Of Hurricanes and Holocaust Literature and Health Care

Today South Florida breathes a sigh of relief as Nicole swirls northward and leaves us relatively unscathed. We got rain, but it was a steady rain, for the most part, which is easier for our landscape to handle than the torrential bursts that these systems often deliver. We've had more flooding during some of our fiercer thunderstorms. We had no wind, which was a mercy. Sometimes, with a constant rain over a multi-hour period, it doesn't take much wind speed at all to topple the trees.

I fear our neighbors in North Carolina will not be so lucky. They've had days of rain preceding this system, and the system is picking up more rain to deliver, since it stayed mainly over water (good for us, bad for the Bahamas and points north).

Today is the birthday of Elie Wiesel, perhaps one of our most well-known Holocaust writers. I suspect that we've gotten to the critical mass point, where more students have read Wiesel's Night than Anne Frank's diary, which during my childhood was often the first piece of Holocaust literature that children read.

When I read Holocaust literature, I feel similar feelings as I do when I watch a really big hurricane miss my shores as it wipes out someone else's coast. I feel this sense of the relief, the near miss. I feel this guilt, since other people are suffering when I am not. I feel this sense of dread, with my knowledge of the capriciousness of luck and fate. Human history teaches us that humans will butcher each other if given half a chance to get away with it. The history of natural disasters teaches us that we're at the mercy of planetary laws of chemistry, physics, and biology, laws that most of us scarcely understand.

Last night, as the rain poured on, I finished Lionel Shriver's latest book So Much for That. It explores disease and health care and all the ways our physical bodies can fail us. At times, I almost felt sick reading it (there's a character who undergoes a botched penis enlargement surgery--blhhhhhh). And there's the fear that made it almost impossible to keep reading at times. I'm lucky enough to work in a job that has health insurance, and I assume it's good health insurance. Most of us who have health insurance assume we have a good policy--until we get sick and discover the limits of it.

I tell myself that I'm healthy and therefore have nothing to worry about. This book reminds us that even healthy people can have dreadful things happen to them--or to the ones who they love. And even if we live long, healthy lives, most of us will age, and aging in industrialized nations brings with it some challenges (how's that for understatement?). The book has an older character who suffers the indignities of a nursing home. One of the main characters deals with the intricacies of elder care while caring for his wife who has a rare form of cancer. Yikes!

Why do we read these books that remind us of all the ways that life can go wrong? Is it the same impulse that takes some of us to see scary movies or ride on roller coasters? Do we like to be scared while at the same time remaining safe?

I read these books to help me maintain my sense of gratitude. So far, my life has been fairly good, even during those years, like 2005, when my family has been dealt blow after blow (2005 was the year of spousal job stress and loss, mother-in-law sickness and death, and several shattering hurricanes). These books give me a point of comparison, a reminder that life could be worse. It's probably the same reason I'm drawn to apocalyptic plot lines. No matter how badly our government goes astray, at least I'm not living in a post-nuclear blast (or post-climate meltdown or . . . insert your favorite disaster here) world.

I used to think I read those books to prepare myself, but now I know that you really can't prepare yourself. We can store up food and water, but storms of all sorts will find weaknesses that we didn't realize we had. If we're lucky, we survive to become stronger. If we're not so lucky, we should hope that we have an Elie Wiesel there who will immortalize the struggle.

Endurance Training for Poets and Others

Yesterday, I was the only person at spin class. It's certainly not because we suddenly have gorgeous weather and everyone wants to be outside. No, our weather has turned tropical again, with temps in the mid 80's even before the sun rises. Happily, the spin instructor conducted class just for me. Very motivating, to be the only student. I don't think I've ever worked out quite that hard for such a sustained period of time.

One of the songs we cycled to was that song from Rocky 3, "Eye of the Tiger." I have a special fondness for that movie and that song. The night before I ran my best 10K of all time, I watched that movie. The next day, I blazed my way through the course of the Pumpkin Run in Knoxville, Tennessee. All during the run, I kept thinking of those scenes from the movie which I only hazily remember now. Rocky is supposed to channel fierceness by thinking about the eye of the tiger? I just remember the trainer saying, "Eye of the tiger, Rocky, eye of the tiger!" I'm here to tell you that it works. My all time best 10K time happened with that motivational mantra in my head.

I'm a slow runner. I can run for hours, but I'll never go very fast. But that day, I zoomed away. And because of my accomplishment that day, I continued training and had some very good showings (for me) in road races throughout the spring: the Expo run, the Avon run, the Dogwood run. Ah, the good old days, when the local YMCA put together these races and a ragtag bunch showed up. Ah, the good old days, when even a national run, like the Avon run, only cost a few bucks in entry fees (our local runs now can cost $50!!)

