New Year's Eve 2010

I get a lot of pleasure out of Facebook (too much pleasure, some might say.) I'm one of those people who seeks out connections with other people. However, Facebook has its drawbacks, one of which is that one's postings there disappear so quickly and are seemingly gone forever (although I'm sure the FBI could retrieve them with no trouble at all.) I also really enjoy writing, and have a hard time limiting myself to the small number of characters allotted for status updates, and what have you. I am therefore going to try to do more regular blog posts, and no, that's not a New Year's Resolution™. (I don't believe in them, at least for myself. Daisy the cat, on the other hand, could resolve not to use her claws and my thighs as the means to get her chubby body up onto my lap at the computer. Just a suggestion.)

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, New Year's Eve. We walked to our friends Shel and Vicki's annual potluck/party where there was a whole lot of social networking of the face-to-face kind and connectivity going on. I saw a lot of friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in a l-o-o-o-ng time (like Lenny, with whom I went to alternative high school, and got more stoned than any other time I remember on a field trip to a very much not alternative high school and couldn't stop laughing, due to some killer brownies that Lenny had brought along. And Dan, whom I met for the first time maybe 31 years ago when he picked me up hitch-hiking and explained what a "loss-leader" was in grocery store terms -- funny the things that your brain remembers -- and later was my downstairs neighbor, and became a fellow teacher.) Then there were the friends I see pretty frequently, but always enjoy. It was a quite delightful evening. I love that Shel and Vicki don't feel the need to keep it going until midnight, so that we were home by 10:00 p.m.

At 10:30 I was walking the dog and ran into my neighbors out on the sidewalk with their 5-year old daughter, banging pots and pans with spoons. I stuck my tongue in my cheek and harassed them about noise pollution, to which they replied, "It's midnight!" (wink, wink) Oh yeah … as Terry Pratchett says in Hogfather, you tell children small lies when they're young, so they'll believe the big lies later. I remember those days.

I also saw this sad scene:

Bad Santa -- No more cognac for you!

Back home, I didn't get to bed early as planned, because we watched the movie Gran Torino in its entirety. Aside from the vigilante mentality which is kind of hard to take, it's an excellent movie, and the first I've seen that even acknowledges the existence of the Hmong people.

There you have it -- a play-by-play of my ho-hum life. 2011, here we are.

Sigh

My eldest daughter, Cinderbelle, has moved out to an apartment and is in the never-ending (or so it seems) process of cleaning out her room at home so that we can take it over. Tonight she gave me a note that she found, written to me from a friend of mine who tragically committed suicide 2 years ago. It's sad, but also a kind of a sweet "Hello." And I say, "Hello back. I hope you have found some peace."

Happy Birthday to a special someone ...

... and no, I don't mean Barack Obama. Happy birthday to Anne, one of my oldest and dearest friends (and by "oldest" I am in no way intending to imply that she will always be older than me by two-and-a-half weeks, or that she will in fact turn fifty, the big 5-0, two-and-a-half weeks before I do, although that is still a year away.) What I'm saying is, Anne has been my best friend since we were in 5th grade, when her family moved in around the corner from my family and we began our long history of getting into (mostly innocent) trouble together. And having a hell of a good time.

Anne, I just know you're lurking about my blog, and since I didn't get my card mailed on time, I'll say it here: I hope you are having a wonderful birthday today. Love you.

Still Reading

Anya Seton was the daughter of Boy Scouts founder Ernest Thompson Seton, and a bestselling author in her own right. She published 14 novels, mostly historical fiction featuring strong female protagonists. I went through a heavy duty Anya Seton phase in my late teens. I think it was her books that gave me an appetite for historical fiction and history in general. For many years I have been somewhat embarrassed about my love affair with Seton's novels, which are unabashedly romantic. When I found The Winthrop Woman at St. Vinnie's for $1.00 I bought it more for nostalgic reasons than anything else. I expected that rereading it as a slightly more mature adult, I wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much as I had so many years ago. Boy, was I wrong!

First of all, Anya Seton is an excellent writer. I find that the best plot in the world won't hold my interest if the writing is clumsy, but her writing flows very naturally through narrative and dialogue. In addition, she was reputed to be a meticulous historical researcher who strove for authenticity in all details of her novels.

