Shakespeare

I feel like I'm not supposed to admit this. I like Shakespeare, but I don't love him. Don't tell my brother, whatever you do. I'm reading A Midsummer Night's Dream right now. And it's interesting, and I enjoy it. But I don't love it. Shakespeare is funny. His use of language is fun and interesting. But (and I feel like this just isn't what I'm supposed to say) I just don't find much meaningful in Shakespeare. This isn't what English teachers are supposed to say or think. And I feel funny admitting it. Maybe it's like coming out of the closet. I have heard people say that in the end you either come down on the side of Shakespeare or the side of Milton, that you are the type of person who can love one or the other, but not both. Maybe I'm the type that loves Milton, if that dichotomy is true. I've also heard people say that it's either Shakespeare or Chaucer. If that's the case, I'm definitely a Chaucer kind of gal. Chaucer shows us human nature; Milton shows us "man's first disobedience;" but Shakespeare is just "words, words, words." I know that his tragic heroes have these great, heart wrenching speeches that are supposed to explore the human condition, the human tragedy. But in the end, their speeches always strike me as empty somehow, because the characters are so unable to transcend themselves. Maybe that's my problem. Shakespeare's characters never seem to get beyond themselves. Even the characters I rather enjoy--Benedic, Beatrice, Mercutio, Lear--they are just all about themselves. And nothing more.

I feel like maybe somewhere along the way I missed something really important that I was supposed to understand about Shakespeare and never quite got. Shakespeare is good. He's entertaining. He's a master of the language. But he's not great.

There's a tiny piece of me that fears the defect is in me, not Shakespeare. Afterall, western civilization (or at least the English speaking world) reveres him as some kind of god of literature. But he's missing something. He's missing the bigger picture.

Marshmallow Peeps

Some of you know that I have this absurd Peeps obsession. I find them oddly fascinating, like the whole train wreck thing, I guess. I mean, I don't actually like them as candy; I think they are pretty gross. But here are some great Peeps web sites:

http://www.peepresearch.org/ This site is my fav and shows just how resilient those marshmallow goodies are.

http://www.lordofthepeeps.com/lotp/fotp.html This site incorporates all my favorite things: Lord of the Rings, Peeps, Beer, and boys. Well, maybe not beer and boys. But Peeps act out the LOR.

http://www.millikin.edu/staley/fluff/peep_research.html And here is a study of Peeps and their library and research habits. This appeals to the academic in me.

http://members.ync.net/pdunn/macgab/fun/fun-peep.htm Finally, this site collects wonderful poetry about Peeps.

Really, truly, I think Peeps are gross as food, yet oddly fascinating as popular culture.

More Mix Tapes And Thoughts on Soundtracks

I know that I'm going overboard with all this, but really, this is my nature. When I latch onto something, I really latch. And there's very little I do by halves.

I've been making more mix tapes in my mind (Hey, Carina, remember the Super Booty CDs? I love those!), and I have to admit that I've always had this sneaking feeling in the back of my soul that maybe everything would be OK if only there were the right soundtrack playing in the background of our lives, you know? Like at those 11 moments, when things were just perfect, if there were only a song playing, it could be a way to capture the moment by connecting it to just the right song. Or maybe the tought parts, the 1 moments, would be more bearable if only there were the right song playing. You know, like when I wake up in the morning and have that fatal 3-minute window when I can haul myself out of bed and be successful or succumb to sloth and sleep for another 30 minutes, it seems like it would all be OK if only "Good Day Sunshine" were playing, or even "Here Comes the Sun." And that's another weird thing. Why the Beatles, always the Beatles for me?

It's weird that I'm thinking this because I don't think of myself as someone who's all into music. And I freely admit that I have all these weird, silly musical "guilty pleasures." Ask me if you are really interested to hear abou them.

I'm listening to the Proclaimers right now. If you are looking for recommendations, I think that the Medieval Babes (I think they spell it Medieval Baebes now) really KSA.

Much love and happy listening to all.

Most days, I think it's kinda interesting being me. I mean, I get to think interesting thoughts and do interesting things with my time. But then other days, like now, I wish I could just be "normal," rather than interesting. I know, I know: there are real problems with the whole "normal" thing. But I don't understand how it is exactly that I got stuck in this seemingly-divergent existence when everyone else I know seems to be doing all the normal stuff: having babies, cooking dinner, planting gardens. Whatever. I mean, I know I'm bookish and all, but I like those things too.

And I just read this blog post from this man who was all ranting that single women are single because while others were meeting prospective mates, they had their heads stuck in books and now are too wedded to their academic careers to get married. That really pisses me off. I mean, how dare someone make that assumption about me. I didn't just have my head stuck in a book, and here I am with a career and no spouse, not by choice. I mean, he said things to the effect of: so these single career women made their choice, and now they just need to live with it. That's so not me. To be honest, I always said that I never wanted my career to be more important than personal relationships and particularly than my family. I even took what I thought were appropriate steps so that a career wasn't all I had. And guess what happened.

I suppose I'm just lonely. Sunday evenings do that to me. Why are Sundays the worst?

To counteract all this, my plan is to make a nice dinner and have my weekly "date" with Inspector Morse. That's better than nothing, right?