There's a larger lesson here than just nostalgia. My experience taught me that you can keep plugging away for years thinking you're making no progress, and suddenly, everything will click. It also taught me the value of showing up, day after day.

I'm not a big believer in talent. I've seen plenty of people with talent who never show up to use that talent. Meanwhile, I've seen people of modest ability who blaze a trail because of their habits of endurance.

In my life, I've accomplished a lot that I thought I couldn't do because I could force myself to do a little bit, each and every day. I wrote my dissertation that way. I could face my anxiety for an hour or two every day. And bit by bit, that dissertation grew.

A writing career, any creative career really, is much the same way. We show up each day, often with only our own encouragement in our ears. We must believe in ourselves, even if the larger world doesn't. We lay groundwork for the success which will come, if we keep working. That success may not look like what we imagined or what we hoped for. It might be even better. We can't really know.

I always tell myself that even if I never have another thing published, that creative work is enriching in and of itself. What else would I be doing with my free time? Probably something fairly useless, like watching television. No thanks. I'd rather be logging long training distances with my purple legal pad full of poem ideas.

Jury Duty and Life on Hold

For the next two weeks, I am on call for jury duty for the U.S. District Court. What does this mean? Each night, I must call to see if I am needed. Today, I am not needed.

I have found this situation oddly stressful. The idea of actually being needed doesn't stress me. I'm a Civics geek: I vote in every election, I'm happy to be a juror, I amuse myself and try to stretch my brain by trying to remember all the amendments to the U.S. Constitution. I'm that kind of person.

I don't even mind that most jury duty that I've experienced has involved sitting around much of the day. I travel with books, and being stuck somewhere with no Internet access gives me that rare opportunity to lose myself in a book.

What I mind is not knowing what my day will look like. How much of my work should I try to get done in advance? I've taken no chances and gotten all the essential stuff done in advance. Of course, if I do have to serve, I'll probably realize how much I've overlooked. This week is a down time between quarters, and I hoped to get caught up with some things like endless copying and filing. My office has piles of paperwork that need to get put away. I can see the look in people's eyes when they come to my door; it's a look that says, "What has happened here?"

Still, today feels like a gift. I'll think about my publishing goals. What needs to be done before September ends? I'll make sure to get some manuscripts in the mail. I'm falling behind in that goal.

Last week, when I realized I might have jury duty, I said to myself, "I better get to the library so that I have something to read." I've done that; I was lucky to find some great novels (I'm currently reading Lionel Shriver's So Much for That, a terrifying look at U.S. health care). At the office today, I'll pick up some of those volumes of poetry in my to-read stack so that I can have poetry to read, should I be called to serve as juror. I've got a few bits of paperwork left to take care of (syllabus, new hire stuff), and then I'll be ready, should I be called to serve tomorrow.

Bookmarks That Really Are Not

Yesterday, I had a bizarre reading experience. I picked up the book I'd been reading, Scott Spencer's Man in the Woods. Although I'm enjoying it thoroughly, I'm not sure I agree with Patrick Anderson's review, in which he states, "'Man in the Woods' is one of the three best novels I've read this year -- the others are Laura Lippman's 'I'd Know You Anywhere' and Jennifer Egan's 'A Visit From the Goon Squad' -- and if you pressed me, I'd put it at the top of the list." So far, I would give the top honor to the Egan book.

But I digress.

So, I opened the book and read a few pages and felt puzzled. I didn't remember these characters. I read more and discovered references to plot points I didn't remember happening. I kept reading and feeling more confused. Sure, I read quickly, and don't always retain all the details, but for crying out loud! I usually keep track of everything for at least a day or two. I had last read the book just 30 hours ago.

So, I flipped back through the book to try to figure out where I had zoned out, only to discover that the envelope that I thought was a bookmark really wasn't. I saw the turned down page about 100 pages before the chunk of text I was reading. No wonder I was confused. As I left the waiting room where I'd last been reading, I'd shoved a pile of papers, including the envelope into the back of the book.

I was tempted to just keep reading, since I now had some plot knowledge. But I hadn't gotten to what reviewer Patrick Anderson assures us will be the powerful ending, so I dutifully went back to my real stopping place.

As a on-again, off-again novelist, I thought about my experience. What does it say about a novel that I could skip ahead 100 pages and not be completely lost? Is that a positive or a negative? What does it mean that I could piece together enough to be tempted to just keep plowing ahead to the end?

