The Erie Canal: A Story of Building the Impossible--a New York Adventure Club webinar

This New York Adventure Club webinar is now over, but it will probably reappear on their roster at some point. I'm including the link to it so that you have it for future reference. It is a top-notch webinar; I learned a lot about the history of the Erie Canal. What an impressive feat of engineering, begun in 1817 and finished in 1825! The webinar is led by author and storyteller Sandy Schuman--a wonderful presenter. 

Here is the link to the webinar: 'The Erie Canal: A Story of Building the Impossible' Webinar | New York Adventure Club (nyadventureclub.com)

Well-worth watching! And if you're wondering how Gordon Lightfoot's song The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald found its way into my consciousness, it's due to this webinar. When the politicians and experts were discussing where to situate the canal, they decided to avoid Lake Ontario because of the fierce storms that are known to blow up on the Great Lakes. One thing led to another (those wonderful connections) and I remembered the song. As I've written about before, I love when that happens......

Learning through humor (and thank God for it)

Apropos my previous post--

Hear me out

'Hear me out' is a good expression. It asks another person, persons, or an audience to listen to what the speaker has to say, without interrupting him or her, until the speaker has completed what he or she wanted to say. It asks listeners to 'let me finish what I'm saying, please'. It's a little plea for civility. 

The world needs more civil listeners who are willing to hear a speaker out, before they voice their own opinions. I'm all for a good civilized discussion between decent people. It can be an animated discussion; it can even get a bit testy on both sides. But it cannot descend into mayhem. It cannot become an attack on the speaker or an attack by the speaker on his or her listeners. It also cannot be a one-sided discussion, in the way that some discussions become, when the speaker (or the listeners) dominate the discussion. No one likes to be told that they have to think or act in a certain way, no one likes to be told that their opinion is the wrong one, with the implication that the other person's opinion is the only correct one. 

When I use internet, I read the user comments to the stories that are presented on different social media platforms. Some of the comments invite civil discussion; many do not. And I often wonder, when I sit in a room full of politically-correct (on the surface) people, how the same individuals let loose when they get the chance, often on social media. It's been written about many times before, but for some reason people feel freer to be rude and derogatory when they're on social media. Twitter is a good example. The limitations on how many words your tweet can be often generate rude and startling tweets. I rarely visit Twitter anymore exactly for that reason. No one hears the other person out. The platform is not set up that way. It does not invite real discussion. It does invite venting. Venting is fine, but it's probably best to do it in the privacy of your own home, preferably away from family members who have most likely grown tired of listening to the same rants and raves. Venting does not invite discussion; it destroys discussion, and it destroys the willingness on the part of listeners to hear the venter out. 

In normal conversation, it should be possible to listen to what another person has to say before answering. It should be possible to not interrupt, to not jump in with your opinion, to not destroy the focus and flow of another person's thoughts and feelings (if they are being expressed). As long as the speaker is civil, the responses should be civil. But we have come to a point in the world where even if the speaker is civil and asks an audience to let him or her finish, there is no guarantee that civil responses will be the outcome, even in family situations. And the latter are often the most insidious, especially if one person (male or female) dominates all discussions and the rest of the family end up being helpless listeners or cowed into listening. 

How did we get to this point? I don't know. I remember watching 'Meet the Press' with my father during the late 1970s. If there were people on the show with opposing ideas, they each got their say. There was a host/moderator who ensured that the tone stayed civil. Critics might say that this emphasis on civility limited real discussion; I disagree. Even talk show hosts listen to their guests. If a civil discussion degenerates into chaos, what does one learn then? Nothing. Chaos does not lead to real discussion, truthfulness, honesty or awareness. It destroys whatever decency exists. That's how I view Twitter. I don't learn anything useful on that platform, at least where politics are concerned. There are no 'take home messages' that help me in my daily life. 

My hope for today is that we try to be better listeners. Thank you for reading and for hearing me out. 

