Partridge, Partridge you better stop hummin'
Look around you who's that coming
Johnny Hunter will find you quick and you'll wind up in a stew.
My former SUNY Fredonia colleague and now friend, Dan Berggren is an accomplished folk singer and writer. His cd, Adirondack Green, has given me hours of joy as I listen to it in my car or at home. Dan taught Radio and media courses when we both were in western New York. Together with a few others we started a Communication and Media department at SUNY that flourished and as far as I know is still popular.
There are many songs on Adirondack Green that I like, but my favorite is Johnny Hunter.
Old Black Bear You Better Not Wait
If I were you I'd hibernate
Johnny Hunter will find you quick and you'll wind up in a stew.
I first heard Dan perform this at an outing for kids near the college campus. The kids loved it but I think I enjoyed it even more. As you can tell from the excerpted stanzas, it is about critters in this case in the Adirondacks who are on the lookout for Johnny Hunter, lest they wind up in a stew.
The idea of a group of animals getting together to warn each other makes me smile. And while you can't tell without listening to the accompanying music, the tune is catchy as well. Each time the song comes along on the cd I break out in a little smile. I probably have heard it thirty times this past week as I tend to play the hell out of cds for a stretch and then when I realize I have heard the same songs over and over, make a switch. Today when I heard Johnny Hunter I smiled as I do, but then thought of Johnny Hunter a little differently.
What if Johnny Hunter is not a real hunter, but is metaphorically, some agent out there that if we dont watch out can mess with our path. If you think of Johnny Hunter as the anti-Cupid, some agent that derails us from following our heart, well the song works that way as well. If we do not follow our hearts, then Johnny Hunter tends to find us quick and we wind up in a stew. How many of us have wound up in a stew when instead of doing what our heart has suggested, we follow some safe and comfortable path to avoid hunger?
The last stanza of Dan's song goes like this:
Whenever you're in the woods alone
Sing this song with mighty tone
Or Johnny Hunter will find you quick
And you'll wind up in a stew.
Not bad advice whether you're a partridge avoiding Johnny Hunter, or a person sensing that if you're not careful, and continue on an enticing if incorrect path, you might wind up in a stew.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Book Review: A Confederacy of Dunces
A colleague of mine back when I taught at SUNY Fredonia raved about this book. He and I usually have similar tastes. At the time, over thirty years ago, I picked it up and read the first chapter and it did not grab me. I figured I would read it at another time.
Since the original recommendation, every few years or so, I hear or overhear someone speaking glowingly about A Confederacy of Dunces. The most recent such conversation took place in the locker room of my gym. A fellow was going on and on about how hilarious the book is. Then a couple of weeks ago I went to a used book sale at a local library and saw A Confederacy in the Classics section of the sale. I bought it and figured I would give the book another shot.
The title, I discovered, is derived from a Jonathan Swift quote: "When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him." This factoid appears right before the novel begins and is preceded by pages of reviewers' testimony from reputable publications attesting to the quality of the book.
I can't agree. The book is about a very intelligent, but irreponsible and inconsiderate, iconoclast. Ignatius Reilly. The author does not intend to make him out to be anything other than he is. Reilly is a lout, has an inflated sense of self worth, a mooch, and all around trouble maker. John Kennedy Toole, the author, depicts Reilly as a genuine, if clever, pain. While it is never stated explicitly, Reilly considers himself besieged by a confederacy of dunces and he, Reilly, to be the only true genius.
My feeling was, after only a few pages, "enough already". The character and story does not really go anywhere. We read about Reilly as an incompetent and irresponsible jerk when he works in a clothing factory, and then as a hot dog vendor, as a son throughout, and occasionally as a sort of boyfriend to a bohemian woman he met when he was in school in NY.
Yes, there are clever quips from Ignatius, and the literary/historical references are impressive, but for me the laughs were infrequent, the story not there, and I felt no sympathy at all for Reilly or really any of the characters save perhaps the fellow referred to as "Jones" throughout.
