A Bath and a Glass of Wine

The latter, of course, is a much more guilty pleasure than the first. To be precise, it was more like half a glass of wine. Really, it could have been a better glass of wine. It is one of the Spanish reds that we return to occasionally--Sangre de Torro, a granacha-carineña blend from Catalonia. Vintage is 2004. But I found it uncharacteristically sweet, and the "bite" that I like in a good red was delayed, and further back in the throat than I expected. I like the "bite" to hit more on the tongue. Oddly, it almost tasted like it wanted to become a dessert wine, but hadn't been given the opportunity to do so. I like the granacha (or grenache), but my favorite red is a tempranillo. And my favorite tempranillo right now is Borsao (tempranillo-granacha, actually), which has displaced the Marques de Caceres in our preference (possibly because the vitange we enjoyed is now a reserve!--which happens, I guess, in time. . .). Nevertheless, the effect was a nice one--very calming. Clearly, I don't believe that a small amount of alcohol while pregnant is dangerous. And I so rarely drink wine, don't like beer that much (although I have had a few sips throughout the pregnancy), and drink harder things fewer than once a year, that there is no danger of overindulgence.

I believe wholeheartedly in the wonders of baths, quite separate from mere cleanliness, as I believe I have mentioned at the end of a previous post, as well as in a comment on DarwinCatholic. I am particularly of bubble baths, though I find that adults are supposed to indulge, instead, in fragranced bath "soaks," moisturizing bath "oils," and all manner of other non-foamy perfumed bath experiences that are inferior at best. I have the additional problem that, while I love all manner of bath products, I live in a household with allergy sufferers, and increasingly, with pregnancy especially, highly perfumed bath products irritate my nose also (I attribute this to an increase in the perfume content of the products). When my husband & I were dating, we frequented Bath & Body Works; he is unable to set foot in the place now for fear of an assault on his sinuses. :( I entered alone yesterday however (and he eventually joined me), unable to resist their semi-annual sale. I was able to pick up some more natural products from Couvent des Minimes and C. O. Bigelow, as well as (my personal favorite of yesterday's purchases) a wonderful fragrance that I discovered in their aromatherapy line--Sandalwood Rose. It is a gentle sandalwood that actually reminds me of a certain blend of incense that our former pastor favored for feast days, and it creates a wonderful sense of calm. I found not only a shower gel, but that rare item--a "foaming bath"! I will relish this discovery, and I will sleep well tonight.

Worried about the Daughter

Not physically, don't worry. . . But I worry constantly, as I have from the beginning, that for her to have an additional sibling so young will be damaging to her emotionally. I imagine her feeling brushed aside, resenting the new baby, wanting my attention all the more when the new one arrives. She will be a month over 2 yrs, mas o menos.

The anxiety has waxed and waned over the past 5 1/2 months or so, but is peaking. She has become extremely clingy--wanting me and only me when we are home--especially over the past few weeks. Now, we have moved recently. I don't know if that has anything to do with it. Also, rather than teaching only twice a week like I did in the spring and fall, I am teaching every day--delayed separation anxiety?? She has never been so clingy. She sometimes grabs my legs and repeats "momma, momma" or the more recent "mommy, mommy" and won't let me move. She frequently shoos my husband away when he tries to rock her to sleep--a very recent development!!--or even when he tries holding her! This is, of course, worse when she is cranky. Tonight, she made herself gag and choke--very, very scary--from crying when my husband took her off of my lap (under protest) to rock her to sleep! (They didn't get very far, and even when I took her, she had a difficult time regaining her composure.) Granted, she was crankier than usual around nap and meal times, but this is very disturbing behavior. I am seriously concerned about the trauma that a 2-3 day (depending on the length of labor) will cause her in October/November. Especially since we may not have any relatives left in town by then to watch her! Just one more thing to worry about. I think I had just read about a woman who had an extended hospital stay because of postpartum psychosis and the affect it had on her older daughter when I had the "fatal bee sting" dream I mentioned earlier. I guess it's good that I have 3 1/2 or so months to deal with this because I just can't handle it right now.

An interesting thing is that, though she has been weaned completely for 3 months or so, she still seems to remember nursing, and in recent--well, days, actually--she has been increasing nuzzling, lifting my shirt, and other behavior that suggests a desire to nurse. Not that she really remembers what to do, mind you. . . I dread seeing how she will react when the new baby nurses. It can only be a sticky situation that I certainly won't want to face as I'm facing the already-difficult first weeks of nursing a newborn!! But I can't possibly not nurse the new one. Such an omission would be a clear act of neglect as compared to the previous 2. I already fear not being as attentive to #3 as I was/have been to #1 and #2.

My daughter has a beautiful personality, but is becoming increasingly willful and throws increasingly violent tantrums. Could she possibly tell that something's up? We have talked about a new baby, could she be anxious? Is she picking up on my anxiety? She has been the center of my anxieties since she was conceived--perhaps because she was the one we really "tried" for. It's odd. . . It's as if I've got more emotionally invested in her, though when I think back to how I felt about my first, that's not really true, of course. The difference is not quantitative--it's not a question of feeling more, but of feeling different(ly). And yet I somehow fear that I do--and will--feel less for the new one. But I tell myself that it can't be, because she (?), too, (the new one) will be my baby.

Perhaps I should stop thinking about it and go read some more horrible news stories. Or write a dissertation. Or grade papers. Or put the daughter in her bed, as she's been sleeping on my lap since a few minutes after the gagging on saliva incident. . .

The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters. . .

With apologies to Francisco Goya. . .

I have mentioned subtly, in recent posts, the presently absent dissertation director, his vacation, and the his expectation that I will have something brilliant to produce for him upon his return in the second or so week of July (at which point I will show him the ultrasound picture and inform him that it was all the brilliance I had energy for this month!). The course doesn't count because it is the unpaid work that is regarded as the true work--and no, I'm not talking about motherhood, here! I actually had my M.A. thesis adviser tell my one summer that I should just "tighten my belt" and complete the thesis without working. Luckily, the dissertation director is more practical and understanding to a degree, though I did learn, quite by accident, that around the same week he found out that I was pregnant, he told another grad student, by her account, "just don't get pregnant. Don't get married and don't get pregnant." Great.

