What a Difference

It's amazing to me what a little time off can do to clear one's mind. As you already knew, I'd taken a hiatus from writing here a few weeks back. Even so, it wasn't enough. Maybe there were deeper issues brewing, nefarious elements troubling my mental waters. 

Regardless, last weekend I took off reading and all attempts to write, even in my private journal. My head felt like it couldn't endure in another word, entering or leaving.  Then it happened. Wednesday I came down with the flu going around here. 

Soon my head was literally filled with something nasty. So much so that my mind had trouble keeping up with images on TV. Printed matter looked like so many squiggles on a piece of paper. 

Now, however, the flue is gone. All that remains is cleaning out the residue. One of the delightful side effects though is that my mind is clear, creative, and itching to have it's say. It didn't pick back up where I left off. It began where it would have been had I never stopped. As you might imagine, I'm really behind. 

Having said all that, I have 4 new posts brewing. Given the timeliness nature of it, my next one will be a bit about something Roger Ebert said in a past interview.  

As always, thanks for reading,

And until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.

Page Fright

If this is not already a condition, it is now. Analogous to stage fright, I'm having page fright. I say this because for the last few weeks, I've told interested e-mailers that I'm struggling with writer's block. Obviously, that's not true. I have lots to say, much I want to write about, but none of which I'd want to make public. Maybe I'm just discovering why writers and significant, and not so significant, thinkers of the past kept a journal (or diary), publishing only what they wanted the general reading public to see or know. All I can deduce from all this is that I have things I need to write about, but don't want to share with the world. So, at 53, I've finally come to the calculated realization which every 12 year old girl knows instinctively. Oh, well, call me slow . . . but hand me that cool yellow diary . . . yes, and the key so I can lock it.  

Speaking of slow, the school system, in it's credentialed wisdom, has given their students off this week for spring break. Of course, it began snowing yesterday (Monday) and hasn't stopped yet (it's Tuesday morning now). This no longer surprises me. This is the same school system which will send out letters threatening truancy charges for unexcused absences while giving the children a day off nearly every other week! Seriously, I can't recall the last time they went three consecutive full weeks. Seldom have they gone back to back weeks without at least a half day thrown in to drive parents crazy. They even closed school for President's day. No one takes off for that except banks and the Federal government. Did we miss ground hog's day? Don't give them any ideas!

So, here we sit, bored, staring out the windows, watching the snow which has fallen in insufficient amounts to give them something to play with or in. Here we sit watching the squirrel pillage the bird feeder outside our window. Cabin fever doesn't begin to express what's building up inside. I guess we're in for a long, boring 'spring break'. 

until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries (but not the school system, unless there are no loaded fire arms in the house), and remember to breathe.

On Regrets

The man who has no regrets

Didn't do something quite right.

But the man who has only regrets

Did something terribly wrong.

Home!

This will likely cause those who know me best to adopt wildly divergent interpretations. 

It should.

It's meant to. 

Pages

To whom it may concern:

In addition to being a certified book addict, I've also done my fair share of collecting recommended reading lists. You know the kind, lists of books one should read before this, that, or the other thing. Many are just general recommendations. Others, on the other hand, contain the canon of literature on a given topic. Ask a long time sci-fi fan what are the essential books to get up to speed on the genre and you'll likely get a list. 

Having said that, I hate to admit it, but I even have a book of book lists. Yep, even spent real money on it. It's a listing of all the reading lists from major colleges and universities in the US (and maybe a few in Canada). As one might expect, there's a ton of over lap. 80% will make every list. I suppose it's that 20% which keeps me searching for the next sleeper in the stack. 

Regardless, I'm going to post some of the more interesting ones I've found or read from. Then, for ease of reference, I'll post them in a page in my side bar. 

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.

Book it!

To whom it may concern:

It's becoming obvious to me that my main interest here is shifting to the discuss books. This should stand to reason given I spend several hours per day reading them. To this end, I've begun placing links to reading and book oriented blogs in my side bar. At present, I have only one linked. However, the one I have linked has a couple of dozen related blogs linked for your perusal until I have time to view them all myself. Eventually, I'll link to the ones I like best or visit frequently. 