The Winthrop Woman tells the story of Elizabeth Fones, niece (and later daughter-in-law) of the Puritan John Winthrop, first governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. From early childhood on, Elizabeth was feisty and independent. A childhood act of rebellion that led to a beating at her uncle's hand led her to a lifelong questioning of the existence of God. Her absolute refusal to acquiesce to the religious beliefs of her Puritan family was a thorn in Governor Winthrop's side (his extensive papers contain numerous references to his rebellious niece) and caused Elizabeth a great deal of hardship throughout her life.

By all accounts, Elizabeth was an extraordinary woman for her time. She was widowed at age 21, divorced her second husband after coping with his increasing madness for many years, and married for a third time at the ripe old age of 36. She was a landowner, at one time owning the largest tract of land in what was to become Connecticut. She befriended Ann Hutchinson, the religious rebel who was banished from Massachusetts for her teachings. She incurred the wrath of the British colonies when she allied herself with the Dutch, and later found herself caught in the political crossfire between the two. She also appeared to be in sympathy with the Indian nations, which were quickly being vanquished and eradicated.

Of special interest to me is the possibility that Elizabeth may have been a Quaker. In a comment about this book at the Powell's website, one reader identified himself as a descendant of Elizabeth and claimed that she was a founder of the first Quaker meeting on Long Island. In Seton's book, she describes a mystical experience close to the end of Elizabeth's life that struck me as particularly Quakerly. Moreover she describes a visit from a "Baptist" who attributed his spiritual awakening to hearing George Fox (the founder of the Religious Society of Friends.)

This book may be 50 years old, but the language and sensibility is as fresh as most modern writing. A word about the romance: have no fear, there are neither heaving bosoms nor throbbing members. It is tasteful without being prudish.

Highly recommended if you enjoy historical fiction.

(By the way, is anyone else bothered by this trend of decapitating women on the covers of recently published historical fiction? If you don't know what I mean, go to your local bookstore and check out the novels of, for instance, Philippa Gregory. What gives?)

Quickie Book Review: Quaker Witness

Quaker Witness: An Elizabeth Elliot Mystery by Irene Allen. My Ffriend Poodle Doc loaned me a couple of these mysteries a while back. I'm not generally a big fan of mysteries because they tend to be so formulaic, but, in need of some diversion I finally got around to reading one of them.

The story takes place in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where Elizabeth Elliot -- a sweet yet dynamic widow probably in her late sixties -- is the Clerk of the Cambridge Quaker Meeting. A female graduate student in paleontology at Harvard brings sexual harassment charges against her academic adviser, a rare challenge to the status quo within Harvard's rarefied academic environment. When the professor is murdered in his lab, the graduate student is the chief suspect. She seeks the counsel of Elizabeth Elliot, who believes her to be innocent of the charges and grossly violated by the actions of the now-dead professor.

Yeah, it was formulaic and not super well written, which is a pet peeve of mine. But overall, it was fun and quite informational as to the peculiar ways of Quakers. I liked the feminist angle, and the fact that Elizabeth Elliot struggles with moral questions about what it means to do good and whether the end justifies the means, among other things.

If you like mysteries and have an interest in learning more about Quakerism, you might enjoy this and the other 3 (so far) books in the series.

(Cross-posted at the Winter Reading Challenge, which ends tomorrow.)

A Day Late and a Dollar Short (As Usual)

Yesterday was Blogging Amnesty Day, a day to recognize other bloggers and blogs. There was even a nifty graphic to cut and paste, but the motto said "Look Up, Link Down." It's the linking down concept that bothers me a bit. How about linking across?

I have this major inferiority complex, so I always assume that every other blogger has been blogging for eons longer than I have. I also tend to dislike class structuring, eg. "a-list" and "b-list" blogs. (Not to mention c- and d-list!)

When I first started blogging back in the dark ages of 2007, the whole thing left me breathless, it was such a weird and wonderful world. Now, maybe it feels more like a comfortable marriage. I wish I had time to visit all of the blogs that I enjoy every day, leaving meaningful comments each time. The blogging friendships I have made are very sweet. But I don't even update my blogroll all that often!

