Thursday, April 10, 2014


Been very dry in the past few months; nothing seems to want to be said.  but i did manage this brief poem, working with travel writing students:

From her temple
in the ruins of Nimes
blesses tourists and passersby.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

What Powderfinger Said . . . Observations on Life in the Dying Empire: My Wise Friend

posting a blog of a blog-friend's post of his freind's post.

What Powderfinger Said . . . Observations on Life in the Dying Empire: My Wise Friend: I think he's about ten times smarter than I, at least. He goes by the monicker "Montag" and he's been blogging here for a...

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Bad Traveler Goes to Israel

Two weeks ago was my travel break from the castle, and off i flew to meet sylvia, the best friend of my childhood with whom i've kept sporadic touch over the years.  and now we're a pair of old ladies.  The trip started off horribly, when [first] i fell down on the way to what my information said was my my flight spot when i changed planes.  okay that was my own fault.  but thru a nasty set of circumstances not of my making, i missed not one but two flights, and though it wasn't my fault it cost me 700 euroes. and spent an entire night wandering around the airport at turkish airways alternately blubbery and blustery.   two bits of advice from that.  dont save money by switching planes when direct flights are available. you may, like me, lose money instead, and even if  you do save the money, the aggravation mightn't be worth it. and 2, don't for god's sake do it if the middle airport is turkish airways!

the worst part of that experience, however, is what it did to my depression. as old readers know, i've spent over 3 years in a varying depression which since october has been extremely mild, thanks to a combo of meds.  but it's always felt like skin beginning to scar, weak and vulnerable.  that whole airline business broke the fragile scar and i was pretty much of a mess thru the week.  but i managed to have fun with sylvia, whose patience is saintly.  how lovely to see her again! she lives in tel aviv now, and the weather was what she called awful, i called delightful.

that tuesday, she was working for  an hour with some arab school kids where she does weekly volunteer work. i asked if i could tag along and watch; the organizer asked if, with 3 volunteers out, i could fill in for one of them.  so, with no idea of what i would be doing [sylvia tried to explain but that got me further  confused, and my mind was in bad shape after the trip incidents] but i ended up as she said i would figuring it out by following what she was doing, and worked with a little girl named monica--adorable but very restless; thank god i teach college kids!

thru the week we ate and sat in coffee shops and parks a lot, and i of course had to nap a lot, but there wasnt much i awfully cared about seeing except sylvia and the sunset  over the  Mediterranean in tel aviv.  then we spent a couple of days in jerusalem, where sylvia lived until recently and where her friend sue still lives. i knew sue also; she had lived around the block from me and sylvia when we were kids, but in their mutual lives in isreal they had seen a   lot of each other and grown much closer. most of our time together was fun. then we went into the Old City, about which i knew nothing, but which sounded great. and i'm sure it is. but a disaster for my addled brain, all b/c of a misunderstood wise crack. they asked if i wanted to go to the catholic cathedral, and i thought they were joking, since i've long been a very ex catholic. i've seen some splendid cathedrals over the years, but the idea of spending limited time in jerusalem at a cathedral seemed silly to me, so i chuckled at their joke and followed along with them.  in fact, they were being kind to a christian, even ex christian, friend. which would have been okay but i'm frightened of walking since i fall pretty often and i'm very claustrophobic.  we began walking through what i assumed would be a small, bazaar-like area....and walked, and walked, and walked, on lovely slippery steps through a beautiful and endless maze, me afraid to say anything because i needed to hold in what breath i had.  luckily a part of my mind stood aside, first of all because it kept me from screaming, running, or crying; second because i was able to make a mental record out of what was a onetime experience.  except for the narrowness of the street, leading thru to other narrow streets from whence, i gathered, crawled yet further narrow streets, it looked like mideast bizarres look on US spy shows.  the goods sold were beautiful, like walls of multicolored silks reaching almost to the sky [the 'almost' saved me; i could see sky and remind myself that there was an end to the labyrinth, even if no way to reach it].  i was pretty close to sobbing at this point, and finally told my friends what was going on, and  just as they began to put their energy toward finding the quickest way out, a friend ran into sue. he was a gorgeously garbed ethiopian. he asked us to sit with him; sue looked pleadingly at me and i pulled up a smile, and found a tranquilizer in my wallet.  all around us walked people of different mideast populations, seemingly perfectly comfortable with each other. i was taken by the sight of 2 women passing in different directions: one was a catholic nun in the sort of medieval-based habit of years back, the other a muslim with full body and face covering. the similarity of the outfits was startling.
i tried to focus my mind in the part that saw the beauty of the place, and realized i was glad  i was seeing it; also that i would be a wreck the rest of the day. eventually they got me out of the maze, and the sheer sight of open air was magnificent. [it isn't hard to find magnificence in Jerusalem, built on the famed pale beige Jerusalem stone].  soon we were eating at an airy restaurant and laughing. sleeping that night was hard; the claustrophobia and weakness had gotten thru to my bones; luckily there was a lot of light and air through the windows.  back to tel aviv the next day, and sylvia and i had a leisurely dinner on the beach.  bathers filled the area; the weather was warm enough for brave swimmers, and the Mediterranean, even with a disappointing piss-yellow sunset, was impressive.