I mention this only to say that I'll likely spend most of my writing time discussing books I'm either currently reading, or have recently finished. My goal won't be to review these works in a proper or technical sense. Rather, I'll give my thoughts, feelings, and impressions along the way - much like I did with Henry James in my last post. In these posts you'll quickly discover that I have a love/hate relationship with almost ever book I consume. So there will likely be something for everyone who loves a good read or wants to avoid a bad one. Few will get all my praise, but few will reap all my venom.

Of course, as other topics strike me as witty, clever, or important, I'll post on that too. I did see one blog linked which was about books and bicycles. That's a combination I'd love to cover myself - except that my bike, not to mention my body, needs an over haul. Maybe one day I'll get back on the road and share my adventures with you. Until then, maybe I'll include some of my adventures over the chess and checker board.

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.

Complicated very, is it!

To whom it may concern:

In one of my early posts, I mentioned that my mentor in college routinely answered the question, "What do you do for a living?" with, "I teach people to read difficult books." Thank God I took him every chance I got, because he taught me well. Well, I'm not so sure how well I do, but he taught me how to persevere when the text gets rough, which it did this weekend.

I say all this because I'm currently on a short binge of reading Henry James. Nothing major, and maybe even this is a debatable point, just some of his novellas. The topic of difficult books must be raised in conjunction with James. He has a reputation for writing extremely dense prose. So much so that another of my professors, a brilliant man in multiple languages and great scholar, once told me that he didn't care too much for Horace because, like Henry James, he never felt rewarded by the text for the effort he had to invest in order to read it.

I'm here to relate that I cut my teeth on James's The Turn of the Screw this past weekend. From what I can determine, this story is hands down his most famous work. Wow! but talk about some convoluted prose. For a work in which the actual text covered only, and exactly, 100 pages, his sentences were long, complex, and the phraseology, most of the time was in the worst possible order conceivable. It reminded me of someone forcing a literal English translation out of formal Latin. One of my profs called this 'Yoda speak'. 

In all fairness, given James's genius and renown, and given the text's abruptness, all I can conclude is that it was intentional on his part. No mere appeal to stylistic considerations could rationally account for it otherwise. He's far too revered a writer to write so badly. And I thought Cicero, Melville, and Heidegger were tough.

Things were so disjointed in places that I honestly got into the habit of reading every other phrase then adding back the deleted phrases where they best made sense - much like, as I alluded to earlier, reading the crazy word order of a typical Ciceronian Latin sentence and translating it into grammatically proper English word order. Strangely, this strategy worked pretty well and I recommend it to you. One could easily delete the apparently misplaced phrases altogether and render it well edited reading material for 8th graders. 

Furthermore, if someone had mentioned to me that his typist was dyslexic I would not have questioned the veracity of the claim at all given the mind twisting arrangement of his prose. Again, to me, his style cannot be subconscious, but seemed deliberate for effect. I suppose it worked. By the time I finished The Turn of the Screw I sincerely hoped that his longer works weren't written this way. What would have taken me one long sitting to read, took three lengthy reading sessions spread over as many days. 

Whether my effort was rewarded or not, I can't exactly say as the story's meaning hid in many ways. Fair warning, the commentators run everywhere with this one too. Briefly, it's a ghost story involving children: two to be exact, thus the 'turn of the screw' reference early in the story. But you'll have to read it yourself to further flesh it out. Interpretation runs the gamut too. Some question whether the children really see the ghosts, but are affected by them anyway. It seemed likely to me that children knew they were there, invisibly, and maybe even communicated with them. This is something the main character, their governess, never could do even though she encountered the apparitions on numerous occasions. Others claim the ghosts are only symbolic of something else, something more abstract. Take your pick.

Regardless of one's interpretation, with a little patience and creative reading, the story is comprehensible. It lured me in and held my attention in spite of the difficulties of mining meaning from his oft obscured text. In the vein of a ghost story by Dickens, this one would be great if read aloud by someone gifted for the task in a dimly lit room late one night. Strangely, it wasn't really scary. I'm not sure James meant it to be. However, like any good ghost story, it grips and holds the reader almost against his will - sort of like a real ghost . . . .

