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?"
Monday, June 25, 2007
Sunday, June 24, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, June 18, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, June 11, 2007
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!
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!
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
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"!
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"!
Monday, June 4, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Remembering Dante in a Moment's Respite. . .
I just couldn't resist this quiz that I found in a spare moment on Anastasia's blog after editing the course web page (I really was doing something productive!)
The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to Purgatory!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Take the Dante's Inferno Test
I really think they should have included heaven, for those who are lucky enough to fit right in, since otherwise most of us are going to fit into Purgatory, I wager. . . but I guess the danger is that it might have inspired Pride. . . and then the creator of the test would have been leading others astray. . . It's a vicious cycle! And actually, it would be nice if the quiz would have indicated where in Purgatory one would be--or would spend the longest. I wouldn't have been in heaven, and I probably would have been somewhere in the Pride circle, unless I was stuck with the Slothful. . . but clearly I'm gonna spend some time being burned, once I'm lucky enough to reach that last level of Purgatory!
I needed this little break!
The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to Purgatory!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
| Level | Score |
|---|---|
| Purgatory (Repenting Believers) | Very High |
| Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers) | Moderate |
| Level 2 (Lustful) | High |
| Level 3 (Gluttonous) | Moderate |
| Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious) | Very Low |
| Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy) | Low |
| Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics) | Very Low |
| Level 7 (Violent) | Low |
| Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers) | Low |
| Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous) | Low |
Take the Dante's Inferno Test
I really think they should have included heaven, for those who are lucky enough to fit right in, since otherwise most of us are going to fit into Purgatory, I wager. . . but I guess the danger is that it might have inspired Pride. . . and then the creator of the test would have been leading others astray. . . It's a vicious cycle! And actually, it would be nice if the quiz would have indicated where in Purgatory one would be--or would spend the longest. I wouldn't have been in heaven, and I probably would have been somewhere in the Pride circle, unless I was stuck with the Slothful. . . but clearly I'm gonna spend some time being burned, once I'm lucky enough to reach that last level of Purgatory!
I needed this little break!
Monday, May 28, 2007
Resisting Despair. . .
Hormones raging. Moving sucks. Not a good time to be pregnant. Not a good time for a new semester to be starting, either.
And though the UHaul (admittedly the smallest) is 2/3 full, our house still looks like a place that a family could live in comfortably without the addition of any furniture. It is rather conspicuously lacking in books. Or perhaps not. There are the stacks here and there that have not found their homes in boxes yet. No paths to holiness in this mess. Or sanity for that matter.
And though the UHaul (admittedly the smallest) is 2/3 full, our house still looks like a place that a family could live in comfortably without the addition of any furniture. It is rather conspicuously lacking in books. Or perhaps not. There are the stacks here and there that have not found their homes in boxes yet. No paths to holiness in this mess. Or sanity for that matter.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Relating to Celibacy. . .
Curt Jester has a post on how the provision that allows married Anglican and Episcopal clergy to be ordained as Catholic priests has been misinterpreted and leads people to false expectations and conclusions about the nature of priestly celibacy. He in turn links to a married priest's explanations of this topic. I find one of the Bible verses that Fr. Ryland quotes particularly informative:
When He called His successors, the apostles, “they left everything and followed him” (Lk 5:11). Later, Peter reminded Jesus, “We have left everything and followed you.” Then he asked, with typical candor, “What then will we have?” (Mt 19:27). Jesus replied, “There is no one who has left house or wife or brothers or parents or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not get back very much more in this age, and in the age to come” (Lk 19:29, emphasis added).
I find this interesting, because I always found it a bit troubling that Jesus should require his followers to leave everything--family included--to follow him. Rather the way I think that the Martha and Mary story is a bit unfair, since Martha was, indeed, shouldering her share of the burden of having guests while Mary was indulging, in a way, by listening to Jesus's teachings (I do of course understand that Mary was right to be attending to her soul. . . or that's the way it's been explained!) However, unlike my perception, that they were to leave wives that they already had, the implication here is that the apostles were leaving the possibility of marriage--leaving it before it was a reality for them. That is, vowing celibacy. This also clarifies the passage in which the righteous young man is told by Jesus to leave behind his family and all of his possessions to follow Jesus. When the young man says that he cannot do this, it seems like a failure on his part, albeit an understandable failure from the perspective of most of us (I dare say). However, read in light of the above passage, it seems likely that he was unable to leave his family because, unlike the apostles, this man may have already had a wife. This is speculation, of course, but it makes me feel better for his sake.
Now, if someone could help me out with Martha, who was likely an oldest child. . . ;)
When He called His successors, the apostles, “they left everything and followed him” (Lk 5:11). Later, Peter reminded Jesus, “We have left everything and followed you.” Then he asked, with typical candor, “What then will we have?” (Mt 19:27). Jesus replied, “There is no one who has left house or wife or brothers or parents or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not get back very much more in this age, and in the age to come” (Lk 19:29, emphasis added).
I find this interesting, because I always found it a bit troubling that Jesus should require his followers to leave everything--family included--to follow him. Rather the way I think that the Martha and Mary story is a bit unfair, since Martha was, indeed, shouldering her share of the burden of having guests while Mary was indulging, in a way, by listening to Jesus's teachings (I do of course understand that Mary was right to be attending to her soul. . . or that's the way it's been explained!) However, unlike my perception, that they were to leave wives that they already had, the implication here is that the apostles were leaving the possibility of marriage--leaving it before it was a reality for them. That is, vowing celibacy. This also clarifies the passage in which the righteous young man is told by Jesus to leave behind his family and all of his possessions to follow Jesus. When the young man says that he cannot do this, it seems like a failure on his part, albeit an understandable failure from the perspective of most of us (I dare say). However, read in light of the above passage, it seems likely that he was unable to leave his family because, unlike the apostles, this man may have already had a wife. This is speculation, of course, but it makes me feel better for his sake.
Now, if someone could help me out with Martha, who was likely an oldest child. . . ;)
Friday, May 25, 2007
Things I'm Thinking About. . .
Not grammar, clearly. No dangling prepositions here, no indeed! Well, I am packing and preparing for class next week, as the move and the first day of classes are both on May 29, so this isn't really a real post, it's just my way of getting down the things that have been floating around my head as I pack, especially since I have still been glancing at blogs, and even commenting on some, but not writing my own, which means the thoughts are accumulating and have to spill out at some point or another. So to save my husband my 1 A.M. insights into life and the universe, here's a little run-down!
1) The practical stuff: I am actually wondering if getting the UHaul on the 29th was smart. I probably should have reserved it for the 28th, provided they're open on that day, loaded it on Memorial Day and unloaded it on the 29th--the official move-in day. Hmmm. . . This is one of those thoughts that might require further action on my part. . .
2) I'm thinking about gender, though not in the way mentioned here. Actually, I am rather thinking about how my own perceptions of gender relate to the academic writings on the subject (represented very well by M's post, linked above) and the religious discussions on the subject that I have seen in various places, many of which I find disturbing in their characterizations of men's and women's roles. I fall somewhere in between. I can play "gender theory" with the best of them--you should see my paper on “Literacy, Patriarchy and Performance: Pedro Almodóvar on Writers and Writing” (it's a literacy-as-gender-performativity-thing)--but how I view things in the real world diverges somewhat from what I produce for conferences and courses. ADDENDUM: How I view things in the real world diverges somewhat from what I produce for conferences and courses where the subject of gender is concerned!
