Maybe this has been said before, but I just noticed, while reading a children's book to my kids, that Obama stole his catchphrase from Bob the Builder.
"Can we build it?"
"YES, WE CAN!"
Just saying.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Stolen Paragraph #12
I was trying to describe to someone how in only a few years Tank will be in school and I will have to decide what to do with my time, with my life. One young mother of a toddler said, "Oh, I know how I'd fill my time!" And I just said, "Yeah, but it's not quite just knowing how to fill my time. I have a thousand things I want to do..." And I couldn't explain it past that. Fortunately, Anne Morrow Lindbergh did a great job of explaining it in the afterward to her book Gift from the Sea. The paragraph follows.
The world has totally changed in twenty years and so, of course, have the lives of every one of us, including my own. When I wrote Gift from the Sea, I was still in the stage of life I called "the oyster bed," symbol of a spreading family and growing children. The oyster bed, as the tide of life ebbed and the children went away to school, college, marriage, or careers, was left high and dry. A most uncomfortable stage followed, not sufficiently anticipated and barely hinted at in my book. In bleak honesty it can only be called "the abandoned shell." Plenty of solitude, and a sudden panic at how to fill it, characterize this period. With me, it was not a question of simply filling up the space or the time. I had many activities and even a well-established vocation to pursue. But when a mother is left, the lone hub of a wheel, with no other lives revolving about her, she faces a total re-orientation. It takes time to re-find the center of gravity.
The world has totally changed in twenty years and so, of course, have the lives of every one of us, including my own. When I wrote Gift from the Sea, I was still in the stage of life I called "the oyster bed," symbol of a spreading family and growing children. The oyster bed, as the tide of life ebbed and the children went away to school, college, marriage, or careers, was left high and dry. A most uncomfortable stage followed, not sufficiently anticipated and barely hinted at in my book. In bleak honesty it can only be called "the abandoned shell." Plenty of solitude, and a sudden panic at how to fill it, characterize this period. With me, it was not a question of simply filling up the space or the time. I had many activities and even a well-established vocation to pursue. But when a mother is left, the lone hub of a wheel, with no other lives revolving about her, she faces a total re-orientation. It takes time to re-find the center of gravity.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The Mountain Dream
Rob says I should start writing down some of my dreams, since quite often they come with some sort of analogy. I sort of shrugged at his idea and he said, "I'm serious." So I thought I'd start recording them on here. Feel free to not read them if you don't want. Some of them are interesting only to me, I'm sure.
The Mountain
(A lot of my dreams involve climbing a mountain and are clear analogies about the journey of life. I'm always with different people and the mountain is often different, but the basic plot line is often the same. Here's the most recent Mountain dream, as an example.)
I was hiking up a distant mountain with my family. I specifically remember most of my siblings and my dad. We were camping out on the way, and we were several days into the trip already. The mountain was some sort of Most Mountain: Tallest, Hardest, Most Important. Like Everest, except we were all hiking with only light backpacks and it wasn't cold. The conditions during the day wouldn't kill us, but if we weren't in a safe place at night, we would freeze to death.
We woke up at sunrise on a very pleasant morning and my dad announced that today was the Last Day. We had to reach the mountain, climb up it, back down, and back to the campground by nightfall. The mountain still looked a ways off to me, and I told my dad that I wasn't sure we had enough time to do all that. He waved off my concern and told me "it was easy."
So we started walking across a very flat, barren valley towards the mountain. And suddenly there were a ton of people packed on the trail, all headed towards The Mountain. We reached the summit quicker than is physically possible in real life, and started climbing up a metal spiral staircase. I admired the structure and how sound it looked, even though I saw no end to it. At first the staircase was easy. There was only one direction to take, and it was easy going. Three sides went up at a quick pace, and the fourth would slant down just a little, to make it easier to keep climbing, I figured.
Pretty soon I realized the staircase was misleading. We were backtracking, not on purpose, and people were getting lost. The staircase was a test. Each level got harder and the tests were more complicated. At first there was consensus amongst the family members about which way we should go, and figuring out which way lead forward wasn't too complicated.
And then the staircase lead into a room. It was a 1950's themed room with an old black and white TV and a radio that was broadcasting a baseball game. There were only two doors in the room: the one we entered, and the other that obviously lead to where we needed to go. Two guardians of the room let us know that there were clues to be found so we could figure out how to open the other door. It had no handle.
