In between searching job postings, doing the dishes, etc., I managed to get to the grocery store this past Sunday. I was only planning to get a few things, and I don't often give in to impulse shopping, but I passed a table with King Cakes and pastries at half price and stopped to look. The other goodies they had turned out to be paczki, a pre-Lenten pastry traditional to Poland. I'd actually read about them; there was an article a year or two ago that mentioned the best places in Chicago to get them, but I didn't think I'd ever had them and couldn't quite figure out what they were.
Since they were on sale, I bought a box of four to satisfy my curiosity about the whole paczki situation. I was reminded of a friend from Texas with some Czech background who once told me about kolaches. Though normally pretty articulate, he was a bit vague in explaining what they were, though I gathered they were quite a treat. It wasn't until several years later, when I happened to be driving down the interstate in Texas and saw a big billboard advertising what's apparently "Kolaches Central" in that part of Texas that I was able to solve the mystery. A kolache turned out to be very similar to what most Americans would call a Danish. I bought one with fruit filling and one with cream cheese, and they were very good, and that was that.
As for the paczki I bought, they were covered with powdered sugar, and I chose custard over several other varieties. They looked just like what most of us call filled doughnuts, the kind you get in an assortment from the bakery along with crullers and regular doughnuts. They're flat and sort of oval, and according to the box, go by the name Berliners in Germany. I had one that night, and now I can tell you: a paczki is a yeasty pastry, just like a yeasty doughnut. The custard was good and the pastry was remarkably fresh for something that had probably been in the store for a few days.
It felt pretty decadent to be eating store-bought pastries when I normally stick to things I make myself. It was my only concession to the Carnival season, a bit of stray powdered sugar on my sweater testament to the fact that I'd been letting the good times roll dessert-wise. If I'd bought them a day earlier, I would have ended up eating the last one on Mardi Gras, but as it was, I ate the last one yesterday, the first day of Lent. That kind of defeats the avowed purpose; you're supposed to be using up all of your ingredients for one big indulgent bake-off before the fasting begins on Ash Wednesday. So I missed the deadline, but I have now crossed another European pastry off my bucket list, and maybe next year there will be another one.
You can never go too far wrong with European pastries, in my experience. Just use common sense when indulging.
Thursday, March 2, 2017
Friday, February 24, 2017
Not the Kraken
I have somehow arrived at Thursday evening without a topic. Usually when this happens, something occurs to me if I just look at my screen long enough, but tonight nothing is jumping out at me. I've considered and discarded at least five topics, which is highly unusual. I think part of the problem is that I'm so stunned by what I read in the news every day that I hardly know what to say about anything. We've gone from a situation in which things on the surface seemed unremarkable (i.e., no more dysfunctional than usual)--though there were plenty of signs of unease at a deeper level--to one in which the unease is not only on the surface but growing stronger day by day.
Is this an improvement? It doesn't seem to be. I always hoped that there was a method to the madness behind Mr. Trump's theatrics, but if there is, I don't know what it is. It all seems so incoherent. Is this simply the result of a new administration led by a non-politician trying to find its feet? Is it going to get better? I don't know. I hope so.
I will say that when the FBI director announced just before the election that new material had been uncovered relating to Hillary Clinton's email case and then announced shortly afterward that nothing noteworthy had been found that I was puzzled along with everyone else but not so inclined as many to condemn what he did. I assumed he must have had a reason for doing it. He didn't strike me as someone who would take such an action, knowing the effect it would have so close to the election, merely to play politics. I see him as a more serious sort of person than that.
People are rightly questioning what role Russia (or some other entity) may have played in the outcome of the election, though my understanding is that some U.S. officials think it's nothing unusual for interference like this to occur. James Comey, by the same token, was roundly criticized for making an announcement about potential new evidence in the Hillary Clinton case and possibly changing the trajectory of the race. So here's my question: Do people think Director Comey is working with the Russians? Was he just whistling Dixie? Did he do what he did for no good reason?
I've been unhappy with many of the actions of the new administration, which don't reflect what I think we ought to be doing as a country. Many of the president's Cabinet choices are downright mystifying, even when you try to give them the benefit of the doubt as I sometimes have. I don't follow the president's tweets, because so many of his statements are so odd that they might as well be written in a different language. If there are grown-ups in the house, I would be hard pressed to identify most of them--but in my view, that was also true of the last administration. I'm not sure when the last time was, really, that we had good leadership in the Oval Office. Do you think Donald Trump is the sole cause of all our ills? I don't, because he's only been in office for a month.
Is something slouching towards Bethlehem to be born? Is there no balm in Gilead? Do I dare to eat a peach? I think you'd have to be in a comatose state not to be concerned about what's going on in Washington, but my sense is that it's been building for quite a while, that a cumulation of ills is coming to a head. If Mr. Trump has a remedy, he's showing no signs of it. If someone else does, they're showing no signs of it either. We've gotten used to people doing things in a certain way in Washington, and now we have someone who seems to relish the creation of Chaos.
Hesiod tells of Chaos being the first of the gods, followed by Gaia, the foundation. Chaos gave birth to Night, and Night gave birth to Day, which shows, I suppose, that you can't always judge the end by the beginning. I just hope someone has a better plan than simply, "Release the Kraken." I can't imagine what that would look like in today's world, and I don't want to find out.
Friday, February 17, 2017
Steadfast
I went out for a walk a little later than I'd planned this evening, but it was one of those times when I thought it might have been lucky that I did. I say that because the sunset was really stunning, a fact I would have missed if I had gone out earlier. I was walking along, thinking that I might need to take a shorter walk than usual since it would soon be dark, but the air was mild and it felt like a fine evening, so I kept going. Meanwhile, the fireworks were getting underway behind me.
I was well into the walk when I realized half the sky was on fire over my right shoulder. Unfortunately, I was walking in the other direction, so I kept having to look backwards, but it was a show-stopper all right. The sun had set the clouds ablaze in shades of hot pink, an effect that only increased as the sun slipped further down behind the horizon. The sunset reached so far across the sky and was so intense that it made me think of the Northern Lights, except it was the wrong color and featured no psychedelic undulations, only a breathtaking blaze of color.
I did end up cutting my walk a little short since the light was fading. I turned down a different street than I usually do; it was tree-lined and stately, and I admired not only the elegant perspective from one end but all the individual houses with their lights turned on for the evening. It was like turning away from a Technicolor explosion into a scene painted by Thomas Kinkade. There was a bracing smell of woodsmoke in the air, and whether or not it was intentional, the street exuded a peaceful, welcoming ambiance. I decided to look at it that way, because sometimes it's better to take a break from the news of the day and just live inside the brightness of a single moment.
I finally turned west and was walking along, thinking, yes, this will probably end up being my blog post, though it doesn't seem like much to say, the idea of living in the moment so that the glow of a sunset doesn't pass you by. Everybody knows that. Of course, now that I was walking in the right direction to have a good view of it, the sunset had shaded into a moodier combination of dark clouds and smoldering pink, as if I were looking at the after effects of a volcanic eruption. I'd had to crane my neck to see the best part of the show, but the somber afterglow was in plain view all the way home, with the evening star shining bright and solitary high above the fray.
I'm reminded of the game I used to play as a kid, when I would sometimes imagine mountain ranges in a mass of clouds, a habit that can alter your view of the landscape dramatically if you hold the picture in your mind long enough. A volcanic eruption isn't something we're likely to see here, so my mind was busy for the rest of the walk in imagining the fiery peak that seemed to be barely hidden behind a bank of clouds. I'll admit, though, that it was nice to get home without encountering either lava flow or rain of fiery ash. Sometimes a thing imagined is better than the reality.
Several hours later, I'm remembering the fire in the sky and how dramatic it was, but the details are already fading. What remains most indelibly is the image of that solitary star, a grace note in a tumultuous evening and a counterpoint to the changing effects of cloud and light below. Now I'm thinking of Keats, which is taking me in a different direction altogether. If I had to choose between being the sunset and being the star, I think I would choose to be the star. What it lacks in drama, it makes up for in steadiness and luminosity.
I was well into the walk when I realized half the sky was on fire over my right shoulder. Unfortunately, I was walking in the other direction, so I kept having to look backwards, but it was a show-stopper all right. The sun had set the clouds ablaze in shades of hot pink, an effect that only increased as the sun slipped further down behind the horizon. The sunset reached so far across the sky and was so intense that it made me think of the Northern Lights, except it was the wrong color and featured no psychedelic undulations, only a breathtaking blaze of color.
I did end up cutting my walk a little short since the light was fading. I turned down a different street than I usually do; it was tree-lined and stately, and I admired not only the elegant perspective from one end but all the individual houses with their lights turned on for the evening. It was like turning away from a Technicolor explosion into a scene painted by Thomas Kinkade. There was a bracing smell of woodsmoke in the air, and whether or not it was intentional, the street exuded a peaceful, welcoming ambiance. I decided to look at it that way, because sometimes it's better to take a break from the news of the day and just live inside the brightness of a single moment.
I finally turned west and was walking along, thinking, yes, this will probably end up being my blog post, though it doesn't seem like much to say, the idea of living in the moment so that the glow of a sunset doesn't pass you by. Everybody knows that. Of course, now that I was walking in the right direction to have a good view of it, the sunset had shaded into a moodier combination of dark clouds and smoldering pink, as if I were looking at the after effects of a volcanic eruption. I'd had to crane my neck to see the best part of the show, but the somber afterglow was in plain view all the way home, with the evening star shining bright and solitary high above the fray.
I'm reminded of the game I used to play as a kid, when I would sometimes imagine mountain ranges in a mass of clouds, a habit that can alter your view of the landscape dramatically if you hold the picture in your mind long enough. A volcanic eruption isn't something we're likely to see here, so my mind was busy for the rest of the walk in imagining the fiery peak that seemed to be barely hidden behind a bank of clouds. I'll admit, though, that it was nice to get home without encountering either lava flow or rain of fiery ash. Sometimes a thing imagined is better than the reality.
Several hours later, I'm remembering the fire in the sky and how dramatic it was, but the details are already fading. What remains most indelibly is the image of that solitary star, a grace note in a tumultuous evening and a counterpoint to the changing effects of cloud and light below. Now I'm thinking of Keats, which is taking me in a different direction altogether. If I had to choose between being the sunset and being the star, I think I would choose to be the star. What it lacks in drama, it makes up for in steadiness and luminosity.
Friday, February 10, 2017
Watching Jane Austen
The other night, I re-watched my DVD of Joe Wright's 2005 version of Pride & Prejudice (with Keira Knightley and Matthew MacFadyen). I've seen it half a dozen times or more, and the first time I saw it, I found it refreshingly modern, if perhaps a little rough around the edges. I hadn't then seen the famous PBS version starring Colin Firth and had nothing to compare it with except for the novel itself--nor had I much experience at that time in "seeing through" in the Hillmanian sense.
It may be that I'll end up doing revisionist readings of many of the books and films I've read, and this may be inevitable for an educated viewer, but it's sometimes disconcerting, as if a whole other film existed beneath the surface of the one I thought I was watching. It's tiresome, too, because, well--does one ever reach the bottom? I was certainly surprised at some of the details that jumped out at me this time; it's not that I didn't see them before but more that I didn't gloss over them this time in favor of simply following the story.
It's perhaps an unavoidable result of getting older that you also bring more of your own experience to bear on any text and therefore find more points of correspondence between fiction and life. Sometimes I miss being able to approach things more naively because a well-developed critical eye can be such a nuisance. It complicates experience rather than making it more fun and enjoyable--but so be it, I guess. You can't unsee things.
In the film, I noticed such things as gestures--a hand near the mouth or placed on a hip, a foot pointed just so; an expression that seemed at odds with the tenor of a scene; a bit of dialogue that grated; a pinafore worn by a particular character. I noticed the way a few of the characters reminded me of people I know and how scenes brought to mind incidents from my own life. Sometimes it was the smallest things: a character's look of lingering regret, a hand imperceptibly brushing the back of a dress, a handkerchief tossed into a crowd of soldiers, the unnatural pallor of a face. I was startled at the power these things suddenly had to kindle my own associations. I almost felt that someone had opened a window into my own life, with a surprising degree of accuracy.
My regular readers may remember that when I reviewed Peter Jackson's Hobbit films, I followed a sort of polytheistic reading of the characters. That is, I didn't see the characters as one-dimensional and continuous but rather as inhabiting different roles depending on the scene and the other characters with whom they interacted. This was a depth psychological reading based on the idea of the multiplicity of complexes and traits that make up an individual. I found myself doing the same thing with Pride & Prejudice, for it seemed to me that its characters moved in and out of roles in a way I hadn't quite noticed before.
The eldest daughter, Jane, seemed at times an ingenue blooming with her first experience of love and at other times something more reserved and unknowable, a watchful presence on the edge of things; Lizzie had a similar quality of seeming both to inhabit scenes as a daughter of the household and to stand outside them with an ironic, even supercilious air. The iconic scene of her standing on a rock at the edge of a precipice made her look more like a goddess in some high place, a figurehead on a ship, than a young woman contemplating her future. Even a minor character such as Georgiana, Mr. Darcy's sister, shows characteristics of a fluid personality, seeming to morph from innocent girl to someone with unusual forcefulness of character with one short line of dialogue and change of expression.
I admit I had never before given the film full credit for what seems to me its "coded" quality: of the way in which someone crossing a small bridge can seem to symbolize so much more; the way kisses can suddenly seem less than benign; the way an invisible Shakespeare-like gender shift sometimes seems to occur, transforming the import of a scene; of the way in which two characters difficult to tell apart begin to tug on my attention. (Why did the director choose to make the two youngest Bennet girls so much alike? When they're at rest you can see that they're different, but they are so rarely still that they could be mistaken for twins.) Some of the details are incongruous for no discernible reason. I found my attention drawn to things that seemed awkward and out of place, as if the film were a costume sewn so hurriedly that its uneven thread caught your eye before anything else.
Pride & Prejudice is, of course, a story about the politics and social games of engagement and marriage. A male acquaintance of mine once said he didn't care for Miss Austen because she made relations between the sexes seem so passionless, but this film takes in both the drawing room and the kitchen garden and injects a mood of earthiness into all the flirtations and jockeying for favor. In today's atmosphere of "total freedom" the constraints put on the characters' behavior and the many rules of propriety they're expected to observe may seem quaint to an unacceptable degree. I wonder, though, how much freer many of us are. In my experience, breaking out of a role, choosing freely, or trying to chart my own course has often seemed an exercise in overcoming one obstacle after another. This is much more of a problem now than it was when I was younger, ironically--or perhaps I was just not aware of it then.
Sexism, still as alive and well in the 21st century as it was in the 19th? The difficulty of being independent in a married world? Something to do with personality type? Some other explanation? Search your own heart and your own experience, and consider.
It may be that I'll end up doing revisionist readings of many of the books and films I've read, and this may be inevitable for an educated viewer, but it's sometimes disconcerting, as if a whole other film existed beneath the surface of the one I thought I was watching. It's tiresome, too, because, well--does one ever reach the bottom? I was certainly surprised at some of the details that jumped out at me this time; it's not that I didn't see them before but more that I didn't gloss over them this time in favor of simply following the story.
It's perhaps an unavoidable result of getting older that you also bring more of your own experience to bear on any text and therefore find more points of correspondence between fiction and life. Sometimes I miss being able to approach things more naively because a well-developed critical eye can be such a nuisance. It complicates experience rather than making it more fun and enjoyable--but so be it, I guess. You can't unsee things.
In the film, I noticed such things as gestures--a hand near the mouth or placed on a hip, a foot pointed just so; an expression that seemed at odds with the tenor of a scene; a bit of dialogue that grated; a pinafore worn by a particular character. I noticed the way a few of the characters reminded me of people I know and how scenes brought to mind incidents from my own life. Sometimes it was the smallest things: a character's look of lingering regret, a hand imperceptibly brushing the back of a dress, a handkerchief tossed into a crowd of soldiers, the unnatural pallor of a face. I was startled at the power these things suddenly had to kindle my own associations. I almost felt that someone had opened a window into my own life, with a surprising degree of accuracy.
My regular readers may remember that when I reviewed Peter Jackson's Hobbit films, I followed a sort of polytheistic reading of the characters. That is, I didn't see the characters as one-dimensional and continuous but rather as inhabiting different roles depending on the scene and the other characters with whom they interacted. This was a depth psychological reading based on the idea of the multiplicity of complexes and traits that make up an individual. I found myself doing the same thing with Pride & Prejudice, for it seemed to me that its characters moved in and out of roles in a way I hadn't quite noticed before.
