Sure Thing! I'll Do a Special Post for 12/9

For my post I chose a short play that we read at the very beginning of the semester, Sure Thing by David Ives.

1) What is the play about? The two main characters in this play are Betty and Bill. They are both in their late twenties and happen to meet at a cafe. Bill comes over looking for a place to sit and asks Betty if he can sit at the table with her. Every time either of them says something that won't lead them down the path of "marital bliss" (if you wish to call it that). The bell rings when they talk about sitting down, a book, college, Bill's motive for sitting down, etc. etc. etc. It doesn't seem very promising but, at the end of the play and after many ringing bells, they end up headed down that path of "bliss" and promising to love each other forever.

2) Why does this need to be interpreted? Well, I think it may be difficult to understand why the author might want to write this play in the first place. I know that I had to read it more that once to get ideas. I think that, the more you read it, the more plausible explanations you come up with. I'm not saying that I have the answers, there are probably very few who do. The author, God, and maybe a couple more actually know why the author wrote this play. I am just here to give my personal interpretation of it.

3) What is my interpretation? Due to the number of times the characters cause the bell to go off, I think that the author might be laughing at the complexity of relationships. You say one thing wrong and ding! the bell goes off and they start over. And it isn't just what is said wrong, it is also about what someone may have done "wrong" in the past. I went to Oral Roberts University ding! I didn't go to college, I partied ding! I went to Harvard. Correct answer! And now we move on to the next topic in which something can go wrong. Some people might think that it would be nice to have a bell that goes off when you mess up, starting things over. They might say it could be useful. I think it would be horrible! ding! I think I can see why they would think that, but it could undo everything you are as a person. It could undo your relationship status. It might undo where you went to college. Those things make up YOU. I don't think ding! I would never want to trade who I am just because one person isn't impressed with me. While I read this play again, I realized that there could also a positive side to this story. It might help you see how lucky you are to have found that person in your life that accepts you for you. They wouldn't make a bell ding! to change you. If you haven't found that person, maybe you'll know what to hope for. But, for those who have, you have beaten the odds! You got through to the end of the play, that time of happiness with a hopeful future stretched out before you, without having to go back because of a ding! and redo it all again. Sure, sometimes maybe we wish we could but where is the fun in that?

4) What from the text supports this? Well, concerning the laughing-at-relationships bit, I think the whole play is proof. It is a comical play about relationships and all of the things that could go wrong. When it comes to the changing-a-person thing there is a lot of support. On the third page of the play, Bill changes college status twice times to please Betty. On the fourth page, Betty changes the place she lives from Pakistan to wherever this cafe is. Betty changes relationship statuses a few times, she was even married once and gay once. Bill changes his pick-up lines. And the lucky-in-love thing? I think the proof for that is how many times that bell went off before things worked out. We don't have that bell.

5) Why does my interpretation matter? Um, I think I pretty much covered that in number three but I'll see what I can do. As I said, I believe that it can help us appreciate our ability to go through life without the use of a bell to help us out. In fact, by not using the bell we learn from our mistakes anyway and we grow from that. If we had those bells, I don't think anybody would ever make any progress in life. We would always be busy trying to figure out, "Could I have said that better?" or "Could I have done that more efficiently?". Yes? ding! Let's try this again! It seems like it would be an obnoxious, unproductive, and never-ending process. So, what? You messed up. Big deal. We all do it. We need to just appreciate who we are and where we come from. It has made you who you are today. And somebody, now or sometime in the future, will appreciate you too. And you will appreciate them. Sometimes you would want to make the bell ding! for them, but you wouldn't actually do it. It is those times when you wish you had the bell but then think and say, "Nope!" when you get stronger. It could make a relationship stronger. Or maybe just make you stronger. Either way, I think we can get a lot out this play. It was definitely more than I had expected. But, I am sure there is even more that I didn't catch.

And So the Miraculous Becomes the Despised

Before I get into talking about the actual text, there is one thing I noticed about the story right away. It is a translation. I was kind of annoyed by this. Usually translations aren't as good or as meaningful as the original. Some meanings get lost in translation due to the lack of a proper substitute for a word. Other problems are differences in culture. Something in the story could be significant to the author's culture and have no meaning to use. Look at the Bible, for a perfect example. That is just something I needed to express. Now to the good stuff.

In her blog, Victoria says "When you think you’ve read the most intriguing, confusing, weird story ever written.. Professor Corrigan assigns another one." Well, I couldn't agree more. This story was just... odd. I am not even sure if I liked it. You can tell there is a lot of meaning to this story. I just can't figure out what it is. And it says "A Tale for Children". Are you kidding me? This might scare a kid. Maybe the author is talking about someone with the mind of a child, one that is open and accepting.

In this world, it seems like they are used to seeing the "miraculous". People flock to it, stand in awe of it, question it, mock it, and then move on to the next big thing. This angel (an angel!) is found on a beach after a storm and they put it in a chicken coop, just like an animal. They charge admission for people to come and see him. There were two reactions to the angel (other than that of the family who found him) that I found very interesting. The old woman's was the first. She knew immediately what he was and what he was probably there for. She thought he was there to take the sick child. If I understand correctly, she was also the one who said to club him to death. How tempting would that have been for the family, knowing that the angel was there to take the child? The second reaction was that of the priest. He didn't think the old man could possibly be an angel. The old man was dirty, had garbage in his wings, was decrepit, and the language he spoke was not the language that the religious of this world had deemed as the heavenly language. I also couldn't believe that the family who found him despised him! The woman was so happy that the "annoyance in her life" was gone!