My Dad and my sister set about frantically trying to figure out this puzzle of a room. They were analyzing clues and taking everything in. I, on the other hand, pretty much gave up, got used to the idea of being there for a while and took off my shoes. I was then thinking of seducing the guardian as a way to get him to open the door for me. I was nearly executing this plan (which the guardian was all for) when a woman on the other side of the door opened it for us, thereby saving me from my abhorrent moral choice.
Most of the people in the room nearly ran through the open door to the next puzzle room. But I had to wait and put my shoes on and therefore saw the reaction of my father and my sister. Their reaction couldn't have surprised me more. They almost refused to go through the door, and they were angry that it opened at all. They had been determined to figure out the puzzle, and the open door frustrated them. They were supposed to SOLVE THE PUZZLE!
The next room had 2 exit doors and for the first time we disagreed on which way to go. Everyone was in a panic and some of my family had run off. Run ahead, run back, or run astray, I didn't know which. A few of us were with it enough to try to decipher the next room. It had two stairways going up, and we had to figure out the puzzle to see which one was the true staircase. The other lead to a trap. The room was a sort of mirage and such a good deception that we couldn't come to a common consensus as to which way was the right way. I came to my conclusion, and felt very very strongly about it. I set about trying to explain it to my brother who disagreed with my assessment. I was successfully convincing him that my understanding was correct when I woke up.
I offer no further explanation.
The Mountain
(A lot of my dreams involve climbing a mountain and are clear analogies about the journey of life. I'm always with different people and the mountain is often different, but the basic plot line is often the same. Here's the most recent Mountain dream, as an example.)
I was hiking up a distant mountain with my family. I specifically remember most of my siblings and my dad. We were camping out on the way, and we were several days into the trip already. The mountain was some sort of Most Mountain: Tallest, Hardest, Most Important. Like Everest, except we were all hiking with only light backpacks and it wasn't cold. The conditions during the day wouldn't kill us, but if we weren't in a safe place at night, we would freeze to death.
We woke up at sunrise on a very pleasant morning and my dad announced that today was the Last Day. We had to reach the mountain, climb up it, back down, and back to the campground by nightfall. The mountain still looked a ways off to me, and I told my dad that I wasn't sure we had enough time to do all that. He waved off my concern and told me "it was easy."
So we started walking across a very flat, barren valley towards the mountain. And suddenly there were a ton of people packed on the trail, all headed towards The Mountain. We reached the summit quicker than is physically possible in real life, and started climbing up a metal spiral staircase. I admired the structure and how sound it looked, even though I saw no end to it. At first the staircase was easy. There was only one direction to take, and it was easy going. Three sides went up at a quick pace, and the fourth would slant down just a little, to make it easier to keep climbing, I figured.
Pretty soon I realized the staircase was misleading. We were backtracking, not on purpose, and people were getting lost. The staircase was a test. Each level got harder and the tests were more complicated. At first there was consensus amongst the family members about which way we should go, and figuring out which way lead forward wasn't too complicated.
And then the staircase lead into a room. It was a 1950's themed room with an old black and white TV and a radio that was broadcasting a baseball game. There were only two doors in the room: the one we entered, and the other that obviously lead to where we needed to go. Two guardians of the room let us know that there were clues to be found so we could figure out how to open the other door. It had no handle.
My Dad and my sister set about frantically trying to figure out this puzzle of a room. They were analyzing clues and taking everything in. I, on the other hand, pretty much gave up, got used to the idea of being there for a while and took off my shoes. I was then thinking of seducing the guardian as a way to get him to open the door for me. I was nearly executing this plan (which the guardian was all for) when a woman on the other side of the door opened it for us, thereby saving me from my abhorrent moral choice.
Most of the people in the room nearly ran through the open door to the next puzzle room. But I had to wait and put my shoes on and therefore saw the reaction of my father and my sister. Their reaction couldn't have surprised me more. They almost refused to go through the door, and they were angry that it opened at all. They had been determined to figure out the puzzle, and the open door frustrated them. They were supposed to SOLVE THE PUZZLE!
