On Looking into Fitzgerald's Sophocles

It’s been a busy week since my return. We’re back into the throes of homeschooling, and I’ve begun teaching a literature class at the community college. After the second meeting, a student came up and asked what kind of group projects we were going to do. Ahhh, I usually don’t love group projects. He encouraged me to include a lot of interactive activities, and he mentioned that the students were having trouble understanding me. I guess I talk too fast and too soft. An air conditioner runs in the middle of the room, so that makes hearing difficult. And I have a this midwestern accent.  I also need to remember that none of these students is a literature major. This is a general education course for them.
Looks like I have some work to do. I’ve got to come up with some ideas to make this stuff interesting and engaging. The class runs from 8-9:30 pm, so whatever we do also needs to keep everyone awake. Anyone have any suggestions for making introduction to literature classes fun and exciting? In college, I just liked reading the stories and talking in class. As a matter of fact, I hated group projects. But I’m going to have to stretch myself if this is going to work.


We’ve started the course with Oedipus the King. I decided to do drama first because this is the oldest text in their anthology, after Antigone. I like chronological order as an organizing tool, and drama has the added benefit of being easy to read aloud. We'll end the semester with poetry, which has a lot of possibilities for projects, but it is going to be a challenge to find projects to go with the short stories.

Tomorrow night is our last of three classes on Oedipus, and then we move to A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The kids know little to nothing about Greek mythology, but seem interested in it, so I’m going to bring in some artwork, since MND also alludes to Greek mythology. For a project, I think I’m going to have them get in small groups and come up with a short skit about what happens to Oedipus next. Then surprise! I can tell them about Antigone and Oedipus at Colonnus.   

Does that sound fun? Personally, I’d rather sit around and discuss Oedipus’s search for his identity, since this is a theme tugging at my heart right now. “Fate and Free Will” is always advertised as the main theme, but Oedipus’ search for knowledge of the truth strikes me as just as considerable. Should Oedipus have given up his search and remained comfortable, or did he make the right choice in pursuing truth, despite the suffering he has to undergo? While “Could he escape his fate?” is an interesting question, I think the students may find it more relevant to ponder what consequences come from a lack of self-knowledge. Creon tells Oedipus after he is completely humbled by the truth that “you are ready now to listen to the god.” The position of suppliant makes Oedipus an even greater man. I suppose it would be too personal to ask students to share about a time they were forced to confront an uncomfortable truth about themselves… maybe this is on my mind because married people are forced to face those kind of truths all the time.

The other theme that resonates with me while reading Oedipus this time around is “exile.” Exile is nearly equivalent to death to the Greeks. When did the fear of exile lose its power? When travel became easier? During the age of exploration and adventure? The age of colonization? Does anyone fear exile any more? I suppose jail is a kind of exile. Exile is a symbol for being at odds with God, out of touch with divine order. Another sort of alienation from truth. Personally, I find being far from roots both exhilarating and exhausting. At times a sort of frenetic state of indecisiveness threatens to overwhelm me. It takes time and energy to figure out where to go and what to do and whom to turn to in a new place. And when I fail to cultivate a true sense of directedness toward heavenly things, the things of earth can threaten to engulf my wellbeing.


Returning to these familiar books is a sort of antidote, a reminder that here are things I love, things I’d forgotten I loved, things that point to the beyond. Sophocles, I’ve missed you! Mr. Robert Fitzgerald, I love your note on translation that almost needs its own translation! “The style of Sophocles was smooth. It has been likened by a modern critic to a molten flow of language, fitting and revealing every contour of the meaning, with no words wasted and no words poured on for effect. To approximate such purity I have sought a spare but felicitous manner of speech, not common and not ‘elevated’ either, except by force of natural eloquence.” Eloquence, indeed. Dear students, I may fail to impress one single bit of knowledge on you, other than that there are people out there that love this stuff, and it is up to you to figure out why. And maybe in the process you’ll fall in love with it, too.

There and back again

Guess where I’ve been?

The Land of Ice and Snow

back home…

I hesitate to write “home.”  But really, why can’t I have two homes? I have my home with the family I’ve made with my husband and six kids, a place that shifts locale every couple of years, and I have my rest home, heh heh. Other people have summer homes where they go when they have time off of work; I spend a couple of weeks a year at my old Indiana home with my extended family instead of going to Disneyworld or Naples, FL. And every time it feels like coming home, that happy, peaceful, want-to-hug the whole world kind of feeling.