Interesting and sad fact about the book is that it was written in the early 1960s, but was not published until 1980. Toole tried to get the book published throughout the 60s and was unsuccessful. In 1969 he took his life. His mother, subsequently, pestered people to read the manuscript and finally got a professor to do so. He, Walker Percy, loved the book and worked towards publishing it. The edition I have lists Toole as the sole author with an introduction by Percy. I have seen more recent editions of the book where the authors are listed as both Percy and Toole. Don't know the backstory on that.
In sum, I can't recommend this book, but a whole slew of others can and do. Yes, I think we are all at times the victims of a confederacy of dunces. Ignatius Reilly though is a victim of his own silly narcissism and laziness.
Since the original recommendation, every few years or so, I hear or overhear someone speaking glowingly about A Confederacy of Dunces. The most recent such conversation took place in the locker room of my gym. A fellow was going on and on about how hilarious the book is. Then a couple of weeks ago I went to a used book sale at a local library and saw A Confederacy in the Classics section of the sale. I bought it and figured I would give the book another shot.
The title, I discovered, is derived from a Jonathan Swift quote: "When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him." This factoid appears right before the novel begins and is preceded by pages of reviewers' testimony from reputable publications attesting to the quality of the book.
I can't agree. The book is about a very intelligent, but irreponsible and inconsiderate, iconoclast. Ignatius Reilly. The author does not intend to make him out to be anything other than he is. Reilly is a lout, has an inflated sense of self worth, a mooch, and all around trouble maker. John Kennedy Toole, the author, depicts Reilly as a genuine, if clever, pain. While it is never stated explicitly, Reilly considers himself besieged by a confederacy of dunces and he, Reilly, to be the only true genius.
My feeling was, after only a few pages, "enough already". The character and story does not really go anywhere. We read about Reilly as an incompetent and irresponsible jerk when he works in a clothing factory, and then as a hot dog vendor, as a son throughout, and occasionally as a sort of boyfriend to a bohemian woman he met when he was in school in NY.
Yes, there are clever quips from Ignatius, and the literary/historical references are impressive, but for me the laughs were infrequent, the story not there, and I felt no sympathy at all for Reilly or really any of the characters save perhaps the fellow referred to as "Jones" throughout.
Interesting and sad fact about the book is that it was written in the early 1960s, but was not published until 1980. Toole tried to get the book published throughout the 60s and was unsuccessful. In 1969 he took his life. His mother, subsequently, pestered people to read the manuscript and finally got a professor to do so. He, Walker Percy, loved the book and worked towards publishing it. The edition I have lists Toole as the sole author with an introduction by Percy. I have seen more recent editions of the book where the authors are listed as both Percy and Toole. Don't know the backstory on that.
In sum, I can't recommend this book, but a whole slew of others can and do. Yes, I think we are all at times the victims of a confederacy of dunces. Ignatius Reilly though is a victim of his own silly narcissism and laziness.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
hooray for our side
I read this morning that a plane that Ann Romney was on yesterday had to make an emergency landing when the cabin began to fill with smoke. Fortunately she is safe and unhurt.
Regular readers may be able to detect my political leanings, but I don't like to campaign in these blogs for any candidate. I have found some of the political postings on Facebook a little offputting regardless of whose side is being endorsed. Sure, I am amused more when my guy is not the brunt of some cartoon, but in general the back and forth reminds me of the stanza from the old Steven Stills/Buffalo Springfield Song,"For What It's Worth"
What a field day for the heat
a thousand people in the street
singing songs and carrying signs
mostly say "hooray for our side."**
It's not just the social media, of course. Fox News and MSNBC are neither, despite the name, news programs. They're both there to yell Hooray for Our Side.
I heard yesterday that Ann Romney shot back at some of the GOP supporters who were critical of her husband's campaign. She said something like, "cut it out, it is tough out there. You try getting in the ring."
I bet it is. One might be inclined to respond to that with the Truman quip, "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen." I have got to think that both the Romneys and the Obamas often want to flee the kitchen.
The problem this week with the Romney campaign is that it seems as if he has turned up the heat in the kitchen himself. And the emergency plane landing with the smoke in the cabin has got to seem to them and their supporters as something of a metaphor. The cabin must seem as if it is filling up with smoke.
