No words

I took an exam this morning, the last exam in my Life-Span Developmental Psychology course. The content spanned three chapters - middle adulthood, late adulthood, and death. Honestly, I don't think I've ever been so affected by the material I've learned about in any class I've taken. True, a lot of it is fascinating stuff - chemistry, physiology, cognition, memory, literature; you name it, we've taken those classes, hated a lot of them, but loved most of them.

There have been fewer moments of feeling any intense or semi-intense emotional response to the topics. Studying for this exam was one of those times. I'm reading from my textbook and it talks about how much we associate negative stereotypes with aging, even though a good chunk of those notions are not substantiated by evidence. 

But seriously, one thing I've always been nervous about is growing old. It really has nothing to do with looking old. It's more about not having control over your life, your senses, your physical wellbeing, your body. It's about losing memory and forgetting loved ones and becoming a burden on them. It's about the end of life as you always knew it, and the end of a life that has become unrecognizable. Even though reading about late adulthood quashed a number of ageist stereotypes, it did only marginally well at helping me cope with the idea of impending death. Everyone copes with the notion of dying differently. 

And when you have an instance like the one Friday in which it's children who have died. Not older people who have lived long, fulfilling lives, but kids -- what do you do? How can you look through pictures like these and not sob with the family members and classmates of the victims in the Connecticut shooting? They were kids. Kids with futures and lives ahead of them, worlds for them to build and expand, families for them to love and be loved by. How do the children, the witnesses, accept or understand a tragedy of such magnitude? What do you tell them? And they were teachers. Teachers who had families and friends and classrooms. They were teachers like this one, who protected their students and reassured them while they hid inside a locked bathroom or a gym closet. How do you handle such a tragic, senseless loss of human life?

And how, when you hear or read about an instance like this, can you not make amends with others, and bring those closest to you in for a hug - to reassure yourself that they are indeed still there, and that yes, you are so lucky to have them with you. 

I flipped through those images above and could immediately put myself in the place of those parents. Not as a parent, but as an older sister to two siblings of elementary school age. And all I could do was be thankful that, this time, these two kids were safe.

Indian poet Neema Alexander once wrote,

"We have no words 
For what is happening-"

No words for this, only heartache.

I'm starting to become a fan of Louise Glück

Louise Glück.

Have you ever heard of her?

I hadn't either, until about, oh, a week and a half ago.

At first, to be honest, I thought she was deceased. Turns out Ms. Gluck is still very much among the living, something I'm beginning to be thankful for as I read more of what she's written.

You should read First Memory

Long ago, I was wounded. I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was--
for what I was: from the beginning of time,
in childhood, I thought
that pain meant
I was not loved.
It meant I loved. 

And then after that, The Night Migrations 

This is the moment when you see again the red berries of the mountain ash and in the dark sky the birds' night migrations. It grieves me to think the dead won't see them— these things we depend on, they disappear. What will the soul do for solace then? I tell myself maybe it won't need these pleasures anymore; maybe just not being is simply enough, hard as that is to imagine. Why read them in that order? Because that's the order that I read them in. They both seem so melancholy and meditative, and they remind me of Billy Collins' The First Dream. If you haven't read that either, you should. But yeah, Louise Gluck. And these two poems. They are so open and honest and striking in their loneliness. I'm waiting for them to take a more optimistic turn, but that doesn't seem likely or even necessary. ~ Viscountess, 2012-13

LEP Holiday Arts & Crafts

I'm sure by now most everyone knows that the LEP just wants to have fun. I mean, that's like a summary of our mission statement.

So it makes sense that we would have an event just to decorate a Christmas tree and make greeting cards, right? And even if it didn't make sense, we would still have done it. Because have you ever MADE greeting cards before? It's so. much. fun.

 


This was the first time I've ever decorated a Christmas tree before. And I was trusted to buy all the ornaments. I mean, that makes sense. I think I went a liiiittle overboard with what I got, but everything was so cute.