As a follow up, I'm well into Daisy Miller and have dipped into a couple of the other pieces in this volume just to see if they were all like the title cut (The Turn of the Screw and Other Short Fiction ISBN: 0553210599) and didn't find the same jarring, stirring of the verbal pot. I should probably reserve judgement then on Henry James until I gather a larger sampling of data and experience with him.

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and a good, stiff story, and remember to breathe.

The Best Laid Plans . . .

To whom it may concern:

Well, as is typically the case, my New Year's resolutions have virtually disintegrated. Evaporated without a trace might be a more accurate assessment. With the exception of reading 50+ books this year, which plan I'm well on track to accomplish, the others have never really begun. A casual glance at this blog since the beginning of the year should be proof enough that I haven't spent an hour a day writing (if the typos in this post weren't sufficient evidence). The desire is there at times, but the flesh is truly the weak link. In either event, this is an attempt to remedy the situation slightly. I do have ideas for future posts which, given the right balance of energy and relaxation, will result in more posts. 

On the plus side, I've done lots of reading. I've recently finished: 

Things Fall Apart  by Chinua Achebe

A Passage to India by E. M. Forster

All Quiet on the Western Front by Erichy Maria Remarque

Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller

I'm also currently reading (I alternate between them):

The Turn of the Screw by Henry James

The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins.

All these books were great (or are great so far). Maybe I'll write a review or two about some of them. If you've got comments about any of these books, feel free to share them. Also, should you have recommendations, I'm all ears. 

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.

Routine

I used to have a pastor who said, "A rut is just a grave with both ends kicked out." In a similar vein, a friend and I used to argue that the one who habitually wakes, showers, goes to work, comes back home, eats, watches re-runs of Survivor followed by the evening news, then goes back to bed only to repeat this regiment 4 or 5 more times in a week doesn't have a life, but a living death. 

So, get out there and take some risks. Yes, some of them can kill you, but the ones which don't can give you life! Besides, you're dead already if you don't try. 

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe - and take a few chances.

Amazing

I fell asleep last night feeling as if I'd had one of the best days of my life.

I awoke this morning with a hunch that I was in store for another one.

I was right!

What a Pain

To whom it may concern:

Have you ever noticed that when you move your cursor to locate a point in a line of text, that it's always in the way? It seems that every time I have to relocate it for any reason, I abandon it in place in my eagerness to begin typing, only to curse at it for blocking my view of what I'm trying to type. Maybe it's just me, but apparently, the cursor is aptly named. 

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, such as this one, and remember to breathe (and more the cursor after you've located what you want). 

Moon River

Meet, our Frog. 

He is one of our most recent purchases at out favorite second hand store. As often happens with items we love, we saw it on Saturday, for some unknown reason delayed purchasing it, only to return on Sunday and buy it. If nothing else, it makes the purchase special and stand out in our memory. To say it's her favorite piece in the house would be an understatement so huge I do not possess the hyperbole to express it.

What makes him so intriguing is his pose. No. His intensity. She even pointed out the other night that the sinews in his neck are standing out. At first we just assumed he was praying. Well, if frogs pray, or have the need to. But as we have sat, night after night, contemplating him, we have begun to see alternate interpretations. So far we have dozens. 

For example, is he a suppliant or a celebrant? Is he really praying or beseeching the frog deity? Is there a frog deity? Or is he clapping? I offered the possibility that he was the reptilian equivalent of Rodin's The Thinker Before the Gates of Hell. She offered the more reasonable likelihood that he is serenading his girlfriend. 

Early on, we wondered if he was simply enraptured at a piece of art on some unseen wall. You know, the way frogs gaze in awe at a painting. Well, anyway, they do. 

A neighborhood boy, upon seeing him for the first time, reacted a lot like we did. He was nearly stunned by the electric energy he expresses. His whole body taut with whatever he's really doing or anticipating. Then he offered, "It looks like he's about to do a backward dive." 

Regardless, last night, without any hedging, she said, "I know what he's doing tonight." 

"What?" I replied.

