IT’S SNOWING!

Posted on December 7, 2012 by snowbirdredux

Actually. Not in Minnesota. Where by all rights it should be snowing.

We had an inch or so a few weeks ago and now nothing. What was briefly here has melted. It’s into December and brown. All the locals who scoff and chortle about the lack of experience we reverse snowbirds have had these last two seasons, are feeling justified. But not so much, the climate change advocates, who are alarmed.

But it is snowing here on snowbirdredux. Do you see the snow wafting down? If you start at the top of the posting, you might have to wait just a minute at the header to have the flakes begin their descent. But it will happen.

I love it!

A kind of magic. Thank you to WordPress who magistrates this phenomenon. From my non-geek, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, techno challenged blogging skills, I am grateful. I followed the directions and pushed the buttons and actually got the snow to fall.

Now if we can just stimulate a white Christmas for Minnesota.

But not too white. Somewhere safely in between the beauty and excitement of the coming winter and the horror stories I heard yesterday.

My friends gave me a list as follows: shovel, scraper, kitty litter, Hat!, sleeping bags or space blankets, heavy coats and mittens, string, a red bandana, a can with candles, matches, chocolate bars, granola, a “pee” jug, flashlight, cell phone. Oh, and yes. Reading material. This is the standard equipment added to all vehicles before each winter.

Most are self evident. The red bandana is to tie to the top of your antenna so you can be easier to find. The rope – I guess is to tie around your waist if you chose to go outside and scrape the windows and loose sight of your car. The kitty litter spread about might help with traction. And the Hat. It was mentioned most and given the most gravitas. Evidently the internal body heat quickly flies out the top of one’s head. My black knit cap is considerably unflattering, but I vow now to always have it in hand. I mean on head.

Two more important suggestions. Don’t go to sleep when stuck. And if you turn the ignition on and off to keep some semblance of warmth in your vehicle, tie that rope around your waist and go outside and dig the snow out of the tailpipe.

I’m somewhat making light, but the personal stories and tragedies my friends related were anything but, and I have a new respect for a real winter challenge. Yes, all you snickerers and coy chucklers. Yes, you’re right. We haven’t proven ourselves. I know I said I was aching to establish our worthiness, but I’ve had a change of heart and respect.

And just now I looked out the window and guess what? I need to get the car kit together. It’s snowing.

Posted in COMMUNITY, minnesota life, SNOW, storm, WEATHER | Leave a comment

GEESE PIECE

Posted on December 2, 2012 by snowbirdredux

I was starting to get worried, but finally the Canada Geese are back. Thousands, maybe millions settling in for winter upon what I call our “bends.” The Otter Tail River spreads out across the street from our house and continues to loop into substantial estuaries for the next three blocks, which means that in these wide spots the water is still and unfrozen.

That was the big surprise last year, which was our first winter in Minnesota. I assumed that the geese would continue south after a quick stop at the Avian Motel 6 for a meal and a quick rest before heading out for Arizona like the other snowbirds. But their numbers only increased with the cold, as flock after flock soared in and settled.

I’ve seen the flyway maps. By all accounts it appears that they should be complying with the mass exodus. But something else is afoot. Or a-swim. And whatever the reason, they seem to like it here. And I like them here.

I have heard grumblings from certain locals who complain about the goose poop on the wide lawn next to the high school. Obviously the geese, who prefer a light lunch of grass, dressed with sprinklings of bug, take advantage of the culinary fixings not understanding that their preferred comestible venue just happens to coincide with the football property of young boys and their cheering anxious parents.

Who wins here? I understand something of the community attitude and concern, but it also hints of deeper issues of Minnesota provenance. Not unlike the Lakota Nation and the new Norwegian settlers. Who comes first? Ask yourself that question.

I only know that this time of year is thrilling. The geese settle down in our bends, hunker in and hopefully, celebrate winter.