What is this story supposed to communicate? Is the author somehow talking about our own world? Many people hear of the miraculous and flock to it, stand in awe of it, question it, mock it, and then move on to the next big thing. Sound familiar? But do we despise it as the family who found the angel did? Or is that just the next step in the direction some people are headed?

I Hope I Would Walk Away from Omelas: Post for 12/2

I'm going to try something a little different for this post responding to Le Guin's The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas. It's a first-person narrative of a girl in Omelas who is exposed to the child in the closet. I don't really know if it works, but here it goes!


I am eleven. I live in Omelas. Things are nice here. I am happy. I do good in school. I like art. Mom says I am really good. I like living here. Everyone is so carefree. Everyone smiles so easily. I can't be sad while I am in Omelas.

Mom is calling me right now. She says she has something to tell me. She says she thinks I am old enough to understand. I wonder what it is. I go to find out.

I found out. Mom thought I would understand but I don't. She talks about a child in a closet. One who is only a little younger than me. One who suffers. One who has to suffer so we can be happy. I thought everyone was happy in Omelas. But not the child. The child sees no sun when I see it every day. It is starving when I am full. It is not clothed when I have clothes in my closet I never wear. Mom and Dad are taking me to see it. I don't want to go. They make me.

Horrible. I feel... compassion. I feel... pain. I feel. Guilt. The forbidden emotion. I hide it.

I am home. I cry for the child.

Why?

It has been five years since I have seen the child. Terrible. I still feel guilt. I think of the child every day. I will visit the child today.

I went. Guilt.

Today in class I got up and left. I could take it no more. I left my books. My sketchbook. I left everything. I don't go home. I walk through the city gates.

I keep walking. Will I stop? Will I turn around? Will I return to Omelas? Or do I keep going? I think of the child. I do not stop.

The Famous Figurative Language Disappearing Act: Post for 11/30

While reading a piece of literature, be it from the Bible or not, we never really look for figurative language. We get so used to it being there and interpreting it instantly that it almost disappears. The only times we ever really notice it are when they take time to process or you don't get the connection right away. At least, that is how it works for me. When I went to read Paul's letter to the Philippians it was difficult for me to find figurative language. I had to slow down a lot and try to process the material differently. Even reading at a snail's pace, I didn't find a lot of figurative language. I'm not even sure what figurative language we are supposed to be looking for. Or even if some things I found are figurative language. For example, "... having been filled with the fruit of righteousness". Is that figurative language? I know that righteousness is not literally a piece of fruit. So is it figurative language? What kind?

Other than some of those types of statements, I really didn't find a lot of figurative language. I found a few uses of simile, but that was just about it. I found as simile that stated, "...among whom you appear as lights in the world..." referring to the saved in a world full of sinners. Paul also says, "...even if I am being poured out as a drinking offering upon the sacrifice and service of your faith...". When Paul was speaking of Timothy he said, "But you know of his proven worth, that he served with me in the furtherance of the gospel like a child serving his father" to show how Paul was Timothy's mentor and spiritual father. I'm sure there were more examples of figurative language, but I either missed them or didn't know what they were.

I think understanding figurative language is a necessary part of reading literature, especially the Bible. The Bible has many examples of figurative language, all of which helps us get a better understanding of teachings, God, and other things. Figurative language might provide a concrete explanation for an abstract concept or relate a lesson to something that we would understand. If we looked at the Bible, and many other literary works, without a basic knowledge of figurative language I think we would just be confused.

Items of Importance: Make-Up Post for Alliance for Independence

This is my make-up assignment for not being able to make it to the Alliance for Independence. All I can say is that I spent much more time on these than anybody spent on the field trip. I guess that's what I get for not making it there? I chose to paint three pictures, each representing a character in the play The Boys Next Door. I didn't actually paint them, I decided to paint items in their lives that were significant. For Arnold I painted popcorn because he works at the theater, a polished shoe because a man at his work makes him polish his shoes, and a map of Russia because he continually threatens to go to Russia. For Norman I drew a doughnut because he is eating them all of the time, keys because he is obsessed with his keys, and Sheila's phone number because they are "dating" (even though I don't think she actually gave him her phone number in the play). Last, for Lucien I drew books because he was always checking them out, a library card because he was so proud of his, and a spiderman tie hanging out of the book because he wore one to see the "State Sneck". Well, here you go.

Everyone is a Temple: Post for 11/18

I really enjoyed Flannery O'Conner's short story A Temple of the Holy Ghost. I know that we are supposed to talk about symbolism for this post but I'm not sure what to talk about. I'm not the type of person that can spout off symbolic facts like, "This is what the girls being at a convent means!" or "The author wanted to convey this by giving the child braces! Ah-ha!" I can't do that. Is there even anything I could get from that? I haven't figured out yet if I over-think things or I don't think about them enough. Could it be different for each situation? Maybe.

This story began to remind me of the imago dei discussion in Dr. Fettke's essay. At least at the end when the girls (who should not have seen this in the first place, they're only fourteen) saw the intersex person at the fair. At the beginning of this short story they were taking the "I'm a Temple of the Holy Ghost!" statement from the nun very lightly, to the point where they were mocking it. Everyone started to say, "You're a Temple!" to others and so on. Did they think the same thing when they saw the intersex person? Probably not. They were so disgusted by it that it never even would have crossed their mind. At the end of the story priests went to the fair, inspected it, and had the police shut it down. Do they believe that person is a Temple of the Holy Ghost? They are from the same religion that the nun was from that told the girls about everyone being Temples, right? So then, why did they have the place shut down? In no way am I condoning an intersex person displaying the good china for everyone who walks into that tent. But, were the priests offended by the person showing themselves? Or were they offended that the person claimed that God had made them that way and they were okay with it? Maybe the priests thought, "Surely this person can't be a Temple of the Holy Ghost"? But isn't everyone supposed to be a Temple? I hope this kind of discussion is what we were supposed to do for this post.