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot

I grew up listening to this heartbreaking (and fantastic) song and never knew at the time it came out that it was based on a true event. Or if I heard about it, it didn't make the same impression as it did now. On November 10, 1975 the SS Edmund Fitzgerald sank in Lake Superior, and all 29 crew members died. Lake Superior is one of the Great Lakes, known for their storms. Lake Superior has been the site of many shipwrecks over the years; according to one website more than 550 ships lie on the bottom of this lake. Gordon Lightfoot released this incredible ballad in 1976 as a tribute to the shipwrecked crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald. It's a beautiful and haunting song. Here are the lyrics: 

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald · Gordon Lightfoot
℗ 1976 Reprise Records, a division of Warner Records Inc.
Writer: Gordon Lightfoot

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early

The ship was the pride of the American side
Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
With a crew and good captain well seasoned
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded for Cleveland
And later that night when the ship's bell rang
Could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too
T'was the witch of November come stealin'
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashin'
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
In the face of a hurricane west wind

When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck sayin'
"Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya"
At seven PM, a main hatchway caved in, he said
"Fellas, it's been good to know ya"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
And the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went outta sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Does any one know where the love of God goes
When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
If they'd put fifteen more miles behind her
They might have split up or they might have capsized
They may have broke deep and took water
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the rooms of her ice-water mansion
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams
The islands and bays are for sportsmen
And farther below Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
In the maritime sailors' cathedral
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Gordon Lightfoot
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

Beth Rowley - I Walk Beside You (from the BBC series C.B. Strike)

The BBC detective series--C.B. Strike

Good detective tv series are hard to come by, but as luck would have it, I stumbled upon the BBC series C.B. Strike on HBO (C.B. Strike (TV Series 2017– ) - IMDb). I'm a Columbo and Mike Hammer fan from before, and the recent Sherlock series with Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman caught my interest as well. My criteria for 'good' are several: I have to be drawn into the plot almost immediately; the detective(s) have to have some appealing qualities--they can be gruff or rude at times, but at heart be decent people; the story has to make sense and to have a reasonable conclusion. C.B. Strike fits the bill. Tom Burke plays private eye Strike with a certain gravitas; Strike doesn't laugh too much, he's not silly or a caricature of a private eye. He's served his country militarily and come back from the Afghanistan war as an amputee--missing part of his leg after an explosion. He worked as a military policeman in the British Special Investigation Branch until he left to become a private detective. He ends up taking on a parter, Robin Ellacott, played by Holliday Grainger. There is undeniable chemistry between Strike and Ellacott, but their personal lives are complicated and they don't pursue their attraction to each other. I find myself thinking about The X-Files and how the series kept us waiting for Fox Mulder and Dana Scully to get together; it was part of the attraction of the series for many years. Interestingly, once they did get together, some of the excitement of the series was diminished. Both Burke and Grainger are superb in their roles; at this point, Tom Burke is Strike because he plays him so well. It's like the character was written specifically for him. 

C.B. Strike is based on the novels by Robert Galbraith (the pseudonym for J.K. Rowling of Harry Potter fame). Rowling is a very good writer who knows how to invent good plots, weave excitement into them, and keep us on the edge of our seats waiting for resolution. I've read all the Harry Potter books; most of them are very long, but Rowling's dramatic pacing is such that the pages fly by. I haven't read the Strike books, but I imagine they are very much the same. So it's been enjoyable so far to watch the tv series--good entertainment, very good stories, and very good actors. You can't ask for much more. I should also add that the opening graphics and title song are also excellent; the song 'I Walk Beside You' is sung by Beth Rowley and was written by Adrian Johnston and Crispin Letts. As always, I like to include the lyrics to songs I like; here they are:

I Walk Beside You

You and me
Me and you
Somehow we made it through
I may be gone
I may be far away
But I walk beside you
Every step of the way
When you're used
Bruised
Black and blued
I'll think about it
Never doubt it
I'll walk beside you 