Anyway, I'll just point you in the direction of a few blogs that you may not have seen before. The bloggers that inspired me to start my own were Poodle Doc, the Quaker Agitator, and Caroline's Crayons. Once I got started, I quickly connected with Sacred Suzie, GoldenDaze Ginnie, Suzie-K and Pam at Cape and Tights, who are all part of a network of creative bloggers. Then my family got in on the act, so you can check out Enriched Geranium, Cinderbelle and Sparkly Sea Cow (who doesn't post nearly often enough.) Then there's Fran, Jan, and Diane (doesn't that have a nice musical sound?)

I love my blogging connections, so I hope you don't feel slighted if I didn't link to you here ...

A Life Writ Large

Today I received an email from a long-time, dear friend telling me that his father had died a week ago. Art Rybeck was not famous. He was not a celebrity ... or was he? If you have some time, watch the videos here -- an award winning documentary made by his daughter-in-law, to find out the measure of this man.





Martin Luther King Day often leads me (and other like-minded people) to wonder, "Where are today's leaders?" The lives of people like Art Rybeck, people whose moral compasses point true North, are one answer to that question. The role models are right here, among us. You don't have to be an orator or command an army. A significant difference is made every day at the grass roots level.

(I am also grateful to Art for his role in producing the incredible Rybeck clan, whom I have loved for so many years!)

Another slice of cake, please ...

One year ago I wrote my first blog post. Woo hoo! I tip my hat to the three bloggers who inspired me to start this weird and wonderful habit in the first place: Caroline's Crayons, the Quaker Agitator, and Poodle Doc. To those same three, and so many more of you, who continue to inspire me with your friendship, encouragement, and love. In some ways I feel sheepish, and almost apologetic about this blogging thang, but I love the connections I've made and the almost daily writing practice (and I use the word "practice" in the spiritual, as well as functional sense.) It has truly been a delight, and you, my Blogtopian friends, are so responsive. I know that I don't make the rounds to everyone's blog as often as I would like to, but sometimes I just have to get off the computer! (Ever mindful of blood clots ...) Thanks for joining me on this meandering journey, friends.

10 Candles

My friend Madeline is in the Peace Corps in Lesotho. From time to time she emails a public letter, updating her loved ones about her life there. I was so moved by her most recent letter, which I received this morning, exactly when I needed it. I am sure she won't mind my publishing it here:

Candles on my Christmas Tree
Public Letter from Madeline U. in Lesotho, Africa (Dec 2007)

Those of you who've spent Christmas with me may remember I love lit candles on a live evergreen. Here in Lesotho , we're in the midst of summer, and I'm enjoying my second year of a no-commercials / no-pressures-to-buy-anything / no-Xmas-carols-in-shopping malls / no rush-around Christmas. Just the hot sun, farmers plowing with oxen, afternoon winds impregnating dust devils, and fields of aloe and wild flowers.

So my candles will be metaphorical ones – 10 candles on my Christmas tree of 2007:

Candle 1: Lit to celebrate my one year anniversary here. A decision to let go of the fast, rich life -- trading it for a slower, poorer one. Poverty is mean. Poverty wears me down, and it destroys the lives of my neighbors. But I am richer for living amidst struggling Basotho villagers, able to see how simple things mean a great deal, and how complex things intertwine to keep us in a mire of destitution. Most people in this world make the same amount of money per year as do the villagers in Mt. Moorosi . In one mere year, I've grown closer to the realities of people whose earth I share.

Candle 2: Lit for this sad and special year in my family. My brother Dave has been living with a fast growing brain tumor. From this great distance, as I see my sisters Susan and Kate, my brother Will, my mom Barbara, my cousins Donna and Annelle, and many friends and family gather around Dave to support him, I am awed at the strength and love that endures in my immediate family. Thanks to the Peace Corps, I was able to fly home in April 2007 to visit Dave, to say the hardest word in all the languages I've ever studied – good-bye, for now, dearest brother.

Candle 3: Lit for health. Who would have known that two years in the Peace Corps would be the best thing in 30 years for my own health? I climb mountains, eat simple meals, don't stress out with multi-tasking. I have time for everything – reading, visiting, travel. I'm rich in health, wealthy in time, prosperous with sunsets and moonrises, and a millionaire in children who love nothing better than coming into my rondavel to read books or draw with crayons.