When we moved to Guam, I really didn’t expect to return to the mainland for at least a year, but I flew back to Indiana last week, a trip that averages about 20 hours or so, depending on layovers and headwinds, to see my grandmother, who has an unidentified, fast-growing tumor. My husband suggested it would be better to go home now and have a good visit (and be able to get a ticket for less than $1500) instead of waiting until the last minute, and maybe missing it. 

Chicago snow removal crews at work

And I did have a good visit, a really good visit. Was it because I was traveling without the kids? My husband took a week of leave to be the home school dad, while I played globetrotter.  I have to admit, it is a lot easier to maneuver through security when traveling solo.  And all the reading time!  Instead of stressing about losing a child or breaking a tchotchke, I was positively giddy when we touched down in Chicago, and I could browse the duty free shops and people watch while sipping a fresh brewed coffee.  (Fashion! Taste! Grumpy delayed travelers! The drama of young lovers saying goodbye!) I’m sure I irritated some busy businessmen rushing to the gates with my dreamy stroll through the terminal.

First sight in the Indpls airport. It reads: Back home
on the ground we discover that the gift the great wings
gave us is new eyes to see that this place where we live
we love more than we knew.

But I was sorry my husband and kids missed out on the reunion with family. They would have been thrilled to play in a little snow with their cousins and then drink hot chocolate in front of the fire place.  It felt so good to be cold! And then to pull on jeans and a sweater and feel cozy! Better still was to burrow under about 5 or 6 layers of blankets and flannel sheets and to lay my head in a nest of pillows after a long day of travel and talking. Sweet sleep!

My Old Dog who stayed behind. He likes winter too much
to move to the tropics.

Although I missed the fam, it was nice to be available to my mom and grandmother, who ended up being hospitalized with pneumonia a couple days after I arrived.  We spent the better portion of three days visiting in the hospital. My role was to park the car after dropping people off at the door, to go get snacks from the hospital café, and to be a distraction. Since grandma was in the hospital, some of the cousins I haven’t seen in awhile also came by, so I was happy to catch up with them, especially since one just got engaged after a long search for Mr. Right.

When she was well enough, my grandmother came back to my mom and dad’s house. She has lived on her own up to this point, but my parents are anxious for her to live with them. This is supposed to be a temporary stay until she regains her strength after the pneumonia, but eventually it will become permanent. She keeps insisting she wants to go home, but after having some long conversations about her childhood and her years as a mom, she seemed to find some comfort in seeing a pattern of daughters taking care of their mothers. Her grandmother lived with her and her parents until she was 8 or 9 years old, and then 30 some years later, her mother moved from Oklahoma to Indiana to come live nearby, and eventually with her.  And now another 40 some years later, it is her turn to live with her daughter. More than once she told her nurses how grateful she was to have a daughter, even though she doesn’t like being bossed around.

My sister and I had the opportunity to tell my mom what to wear while getting ready for our night out to the Indianapolis Symphony’s Happy Hour concert, a treat for me since there aren’t many concerts on Guam. This was a great excuse to indulge the desire to play dress up. Since I didn’t bring any dressy clothes of my own, I was able to beg, borrow, and then get my niece to steal my sister’s favorite boots for the occasion. 

The Happy Hour series is designed to attract young professionals with an early start time, free hors d’oeuvres and drinks, and experimental music, and the formula is working.  The symphony center was packed, mostly with people in their twenties. I felt old.  Back in the days when my grandparents used to take us to performances, you rarely saw anyone without gray hair, except for a few awkward orchestra students like myself and my sister. But this group was young and hip and enthusiastic. And the performance, led by a trio of young graduates from the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia, one of whom is the concertmaster for the ISO, who perform as Time for Three, and vocalist Shara Worden of My Brightest Diamond, who sounded something like Bjork, was energetic and engaging.  The hors d’oeuvres were the only disappointment, so we had to stop for a bite to eat and more conversation before heading home.

