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Archive for the ‘Travel’ Category

Today is the memorial of St. Denis, bishop and martyr.  You can read about him here:

Missionary to Paris, France. First Bishop of Paris. His success roused the ire of local pagans, and he was imprisoned by Roman governor. Martyred in the persecutions of Valerius with Saint Rusticus and Saint Eleutherius. Legends have grown up around his torture and death, including one that has his body carrying his severed head some distance from his execution site. Saint Genevieve built a basilica over his grave. His feast was added to the Roman Calendar in 1568 by Pope Saint Pius V, though it had been celebrated since 800.

So that legend is why he is often portrayed holding his head, as in the Paris subway near the Basilica of St. Denis, here:

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The Basilica of St. Denis stands outside the usual tourist track in Paris, but was really one of the most memorable sites we visited in our month there.  So absolutely worth the metro ride. It’s of great historical importance, first because it represents one of the first (if not the first) major expression of Gothic architecture, and secondly because of its role as the last resting place of the French monarchy.  

The Abbey of Saint Denis was the burial site of the kings of France for centuries and has thus been referred to as the “royal necropolis of France.” All but three of the monarchs of France from the 10th century until 1789 have their remains here. The abbey church contains some fine examples of cadaver tombs.

The effigies of many of the kings and queens are on their tombs, but during the French Revolution, these tombs were opened by workers under orders from revolutionary officials. The bodies were removed and dumped in two large pits nearby.

Archaeologist Alexandre Lenoir saved many of the monuments from the same revolutionary officials by claiming them as artworks for his Museum of French Monuments.

Napoleon Bonaparte reopened the church in 1806, but the royal remains were left in their mass graves. Following Napoleon’s first exile to Elba, the Bourbons briefly returned to power. They ordered a search for the corpses of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, which were found on January 21, 1815 and brought to St. Denis and buried in the crypt.

So the Basilica today is repository of funerary imagery….Pepin the Short, the Bourbons….everyone.  It’s fascinating.

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The absolutely most intriguing statuary to me were the two or three sets of married monarchs whose monuments had two elements: the king and queen in full worldy regalia, and then, the two of them represented laid out completely nude…as they came into the world, and as they went back into the earth:

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I wrote a Living Faith devotion about it, here:

Louis XII and Anne of Brittany’s tomb is topped by images of them kneeling in prayer, fully dressed, but in a space below, we see them again, lying as in death, completely nude. It is a startling, sobering sight.

It’s also a sight that reminded me that living under the robes of any worldly honor, power or possession is a creature just like me. Only one king–gracefully born into that mortal flesh but wearing the crown of glory forever–deserves my worship, only one is truly Lord of my life now and for eternity.

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Two years ago next month, my younger sons and I spent a few days in Assisi.  There’s no way I could have written Adventures in Assisi without that trip.  Here’s a bit more about the journey.

It was part of our massive, sort of crazy three months in Europe the fall of 2012.  Why did we go? Because we could and also because it was a way to force us all into homeschooling.  Pretty dramatic, eh?  I had been knowing that we should be homeschooling for a while, but they were a bit resistant, as was I (mostly for selfish reasons).

As the late winter of 2012 wore on, and I grew more and more dissatisfied with institutional school in general, the notion of a big journey took hold.  My father had passed away the preceding fall, I had the means, I was hitting 52 years old soon…why not?

So we did, and while during the trip, I always told the boys that they could certainly return to school in January…when it came time…they decided…nah. 

(For the record, two years later, my older son, who is 8th grade, is back in school, and it’s going great. The younger son is still home, in 4th grade, and might return to school in 6th…might.)

Anyway. 

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Student protest passing by our apartment in Padua the morning we left for Assisi.

Not to recap the entire journey, but we had landed in Paris on September 11, spent almost 2 months in France – the first chunk in western France and Provence, and then October in Paris.  In early November, we left Paris on the train, spent a couple of days in Lausanne, Switzerland, then about a week in Padua and then finally…Assisi.  