The Man Who Didn't Actually Want to Be at Dinner: Post for 11/16

I went to see The Man Who Came to Dinner today, Sunday, at the Polk Theatre. I brought a friend from my hometown with me and we both enjoyed ourselves. At first the play didn't seem like the comedy it had been advertised as, but then Sherry Whiteside came in with his witty and intelligent comments. I kept the program from the show and I noticed a quote on the front cover, "Is there a man in the world who suffers as I do from the gross inadequacies of the human race?" I think this quote is a great representation of the Sherry character. He sees different inadequacies in everyone else. Maggie is inadequate because she fell in love. Miss Preen, the nurse, is inadequate because she does not get to him quick enough when he calls. Dr. Bradley is inadequate because he thinks he is a wonderful writer but isn't. What Sherry fails to see is that the inadequacies the he is truly suffering from are his own, the foremost being his selfishness. The statement on the cover does ring true, just in a different way than Sherry meant it. He reminded me a little of Orson Welles, director of Citizen Kane and the man who radio broadcast War of the Worlds. He was a very well-known radio-show host, just as Sherry was. He was also known for indulging in selfish pleasures at the expense of those around him.

There were also a few other characters that I enjoyed more than others, as well. Miss Preen, the nurse, had a small but comical part. She didn't have many lines but her facial expression and body language made her scenes enjoyable. Another character that made me laugh was Beverly, Sherry's Hollywood friend. The actor who played Beverly was very talented and portrayed the character in a way that had the entire audience laughing. There was another character, Banjo, that Sherry had kept referring to. Throughout the first two acts, I had been hoping that Banjo would make an appearance. I almost gave up, but in the third act he showed up. He had a very different comic style than the rest of the characters. He did more slap-stick comedy, which I am a big fan of. I liked his character. All-in-all my experience with the play was positive, entertaining, and enjoyable.

A Conversation: Post for 11/11

While I was reading The Spirit of God Hovered Over the Waters, the essay by Steven Fettke, I kept imagining a disabled person talking to God when they got to heaven. How do some disabled people get saved? Do they understand what that even means or who God is? I don't know. The essay talked about a lot of things I have thought about often. It was well written and very insightful. But anyway, in this conversation God and this severely autistic boy are sitting under a tree together. They are sitting close, the boy is right next to God and God has his arm around the boy's shoulders. Because he is in heaven, the boy no longer has autism. Let's say his name was Jamie, he was probably about seven or eight. He had been unable to speak, but had a talent in art. My answers God gives are just guesses. I could never know what He thinks, but contemplating what His responses might have been took this essay and this subject to a new level. And this is only a minuscule portion of what this eternal conversation could be like.

Jamie: You're God, aren't You?
God: Yes, Jamie, I am.
Jamie: You know my name? That's cool. But, why?
God: I love you, that's why. I love you for all that you are and all that you were.
Jamie: Really? You do? But, why? Not many people did. My family did, but that was just about it. Others were nice to me. But, most people didn't like to look at me. Why did they do that?
God: I love you because I made you. People acted like that because you were different from them in a more obvious way. No two people are the same, Jamie, but some differences are easier to see.
Jamie: Oh, okay. But, if you knew people would do that then why did you make me the way I was?
God: Do you know how people had to help you with things?
Jamie: Uh-huh.
God: Well, you were helping others with something else.
Jamie: What is that, God?
God: You helped them open their minds. They learned to accept and love someone different from them.
Jamie: Did some of them really? I did that? Well, I didn't notice much.
God: You did, I promise.
Jamie: You know something, God? I heard people talk about You before. Sometimes they made sense. Sometimes they didn't. The ones that didn't talked about weird things. About demons. Some of them said I had it. Is it like a birthmark? Or a present?
God: No Jamie, it isn't. They aren't nice. They work for the devil. Sometimes they talk to people and get them to do bad things. Sometimes they live inside people.
Jamie: Well, they don't sound good. Did I have one?
God: No, you didn't.
Jamie: Then why did they think I had one?
God: Because you were different. People are sometimes scared of what is different.
Jamie: Well, that doesn't seem right.
God: No it isn't, but that is what happens when people have freedom to do what they wish.
Jamie: Well then, why did You let them be free? You know, if they were gonna do stuff like that?
God: I didn't want them to love me because I made them. I wanted them to love me and follow me because they wanted to. So I let them have free will.
Jamie: Oh, I get it. Well, God, I love You. I don't see why anyone wouldn't. 
God: Thank you Jamie. You don't know how much that means to me. I love you, too.
Jamie: Thank you, God.
God: For what?
Jamie: For making me the way I was. You told me I helped people. I like that. It makes it worth it. You know what else I liked? Being able to draw and paint real good. People liked my pictures.
God: I gave you that gift for a reason. I loved watching you draw and paint. It is a wonderful way to express yourself.
Jamie: Thanks. You know, God, when I got sick I was real worried. So was everyone else. But, I am happy here. I like being with You. I just wish Mommy could know I was doing real good. She was so sad.
God: She may be sad, but she knows you like it here. I am comforting her and making sure she knows.
Jamie: Thanks, God. I'm so glad.