3) I'm thinking about how pregnancy hormones affect the mind. I've read in books that around this or that month of pregnancy, one can become "forgetful," "absent-minded," etc., but I've never seen anything about paranoia. Granted, I can be rather a worry-wort normally anyway, but seeing as how hormones are powerful creatures, it doesn't seem unlikely that they might be affecting my obsessive worrying about whether the baby is O.K., etc. In the middle of an obsessive moment the other night, it occurred to me how spoiled I am (we are?) by medical technology. It's one of the reasons I haven't wanted, in past pregnancies, to find out the sex of my baby. That and resisting the whole "must-buy-gender-appropriate-stuff" urge--I really resent the marketing push that reinforces the need for people to find out if they're having a boy or a girl, but I digress. . . Basically, I realize that my grandmother didn't have any special assurance that her 7 children were healthy and "normal." The doctors didn't even believe her when she said that she was having twins! (They had hiccups at the same time--out of sync!) My mother had to have an x-ray before delivering me at home to make sure my head would fit through her pelvis--the fit was exact. And that little doppler thing that they use to listen to the baby's heart now--how many women never heard their babies' heartbeats in utero? They just trusted that the heartbeat was there! (And somehow did not doubt that what was inside them was, indeed, a baby.)
4) I am thinking how nice it will be, for the first time, to teach a course that I have already taught--in the way I taught it previously. I have this bad habit of revamping each course I teach each time I teach it--thereby making more work for myself. But when I was pregnant for my daughter 2 summers ago, I taught Intro to Lit with a focus on fantasy as manifested in various literary genres. While I will rearrange the sequence somewhat and pare down the assignments some, I have left the syllabus mostly the same. Yay!
5) On the dissertation front, I am thinking about D. H. Lawrence's anxieties about gender and literacy--basically, if you were a scholar, could you also be a man? He seems to think not. In Lawrence, manly men are ignorant, country men, like his own father whom he hated. He left that background to become a writer. Evidently, he felt that he had sacrificed a vital part of his nature in doing so. I like Lawrence for this reason--in the midst of his machismo, he's so conflicted! Actually, I like Forster because he's conflicted, too, it's just different. . .
6) Another dissertation-related thought is what constitutes "literate activity." It's a central idea for me, which probably means I should keep it well-guarded and certainly not blog about it. Oh well! You see, though, different theorists and historians mean different things when they talk about "literacy." Some talk about the ability to read, while some focus more on writing. Some merely concern themselves with the presence of writing within a culture, whether or not anyone actually has access to the written materials. Some measure the ability to read by the ability to, say, sign one's name--this has been a traditional marker of literacy for historians, though we should be able to perceive some problems there. Then, there's "functional" vs. "advanced" literacy. I admit to bypassing a number of these questions, as "advanced" literacy is more my concern--I know, how elitist of me. But I'm focusing on fiction, after all. There is a certain assumption of literacy on the part of the author, who assumes that someone, somewhere will be reading this work, and writes according to his or her perception of the level of literacy of that reader. Which makes postmodern fiction either completely elitist, or an admission of despair. (I'm teaching Calvino's Invisible Cities this summer. Yum!) So I use the term "literate activity," which means that any time the author portrays someone reading or writing, I'm there. But I also contend that literate conversation--that is, verbal interaction between people that is informed by literacy (especially advanced literacy)--is also literate activity. If you haven't read the same books, you can't exactly talk about them now, can you?
7) And, then, Entropy has me thinking about the Holy Spirit & prayer and the role of the Gentiles in the development of Christianity, and I thank her for not letting me forget that Pentecost is approaching!
1) The practical stuff: I am actually wondering if getting the UHaul on the 29th was smart. I probably should have reserved it for the 28th, provided they're open on that day, loaded it on Memorial Day and unloaded it on the 29th--the official move-in day. Hmmm. . . This is one of those thoughts that might require further action on my part. . .
2) I'm thinking about gender, though not in the way mentioned here. Actually, I am rather thinking about how my own perceptions of gender relate to the academic writings on the subject (represented very well by M's post, linked above) and the religious discussions on the subject that I have seen in various places, many of which I find disturbing in their characterizations of men's and women's roles. I fall somewhere in between. I can play "gender theory" with the best of them--you should see my paper on “Literacy, Patriarchy and Performance: Pedro Almodóvar on Writers and Writing” (it's a literacy-as-gender-performativity-thing)--but how I view things in the real world diverges somewhat from what I produce for conferences and courses. ADDENDUM: How I view things in the real world diverges somewhat from what I produce for conferences and courses where the subject of gender is concerned!
3) I'm thinking about how pregnancy hormones affect the mind. I've read in books that around this or that month of pregnancy, one can become "forgetful," "absent-minded," etc., but I've never seen anything about paranoia. Granted, I can be rather a worry-wort normally anyway, but seeing as how hormones are powerful creatures, it doesn't seem unlikely that they might be affecting my obsessive worrying about whether the baby is O.K., etc. In the middle of an obsessive moment the other night, it occurred to me how spoiled I am (we are?) by medical technology. It's one of the reasons I haven't wanted, in past pregnancies, to find out the sex of my baby. That and resisting the whole "must-buy-gender-appropriate-stuff" urge--I really resent the marketing push that reinforces the need for people to find out if they're having a boy or a girl, but I digress. . . Basically, I realize that my grandmother didn't have any special assurance that her 7 children were healthy and "normal." The doctors didn't even believe her when she said that she was having twins! (They had hiccups at the same time--out of sync!) My mother had to have an x-ray before delivering me at home to make sure my head would fit through her pelvis--the fit was exact. And that little doppler thing that they use to listen to the baby's heart now--how many women never heard their babies' heartbeats in utero? They just trusted that the heartbeat was there! (And somehow did not doubt that what was inside them was, indeed, a baby.)
4) I am thinking how nice it will be, for the first time, to teach a course that I have already taught--in the way I taught it previously. I have this bad habit of revamping each course I teach each time I teach it--thereby making more work for myself. But when I was pregnant for my daughter 2 summers ago, I taught Intro to Lit with a focus on fantasy as manifested in various literary genres. While I will rearrange the sequence somewhat and pare down the assignments some, I have left the syllabus mostly the same. Yay!
5) On the dissertation front, I am thinking about D. H. Lawrence's anxieties about gender and literacy--basically, if you were a scholar, could you also be a man? He seems to think not. In Lawrence, manly men are ignorant, country men, like his own father whom he hated. He left that background to become a writer. Evidently, he felt that he had sacrificed a vital part of his nature in doing so. I like Lawrence for this reason--in the midst of his machismo, he's so conflicted! Actually, I like Forster because he's conflicted, too, it's just different. . .