(After Assisi, we were in Rome for 10 days, then…home.)

I really liked Assisi a lot, although it’s a bit of an odd place.

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It’s your typical Italian hill town, in a way, but not, because it’s spotless to the point of antiseptic.  Ironically, no begging is allowed in Assisi.  For hundreds of years, pilgrimage has been the primary point of Assisi, and it shows – it works like clockwork, everything geared to the pilgrims.

The train station for Assisi is not actually in Assisi – it’s in Maria san Angeli at the bottom of the hill.

We arrived in the evening, caught a taxi and were taken up the hill. And then another. And then another, to our hotel.

I think I read later that the hotel had been a monastery in a previous life, and that explained a lot.  Well, at least it explained the bathroom.

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You would not believe the contortions I had to go through to get this photo, but I was determined.

Obviously not original to the structure, obviously squeezed in.

Yes I was mean, and there was schoolwork done, in the top floor lounge, before we set out on our journeys.

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He’s making an “A” in Algebra in 8th grade now, so I guess we did something right.

Assisi is…hilly.  You get quite a workout there.

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Here’s where Francis was baptized – the Cathedral.

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This is the castle looming above the town.  The best views.

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The church of S. Chiara – this is the church of the Poor Clares, and is where the San Damiano cross is kept now. (no photos inside)

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And this is San Damiano – the way down the hill from the town is lovely, lined with olive groves.  The church which Francis rebuilt, where he experienced the call of Christ in a profound way, and where the Poor Clares first lived and prayed, and where St. Clare died.

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The main piazza in the center of the town – Francis’s birthplace is on this square, hidden behind the tourism office.

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The basilica, where the tomb of Francis is located, and of course, the site of the amazing frescoes by Giotto and others.  A place of profound prayer.

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Playground outside Assisi walls

Then back to Santa Maria degli Angeli, the location of the Porziuncola, the site of one of the early settlements of the friars and the place where St. Francis died. (again, no inside photos allowed – but look up the images – the tiny church in the midst of the big basilica…)

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I think of all the sites, being in that spot where Francis died in the midst of such physical suffering, his brotherhood already in some disarray,and pondering the  tension between humility, poverty of spirit and the majesty of the basilica..was the most thought-provoking.

Last year, I wrote about another encounter I had in Assisi, and its relation to the whole homeschooling thing…..

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Well, happy feastday!

(In honor of his feastday…try reading some his actual writings.  You might be surprised at what you find.)

I was going to write a post about the genesis of Adventures in Assisi, but Lisa Hendey saved me the trouble by requesting an interview with us.

So here it is!

Q: What prompted you to write/illustrate “Adventures in Assisi” and what will our readers discover in this book?

Amy: I love history and I love to travel and the saints are central to my Catholic spirituality. In my teaching and writing, I’ve always particularly enjoyed bringing Catholic tradition and history to readers and listeners and many of my books reflect that interest.

"amy welborn"St. Francis of Assisi has always interested me not only because his is a truly compelling, radical figure, but also because he is  rather mysterious.  The radical nature of his conversion and the singularity of his journey is unique, but the legends and stories that have grown around him over the past eight hundred years have only added to the mystique and have always piqued my curiosity.  My earliest encounters with Francis were both quite memorable, although both were rooted, I now understand, in more fiction, personal ideology and a cultural moment than fact – reading NIkos Kazantzakis’ St. Francis as a teenager and seeing Brother Sun, Sister Moon with my friends from the Catholic campus ministry in college.  Despite the serious limitations of both, what moved me in these works was my vivid and thought-provoking encounter with the possibility that radical sacrifice was, paradoxically, the path to fullness of life.

In the subsequent years, I encountered St. Francis here and there.  I taught his story when I taught high school theology.  I wrote about him in the Loyola books. I wrote about his prayers in The Words We Pray.  Over the years, I probably read every existing children’s picture book about Francis to my own children, most of which were about either the wolf of Gubbio or the Christmas creche.

