Light and Momentary

7 Quick Takes: Slightly Cryptic Edition

1. You know how there's a group of people in my life whom I enjoy very much (mostly) and from whom I would prefer to keep this blog hidden? I am spending a lot of time with some of those people right now. I am also putting them in touch with a couple of internet friends who have relevant stories to tell them, and I am feeling a little paranoid that they will google-click-google-click their way here.

2. I am playing Words With Friends with my husband again. Remember how this used to be a bad idea? In our last game he got 120 points with the J alone. One! hundred! twenty! (Triple letter/triple word in "inject," followed by "jade" landing on that other triple.) His final score in that came: 536 points. This could be an opportunity for me to grow in patience and humility, could it not?

3. Opportunities to grow in patience and humility are more appealing in the abstract than in real life.

4. I am casting about for other things to tell you, because that context in which I am spending time with those people who aren't supposed to google-click their way here is taking up most of the available space in my brain right now. There is a blog post I would LOVE LOVE LOVE to write so we could all chat about young women and culture and bodies and contemporary gnosticism and misguided modesty.

5. I picked up a book by Joni Eareckson Tada when the Kindle version was free -- lots of interesting food for thought about suffering. When I was a kid my dad gave me her autobiography and I read it again and again. I hadn't thought about it in years, but the memories are still vivid: the accident, the hospital, the wide range of rehab personnel, the story of her faith. In hindsight I'm a little surprised my dad gave it to me, because it's so Jesus-y.

6. This new book describes her work around the world, providing wheelchairs to people with disabilities in developing countries. I am intrigued.

7. And I am out of minutes. I will try to write a more interesting post when the brain cell count permits.

Penguin Wings

I submitted a manuscript on April 10. When I left for a conference last week its status was "with reviewers." When I checked again last night it had changed to "awaiting editor decision."

I hate waiting, she said in her Inigo Montoya voice.

My hopes were not high for this manuscript -- I was a little surprised when my advisor wanted to submit it to the flagship journal in our field. I think there's a home for it somewhere, but I expect it to get rejected from this particular journal.

Even so, I'm not very good at waiting for the axe to fall.

At the conference I presented a related poster, and I had a couple of conversations with a woman who surprised me with her strong opinions about it. She wound up the first conversation by saying, "I think that's a serious confound that you need to consider." I spent the next three hours thinking, "Confound?? What's it confounded with?? What could she possibly mean?" I understood the issue she was raising but I still don't know why she would call it a confound, except maybe in an Inigo-Montoya-speaks-again sort of way. We crossed paths at the next poster session and I asked her to tell me more. The second conversation left me less unhappy, but still certain that she found my measure unpersuasive.

And then...last night I discovered that she is the associate editor in charge of my paper.

It is probably a faux pas that I didn't know it at the time, right? But if I had known it, wouldn't I have been expected to keep quiet about the manuscript under review? It's not like I could have said, "Why, hello, Dr. Holding-My-Future-In-Your-Typing-Hands! May I buy you a beer? Or two? Or a pedicure? Did I mention that you're looking very pretty today? And also clever?"

This morning I woke up feeling glum, feeling certain that a rejection was imminent and also that my summer students will hate my class. I was thinking about waiting and Isaiah 40, thinking that my wings do not feel very eagle-y on this particular day. I am feeling more dodo-esque, or perhaps, if I am feeling generous, penguin-esque. I am trying to remember that I don't have to be eagle-y in advance: it is God who bestows grace, and not Jamie who has to manufacture it.

Why the 21st century needs Charles Dickens: 7 reasons

Between 2000 and 2010 I read a Dickens novel every year. Four years after I finished my Dickens project, I came back to Bleak House. This is a post about why I plan to work my way through his books again.

1. Because Dickens teaches us to pay attention. I have posted before about how the internet has left me with the attention span of a concussed fruit fly, but in my secret heart I didn't really believe it. My secret heart said, "I don't have an attention problem! I read lots!" Sorry, secret heart, but a return to Dickens has made it clear that you were delusional. Dickens says, "The world is full of important things. Notice them! Remember them! Or else you will be really confused on page 700!"

2. Because Dickens reminds us that we're all connected. In real life it is unlikely that the person you scarcely notice crossing your path will turn out to be the Key Player in unraveling both a troubling mystery and a legal tangle (don't you love Mr. Bucket?), but it happens all the time in Dickens. My 14yo views this as a bug; I am certain it is a feature. In real life there are more degrees of separation, but everyone you pass deserves consideration nonetheless.

