I graduated!

Pics on the family blog.

Things went well. I was a little stressed with Doodle up on the front row of a balcony with a rather low railing, but all went well. Very well. She went to the bathroom no fewer than 3 times! She watched some episodes of Doug--now available on iTunes!--on Brother's iPod. Chiclette fell asleep. And I found myself less stressed after I crossed the stage. Coincidence?

Rest of the Week Follow-up

Thanks everyone! Things have been better the past day or two, though Doodle is still very cranky and not really eating. Before things are completely back to normal, I get to start stressing about graduation. Have I explained that I feel very inadequate in social occasions? Any time I think about large gatherings of people--whether they are people I know or not--I get to feeling very anxious and all of my worst anti-social tendencies reveal themselves. That, and little things start to get to me, like the doctoral robe's sleeves being different lengths, or the fact that "unisex" means "not for full busts"!!

So anyway, graduation is tomorrow morning, and I'm all wound up. I finally decided that Doodle will be there--I debated for a while, knowing that she really won't enjoy herself. But I couldn't bear the thought of having Phelan there, and Isabelle, and not Helena. Besides feeling like I am not representing my family accurately by having only 2 of my 3 children there, it seems to imply something about her--that she was not good enough to be there. If I was leaving both babies with someone, it might feel different. After all, my son IS the only one with the patience for this kind of thing, and the only one who begins to understand the significance of a graduation. I decided that I didn't want to try to explain in 5 or 6 years, "Well, Brother was at Momma's graduation, and so was Chiclette, but not you." What child is going to understand that one? So anyway, she will be going. To a 2-hour graduation ceremony. With many, many things to entertain her. And there are still times when keeping her in a 1-hour Mass is challenging (notice I didn't say keeping her still--that would be one of the minor miracles). :) I love my Doodle, but she is not a sedate child. I rely on the presence of aunts and an uncle to keep her well-behaved!

After graduation? I get to pull together Summer II grades by Monday. We have a little breakfast/brunch planned for Saturday. THAT will be the highlight of my weekend! (Not so intimidating, you know?)

My Four Copays --Caution: The squeamish should proceed with care

Let me tell you about my weekend. . . and the beginning of my week.

On Friday, things were good. I didn't particularly feel like cooking; having just gotten to the end of a month of scraping by, I wanted a little splurge (even though my husband rationally--and uncharacteristically for either of us!--argued that if we didn't splurge, we could have a bigger splurge for the after-graduation mini-celebration), and decided to go get some drive-through, notch-above-fast-food-Mexican for dinner. I took Doodle with me to give my husband some (relative) peace! So we came home and Doodle went through her latest coming-home ritual--she ran to the stepping-stones between the two apartment buildings and started following the path. Just as I was reminding her not to run, she flew through the air and landed with her knee on the very edge of the stone. I scooped her up, bleeding, and ran into the house to wash it & apply pressure. Well, the gash was deep, so I called the insurance nurse line. Their standard reply seems to be "go to the emergency room" (it's their "limitation of liability" line--not nurse line!) and so we were advised, because the wound was opening when she bent her knee, and also to check out the kneecap, to go to the hospital. We were seen rather quickly, which was good since the waiting room was full of people throwing up. I was concerned that Doodle would be a bit freaked out by the spectacle, but she was fine. In fact, she was the Belle of the ER. She got grape juice, 3 sheets of stickers, some Motrin for the soreness, and the most expensive bandaid I've ever purchased in my life, and we returned home for a peaceful night (and our dinner). Well, sort of. . .

When Doodle was checked into the ER, her temperature was 99.5, which by today's standards, counts as normal, though when I was growing up we called that a low-grade fever. Nothing to worry about, right? Remember, she had had Motrin. Well, she woke up at about 4:00 Saturday morning with much higher fever. It got as high as 102 that night; the next day, when it went up a degree to 103 after she had had Ibuprofin, I decided to take her to the "today clinic" instead of chancing another pricey (and unnecessary) ER visit if the medicine wouldn't bring down the fever. Of course it did. By the time we had her checked in to the "today clinic," her temperature was normal. But it was still good to have her checked. Her ears were normal; her throat was a little red. She had a badly executed strep test that came back negative. (She had been complaining about her throat.) Nothing conclusive. So we went home. Well, throughout the weekend, the fever continued to spike from 101-102 when the medicine wore off. She woke up burning hot & shaky each night. Monday, I called her doctor's office and spoke to the nurse, who said that they usually say that after fever has continued for 3 days, they want to see the child. She offered to get her in that afternoon, but I waited until Tuesday anyway. I missed my last class because the babies were sleeping and I was not going to wake a feverish child to leave. My husband picked up their response papers.

All of this time, she had been in a relatively good mood--for a sick child. In fact, she was incredibly sweet. Sunday night, she started with some nasal congestion, and the mood shifted. She is much more irritable. So after another feverish night Monday night, we took her in to her appointment. It seems that hers was the 4th or 5th case of exactly these symptoms--with the congestion at the end of the 3 or 4 days--that he had seen. (I love this doctor, btw. I can't imagine a better pediatrician.) So we figure, the worst is probably over. We hope. I asked him about an ongoing problem we have been having with Doodle that is making potty-training absolute HELL. All throughout June she would have off-and-on diarrhea-like symptoms. It was awful. It would start at the beginning of the week, and by the end, after much yogurt, she was fine. And this had started happening in conjunction with the virus. The doctor explained that he calls this kind of thing "toddler diarrhea," or "slick gut" or "Schlitterban gut" (after the water park). What happens is that from eating certain kinds of fruits and drinking certain fruit juices, the acids burn away the tendrils of the vilii in the intestines. This causes a problem with absorption of nutrients and leads to the rapid passage of all of the food from the body. The remedy is a high-fat diet, milk fat in particular. Mandarin oranges are the worst for causing this, and they are her favorite fruit, and have been since she was a very young toddler. Needless to say, it was a relief to know how to prevent and cure this condition!! So we went home, anticipating a peaceful afternoon. . .