The eldest daughter, Jane, seemed at times an ingenue blooming with her first experience of love and at other times something more reserved and unknowable, a watchful presence on the edge of things; Lizzie had a similar quality of seeming both to inhabit scenes as a daughter of the household and to stand outside them with an ironic, even supercilious air. The iconic scene of her standing on a rock at the edge of a precipice made her look more like a goddess in some high place, a figurehead on a ship, than a young woman contemplating her future. Even a minor character such as Georgiana, Mr. Darcy's sister, shows characteristics of a fluid personality, seeming to morph from innocent girl to someone with unusual forcefulness of character with one short line of dialogue and change of expression.
I admit I had never before given the film full credit for what seems to me its "coded" quality: of the way in which someone crossing a small bridge can seem to symbolize so much more; the way kisses can suddenly seem less than benign; the way an invisible Shakespeare-like gender shift sometimes seems to occur, transforming the import of a scene; of the way in which two characters difficult to tell apart begin to tug on my attention. (Why did the director choose to make the two youngest Bennet girls so much alike? When they're at rest you can see that they're different, but they are so rarely still that they could be mistaken for twins.) Some of the details are incongruous for no discernible reason. I found my attention drawn to things that seemed awkward and out of place, as if the film were a costume sewn so hurriedly that its uneven thread caught your eye before anything else.
Pride & Prejudice is, of course, a story about the politics and social games of engagement and marriage. A male acquaintance of mine once said he didn't care for Miss Austen because she made relations between the sexes seem so passionless, but this film takes in both the drawing room and the kitchen garden and injects a mood of earthiness into all the flirtations and jockeying for favor. In today's atmosphere of "total freedom" the constraints put on the characters' behavior and the many rules of propriety they're expected to observe may seem quaint to an unacceptable degree. I wonder, though, how much freer many of us are. In my experience, breaking out of a role, choosing freely, or trying to chart my own course has often seemed an exercise in overcoming one obstacle after another. This is much more of a problem now than it was when I was younger, ironically--or perhaps I was just not aware of it then.
Sexism, still as alive and well in the 21st century as it was in the 19th? The difficulty of being independent in a married world? Something to do with personality type? Some other explanation? Search your own heart and your own experience, and consider.
Friday, February 3, 2017
That Stuck Feeling
Alert readers of this blog may be wondering, "Mary, how did you spend your birthday week?" The answer is "very quietly," and when I say that, I mean it quite literally. I make a point of saying this because there seems to be an epidemic of people saying one thing and meaning another, and how this can be good is beyond me. I feel at times that I'm living in 1984, with all the strange utterances that come down the pike via the news each day. This doublespeak may be fashionable, but it's not amusing.
A few years ago, I noticed an acquaintance speaking very strangely, repeating words and throwing in a lot of double negatives, until I wanted to ask him if he was sure he hadn't had a stroke. Then I noticed someone else doing the exact same thing. Watching people on the daily news lately is a near replica of that experience. Surely all of these people can't have had strokes, so there must be another explanation. One longs for someone to simply say what they mean, in plain English. Will we ever see those days again?
I gather that large portions of the public are as confounded as I am by political events. The only comfort I draw from it (and it's not much) is that what has seemed obvious to me for some time, some fissure running through American political life, must now be clear to others. I thought that the air of the surreal that enveloped the law office I used to work in was something merely local, but if the whole country isn't by now aware of something strange at work in the political realm, they aren't seeing the same news I am. I had hoped that with a new administration in Washington, there would be positive change, but so far I haven't seen any evidence of it. In fact, I'm reminded every day by trifling events of how strange everything was shortly before I left the law firm.
Have you ever tried to report to the FBI or the police your sense that there might be some malfeasance taking place without being able to say exactly what it was? I have, and I can tell you that it isn't easy to communicate what the trouble might be when you only have suspicions. I have heard that they don't comment on ongoing investigations, but I still would have expected more interest in what I was telling them than they expressed. The only thing that really got a reaction was when I told them I sometimes had the sense that I was under surveillance and that my movements were being tracked. I'm not sure why, out of everything I said, that that was the thing they seized on, but that seemed to be the case. For me, it's not a vague feeling, but a conviction, and perhaps they did take me seriously on that.
Well, back to my birthday. It was a strange one, for sure. The evening before, I was out walking in the neighborhood as usual and became aware on at least three occasions that someone was walking close behind me. When that happens, I usually stop and wait for the person to pass. I was over on a quiet street not far from where I live when I heard footsteps, turned to look, and saw someone in a hooded coat trailing along behind me. I stopped to see what this person would do, and he/she (it appeared to be a woman) turned away from me onto a dead-end street and stopped, seemingly stymied by the lack of an outlet before turning around and going back the way she had come. I also noticed a car following along behind this person that stopped when I turned around. I wish I could tell you this was the first time something like this had happened, but it isn't. It was almost a replay of something that happened on the same street last summer.
I've seen so many of these unusual experiences that it's hard to know what's a real threat and what isn't, but the fact is that having people follow you down the street can't be good, no matter what the explanation is. I remember driving back from Cincinnati one Saturday, lo, these seven years ago now, and being startled by a sudden swerve of a pickup truck as we entered a shadowy area under an overpass. I went into work on Monday in disbelief and told several people that someone had tried to run me off the road, for I was sure that that is what had happened. One of the attorneys, uncharacteristically uncomfortable, it seemed to me, merely said that the same thing had happened to his wife recently. And that's the answer, that being nearly run off the road "just happens"? Is this the new normal? Apparently so, because it was merely the prelude to a whole sequence of odd events and disquieting experiences. Life hasn't been the same since.
I would have been glad to spend my birthday in a normal way, with friends, if I could be sure of knowing who they are, but the fact is that many people I know haven't seemed like themselves since all of the strangeness started. It's sad to say this, but it's true. I often get the sense that people know something of the problems I've been having without coming out and saying so--but no one is ever direct about anything. People don't always express disbelief when I tell them about some of the things that have occurred, but no one ever seems to know quite what to do about it. I have never been able to decide whether moving would make things better or worse, since I've had strange experiences away from home, too.
If this post makes you uncomfortable, I'm not surprised, but all I can say is, "welcome to my world." As a consolation for sticking with me through this unpleasantness, I'll tell you about one of my happiest birthdays, back when life was still normal and I didn't feel that I had to be looking over my shoulder all the time. I believe it was actually my 40th, and due to circumstances I won't go into, I ended up spending the evening alone. I wanted to make it special somehow, so I went to see a movie about a woman who was a writer and taking tango lessons--it was kind of offbeat but harmless as far as I know. I also went to the mall and tried on a couple of outfits that were different from what I would normally buy. I may have eaten out, too--I can't remember. It wasn't much, but somehow the conscious decision to be slightly adventurous--not absurdly so, but just a little--imbued the evening with a sense of possibility that was missing from some of my other birthday celebrations.
This year wasn't like that. Starbucks was filled with strange people that afternoon; I even saw someone who looked remarkably like California Governor Jerry Brown in the parking lot as I was leaving (I don't know what he'd be doing in Lexington, but famous faces are seen here from time to time). I couldn't sleep that night when I came home, as the building seemed too quiet except for some scuffling in the hallway in the wee hours. Once the oppressive feeling got to be too much, I got dressed and went out, thinking of waffles or an early cup of coffee, but in the end I really didn't want anything and just came back home.
Will next year's birthday be more normal? Only time will tell, but I hope so. It would be wonderful to feel safe and sound again.
A few years ago, I noticed an acquaintance speaking very strangely, repeating words and throwing in a lot of double negatives, until I wanted to ask him if he was sure he hadn't had a stroke. Then I noticed someone else doing the exact same thing. Watching people on the daily news lately is a near replica of that experience. Surely all of these people can't have had strokes, so there must be another explanation. One longs for someone to simply say what they mean, in plain English. Will we ever see those days again?
I gather that large portions of the public are as confounded as I am by political events. The only comfort I draw from it (and it's not much) is that what has seemed obvious to me for some time, some fissure running through American political life, must now be clear to others. I thought that the air of the surreal that enveloped the law office I used to work in was something merely local, but if the whole country isn't by now aware of something strange at work in the political realm, they aren't seeing the same news I am. I had hoped that with a new administration in Washington, there would be positive change, but so far I haven't seen any evidence of it. In fact, I'm reminded every day by trifling events of how strange everything was shortly before I left the law firm.
Have you ever tried to report to the FBI or the police your sense that there might be some malfeasance taking place without being able to say exactly what it was? I have, and I can tell you that it isn't easy to communicate what the trouble might be when you only have suspicions. I have heard that they don't comment on ongoing investigations, but I still would have expected more interest in what I was telling them than they expressed. The only thing that really got a reaction was when I told them I sometimes had the sense that I was under surveillance and that my movements were being tracked. I'm not sure why, out of everything I said, that that was the thing they seized on, but that seemed to be the case. For me, it's not a vague feeling, but a conviction, and perhaps they did take me seriously on that.
Well, back to my birthday. It was a strange one, for sure. The evening before, I was out walking in the neighborhood as usual and became aware on at least three occasions that someone was walking close behind me. When that happens, I usually stop and wait for the person to pass. I was over on a quiet street not far from where I live when I heard footsteps, turned to look, and saw someone in a hooded coat trailing along behind me. I stopped to see what this person would do, and he/she (it appeared to be a woman) turned away from me onto a dead-end street and stopped, seemingly stymied by the lack of an outlet before turning around and going back the way she had come. I also noticed a car following along behind this person that stopped when I turned around. I wish I could tell you this was the first time something like this had happened, but it isn't. It was almost a replay of something that happened on the same street last summer.
I've seen so many of these unusual experiences that it's hard to know what's a real threat and what isn't, but the fact is that having people follow you down the street can't be good, no matter what the explanation is. I remember driving back from Cincinnati one Saturday, lo, these seven years ago now, and being startled by a sudden swerve of a pickup truck as we entered a shadowy area under an overpass. I went into work on Monday in disbelief and told several people that someone had tried to run me off the road, for I was sure that that is what had happened. One of the attorneys, uncharacteristically uncomfortable, it seemed to me, merely said that the same thing had happened to his wife recently. And that's the answer, that being nearly run off the road "just happens"? Is this the new normal? Apparently so, because it was merely the prelude to a whole sequence of odd events and disquieting experiences. Life hasn't been the same since.
I would have been glad to spend my birthday in a normal way, with friends, if I could be sure of knowing who they are, but the fact is that many people I know haven't seemed like themselves since all of the strangeness started. It's sad to say this, but it's true. I often get the sense that people know something of the problems I've been having without coming out and saying so--but no one is ever direct about anything. People don't always express disbelief when I tell them about some of the things that have occurred, but no one ever seems to know quite what to do about it. I have never been able to decide whether moving would make things better or worse, since I've had strange experiences away from home, too.
If this post makes you uncomfortable, I'm not surprised, but all I can say is, "welcome to my world." As a consolation for sticking with me through this unpleasantness, I'll tell you about one of my happiest birthdays, back when life was still normal and I didn't feel that I had to be looking over my shoulder all the time. I believe it was actually my 40th, and due to circumstances I won't go into, I ended up spending the evening alone. I wanted to make it special somehow, so I went to see a movie about a woman who was a writer and taking tango lessons--it was kind of offbeat but harmless as far as I know. I also went to the mall and tried on a couple of outfits that were different from what I would normally buy. I may have eaten out, too--I can't remember. It wasn't much, but somehow the conscious decision to be slightly adventurous--not absurdly so, but just a little--imbued the evening with a sense of possibility that was missing from some of my other birthday celebrations.
This year wasn't like that. Starbucks was filled with strange people that afternoon; I even saw someone who looked remarkably like California Governor Jerry Brown in the parking lot as I was leaving (I don't know what he'd be doing in Lexington, but famous faces are seen here from time to time). I couldn't sleep that night when I came home, as the building seemed too quiet except for some scuffling in the hallway in the wee hours. Once the oppressive feeling got to be too much, I got dressed and went out, thinking of waffles or an early cup of coffee, but in the end I really didn't want anything and just came back home.
Will next year's birthday be more normal? Only time will tell, but I hope so. It would be wonderful to feel safe and sound again.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Lightning Hits the Living Room
My winter cleaning project has turned out to be more all-encompassing than I thought--and that's an understatement. If you had told me a week ago that I'd be clearing out some of the items I've parted with, I wouldn't have believed you. Some of these things have been with me for quite a while, but once I started taking a closer look at them, I began to wonder why that was so. Was my regard for these items justified, outmoded, based on ideas I no longer believed in--or simply uninformed?
In some cases, I decided that objects I really didn't want any more were just taking up space, the way you do sometimes with impulse buys you later regret. In other cases, I had books and music that I had never read or listened to; when I started looking at it, I realized that some of it I would simply never get around to and some of it seemed to be different than what I had thought I was getting. That happens sometimes when you're researching a topic and cast a wide net, but it was also the case with items that were suggested to me by others or that I bought for class. I guess the result of developing a more discerning mythic eye is that you really do start to "see through" things; I could have saved myself some money by leaving those items in the store.
I cleared out a lot of albums and CDs, too, some of which I still listened to, and the story on that is a bit more complicated. I liked some of the music a lot but in the end it seemed to be taking up way too much oxygen. I looked at the cover art of some of my CDs and started to see a story that I had no idea was there before. Again, I've probably looked at those CDs dozens of times without really seeing them and was truly shocked when I started to see that what had seemed fairly inconsequential actually had an unnoticed layer of meaning. Some of the items went from being well-regarded and familiar to something that seemed quite alien in less than 30 seconds. I couldn't keep them anymore, and the sad thing is that I wondered why I had held onto them for so long.
The same thing happened with some family pictures, believe it or not. I saw some photos that my brother had posted on the Internet, and I suppose you would have to know him as well as I do, but I saw into them, or thought I did, with an acuity that was painful. It was like he was trying to tell me something. OK, mission accomplished. After that, I put away some family photos that I had out--it was probably time to do that anyway.
It's very difficult to admit that you just didn't see things, and this is especially true when you're an information professional who's used to assessing and judging things. It's easy to misjudge, though, when you only have partial information and no guidance other than your own understanding. If you're in the dark about things, you will make mistakes. I've often had the feeling that others know much more than I do (or believe they do) about things that concern me closely, which angers and distresses me more than I can say.
So it has been a week of clearing out space, both physical and psychic. When I went to bed on the evening of the day I had thrown out so much, I could hardly breathe. I literally felt that I was suffocating and wanted to go outside and run around in circles, though I doubted it would help. It felt like someone had just died--that overpowering feeling you have when something is lost that can't be recovered. I recently read a scene in a book in which a character's husband of many years died unexpectedly, leaving her to pick up the pieces. I hurried through that part because it was so painful, and here I was going through something not altogether different myself.
I often think that the first thoughts I have after waking up in the morning are probably the truest, and my immediate thought the next morning was that I had done the right thing and wouldn't regret it, no matter how empty my shelves and my desk seemed when I looked at them. They still look that way, several days later, but I have begun rearranging things to take up some of the empty space; I've let go of so many other things that I'm starting to get used to it. I was complaining in a previous post about having too much furniture in my living room, so maybe the desk will be the next thing to go now that it's almost bare. I always liked the living room better before it was here anyway.
I hope the room I'm making in my life will be filled with better things than have come my way recently. Even an optimist likes to have a little return on the faith now and then. I'll say further that some things are forgivable, but others are not--and I think anyone who's honest will agree with me.
In some cases, I decided that objects I really didn't want any more were just taking up space, the way you do sometimes with impulse buys you later regret. In other cases, I had books and music that I had never read or listened to; when I started looking at it, I realized that some of it I would simply never get around to and some of it seemed to be different than what I had thought I was getting. That happens sometimes when you're researching a topic and cast a wide net, but it was also the case with items that were suggested to me by others or that I bought for class. I guess the result of developing a more discerning mythic eye is that you really do start to "see through" things; I could have saved myself some money by leaving those items in the store.
I cleared out a lot of albums and CDs, too, some of which I still listened to, and the story on that is a bit more complicated. I liked some of the music a lot but in the end it seemed to be taking up way too much oxygen. I looked at the cover art of some of my CDs and started to see a story that I had no idea was there before. Again, I've probably looked at those CDs dozens of times without really seeing them and was truly shocked when I started to see that what had seemed fairly inconsequential actually had an unnoticed layer of meaning. Some of the items went from being well-regarded and familiar to something that seemed quite alien in less than 30 seconds. I couldn't keep them anymore, and the sad thing is that I wondered why I had held onto them for so long.
The same thing happened with some family pictures, believe it or not. I saw some photos that my brother had posted on the Internet, and I suppose you would have to know him as well as I do, but I saw into them, or thought I did, with an acuity that was painful. It was like he was trying to tell me something. OK, mission accomplished. After that, I put away some family photos that I had out--it was probably time to do that anyway.