The next room had 2 exit doors and for the first time we disagreed on which way to go. Everyone was in a panic and some of my family had run off. Run ahead, run back, or run astray, I didn't know which. A few of us were with it enough to try to decipher the next room. It had two stairways going up, and we had to figure out the puzzle to see which one was the true staircase. The other lead to a trap. The room was a sort of mirage and such a good deception that we couldn't come to a common consensus as to which way was the right way. I came to my conclusion, and felt very very strongly about it. I set about trying to explain it to my brother who disagreed with my assessment. I was successfully convincing him that my understanding was correct when I woke up.
I offer no further explanation.
Friday, November 13, 2009
King Kong and the Ideal Woman
I dislike watching movies. But Rob loves it, so I've been trying to find some movies that I can stomach watching with him. It's hard to do, since I've become so disenchanted by Hollywood recently. Even movies that I've liked have had unfortunate scenes in them, and that's too bad.
Apparently I'm a prude.
So I've started going to the library and picking out only movies that I know will be 100% non-objectionable. My first choice: Mr. Bean's Holiday. I was so confident about it that we watched it as a family. Which was interesting. Miciah thought it was funny (she even wanted to renew it so she could watch it again) but the boys were bored. Elijah kept saying, "Can I play the wii now?" I liked it well enough, but I wondered if my picky movie tastes had really brought me to the point of thinking sub-par Mr. Bean movies are hilarious. That's a harrowing thought.
My second pick: King Kong. As in, the ORIGINAL King Kong. I was suddenly shamed by the fact that I had never seen such a classic American movie. In fact, I wasn't even aware it was supposed to be a Beauty and the Beast tale (nor that his name was just Kong and King was a title because he was King of the jungle where he lived).
And we watched it. Clearly, it doesn't look realistic. But it was a well-done movie (so long as you don't mind the shallow plot line and lack of character development), and I felt my pulse quicken a few times. I could definitely see how it would have rocked America's world in 1933.
What especially delighted me about this movie, though, was analyzing what the portrayal of the lead lady and her romantic interest said about what men wanted in an ideal woman back then, and what women would accept (or even expected?) from their men. Absolutely fascinating.
According to this movie, the ideal woman that men were seeking in 1933 was beautiful, wilting, eager to please, completely dependent on men, compliant, eternally optimistic, naive, nice to a fault, excitable, lacked reasoning capabilities, and always needed saving (she was CLEARLY incapable of saving herself).
I'm going to compare her to Miciah's Barbie movies (which are all exactly the same). I contend that since Barbie is the "ideal woman," the way they represent her in the movies is how we feel about the ideal woman today. I'd like you to not argue my movie choice until you see the list (it's pretty favorable).
So, according to the Barbie movies, the ideal woman that men are seeking in 2009 is beautiful, eternally optimistic, independent, intelligent, able to fend for herself, intensely loyal to friends, doesn't need a man (but wouldn't mind one either), does what's right no matter what, helpful and nice.
(Now you can argue the choice. But I don't much care if you do. You can choose another modern movie if you want.)
It just cracked me up, watching King Kong and listening to the dialogue. I thought, "They could NOT put this in a movie now." I even laughed out loud at this exchange (not exact quotes, but close):
Romantic Interest: "Women on a ship are a bother."
Ideal Woman: "Oh, I haven't been a bother, have I? I've tried so hard not to be."
Romantic Interest: "Of course you've been a bother. Just by being here. But you can't help it, I guess. You're a woman. All women are bothers."
Awesome.
Apparently I'm a prude.
So I've started going to the library and picking out only movies that I know will be 100% non-objectionable. My first choice: Mr. Bean's Holiday. I was so confident about it that we watched it as a family. Which was interesting. Miciah thought it was funny (she even wanted to renew it so she could watch it again) but the boys were bored. Elijah kept saying, "Can I play the wii now?" I liked it well enough, but I wondered if my picky movie tastes had really brought me to the point of thinking sub-par Mr. Bean movies are hilarious. That's a harrowing thought.
My second pick: King Kong. As in, the ORIGINAL King Kong. I was suddenly shamed by the fact that I had never seen such a classic American movie. In fact, I wasn't even aware it was supposed to be a Beauty and the Beast tale (nor that his name was just Kong and King was a title because he was King of the jungle where he lived).
And we watched it. Clearly, it doesn't look realistic. But it was a well-done movie (so long as you don't mind the shallow plot line and lack of character development), and I felt my pulse quicken a few times. I could definitely see how it would have rocked America's world in 1933.