The miserable lives of the literati

I picked up Carmela Ciuraru's new book Lives of the Wives: Five Literary Marriages last week and finished it today. It details the real-life stories of five literary couples who tormented each other 'til divorce did them part' (at least in four of the marriages; one relationship was ended by death). The presentation of the couples is as follows: Radclyffe Hall and Una Troubridge (British writer and translator/sculptor respectively); Alberto Moravia and Elsa Morante (Italian writers); Kenneth Tynan (British theater critic) and Elaine Dundy (American writer); Kingsley Amis and Elizabeth Jane Howard (British writers); Roald Dahl (British writer) and Patricia Neal (American actress). I haven't read the works of any of these authors except for Roald Dahl's, nor was I aware of their chaotic and often miserable lives. All of these couples lived their adult lives before my time; Radclyffe Hall and Una Troubridge were born in 1880 and 1887 respectively; Alberto Moravia and Elena Morante were born in 1907 and 1912 respectively; Kenneth Tynan and Elaine Dundy were born in 1927 and 1921 respectively; Kingsley Amis and Elizabeth Jane Howard were born in 1922 and 1923 respectively; and Roald Dahl and Patricia Neal were born in 1916 and 1926 respectively. When I was a child, I vaguely remember hearing about Patricia Neal having had a major stroke and Roald Dahl's helping her back to a normal life. I've also read that the Italian writer Elena Ferrante (one of my favorite writers) lists Elena Morante as a major influence. So Ciuraru's book brought me up to speed on the bizarre doings of these literary elites.

The careers of these couples coincided with the advent of the women's movement and the societal changes of the 1950s, 60s and 70s. None of the couples' lives could in any way be described as conventional, as might be expected when the lives of writers/artists are in the spotlight. None of them were poor, once the early struggles for fame and fortune were won. They had money to travel, move around, and own several homes. They attended many parties and social gatherings, and took lovers when it suited them. Some were suicidal; others took abortions and regretted it later on. Their children were often raised by nannies. But the men especially were conventional (for that time) in terms of their expectations of women and wives. As husbands, they were not at all willing to put their wives and family first. Most of them could not cook, do laundry, pay bills or shop for groceries. Many of them considered that type of work to be servant's work. They could be rude and their rudeness went unchallenged; they were rude to their wives, children, servants--sometimes anyone with whom they came into contact. Some of the wives had first been mistresses to the men they married. But the mistress, once captured and made a wife, was no longer as exciting. So the men began to seek out new conquests; they felt that was their right. Many of the women at that time, brilliant in their own right, were far too willing to sacrifice their intelligence and independence on the altars/shrines of these 'brilliant literary men' they had married. At least at first. Once married and saddled with all of the responsibilities of running a household and raising a family, with no time to write or to pursue their talents, they understood that they had become imprisoned (by choice). But some of the women gave as good as they got; they had affairs, fell in love, separated from their husbands or made their husbands' lives hell, and generally took revenge where they could. Even Radclyffe Hall behaved abominably toward Una Troubridge; lesbians both, they were exclusive until Una became ill and Hall fell in love with the nurse hired to take care of Una. Then they became a threesome, despite Una's protests. Hall felt that she was entitled to pursue her new love, not unlike the behavior of some of the husbands in the other relationships. 

The wives who were good writers (or actresses in the case of Patricia Neal) in their own right found that their husbands resented their success. As long as they wrote/acted but didn't become more successful and/or make more money than their husbands, that was fine. When the balance of power shifted, all hell broke loose. I don't know how it is with modern couples where one or both are writers; I would imagine that one or the other experiences envy if one of them becomes more successful than the other, or if one of them becomes successful and the other does not. Bitterness, jealousy, resentment and envy are all human feelings, independent of any particular era in history.  

