Poetically Painting the Same Planet Twice

Today is the birthday of Claude Monet, the man who "spent the rest of his career exploring the idea that you can never really see the same thing twice. In a single day, he would often paint the same subject half a dozen times, from slightly different angles and in slightly different light, spending no more than about an hour on each canvas" (quote from today's entry on The Writer's Almanac website).

Some days, I feel like I'm doing something similar in aspects of my writing, but that bit of knowledge about Monet gives me hope.  I often think, oh, honestly, how long can I keep writing about the dullness of the modern office and still have people be interested?  The popularity of Monet's water lilies gives me hope that it can be done.

I'm also intrigued by the fact that Monet planned and planted the water lily gardens that gave him his subject for the last 30 years of his life.  It makes me wonder about my own artistic life.  How can I surround myself with inspiration?

I've been reading Craig Childs, a writer who gives me that inspiration.  What a poetic science writer!

In his latest book, Apocalyptic Planet, he visits places on the globe that are already experiencing the kind of events that could wipe out life on our planet.  For example, the first chapter has him making his way through an intense desert landscape.  Last night, as I became too exhausted to read, he was exploring an iceberg.

Even when he's writing about impending loss, he's got such a beautiful style.  He talks of his surprise at touching a melting iceberg and finding it cold.  He considers the iceberg:  "Was this some poor, dying wastrel, or was it getting what the ice always wanted, turned back into liquid after thousands of years of being chained into a molecular solid, now freed drip by drip?" (p. 42).

The book is also chock full of scientific facts, all sorts of information I didn't know about deserts, about the history of the earth, about the planet.  Fascinating!

Childs has been here before.  He has led the kind of life that makes me both envious and anxious.  He's the type of guy who sets out on foot, without the latest equipment, with just his knowledge and a walking stick to get him where he needs to go.  I remember reading The Secret Knowledge of Water, which explores the idea of water in the desert.

The earth has been here before too.  The planet has survived die-offs even greater than the Holocene Extinction we're experiencing now.  Of course, that's little comfort when we consider all the species gone forever.

I wonder what kind of poems will come from reading Childs' latest book.  After I read The Secret Knowledge of Water, I wrote the poem below, which was published in The Ledge.


Floods and Desert Canyons



My friends assume I’m dry
and barren. They do not know of my secret
spots, a cup of water here, a pool
collected there. An occasional visit
from you keeps me hydrated.

I boil away with my own dreams and ideas.
I blaze with words, my surfaces
too hot to touch. My pitiless gaze
burns as I survey my culture,
dream of new life forms.

You surge through my carefully constructed canyons.
In a matter of minutes, you change the landscape,
sweep away the detritus.
You carve me into intricate
forms, unconsidered before I met your force.

Tuesday Technology Thoughts

Some day in the future, when people marvel how we used technology--and how we failed to utilize its full capabilities--they may think of the morning that I've had.

I got up and tracked the movements of my package that's coming from Amazon.  Yes, I love tracking my packages.  I track other things too, like the progress of a plane that contains my loved ones.

I don't have that tracking info sent to my phone.  I'm surrounded by screens, so no need for that.  I've resisted upgrading to a phone that does more.  I know I'd love having access to that data, and then, boom, there's another monthly expense that seems impossible to cut.

My package contains an old-fashioned book and an old-fashioned DVD.  How strange to think that in roughly 10-15 years years, the DVD has gone from being new technology to old technology.

I'm buying a DVD copy of A Christmas Story.  Yes, I know that cable runs it incessently, but we don't have cable.  We've owned this movie on a VCR tape that we made illegally and on an official VCR tape.  Now I'll upgrade to a DVD and wait for whatever technology comes next.

The book that will come in that box?  Craig Childs' Apocalyptic Planet: Field Guide to the Everending Earth.  It looks at all the ways the planet is threatened.  I can hardly wait to dive in.  Yes, give me a good book that talks about the Holocene Extinction, and I'm so anticipating the joy of reading it that I can hardly wait.

