Tribute to Maya

 “My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.” ~ Maya Angelou

 
Maya Angelou. What can I add to honor her life and memory that hasn't already been said? 

Feministing.com

She was one of the best and most influential writers of the 20th century. She was more than that, though. She was a trailblazer who arose ("Up from a past that’s rooted in pain/I rise") from poverty, racism, molestation, rape, teenage pregnancy, and a lack of formal higher education, all of which would have swallowed a lesser being, and transcended gender, race, economics, and cultures with her poetry, memoirs, travels, and civil rights activism. 

If I needed any proof of that, I found it yesterday in my Facebook newsfeed as men and women of all ages and backgrounds shared their favorite Maya quotes and discussed what she meant to them.

It's ironic to me that this woman who chose muteness as a young child developed a voice as an adult that was heard around the world as an advocate for peace and racial and gender equality. I first discovered her remarkable voice as a young college student when I read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings as preparation for an oral report for one of my literature classes, and I went on to read many more of her words after that. 

From reading her work, I found, as many others around the world did, and will do for decades to come, that she was a woman of great wisdom and truth (I've learned to live by her quote, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them") who arose from so little to become so much. Her life was as brilliant as her written and spoken words. She chose to respond, always, to her life's many challenges with grace, class, compassion, and greater strength.

Her life and its work were a lesson and a gift to the world. 

Thank you, Maya. May we give what you gave us.

The Classics

Have I mentioned yet that I have a bachelor's degree in English? I think I might have once, twice, or a dozen times, but what I probably haven't sheepishly added is that this former English major has struggled with a mild to moderate aversion to classic literature from youth to adulthood. 

It's not that I haven't tried diving into the classics; in high school and college, I read Shakespeare, Steinbeck, Hemingway, Dickens, Eliot, and many more. Maybe that's the problem. 

I think high school and college courses, while designed to promote an appreciative study of literature have often done more harm than good by sapping any desire to ever again read these works for pleasure (or anything close to it). In my required college courses, for example, I was forced to read and write about Beowulf, Canterbury Tales, and Paradise Lost, among other horrors (I'm shuddering as I recall these texts, courses, and instructors...), and discovered through that pursuit that I can't abide medieval literature (nor can I make heads or tails of Middle English).

When it comes time to reach for a book, I most often choose biographies, self-help, and contemporary fiction. I read as many torturous, challenging books as I ever needed to read in school; now I want to read for enjoyment, escape, and a personal quest for knowledge.

I've recently set myself a new goal, however, of retrying the classics and exploring some of the most highly-lauded American writers to see if I can figure out what the fuss is about.

I started my experiment with what many consider the great American novel, F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Although I read this many years ago (as a teen or college student), my retention of it was minimal. As extra motivation, I had the 2013 Baz Luhrmann film version on my DVR, which I planned to watch as soon as I finished reading. Anyway, the novel itself is a slim page-turner with an iconic larger-than-life protagonist that I enjoyed, so it was a good first choice for my personal foray into classic American lit.

My second choice was The Catcher in the Rye, which was one of my favorites as an angsty teen. I loved the protagonist/narrator Holden Caulfield, hater of phonies and hero to disaffected outcasts everywhere, as well as the book's slangy conversational style. 

What surprised me upon reading it for the first time as an adult is how much I disliked Holden, who comes off to me now as a self-involved bastard rather than a relatable guy. (Gasp!) I think part of the change in my feelings, besides increased maturity and life experience, is that I can now look at him more objectively, which allows me to see him as the novel's other characters see him instead of focusing on how he sees them (as phonies, mostly). And what they see, based on my adult reading perspective, is someone who is emotionally unstable, isolated, lonely but desperate to connect with others (asking several strangers to share a drink or meal with him), untruthful, and, in some ways, more "phony" than the "phonies" surrounding him. 

I can't help but also evaluate Catcher in light of its troubling history as a personal handbook for assassins, including John Lennon's killer, who saw himself as Holden Caulfield (or saw Holden as him). I don't think I knew any of that when I first read it in high school, but now that I know, I feel disturbed thinking about violent men identifying with this book, which was once my favorite, and its main character.

