Dog Days
A wondrous discovery: in the calendars for the 1552 and 1559 Prayer Books (and perhaps others, I don’t know), there are indications that the Dog Days begin July 7 and end September 5. Who knew that the dog days of summer were ecclesiastical?
They are hot and sultry days, the worst of summer for us in the northern hemisphere. I’ve long known the term, “dog days of summer,” and assumed it to mean the days when dogs do nothing but stretch out on a cool spot, perhaps under the porch, their tongues hanging out. They were days when even the dogs were lethargic.
This is not altogether wrong, though the Farmers Almanac and other reputable sources (ahem, I’m looking at you, Wikipedia) associate them with the season when the Dog Star (Sirius, the brightest star in the sky) rises and sets with the sun. This happens a bit after the summer solstice. Some ancients found this a happy season (the Egyptians had their farming soil replenished from the overflowing Nile) while others found it a time of disease and distress. But, for good or ill, they were the hardest days of the summer, and so they are.
Dog Days may have been an academic term; at least, in the Prayer Book calendars I’ve examined, they are in the same lineup as the beginning and end of various academic terms: Michaelmas, Hillary, Epiphany, and Trinity terms are noted. The Dog Days begin just after Trinity ends. We note, perhaps with amazement, that the church calendar in the mid-16th century included the beginning and end of school terms!
So I suppose we could consider the Dog Days as a “non-academic” academic term, the days when it is too hot and sultry to expect learning to occur. How odd it is, then, for us in many parts of the U.S. to have school resume this week (or soon)! Yet, in a sense, how wonderful to think of your whole calendar, that is to say, all the things you do in your life, being part of one calendar whose backbone is the Christian story. That Christian story is inclusive of your whole life, even the Dog Days when you feel like doing nothing at all.
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Out & About: I am to preach at St. Matthew’s Cathedral in Dallas this Sunday, Aug. 17; the services are at 9 and 11:15 a.m.
September 14 the Good Books & Good Talk seminars resume. Our first discussion will be on Nicolas Diat’s lovely account of his visits to various French monasteries, A Time to Die. Monks preserve older understandings of caring for each other at the end of life—and of what happens at the moment of death and thereafter. I highly recommend this book to everyone, even if you cannot join the conversation that Sunday, from 5 to 6:30 p.m. at St. Matthew’s Cathedral.
The subsequent seminars will be Oct. 19 on Dr. Wortle’s School by Anthony Trollope, and Nov. 9 on Murder in the Cathedral by T. S. Eliot.
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On the Web: There’s a piece of mine called “The Life of Chuck,” about the recent film of that name. Here’s the first part of my review:
“It’s hard to know what to do with a film that begins with the end of the universe. The Life of Chuck places us in a generic urban/suburban world where normal things are starting to unravel. In a traffic snarl, a schoolteacher (Marty) sees a billboard with the picture of an accountant and the words, ‘Charles Krantz: 39 Great Years! Thanks, Chuck!’ We also see scenes of Marty in his classroom telling parents that their children are not doing well. The Internet no longer works; he has difficulty explaining that we should still be able to expect students to read and learn and do homework without computers. At home, Marty’s television broadcasts news of massive disasters across the U.S. Earthquakes have sent large parts of California into the sea; there are fires, and so on. The place of the traffic snarl is now a huge sinkhole. Countless cars have fallen into it and driving in the city has become impossible. People abandon their cars and trudge miles to get back home.
“When his cellphone stops working, Marty walks for hours to the home of his ex-wife, Felicia. On the way, the power flickers, then goes out. Streets are dark. Yet, glowing on every glass window, like ghostly apparitions, are the words he first saw on the billboard: ‘Thanks, Chuck!’ Meanwhile, we see a dying man surrounded by loved ones telling him he has done well despite suffering a brain tumor. He is 39 years old. He is Chuck.
“Marty and Felicia, sitting in her backyard, can see scores of stars because all the city lights are extinguished. Then the stars themselves begin to disappear. They hold hands. One of them says ‘I love you’ just as the universe ends.
“That is the first act, although the film calls it Act 3.”
You can read the whole thing here: https://humanlifereview.com/the-life-of-chuck/