The day we went out towards Philadelphia, Michael Jackson died. Thus our tour of the Rust Belt was by default and involuntarily set to the FM tune of Michael Jackson, country, and Christian pop songs. There was a brief musical reprieve when we became ensnarled in jumble of Chicago traffic and construction. Rolling along at the speed of a stagecoach in 94 degree heat, we were at least compensated by some energetic Middle Eastern and African folk ballads.
They made me crave a big old schawrma sandwich, however—not a convenient craving for a vegetarian or dinnertime in small town Ohio. Our own dining option in the Ohio river town (Perrysville??) was a “Mexican restaurant” that looked like any brick bar in northern WI or Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Heavy metal blasting, neon beer signs nailed into brick walls, Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” clips playing on flat screen TVs tuned to CNN. The local beer, presumably made with Lake Erie water, tasted suspiciously like Budweiser. My bean tostada showed up beef. Sigh.
I had counted at least 20 deer grazing along the interstate in the 50 or so miles before our 10 pm dinner stop, so we opted to stay in rivertown. Never again will I stay in a hotel 60 yards from the freeway, in a room next to a slamming exit door. I got little sleep, and very grudgingly ate my continental muffin and grimaced through a few desperate sips of instant coffee.
Hopefully this day of our trip will be better. The carnival of horrors that was Gary, Indiana haunts me hundreds of miles later, inspiring unwelcome thoughts on the sacrifices of industrialization. Maybe Gary is what many parts of China now look like.
Northern Indiana had otherwise been surprisingly idyllic and rural, western Ohio like the bottom of a flat frying pan.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
The Woman Who "Does It All--" Another myth reborn
Last week's mail brought me a copy of my local YMCA's summer programming. The back cover had a picture of a hip mom-woman wearing earrings, lipstick, pink tank top, and boxing gloves. The caption read, "Your kids think you can do it all. Prove them right."
Why is it that we are bombarded with catch phrases and images of women who "do it all," but not men? Have you ever heard of a guy who "does it all?"
Here's Dylan. He works full time, got a promotion last month, picksu p the kids from school and has supper on the table by 6 pm. He's a soccer coach, goes to church, and grills on the weekends. He pays careful attention to appearance--notice how physically fit and stylish he is. He keeps his lawn mowed and won the Best Dad of the Year Award. And he does this all by his 10 pm bedtime! Oh, and he's a great husband too!
Right.
So why do we hold moms to the female version of this standard? Because it is yet another enslaving, unattainable myth to keep women in check, of course.
Let's see...the 1950's woman who "did it all:" Here's Donna. She irons her husband's clothes for work the next day, keeps the bannister free of dust, and vacuums the home every single day with her shiny new Hoover. She prepares home-cooked meals 3x per day. She can't wait for her children to come home from school for lunch. She is a Sunday school teacher, and always has a jello mold ready for the neighborhood parties. She does all this, and more, in heels, a skirt, and a wave in her hair. She is the family's teacher, nurse, referee, cheerleader, and mentor. She is a great mom and wife--she makes her kids and husband proud!
People. Please. This cultural standard/ideal is defined for us and force-fed as if it's a lifestyle we should actually want to lead. Like all unattainable ideals, a revolution comes along and overthrows it, swinging society into a backlash (like the feminist rejection of the June Cleaver image, and the subsequent march to work).
I want to know more about this mythical YMCA mom in the pink tank top and boxing gloves who has to keep up the appearance of doing it all. I really am interested in what she does and if she does it well. Does she ever go on a date to a foreign film and discuss it in-depth with her husband over coffee? Does she have meaningful relationships? Does she garden? Does she cook with creativity and passion? Does she ever hand-write a thank-you card? Does she ever take her family for a quiet hike on a lakeshore? Does she cultivate an inner thought life? Does she read classics? Is she still in love with her man? Does she ever get exhausted and want to tell those around her that she is sick of people thinking she can do it all?
I feel kinda sorry for her.
Hm. It seems all isn't "all," afterall. It seems, rather, that "all" is defined for us as holding down a job (bring in that money), having a family (like a good little woman), and looking good (still gotta please that man!).
I don't think anyone can do it "all." I don't think anyone should want to.
I wonder what the next revolution will look like when this myth is rejected and reincarnated in a new form.
Why is it that we are bombarded with catch phrases and images of women who "do it all," but not men? Have you ever heard of a guy who "does it all?"
Here's Dylan. He works full time, got a promotion last month, picksu p the kids from school and has supper on the table by 6 pm. He's a soccer coach, goes to church, and grills on the weekends. He pays careful attention to appearance--notice how physically fit and stylish he is. He keeps his lawn mowed and won the Best Dad of the Year Award. And he does this all by his 10 pm bedtime! Oh, and he's a great husband too!