Well, let me start by saying that at 9 months, my Chiclette is further along in her mobility than either of the other children have been. She not only crawls and sits, she stands, shuffles, and climbs (onto our wooden futon-sofa). She also falls. A lot. She has hit herself more times on that wooden futon than Doodle EVER did. Usually she cries a little & gets up again with no problem. You know where this is going, right? So yesterday afternoon, she took one of her now-famous spills and hit her mouth on the futon, causing her two little bottom teeth (presumably) to cut a nice slit in the very tip of her little tongue. And as with any mouth injury, there was blood everywhere. I scooped her up, found a washcloth, cold water, and ice, and started reviewing my options. ER? Not if I can help it. Call my husband? Not without a plan of action. Call my mom? Not this time. Call my friend with 3 kids, who might have a suggestion? Call my sister to come help me take the kids? No, she can't drive & I would lose time picking her up. All of this in the first 1:35 minutes after it happened. So I called the pediatrician's office. Having gotten past the reception desk with careful phrasing ("It's not an emergency, but I have a quick question about a mouth injury. Can I have a direct line to the nurse?"), I learned that both doctors' nurses were busy (the ones we see, anyway), and then, considering further, I decided to make an appointment, only to find out that they were booked, so effectively, the only way to get in was to speak to a nurse. So I left a message for them to call and made plans to head to that "today clinic" again. . . (Keep in mind that we had been to see the pediatrician with Doodle that morning!!) I had my son call my husband to meet us (his boss gave him a ride, as I have our vehicle), grabbed ice and a couple of washcloths (one fell on the ground and had to be thrown back into the house as we left), gave my son a pep talk about staying cool in emergency situations and doing what needs to be done (I operate well on adrenaline) as he struggled with nausea and prepared to be the one in the back to administer the icy washcloth in the baby mouth. Doodle was very concerned. While I was on the phone, she kept saying, "Baby B--- a hurt you! A hurt you?" She brought Chiclette the baby dress I was making to try to make her happy. Doodle was crying in the car to see the blood. So I had Doodle start singing "Frere Jacques"--in French and English--to calm the Chiclette. So we arrived; my husband arrived, and Chiclette and I were shown to the room fairly soon for a walk-in clinic, while Brother, Sister, and Daddy waited in the waiting room. For a long time. While phonecalls were made and I waited with only a few bits of gauze (and then ice that I commandeered from a housekeeping person, and some wax cups that are in the room, a sink, some papertowels, and eventually a washcloth, when it was time to leave) trying to stem the still-bleeding tongue. She wanted to nurse--that was a mess. :( I was very concerned about the blood she was swallowing.

By way of wrapping up a long story, they don't put stitches in tongues (thankfully, actually) if they can help it, and I was assured that it WOULD stop bleeding. We were sent home, not particularly peacefully, to deal with the bleeding as best we could. A few more scares that night--I gave her Tylenol, and she almost immediately threw up, and that was pretty gruesome. Now, if my son is a little squeamish, my husband is more so, perhaps owing to a sibling's bloody injury he witnessed as a child. So throughout the night, I was either ordering him to leave the room and NOT to help lest he turn a few shades of green (poor thing!!) and throw up or pass out or WATCHING him turn green. :( But you know, you can't blame someone for that kind of thing, and though he felt bad, I was in control of the blood as long as he was in charge of the toddler (and some bloody laundry). She went through a few outfits, three bibs, but gradually, gradually, the bleeding began to be less frequent, and bleed less each time. She did sleep a bit, which allowed the wound to rest without her messing with it! Finally, after about 6 hours, it stopped bleeding. I had to feed her solids in spite of the bleeding to keep her from crying, which would have made it worse. We did chill the food so it would be somewhat soothing, and the feeding went surprisingly well in spite of the blood. Nursing made it start up once. She drank a LOT of ice water--we were advised to give her lots of fluids. But it ended.

I carry my tension in my shoulders, and let me tell you about the knots I had! It's one thing when an injury occurs, is patched, and everyone moves on. It's another thing to have to deal with this kind of bleeding for hours, worried about what toys she can play with, trying to minimize the mess, stop the flow, keep her happy. But we all survived. And everyone slept pretty well last night, considering. Many prayers were said throughout the evening.

Oh! And Chiclette now finds herself confined to a much smaller space--with no furniture.

Mosaic Meme

H/T Melanie


Questions:
1. What is your first name?
2. Favorite food?
3. Where did you go to high school?
4. Favorite color?
5. Celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One word to describe you?
12. Hobby?

Directions:
a. Type your answer to each of the questions above into Flickr Search. b. Using only the first page, pick an image. c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker. d. Save image to hard drive and post to blogger. e. Copy HTML code for flickr photo credits and paste at the bottom of the post.

Credits:
1. Title Omitted, 2. Paella a la Valenciana, 3. Nightfall Over Riverdale, 4. The closed window, 5. The Dornoch Firth, 6. Orange Wine, 7. Rossbeigh Strand (HDR Test #1), 8. drinking chocolate, monochrome, 9. 3 marias, 10. The Avenue in mist and sun, 11. Questions/story of my wild river to my ego! (4), 12. chair I love...with pillow I sewed

My Comments:
I looooooove this meme! The resulting images bear very little resemblance to my actual answers, but the fact that I chose them all from the resulting images on Flickr means that the whole thing bears my stamp--in this case, a kind of starkness. I want to do another one with alternate answers. . .

Like this!



1. Church and lace, 2. Pinocchio's Pizza farm, 3. Jefferson Parish & Orleans Parish, 4. Mangosteen, 5. Red Rex Protea flower bud, 6. Offering to the Gods (who must be crazy!), 7. Disney's Magic Kingdom Fireworks, 8. butterfly napoleon, 9. Beautiful & calm, 10. Call of the Raven (formerly Nature's Special Effects), 11. Irrationalities Dark Night..., 12. Sewing Children's Clothing, 1953

A different side of me?

Teaching The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen, and other things. . .

If you haven't read the original, you can read it here. I assigned an essay on "The Moral Simplification of Disney's 'The Little Mermaid,'" and had them read the original text. I don't think any of them had read it before.

My first surprise was when it was argued that the Disney version was better by virtue of its simplicity because without the immortality of the soul as a subtext, it would be more accessible to those who were atheist or agnostic, and so did not wish for their children to be exposed to difficult questions that would then require explanation. Also, the replay value of a text with such an unhappy ending--one that instructed rather than amusing--was called into question. This rather put a damper on the prospect of discussing Andersen's text on its own terms, but then, with such a popular version as a comparison, I guess the original was at a disadvantage. The essay argued that the happy ending does rather a disservice to the reader, creating expectations that wishes will always be fulfilled, and attributing misfortune to the will of a single malevolent force. We wound up discussing the issue of representation of parental authority, and why parents feel threatened when fictional characters disobey (and get away with it)--not an issue in the original. Another point was that it contains more relevant topics--like not to talk to strangers--than the immortality of the soul. I tried to compare the complexity of the two issues. Even if you're not interested in the immortality of the soul, you can still concede that the question is more complex, no? The issue of why the mermaid could not achieve both a soul and true love was raised--the dichotomy was seen as a false one.