But wait I must.  I didn't download the book to my computer.  I don't have a portable reading device.  If I was buying a new device, that might be the one I'd be most likely to purchase.  But again, I'm resisting.

I may write more once the box gets here:  what does it mean that I have ordered a movie steeped in nostalgia, a movie set in the sepia-toned past, along with a forward-looking yet eschatological book?  I am a self-admitted apocalypse gal.  And I am prone to getting swamped in nostalgia.  Hmm.

After tracking my package, I got set up to address envelopes.  In the past few days, I've prepared a lot of poetry packets for submissions to journals.  Some I've submitted electronically or by e-mail.  An equal amount are going out in the U.S. Mail.  In envelopes with stamps.

But I don't mind.  I love stamps.  My grandfather Roof collected them, and so did I for a few years.  I love mail of all kinds, whether it comes to my electronic mailbox or the one outside my house.

As I addressed envelopes--by hand, with a pen--I listened to one of the episodes from yesterday's The Diane Rehm Show.  You can listen too by going here.

Diane Rehm interviewed Deb Perelman, who has just had a cookbook published.  But before that, she's been a very popular food blogger.  I have only recently heard of her, but she gets thousands of people visiting her blog every month.  I'm thrilled when my numbers get close to 100 a day, but I doubt that many of those people stay there very long.

Her story reminds me of how technology has made all sorts of interesting options available.  Deb Perelman writes her blog and takes her own pictures with a normal camera.  And her work is published daily, with daily readers.  And now, she's got a book out with paper pages.

She said that 80% of the book is new recipes.  She said she didn't want readers to feel shortchanged, as she thought they would if she simply collected the recipes that have been available on her blog for free.

It's an interesting issue.  Some would tell you that there are plenty of readers who will pay for a book so that they don't have to slog through all your blog entries to find the ones they want.  I'm not so sure.

I have been sorting through my old blogs as I look for entries that could lead to good essays for the memoir I'm planning.  As I've sorted, I've kept a different file of blog entries that could make good stand-alone articles.

Daily blogging does leave one with a lot of possible material.  And we've seen that it can lead to further publications too, as with Deb Perelman.

As I listened to her interview, which is well worth your time, I found myself yearning to be discovered in a similar way.  I remind myself that she blogged in relative obscurity for many years before she came into this success.

And I remind myself that blogging has led me to some writing success I wouldn't have had otherwise.  I was in touch with my editor at the Living Lutheran site yesterday; she found me through my blog a few years ago, when I didn't have much traffic at all.

I will continue to work on various projects, never knowing which might be the breakthrough project.  I've got a wide variety of theological and spiritual writings.  But I've also got recipes, fiction of all kinds, teaching ideas, writing prompts, all sorts of larger possibilities. 

Last week, a colleague asked me if I would leave our current school if I got an offer.  I said, "What kind of offer?"

We chatted about it, and I realized yet again that I don't want to leave administration to go back to endless Composition classes.  But to be a poetry professor?  Perhaps. 

I said, "If a publisher called me and said, 'We hear you've been working on a memoir about living a spiritually authentic life in an office setting that doesn't always support that idea.  Here's an advance so that you can quit working and get us a manuscript by June,"--if I got that phone call, I'd be turning in my letter of resignation."

But then we talked about how big the advance would need to be.  I'd like for it to be a clear sign:  a million dollar advance is a much clearer sign that a twenty thousand advance.

My brain returns to the future person analyzing how we used technology in the first part of the twenty-first century.  Will that person understand why I so much wanted a publisher to sweep in and award me a big advance? 

Or will that future person say, "She had all the publishing tools right there, inside her computer.  Why didn't she do more with those?"

Beauty and Other Myths

Today is the birthday of Naomi Wolf, who turns 50.  I don't really see how that can be possible, since she's just a few years older than I am, and I'm only 27.