"He's whistling Moon River!" as though there could ever be any doubt.

"And," she continued, "His name is Irving. Irving Berlin."

Suspicious, I asked, "And how do you know that?"

"I just do," she replied. "Doesn't he look like an Irving?"

I offered, sarcastically, "I suppose the other night he was serenading his girlfriend, named Lilly . . . at her pad?"

"Maybe," unflinching, "but his name is Irving, and tonight he's whistling Moon River."

Strangely enough, that seemed reasonable to me. However, maybe we shouldn't apply reason to such an emotional piece.

So, we enjoy sharing the room with a frog named Irving. Tonight, however, for whatever reason, he's just a frog standing on our coffee table in his baffling pose again, clearly not making any sound at all. 

Regardless of what he does on a daily basis from this position, we both love him. On the up side, since he is, after all, only a statue of a frog, he'll never croak!

Book Hangover

Been there too many times. However, sometimes taking two aspirin and getting a good night's sleep helps . . . . When that fails, a stiff whiskey sours will do the trick.

Maybe it's Time

To whom it m may concern:

After months of on-again-off-again reading, I've finally finished Henry Fielding's The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling. To begin, let me mention why it took so long. Besides the normal drama life throws at us all, I relocated very long distance, not once, but twice during my tenure in this massive tome. 

Published in 1749, like its predecessor, Don Quixote by Cervantes, it is a mammoth book, nearly 800 pages. The similarities don't stop at mere length though. Like Cervantes's work, this book is chocked full of chapters. No, correct that, this work is full of books like Homer or Virgil. However, there are 18 books in all which are then subdivided into short chapters, usually between 10 and 18 per book. So it doesn't take a rocket scientist or math whiz to see the magnitude of verbiage awaiting the reader. 

For those who have mercifully forgotten, or who wish to re-read my semi-review of Don Quixote, you will find it embedded in a much longer post here. However, in case it's not clear, the similarities to Cervantes is primarily restricted to age and length. Otherwise, Fielding's "history", as he's fond of calling it, bears little resemblance to the idiotic foolery of Cervantes's deluded, and most times, down right dangerous, Clouseauesque knight. 

However, for all his improvements on Cervantes, he manages to create some annoying features of his own. Namely, at the beginning of each book, he introduces them with a first chapter "preface" as he will later call them. Naturally, and might I add, ironically, he eventually writes one of these introductions, late in the book, sadly, explaining that they are worthless, have nothing to do with the topic, slams those who write them for plays, and claims one could mix and match the ones written for plays without any ill effects to the reader, the topic at hand, or the work thereto appended. Many are interesting in their own right, but most are simply side bar reading material, typically unrelated to the topic at hand, dragging out his already too long narrative far beyond reasonable expectations. In any event, one can easily do the mental arithmetic and determine that there are 18 "filler" chapters (and one horrid, dedicatory epistle to his patron at the beginning of the book) which, by the author's own admission, are worthless and have nothing to add to the story. 

Now, my point is this, I'm one who has vowed never to read an abridged book on the first reading. I don't want some, often anonymous editor behind the curtain somewhere deciding to what I should or should not be exposed, denying me the privilege he no doubt once had while earning the credentials necessary to edit such works. I want the full experience of what the author intended, at least the first time. On subsequent journeys through a work, I might cull some material, known to be boring or insignificant, on my own, but never on my first time through. 

However, maybe it's time I do. Honestly, I'm not getting any younger. The faster time slips past me, the more I rue wasting it reading non-essential drivel. Now that I try to restrict my reading material to the "great" books, I'm finding that there are often time killers in them at times. Truth be told, I did not finish the dedicatory epistle, and realized, by the second introductory essay, as he also calls them, that they were irrelevant to the topic up coming or past. I easily could have played the odds and missed nothing, saving myself the time of reading at least 15 or 16 chapter length, and often the longest ones, time wasters. In the end, I stuck to my guns and read every word. I really need to revisit my tenacious resistance to abridgment. 

