Yes, indeed, it is the birthday of Jane Austen today. If she were still alive, besides being famous for her novels, she’d be famous for being 231 years old. (She was born the year before America, in 1775.) If you’d like to read a mini bio of Jane, go here.
Last night, Libby and I went to see The Nativity Story, the new movie. I was pleased at how good it was. They didn’t deviate from the Bible any more than they’d have to to make a two-hour movie. Scripture was quoted straight without alteration, and the Jewish people actually looked like Jewish people! (That’s one thing which frustrates me sometimes in movies featuring Christ’s life.) The movie wove the stories of Herod, the three wise men (whom they named the traditional Melchior, Balthazar, and Gaspar.), Elizabeth and Zacharias, and Mary and Joseph together. Seeing the Romans and their taxes, village life in Israel, and the journey to Bethlehem was interesting. I had no idea how long the movie lasted because it was interesting. Of course, when Jesus was born, it sent a thrill through my heart. Even though that wasn’t Jesus, it reminded me that He was born!
Today, Rachel is headed to a birthday party, and I’m going to run a few errands and park myself at the library. For the most part, all my Christmas shopping, wrapping, and mailing is done. I’ve not done anything about Christmas cards, and if I don’t want to, I won’t bother to send any this year. But, the Christmas letter spirit might hit me this week. I do need to make the calendars. Every year since 1992, I’ve been making photo calendars of the kids. I used to take pictures to Kinko’s, but now I make them at home on the computer and print them on card stock. It’s my grandma’s favorite present.
I’ll leave you with some quotes from Jane Austen to further the birthday celebration.
Where so many hours have been spent in convincing myself that I am right, is there not some reason to fear I may be wrong?
One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other.
Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.
Life seems but a quick succession of busy nothings.
There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.
And, lest you think Miss Austen only had talent with a pen, here is a photo of a quilt she made.
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