Mix Tapes

Remember when we were younger, maybe in high school, and if you "liked" someone, you made him or her a mix tape? There was something really neat-o about those old school mix tapes, you know? I mean, I know that now we can download and upload and burn CDs for one another, and I have some pretty great CDs from some of you, but that's really not the same as a mix tape. I think that recording the tape takes more time and energy than simply clicking and dragging and burning. I have a mix tape that Cort made for me in college for my birthday, probably my 19th birthday. I still have it and listen to it occasionally, and I love it because it makes me think of her. One of the best things about it is that written on the label is "I love you, Drenu." That makes me really happy somehow. I bet she doesn't remember all this, but it still means a lot to me. Remember that scene in High Fidelity when John Cusack's character discusses the intricacies and nuances of making the perfect mix tape? There's something loving and meaningful and personal about it.

So I know all this sounds silly, but I'd been thinking about mix tapes lately and feeling kinda nostalgic for the early 90s. And then the last couple of days, I have been making mix tapes in my mind for each of you. And it's become this really interesting exercise. I mean, there are these songs that, for whatever reasons, I associate with particular people. My song for DW would have to be "Particle Man," for example. And my song for Stimerman would have to be that REM song "I am Superman." And this all becomes this fun, nostalgic exercise. So I've been thinking if I were to make a mix tape for each of you, what would it include? Or I'll hear a particular song and think, "This song is so totally so-and-so." There's just this affective association that I keep making.

I don't know. I long for the days of mix tapes.

This Morning

Two funny things have happened to me so far today.

First, on the way to work, I discovered that I know every single lyric of "Tainted Love," and I think that's quite an accomplishment.

Second, when I arrived at work, I discovered that my office was infested with pink bunny Peeps. They seem to be decorating everything. Since today's my birthday, I'm guessing this is someone's idea of a fun / funny birthday prank? A birthday present? What is it about Peeps anyway?

All this and it's not even 7:30!

Gail Carson Levine's Ella Enchanted

I've been rereading Levine's Ella Enchanted for class tomorrow, and although Levine is not a brilliant prose stylist, I think this is a really smart book. Before anyone asks, no, I did not see the film adaptation that came out a couple of years ago.

OK, so this is yet another retelling of the Cinderella tale. But it's smart and interesting without being heavy handed. There's something so likeable and authentic about Ella's character. And Levine explores some of the complexities involved with fairy tale notions of goodness and obedience; this is what's most interesting about this novel. Levine shows that forced obedience is not at all the same as intrinsic goodness. She also explores some of the difficulties and contradictions of the folk / fairy tale, especially in the way that women are represented. But this is more than just another feminist fairy tale, a genre that I often enjoy. Levine explores larger issues having to do with what constitutes goodness while playing with some of the conventions of the Cinderella tale type particularly and the folk tale generally. For example, the notion of fairies who practice magic and can influence mortal affairs is shown to be problematic for the mortals themselves. In this way, I think Levine is dealing with bigger themes: the difficulty that accompanies getting what one wishes for, the relationship between "fate," loosely defined and human will, and the troubling nature of magic in the realm of "faerie." (NOTE TO SELF: I'm way overdoing the specialized terms in quotes lately. It annoys me when others do this. Need to stop.) In the end, Levine offers a variety of options for females including marriage, adventure, and scholarly work all at the same time. Maybe this is why I like this book. Maybe part of me still wants to believe in the possibility of having and doing it all. I'm a really bad feminist, aren't I. OK, I'm going to stop with that line of thinking, in part because I keep resolving that when writing about things external to myself, I won't turn it into something about myself.

I think this is a really fun, wonderful book. I don't think I have much maternal instinct, but when I think about the possibility of having children, I get really excited about what I could theoretically read to and with them. Ella Enchanted would be a good one.

You Know You're an Alcoholic When. . .

Let me start by saying that this happens about every two months.

This afternoon, I came home from work, and my neighbors, across the hall (I live in an apartment) had TONS of empty beer bottles stacked up outside their door. I'm estimating that this is at least 25 six-packs. I suppose they are going to recycle them. I'm perpetually annoyed with my neighbors for one reason or another. And all the empty beer bottles don't help. I just had to take a picture of the stack of bottles. I'm afraid that without the pic you'd all just think I was exaggerating.

But really, at what point does one consider that he or she may have a drinking problem? The girlfriend has two young children; should she and her boyfriend be drinking this much in front of the children? One thing I'll say for them; they aren't drinking Bud light.

The Secret to a Good Mood

I just discovered the secret to arrive at work in a really great mood, and Dolce Carina will appreciate this. The key is to listen to the Pixies loudly the entire car trip. That's all it takes! I wish someone would have told me this years ago.

Wednesday (Wish it Was Friday)

I haven't been writing as much lately as I might normally. This, I know, is always a bad sign. Last night when I asked about "hitting bottom," I don't think I really meant it. In the last 2 1/2 years, I have thought I'd hit bottom any number of times, thought, "It has to get better, because there's no way it can get worse." Almost invariably, it does get worse. I have rarely felt so completely isolated. Maybe I shouldn't say that when so many of you have made a point of reaching out to me in the past week--got a wonderful, happy, encouraging e-mail from Cort a couple of days ago! I've not yet replied. So maybe it's my own fault for feeling isolated. I don't know. All I really want to do is sit at home with my puppies (what could be nicer than puppies?) and read and drink tea. It's so hard to get anything done. It's like disappointment and discouragement and going to work and pretending that I'm OK takes up all my energy. And the maddening thing is that I don't know how I got this way, how everything degenerated to this point. But it'll get better. I have decided that starting right now, I'm making it better. I'm here, at work. I'm showing up and doing what I can. And at least I get to talk about interesting things. I guess that all I can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other, like I've always done, and trust that some day I will wake up and feel better about things. Anyway, I really hope that's how it works, because I don't know what else to do any more.

How do you know when you've hit bottom?

Update

Not that anyone is all that interested, but I am home sick today. I feel so run down, like I can hardly do it anymore, you know?