Anyway, I went on to read and enjoy the rest of J.D. Salinger's short stories and novellas, many of which contain Holden-like characters (both male and female) and situations. In this way, I'm slowly filling in the gaps of my knowledge of classic American and world literature. There are still many more to go...Joyce, Faulkner (I don't think I made it through the first chapter of The Sound and the Fury on my previous attempt), Tolstoy, Woolf, Oates, and many others, including several great poets and playwrights. 

Stephen King, Jodi Picoult, Barbara Kingsolver, and celebrity memoirists will have to step aside (temporarily, of course) while I give the old classics a new spin.

Magical Mystery Mother's Day Tour

On Tuesday morning (early morning!), I embarked on a mighty big adventure for someone who doesn't like surprises. I boarded a deluxe motorcoach at 6:30 a.m. with my mom, destination(s) unknown. How and why did I end up in such a predicament?

It all started back in February, as I was dreaming of warm tropical adventures while struggling to get through the worst western New York winter in recent memory. I was having lunch with my mom when she read to me an ad for a "mystery tour" sponsored by a local travel agency. The information given was scant: merely the date, departure location and time, and a clue that the destination was approximately two hours away.

"Doesn't that sound like fun?" my mom asked. "I've always wanted to do something like that."

"No," the practical, unadventurous side of me responded. "I want to know where I'm going and what I'm doing."

So, just like that, I shot her down, and that was that. Except it wasn't. As the day went on, I continued to think about this mystery tour. The mystery of it wrapped itself insidiously around my brain, like a reptile, blocking out any other thoughts. Plus, the trip, it occurred to me, was scheduled for two days after Mother's Day...the perfect gift for my mom, who, for some inexplicable reason, wanted to climb aboard the mystery motorcoach. So I called her two days later, asked if she was serious about wanting to go (she was!), and shocked her by signing us up.

The big day dawned agonizingly early, even for me who gets up each day at 5:20 a.m.. I set my alarm for 4 a.m. to allow plenty of extra time before the 7 a.m. departure, but I found myself awake much earlier, tossing, turning, and checking the clock, so I decided to get up at 3:45 and get started. My mom apparently did the same, arriving five minutes earlier than planned to pick me up, so we made it to the travel agency's parking lot by 6:30 a.m. Unfortunately, at this time it was pouring rain and I was sans umbrella, which increased my anxiety over where we were going and what was on our itinerary, and made me think maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all.

As it turned out, the weather more or less cooperated as the day progressed, staying wet and gloomy for the drive to our first location, which turned out to be Hammondsport, N.Y., and its Glenn Curtiss Museum, and becoming warm and sunny for our later outdoor activities.

 

Motorcycle sidecars!

The museum was a good choice because it literally had something for everyone: antique dolls and dollhouses for me, film memorabilia (costumes and props from the "Indiana Jones" films, "National Treasure," "The Mummy," and more) for movie buffs, and a vast array of airplanes, motorcycles, and cars for everyone else (including two 1900-era motorcycles with sidecars that thrilled me). After half an hour there, I felt like I'd seen it all and was ready to move on to the next part of the adventure.

The second stop was downtown Hammondsport, where we were dropped off for an hour to explore antique stores, gift shops, a bakery, and an ice cream parlor. I enjoyed browsing through used books and handmade jewelry, but I have to confess I was really starting to feel the length of the morning here, particularly in my stomach. 

The spectacular view from Esperanza Mansion.

Thankfully, lunch at Esperanza Mansion, which sits on top of a hill, providing an exquisite view of Keuka Lake, was up next at 12:30. The quantity and quality of food - French turkey brie with side salad, coffee, and delicious caramel cheesecake with brownie topping - was just enough to satisfy without making me feel heavy and uncomfortable (not good for a long, crowded bus ride). Besides the cheesecake, the best part of this stop was the view, as well as an opportunity to bask in the sun, which made a full, uninhibited appearance for the remainder of the day, and stretch my legs by walking the grounds before getting back on the bus for the journey into wine country at Penn Yann's Fox Run Vineyards, for a wine-tasting tour.