What especially delighted me about this movie, though, was analyzing what the portrayal of the lead lady and her romantic interest said about what men wanted in an ideal woman back then, and what women would accept (or even expected?) from their men. Absolutely fascinating.
According to this movie, the ideal woman that men were seeking in 1933 was beautiful, wilting, eager to please, completely dependent on men, compliant, eternally optimistic, naive, nice to a fault, excitable, lacked reasoning capabilities, and always needed saving (she was CLEARLY incapable of saving herself).
I'm going to compare her to Miciah's Barbie movies (which are all exactly the same). I contend that since Barbie is the "ideal woman," the way they represent her in the movies is how we feel about the ideal woman today. I'd like you to not argue my movie choice until you see the list (it's pretty favorable).
So, according to the Barbie movies, the ideal woman that men are seeking in 2009 is beautiful, eternally optimistic, independent, intelligent, able to fend for herself, intensely loyal to friends, doesn't need a man (but wouldn't mind one either), does what's right no matter what, helpful and nice.
(Now you can argue the choice. But I don't much care if you do. You can choose another modern movie if you want.)
It just cracked me up, watching King Kong and listening to the dialogue. I thought, "They could NOT put this in a movie now." I even laughed out loud at this exchange (not exact quotes, but close):
Romantic Interest: "Women on a ship are a bother."
Ideal Woman: "Oh, I haven't been a bother, have I? I've tried so hard not to be."
Romantic Interest: "Of course you've been a bother. Just by being here. But you can't help it, I guess. You're a woman. All women are bothers."
Awesome.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Stolen Paragraph #11
From An Anthropologist on Mars, by Oliver Sacks, pg. 138:
"Marius von Senden, reviewing every published case [of restoring sight to an adult who had been blind his whole life] over a three-hundred-year period in his classic book Space and Sight (1932), concluded that every newly sighted adult sooner or later comes to a "motivation crisis"--and that not every patient gets through it. He tells of one patient who felt so threatened by sight (which would have meant leaving the Asylum for the Blind, and his fiancee there) that he threatened to tear his eyes out; he cites case after case of patients who "behave blind" or "refuse to see" after an operation, and of others who, fearful of what sight may entail, refuse operation (one such account, entitled "L'Aveugle qui refuse de voir," was published as early as 1771). Both Gregory and Valvo dilate on the emotional dangers of forcing a new sense on a blind man--how, after an initial exhilaration, a devastating (and even lethal) depression can ensue."
I identified with this paragraph. Not that I've ever had a previously unavailable sense restored, but I think I have had (and continue to have) moments of what he calls a "motivation crisis." Times when I have to decide if I want to move forward or not, and if I do want to, WHY. Times when it hasn't seemed worth it to leave my comfortable world behind in search of a better one ahead. Times when I've wanted to tear out a piece of myself, some knowledge or truth or gift, because life would just be easier, simpler, without it.
But I think that's what we're called to do. We're asked to make it through the Motivation Crisis and move ahead to a better place. And I don't know why, but sometimes that just seems so hard to do.
"Marius von Senden, reviewing every published case [of restoring sight to an adult who had been blind his whole life] over a three-hundred-year period in his classic book Space and Sight (1932), concluded that every newly sighted adult sooner or later comes to a "motivation crisis"--and that not every patient gets through it. He tells of one patient who felt so threatened by sight (which would have meant leaving the Asylum for the Blind, and his fiancee there) that he threatened to tear his eyes out; he cites case after case of patients who "behave blind" or "refuse to see" after an operation, and of others who, fearful of what sight may entail, refuse operation (one such account, entitled "L'Aveugle qui refuse de voir," was published as early as 1771). Both Gregory and Valvo dilate on the emotional dangers of forcing a new sense on a blind man--how, after an initial exhilaration, a devastating (and even lethal) depression can ensue."
I identified with this paragraph. Not that I've ever had a previously unavailable sense restored, but I think I have had (and continue to have) moments of what he calls a "motivation crisis." Times when I have to decide if I want to move forward or not, and if I do want to, WHY. Times when it hasn't seemed worth it to leave my comfortable world behind in search of a better one ahead. Times when I've wanted to tear out a piece of myself, some knowledge or truth or gift, because life would just be easier, simpler, without it.
But I think that's what we're called to do. We're asked to make it through the Motivation Crisis and move ahead to a better place. And I don't know why, but sometimes that just seems so hard to do.
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| Oliver Sacks |
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