And then, a few years ago, I read the new biography of Francis by Fr. Augustine Thompson OP  – Francis of Assisi: A New Biography.  It’s a tight, compact, rich work, and Fr.Thompson’s insights struck me to the core, so once again, St. Francis moved me…. MORE

Q: Ann, please say a few words on the artwork in this new book. How did you conceive of the characters “look”? What type of research do you have to undertake to artfully depict a venue like Assisi?

Ann: I was able to visit Assisi on two occasions, once with my teenage children and another time alone with my husband. I was able to walk the same paths as the characters in this book as they followed St. Francis’ footsteps.

I took countless photos because the style of my work is quite detailed, and I wanted the reader to authentically experience the exquisite Umbrian landscapes, the extraordinary architecture that is both grand and humble, and the simple beauty of the country roads and olive groves that surround St. Francis’ hilltop hometown….

MORE

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NET-TV – the Brooklyn diocese television station – went to Ann’s house this week to interview her about her work.  I hope it is put online, and when it is, I’ll let you know.

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My daughter’s recent travels (she lives and works in Bavaria and last week took a short break in Verona with side trips to Venice and Mantua) and my two trips to NYC this past summer have brought to mind my first real conscious trip to the city,

She says this was horse.

many, many years ago.

And as I was mentally retracing my steps on that trip just now, I was just so amazed that I survived I thought I’d tell you about it.

It was 1978 – the summer before my Freshman year at UT.  I’d taken a couple of classes in my major (history)  during the summer, my dad taught at UT and I lived in Knoxville, so I wasn’t a hardcore, never-been-there Freshman, though. I knew my way around and wasn’t hugely stressed about the fall.

My mother was a New Englander – born in New Hampshire and raised in southern Maine, and because of that we spent about a month every summer up in Maine, at the home of the uncle and aunt who had raised her after her father died in a car accident and her mother went off to live in a rest home.

That summer, I had gone with them up to Maine, but because I needed to move into the dorm earlier than they’d be returning (my dad had a visiting year at the other UT in Austin that year, so I guess they weren’t having to head out til later for that reason too), I decided I would do just that.  I’d come back.  On the bus. Yes,  I’d ride the bus from Maine to Tennessee. And, since that route would naturally take me through New York City, I also decided that I wanted to see the place, so I arranged my itinerary so that I’d arrive (I guess) in the afternoon and then leave again late the following afternoon, taking a night bus down to Tennessee.

(First digression:  How did we make these kinds of arrangements before the Internet?  I’m at a loss. I guess I found a Greyhound or Trailways  schedule and figured it out? Right?  I have no idea.)

So far, my parents were totally on board, and didn’t seem to give the plan a second thought.  In fact, they never did, to my knowledge. The questions then became  – where would I stay or  that night?  My mother, being older – she was born in 1924 – and not having spent a great deal of time in New York City and still evidently having her vision of the place shaped by My Friend Irma and other tales of Smart Girls Alone in the City in 1952 said, “Well, of course you’ll stay at the Barbizon,” not understanding that the Barbizon was a residential, rather than tourist hotel and that, well, it wasn’t 1952.  I am not sure how we figured it out – that it was a residential hotel, but we did. Scratch the Barbizon.

Next idea? Well, of course, the fallback would be the budget-friendly travelers’ rest that everyone knows -

the YMCA!

Now, the Manhattan YMCAs – as well as others around the world - are indeed known for providing such hostel – like accomodations. I guess we knew they admitted women.  I guess.

(Okay – I did have a guide to New York City Hotels I had picked up in a travel agency – remember those? For some reason I can even remember the layout of the silly thing, all these years later.  I must have studied it so extensively – a premonition of hours  days spent in travel research to come. The YMCA must have been on the list.)

So, that was the plan, such as it was. The departure day came, I got on the bus (not sure where – Sanford? Portland? Portsmouth?), waved good-bye and off I headed back to the South, with a slight detour.