I am not a dispassionate observer of the election. I know who I want and I am following the election carefully. But I do have what I hope will be a dispassionate observation about an event that took place just yesterday, probably around the time that Ms. Romney's plane filled up with smoke.
Mitt Romney, after being hounded by both Republicans and Democrats released his 2011 tax return and a summary of his last twenty years of returns. I think the former is a long time coming. The latter I believe is a big mistake.
During the 1973 Watergate Hearings a man named Alexander Butterfield revealed that President Nixon recorded his oval office conversations. These conversations, special prosecutor Leon Jaworski, and before him, Archibald Cox, suspected would reveal if the President indeed had conspired to obstruct justice in the aftermath of the Watergate burglary. The President did not want to give up the tapes and claimed Executive Privilege. The prosecutors were persistent, but Nixon after significant pressure only agreed to provide summaries of the tapes. The prosecutors would not accept this, eventually went to the Supreme Court, and Nixon was forced to release the tapes. When that happened, the so called Smoking Gun was revealed which led to the President's resignation.
There are those who claim that if President Nixon had come forward with the evidence right away and had apologized for his activity, he might have been spared the ignominy that is and will be at least a part of the history of his presidency.
Romney's tax return for 2011 might not force his plane to go down, but there are some questions there. I think he will be able to endure the criticism related to it.
The twenty year summary is another thing. Big mistake. He is going to be pressured to release the actual returns and not the summary. Already, in today's paper there is speculation about why the summary was released and not the actual returns. In one article it was conjectured that the summaries might be an attempt to camouflage returns in which the Republican candidate paid no tax.
If Mr. Romney does eventually release his returns, and if there are smoking guns therein, his plane is going to go down.
And the plane might have been able to stay aloft if right from the start he released his returns and explained why he did what he did.
Hot in the kitchen. Next week it may be the Obamas who need to adjust the thermostat.
**(To make sure I had the lyrics right for the song, For What It's Worth" I went to Wikipedia. There I read that the song was recorded in December, 1966. Only nine plus months later, in early September 1967, I bought, for the grand sum of about four dollars, two tickets to hear both Janis Ian and the Buffalo Springfield, at a concert in Albany. The campus center room where they played probably held no more than a hundred people and it was not packed. Janis Ian was well known. But the Buffalo Springfield, not so much at that time. Now of course the 1966 song is viewed, accurately, as a remarkable predictor of what would transpire on campuses in the last years of the 1960s and early 70s. I really can remember hearing Buffalo Springfield play "For What It's Worth" live on that night. Not sure I quite got it when I heard the song. I was not then much of a politico. My largesse "splurging" for the tickets was done largely to try to impress a date).
Regular readers may be able to detect my political leanings, but I don't like to campaign in these blogs for any candidate. I have found some of the political postings on Facebook a little offputting regardless of whose side is being endorsed. Sure, I am amused more when my guy is not the brunt of some cartoon, but in general the back and forth reminds me of the stanza from the old Steven Stills/Buffalo Springfield Song,"For What It's Worth"
What a field day for the heat
a thousand people in the street
singing songs and carrying signs
mostly say "hooray for our side."**
It's not just the social media, of course. Fox News and MSNBC are neither, despite the name, news programs. They're both there to yell Hooray for Our Side.
I heard yesterday that Ann Romney shot back at some of the GOP supporters who were critical of her husband's campaign. She said something like, "cut it out, it is tough out there. You try getting in the ring."
I bet it is. One might be inclined to respond to that with the Truman quip, "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen." I have got to think that both the Romneys and the Obamas often want to flee the kitchen.
The problem this week with the Romney campaign is that it seems as if he has turned up the heat in the kitchen himself. And the emergency plane landing with the smoke in the cabin has got to seem to them and their supporters as something of a metaphor. The cabin must seem as if it is filling up with smoke.
I am not a dispassionate observer of the election. I know who I want and I am following the election carefully. But I do have what I hope will be a dispassionate observation about an event that took place just yesterday, probably around the time that Ms. Romney's plane filled up with smoke.
Mitt Romney, after being hounded by both Republicans and Democrats released his 2011 tax return and a summary of his last twenty years of returns. I think the former is a long time coming. The latter I believe is a big mistake.