Right.
So why do we hold moms to the female version of this standard? Because it is yet another enslaving, unattainable myth to keep women in check, of course.
Let's see...the 1950's woman who "did it all:" Here's Donna. She irons her husband's clothes for work the next day, keeps the bannister free of dust, and vacuums the home every single day with her shiny new Hoover. She prepares home-cooked meals 3x per day. She can't wait for her children to come home from school for lunch. She is a Sunday school teacher, and always has a jello mold ready for the neighborhood parties. She does all this, and more, in heels, a skirt, and a wave in her hair. She is the family's teacher, nurse, referee, cheerleader, and mentor. She is a great mom and wife--she makes her kids and husband proud!
People. Please. This cultural standard/ideal is defined for us and force-fed as if it's a lifestyle we should actually want to lead. Like all unattainable ideals, a revolution comes along and overthrows it, swinging society into a backlash (like the feminist rejection of the June Cleaver image, and the subsequent march to work).
I want to know more about this mythical YMCA mom in the pink tank top and boxing gloves who has to keep up the appearance of doing it all. I really am interested in what she does and if she does it well. Does she ever go on a date to a foreign film and discuss it in-depth with her husband over coffee? Does she have meaningful relationships? Does she garden? Does she cook with creativity and passion? Does she ever hand-write a thank-you card? Does she ever take her family for a quiet hike on a lakeshore? Does she cultivate an inner thought life? Does she read classics? Is she still in love with her man? Does she ever get exhausted and want to tell those around her that she is sick of people thinking she can do it all?
I feel kinda sorry for her.
Hm. It seems all isn't "all," afterall. It seems, rather, that "all" is defined for us as holding down a job (bring in that money), having a family (like a good little woman), and looking good (still gotta please that man!).
I don't think anyone can do it "all." I don't think anyone should want to.
I wonder what the next revolution will look like when this myth is rejected and reincarnated in a new form.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Keepin' It Real in the Trenches
So, this blog is all about a little corner of momspace I've carved out for myself; thus I suppose it's fitting that this post refers to "the mommy wars." Someone I know mentioned this phenomenon to me last week, so I have done a bit of reading to get acquainted with the debate. It seems the mommy wars refer to one's decision to either be a stay at home mom or a working mom, thus politicizing a highly individual choice.
I also found that some feel the mommy wars are nothing more than a media/marketing campaign, or an intellectual debate fought primarily in the sociological realm. "Real" or not, what IS clear is that, once again, women's minds and bodies are not their own but political and ideological battlefields.
I can tell you which decision is right for our family, but I cannot tell which is right for your family. I cannot tell you which side of the DMZ you should be on. But I can, after thinking about my own experiences, tell both sides to get real.
Let's start with working moms (don't worry ladies, I will get to the stay at home crew too). I generally feel like Switzerland--have no real beef with working moms, and have not been targeted for their aggression either. However, let's get one thing straight: I heard a working mom state on public radio recently, "I do everything a stay at home mom does, PLUS work full time!"
I am so sorry, honey, but you are seriously deluded and it is time for you to get real. If you want or have to work, that's fine, but you must own up to the consequences and realities--and that includes the fact that you are paying someone else to care for your child for almost all his/her waking hours. Let's take a conservative commute time estimate of 30 min each way for you to get from home to daycare to work. Let's say you work the typical schedule of 8-5. That would mean you are away from home 10 hours of the day, not even counting any errands you might run before or after work, or any extracurricular activities.
That is 10 hours of the day that your home is not being lived in. 10 hours of not feeding your own baby, changing diapers, cleaning up spit up, teaching ABCs and colors, reading to your child, preparing and cleaning up after messy meals, and managing your child's daily joys and crises. Do not even tell me that you do the job that I do. Do not pretend that you can cram those missing 10 hours of heavy-duty daytime parenting into getting ready in the morning, dinner, and getting ready for bed. In the medical field, you would be an on-call doctor, not the one working all night in the emergency room--not even working at the walk-in clinic or pulling office hours--at least, not until you pick up your child in the evening.
Do not pretend you can provide the quality of care a good stay at home parent does after a long day of work. Get real and answer honestly: do you come home to read to and play with your child--or do you come home and jump into opening mail, doing housework, and checking your email? After talking with moms who have done both--stay at home and work--I have been told, "I feel guilty because when I was working, the last thing I wanted to do was come home and parent. All I wanted to do after a long day of work was sit down and relax."