Not only was I able to catch up with mi familia, I was also able to catch up with the news. Do I admit I had never heard of the candidate who dropped out of the GOP primary race? I watched one of the debates with my dad and still remain undecided. Surely the right guy is out there somewhere…

I also didn’t know the Superbowl was going to be in Indianapolis until I was departing the plane and saw the logo on the ramp.  Downtown was already decorated: roads rerouted and renamed, new murals on the overpasses, football sculptures in the planters.  We went to Mass in our favorite downtown church and heard parking directions for the next week. Then we ate at a favorite kosher deli and saw welcome fans signs.

.

And then I got hooked on Downton Abbey, after watching with my sister in between watching the Golden Globes.  I haven’t figured out whether it’s on here in Guam, but my kids will be so thrilled that I want to watch TV!

The entire visit was confirmation that I have much to be thankful for.  I’m grateful that I have cousins who are more than just names. We grew up together, and although we don’t see each other often anymore, the bonds of those childhood relationships stretch over a lot of years.  We slip back into conversation easily.  I’m also grateful to have parents I love who welcome me home, despite all the grief I gave them as a teenager.  They have taught me a lot about generosity and forgiveness.  They live in a beautiful place. They even get up at 3:30 in the morning to drive me to the airport after an ice storm.   And I have a sister whose friendship is a constant comfort. It is good to have someone you can fight with and share clothes with, who knows your flaws, and still wants to spend time with you.  Maybe the peace of being with family is the lightness from removing all the layers of accumulated self.

And of course, one of the best parts of being away is returning, and the thrill of seeing seven joyful faces greeting me after a long, tiring journey. They all were overflowing with stories about their week that they vyed with each other to tell first. No matter how good the vacation may be, with these seven is where I belong.  Ideally, we’d live down the gravel road from grandparents, but time and distance are relative, a truth that is hammered home when you cross the International dateline. Is it Friday or Saturday? I came home to a clean house and happy kids, proof that my husband loves me. And now we’re back in the swell of life that rushes us along. All too soon I can see myself where my grandmother is, looking back at her story. I pray that, like her, I’ll have loved ones around with whom to share these memories.

With my grandmother, Christmas 2010

Garden Critters

Some creatures lately sighted around the house:

Friendly neighborhood banana spider

Baby banana spiders. They grow fast.

A new praying mantis

Another mantis nymph

Mantis nest on our  Barbados cherry tree

Mom or dad mantis? on the plumeria

One of multiple geckos who live on our porch.
I never knew geckos clicked.

Potter wasp and nest

Remnants of sea creatures

Mantis laying a nest on the porch screen.

Leaf hopper

A book review for 2012

I don’t know what it is with starting the new year by reading a disappointing book three years in a row. I just finished John Connolly’s The Book of Lost Things, and have to rescind any suggestion that it should be recommended to young readers. I’m sure I read a positive review of this book somewhere; if I remember, I’ll be much more conservative in what I take as a recommendation from this source in the future. On the other hand, I can’t stop thinking about this book; I can’t figure out just what stance to take on it.

This is not a book for children, even though it I picked it off the YA shelf. It’s a part of the trend in YA lit, movies, tv shows, etc., to use fairy tales as part of the plot. A lot of the familiar conventions are present: wolves lurking in the woods, brave knights, trolls under bridges, but the familiar tales are revised to make them more into a nightmare of a fairy tale. The story begins sadly with the death of a young boy’s mother, and just keeps getting darker and more frightening. Connolly graphically describes decaying bodies, attacks by wolves, impaled heads, and severed hands and appendages, to name just a few of the nightmarish details.

The plot follows a typical coming of age tale: a young boy’s mother dies, so his father remarries and has a new baby. First son thinks stepmother is wicked and fears that father’s love is lost, and can’t get over the loss of his mother. A Trickster begins to lurk in the shadows, and one day the boy is pulled into fairytale land, but this land is bleak, in perpetual twilight, and peopled by some of the scariest villains I’ve ever encountered. Connolly seems to be able to combine some of the worst fears of childhood into beasts that surpass the usual witches and demons: wolves that are part human, a huntress who cuts up children and animals and then combines them together to make new prey to hunt, a monster that splits open and disgorges maggot-like offspring, a cannibalistic, bloated Snow White. Hints are dropped about bestiality, incest and pederasty. The boy’s protector is a gay knight who disparages religious faith and leads him into a sorceress’s castle where he thinks he finds his mother, but ends up having to fight this whirling eyed, fanged sorceress in a battle described in horrific detail.