6) Another dissertation-related thought is what constitutes "literate activity." It's a central idea for me, which probably means I should keep it well-guarded and certainly not blog about it. Oh well! You see, though, different theorists and historians mean different things when they talk about "literacy." Some talk about the ability to read, while some focus more on writing. Some merely concern themselves with the presence of writing within a culture, whether or not anyone actually has access to the written materials. Some measure the ability to read by the ability to, say, sign one's name--this has been a traditional marker of literacy for historians, though we should be able to perceive some problems there. Then, there's "functional" vs. "advanced" literacy. I admit to bypassing a number of these questions, as "advanced" literacy is more my concern--I know, how elitist of me. But I'm focusing on fiction, after all. There is a certain assumption of literacy on the part of the author, who assumes that someone, somewhere will be reading this work, and writes according to his or her perception of the level of literacy of that reader. Which makes postmodern fiction either completely elitist, or an admission of despair. (I'm teaching Calvino's Invisible Cities this summer. Yum!) So I use the term "literate activity," which means that any time the author portrays someone reading or writing, I'm there. But I also contend that literate conversation--that is, verbal interaction between people that is informed by literacy (especially advanced literacy)--is also literate activity. If you haven't read the same books, you can't exactly talk about them now, can you?
7) And, then, Entropy has me thinking about the Holy Spirit & prayer and the role of the Gentiles in the development of Christianity, and I thank her for not letting me forget that Pentecost is approaching!
Friday, May 18, 2007
Literacy-chic admits that she was not hatched...
Okay, like Mommy Ph.D., I like using pseudonyms for myself, family, etc. Okay, I don't even use pseudonyms, they're more like epithets. Well, anyway, there must be a term for it. But others I know are less cautious. So, following their lead, here you can find a picture of my oldest younger sister and my brother-in-spirit, Chris, who just finished his M.A. and won a research award. Yay, Chris!! (My mom made my sister's dress, so there's MORE evidence of family!)
I took a cute picture this evening of my daughter eating ice cream out of the carton, but I'm not posting that one. Sorry! ;)
I took a cute picture this evening of my daughter eating ice cream out of the carton, but I'm not posting that one. Sorry! ;)
An Iron Chef Moment
These happen sometimes. The theme ingredient: leftover pork tenderloin.
So in two frying pans, I put a couple of heaping tablespoons of apricot 100% fruit preserves. I added a bit of water and integrated the preserves. To one of the pans, I added quite a bit of jalapeño Tabasco sauce. To the other, I added a good amount of chipotle Tabasco sauce (which pours more quickly). Then I added slices of the pork tenderloin and cooked until everything was warm & sticky.
On the side, we had the Mango Salsa couscous I have mentioned in a previous post and some canned petit green peas.
The results were quite lovely. I really enjoyed the chipotle. In fact, I intend to try baking some chicken pieces with the skin on in a whole jar of apricot preserves with chipotle Tabasco. Yum!
The night we cooked the pork loin, I made rice with artichoke & spinach, which would have been better had I had more dry white wine and had I not added the spice pack that came with a box mix of mushroom-spinach risotto. The leftovers were better--I added some diced tomatoes from a can, a little milk (cream would have been better), and some provolone (parmesan would have been better). This is a recipe I will have to recreate for my next Lenten meals series!
So in two frying pans, I put a couple of heaping tablespoons of apricot 100% fruit preserves. I added a bit of water and integrated the preserves. To one of the pans, I added quite a bit of jalapeño Tabasco sauce. To the other, I added a good amount of chipotle Tabasco sauce (which pours more quickly). Then I added slices of the pork tenderloin and cooked until everything was warm & sticky.
On the side, we had the Mango Salsa couscous I have mentioned in a previous post and some canned petit green peas.
The results were quite lovely. I really enjoyed the chipotle. In fact, I intend to try baking some chicken pieces with the skin on in a whole jar of apricot preserves with chipotle Tabasco. Yum!
The night we cooked the pork loin, I made rice with artichoke & spinach, which would have been better had I had more dry white wine and had I not added the spice pack that came with a box mix of mushroom-spinach risotto. The leftovers were better--I added some diced tomatoes from a can, a little milk (cream would have been better), and some provolone (parmesan would have been better). This is a recipe I will have to recreate for my next Lenten meals series!
Because Life is Meant to Be Interesting. . .
I discovered today, quite by chance, that the financial aid department at my university no longer considers me to be in good academic standing. The reason? Because they claim that I have exceeded 180 hours towards a single degree. Now, the only way that I have exceeded 180 hours is if my M.A. is counted in the total. That's 2--count 'em!--TWO degrees. But because nothing is easy, I have to submit an online appeals form, which will not be read until I make an appointment with one of their counselors (who can't count anyway), and submit, as part of the appeals process, an Academic Adviser form verifying that I am following a degree plan, that I know all about getting a job in my field, and that I will graduate someday. It's always lovely to have to drag faculty into lovely little matters of not being able to manage my finances.
And nothing much is riding on these loan funds that are now being held. Nope. Just my entire move. Because the bank account is woefully low, the utility company seems to be charging a retroactive late fee from the last time we had service with them--5 years ago, and of course we have to pay the pro-rated rent for the 3 days this month we will live in the new place. Not to mention moving supplies, a truck rental--you know, the usual stuff.
And when was I to receive notice of this glitch in my financial aid? Who knows. The loan was added and removed from my account today, and I had to search my online records in order to find out anything. I discovered this while investigating why I had not been charged for my registered summer hours. So I guess there is some providence in the fact that I realized it now and not late next week when the money was completely gone. But I was slated to receive my funds next Tuesday or Wednesday. That is clearly not going to happen.
In a perfect world, I would not need the loans anyway. But in a perfect world, many of the financial setbacks we have had since we were married would not have happened, or perhaps, as some people advise, we would not have married until the finances were stable. But life doesn't really work that way, and so we will be paying loans until we die. Literally. That doesn't bother me--it'll be like renting our degrees for the rest of our lives. At least the loans don't transfer to the children. But I have to finish the degrees before I can pay the loans. And in order to do that, I need the loans. Kind of circular, no?
Anyway, this crops up at just this moment because I feel better about the pregnancy. The optimist in me says that this is so that I wouldn't have had too many things to cause anxiety all at once. The cynic in me says that it's so that I wouldn't actually get a break from stress. Oh, and the cynic adds, "Dissertation? What dissertation?"
And nothing much is riding on these loan funds that are now being held. Nope. Just my entire move. Because the bank account is woefully low, the utility company seems to be charging a retroactive late fee from the last time we had service with them--5 years ago, and of course we have to pay the pro-rated rent for the 3 days this month we will live in the new place. Not to mention moving supplies, a truck rental--you know, the usual stuff.
And when was I to receive notice of this glitch in my financial aid? Who knows. The loan was added and removed from my account today, and I had to search my online records in order to find out anything. I discovered this while investigating why I had not been charged for my registered summer hours. So I guess there is some providence in the fact that I realized it now and not late next week when the money was completely gone. But I was slated to receive my funds next Tuesday or Wednesday. That is clearly not going to happen.
In a perfect world, I would not need the loans anyway. But in a perfect world, many of the financial setbacks we have had since we were married would not have happened, or perhaps, as some people advise, we would not have married until the finances were stable. But life doesn't really work that way, and so we will be paying loans until we die. Literally. That doesn't bother me--it'll be like renting our degrees for the rest of our lives. At least the loans don't transfer to the children. But I have to finish the degrees before I can pay the loans. And in order to do that, I need the loans. Kind of circular, no?
Anyway, this crops up at just this moment because I feel better about the pregnancy. The optimist in me says that this is so that I wouldn't have had too many things to cause anxiety all at once. The cynic in me says that it's so that I wouldn't actually get a break from stress. Oh, and the cynic adds, "Dissertation? What dissertation?"