But then then bus will pull up to a stop, and I'll realize that all of you are on the bus with me, and everything will be fine.

I really love every, single one of you, just for being there!

P.S. Just started a book called Don't Waste Your Life by John Piper. Has anyone read any Piper?

Fed Up!

So, I just want to say that I'm really tired of the snow. And I'm really tired of grading. And I'm really tired of "March Madness" being the only thing on TV.

Guinnie's Memoirs

Guinevere has decided to finally sit down and write her memoirs. It's something I've been urging her to do for a long time. We've decided that she can dictate and that I'll be her scribe. But just a quick preview--you can expect to read about such high points in her life as

when she was working as a waitress and was picked up by a mafia member, thus getting her start in the world

her involvement as a U.N. goodwill pup

her alleged involvement in the Pup of the Year scandal, the scandal that rocked the canine world, leading to the end of the coveted Pup of the Year Award and even the Pup of the Month award.

Guinnie wants you to understand that whatever she's done, it's always been for the "greater good" and not for "what could appear as the bad aspects" of the activity. She also says that she's a Jesuit.

Look for further posts as Guinnie begins the task of composing her memoirs.

Crazy

One more thing. . .some days I think I must be crazy.

Miscellaneous

There's all this random stuff I want to say. I'm drinking tea, and as I've said before, I do wish that sometimes there were someone else to make the tea. But there's just me. All I really want to do is drink tea and lie on the floor and listen to U2 until it's all better, you know?

Today, in class, we were talking about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and one young woman raises her hand and says, "I know this doesn't have much to do with our reading, but I was just wondering what you think. Do you think chivalry is dead?" (I just talked to Carina about this.) I know that the proper, academic answer would have been to talk about how chivalry is a construct in literature and social history and never really existed, not like she's thinking and blah, blah, blah. I know that's the script I'm supposed to speak from. But instead, I said, "Well, judging from the men I've dated recently, I'd have to say that, yes, chivalry is dead." So, I know that was really the wrong thing to say. But it just sorta happened, you know?

So maybe temporal happiness is U2 and really good tea. Or maybe U2 and tea and a hot bath. And then a episode of House MD. Or maybe just bed in clean sheets. I have this thing for sheets right out of the dryer, you know?

Is it weird that I like George Michael? Does anyone remember back in the day when we could use the word "gay" as a general insult, and that was OK? I miss those days.

Maybe temporal happiness is reading John Donne and drinking tea. Or maybe temporal happiness is 1:00 am with your best, best friends, drinking wine and making biscotti or some such. Come to think of it, there are lots of things I like.

The Cutest Dog I've Ever Seen!

So I know that I'm silly and prejudiced and all that, but I think that Miss Perfect Polly is the cutest dog I've ever seen. Here she is asleep on my pile of dirty laundry. It's nice that my sloth is providing someone with comfort, don't you think? I think she's just beautiful and good and perfect, like an angel in canine form.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

As I've probably mentioned, I'm teaching Sir Gawain this week and next--oh what fun!

And since Archer asked, I thought I'd mention something about the hunt scenes in part III which parallel the Lady's purusit of Gawain. So these scenes are pretty clearly written to mirror one another, I would say. The narrative structure, if nothing else, indicates this for us. What I find most interesting is that on the three successive days, as Lord Bercilak hunts a deer, a boar, and a fox, both the Lady and Gawain seem to take on the characteristics of these creatures. I'd expect Gawain, the hunted, to parallel these animals, certainly, but I think the Lady does too. On the first day, her purusit of Gawain is graceful and apparently noble, like the deer. Gawain's response is the same. As one of my students said today, they are very "deery." On the second day, both are more stubborn, pig-headed even, as is the boar which Bercilak hunts and kills. In both scenes, the literal hunt and the figurative hunt back at the castle, both hunter and hunted show tenacity. Finally, both the Lady and Gwain behave in the manner we traditionally associate with the fox: they are cunning, sly, tricky, and not totally above board. So that's that. And it's interesting.

But I keep asking myself, "But what does it all mean?" And it seems to me that Gawain finds himself in a situation where he can only fail; it's a question of which fault he will pick, I suppose. Again, in the words of my students, he needs to cut his losses and get out with as much dignity in tact as possible. Arguably, this is what he does. But he still feels himself to be a failure. And I think this is exactly what it "means." Humans fail. Expecting perfection just doesn't work. Gawain can't be entirely perfect all the time, as he learns, in spite of his intentions. And, in the end, it's OK. I suppose that as much as anything, this analysis is really coming from where I am right now. (Ok, ok this is maybe not very sophisticated literary criticism, but it's what it is. And really, if we can't learn about ourselves from literature, what's the point?) We try to be perfect; maybe we think we have to be perfect. But we can't. This world just doesn't work that way. And in the end, it's Ok.

I'm entirely honest that I struggle with perfectionism. And it makes me crazy and anxious and miserable, sometimes. And it also means that I do a really good job with some things, but I don't even enjoy my successes because I focus only on the one, tiny thing that could have been better. I'm learning more and more to move away from this, but it's hard. I know that some of you can identify. I was talking to a colleague today, and he seems to think it's a product of being a female of my generation. Maybe there's something to that. Maybe it's the same old issue that I have with feminism--the idea that I have to be all things to all people all the time. Only I can't.

So I've done it again: I have taken a post about something outside of me, and I have made it about me. But I guess this is what I needed to write.

One more thing: henceforth, I want to be known as Pajama Sam.