I remember reading those English fairy tales about babies being eaten and giants being cut in half and the heads of fair maidens hanging by their hair. But Connolly seems to take the gore a step further. Yet I couldn’t stop reading. I kept thinking that soon I would get to the redemptive ending part. And the book does end with the boy making all the right choices in order to vanquish evil. Although he has lost his innocence, he returns home with a greater empathy for his parents and with a mature acceptance of his place in the world, despite some foreknowledge of more sorrows to come. All the scary things were in some way related to his fears about being unloved and left out and about the war. The ending leaves open the reality of the fairy tale land, with a strong suggestion that it exists only in the boy’s subconscious mind, but Connolly also makes it seem just real enough that a kid reading this book would be so drawn in by the vividness of Connolly’s descriptions to believe in it. 

Although I objected to the content of this book on a number of levels, especially as a book for young readers, there’s just enough of interest in it to prevent me from just throwing it in the trash. While reading, I questioned whether I should finish; after reading, I questioned what kept me reading. What is it about scary stories? Is it the need for catharsis? The need to witness a hero vanquishing the dark? I read a couple Stephen King books as a teenager and still remember the grip of fear that compelled me to keep reading until the end, even though I felt like I had to read them on the sly – another reason to feel fearful. 

Connolly does write with talent, although some of the horror feels forced; he picks up on things that make kids squirm, like suggestions about their parents’ love lives, about betraying their siblings, about the possibility of the imaginary world bleeding into the real, shadow people lurking in dark corners. These things make me squirm. And what makes me squirm more is trying to hate this book that has so much ugliness but also some truth, so that I might have to go back to it again to nail down what to think about it. Or I could just be content with the dichotomies, and accept the contradictory feelings this book draws out.

Resolution time

I've been trying to come up with some meaningful resolutions, and this year I'm going practical.  In the past, I've been a little more namby-pamby, which is a set-up for forgetting what my resolutions are (ah, the usefulness of a blog: Here is a link to what I said last year and the year before!).

But I still like the idea of resolutions, so I am not giving up at trying to reform my wayward soul.  Actually, after watching the 7th part of the Catholicism series last night on saints, I'm inspired. Fr. Barron comes down hard on those of us who excuse ourselves from trying to be a saint because we can't see how we compare to the giants of faith. He urges us to reject spiritual mediocrity, or at least to give up making excuses for not trying to be a saint.  So after watching this dvd, I realize I really should resolve to

1. Refocus yet again on loving God and my neighbor, especially, as Mother Teresa reminds us,* the neighbors who live in my house. Which in practical terms, means ... um.... responding with love ...hm ... maybe what I should work on is affirming others.  I often forget to dole out praises, among other ways in which I fail to love without limit.

and 2. Read more Edith Stein and finally read Story of a Soul.

So those are my Spiritual goals. I figure my list of books to read lays out some Intellectual goals. I am still waiting to hear if I am going to get to teach a class next semester, but even if I don't, I want to reread another Shakespeare play, yet to be determined, and Oedipus Rex. And I'm working on my syllabus. I keep getting sidetracked by good quotes and diversions.  I have to thank Sally, I think, for the recommendation of Perrine's Sound and Sense. A very sensible literature textbook. Love it. Another little gift to myself.

On to Practical Goals: First and foremost, I am resolving to drink more water. Water, water, water. I am vowing to drink at least one glass of water for each cup of coffee, plus water at every meal.  When I was in training mode back in college, I used to keep a water bottle with me at all times. I would drink 3 or 4 20 oz. glasses of water or diet sprite mixed with cranberry juice at every meal in the olde dining hall.  Back in my nursing days, I was always thirsty, so I did a little better, but I've realized lately that I can go all day drinking nothing but coffee. Not advisable in a climate where the temps never dip below 75. Wrinkles are showing up everywhere, which reminds me of those articles about supermodel health secrets: They all listed drinking water as their secret weapon against aging. I'm probably too late to slow the aging process, but at least I can try to avoid getting dehydrated on a trail run.

If I can keep up with watering myself, I think this will be the year I start increasing my mileage running. I'm already doing a bit more, but I think one of these days I'm going to do either a half or full marathon.  I have run one of each, and still remember the emotional high of completing them, although I think I have forgotten most of the pain.  I realize this is not a very forceful statement of intention because it could conflict with resolution number 1.  The catch: finding time to train without taking away from family and reading time.  Too many good things in life.