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Tagged again!
Entropy tagged me with this meme:
Grab the nearest book.
Open it to page 161.
Find the fifth full sentence.
Post the text of the sentence along with these instructions.
Don't search around looking for the coolest book you can find. Do what's actually next to you.
Interestingly, the first book next to me doesn't go up to p. 161. It's Hugh Kenner's The Mechanic Muse, about the influence of the typewriter on Modernism. It's one of the only books in the living room that isn't packed at the moment, and this meme has reminded me that I need to cite it in the dissertation so I can get it back to the graduate student who has it checked out and graciously lent it to me! (It has 131 pages.)
So, to compensate, I will refer to the next 2 closest books:
"Not only are today's maternity clothes a lot more interesting and practical to wear, but pregnant women can supplement and mix-and-match these specialized purchases with a variety of other items that they can continue to wear even after they get their shape back."
(I suppose that's their collective shape? Don't multiple pregnant women have more than one shape?)
and
"He led the sheep up the stairs, and then step by step he tugged and boosted her upward."
(No, really, it's a children's book--Farmer Boy, actually!)
Pretty funny stuff!
I tag both Darwins, who, I assume, sit in different places when they blog, and Chris, who had better post the answer before he leaves for Mexico! Also, Academama, who should have something interesting to add to this meme! I would have tagged "C," who posts under the tag "john," but she does not have a blog!! (dare I add, yet?)
Thanks, Entropy!
Grab the nearest book.
Open it to page 161.
Find the fifth full sentence.
Post the text of the sentence along with these instructions.
Don't search around looking for the coolest book you can find. Do what's actually next to you.
Interestingly, the first book next to me doesn't go up to p. 161. It's Hugh Kenner's The Mechanic Muse, about the influence of the typewriter on Modernism. It's one of the only books in the living room that isn't packed at the moment, and this meme has reminded me that I need to cite it in the dissertation so I can get it back to the graduate student who has it checked out and graciously lent it to me! (It has 131 pages.)
So, to compensate, I will refer to the next 2 closest books:
"Not only are today's maternity clothes a lot more interesting and practical to wear, but pregnant women can supplement and mix-and-match these specialized purchases with a variety of other items that they can continue to wear even after they get their shape back."
(I suppose that's their collective shape? Don't multiple pregnant women have more than one shape?)
and
"He led the sheep up the stairs, and then step by step he tugged and boosted her upward."
(No, really, it's a children's book--Farmer Boy, actually!)
Pretty funny stuff!
I tag both Darwins, who, I assume, sit in different places when they blog, and Chris, who had better post the answer before he leaves for Mexico! Also, Academama, who should have something interesting to add to this meme! I would have tagged "C," who posts under the tag "john," but she does not have a blog!! (dare I add, yet?)
Thanks, Entropy!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Pregnancy Over-Achiever?
So in spite of the fact that I suddenly realized a couple of weeks ago that I couldn't fit my clothes the same way, I have been having doubts and anxieties about whether everything was progressing the way it should with the pregnancy--specifically, I have been worried about the baby growing. I think I have been responding to a combination of factors, here. My last doctor's appointment was not particularly satisfactory. I was not measured because the nurse midwife doubted her ability to measure me at 13 weeks. The heartbeat was faint and hard-to-find and, I realized today, was not actually the baby--rather, 9 times out of 10, they are listening to the placenta! I guess that's a good indicator, too, but it's a little disingenuous to tell the mother she's hearing the baby when it's actually the placenta that she's hearing! Also, the trend in doctor's offices that don't want to eat the insurance offset for testing is not to test the mother's urine at each visit--only the "later" visits. So I had very little to reassure me at the last visit.
Also, I've been influenced by all of the accounts of miscarriages and pregnancy complications that I have been reading all over the web. Some from those whom I know personally, others, first-hand accounts from bloggers I "know" and others' first hand accounts in response to others' experiences, and then third-hand or more accounts of someone who had this thing happen, usually in a pro-life, don't-abort-imperfect-babies context. So these have been preying on my mind.
In addition, there is this "rhetoric of suffering" in Catholicism. I think it depends on how susceptible one is to such things, but I have a very vivid imagination where pain is concerned--physical and emotional. It's like an enhanced empathy. It has its good points with connecting with people, but also its drawbacks, like when I can visualize the accounts of grizzly murders, etc., on the news and imagine myself as the victim. I've done this from a very young age. I still suffer from memories of reading about Dr. Mengele at Auschwitz when I was a pre-teen. So the Catholic "rhetoric of suffering" (as I'm calling it). . . It's mainly intended to stress that God is present during times of suffering, to comfort those who are experiencing or have experienced pain, and to teach that those in pain deserve the chance to live through their suffering because God manifests himself in a special way in the lives of those who suffer. There is this idea that these people have a special "cross to bear," and that they will or should "join their suffering to the cross." It can be a difficult thing to wrap one's mind around, and of course, the lives of the saints and of the faithful who have survived trials and emerged recognizing their own strength provide examples to help with the concept of this special kind of holiness. Well, with my imagination, I find myself, in a kind of odd thankfulness for my own situation, waiting for an unfortunate event--for "my turn," if you will. Now I know that different people have different trials in their lives, and I know I have some, but they seem increasingly small as compared to people I have read about. So a very small, fearful part of me dreads that I might be "joined to the cross" in such a manner. Perhaps I'm experiencing what some young Catholics feel in idealistic fervor when they wish that they were saints and/or martyrs. Only, I feel it more realistically, perhaps knowing what it would entail. So what better locus for anxiety (and time, given the hormones) than pregnancy?
So I have been worried. And last week, I made an appointment with a lay midwife (not the nurse midwife I saw last--this woman is not affiliated with a doctor's office), to get some peace of mind about my progress. Apart from confusion about the day of the appointment (she had written down next Wednesday), the visit went well. The heartbeat was very hard to find, but she did eventually find it. But first, the measurement--I'm at about 15 1/2 weeks. The midwife measured me, then she asked how many weeks along I am, then she asked if I had had an ultrasound, and whether my due date was "adjusted" or whether it confirmed the original estimate. Well, I adjusted the due date by 3 or so days myself because of NFP--I knew my ovulation date pretty certainly (after-the-fact, but that's a different subject!), but the ultrasound confirmed my own estimate. It seems I am currently measuring at 19 or so weeks--a good 4 weeks larger than where I should be!
With my son, who was 9 lbs. 6 1/2 oz. and born pretty much on the due date, I measured about 2 weeks larger than I was supposed to measure consistently. This is quite a bit larger than that! Now, I may have had a slight uterine "firming"--I hesitate to call it a contraction, because I get them all the time and they're harmless, and contractions at 15 weeks sounds bad--and I don't know if that affected things. But her thought was that if she were my midwife and I had not yet had an ultrasound, she would suggest having an ultrasound to check for twins. Now, I have had 2 ultrasounds, but at 7 and 9 weeks. I don't know if a twin could have been missed at that stage. Anyway, I guess I will see if I continue to measure large, and I have the "big," diagnostic ultrasound in June, so that will clear up the mystery. So I'm worried about being too small, and this is what I find out!! Talk about over-achiever.