I suppose the emphasis on the work of research over "paid" work is to prepare us for the tenure-track position--when and if that ever happens. But I won't dwell on that possibility--or lack thereof. I find it even more paralyzing an anxiety than the "how am I going to handle 3 children at the same time without losing my sanity and get anything else accomplished" anxiety. And let's not even mention the "how am I going to teach as a post-doc or lecturer on that limited salary and afford to pay student loans and pay for childcare for 2 children so that I can actually have the time to teach" anxiety. But evidently the "what happens when the dissertation director returns" anxiety has festered in the subconscious and is making its presence known through dreams:

I dreamt that my dissertation director, whom I really like--don't get me wrong!--and who is an avid and accomplished guitar player (from whom I have had a few lessons--he even played at our Convalidation!!), not only had surgery on one of his hands, but also received a horrible, deep injury--a slash several inches log that "grazed the bone," in the language of the dream--on the opposite forearm. When I encountered him (in the context of the dream), he was rehabilitating the hand and arm by practicing the guitar, at which time I also learned that he was in danger of being stung by deadly bees, and the local hospitals were out of the anti-venom (bee anti-venom???). This is not your typical pregnant-mother-dream, but is disturbing in its agression. Is this what guilt does to us??

The bee motif is interesting, since I dreamt two or so nights ago that my daughter had received a fatal bee sting for which there was no antidote. :( I returned to sleep and had a similarly bad dream involving my husband. Those felt more like pregnancy dreams--anxiety about family.

Perhaps writing about it will get it out of my system--though I suspect that finding time to write the dissertation would be more therapeutic!

Liars, Liars

Sometimes it really sucks to be the teacher. And these are the times when it's nice to have technology that you can rely on.

It's the last week of class, and I have a fairly good rapport with most of my 10 students. We have just finished a productive discussion of Invisible Cities, which, I believe, has caused them to exercise their brais more than is usual in a 200-level literature course. Yay for me.

As one part of their overall grades--15%, I think--I have them writing weekly journals on the work or works that we will be discussing during the upcoming week. These are to be submitted to our course management system--Moodle--as online writings before the Monday of each week, unless otherwise specified. There are 5 weeks of class and 4 Mondays, so there have been 4 journal assignments--each worth 25 points, or 1/4 of 15% of their final grades. This can literally determine a letter-grade and a half. So today I walk into class a bit late to the news that the class's journal assignments are, to quote a student, "floating around cyberspace," having been mysteriously "lost" after submission. There were a couple of other interesting claims, like "there was no submit button" (duh--there wouldn't be after the assignment deadline has passed!) and a couple of wide-eyed stares and random nods. Now, the only reason I entertained this story at all is that last semester, Moodle would sometimes log people out as they tried to submit their journal entries, causing data to be lost.

So this evening I received an email reminder of an appointment with one of the students that clued me in to the discussion that preceded my entry into the classroom, in which most of those present admitted that they didn't know when this week's journal was due (duh--see the syllabus). Can I give extra credit for honesty?

When I logged in to Moodle tonight, after seeing that 3 students had, indeed, submitted their journals successfully, I remembered that as the teacher, I could actually track student activity on Moodle--not just login, but which activities had been viewed and/or completed by each student. Guess what? The only students who had viewed the journal assignment after it was posted by me were those who had successfully submitted the assignment. And I told them so.

Maternal Spirituality, contd.

Okay, so I started to write a really long comment in response to the recent posts from Melanie and Mrs. Darwin, but the more I wrote, the more I began to feel that a new post was in order. The suggestions provided by Melanie and others are great--very solid suggestions, some of which, like praying with the little ones, are things I do. It is nice to hear from Entropy that she, too, feels guilty for getting distracted! And nice to hear about the "selectiveness" of blogs, which I did realize on some level, but there is such a feeling of unmodified reality on some blogs (the ones that I read are like this, but I know more "artificial" blogs exist), that it's easy to get lured in and assume that the serene spirituality of Catholic mommy bloggers is the norm rather than the impression gained from highlights!! C's mention of praying for ourselves instead of others was amusing, especially since there have been real occasions when having someone tell me that they would "pray for me" was rather grating--mostly because of how it was said and my own experiences in Protestant churches when I was younger. My newer religious friends (on and off of blogs) have helped me to see the difference between the judgmental prayer offers and those that proceed from a sincere heart (not that I can tell the difference always, but I do know that having a teacher at a Catholic school say that she will pray for you & your family after a dispute about how she has wrongly insinuated that your child was rude is not appropriate!). I have to admit that Entropy's comment about the VBS teacher raised an eyebrow because I wonder sometimes in what spirit people share their prayer intentions. . . But that comes from a cynical place, and we don't want to go there! I definitely appreciate Melanie's analysis of the Our Father, which draws attention to the neediness of that prayer. While I had certainly thought about the words and heard a wonderful homily once on the meaning behind the imagery in a daily campus mass, I had not really thought about it as asking for things for ourselves. If only these were the main things we asked for! I try to focus on the "Thy will be done" part to the exclusion of the actual things I desire, and it's not always easy. Especially since I doubt my impressions of what I think I "need." This makes me think again of "Et tu, Jen?" who, I believe, has posted on the "need" vs. "want" question, but more in the first fervor of conversion spirit rather than from the place where I now find myself.

But I reintroduced this topic in a new post because I want to come back to the issue that Mrs. Darwin picks up on: just not knowing where to fit everything in a day! It sounds easy--or at least, it sounds like it should be easy--or at least, it sounds like it should be the focus of our daily activities, but really, it's extremely difficult, and difficult to make the time. Like Mrs. D, I do sometimes pray a quick prayer when something strikes me during the day--especially anxiety! I like the praying for the time to pray suggestion, but another issue for me is something I only briefly touch on in the original post--the location. Specifically, I mentioned Mass at the end of my post. Prayer before Mass always seems the most natural and least self-conscious to me. Like I said--it's really the solitude I seem to be missing lately, and without the space and time to think, I just can't feel spiritually satisfied. That's where the question about maternal spirituality comes in--is it necessarily cluttered by things and events and shared with others? What I seem to be hearing in other mothers' experiences is yes. Before my daughter was born, I relished the daily Mass on campus. But all of the times I tried to attend daily Mass when she was younger were abysmal failures. The interesting thing, too, about going to the daily Mass by myself before she was born is that everyone else was safely squared away--my husband was teaching or working (depending on the job), my son was at school. Those were the places where they belonged and I didn't feel the need to be spending time with them--or, more accurately, the want, since I'm with them more because I want to be than because of a sense of obligation!! So I was able to spend this prayerful 25 min. or so twice a week.