During the 1973 Watergate Hearings a man named Alexander Butterfield revealed that President Nixon recorded his oval office conversations. These conversations, special prosecutor Leon Jaworski, and before him, Archibald Cox, suspected would reveal if the President indeed had conspired to obstruct justice in the aftermath of the Watergate burglary. The President did not want to give up the tapes and claimed Executive Privilege. The prosecutors were persistent, but Nixon after significant pressure only agreed to provide summaries of the tapes. The prosecutors would not accept this, eventually went to the Supreme Court, and Nixon was forced to release the tapes. When that happened, the so called Smoking Gun was revealed which led to the President's resignation.
There are those who claim that if President Nixon had come forward with the evidence right away and had apologized for his activity, he might have been spared the ignominy that is and will be at least a part of the history of his presidency.
Romney's tax return for 2011 might not force his plane to go down, but there are some questions there. I think he will be able to endure the criticism related to it.
The twenty year summary is another thing. Big mistake. He is going to be pressured to release the actual returns and not the summary. Already, in today's paper there is speculation about why the summary was released and not the actual returns. In one article it was conjectured that the summaries might be an attempt to camouflage returns in which the Republican candidate paid no tax.
If Mr. Romney does eventually release his returns, and if there are smoking guns therein, his plane is going to go down.
And the plane might have been able to stay aloft if right from the start he released his returns and explained why he did what he did.
Hot in the kitchen. Next week it may be the Obamas who need to adjust the thermostat.
**(To make sure I had the lyrics right for the song, For What It's Worth" I went to Wikipedia. There I read that the song was recorded in December, 1966. Only nine plus months later, in early September 1967, I bought, for the grand sum of about four dollars, two tickets to hear both Janis Ian and the Buffalo Springfield, at a concert in Albany. The campus center room where they played probably held no more than a hundred people and it was not packed. Janis Ian was well known. But the Buffalo Springfield, not so much at that time. Now of course the 1966 song is viewed, accurately, as a remarkable predictor of what would transpire on campuses in the last years of the 1960s and early 70s. I really can remember hearing Buffalo Springfield play "For What It's Worth" live on that night. Not sure I quite got it when I heard the song. I was not then much of a politico. My largesse "splurging" for the tickets was done largely to try to impress a date).
Friday, September 21, 2012
times winged chariot, again.
Last night, as is typical on Thursday evenings, I participated in my regular Thursday night doubles game. We started this quartet in 1995 or thereabouts and the same foursome played for fifteen years. Then one of the four had to pull out because of some recurring ailments and we have now a new fourth for the games. Last night one of the originals had to sit out with an injury, so we played with a substitute.
This need to find a substitute for one of us is occurring with greater frequency. I was the youngest of the original quartet when we started and I am old enough to have been born during the Truman administration.(Second term, please note). Given our vintage, it is predictable that regularly one of us each week might be prone to a physical setback.
I played fairly well last night, got to shots that were, as we say in the game, tough "gets" and made a number of shots at the net reflecting the quick hands which has always trumped other weaknesses in my game. It was doubles though and I did not have to run a whole lot.
But last night when I got home my legs hurt when I tried to stretch them out in the recliner, and then when I went to bed. The legs still hurt today. Nothing permanently wrong, of course, just soreness. Ninety minutes of doubles yesterday and today I am careful when I go up and down the stairs. Just a dozen years ago I played in tournaments which required playing four singles matches in less than forty eight hours. The last such tournament I won was in 2000. I played my first match on a Saturday early afternoon.It was a tough two sets. Then a challenging three setter Saturday early evening. I came back to win another difficult three set match on Sunday morning, and an hour later began and eventually won a three set final for the trophy--all before the sun went down that Sunday night. Four matches in a little more than a day. I felt no pain the next day. Today, after 90 minutes of easy social doubles last night, I don't feel like walking to my car which is less than a quarter of a mile from where I sit.