I admit that I felt a bit at a disadvantage because the Andersen text was being charged with not being politically or socially relevant. Maybe that's why it was excluded from the anthology!! But then, I think it's a problem when the expectation is that the world should be fair, and fiction is expected either to create a safehaven where the world looks fair, or becomes more fair (just), or acknowledges its unfairness in a way that places blame or suggests a remedy. I never had a problem with the notion that toils and suffering could be fruitless, even as a child--except that her toils were not fruitless, as she was granted the opportunity to gain for herself an immortal soul. But if that consideration is alien to your worldview, it's rather difficult to entertain that as a concrete gain. So how to discuss texts with a Christian subtext in a secular university context?

I was particularly interested in the nature of love and the representation of marriage. Observe this passage:

“So I shall die,” said the little mermaid, “and as the foam of the sea I shall be driven about never again to hear the music of the waves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the red sun. Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?”

“No,” said the old woman, “unless a man were to love you so much that you were more to him than his father or mother; and if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed his right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and hereafter, then his soul would glide into your body and you would obtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give a soul to you and retain his own as well; but this can never happen. Your fish’s tail, which amongst us is considered so beautiful, is thought on earth to be quite ugly; they do not know any better, and they think it necessary to have two stout props, which they call legs, in order to be handsome.”

In this characterization of marriage, we approximate the Catholic concept of a Sacramental Marriage, I think. At least, that would be a productive way to discuss a marriage that is so bound in the Judeo-Christian notion of the soul. The Biblical imagery--or analogy--is obvious: as Adam leant his rib to make Eve, so the husband of the mermaid (who is not human, and so is not the same as a human wife would be) lends part of his soul so that she might partake with him of Eternity. Pretty profound, actually. I managed to tease out the Adam & Eve reference, but had to quickly abandon the topic (which I did not introduce in the terms described above, though I would have liked to be teaching in a context that would have allowed for that kind of discussion). Now, even wanting to talk about the story in this way is new for me, much less having the context to do so, so I did not embark on an attempt to have the students define Sacramental Marriage through the story or evoke Catholic teaching. No waaaaay I'm THAT naïve! But still, I couldn't help wondering where that kind of discussion would lead. I planted the Adam & Eve seed, though. I didn't ask why there were all of those priests & incense & ritual in this Protestant, Danish text, but I wondered to myself. . .

In order to have something to discuss, I did ask what a feminist perspective might be, but that was too easy, really. She is dehumanized--being non-human in the first place doesn't really matter, or rather, it does because the female protagonist is alienated from the patriarchal world from the very nature of her being (or non-being)--and depends on finding a husband for her very soul. Her identity depends on him. Now, the Disney version does not really vary from this--rather, it validates that Ariel's existence depends on the prince. We learn that that's O.K. I'm not happy with seeing the Andersen version as negative in this way, and I don't think Disney's rebellion theme redeems their dependence on the handsome prince to justify Ariel's transformation. I presented this poem by Judith Viorst as an alternate "take" on the story; I liked this one in high school, but (point being taken--don't change who you are, yadda yadda), it doesn't exactly satisfy me in its interpretation of the story:

A Mermaid's Tail (Tale)

I left the castle of my mer-king father,
Where seaweed gardens sway in pearly sand.
I left behind sweet sisters and kind waters
To seek a prince's love upon the land.

My tongue was payment for the witch's potion,
And never would I sing sea songs again;
My tail became two human legs to dance on,
But I would always dance with shards of pain.

I risked more than my life to make him love me.
The prince preferred another for his bride.
I always hate the ending to this story:
They lived together happily; I cried.

But I have some advice for modern mermaids
Who wish to save great sorrow and travail:
Don't give up who you are for love of princes.
He might have liked me better with my tail.

For all the validating of identity for girls, it is an oversimplification--likely by design. So how to avoid that kind of oversimplification in classroom discussion? We discussed (briefly) ecofeminism, which is so over the top that it's really about use of language rather than perceived oppression, and so is fun for me. Briefly, briefly we discussed Matthew Arnold's "The Forsaken Merman." I think that comparison could have been fruitful on the religious front, with the contrast between nature/paganism and humanity/religion, and all of the various associations. But we wasted too much time talking about Disney. :P

My previous post about politics, perspectives, worldviews in the classroom was kind of poking (admittedly smug) fun at myself, though it did culminate in a very real frustration with what I see as the limitations and expectations of my teaching in my discipline. I worry about including texts that I don't like or with which I don't feel familiar enough to teach simply in order to represent a diversity of voices. I worry that when I include multi-ethnic selections or female authors as an afterthought, that I'm being a phony--or that I will come across that way. And that's a lot of baggage to add to the already considerable pressures of teaching.

And what about Catholicism? If to teach is my vocation (or part of my vocation), and I'm supposed to live my Faith, how do those things work together? As far as I can tell, it doesn't mean that I have to be nicey-nicey in the classroom (or on the blog, for that matter). I certainly DO have to engage with these questions, and this is a good format for me to do so. But what about subject matter of research and teaching? Surely I shouldn't shy away from the Christianity, though I can't really pursue the themes in more than superficial terms in my current position. And I have a problem with texts being taught simply for their Christian elements (usually in a simplified form)--like is done with the Chronicles of Narnia, which are typically embraced or rejected by scholars or teachers for their Christian elements. That is a bit simplistic on both sides.

With research, it is easier than teaching, I think. If we are selective in our research, well, that's part of being specialized. And I'm not sure how we can live the Faith through academic publishing, unless it means not publishing that thing I wrote about S & M in the films of a certain Spanish director. Yeah, that topic has been shelved permanently for a few years now.

It's a funny thing about my last post. . .

They don't really have me pegged. At least, they don't think twice about any of what I mentioned in my previous post. I rather knew that. I'm speaking to my own recognition that I'm ideologically at odds with my discipline--and my own discomfort about representing perspectives that I'm supposed to believe (on a level), but don't. I had this interesting conversation with a student (yes, the same one) after class in which she admitted that she has difficulty getting outside of her own contemporary perspective when she reads about women, and love, and mer-people lacking souls. Then we continued to discuss representations of female complexity as a historical literary development. Go figure.

They Have My Number. . .

I didn't do anything to announce my personal views. I try to avoid the kinds of discussions that reveal how at odds I am with the presumed politics of my discipline--the kind that my students expect from English profs and (especially) grad students. But they know--perhaps because of my avoidance. I can talk the talk, I assure you. I took ALL of those graduate classes & played along. Truthfully, I used to be better at the playing along than I am now. I find myself giving lip service to the theories, while my attitude is subtly dismissive. I can't teach Herland anymore because there's too much that I find disturbing. I can't say, theoretically, "Well, under what circumstances MIGHT it be good for the babies to be raised by someone other than their mothers?" without betraying that I can't really entertain this as a valid possibility except in the most extreme of cases, which is not what Charlotte Perkins Gilman had in mind.