Ciuraru's book includes ample descriptions of spoiled, privileged, selfish, petulant, whiny, cruel, alcoholic, narcissistic, adulturous, abusive (physically and psychologically), childish, sexually-perverse and irresponsible spouses. It's hard to say which couple emerges as the worst, but Kenneth Tynan/Elaine Dundy and Kingsley Amis/Elizabeth Jane Howard are good contenders for that title. The hellish lives of the literati--that's putting it mildly. The literary world can be an elite and closed world where the inhabitants breathe rarefied air. In that way it is similar to the academic research world, an elite world if ever there was one. There are the top echelon players who make the rules that keep everyone else out (the riff-raff); in other words, the rules that exclude those people they deem inferior or for whom they have no use. This being British society for the most part, they had their old boys' clubs and social gatherings and parties, all conducted with the highest degree of decorum. But underneath they were rotten to the core. The lives of these writers seemed to be defined by excessive narcissism; writing came first and everything else a distant second. 

My overall reaction to most of what was presented in the book was how the the poor children of these couples must have suffered. It must have been a nightmare to have been the daughter of Kenneth Tynan/Elaine Dundy, for example. Ciuraru's book is good, gossipy and interesting by turns. I will check out Elena Morante's books after reading what Ciuraru wrote about her, also because Elena Ferrante recommends her. 

The Wolf's Call--movie from 2019

Antonin Baudry wrote and directed the French film The Wolf's Call (Le Chant du loup) from 2019, now streaming on Netflix. You might think from the movie's title that we're in animal/nature territory, or even in horror movie territory, but the plot of the film is about as far away as you can get from either genre. It's a thriller about two ballistic missile submarines, one of which (the Titane) has been commissioned to take out the other (the Effroyable) that has been commanded to launch one of its nuclear warhead ballistic missiles against Russia in response to a (presumably) Russian launch against France from a decommissioned Russian nuclear sub (the Timour III). Unfortunately, it was not the Russians who were responsible for the latter; it was a terrorist organization called Al-Jadida (who illegally bought the decommissioned Timour III) that launched a ballistic missile (without its nuclear warhead) against France so that France would think it was a Russian attack. The idea being to start a nuclear war between major world powers. 

The film's focus is on the sonar expert Chanteraide (very well-played by François Civil), whose excellent sense of hearing is crucial to tracking down the position of the Effroyable and ending the threat of nuclear war. I was previously unaware of the importance of sonar experts to submarine activities. I knew that subs rely on sonar to detect objects around them, but I didn't know about the importance of sonar experts to that onboard activity, but it makes sense that such experts are needed to interpret the sonar printouts and graphs. The "wolf's call' is an active sonar alarm that indicates that a submarine is detected and targeted; the term 'wolf's call' is navy slang for this event.

I found the film to be very good; it has action, suspense, and the plot complexities that characterize a good thriller. It gave me a new understanding of life onboard these types of submarines and a new appreciation of the men who risk their lives in the service of their countries. I have climbed down a steel ladder into a small submarine once in my life, and climbed right back up again; the claustrophobia was overwhelming. Kudos to the men (and women) who manage to live their lives at sea in this way. I could never do it. If something goes wrong, e.g. as in this film where one of the subs is hit by a missile, it's game over for all onboard. The dead are honored in a poignant scene at the end of the film; I found myself very moved by that, a good indication that the film managed to engage viewers' feelings in addition to being a good thriller. 