My friend Susan gave me a book when we first moved to Minnesota – “Winter World” by Bernd Heinrich. It has led to wonderful reading adventures because Mr. Heinrich is prolific and brilliant. “Mind of the Raven,” because of my personal experience, (See “Nevermore”) was an affirmation which left me speechless. Now, just as I was contemplating my geese friends, I came across “The Geese of Beaver Bog. ”

In the first chapter Mr. Heinrich describes the day when Peep, his home-raised gosling, flew besides his car – “The speed limit on the highway a mile from my home in Vermont is 45 miles an hour, and Peep was pushing it. She was winging along a foot or two behind and just to the left of the cab of my Toyota pickup truck. Another truck roared by from the other direction but she kept her place. She didn’t miss a wing-beat. You might think she knew all about flying, road vehicles, and the right-of-way convention when barreling down the highway. Fact is, this was her maiden flight.”

And then – “She started to lag a bit and I knew she was pushing, approaching her limits, because her bill opened and as I glanced sideways I saw her pink tongue exposed while she panted from exertion and overheating. She didn’t turn the corner too well. Tongue still out and chest heaving, she landed in a ditch and waddled out onto the dirt road. I stopped to see if she was all right. After giving her a couple of minutes to catch her breath, I got back into the truck. As I drove off and looked into the rearview mirror I saw her running behind me, then flapping her wings and again becoming airborne. And so we came back home.”

As the story goes, Peep disappears for two years after the family leaves home for a time, but resurfaces with a mate and then the saga begins in earnest. Check your local library for anything by Bernd Heinrich.

The Canada Goose (which is not named for the country, but for a man named John Canada- do not call them “Canadian Geese” – thank you Matt) – is respected for it’s fidelity. They mate for life, always return to the same home sites, and represent in the greater mythological scheme, the sanctity of cycles.

When they fly in the familiar Vee formation, as each bird flaps his wings, it creates uplift for the bird behind. And when the leader tires and drops back, he is replaced by another who takes his turn. They have a communal interchange and understanding that proffers wisdom to the world.

One school of thought proclaims that when one bird is wounded and falls out of the pattern, two leave the flight and sit and minister until he recovers or dies. Some hunters proclaim this as nonsense, but it’s a good and lovely story.

I find it hard to imagine just how the flock remembers where in the vast continent to set down for their winter. “Oh look! There’s that three block spot on the Otter Tail where that lady comes out and checks on us every day and takes our picture. Remember her? She must have albums full of photographs. Guess we don’t need to saunter on down to San Antonio.”

And for months now, I will not only marvel at their numbers, but thrill to the ecstatic flights above as they take to the skies once or twice a day. Circling, flourishing, honking, gliding in a sky ballet which encompasses the entire spectrum, east to west, north to south, not a potion of the horizon untouched.

“Look! There’s that crazy lady again. Pointing up and – is she honking?”

It is grand in a manner hard to describe. It is memorable and thrilling and not yet capturable by my trusty Nikon. Yet when the skies are full it is a sight to savor and behold.

At the end of the book, Heinrich writes – “To my surprise, I saw the group of twelve geese flying directly up toward and just beyond the house after having come up the hill over the woods. Only Peep, and her previous mate Pop, had ever taken that route before. I yelled, ‘Peep!’ The lead goose made a U-turn, the others followed, and then in a wild loud clamor they came in my direction. The group made another turn, and then she set her wings and lowered her feet and started gliding down through the air directly towards me. She came right by my head and was about to land just beyond me, but the rest of the flock behind her then banked up and out over the trees. Then she backpedaled as well and I heard the heavy pounding of her wings as she barely missed hitting the wall of trees on the other side. The exertion of her over-weighted wing-beats while turning sharply and trying to regain altitude in coming out of the clearing dislodged a wing feather. As Peep rejoined the flock, the feather drifted down and settled practically at my feet.”