Interestingly, what I'm describing is not unlike not being able to find the time to write poetry. The last time I wrote poetry was when I was taking a class, and then I generally wrote the poems the day they were to be workshopped in class. Poetry writing, at least for me, proceeds from the solitude in a given day--the ability to consciously look at the day, it's events, its images, put them together using experiences from the past or present in language that departs from ordinary daily experience and makes us see those experiences differently. I guess something similar is the rationale for this blog, really--to take daily experiences and try to see them differently, to add a little bit of analysis to the events of a given day or week. It somehow requires less solitude to write analytic prose than to write poetry or to pray (and I seem to be seeing those two as somehow analogous). Writing poetry usually made me want to get beyond myself and see things more objectively, which isn't quite the same as what I've been saying about prayer (at least the "objective" part), though getting beyond myself is also a goal for prayer. On the other hand, most of my most successful poems were the deeply self-conscious ones. I think I have exhausted this comparison, however! I can put aside poetry writing indefinitely, even though there is a poem that I began writing shortly after my conversion that I want to finish someday. . . I had a professor who once made the observation that women rarely continue writing poetry after they become mothers because they feel fulfillment and no longer need to write poetry (!). She was a wonderful woman, and this likely says more about her own attitude toward motherhood (she became a mother very late in life) than about female poets!! I think that the reason behind the phenomenon she mentions is simply not being able to find the time for contemplation! (or perhaps not having a suitable space) Which brings me back, in a rather circuitous way, to my subject.

How much of spirituality is determined by the meeting of personal preference (that is, busy-ness vs. quiet contemplation) and opportunity (time and location), and how much is discipline? I could likely ask the same question about dissertation-writing, I guess. (Notice I'm not asking that. . .)

Maternal Spirituality: A Consideration and a Confession (of sorts)

I have been contemplating this phrase recently, as I realize that there is no semblance of spirituality in my life as present, and I feel as though I am creeping back into my pre-Catholic ambivalence toward prayer. I find it increasingly difficult to remember that I should be praying, much less to actually carry through with a prayer that isn't in direct response to something I have heard or read--either about a friend of stranger's needs. I have always had a difficult time praying for my own "needs"--usually because I feel that they are imagined, or that I am beneath notice (a perspective that our pastor described as coming from a place of spiritual dryness, which describes me pretty well, I think) but that is a different topic altogether.

I have never been a very spiritual person, really. I found Catholicism liberating in part because the types of spirituality were varied, and the ones I was acquainted with required very little of the "personal relationship with God" kind of thinking, and memorized prayers provided much comfort--even though I hadn't (and still haven't) memorized all that I should have. Also because intellectual activity could be a form of spirituality. My first experiences of letting go of my defenses against spirituality was yoga, which immediately preceded my conversion, and on which I have posted before, in the earliest (and least successful) days of the blog. Eventually, I discovered a shallow level of Eucharistic spirituality, and developed a sense of closeness to God in prayer (particularly to Christ) which I had not previously experienced. This left me hungering for more, though since my daughter was born, I have had only minimal glimpses, occasional tastes. Moving, teaching, another pregnancy, and personal conflicts of one sort or another (often of the religious variety) have made these less frequent and have made me forget to seek them.

Many of the blogs I occasionally peruse (I can't really call it reading them lately--I hardly get a chance to sit down in front of the computer, and wouldn't at all if didn't have a laptop) have a definite relationship with prayer. There are prayer requests, accounts of prayer, even blog entries that feel like--or explicitly resemble prayer. There are accounts of day-to-day activities that are prayer-filled (the accounts and the activities). Many (but not all) of the blogs that I'm describing now are written by mothers. These are busy women!! So there is not a lot of discussion about solitude and contemplation. If there were, I am not sure I would believe it! So from this I get a rather busier version of St. Theresa's "Little Way"--that spirituality is to be found in little, everyday acts which are the path to holiness. I can see the various benefits in that kind of thinking. It was quite a novel idea to me in a way when I first read about the "Little Flower." But I confess that this kind of spirituality is beyond me--at least at this point. Yet I almost get the message--and the feeling--that this is "maternal spirituality." So many things alter with pregnancy and caring for children, it seems natural that a quieter, personal spirituality (shared spirituality is also beyond me--at least outside of Mass) should be one of the casualties. And the sheer logistics of trying to arrange my daily schedule so that I can teach for an hour and a half and make it to campus with a half-hour or so of office hours is exhausting. That reminds me! I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow and I don't know how I will make it. I believe in the possibility of doing academic work int he presence of children, and in caring for my own children as much as possible, but sometimes it all becomes cause for despair. And with the new apartment, I don't have to pay tuition for my son, but I can't really afford child care if I need it for the toddler. Luckily I have arranged it so that in the fall, once again, I will be free during the day with my daughter (a mixed blessing some days, as it becomes increasingly difficult to keep up with her, especially as she enjoys her new-found taste of freedom in the new apartment). But I digress, and forget where I was heading anyway.

My point here is that the "Little Way" Spirituality doesn't work for me, and I have no solitude either for contemplation, prayer, reading, or academic work. It has not always seemed this bleak. I feel awkward leaving by myself in general, especially if my purpose for leaving is vague even to me. I always feel that I am leaving something behind. And during the day, I have no time alone and I am constantly busy with something that involves someone else. I feel guilty about the dissertation because I know that someone will be on my case about it at some point--in a couple of weeks when he returns from vacation (what a concept!!), actually. I had felt guilty about prayer. Recently, I haven't even remembered to feel guilty. And this is only one of the things that I imagine becoming more difficult when the new baby arrives. I have become a "Sunday only" Catholic, and not by choice. And Mass is so hurried, and so occupied with a squirmy toddler, and my thoughts stray to how the new one will fit in to the wrestling with children scheme. . . It goes by too quickly, and not quickly enough. In my first ecstasy of conversion, my discovery of spirituality, I did not imagine that I would experience such a waning. I think of this sometimes when I wander over to or check the post titles of "Et tu, Jen?"

The Stupidity of Women

This post is, in a way, a follow-up to my "horrible news" post. It seems that the missing pregnant woman whose young son gave cryptic and disturbing remarks about her disappearance, has been found. Her "boyfriend" has been charged with two counts of murder. One report suggests that a new girlfriend of the suspect--a suspect who had a wife with a child, had a previous girlfriend who also had his child, this now-dead woman with two of his children--wanted the woman out of the way, and assisted in some way with the events that resulted in her death.