So the other day, one student told me about a news story in which a child was suspended from school for playing cowboys & Indians, or cops & robbers, or some equally politically incorrect game and making a handgun motion with his hand. I incredulously asked where this occurred, and she replied that it was in Texas. Then she asked, "You would have felt better if I had said California, wouldn't you?" Yes, yes I would. How did she know? Not that I think Texas wins any kind of prize for just discipline of children, or leads the nation in healthy attitudes toward violence, but I would have been comforted to know that the incident was further removed from where I am now. Of course, a harsh backlash is usually the strategy to correct something that's seen as an extreme problem, and some administrator probably meant to nip "Texas gun culture" in the bud. But that's not the point. How did she have me pegged??

I gave admirable lip service to the notion that the canon should be deconstructed. I mean, I put in some good words for the traditional canon. But for the most part, I think I gave a pretty convincing account of why the canon (or the notion of a canon) should be questioned, and I talked about representing a multiplicity of voices to more accurately represent who was, indeed, writing. I don't think they believed me. Truthfully, I like models that acknowledge the influence of certain writers on others, though this is admittedly uneven representation. I do not believe in including mediocre works just to add diversity, or because they represent marginal opinions. I am all for diversity when it is appropriate, and I do see value in exploring cross-cultural perspectives, but not simply for the sake of doing so. There are times when we are all talking about the same things, albeit from different perspectives, and it's good to compare, as long as you acknowledge a basis for comparison--typically, Western Culture, since that's the tradition our discipline grows out of. I don't see why ANYONE should have to read Gloria Anzaldua. Or Kate Chopin, for that matter.

I brought in very inclusive picture books! But only the best examples. Okay, some of the environmentalist titles were bad. Really bad. But I've published in ecocriticism and children's lit, so I'm entitled.

Today, we were talking about fairy tales. I encouraged them to retell a story with emphasis on some "-ism." I guess this was inviting mockery. So one group took a proto-feminist tale with some ambiguities and complexities and suggested removing the complexities to make it a more blatantly feminist text. The female character was more self-sufficient, did the accounting for her father, opened her own business after being rejected in marriage. When she admired her beloved, she noted that he had a nice butt. Nice. So I blurted out, "You're objectifying him!" Well, one of my group members, English major, the same one who made the California crack (above), BURST out laughing--and was joined by the rest of the class. Including myself.

I can't help thinking that I'm actively working against what others in my department--er, discipline--are trying to accomplish. Not sure what that is or how I'm undermining it, but you know. . .

Earlier in the class, I argued with a student that to use "proletariat" to mean "peasantry" or "lower class" or "working class" was inappropriate because it invoked a specific theoretical perspective or methodology. You can't talk like Marx without invoking Marx in my class, especially when discussing "Beauty and the Beast" (the 18th Century version). Umm, yeah. So he argued that he just thought that Marx was pretty accurately representing history (see Literacy-chic's head explode), at which point I corrected him and said that Marx was using the term to describe his perception of history, but when you say "proletariat" it is not a neutral term, and does not merely invoke Marx but all who come after Marx.

They have so totally got me pegged. I don't know how I'll ever find an academic job in my field.

Vertical and Verbal

My Chiclette, of course!! She is now standing up! At 8 1/2 months! I figure we're basically in a lot of trouble and she will be chasing her sister around very, very soon--much sooner than I like to think about! Doodle didn't walk until she was around 15 months, and then she RAN. This one has a jump on her, I think. . .

And for the other half of the equation, I think Chiclette is going to be an early talker. It took her a while to make many sounds at all--I think she was just looking around & listening & taking it all in. But for a while now (and I always try to have my suspicions confirmed before making any pronouncements about whether she has reached a milestone early. . .) she has been making more "focused-sounding" sounds--specifically, for the past week or two, when I pick her up or when she wants me, I hear "Mamamom." When Daddy walks by, a similar "Dadada." I even thought Brother got a "Buh" the other day. The Momma one has definitely been confirmed. It's too uncanny to be coincidence.

She claps, too! And waves! She sits or kneels up in her little play yard, affectionately called "The Cage" since her brother's day (or possibly before), and looks at one of us, opening and closing her little hand. She learned that trick when my mom was here a few weeks back, and there were many goodbyes. She sings now, too. Whenever she hears someone singing or hears music that she likes, she sings with a little, "Aaaaaaaaaaah." (I love that!!) Meanwhile, Doodle likes to sing along to "The Flight of the Valkyries," and dance and conduct! Such cuties!!

Of course, I didn't mention the teensy bit of separation-anxiety clinginess that results from my being gone a couple of hours a day to teach. She doesn't cry when I leave, just when I come back! And Doodle? Doesn't mind my leaving at all, so long as there's an adventure to be had. On school days, I ask if she wants to go "play," and she's excited. We've finally made a decision for the fall--she is ready for the 3-year-old class at my son's old Montessori school. Yay! :)

Okay, so I discovered Etsy. . .

. . . Courtesy of the Ottobre Group I joined on Yahoo! Am I the last person in the world to hear of this or is it a well-kept secret for those in the know? At any rate, it looks like there's some very cool stuff. Looks more trustworthy and reliable than eBay--that is, you seem to know more up front, and there's less of a sense that someone is out to cheat you. The merchants set their own prices--no "auction"--and the items are largely (completely?) hand made. Neat! I bought each of my girls some non-slip hair-bow clippies! You can see them here and here.

Meanwhile, I cut Doodle's hair--short. I was just trying to trim the whispies!! She kind of looks like Haley Mills in The Parent Trap. . . It's cute, and still kind of flippy, but I miss the whispy curls.

Not a Poem

There isn't a time
when I'm away from you
that I don't think about you in some way--
Some thing that I want to say to you,
some thing we could do if you were here.
Things have grown so complex over time--
there is an intricate balance
to our lives
that we upset
time and time again
and almost maintain
for precious seconds at a time.
So many variables,
so many variables,
so many, many quirks in a day of turning
again and again to the same tasks, but still together.
And you know when I am angry
with you
and you are angry
with me,
the largeness of my self-righteousness
shrinks
to
pain
and
my anger
melts to sadness
as I try to think of ways
to make it right again.
There is an anger in you
that I think is always with you
that I can't soothe
with words or touch,
that lurks behind your eyes
and in the corners of your mouth
that haunts your eyebrows, waiting
waiting, waiting. . .
Hopping
from object to object
mutating,
waiting, waiting, waiting. . .
And I?
I have my indignation.
I have my notion
of how things ought to be
but aren't
and probably never could be.
And if in your anger I don't perceive
the qualities that made me love you,
neither in my hurtful pride
do I endear myself to you.
So we separate
for a few hours,
dwelling, perhaps, in things said
perhaps meant,
perhaps meant to hurt with a grain of truth.
I would take the hurt and keep the truth
before seeing you again.
If I could simplify an hour
to remember, with you,
how being with you
was an escape from the intricacies
that we otherwise had to balance,
negotiations
we would rather not perform,
if I could melt
your anger into peace
and share a quiet time with you alone,
I would.