I disembarked at the Port Authority hours later – after witnessing a street brawl between two women through the window –  and yes, this is Times Square in 1979, and yes I saw it all, right there. Grime, porn shops, prostitutes (very aggressive prostitutes almost accosting men, angrily), the works.  A little bit of a culture shock, but I forged on, because I was going to the YMCA.

Without a reservation. 

Not one of us had imagined that such a thing would be necessary.  How crowded could a YMCA hostel in Manhattan be? I mean, isn’t that what the YMCA hostel experience is all about? Showing up and finding that Young Christian hospitality, just… there?

Hahahahahaha. 

So, yes, I was turned away at the front desk. They didn’t laugh,but I do think they were incredulous.

And there I was, an 18-year old girl from the Midwest and the South without theatrical or artistic aspirations… in Manhattan….without a place to stay!

I don’t remember my state of mind at the time.  I’m assuming I was upset and worried, but I also don’t remember it being overwhelming or throwing me into a panic.  I whipped out my hotel guide, found the cheapest ones that were nearest (I’m sure I was operating on a cash basis), and started to search.

I have absolutely no idea the name of the place I found or where it was – since this YMCA was on the East Side – near the UN, as I recall, because I remember seeing it  – perhaps the hotel was over there as well.   But I did find one – with a room the size of a closet with a shared bathroom down the hall.

(Do you see why I’m such a patient, tolerant traveler? THIS was my first big trip alone!)

What did I do that night?  What I remember doing is going to a deli down the street, getting a sandwich, being amazed at the size of it,  and eating it in my room while reading a book.

Some things never change.

Next day:

(Prelude:  I’ve never worn a watch. For some reason, I feel naked without a hair tie around my wrist, but a watch has always bugged me.)

I was awakened by the sun, and indeed, felt wide awake. Get up! Get out! Experience the city! Pack up your backpack, go down to check out!

See by the clock behind the desk that it’s 6:30 AM!

Gee, if only I’d been more sophisticated, I could have wandered to the right places and met Andy Warhol or someone emerging from their night partying….

Well, of course I was not going to say, never mind and slink back up to the room.  So I did what any good Catholic girl would do when faced with this situation at this hour: I went to Mass.

Again, I don’t know where I was, but it was not at a great distance from St. Patrick’s because that’s where I ended up for Mass.  After which it was still about 7:30, I guess, with no place open except breakfast joints. So I started walking.. And for the rest of the day, up until my bus left from the Port Authority late in the afternoon…I walked.

I took my scruffy self into Saks and for the first time in my life, felt quite out of place.  Looked at some price tags. Blanched.

I walked down, down, down, and around and around.  At one point, seeing little but empty storefronts and the homeless, I looked up and saw a street sign.  “THE BOWERY” it said, and once, again, having been formed in a milieu in which Tin Pan Alley and show tunes were the soundtrack, immediately thought: 

The Bow’ry, the Bow’ry!
They say such things,
And they do strange things
On the Bow’ry! The Bow’ry!
I’ll never go there anymore!

…and turned west, knowing that I’d hit the financial district soon enough.

Which I did.  I got there and went into the Stock Exchange – I had the leather souvenir key chain I bought there for years – then started walking back up north, hitting Macy’s, I think, and I don’t recall what else.  You see where I was, so I never did any museums or saw Central Park. It was all central and lower Manhattan, me, the 18-year old with the backpack, making her way back to the Port Authority to catch the night bus to Knoxville.

As I said, I don’t remember every being panicked or scared. I tend to take things in stride, and I guess that was part of my psyche then, as well.  What do I remember? I remember a contrast between scruffiness and sleekness, but I remember far more scruffiness. But nothing I saw that trip was a scruffy as what I saw a couple of years later when I returned with my father, who was attending a professional meeting – and as we walked down the street after dinner with some of his colleagues, a fellow standing in the street, needed to go, and yeah, whipped it out, and..went.

Awkward. 

Years later, I asked my dad…”Why did you let me go to New York by myself that time?”  He shrugged. “Everyone who doesn’t grow up in one need to do it – to go to the big city, deal with it, and discover that yes, you can handle it.”