It's a good thing in a number of ways. I've referred to Andrew Marvel's famous poem "To His Coy Mistress" in another blog. A key line in it reads: "At my back I always hear, times winged chariot drawing near." Any notion that we are going to live forever can be trumped in a hurry when you sense that you are not especially resilient. When it is tough to move, you have to know that it's time to start moving.
My physical tribulations, however, have no effect on what is necessary to play for the Raccoon Lodge, my brother and my entry into the NFL football pool. Two years ago we won the whole season. There has, alas, been some deterioration on that front as well. There are forty teams in the league. The good news is that after the first two weeks of the season we are ranked 38th. The bad news is that we are tied with the teams that are in 39th and 40th place.
We are, nevertheless, looking forward to Sunday.
This need to find a substitute for one of us is occurring with greater frequency. I was the youngest of the original quartet when we started and I am old enough to have been born during the Truman administration.(Second term, please note). Given our vintage, it is predictable that regularly one of us each week might be prone to a physical setback.
I played fairly well last night, got to shots that were, as we say in the game, tough "gets" and made a number of shots at the net reflecting the quick hands which has always trumped other weaknesses in my game. It was doubles though and I did not have to run a whole lot.
But last night when I got home my legs hurt when I tried to stretch them out in the recliner, and then when I went to bed. The legs still hurt today. Nothing permanently wrong, of course, just soreness. Ninety minutes of doubles yesterday and today I am careful when I go up and down the stairs. Just a dozen years ago I played in tournaments which required playing four singles matches in less than forty eight hours. The last such tournament I won was in 2000. I played my first match on a Saturday early afternoon.It was a tough two sets. Then a challenging three setter Saturday early evening. I came back to win another difficult three set match on Sunday morning, and an hour later began and eventually won a three set final for the trophy--all before the sun went down that Sunday night. Four matches in a little more than a day. I felt no pain the next day. Today, after 90 minutes of easy social doubles last night, I don't feel like walking to my car which is less than a quarter of a mile from where I sit.
It's a good thing in a number of ways. I've referred to Andrew Marvel's famous poem "To His Coy Mistress" in another blog. A key line in it reads: "At my back I always hear, times winged chariot drawing near." Any notion that we are going to live forever can be trumped in a hurry when you sense that you are not especially resilient. When it is tough to move, you have to know that it's time to start moving.
My physical tribulations, however, have no effect on what is necessary to play for the Raccoon Lodge, my brother and my entry into the NFL football pool. Two years ago we won the whole season. There has, alas, been some deterioration on that front as well. There are forty teams in the league. The good news is that after the first two weeks of the season we are ranked 38th. The bad news is that we are tied with the teams that are in 39th and 40th place.
We are, nevertheless, looking forward to Sunday.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Vince Young
I read yesterday that Vince Young is broke.
If you watched the 2006 Rose Bowl game you would have trouble believing this. I watched the 2006 Rose Bowl game with my dad and we agreed that it was one of the better college football games ever played. Texas played USC and prevailed 41-38, with the quarterback for Texas, Young, and the quarterback for USC Matt Leinart, putting on a stunning show.
As good as Leinart was--and he was magnificent--Young was better. He could run, pass, and make intelligent decisions. At certain points in the game I wondered if anyone could tackle this guy and marveled at how, while running, he could pass the ball precisely to the only spot that would allow his receiver to catch the ball.
Young signed a professional contract with a guaranteed signing bonus exceeding by millions and millions what I will earn in my entire lifetime.
Now it is gone. Vince Young--still a relatively young man--is out of a job. He was cut by the Buffalo Bills where he was hoping to catch on as a back up to Harvard graduate Ryan Fitzpatrick.
How does someone with so much talent, lose it in such a quick period of time? How does someone with so much money lose it in such a short span?
When he played for the Tennessee Titans in his rookie year, Vince Young seemed to be everything that the scouts expected. Then a year or two down the road he got into a public disagreement with his head coach. After that he became the backup for the Philadelphia Eagles. Because of injuries to the starter, Young had an opportunity to play for the Eagles, a team that had an offense geared to Young's skills. Did not work. He goes to Buffalo this year and does not make it out of training camp.
Sadly, this is not such an uncommon story. Ryan Leaf another college quarterback heralded as the next great hero, seemed to self destruct in a matter of months not only in terms of talent, but because of off the field stupidity that was beyond what we normally define as very stupid.