As for the twins, I have twin aunts (my mother's sisters), twin great uncles (my maternal grandmother's brothers), and my great grandmother (the same who bore my twin great uncles), had at least one--possibly two--additional sets of twins who, due to early 20th Century medical care and her rural location, died in very early infancy (family lore doesn't say how early, but I suspect shortly after birth). Now, these were identical twins, which, the medical community says, are not hereditary. Fraternal twins, yes. Identical twins, no. And yet there was always this "lore" that twins "skip a generation" and that it did not skip my grandmother's generation in our case, but did skip my mother's. So the next round of twins does fall to my generation. I don't think it's likely for me at this point, since the two ultrasounds didn't reveal any multiples. But given family history, I did think it sort of, well, funny that it was mentioned.
But I'm feeling better about everything, and it seems I have a happy uterus, so that's good too.
A related question: Why are "uplifting stories" always so darned depressing? I can't bring myself to read this one right now for the above-mentioned reasons. I'm rather afraid of what new fears it might breed. But it does rather illustrate my point about what's in the blogs these days. . . And, if you're curious, try here and here, also. Here's a whole collection that Melanie posted over at Wine Dark Sea. Good stories, but emotionally draining. . .
Also, I've been influenced by all of the accounts of miscarriages and pregnancy complications that I have been reading all over the web. Some from those whom I know personally, others, first-hand accounts from bloggers I "know" and others' first hand accounts in response to others' experiences, and then third-hand or more accounts of someone who had this thing happen, usually in a pro-life, don't-abort-imperfect-babies context. So these have been preying on my mind.
In addition, there is this "rhetoric of suffering" in Catholicism. I think it depends on how susceptible one is to such things, but I have a very vivid imagination where pain is concerned--physical and emotional. It's like an enhanced empathy. It has its good points with connecting with people, but also its drawbacks, like when I can visualize the accounts of grizzly murders, etc., on the news and imagine myself as the victim. I've done this from a very young age. I still suffer from memories of reading about Dr. Mengele at Auschwitz when I was a pre-teen. So the Catholic "rhetoric of suffering" (as I'm calling it). . . It's mainly intended to stress that God is present during times of suffering, to comfort those who are experiencing or have experienced pain, and to teach that those in pain deserve the chance to live through their suffering because God manifests himself in a special way in the lives of those who suffer. There is this idea that these people have a special "cross to bear," and that they will or should "join their suffering to the cross." It can be a difficult thing to wrap one's mind around, and of course, the lives of the saints and of the faithful who have survived trials and emerged recognizing their own strength provide examples to help with the concept of this special kind of holiness. Well, with my imagination, I find myself, in a kind of odd thankfulness for my own situation, waiting for an unfortunate event--for "my turn," if you will. Now I know that different people have different trials in their lives, and I know I have some, but they seem increasingly small as compared to people I have read about. So a very small, fearful part of me dreads that I might be "joined to the cross" in such a manner. Perhaps I'm experiencing what some young Catholics feel in idealistic fervor when they wish that they were saints and/or martyrs. Only, I feel it more realistically, perhaps knowing what it would entail. So what better locus for anxiety (and time, given the hormones) than pregnancy?
So I have been worried. And last week, I made an appointment with a lay midwife (not the nurse midwife I saw last--this woman is not affiliated with a doctor's office), to get some peace of mind about my progress. Apart from confusion about the day of the appointment (she had written down next Wednesday), the visit went well. The heartbeat was very hard to find, but she did eventually find it. But first, the measurement--I'm at about 15 1/2 weeks. The midwife measured me, then she asked how many weeks along I am, then she asked if I had had an ultrasound, and whether my due date was "adjusted" or whether it confirmed the original estimate. Well, I adjusted the due date by 3 or so days myself because of NFP--I knew my ovulation date pretty certainly (after-the-fact, but that's a different subject!), but the ultrasound confirmed my own estimate. It seems I am currently measuring at 19 or so weeks--a good 4 weeks larger than where I should be!
With my son, who was 9 lbs. 6 1/2 oz. and born pretty much on the due date, I measured about 2 weeks larger than I was supposed to measure consistently. This is quite a bit larger than that! Now, I may have had a slight uterine "firming"--I hesitate to call it a contraction, because I get them all the time and they're harmless, and contractions at 15 weeks sounds bad--and I don't know if that affected things. But her thought was that if she were my midwife and I had not yet had an ultrasound, she would suggest having an ultrasound to check for twins. Now, I have had 2 ultrasounds, but at 7 and 9 weeks. I don't know if a twin could have been missed at that stage. Anyway, I guess I will see if I continue to measure large, and I have the "big," diagnostic ultrasound in June, so that will clear up the mystery. So I'm worried about being too small, and this is what I find out!! Talk about over-achiever.
As for the twins, I have twin aunts (my mother's sisters), twin great uncles (my maternal grandmother's brothers), and my great grandmother (the same who bore my twin great uncles), had at least one--possibly two--additional sets of twins who, due to early 20th Century medical care and her rural location, died in very early infancy (family lore doesn't say how early, but I suspect shortly after birth). Now, these were identical twins, which, the medical community says, are not hereditary. Fraternal twins, yes. Identical twins, no. And yet there was always this "lore" that twins "skip a generation" and that it did not skip my grandmother's generation in our case, but did skip my mother's. So the next round of twins does fall to my generation. I don't think it's likely for me at this point, since the two ultrasounds didn't reveal any multiples. But given family history, I did think it sort of, well, funny that it was mentioned.
But I'm feeling better about everything, and it seems I have a happy uterus, so that's good too.
A related question: Why are "uplifting stories" always so darned depressing? I can't bring myself to read this one right now for the above-mentioned reasons. I'm rather afraid of what new fears it might breed. But it does rather illustrate my point about what's in the blogs these days. . . And, if you're curious, try here and here, also. Here's a whole collection that Melanie posted over at Wine Dark Sea. Good stories, but emotionally draining. . .
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Kids' Tickers!
I've been wanting to add one of the "expecting a baby" tickers for a while, but couldn't find them. Then, when I did, I found the ones for older children, too, and couldn't resist!
Monday, May 14, 2007
A Rare Pro-life Post: Two Poems, a Lamentation, and a Conclusion
the mother
by Gwendolyn Brooks
Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers who never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.
I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed children.
I have contracted. I have eased
My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized
Your luck
And your lives from your unfinished reach,
If I stole your births and your names,
Your straight baby tears and your games,
Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches, and your deaths,
If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,
Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine,
Whine that the crime was other than mine?--
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather, instead,
You were never made.
But that too, I am afraid,
Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
You were born, you had body, you died.
It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.
Believe me, I loved you all.
Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you
All.
This is one of two poems that I read as an undergraduate that broach the subject of abortion--both of which I find haunting. The second is written by a male poet, Richard Katrovas, a former teacher of mine, who nevertheless attempts in some way to account for the feelings of the woman who has been betrayed by her former lover (or who feels betrayed; it is not quite clear to me whether he has betrayed her or if she feels betrayed because she is estranged from him and yet pregnant--betrayed by her own body, if you will). In this case, the reader's sympathy falls squarely with the male character in this contemporary "dithyramb"; perhaps this is because he (in spite of the refrain, "Yippi-yi-yay, another roll in the hay!") is portrayed less stereotypically than the woman, who fears loss of control and the relegation of her body to the status of mere "meat."
from "Eat What You Kill" by Richard Katrovas
Male Chorus Leader:
Vaguely repentant, even ashamed, I lunged
from one false enthrallment to another,
my affection like a blight of locusts,
though more voracious, quiet, and complete.