Virtual lectures offered by the New York Adventure Club

I started watching the virtual lectures (webinars) offered by the New York Adventure Club during the pandemic of 2020. They were a good way to pass the time, to learn something new, and to connect with others who were interested in the same topics. I've continued to watch a few of them since then and have been quite satisfied with the quality of both the lecturers and the material they present. Some of the outstanding talks have been about the Gilded Age of NYC and the mansions from that time, or about the famous parks and tourist attractions of NYC (the lecture about Fort Tryon Park and the Cloisters in upper Manhattan comes to mind--Fort Tryon Park, From The Cloisters to Former Gilded Age Estate). I've also watched a talk about the history of City Island (City Island: The "Cape Cod" of New York City) that was fascinating, as well as one about the history of Grand Central Station in Manhattan (Grand Central Terminal and the Secrets Within). Today I watched one of the best talks so far--Samuel Untermyer: Life, Legacy, and Famed Gilded Age Gardens--about the life of Samuel Untermyer, a prominent lawyer and civic leader who was responsible for the creation of magnificent gardens at his Greystone estate in Yonkers on the banks of the Hudson River. He willed it to the city of Yonkers after his death, but it fell into disrepair and was mostly abandoned for many years before the Untermyer Gardens Conservancy, in collaboration with the city of Yonkers, began to restore Untermyer Park and Gardens to its original splendor. The president of the Conservancy is Stephen F. Byrns, who founded the Conservancy in 2011; he is the one who held the talk today and he did an excellent job. I've visited Untermyer Park and Gardens several times since 2019, and it is being lovingly restored. It's a beautiful place, and my only hope is that it will tolerate the eventual increase in the numbers of tourists who will discover this pearl of a garden. At present admission is free; I can truthfully say that I wouldn't mind paying an entrance fee to cover maintenance costs. I've written a couple of posts about my visits to Untermyer Park and Gardens: A New Yorker in Oslo: Untermyer park and gardens (paulamdeangelis.blogspot.com) and A New Yorker in Oslo: Two gardens worth visiting--Untermyer Gardens and the New York Botanical Garden (paulamdeangelis.blogspot.com). If you'd like to check out the garden website, here is the link: Untermyer Gardens Conservancy - Home

I recommend checking out the New York Adventure Club: Insider Access to NYC Events and Best-Kept Secrets | New York Adventure Club (nyadventureclub.com). Their virtual lectures are not expensive and are worth the money if you want to know more about New York City and New York State. I just registered for a new webinar: The Erie Canal: A Story of Building the Impossible, to which I am looking forward, as I have always wanted to visit it. I hope I get the chance to see it in person. 

The movie--The Banshees of Inisherin

You won't see a stranger film from 2022 than The Banshees of Inisherin (written and directed by Martin McDonagh). You also won't see a better one. My husband and I saw it today in a mostly-empty theater (the afternoon showing); one can hope that the evening showings are more packed, because it's definitely not a film to miss. It's been described as a comedy, albeit a dark one, but I would describe it as more of a drama with some comedic elements and some bizarre (almost horror) elements. It's the story of a friendship between two men; one older--Colm (well-played by Brendan Gleeson), and one younger, Pádraic (wonderfully acted by Colin Farrell)--that ends abruptly one fine day when Colm decides he no longer wants to be friends with Pádraic whom he describes as dull. His explanation for ending the friendship is that he simply got tired of listening to Pádraic's inane conversation. Colm seems to have become acutely aware of his mortality and the legacy he will leave behind; he wants to be remembered as a musician rather than as a nice man who did little with his life, something Pádraic does not understand or really care about. The severing of the friendship leads to all sorts of nastiness, mostly on the part of Colm who is not afraid to act on his threats of what he will do if Pádraic does not stop pestering him to remain friends. And Pádraic continues to visit Colm in the hope that somehow the friendship will right itself and everything will continue on just as before--going to the local pub at 2 pm for their beers and hanging out until it's time to go home. The year is 1923, Ireland is in the middle of a civil war, and the island on which they live, Inisherin, a fictional island off the coast of Galway, is as far removed culturally and politically from the mainland as it could possibly be. The people who live on Inisherin spend their entire lives there and die there as well. Few leave. They are churchgoers, farmers, shopkeepers--simple folk--but underneath their genial surfaces lie a fair amount of cruelty, pettiness, malicious gossip, and small-mindedness. These are not people with whom one becomes friends with overnight, if ever, since it's hard to envision their accepting any outsiders into their fold. It's not difficult to understand that Pádraic feels quite hurt by Colm's actions and refuses to accept that the friendship is over, until he does, and by that point, we have been witness to the conversion (evolution) of a simple nice man into one capable of cruelty himself, driven to it by the cruelty of Colm and the local policeman Peadar, the latter who baits him and threatens to kill him after Pádraic calls him out for sexually abusing his son Dominic. Dominic is a sweet simple teenage boy who takes a liking to Pádraic's sister Siobhán (also wonderfully-acted by Kerry Condon). Siobhán is unmarried and lives together with Pádraic in their family's home; she takes care of the house, reads books, and generally appears fairly well-educated. Her life changes when she gets a job offer from a library on the mainland, which she takes. She knows that she is far too smart to end up as the wife of any of the men on Inisherin, and she is not afraid to say so. At one point during the film she tells Colm that all of the men on Inisherin are boring when he tells her that Pádraic is boring. And she's right. She's smart enough to know that she needs to change her life, and she does. Pádraic does not have her intelligence or the skills necessary to change his life; he likes his routines and does not really embrace change. He is a simple farmer at heart and remains one, despite the tragedies that unfold around him. For anyone who has experienced the loss of a friendship as he did, it's not difficult to relate to his hurt and his feelings of grief at the loss of something he valued so highly. 