3. Because Dickens encourages flow. Both languor and drudgery are enemies of joy: both Lady Dedlock and Jenny are unhappy specimens. But Esther immerses herself in her work -- as a cure for uncertainty, as a response to the blues, as a habit worth forming for its own sake.

4. Because Dickens shows us that life is short. This time through I was a little surprised by the body count in Bleak House: there are Coen Brothers movies in which fewer people die! The book is peppered with reminders that life is meant to be lived with purpose, that faith is meant to teach us to sow kindness in the present in preparation for eternity. (What happens if we sow pomposity and bloviation instead? Why, my friends, we bloviate. And pompose. Just ask Mr. Chadband. Is he not a riot? Does he not make you laugh out loud?)

5. Because Dickens knows that life is full of surprises. There is a thread that runs all through the novels of Dickens: time drives hidden things into the light. Sometimes this is a dread occurrence, but mostly it reflects a certainty that life is liberally sprinkled with good surprises. From piled-up detritus, from all the things we attempt to cast off and bury (and OH now I want to reread Our Mutual Friend and think more about rubbish collectors!), the truth will out and truth is intrinsically good. 

6. Because Dickens says, "Be cautious about first impressions." I didn't remember the shifts we see in either Mr. Tulkinghorn or Mr. Bucket. And who would have guessed that Sir Leicester had so much good in him?

7. Because Dickens boosts your stamina. These days I worry that an 800-word blog post is too long. In a TL;DR world, an 800-page book is beyond the pale. The task of finishing a Dickens novel is a delicious (if occasionally bathetic) reminder that I can eat an elephant one bite at a time: if I show up, if I keep taking a whack at it, eventually I'll get there.

Want some ideas about reading DIckens yourself? I have a post or two for you!

Running group, year 3

Last summer my favorite running group leader suggested that I could lead a group this year, and I was pleased and flattered and also skeptical. Despite my skepticism I am leading a group, and it turns out to be both fun and satisfying.

After years and years of feeling like I was not a member of the secret Ladies Who Run sorority, I think I have slipped through the pledging process without quite realizing it. Last week when one of the other leaders said, "My watch is dead!" I said, "Oh, I've got mine," because I have turned into a person whose Garmin is (almost) always charged up. Last week when one of the group members said, "Let me know if you have any form tips for me" and another member said, "I've always had trouble with finding a good breathing rhythm," I felt like I had some worthwhile information for both of them. And this week, when I was running next to someone who was struggling, I was able to offer her a couple of tips and a lot of encouragement. At first she said, "I'm not even going to try to run the last interval." But then she tried it after all, and she stuck it out until the end, at which point I offered her a happy high-five.

I often feel discouraged about my running. Progress is slow. But working with this group is showing me that I have learned some things worth sharing. It is also showing me that I am unquestionably faster than I used to be, and more certain that the benefits of running outweigh the struggles.

Week 3, updating

All right, everybody, I am three weeks into my summer, with ten to go. Remember all those things I was going to do this summer? Here's the update:

Soul: only 2 weekday Masses so far, which is not much of a habit, and after two weeks of nightly compline I have been flaking out recently. Not so much with the habits, I guess.

Mind: I have read 5/8 of Bleak House, which is funnier and lovelier even than I remembered. Novel draft is completely untouched, and my efforts to track time wasted online were so discouraging that I abandoned them. (<-That's what we call missing the point, my friends.)

Body: 15 workouts, check. After two weeks of eating well I decided that I missed processed crap. HEAVY SIGH -- trying again. In bed by 10 is painful too.

Parent: 1 fun trip out of town accomplished, along with 1 fun trip to the kids' museum. Pictures uploaded, printed, shipped. We're on p. 501 of The Two Towers, and making headway. Up next: checklists!

Prof: ms #1 submitted, and I have a poster draft that doesn't make my eyes bleed, which is big progress. One IRB is approved and I have comments to respond to on the second.

Home: paint touch-up is scheduled and the back steps are 90% cleaned up. The last 10% kind of makes me want to lie down on the stairs and weep softly, but I will suck it up and finish.

Goals for this week: get to Mass twice, get back in the good habits groove with food/bedtime/compline, finish Bleak House, work out x 5, read 30 pages of TTT, get some pictures in an album. Print checklists and think about a summer rule of life (it should include working on dinner prep in a couple of stages before noon). Finish back steps and call around about floors; update basement list of tasks. For work: finish poster, respond to comments on second IRB, finish summer syllabus, line up guest speakers, put readings on reserve, request desk copies, research equipment purchases, download sample fall syllabi. And! I forgot to put on my list that I need to retake the IBLCE exam this summer. Must go to the library and get a couple of books in preparation.