No Alliance for Independence for Me: Post for 11/9

Unfortunately I was unable to attend the field-trip to Alliance for Independence like the majority of my classmates were. I think it would have been a worthwhile and educational experience to go. It may have given me a new perspective on The Boys Next Door. Or maybe not, I do have friends and family with disabilities. But, then again, each person is unique and would be a different experience. Anyway, I still couldn't go and what's done is done.

Do you know something that did help me "see" this play better? When we went into our groups in class and performed small sections of the play. It really helped in exploring the personalities of each of the characters. You begin to see patterns in their speech and their reactions to the different people and situations. I have only been and actor onstage twice. Once, in third grade, I played a reindeer in the Christmas play. In fifth grade, I played a one of three (or four?) birds that were singing storytellers throughout the entire musical production of Little Red Riding Hood. Not a lot of acting experience. Through this exercise, I started to understand why thespians love theater so much. You really get to know your characters. You analyze and dissect the story so many different ways that you can't help but begin to understand it. I think it was one of my favorite in-class exercises that we have done.

Last thing, and I will stop boring you with my chatter. I finished The Boys Next Door today. The first act was focused more on comedy, I think. The last act certainly had comedy in it, but there were so many things that broke you heart when you read them. I couldn't believe how badly Barry's father had treated him. I can understand why he is the way he is, now. His fear of his father is so extreme that he was put back into an institution because of their encounter. And Jack left! Everyone mourned in their own strange way. Arnold screams, "Nyet!" and packs to go to Russia. Norman yells, "If you leave, Jack, I'll go on a hunger strike. Free doughnuts!" and throws them out the window. Lucien runs into his room and shouts out, "Jack be leaving us!" It was all so heart-wrenchingly sad.

The Pro Golfer and the Five-Year-Old: Post for 11/4

I enjoy plays. I like dialogue between the characters. There are a few hints to where something is happening, what it looks like, and what the characters look like. Other than that, while reading a play, it is all left up to the imagination. When you go to see a play that you have read, sometimes you end up a little disappointed in what you see, though. Oh, well.

Anyway, I started reading The Boys Next Door by Tom Griffin. I thought it was entertaining and, at times, very comical. Four of the main characters all live together in the same apartment. Oh, and they are mentally handicapped. Sometimes I would forget they were, even though it is their disabilities that are the fuel for the entire story. You get caught up in the jokes and their strange behavior and sometimes it slips your mind that the reason it all happens is because of their handicap. Strangely enough, the one that seems the most together (so far) is Barry, the schizophrenic. He thinks he is a prof golf player. No harm done right? I guess that's not the case, because their social worker, Jack, says that Barry is a "grade A schizophrenic" and shouldn't even be in the home with them because he has been in so many institutions. Arnold is a talker and a worrier. Norman likes his sweets and his keys. Lucien has the mind of a five-year-old and the government apparently thinks he can be "fully integrated into the community" and so the Senate is interviewing him. I wouldn't think so. Would you force a five-year-old to be on their own? No! Then why force a man who is mentally five and goes around the apartment singing the ABCs?

You know, I don't really like summarizing all of this stuff. It is kind of boring and a bit of a cheat blog. But, I really don't know what to talk about. I'm not sure what Professor Corrigan wanted us to get out of this play. Or at least out of the first act. Are we supposed to feel bad for those with disabilities? I, too, think it is terrible how some people pick on them, like Arnold in the supermarket. And I have a cousin with a disability they can't quite diagnose, but resembles autism. I see her sometimes, she is almost 12 years old physically. I see speaking incoherent sentences and it makes me sad. She doesn't even notice she doesn't make sense to most people. But she seems happy. Does that count? But, that couldn't have been the whole point of reading. Why this play? This topic? Never mind that it is presented comically. You can't ignore what the play is really focused on.

A Beautiful Contradiction: Post for 11/2

A Beautiful Contradiction

By Kristen Looper

A nature path

Beautiful and relaxing

Unknown creature in rustling bushes

Groups of dragonflies perform their dances

Birds make soprano sounds

Accompanied by the bass voices of toads

Breezes tousle branches

And make cattails sway

Shadows are formed

By trees

By birds overhead

Living secrets below
A lake of broken glass

Reflecting a blue sky

White clouds

Bright yellow sun

A nature path

Can a true one exist?

The flip-flop of shoes

On the concrete path

Airplanes above

The hum of city life

Houses interrupting forests

Trains and cars leave trails behind

And sing a broken tune

All so out of place

A contradiction to nature

I went to Lake Bonny Park for this field trip, and I stayed there for at least 45 minutes. I’m no poet. I know that. I have been worried about this assignment since Professor Corrigan announced it in class, partly because I didn’t really have time to go to Lake Bonny Park and mostly because I am no poet. I don’t know how a poet makes their words flow in that way. They make it seem so easy. My brain just doesn’t work that way. From Mary Oliver’s Walking Home from Oak-Head comes the stanza, “I’ll stand in the doorway stamping my boots and slapping my hands, my shoulders covered with stars”. I can’t even pretend to have the kind of talent that can turn “I came inside and shook off the snow” into beautiful words like that. I guess that is why I can appreciate poetry, even though I sometimes don’t like it. I can’t do it.