Yet when she starved herself to kill the child,
then reported the deed as liberation,
I did not know who or what was free of what
or whom, and cried alone in voiceless dread.
A page or two later, the Male Chorus intones, in an echo of Dionysus's "rescue" by Zeus from the pride of his mother, who wanted to see the true divine face of Zeus:
And the brutal father tore half-formed flesh
from the new charred corpse of its foolish mother,
then stashed the thing inside.
(As, of course, the Male Chorus Leader could not choose to do.) This poem is poignant, but perhaps doomed to obscurity because of its unpopular representation of male opinion in the matter. (I would be naive if I suggested that I did not know that there are many cases in which male opinion in the matter facilitates--even forces--rather than prevents abortion. . . I have known of women whose partners or husbands tried to coerce them into committing the act, and I have also read my Adrienne Rich.) The poet in question would have been fully aware of the danger of representing male opinion as more valuable than female opinion in the matter, and yet he has done so. He further would have known of the danger of representing a female perspective on the subject, yet this he has done as well. . .
Female Chorus Leader:
I am innocent, yet wholly culpable,
and offer no apology or excuse
for self-denial that siphoned another life.
It was my legal right to purge myself.
The termination was not violent,
was not achieved by artificial means.
The thing began as passionate affection;
an assumption of good faith marshaled it
from that crowded zone of nothingness and bliss.
But tenderness recalled became a hell,
and I, alone yet not alone, contained
the literal essence of a bloody lie.
. . . . .
I feel sympathy for mothers who have actually experienced abortion, though I harbor no such emotions (or kind regard) for those individuals in any kind of authority--even the authority of a role model--who promote the process as necessary. I don't believe that anyone (myself included) who has not been in the situation and made and carried out the decision to abort a child can truly understand the mindset of the mother who has taken this action toward her child, any more than one can understand the thoughts of an individual who has just committed suicide. Either action represents a psychological revolt against the innate will to survive. I like the line in Gwendolyn Brooks' poem, "even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate." I can only imagine with difficulty the feelings of desperation that must accompany such an act--though I do not doubt that other feelings may be present also, and that other feelings must for some be present for the individual to cope with such an act. What saddens me, however, is the way that the act is seen as a legitimate "way out" of a difficult situation, and the way that even intelligent, rational women overlook the fact that while this action--the act of carrying and bearing a child, or the act of aborting that same child--impacts their bodies, it impacts the body of someone else as well. But I stand by my thought, above, that to commit the act is the very essence of despair--it is the failure to see hope. And in Catholic thought at least, despair--the failure to see hope--is a denial of God.
I also stand by my belief that where there is life, there is hope. Hence, I must promote life.
by Gwendolyn Brooks
Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers who never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.
I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed children.
I have contracted. I have eased
My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized
Your luck
And your lives from your unfinished reach,
If I stole your births and your names,
Your straight baby tears and your games,
Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches, and your deaths,
If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,
Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine,
Whine that the crime was other than mine?--
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather, instead,
You were never made.
But that too, I am afraid,
Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
You were born, you had body, you died.
It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.
Believe me, I loved you all.
Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you
All.
This is one of two poems that I read as an undergraduate that broach the subject of abortion--both of which I find haunting. The second is written by a male poet, Richard Katrovas, a former teacher of mine, who nevertheless attempts in some way to account for the feelings of the woman who has been betrayed by her former lover (or who feels betrayed; it is not quite clear to me whether he has betrayed her or if she feels betrayed because she is estranged from him and yet pregnant--betrayed by her own body, if you will). In this case, the reader's sympathy falls squarely with the male character in this contemporary "dithyramb"; perhaps this is because he (in spite of the refrain, "Yippi-yi-yay, another roll in the hay!") is portrayed less stereotypically than the woman, who fears loss of control and the relegation of her body to the status of mere "meat."
from "Eat What You Kill" by Richard Katrovas
Male Chorus Leader:
Vaguely repentant, even ashamed, I lunged
from one false enthrallment to another,
my affection like a blight of locusts,
though more voracious, quiet, and complete.
Yet when she starved herself to kill the child,
then reported the deed as liberation,
I did not know who or what was free of what
or whom, and cried alone in voiceless dread.
A page or two later, the Male Chorus intones, in an echo of Dionysus's "rescue" by Zeus from the pride of his mother, who wanted to see the true divine face of Zeus:
And the brutal father tore half-formed flesh
from the new charred corpse of its foolish mother,
then stashed the thing inside.
(As, of course, the Male Chorus Leader could not choose to do.) This poem is poignant, but perhaps doomed to obscurity because of its unpopular representation of male opinion in the matter. (I would be naive if I suggested that I did not know that there are many cases in which male opinion in the matter facilitates--even forces--rather than prevents abortion. . . I have known of women whose partners or husbands tried to coerce them into committing the act, and I have also read my Adrienne Rich.) The poet in question would have been fully aware of the danger of representing male opinion as more valuable than female opinion in the matter, and yet he has done so. He further would have known of the danger of representing a female perspective on the subject, yet this he has done as well. . .
Female Chorus Leader:
I am innocent, yet wholly culpable,
and offer no apology or excuse
for self-denial that siphoned another life.
It was my legal right to purge myself.
The termination was not violent,
was not achieved by artificial means.
The thing began as passionate affection;
an assumption of good faith marshaled it
from that crowded zone of nothingness and bliss.
But tenderness recalled became a hell,
and I, alone yet not alone, contained
the literal essence of a bloody lie.
. . . . .
I feel sympathy for mothers who have actually experienced abortion, though I harbor no such emotions (or kind regard) for those individuals in any kind of authority--even the authority of a role model--who promote the process as necessary. I don't believe that anyone (myself included) who has not been in the situation and made and carried out the decision to abort a child can truly understand the mindset of the mother who has taken this action toward her child, any more than one can understand the thoughts of an individual who has just committed suicide. Either action represents a psychological revolt against the innate will to survive. I like the line in Gwendolyn Brooks' poem, "even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate." I can only imagine with difficulty the feelings of desperation that must accompany such an act--though I do not doubt that other feelings may be present also, and that other feelings must for some be present for the individual to cope with such an act. What saddens me, however, is the way that the act is seen as a legitimate "way out" of a difficult situation, and the way that even intelligent, rational women overlook the fact that while this action--the act of carrying and bearing a child, or the act of aborting that same child--impacts their bodies, it impacts the body of someone else as well. But I stand by my thought, above, that to commit the act is the very essence of despair--it is the failure to see hope. And in Catholic thought at least, despair--the failure to see hope--is a denial of God.
I also stand by my belief that where there is life, there is hope. Hence, I must promote life.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Mother's Day
Well, today is Mother's Day. For me, it ranks right up there with Valentines Day and all other slightly artificial holidays that are intended to boost the sales of cards, flowers, and candy and induce people to eat at restaurants. It's nice to be appreciated, but I feel appreciated anyway, and when I say I don't need a present, I really mean it. Now, maybe when my kids are grown & have good jobs and can buy me a bigger, better iPod. . . Just kidding! ;)
Another thing about these artificial holidays is that they make everyone involved feel compelled to do "something special"--whatever that something special might be, and we become (collectively) slightly disappointed, disgruntled, or even angry when those things don't quite work out the way we plan, or if we accidently wait until the last minute to do what we had planned--like buy the cards or overpriced flowers, for example.