Oh, wait, I was only 27, when Wolf's first book, The Beauty Myth, came out.  She came to the University of South Carolina to do a reading, and some of us went to see her.  After the reading, she was so gracious as she chatted with us.  I was deep in dissertation revisions, and she rolled her eyes and said something about needing to get back to her dissertation.  Was she enrolled in grad school?  I assumed that she was, but if so, it's not mentioned now.  Still, at the time, it gave me an odd comfort.

When The Beauty Myth came out, I was in the throes of all kinds of self-loathing.  I'd never worked on such a big project as my dissertation.  Now, the revisions and the having to please various committee members would not freak me out as much as they did then.  Then I worried I was caught in a cycle I'd never be allowed to leave.

It was also 1992, during one of the more brutal recessions, when I was on the job market and fretting that I wouldn't find anything.

When I'm stressed, I eat, and so I had packed on some weight during my dissertation writing process.  I was depressed about that.

Naomi Wolf's book couldn't have come at a better time, although it didn't magically fix my mental woes.  Still it was a comfort to read, "You do not win by struggling to the top of a caste system, you win by refusing to be trapped within one at all.  The woman wins who calls herself beautiful and challenges the world to change to truly see her" (p. 290).

I dug out my copy of The Beauty Myth, and there's her autograph.  And there's a flyer about the events the University sponsored for Women's History Month.  How I miss that university culture!  When I think about all the interesting thinkers and entertainers who came through Columbia, South Carolina when I was in grad school.  And I got to see them for free or for a few dollars.

I will not be reading Naomi Wolf's latest book, although I will continue to wish her well.  My reading time is much more constrained, so reading a treatise, feminist or otherwise, about vaginas is not on my agenda right now--although if I found the book in the public library, I might check it out and give it a scan.

And knowing the writing skill that Naomi Wolf has always exhibited, I imagine I'd end up spending the afternoon in deep reading.  And that experience would make me happy.

In Praise of Military Veterans

Today is Veteran's Day.  Before it was Veteran's Day, it Armistice Day, the day that celebrates the end of World War I.  World War II was far more brutal in terms of lives lost and far reaching impact, but World War I was the war that stripped away all sorts of illusions and also showed us how technology might be used for destruction (think mustard gas).  I've written a longer post about Armistice Day here.

Now Armistice Day has become Veteran's Day, a day perhaps less somber than Armistice Day or Memorial Day.  On Veteran's Day, we celebrate all veteran's, but on Memorial Day, we celebrate those who died in military service.

I do wonder about the future of Veteran's Day as fewer and fewer people know any veterans.  Or maybe as we wind down two wars which have lasted more than a decade, we're all about to meet more veterans.  I think of college students.  When I first started working at my current school, we had one or two veterans attending.  I suspect the reasons are many, but the main one was that most people eligible for VA benefits had already finished their schooling, while younger military folks were off fighting.  Now, as more soldiers come home, we're seeing those numbers increase.

I have some older, Baby Boomer friends who are anti-military in ways that make me think they've never met many military folks.  I understand their Vietnam War era issues, but their world view seems a bit narrow to me.

Of course, my world view is shaped by my experience as the daughter of an Air Force officer.  My dad had finished his active duty by my early childhood years, but he continued to serve in the Reserves until he retired.

In some ways, we were lucky, since he wasn't wounded in the many ways that others who served in the Vietnam War would be.  He joined the Air Force because he knew his draft number was coming up, and he didn't want to be drafted into the Army.  I remember the shock I felt when he told me that fact.  I always thought he had joined because of his patriotic feelings.  And he joined fairly early in the effort, 1962 or so.  I hadn't thought that the draft had been in force back then, but it was.

So, he joined the Air Force and trained to become a navigator.  Along the way, he met and married my mom.  They were stationed in France, the last troops to be in France before Charles de Gaulle kicked them all out.  Because they were in France, they could travel all across Europe.  They had a view of the world that they shared with me and my sister.