It's very difficult to admit that you just didn't see things, and this is especially true when you're an information professional who's used to assessing and judging things. It's easy to misjudge, though, when you only have partial information and no guidance other than your own understanding. If you're in the dark about things, you will make mistakes. I've often had the feeling that others know much more than I do (or believe they do) about things that concern me closely, which angers and distresses me more than I can say.
So it has been a week of clearing out space, both physical and psychic. When I went to bed on the evening of the day I had thrown out so much, I could hardly breathe. I literally felt that I was suffocating and wanted to go outside and run around in circles, though I doubted it would help. It felt like someone had just died--that overpowering feeling you have when something is lost that can't be recovered. I recently read a scene in a book in which a character's husband of many years died unexpectedly, leaving her to pick up the pieces. I hurried through that part because it was so painful, and here I was going through something not altogether different myself.
I often think that the first thoughts I have after waking up in the morning are probably the truest, and my immediate thought the next morning was that I had done the right thing and wouldn't regret it, no matter how empty my shelves and my desk seemed when I looked at them. They still look that way, several days later, but I have begun rearranging things to take up some of the empty space; I've let go of so many other things that I'm starting to get used to it. I was complaining in a previous post about having too much furniture in my living room, so maybe the desk will be the next thing to go now that it's almost bare. I always liked the living room better before it was here anyway.
I hope the room I'm making in my life will be filled with better things than have come my way recently. Even an optimist likes to have a little return on the faith now and then. I'll say further that some things are forgivable, but others are not--and I think anyone who's honest will agree with me.
Friday, January 20, 2017
Rainy Day in a Small Town
Last weekend I took a trip to my hometown on a misty, drizzly morning. I wanted to pay a visit to a family member and make perhaps one or two other stops, and it was impromptu, so no one knew I was on the way. I don't know about you, but I usually have an indescribable mix of feelings when I see the outskirts of my hometown come into view. It almost seems like another lifetime since I lived there, and it's been a long time since it really felt like home. I can remember, as a young teen, watching the sunset warm the brick facade of the church down the street with an alluring glow as I looked longingly toward the west and wanted to be elsewhere.
I spent a lot of time imagining elsewhere back then, and it seemed to me that life wouldn't really begin until I could get out of that little town and on to bigger things. Not too different from the way many young people think, although I gather many adults my age look back on their early years and realize they didn't know how good they had it until it was gone. I don't quite look at it that way, but I was surprised to find mild feelings of nostalgia coming up as I was driving around in the rain, looking at places I remembered, many of which remained mostly unchanged, at least to look at.
I didn't find my aunt at home and decided to continue driving around, so I went down the street my grandparents used to live on (and that street has changed--the house is no longer there). I had a clear memory of doing laundry with my mother in the small Laundromat near the end of the block while we were visiting my grandparents on vacation; I can still remember the smell of the place and the peppery taste of the locally-brewed soft drink that we drank ice cold out of the machine. I remember the African violets my grandmother had in her kitchen window, the uphill pitch of the backyard, the squeak of the glider as my grandfather rested there, chatting with whoever stopped by, and the trees we used to climb in the yard. Many of those are happy memories.
I drove past the church and the school I attended and the earliest house I remember living in. I decided to stop and see a friend, though I didn't have much confidence she'd be home, and while I turned down the wrong street initially (funny to get lost in so small a town), I realized my mistake and found the right turn eventually. I didn't find her at home, but I left a message with her mother and continued on my way, out past the high school and into the parking lot of the little shopping center next door. I was thinking about the many times fellow students skipping out must have patronized the businesses in that little mall, the only one of which I remember clearly was a Dairy Queen (now gone). I felt what I might describe as a moment of sympathetic nostalgia on behalf of the other students (I wasn't a skipper) before I turned my attention to the running track, where I did a few turns in gym class back in the day. I didn't particularly like gym or track & field, but it's funny how benign a sight it seemed that morning, a touchtone to a shared past. I spent four years of my life in that school along with my classmates, and although I was happy to move on, when I looked at the building all I felt was a pleasant sense of seeing a piece of the past.
I remembered visiting the homes of friends and classmates and tried to locate some of them, although that was more difficult with all the time that's elapsed, and I felt sure most of their families had moved on long since. I had lunch and decided a trip to the library was in order to get my uncle's address. Since my aunt died this year, I wanted to stop and say hello. I didn't find him at home, either, and that's when I decided to drop by the church, which his family also attended. I wasn't expecting to see him or anyone I knew there, but it was about time for the Saturday evening service, and it had been so many years since I'd been inside that I wanted to see the place again.
Everyone's familiar with that feeling of going back to a childhood place and finding how much smaller it seems, but I was surprised at just how much the dimensions of the place seemed to have shrunk. I assume this happened because I had so few other churches to compare it to back then, but still, I was surprised--I remember it as being bigger by at least half. I do have pleasant memories of services there, especially around Christmas, and I still found it to be as pretty a church as I remembered.
I recognized my uncle a few pews ahead of me, and after church we talked for a few minutes, a conversation in which the names of many family members came up and a sense of the passage of time was very strong. He encouraged me to stop by my aunt's house again on my way out of town, saying she was bound to be home on a Saturday, so I did that but still didn't find her at home. I was a little concerned but knew that there were other family members nearby and figured it was a case of bad timing--it was such a drizzly day that she may have gotten cabin fever and decided on a day out with a friend. Then it was back on the road west, back to Lexington . . . where all these many years later, I can say life did change once I left my hometown, and that many of the things I dreamed of did come true, although I didn't anticipate how challenging life could be at times. I don't think you ever do.
It's hard for me to imagine living in my hometown again, and yet to be honest there has always seemed to be some quality missing in Lexington, something that I can't put my finger on that has to do with the pace of life and the security of knowing many of the people around you. I may have said this before, but I think I've always wanted to combine that sense of belonging and the aesthetic appeal of small town life with some of the diversions and opportunities of a larger city. I've never figured out quite how to do this.
The imprint of small town life remains with me; when I've traveled, I've sometimes come across places that reminded me of where I grew up, and it's a little surprising how pleasant that is. I think it has to do with the human scale of things, the ease of getting from place to place, the likelihood of seeing a familiar face. It used to be nice to be able to walk down the street for an ice cream cone or to see a movie, things I have to get in my car and drive some distance to do now. I don't want to romanticize small town life in any way, because it has its drawbacks--but it also has charms that are lost in the noise and hustle of a city. Maybe it is true that you can't go home again, but I think it's also true that you always carry some of it around with you, no matter where you go.
I spent a lot of time imagining elsewhere back then, and it seemed to me that life wouldn't really begin until I could get out of that little town and on to bigger things. Not too different from the way many young people think, although I gather many adults my age look back on their early years and realize they didn't know how good they had it until it was gone. I don't quite look at it that way, but I was surprised to find mild feelings of nostalgia coming up as I was driving around in the rain, looking at places I remembered, many of which remained mostly unchanged, at least to look at.
I didn't find my aunt at home and decided to continue driving around, so I went down the street my grandparents used to live on (and that street has changed--the house is no longer there). I had a clear memory of doing laundry with my mother in the small Laundromat near the end of the block while we were visiting my grandparents on vacation; I can still remember the smell of the place and the peppery taste of the locally-brewed soft drink that we drank ice cold out of the machine. I remember the African violets my grandmother had in her kitchen window, the uphill pitch of the backyard, the squeak of the glider as my grandfather rested there, chatting with whoever stopped by, and the trees we used to climb in the yard. Many of those are happy memories.
I drove past the church and the school I attended and the earliest house I remember living in. I decided to stop and see a friend, though I didn't have much confidence she'd be home, and while I turned down the wrong street initially (funny to get lost in so small a town), I realized my mistake and found the right turn eventually. I didn't find her at home, but I left a message with her mother and continued on my way, out past the high school and into the parking lot of the little shopping center next door. I was thinking about the many times fellow students skipping out must have patronized the businesses in that little mall, the only one of which I remember clearly was a Dairy Queen (now gone). I felt what I might describe as a moment of sympathetic nostalgia on behalf of the other students (I wasn't a skipper) before I turned my attention to the running track, where I did a few turns in gym class back in the day. I didn't particularly like gym or track & field, but it's funny how benign a sight it seemed that morning, a touchtone to a shared past. I spent four years of my life in that school along with my classmates, and although I was happy to move on, when I looked at the building all I felt was a pleasant sense of seeing a piece of the past.
I remembered visiting the homes of friends and classmates and tried to locate some of them, although that was more difficult with all the time that's elapsed, and I felt sure most of their families had moved on long since. I had lunch and decided a trip to the library was in order to get my uncle's address. Since my aunt died this year, I wanted to stop and say hello. I didn't find him at home, either, and that's when I decided to drop by the church, which his family also attended. I wasn't expecting to see him or anyone I knew there, but it was about time for the Saturday evening service, and it had been so many years since I'd been inside that I wanted to see the place again.
Everyone's familiar with that feeling of going back to a childhood place and finding how much smaller it seems, but I was surprised at just how much the dimensions of the place seemed to have shrunk. I assume this happened because I had so few other churches to compare it to back then, but still, I was surprised--I remember it as being bigger by at least half. I do have pleasant memories of services there, especially around Christmas, and I still found it to be as pretty a church as I remembered.
I recognized my uncle a few pews ahead of me, and after church we talked for a few minutes, a conversation in which the names of many family members came up and a sense of the passage of time was very strong. He encouraged me to stop by my aunt's house again on my way out of town, saying she was bound to be home on a Saturday, so I did that but still didn't find her at home. I was a little concerned but knew that there were other family members nearby and figured it was a case of bad timing--it was such a drizzly day that she may have gotten cabin fever and decided on a day out with a friend. Then it was back on the road west, back to Lexington . . . where all these many years later, I can say life did change once I left my hometown, and that many of the things I dreamed of did come true, although I didn't anticipate how challenging life could be at times. I don't think you ever do.
It's hard for me to imagine living in my hometown again, and yet to be honest there has always seemed to be some quality missing in Lexington, something that I can't put my finger on that has to do with the pace of life and the security of knowing many of the people around you. I may have said this before, but I think I've always wanted to combine that sense of belonging and the aesthetic appeal of small town life with some of the diversions and opportunities of a larger city. I've never figured out quite how to do this.
The imprint of small town life remains with me; when I've traveled, I've sometimes come across places that reminded me of where I grew up, and it's a little surprising how pleasant that is. I think it has to do with the human scale of things, the ease of getting from place to place, the likelihood of seeing a familiar face. It used to be nice to be able to walk down the street for an ice cream cone or to see a movie, things I have to get in my car and drive some distance to do now. I don't want to romanticize small town life in any way, because it has its drawbacks--but it also has charms that are lost in the noise and hustle of a city. Maybe it is true that you can't go home again, but I think it's also true that you always carry some of it around with you, no matter where you go.
Friday, January 13, 2017
Do I Dare to Take a Selfie?
This morning I was trying to take a selfie to update my Facebook profile, a seemingly simple act that shouldn't really require much thought. I mean, I did get dressed, brush my hair, and put on a little makeup. After all, you want to put your best food forward even if you're just taking your own picture. Then I had to put the batteries in the camera, charge up the flash, figure out where to put myself, and actually take the picture--the hardest part. I see that other people take selfies all the time with apparent ease, so I guess it's easier if your cell phone has a camera, but I have a camera camera, if that hasn't become an anachronism, and can't see what I look like when I'm taking the picture.
At any rate, I took a whole series of photos and kept looking for one that seemed good enough, sitting first here and then there, deciding the bookcase would be a nice backdrop and then trying to get the lighting and angle right. Now, here's where it started to get unexpectedly complicated.
I've written several times about the way a person who has studied myth (or literature or art history or other things) often sees several layers of meaning simultaneously in an object or an event. Training in these areas teaches you to look beyond the merely literal; paint on canvas or words on a page are more than just the sum of their parts, just as a person is more than a collection of cells. It's possible to take this process too far. Just as you can overlook the true significance of things by not looking deeply enough, you can also imbue things with meanings they don't have. No one would argue that all interpretations are equally convincing, and if you say tomato and I say tomahto, as the song goes, who's right? Sometimes a cigar really is a cigar (even if Freud didn't really say it, it's true). But not always.
I'm taking a long way to get back to the selfie. The point is, I suddenly started noticing all the items on the bookshelf behind me that were ending up in the pictures and that had no real relevance except that they just happened to be there: a statue of Ganesha, a diploma from school, a book on symbols. I suddenly started to wonder how someone else seeing my selfie might view those items--could they take over the picture in a way I didn't intend? That may seem silly, like the kind of thing no one but an English major would think of, but I still wondered. After all, those items are on the shelf because they tell part of the story of my life, and it's natural they should be there. But I noticed recently while watching a movie I've seen multiple times how distracting it was when the design of the bedspread in one scene jumped out at me in a way I hadn't noticed before. I didn't know what the filmmaker intended, and the decision to have a striped bedspread could have meant any number of things. I assume that artists usually make choices very intentionally, but did it mean the same thing to me that it meant to the filmmaker?
Well, you can really go down a rabbit hole with this type of thing. The best I could say is that when I looked at that scene and for some reason noticed the bedspread had stripes, it suddenly made me think of a flag-draped coffin, such as a solider would be buried in, which was rather jarring in that particular context. For all I know, the filmmaker put that detail in not because he thought it looked like a flag but because he was trying to re-create the bedroom he lived in when he was a little boy, or perhaps the resemblance to a coffin was intentional, and it was a tribute to a friend who had died.
The end result of my selfie adventure was that I took some of the objects out of the background so that the photos would just be headshots of me, not a work by a Flemish master full of potential hidden meanings, and selected the best-looking one. The process began again when I started sorting through some outdoor photos for an updated cover picture. Again, I started wondering if people would ask why I had selected this one or that one, when really I was just in a hurry to finish updating my profile. I finally picked one of a blue sky that I liked and that seemed about the blandest of all of them. When I looked at the end result, though, I noticed rays of light that I hadn't seen in the photo until it was enlarged, and both photos together seemed to me to tell a story that I hadn't intended to tell--but it ended up that way by accident. After all my efforts to come up with a neutral photo set, I realized I still had something that potentially told a story, and that my attempts not to tell a story were all for naught.
After that line of thought, I was almost too self-conscious to go for a walk, but I went anyway. As for the clothes I had on, I suppose there was a story in them, but it was this: I wore the top I was wearing because it was unusually warm today, and I don't get to wear that shirt, which has a flattering neckline, that often. I wore jeans because I'd been wearing cords a lot and wanted a change. I wore my cream-colored fleece (which was almost too warm for today) because I thought I needed an extra layer but not a heavy one. I carried my smaller umbrella because I had a mishap with the larger one the other night while carrying in groceries and decided it wasn't raining hard enough to merit the trouble. I thought everything matched and that I wouldn't look silly while walking down the street. That was it.
At this point, you're probably thinking, "You needed a whole essay to describe what people do in the normal course of things? Most people aren't trying to imitate the Flemish masters when they go out everyday. They just want to look presentable and possibly attractive." I used to think so, too, but I'm constantly noticing how many people I encounter in the course of a day who seem determined to draw attention to themselves. It's an epidemic of exhibitionism, if you ask me, and though I may be describing a trend, I didn't start it.
So if you do see my picture on Facebook, this is the Official Artist's Statement of how that particular photo essay came to be: I was trying to take a neutral but flattering photo. But if you think every picture tells a story, you may still be right.
At any rate, I took a whole series of photos and kept looking for one that seemed good enough, sitting first here and then there, deciding the bookcase would be a nice backdrop and then trying to get the lighting and angle right. Now, here's where it started to get unexpectedly complicated.
I've written several times about the way a person who has studied myth (or literature or art history or other things) often sees several layers of meaning simultaneously in an object or an event. Training in these areas teaches you to look beyond the merely literal; paint on canvas or words on a page are more than just the sum of their parts, just as a person is more than a collection of cells. It's possible to take this process too far. Just as you can overlook the true significance of things by not looking deeply enough, you can also imbue things with meanings they don't have. No one would argue that all interpretations are equally convincing, and if you say tomato and I say tomahto, as the song goes, who's right? Sometimes a cigar really is a cigar (even if Freud didn't really say it, it's true). But not always.
I'm taking a long way to get back to the selfie. The point is, I suddenly started noticing all the items on the bookshelf behind me that were ending up in the pictures and that had no real relevance except that they just happened to be there: a statue of Ganesha, a diploma from school, a book on symbols. I suddenly started to wonder how someone else seeing my selfie might view those items--could they take over the picture in a way I didn't intend? That may seem silly, like the kind of thing no one but an English major would think of, but I still wondered. After all, those items are on the shelf because they tell part of the story of my life, and it's natural they should be there. But I noticed recently while watching a movie I've seen multiple times how distracting it was when the design of the bedspread in one scene jumped out at me in a way I hadn't noticed before. I didn't know what the filmmaker intended, and the decision to have a striped bedspread could have meant any number of things. I assume that artists usually make choices very intentionally, but did it mean the same thing to me that it meant to the filmmaker?