When I was in high school, I had a teacher who was very opinionated about social issues. All we had to do was think of a subject in advance and she would talk about it for the entire hour so that we could get away with not reading. (Never trust an honors class!!) We prolonged Huck Finn for an entire 9-weeks using this strategy. During one of these digressions, she remarked that she couldn't understand women who take up with a married man, assuming that he would faithful to her when he wasn't faithful to his wife. What makes her so darned special? Why does any woman think that any given unfaithful man will be faithful to her rather than another woman? Clearly, this is logic that has always remained with me. In this case, in addition, if he would commit violent acts against another former girlfriend, why should this new woman think that he would not, eventually, turn on her?

This is, on a level, an anti-feminist statement in a way, I guess. For once, I'm not really sure where feminist theory would fall in relation to this kind of situation. I mean, even if she had aborted one or both of the children (which seems like one possible feminist answer), this may have been what the father wanted, in which case, would it have been acting like a strong feminist woman to preserve one's autonomy by aborting a child (or children) that she wanted to keep but whom the father wanted to kill? It does seem that the situation of the dead, pregnant girl should be viewed with sympathy by feminists, who would see her as a victim of society that views her worth in terms of men. On the other hand, one might note (not necessarily from a feminist perspective) that in a society in which women's sexuality was viewed more restrictively and regulated more closely, she would not have been living openly with one--perhaps two--children of an married man, and so, in a sense, she would have been protected--by shame--from this horrible situation. Would social ostracism have been worse than what actually happened to her? By being sexually liberated, able to choose her own sexual partners freely without reference to social convention, she is placed in a position that has led to her death and the death of her child. On the other hand, a feminist might note that, though she seems to have been fairly independent, by returning to a man who had betrayed other women, and allowing herself to become pregnant twice (or perhaps becoming pregnant on purpose?), she was acting foolishly herself, sacrificing herself for the sake of a man. I'm not actually sure a feminist would hold that last opinion. I think she would likely be regarded as a victim of patriarchy. But haven't we moved beyond that tired argument yet?If women haven't come far enough yet (baby--Virginia Slims) that "patriarchal society" (instead of a deranged man) has to be blamed for tragedy, then what exactly has feminism accomplished? Okay, enough with the rhetorical questions, already.

A number of things disturb me about the way this case is being reported. First, that while the new baby was initially said to have been fathered by the same man as her first child (by the "suspect," that is), in subsequent reports, the baby was "perhaps" fathered by the same man--"may have been" fathered by the suspect, etc. And this was when he wasn't even a suspect! So while he had a history of impregnating various women, he was somehow entitled to his reputation. Meanwhile, the woman was missing, likely dead, and she was being represented as someone who slept around. So much for sexual liberation there! The implication was pretty clear--he may not have been involved, and she, as an unwed mother, might as well have had a different father for each child. Where were the media feminists? They weren't upholding either her reputation or her right to act as a sexually liberated woman and a strong independent mother.

Another question I had was why the 2-year-old son's references to his mother did not include references to his "father," with whom he presumably had a relationship.

Finally, the girl's family is being portrayed in a respectfully positive light, which is appropriate. But I do wonder what their true feelings were about this situation--here is their daughter, sister, whatever, pregnant for the second time with the child of a man who has a wife and two other children by two different women. Did they feel constrained by the "new" social convention that dictates that a woman choose her own expression of her sexuality when she becomes an adult (or even sooner)? Did they find nothing amiss in this relationship? Or did they express their disapproval?

The appearance of the possible accomplice, the "new girlfriend" leads to the title of the post. How can women be so stupid--for obviously worthless men? For sex? But at the same historical moment when women were told that it’s okay to make these choices, they were deprived of the frameworks that allowed them to choose morally and, in the end, to choose wisely and make choices that preserved their dignity.

An Exercise on Invisible Cities

I asked my students, who are currently reading Invisible Cities by Calvino, to work in groups to answer a few questions--challenges might be a better word--in order to approach a better understanding of this intriguing exercise in postmodernism. Invisible Cities is a book that requires readers to find their own conclusions--or not. The "point" of the book, which I was asked to give as if there were a single easy answer, is really the process of reading and thinking about its content with a mind that is willing to engage in the exercises of thought that the book requires. Am I crazy, you might ask, for teaching this in a sophomore-level course? Perhaps not.

The book is framed within the context of Marco Polo describing to Kublai Khan the cities in the Khan's empire. The relationship between the two is one aspect of the text, but the cities are infinite and fascinating. They are categorized as "Cities and Desire," "Cities and Memory," "Cities and the Dead," "Trading Cities," "Cities and the Sky," "Hidden Cities," and "Cities and Signs," to name a few. Within these categories are cities with names that repeat, but not within a single category, and each category is composed of 5 cities.

For one of their questions--or challenges--I asked the pairs of students (I have a small class) to do the following:

Pick 2 of the “categories” of cities (“Continuous Cities,” etc.) and explain what that category means according to the cities within the category. I will ask the groups to pick one at a time so that no 2 groups will have the same category. HINT: This must be a bit more complex than “Cities that go on forever.” You’re not just defining, you’re explaining.

They will post their explanations on the course web site, which is contained within a wonderful interface called Moodle. There are 5 groups, and 11 categories, so to make certain that all categories were represented, and to provide an example of sorts, I posted the following on our course "glossary":

Continuous Cities

The "Continuous Cities" of Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino may be found in chapters 7, 8 and 9, and occur on pages 114, 128, 146, 152, and 156 of the text. They have the names Leonia, Trude, Procopia, Cecilia, and Penthesilea.

The city of Leonia renews itself daily by discarding and replacing all of its possessions from the day before, while the possessions themselves accumulate beyond the boundary of the city and threaten to crush the city. The neighboring cities, meanwhile, await the destruction of Leonia in order to expand into their territory.

The city of Trude resembles all other cities, which are also Trude. From the suburbs, to the downtown, to the languages and goods, Trude is like all other cities, and all other cities are like it, perhaps because it IS all other cities, and all other cities are it, and they all combine to make one Trude, which has nothing unique.

The city of Procopia is one that Marco Polo has visited on numerous occasions, watching year after year as the once bare and agrarian landscape became filled with identical people who displace the features of the landscape itself and eventually fill the landcape, the window out of which Polo looks, and even the room in which he lodges.