Some days, you work and you work. And you feel guilty because you've made a student cry. And you come home and work at not having a panic attack. And once the panic subsides, you work some more, grading essay exams, which turn out to be much better than you'd anticipated. But still, the panic is there just below the surface. And you try really hard not to give in to the urge to pick up the phone to call your ex-boyfriend. You just want someone to talk to, but you know that calling him will bite you in the backside in the end. So you just keep working. And all of a sudden the exams are graded, and it's 6:30. So you order a pizza with feta an artichoke hearts. And you watch Empire Records, all the while unable to remember if you've seen in before. And you think how you love this genre of cheezy, high school hijinx movies, all the while telling yourself that maybe tonight's the night to start that "thing" you've been meaning to write. And you hope that bed time comes soon. And you hope that once bed time arrives you'll be able to sleep. And the phone never rings.

Sometimes Blessings Come From Unexpected Places

I'm taking a break from grading midterms for my "Touchstones of Western Literature" course. One of three options that my students had was to write an analysis of the story in Genesis chapter 22, where God asks Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac. I was pleasantly surprised at how many students chose this particular option. I was even more pleasantly surprised by the insight of their responses. So many of them pointed out that doing what we are supposed to do is difficult but that we are blessed in the end, blessed precisely because we do the difficult thing. I suppose this is exactly what I needed to hear, yet I didn't expect to find it among a set of sophomore-level midterms.

It so often strikes me that what we need comes from a source we wouldn't have expected.

iPod and Podcasts

I have little energy for today's post, so I'll keep it short.

NPR's free podcasts are a wonderful thing.

D

Larry McMurtry

I am reading McMurtry again. So far Texasville is pretty trashy. But he's this funny writer.

How's this for an opening sentence: "Duane was in the hot tub, shooting at his new doghouse with a .44 Magnum."

And here's something about Duane's wife: "She had thirty or forty T-shirts with lines from. . .songs printed on them. Every time she heard a lyric which seemed to her to express an important truth, she had a T-shirt printed" Couldn't this be me? Well, Karla does a lot of crap I wouldn't do, but couldn't this description be me in a weird, alternate universe, one where I live in Texas and have the means to obtain all the tees I want???

Lonely / Sad / Alive / Happy / Working

So today I read the first two "fitts" (that means parts, I suppose) of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. I know that I pretty much claim to love everything that I read, but I really do love Sir Gawain. You know, it's all medieval and stuff. No seriously, doesn't Sir Gawain's predicament tell us something about human nature, about how no matter how hard we try, we always fall short, yet others see us as being wildly, dazzlingly successful? What does it all mean? Is Gawain just a perfectionist? The Green Knight / Bercilak forgives him, so why can't he forgive himself? Ok, so I know that theologically some would quibble with this notion of "forgiving" one's self, but you know what I mean. Anyway, it's all interesting. Gawain's character is interesting. The language of the poem is interesting. If you are nerdy enough to care, I'm reading Tolkien's translation. It's all just wonderful and comforting on this very personal level. I realize that I say this kind of thing about nearly everything I read, and that's fine. Most of what I read for work / class is stuff I've selected because I like it so much and find it meaningful.

So Gawain is the good part. But I feel so very alone. I am overwhelmed and anxious. And I want to feel like someone cares, like there's someone I can call who won't be too busy or annoyed or whatever. But right now, it feels like it's just me and Polly and Guinnie, the evil non-genius. I don't want to always feel so alone. And most of the time I'm OK and all. But still.

Well, if you've read this far, thanks for listening to my rant. I love you for it.

D

Diana Wynne Jones

I'm reading Diana Wynne Jones's Charmed Life, and I want to say that Jones is, in my professional opinion (I say that because it sounds funny), one of the most under rated contemporary writers for young adults. She is inventive; she is a good writer. Why aren't more people reading and talking about her novels? I totally recommend her to anyone who is interested in YA fantasy, my current fixation. Jones seems to understand the experience of being a child in the late 20th century; there's something authentic about the perspective from which she writes. And I love it! If anyone's really interested Patricia Wrede is OK, and Jane Yolen can be good, both writing in the same vein. I wish there were something more academic or at least smart-sounding that I could say about Jones's work. In Charmed Life she writes a world parallel to ours where magic is fairly common. What's the theory? Where one posits that for each event (or maybe each major event) that occurs, there's some alternate world where that event turned out differently? If anyone knows the term for this theory, rather common in fantasy, let me know. I should know this. Anyhow, the characters find ways to travel between these parallel worlds, and it's all interesting, a fun read. But more than that, I think Jones has her finger on something about the selfishness of human nature. J.R.R. Tolkien would say that the great thing about fantasy is that it allows us to see truth about ourself in a clearer way by putting human nature in a different setting. (If anyone's really interested, read his "On Faerie." Now I really sound like an academic. I don't know if I can help it; I read, even think, through the lens of Tolkien and Lewis. Sometimes I feel silly about it; other times I just accept it.)

Anyway, I realiz that none of this is too profound. I think I'm writing to begin to collect my thoughts about Jones as much as anything.

It's The Little Things

I often find myself saying that I think, at least for me, one important part of being content each day is appreciating, even reveling in, the little, daily things that one enjoys. Today specifically, I am enjoying and am thankful for really good tea, my iPod (it's hard to remember living without it), Guinnie and Polly, a hot bubble bath, interesting reading material, fun DVDs, my physical health, my emotional health (hey, it's taken me a long time to get to this point!), the way my body and spirit feel after yoga, friends, and most of all God's presence in my life.

I know it may all sound cheezy (is that a technical term?), but I feel so joyously thankful for all this abundance! And I somehow feel as though I should share it with the world.