Because of my dad's Reserve duties, we, too, travelled all sorts of places.  One year, his two week active duty tour required him to go to Denver, and so we all went and had a huge 5 week adventure in the western states.  Along the way, we stopped to visit many of their friends that they'd made in during their Air Force days in France.  He more often did his two week tours in the Pentagon, which meant that my mom and me and my sister had lots of time to explore the D.C. area--we went to every museum and attraction before it was all done.

My parents have continued to go to fascinating places because they served.  My mom is great at devising trips where they fly Space A.  If there's room on the plane, they can go.  They need to have flexibility in terms of travel and accommodation, but my mom has always been great at that.

I'm hoping that our current and future VA administrations will take care of veterans the way my parents have been taken care of.  We may not always agree with the wars that have been waged, but veterans are men and women who served their country in a unique way, and they deserve to get the benefits promised to them--and more.

Here's a picture of my father during his active duty days:

He's the one kneeling in the far lower right as you look at the picture.  I'm amazed by how young they all look, and at the same time, the sort of timelessness of the picture.  Air Force uniforms haven't changed all that much since this picture was taken.

Did he really change the world by serving in France and flying missions to Asia?  How can we know for sure?  Perhaps the Soviets didn't invade West Germany because they knew of nearby troops.  It's hard to argue that his missions to Asia brought an earlier end to the Vietnam War, since it would continue for a lot longer. 

But we often do not know the impact of our work.  We must do the work that is required of us, even if we're unsure of its import.

Many active duty military people and veterans have done that work.  So few of us are aware of what they do, and today is a good day to stop and to feel some appreciation--as well as the hope that some day wars will cease and this kind of service won't be necessary.

Secret Movie Night

Yesterday, I called home and left a message.  I said, "I'd really like a Secret Movie Night tonight.  Let's have burgers and wine and a Cadbury fruit and nut bar and watch a movie."

I realize that the term "Secret Movie Night" might make grown-up readers think of all sorts of illicit adventures, but we got that term from our nephew.  Some years ago, my brother-in-law instituted Secret Movie Night, where he and my nephew would watch a movie on the laptop or iPad.  Later, they'd add the element of eating dinner in pajamas.

To me, the phrase says that we need a retreat, and we need something special but not too expensive.  Our week left us wrung out in all sorts of ways, and it was good to withdraw.  We had the dinner I envisioned while watching We Need to Talk About Kevin.

I'd read the book by Lionel Shriver, so I wasn't expecting it to be a cheery, uplifting movie.  It wasn't.  But it was extraordinarily good.  As I read the book, I couldn't imagine how they would adapt it into a movie, but they did.  It's compelling, but not too creepy.  And it makes me say, "Oh my heavens, my life could be so much worse."  I needed that reminder at the end of a week that included a referral to a neurosurgeon for my spouse and his beleaguered spine.

Today is the birthday of Martin Luther, and I was struck by today's entry on The Writer's Almanac, particularly this bit:  "Luther's ideas and his writing led to the Protestant Reformation. But toward the end of his life, he was so overwhelmed by the scope of the revolution he had caused that he stayed out of the limelight, at home in Germany, raising a family, gardening, and playing music."

Being a good Lutheran girl, I'd always assumed that Martin Luther felt great satisfaction at his life's accomplishments.  I was always taught that he hadn't meant to launch a revolution when he posted those theses to the Wittenberg door. But I have assumed that after years of confrontation with the Catholic church, after being hunted and under threat of death, that he would have felt victorious at the end.

I love Luther's coping mechanism: to immerse himself into home life and music. It's good to remember that even as we go out to fight the battles that must be fought, it's good to have retreat time and times of self-nurture.

Leave to Grieve

I'm trying not to feel spooked about today.  But I've already spilled coffee, noticed that an unmended seam has expanded, stepped on something that happily was a thumbtack and not gum.  Maybe I'm just worn out.  Maybe the day will improve.