In the city of Cecilia, Polo encounters a goatherd who does not recognize the city, but recognizes the green places in between, while Polo himself knows only the cities and not the lands that connect them. In long intervening years, Polo travels other cities and continent, but happens upon the same goatherd, who has never been able to leave Cecilia, and realizes that he, too, has remained within the city, going deeper and deeper, because Cecilia has mingled with all other places and is now everywhere.

The city of Penthesilea is contrasted with cities that have definite borders through which you pass and realize that you are now inside and no longer outside of the city. It is a city into which you continue, always on the outskirts, until you are heading out of the city through its outskirts. Neither the traveler nor those who work there know where the city is, other than that it is not where they are, and is perhaps further on. You wonder "whether Penthesilea is only outskirts of itself, " whether "outside of Penthesilea . . . an outside exist(s)," whether the entire world, like Penthesilea, is a limbo that you are constantly trying to pass through in order to get in or out.

The "Continuous Cities" call into question the nature of cities, asking specifically whether any given city or cities has/have a beginning, a middle, and an end, whether they are not all the same either because of expansion of the city, its people, its rubbish, its boundaries, or because every city is like every other city in its endless monotony. The continuity among cities is stressed, and makes individual cities as indistinguishable from each other (because all are one) as they are from their own rubbish, monotony, inhabitants, surroundings, or outskirts.

Horrible Stories in the News and other thoughts. . .

I don't read the news. I don't watch the news. Everything I need to know about the world generally filters down to me accidentally, or through my husband. I choose my blogs carefully, and the ones that report news of any sort generally have a particular slant, avoiding the more sensationalist and horrible stories. They report the kind of stories that allow for a healthy amount of thought about the current state of society with just a hint of righteous indignation. And they almost always avoid graphic descriptions--even when discussing the recent rulings on partial-birth abortion. I unfortunately was given the descriptions, which haunted me for days, but that's the problem with such a topic--it's bound to filter down. As it is, when I was many years younger--perhaps in high school--I saw something on a local PBS (or possibly religious--Catholic) channel in New Orleans with an elderly woman (perhaps a nun) describing the process. The Supreme Court verdict evidently gave even more detail.

The reason I avoid the general news sites that my husband frequents is the phenomenon I've mentioned before that causes me to visualize--willingly or unwillingly--horrible, painful scenes of graphic violence. Some examples--a case in Beaumont that was proclaimed from billboards in which a woman was raped and strangled by her (ex?) husband, a politician; terrorist executions; you get the idea. Something in me wants to imagine the unimaginable motive of the attacker and to feel the pain of the victim. Sometimes I even wish that the images could/would be shown on TV to prevent my imagination from recreating endless possible scenarios.

So recently, I have been subjected to the news because the internet provider at the apartment complex, which requires login through a browser, feels the need to give the customer a list of all the day's (hour's) top news stories. The bland ones--prosecutors disbarred & whatnot--are not a risk to me. But others. . . well. . . Stories in the news about sex are nothing new, and there is a new case of statutory rape--generally female teachers and male students, or young girls (or boys) having rendez-vous with much older (usually male) internet predators--every day. Now, I have some issues with statutory rape. While clearly I hope that my children make better decisions, and there are some cases in which the exploitation and coercion--the inequality of the power distribution in the situation--are clear-cut--other cases are less so. I was 16 when I started college. My "peers" were much older. While I did not make all of the right decisions, I do believe I was within my rights to act as an adult (albeit a misinformed adult)--after all, I was in college. My decision-making skills and maturity were equal to any 18-year-old. And I do believe there is a difference between seduction--even involving deception (it happens every day among adults) and the kind of power dynamic (although there is an unequal power dynamic in most seduction situations among "equals"--everyone is different in life experience and situation) that should be classified as statutory rape. Again, it is not what I would wish for my young teenager, but while I would regard a sexual relationship between, say, a 16-year-old and a 21-year-old (as long as no coersion was involved) as a serious misjudgment, a mistake, an immoral act--and I hope to give my children good grounds to which to judge all of these things!!--I would not necessarily pursue it as "statutory rape." I hope that, by teaching my children about sexuality--that it is not something to be indulged in when they feel the "time is right," that "being true to oneself" (or what seems "true to oneself" at the time) is not enough, that whether or not you think at the time that you will have regrets, the time will come when you do (and I'm not talking about the risks of pregnancy and STDs, but the misplaced trust, feelings of betrayal, knowledge of having been used)--that I will avoid this issue--and my children will avoid these situations--altogether. Many of the news stories involving underage teens and adults are the sort that raise eyebrows--it's why they're in the news--and suggest exploitation by someone in a superior position of authority or power, but they don't affect me like the stories I've seen lately.

The litany of crimes appearing this week just seem much more disturbing: 700 busted in pedophile ring investigation--31 children recovered, some only a few months old!!, internet sites offering child molestation on demand!!, pregnant woman missing in Ohio amidst cryptic and chilling remarks from her 2-year-old son, a woman drawing up a contract to ensure that her boyfriend has sexual access to her 15-year-old daughter while the mother recovers from abdominal surgery!! (as if any man is THAT worth keeping!!). . . And then, by following a link about the death penalty in some states for child rape, I found more. That's the problem with linked text--it draws you in and you get lost in the labyrinth of horrific stories. The first, for me, was the worst. It was awful to look at my sweet daughter and imagine the crimes committed against those like her. Not that I didn't know it happened, but the scale of this story just made me consider it differently. And the thought of infants!! It has been too much for me. It's gotten better, and I'm trying not to think about the missing woman in Ohio. Did you know that more pregnant women die from homicide than any other cause? Rather convenient that the people who want to kill the woman to take their babies can now choose gender (I'm still a little ambivalent about the ultrasound gender thing, though I am glad to know in my case). (Not even mentioning the cases when the killer is the father.) I find it both comforting and horrifying that most of the cases of child sexual abuse involve someone the child knows--at least for my children's sake. But I guess we all feel confident that those we know will be innocent of such intentions. And I do harbor the belief--illusion?--that I am very careful with my children--not leaving them alone in resort hotel rooms while on vacation in foreign countries, for example. This does not mean that I do not pity the parents, but I do question their judgment.