Maybe with the slightest of plans, but definitely without a data plan.

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Add this to scenes I never expected to happen in my life:

Me saying to my HOMESCHOOLED son: “Hurry up and finish your work so we can go buy the MOUSE for your SNAKE to EAT.”

Just in case you’re around 30 years old and think that you know where life is going….

Speaking of learning and link-ups, Melanie Bettinelli is beginning one entitled “Guilt-Free Learning Notes” which I’ll be participating in – starting this Saturday. Should be fun.

— 2 —

So Sunday we went to Whole Foods after Mass.  We were just getting milk and my lime sparkling water so Joseph stayed in the car and Michael and I ran in.

At one point, an older man walked down our aisle with his cart. I looked at him, he glanced at me, I nodded because in that instant I recognized him, without knowing why or how and the nod just happened. He nodded back.  Courteous-like, the way we do down here.  We moved on.

But it bugged me.  I don’t latch on to random people, imagining that I know them.  If my subconscious is joggled, it’s for real.  I I just couldn’t identify him, though.  I definitely felt that I *knew* him in some sense.  I went through the checklist of my rather limited local circles. Church(es)? No. School(s)? No.  Neighborhood(s)?  I don’t think so…but maybe….

And then it hit me.

He looked exactly like the actor who plays the Senator in that fantastic show Rectify. 

I mean – didn’t look like him.  Looked to be him.

Could it be?  I mean, I knew that one of the Rectify actors lives in the area – Clayne Crawford, who plays Teddy, Jr, but..this guy? I didn’t even know his name. As the seconds past, the less sure I was.

So we checked out, we went to the car, and I sat behind the wheel. I got the Ipad from Joseph and looked up the Senator.

And this article came up: “Vegas, Gray’s Anatomy star Michael O’Neill moves back to Alabama.”

In fact, the man whose character went on a murderous rampage in a memorable “Grey’s Anatomy” season finale is a family man, an actor and an Alabama native who recently moved back to the area.

Originally from Montgomery, the Auburn grad moved back to Alabama in November of last year to be closer to his father, who has since died. He also wanted to give his three teenage children a taste of his home.

More recently, some of you might recognize him from this summer’s CBS show, Extant. 

Yup. That was him. Amazing. So..what to do now? Go be a fangirl, not only of him, but mostly of Rectify?

Damn straight!

The boys were, of course, mortified and declined to go back in.  I casually strolled up and down the aisles of Whole Foods, not at all in a stalkerish fashion, no not me,  and there he was – chatting with  couple of other women.  I waited until they were finished, and approached.  He was so very nice, asking my name, expressing both surprise and gratitude that I watched Rectify. We talked about the pleasures of a well-done program committed to be realistic about the contemporary South, I mentioned the appeal of the spiritual themes, and just thanked him for his work. Very gracious fellow!

(And no…I didn’t ask for a photo…)

— 3 —

My 9-year old is taking a boxing class with other homeschooled boys. He loves it.  I don’t know what it is about the coach/teacher who runs the class and the gym, but he has a gift for motivating.  The kid is wiped out by the end of the hour (a 9-year old? Taking shower in the middle of the day? Get out....) but also totally pumped and positive. It’s like magic.

— 4 —

I reread Waugh’s Handful of Dust this week, just because I was not in the mood for Collins’ intricacies. I’ll get back in that groove this weekend.  Boy I had forgotten how dark that book is.  You know, people always rag on Miss O’Connor for being “dark” and grotesque, but honestly – read Wise Blood next to the early Waugh, and you can see what real darkness – that is without even a glimmer of grace – is.  Precise, knowing and hilarious, yes…but ever so depressing.

— 5 —

Speaking of British things, do you know what I’ve never watched?  You guessed. Downton Abbey.  I don’t know why I’ve never been interested.  I think my deep loyalty to Upstairs, Downstairs has closed my mind to what I perceive as an uppity usurper.