One thing I've realized is that Mother's Day is really about the children. At least, while they're young. It's about making them feel good about the thing they've done or purchased or whatever, and then we get to feel good about having them feel good about doing something for us--and everything's great. Except when it doesn't work out that way. So keep that in mind, those of you with husbands who want everything to be perfect and children who are too young, yet, to do anything. . . It gets more complex as they get older. But in the end, having a nice day is what you make it.
Happy Mother's Day to all mothers!!
Another thing about these artificial holidays is that they make everyone involved feel compelled to do "something special"--whatever that something special might be, and we become (collectively) slightly disappointed, disgruntled, or even angry when those things don't quite work out the way we plan, or if we accidently wait until the last minute to do what we had planned--like buy the cards or overpriced flowers, for example.
One thing I've realized is that Mother's Day is really about the children. At least, while they're young. It's about making them feel good about the thing they've done or purchased or whatever, and then we get to feel good about having them feel good about doing something for us--and everything's great. Except when it doesn't work out that way. So keep that in mind, those of you with husbands who want everything to be perfect and children who are too young, yet, to do anything. . . It gets more complex as they get older. But in the end, having a nice day is what you make it.
Happy Mother's Day to all mothers!!
Saturday, May 12, 2007
10th Anniversary!!
Yup, I've been married 10 years. It's kind of an amazing thing to be so young and to have been married 10 years--fully 1/3 of my life. What a wonderful thing!
Well, a few nights ago in the midst of feeling pretty awful, I came up with my ideal anniversary treat--a day & night at one of those spa hotels (of course, I couldn't afford any such thing, even if there were one around here), but since this weekend is college graduation, high school prom, and Mother's Day weekend, I didn't even think we'd be able to see the inside of a restaurant.
The day started mundanely enough. . . We packed for the upcoming move for hours on end--until our son went to my mother's to play and we reached the "no idea what to do next" stage. I did have a brainstorm later in the day--our favorite Chinese food restaurant would be empty!! (Chinese food is not typically considered "elegant" fare. . . though there are exceptions.) So my mom stayed with the kids (a rare treat!!) and we had Chinese food and brought some back for her. Then we had a weird picking-up-the-sister, not-picking-up-the-sister thing, but in the meantime, found ourselves at a gallery-wine bar-coffee shop for dessert. It was wonderful!! I haven't been anywhere like that in so long!! We had some very delicious and decadent coffees and desserts (which I will regret for the rest of the night--bleh), and finally came home after a very, very nice evening.
It doesn't take much to please me; I don't mind not having a big date night for the anniversary. Most years, we have had our son with us. But I must say that this was a very nice night--probably one of our nicest anniversary celebrations yet. Here's to many, many more!
Well, a few nights ago in the midst of feeling pretty awful, I came up with my ideal anniversary treat--a day & night at one of those spa hotels (of course, I couldn't afford any such thing, even if there were one around here), but since this weekend is college graduation, high school prom, and Mother's Day weekend, I didn't even think we'd be able to see the inside of a restaurant.
The day started mundanely enough. . . We packed for the upcoming move for hours on end--until our son went to my mother's to play and we reached the "no idea what to do next" stage. I did have a brainstorm later in the day--our favorite Chinese food restaurant would be empty!! (Chinese food is not typically considered "elegant" fare. . . though there are exceptions.) So my mom stayed with the kids (a rare treat!!) and we had Chinese food and brought some back for her. Then we had a weird picking-up-the-sister, not-picking-up-the-sister thing, but in the meantime, found ourselves at a gallery-wine bar-coffee shop for dessert. It was wonderful!! I haven't been anywhere like that in so long!! We had some very delicious and decadent coffees and desserts (which I will regret for the rest of the night--bleh), and finally came home after a very, very nice evening.
It doesn't take much to please me; I don't mind not having a big date night for the anniversary. Most years, we have had our son with us. But I must say that this was a very nice night--probably one of our nicest anniversary celebrations yet. Here's to many, many more!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Hormones, hormones
I've had a pretty miserable few days. I'm hoping that things will improve from here. But basically, on top of the usual day-to-day stresses, and on top of the extraordinary teaching assignment stress, and the stress of knowing that I've got an upcoming move, and normal pregnancy worries (or slightly obsessive pregnancy worries), my hormones are doing horrible, horrible things to me. I recognize that hormones are to blame because at any given point during the day, I can feel like I'm on the verge of tears. And the interesting thing about these hormonal emotional bouts is that they leave me absolutely exhausted. And for some inexplicable reason, I don't particularly want to eat during the day. Not that I'm feeling too sick to eat--I just don't want to. I want a meal when I wake up, but I usually have to force myself to eat what's available because I just don't want to eat what's here, and then I want a meal in the evening, but usually not until I'm feeling weak and a little sick. Sometimes those meals are punctuated by hands-full of SAM'S Choice trail mix. So the hormones leave me exhausted, and my energy level is weird anyway because of my aversion to, um, meals. But if I can get through tomorrow without crying, I'll be happy. At least I know that if my body were not doing baby-making stuff, the hormones would not be tormenting me so. So I guess I can take comfort in that!
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Go Ahead. Laugh. I don't care.
You may recognize these lines as the ones Mowgli utters in the Disney version of Jungle Book when he finds himself lost among the vultures. That's about how I feel right now. The whole "academic motherhood optimism" seems ill-placed. I know that I can do it, but I do need some cooperation from others, and it's not happening.
I was assigned to teach freshman comp. No problems there. I long ago gave up playing the "I deserve to teach lit more than (insert name or category of grad student)" game. I know I have seniority; I don't need it proven to me. It's a silly game and I'm not going to play it. If I ask for freshman comp, guess what? I get freshman comp. No surprises. And I've taught it a bunch, so the prep is easier--as long as I don't change textbooks every semester. But then, I became pregnant. Aha! The plot thickens.
So it seems that the powers-that-be declare that freshman comp (at this university, anyway) can not ever be taught in a way that resembles a distance course, even for a limited amount of time while the instructor is delivering and caring for a newborn. First mistake--asking permission. But the powers-that-be include the dissertation director, so I would have been found out eventually. At least, I think he would have noticed. And he offered helpful solutions--teach advanced comp, which is taught as a hybrid course (in-class and online). I would only have had to report one day a week. However, they who give the assignments did not comply--or even answer his request, and I believe he has been too busy to follow-up, or has had nothing to report. Meanwhile, I could not submit a request for a specific days/time because the times/days for advanced comp are very different from the times/days for freshman comp, so if I gave preferences for one course, they would be irrelevant to the other course, should I be switched. Of course, when I received my schedule, it is the worst possible schedule in addition to the course I am not allowed to teach.
So I am supposed to teach freshman comp from 3-3:50 MWF. First, I can't afford 3-day child care. I can't really afford child care at all, especially when I'd rather have my child with me. But a 2-year-old would at least be able to play, unlike a younger baby (but I'm being told that because she doesn't turn 2 before Sept. 1, she would be in the 18-24 month class, which is a whole different frustration!). Second, part-time child care (and I refuse to do full-time, even if I could afford it!) ends at 2:30. Third, there's that other child of mine who gets off of school in the 3-3:50 window. And then there's that whole taking off the last month of the semester thing. Even if I deliver on time or late, I would need an extraordinary number of substitutes to cover 12 classes!!