Now, about my experience at the park. I didn’t go in the morning or the evening when it was cool. I went in the afternoon, the only time I could go, when it was hot. I went alone, but that was kind of stupid. I walked that whole nature path. It was pretty sometimes, when there were no buildings or drainage ditches or signs saying “Nature Path 1.3 Miles”. That wasn’t much of the time. It helped to look the other way. I guess you could say that this was the way I came up with my poem. It wasn’t really a nature path. It was a path that happened to have nature on it. As I walked I read the poems by Mary Oliver, focusing mostly on Six Recognitions of the Lord and Musical Notation: 1. I like how she takes note about the small and simple things. In Six Recognitions she says, “I lounge on the grass, that’s all. So simple.” Often we forget to appreciate those kinds of things. I live in the middle of a cow pasture, grass all around, and I forget. In Musical Notation she mentions her old dog who appreciated flowers. If a dog can appreciate them, I would imagine we can, too. The difference between us and the dog is that we are so preoccupied with other things. The dog has no cares and no schedule. I had been worried about fitting this trip into my schedule when I should have just realized that I needed to appreciate the small things. The sun on my face, the wind in my hair, and the light dancing off the surface of the lake are all so beautiful, yet so easy to overlook.

Bible Poetry Gone "Wild": Post for 10/28

I feel really stupid for not realizing that the Bible had poetry in it. A large portion of the Bible is poetry. Look at the Psalms for crying out loud!! Stupid, stupid, stupid. Wow. Sorry, but it is taking me some time to get past my stupidity. Now that I have realized that the Bible has poetry, I understand why I have problems... understanding it. Do people that know how to interpret poetry have a better understanding of some things the Bible talks about? I wish I had that gift.

Okay, now that I have stopped all of that I am going to talk about something meaningful. In class we read some scriptures that were about nature (in poetry form of course). I liked them all. They definitely helped me to appreciate the meaning of poetry more. All had very useful and deep words in them, but there were two that had parts that stuck out to me more. The first was Psalm 19:1 "The heavens are telling of the glory of God; and their expanse is declaring the work of his hands". At first, you might glance over this thinking, "Yep, the universe is big and the stars are shiny. Let's move on." but there is so much more to it than that. We've seen galaxies billions of light-years away and scientists can't seem to find an end to the universe. Each of the trillions of galaxies is so intricate and complex with thousands upon thousands of stars. God knows where every single one is and what is happening around it, on it, and in it. That is AMAZING. The universe shows us only part of what He can do and just a glimpse of His glory. We can't even wrap our minds around that part!

The other passage was Psalm 98: 1,7,8 "O sing to the LORD a new song,... Let the sea roar and all it contains, The world and those who dwell in it. Let the rivers clap their hands, let the mountains sing together for joy". Once again, you could easily glance over this passage and not think about its significance. Even the mountains, the rivers, and the seas praise God through sound and show His glory through their beauty. The next time I sit next to a river or go to the ocean and listen I won't just think the sounds are relaxing. Now I will think about how, in the only way they can, they are praising God. The Bible says that, if we stop praising God, the rocks will cry out. That hasn't happened and the rocks certainly aren't crying out, but nature is definitely praising God. Call it the "instrumental" version, I guess.

The Girl with the Red Backpack and Mice that Glow: Post for 10/26

My brain hurts. This is why I don't like poetry. There are so many references and many of them hidden. If you don't catch one, chances are you don't understand the entire poem the way the author intended. Don't get me wrong, this poem was very interesting. I just don't think I understood it, even after rereading it. There was just so much to think about. But I did understand some.

I liked how the author talked about the little girl with the red backpack. She had a book in her pack "with a title like Getting to Know Your Planet". This little girl is so impressionable. It is my guess that she will probably believe everything that is in that book like God Himself told her it was true. Kind of like a little kid believes certain things are true because "mommy said so" or "teacher told me". That little girl will absorb everything that book has to offer. If the author had a biased opinion she will probably be influenced by the author's words. Everything about pollution, evolution, and so many other topics being debated are now known by that little girl. And she won't be the only child, equally impressionable, with that book or one like it. This is starting to sound a little like a conspiracy theory. The government has an opinion and they feed it to easily influenced children. I doubt this is what the author had in mind when he wrote the poem. It wasn't even what I had in mind when I started my blog.

Some things I didn't get were some of the references that I actually caught. I even looked up the ones I could and still didn't really get it. Why did the author talk about glowing mice? I don't know what that had to do with the poem other than the fact that it is a new development in science. Why does the author keep talking to Lucretius? I know he was a Roman poet and philosopher who wrote De Rerum Natura (On the Nature of Things), which talks about the earth and different phenomena. Information I found also says that it was written to "Memmius" and that Lucretius references Memmius many times. Maybe Robert Hass was trying to mimic this. I don't know. The list of things I don't know just keeps growing.

Lectio, Lectio, and More Lectio

I had never heard of lectio divina before I came to Southeastern. I learned about it and participated in it during the first semester I was here. In every semester since then I have had a class that has used lectio as an assignment or lecture. All of those were religion classes, so when we used a literary text today for lectio I was a bit confused. Don't get me wrong, it was an interesting experience. But, something was a little off for me and I couldn't fully grasp how each step of lectio related to reading the text. I understand that the exercise was meant to push us to go deeper into the text. What I don't understand is how meditatio works. What if there is nothing in that text that you feel led to pray about? I think it is a little odd praying about non-Christian text that has very little to do with God. I am not being close-minded about using lectio this way; I am just trying to understand the point of it all. The only prayer I could think would be "God please let me get closer to you rather than pursuing this part of the world" or "thank you God for keeping me away from that" or "let me learn from this story". I know that God is in everything but in this exercise He was harder to find for me.