I'm not sure I believe that these are problems unique to our moment in history, just problems that have been exacerbated by technology. We can now hear of such things instantly. Technology facilitates the crime. Our scope is larger because our news is global. But I do believe that most horrific acts were historically confined more to (channeled into) acts of war--albeit acts committed against civilians. And that many of the criminals would have been too busy trying to survive--to find food and sustain themselves--to allow the leisure to indulge in their perversions. This may be true for any lesser, non-criminal perversions (I use the term very loosely) that any one of us may harbor. However, I do believe that the decline of the patriarchal horror--organized religion--has something to do with all of this also. When people believed in objective morality, this at least provided some kind of deterrent to some (though not all). And when everyone was Catholic, in particular, one knew when one stood in relation to morality--quite different from the church- or pastor-of-the-hour. I believe that it is currently possible to find a sect to accommodate any inclination one might have. One wonders about the sincerity of those who seek this kind of justification. Pre-Christian peoples who did horrific things were, at least, sincere in their beliefs--or well, we hope so.

Long Time, No Post, and the Giving and Keeping of Clothing

Over the past week or so--since my last post--I have had random and occasional blogworthy thoughts along with the best of intentions to post them. I considered giving updates on my class & the teaching of Herland, but it was all I could do to actually follow through with the teaching, so I didn't really feel like writing about it. Last week was the kind of week--with the kind of weather--that just saps one's energy completely (even if one does not happen to be pregnant!). Towards the end of the week, the weather improved with a couple of days of torrential downpour in the afternoon (yay!), but the week passed, as a whole, in a blur. Some of the other posts I considered were my "patriarchy is a myth" post, my "to father" (in colloquial usage) is different from "to mother" post, my "how my childhood influenced my concept of fatherhood and why I could never conceptualize 'God the Father' as approachable " post and my "thinking about Catholic sex but I don't want to say too much here because I've said too much elsewhere" post. But alas! these posts were left unwritten. The recent eBay purchases post may yet be forthcoming!

My weekend was not a weekend to promote rest and get (academic) things accomplished. On a whim, we went to an outlet mall about an hour away, in the midst of a large power outage and through lovely driving weather--rain, hail... We bought my daughter some knit dresses and a pair of sporty sandals that she loves, although I intended them for occasional casual wear. After avoiding dresses for a good while, I have wanted to dress her in them almost exclusively--they're so easy!!! Nice and soft, too. And since she's showing potty training inclinations, they work well for those purposes also. I also bought 2 newborn all-in-one sleep-and-play suits that were very cute and only $5. A few says before, I found Timberland sock-booties in a 2-pack of pink & brown at TJMaxx. They will likely be our only newborn clothing purchases, unless we buy matching sister outfits!

On Sunday, I followed through with a resolution to purge my closets of the boy-specific clothing that I have been keeping for 10 years or so (some not so long). It was one of the justifications for learning whether we were having a boy or a girl. I now know that it will be many years before I could even possibly have a boy to fit size 4s.

Now, my husband & I are rather fond of clothing--a fact that has not been healthy for the preservation of storage space. This shrinking space problem has been exacerbated by, among other things, the need to retain things lent to us--things that will never be recalled, but must be kept. We are also tormented by our tendencies to gain (and sometimes lose, but mostly gain) weight, and yet to hope that "some day" we will fit into that one piece of clothing--or 5--or 10--that we loved so much (and that is likely so out of style that we wouldn't wear it anyway. . . I have tried to get better about this, but yesterday was not a day for sorting adult clothes. I do that regularly anyway.

Recently, it has been difficult locating possible hand-me-downs that would fit my daughter because of the way things were organized--or not--and how things were given to us in jumbles. So in the process of purging, I consolidated. I realized that I have two large Rubbermaids (not the largest, but 10 gallon or so) of "keepsakes"--mine and others'. I have an entire 10 gallon container full of girl-appropriate (though not necessarily girl-specific) clothes in 0-3 and 3-6 months. How wonderful is that!!?! I did not realize we had accumulated so much with our daughter. *blush* We have another container almost full of 6-9 and 6-12 month girl clothes. I also managed to uncover several t-shirts that she can fit now, and 3 pair of shortalls (and some possible non-knit dresses, mostly hand made so I can't tell sizes).

Now with a new baby, it is always tempting to buy new clothes "just because." The appeal of the "new" can be very powerful, and we can justify to ourselves by saying that the baby, who is a separate individual (but doesn't know the difference if she is wearing her sisters' clothes!!) deserves things of "her own," but I hope not to get sucked into that materialistic line of thought. Perhaps I will finish some of the outfits I started to sew for my daugther . . or at least make some of the things for which I bought fabric and patterns, but which my daughter outgrew before I could make them. (It's never fun to finish something old & half-stared!) In spite of the urge to have "new things" for the "new baby," I find myself so excited by the prospect that some of my favorite of my little girl's outfits, still in excellent condition, will be worn by a new little girl, that I do not know if I will have the urge to buy more. And how wonderful that the baby will be close to--if not exactly--the same clothing size during the same season, since their due dates will only have been 3 days apart or so! (Though my daughter was born 3 weeks early.)

And a similarly pleasing thought is the thought that my friends' little boys will be able to wear some of the very nice boy clothes that I kept after my son outgrew them. I have purged the boy clothes before, so only the very best things are left, and barring a few sentimental items, I have separated them into three piles--for a friend with an infant, one with a 5-year-old, and one to give to the St. Vincent de Paul society. It made me feel very fortunate, in spite of the memory of our financial struggles, to have so much beautiful clothes that were worn by my children. Of course, most of it was bought on sale or from outlets or discount stores, but there's no shame in that, only prudence!!

In the past, we likely would have brought the clothes that could not fit friends' children (or, well, all of the clothes, because we had no friends with children) to resale stores, hoping for a return (however small) on our investment. The thought did cross my mind once or twice--that the resale shops would indeed buy some of the items. But I banished that as a selfish thought. After all, these were things for which I didn't ever expect to get money back. They served their purpose and I have no further purpose for them now--or for years to come. So why should I expect to make what at this point would amount to a profit, since the items were paid long ago? We do not have much that we can give to charitable organizations. I admit that our contributions to the parish we attend are relatively low, though they do fluctuate. However, we have been making an effort to give to St. Vincent de Paul, and we contributed quite a bit to the recent parish garage sale, which raised $10,000+!! In particular, I like to give the things that could be sold--in keeping with my opinion that those who cannot afford more expensive clothing still deserve good quality things of which they can be proud. And even if wealthier bargain hunters shop at the St. Vincent de Paul stores, the profits will go toward helping families--I know this first hand, as someone close to me recently received a utility payment from St. Vincent's. Also, there is the possibility that a family who receives clothing vouchers would be able to select some of the nicer things that we will be donating. I would like to think that someone will have nicer back-to-school clothes in the fall than otherwise. I hope it is not an act of pride to write this--how does one separate happiness at giving in a small way from pride, exactly? It doesn't feel like a sinful impulse.