I wondered about the title of the film, The Banshees of Inisherin. The word banshee describes 'a female spirit in Gaelic folklore whose appearance or wailing warns a family that one of them will soon die' (Banshee Definition & Meaning - Merriam-Webster). There is an old woman in the film (Mrs. McCormick) who wears long black dresses and a black veil, whom some of the island residents refer to as 'the ghoul'. Several times she announces to some of the residents that one or two people are going to die, and there are in fact two deaths that occur. She qualifies as Inisherin's banshee. But Colm has written a song of the same name as the title of the movie, and he used the word 'banshee' because he liked how it sounded together with Inisherin; there is no logical reason for using the word other than that. 

Every time one is tempted to say that life away from civilization, from the mainstream, is idyllic, along comes a film (like this one) that demonstrates otherwise. There is nothing idyllic about Inisherin. Yes, the landscape is lovely, but the people are not. Many of them are strange, some mentally-ill, others quite superstitious. They go to church on Sunday, but you can wonder why, for all of the heartless behavior they exhibit toward their neighbors and fellow residents outside of church. Granted, the story took place in 1923 and times were different then, but people are people, and those who live an insular existence remain insular in many ways. They may prefer that way of life and think they are better than the city folk they often criticize, but that is not necessarily so, and that holds true for modern times as well. 

A glorious day

Today is one of those glorious rare winter days here in Oslo--the sun is shining full-force, the sky is blue, the temperature is hovering just around freezing, the streets are clear and the sidewalks likewise. In other words, an outdoor day! It doesn't take more than this to convince me. Whenever the sun shines, I feel my motivation and energy bubbling under the surface, pushing me this way and that. It's never a problem to fill these kinds of days, the question is rather, what do I do first? It's not a question of what I should do, rather, of what I want to do. It's a privilege to be able to decide that in the peace of my own home, without having to worry about running off to work. One of the nice perks of being retired. 

On these kinds of days, I look forward to getting back to work in my garden. I look at my houseplants, and they are basking in the sun, much like cats and dogs do when the sun is streaming through the windows. You can just tell that the plants are loving the sunshine as much as I am. That does my heart good, and God knows my heart, actually many hearts in the world, need a lot more sunshine to lift us all out of the winter darkness. Is it any wonder that most people love the spring and summer months? Even the autumn months have their charm despite being a prelude to winter. I think of New York State in the autumn; the temperatures are often quite mild until November, and the humidity is much less than it is during the summer months, which makes life very pleasant.