After all of my lectio issues in class, I won't lie, I was a bit... I don't want to say disappointed, because that isn't the word, about the reading assignment today. The thing I can think of to describe my reaction was that I was less than enthusiastic. The author of the passage, "Reading for Transformation through the Poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins", used lectio to better understand the poetry of Hopkins who, to my understanding, was a Christian writer. The author says, "When we pray with poetry, whether the biblical poetry of the psalms or non-biblical poetry open to Christian appropriation, we open ourselves up to the possibility of spiritual experience". I'm not saying that this is wrong or anything of that nature. I am just trying to understand how to get a significant spiritual experience out of literary texts like this. I'm open to learning about it. God knows that I have a lot to learn which, I am pretty sure, is why He sends things like this in my direction.

The Blues Fuels the Blues: Post for 10/19

This story, Sonny's Blues, was a tough story to get through. Not because it was boring or difficult to understand, but because there was so much going on and most of it was very sad. The title of a story can tell you a lot of things about what is going to happen. When I first read the title, I won't lie, I thought Sonny was going to be a girl. A sad girl, but still a girl. I quickly figured out that Sonny was, indeed, male. I did get something right, though. Sonny had hard times in his life, some of it brought on by himself and other things that he couldn't control.

Another thing I didn't realize was that "blues" had two meanings. It did not just represent sadness, it also represented the type of music called blues. Sonny had started out wanting to play jazz, but ended up playing the blues at the end of the story. Jazz is much more carefree and peppy than blues. I believe that, because Sonny had gone through so much in his life, he could relate to blues more. A quote I liked from the story was, "Sonny's fingers filled the air with life, his life." (p.409). When Sonny began to pour himself into his music, that was really when the music thrived. He needed to put his passions and pains into notes and chords. I have noticed that this is true for more than just music. When someone puts their heart, their life, into something people respond better. People can feel the emotions within the song, book, etc. that they have experienced, too. They can relate to the work in a way they couldn't have if someone's passion had not been poured into it.

I know that this has nothing to do with the whole title discussion in the other paragraphs (except that it involves blues) but I really loved the way the author described music. The author made the music sound like a dialogue between the musicians. It was almost like the instruments were speaking with words. The author showed this by using phrases like "the drum talked back" and "the horn insisted". The music became much more than just sound among the musicians and even to some of the audience members. I love this description of music because it is a great way to show what music is all about. I love all types of music, but the best music is the kind that says something to you, you can relate emotionally to, and you connect with. That is why some music is so addicting. There is no certain genre that does this the best. For every person it is different. For Sonny, it was the blues.

A Bit Late for Tea: Post for 10/14

I know, I know, we read My Tea with Madame Descartes a while ago, but I never wrote about it. This week we have a blog due and no reading so Professor Corrigan told my group that we needed to write about something we had already read but didn't post on. It is actually a little funny because, when I read the poem again, I noticed that the man interviewing Madame Descartes was late for his meeting with her just like I am a bit late in writing about it. I also found it ironic that the title of the story is My Tea with Madame Descartes when they aren't actually drinking tea. I know she isn't and I don't think the author mentioned what the reporter was drinking. She is drinking aperitifs which are a type of wine served as an appetizer or a cocktail. I'm going off on a tangent here, I need to focus on something a bit more important.

In class, we discussed questions that we had concerning the poem. There were quite a few and I am not surprised. Poetry confuses a lot of people, including myself. My mind just doesn't work that way. I had quite a few questions about this poem. I still do. I have to accept that I won't understand it all. I won't know why she took a picture of him at the end of the interview. I don't know why he was interviewing her now of all times. Had there been a scandal she was involved in? Were there rumors about her that he wanted to clear up? I don't believe that he ever even asked her a question, she just started to talk. Actually, I don't think he said anything at all throughout the entire poem. It is all very strange.

Reading this story again helped me think more about the Madame Descartes character. I started to see past the fame, scandal, and her self-centered nature. I realized that I know someone like her. She toys with men, likes to start trouble, and talks a lot about herself. Something else about this person is that, with her close friends, all of that fades away and she struggles a lot. She only craves attention because she isn't confident enough about herself. The more people that like her and surround her the better she feels about herself. When all of those people are gone and there is nobody to impress she loses her joy. I wonder if Madame Descartes is like that. I wonder if, behind all of the beauty and fame, she is insecure. I know it would be hard to believe but if you look at the person that I know you might not believe it either. The things people think about or say when their walls are down just might surprise you.

A Cage for Words: Special Post for 10/7

I have always been told to keep my mouth shut. Expressing the opinions that longed to be shared was forbidden. Significant words must always be captured and never released from the prison that became my mouth. Never sound too intelligent. Why all of these rules? I yearn to truly speak. Enough of this mindless chatter that is expected of me! These thoughts are ever-present in my busy mind, but I have not yet acted upon them. Is it fear? I look at the face in the mirror in front of me. The reflection is pleasant but I am not happy with the person I see there.

Being a woman of two and twenty in this year of 1850 is a job I wish to resign from. Is there an end? I hear talk of women fighting for our rights but I am not brave enough to join them. I am not even brave enough to make a stand for myself.

My mother calls me downstairs. She is always telling me to be more social, like my sister. I see no point in socializing if my words are not true to myself.

“Violet, please,” Mother pleads, “be pleasant tonight at the dinner. Your sister has worked so hard to invite the right people. She is trying to make a good impression as a new housewife and doesn’t need you to spoil it all.”

“I will try my best, Mother,” I reply half-heartedly.

“She is also trying to play matchmaker for you. She just wants you to be as happy as she is, you know. You are two years older and still have not found a husband. Soon people will call you a spinster with no hope of ever marrying. You don’t want that, now do you? Then nobody will want you,” following this statement she then repeated, “Violet, please be pleasant.”