Tiny snowmen bells with colorful earmuffs.

Ceramic penguins wearing green hats.

Soft, plushy snowmen with hats and scarves.

Little gold and red ball ornaments that sparkled.

Crystal-like snowflakes that capture the light.

Delicious-looking gingerbread people.

The dozen red-and-white-striped candy canes we didn't use.

And miniature presents underneath the tree.

I mean, aren't they cute? They're the most adorable little ornaments I've ever seen. And I've seen a million ornaments in my time as a Christmas-tree-decorater-extraordinaire.

We of course had our star for the top of the tree, in beautiful shimmery LEP red and gold. It was great, even if it did kind of overwhelm Erich's miniature tree. Still, we made it work. Although, I'm prettttty sure the star is the last thing to go on the tree (from what I've heard and seen on TV), we broke with tradition and put the star on like, somewhere in the middle of decorating. We are just amazing at this stuff.

The most important ornament of all time.

The most important ornament, though, was this one. It's a dragon. A GOLD dragon. An LEP dragon. Wrapped around a Christmas wreath. Isn't it perfect? It really, really is. Kind of heavy for the cute little tree, but we used the power of SCIENCE to balance everything out. So there was this one ornament on one side of the tree, and all of the other ornaments hanging on the other side. Genius.

This was just so much fun. I don't think anyone else was as enthusiastic about decorating the tree as I was. Case in point: no one got up to help with it no matter how many times I asked. They just wanted to look at the ornaments and say how cute they were, and then went back to making cards. So I decked the tree out and they made cards. And we all ate cookies and listened to Christmas music. Holiday spirit FTW.

The tree will be going up in our cubicle soon, to celebrate the holidays in the SOC. In the meantime, it's hanging out in the Chem Lounge, with all of the other holiday decorations in there.

Oh, and the cards, you ask? What about the cards? Well, I'm not sure what we'll be doing with those. Maybe sending them off to Timbuktu. Or selling them to fund our secret punch addiction. Or maybe we'll just put them in a a bottle and throw them out into the ocean, so send League love across many leagues of the sea.

- Viscountess, 2012-13

Fairy tales & photographs

Finals are looming on the horizon, a predator laying in wait before pouncing on its unsuspecting prey. When it's finally ready to escape the depths of its semester-long hibernation, the herd will quickly run into action and flock to . . . the library?

The library: fortress of the feckless freshman, sanctuary for the sleepy senior, and destination for disheartened students during those dreary days of doom. Been there, done that, what else is new? 

Well, have you been to the library recently?

If you're not planning on visiting the Mardigian until finals are underway, I'll tell you what's new - a Grimm's fairy tales display, that's what! A really cool display celebrating 200 years of scaring kids into using their imaginations.

I really really wish there was an actual gingerbread house in the Hansel and Gretel display. That would've been so cool! 

Aww, and there's cute little Red Riding Hood. Bonus points if you can guess which doll was dressed up to play the part of Red. Hint: She's so very cuddly.

And my little sisters love the princesses, so obligatory pictures of three of the big ones.

My little sister's favorite, though, Rapunzel wasn't to be found. Her movie is there, but it's just not the same as meeting her in the flesh and blood, or in the plastic. Whatever.

I had a friend named Raquel, who had really beautiful, straight, soft brown hair that was so long it grazed her ankles. She would grow it out and then cut it to donate it to Locks for Love. We just thought she grew it out in case she was ever locked in a tower and someone wanted to climb up there and get locked in with her, so we called her Rapunzel.

There are a few more displays out there in the library, so if you're ever in the neighborhood, you know, stop by.

What writers write

The only thing I've ever read by Kurt Vonnegut is his short story Harrison Bergeron. It's a dystopian short story about a future America in which everyone is completely equal. The equality is enforced by the Handicapper General, who gives people masks, hangs weights around their necks, shaves their eyebrows, and makes them wear "radios" which provide a constant stream of noise to interrupt their thoughts. Everyone is made equal by stifling the things that make them beautiful, intelligent, and unique.