I sometimes feel invigorated when I wake up in the mornings, knowing that there's so much to look forward to during the day. I even happen to like Mondays.

Update on Augustine

Ok, so I just wanted to quickly say that I am reading the section on memory in the Confessions, and A. is beginning to rectify some of the concers and questions I had about the ability to trust one's memory. I'm feeling better about things. And I'm rather obsessing about A., which I am fine with (or rather, with which I am fine.) My biggest concern is what to read next.

The Office (and other DVDs)

I've spent the last three hours or so watching the first few episodes of the BBC's The Office, and boy, is it funny. And it's really offensive at the same time. And I can't remember the last time I thought that offensive could be funny. But this is. I guess the point is that these characters, while saying and doing potentially offensive things, are presented as real asses. And this is funny to me.

I have also started watching House M.D. on DVD. It's also very entertaining, but it took a while for me to get beyond thinking of Hugh Laurie as Bertie Wooster. But once I did, House seemed brilliant.

Ah, so much TV, so little time!

More on Augustine: This for "PDempsey"

My head is full of Augustine right now. And there's so much I want to talk about, but I am not sure how to organize my thoughts. But here's some of it:

The Confessions is interesting in that it's more about Augustine's intellectual and spiritual growth and less about the external events and trappings of his life. In this way, it rather reminds me of C.S. Lewis's Surprised by Joy, a book that always fascinates me. But how can one really retrace and recount for us his spiritual development. I mean, there seems to be something artificial or constructed about it, you know? I can barely remember what I was thinking last night. How can someone so clearly remember what he was believing and mulling over at a particular period in his life, a period maybe years in the past. I don't think that Augustine is making it up or anything; it just strikes me that he can never really get at the texture and sense and "quidity," to use a Lewisism, of his own mind at any particular time. Yet, I applaud the attempt and generally think that Augustine is successful. (Forgive me for comparing him over and over to Lewis. I suppose that for a variety of reasons, Lewis controls how I tend to think about the world, the mind, and literature specifically. This is sometimes troubling.)

I'm struggling to "get" Augustine's ideas about sin. Before I started reading, I would have been able to give a simple definition, maybe even an explanation, of A's theory of sin; that is sin as a falling short, but also as a kind of nothingness, something that does not exist because God has created all that does exist, yet God could not have created sin. Ok, ok don't jump all over me because that wasn't perfect--I'm just trying to get out the working definition I'd assumed when I began the Confessions. Yet there's something about it that just isn't adding up for me. And I don't know whether the intellectual and maybe imaginative shortcoming is in me or A. or both. But I want to understand. I'd like to better know what sin is (or isn't.) But I am just not getting it. I suppose I just need to keep reading. I'd like to believe that if I keep reading everything will be ok somehow.

I realize that this post isn't very coherent. I'm rather tired (what else is new?), and I'm mostly trying to frame questions. I'm not quite ready to work at answers yet. Maybe the questions are just as important as the answers anyway.

Where Does the Time Go?

I get frustrated often because there never seems to be the time for all the things I want to do, things that I think are important. There's so much I want to read and write about and talk about. But it seems as though my days are filled with meetings and phone calls that I let drag on for too long and doing nothing. Sometimes doing nothing is fine, but I'm talking about the doing nothing that isn't even enjoyable.

I mean, what I really want to do lately is read and take notes on what I'm reading and write about what I am reading. Augustine is calling me. But there are always papers to grade and bills to pay. It's not that I'm lazy or that I don't want to work. In fact, I am by nature, pretty highly motivated and disciplined. It's just that here it is, after 6:00, and what have I accomplished? Not all that much. I proctored two miderms: boring, but a necessary boring, I suppose. I went to a yoga class: three cheers for me, and boy does my back feel better. I had a doctor's appointment for my annual girl stuff: unpleasant, but again a necessary unpleasant made more barable by the fact that my doctor is wonderful. I came home and rested: rather a let down that I rested rather than doing productive things, but seemed needful. I cleaned and organized stuff around the place, athough you may not be able to tell by looking. I watched Dr Phil: this was highly unnecessary, and the silly part is that I watched it only because there was a dog in some of the footage that looked like Guinnie; couldn't miss seeing her again. But, really, where did my day go? And what beyond the work, yoga, and doctor was even meaningful or useful?

I want more time, not just to be lazy, but to pursue things that I believe are important to my intellectual and personal development. And here's my deep, dark secret: I want time to write, not just this silliness, but something meaningful. I think I need to pursue that for myself. But I don't; there's always a reason not to start, to put it off until another day.

I'm not upset. And I'm not being overly hard on myself. I am just baffled somehow.

NB: I realize that I've way overused the colon in this post. It may be my new favorite punctuation mark. The dash is my old favorite.

NB: I'm still avoiding writing about the things that matter to me most: love, pain, faith, doubt, people.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say. I'm here writing because of some silly rule, some New Year's Resolution, that I've imposed upon myself. But I don't know what to say. I woke up this morning, thought "I can do this," and got myself out of bed. And the day just was. It wasn't anything noteworthy. There were high points and low points. And yes, I cried but only a little.

OK, I have decided that it's OK to cry. C. and I have been talking about this, and my mom and I have been talking about this, and I'm OK with crying. It doesn't mean anything is wrong with me or even that anything is wrong with my life. It could just mean that I'm tired and want a break. And I feel content and satisfied most of the time, so it's OK if I cry sometimes. I guess I have just decided to accpet that maybe this is normal for me. Or healthy for me. Or even if it isn't, it's who I am right now. And obsessing about it isn't going to make it any better or any different anyway, so I might as well just decide that it's fine. Maybe it's the whole 1-11 thing again; maybe I have those 1 moments each day, but it's OK because there are more and more 11 moments all the time.