I nodded and then ventured upstairs to ready myself. The maid styled my long, dark brown hair in a more intricate fashion than usual. My dark hair was a striking contrast to my milky complexion and cornflower blue eyes. The navy dress with cream-colored trim I wore fit my small frame well. I glanced in the mirror once more before my departure. I looked the part of a well-polished and well-behaved young woman. Could I pull it off? Did I want to? I saw the longing in those eyes, the longing to be myself. Maybe tonight would be the night I spoke my mind. Maybe tonight I would be unafraid of the negative opinions that would surely be formed against me. Maybe tonight I would long no more. Maybe tonight I will finally look in the mirror and be pleased with what I saw. With these final thoughts I tore my eyes away from the mirror, walked down the stairs, and sat in the carriage meant to take me to my sister’s dinner.

The moment I arrived I was greeted enthusiastically by my sister, Lily. Just as all recently married women do, she glowed with joy.

“Violet,” Lily began, “I have so much planned for you this evening! Come, come, I must introduce you to them all before dinner begins! If we do not begin immediately we will never finish in time!”

Over the next twenty minutes I met at least ten single, successful men my sister had approved of for me. There was Mr. Jones the banker. There was Mr. Thomas the lawyer.  There were two or three who inherited family money so they have no need to work. Most of them passed in a blur. Most only wished to talk about the weather and their work. Only one piqued my interest, a Mr. Cahill the doctor. He was the last I was introduced to. Lily introduced us and walked away to check on dinner. I almost wished she had stayed. If she had stayed she would have scorned me for what I said to him and that would have been the end of it. Instead, he surprised me. After she first left, he opened his mouth to speak to me. I silenced him and interrupted him and then I spoke my mind.

“Sir, I pray that you say nothing of the weather or of your profession. I have heard enough of both from the other men and I shall hear no more of it. If that is what you wish to discuss I shall walk away and send Mr. Jones or Mr. Thomas your way,” I stated first. Once I realized what I had said I clamped my hand over my mouth. My eyes must have been the size of saucers. “I—“

“No,” he interrupted,” please, do not apologize. I find it refreshing when someone speaks what is on their mind instead of the same boring conversation that they have been taught to say. I was not going to ask you about the weather, I can see it for myself just by looking out the window. I also do not wish to speak of my profession, it is all I speak of all day and I do not wish it to become part of my evenings as well. I was actually going to ask you if you find enjoyment in reading.”

“I do,” I replied, still in a state of shock from both my words and his response to them, “I find books to be a wonderful way to learn new things and explore places I wish to travel to. Sadly, they also taunt me with the things I do not have but long for. What do you think?”

Our conversation went on until dinner began. Lily had placed me on the other end of the table from Mr. Henry Cahill so our talk was interrupted for now. I felt as though I should be ashamed of myself, speaking in such a way and to a man of all people! Instead of feeling shame, though, I felt invigorated. I knew that I should have stopped after the first slip up but I enjoyed it and so did he. Lily will soon hear of it. Mothers will hear soon after. Both will be disappointed. Surprisingly, I do not care.

After dinner was over, and we moved from the table into the parlor, Mr. Cahill asked me to a card game. We invited other guests but everyone else was caught up in their discussion of the weather and their professions. I was a bit too pleased no one had joined us. I had a question to ask him that I wasn’t eager for others to hear.

“There has been one question on my mind all evening,” I began, “Why are all of these men, including you, still unmarried? You are all so successful and seemed to be well-admired.”

He only took a moment to answer, “They have not yet found a woman they deem worthy of the greatness they believe they possess. I don’t think any woman short of nobility will ever amount to the woman they believe they deserve. Such is not the case for me.”

I was curious, “And what, pray tell, is the case for you?”

“I had not found a woman worthy of conversing with,” he stated, “My wife should not feel as though she cannot speak her mind to me. The mouth was meant to be an expresser of words, not their executer. I want to have meaningful conversation with my wife, not the dull and boring chatter that prevails in female dialogue or even dialogue in general. I had never seen such a woman. Until tonight, that is.”

“Oh, well —,” I was so flustered I couldn’t form coherent sentences. That had not been the response I had anticipated.  I felt my cheeks turn red. It did not help that he was handsome. It did not help that he was smiling. It did not help that he was sincere.

“I see that I have taken you by surprise,” he said, “I hope I have not over-stepped my bounds. I am quite taken by you, I must admit. I wanted you to know that.”

“You are perfectly within your bounds, I assure you. I was surprised, but I am quite flattered,” I clarified, “A reaction such as yours is not one that I have ever received from anyone before. Especially not a man.”

“If that be the case, then I have a favor to ask you,” he began, “Will you allow me the pleasure of calling on you?”

“That would please me very much,” I replied. Mother will be proud of me for at least one thing this evening. Much more importantly, I am proud of myself.

As I left when all was over, Lily asked, “Did you meet anyone of interest?”

“Yes, I believe I did,” I answered. She was delighted but hers did not quite match mine. I said goodbye and walked toward the door to leave. As I walked by the mirror in the hallway I saw my reflection and smiled.