Finally, I'd also like to get involved in some kind of community service project.  I truly miss our visits to the nursing home back in Mississippi, and my minimal work with St. Vincent de Paul, where I answered phones and listened in to the always interesting conversations of the clients.  I also admire a friend here for being involved in foster care.  Our Thanksgiving service with Salvation Army was a good time, but it was a one-time event.  I haven't yet figured out where my place is, and "volunteerism" is not a big movement here. I miss being a part of a parish in the community, although I think we're in the right place in the chapel on base.  Excuses, excuses, I know. So I resolve to come to a resolution about this resolution soon.

*The quote from Mother Teresa: It is easy to love the people far away. It is not always easy to love those close to us. It is easier to give a cup of rice to relieve hunger than to relieve the loneliness and pain of someone unloved in our own home. Bring love into your home for this is where our love for each other must start.

What can you do to promote world peace? Go home and love your family.

Next up: Reading Goals for 2012

I have a few books already in a stack to be consumed. I’m still reviewing short stories from Gioia and Kennedy’s Literature text in hopes of getting a class at the community college here. Will know soon if the class makes.  I may have doomed it by asking to teach a class from 8 to 9:30. P.M. Crazy, but that was a slot they had. I didn’t make it up.

Some recent purchases I have to get to: I bought Cutting for Stone for the Navy wives’ book club which I’m hosting. It hasn’t showed up yet. Maybe I’ll get it in time to read on my flight to Indiana.  For February they’ve picked Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, which was the people’s choice for best book of the century in one old list I found amongst my notes.  I am debating reading this. I read it as a high school student and felt smart for reading such a big book. That’s about all I remember about it, although I can remember bits about The Fountainhead, maybe because it featured an architect, and just a couple years after reading it I started dating an architect.  And since he was a nicer guy than the character in the book, I married him.

Next up: some purchases I made for the kids: The Book of Lost Things by John Connelly. Looking forward to this one. I also have been meaning to read the series of “Secrets” by Pseudonymous Bosch, which my 11 year old has been enjoying, but I’m really not sure if I’ll get around to them. My sixth grader also wants me to read The Last Hero books, but after reading the first round of Percy Jackson books, I’m not really in the mood for more. We started reading The Wizard of Oz outloud before Christmas, but lost momentum, so we’ll return to that.  We'll read Galen and the Gateway To Medicine aloud since we'll be studying Rome. And I realized the 5 year old has missed out on a lot of Beatrix Potter and Winnie the Pooh.  I'm not sure she even knows some of the classic fairy tales. There are definitely holes in her education. 

I gave myself Wendell Berry’s collection of poetry Leavings as a present for home schooling and look forward to reading ISI’s new The Humane Vision of Wendell Berry, especially since I have to brag that I know some of the contributors.

I also bought Flannery O’Connor’s Mystery and Manners for myself – part of my “pro gear?” - when I was ordering home school books. What's one more small volume, especially one I have checked out from the library multiple times.

Back in when I was ordering school books, I also bought Fr. Robert Barron’s Catholicism to read. We have thoroughly enjoyed the first 6 videos of the series. This purchase was justified since I have confirmandi in the house. Worth the price.

A Protestant friend lent me a book about a nun: Mother Antonia’s Life of Service in a Mexican Jail by Mary Jordan and Kevin Sullivan. I like being loaned books because it forces me to read them, and I'm curious to see what she liked about it.

There are other books I’m tempted to order: one I’ve seen advertised on the Image blog: Bearing the Mystery: An Anthology from Image. I like what I’ve read there.  Heather King’s book is also on this list of books I’d like to read if I can make space, physically and temporally and financially. And I sent my year-end list to Semicolon and got these recommendations in return, none of which I've read. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon, Saint Training by Elixabeth Fixmer, and The Passion of Mary-Margaret by Lisa Samson. I'm impressed with her ability to come up with so many titles.

There are so many good books out there! These are just ones I already have piled up. I don't like to prognosticate too much about what I'm going to read, because so often what I read is what I pick up at the library or receive from an friend, but I do want to try to read at least one work by Dickens, one by Shakespeare, and one by a Bronte or Austen, or something similarly British and a couple hundred years old at least, to exercise my brain. 


I suppose this is a start of a New Year's Resolution.  Can I even remembered what I thought to do last year?