Ok, now that I have offended the working crowd, let's move on to the stay at home moms. Stay at homers, you too must get real and be honest. First of all, do not act like a martyr or that you are a prisoner to your family. Unless you belong to some austere religious sect or have a very special situation (say, a special needs child who requires intensive in-home care), no one has forced you to be at home. You *can* go to work anytime you like.
Also, opting to be a stay at home mom does not automatically make you a better parent than the working one. I think all of us moms have met terrible stay at home parents, great working parents, and vice versa. Please do not pretend you deserve a medal for round-the-clock parenting if I see you sitting on the couch and screaming at your kids all day.
Finally, you do not need to pity working moms because they are our sisters who *have* to work. Many of them choose to and want to. Not everyone is cut out for 24-hour, 7 days per week mommying. And I commend them for knowing themselves well enough to do what they feel is best for their family.
After all, your kid is more likely to suffer from having an unhappy, resentful mother than a working one.
For awhile, I thought we as women could say "we've arrived" when we reached the point where we can choose to either stay at home or go to work. When no one forced us to stay at home, nor did they force us to hand over our children to paid providers and march off to work. Now I realize that I was wrong. We have not arrived.
No, we will be able to say "we've arrived" when we are both free to choose, and free to do so without guilt and feeling like we need to explain and justify ourselves for our decision.
I also found that some feel the mommy wars are nothing more than a media/marketing campaign, or an intellectual debate fought primarily in the sociological realm. "Real" or not, what IS clear is that, once again, women's minds and bodies are not their own but political and ideological battlefields.
I can tell you which decision is right for our family, but I cannot tell which is right for your family. I cannot tell you which side of the DMZ you should be on. But I can, after thinking about my own experiences, tell both sides to get real.
Let's start with working moms (don't worry ladies, I will get to the stay at home crew too). I generally feel like Switzerland--have no real beef with working moms, and have not been targeted for their aggression either. However, let's get one thing straight: I heard a working mom state on public radio recently, "I do everything a stay at home mom does, PLUS work full time!"
I am so sorry, honey, but you are seriously deluded and it is time for you to get real. If you want or have to work, that's fine, but you must own up to the consequences and realities--and that includes the fact that you are paying someone else to care for your child for almost all his/her waking hours. Let's take a conservative commute time estimate of 30 min each way for you to get from home to daycare to work. Let's say you work the typical schedule of 8-5. That would mean you are away from home 10 hours of the day, not even counting any errands you might run before or after work, or any extracurricular activities.
That is 10 hours of the day that your home is not being lived in. 10 hours of not feeding your own baby, changing diapers, cleaning up spit up, teaching ABCs and colors, reading to your child, preparing and cleaning up after messy meals, and managing your child's daily joys and crises. Do not even tell me that you do the job that I do. Do not pretend that you can cram those missing 10 hours of heavy-duty daytime parenting into getting ready in the morning, dinner, and getting ready for bed. In the medical field, you would be an on-call doctor, not the one working all night in the emergency room--not even working at the walk-in clinic or pulling office hours--at least, not until you pick up your child in the evening.
Do not pretend you can provide the quality of care a good stay at home parent does after a long day of work. Get real and answer honestly: do you come home to read to and play with your child--or do you come home and jump into opening mail, doing housework, and checking your email? After talking with moms who have done both--stay at home and work--I have been told, "I feel guilty because when I was working, the last thing I wanted to do was come home and parent. All I wanted to do after a long day of work was sit down and relax."
Ok, now that I have offended the working crowd, let's move on to the stay at home moms. Stay at homers, you too must get real and be honest. First of all, do not act like a martyr or that you are a prisoner to your family. Unless you belong to some austere religious sect or have a very special situation (say, a special needs child who requires intensive in-home care), no one has forced you to be at home. You *can* go to work anytime you like.
Also, opting to be a stay at home mom does not automatically make you a better parent than the working one. I think all of us moms have met terrible stay at home parents, great working parents, and vice versa. Please do not pretend you deserve a medal for round-the-clock parenting if I see you sitting on the couch and screaming at your kids all day.
Finally, you do not need to pity working moms because they are our sisters who *have* to work. Many of them choose to and want to. Not everyone is cut out for 24-hour, 7 days per week mommying. And I commend them for knowing themselves well enough to do what they feel is best for their family.
After all, your kid is more likely to suffer from having an unhappy, resentful mother than a working one.
For awhile, I thought we as women could say "we've arrived" when we reached the point where we can choose to either stay at home or go to work. When no one forced us to stay at home, nor did they force us to hand over our children to paid providers and march off to work. Now I realize that I was wrong. We have not arrived.
No, we will be able to say "we've arrived" when we are both free to choose, and free to do so without guilt and feeling like we need to explain and justify ourselves for our decision.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Transplant
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.
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 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!!!!!!!!
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