Yes and No, Redux

Years ago, when this was a different blog, I wrote a post called Yes and No. I've been thinking about it here and there this summer, lazily drafting a post about things I always say yes to. Yes, you can always have a band-aid, even if your injury is invisible to the naked eye. Yes, you can check out whatever you want from the library (but OH you guys, I am rueing this one today, when the library is telling me I owe fines for Barbie The Cheerleader Veterinarian Talks About Clothes With Her Slender White Friends Again). Then I got stuck and asked my 14yo, who reminded me: Yes, you can always have a piece of fruit. Yes, I will (almost) always knit you that _____, whatever it might be.

That could easily be a Mama Wars kind of post, right? Not my intention, friends. We all have our stuff that we say yes to and our stuff we feel guilty about saying no to. I rarely say yes to requests to bake cookies and cupcakes, because baking them means I will eat too many of them (the guiiiiiiilt! will my children grow up to say, "My mom was an awesome baker but she would only bake for us on birthdays/name days"?). I could go on; I won't.

Tonight after the CSA pickup I was hanging out on the playground with Stella. A couple of other families were there too, including a mother with two boys who looked to be about 1 and 10. She was conspicuously sweet to the little one, and conspicuously frustrated with the bigger one. Her frustration was cloaked in middle-class positive-discipline lingo ("Now, Benedict, you need to make independent good choices!"), but there was a worrisome current of rigidity running through it. For instance: at one point he was running in a nearby field with a couple of his same-aged friends when she summoned him back to the playground. "I didn't see what you threw, Benedict, but you cannot throw anything unless you want to sit right here next to me."

Which-- dude. Ten-year-old boys, as a general rule, like to throw things. Telling a 10-year-old boy he can't throw anything at all, ever, not even in an open field with lots of safe throwing material lying around, is about like telling him he needs to work harder at his levitation because surely he can get around that pesky law of gravity if he just keeps trying. 

We were there together for about 30 minutes, during which every interaction they had was negative-- every single one. When he was playing elsewhere she was talking about him to her friends, and every single comment was negative-- every single one. He was an especially active kid, and I get that it's frustrating to have a kid who needs regular reminders about civilized behavior. At the same time, his behavior was never unusual or dangerous. I also get that it's frustrating to have a mom who tells you every other minute that you're doing it wrong. At one point she said, "Benedict? Benedict! When I call your name you need to respond to me right away!" He still didn't respond. I wanted to say, "Perhaps he's not responding to you because he knows you're going to correct him again." I wanted to say, "Did you ever have a brother?" But maybe I could have just said, "How has your day been today?" Maybe I am doing that thing again where I extrapolate unjustly from limited information.

As I sat there I was trying to pray, for her and for all of us intermittently frazzled moms. The thing I want to remember about tonight is that you can choose your words attentively and still trumpet your vexation; you can modulate your voice carefully and still send a message of rejection, just as surely as if you shouted it. The thing I most hope my children will take with them when they leave my home is an inner certainty that they are loved unshakably. We can all draw our yes/no lines in different places, but I think our most important responsibility as mothers is to say an all-caps YES to a kid's fundamental identity. The person you are at your core, the person God made you to be: that person is loved forever.

I was drafting this post and my 14yo came over and said, "Remember when you read me The Two Towers aloud while you knitted and knitted?" He hugged me and told me how loved it made him feel. (If you have a 14yo boy, you will probably know that this is not an everyday occurrence.) The surge of gladness it brought me (and the relief, since I'd been fretting about the ways I am like the playground mom) felt like an answer to the prayer I'd been saying all through the evening: O God, let them know that they are loved.

Bleak House Blogging, Vol. 3

"...Spontaneous Combustion, and none other of all the deaths that can be died."

Last night I vaulted out of bed to read the end of chapter 32 aloud to my husband. "This is the best book in the world," I told him. That scene encapsulates so much of what I love about Dickens, the way it fearlessly straddles the line between horrifying and hilarious. It bespeaks a big brass of pair of writerly cojones: I imagine him thinking, "Hmmm, how am I going to keep these letters out of Guppy's hands? I know, I'll have a character spontaneously combust!"

Chapter 33 picks those themes right up: it's an unexpectedly small world, in which horror and hilarity meld in unexpected ways. Mr. Smallweed makes me laugh in spite of myself. Which is the point, I think.

During the years when I was reading Dickens regularly, it would take me about 200 pages to feel like I was in the groove. After some time away, it's been harder to get going. I'm a bit past the halfway mark, and I'm just beginning to think, "I don't want to put this down." If you are bogged down, persevere! Mrs. Bagnet awaits, and you wouldn't want her to reach out of chapter 34 to jab you with her trusty umbrella.