Chicken Dress!!

I finished it last night, and Doodle wore it to Mass this morning. Unfortunately, she wasn't feeling good and developed a fever midway through Mass, so her cute exterior concealed a crummy-feeling interior. Poor Doodle!

Less anonymous pics are on the family blog, here!

NOTE: I wanted to add a note about the family blog--I keep pictures of my daughters fairly closely guarded online, so the family blog (above) is not open to the public--sorry for that! BUt thanks for visiting and looking at my version of this very cute dress! :)

Too Tired to Post, Too Busy to Read

Everything is going very well, but in every free moment during the week, I'm prepping to teach or getting things settled with the family. On MWF, Doodle has been in our parish's Child Development Center from 9:30-2:30. Today was our third day, and things are going well. I wasn't too sure until today about her teacher, who is very hard to "read," but today I got a better "feel" for her dynamic with Doodle in particular, and it put me at ease quite a bit. It's really not a lot of time for her to be away--by the time I'm finished teaching, it's just about time to pick her up! Still not sure where she'll be for the fall, but I've got a few weeks. It depends on the potty training situation, which is going well. We have largely overcome the fear of the toilet flushing underneath her, mainly by taking it slowly. Accidents are minimal these days. That's quite a relief. On the days when Doodle is at the CDC, Chiclette and big brother (BB) are with my husband at work--one little 8-month-old doesn't cause too much of a disruption--for about 2 hours, give or take. On Tuesdays, they all stay home with my youngest sister to watch them, and on Thursdays they are with a friend, playing with her 3! They always have fun when they're together. BB is a big brother to all of them--and is introducing her 5-year-old to Pokemon!

I'm enjoying teaching children's lit. I am teaching it like a cross between "children's literature criticism & theory" and an intro to lit or genre course. I find myself covering some of the same ground as intro to lit because they just haven't had the stuff. It's a small class, which is good, and I will be able to do some more tweaking for the fall. We have covered a general intro to children's lit, including a "how critics talk about this stuff," then talked about picture books and alphabets. Next is verse. The Norton Anthology is good, but leaves a lot of room for supplementation. You know, picture books get heavy when you carry enough of them!!

I'm starting to think that this is really what I want to do--to teach children's lit, fantasy, science fiction--all of that marginal stuff that doesn't get much attention. It's fun, and there's nothing I really HAVE to do--I can have fun with it, and for me, the "fun" is treating it like an advanced lit course by incorporating criticism & having them write analyses of the books. I'd also like to teach Brit Lit, but I'll be looking for children's lit positions.

I am trying to sew in my spare time. I have a "chicken dress" cut out and partially assembled for Doodle, who is at the perfect age for me to make dresses. It will have 3 ruffled tiers. The bodice is a brown fabric with chickens. The first tier is wheat & grasses. The second is black with chicken wire, and the third is EGGS! :) Sadly, they're not free range chickens. . . It is an Ottobre pattern. So nice to sew with my new machine! But I have to restrain myself.

I missed a Saturday of research in the Science Fiction archives (they were closed 7/05), and still haven't posted all of my notes & analysis (see other blog), but plan to get back on track this weekend.

Chiclette is growing by leaps & bounds (and I'm totally failing to chronicle it all)! She has had 2 teeth for several weeks now, is scooting & almost crawling, sitting up by herself, kneeling up & thinking about standing. Trust me, I can tell! ;) Her hair is past her eyes. When I think about it, I put it up in a Pebbles ponytail. She eats solids twice a day--had to step that up recently--and still nurses regularly. She now contests Doodle for the right to sleep next to me. :P Knew the sleeping wouldn't last.

So that's life, and you will forgive me if I grow neglectful. I hope to catch up with everyone one day!! Until then, well, this life is fun, too.

No, really. . . Stanley Fish is my hero!

Check out his own words, here and here. I understand his position perfectly.

A couple of things, though. . .

First, I just love that the inventor of Reader Response Theory has this to say:

Bob reports that he was not able “to obtain a grade above a ‘C’ until I changed my political views when interpreting, say, a Robert Frost poem.” But why should your political views have anything to do with the interpretation of a Robert Frost poem? You’re trying to figure out where Frost stands, politically or otherwise; where you stand is simply not to the point.

First thing--DEATH OF THE AUTHOR. We might try to figure out what discourses Frost's poem is tapping into, or historicize it according to issues of his day. We are absolutely NOT "trying to figure out where Frost stands" (anymore). You should know that, Mr. Fish! Second thing--Aren't the students' political views part of what they "bring to the table" in the act of interpretation in which the reader and the author collaborate through the written text in the creation of a separate but more valid text that is the result of the reading process (since how can a text exist unless it is read)? Or was all that kind of thing just an exercise in theoretical loop-de-loops?

Then, there's this piece of loveliness:

It would be no more difficult for a neo-Nazi or a Klu Kluxer to set aside his or her views and concentrate on the pedagogical task than it would be for a devout Catholic or a militant atheist.

I object to "devout Catholic" being named alongside a "a neo-Nazi or a Klu Kluxer" (admittedly, not terms supplied by Fish himself, merely repeated from comments), since the latter terms are anti-social, hate-filled ideologies and extremist positions. If one should object that "devout Catholic" was being equated, rather, with a "militant atheist," the objection doesn't improve matters. Observe the term, "militant." Is "devout" even analogous? Only if one assumes that both positions are equally invalid, and even so, devotion does not imply domination of others through belief. Or if one thinks that religious belief itself, or perhaps the beliefs of certain religions (not Islam, for example) is inherently extremist. (Anastasia has some interesting thoughts on extremism. . .)

This choice of comparisons also introduces something that Fish does not address, namely, whether the "leave personal beliefs out of the classroom" admonition applies equally to all types of colleges/universities, since religious belief is clearly included. The implementing of curricula at Catholic colleges, hence, the organization of syllabi and selection of texts may be (but isn't always, I understand) done according to a Catholic perspective. What then? I guess if you accept that a university may explicitly contextualize itself within a certain worldview (or intellectual tradition), the goal of the educational experience might shift a bit, being framed within a religious context, so one might expect to find Joyce taught a bit differently, for example. I would still consider teaching Joyce within a context appropriate to the specific intellectual tradition or worldview represented by the university focusing on the task at hand, but the task is defined somewhat differently.

