Have you ever seen the “Saturday Night Live” skit that starts off with a generic family sitting together to celebrate a holiday? It doesn't matter which one. Fourth of July, Thanksgiving…It could be any one in a long line of holidays. The conversation is ambiguous and about nothing in particular.
Tempers flare over vague sentence fragments. One character threatens to leave the room, standing, snapping her napkin in her lap, crinkling her face into a frown.
The others around the table rally together to keep her in the mix. The chorus persuades her and she returns to her seat. When she sits, the whole thing starts again.
How many times have you found yourself in a similar situation? Who hasn't? When it happens to me, I have a hard time letting it roll off my back.
My usual MO is to try and fix things, watching them get bigger and bigger with each attempt. Then, of course, they blowup in my face, regardless of how noble I think my efforts are.
One day, I figured I would get outside of the feedback loop by phoning a friend for advice. Luckily, his input actually was a bolt from the blue.
He read a Thomas Moore quote to me from the book, “Care of the Soul.”
On the reality of family Moore writes: “It always has its shadow, no matter how much we wish otherwise. If we don't grasp this mystery, the soulfulness that family has to offer each of us will be spirited away in hygienic notions of what a family should be."
Moore seemed to be saying that if you are constantly trying to fix your family, you'll miss what it has to offer. I'm always trying to fix things and smooth over rough patches. Leaving them alone? It was a notion that would have never crossed my mind.
How could not fixing things make them better? I wondered.
Picture a family gathering. But picture it before the argument scene depicted in the SNL skit above happens. See your parents, siblings, aunts and uncles coming up the sidewalk to your front door, smiling and waving hello. What are they carrying? Food that they made? Desserts to share? Beer and wine? How do you feel?
I'm usually filled with happiness in these moments. I'm not even thinking of things to say to them or what I'll be serving them. I am just standing in my front door, waving back, peeking out to the cars to see who is getting out.
Moments like this are the reasons I scrub the house and prepare food and they are the reason that I will continue to do it, year after year no matter how much money parties cost, no matter how much cleanup is involved.
Sure, as the party goes on. There will be pressure to please, wrong things will be said. There might even be a dinner scene like the SNL skit. But how do such entanglements happen? Usually our faux pas stem from our expectations, our hopes and concerns. Our pride and the desire to impress gets in the way.
When confusion is in the air and emotions are running high is that the right time to iron things out? Going a step further, do things really need to be ironed out? How much of it is even under our control?
Moore also said: "By 'getting to the root' of present problems in family background, we hope to understand what is going on, and in that understanding we hope to find a cure. But care of the soul doesn't require fixing the family or becoming free of it or interpreting its pathology. We may need simply to recover soul by reflecting deeply on the soul events that have taken place in the crucible of the family."
That is real life.
By trying to make the whole of our experiences into Norman Rockwell-like moments, we are cropping too much out of the picture. What if we were to take pride in our family stories, even the ugly ones?
Might there be less internal conflict and less shame? Would it make it easier for us to share our passions and struggles? Who knows? That is not the way families operate.
But if I didn't run so fast from the less-than-perfect moments, if I didn't put so much energy into smoothing over the rough patches, wouldn't it be easier to at least see things for what they really are?
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Monday, July 27, 2009
If you want to buy, I'm your chap!
Unless you are a poetry lover, you’ve likely never heard of a chapbook.
Almanacs, history, myths, stories and folk songs were all preserved in small, crudely made chapbooks.
Those familiar with the term probably have romanticized visions of a duty-bound, literate few from the middle ages peddling their rag paper wares from village to village.
The peddlers weren’t just hucksters. They were disseminating information. They were bettering the lives of people, and not just the upper crust who could afford to have book collections of their own, but also the common man.
In an era when paper was expensive, chapbooks were sold for a penny or ha’penny. They were cheap and they were necessary.
“These old Chap books [sic], sold by the Chapmen, have given us most of our old nursery rhymes, English ballads, folklore and old legends," states the article “Chapbooks and the Nursery Rhyme.” at rhymes.org.uk.
