have learned about them. And Moses the crow lifted up his voice and said unto them, There are wonders in heaven above, and signs in the earth, and she is raised up, and loosed are the pains of death, and therefore does my heart rejoice, and my tongue is glad, and I rest in hope.

He came out along his left wing, immediately establishing his knights, immediately forcing me to scuffle and skitter around on defense. Brian Doyle (1956-2017) was an award-winning author who served as the editor of Portland Magazine at the University of Portland in Oregon from 1991 to 2017.

Books / Community / Spirituality. Their language is their own and the order of their new halting words has never been heard before in the whole history of the world. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. A good father teaches his son how to kill the king. He is the author of six collections of essays, two nonfiction books, two collections of “proems,” the short story collection Bin Laden’s Bald Spot, the novella Cat’s Foot, and the novels Mink River, The Plover, and Martin Marten. Click here to learn more about the book, and click here to make a donation to the Doyle Family Fund. Change ), You are commenting using your Twitter account. The knight’s curious sidelong move is the deepest genius of chess; it is the one piece that does not move in linear fashion, the one piece with a geometry of its own, the piece that goes its own way.

They are cruel, and move in herds and gaggles and mobs, and woe unto the silent one, the one who looks funny, the one who speaks awkwardly, the fat one, for she will be shouldered aside, he will never get the ball, she will never be asked to jump rope, he will not be invited to the pool party, she will weep with confusion and rage, he will lash out with sharp small fists. Together, they have created a ministry that includes lecturing, writing, teaching, feeding, and encouraging those who want to know more about what it means to be a Christian in the everyday life of the 21st century.

I don’t know how to say any words that would catch the way I love him. Read preview. I want to win and I want to lose and I want to savor how deftly I am defeated. And then they said to one another, what meaneth this?, said Worried Man.

I would like to show them how, if you are lucky, you can see inside your opponent, only occasionally, only dimly, only for a few minutes, but for those few minutes you get a hint an intimation a glance at who lives inside the castle of his body. Baker of brownies, drinker of coffee, teacher of English, and mother of hobgoblins. He catches me in a mistake that takes me forever to redress. They are engines of incalculable joy and agonizing despair.

It was Easter. My son asked me to play chess yesterday.

I remember too that he did not crow or caper or shout or cackle but instead reached across the board and shook my hand, as I had taught him to do, out of respect for the game, and for your opponent, in whose mind you have been swimming for an hour. View all posts by itsabeff.

New York: Pearson/Longman, 2007. BRIAN DOYLE (1956-2017) was the longtime editor of Portland Magazine at the University of Portland, in Oregon. When a child asks you to play chess you say yes. They will not speak of death but when it comes, a dark hooded hawk on the fence, they face it without fear. Change ), You are commenting using your Google account. The old nun had asked that the reading at her funeral be from the Acts of the Apostles, and she asked further that each reader read one sentence, so that many members of the community might thus weave their voices together in prayer for the unimaginable voyage of her spirit. Sorry, your blog cannot share posts by email. Sponsored Content. They eat no green things. Change ). Excerpt: Mink River (Bryan Doyle, 2010) September 26, 2017 by Brian Doyle. Bethany of the House Ravenclaw. I want him to outwit me. Chess at its best is a deeply intimate game in which you can delve into another person’s mind and if you are lucky you get a glance a hint an intimation of your opponent’s character and creativity, the cast of his mind, the flare of her personality, how he confronts difficulties, how rash or calm she is, how willing to be surprised, how well he loses, how poorly she wins. ( Log Out /  They are absorbed by dogs and toast. They are comedy machines. He is twenty years old and an excellent chess player.

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