Which brings me to the conclusion of this piece:

Sarah touches on what is perhaps the most urgent question one could put to the enterprise of liberal education. What, after all, justifies it? The demand for justification, as I have said in other places, always come from those outside the enterprise. Those inside the enterprise should resist it, because to justify something is to diminish it by implying that its value lies elsewhere. If the question What justifies what you do? won’t go away, the best answer to give is “nothing.”

I like this, really. I've said before that I believe that reading and analyzing text is inherently valuable, in spite of the fact that it does not directly impact the "real world"--whatever that is. And a contemplative life (which I do not claim to live) may be valuable for the individual and those he/she touches, if intangibly so. I think that some colleges and universities are able to more openly acknowledge that not only "useful" subjects are "useful." And I think that some colleges and universities are able to couch this inherent worth by framing the learning process within the context of religious belief--at least, that's how I would imagine it would work. Does that mean that I would feel confident saying in the classroom that I find Obama morally repugnant? Not a bit of it. Does this mean I would feel comfortable comparing aspects of the worldview in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings to a papal encyclical? Yup.

Stanley Fish is My Hero

From the man who brought us Reader Response Theory comes some really useful advice: Save The World on Your Own Time! And Good Lord, do I hope it catches on! At the very least, it should cause a stir. I have not had time to blog around to see what others are saying. This hat tip goes to my husband, who referred me to a blog he frequents, Instapundit, and here's the quote:

STANLEY FISH'S ADVICE TO PROFESSORS: Save the World on Your Own Time.

More on that here. "Whether anyone notices it or not or comments on it or not, the teaching of writing in universities is a disaster. [There is] the conviction on the part of many composition teachers that what they are really teaching is some form of social justice, and that the teaching of writing ... takes a back seat. And in fact in many classrooms the teaching of writing as a craft as something that has rules with appropriate decorums ... is in fact demonized as an indication of the hegemony of the powers that be. This happens over and over again in classrooms and it’s an absolute disaster."

Can I just say thank you?? I have been skeptical of professors' agendas since I was an undergrad, but since I was an undergrad when Clinton was pres. and at a university where no one really cared anymore, I was spared the more overtly political preaching. There was no Ph.D. program, either, so I didn't have activist grad student types (sorry, guys, you know they're out there) telling me what to think. And I've been the fly on the wall for too many "reprogram the Conservative Christian Students" conversations to dismiss the activism as myth. And I'm not just talking about the current generation of Ph.D.s in the department, most of whom I don't know. This stuff has been bantered about since I got here, and got worse when the fear of 9/11 wore off and after Bush won reelection. Perhaps the only thing that would come of a democratic victory would be that we could go back to teaching literature and composition and back off of the politics. (I don't believe this for one minute, btw.) Now, I do think that there can be a political dimension to literary criticism, but it's being hit a little hard, ya know?

Now Stanley Fish has in the past drawn a skeptical response from me, as he seems, elsewhere, to advocate the "anything goes" method of teaching literature, and I have never seen the use for that. It seems to me that we must have the text as a common ground, and even if we can't refer back to the author, we should at least be able to refer back to the text and assume that multiple readers, while each bringing something else to the table, can still agree on the essential elements of that text. The text, for me, does not exist somewhere "out there"--discourse surrounding the text and about the text exists "out there," but that's different; rather, it exists in the book in front of us. However, Fish posited (a while ago, this is old news) that it is the reader's engagement with the text, including what the reader brings from his/her own background, that creates a separate thing, the "text" that is the result of a collaboration between the reader and the author. I don't buy it. And I'm not alone, but it was all the rage for a while--before my time. I think the idea was to liberate something from something--the text from critics, the author from biography, the students from professors.

So as a guy who wants to liberate, and transfers this to the classroom, the advice seems odd, no? Except that he remains the champion of the student, in a way. Why do we have to steamroll their opinions and values--all that they bring to the table? Why should we automatically assume that we are the enlightened ones in all matters--including individual values/beliefs? When we alter their ways of thinking, must we alter their consciences? At any rate, Fish has tapped into exactly why I don't want to go into Rhetoric/Comp, although I'm technically qualified and have been groomed for it, more or less. I don't want to hang around these guys and be subjected to the enlightened assumption that everyone does or should agree with their views of the world. And--by the way--teach from their textbooks. If the meaning of a literary text depends on the reader, and if the professor should keep that in mind, then how much more should we stay out of their responses to politics, since that's not what we're called upon to teach?

[Of course, I am coming at this from a very different perspective from Mr. Fish, who scorns neoconservative blah blah blah, etc. and really thinks this king of thing only happens a small percentage of the time. But if that's so, why can't I find a decent composition text?]

Catching Up (sort of)

Well, it's been a busy (hectic, stressful) couple of weeks, but also good, and somewhat productive. I have managed to complete almost all of the necessary paperwork to graduate in August, order regalia (or at least reserve the rental), submit the dissertation, etc. I have been going to research in the archives library every Saturday to work on a research project for which I received an award for the summer. I have also managed to spend my way pretty well through that grant, mainly on basics and incidentals, so this month will be tricky. I did buy a few nice things on sale this past week so I could look nice teaching--did I mention that that starts today?? Potty training has been going well, and my Doodle is even able to use the bathroom in public, so long as she doesn't touch the seat (better for her anyway, really. . .) She starts child care ("school"?) 3x a week this week, and I hope she does well. She likes the classroom--we visited yesterday. The lead teacher is an older woman who is nice, but seems out of touch--particularly out-of-touch with potty training issues, which is bad. She was also a little pedantic in her dealings with Doodle yesterday--I have some vague apprehensions that my little girl will not be seen for what she is--spirited and very intelligent--but will be regarded as willful and defiant. We'll see. . . I clearly need to forget my fears and hope for the best, here. After all, a 10 minute meeting doesn't reveal all, right?

My mom was in town last week (and part of this week) with my youngest brother. That is always a delight and a challenge, but there's too much to be said about that, really. My youngest brother is very unique in many ways and being with him is always an experience unto itself. We had some good times this week. My mom was able to treat us to pizza, and we made taco salads. I met my mom & sister at the mall one day, which was when I bought my teaching outfits. My mom even bought me 2 shirts! I can't tell you how long it's been since she did that--or was even able to do that! She has been awarded some money, and all she can think about is what she can do for us--her children. Which makes me feel bad in a way.

She bought me a new sewing machine!! A shop in New Orleans was going out of business, and he marked down all of his Elna sewing machines. She bought herself a good machine, a backup machine, and a serger (Did I mention that she's a seamstress? She's also doing alterations these days. She makes a mean slipcover & pillows & roman shades, too!). Then she bought me a more basic model--which is just what I wanted!! It's wonderful. Basic for her, but with many more features than my hundred-dollar on-sale-at-Target model (keep in mind that Target does not sell patterns, fabric, thread. . .). It was one of those things that I looked at, thought about, but never would have bought for myself, and so is greatly appreciated. I did manage to make another blanket using the new machine, for a little boy whose first birthday was over the weekend:



One day early last week, we made buttonholes!! It does so automatically, or just about. YAY!! That was one of the things I feared the most! So now, although I have a MILLION things I would like to sew, including a three-tiered "chicken dress" for my Doodle, I have to put it aside indefinitely.