What I do know is this: that even if I am crying a little each day (or most days, not every day), I am more satisfied and have more direction than I have for the past 2 1/2 years. That's not an exaggeration.

Tehanu

I've been reading Ursula LeGuin's Tehanu for a class. And there a just a couple of observations that I want to record, more for myself than anyone else.

LeGuin deals in this novel with the possibility and paradox of being two things at once--the old woman who is really a dragon, the abused child who really is powerful, and the woman who is both domestic and heroic. Tenar, a central character here, often reflects on her decision to pursue traditional, domestic female roles rather than learn to be a sorceress of some sort. And yet, we are never quite sure that she's made the best choice. It seems to me that Tenar can do both things, be a traditional female and be a radical female, maybe not at once but in one lifetime. Maybe this is what LeGuin is urging each of us to do.

I don't know; I'm still working through this.

"Evil But Not a Genius"

I have a brother J. who is 15. Some of you have known him since he was about 3. And if you know me or him at all, then you know that he tends to say really, really funny things. He also tends to do funny things. He has a way with words, sometimes a tendency to misuse words, that has been a source of amusement for me since he started talking. Here's an example:

About 4 years ago, when our niece E. was a baby, E. arrived at my parents' home wearing a winter time hat. It was a silly little hat, but she looked cute. And here was J.'s analysis. . .

"Hey, in that hat, don't you think like E. looks like she could be one of Santa's minions. You know, evil but not a genius."

Oddly, I think he's used the expression "Evil but not a genius" about my dog Guinevere.

Oh, And One More Thing (The Last For Today)

Also, I realize that I could do things that would maybe cause others to take me more seriously (e.g. not have a blog that screams "pink," not wear rainbow brite tee shirts, not wear a nose stud), but the truth is, generally silliness makes me happy. I don't want to be a pretentious academic who takes herself way too seriously, although I do take my field and my work seriously. I exult in colour (another British celebration) and popular culture and laughter and glitter and suffering and sadness. But I don't want to give up on those things. I want to be someone who can be comfortable wearing glittery make-up and still quote (or maybe misquote) Latin, you know? This is who I am, and I like this about me. Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.

Oh, One More Thing

I also realize that I at some point probably need to transcend the silly crushes on fictional characters that I seem to have developed recently. I get that. But really, I was only half serious in the first place.

A Sense of Direction

So earlier today, I wrote that the planets were in alignment for me. But that's not really it. All of a sudden, I have this renewed sense of purpose about my life. I know what it is that I need to do next, and I feel a committment to what I am doing. And I've been thinking about why this is. It seems strange to me that suddenly, I seem to have more direction about my life and myself and what I need and want to do. But I don't think it's as sudden as it seems. I think as with many things in life (this is one of the great lessons of getting a PhD and writing my dissertation), we work and work and work at something and don't necessarily see the results of our labours (I'm using the British "u" simply out of a feeling of joy about the world and all things British), although the results are there just below the surface. And the results accumulate and accumulate below the surface for a while until the results break through. It's like writing, or like my writing process anyway. I work and work and work and feel as though nothing is getting done, although I'm putting in the time and effort. And then all of a sudden one day *pouf* I have twenty pages written. So it's like that, only in my personal life and my emotional life and my spiritual life. I've written about it in my journal and talked about it with some of you and prayed for direction and wisdom. And now *pouf*: I know where I need to go from here, and I think I know how to get there.

SIDE NOTE: Although I pray for wisdom, I don't claim that I've acctually attained that yet.

Anyway, so what I need to do next is this (well, this is a partial list anyway): I want to start seriously looking for a house. At any rate, I really would like to move from this apartment. So I'm going to contact a realtor this week. I've been browsing online, and there's not a lot in my price range, but I'm going to pursue it. My dad, who is wonderful, is planning to visit in about a month, when I have spring break, to look with me. I'm overwhelmed by the whole process, and I am so thankful that I have a father who is kind, intelligent, financially savy, and generally wonderful.

The other general thing I want to do is this: simply take better care of myself day to day. I'm eating healthier foods; I'm practicing yoga and meditation regularly; I'm praying more regularly; I'm reading my Bible and other devotional kinds of materials. I'm doing it, and the results are nearly immediate.

The third general goal I have is that I want to develop more satisfying personal relationships. This, for me, may be the more difficult of my goals, but it's something that I want to work at. And I do have a partial plan; I need to plan more fully.

I suppose that most of you are not really interested in all this, but I feel so joyful and peaceful and purposeful that I want to share it with the world. Wow! I'm becoming increasingly corny in my old age, and that's fine with me.

I just wanted to say quickly that metaphorically, the planets seem to be in alignment. That is to say, that suddenly and, I think, for a variety of reasons, I am happier than I've been in a long, long time. Maybe it's the whole 1-11 thing (for those of you who don't know, I'll explain later): I cry often, but I'm jubilant, joyful, happy each day.

Ursula LeGuin

I'm taking a break from Augustine (I've read about 1/3 of his Confessions) to reread Ursula LeGuin's Tehanu. I read The Tombs of Atuan last week. I want to say that I think LeGuin is a master stylist, and her Earthsea series, of which these two are a part, is wonderful is this respect. I like The Tombs of Atuan and the other books in the Earthsea cycle, but I love Tehanu. As I've been preparing to teach it this week, all the things I loved about it first time around seem even more significant and meaningful. I suppose that has something to do with who I am this time around.