Enough said. No. One more thing. In his introduction Bernd Heinrich says it well – “There is something in the ceaseless chatter of migrating geese that stirs me. Perhaps it touches something wild, remote, and mysterious that I share with them, for it is almost with longing that I look up every fall and spring when the scraggly formations wing their way overhead in the sky. Perhaps it is the tenor of their haunting cries, their mastery of the sky and distance, their commitment and single-mindedness in striving to reach far-off goals that enchant.”

That’s it. The enchantment of the passages of each year and the sanctity of cycles.

Posted in Birds, COMMUNITY, favorite things, introspection, minnesota life, Wild Life | Leave a comment

DOLDRUM ADDENDUM

Posted on November 26, 2012 by snowbirdredux

Okay. It’s not the recovering cold. It’s not the winter blues. It’s not a personal psychological trauma.

It’s . . . . . . . . . . . WRITER’S BLOCK.

And, yes indeed, it might have been prompted by an upper respiratory downturn in physical energy and the wintry appearance of grays outside, not to mention the fact that we told the snow blowers we would manage the sloping drive by ourselves this year and it definitely looks problematic. But those are all subterfuges for reality.

Yes. I’m saying it now. I have writer’s block.

Indeed, I may have been initially traumatized by the need to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. I take my commitments seriously. I signed up. NaMoWriMo is a project designed to impel that into reality. But honestly. And I’m not going to whine here, but I can’t make it. Whew. I’m admitting that for the first time to myself. But I can’t make it.

And that means that I move on with – oh – about 30,000 words. Well, maybe 20,000. Not all bad. And I took what was a long short story from thirty years ago and pulled and stretched and delved and along the way fell into love with it. Not to suggest that it is publishable and worthy. But it grew and evolved into multi-layers of myself. I am tickled by its complexity. I am different today by what I know from its path and what it unearthed along the way. It made me think about my life as nothing has before.

Then the void. The doldrums.

I forced myself to sit down and write tonight in spite of the writer’s block. Funny how the mind obstruction makes you feel as if you hadn’t a thought in your head, as if there will never again be anything to say. All blank. It’s all gone. It’s over. Done.

Then I remembered the adage that when you can’t think of a thing to say you just sit down and write. In spite of, and anyway.

I have a quote from Maya Angelou – “What I try to do is write. I may write for two weeks – the cat sat on the mat, this that, not a rat. And it might be just the most boring and awful stuff. But I try. When I’m writing, I write. And then it’s as if the muse is convinced I’m serious and says – Okay, okay, I’ll come.”

Come sweet muse. I’m not Maya Angelou, not even close or in the same blessed league, but I call out and ask you for skillful words and clever thoughts and ultimately the sheer fun of writing them down. And let them flow.

Amen. Om. Namaste. (I’m covering all bases.)

Posted in faith, favorite things, IMAGINATION, introspection, religion, writing | 4 Comments

THE DOLDRUMS

Posted on November 26, 2012 by snowbirdredux

There is an inter-tropical convergent zone in our earthworld which exists between 30-35 degrees north and 30-35 degrees south, somewhere between the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans. It’s known as The Doldrums. “Dold” is an archaic word for stupid.

When ships would enter into its sphere of influence, the dying of the wind would cause them to be dead stuck and out of luck. This place was also called the Horse Latitudes because the sailors would eventually throw the animals overboard in a last chance effort to lower the weight and get some traction and passage. Considering that the seamen were most likely living on hard tack and lutefisk, one would think that eating the poor beasts would have been a better bet than drowning them.

However, many writers have been entranced and influenced by the image and mythological influence of the site and the consequent condition. Jim Morrison of the Doors wrote a poem, supposedly when he was only sixteen, about it and turned it into a song.

“When the still sea conspires an armor

And the sullen and aborted

Currents breed tiny monsters

True sailing is dead

Awkward instant

And the first animal is jettisoned

Legs furiously pumping

Their stiff green gallop

And heads bob up

Poise.”

Jules Feiffer illustrated Norton Juster’s book, The Phantom Tollbooth, which encompassed a race called the Lethargarians who lived in a world “where nothing ever happens, nothing changes, and you can do anything as long as it’s nothing and everything as long as it isn’t anything.”