I'm not sure how much blogging I will be able to do, either. I learned during Lent that I get more done if I put the blog away. *sigh* I have a couple of posts in the works for my other blog, Booknotes from Literacy-chic, that will cover my research and perhaps some teaching ideas, too. Hope to see you there! (If I can catch up & keep up!!)

As a 1930s Wife, I'm. . .

49 As a 1930s wife, I am Average Take the test!

I'm surprised I did this well, actually. . . In this area, I aspire to "average"! Heck, I aspire to "barely passable" in some of these categories!!

The test felt biased as I was taking it, as if it were trying to make some kind of feminist point while being cute. But really, I'm not so sure it isn't sort of accurate. At any rate, I can't complain. What do you think (all of you)? How did you score? There's a test for husbands, too, incidently. . .

New Post, Other Blog

At Booknotes from Literacy-chic: I've actually posted something!! Amazing! I'm also trying this out to see if the trackback feature really works. . .

Speaking of Body Spray. . . [This post is rated PG-13]

Why take a bath if you can use Axe and get laid? My husband got the most offensive postcard ad that I think I've ever seen for Axe Body Spray. I don't even like to think of the implications--of what KIND of body smell you're trying to cover up before you *ahem* "make your move." The interesting thing about Axe is that my husband says the name, for him, evokes wild Norsemen (not "perfumed parlorsnakes"--or prettyboys). Well, they made their move, too. Not too consensual, you know?

Here is some of the rhetoric:

--"Act fast--Don't let opportunity pass you by."

--"Make a move. . . In record time."

--"Now, you'll never miss an opportunity."

--"Keeping these items [Axe body spray, Stride gum] in your pocket will make sure you're always prepared for a spontaneous hook-up." [ED: The safe-sex crowd must love that, too!]

Apparently, Axe has a new "bullet" size. Funny, there's a vibrator and a blender that also share that name.

Don't send ads for casual sex to my home, please. I have an 11-year-old boy, thanks. I know I live in an apartment complex in a college town but you know, I would prefer if you didn't send ads for casual sex to the apartments around me, either. I already worry about living with children in a complex when more than a few couples are "shacking up." *sigh* To think we moved here to be in a better school district.

Grumpiest Momma in the World

-or- Why Doesn't Lysol Make a Body Spray??

I have been babysitting a friend's children, ages 3, 5, and 13 mos. on Monday and Tuesday while she teaches, from about 9:15 to 11:45 A.M. I alternate between feeling like this is a real challenge, and that it is pretty cool. I have those "losing my mind" moments. My days of watching 5-7 children at one time are long gone, and while none of the children were mine (they were cousins and siblings), they were known entities, and I was familiar with the dynamic between them all. There is a difference watching non-related children! On the other hand, it is really not difficult, just busy, and there is something vaguely comforting to know that there are kids all over one's house playing.

So on Tuesday, she proposed lunch. Now, I was raised by a mother who avoided playplaces like the plague. In fact, she avoided them in part because of the plague. And if we ever did venture into places like Chuck-e-Cheese's, she knew that (although the kids were certain to get sick afterward) at least I was there to make sure they weren't lost or trampled. So I am a total germophobe. I am deeply suspicious of other children--ones whose parents I don't know. And I am not thrilled with play area precipices and climbing walls and giant tubes that swallow up toddlers. I can't do like so many parents and "let the kids play," particularly when I don't know the kids in question. So I end up watching my own child and monitoring every body else's. This makes for a very stressed momma. I don't think my son went on public play equipment until he was 6. I may exaggerate, but not much.

Now, my friend is very laid-back with this sort of thing. Because of her, I have taken Doodle to a "splash park" (for a birthday party)--unfortunately, my friend's mother will forever think of me as "the one with the little girl who ran and ran and it took three of them to keep track of her." I have taken Doodle to a children's museum with my friend, who laughed while I trailed my too-young-for-most activities toddler. I have taken Doodle to an egg hunt with other kids AND let her play on playground equipment. And, finally, I have taken her to McDonald's. *sigh* It is because of this friend that "fry" was among Doodle's first words!! It's a good influence, in a way. I have been venturing to parks (especially sparsely populated ones) with my three lately, and I am not sooooo paranoid. . . But I still find these situations incredibly stressful.

So we went to McDonald's. With a HUUUUUGE play area. And, as my husband points out, those things really aren't cleaned. At least with outside equipment, the sun is beating down on them, and rain, and some germs are cleaned off. Gee, thanks, hon. Have I mentioned that he & I think a lot alike? ;)

This McD's is newer (hence, cleaner) than some. It has separate (though not divided) areas for ages 3 and under and for bigger kids. When we got there, after eating, the place was positively overrun, and yet many kids had left while we were eating (!!). Being with someone else means that you can't turn tail and run, however, unless the other person shares your particular brand of paranoia.

The first thing I did--before putting down the baby in the carseat--was run the 7-13 year olds (who were using it for "base"--and that means "recipe for rowdiness") off of the toddler area. I asked them, "How old are you? Then leave this part for the smaller kids!" I asked on little boy of 6 or 7, "Are you 3 years old? No? Then go play over there!" People thought I was insane, but no one could argue. A parent or two came over to see what the crazy lady was up too, and why she didn't leave the other kids alone. After surveying the situation, they instructed the older ones to keep to the other area. Then, I just had to make sure no one ran UP the toddler slide, careening into descending toddlers.

A few little girls were being more calm, so I relaxed my vigilance, although they were older. They took an interest in the toddlers and set up "house" on the toddler side. One took Doodle for a "walk" to an area where a video game had once been, and I followed (and was advised by other mothers that there was no outlet there--yeah, but some little girl has my toddler by the hand!!) I had to interfere with the game (predictably, perhaps) when "house" became a bit too aggressive. Seems they had to prevent her from going down the slide as "discipline" because she wouldn't listen to them. I set them straight. Fast. "Ummm, no. She's my little girl and she doesn't have to listen to you. She is too young for this kind of game. Move aside so she can slide." I was always the playground crusader for justice--the "we don't have to play your game if it involves paying money to go down the slide" kind of kid. Yeah, the stick-in-the-mud.

I did fuss at a boy of about 13 who had been playing rowdy and bounded onto the toddler set, but he was going to check on his little sister of about 18 months. So I said I was sorry, and felt a bit foolish, but when we got there, he was one of the ones I had to kick off.