Regardless of my irritations, the day could be worse.  I have one friend headed to the funeral of her brother, while another one returns home from the funeral of his mother's husband.  I say mother's husband, because she married him late in life, and stepfather connotes something different.

I'm amazed at how stingy bereavement leave can be.  My South Carolina state employee friend gets 3 days, and my Florida state employment friend gets 2.  I get 5, and my bereavement leave covers all sorts of loved ones.  Under Florida law for state employees, if your stepfather dies after your mother and he have divorced, you have no bereavement leave.

Meanwhile, there's no bereavement leave to mourn the losses of midlife.  My spouse has gone to his GP to explore MRI results, and it's worse than we thought.  On the one hand, the pain that he's been feeling all year does have a physical cause.  On the other, his poor spine!

Next in line, the neurosurgeon.  I'm trying not to be scared.  I'm reminding myself that in the realm of "for better and for worse," there are many scenarios that could be far worse.  My spouse is still on this side of the grave, and surgery techniques have improved since the 1970's when our mothers had back surgery, and it's not cancer or any of the other scarier diseases.

I suppose I could take a personal day and weep.  But I'll stay at work and try to be of use.  I'll expect gravity to be working overtime today, and I'll tell everyone that my contact lenses are bothering me so that they won't suspect that I'm feeling weepy.

There's one thing I've learned:  administrators should avoid weeping on the job.  It spooks everyone.  They look for layoffs.

Maybe I'll plan a treat.   Maybe two!  A morning treat and an afternoon treat.  Something that won't spill.

Politics Poetry Prompts

In the months leading up to the election, my friends in less divided states or states that weren't important in terms of the Electoral College told me how lucky I was to live in Florida where my vote would really make  a difference.

Ha!  While I do think my vote has been counted, it has not been lost on me that our state's votes didn't actually help choose the President.  Yep, we're still counting absentee ballots down here, while the election has already been determined.

We had an incident in Miami-Dade county on Sunday where various political "leaders" were making decisions at cross purposes.  Yes, we'd expand early voting, but we wouldn't tell the police so there wasn't parking available and people who voted got parking tickets or had their cars towed.  The mayor shut down the process, and some other official reopened it.

My Jacksonville friend said, "What are you people doing down there?"

I said, "It's typical Miami.  It's a 3rd world country down here.  It's a wonder no one got shot."

Seems there should be a poem in there somewhere.  I also noticed how many of my friends and colleagues had loved ones die on Election Day.  And of course, so close to Halloween and the feasts of All Saints and All Souls--again, I see some poetic connections.

My favorite poem of this political year comes from January O'Neil.  In this post, she gives us "You Bring Out the Mitt Romney in Me."  It's inspired by  "You Bring Out the Mexican in Me" by Sandra Cisneros and "You Bring Out the Boring White Guy in Me" by Jim Daniels (poems and links at this post).

On Election Day morning, I realized it had been several weeks since I had written a poem, and her post inspired me.  I thought about other candidates, but what tumbled out was "You Bring Out the Monk in Me."  As I was writing it, it seemed like it might turn out to be one of the more insipid list poems I'd ever written.  But I kept going, and it took surprising turns, and I think it might end up being a love poem.

I like these poems not only because they're interesting poems and great examples of the list poem.  It's also a great way to explore our prejudices.  If I was teaching a poetry class, I'd include a module on the list poem.  I'd start with simple ideas, and end with these examples.  I'd encourage students to use their lists to explore deeper topics.

I wonder how this exercise might work in a Composition classroom.  Could students make lists of prejudices and stereotypes and then explore them both in a poem and in an expository essay?  I think they could.  And of course, there are some seeds for a researched essay in there too.

Maybe you're ready for a non-political prompt.  Here's a list poem that may take you in a different direction:  spiritual, captivity narrative, which will you choose?