"If you want to buy, I'm your chap,” the chapmen would yell as they went from door-to-door.
Also referred to as "merriments," they were pocket-sized and cheap.
“The Nursery Rhyme began to be printed in England as early as 1570! Chapbooks were also popular with people who could not read as they contained pictures," writes rhymes.org.uk. “The content and material of the Chapbooks expanded in the 1700s to include children's stories like Robinson Crusoe and various versions of Perrault’s Fairy Tales.”
The popularity of chapbooks dwindled in the nineteenth century in the face of competition from newspapers.
Chapbooks are still preserving culture. They are still on the side of the underdog. In today's world, the paupers are the poets and poetry lovers (both in reality and for the sake of this analogy).
Low-cost, low-production chapbooks are one of the few avenues available to the art with the lowest returns—poetry.
Because they are cheap, publishers are more willing to take a chance and produce a book that isn't expected to sell in high quantities.
Readers of this column probably know where I am heading with this. One of my favorite pastimes is writing poetry. And yes, a chapbook of my poems was recently published.
It's called "Twitter Poems and Other Small Gems." It was published by a poetry blog—World Class Poetry Blog—and that seems apropos.
Bloggers work in the true spirit of the chapbook, using the Web as the new rag paper. The book, by the way, is available free at genemyers.com.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Shake whatever your momma gave ya!
What image does bellydancing bring to mind? I used to picture the old Hollywood stereotype of a woman in a veil and skirt entertaining a Sultan in his palace.
My wife, Sarah, loves to bellydance. Through her, I’ve gained a modern day understanding of the craft. Picture women from every background gathered to support each other. Everyone gets cheered on as bellies of all shapes and sizes jiggle about the room.
But what Sarah really loves is the chance to cut the rug like a whirling dervish.
The urge to let loose is something we all can relate to. I remember dancing with my grandparents when they came for Christmas and summer days spent in my cousin’s cool basement just plain going nuts to the J. Geils Band.
Dancing can be silly or serious, just for fun, or an elaborate ritual. Why is dance so important? Egyptian art shows that people have been boogying in one form or another for a long time.
It seems like we take to it naturally when we are young. What kid can resist the opportunity to shake their groove thing? Even though coordination may not come naturally to some of us, the urge to interact with the rhythms around us seems innate.
Life is full of rhythm. Whether it’s the body processes inside (hearts beating, veins pulsing) or the parade of busy things going on around us, there is always a beat and a counter beat.
The syncopation created when one rhythm is added on top of another creates music much the same way that a cell added to another cell makes for a more interesting organism.
My 2-year-old son loves to dance. As we bop him around the living room to Disney Channel videos, you can see the sheer delight in his face. Belly laughs abound as we spin him round and round.
As I got older, self-consciousness escorted me to the dark edges of the dance floor. But when I see the joy that my family gets from it, I think maybe it’s time again for me to join in with wild abandon. Who cares if I move like Bill Cosby in search of a Jell-O Pudding Pop?
My wife, Sarah, loves to bellydance. Through her, I’ve gained a modern day understanding of the craft. Picture women from every background gathered to support each other. Everyone gets cheered on as bellies of all shapes and sizes jiggle about the room.
But what Sarah really loves is the chance to cut the rug like a whirling dervish.
The urge to let loose is something we all can relate to. I remember dancing with my grandparents when they came for Christmas and summer days spent in my cousin’s cool basement just plain going nuts to the J. Geils Band.
Dancing can be silly or serious, just for fun, or an elaborate ritual. Why is dance so important? Egyptian art shows that people have been boogying in one form or another for a long time.
It seems like we take to it naturally when we are young. What kid can resist the opportunity to shake their groove thing? Even though coordination may not come naturally to some of us, the urge to interact with the rhythms around us seems innate.
Life is full of rhythm. Whether it’s the body processes inside (hearts beating, veins pulsing) or the parade of busy things going on around us, there is always a beat and a counter beat.
The syncopation created when one rhythm is added on top of another creates music much the same way that a cell added to another cell makes for a more interesting organism.