I've heard of his novels, like A Man Without a Country and Slaughterhouse Five, but Harrison Bergeron is the only thing I've ever read by Vonnegut. So when I think of this Vonnegut, I think of tragedy and dystopias and a bleak future.

You can imagine, then, that when I read this poem which Vonnegut wrote in 1961, I was more than a little surprised.

Two little good girls
Watchful and wise –
Clever little hands
And big kind eyes –
Look for signs that the world is good,
Comport themselves as good folk should.
They wonder at a father
Who is sad and funny strong,
And they wonder at a mother
Like a childhood song.
And what, and what
Do the two think of?
Of the sun
And the moon
And the earth
And love.

It's such a charming poem, good and sweet and hopeful. Nothing at all like Harrison Bergeron. Something I would have expected maybe from Shel Silverstein, but not Vonnegut. It's just so cute and nice, and reading it kind of renews your childhood wonder. It makes you look at the world through an honest, youthful lens, if only for a moment.

- Viscountess, 2012-13

Serendipity

Do you know the Academy of American Poets? 
(Yes, I just linked you to the Wikipedia article)

The AAP is basically your one-stop shop for all things poetry. Their aim is "to support American poets at all stages of their careers and to foster the appreciation of contemporary poetry." They have a number of prestigious awards that they give out annually. Their website is a treasure trove of information on every American poet, with selected works as well as audio of their poems that you can listen to for free. You can find some pretty fun things on their site - resources for teaching poetry, there's a poetry calendar of events going on throughout the US, you can even find poetic "landmarks" like the homes or grave sites of your favorite poets of yesteryear.

One of my favorite things about the Academy is their "Poem-A-Day" program. Every weekday morning, I'll get an email from the Academy with a new poem from a contemporary American poet, usually one that I've never heard of before. On weekend mornings, the Academy sends out famous poems by some of the world's most renowned poets.

I think Friday might be included as part of the weekend because today's poem was Shakespeare's Sonnet #30. Who knows how many times I've read that one. Tens of hundreds of thousands maybe, give or take. But I'm not complaining. Actually, there probably isn't a more perfect poem to match my current, almost perpetual, state of mind than this sonnet. 

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:

When the world is quiet, and you have a moment alone in your own head, your mind sometimes wanders to an earlier time. For some reason, you start to remember the negatives of your past, and the old wounds open up again and feel new.

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanished sight:

Tears fall for all of the mistakes, the goodbyes, the losses, the untimely actions, the spoken and unspoken words. . .

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.

It's easy to get caught up in a cycle of regret, to feel like your failures will continue to follow you where ever you go. You might think that you'll have to continue to atone for your sins for the rest of your life. Nothing you do, no matter how much you improve, no matter how much you've realized since, will change the past. How, then, can you move on?

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.

I think about a friend of mine, and about how much our friendship means to me. I think about how much my friend is always such a joy, and how seeing my friend brightens my day. Even just thinking about my friend lifts my spirits. The mistakes and failures and losses are still there, but at least for that moment they aren't weighing me down. Sorrow, for the moment, has ended. I think about my friend and all of a sudden, life doesn't seem so bad.

- Viscountess, '12-13

We baked, we sold, we conquered.

We had a bake sale on Tuesday.

We wore fedoras. And sunglasses. Or at least I wore sunglasses for a while until I realized it was hard to make eye contact with potential customers if they can't see your eyes. Erich tried on some shades, too, but ultimately decided against them. And he was having too good of a hair day to put on a hat.

Kudos goes to Sara M. for most of the delicious and beautiful items we sold at our sale. Snow White's Curse, Buried Treasure, Smooth Criminals - the list goes on. Also, mucho grazie to Erich for his spectacular jungle-themed chocolate covered pretzels.

Pictures of these delicious delights will be up here soon so you can froth at the mouth this early in the morning!

- Viscountess, '12-13