Regardless of my proclivities and his editorial style, his story is coherent and the characters are sympathetic and repeatedly thrown into difficulties which, at every turn, threaten to undo what each is trying desperately to accomplish. It's a classic tale, a boy chasing girl, with two protagonists, and no real antagonists.

Fielding's writing is lively, fresh, mostly light, and very funny. He is good with puns and turns of phrase. Like Cervantes before him, he engages in a delightful blend of meta-fictional elements, regularly, as narrator, speaking directly to his reading audience, rather than through some agent in the story. Like Cervantes, Fielding is truly a character in his own story.

One linguistic caveat: keep Google handy if you are rusty, like I am, on your Latin. There are lots of untranslated, albeit, short Latin phrases. Most are meant to mock the pseudo intellectualism of one of Tom Jones's travelling companions, who either misquotes, or worse, misapplies them to the conversation. Maybe that's what the author intends to communicate by not translating them (longer Latin quotes he does translate, btw). I'll let you decide. 

Caveat number two: there are seemingly endless conversations that, for all practical purposes, serve only to elongate the work. You know: filler, fluff, blurb. Apparently Fielding was being paid by the word *smirks*. One could easily eliminate a few books by cutting, or sharply truncating said adjunct conversations.

Lastly, as is so often the case today, one fancies that Fielding probably ran up hard against his publication date as he attempts to connect his ridiculously complex plot in book 18 alone. Thus, he is forced to render his concluding narrative in 13 chapters when previously he would have taken at least 60 chapters (often dispersed throughout 5 full books) to cover the same material. Needless to say, what began as a leisurely meander through the complications of class conscious, young love, ends more than a bit rushed. 

Nevertheless, all in all, it's a good read. Just plan on taking your time. 

Until  next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, read good, even long books, and remember to breathe.

After an unusually warm snap here

After an unusually warm snap here,
It's cold out this morning.
Nothing unusual about that.
So cold that there's frost on the bicycle tires!
Frost on the grass, even on the limbs of trees.
The squirrels are up to their usual play,
Cats skulk, and birds flutter and peck,
As people go to work.
All the while I sit here, bare footed and cozy.

I had a professor who had advice for failing students. It went much like the placard to the left. After handing back a particularly poor test result, he would look at the class and say, " Repeating the same mistakes while expecting different results is not so much a recipe for failure: It is my definition of insanity!"

Unless we change, will will remain the same. It cannot be otherwise.

Is it Just Me or?

To whom it may concern:

Each time I have to run errands, at least my homeward route takes me past a Church of Christ school. Like most modern private academies, they have one of those lighted, scrolling marque signs to remind the passersby of up coming bake sale, report cards, or various breaks. When there are no announcements, they simply flaunt their school pride with a, no doubt, heart felt, "Go Centurions." 

Now maybe it's just me, but that seems like a uniquely bad choice of mascots for a Christian school. After all, isn't a mascot supposed to symbolically embody a school's values or ideals? Moreover, given the almost fetishly strict adherence to detail which the average Church of Christ church pays to minutiae of detail regarding life and theology, choosing the type of Roman soldier which crucified Jesus of Nazareth seems  more than painfully ironic. 

Of course, I went to high school where the mascot was the Trojan. Think of it, in the late 70's, the only brand of condom sold in my town was, yes, Trojans. Needless to say, we were reminded of that fact a lot, especially after a sound defeat in football. Also, if my memory serves me correctly, the Trojans are only famous because they got their asses shamefully handed to them by accepting a gift horse from the Greeks who had hidden their best warriors in the belly. Either way one takes it, that's one unfortunate choice of mascots. 

Maybe it's just me, but I think the powers which be, in choosing a mascot, should examine the historical context a bit better before selecting an emblem of "power" to represent their school's ideals and values. 

Just sayin'.

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and mascots, and remember to breathe.

All Too True!

I blush to think of how many times I've thought this!

Elegance

It's also the ultimate complication.

***

The most elegant solution is always best.

Movies and Music

To whom it may concern:

First my apologies for such a detour through reading. Never fear, it's a topic I'll return to again and again. To say I'm addicted to books, reading, and everything else to to with words would be an understatement along the lines of the man who thought the Wright brothers were just another pair of bicycle makers. But for now, let's move on to another area of interests as a part of my introduction: Movies and Music.