Well, you can really go down a rabbit hole with this type of thing. The best I could say is that when I looked at that scene and for some reason noticed the bedspread had stripes, it suddenly made me think of a flag-draped coffin, such as a solider would be buried in, which was rather jarring in that particular context. For all I know, the filmmaker put that detail in not because he thought it looked like a flag but because he was trying to re-create the bedroom he lived in when he was a little boy, or perhaps the resemblance to a coffin was intentional, and it was a tribute to a friend who had died.
The end result of my selfie adventure was that I took some of the objects out of the background so that the photos would just be headshots of me, not a work by a Flemish master full of potential hidden meanings, and selected the best-looking one. The process began again when I started sorting through some outdoor photos for an updated cover picture. Again, I started wondering if people would ask why I had selected this one or that one, when really I was just in a hurry to finish updating my profile. I finally picked one of a blue sky that I liked and that seemed about the blandest of all of them. When I looked at the end result, though, I noticed rays of light that I hadn't seen in the photo until it was enlarged, and both photos together seemed to me to tell a story that I hadn't intended to tell--but it ended up that way by accident. After all my efforts to come up with a neutral photo set, I realized I still had something that potentially told a story, and that my attempts not to tell a story were all for naught.
After that line of thought, I was almost too self-conscious to go for a walk, but I went anyway. As for the clothes I had on, I suppose there was a story in them, but it was this: I wore the top I was wearing because it was unusually warm today, and I don't get to wear that shirt, which has a flattering neckline, that often. I wore jeans because I'd been wearing cords a lot and wanted a change. I wore my cream-colored fleece (which was almost too warm for today) because I thought I needed an extra layer but not a heavy one. I carried my smaller umbrella because I had a mishap with the larger one the other night while carrying in groceries and decided it wasn't raining hard enough to merit the trouble. I thought everything matched and that I wouldn't look silly while walking down the street. That was it.
At this point, you're probably thinking, "You needed a whole essay to describe what people do in the normal course of things? Most people aren't trying to imitate the Flemish masters when they go out everyday. They just want to look presentable and possibly attractive." I used to think so, too, but I'm constantly noticing how many people I encounter in the course of a day who seem determined to draw attention to themselves. It's an epidemic of exhibitionism, if you ask me, and though I may be describing a trend, I didn't start it.
So if you do see my picture on Facebook, this is the Official Artist's Statement of how that particular photo essay came to be: I was trying to take a neutral but flattering photo. But if you think every picture tells a story, you may still be right.
Friday, January 6, 2017
Wordplay Says "Auld Lang Syne"
When I started this blog in January 2010, I was beginning my dissertation, so Wordplay was one of two creative ventures occupying my thoughts. I saw it as a sort of journal accompanying my dissertation research and writing; sometimes I worked out my thoughts in the blog and later went back to see what I had written once I was deeper into the research. Besides that, though, it was a way to put into practice what I'd been taught--how to look at the world through a mythic lens. I was very excited about it then and still am. When I talked to people about depth psychology and mythology, it usually seemed to strike some kind of a chord, and I felt a wider audience might also be receptive . . . so that's how Wordplay came about. I was having fun with what I was doing and thought I'd have even more fun writing about it.
At some point, I wrote a description of the blog that included a lot of the "descriptors" or buzz words that I thought would help people find it, but when I read that summary now (whether or not it helps in search results) it seems too wordy. If you were to ask me now, I'd just tell you that, pure and simple, this is a blog about the mythology of everyday life. The idea that ordinary life, and not just the doings of legendary figures from the distant past, is the material of mythology was one of the most exciting ideas I ever came across, and I think other people have also found that to be true.
Reading mythic texts from various traditions with a depth psychological eye was one thing; we spent a lot of time on this in my program, and it was a transformative experience. Learning how to look at the present-day world to see the myths and archetypes underlying current events was something else, at least for me. With an English degree in my background, I'm used to analyzing literary texts and can talk about the archetypes of any given book or film with a fair degree of comfort. But it seemed to me that for a degree in myth studies to be useful, it would have to encompass more than academic and literary subjects: it would have to provide insight into the world we live in.
The concept of reading events for meaning the same way one reads a literary text takes great skill, in my opinion, and subtlety--a certain amount of fearlessness doesn't hurt either. After all, real life moves and flows and doesn't stay still; it's not fixed on a page. There is no way to "prove" that one's reading of a particular event or phenomenon is "the" correct one, and chances are there are other ways of looking at the same event that are just as useful. We learned the term mythopoesis in my program, which to me means looking at the world the same way you look at a poem. In other words, you're alive to not only what's in front of you, the actual "words on the page," but also the implications of the words, the story that unfolds in between, beneath, and around them. This requires intuition and understanding; knowing what's there is only the first step.
Reading the world mythopoetically is complicated by the fact that, based on my experience anyway, it's often hard to know what the facts are. On any given day, I can read the news and think, "Hmmm, is that what really happened, or is that just what someone said happened?" It's much easier to read events when you know what they are, which may sound like a truism, but as recent events on the U.S. political scene have shown us, basic facts are often in dispute. Much of the news is colored by assumptions and written from a certain point of view. I'm firmly in favor of people expressing their opinions, but first I want to know what the facts are so that I can form my own opinion.
That brings me to an unexpected role I sometimes find myself playing on this blog, the role of mythojournalist. This happened because I often searched in vain for news sources that seemed to dig deep enough and connect the dots between events. Sometimes the what would be there but not the why; often, even the what would be hard to discern in a sea of opinion and misinformation. If an event left me scratching my head, I tried to understand the implications behind it. I certainly never pictured myself as a crusading journalist (book reviews and a little humor are more in my line), but my forays into mythojournalism were born of frustration. I often felt something was missing in other people's reporting, and I tried to fill in the gaps. After all, politics, business, and world affairs are a part of everyday life, too.
And speaking of trying to read events, I feel that our nation, and perhaps the world, is actually in a bit of a precarious position at the moment. I had hoped that when the election was over, things would seem calmer, but that hasn't happened. There's a lot of name-calling and saber-rattling and plenty of people ready to point the finger at anyone but themselves, and if you want me to say what I think the problem is, I'll give you my opinion: I think our nation has a deep unwillingness to look at its own shadow. This translates into: "We are pure; it's other people who have problems."
We seem to be sliding by degrees closer and closer back to a Cold War, which I don't suppose anyone views as desirable. I'm an American, and I support the Constitution, but still I find myself wondering: what's behind all the hostility between Russia and the United States? Is it barely possible that Russia has some legitimate concerns, too, as I have heard one or two American officials suggest? Does it really have to be "us or them"? I don't know who hacked the DNC, and I sincerely hope we find out, but even the facts of the who, what, when, where, and why seem to be in dispute. There are plenty of opinions being expressed, though, and since most of us have been taught to fear Russia, there seems to be a lack of balance to some of the coverage. I'm not saying that allegations of hacking and interference shouldn't be taken seriously; I'd merely like a little more light and less heat.
I will tell you that long ago, when I worked for a newspaper, I was assigned to write a Newspaper in Education supplement on Russia. This was right after the fall of the Soviet Union, and the supplement was meant to give students some background on Russian history. I didn't know much about Russia before I started, and as the country has over a thousand years of history, I feel that what I did merely scratched the surface--but I did come away from the project with a sense of respect for the Russian people, who have survived many difficult periods and apparently have great resiliency. It's a huge country, with many borders to defend, just like the United States. I am neither defending nor condemning Russia, but I am wondering what their point of view is in all the recent fracas. And I'm still not entirely sure I understand what happened in Ukraine.
Once you start looking at the world mythopoetically, your capacity to see things from more than one point of view increases, which I hope is a good thing and not a bad thing. Being understanding of someone else's viewpoint should tend to increase the chances of solving conflicts, not make things worse, according to my understanding of conflict resolution. I'm sincerely hoping there's a willingness on all sides to be honest and open about the real issues, as it seems to me that the world is much too small for this kind of conflict to be a good thing.
Well, six years of Wordplay, and there's much more to come, I hope. Perhaps someday soon I'll be able to get back to more lighthearted subjects, though I reserve the right to speak up on any subject if I feel the need. One thing I can tell you for sure is that Joseph Campbell was right: mythology is a call to adventure, though as is the usual way of things, the adventure may be different from what you imagined it to be. I was a writer without a topic before I started my study of mythology, and that blew my imagination wide open. It also helped me discover some personal qualities I didn't quite know I had. If you're feeling an interest in it yourself, my only caution is to be prepared: once you open your mind, things never quite look the same way again.
At some point, I wrote a description of the blog that included a lot of the "descriptors" or buzz words that I thought would help people find it, but when I read that summary now (whether or not it helps in search results) it seems too wordy. If you were to ask me now, I'd just tell you that, pure and simple, this is a blog about the mythology of everyday life. The idea that ordinary life, and not just the doings of legendary figures from the distant past, is the material of mythology was one of the most exciting ideas I ever came across, and I think other people have also found that to be true.
Reading mythic texts from various traditions with a depth psychological eye was one thing; we spent a lot of time on this in my program, and it was a transformative experience. Learning how to look at the present-day world to see the myths and archetypes underlying current events was something else, at least for me. With an English degree in my background, I'm used to analyzing literary texts and can talk about the archetypes of any given book or film with a fair degree of comfort. But it seemed to me that for a degree in myth studies to be useful, it would have to encompass more than academic and literary subjects: it would have to provide insight into the world we live in.
The concept of reading events for meaning the same way one reads a literary text takes great skill, in my opinion, and subtlety--a certain amount of fearlessness doesn't hurt either. After all, real life moves and flows and doesn't stay still; it's not fixed on a page. There is no way to "prove" that one's reading of a particular event or phenomenon is "the" correct one, and chances are there are other ways of looking at the same event that are just as useful. We learned the term mythopoesis in my program, which to me means looking at the world the same way you look at a poem. In other words, you're alive to not only what's in front of you, the actual "words on the page," but also the implications of the words, the story that unfolds in between, beneath, and around them. This requires intuition and understanding; knowing what's there is only the first step.
Reading the world mythopoetically is complicated by the fact that, based on my experience anyway, it's often hard to know what the facts are. On any given day, I can read the news and think, "Hmmm, is that what really happened, or is that just what someone said happened?" It's much easier to read events when you know what they are, which may sound like a truism, but as recent events on the U.S. political scene have shown us, basic facts are often in dispute. Much of the news is colored by assumptions and written from a certain point of view. I'm firmly in favor of people expressing their opinions, but first I want to know what the facts are so that I can form my own opinion.
That brings me to an unexpected role I sometimes find myself playing on this blog, the role of mythojournalist. This happened because I often searched in vain for news sources that seemed to dig deep enough and connect the dots between events. Sometimes the what would be there but not the why; often, even the what would be hard to discern in a sea of opinion and misinformation. If an event left me scratching my head, I tried to understand the implications behind it. I certainly never pictured myself as a crusading journalist (book reviews and a little humor are more in my line), but my forays into mythojournalism were born of frustration. I often felt something was missing in other people's reporting, and I tried to fill in the gaps. After all, politics, business, and world affairs are a part of everyday life, too.
And speaking of trying to read events, I feel that our nation, and perhaps the world, is actually in a bit of a precarious position at the moment. I had hoped that when the election was over, things would seem calmer, but that hasn't happened. There's a lot of name-calling and saber-rattling and plenty of people ready to point the finger at anyone but themselves, and if you want me to say what I think the problem is, I'll give you my opinion: I think our nation has a deep unwillingness to look at its own shadow. This translates into: "We are pure; it's other people who have problems."
We seem to be sliding by degrees closer and closer back to a Cold War, which I don't suppose anyone views as desirable. I'm an American, and I support the Constitution, but still I find myself wondering: what's behind all the hostility between Russia and the United States? Is it barely possible that Russia has some legitimate concerns, too, as I have heard one or two American officials suggest? Does it really have to be "us or them"? I don't know who hacked the DNC, and I sincerely hope we find out, but even the facts of the who, what, when, where, and why seem to be in dispute. There are plenty of opinions being expressed, though, and since most of us have been taught to fear Russia, there seems to be a lack of balance to some of the coverage. I'm not saying that allegations of hacking and interference shouldn't be taken seriously; I'd merely like a little more light and less heat.
I will tell you that long ago, when I worked for a newspaper, I was assigned to write a Newspaper in Education supplement on Russia. This was right after the fall of the Soviet Union, and the supplement was meant to give students some background on Russian history. I didn't know much about Russia before I started, and as the country has over a thousand years of history, I feel that what I did merely scratched the surface--but I did come away from the project with a sense of respect for the Russian people, who have survived many difficult periods and apparently have great resiliency. It's a huge country, with many borders to defend, just like the United States. I am neither defending nor condemning Russia, but I am wondering what their point of view is in all the recent fracas. And I'm still not entirely sure I understand what happened in Ukraine.
Once you start looking at the world mythopoetically, your capacity to see things from more than one point of view increases, which I hope is a good thing and not a bad thing. Being understanding of someone else's viewpoint should tend to increase the chances of solving conflicts, not make things worse, according to my understanding of conflict resolution. I'm sincerely hoping there's a willingness on all sides to be honest and open about the real issues, as it seems to me that the world is much too small for this kind of conflict to be a good thing.
Well, six years of Wordplay, and there's much more to come, I hope. Perhaps someday soon I'll be able to get back to more lighthearted subjects, though I reserve the right to speak up on any subject if I feel the need. One thing I can tell you for sure is that Joseph Campbell was right: mythology is a call to adventure, though as is the usual way of things, the adventure may be different from what you imagined it to be. I was a writer without a topic before I started my study of mythology, and that blew my imagination wide open. It also helped me discover some personal qualities I didn't quite know I had. If you're feeling an interest in it yourself, my only caution is to be prepared: once you open your mind, things never quite look the same way again.
Thursday, December 29, 2016
Twelve Days of Christmas
In most of my adult experience, the week between Christmas and New Year's has been a little bit like limbo: it's not quite here, there, or anywhere. If you celebrate Christmas, the big event is over with on December 25, and the rest of it (even New Year's Eve) is kind of anticlimactic. If you're in school, you're on break. If you have a job, you may, if you're lucky, be off the entire week--but more than likely you have to work for at least a few days, though half the cubicles around you may be empty. It's an in-between kind of feeling.
After I started college, I joined the contingent that was glad to get back into the normal routine as soon as possible after Christmas Day, an attitude that holiday overload before Christmas tends to inspire. However, as I've mentioned, I've rethought that attitude in recent years, and traditional ways of celebrating the season support me in that. The Twelve Days of Christmas, for instance, as you know, are the days in between Christmas Day and January 6, the celebration of the Visit of the Magi. I like the idea of spreading the celebration out instead of having everything happen on one day, and some of the customs I've read about from people who still celebrate Christmas the old way sound like more fun than the one-day-only approach.
I don't know whether it was "The Twelve Days of Christmas" song or the Hanukkah custom of the Jewish family that lived near us when I was a kid that inspired me, but I have started opening gifts in the days after Christmas. I wrap up little things that I would have bought for myself anyway, like a calendar or a small package of chocolate, put them under the tree, and open them one by one. I'm not in a hurry to open those packages since they look so pretty sitting under the tree, and this year, with all those hand-made bows on them, I'm in less of a hurry than ever.
I was actually still listening to Christmas CDs the day before yesterday before putting them away, but I don't know that I won't pull one or two of them back out over the next week. I don't have "The Twelve Days of Christmas" on any of them, but I've been thinking about the song and wondering if I might do something thematic each day in keeping with the gifts listed in it. I ran into problems, though, with the very first one: a partridge in a pear tree? I couldn't quite figure out how to pull that off, at least on short notice, though it did make me think of the ornamental pear trees near the street I use to live on and the fragrance they had in the spring. Some of the other gifts promised to be difficult to actualize, too, although it seems like a worthy idea. Maybe with a little foresight I can figure out a way to do this some other time.
The idea of leaving the tree up in January came about a few years ago when I realized how pleasant it was to have a corner of the living room brightened up with a prettily decorated tree and started wondering what the rush was to get it down. Most people I know dislike January heartily and complain about how long it is, but if you've still got decorations up, the festive atmosphere lingers, and that's the point of it all anyway. I don't feel like fighting winter if I'm celebrating it.
Despite thinking that a little bit of winter sometimes goes a long way, I've developed an appreciation for some of its gifts. I think the pace of modern life, and the need to rush here and there in all kinds of weather, makes it hard to enjoy winter, and even Christmas, as much as it can be enjoyed. When you don't have to go out and scrape the ice off the windshield first thing in the morning and drive through slick streets, it's a lot easier to appreciate the beauty of sunrise on a frosty morning or a pristine blanket of snow. Winter pared down to its simplest elements and sprinkled with a little sweetness and light can actually be quite enjoyable, as I've found--somewhat to my surprise.