the return of the breakdown has lasted since my return, though today has been a bit better.  that's unfortunate, and may mean a new medication when i get back to boston mid april.  but worth it, definitely.  i wish i could describe the feeling of re-knowing sylvia, exploring each other's thinking, never really enough time and much of  it marred by my feeling of dependency on her to get me anywhere, with my fear of everything [part of the whole depression].  two  little girl, knowing ech other as teenagers and 20-somethings; years of sporadic communication--even getting together briefly on two of her short trips to the US. and now 2 old women, facing age very differently, having lived very different lives, but the 2 kids still there.  i'd love t go back and see her again--on a nonstop trip!--when i'm less dominated by depression.  but what i got, i got, and despite the  fight with my mind, well worth what it cost to get it.

Thursday, February 20, 2014


i keep trying to post things on the blog, but the fact is, i'm blocked. noting seems to want to get itself written beyond a sentence or 2.  maybe my trip to israel a week from tomorrow to visit an old friend i haven't seen for years will help unblock  my sleepy brain.  i hope so; i miss blogging.  i think the aftereffects of severe depression [down to mild depression, which is a large improvement], plus the medications i take to keep it mild, contribute to a laissez faire [or lazy fare] brainset that's hard to pull out of, so it works only when i have no choice--like doing my classes.  so i just thought i'd say hi to anyone to stops by here to see what clever thoughts i've had of late.  thanks for looking at the blog.  i'll keep coming back, i promise....

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Report from the Lowlands, first 2 weeks

i had comfortable, uneventful flight with 80 strangers who would soon be familiar, and who were kind and helpful when i needed assistance with my carryon.  i became a hero briefly at schiphool airport when students were getting stopped after customs; apparently no one had been told to expect a group of 80 students, and the authorities insisted on getting confirmation from a 'leader.'  our 'leaders' were waiting for us outside the gate, and the students were getting concerned, til the RA remembered i was at the back of the line. 'wait,' he told the guy in the glass box, 'we have a professor!' and ran back to get me.  i had only a vague idea of what the problem was, but i guess i managed to look authoritative when i went to the head of the line and said, 'hello, i'm traveling with these students; how may i help you?' that seemed sufficient to the flustered offiicer, and all worked well.  i slept off and on through the weekend, while the kids went through the orientation drill, which should have been refreshing for me but wasn't; anyway i was able to prepare the first lit class, rereading for the 100th time the first 1/2 of the odyssey.  so far classes go well, and all the students seem like nice people, excited about their [mostly] first time in europe, and the thought of living in a castle.  and it's great to see my colleagues again.

last weekend the castle was closed down for the students' required trip to amsterdam, meaning i had to stay elsewhere, so i chose, very wisely, the B&B run by the lovely couple who do the castle's food service.  they were horrified that i'd never been to what the students call the Blue Lake [officially the Reindersmeer], and they promptly arranged to take me there saturday afternoon.  it was a lovely outing, and the lake really is blue--not the aqua of the Mediterranean or the Adriatic, but a kind of slate grey-blue, quite unusual and very pretty. we ate in the combined visitor's bureau/ restaurant overlooking the lake, and they had mustard soup with no bacon. this was a double treat; few enough restaurants have mustard soup, one of my favorite dutch foods, and those that do tend to have it with bacon bits.  on top of that, they had a lovely pannekoek [dutch pancakes; closer to crepes than to american pancakes, but heartier and larger] with brie and syrup.  hardly low-cal, but wonderful.

the only problem was that my insomnia kicked up badly both nights i was there and my first night back, making me so dizzy and weak i missed monday's class--only the 2nd class i've ever missed here. weak all week but got through. realized that the one thing that helps prevent a totally sleepless night is getting up and eating.  perfect for weight loss!  ah well, whatever gets me sleeping...

i love having only 2 classes; it will offset some of the sleep problems and keep me off the hectic schedule i've had in recent years.  yet one more thing to make me feel my age.  and the energy of these  kids does that too, in spades. they're like the bunny in the old battery commercial; they keep going and going....and they do that in class too. they seem anxious to learn, very cooperative--and some of them thank me when the class is done!

so, a decent start, if my body will only cooperate.  will start tarot readings next week...