Fox Run Vineyards (courtesy of www.foxrunvineyards.com)

I was less than enthused, as was my mom, since we're not wine drinkers (I would have preferred a boat ride on the lake), but, as it turned out, I enjoyed the experience. I'm still not a wine enthusiast, despite sampling six different sweet varieties, and I went home empty handed (no case of wine for me), but I was proud of myself for making the most of my wine-country excursion. (When in Rome, you know...)

Then we were back on the bus at 4:30 p.m., more than ready for the drive back home. I dozed off for a few minutes here and there, as several others did, knocked out by the wine and the adventures of a jam-packed whirlwind day. 

Overall, even though the trip took me to places I wouldn't have chosen myself (always the danger when allowing someone to create an itinerary for you), I'm glad I went along for the ride. Thanks to the travel-agency folks, and a little bravery on my part, I spent a day exploring the Finger Lakes with my mom that I know I'll never forget. That experience and those memories are priceless.

Jeanie's Book Club: The Feminine Mystique

A year ago I delved headfirst into the women's liberation movement that erupted in the 1960s and 1970s and discovered a newfound love and appreciation for Gloria Steinem (A Debt of Gratitude). It only took me a year (and many years before that), but I've finally read arguably the book of the women's movement, Betty Friedan's classic groundbreaker, The Feminine Mystique.

The Feminine Mystique isn't only for desperate housewives (or the modern-day equivalent), though it was at least partially intended to wake them from their often self-induced comas. It's for all women because we've all been affected by the mystique in some way. The overriding theme that comes out of Friedan's research is that women need to find themselves outside of their homes, husbands, and children (if they have them) to be happy, healthy, and complete. If a woman is secure in her identity, has a creative outlet, and has a meaningful, challenging career, then she's capable of being a better wife and mother regardless of whether she completes 10 hours of housework a day. 

What shocked me when reading the book is its relevance 50 years after it was first published. I know I can relate, as the daughter and granddaughter of housewives, to the information that Friedan's research uncovered. I know women (like my mom) who feel bored, stifled, and creatively blocked as stay-at-home moms. And I know adult women who are so desperate to avoid the fate of their frustrated housewife moms that they rebel against marriage and children altogether. (Let's just say those passages hit close to home for this blogger.)

I also know men and women who have been psychologically damaged from being raised by clingy moms who never developed their own interests and lived only through their children and husbands. I know that this problem is still alive and well. As a college student 10 years ago, I heard stories similar to the ones Friedan details in her text of at least one male professor who encouraged female students to switch from pre-law studies to teaching or nursing, careers supposedly better suited to women.

So the damage caused by decades of "the problem that has no name" is ongoing. The difference between now and then, I hope, is that we're more aware of it today (thanks in part to this book) and have more opportunities to build lives outside our homes to resist its insidious effects. We need that awareness to prevent more women from losing themselves, their identities, and their full potential as humans to it. 

Betty Friedan: another woman to admire and appreciate.

I'm not a wife or mother, and I'm thankful I'm not because I know that in many ways I've just begun to do the hard work of figuring out who I am, what I want, and what my life's purpose is. Friedan postulates that many women hide behind marriage, motherhood, and low-skilled jobs to avoid doing the painful, uncomfortable task of fleshing out their identities and discovering their full potential. (I admittedly felt challenged reading the chapter that discusses this. Maybe I'm guilty of taking a less challenging job that I'm capable of performing and selling myself and my abilities short in the process. It's an uncomfortable thought provoked by the book's content, though that goes to show how important Friedan's words were and are.)

Near the end of the book, she writes,

"It is easier to live through someone else than to become complete yourself. The freedom to lead and plan your own life is frightening if you have never faced it before. It's frightening when a woman finally realizes that there is no answer to the question 'who am I' except the voice inside herself."

The search for identity is as necessary today to a woman's emotional well-being as it was 50 years ago. After all, what good are the strides made by 1960s feminists if they aren't carried out and expanded today? We have a responsibility to ourselves and the generations to come to continue their work.