There is a recurring lesson here for those who aspire to be sports heroes--and are successful in that endeavor. Don't let the cheers go to your head. In Circle, Harry Chapin croons,
I've sung my songs to silence
To empty clubs and crowded bars
I've sung my songs to standing room
Even sung 'em to the stars
But the faces they fade together
And the applause it's gone so fast
And the story of every darkened stage
Is that the glory just does not last
If you watched the 2006 Rose Bowl game you would have trouble believing this. I watched the 2006 Rose Bowl game with my dad and we agreed that it was one of the better college football games ever played. Texas played USC and prevailed 41-38, with the quarterback for Texas, Young, and the quarterback for USC Matt Leinart, putting on a stunning show.
As good as Leinart was--and he was magnificent--Young was better. He could run, pass, and make intelligent decisions. At certain points in the game I wondered if anyone could tackle this guy and marveled at how, while running, he could pass the ball precisely to the only spot that would allow his receiver to catch the ball.
Young signed a professional contract with a guaranteed signing bonus exceeding by millions and millions what I will earn in my entire lifetime.
Now it is gone. Vince Young--still a relatively young man--is out of a job. He was cut by the Buffalo Bills where he was hoping to catch on as a back up to Harvard graduate Ryan Fitzpatrick.
How does someone with so much talent, lose it in such a quick period of time? How does someone with so much money lose it in such a short span?
When he played for the Tennessee Titans in his rookie year, Vince Young seemed to be everything that the scouts expected. Then a year or two down the road he got into a public disagreement with his head coach. After that he became the backup for the Philadelphia Eagles. Because of injuries to the starter, Young had an opportunity to play for the Eagles, a team that had an offense geared to Young's skills. Did not work. He goes to Buffalo this year and does not make it out of training camp.
Sadly, this is not such an uncommon story. Ryan Leaf another college quarterback heralded as the next great hero, seemed to self destruct in a matter of months not only in terms of talent, but because of off the field stupidity that was beyond what we normally define as very stupid.
There is a recurring lesson here for those who aspire to be sports heroes--and are successful in that endeavor. Don't let the cheers go to your head. In Circle, Harry Chapin croons,
I've sung my songs to silence
To empty clubs and crowded bars
I've sung my songs to standing room
Even sung 'em to the stars
But the faces they fade together
And the applause it's gone so fast
And the story of every darkened stage
Is that the glory just does not last
It doesn't. The only thing that lasts is true love. That does not go away, but talent, adulation from the masses, money--all that can go away and if you are not ready, the crash from such a tumble can be devastating. Good luck to Vince Young as he tries to regroup.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Inconceivable
Bumpy flight this afternoon. I flew in ahead of a storm brewing in the northeast but the pregame show was making the plane dance. A young woman to my left was having conniptions which, alternatively, had the effect of ratcheting up and reducing any anxiety I might have felt--the reduction occurring because by comparison I was feeling swell. When the plane landed she immediately got on the portable phone and told her whoever that this was the worst flight EVER. She must not have flown much and I would not want to be flying with her as a neighbor on a regular basis. I remember once being on a small plane flying from Hilton Head to Atlanta. We got caught in a thunderstorm and boy did we ever do the mambo up in the air for a while. My young neighbor would have really been a treat on that flight.
To whatever extent bumps on a plane make you think about an out of control quick demise, you might or at least I have wondered who I have not said what to and wish I had. Then, of course, the plane lands and the concern becomes less to get the message out and more to catch the Blue Line in order to make the 4:50 commuter train. It can be easy to take life and time as a given when it is not in apparent jeopardy.
On the subject of demise and out of control circumstances that might cause it, my mother told me a family story this weekend that I had never heard before. I knew the background, but not a key component.
The background I knew is this. My maternal grandmother came to this country on a visit with her father in the early 20th century. My great grandfather had a successful business in Europe and my grandmother was, comparatively, privileged. When my grandmother returned to Europe she made up her mind that she would come to the United States when she was 18. My great grandfather did not want his daughter to travel alone to America, but my grandmother was persistent and came over. There she met my grandfather and married, eventually having five children. She was certainly no longer wealthy and matters abruptly became much worse when in June 1929 my grandfather perished in a work related accident. At that point the eldest of the clan was 11 and my mother was 4.