It's not that I dislike winter, it's just that it's such a long season (November until mid-March if we're lucky). It's also a dark season, and it doesn't help that most of the days are gray, cloudy, and sometimes rainy. I actually look forward to snow, because it 'lightens' the environment. If you look out the window on a snowy evening, you'll see how bright it is outside. That helps. I know that winter is a season of rest for plants, animals and humans alike. Gardens need a growth pause; they need to recoup their energy losses and start anew. A lot is going on underground in a winter garden. Microbes, bacteria, fungi and other organisms in the soil transform the soil and make nutrients during the winter months that will then be available to the plants that come back to life in the spring. 

But back to today's wonderful longed-for sunshine! It's a wonderful, glorious day. I wish you all a lovely day, wherever you are in the world. 

A beautiful poem--Safely Home

This poem is considered to be a funeral poem and is often used for prayer cards. Jean sent it to me today and I'm posting it here so that all those who have lost loved ones can find comfort in the words. I don't know who the poet is, but the poem is a poignant reminder that our loved ones who have passed on made the journey safely to heaven and that they will be waiting for us when our time comes.

 

The lies we tell others and ourselves

I am currently watching The Lying Life of Adults series on Netflix, based on the book of the same name by Elena Ferrante. I read the book in 2021 and wrote a post about it (A New Yorker in Oslo: Elena Ferrante's The Lying Life of Adults (paulamdeangelis.blogspot.com). The Netflix series encompasses six episodes, and I've already seen four of them. Elena Ferrante has been involved in the writing of the script for the series, and you can always tell when she has had her hand in things. There is a certain identifying mark that raises the overall quality to very good (this series: The Lying Life of Adults (TV Series 2023– ) - IMDb) to superb (My Brilliant Friend on HBO: My Brilliant Friend (TV Series 2018– ) - IMDb ). The series was created by Edoardo De Angelis (every time I see his last name on the screen I have to smile since it is my last name as well, spelled the same way). His wife Pina Turco plays Nella, whose husband Andrea leaves her for Costanza, a family friend. But by extension, he leaves his teenage daughter Giovanna as well. The series is about Giovanna (very well-acted by Giordana Marengo) and her growing up amidst the turmoil around her: her parents' separation and divorce; her father's eventual remarriage to Costanza and his new home in Posillipo (an affluent area of Naples) on the Gulf of Naples; Giovanna's introduction to her aunt Vittoria (wonderfully-acted by Valeria Golino) and to the family of Enzo, Vittoria's now-deceased lover; her relationships with her two best friends, Angela and Ida, who just happen to be Costanza's daughters. But it is her relationship with Vittoria (Andrea's sister whom he cannot abide) that changes her life and moves her firmly into adulthood. 

Andrea, Nella, Costanza, Mariano (Costanza's ex-husband), and Vittoria all lie to others and to themselves. Andrea and Costanza have lived a lie for years by having an affair and keeping it secret. Nella has either refused to see the truth or has turned a blind eye to it; in any case, she continues to defend Andrea and to call him a good man. Vittoria initially seems to be the most honest of all the adults in Giovanna's life, but she too turns out to be a liar who tells herself and others (particularly Giovanna) that she loved only Enzo and has never been with another man since he died, but this is not true. Giovanna learns that she cannot trust very many people, which of course is the demarcation between childhood and adulthood. What do you do with that knowledge? What do you do when you find out that the adults in your life are no better at handling/navigating their lives than the teenagers they are trying to raise? What do you do when you find out that their lives are as miserable and chaotic as yours? 