A young writer, Robert Ferrigno, who lived before he was ever published, in an apartment above my mother in Long Beach, California, wrote his first novel which was called “The Horse Latitudes.” He swam, as did his character, in the middle of the night in the still waters of the Alamitos Bay, that same place where I learned to swim and sail in my youth. Obviously there was a theme about “being stuck.”

And above all, a narrative artist who recorded many years ago on tape (that ancient technology) made one of his stories about the Horse Latitude. Brilliant, brilliant, and wouldn’t you know – we can’t remember the name of the group, of the writer, the artist. If you know who I am referring to – please comment!

And all of this is leading up to the revelation that I am in the doldrums. Yes. It’s not a state that is particularly depressive. I certainly don’t feel suicidal. I’m not ready to throw Cosmo out in the snow. But I definitely have joined the race of Lethargarians.

It most likely began with The Cold. And I possibly just got into the groove of lying-about. Staring into the TV mindlessly as I clicked from the Housewives of Beverly Hills to a rerun of Four Christmases to David Tutera’s Wedding Rewrites.

It may be the result of early winter syndrome. On Thanksgiving we went to Aunt Lil’s in Hickson, North Dakota along with 14 family members and that was lovely. It began to snow in the afternoon and by the time we left the holiday gathering, the flakes were flying sideways with so-so visability. Highway 94, the main thoroughfare in Minnesota, was a bit worrisome to California novices like ourselves, but do-able until shortly before our exit point, when flashing lights ahead signaled trouble. Cars, it appeared, had slid this way and that. Off the exit and into Fergus Falls the going got trickier. All across town we slipped on ice and inched our way home.

It’s now Day 12 and I’m beginning to get worried. I do believe I might have been tricked into studying for citizenship into Lethargarianism – “I can do anything as long as it’s nothing and everything as long as it isn’t anything.” This said solemnly with my hand on my heart.

But like Dorothy – I just want to go home again. To busy, engaged, creative happy land. Only I’m having trouble finding the way. Please click your heels three times with me and send me home.

Posted in COMMUNITY, faith, Family, favorite things, IMAGINATION, Immigration, introspection, minnesota life | 2 Comments

KA – CHOO!

Posted on November 19, 2012 by snowbirdredux

Nasopharyngitis. Rhinopharyngitis. Acute Coyza. Whatever you want to call it – it’s the Common Cold.

You know what I’m talking about. Cough, runny nose, nasal congestion, sore throat. Nothing life threatening, but just enough to take you out and make you feel you can not possibly function. Life stops, you are depressed, and you feel infinitely sorry for yourself.

I admit it. I have a cold. This in spite of the fact that I took extreme measures at the first sign. I not only gulped multiple doses of echinacea/goldenseal (mixed with essences of Yin Chiao, Elderberry root, Ginger, Eleuthero, Horehound, Bayberry, and Horehound) many times a day. I dined on L-Lysine, Zinc and Garlic. For good measure I followed my favorite Doctor Dave’s guideline – Vitamin D at 25,000 milligrams twice a day for 3 days only. And I gargled with hot salt water (twice a day) as well as using a salt and soda mix in a nasal irrigation through my water pik.

In spite of my diligence, I still have a cold.

Thinking I may have overlooked just one priceless piece of curative advice, I resorted to Google and discovered:

One single cold virus can multiply into 16 million offspring in 24 hours.

It isn’t rare to “slip a disc” in your back while coughing.

The velocity of a sneeze is 100 miles per hour (same as an awesome baseball pitcher.)

An Egyptian papyrus dated before the 16^th Century B.C. outlines the common cold, making it the oldest existing medical text.

The virus resides in the eyes and the nose, but not the mouth. Kissing is therefore okay. BUT WASH YOUR HANDS!

And I apologize if I have passed it on.