I knew all of this. But here is what I did not know. My grandmother wrote to her father in Europe and asked for some help. Her father may well have provided some financial support--my mother is not sure. However, as an alternative, what my great grandfather suggested was that my grandmother move back to Europe with her children and live with her parents.
This must have been a tempting offer. My grandmother has no money in what must be still a relatively unfamiliar country. Her husband is dead. Still, my grandmother did not accept her father's offer. She told him that she wanted her children to enjoy living in America. To move the brood back to Europe would deprive her children of that life. What she did not know is that to have moved the family back to Europe would have deprived her children of any life.
After the mid 1930s my grandmother never heard from her parents or her brothers and sister again. She did not hear from them because they were rounded up and murdered by the Nazis. My grandmother had a picture of her family on a bureau that you could see as soon as you went into her apartment. I have a vague recollection of asking when I was a little kid, where they were. Can't remember how the adults responded then, but now I know what happened to the people in that picture. It is, despite how much I might read about that time, still inconceivable
In another sense of the word, if my grandmother had gone to Europe this life of mine would have been, literally, inconceivable. My mother would likely have been killed sometime in the late 30s or 40s.
Makes you kind of enjoy a bumpy plane flight.
To whatever extent bumps on a plane make you think about an out of control quick demise, you might or at least I have wondered who I have not said what to and wish I had. Then, of course, the plane lands and the concern becomes less to get the message out and more to catch the Blue Line in order to make the 4:50 commuter train. It can be easy to take life and time as a given when it is not in apparent jeopardy.
On the subject of demise and out of control circumstances that might cause it, my mother told me a family story this weekend that I had never heard before. I knew the background, but not a key component.
The background I knew is this. My maternal grandmother came to this country on a visit with her father in the early 20th century. My great grandfather had a successful business in Europe and my grandmother was, comparatively, privileged. When my grandmother returned to Europe she made up her mind that she would come to the United States when she was 18. My great grandfather did not want his daughter to travel alone to America, but my grandmother was persistent and came over. There she met my grandfather and married, eventually having five children. She was certainly no longer wealthy and matters abruptly became much worse when in June 1929 my grandfather perished in a work related accident. At that point the eldest of the clan was 11 and my mother was 4.
I knew all of this. But here is what I did not know. My grandmother wrote to her father in Europe and asked for some help. Her father may well have provided some financial support--my mother is not sure. However, as an alternative, what my great grandfather suggested was that my grandmother move back to Europe with her children and live with her parents.
This must have been a tempting offer. My grandmother has no money in what must be still a relatively unfamiliar country. Her husband is dead. Still, my grandmother did not accept her father's offer. She told him that she wanted her children to enjoy living in America. To move the brood back to Europe would deprive her children of that life. What she did not know is that to have moved the family back to Europe would have deprived her children of any life.
After the mid 1930s my grandmother never heard from her parents or her brothers and sister again. She did not hear from them because they were rounded up and murdered by the Nazis. My grandmother had a picture of her family on a bureau that you could see as soon as you went into her apartment. I have a vague recollection of asking when I was a little kid, where they were. Can't remember how the adults responded then, but now I know what happened to the people in that picture. It is, despite how much I might read about that time, still inconceivable
In another sense of the word, if my grandmother had gone to Europe this life of mine would have been, literally, inconceivable. My mother would likely have been killed sometime in the late 30s or 40s.
Makes you kind of enjoy a bumpy plane flight.
Friday, September 14, 2012
begin again, finnegan
There once was a man named Michael Finnegan. He had whiskers on his chinagin. Along came the wind and blew them in again. Poor old Michael Finnegan. Begin Again.
This children's song kept me occupied as a youngster and occasionally pops into my head as an adult. I can recall a drive back to Boston from Albany once when I heard myself singing the song over and over for about ten miles. Fortunately, I was by myself and therefore was not committed. I think I also recall the song because in one of my favorite Philip Roth novels, When She Was Good, the lead character sings it to herself when she is in one of her rare good moods.
