Monday, August 6, 2012

Communication Requires Community

It's been a long long time since I last wrote. My life has taken a new turn, and there is very little time for blogging. I have a few minutes here and there, but I rarely have time for thoughtful communication.  It's true that Facebook has overtaken our lives, and instead of truly understanding someone's heart, we get tidbits of micro-thought in the form of a "status," generally laced with sarcasm, complaint, or narcissistic opinion.

I need a more from my relationships.

And I know this is hardly the place to get it. Most likely, any comments posted here will be from robots. Yes, robots. Whether computerized or human living in the matrix of un-reality, there is very little room for human community these days.

I miss letter writing. I miss waiting for a letter to come in the mail. Letters were full of information. I remember anticipating letters from pen-pals back in the 70s and 80s. These letters were opportunities for me to hear all about the life of a friend. Then, in turn, I would write a letter responding to the new information, and I would in turn give new information about my life.

Communication isn't one-sided. It requires community.

So I worry about forums such as these where we sit alone in front of a computer screen, begging the world to listen to our thoughts. I worry that we've forgotten how to listen.

I hope I've listened to someone today.

Monday, July 30, 2012

Master-Mouth Rhetoric: Homer, Move Over! There's a New Girl in Town

It is so beautiful: SO beautiful! And sometimes it brings me to tears; my children worry about my sanity. She had a Christian worldview, was an, abolitionist, and a life long learner. She wrote Aurora Leigh, and here are just a few of her lines:

I've known the pregnant thinkers of this time
And stood by breathless, hanging on their lips,
When some chromatic sequence of fine thought
In learned modulation phrased itself
To an unconjectured harmony of truth.
And yet I've been more moved, more raised, I say,
By a simple word . . a broken easy thing,
A three-years infant might say after you,–
A look, a sigh, a touch upon the palm,
Which meant less than 'I love you' . . than by all
The full-voiced rhetoric of those master-mouths.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh, Book 4

Homer, move over. There's a new gal in town! (Yes, indeed: A WOMAN!)

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Check It Out

As a project for graduate school,

I've started a new blog. Goal? To get the non-academic reader interested in the classics.

I might be back once in a while,

But not as long as I'm writing papers like, "Madly Re-Inventing the Heroine: The Reconciliation of the Virgin and the Vixen in 19th Century Literature."

Come see me once in a while:

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Playing with Fire

I have been writing and writing and writing and writing.

And It hasn't been here on blogger! I'm currently enjoying midterm "break" by writing a paper. For some crazy reason, I decided to discuss Promethean themes in Romantic literature. At this point (and this is subject to change), my paper is titled:

Playing with Promethean Fire: The Creative Manipulation of Archetype in Romantic Literature.

So, yes. . . between burying myself in Critical Literary Theory, reading 300-500 pages per week, and writing and writing and writing. . . .

I'm not writing here. Maybe I will this summer?

Monday, March 29, 2010

The Questions That Plague Me

Who knew that writing a bio for your fellow-students at graduate school would be so exhausting?

We're all "distance learners," so in my opinion, this first introduction is rather important. I mean, I've got this fake persona to create, and it's so hard finding the balance between "outlandish" and "too humble."

Of course, I'm kidding.

But really. How "real" should I be? I want to write like I write, but would that be right? On the right, there is objective truth, but then what is left on the left? I fear there is only frilly fluff.

And these are all "academia" people and all that jazz.

...Not interested in being boring.

But no one probably cares anyway.

I was thinking about words like "wanderlust," "whithersoever," and "whilst," and quite frankly, those words seem appropriate to me. Should I let my true self shine through? Or should I hide behind a facade of boring normalcy.

These questions plague me.

I wonder what it will be like to do real work?

Friday, March 19, 2010


"Well, I went and done it, Pa."

"What'd you did, Ma?"

"I got some a that 'OCD in a Bottle,' and I done cleaned out every drawer and closet in this here house of our'n."

"Well, SWEET TOENAILS! You done did it! Shor'nuf! Lets eat off of the tile in that-thar kitchen."

"Well, aint that what it's fer, anywayz?"

Friday, March 5, 2010

Artsy Susies Share a Common Thread

They thrive in brokenness.

I've often wondered why I don't feel the need to have thinCheck Spellinggs hoity-toity and organized. I don't understand "clean house OCD." I mean, I enjoy having things in order; I just prefer taking my house from a state of chaos to a state of perfection. Trying to live in a constant state of wonderfulness is not something that makes me tick. I wish it did. I want some hoity-toity juice in my lemonade, but I can't buy any at the health-food store.

I'll admit it. I like the ups and downs of life.

I visited my grandma at the nursing home tonight. As we walked closely by an impressionistic painting, we took note of the use of a single LINE to draw the legs on the people walking in the rain. I owe much of my "slap it together and call it good" tendencies to Nanny. Some people would call this a curse, but I'm blessed by her gift. She's a painter. I've painted a thing or two. We both prefer our pictures to be looked at from afar.

I guess we're both impressionists.

But maybe "Artsy Susies" arent so bad. We all could take a step back now and then. Sometimes our lives don't seem to make a lot of sense. They're jumbled and confusing and lack focus. Looking at things right in front of our eyes sometimes gets us down. We're broken due to many experiences that we've been blessed to endure.

But with those broken and confusing lines, blotches, and smudgy areas, God goes and "pulls a Monet." He's gifted like that. I can't see it, but I know it's there.