And speaking of those old Masterpiece Theater series, what were your favorites? As a teen I gobbled them up, especially – in addition to U/D:

I, Claudius

The Pallisers 

Shoulder to Shoulder.

My parents were devotees, as I recall, of The Forsythe Saga and The First Churchills, but I was too young to care when they were into them and I only remember thinking that they looked beyond boring..  But I adored Derek Jacobi (Claudius), was captivated by the unwilling,but ultimately loving marriage of the Pallisers and probably a little in love with Donal McCann who played Phineas Finn.

Shoulder to Shoulder was a 6-part dramatization of the woman’s suffrage movement in Britain, and was a huge influence on me.  I think it helped situate my thinking about feminism in a historical context, giving my young self a sort of freedom from the secular feminist cant of the 70’s.  It’s a very powerful series and, oddly enough, is one of the few such series never released in recorded format.  Can’t find it anywhere.

— 6 —

My daughter, who lives and works in Bavaria, has taken a short trip to Verona and environs this week.  You can see some of her pics from Verona here, and catch what she saw yesterday – 9/11 - in Venice yesterday here.  

Us? Well, we went to Oak Mountain! Go, us!

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That was actually a nice day – after the first half of the week full of lessons and classes (Because no socialization!) , we could finally get out after the hated cursive and not-quite-hated math was done.  A good hike, then a turn around Aldridge Gardens and then the library.  All the time with the steady soundtrack of detailed descriptions of Lord of the Rings Lego sets….

— 7 —

I’ve continued my slow march through my books…..for adults (including RCIA)  here...for kids here…devotional and parish materials here.  Still to come, materials for teens and the four books Ann Engelhart and I have done together.

(And remember…today’s the feast of the Most Holy Name of Mary...so how about that free Mary book?)

St. Francis’ feastday is coming soon!  Time to talk about Adventures in Assisi!

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For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

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My daughter lives and works in Bavaria now, and she snagged a few days off.  Her initial plan was to visit a friend who’s living in Paris, but that friend was, it turns out, going to be out of town during that time.  So no free housing in an expensive city.  So what to do?

I suggested northern Italy – it was more or less a straight shot from where she is down to Verona.  And do a day trip or two.  Mantua? Venice?

So she went.  Verona first.

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And that’s just a fraction of one day’s experiences….

(And the weirdest thing?  I saw one of my friends here this evening and she said, “Guess where my brother was today? In Verona!”)

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Well, neither vaguely desired Nashville trip happened, thanks to birthday parties and other gatherings.  But that’s okay.  I belatedly found some indifferent-to-critical reviews of the exhibits at the Frist I had wanted to take everyone to see so it seemed that it wouldn’t have been worth the time and expense anyway.  And, although the production of As You LIke It certainly sounded like a good one, the Alabama Shakespeare Festival released their season schedule this week, and that’s on the boards for them, so we’ll catch that one instead.  

This is docked up in Huntsville over the next few days, so we might attempt a trip up to see it.  Probably won’t happen though, unfortunately, at least with both of them. 

But at least we have ArtWalk today and tomorrow.  We won’t miss that. 

— 2 —

I’m super tired this morning because over the past two days, I’ve binge-watched the BBC series Happy Valley.  It’s really excellent in every way.  An absorbing, suspenseful storyline, fantastic performances, especially the deservedly lauded "happy valley bbc"Sarah Lancashire in the lead, sharp but not forced social commentary about the impact of drugs on a community and individual lives and a deeply humane vision.  It’s rough, though, so be warned.  At the center is a consideration of loss and the value of an “unwanted” human life, which is quite compelling.  As I said, it’s difficult to watch at times, but is as absorbing as almost any contemporary novel you’d pick up to read.  iReally good. It’s on Netflix. Far more worth your time, if we’re talking Netflix, than, say, House of Cards, which I liked in spurts at the beginning,but grew to dislike by about episode two of the second season, which I never finished watching.  