For those in my tribe, this weekend begins the new year. Unlike the December 31/January 1 celebration, this new year is not brought in with wild soirees, but rather is intended to be set aside as a reflective moratorium. It is time to begin again and take stock of who you are as a person and how you have behaved as a citizen of our universe with others.
Not sure that all in my tribe use the time as intended, and for me I certainly find myself over the two days considering more mundane matters as opposed to being introspective. But that is what the time is for. Check yourself out. How are you doing in terms of living within the confines of your conscience. And how can you improve.
I love how football coaches after even a resounding victory meet the press and talk about how there is always room for improvement. I don't know how resoundingly winning my behavior has or has not been, but like the football coaches I know that when I review the game film of the previous year I can see things that make me flinch. So this time is supposed to be set aside to resolve how to avoid flinching so much when we review our next lap around the track.
I was impressed this morning reading excerpts from a speech that Secretary of State Clinton made about religious strength. In these hours after the attacks at US embassies she remarked that truly religious people, regardless of their faith, do not resort to violence when their beliefs are attacked. All religions are attacked by fools at one time or another. "The response to insults is what separates people of true faith from those who would use religion as an excuse to commit violent acts."
And I think the response to all of life's turbulence is similarly what separates people. In When She Was Good the lead character eventually dies despite the short lived singing of the children's song. She could not find a way to begin-again. She had gotten lost in some bad weather and died from the elements. The cause of death was listed as Exposure.
That is the cause of everyone's death. Yet exposure is also our gift. We are exposed to life with all its turbulence and how we react to the elements is what causes us to be joyful or sad.
And so, for all people who take time out to reflect on what is what--whether as part of a religious holiday or during the chorus/course of any rhythmic musings--the question is how can we each day, begin-again, and religiously adhere to principles that allow us to contribute to this wonderful opportunity we call life.
This children's song kept me occupied as a youngster and occasionally pops into my head as an adult. I can recall a drive back to Boston from Albany once when I heard myself singing the song over and over for about ten miles. Fortunately, I was by myself and therefore was not committed. I think I also recall the song because in one of my favorite Philip Roth novels, When She Was Good, the lead character sings it to herself when she is in one of her rare good moods.
For those in my tribe, this weekend begins the new year. Unlike the December 31/January 1 celebration, this new year is not brought in with wild soirees, but rather is intended to be set aside as a reflective moratorium. It is time to begin again and take stock of who you are as a person and how you have behaved as a citizen of our universe with others.
Not sure that all in my tribe use the time as intended, and for me I certainly find myself over the two days considering more mundane matters as opposed to being introspective. But that is what the time is for. Check yourself out. How are you doing in terms of living within the confines of your conscience. And how can you improve.
I love how football coaches after even a resounding victory meet the press and talk about how there is always room for improvement. I don't know how resoundingly winning my behavior has or has not been, but like the football coaches I know that when I review the game film of the previous year I can see things that make me flinch. So this time is supposed to be set aside to resolve how to avoid flinching so much when we review our next lap around the track.
I was impressed this morning reading excerpts from a speech that Secretary of State Clinton made about religious strength. In these hours after the attacks at US embassies she remarked that truly religious people, regardless of their faith, do not resort to violence when their beliefs are attacked. All religions are attacked by fools at one time or another. "The response to insults is what separates people of true faith from those who would use religion as an excuse to commit violent acts."
And I think the response to all of life's turbulence is similarly what separates people. In When She Was Good the lead character eventually dies despite the short lived singing of the children's song. She could not find a way to begin-again. She had gotten lost in some bad weather and died from the elements. The cause of death was listed as Exposure.
That is the cause of everyone's death. Yet exposure is also our gift. We are exposed to life with all its turbulence and how we react to the elements is what causes us to be joyful or sad.
And so, for all people who take time out to reflect on what is what--whether as part of a religious holiday or during the chorus/course of any rhythmic musings--the question is how can we each day, begin-again, and religiously adhere to principles that allow us to contribute to this wonderful opportunity we call life.
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