When I began thinking on this topic, I had produced lists of categories and definitions. Then I realized I could go thru a huge list of movies I like, breaking them up by category, genre, or actors, but this would bore you and take more time than I think the subject deserves. Truth be told, it was a chore I wasn't enjoying. In short, movies and music aren't a prime interest of mine: pure and simple. However, when I do indulge in the visual arts, I tend to enjoy movies which are very long on dialog and VERY short on action. Car chases and shoot outs bore me to tears ordinarily. While I do enjoy Star Wars type sci-fi movies, I tend more often in the direction of Driving Miss Daisy types. For decades I told people my favorite movie of all times was Dead Poets Society. I'd still be hard pressed to name a better one. Altho, when the mood strikes I might. 

The older I get, the more I enjoy the older movies. Just last night my better half and I watched Hello Dolly, a movie I'd never seen all the way thru before. Yes, it's a musical, but what a musical! I've also been known to watch a 12 hour marathon of The Twilight Zone when shown. Nevertheless, I think I like the older movies because of their lack of special effects, dialog driven content, and scripts more akin to books than to film. I'm really a book worm, what can I say?

When it comes to music, I'm pretty much in the same camp. Well, not exactly. I do enjoy singing, and whistle as a nervous habit, so obviously I enjoy music. However, like movies, there is no single genre which compels my attention all the time. No artist is on my must buy list unheard. I enjoy a sampling of everything from classical to mild hip-hop. Like Homer Simpson, I think Rock music reached it's zenith in the mid to lat 70's and would claim that it constitutes my favorite style if forced. 

At the end of the day tho, I'm a lyrics man. I'll accept a pitiful tune, no beat, and a mediocre singer (ever heard of a guy named Bob Dylan?) if the lyrics move me. Which, yes, you guessed it, are word driven rather than music driven. Even in music, I like words over sound. Just the other night I was driving home from a trip and found old radio drama on our XM satellite radio. I listened to The Jack Benny Show, The Great Gildersleeve, and others. I guess when it comes to listening, I'm just lost in the world of words too. I love the clever poetry in country music, but don't particularly like the way it's sung. I love the complexity in classical music, even without words, but hate the pretension often associated with its practitioners. 

That's not to say that I'm not moved by a good beat or a sweet tune. There are Irish and other folk tunes which can move me to tears. There are rhythmic numbers, especially from movies, which make my graceless body want to dance. But they tend to be songs which find me rather than the other way around. I can't remember the last time I bought a CD or down loaded music simply for it's own sake. 

That said, I do understand the drive of those who love movies and music for it's own sake. But, as this is my introduction, I'm just analyzing what makes me tick. I do love nothing more than relaxing with a good movie after a long day of running around. To finally sit and rest while a story washes over me and those I love makes for memories to cherish. The same occurs with music over a nice meal at the end of a hectic day. 

Anyway, thanks for reading. 

Until next time, 

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.

New Year's Resolutions

To whom it may concern:

For all the usual reasons, I'm not a fan of New Year's resolutions. Some of the best life corrections I have ever made were done on the spur of a moment. To me if something is worth doing, it's worth doing today. However, given the radical changes in my life this year, I took the week between Christmas and New Year's to evaluate the year ahead. This gestation period yielded the following:

I want to finish 50 books in 2013. I'll draw these from a list of varying topics. One or two of them might actually take the whole year to complete. Such are theoretical books. Others will be simple and consumed in a weekend or so. Regardless, I'm going to read more.

Writing seems to be my latest kick. Thus, I want to dedicate at least an hour or two each day to doing nothing but creative writing. I currently have 3 blogs. However, I really want to try my hand at short stories I could submit for publication in the real world. I can't imagine seeing my name in print, but I'd like to try. Whatever comes of it, only this time next year will tell. 

More than anything else, I want to really live this year. Like Thoreau, I don't want to come to the end of my life, or this coming year, only to find that I'd never really lived. I want to love those around me more, and grow. 

Thanks for reading, 

and until next time,

contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.

Happy New Year!