I don't know quite how to put this, but it is an objection on my part to what I saw last night on television, and before you tell me, "Well, you can always turn it off," I will tell you that I did. But I have thought today about it, and so I write.
I sat down in the late evening, turned around the channels and stopped when I saw a gathering at what appeared to be a Thanksgiving dinner. It soon became clear that these people were not family, perhaps friends, perhaps professional colleagues and other guests at Candice Bergen's table. I don't know her character's name. The people were bickering and seemed to be far from thankful for anything, but--just as I was about to change the channel--someone said something about praying or offering thanks, so I stayed.
There was more bickering about who offered to pray because that person--I don't know his name either--supposedly doesn't believe in God. And what followed was a series of jokes, crude remarks, ridicule and ridiculous comments about God and Jesus Christ. And Allah.
Oh yes, I know that many programs on television have as their premise and focus matters that I find objectionable. Frankly, I am not easily shocked. But this, the things they said, the small-mindedness and flagrant disregard (of the writers? the actors? the producers?) of matters some hold a reverence for, this I found shocking.
Those who surrounded the table are, we are supposed to believe, highly intelligent people. Some in our society may think they--in person and in the person of the characters they portray--speak for us, because they are professional and bright and wealthy and ever in the public eye.
But they do not speak for me. And I do object to the level of entertainment to which network television has fallen. No, I think it is less a fall than a willful plunge down. Way down. And I wonder if the actors in this show are proud of the work they do.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Something Newish
It's that I've dressed my blogs in new colors.
And I could approach a new subject, like, I might talk about the economy or Sarah Palin.
Joking . . .
Actually, I'm thinking about what I used to tell my students: all writing is written to be read. It was a way of getting them out of their own heads; a way of helping them know that for my class, at least, they had to be aware of some reader and write so that the reader would know what they wanted him to know. You know, provide the specifics, and so on and on. Yes, I could say more here, but this is not a class.
And, beyond my class, I am aware that sometimes we write and hide it away, but does that mean the writing was not meant to be read? I don't think so. Even if you say, "I'm my audience."
This subject is not new, but I think of it now because when we write our blogs, we don't know if anyone will read them. Look at the statement under the title Your Maugham, for instance. But I believe we write as if someone will. Otherwise, we wouldn't write at all.
And I could approach a new subject, like, I might talk about the economy or Sarah Palin.
Joking . . .
Actually, I'm thinking about what I used to tell my students: all writing is written to be read. It was a way of getting them out of their own heads; a way of helping them know that for my class, at least, they had to be aware of some reader and write so that the reader would know what they wanted him to know. You know, provide the specifics, and so on and on. Yes, I could say more here, but this is not a class.
And, beyond my class, I am aware that sometimes we write and hide it away, but does that mean the writing was not meant to be read? I don't think so. Even if you say, "I'm my audience."
This subject is not new, but I think of it now because when we write our blogs, we don't know if anyone will read them. Look at the statement under the title Your Maugham, for instance. But I believe we write as if someone will. Otherwise, we wouldn't write at all.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
It's Not Brain Surgery, But It's Kind of Close
If the guy standing over your numb face with a knife in his hand says to you, "This is costing me money," that's a good thing.
It means no deep cuts, no stitches, no lying there while the pathology lab analyzes the tissue to see if they got the whole tumor, no paying the pathology bill, and no black eye, which would have resulted because the surgery was over my left eye.
"These tumors are both pretty shallow," says Dr Burr. "We'll do a destruction." And although that doesn't sound good, it's better than cut, dig, and stitch. It amounts to scraping--I couldn't feel it, but I heard it--and freezing. And so yes I have holes over my eye, but they're really more like indentations.
"If I had to do the surgery," he said, "you'd end up without an eyebrow here." Dr Burr finished up, took my hand in his two hands, held it against his mid-section, and rubbed and patted and apologized--again--for messing up my face. And, yes, he called me kid.
He telephoned at 9 p.m. last night to inquire about my face. At the end of our chat he said, "You take care, kid. Have a good night. These things will heal, and we'll see you in January." I thanked him very much. For the phone call and for the whole thing. I'll live with the "kid" and the "sweetie." He's a nice man.
Now I apply a white emulsion to the ugly little places three times daily and put on fresh bandages.
There. You likely didn't want the details, but you got them.
It means no deep cuts, no stitches, no lying there while the pathology lab analyzes the tissue to see if they got the whole tumor, no paying the pathology bill, and no black eye, which would have resulted because the surgery was over my left eye.