— 3 —

So excited to be following the homeschooling Bearing Blog family’s  trip to Europe which kicks off today!!!

— 4 —

Our nighttime reading is Penrod by Booth Tarkington.  It’s my father’s copy from the early 40’s.  I had read it as a kid, as well as, a little later, Seventeen and The Magnificent Ambersons.  We are all enjoying it, although I do a bit of ad-hoc, on-the-spot editing for two reasons:

1) Tarkington’s language is arch and complicated, partly to enhance the humor of the situations this ordinary boy gets himself into. I don’t strip it down much because the effect really is amusing, but sometimes it’s a bit much and I just get tired of reading it. 

2) And yes, the racism.  It’s infrequent, but when it does pop up, it’s worse than what one encounters in Twain.  Twain is trying to paint an accurate picture of his time,and that includes being real about how people speak and act.  There’s no doubt, however, that Twain views Jim as fully human and deserving of respect, and that the white characters are, in a way, judged by their view of Jim’s humanity, and so for that reason, I wouldn’t even call Twain’s work “racist,” even though I acknowledge that I might certainly feel differently if we were black.   It reflects a racist society, but the authorial point of view is clearly the opposite.   I may have said before that this last time I read Huck Finn it seemed to me to be a very long metaphor for the American struggle to understand and act on the full humanity of African Americans.  In particular, I puzzled over the lengthy set-piece, running over a few chapters of Tom and Huck’s plan to free Jim after he’d been captured.  If you recall, they argue about this constantly.  Huck just wants to get ‘er done, while Tom insists on formulating elaborate, ridiculous schemes because that is just the way it’s done and it wouldn’t be fitting t do it any other way – wouldn’t be right.  As this went on and on, I wondered if Twain intended this to be a commentary of sorts on the pre-Civil War conflicts over abolition.

Okay, but back to Penrod.  Tarkington is not so subtle.  The two black boys who feature in the story are not quite caricatures, but close.  No, the problem is that Tarkington speaks of them as “darkys” and drops  allusions to the purported negative qualities of “coloured” people as a group.  Yeah, I skip over those and say “boys” instead even after forthrightly explaining the problem. 

So why read it?  Well if these issues cropped up on every page, I certainly wouldn’t.  But it’s rare enough and editable enough to make the sometime riotous humor and knowing view of boyhood in the book worth a read. But it’s a good exercise in understanding why some works last as literature and others don’t. 

— 5 —

Schooling resource note, even if you don’t homeschool and just want supplementary materials.  Scholastic sometimes runs dollar sales on digital editions of many of their workbooks.   I bought a bunch this summer, and we’re putting them to good use – some math supplementation and in particular, right now, the roots workbook.  Repeat: it’s worth it when they’re selling them for a buck, which is not happening now, but maybe keep a lookout for that sale. 

— 6 —

Listening report:

By far the most striking programs I listened to this week were two episodes of The Food Programme revisiting the 40-year old television program,  A Taste of Britain. From the show page:

In 1974, Derek Cooper set off on a hunt – for BBC Television – around Britain to discover what was left of its regional foods and traditional ingredients. Forty years on, Dan Saladino revisits that series, called “A Taste of Britain” – to meet some of those involved, their descendants, and to find out what happened after these food traditions, many of which at the time were on the wane, were recorded for the cameras.

The first two programs were one Dorset and Wales, respectively, and the last will focus on Yorkshire.  They are quite well done and fascinating, as the contemporary presenter shows video of the older program to descendants of the farmers, cooks and market-sellers interviewed by Cooper and they reflect on what has been lost and how things have changed, sometimes even for the better as the market for certain food products have revived and developed.

And I learned a lot.  Dorset knob? Laverbread? Cockles?  I don’t want to eat any of it, but I was quite interested in learning about them all…

— 7 —

I am still attempting to do a comprehensive series on all of my books, grouping them according to parish need and use – I’ve gotten one post up!  Go me. 

Here it is – on what you might consider for adult education resources.   

"amy welborn"

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