The moment I relaxed my vigilance and talked to another mother, Doodle either escaped to the "big" side, or little girls "grounded" her. But she had a good time (and had her clothes changed and was wiped down with Baby Magic before her nap) and only my son was conscious of his mother's hyper-attentiveness (which she has imparted successfully to him, but more so. . .) You've never seen an 11-year-old so disapproving. Except me. But I'm trying to encourage him to have fun and leave the worrying to me! And maybe worry less myself in the process. Or not. . . There are definite benefits to keeping an eye one's children in public spaces.

Remembering my Grandfather

He would have been 83 years old today. He died from complications following a heart attack a week after my brother, whose birthday is June 5th, was born--in 1994, after being in the hospital since my birthday for almost 6 months. I was in my first year of college. He bought me a $50 French dictionary while in the hospital. I was taking French, which he, like my grandmother, spoke fluently from childhood. I had a particularly distinguished and knowledgeable professor--older, I think, than my grandfather--who gave me a recommendation (at my grandfather's request) for a good unabridged French dictionary. A friend found it at the Yale bookstore (in the days shortly before Amazon.com), and though unable to speak for the tubes, he wrote that she should buy two.

I visited him once in the hospital. I went to read to him from Fitzgerald's translation of The Odyssey, which I had read recently. I was overwhelmed, and had to leave as I grew cold and developed the tunnel-vision that I understand precedes fainting. I promised to return but never had another opportunity to visit.

We shared a love of learning and of books. As the oldest of his grandchildren, he would talk to me about ideas. He admired the Southern Agrarian writers, and found T. S. Eliot because of writers like Alan Tate and Cleanth Brooks. I would learn more about two of these authors after his death. I believe he would have liked to talk with me about Modernism. I believe that he is proud that I will be graduating with a Ph.D. in August. He would have liked to read my dissertation, I think. And though he may not have approved of some of my actions along the way, he would be--is, perhaps--proud of where I am now, with my husband and my children.

He was an important influence on my conversion, albeit posthumously. When I was in high school, he showed me a book that surprised me--about Catholic teaching on sexuality--and told me that he would give it to me to read when I was ready. Unfortunately, I have never read the book, which is packed away now in the house my uncle built for my grandmother after he died so that she would be closer to the family. She is no longer able to live there. If I knew which book it was, I would like to read it now. I remember his desire for me to have that perspective, and, knowing so much more about it now, I have so many questions about that book. I have not thought about it in years.

After he died, years after and for years after, I had dreams--that he was still alive, that he had not really been dead, that he recovered from his illness. I still have dreams about him sometimes. I believe that in some ways I was closer to him intellectually and in temperament than any of his family, at least in the latter years. In more than one of the dreams, he urged me to convert to Catholicism. It sounds irrational to say that those dreams influenced me, but they did. Besides my grandmother, I am probably the only family member who offers prayers for him, and then not as diligently as I should. Perhaps he knew that I would one day offer prayers for him.

So many answers are lost to me now. I wonder so much about his faith. I remember that he would receive brochures from Thomas Aquinas College. Had I graduated more conventionally instead of early, he might have had me apply there, though I was skeptical of not being able to major in English. He had volumes of classic texts that he would buy from what I believe was a small Catholic press. I have no idea, now, what the press was. I remember that the endpapers were designed with their repeating insignia, but as it had no significance to me then, I can't recall whether it was a symbol of Catholic significance. I believe it was.

If he went to Mass when I would have been old enough to remember, I can't say. I think he was among those disappointed by the changes following Vatican II. He was certainly disenchanted with the local Archbishop and the administration of the Archdiocese. He had no visible signs of his faith that I can pin down, unlike my grandmother, who had her rosary--and should still. I will hold in my heart always my image of her, sitting on her porch with her rosary, waiting in case my mom and I were able to visit her with my Doodle, but thinking that it was too late for us to come. I have wondered if he received Last Rites. I hope so. I believe my grandmother would have seen to it. I was disappointed for his sake that his funeral, sadly presided over by a painfully nontraditional priest. My aunt, Hispanic Catholic-turned-Protestant-Evangelical (off & on), liked the service. She felt that the funeral was for the survivors rather than the deceased. I think that a traditional Catholic funeral would have healed many of us more effectively. . . Certainly, it would have moved me closer to the Church sooner.

I have so many memories that I can't contain them all here. I remember as a very small child, I would always tell him "bonsoir" as I was leaving his house. It was the special word that I associated with him. I remember his stubbly cheek, and the smell of red wine on his breath in the evening. I remember running as a child of 5 or 6 to bring him a Budwieser from the old fridge on the "next door" side of the shotgun double when he came home from work. I remember his retirement party when I was in 5th grade--a year younger than my son is now. How he would sit on his porch swing on the back porch. How he hated the squirrels who ate the cypress balls and caused the sticky cypress mess to fall on the bricks of the backyard. I was recently reminded of this by some responses to this post about Darwin's lost tomato. My grandmother would tie homemade "sacks" around the figs in her fig tree to keep the birds from getting them before they were ripe; my grandfather would shoot the squirrels with a b-b gun to keep them out of the cypress tree.

I wrote this poem as an undergraduate in response to his death:

In the Garden of the House
on Dublin Street

Monet never painted one like this:
How the colors follow no pattern.

How within the chaos each leaf has
Its discernable place, and therefore

No one is very surprised to see
The cypress tree that is their brother;

Not surprised by the year, chipped in stone.
This garden swallows the dead. I know

When my grandfather died, he became
A porch swing, wooden, or an oak, life.

How life is dull, while death and still-life
Are colored alive, like the flowers.

How he never painted brown swallows
Dying on stone fences in gardens.

He had seven children, six of whom survive. He has 13 grandchildren, 10 of whom he knew, and 3 great-grandchildren who were not fortunate enough to meet him. He is strong in many of us. My siblings and I--all except one--inherit his eyes. My Doodle inherits more than that. She favors that side of my family, perhaps more than I do. I inherit his fear of death--especially, of a painful or lingering death, which is exactly what he had. I hope to be able to greet him one day. I pray that we will be reunited. When I was younger, growing up without a grounding in formal Catholicism, I was convinced that relatives who had died before I was born, specifically, my grandfather's parents and my mother's older brother, were looking down on my actions, taking an interest in or being proud of me. I wonder how I had a sense of the Communion of Saints--it was not something I learned from the Protestant churches I had attended. I never imagined that they had become "angels," as popular culture would have it, and I did "pray" to them in a way. I hope that he is looking down on me, on my children, and on all of my family. When I pray for the souls in Purgatory, I pray for his especially. If you could, please offer a prayer for him for his birthday, so close to the anniversary of his death.