The quiet forests of this place
masked a raging battle for souls and hearts.
When I leave here, don't uproot me. Rather,
let me be a cutting grafted onto a new horizon
and let my roots remain behind, buried.
Let the pines that stand sentinel at the lakeshore
Guard them silently, as a grave
And then let me never come back here.
Never let me return.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Returning to Literary Sources: Boccaccio's Decameron
Last month when swine flu jumped the species barrier and subsequently spread across the world, I was reminded of a literary work I've been meaning to take on for years: Giovanni Boccaccio's Decameron. Its heft has been sitting on my shelf, taking up the width of 2-3 regular books, its black spine with tiny Penguin logo unobtrusively blending in amongst the more garish titles.
Having become interested in pandemic and epidemiology after reading There Is No Me Without You (about the tragic spread of HIV/AIDS in Africa), I've been following the evolution and spread of the H1N1 fairly closely. While not hysterical about it by any means, I am concerned about the possibility of major pandemic in the near future. And, as I always do in times of doubt and uncertainty, I turn to research and reading to try to gain a sense of understanding and precedent.
So, what was the experience in the 1300's, when the Black Death was raging across the known world, killing at least 1/3rd of Europe's population? Enter The Decameron, the premise of which revolves around 10 citizens of Florence fleeing the plague-infested city and holing up in the countryside. I have been trying to read gathered research from this time as well, but it is difficult to draw conclusions now that there is debate over whether bubonic plague was indeed the Black Death. However, I do see some similarities in the attempts to prevent the spread--quarantine, of course, and the instruction to think pleasant thoughts (ie, today's equivalent of stress making one more susceptible to disease). All these attempts, despite the best minds of the day believing the Black Death to be caused by vapors ("miasma") emanating from ill-fated planetary allignment.
In the event of a serious pandemic in our lifetimes, I get a glimpse of the hysteria we may be in store for by looking back to the Black Death. Certainly, I would hope it would not involve burning the houses of Jewish folks down, but think of deploying the military, curfews, quarantines, maybe even martial law? Deciding (as was talked about a couple years ago by a special task force) not to treat certain people--those over a certain age, those with dementia, trauma victims, and those with lung disease, heart failure, or "poorly-controlled diabetes?" Sounds pretty subjective to me--I can see mob attacks over who gets access to treatment. All that is just on the government level. To be honest, real racism could indeed break out if a particular group would be blamed for the strain's origins. Maybe burning homes of certain groups is not so far-fetched after all...
Anyway, the task of reading The Decameron is daunting, which is why I have not attempted it until now. A 22-page table of contents, a preface which boasts the phrase "occaisional emendations of a distinctly minor complexion" in the very first sentence, bibliographies, author's introduction, maps, 67 pgs of notes, 2 indeces, and the icing on the cake: a 113-pg translator's introduction. I figure the translator earned it, as he states translating The Decameron spanned 2 marriages and "half a lifetime." And I am one of those people who HAS to read introductions, footnotes, and notes. I am on pg xxxi...which is to say, not even page "1."
Having become interested in pandemic and epidemiology after reading There Is No Me Without You (about the tragic spread of HIV/AIDS in Africa), I've been following the evolution and spread of the H1N1 fairly closely. While not hysterical about it by any means, I am concerned about the possibility of major pandemic in the near future. And, as I always do in times of doubt and uncertainty, I turn to research and reading to try to gain a sense of understanding and precedent.
So, what was the experience in the 1300's, when the Black Death was raging across the known world, killing at least 1/3rd of Europe's population? Enter The Decameron, the premise of which revolves around 10 citizens of Florence fleeing the plague-infested city and holing up in the countryside. I have been trying to read gathered research from this time as well, but it is difficult to draw conclusions now that there is debate over whether bubonic plague was indeed the Black Death. However, I do see some similarities in the attempts to prevent the spread--quarantine, of course, and the instruction to think pleasant thoughts (ie, today's equivalent of stress making one more susceptible to disease). All these attempts, despite the best minds of the day believing the Black Death to be caused by vapors ("miasma") emanating from ill-fated planetary allignment.
In the event of a serious pandemic in our lifetimes, I get a glimpse of the hysteria we may be in store for by looking back to the Black Death. Certainly, I would hope it would not involve burning the houses of Jewish folks down, but think of deploying the military, curfews, quarantines, maybe even martial law? Deciding (as was talked about a couple years ago by a special task force) not to treat certain people--those over a certain age, those with dementia, trauma victims, and those with lung disease, heart failure, or "poorly-controlled diabetes?" Sounds pretty subjective to me--I can see mob attacks over who gets access to treatment. All that is just on the government level. To be honest, real racism could indeed break out if a particular group would be blamed for the strain's origins. Maybe burning homes of certain groups is not so far-fetched after all...