Similarly, I do wonder about the tax write off for charitable donations. That it should serve as an incentive seems wrong. I hesitate to make the ladies at the St. Vincent store give a receipt, since it seems like a hassle for them, I hesitate to put monetary value to the things I am giving, as their value is no longer monetary for me, they were paid for before the current tax year, and we don't have enough money to itemize anyway. Perhaps again, it is a matter of pride, but for the giving of "things," the incentive seems unnecessary.

A Sigh of Relief

Well, I had my ultrasound today and everything appeared normal. But last night & this morning I found myself literally panicking in anticipation! I've never been nervous about an ultrasound before. But everything looked fine. My nervousness, however, was nothing compared to my daughter. Far from being fascinated with the computer and keyboard, she was very concerned about whatever the woman was doing to momma. So she spent most of the time with her head in my husband's shoulder, and the rest whimpering "momma" in my direction with an occasional "I'm sorry"--the cure-all for all uncomfortable situations--thrown in for good measure. She fell asleep shortly after we left the clinic, though it was only about 10:40. She has, however, been waking up between 7 and 8, unable to go back to sleep because of the sun in our bedroom. I'm investigating fabric for curtains (and then I have to find a place for the sewing machine!!)

The actual transport of "stuff" is complete, including much transferring of stuff to good causes, etc. But in light of some news I received via the ultrasound, it appears that much more "stuff" will be able to go away. And of course, the "stuff" has reached the new apartment, but has not settled in. Much is still in boxes, and we are slowly moving toward clearing the living room & dinig area. Other areas of the house are looking better.

Overall, now that the major part of the stress is behind me, I can declare, tentatively, that the move was a success. The baby is much freer and happier, albeit getting banged up from running around boxes. She goes to sleep much earlier because she exerts more energy during the day. We take occasional walks around the complex and have even gone swimming once. It is a bit hard to keep track of her sometimes, but she has some little designated play places and is exploring new (old) toys (courtesy of brother and aunts & uncles)--like dishes & Potato Heads. She is also expressing interest in potty training, but I don't know if I'm ready for that. . .

Big brother is happy with his new room, but since he can pretty much play Game Boy anywhere, is generally content. He is gone in the morning for Summer Enrichment classes that runs through the end of June--one of which involves writing for the web! He is looking forward to his new school, where he will be in orchestra, learning to play the cello.

And I am doing pretty well. Every now & then I just need a change of location, whether it is a rearranged work space or something more drastic. I believe I have been in a deep rut for a long, long time. I find that, although I am up earlier and in bed late, I have the energy to do it. I am, interestingly, losing weight, thought not drastically, likely because of increased activity. I even did a little something toward the dissertation yesterday. Perhaps things are starting to come together. And with the ultrasound behind me, I can breath that proverbial sigh of relief. The fall class situation is better, too. I will be teaching Lit in a computer classroom environment in the evenings, so no need for child care and I can rum some classes as distance if necessary. (I'm not sure my colleagues will be willing to sub--I'm not working from an anthology; rather, I'm continuing my fantasy class, so I'll probably be doing either The Tempest, The Two Towers, or Invisible Cities when the baby arrives.)

My husband is looking forward to less gas usage and the acquisition of curtains for the bedroom so he can sleep!!

And by the way, Critter #3 (as we call the new one--yes, only one!) is looking like a girl!

A Fantasy Class Update: Poetry and "Goblin Market"

Since it is occupying my mind a bit lately, I will post occasional updates on the workings of my Intro to Lit class, which is going extraordinarily well. At this point, I rather feel like I ever want to teach anything else, and that I always want to use this syllabus. It's the first time I have ever repeated the same syllabus in intro to lit, mainly because it is the first of my syllabi that I have felt was worthy of repetition. However, I am doing some things differently, simply because of the way the semester has been working, partly because every class dynamic is different. In this case, the dynamic is ideal. It's a small class, which can work either way. A small class of enthusiastic students can be better than a full class of students who are bored stiff and never say anything. But I've had small classes who were neither inspiring or inspired. It's never wise to underestimate classroom dynamic in teaching--the students' interactions with one another, their engagement with the material, the way they interact with and regard the teacher. It's why strategies that work with one class can fall completely flat with another. In this case, we have a good rapport, they are open minded about the course and the assigned texts, and seem to be making a real effort to understand the material being presented. I am thrilled!


My course, as I have said, has a fantasy theme. I begin with an introduction to poetry--what it is and how to read it effectively, the strategies poets use to engage the audience, including meter. I am a big fan of formal verse, and in my poetry-writing days, I favored formal verse above free verse. I still believe that learning to write formal poetry--sonnets and the like, iambic pentameter, iambic trimeter, effective uses of anapestic rhythms, the villanelle and the sestina--is the best strategy for learning the craft of poetry. It trains the ear and teaches the poet a certain amount of restraint. What makes amateur poetry so bad is frequently its sprawling quality--the words and emotions alike are unrestrained, and the audience in invited to wallow with the poet in something raw and unrefined. Good verse--even good free verse--avoids these pitfalls. Of course, I didn't treat my class to this soapbox, but I have been trying to build in them an idea of what makes poetry poetry--and not that it's boring and difficult to understand.

Having introduced poetry (without forgetting the theme of fantasy), with the aid of Shelley's "Ozymandias" and Yeats's "No Second Troy" and with the intention of turning each of them loose on a poem to present to the class and on which to write a paper (explication, more or less), we delved into a little-studied but still canonical poem, "Goblin Market" by Christina Rossetti. Now, as a rule I tend to avoid Rossetti poetry (especially her brother's), but this is a quirky little poem. Or, as one student told me, a not-so-little poem. How many Victorian poems do you know that were reprinted with original illustrations in a 1970s edition of Playboy? Yeah, didn't think you could name any others! Especially poems whose moral focuses on avoidance of sexual temptation. But consider these lines:

She cried "Laura," up the garden,
"Did you miss me ?
Come and kiss me.
Never mind my bruises,
Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices
Squeezed from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin pulp and goblin dew.
Eat me, drink me, love me;
Laura, make much of me:
For your sake I have braved the glen
And had to do with goblin merchant men."