It's a good book, which was the deciding factor in my decision to turn back to my true stopping place. I've been reading some disappointing books lately. Much as I love Barbara Kingsolver, I just couldn't make my way through The Lacuna. And I'm happy that I checked out Jill Bolte Taylor's My Stroke of Insight from the library. What a thin little book. I'd read an article that later became this book in Oprah's magazine years ago, and it fascinated me. Unfortunately, that bit was the best part--although I'd probably find it more useful if I had a loved one recovering from a serious brain injury. My 2010 reading list hasn't been as fulfilling as the 2009 list. But happily, I'm not limited to those books. Happily, the publishing industry still survives and gives me wonderful books to read. Now, if only I could find more quiet moments tucked into the day!

Requiem for the Girl Who Loved the Public Library

I will never complain about paying taxes, because I've been the recipient of so much good from taxpayers in the past: public schools (mine were just fine, and my Ph.D. program at the University of South Carolina was solid and cheap), libraries, highways, fire and police forces (which happily, I haven't had to use, but I'm happy to have them there). I even benefited from decades of defense spending, as my dad was in the Air Force and then the Air Force Reserve, until he was old enough to retire; I bought many a record album at the BX and enjoyed all sorts of treats from the Commissary.

Until recently, I used the public library several times a week, not only to support my voracious reading habit, but also to get free movies and music. In graduate school, we even checked out framed pieces of art to hang on the walls for several weeks (thanks, Richland County Library!). I've always had my own computer and Internet access at home, but the computers at our public libraries are always packed, and I've noticed that lots of people bring their laptops to enjoy taxpayer funded wi-fi.

Last night I went to the main branch of the library in downtown Ft. Lauderdale. I was struck by how empty it was. I was there at 5:30, and I'm used to seeing hordes of students, families with their children, homeless people who are grateful for a place to perch for hours. Last night, I walked right up to the counter to check out my books; in past years, the line would have been at least 10 people deep.

I asked the librarian if this emptiness was common now, and she said that it depended on the time and the day. Our libraries have been cutting back hours, as have all our public services, and my apocalyptic side wonders how long it will be before we just shut them down completely.

But what a shame that would be! How many resources we would lose. Our main branch of the library even includes the largest collection of sheet music I've ever seen outside of music stores.

After I got home, my spouse and I sat outside savoring the view of the beautiful full moon and talked about my sorrow at the fact that I don't use the library as much as I once did. My spouse reminded me not to discount the fact that the resources were there should I ever need them again. Now I don't use the library as much because I can afford to buy books, and I don't check out movies because I can stream them from online sources. But I can do those things because I've reached a level of affluence. Not everyone is as fortunate.

I think that society depends on people like me to continue to pay for these resources for those folks who are less fortunate, and I'm happy to do so. I worry about where we're headed though. We've seen several generations of the rising affluent pulling their children out of public schools, and several generations of taxpayers who don't want to fund those schools. What a disaster.

We live in a difficult time, a time when municipalities must figure out how to cope with less money. We may have difficult choices to make. I'm praying and hoping for people who have visions of new ways to do things. After all, the public library system that I love so much was once a quirky and unique novelty born of people who refused to be constrained by hard circumstances.

Nothing Focuses the Mind Like a Call for Submissions

On Jeannine Hall Gailey's blog, she announces that Steel Toe Books has announced an open reading period, and they're looking for manuscripts with a spiritual theme.

And I have a book length manuscript that has a spiritual theme. I had planned to revise that manuscript (because I have since written some poems that might be better than some of the poems that I included) during my November trip to Mepkin Abbey (where in November 2009, I first assembled the manuscript), but since end of the reading period at Steel Toe Books is Oct. 31, I shall step that process up a bit.

I have always written a variety of poems, but I've always felt the most fretful about my poems that have a religious theme. When I write a work related poem, I don't worry about all the people who might be turned off. When I write a poem that's a riff on a fairy tale or a myth, I know that some people might wrinkle their noses in distaste, but I also know there's a centuries long, rich tradition of people writing just that kind of poetry.

But a poem with a religious theme risks so much. There are traditionalists who might get offended at the notion of Jesus moving around in our modern world, doing things like bowling or going to spin class or helping clean up after a hurricane or playing softball or cleaning a toilet. There are non-religious folks who won't even give religious poems a chance. There are plenty of people, religious and not, who won't understand the allusions.

I've always been amazed when people like my religious poems best. When I first started writing them, I didn't send them out for years. They felt strange and subversive to me, and I imagined hate mail from more literal minded believers. But then I realized that most of the poetry I loved best had a strange and subversive streak. I love poems that crack my brain wide open and offer me a completely new way of seeing thee world.