Posted in HEALTH, introspection | 1 Comment

READY OR NOT

Posted on November 12, 2012 by snowbirdredux

This morning we woke up to snow. A little late in coming but it’s here and has continued to flurry all day long. Last year was considered Winter Lite and I actually was disappointed because I didn’t have the chance to prove myself to the natives. To all those people who pooh-poohed and oh yeah-ed at us. As in – “Oh, wait ‘til we have a REAL winter. You haven’t been through THAT yet.” This said with a dastardly chuckle and tinge of glee, as if they couldn’t wait to see our frost burned faces amidst Minnesota shock and awe.

The real shock, however, was reading in the Star Tribune that there had been a few tornados south of “the cities” yesterday. Granted they were only rated EF-0, which is low in weather-speak, but they did generate 80 mile an hour winds. One person described seeing the power lines flash “like the sun was crashing out of the sky” and an 80 foot tree pulled up out of the ground and thrown onto his car. Twisters are supposed to come in the summer and not with the snow.

Which leads me to the thing most often on my mind lately and the fact that I was most disheartened by the realization that in three presidential debates there was not one mention of Climate Change. That is, until the bitter end of the campaign when a mega storm brought attention to the obvious that something is amiss with Mother Earth. And suddenly there were rumblings of concern in the media. Just a little.

Is this the new norm? Is it possible the Arctic Ice is really melting and will impact more than just a few polar bears? Are drought and floods and all manner of hell-breaking-loose, the future of our planet?

I’m concerned with jobs and the economy and unrest about the globe and immigration policy and women’s right and health care. And a whole bushel of other things. But honestly, if we lose the planet none of it matters a hoot.

Whew. That’s my thought for today. On a happier note – the pumpkin pie was divine. Thank you Rick for growing them and thank you T.M. for baking, pureeing and draining.

In case you’d like to make one for Thanksgiving –

Beat together until light – 3 eggs, 1/3 cup granulated sugar, 1/3 cup brown sugar.

Stir in 2 cups pumpkin puree, 1 tsp. ginger, 1 ½ tsp. cinnamon, ½ tsp. cloves, ½ tsp. allspice, ¼ tsp. cardamon.

Stir in 1 ½ Cups half and half.

Bake in pie crust at 450 for 8 minutes and another 40-50 minutes at 325 degrees, or until knife inserted comes out clean.

Cut out designs from pastry scraps with cookie cutters or be creative with your knife. Use egg wash and sprinkle of turbanado sugar and bake on separate tray until brown. Watch carefully.

Or come to my house. I have enough puree for 10 pies!

Posted in food, global warming, minnesota life, politics | 1 Comment

WASTE NOT WANT NOT

Posted on November 6, 2012 by snowbirdredux

This month, more likely than not, you will find me here at my computer putting every spare minute into completing the daunting task of writing a 50,000 page novel before the end of November. I am now at Day 6 and my “Tools” tab tells me that the word count is currently at 7327. If I calculate correctly, that leaves me shy of 445 words, going by the goal of 1666 a day. Whew!

In the midst of this consternation, I became distracted by the scent of something rich and earthy wafting up from the kitchen downstairs. It persisted and distracted so there was nothing to be done at one point, but to follow my nose.

“What’s that?” I cried out, at first only seeing the mess about all counter tops and stove, not to mention some orange debris on the floor.

“It’s the pumpkins,” he replied, as if that was normal, if not obvious.

We were fortunate this past Halloween that cousin Rick grew hundreds of pumpkins just for the fun of it. So instead of having to shell out extra pennies for holiday decorations, we took up cousin Debbie’s offer to “please take some home!”

T.M. always said that our place on Mt. Faith, when the leaves are down and it is surrounded by bare stalks and branches, looks like the spooky old house on the hill. We were gone last Halloween and so we had no experience in what to expect. But I put the pumpkins around the front porch and interspersed them with votives to make it seem welcoming and cheery.