In past regimes, the grad student with the schedule conflict would inform the professor who makes the schedules. If the concern was pressing, it was remedied; if not, the grad student had to cope with the difficulty of life for a semester and, basically, get over it. But whining has become increasingly tolerated, and everyone thinks his/her situation is more important than everyone else's. There used to be an acknowledgment, among grad students and faculty, that some people's scheduling needs were more pressing than others. First, class schedules were considered for those who were still taking courses. Second, families or those who had long commutes. Other concerns--like whims, not wanting to work 3 days, or that "other" job that we're not supposed to have--were considered afterwards, if at all. And generally, if one wanted consideration for family concerns, etc., one had to be up front with them early in the request process. I rarely had 8 A.M. sections, for example, because I had to drop my son off in the mornings. The responsible faculty member also took responsibility for rearranging assignments as necessary. Now, we are left to seek the mercy of our peers, which works in some cases, but not all. After all, who really wants a 3-day a week freshman comp? When I first started, we didn't have a choice--pretty much everyone taught freshman comp. And while there was a little grumbling about unfair favoritism, everyone knew that you paid your composition dues before teaching lit. Not so now. And it complicates matters.
I have had a babysitting offer, and one offer to exchange an unknown day/time of freshman comp for my section, but neither offer, while appreciated, takes care of the postpartum dilemma.
Had a mini-breakdown last night. Let's call it hormones. I had two stressful days of making phonecalls and sending emails, finished a nursing top and made a nursing nightgown--neither of which came out as I expected. Found out that even though student loans are being paid, the Department of Education felt the need to confiscate the tax return for the second consecutive year. I'm worried about the baby because no measurements were taken last appointment and I haven't gained any weight (unusual for me). So I went to bed, I cried, then I nearly threw up because my nose was clogged. I cried because I don't want to buy new baby clothes if it's a boy. I cried because I sound like a really strong, self-assured person and all of my plans (which worked for the first 2 babies) are failing. And I cried because there are legions of people (faculty included) who would kill for the opportunity to gloat over a failure to make academic motherhood work.
I had a teacher in high school who used to say that we frequently "set ourselves up for disappointment." I suppose she might apply this phrase to me. I think the idea is that if you don't aim high, if you don't reach for impossible ideals, you will not fall so hard when, in fact, you do fall, as is inevitable. I think I thought her advice was sensible and pragmatic at the time. It seems defeatist to me now. I can't actually see this teacher saying, "Why believe in anything if you'll just be disappointed?" Perhaps she didn't realize the implications of her words. But I remembered her words yesterday.
I was assigned to teach freshman comp. No problems there. I long ago gave up playing the "I deserve to teach lit more than (insert name or category of grad student)" game. I know I have seniority; I don't need it proven to me. It's a silly game and I'm not going to play it. If I ask for freshman comp, guess what? I get freshman comp. No surprises. And I've taught it a bunch, so the prep is easier--as long as I don't change textbooks every semester. But then, I became pregnant. Aha! The plot thickens.
So it seems that the powers-that-be declare that freshman comp (at this university, anyway) can not ever be taught in a way that resembles a distance course, even for a limited amount of time while the instructor is delivering and caring for a newborn. First mistake--asking permission. But the powers-that-be include the dissertation director, so I would have been found out eventually. At least, I think he would have noticed. And he offered helpful solutions--teach advanced comp, which is taught as a hybrid course (in-class and online). I would only have had to report one day a week. However, they who give the assignments did not comply--or even answer his request, and I believe he has been too busy to follow-up, or has had nothing to report. Meanwhile, I could not submit a request for a specific days/time because the times/days for advanced comp are very different from the times/days for freshman comp, so if I gave preferences for one course, they would be irrelevant to the other course, should I be switched. Of course, when I received my schedule, it is the worst possible schedule in addition to the course I am not allowed to teach.
So I am supposed to teach freshman comp from 3-3:50 MWF. First, I can't afford 3-day child care. I can't really afford child care at all, especially when I'd rather have my child with me. But a 2-year-old would at least be able to play, unlike a younger baby (but I'm being told that because she doesn't turn 2 before Sept. 1, she would be in the 18-24 month class, which is a whole different frustration!). Second, part-time child care (and I refuse to do full-time, even if I could afford it!) ends at 2:30. Third, there's that other child of mine who gets off of school in the 3-3:50 window. And then there's that whole taking off the last month of the semester thing. Even if I deliver on time or late, I would need an extraordinary number of substitutes to cover 12 classes!!
In past regimes, the grad student with the schedule conflict would inform the professor who makes the schedules. If the concern was pressing, it was remedied; if not, the grad student had to cope with the difficulty of life for a semester and, basically, get over it. But whining has become increasingly tolerated, and everyone thinks his/her situation is more important than everyone else's. There used to be an acknowledgment, among grad students and faculty, that some people's scheduling needs were more pressing than others. First, class schedules were considered for those who were still taking courses. Second, families or those who had long commutes. Other concerns--like whims, not wanting to work 3 days, or that "other" job that we're not supposed to have--were considered afterwards, if at all. And generally, if one wanted consideration for family concerns, etc., one had to be up front with them early in the request process. I rarely had 8 A.M. sections, for example, because I had to drop my son off in the mornings. The responsible faculty member also took responsibility for rearranging assignments as necessary. Now, we are left to seek the mercy of our peers, which works in some cases, but not all. After all, who really wants a 3-day a week freshman comp? When I first started, we didn't have a choice--pretty much everyone taught freshman comp. And while there was a little grumbling about unfair favoritism, everyone knew that you paid your composition dues before teaching lit. Not so now. And it complicates matters.
I have had a babysitting offer, and one offer to exchange an unknown day/time of freshman comp for my section, but neither offer, while appreciated, takes care of the postpartum dilemma.
Had a mini-breakdown last night. Let's call it hormones. I had two stressful days of making phonecalls and sending emails, finished a nursing top and made a nursing nightgown--neither of which came out as I expected. Found out that even though student loans are being paid, the Department of Education felt the need to confiscate the tax return for the second consecutive year. I'm worried about the baby because no measurements were taken last appointment and I haven't gained any weight (unusual for me). So I went to bed, I cried, then I nearly threw up because my nose was clogged. I cried because I don't want to buy new baby clothes if it's a boy. I cried because I sound like a really strong, self-assured person and all of my plans (which worked for the first 2 babies) are failing. And I cried because there are legions of people (faculty included) who would kill for the opportunity to gloat over a failure to make academic motherhood work.
I had a teacher in high school who used to say that we frequently "set ourselves up for disappointment." I suppose she might apply this phrase to me. I think the idea is that if you don't aim high, if you don't reach for impossible ideals, you will not fall so hard when, in fact, you do fall, as is inevitable. I think I thought her advice was sensible and pragmatic at the time. It seems defeatist to me now. I can't actually see this teacher saying, "Why believe in anything if you'll just be disappointed?" Perhaps she didn't realize the implications of her words. But I remembered her words yesterday.
Mother's Day Givaways!
Check these out! (But if you win the iPod, you have to give it to me!--Just kidding!)
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