Anyway, the task of reading The Decameron is daunting, which is why I have not attempted it until now. A 22-page table of contents, a preface which boasts the phrase "occaisional emendations of a distinctly minor complexion" in the very first sentence, bibliographies, author's introduction, maps, 67 pgs of notes, 2 indeces, and the icing on the cake: a 113-pg translator's introduction. I figure the translator earned it, as he states translating The Decameron spanned 2 marriages and "half a lifetime." And I am one of those people who HAS to read introductions, footnotes, and notes. I am on pg xxxi...which is to say, not even page "1."
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Merited Holidays
So, this year I am the recipient of a new holiday called Mother's Day. Since this means I get an extra present ;) I started thinking about other holidays for which I've received gifts, and realized that I particularly savor the ones that honor achievements.
For instance, Christmas is pleasant as a general seasonal coziness and spirit, but as far as gifts go, Jesus was the one who got born (like that--"got born?"). I didn't really do anything. So why am I getting all these gifts?!
Birthdays: this time it was me who got born. But I don't remember it. And my mom did most of the work.
Wedding: Big deal. Having not even embarked on the marriage yet, talk to me in 25 years. If we're still together, maybe I'll think of this in terms of achievement and merit.
Baby shower: Felt proud, but let's face it. The gifts were for the baby, not me, despite all my delusions.
Graduations: now looking back on it, I've always felt proud of receiving graduation gifts (yeah, a high school, undergrad, and grad under my belt), knowing I really earned a bit of honor and celebration.
This first Mother's Day, I truly feel a sense of accomplishment, that I am worthy and deserving of a gift or laurel. It is not merely a feeling of participation in unabashed consumerism. I have earned it.
Speaking of unabashed consumerism, of which parties and celebrations have often become very thinly-veiled mediums, I've been asked about Himal's 1st birthday party. Ok...what?! Suddenly I'm being asked about themes! Didn't we just do "themes" last year for the baby shower and the nursery (oh, who am I kidding...there's no nursery...there's his room with some Winnie the Pooh stuff on the walls)? Unbeknownst to me (existing in foolish if blissful oblivion!), I've been informed by more seasoned parent-friends that kids' birthday parties are the current barometer of coolness. Forget the right shoes...in middle and upper middle class USA, suddenly it is the production of a birthday party that measures one's place in the world.
The thought of participating in such an atrocity raised 2 questions in my mind:
1) Why would I do this? and
2) Again, why would I do this?
Of course we'll honor Himal's 1st birthday. Of course we will!!! I already have the cake in my mind's eye--heart-shaped of course. Because as you may or may not know, Himal's got a pretty serious heart condition. It's going to be a celebration of a triumph...a triumph of making it through the first year...and it will be more meaningful than any store-bought theme.
For instance, Christmas is pleasant as a general seasonal coziness and spirit, but as far as gifts go, Jesus was the one who got born (like that--"got born?"). I didn't really do anything. So why am I getting all these gifts?!
Birthdays: this time it was me who got born. But I don't remember it. And my mom did most of the work.
Wedding: Big deal. Having not even embarked on the marriage yet, talk to me in 25 years. If we're still together, maybe I'll think of this in terms of achievement and merit.
Baby shower: Felt proud, but let's face it. The gifts were for the baby, not me, despite all my delusions.
Graduations: now looking back on it, I've always felt proud of receiving graduation gifts (yeah, a high school, undergrad, and grad under my belt), knowing I really earned a bit of honor and celebration.
This first Mother's Day, I truly feel a sense of accomplishment, that I am worthy and deserving of a gift or laurel. It is not merely a feeling of participation in unabashed consumerism. I have earned it.
Speaking of unabashed consumerism, of which parties and celebrations have often become very thinly-veiled mediums, I've been asked about Himal's 1st birthday party. Ok...what?! Suddenly I'm being asked about themes! Didn't we just do "themes" last year for the baby shower and the nursery (oh, who am I kidding...there's no nursery...there's his room with some Winnie the Pooh stuff on the walls)? Unbeknownst to me (existing in foolish if blissful oblivion!), I've been informed by more seasoned parent-friends that kids' birthday parties are the current barometer of coolness. Forget the right shoes...in middle and upper middle class USA, suddenly it is the production of a birthday party that measures one's place in the world.
The thought of participating in such an atrocity raised 2 questions in my mind:
1) Why would I do this? and
2) Again, why would I do this?