After I started college, I joined the contingent that was glad to get back into the normal routine as soon as possible after Christmas Day, an attitude that holiday overload before Christmas tends to inspire. However, as I've mentioned, I've rethought that attitude in recent years, and traditional ways of celebrating the season support me in that. The Twelve Days of Christmas, for instance, as you know, are the days in between Christmas Day and January 6, the celebration of the Visit of the Magi. I like the idea of spreading the celebration out instead of having everything happen on one day, and some of the customs I've read about from people who still celebrate Christmas the old way sound like more fun than the one-day-only approach.
I don't know whether it was "The Twelve Days of Christmas" song or the Hanukkah custom of the Jewish family that lived near us when I was a kid that inspired me, but I have started opening gifts in the days after Christmas. I wrap up little things that I would have bought for myself anyway, like a calendar or a small package of chocolate, put them under the tree, and open them one by one. I'm not in a hurry to open those packages since they look so pretty sitting under the tree, and this year, with all those hand-made bows on them, I'm in less of a hurry than ever.
I was actually still listening to Christmas CDs the day before yesterday before putting them away, but I don't know that I won't pull one or two of them back out over the next week. I don't have "The Twelve Days of Christmas" on any of them, but I've been thinking about the song and wondering if I might do something thematic each day in keeping with the gifts listed in it. I ran into problems, though, with the very first one: a partridge in a pear tree? I couldn't quite figure out how to pull that off, at least on short notice, though it did make me think of the ornamental pear trees near the street I use to live on and the fragrance they had in the spring. Some of the other gifts promised to be difficult to actualize, too, although it seems like a worthy idea. Maybe with a little foresight I can figure out a way to do this some other time.
The idea of leaving the tree up in January came about a few years ago when I realized how pleasant it was to have a corner of the living room brightened up with a prettily decorated tree and started wondering what the rush was to get it down. Most people I know dislike January heartily and complain about how long it is, but if you've still got decorations up, the festive atmosphere lingers, and that's the point of it all anyway. I don't feel like fighting winter if I'm celebrating it.
Despite thinking that a little bit of winter sometimes goes a long way, I've developed an appreciation for some of its gifts. I think the pace of modern life, and the need to rush here and there in all kinds of weather, makes it hard to enjoy winter, and even Christmas, as much as it can be enjoyed. When you don't have to go out and scrape the ice off the windshield first thing in the morning and drive through slick streets, it's a lot easier to appreciate the beauty of sunrise on a frosty morning or a pristine blanket of snow. Winter pared down to its simplest elements and sprinkled with a little sweetness and light can actually be quite enjoyable, as I've found--somewhat to my surprise.
Thursday, December 22, 2016
Mythologically Sensitive Solstice
I hope I'm not too late to wish you Winter Solstice greetings, since the day was actually yesterday, and today is officially the Day After Solstice. I guess we're all on the upswing now--before you know it, the days will be noticeably longer, though of course we still have winter ahead of us. We're just getting started on all that, but the prospect doesn't seem all that bad from where I'm sitting. I heard about how warm it is at the North Pole, and I just wish we could send some polar vortex up that way.
If you've ever felt a twinge of confusion about what you should be doing with yourself on Winter Solstice--it almost seems an anachronism in the postmodern age, doesn't it, one of those primitive nature celebrations that's been eclipsed by Christmas and Black Friday and all the rest?--you're probably not alone. If you were thinking: Should I wear twigs in my hair? Is a bear pelt the right thing? Ought I build a bonfire? Do I need a conch shell to greet the dawn?--I'd say the answer is "no."
It's only my opinion, but I don't think honoring the seasonal roots of the holidays requires literal re-enactments. Some people like 'em, but I'm not much of one for dress-up in any case, and nature worship doesn't seem quite the right attitude to take after centuries of science. What I think is sometimes missing in the present-day attitude that's supplied in abundance by mythology is an imaginative engagement with nature, a sense that the world around us is alive and that we're only a small part of something vast. It's probably just as big a mistake to think that we understand it all as it is to think that it's all beyond us, a mistake in the opposite direction. An I-Thou attitude isn't inconsistent with wanting to know how it works.
If you're thinking, well, smarty, why don't you just tell us how you resolved the Science vs. Participation Mystique dilemma, I'll tell you--but it wasn't anything special. I did the same thing I've been doing since I started my holidays, which means I went for a walk in the sun, turned on the Christmas lights when I got home, played Christmas music, baked cookies, and drank hot tea. Plus, yesterday I tried a craft activity I saw on a YouTube video: I made a paper rose to put on a package. It turned out OK for a first-time thing, and I'll tell you how I did it if you send a self-addressed, stamped envelope and a check for $49.99. Oh, and I took out a holiday pin with a broken clasp that I've never worn and discovered that it also works as a necklace. It's nice and sparkly, too.
Today, it was more of the same. By chance, the sun came out from behind the clouds just as I was starting out on my walk, and it was a beautiful afternoon. I passed both holly and ivy, and I saw a lot of birds--it may have been my imagination, but it looked like they were enjoying the sunshine, too. I admired other people's Christmas decor and door decorations, and I drank some eggnog when I got back. I'm thinking about making another of those flower bows, but the first one was kind of small, so next time I'm going to use a saucepan to trace an outline instead of a mug.
That's about all I can suggest on mythologically sensitive ways to celebrate the season. Stay warm (with sweaters as opposed to a high thermostat setting), get outside as appropriate, maintain good hydration, be festive, and eat cookies. I've already mentioned that I like to mix holiday tunes with other music to keep everything fresh. I know people who can start with Christmas music full blast on December 1st and keep it going all through the month, but I like to sprinkle it around a bit as opposed to pouring it on.
If you're curious, I will tell you that I'm a traditionalist when it comes to Christmas songs. I like a lot of the crooners of my parents' generation, and I love those records that have a variety of artists on them. I have a few CDs that are sort of New Age- or World Music-inspired, and I have one with traditional songs done by (in some cases) non-traditional artists whose interpretations have a little bit of what I would call "edge"; those are interesting, and they get some rotation. But my favorites are in many instances "throwbacks" or people whose style hearkens back to what I might call a less cynical age.
I wouldn't be surprised if someone's reading this and thinking, "Oh, I like that kind of music, too, but if I showed up at someone's holiday party with a CD like that, they'd make fun of me! Everybody's so deconstructionist these days." Here's what you do: Just say, "Dang, I'm sorry, I left my Tom Waits hipster downer Christmas CD at home, but what I do have here is Michael Bublé." And be sure you turn it up . . . he and Thalia really rock Feliz Navidad, and everybody will be better for it. Sabe?
If you've ever felt a twinge of confusion about what you should be doing with yourself on Winter Solstice--it almost seems an anachronism in the postmodern age, doesn't it, one of those primitive nature celebrations that's been eclipsed by Christmas and Black Friday and all the rest?--you're probably not alone. If you were thinking: Should I wear twigs in my hair? Is a bear pelt the right thing? Ought I build a bonfire? Do I need a conch shell to greet the dawn?--I'd say the answer is "no."
It's only my opinion, but I don't think honoring the seasonal roots of the holidays requires literal re-enactments. Some people like 'em, but I'm not much of one for dress-up in any case, and nature worship doesn't seem quite the right attitude to take after centuries of science. What I think is sometimes missing in the present-day attitude that's supplied in abundance by mythology is an imaginative engagement with nature, a sense that the world around us is alive and that we're only a small part of something vast. It's probably just as big a mistake to think that we understand it all as it is to think that it's all beyond us, a mistake in the opposite direction. An I-Thou attitude isn't inconsistent with wanting to know how it works.
If you're thinking, well, smarty, why don't you just tell us how you resolved the Science vs. Participation Mystique dilemma, I'll tell you--but it wasn't anything special. I did the same thing I've been doing since I started my holidays, which means I went for a walk in the sun, turned on the Christmas lights when I got home, played Christmas music, baked cookies, and drank hot tea. Plus, yesterday I tried a craft activity I saw on a YouTube video: I made a paper rose to put on a package. It turned out OK for a first-time thing, and I'll tell you how I did it if you send a self-addressed, stamped envelope and a check for $49.99. Oh, and I took out a holiday pin with a broken clasp that I've never worn and discovered that it also works as a necklace. It's nice and sparkly, too.
Today, it was more of the same. By chance, the sun came out from behind the clouds just as I was starting out on my walk, and it was a beautiful afternoon. I passed both holly and ivy, and I saw a lot of birds--it may have been my imagination, but it looked like they were enjoying the sunshine, too. I admired other people's Christmas decor and door decorations, and I drank some eggnog when I got back. I'm thinking about making another of those flower bows, but the first one was kind of small, so next time I'm going to use a saucepan to trace an outline instead of a mug.
That's about all I can suggest on mythologically sensitive ways to celebrate the season. Stay warm (with sweaters as opposed to a high thermostat setting), get outside as appropriate, maintain good hydration, be festive, and eat cookies. I've already mentioned that I like to mix holiday tunes with other music to keep everything fresh. I know people who can start with Christmas music full blast on December 1st and keep it going all through the month, but I like to sprinkle it around a bit as opposed to pouring it on.
If you're curious, I will tell you that I'm a traditionalist when it comes to Christmas songs. I like a lot of the crooners of my parents' generation, and I love those records that have a variety of artists on them. I have a few CDs that are sort of New Age- or World Music-inspired, and I have one with traditional songs done by (in some cases) non-traditional artists whose interpretations have a little bit of what I would call "edge"; those are interesting, and they get some rotation. But my favorites are in many instances "throwbacks" or people whose style hearkens back to what I might call a less cynical age.
I wouldn't be surprised if someone's reading this and thinking, "Oh, I like that kind of music, too, but if I showed up at someone's holiday party with a CD like that, they'd make fun of me! Everybody's so deconstructionist these days." Here's what you do: Just say, "Dang, I'm sorry, I left my Tom Waits hipster downer Christmas CD at home, but what I do have here is Michael Bublé." And be sure you turn it up . . . he and Thalia really rock Feliz Navidad, and everybody will be better for it. Sabe?
Friday, December 16, 2016
Deck the Halls Right
Well, my decorations are up, and there were no casualties except for some stray Styrofoam bits that had to be corralled. Unlike most of the other holidays, Christmas is one for which I do have a certain amount of decor, including lights, gingerbread houses, and snow globes. I even put my Christmas bulb nightlight up in the bathroom, and because I came across my snowflake throw pillow while looking for something else, even the bedroom got dressed up a little.
Before I put the tree up, I started thinking about decorations I thought I remembered owning but hadn't seen in a long time. For instance, did I or did I not at one time have a Neapolitan papier-mache angel that I bought from the Smithsonian catalog? I knew I remembered a white-robed angel tree topper that always sat a little awkwardly on the tree, but I thought perhaps I had thrown it away. Getting down the decorations is always a bit of a job, since they're packed away on closet shelves amidst shoe boxes and whatnot, but I decided to search as best I could to see if I could find any stray angels, though I had a feeling both were long gone, that the Neapolitan might have gotten broken, and the white angel might have fallen victim to a lack of space.
I didn't come across either of them, which seemed a shame, because I was in the mood to do something a little different with the top of the tree, but it didn't matter in the end. Once all the branches were laden, I had to admit that the silver butterfly sets off the other decorations nicely and is elegant without being overwhelming. I set up my Nativity scene, put a pine-scented candle out, and spent some time figuring out where to place the bric-a-brac around the room. It was fun afterward to sit down and admire everything with a cup of hot tea while some low-key Christmas music played on the stereo. (I purposely mix holiday CDs with non-seasonal music to keep from getting Christmas Carol Overload.)
I wasn't in a hurry to decorate because--as I think I've mentioned before--I've started leaving the tree up longer, usually throughout the month of January. After all, what else is it for but to add sparkle and cheer to winter nights, and why limit the fun to a few weeks around Christmas? Growing up, I always liked live trees, but as an adult I discovered the hassles involved in setting one up, keeping it fresh, and getting the decorations to stay on, so I'm living pretty happily with an artificial tree that's just the right size for the living room. And I'm glad I thought of the candle, because the scent of pine is the real smell of Christmas to me.
Now that the halls are decked, it's started to feel like the holidays have officially begun. I was in the store today and was pretty focused on remembering what I needed to get (well, I didn't actually need Ghirardelli chocolate, but after all, it's Christmas). I was surprised to see that the store had so few turkeys in the case, but I improvised and bought another brand. It never hurts to try something new. I read an article the other day that bemoaned how unhealthy eggnog is, but it was always a part of Christmas while I was growing up, and I figured a small carton couldn't hurt; you just want a taste of it anyway--you're not going to take a bath in it.
You would have seen me frowning over turkeys, circling the display of Lindt and Ghirardelli with a laser-like focus, and muttering, "There's no egg in this eggnog" while standing in front of the dairy case. I was startled out of preoccupation when someone passed me in a beautiful red coat that was somehow the exact color of Christmas and must have stirred some pleasant association that I can't quite place, because for a few seconds I felt like a kid again, watching from the crowd while my brother sang Christmas songs with his class at the mall and the air was alight with fun and Christmas magic. If I could have that feeling while shopping at the local grocery, there really must be such a thing as Christmas miracles.
Wonders never cease. And I've got eggnog, too (the kind with eggs).
Before I put the tree up, I started thinking about decorations I thought I remembered owning but hadn't seen in a long time. For instance, did I or did I not at one time have a Neapolitan papier-mache angel that I bought from the Smithsonian catalog? I knew I remembered a white-robed angel tree topper that always sat a little awkwardly on the tree, but I thought perhaps I had thrown it away. Getting down the decorations is always a bit of a job, since they're packed away on closet shelves amidst shoe boxes and whatnot, but I decided to search as best I could to see if I could find any stray angels, though I had a feeling both were long gone, that the Neapolitan might have gotten broken, and the white angel might have fallen victim to a lack of space.
I didn't come across either of them, which seemed a shame, because I was in the mood to do something a little different with the top of the tree, but it didn't matter in the end. Once all the branches were laden, I had to admit that the silver butterfly sets off the other decorations nicely and is elegant without being overwhelming. I set up my Nativity scene, put a pine-scented candle out, and spent some time figuring out where to place the bric-a-brac around the room. It was fun afterward to sit down and admire everything with a cup of hot tea while some low-key Christmas music played on the stereo. (I purposely mix holiday CDs with non-seasonal music to keep from getting Christmas Carol Overload.)
I wasn't in a hurry to decorate because--as I think I've mentioned before--I've started leaving the tree up longer, usually throughout the month of January. After all, what else is it for but to add sparkle and cheer to winter nights, and why limit the fun to a few weeks around Christmas? Growing up, I always liked live trees, but as an adult I discovered the hassles involved in setting one up, keeping it fresh, and getting the decorations to stay on, so I'm living pretty happily with an artificial tree that's just the right size for the living room. And I'm glad I thought of the candle, because the scent of pine is the real smell of Christmas to me.
Now that the halls are decked, it's started to feel like the holidays have officially begun. I was in the store today and was pretty focused on remembering what I needed to get (well, I didn't actually need Ghirardelli chocolate, but after all, it's Christmas). I was surprised to see that the store had so few turkeys in the case, but I improvised and bought another brand. It never hurts to try something new. I read an article the other day that bemoaned how unhealthy eggnog is, but it was always a part of Christmas while I was growing up, and I figured a small carton couldn't hurt; you just want a taste of it anyway--you're not going to take a bath in it.
You would have seen me frowning over turkeys, circling the display of Lindt and Ghirardelli with a laser-like focus, and muttering, "There's no egg in this eggnog" while standing in front of the dairy case. I was startled out of preoccupation when someone passed me in a beautiful red coat that was somehow the exact color of Christmas and must have stirred some pleasant association that I can't quite place, because for a few seconds I felt like a kid again, watching from the crowd while my brother sang Christmas songs with his class at the mall and the air was alight with fun and Christmas magic. If I could have that feeling while shopping at the local grocery, there really must be such a thing as Christmas miracles.
Wonders never cease. And I've got eggnog, too (the kind with eggs).
Thursday, December 8, 2016
Wordplay Answers Your Questions
"No question is too small."
Q. Am I imagining it, or are people in a more anxious mood these days? I notice that people around me seem antsier than usual. Could this reflect some type of archetypal shift, and if so, what does it portend? Signed, Just Wondering.
A. Wondering, I, too, have noticed an uptick in anxiety, although I'm not experiencing it myself. I think it's best to avoid being beset by other people's panic unless there is actual, demonstrable need (i.e., the house is on fire). As for archetypal shifts, I don't know about that. If you want to know what's bothering people, you'll have to ask them.