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

RIP Pete Seeger

there doesn't seem to be much more to say. he lived to 94, one of the few greats of our time, joyful while acknowledging and fighting pretty much all the evils in america. and honestly humble through it all.  no one can match him; no one can even try. who can fail to be heart-heavy at his loss, and grateful for all he shared with us?

Thursday, January 2, 2014

For Those Who Hate Beowulf...

...and i am one of them. for several years after i began teaching "Literary Foundations," i  forced that dreary creature down my own throat and those of my students. what was interesting to me about the poem was  not the poem itself, but its nearly unique position in english lit.  but i ignored the nearly, and just dropped the beowulf, which worked quite well in one way: we left antiquity with the aenead and picked up the middle ages with the aenead-influenced inferno, with no nasty early medieval centuries in between to distract us.  then curiosity drove me to attend a lecture on the rest of the beowulf collection: some fragments and a possible non-fragment, a complete retelling of the story of the ancient biblical heroine judith.  i was entranced, and went home to bask in wikepedia and its links. the same great anglo-saxon rhythms and alliteration, probably written down by the same sort of monk who wrote down the epic beowulf. only here was a hero worth reading about!  no prissy good girl, our judith, but also no show-off warrior like beowulf. a job has to be done, and no one else is gonna do it, so it's up to her and her faithful handmaid.  she inserts herself into hateful holerfones' tent on the pretense of wanting the jews to surrender before they're all killed, because holerfones is such a great warrior.  the beastly boss is impressed with this show of intelligence, and invites her to come back and hang around together.  presuming  a sexual encounter,  he chases all his soldiers away. the virtuous virgin gets him drunk in anticipation of their night of lust, and when he's well soused, she chops his head off.  the joy of the monk writer blasts out of every syllable.  off go the ladies, freely through the camp of the enemy, carrying the basket in which they had brought goodies for the evening's enjoyment; it now carries past the soldiers the head of their dead leader.  now here's a tale.  it has its limits, of course. wholly judeo-christian, it has none of the blend of pagan and christian found in beowulf,  which makes the epic at least intellectually interesting. but 'judith' compensates with its constant motion, its emotional tone, and its competitively gory ambiance.  i still have to lecture about beowulf in the context of explaining the Judith manuscript, but i find beowulf  more interesting to talk about than to read.

judith is only one of the ways i have managed to get some female representation in the Great Works.  thought written by a man, it's a great picture of a woman, who is totally front and center.  the aenead too, in what is arguably is greatest section, offers an amazing female hero.  dido owns the first section of that amazing poem, and one of the most compelling things about her is that she never becomes only the woman who kills herself over her lover's abandonment.  she is that, no question.  but so much else! she is the only woman who could make a compatible mate for aeneas, and his sadness at his need to leave her is real, his argument sound. what forces him from her is just that. he cannot stay and help her build her city indefinitely; he must leave and found his own. neither can she leave with him; as she tells herself, that would destroy her carthage and leave it to its surrounding enemies.  her decision to commit suicide is one of the most amazing scenes in literature.  caught up in the fury and pain of his betrayal, she yet rationally considers all her possiblities.  goddess-driven, she has made a choice whose consequences leave no other way out.  had he stayed and been [as she sees it] her husband, they could rule carthage together, with both their armies.  his leaving loses her all credibility; she becomes,  simply, the alien's discarded whore.  she must die and leave her city to be ruled by other Carthaginians.  i can never read that scene without feeling her heartache and ecstasy.

later in the term, i again get to teach some cool women--and this time, as writers.  to understand the canterbury tales, you need to know a little at least of the decameron.  but the decameron has other followers, and to progress from the decameron through chaucer to the heptameron by maurguerite de neuvarre is sheer fun.  attempting to create 'the french decameron' 200 years after the original, she uses becaccio's  structure to invent a wholly different work, whose tale tellers are socially and personally deeply intertwined, and who stories relfect that.  and then there is the medieval woman who broke into the nasty 'querelle de femmes' to utter a fully female, almost proto-feminist retort in the  form of an imaginary city built  at the instruction of three women sent by the blessed virgin mary to the self-fictionalized christine de pizan.  the influence of the far superior writer dante is clear, as is that of baccaccio, but the result is a dazzling peice of propoganda, re-use of old myths, and wholly original work that became one of the first pieces of writing to be paid for in western history.

ah, mine is a tough  job......