LeGuin deals with the complications created by relationships between men and women. I'd say that she so much has a grasp on what it means to be female, how it feels to be female, without slipping into stereotype. The way men and women (mis)communicate, how it feels for a woman to age, what it means for a woman to embrace traditional domestic roles: all of these LeGuin deals with skillfully, artfully, and interestingly.

There's so much more I want to say, but I don't know how. (SIDE NOTE: I've noticed recently that I avoid writing about the things that are most meaningful, and therefore most intimate, to me--my faith, for example.) It's hard to find words for these things that seem to get at the essence of who we are.

If anyone is interested in fantasy, I'd certainly recommend the Earthsea cycle.

Another Fictional Character With Whom I Am Infatuated. . .

This is Albert Campion, as played by Peter Davison. In addition to Inspector Morse and Dr. Shepherd, I suspect that I could possibly be infatuated with Albert Campion. Like Morse, Campion is some Brit who solved mysteries. This may demonstrate that I simply watch too many BBC / A&E murder mysteries.

Why is Drennan into these fictional characters, you may ask. Well, as my mother pointed out, they don't leave dirty laundry lying about, they are there when you need them, you turn them off when you don't want them, and you assume that you at least know their character flaws. We pretend that what we see is what we get with these characters. But that's rarely true in real life, she observed. I'm not sure whether I agree or not.

It really is a sad state of things that I am so disillusioned with relationships that I prefer Campion and Morse and Shepherd to many, although not all, of the actual men I encounter. But Campion is intelligent, witty, and dashing. What's not to like?

Dolce Carina, I've though about it, and I have to say that I think Campion kicks Hugh Laurie's butt.

"Balancing Laura Ingalls and Paris Hilton"

This morning, I was sitting in church during the prelude, and in the announcements, there was a handout about an upcoming young people's conference to be held at Covenant. The handout gave brief overviews of some of the activities and lectures, including a lecture titled "Balancing Laura Ingalls and Paris Hilton." This particular talk for females promises to deal with whether we can be modest and godly, yet trendy and stylish at the same time. OK, I'm going to be real honest here; I think this is a worthwhile topic. However, I suspect that dealing with it in this way is not the best way to go about it. Anyway, as the pianist plays away before the service, B. the pastor's wife leans towards me, points at Paris Hilton's name, and says, "Who is this? I don't even know who this is." So, imagine me trying to briefly yet tastefully sum up the significance of Paris Hilton before church. (As a side note, I think that her not knowing who Paris Hilton is speaks highly of B.) So I'm trying to be tactful yet clear, and really, I'm not the queen of tact and discretion.

After discussion Paris briefly, I took another look at the handout, and here's what really gets to me about the whole thing. The woman slated to give this talk on "Balancing Laura Ingalls and Paris Hilton" is named Mary Jo Frump! What could be better? I know that maybe I shouldn't laugh at her last name, although I'm the first to laugh at my own last name. But really, couldn't this be a Saturday Night Live skit?

Abbey Road

I was feeling rather out of sorts, but my solution is to listen to Abbey Road over and over. There's something about the Beatles. And Abbey Road is maybe my favorite, although I also love Rubber Soul. I've loved the Beatles literally for as long as I can remember. When I was a child, I remember Rubber Soul being one of the few cassette tapes that my parents owned, and I would listen to it over and over. John Lennon's death is one of my earliest vivid memories; I was 5 years old.

But Abbey Road is comforting. It's not just that I like the music; it means something to me. But when things are that touching, they defy words. That is, I don't know how to describe how it is that I feel, except to say that I feel better than I did before I let it play over and over.

Augustine: Confessions, chapter 1 and miscellaneous

Since "p dempsey" is kind enough to be interested, here's what I'm thinking about Augustine so far:

I am certainly not an expert on Augustine; however, I suspect that for a variety of reasons, I probably know more than the average "area man." I spent much of this morning so far reading the first chapter of Confessions, in which A. discusses his childhood. And there are several things that occurred to me. I should say first that so far, I'm finding A. appealing on many different levels, and it seems odd that I've never read this work before because it does, in fact, speak to a variety of seemingly divergent interests that I have.

First, A's style very much reminds me of the late medieval English devotional writers. I'm thinking specifically of Julian of Norwich. Like Julian, Augustine uses a discursive, meditative style. He tends to mull over questions and possibly answers rather than expositing a particular argument. But more than that, it seems to me, at least right now, that A, like Julian, tends to say the same thing or ask the same question over and over using different rhetorical approaches, different wording. I suppose some readers find this tedious; I know that in my experience undergrads don't seem to respond to Julian enthusiastically for this reason. But I find this devotional, meditative style effective and even comforting somehow. I realize that A. is trained in rhetoric and spent much of his pre-converion adulthood as a master rhetorician. I realize that he's drawing on this Classical tradition, an academic tradition. Yet something about it strikes me as very natural.

Second, I find it interesting that in this early section, A. presents a particular construction of childhood, one that sees childhood, even infancy, as sinful. I suppose that "construction" is maybe the wrong word, as Augustine would tell us that he's presenting something objective, not constructed. Academically, I'm fascinated by the variety of ways childhood has been constructed and represented in the literary tradition. And I'm finding that A's discussion seems to be deepening my understanding. For many years, critics have argued that childhood was invented after the medieval period (I could give a big academic explanation, but it seem unnecessary here), yet Augustine seems to challenge this assertion in that he does write childhood as unique from adulthood, although it is clearly not an Enlightenment idea of childhood that he's writing.