Q. As an aid to active imagination and to further my goal of self-actualization, I have acquired a spirit animal. I don't want to tell you what it is because I'm afraid that would cause a power diminishment and a breach of the psychic protection it affords me; however, it is a mammal. You may think it's silly, but channeling my spirit animal makes me feel stronger and more assertive, but for some reason, it doesn't work well under certain circumstances, such as when people around me are using cell phones or laptops. Can electronic devices interfere with spirit animals? Signed, Short But Stout.
A. Short But Stout, I doubt that electronics can interfere with spirit animals. I think your problem is one of scale: next time, channel a T Rex.
Q. I understand one of your sidelines is baking. My question has two parts: 1. Do you think about the mythic dimensions of what you're doing as you're baking? 2. My biscuits are tough. Do you have any advice for how I can improve them? Signed, Aspiring Boulanger.
A. Aspiring, when I bake, I usually think about what I'm doing, because if my mind wanders, I make mistakes. As for your biscuits, try spooning your flour into the measuring cup. And make sure your butter is cold when you blend it in.
Q. I have a problem with people who invade my space. For instance, I was studying in the library recently when someone sitting next to me kept bumping into my things and hanging on my shoulder while talking into her cell phone. You'd have thought we were good friends from the way she was acting, but I didn't know her. What should I do? Signed, Nymph in Distress.
A. Nymph, did you try kicking her?
Q. What?
A. Kick her. When someone assumes an attitude of intimacy that I do not share, I always try to let them know, for their benefit as well as mine. You don't have to kick her hard.
Q. I can't believe you said that.
A. Life is not a cotillion, Nymph.
Q. I have been invited to the White House to receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom. I am so excited by the honor and have been told that I might be asked to say a few words about what has inspired me in my life's work. You are actually one of my main inspirations, and I wonder if you can point me to a text that might supply some helpful mythic context for the occasion? Signed, Humble Yet Proud.
A. Dear Humble, I cannot help you, because if someone came to me talking about a Presidential Medal of Freedom or such claptrap as that, I would probably chase them off with a stick.
Q. You're not supposed to say things like that!
A. Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you wanted an honest answer.
Q. I have trouble meeting people and have been told that social skills are merely a question of practice. You seem so, I don't know, poised, and I know this is off the topic of mythology, but could you tell me what opening lines you use when you first meet people. It would help me so much. Signed, Wallflower.
A. Wallflower, the opening line I use most often is "Who the F are you?"
Q. I don't think you really mean that.
A. I do, though. And it doesn't have to be said out loud, although it can be.
Q. Well, you're just mean, aren't you?
A. Yes, I am.
Q. I got a splinter in my hand that I can't get out with tweezers. Can you suggest a remedy? Signed, Sore Finger.
A. Sore, good, I'm glad somebody asked that. I recently had the same problem and in researching the issue, discovered that some people swear by a paste made of baking soda and water covered with a bandage. However, I never got to try it since my splinter came out while I was doing the dishes. I don't know if it works or not.
Q. I was recently invited to Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen. I know they have rules of protocol, but beyond that, are there any particular colors that you think would be appropriate for an Athena-inspired female trying to combine Demeter qualities with a Zeus inflection? Signed, Wardrobe Challenged.
A. Wardrobe, you're trying to cause trouble, aren't you?
Q. Sometimes I feel like people are talking about me, even people I don't know, like celebrities on TV. I sometimes feel that someone has literally been looking over my shoulder and spying on me. I never used to feel this way. You won't believe this, but I know I'm in full possession of my faculties, so I suspect something strange is going on. Do you think this could be some type of government program? One hears so much about government overreach these days.
A. How long have you been feeling this way?
Q. I don't want a diagnosis, I only want to know what god or goddess might be present in all of this.
A. Is it just TV, or is it on the radio, too?
Q. You're not helping me at all. I just want to know what archetype--
A. Are you hearing voices, too?
Q. Stop it! I'm going to ask Oprah instead.
A. Wait, I have a bachelor's in psychology! I can help you!
Q. Am I imagining it, or are people in a more anxious mood these days? I notice that people around me seem antsier than usual. Could this reflect some type of archetypal shift, and if so, what does it portend? Signed, Just Wondering.
A. Wondering, I, too, have noticed an uptick in anxiety, although I'm not experiencing it myself. I think it's best to avoid being beset by other people's panic unless there is actual, demonstrable need (i.e., the house is on fire). As for archetypal shifts, I don't know about that. If you want to know what's bothering people, you'll have to ask them.
Q. As an aid to active imagination and to further my goal of self-actualization, I have acquired a spirit animal. I don't want to tell you what it is because I'm afraid that would cause a power diminishment and a breach of the psychic protection it affords me; however, it is a mammal. You may think it's silly, but channeling my spirit animal makes me feel stronger and more assertive, but for some reason, it doesn't work well under certain circumstances, such as when people around me are using cell phones or laptops. Can electronic devices interfere with spirit animals? Signed, Short But Stout.
A. Short But Stout, I doubt that electronics can interfere with spirit animals. I think your problem is one of scale: next time, channel a T Rex.
Q. I understand one of your sidelines is baking. My question has two parts: 1. Do you think about the mythic dimensions of what you're doing as you're baking? 2. My biscuits are tough. Do you have any advice for how I can improve them? Signed, Aspiring Boulanger.
A. Aspiring, when I bake, I usually think about what I'm doing, because if my mind wanders, I make mistakes. As for your biscuits, try spooning your flour into the measuring cup. And make sure your butter is cold when you blend it in.
Q. I have a problem with people who invade my space. For instance, I was studying in the library recently when someone sitting next to me kept bumping into my things and hanging on my shoulder while talking into her cell phone. You'd have thought we were good friends from the way she was acting, but I didn't know her. What should I do? Signed, Nymph in Distress.
A. Nymph, did you try kicking her?
Q. What?
A. Kick her. When someone assumes an attitude of intimacy that I do not share, I always try to let them know, for their benefit as well as mine. You don't have to kick her hard.
Q. I can't believe you said that.
A. Life is not a cotillion, Nymph.
Q. I have been invited to the White House to receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom. I am so excited by the honor and have been told that I might be asked to say a few words about what has inspired me in my life's work. You are actually one of my main inspirations, and I wonder if you can point me to a text that might supply some helpful mythic context for the occasion? Signed, Humble Yet Proud.
A. Dear Humble, I cannot help you, because if someone came to me talking about a Presidential Medal of Freedom or such claptrap as that, I would probably chase them off with a stick.
Q. You're not supposed to say things like that!
A. Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you wanted an honest answer.
Q. I have trouble meeting people and have been told that social skills are merely a question of practice. You seem so, I don't know, poised, and I know this is off the topic of mythology, but could you tell me what opening lines you use when you first meet people. It would help me so much. Signed, Wallflower.
A. Wallflower, the opening line I use most often is "Who the F are you?"
Q. I don't think you really mean that.
A. I do, though. And it doesn't have to be said out loud, although it can be.
Q. Well, you're just mean, aren't you?
A. Yes, I am.
Q. I got a splinter in my hand that I can't get out with tweezers. Can you suggest a remedy? Signed, Sore Finger.
A. Sore, good, I'm glad somebody asked that. I recently had the same problem and in researching the issue, discovered that some people swear by a paste made of baking soda and water covered with a bandage. However, I never got to try it since my splinter came out while I was doing the dishes. I don't know if it works or not.
Q. I was recently invited to Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen. I know they have rules of protocol, but beyond that, are there any particular colors that you think would be appropriate for an Athena-inspired female trying to combine Demeter qualities with a Zeus inflection? Signed, Wardrobe Challenged.
A. Wardrobe, you're trying to cause trouble, aren't you?
Q. Sometimes I feel like people are talking about me, even people I don't know, like celebrities on TV. I sometimes feel that someone has literally been looking over my shoulder and spying on me. I never used to feel this way. You won't believe this, but I know I'm in full possession of my faculties, so I suspect something strange is going on. Do you think this could be some type of government program? One hears so much about government overreach these days.
A. How long have you been feeling this way?
Q. I don't want a diagnosis, I only want to know what god or goddess might be present in all of this.
A. Is it just TV, or is it on the radio, too?
Q. You're not helping me at all. I just want to know what archetype--
A. Are you hearing voices, too?
Q. Stop it! I'm going to ask Oprah instead.
A. Wait, I have a bachelor's in psychology! I can help you!
Thursday, December 1, 2016
Essay on Color
I've been watching the news this week with interest, as I usually do, albeit it has been more entertaining than usual, with all the comings and goings at Trump Tower. Some people have been highly critical of the president-elect for creating such a spectacle with his pre-presidential planning and Cabinet interviews, but I've got to say that I personally have found it riveting. I don't mind a little flair, if that is someone's style, despite my own preference for low drama.
Before you remonstrate, I just want to point out that we've had any number of presidents-elect who've conducted their planning with absolutely complete fidelity to decorum who turned out to be duds once they actually inhabited the White House. So my thinking is, might not the reverse also be true: couldn't someone who colors outside the lines in the beginning (and possibly throughout) have more to offer than it appears? I don't know if this is the case, but I hope it is. I do know that I was laughing about reports that Mr. Trump spent Thanksgiving weekend asking people who they thought should be secretary of state. If that's not a true story, it ought to be.
In the face of all the hand-wringing, prognostications of disaster, CNN anchors practically in tears, and at least one Democratic senator having a conniption over a Trump advisor, I suppose you think the least I can do is offer some sort of mythic interpretation that helps make sense of the unfamiliar landscape we're in. The story that comes most vividly to mind with Mr. Trump is a Yoruba tale about Eshu, the divine trickster, who brought two neighbors to fisticuffs by walking between their fields wearing a vari-colored cap that looked different depending on which side you viewed it from. When the neighbors started fighting about the color of the cap, Eshu made sure to walk past them again going the opposite way, just to maximize confusion and ensure that they were hopping mad. *
You may be thinking, yes, well, it's always been obvious that Mr. Trump is a trickster, and we'll all be the worse for it. That may be, but Eshu, at least, is a character with a purpose: he creates discord in order to tear away the surface appearance of things and let the light of the divine shine through. Whether Mr. Trump has any similar designs or not is something we'll have to wait and see. You probably find the notion laughable, but I'm not altogether sure what he intends.
Since I've been a letdown to you on the Stop Trump front, maybe now you'll let me get on to what I really want to write about, which is what a glorious day it was today. Since we went back to Eastern Standard Time, I've been rearranging my days to get the full benefit of daylight as winter approaches. I went out for a walk in the middle of the afternoon one day last week and was stunned at how beautiful the light was. In this season and at that particular hour, it was so cool and clear that it looked like morning light.
Since then, I've been going out at various times and have seen the light at different angles. This afternoon it was like a holiday just to be out in the sun, to watch all those puffy clouds adrift in cerulean blue and to consider the colors of the trees, gone now to a more somber end of the spectrum in most cases but still stunning, with bursts of bright red and yellow punctuating the browns and russets. It's as if you got to the crayon box and someone had taken out the popular colors, the aquas and the violets and the hot pinks, and you were left with the burnt siennas, the ochers, and the chartreuses. If you stop and look, though, it's wonderful how well they look all mixed up together against a blue sky.
I thought a few weeks ago that it would be hard to beat the late afternoon light hitting the tops of the trees and turning them to flame at sunset, but taking walks at different times of the day has been a revelation. I've noticed a pair of trees that I've passed thousands of times without ever appreciating the unusual shade of red they exhibit, something that is only apparent in stronger light. I thought about it today and realized that it's like the color of ripe summer fruit, like fresh strawberries, a bit incongruous for December, maybe, but that's what it looks like. When the sun goes behind a cloud, the light goes flat and you don't see the colors at their best advantage. Being on foot, as opposed to driving by, also helps you slow down enough to appreciate the subtle beauty of the late fall to early winter transition.
I startled two robins down by the creek today and watched them flutter off. I passed maples and oaks, evergreens and hollies, magnolias and ginkgos and numerous others. I heard the wind in the leaves and spotted many nests in partially bare branches. I enjoyed the crisp air. I thought about the old saying, "In December, keep yourself warm and sleep." There's some wisdom to this, but there's also something to be gained by going out to meet the day, especially when it's as beautiful as today was. A little Vitamin D is never amiss, and you can always have hot chocolate afterward.
* (Source: "Legba and Eshu: Writers of Destiny" in Robert D. Pelton's The Trickster in West Africa: A Study of Mythic Irony and Sacred Delight)
Before you remonstrate, I just want to point out that we've had any number of presidents-elect who've conducted their planning with absolutely complete fidelity to decorum who turned out to be duds once they actually inhabited the White House. So my thinking is, might not the reverse also be true: couldn't someone who colors outside the lines in the beginning (and possibly throughout) have more to offer than it appears? I don't know if this is the case, but I hope it is. I do know that I was laughing about reports that Mr. Trump spent Thanksgiving weekend asking people who they thought should be secretary of state. If that's not a true story, it ought to be.
In the face of all the hand-wringing, prognostications of disaster, CNN anchors practically in tears, and at least one Democratic senator having a conniption over a Trump advisor, I suppose you think the least I can do is offer some sort of mythic interpretation that helps make sense of the unfamiliar landscape we're in. The story that comes most vividly to mind with Mr. Trump is a Yoruba tale about Eshu, the divine trickster, who brought two neighbors to fisticuffs by walking between their fields wearing a vari-colored cap that looked different depending on which side you viewed it from. When the neighbors started fighting about the color of the cap, Eshu made sure to walk past them again going the opposite way, just to maximize confusion and ensure that they were hopping mad. *
You may be thinking, yes, well, it's always been obvious that Mr. Trump is a trickster, and we'll all be the worse for it. That may be, but Eshu, at least, is a character with a purpose: he creates discord in order to tear away the surface appearance of things and let the light of the divine shine through. Whether Mr. Trump has any similar designs or not is something we'll have to wait and see. You probably find the notion laughable, but I'm not altogether sure what he intends.
Since I've been a letdown to you on the Stop Trump front, maybe now you'll let me get on to what I really want to write about, which is what a glorious day it was today. Since we went back to Eastern Standard Time, I've been rearranging my days to get the full benefit of daylight as winter approaches. I went out for a walk in the middle of the afternoon one day last week and was stunned at how beautiful the light was. In this season and at that particular hour, it was so cool and clear that it looked like morning light.
Since then, I've been going out at various times and have seen the light at different angles. This afternoon it was like a holiday just to be out in the sun, to watch all those puffy clouds adrift in cerulean blue and to consider the colors of the trees, gone now to a more somber end of the spectrum in most cases but still stunning, with bursts of bright red and yellow punctuating the browns and russets. It's as if you got to the crayon box and someone had taken out the popular colors, the aquas and the violets and the hot pinks, and you were left with the burnt siennas, the ochers, and the chartreuses. If you stop and look, though, it's wonderful how well they look all mixed up together against a blue sky.
I thought a few weeks ago that it would be hard to beat the late afternoon light hitting the tops of the trees and turning them to flame at sunset, but taking walks at different times of the day has been a revelation. I've noticed a pair of trees that I've passed thousands of times without ever appreciating the unusual shade of red they exhibit, something that is only apparent in stronger light. I thought about it today and realized that it's like the color of ripe summer fruit, like fresh strawberries, a bit incongruous for December, maybe, but that's what it looks like. When the sun goes behind a cloud, the light goes flat and you don't see the colors at their best advantage. Being on foot, as opposed to driving by, also helps you slow down enough to appreciate the subtle beauty of the late fall to early winter transition.
I startled two robins down by the creek today and watched them flutter off. I passed maples and oaks, evergreens and hollies, magnolias and ginkgos and numerous others. I heard the wind in the leaves and spotted many nests in partially bare branches. I enjoyed the crisp air. I thought about the old saying, "In December, keep yourself warm and sleep." There's some wisdom to this, but there's also something to be gained by going out to meet the day, especially when it's as beautiful as today was. A little Vitamin D is never amiss, and you can always have hot chocolate afterward.
* (Source: "Legba and Eshu: Writers of Destiny" in Robert D. Pelton's The Trickster in West Africa: A Study of Mythic Irony and Sacred Delight)
Thursday, November 24, 2016
Thanksgiving Unfolds
Thanksgiving is such a family-oriented holiday that I'll bet a lot of people can't imagine spending it alone. I've spent it both ways, and while it's great to be with other people, there are compensations to going solo that you may not have thought of. You can set the menu and have only the things you like; you can decide on the spur of the moment to have dinner in the evening, by candlelight, instead of in the afternoon; and there's no pressure to have everything done properly or on schedule. Someone seemed surprised the other day when I said I always cook on Thanksgiving, rain or shine, but to me that's the only part that's non-negotiable. Thanksgiving is about eating.