My 2-year-old son loves to dance. As we bop him around the living room to Disney Channel videos, you can see the sheer delight in his face. Belly laughs abound as we spin him round and round.
As I got older, self-consciousness escorted me to the dark edges of the dance floor. But when I see the joy that my family gets from it, I think maybe it’s time again for me to join in with wild abandon. Who cares if I move like Bill Cosby in search of a Jell-O Pudding Pop?
Small talk can mean a lot to a little guy
At bedtime, my friends Chris and Melissa do something with their daughter, Sophie, that they call "chitchat." Their idea of chitchat is quality time with an educational twist. They started it when Sophie was a baby. Just before bed, they spent a few minutes talking.
It started simply with things like sounds and letters. As Sophie matured, topics grew in complexity.
They considered numbers. They picked random places on a globe and learned about them together.
Sometimes they used reference books. Sometimes they used the Internet to augment their discussions. (If they were talking about hawks, they would listen to audio and watch video of hawks in action.)
The key, Melissa said, is to keep it to a few minutes. Also, they stick to non-fiction topics.
I am amazed every time I see Sophie. She celebrated her fifth birthday last month. The theme that Sophie picked for her party was "birds of prey."
When I asked her what birds of prey are she replied with casual, conversational ease: "owls and hawks." She is an intelligent kid who can hold a conversation with adults.
My wife and I have a similar ritual with our 2-year-old son, Owen. Each night before bed we read two stories, talk about what he did that day and also what he will be doing the next day.
Then we wind things down with a song or one more story, which is actually a guided meditation that helps put him to sleep.
Unlike Chris and Melissa, our bedtime stories are usually fiction. Thomas the Tank Engine and Dora the Explorer are among his favorites.
While the stories are important, I've noticed another variation taking place in our version of chitchat. These days, the conversations have become more useful to Owen than the stories.
It is during our talks that we are able to put the day's events into perspective for him. This way of processing is so important to Owen that he even requests it during the conversations that I call guided meditations.
He still enjoys picturing himself driving trains while falling asleep, but now he requests that the new people in his life ride on his imaginary train too.
As we talk about the things he did and the people he saw, we put special emphasis on concepts that were new to him and summarize how we think he felt about these things.
We know this routine has helped him with language. He is already starting to use full sentences. He is even starting to grasp trickier concepts like personal pronouns.
But more importantly, I hope it will help him process his feelings and make some sense out of the world.
It started simply with things like sounds and letters. As Sophie matured, topics grew in complexity.
They considered numbers. They picked random places on a globe and learned about them together.
Sometimes they used reference books. Sometimes they used the Internet to augment their discussions. (If they were talking about hawks, they would listen to audio and watch video of hawks in action.)
The key, Melissa said, is to keep it to a few minutes. Also, they stick to non-fiction topics.
I am amazed every time I see Sophie. She celebrated her fifth birthday last month. The theme that Sophie picked for her party was "birds of prey."
When I asked her what birds of prey are she replied with casual, conversational ease: "owls and hawks." She is an intelligent kid who can hold a conversation with adults.
My wife and I have a similar ritual with our 2-year-old son, Owen. Each night before bed we read two stories, talk about what he did that day and also what he will be doing the next day.
Then we wind things down with a song or one more story, which is actually a guided meditation that helps put him to sleep.
Unlike Chris and Melissa, our bedtime stories are usually fiction. Thomas the Tank Engine and Dora the Explorer are among his favorites.
While the stories are important, I've noticed another variation taking place in our version of chitchat. These days, the conversations have become more useful to Owen than the stories.
It is during our talks that we are able to put the day's events into perspective for him. This way of processing is so important to Owen that he even requests it during the conversations that I call guided meditations.
He still enjoys picturing himself driving trains while falling asleep, but now he requests that the new people in his life ride on his imaginary train too.
As we talk about the things he did and the people he saw, we put special emphasis on concepts that were new to him and summarize how we think he felt about these things.
We know this routine has helped him with language. He is already starting to use full sentences. He is even starting to grasp trickier concepts like personal pronouns.
But more importantly, I hope it will help him process his feelings and make some sense out of the world.
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