Third, A. challenges the once commonplace observation by literary historians that the "self" and "interiority" were "discovered" in the 12th century. In grad school I always found this (now mostly outdated) argument silly. Augustine clearly allows for and even embraces the concept of an interior existence that is somewhat separate from one's external physical life. Isn't this really the essence of the Confessions? the idea that one's interior life is meaningful?

Fourth and probably most important, Augustine writes in a way that I'm finding convicting and encouraging in terms of my own spiritual life. (Doesn't spirituality necessarily imply interiority???) It's as though he's aware of my own sin--my pride, my tendency to be overly enamored with literature, my distraction from spiritual things--but also aware of the solution to my spiritual shortcomings. In this early section, A seems to imply that sin is at the root of our unhappiness. I know this is not some big, earthshattering observation that I'm making. And yet, to read A writing about his own experiences is edifying.

I guess that so far, this is just the sort of text I love: one that is intellectually challenging yet spiritually and emotionally nurturing at the same time.

I was just talking to C. on the phone about this. I hope this doesn't make me too neurotic.

Why is it easier to be in love with fictional characters than the real people that we meet? No, really. Am I the only one who feel this way? I decide that I theoretically could be all in love with this or that character that I see on TV or read about in a book. And really, it's the character, not the actor, that I'm all into.

Take Inspector Morse, for instance. I know that he's a fictional character, and I know that he's too old for me, and I know that he's possibly a borderline alcoholic. So he's not really relationship material. But still, I think I could possibly be in love with Inspector Morse. He's smart, well read, into opera, knows a good beer, does cross word puzzles. What's not to like. And he's always looking for women to become involved with and to save from themselves or something. Sadly, the women tend to end up getting killed or, worse, being guilty of murder. And so, of course, we feel sorry for Morse. OK, the more I write, the more I realize how crazy this sounds.


Or then, there's Patrick Dempsey's character, Dr. Shepherd, on Grey's Anatomy. I remember Patrick Dempsey being kinda nerdy in Can't Buy Me Love, which I really liked when I was about 15. So when did he grow up? And his character is totally cool in this unreal, I-wouldn't-really-dig-him-in-real-life kind of way, you know? And he makes being a surgeon seem so exciting. But then I realize that surgeons have to actually touch lungs and kidneys and things, and I realize that I could never do that. But he's hip, he's witty, he pursues the girl. Why don't I meet men like this in real life? And when I do, why aren't they into me? Again, I realize this sounds neurotic. But maybe the best we can do is simply embrace our neuroses. I'm not sure.

What I do know is that imagined relationships seem to be simpler than real ones. Go figure.

Friday I'm In Love

I heart Fridays.

If I were the type to extensively quote song lyrics in my blog, I'd quote that Cure song right now.

For the past two hours or so, I've been at home grading essays. And I just need a break. At least most of the essays, while not brilliant, are fairly interesting. It's mostly a good class. But I'm here writing because I feel as though I need to be connected to the world in some way. Some days it seems as though all I do is sit and read and think about ideas and talk about words. And all of that is fine, but there are days when it seems empty somehow. I don't want my entire life to be just about books; I want there to be more. Right now, I'm not sure that there is much more.

This week, I've been doing kinda a lot of Yoga and Pilates, which is mostly a good thing. On Tuesday, I started a new Yoga class, and so far, it's really wonderful. I'm sure that I mentioned it before, but it's right in the middle of the day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and it seems like this great relaxing, energizing, centering kind of break. And the instructor seems really good. And Pilates is a good thing too. I don't know; I'm feeling better physically, you know? It's like the kinks and tightness in my muscles are getting worked out or something. It's been too cold to walk lately, which is too bad. But at least I'm doing something. Some people say that it doesn't matter what you do for exercise as long as you do something. I guess that right now my something is Yoga. Maybe those of you who are Yoga practitioners understand, but there's something almost magical about experiencing and really paying attention to one's breathing. "Magical" is the word for it. It is like taking in the positive energy of the universe and relating to it in some way. Maybe it is a way of being connected to something larger; I'm not sure.

Anyway, I suppose I should finish grading that set of essays--only four more to go!

Ok, Just One More of Tombstones

These were from this cool cemetary in Charleston, SC, a fascinating city to visit. I was there last April, when I also went to Savannah.

I especially like this style of tombstone, with the angely / children's faces and the wings.

I know it sounds strange, but cemetary pics make me feel peaceful.

One of the best things about moving to New England has been the cemetaries. There are all these quaint, interesting, old cemetaries around nearly every corner. And they are so unlike the cemetaries in California. In California, it's like all the graves were laid out on a perfect grid. There's this haphazard, overgrown quality about many of the cemetaries here. And they are old, so old.

One of my Favorites

So, while I'm on the subject of cemetary photos, this is one of my favorites. I took it in September 2004 at a local cemetary. What I really love it is the juxtaposition of the toombstones, some of them crumbling, with the blooming tree. I'm pretty sure it's wisteria, but I could be wrong about that.

I find the contrast between plant life and human death interesting.

This is one of my favorite, favorite photos, and it hangs on my wall so I can look at it everyday.

Picture for the Day. . .

Those of you who know me well know that I'm interested in photography and that I like visiting cemetaries. It's nothing morbid. I find cemetaries relaxing, contemplative kinds of places. They are like restful parks without high-strung children. This is a picture that I took last April at the Bonaventure Cemetary in Savannah, Georgia. If you've read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, a fascinating book, you'll remember the Bonaventure.

Something about this picture captures how I feel right now.

Will the rest of you think it too morbid if I start posting all kinds of pictures of cemetaries and tombstones? I don't think it morbid at all.