Those are fun lines to read to a class full of undergraduates. It was rather difficult to suppress a smile, though. Th poem is didactic, and Victorian, and an allegory, and written by an incredibly pious poet, and a class full of undergraduates was fascinated, riveted, couldn't put it down. Truly, though I think the verse could be better, the story is compelling, and for that matter, this particular class taught me a certain appreciation for the rhythmic movement of the verse. I suspect it would be better read with a British "ear" rather than with American emphasis and intonation.

Class ended early today, which was fine, as we covered the poem and covered it well. Most of the students expressed surprise at being able to understand the poem and at being interested in the poem. Score one for literature! Classes like this make me realize why I like teaching (don't quote me on that--I frequently state the opposite!). But when I teach, I get a sort of adrenaline rush. Especially when I am well-prepared for class (which happens less than I'd like to admit), and when the student response is positive. A class like this makes it worthwhile to teach every day. It imparts energy rather than sapping it.

Tomorrow they select poems from my "fantasy list" for their presentations/papers. We will also start Gilman's Herland, also a curious piece of work in many ways. Herland is much less often read than "The Yellow Wallpaper," which I can't blame students for hating since they read it ad nauseum and since it is taught in a typically feminist way. Gilman may have some things in common with feminism, but in many ways, she is a poor poster child for the movement. I cite "The Giant Wisteria" as evidence. Hopefully the discussion of Herland will be as productive as "Goblin Market"!

Moving Woes -or- The Tyranny of "Stuff"

Recently, I was corrected in my meandering suppositions about the parable of the Rich Young Man who is unable to follow Jesus because he can't leave his "stuff," not because he has familial obligations. Oh well. I don't really come from the school of "anything goes" biblical interpretation--or literary interpretation for that matter. Well, after moving to an apartment from a house, taking a severe cut in square footage, and losing a bedroom and a sun-room, I understand the tyranny of stuff and how free one must really be without possessions, or with possessions that one can merely walk away from. I am not rich--not by any means, as I've made clear in previous posts. In fact, in addition to losing space, our rent is increasing astronomically, though it may even out since I won't be paying tuition fro my son, won't be paying for cable or satellite, won't be paying for water, and should be paying less for electricity. We'll see how that works out in reality. Yes, I found myself thinking how wonderful it must be for all of one's possessions to fit into a grocery basket (cart)--I'm ready for the hermitage now!! In the process of moving, we have given many things away to charity and to the recent parish garage sale, as well as to family and friends and anyone who happens to come by before the trash collectors. And yet, so much remains that it is stacked around the living and dining areas and I have no idea how we will fit everything. Much of it is books, but there is also a lot of miscellaneous crap that begs to be kept for one reason or another. It won't let itself be discarded. So the apartment that was to afford my daughter some freedom is so crammed full of "stuff" that she can barely move (although this has resulted in her slowing her gait by about half--at least in some of the rooms) or she is constantly being told "no" because she wants to explore everything.

The expense associated with moving is astronomical--and not just the ill-fated UHaul that had to be kept two days, or a day and half, as we were told to return it ASAP (so we could be charged as if we had kept it a few 2-days! $19.99 rentals--humph! Don't believe it). We have not yet found the kitchen to be able to cook, though thankfully my mother cleaned out my refrigerator and freezer and cooked much of the edible food for all to share. That was wonderful. As was the unexpected help we received. We never could have been out otherwise-oh wait, we're still not completely out. :P But we're mostly out, and I guess that is something. Still, this whole process has been very discouraging. I keep reminding myself of the good that will come out of it--much of which is still mainly speculation.

As for the apartment, it is sufficiently clean for move-in, which is unusual. We have already had the washing machine switched for another one, only to find that the dryer only dries after 2-4 cycles. All of the closets and cabinets are built for giants--not people who are 5'4" and 5'6". The possibilities of my son being able to put away the dishes are slim. And he will never be able to play with his toys. They are too high. He wasn't inclined to play with them previously because his room was too far away from where we would normally "hang out" in the house. But had we moved him to the front bedroom, he would have been uncomfortably far away from us at night. So I was looking forward to the kids' room being a functional play room, but that won't really happen. Then there are the issues of space. We have had--and particularly at the last place where we lived--a lot of storage space in previous places. Enough space to justify not only the acquisition of stuff but also the retention of boxes in which stuff was packaged when purchased. Many of the boxes have now been purged, but the stuff remains. And as in one of the cities in Calvino's Invisible Cities, the stuff threatens to crush the inhabitants.

I have not had much time to obsess about baby stuff--and so, I have not been very worried. I had a doctor's appointment in the midst of last week's madness, and everything looked and sounded fine. No measurements, though. I like my doctor, and think I will not return to the retired army nurse midwife, who feels compelled to tell me to watch my weight as the doctor does not.

Teaching is going surprisingly well, in spite of a chaotic life and numerous setbacks--lacking computer access in the classroom the first and third days, missing day 2 because of exhaustion, lacking internet connectivity at home (another perk of the complex) until Thursday evening, being moved from my "home" building to another and having to walk and climb many stairs, not having, and then buying and forgetting, dry erase markers and so having to "wing it" without them. . . I told my class that eventually the little black rain cloud that is following me will lift or dissipate--and I like rain. But the class is very, very small--possibly as few as 9 students. The subject matter is enjoyable, and so far we have compared and discussed various definitions of fantasy and begun to discuss poetry, and I do love teaching poetry--particularly when the students are open-minded and even willing to tackle scansion!! So I have an exhilarating but exhausting hour and thirty-five minutes each day. Which means I am not unpacking while my baby is napping. *sigh* This is truly a nightmare. The good is good, but inconvenient.

Well, as I need to get up in the morning, bring my husband to work, and bring my son to Enrichment Summer School (what was I thinking??!?), and as it is 2 A.M., I will wrap up this negativity-fest. Hope to have something more thoughtful soon, but it's difficult to be philosophic in the midst of this stress, busyness and clutter. I have posted something thoughtful to the class, and my efforts there may sap my creativity for now. Ironically (or perhaps appropriately), now that I can't enjoy it, my energy level seems to be up--one of the things in all of this for which I am very, very thankful.

P.S.--I did forget to mention the frustration inherent in not being able to lift heavy boxes. So they're stacked halfway to the ceiling, and I can't move them around without someone else's assistance!! Arrrrgh!