My holiday today unfolded in a leisurely way, though the menu was pre-planned and I had already been shopping. I made my pie last night, and again this year, I went with something I haven't had before. I have a recipe for something called "Colonial Innkeeper's Pie" that sounded like it would stand up to a few days in the refrigerator (something you have to think about if you're the only one eating it). It was a little more labor-intensive than just mixing up custard or fruit filling and putting it in a crust, but in a fun way. I was unsure what it would taste like, but any recipe that includes "And then pour chocolate over everything" as one of the final steps is bound to be worth the time.
If I'd thought about it, I would have made a pitcher of iced tea last night, but I got sidetracked by an impromptu oven cleaning session once the pie was baked. No problem. I made cranberry relish this afternoon and then made the tea while the relish was cooling on the stove. I even got a walk in after that, and it was pleasant in a mild, damp sort of way. Not many people out, but there were drifting leaves and birds singing here and there and all those autumn colors. Once I got back, I put the turkey in and started slicing potatoes and getting the other side dishes ready. About halfway through the turkey cooking time, I put the potatoes in the oven so that they and the turkey would be finished at the same time. That's about it except for setting the table and lighting the candles.
By now you're probably asleep, but believe me, if I could make it sound more exciting, I would. I'm sure nobody wants to talk about politics, and I heard that people who were planning family visits were coming up with strategies to avoid such discussions today in light of the contentious election season we've had. I'm with them on that. I neither read nor listened to any news today other than looking at a few headlines a little while ago after getting online. I thought about how to season the turkey, what to add to the dressing, and whether to have lima beans or peas, and that was it. I wasn't in a hurry but had things planned in my mind, and it all turned out well.
Well, you may be wondering, did you at least have any kind of a theme going, since you're a mythologist? The truth is, no, I didn't. I don't even have any Thanksgiving decor to speak of, except for a single glass goblet with autumn leaves on it that I used for my iced tea. I thought about hauling out my ceramic Halloween pumpkin and turning it backwards, but that hardly seemed worth the time; I considered gathering some autumn leaves and putting them in a vase, but it was too damp out. I do cook my turkey in a clay pot that kind of resembles something that might be found in the ruins of Pompeii and adds a slightly incongruous note to a Pilgrim meal, but that's about it. I hauled a small art glass lamp into the kitchen to supplement the candlelight and put on some quiet music, including a CD of medieval banquet music by the Newberry Consort.
You're wondering now about the pie. Well, it was very good, though different from what I was expecting, being more like a cake in a pie crust than a traditional pie. It was unusual and quite delicious--as was everything. I'm not sure if it's really similar to something a colonial innkeeper would have served; I tend to think chocolate may have been a luxury in those days and not something an innkeeper would have used as a matter of course, but I could be wrong. I'm not sure how much my meal resembled something the colonists would have eaten in any respect, but it doesn't matter. Enjoying what you have is what matters.
I did the dishes in stages, am still enjoying some music on the stereo, and have put my leftovers away. Not a single political argument to be had, I didn't have to watch football on TV, and no one offended me by not eating enough. That's it for Thanksgiving on my end, and I wish all you Pilgrims out there a happy holiday, wherever you may be.
My holiday today unfolded in a leisurely way, though the menu was pre-planned and I had already been shopping. I made my pie last night, and again this year, I went with something I haven't had before. I have a recipe for something called "Colonial Innkeeper's Pie" that sounded like it would stand up to a few days in the refrigerator (something you have to think about if you're the only one eating it). It was a little more labor-intensive than just mixing up custard or fruit filling and putting it in a crust, but in a fun way. I was unsure what it would taste like, but any recipe that includes "And then pour chocolate over everything" as one of the final steps is bound to be worth the time.
If I'd thought about it, I would have made a pitcher of iced tea last night, but I got sidetracked by an impromptu oven cleaning session once the pie was baked. No problem. I made cranberry relish this afternoon and then made the tea while the relish was cooling on the stove. I even got a walk in after that, and it was pleasant in a mild, damp sort of way. Not many people out, but there were drifting leaves and birds singing here and there and all those autumn colors. Once I got back, I put the turkey in and started slicing potatoes and getting the other side dishes ready. About halfway through the turkey cooking time, I put the potatoes in the oven so that they and the turkey would be finished at the same time. That's about it except for setting the table and lighting the candles.
By now you're probably asleep, but believe me, if I could make it sound more exciting, I would. I'm sure nobody wants to talk about politics, and I heard that people who were planning family visits were coming up with strategies to avoid such discussions today in light of the contentious election season we've had. I'm with them on that. I neither read nor listened to any news today other than looking at a few headlines a little while ago after getting online. I thought about how to season the turkey, what to add to the dressing, and whether to have lima beans or peas, and that was it. I wasn't in a hurry but had things planned in my mind, and it all turned out well.
Well, you may be wondering, did you at least have any kind of a theme going, since you're a mythologist? The truth is, no, I didn't. I don't even have any Thanksgiving decor to speak of, except for a single glass goblet with autumn leaves on it that I used for my iced tea. I thought about hauling out my ceramic Halloween pumpkin and turning it backwards, but that hardly seemed worth the time; I considered gathering some autumn leaves and putting them in a vase, but it was too damp out. I do cook my turkey in a clay pot that kind of resembles something that might be found in the ruins of Pompeii and adds a slightly incongruous note to a Pilgrim meal, but that's about it. I hauled a small art glass lamp into the kitchen to supplement the candlelight and put on some quiet music, including a CD of medieval banquet music by the Newberry Consort.
You're wondering now about the pie. Well, it was very good, though different from what I was expecting, being more like a cake in a pie crust than a traditional pie. It was unusual and quite delicious--as was everything. I'm not sure if it's really similar to something a colonial innkeeper would have served; I tend to think chocolate may have been a luxury in those days and not something an innkeeper would have used as a matter of course, but I could be wrong. I'm not sure how much my meal resembled something the colonists would have eaten in any respect, but it doesn't matter. Enjoying what you have is what matters.
I did the dishes in stages, am still enjoying some music on the stereo, and have put my leftovers away. Not a single political argument to be had, I didn't have to watch football on TV, and no one offended me by not eating enough. That's it for Thanksgiving on my end, and I wish all you Pilgrims out there a happy holiday, wherever you may be.
Thursday, November 17, 2016
What's Hubris Again?
Here in post-election America, life goes on, as it usually does, and Starbucks is filled with just as many earnest conversations conducted at ear-splitting levels as it was before. I don't know what compels people to believe that what they have to say is So Vitally Important as to override the rules of common civility, but there it is: that's what ear plugs are for. I've made liberal use of mine lately.
Even with all the hubbub at the coffeehouse this afternoon, I finished the book I was reading, Thomas Moore's The Soul's Religion, which I've been reading off and on for a while now. One of the book's themes is the author's idea of the importance of bringing religion and secular life together--not in the sense of imbuing society with the trappings of any particular faith but by way of encouraging people to cultivate a sense of connection to "all of life" through ordinary, purposeful living. In other words, the way to the sacred lies in everyday life.
Mr. Moore describes his complex relationship to Catholicism and his sense that organized religion best serves as a backup to a profoundly individual exploration of soul and spirituality. He touches several times on the point that institutions dedicated to serving people's spiritual needs are no more immune to hubris and misuse than any other endeavor; in fact, they have their own particular problems with overreach and abuse of power. I think Mr. Moore has more faith than I do in the positive effects of shared, communal religion, but he clearly sees the connection between over-reliance on authority and loss of authenticity and self-determination. He points out the special hazards that passive submission to institutional agents, strictures, and systems of belief can bring--spiritual leaders have their own brand of bullying that relies on people's faith to take advantage of them.
This discussion of the need to question the motives, methods, and effects of religious authority is important. I think it extends to all institutions, whether they are political, educational, medical, governmental, financial, or otherwise. Believing that matters affecting you are too complex for you to understand and that therefore someone else must know better is giving someone else too much power. Our society is set up to require participation from citizens. The ability to even form an opinion in the first place requires you to stay informed at at least a minimal level.
It may seem ironic that having said all this (and actually believing it), I was unable to pick a presidential candidate in this year's election, but not making a choice is also a decision. I'm familiar with the idea that it's often necessary to hold your nose and push one button or the other, but I have more sympathy now with the notion of withholding support as also being a powerful choice. Being uncommitted at the polls in no way negates the other citizen obligations of staying informed and holding those in power accountable.
I tend to distrust institutions, despite knowing that they're necessary and can accomplish good things. Big institutions accrue power, and power corrupts, as Lord Acton has told us. I'm often sorry to see someone I admire throw their hat into presidential politics because I think it takes an exceptional person to resist the temptations of the office (the same thing is true of all positions of high authority, of course, from senators to Cabinet officials). I think our system of government is a pretty good one, but as our country has grown from a young upstart into the most powerful nation in the world, the power it wields has grown exponentially, and the need to find the best people we can to wield that power is more important than it ever was. Not that we always succeed, or should expect that we will.
To go back to Mr. Moore's discussion of the Church, it's instructive to consider how a movement that began so simply, with one man who influenced others profoundly with his teachings, has grown into a huge hierarchy of enormous wealth, tremendous spiritual authority, and great temporal power. People will argue that such a structure is necessary to administer the Church's activities around the world, and that may be, but I'm always struck by the profound difference between what it started out to be and what it is now. There's something in the enormity of the institution that seems to work against the simplicity of the original teachings. If it essentially boils down to "Do Unto Others," then what's all the pomp and circumstance for?
Likewise, our government: It's "We, the people," right? I understand that we give symbolic weight to the rituals, procedures, ceremonies, buildings, and other accoutrements of our governmental institutions because they represent our society's important ideals, and I'm OK with that. A great idea like democratic society deserves a good display. But the display is never more important than the thing itself, and institutions that don't serve their purpose shouldn't be respected just because they wear the face of respectability. Are they living up to their ideals, more or less? That's all I want to know.
Speaking for myself, it's a relief to be done with robocalls, yard signs, and opinion masquerading as news (actually, I guess we're never free of that). The outcome has resulted in protests and a renewed discussion of the Electoral College, which is all to the good. The election itself was only the beginning of something new, and it ushered in at least one significant change: the president-elect has never held political office, and although he has headed a powerful organization, he's coming from the world of business (and entertainment), not the world of government. Many people have been wanting a change like this for a long time, even if Mr. Trump wouldn't have been their first choice, and it will be interesting to see how a business leader takes on the office of president. One thing you can say about Mr. Trump: he knows how to take center stage.
Even with all the hubbub at the coffeehouse this afternoon, I finished the book I was reading, Thomas Moore's The Soul's Religion, which I've been reading off and on for a while now. One of the book's themes is the author's idea of the importance of bringing religion and secular life together--not in the sense of imbuing society with the trappings of any particular faith but by way of encouraging people to cultivate a sense of connection to "all of life" through ordinary, purposeful living. In other words, the way to the sacred lies in everyday life.
Mr. Moore describes his complex relationship to Catholicism and his sense that organized religion best serves as a backup to a profoundly individual exploration of soul and spirituality. He touches several times on the point that institutions dedicated to serving people's spiritual needs are no more immune to hubris and misuse than any other endeavor; in fact, they have their own particular problems with overreach and abuse of power. I think Mr. Moore has more faith than I do in the positive effects of shared, communal religion, but he clearly sees the connection between over-reliance on authority and loss of authenticity and self-determination. He points out the special hazards that passive submission to institutional agents, strictures, and systems of belief can bring--spiritual leaders have their own brand of bullying that relies on people's faith to take advantage of them.
This discussion of the need to question the motives, methods, and effects of religious authority is important. I think it extends to all institutions, whether they are political, educational, medical, governmental, financial, or otherwise. Believing that matters affecting you are too complex for you to understand and that therefore someone else must know better is giving someone else too much power. Our society is set up to require participation from citizens. The ability to even form an opinion in the first place requires you to stay informed at at least a minimal level.
It may seem ironic that having said all this (and actually believing it), I was unable to pick a presidential candidate in this year's election, but not making a choice is also a decision. I'm familiar with the idea that it's often necessary to hold your nose and push one button or the other, but I have more sympathy now with the notion of withholding support as also being a powerful choice. Being uncommitted at the polls in no way negates the other citizen obligations of staying informed and holding those in power accountable.
I tend to distrust institutions, despite knowing that they're necessary and can accomplish good things. Big institutions accrue power, and power corrupts, as Lord Acton has told us. I'm often sorry to see someone I admire throw their hat into presidential politics because I think it takes an exceptional person to resist the temptations of the office (the same thing is true of all positions of high authority, of course, from senators to Cabinet officials). I think our system of government is a pretty good one, but as our country has grown from a young upstart into the most powerful nation in the world, the power it wields has grown exponentially, and the need to find the best people we can to wield that power is more important than it ever was. Not that we always succeed, or should expect that we will.
To go back to Mr. Moore's discussion of the Church, it's instructive to consider how a movement that began so simply, with one man who influenced others profoundly with his teachings, has grown into a huge hierarchy of enormous wealth, tremendous spiritual authority, and great temporal power. People will argue that such a structure is necessary to administer the Church's activities around the world, and that may be, but I'm always struck by the profound difference between what it started out to be and what it is now. There's something in the enormity of the institution that seems to work against the simplicity of the original teachings. If it essentially boils down to "Do Unto Others," then what's all the pomp and circumstance for?
Likewise, our government: It's "We, the people," right? I understand that we give symbolic weight to the rituals, procedures, ceremonies, buildings, and other accoutrements of our governmental institutions because they represent our society's important ideals, and I'm OK with that. A great idea like democratic society deserves a good display. But the display is never more important than the thing itself, and institutions that don't serve their purpose shouldn't be respected just because they wear the face of respectability. Are they living up to their ideals, more or less? That's all I want to know.
Speaking for myself, it's a relief to be done with robocalls, yard signs, and opinion masquerading as news (actually, I guess we're never free of that). The outcome has resulted in protests and a renewed discussion of the Electoral College, which is all to the good. The election itself was only the beginning of something new, and it ushered in at least one significant change: the president-elect has never held political office, and although he has headed a powerful organization, he's coming from the world of business (and entertainment), not the world of government. Many people have been wanting a change like this for a long time, even if Mr. Trump wouldn't have been their first choice, and it will be interesting to see how a business leader takes on the office of president. One thing you can say about Mr. Trump: he knows how to take center stage.
Thursday, November 10, 2016
After the Deluge
I'm writing a short post this week, because the only possible topic is the just-concluded presidential election, and I don't really want to write about it. A lot of people are still sorting through recent events, and I include myself in that number. After following the election closely for many months and reading news from a variety of different sources, trying hard to assess all the candidates, I found I was no more able to make a choice on Tuesday than I would have been a year and a half ago. I considered and re-considered Mrs. Clinton and Mr. Trump from many angles and decided in the end to refrain from voting; that is, I did vote, but it was only to turn in a blank ballot.
I know that adherents of both candidates have strong feelings about their party's standard-bearer; judging from the popular vote, about half of Americans are feeling very relieved and the other half very anxious right now. I have been quite critical of Mrs. Clinton in the past and found in the end that I still could not get past the trust issues I had with her. With Mr. Trump, I have been alternately bemused, bewildered, and annoyed, never able to decide for sure what his motivations might be but feeling that there was more to the situation than met the eye. To this date, I still don't have any answers to the riddle of Mr. Trump.
No theologian could have sorted--with a fine-tooth comb--the number of angels dancing on the head of a pin with more attention than I've paid to the political news. I made tentative assumptions, some of which were unorthodox, about nearly all of the candidates, or at least the major ones. I found that in some cases, while people seemed to be saying all the right things, I doubted their sincerity; in other cases, where I disagreed with people's positions, I liked them better as people. Apparently, this puts me in approximately the same situation as many other Americans, who either crossed party lines or voted reluctantly for one person simply because they disliked someone else much more.
I congratulate everyone who was able to make a choice; you're one up on me. I found that no matter how much I tried to account for the filters through which I was viewing information, I still couldn't come to a definite conclusion. The only thing I'm sure of is that a certain amount of skepticism is a healthy thing, even if you do manage to make a choice. I'm not saying that not making a choice is better. Obviously, someone has to be elected. Everyone, however, has to vote his or her conscience, and mine simply would not let me land on either side.
I know that adherents of both candidates have strong feelings about their party's standard-bearer; judging from the popular vote, about half of Americans are feeling very relieved and the other half very anxious right now. I have been quite critical of Mrs. Clinton in the past and found in the end that I still could not get past the trust issues I had with her. With Mr. Trump, I have been alternately bemused, bewildered, and annoyed, never able to decide for sure what his motivations might be but feeling that there was more to the situation than met the eye. To this date, I still don't have any answers to the riddle of Mr. Trump.