We bought a giant bag of chocolate covered mint patties (my mother always said to buy something that you would later want to eat) and because that didn’t seem like it might be enough, bought another. On the big night we waited and worried about not being able to hear a knock at the door. And waited. And finally were visited by a teensy trick-or-treater who proclaimed that she was Superman-woman. We waited some more and called it a night. The two bags of mints have been relegated to a shelf in the basement, so as not to be too tempting.

This morning my husband decided that, even if the chocolate covered mints went to waste, the pumpkins should not. And so he is currently baking the flesh in order for me to make pies.

Don’t get me wrong. I like to make pies. I even consider pastry one of my specialties and take pride in knowing one of the little secrets for not adding too much liquid to the amount of flour. Anyone who has made a pie knows that you need to make the dough pliable enough to roll out and work without falling apart. But if you add too much water the pasty will be tough and not flaky. The secret – use half vodka and half water and the alcohol will evaporate in the baking but remain in play long enough to work the dough.

But honestly – bake pies now? With 445 words at large and 1666 to get a jump on in case I’m too depressed after the election?

But I have to admit, it’s rather dear that he decided to bake pumpkin and he clinched the deal by carefully separating the seeds and roasting them separately with sea salt.

Seven thousand three hundred twenty eight. Seven thousand three hundred twenty nine …

I guess I better take a break. And I need to clean the kitchen.

Posted in COMMUNITY, favorite things, food, minnesota life, writing | 2 Comments

WHAT WAS I THINKING!

Posted on October 29, 2012 by snowbirdredux

I have a positive/negative trait that lifts me up or gets me in trouble as the case may be. I always think I can do more than possible. I am inherently enthusiastic so that I sign up for jobs, enroll in classes, volunteer for chairmanships. There is always more that I want to do or learn or experience.

Only one lifetime. Learn to weave or spin? Watercolor? Rosemaling?

That would be fun. Sure. Sign me up.

Then there is the sober truth of what is possible in 24 hours or even in a lifetime. And because I want to do everything with a 4.0, no less, the reality intervenes and inevitably presents major trauma and problems.

So, here it is that I find myself on the brink of November 2012, and I have committed to two major endeavors. That would be fun! Sign me up!

Number One: It’s true that I did go through the Master Gardener program in California in 1993. And it’s equally true that I was quite a bit younger then. Younger sharper brain. Younger stronger back. And I deeply cared for integrated pest management and soil structure. And I do today. But, frankly, the course that allowed me to revel in horticultural issues all those years ago, was almost twenty-year light brain cells ago. I am telling you that it was HARD. And I am proud of the t-shirt that I got as a result – “Humboldt County Master Gardener!” And I put in lots of volunteer hours at the South Coast Botanical Garden propagation department. And loved every minute.

Yet it’s true that gardening in California is a far cry from gardening in Minnesota. Which means that if you are to be the recipient (for a small fee) of a wondrous fount of horticultural knowledge, and in exchange you are available to give back to the community, it is a fair exchange. Therefore, as a west coast trained gardener, I am in kindergarten here in the upper plains. And I need to start all over again. Wish me luck.

Number Two: I heard about this really fun, creative pursuit. It’s called NaNoWriMo. For some unknown reason, November is the national novel writing month. It means that you sign up online and agree to write a novel, all in the month of November to the tune of 50,000 words. Oh, I don’t know. I guess that is about 1700 words a day. And if you actually achieve that goal, you get (oh, I don’t know) maybe a t-shirt.

It’s countdown time now and I’m terrified. What was I thinking? But I’m not a quitter. Therefore, I’m not sure if I will be sane enough to post on snowbirdredux during the following month. But I will try. It occurred to me to just expose my nanowrimo novel. As it goes. Day by day. 1700 words. Gulp. And you can be my editors. It’s called “The Snow Queen, a modern sequel.” No I don’t think so. Want to learn about integrated pest management. No I didn’t think so.

Here I go. Wish me luck.

Posted in favorite things, Gardening, IMAGINATION, mythology, writing | 1 Comment

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

Posted on October 25, 2012 by snowbirdredux

Twice in recent days I have been queried as to what books I would consider my favorite novels. That’s a toughie. You have seen the t-shirts and bumper stickers that proclaim – “So many books, so little time.” That could be my motto. Or mantra.