"These tumors are both pretty shallow," says Dr Burr. "We'll do a destruction." And although that doesn't sound good, it's better than cut, dig, and stitch. It amounts to scraping--I couldn't feel it, but I heard it--and freezing. And so yes I have holes over my eye, but they're really more like indentations.
"If I had to do the surgery," he said, "you'd end up without an eyebrow here." Dr Burr finished up, took my hand in his two hands, held it against his mid-section, and rubbed and patted and apologized--again--for messing up my face. And, yes, he called me kid.
He telephoned at 9 p.m. last night to inquire about my face. At the end of our chat he said, "You take care, kid. Have a good night. These things will heal, and we'll see you in January." I thanked him very much. For the phone call and for the whole thing. I'll live with the "kid" and the "sweetie." He's a nice man.
Now I apply a white emulsion to the ugly little places three times daily and put on fresh bandages.
There. You likely didn't want the details, but you got them.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
To Barack
"We must not focus our attention exclusively on the material, because, though important, it is not the main issue. . . . The economic success of the Western world is a product of its moral philosophy and practice. The economic results are better because the moral philosophy is superior. It is superior because it starts with the individual, with his uniqueness, his responsibility, and his capacity to choose. . . . Choice is the essence of ethics. . . . Good and evil have meaning only insofar as man is free to choose."
Margaret Thatcher
Margaret Thatcher
Monday, November 10, 2008
Happy Occasion
A picture of Alyce and Ben on their recent visit to my home in Idaho. And aren't they cute!She's showing off her ring. He's helping.
You may have thought they both had blond hair. But no.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
I Know It's the Day After the America-Makes-History Election, But . . .
I have Poetry Today on my home page, and today’s poem is “Responsibility,” by Robert Wrigley. I know him, such a handsome man, and he is a friend, but one whose connection I have allowed to slip away. He came to Boise one summer in 1989 or 1990 and did a poetry workshop/class. I got to be in it and was really glad. I never felt like a very good poet. My poems are too simple, say I. Too prosy, says my friend Neide. (As recently as two weeks ago Neide said of my most recent poem, “I like these first two stanzas, Carol, and the last stanza very much." Pause. “Why don’t you write about this in an essay, that you’re so good at?”) Hmmm.
Robert took my poetry writing seriously, what a gift, and was nothing but encouraging. He didn’t like that my poem “The Wall” was in second person, but he told me it was a good poem and I should send it off for publication. I’ve fussed with that poem over the years, putting it in third person, and just recently deciding to put it back in second person. My poem, after all.
A year or two after that workshop Robert Wrigley came back to Boise to speak. I had kept in touch with him, and he asked for some kind of help from me regarding Wallace Stegner’s, Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs, a book of essays on living and writing in the west, the last thing Stegner published. I remember that when Robert saw me the night of his presentation he said, “Wow, Carol, you look like a professional.” It was a compliment and, obviously, hard for me to just accept. I quipped, “A professional what?”
Neide and Robert are friends, too, and I suspect they keep in touch. Most people, it seems to me, are better at staying in touch than I am. Robert used to teach at Lewis-Clark State College in Lewiston, which is where Neide first knew him. Now he is director of the MFA program in Creative Writing at University of Idaho.
I always like his poetry, and so I recommend it.
I’d like to find the road kill poem I wrote for him, even if it's a bit gruesome—he assigned each of us to write a road kill poem in response to his poem, "The Skull of A Snowshoe Hare." I’ve made a preliminary search and will carry on with that when my back stops hurting.
Robert took my poetry writing seriously, what a gift, and was nothing but encouraging. He didn’t like that my poem “The Wall” was in second person, but he told me it was a good poem and I should send it off for publication. I’ve fussed with that poem over the years, putting it in third person, and just recently deciding to put it back in second person. My poem, after all.
A year or two after that workshop Robert Wrigley came back to Boise to speak. I had kept in touch with him, and he asked for some kind of help from me regarding Wallace Stegner’s, Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs, a book of essays on living and writing in the west, the last thing Stegner published. I remember that when Robert saw me the night of his presentation he said, “Wow, Carol, you look like a professional.” It was a compliment and, obviously, hard for me to just accept. I quipped, “A professional what?”
Neide and Robert are friends, too, and I suspect they keep in touch. Most people, it seems to me, are better at staying in touch than I am. Robert used to teach at Lewis-Clark State College in Lewiston, which is where Neide first knew him. Now he is director of the MFA program in Creative Writing at University of Idaho.
I always like his poetry, and so I recommend it.
I’d like to find the road kill poem I wrote for him, even if it's a bit gruesome—he assigned each of us to write a road kill poem in response to his poem, "The Skull of A Snowshoe Hare." I’ve made a preliminary search and will carry on with that when my back stops hurting.
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