Inspiration and Desperation: Post for 10/5

I already started to work on that "special blog" for Thursday. Overachiever? No. I just know that if I don't start on it early it won't be good. My mind is already jumbled from all of the different things that I have to put into this assignment. I decided to re-read the chapter on character to see if it would help me. I don't think it did, though. I think it made the mess in my mind even worse. My brain keeps repeating the words protagonist, antagonist, round, flat, static, dynamic, etc., etc. Obviously one of our characters needs to be round and dynamic. They need to be complex and go through a change in our story. If there was no substance to the character how good would a "character-based" story would it be? No good at all, I would imagine. I mean, it could still be a good story, just not a good character-based one. I thought reading the other stories would help guide me. They were interesting. I especially liked The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. It made me wonder how many writers, especially for comics, start off with a what and not a why. Why does my character do these things? Why are they drawn to these people or activities? Unfortunately for me, when I looked at these stories my ideas started to sound an awful lot like them. I couldn't do that! I am constantly coming up with these ideas that have been done a million times. Do I have an original thought in my mind? I even had to stop reading the book I am in the middle of because my story started to sound quite a bit like Mansfield Park. The idea I think I am going to use is even Austen inspired, with a little bit of the movie The Heiress thrown in there. It's like a 19th century story-line gumbo. I guess creative writing just isn't my forte.

Hinduism, meet Jesus: Post for 9/30

It amazed me how well the story, This Blessed House, was perfectly timed with the Hinduism section in my World Religions class. No joke. We just started learning about Hinduism last Thursday. I really enjoyed being able to understand Sanjeev's and his wife's perspectives on finding the Christian symbols throughout their house in a more in-depth way. The author expresses Sanjeev's unease with keeping the symbols in his house but didn't really give a further explanation of why he didn't like it. There was also no explanation of why she loved the symbols and he didn't despite the fact that they shared the Hindu belief. Did you know that many Hindus actually believe that Jesus existed and that he was a divinity? You see, they believe in one creator who is distant and does not and cannot speak to us. The way this creator speaks to people is through manifestations of himself which are known as the gods to the Hindu people. Many believe that Jesus was a manifestation of divinity, of their creator. I also find it interesting that some Hindus that believe in Jesus often have pictures of Jesus, especially Catholic images, hung in their shops, restaurants, and homes. This brings us back to the story. This Hindu belief of Jesus as a manifestation of divinity helps us to make sense of why the wife, Twinkle, was okay with and even excited about finding and displaying these Christian symbols around their home. Why didn't the husband like it? Maybe he was one of those Hindus who doesn't believe Jesus is divine at all and was just an influential man. There are also Hindus who don't find worshiping Jesus appealing because of the cultural context of him around the world. Maybe that was what he was thinking? To be honest, I don't even think that I would have those symbols in my house either and I am a Christian. I wouldn't want to get too caught up in the symbols and no longer focus on the relationship that God wants with us. He doesn't want us to worship symbols; He wants us to worship Him. Plus, I think some of those pictures and statues are just kind of creepy looking.

An Art Class (But Technically Not): Post for 9/28

When I heard about this assignment I was pretty excited. I love painting and art and creativity. I like to read a book or listen to a song and have images come to mind. Sometimes they are entire pictures. Other times they are just colors and patterns. When I read Joel it was difficult not to walk away with some vivid imagery. In fact, my hardest challenge was to pick what to paint from all of my many options. I ended up taking information from various parts of Joel and cramming it all into one picture. I used the passage on the locust, "What the gnawing locust has left.... the stripping locust has eaten". Part of Joel talked about fire, "For fire has devoured the pastures of the wilderness and the flame has burned up all the trees of the field". The book also mentioned, "The sun and moon grow dark". I just imagined this barren wasteland. No leaves on trees or grass. A tree on fire. Darkness. Locusts flying all around and landing on the plants to eat them. Not a pretty image.

When we got to class Professor Corrigan told us that the assignment was not intended for those who could actually paint. I thought, "Aw man! That was why I was going to like this assignment!". Then he mentioned how much time we had to paint. Thirty to forty minutes. I kept thinking how I wouldn't have enough time to paint what I wanted. I started to over think the assignment. I had to tell myself to stop and think about what I wanted to do. I told myself not to worry about whether or not I would finish the picture. I did, but that is beside the point. The point is I had to slow down and think about what I was doing and why. Why each part was important. I made myself not fix the many mistakes I made or I would have been there much longer. Actually, I might still be working on it because I would always be seeing something else that I could fix. Instead of focusing on the art involved in the assignment I started to focus on the literature part.

Talking to the Alligators: Post for 9/23/2010

As you all know, today in class we participated in an activity that was a bit more unorthodox than usual. We went and sat by the alligator infested lake and read parts of the book of Joel out loud. I am not the most outgoing person in the world so it was a little strange to me. Some people yelled, others didn't say anything at all. I spoke out loud in a normal voice. I read through the scripture and spoke the passages out loud that had anything to do with the land, crops, or anything of that nature. The only exception was the statement, "Its teeth are the teeth of a lion, and it has the fangs of a lioness." That one I said to the alligators. When I spoke out loud to the grass about the field being ruined I thought to myself, "No! I don't want to speak this over this land!" We have the power of life and death in our tongues, correct? I know I was just being silly, but then I thought about how it would have looked if the grass really had died and turned brown. I thought about the lake and how it could be dried up. The alligators wouldn't live there anymore, if they were even still alive. It was definitely a depressing thought. Especially when you think of it all being on fire along with everything else that is going wrong. But then I get to the part when God promises them deliverance. It tells us that the pastures have turned green so the beasts are not to fear. The tree bears fruit again. The locusts stop eating everything. This was a much easier thing to speak out loud. I didn't mind speaking blessings over the land. I imagined that the lake was fuller. I could feel the grass under my feet while I was sitting and I was thankful it was still there. I think I even heard the alligators swimming in the weeds.