The lies we tell others and ourselves, when others ask us how we are, how our lives are going. How many people really answer honestly? We do so with those few people we love and trust, with our closest friends. We know we can trust them to listen to us without judging us, without abandoning us. That is a rarity in a world that seeks to judge (and cancel) another immediately without knowing or being interested in the facts. Of course we can ask, what is the truth? Is your side of a story truer than mine? We all lie to ourselves to some extent; we do so in order to deal with each day. We tell ourselves that our spouses and children are better than those of others we know, but the reality is otherwise. All families have problems, perhaps the same types of problems but to varying degrees. All families have squabbles, some have real fights, and some are on the outs with other family members for entire lifetimes. We may not have much of a relationship with a sibling, but we say that he or she has a busy life and we talk to them when we can. A spouse may not be all that involved in the family life at home, and we make the same excuse--he or she has a demanding job that keeps him or her busy. Those who are workaholics know that they are overworking to avoid something else in their lives, perhaps an unhappy home life, and those who are diehard alcoholics, drug addicts and overeaters tell themselves that they have their addictions under control, that they can quit drinking, doing drugs, or overeating any time they want. But deep down inside, they know the truth; they can't quit overworking, drinking to excess, doing drugs, or overeating, not without help and a lot of motivation to change. Lying to ourselves, even just a little, helps to mitigate the intensity of our problems. And for most of us, it does; we get through each day without major calamities ensuing. But for those with serious problems, those problems just get worse. 

It might not be a good thing if we were always honest about our thoughts and feelings in relation to others. Little white lies help us survive in what could be awkward situations with loved ones. We do our best to be truthful, but sometimes you have to weigh the situation and ask yourself if others (or you yourself) can tolerate hearing the truth or the answers to the questions they've asked. I think of those I know with health problems; is it better for them to hear that their overall prognosis could be good if they do this or that, rather than dismal because of the type of illness they have or because of one's hereditary tendencies? Nobody wants to be told straight out that they are going to die in a few months or years. And if people are told that, they often want to consider themselves the outliers--those few who fall outside the norm. Can you blame people for thinking this way? I think we are hotwired to think this way to some degree, due to the idea of self-preservation and the instinct for survival. We lie to ourselves in the hope that it will turn out alright. And sometimes it does. 

To the Last Whale... / Critical Mass / Wind on the Water

This song by Crosby, Stills, and Nash got my attention from the first moment I heard it. I remember my reaction at the end of the song to hearing the whales 'talk'. It grabbed my heart and never let go. Beautiful and plaintive at the same time; the lyrics are also memorable and heartbreaking, especially when they sing 'it's not that we don't know, it's just that we don't want to care'. So true. The song makes you feel for the whales, it inspires empathy, and that's a good thing. We need more of that in music nowadays. Rest in peace, David Crosby. 

To the Last Whale... 

Over the years you have been hunted

By the men who throw harpoons

And in the long run he will kill you

Just to feed the pets we raise

Put the flowers in your vase

And make the lipstick for your face

Over the years you swam the ocean

Following feelings of your own

Now you are washed up on the shoreline

I can see your body lie

It's a shame you have to die

To put the shadow on our eye

Maybe we’ll go

Maybe we'll disappear

It's not that we don’t know

It's just that we don't want to care

Under the bridge

Over the foam

Wind on the water

Carry me home

Written By

David Crosby & Graham Nash

Rest in peace, Jim

Spring and Fall 

to a young child

Margaret, are you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

BY GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS

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I post this today in memory of Jim (the brother of my dear friend Jean) who passed away from cancer today. It is the poem that made me acutely aware as a teenager of the reality of our mortality. Jim's life ended too soon, like many others I know who have died of cancer. He suffered a lot but now he is at peace. 

It is not true, as the poem says, that as we get older, we adopt a 'colder' attitude toward the reality of mortality and the death of loved ones. We may accept (albeit unwillingly) that we are mortal, but we grieve the loss of loved ones and the eventuality of our own passing. Hopkins acknowledges this further on in the poem when he says that 'you will weep and know why'. We do know why. A mystery, this life. Moments of true happiness and moments of intense sadness and grief. I lost my own brother almost eight years ago. I still remember the shock of that day and of hearing the news. I doubt I will ever forget it. His death and the subsequent family dramas changed my life in ways I still don't completely fathom. I just know that I loved my brother and I miss him a lot. I will miss seeing Jim as well when I visit NY--there was always a cheery hello, a smile and a conversation. He played in a rock band together with three of his sons, and they were quite good. I was sometimes able to join Jean and go to listen to them at a local pub. I know his sons will always remember that.