Both times I let the name just pop out of my mouth without “intellectual reflection” about how it might label or box me into giving away my personal proclivities. Salman Rushdie. There, I’ve said it.

Finding and reading “Shalimar the Clown” or “Midnight’s Children” was like stumbling upon the ultimate dessert – something smothered in bitter, dark chocolate with crystalline chunks of caramel, sour-sweet cherries, a touch of mango chutney. Accompanied with a fine wine. Oh no, make that Mead!

I haven’t yet read “The Satanic Verses” which got him into unspeakable trouble a few years ago, but I put a hold at our library on his latest – “Joseph Anton, a Memoir.” The New Yorker Magazine recently published the first section and it took me a few paragraphs to realize that the title character was actually Rushdie’s name during the twelve or so years he hid out after a fatwa was declared by the Ayatollah of Iran. The name is made up from two of his favorite writers, Joseph Conrad and Anton Chekhov, which plays upon themes of this, his personal time period, and it was fascinating to see how he wrote the memoir in the third person, as if he was telling the story of another.

Favorite authors most likely shift in prominence as we age. Some remain constant, others drift away to merge with memories of our teens or periodic passions. I loved C.S. Lewis, J.R.R.Tolkien, P.L. Travers, Lewis Carroll. Still do. Robert Heinlein took me to Mars and taught me how to grok. I went through my Anais Nin period and wanted to “be” and write like her and my old journals on re-reading sound too, too pretentious. She is therefore, stashed away somewhere in my dreamy, bohemian youth. Joseph Heller, J. D. Salinger, Kurt Vonnegut – all framers of my youthful spirit and harbingers of a brave new world. Oh – not to forget Aldous Huxley. Bryce Courtenay in “The Power of One” expanded my thinking. What has happened to him? John Crowley stunned me with his tales of alchemy, his vision of the alternate history of the world. Gregory Maguire blew apart old myths and brought cleverness to a new level.

In talking to T. M., my husband, we started riffing on names – Tolstoy (his personal favorite), Camus, Kafka (all his first choices) – Elmore Leonard, Bud Schulberg, Truman Capote, Annie Prioux, Jonathan Letham, and Kent Haruf (check him out, what a treat.)

Who am I forgetting. These are just a sampling.

I’m forgetting Jane Austen who embued most of our feminine population, down many generations in fact, with the Gold Standard of Beau and Eventual Husband. In Pride and Prejudice she managed to create the romantic dream come true, and do it in such a way that she cleverly mocked society as she wrote with divine style and substance. Truly great literature lasts down the ages.

It was befitting this week, then, that the Letters to the Editor page of the Minneapolis-St. Paul Star Tribune featured two entries related to the current political race and drama by citing Jane Austen. I was tickled by this analysis and comparison and so I am reprinting them here for you to decide and cast your votes.

Wednesday, October 23

“Undecided voters are like Jane Austen’s Elizabeth Bennet. Elizabeth thought she knew who people were. She thought she knew whom she liked and disliked. But now she’s starting to reevaluate. Obama, like Wickham, talked a good talk. He charmed us. He looked dashing. We were attracted. But Romney is like Mr. Darcy. On first impression, just a proud, rich man – distant and unlikeable. Besides, Wickham tells us Darcy is bad. But now we’re starting to see Mr. Darcy/Romney more. We’ve gotten to know him better. It’s dawning on us. He is a good man. Yes, rather formal. But we see the evidence, we hear the accounts. He is not who Wickham said he was. We’re thinking fresh thoughts about who is worthy of our trust.”– Linda Hammer, Minneapoli

