New music, familiar voices

It's been a good month for music: the first new Eagles music in nearly 30 years (not that I had gotten tired of the old stuff yet), a satisfying new James Taylor compilation of new takes on old songs (One Man Band), and a new Joni Mitchell CD (Shine) which I haven't heard yet but trust it belongs on my Christmas list. Well, I needed something to get me over Nickel Creek's "break of indefinite length."

I spent about 20 years singing in church choirs, then moved here and joined a church that didn't have one (we're ALL the choir, they said). But now it does, and I rehearsed last Thursday and realized much I've missed that experience. So here's to a musical winter.

Good books: Shane Claiborne

I've been listening to Shane Claiborne's The Irresistible Revolution (thanks to a free download from the publisher). I keep wondering if I'd be as captivated if I were just reading the words on the page. Anyway, it's a compelling book, one that now and then makes me want to put all my stuff out on the curb, give away my house, and go live among the poor. (When I'm not reading it, I tend to feel more materialistic and selfish--though I have been shopping less than usual since I started reading.) I appreciate the fact that Claiborne doesn't present his story in order to make the rest of us feel guilty; he just tells it with a sense of joy and makes me feel that I'm missing something by not living as he does.
As others have suggested, Claiborne might move more people to action if he were to suggest more simple micro-actions that would let us make small but meaningful changes in our lives. But surely we can figure those out with a little imagination. And I wouldn't want to take away from the exuberance of his approach.
I think I first hear about Claiborne from my friend and former student Rachel. She has made a series of daring choices--she's now teaching at the Denver Street School. I admire that. I wonder what I might have done in my early twenties if I'd heard Shane Claiborne. I wonder how much I'm trapped now by my own habits and possessions. And yes, I can hear the irony as I type. And yes, I know I wouldn't even be hearing the book if I hadn't spring for an iPod. But...here's to Shane Claiborne, and to Rachel.

Good books: Lauren Winner

As promised--a reading recommendation. Lauren Winner reads like a refined Anne Lamott--funny and wise--I have almost forgiven her for being only 29. (I got to interview her for Inner Compass recently; the podcast should be available in a month or two.) Her Girl Meets God is a memoir that made me think about my own faith choices; Real Sex: The Naked Truth about Chastity is a realistic discussion about sex--problems with the way the church talks about it, and alternative ways to think about it. Winner seems to earn "street cred" among my students because she readily admits her own failings and reluctance to adopt chastity as a way of life. But it's not a preachy "and then I saw the LIGHT" thing either. I think church groups tend to err on one side or the other: either a simplistic "just say no" approach, or utter silence that can be taken as approval or lack of concern about premarital sex. Winner encourages us to think about the ramifications of our private behavior in the context of Christian community, rather than simply adopting a set of rules. [I'm always troubled when we insist that Christians must obey God blindly. Of course we are to obey God, but I trust that God welcomes our questions.]

Lanyard poetry

Everyone who has worked at Mowana (or probably any other camp) will appreciate this from poet laureate Billy Collins: The Lanyard (even if you don't like poetry--or gimp.) Collins, one of my favorite living poets, was on Prairie Home Companion on New Year's Eve. I had just arrived at a gathering of old Mowana staff and was parking my car when he started to read the poem. I was torn between running inside and yelling "Turn on NPR!" and sitting to listen. I listened. (You can too. The poem starts about five minutes into this linked audio segment.) Enjoy.

That evening, because it was indeed a wild party, involved the sharing of some reading recommendations and a bit of actual book-swapping. Of course most of us forgot the titles instantly. I'll try to remember my suggestions and post some ideas here as they come to me. I'd be glad to get ideas from the rest of you, too.

Cousins

I went to a family wedding this past weekend. Three generations of cousins and siblings--nearly all of us--made the trip. (There were questions about which of us were "second cousins" or "removed" cousins--here is a full explanation of the terms.) Some of us are now our own cousins, I think, since Mom's husband's sister married Mom's brother. Three-year-old Leo met new [second] cousins he didn't know about, and this meant a great deal to him: "Cousins, look over there. There's dog poop over there, my cousins!"
We cousins don't get together as often as we'd like. My brother hadn't seen some of them since childhood. This time there were spouses, significant others, and children who had not met the rest of us. I'm always a little relieved to discover that we still like one another very much, that we delight in our memories of rare childhood gatherings, that we remember enough to recognize how eerily our children resemble their parents. I love my family. I like my family. (I think of my cousins as long-lost siblings; I always have. You wouldn't know it by my poor record, or theirs, of staying in touch.) If anyone would listen, I could go on and on about the interesting lives my cousins lead, the quirky and brave choices they (we) have made, the ways we make one another laugh. I want the children to share in all this, to someday gather for a wedding and discover that they have wonderful, surprising friends in the family.
And I like thinking of how pleased my grandmother would be to witness this gathering. She knew us all, pronounced us each unique and special, and presided over the rare occasions when we all came together as children. From her we each inherited some combination of passions: music, books, wit, wanderlust, education, risk-taking, above all curiosity about the world.
We share family names--surnames, middle names, pet names: today's Gramp and Granzie are named after their own Gramp and Granzie. We've redefined and occasionally mangled some political and spiritual values, thanks in part to the ways our parents and grandparents modified them. It's a long walk back to the world of our great grandparents. But once in a while I look at an old photo on my wall, see my 7-year-old grandmother-to-be grinning mischievously at me, and know that some ineffable spark of personality and energy has come through the past century as it probably did in the century before. So we keep going.

Audience

What we write, as I tell my students, depends partly on our audience. When I was younger, I'd hear people say that I should find out what my teachers wanted and give it to them; that bothered me because it's disingenous; it's pandering. Better advice: find out who my readers are and give them what they can use, as opposed to giving them what they can't even understand. It's not so much about pleasing the reader as about connecting with the reader (which may or may not result in pleasure). And this is the trouble with a blog. I can write to a particular audience--myself, my family, a particular friend or group of friends, or strangers who care about something that matters to me. But I can't guarantee that my intended audience will be the real one. I do keep a journal, privately. I can't imagine posting it on the internet. Occasionally I stumble on a blog when I search for a key word (for instance, a place that matters to me, like Mowana) and I find myself in the middle of some stranger's most intimate musings or rant. I wonder if that person realizes that her father could be reading it, or a potential employer, or a spy. I can understand the impulse to put one's opinions about public issues out to the public, to be heard and possibly to effect some change in the way society functions. I am puzzled by the impulse to pour out one's most private thoughts to the world. It's like leaving your diary lying open on a park bench.
There's something liberating about confessing personal yearnings and anxieties to a stranger--to the lady sitting next to you on the plane or to a therapist. But that liberation comes from knowing the story won't get back to people who really care. (Isn't THAT odd--the liberation of a meaningless audience?) With a blog, there's no guarantee--anyone and everyone might read, or no one at all.
So I'm experimenting with this. What does it feel like to write for an unknown, random audience? What are the odds that someone I know will recognize me in my words or my user name? So far I find myself cautious about content. I might not want my family to know what my colleagues know. I might not want my colleagues to know what my oldest friends know. I might not want my students to know what my family knows. Am I overly compartmentalized, or just wonderfully diversified?

Hello

I can't imagine who would read this, or why, or what I might have to say...but let's find out.