Of course we'll honor Himal's 1st birthday. Of course we will!!! I already have the cake in my mind's eye--heart-shaped of course. Because as you may or may not know, Himal's got a pretty serious heart condition. It's going to be a celebration of a triumph...a triumph of making it through the first year...and it will be more meaningful than any store-bought theme.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Spring Cleaning the Interior Life
The fine arts elevate the mind, but they are difficult to take in when you have a 9-month old. I can hear the fusses and "ba-ba's!" echoing in the contemplative silence of the art museum, see the actors on stage distracted by the crying in the middle of aisle H, and sense the disapproval of the concert attendees when mom wrestles with baby in the middle of Concerto No. 9.
Still, it is part of our civic duty to nurture a rich interior life--and Indreni cannot solely derive this from watching The Fashion Show or reading Slate online. Not even from listening to NPR or delving into literature. No, these media may inform or instruct/entertain and educate, but not necessarily elevate.
I'd been beginning to worry about ADD...ART Deficit Disorder since Himal was born. So today, when the 'rents offered to watch Himal, and Qu'Esposo was stranded in southern Missouri due to some tornado storm, I made a break for the Haggerty. Not only is it free, but the museum building is a work of art itself--plus its current exhibit features 10 WI artists and parking is relatively easy compared to the MAM, UWM, or 3rd Ward gallery environs.
In the silence of the museum, I could breathe and linger...again, something that hasn't been occuring much lately. The exhibits ranged from the unsettling, such as Xiaohong Zhang's and George Williams,' to whimsically disconcerting (Anne Kingsbury's). I copied down Kingsbury's line, "When Day by Day Became Ever After." And the transformation took place. In 45 minutes, I felt like myself again. The dust and cobwebs clouding my mind were swept out.
Every time I think I know my city (and I do think of Milw as MY city!), it surprises me yet again with its hidden joys. I took some time to stroll around the Marquette campus, never having realized before how beautiful the grounds are in spring, with flowering crab apple trees and tulips in profusion, and architecture that I really should have been appreciating all along. Then, to my amazement I approached a tiny medieval chapel that mentally transported me to the Anglo-Saxon countryside. I couldn't believe it was authentic, but walking inside I found out that it is the St Joan of Arc Chapel, which was built in 15th-century France, destroyed in WWI, and transported in pieces to the Marquette Campus in 1964.
Are you kidding me?!?!!!! I just stepped into a 15th century French chapel!!!!! In the middle of downtown Milwaukee!!!!!!!
BONUS!!!!!!!!
Still, it is part of our civic duty to nurture a rich interior life--and Indreni cannot solely derive this from watching The Fashion Show or reading Slate online. Not even from listening to NPR or delving into literature. No, these media may inform or instruct/entertain and educate, but not necessarily elevate.
I'd been beginning to worry about ADD...ART Deficit Disorder since Himal was born. So today, when the 'rents offered to watch Himal, and Qu'Esposo was stranded in southern Missouri due to some tornado storm, I made a break for the Haggerty. Not only is it free, but the museum building is a work of art itself--plus its current exhibit features 10 WI artists and parking is relatively easy compared to the MAM, UWM, or 3rd Ward gallery environs.
In the silence of the museum, I could breathe and linger...again, something that hasn't been occuring much lately. The exhibits ranged from the unsettling, such as Xiaohong Zhang's and George Williams,' to whimsically disconcerting (Anne Kingsbury's). I copied down Kingsbury's line, "When Day by Day Became Ever After." And the transformation took place. In 45 minutes, I felt like myself again. The dust and cobwebs clouding my mind were swept out.
Every time I think I know my city (and I do think of Milw as MY city!), it surprises me yet again with its hidden joys. I took some time to stroll around the Marquette campus, never having realized before how beautiful the grounds are in spring, with flowering crab apple trees and tulips in profusion, and architecture that I really should have been appreciating all along. Then, to my amazement I approached a tiny medieval chapel that mentally transported me to the Anglo-Saxon countryside. I couldn't believe it was authentic, but walking inside I found out that it is the St Joan of Arc Chapel, which was built in 15th-century France, destroyed in WWI, and transported in pieces to the Marquette Campus in 1964.
Are you kidding me?!?!!!! I just stepped into a 15th century French chapel!!!!! In the middle of downtown Milwaukee!!!!!!!
BONUS!!!!!!!!
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Tweeting in twitspeak
I'm now on twitter, and wondering just how far down the rabbit hole I'm willing to go...1st friendster/myspace, then facebook...now tweeting in twitspeak to tweeple and bleeple...one step away from bebo.
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