No theologian could have sorted--with a fine-tooth comb--the number of angels dancing on the head of a pin with more attention than I've paid to the political news. I made tentative assumptions, some of which were unorthodox, about nearly all of the candidates, or at least the major ones. I found that in some cases, while people seemed to be saying all the right things, I doubted their sincerity; in other cases, where I disagreed with people's positions, I liked them better as people. Apparently, this puts me in approximately the same situation as many other Americans, who either crossed party lines or voted reluctantly for one person simply because they disliked someone else much more.
I congratulate everyone who was able to make a choice; you're one up on me. I found that no matter how much I tried to account for the filters through which I was viewing information, I still couldn't come to a definite conclusion. The only thing I'm sure of is that a certain amount of skepticism is a healthy thing, even if you do manage to make a choice. I'm not saying that not making a choice is better. Obviously, someone has to be elected. Everyone, however, has to vote his or her conscience, and mine simply would not let me land on either side.
Thursday, November 3, 2016
Candy Corn Tea Candle
So Halloween has come and gone already, along with All Saints' and All Souls' days. Last year, I wrote about my perception that Halloween is largely centered on children in the United States and that adults, unless they like costume parties, are mostly relegated to the sidelines. Now, you may be thinking, "Well, she doesn't have kids, but she does have a mythology degree, so she probably does something spectacular like research hauntings or attend storytelling sessions in graveyards."
Here's what I actually did: I spent this Halloween much as I normally do, with maybe a tiny bit more flair. I'd been having so much fun with Halloween baking that I was inspired to decorate, too, which consisted of hunting down the little ceramic jack o'lantern I have in my kitchen cabinet and installing in it a candy corn-scented tea candle (bought on sale for 50 cents at the grocery store, and a bargain, too, because it still hasn't burned out).
The biggest quandary that night concerned my evening walk. It was a mild, summery day, and I was torn between a wish to soak up some late afternoon sun and an interest in waiting a little later to see the neighborhood's Halloween lights to better advantage. I ended up going earlier rather than later, deciding it was better to leave the sidewalks to the trick-or-treaters who would probably be emerging around six o'clock. As it was, I encountered one early group of tots in full regalia shepherded by several adults, which brought back memories of how much fun I had at that age. While I'm sure I wasn't having as exciting a time as they were, I was pretty happy just to be walking around on such a splendid evening, under a golden sky and trees on fire with yellow and orange leaves.
Then I had monkey bread for dinner. This is an autumnal delicacy that consists of sausage, cooked apples, cheddar cheese, and diced-up biscuit dough all tumbled together; it reminds me of a party appetizer a friend used to make, except that it's a main dish (I had vegetables, too, like a responsible adult). After dinner, I took a glass of milk and a plate of cookies to the living room, lit the tea candle, and turned on the stereo. I don't have any Halloween music, but I mixed some classical and folk music together. I have Vivaldi's The Four Seasons and I have Tchaikovsky, and though the Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture has nothing to do with Halloween, it's passionate and fiery and seemed to set the right tone. I also lit a candle in my metal candle holder with the crescent moon and star cutouts (bought years ago in a North Carolina mountain town). I have a few battery-operated candles, too, and turned some of those on so that I was sitting partly in lamplight and partly in candlelight. When the music was finished, I went to bed.
All in all, it was a pleasant evening. If you're wondering where the extra flair came in, I would say it was probably in even thinking to put candles out and in trying for a little atmospheric music, in small touches of Halloween spirit rather than in trying to go all out. As an adult, I've been to costume parties and corn mazes and even to a haunted house (once, in college). I have never found that any of those activities measured up to the fun of Halloween in childhood, so I'm content to leave the field to the kids. As long as they're happy, I'm happy.
Here's what I actually did: I spent this Halloween much as I normally do, with maybe a tiny bit more flair. I'd been having so much fun with Halloween baking that I was inspired to decorate, too, which consisted of hunting down the little ceramic jack o'lantern I have in my kitchen cabinet and installing in it a candy corn-scented tea candle (bought on sale for 50 cents at the grocery store, and a bargain, too, because it still hasn't burned out).
The biggest quandary that night concerned my evening walk. It was a mild, summery day, and I was torn between a wish to soak up some late afternoon sun and an interest in waiting a little later to see the neighborhood's Halloween lights to better advantage. I ended up going earlier rather than later, deciding it was better to leave the sidewalks to the trick-or-treaters who would probably be emerging around six o'clock. As it was, I encountered one early group of tots in full regalia shepherded by several adults, which brought back memories of how much fun I had at that age. While I'm sure I wasn't having as exciting a time as they were, I was pretty happy just to be walking around on such a splendid evening, under a golden sky and trees on fire with yellow and orange leaves.
Then I had monkey bread for dinner. This is an autumnal delicacy that consists of sausage, cooked apples, cheddar cheese, and diced-up biscuit dough all tumbled together; it reminds me of a party appetizer a friend used to make, except that it's a main dish (I had vegetables, too, like a responsible adult). After dinner, I took a glass of milk and a plate of cookies to the living room, lit the tea candle, and turned on the stereo. I don't have any Halloween music, but I mixed some classical and folk music together. I have Vivaldi's The Four Seasons and I have Tchaikovsky, and though the Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture has nothing to do with Halloween, it's passionate and fiery and seemed to set the right tone. I also lit a candle in my metal candle holder with the crescent moon and star cutouts (bought years ago in a North Carolina mountain town). I have a few battery-operated candles, too, and turned some of those on so that I was sitting partly in lamplight and partly in candlelight. When the music was finished, I went to bed.
All in all, it was a pleasant evening. If you're wondering where the extra flair came in, I would say it was probably in even thinking to put candles out and in trying for a little atmospheric music, in small touches of Halloween spirit rather than in trying to go all out. As an adult, I've been to costume parties and corn mazes and even to a haunted house (once, in college). I have never found that any of those activities measured up to the fun of Halloween in childhood, so I'm content to leave the field to the kids. As long as they're happy, I'm happy.
Friday, October 28, 2016
Idylls and Loss
I spent this last week reading Richard Llewellyn's novel, How Green Was My Valley. I seem to remember it being included on a reading list in one of my high school English classes, but I was never drawn to it. The title seemed to suggest a certain degree of sentimentality, and indeed "sentimentalizing" is one of the charges laid against it, along with misrepresentation of Welsh life and an insular outlook on certain topics. What I think it does most memorably is present a portrait of a close-knit family, and that was what sustained my interest. Regardless of any of its shortcomings, I wanted to find out what would happen to the people.
This is an instance of a book that doesn't deal overtly with mythological characters but has at its center a mythic theme, the loss of paradise. The narrator mentions Adam and Eve and the expulsion from the garden several times, seeing in that story the source and foreshadowing of his own early experiences with sexuality. This narrator, Huw Morgan, the youngest son in a family of nine children, recognizes the loss of innocence that comes with the first fumbling knowledge of adulthood, but the entire novel is preoccupied with the archetype of loss.
From repeated descriptions of the ways in which the valley's beauty is being eroded by growing slag heaps to the narrator's experience of adulthood not being quite what he had bargained for to the eventual parting of the ways of family members, the novel is full of reminders of an original state of grace that can't be sustained. Early in the story, various family members, particularly the boys, leave home only to return, or if they go for good, don't go far, perhaps to the next valley or the farm over the mountain. When several of the boys, at odds with their father over their views on unionizing, leave the house to take lodgings down the road (followed by their younger sister), the episode becomes a poignant illustration of the mother's role in holding the family together. Eventually, though, forces of change in the valley, along with the characters' own inner callings, break up the idyllic home life.
Much of the novel is taken up with accounts of Huw's education, both at home and at school. The family has high hopes for the future of their intellectually gifted youngest son, and there is an assumption that he will eventually win a scholarship and go off to university. I have to admit to feeling disappointed in Huw when he decided to follow his father into the colliery. While various family members and friends try to dissuade Huw from becoming a miner, his mother is all in favor of keeping him at home. At that point, I confess, the warm family life started to feel a bit claustrophobic, despite my liking for the characters. My assumption (which would be shared by most readers, I think) was that Huw would leave home to become something else and return as a teacher, a doctor, or a man of letters. But even his fateful decision does not stave off the changes that economic forces, disappointed love, and death eventually bring to the family.
Is the novel a tragedy? Yes, probably, but only in the same way all family stories are. The novel made me think about a conversation I had with my aunt about how connected our family used to seem when my grandparents were still alive and how far apart everyone has grown since then (I'm not talking about an idyllic family, just one that got together regularly). She told me that the death of parents had the power to change relationships among even the closest siblings, something I wasn't quite sure I agreed with. The story of the Morgans, however, illustrates ways in which separation is inevitable and possibly even desirable. Whether the Morgan children leave the valley to pursue their dreams, find their fortunes, or merely to flee thwarted hopes, they're now in a position to begin new stories of their own.
Huw acknowledges that his brothers were right to leave the valley before tensions among the miners intensified, tensions in which they would undoubtedly have been caught up had they remained. Perhaps the breaking of family ties provides some insulation for those who have begun to build new lives elsewhere. Or perhaps not--for a family as close as the Morgans, there would be no forgetting their early happiness, especially if their later lives proved disappointing. About individual fates, however, the end of the novel is largely silent.
I have wondered sometimes whether or not an idyllic family life, if there is such a thing, is an advantage or a disadvantage. Sometimes it seems to me that having a less-than-ideal home life might actually be helpful in some ways, making the inevitable break with home easier. Perhaps most people, regardless of the kind of family life they've had, are happy to leave home when their time comes, and the Morgans are an exception. I've never known a family quite like them, though certain aspects of their story seemed familiar. I remember big family meals, with everyone crowded around the table, and good food.
Aside from that, I'd still like to see Wales, regardless of whether there are any Morgans there or not. Apparently, it is still quite green and is still fertile ground for myths and legends of all kinds, as it has been for centuries.
This is an instance of a book that doesn't deal overtly with mythological characters but has at its center a mythic theme, the loss of paradise. The narrator mentions Adam and Eve and the expulsion from the garden several times, seeing in that story the source and foreshadowing of his own early experiences with sexuality. This narrator, Huw Morgan, the youngest son in a family of nine children, recognizes the loss of innocence that comes with the first fumbling knowledge of adulthood, but the entire novel is preoccupied with the archetype of loss.
From repeated descriptions of the ways in which the valley's beauty is being eroded by growing slag heaps to the narrator's experience of adulthood not being quite what he had bargained for to the eventual parting of the ways of family members, the novel is full of reminders of an original state of grace that can't be sustained. Early in the story, various family members, particularly the boys, leave home only to return, or if they go for good, don't go far, perhaps to the next valley or the farm over the mountain. When several of the boys, at odds with their father over their views on unionizing, leave the house to take lodgings down the road (followed by their younger sister), the episode becomes a poignant illustration of the mother's role in holding the family together. Eventually, though, forces of change in the valley, along with the characters' own inner callings, break up the idyllic home life.
Much of the novel is taken up with accounts of Huw's education, both at home and at school. The family has high hopes for the future of their intellectually gifted youngest son, and there is an assumption that he will eventually win a scholarship and go off to university. I have to admit to feeling disappointed in Huw when he decided to follow his father into the colliery. While various family members and friends try to dissuade Huw from becoming a miner, his mother is all in favor of keeping him at home. At that point, I confess, the warm family life started to feel a bit claustrophobic, despite my liking for the characters. My assumption (which would be shared by most readers, I think) was that Huw would leave home to become something else and return as a teacher, a doctor, or a man of letters. But even his fateful decision does not stave off the changes that economic forces, disappointed love, and death eventually bring to the family.
Is the novel a tragedy? Yes, probably, but only in the same way all family stories are. The novel made me think about a conversation I had with my aunt about how connected our family used to seem when my grandparents were still alive and how far apart everyone has grown since then (I'm not talking about an idyllic family, just one that got together regularly). She told me that the death of parents had the power to change relationships among even the closest siblings, something I wasn't quite sure I agreed with. The story of the Morgans, however, illustrates ways in which separation is inevitable and possibly even desirable. Whether the Morgan children leave the valley to pursue their dreams, find their fortunes, or merely to flee thwarted hopes, they're now in a position to begin new stories of their own.
Huw acknowledges that his brothers were right to leave the valley before tensions among the miners intensified, tensions in which they would undoubtedly have been caught up had they remained. Perhaps the breaking of family ties provides some insulation for those who have begun to build new lives elsewhere. Or perhaps not--for a family as close as the Morgans, there would be no forgetting their early happiness, especially if their later lives proved disappointing. About individual fates, however, the end of the novel is largely silent.
I have wondered sometimes whether or not an idyllic family life, if there is such a thing, is an advantage or a disadvantage. Sometimes it seems to me that having a less-than-ideal home life might actually be helpful in some ways, making the inevitable break with home easier. Perhaps most people, regardless of the kind of family life they've had, are happy to leave home when their time comes, and the Morgans are an exception. I've never known a family quite like them, though certain aspects of their story seemed familiar. I remember big family meals, with everyone crowded around the table, and good food.
Aside from that, I'd still like to see Wales, regardless of whether there are any Morgans there or not. Apparently, it is still quite green and is still fertile ground for myths and legends of all kinds, as it has been for centuries.
Friday, October 21, 2016
File This One Under "Hestia"
Have you ever asked yourself: I wonder what a mytho-writer does in her spare time? Well, I can answer that. There's not that much going on this week, except that I have been having lots of fun with my Halloween cookie pan. For the last few years, I've made gingerbread at Halloween, but this year, I wanted something different. Just as I got tired of pumpkin pie a few years ago, I've grown a little weary of gingerbread cookies after enjoying them for several years. As an alternative, I hunted around on the Internet for a ginger snap recipe and recently found one that sounded like it would work in my cookie pan.
The recipe I decided on calls for freshly cracked black pepper, which I think is probably the key ingredient in giving the cookies the right amount of heat. They were nice and crunchy, too. Oh, I parceled them out over a period of days, but I finally finished them off last night, and since today was rainy and cool, I decided more cookie-making was in order. Tonight, I mixed up a batch of Chocolate Sweet Hearts (described here, in rapturous tones, in a previous post) and pressed it gently into my Halloween molds; I'm happy to say the cookies came out lovely without benefit of cooking spray. They popped out of that pan chocolate-y and perfect as you please, cheerful little ghosties and haunted houses and bats, and were just great as an after-dinner treat with milk (as were the ginger snaps). I have been excited to discover that I can do without cooking spray, as that is one less thing to buy (a frugal baker is a happy baker).
Other than that, I braved the rain to take the trash out and check the mail (I told you not much was going on). For that, I had to put on my rain cape, which hasn't gotten much use this year. For a long time, I kept forgetting it was reversible, but tonight, in honor of the season, I turned it inside out so that the black was showing on the outside and the red became an accent visible only inside the hood. It occurred to me that it might do as a witch's cape if I needed a Halloween costume, but since I don't plan to dress up, I'll just have to be on the lookout for rainy days. If you see me coming in it, don't worry (or if to worry, not to worry unduly, as Katharine Hepburn's assistant used to say). If I have any magic, it's mostly the little domestic type that helps out in the kitchen and on cleaning days.
I will also admit to getting a kick this afternoon out of a photo feature I saw on the Internet of various pets dressed up in Halloween costumes. It looked like some of them had submitted to it more graciously than others, and some of the outfits were a little cringe-worthy (like the "dog-being-eaten by an alligator" costume), but it was all in good fun, I think. A week or two ago, I saw another photo essay of the type that usually appears around this time of year, candid photos of groups of people taken as they passed through a haunted house attraction. One feels more inclined to laugh at grown-up people looking really, really silly than at little animals looking bored, so I did, I laughed until I almost fell off the couch. The pictures were that good. (If I were goofy enough to go through a haunted house, I'm sure I'd look silly, too.)
Well, getting back to the cookies--today's Chocolate Ghoulies won't last forever, so I'll probably end up getting out the pan for another batch of something before Halloween. I don't know whether it will be ginger snaps again, or chocolate chip shortbread, or something else, but I've got all the molasses and cocoa and brown sugar and eggs I need and am pretty much ready for anything with a reasonable ratio of fat and calories to deliciousness. You may be thinking, gosh, you must be popular in your building, with all those good baking smells. Do you ever give any of those cookies away?
Well, bless your heart! Where have you been? The answer is no, of course not. Are you kidding me? Neighbors like these, and you think I'd be giving them cookies? A kick in the pants, maybe, but never cookies. If you'd like to take them under your wing, you're more than welcome to pick up the lot and cart them off. It would improve the surroundings immensely. I'm too busy looking for recipes that don't use shortening, considering pie options, and trying to keep my apartment clean. And treating the occasional water stain, of course.
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