So, I sent them out, and they've been the ones that generate the most fan mail, the ones that people tell me they love best. Hmm.

Now, here's an interesting question. I'm almost sure that I sent this manuscript to Steel Toe Books for their last reading period, which was an open reading period, probably 9 months ago. My poetry submission notebook is at the office, so I'll doublecheck later. Am I stupid to send it again? Will the Steel Toe folks even remember that they've seen it before? How much would I have to change, before it's not what they would remember seeing before?

What I love about their process is that they don't charge a reading fee or have a contest, but they do require everyone who submits to buy a book. I'm happy to support a press that way.

So, you know how I'll be spending my October: looking at all the poems that aren't typed into the computer yet, looking at my manuscript, revising . . . and praying for the wisdom and vision and hope that this process requires.

Ramen Noodle Years--Hard Times Come Again No More

Lots of news stories about this lingering recession, which some economists have claimed as being over. A Washington Post story features regular people who don't believe it. One woman is quoted as saying, "'My husband and I thought we were beyond the hot dog and beans of our lives. . . . Is this my new reality?'"

My first thought was, you can afford hot dogs to go with your beans? You aren't truly poor until you eat ramen for days and days in a row.

I hadn't recently thought of ramen noodles until I was at a friend's house a few weeks ago and watched her daughter make ramen noodles as she proclaimed her love of them. I gave an overly dramatic shudder and then had to explain why.

There was a summer in graduate school where my husband and I didn't have much money. Our graduate stipends only lasted 9 months, and although we had some adjunct work and part time work, we had to be VERY careful. We didn't use air conditioning during a hot, hot, hot South Carolina summer--as a result, I no longer fear Hell, at least not because of temperature reasons. We watched our grocery bill: no meat, no soda, no convenience food. I discovered the cheapness of ramen noodles and stocked up. After a summer of ramen noodles, it's hard to ever want them again.

One thing that made our poverty summers not so bad was that all our friends, also in grad school, shared those impoverished times. We checked out videos from the library and lounged by swimming pools--free entertainment. We shared potluck dinners. We got jobs as ushers at the Koger Center, a posh performing arts place--a bit of pocket money, plus we got to see the show. Even though we were poor, I remember those years fondly.

I think that having survived some impoverished times has inoculated me against some of the fears that infect other people. I know how to cook very tasty and cheap vegetarian food. We still drive old, economical cars. We haven't accumulated debt, because our lives and the lives of our parents (and grandparents, who survived the Great Depression) have taught us that hard times might come again.

I was shocked to read this story about a woman who lost her job that paid her $80,000 a year. Her response? She took some exotic vacations across the sea. What was she thinking? And now that her unemployment has lasted 4 years, she's cut her Nordstrom's shopping sprees and let some home repairs go.

Really? REALLY???!!! Who are these people?

When my husband's family of origin was plunged into poverty because of divorce, they hit the library. They learned about plumbing and electricity by doing repairs themselves with library books to guide them. I've known many family members who had a major wage earner lose a job. They didn't squander money on vacations and fancy clothes. They cut way, way back. They learned to shop at garage sales and thrift stores. They learned to repair what they had; they learned how to mend. They learned to separate their wants from their needs.

I'm amused/appalled at these news stories that focus on what they call the middle class (I'd call them upper middle or lower upper), but these middle class people are living a very different existence than people earning lower wages. You don't hear as much about those people anymore. You don't hear about the real poor.

Maybe we should all decide to see the film Waiting for Superman. But maybe focusing on real world problems is too depressing. Maybe you want to think in more apocalyptic colors.

I thoroughly enjoyed this article, even though it's 10 years old, about all the ways the world might end; it even included some I've never considered. And in honor of Discover magazine's 30th anniversary, the author updated that article, complete with 10 new scenarios.

And if you need a down-to-earth article to remind you that more money won't necessarily make you happy, try this one. However, I'm not sure I agree with the premise of one of the article's experts: ""What really struck me was the extent to which being poor makes everything worse -- unemployment, of course, but also divorce, asthma and [having] a headache; even the weekend, which is emotionally a very good time, is less good if you're poor than if your income is higher,' says Kahneman. 'When you keep score of your life, overall, the higher income the better. But when it comes to emotions, my summary is that it's not so much that money buys you happiness, but that a lack of money below $75,000 buys you increasing misery.'"

My poverty years weren't miserable, but perhaps that's because I knew that I was accepting some tight years in the hopes that future years wouldn't be quite as extreme. I had hope for the future, because I was in school, and I had a decent shot at a better future. If President Obama could kindle that kind of hope, there's nothing we couldn't do as a collective whole.