Thursday, October 24

“Although the Oct 23 Letter of the Day was well-written, the author has her characterizations exactly backward. In “Pride and Prejudice,” Wickham dishonestly said what he thought would get him what he wanted, changing his explanations as he was confronted with new information. Similarly, Mitt Romney’s positions continue to change radically, depending on his audience. By contrast, Darcy was seen as being aloof until it became clear that he was motivated by protecting and caring for others (notably, but not only, his sister Georgiana after her “near miss” with Wickham) and believed in saying what he thought. Obama’s seriousness of purpose and his focus in debates and interviews has been mischaracterized by some as aloof and academic, while it is clear that one of his highest priorities is the well-being of all citizens, but especially those with the least, and that he tells us what we need, not necessarily what we want to hear. Ultimately, the proof is in the substance, consistency and veracity, not the style, of each man. That’s where the fictional Darcy and the real Obama clearly rise to the top.” – Cyndy Crist, St. Paul

Wouldn’t Jane have a chuckle over this exchange. It proves beyond a doubt just how much literature informs society and forms our life.

Now you cast your vote –

Posted in favorite things, Favorites Books, IMAGINATION, introspection, Jane Austen, politics, Salman Rushdie, writing | 2 Comments

TURNING BACK TO GO FORWARD

Posted on October 23, 2012 by snowbirdredux

“The geometric representation of forward motion which is at the same time recapitulatory is the spiral.” – John Freccero

Many years ago, when I was a young mother of two and struggling through college, I became a teaching assistant for a class entitled “Folklore and Mythology.” My years of higher education had begun as a theatre major, but it became increasingly obvious that little children shouldn’t be deposited in the back of dark auditoriums late at night while their mother rehearsed. There was a brief stab at switching to Library Science (anything to put me in the midst of books) but I eventually settled on Comparative Literature and through that, to the class mentioned above. I fell in love with the subject and all that it entailed and vowed to aim towards graduate work in mythological studies. It would be a few years before the Pacifica Graduate Institute in Santa Barbara, California would develop just such a degree in response to the works of and with the guidance of my hero, Joseph Campbell, but by then my first marriage had dissolved and practical life intervened.

All these years later, I continued to dream. Which brings me to the subject of what I did last weekend. It began with a small notice in the Lake Region Writer’s Network website which stated: “Mythic Writing: Exploring Your Personal Story” with Dennis Patrick Slattery, core faculty member in the Mythological Studies Department at Pacifica Graduate Institute, to be held at Ortonville, Minnesota! You can imagine the rest.

Actually, as my friend Liz and I drove through the rain on a blustery Minnesota day, bound for Big Stone Lake somewhere on the South Dakota border – I admit – I felt trepidation. There is a certain danger in having whopping high hopes, chasing an old dream, reaching for that second star to the right. Even if it proved to be a good experience, worth the time, money and effort, it could easily fall below that magic pinnacle that had been in my head and heart all these years, and disappoint.

Not so. The Gods smiled and exceeded my expectations.

It is impossible, of course, to recreate and expostulate on all that transpired this past weekend, but I can say through the words of Michael Conforti in the preface to Dennis Slattery’s book, “Riting Myth Mythic Writing” that this “bold adventure” did indeed allow me “to actively engage in the mythic tradition” and “take on the role of bard and allow the soul to tell it’s story.”

We began the journey with a polished fossil of a squid which became the talisman of our workshop and symbol of what was termed the “spiralic structure of consciousness.” Yes. We can return to old dreams. And Dennis Slattery confirmed that when he wrote in his book – “While ostensibly we live in a linear fashion with time moving from past-present-future, we also live, and more deeply, in a mythic geography, wherein the motion of myth unfolds and enfolds back on itself spiralically and recursively.”

I wish I could wrap up my mythic weekend with a fancy bow and some fairy dust and send it out upon the airwaves. Perhaps I’ll share some writing meditations as we go. Short of that, I can now proclaim that you sometimes have to go back to go forward.

Knight of Cups, Cygnet Tarot, Kevin Grey Harris

In memory of my darling boy –

Posted in faith, Family, favorite things, IMAGINATION, In Memorium, introspection, memories, mythology, writing | 1 Comment

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