Candle 4: Lit to salute the mountains of Lesotho . I traveled a few days ago to Lesotho 's southernmost national park, Sethlabathebe, to visit fellow Volunteer Lizbeth. When I saw the setting of her village, I recognized it from the fantasy I'd had before I got here – the dreams I'd had before I was assigned to dusty, dirty Mt. Moorosi. From her tiny rondavel, Lizbeth looks down upon valleys so deep that mountain peaks rise out of the pool of hovering clouds. I've walked miles and miles of mountain paths this year, visiting remote little schools and sites of other Volunteers. Lesotho 's beauty is awesome.

Candle 5: Lit in admiration for Lesotho 's care of its orphans. With just about the most orphans of any nation on earth, poor little Lesotho has somehow absorbed them – in the bosoms and modest huts of grandmas and aunts and neighbors. Lesotho has few orphanages. For these little people, some sleeping on city streets, all without secure futures, all without the love and identity of parents, please light a candle as well.

Candle 6: Lit for Dintle. This candle sputters a bit, and it's the reason I haven't written for awhile, trying to spare YOU from the horrors of Quthing Hospital. So despite it not being holiday material, let me be honest with you (you are strong enough) to tell you that in the last two months, 14 year old Dintle has been diagnosed as HIV-positive (raped when she was 10 years old), and has an acute case of meningitis. She has shriveled to a mere skeleton, hospitalized for over 45 days now. I fought my way into Maseru once when it turned out the hospital didn't have her blood type, and I traveled in again a month later when the hospital ran out of medicine and her survival hung by a thread.
Nurses in the hospital are so overworked they disappear entirely from wards. When I walk in, looking fresh (and white), neglected patients call to me to adjust their casts or empty bed pans. Dintle can't feed herself – so if I or one of her family members isn't there, she doesn't eat. She has bed sores on her butt and on her ear. She's lost muscle and any ability to move. Seeing the rapid deterioration of a normal, healthy, laughing teen is a knife to my heart.
Helping to keep this candle lit for me is a newly-arrived Peace Corps Volunteer named Jason (Sesotho name – Mokhaele, "son of a chief"). He's been my savior, helping me pay bus transport for Dintle's sister, cousin, and grandmother to make the long trip to the hospital, helping deliver medicines, sometimes just coming in on his own and feeding little Dintle in the twilight hours. You have to love someone like this!
And may the light of this sputtering candle also shine on the hospital's doctors from India – totally overworked – and the Clinton Foundation nurses, who make a real difference, wading into the sea of HIV/AIDS patients. I have new respect for anyone who works in health care – a field reserved for the strong of heart.

Candle 7: Lit for love and loss. When I filled in the Peace Corps application, I didn't factor in long-distance grief. It think it has mostly to do with my age. If we live to be older than 50, we have an increasing number of losses to bear, losses whose pain is as deep as the love was tall. The path of this year has been taken sharp turns as I've heard unexpectedly of the loss of dear friends ~ Mary B., who left a legacy of Dodgeville activism and laughter around her kitchen table. My cousin Doug U., a tower of strength and a deep canyon of reflection. Twinkling-eyed Sven, my fiddling, Swedish host father. No news of dearest Karen T., who shared my years in Japan with such flare. And others…. Grief is hard; grief alone is harder.

Candle 8: Lit for learning. As I look out through my open windows at the upside-down constellations in the starry sky, my mind reels with the mysteries of being a human on this planet. Can we solve problems that we create? Why not? As I fall asleep, I ponder global economics, world peace, village solutions. I wonder what sustains greed, rape, neglect of children. I wonder if I am truly strong enough to pursue a career in international development. Is hope naïve? Is optimism merited? How brilliant the Millennium Development Goals – modest solutions to staggering problems, if only each nation would do its small part. How often I've longed for a cup of good coffee and a conversation with you, dear friend.

Candle 9: Lit for you and those you love, for all your challenges, for all the great things that have happened to you this year. A great hug if you've written me a letter or e-mail, and total understanding if you've been too busy to. That "busyness" -- so American! A national treasure –many things to do. Enjoy the opportunities!

Candle 10: Lit for us, for all of us who share the planet. Who yearn for simple things like a fresh salad, a day of sunshine, a garden of flowers, a child's sweet hug. May we cherish these, support one another, and look with optimism toward a new year.

Madeline