Marriage and Poetry

I know the rest of the country is suffering in the Polar Vortex, and California is suffering from the worst drought in a century, and the Middle East is still entangled in violence and political upheaval, and the goodwill of the Olympics is threatened by bombs, and the moral fabric of America is crumbling, and all over the world suffering and travail seem to suggest the world's end will come soon, but right now here at our house, there has been relative peace. I've entered that nice, cozy, nesty stage of pregnancy. My round belly makes a suitable shelf for a cup of tea. I don't feel guilty about walking away from supper dishes to sit in a comfy chair because my ankles feel the tiniest bit swollen and need to be put up. I ask for things and the kids bring them to me. They, and I, like to poke at my belly and watch the resulting waves of movement as their sister squirms away. They've been pulling out photo albums of their own baby days to try to predict the baby's appearance (each one so similar, so different) and resurrecting memories that seem both far distant and like yesterday. And I like to think that my husband has been happy that I've rebounded from the sloughs of anxiety, and we're now on one of those pleasant plateaus of affectionate marriage that happen every so often, even when the future seems bleak and the rest of the world cries out with lamentation to the Lord.

Not that everything around here is perfectly blissful, of course, and my husband may question whether I really am less anxious than usual or not, and maybe it's just the combination of hormones that last trimester pregnancy generates to facilitate labor which result in a sense of well-being, or maybe it's just time. On a walk the other evening, my husband and I were reminiscing about our naivete during our engagement when people would tell us how much work marriage was, and we'd just laugh. We perhaps put off the work of marriage for a few years of newlywed bliss, but certainly these middle years of marriage have required a far amount of exertion to plough through the rough spots. If we were still doing marriage prep, we'd have more experience of both the work of marriage and its reward, these periods of peaceable companionship.  Saints talk about the consolations of faith; these moments are what sustain and strengthen faith and love in marriage and faith.

On the Image blog the other day there was a query about television and film writers depicting healthy marriages. The writer was particularly interested in film imagery - I couldn't think of anything offhand except "Cheaper by the Dozen," but I think the author, Brad Winters, had more serious dramas in mind. My daughter and I just watched "Little Women" from the 1970's after she finished the book. Lots of happy marriages there. And if book adaptations count, there are the films of Jane Austen's books, but she also has some unusual matches. The book I just finished shows happily married Mormons. Because a good drama involves conflict, troubled relationships make better movies. But healthy marriages are the ones that endure conflict and distress even with very few consolations.

Melanie posted a poem by Joseph Mills, "The Good Nights," that describes a simple moment of consolation - a late-night glass of wine: "this evidence/ even after all these years/ of the unquenchable desire/ for each other's company."

It reminded me of this poem of Galway Kinnell's making - - this is what good marriages are like; this is what makes marriages good.

After Making Love We Hear Footsteps

For I can snore like a bullhorn

or play loud music

or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman

and Fergus will only sink deeper

into his dreamless sleep, which goes by all in one flash,

but let there be that heavy breathing

or a stifled come-cry anywhere in the house

and he will wrench himself awake

and make for it on the run—as now, we lie together,

after making love, quiet, touching along the length of our bodies,

familiar touch of the long-married,

and he appears—in his baseball pajamas, it happens,

the neck opening so small he has to screw them on—

and flops down between us and hugs us and snuggles himself to sleep,

his face gleaming with satisfaction at being this very child.

In the half darkness we look at each other

and smile

and touch arms across this little, startlingly muscled body—

this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making,

sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake,

this blessing love gives again into our arms.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15927#sthash.JXK7764N.dpuf

Getting out there

Sometimes doing something when you really don't want to turns out to be exactly the right thing to do.

Not always, but take yesterday morning. Our church has a moms' group that meets in eight week sessions. I went to the fall session to meet people and get connected to the parish community, but it's organized in such a way that doesn't really leave time for real socializing. There's a talk by a speaker, a brief q and a session, a talk on a virtue or saint, and then a craft. You're supposed to catch up and visit with the people at your table during craft time, but I usually have something or other that prevents me from staying very long to scrapbook or make cards.  My inclination was to stay home and do ... something.

Plus, I don't really want to do crafts. My kids bring home enough paper and foam creations.

I don't mean to disparage this ministry. It's well attended because it does provide a way to connect with both your faith and people who share it. I have met some people with whom I'm now on the "hi how are you?" level with when we see each other at Mass or wherever.  But no friendships have blossomed - yet.

There's a nominal fee (for crafts and coffee), so attendance requires making a decision.  Since I didn't have any other commitments on the calendar yesterday, I went ahead decided to sacrifice the two hours I could have spent on the internet or something.

And of course, it ended up being a wonderful two hours. The speaker, who is the youth minister at the church, said some things that rang clear and true about the burdens of melancholy, even though I'm sure she didn't have "unexpected pregnancy" in mind when she was talking about crosses. She's done wonderful things for the youth ministry here - it's active, well-attended, and solid, from what I can tell. For instance, some of the high school girls are starting a "One Piece Revolution." And my boys want to go to Bible Study and confirmation class. Maybe because all their friends are there, but that's valid enough. The youth minister has achieved something by making the kids want to gather with her rather than at the mall or wherever.

Now I can't even recall her exact words, but her message was about not running from our wounds, but accepting that love hurts.  It struck me that part of the melancholy I struggle with lately is rooted in a desire to not feel any disappointment or discouragement.  We, as Christians, shouldn't want our lives to look just like everyone else's. This isn't novel, of course, but it - a mix of envy and vanity? - is perhaps one of my biggest demons. It's not so much that I compare our life to other people's or to some worldly standard, but rather to some imaginary image of my own making of what it SHOULD be or what I COULD be doing - and then feeling crippled by inertia or a sense of impossibility. But letting go of that sense of being stuck, of failing at life, requires humility and acceptance - and gratitude for what is.

How many times do I need to be reminded of this? over and over and over.

Another moment of light: One of the "mentor moms," an older lady at our church who always says nice things about our family, gave me a couple statues of Mary for my girls. She said the statues were prizes she had won when she was in grade school and sodality.  They were prettier than I expected (not garishly painted resin made in China), but even prettier was her action; maybe the gift began with a desire to clean a closet, but that she thought of my girls was immensely touching to me.

On top of that act of kindness, another lady, the only other person I know in town who has seven kids, gave me a Christmas card.  Our paths don't cross much because her kids go to different schools, but she has been friendly and supportive when we see each other at Mass or this moms' group.  I'm sure she gave out a lot of Christmas cards, but again, it's touching to be remembered. And it's nice to know we're not alone in this large family business.

So was the good feeling I left with yesterday morning an act of providence or receptivity? Either way, my heart was warmed by the interaction with these other women.  It's a mixed group - some homeschooling, home birthing, Latin Mass types, some public schooling, trying to keep the kids Catholic types, some with kids at private school, wanting to live the faith and live in the world, some new moms with babies and pre-schoolers, some experienced mothers with grown children, some with school aged kids. "Diverse" might not be the most accurate word to describe the group (although now that I think of it, there is a good mix of Hispanic, black, Asian, Middle Eastern, and white women) but certainly it is more diverse that some of the mom groups I've belonged to, which perhaps is why having a more structured style is appropriate.

If I hadn't attended, I might have spent the morning feeling sorry for myself for not having a job or ambition to find one, or perhaps berating myself that I haven't gotten involved in some sort of do-good work like volunteering for St. Vincent de Paul or Meals on Wheels or Foodshare. I probably wouldn't have used the time productively to clean house, to create something beautiful, or to file taxes.  I would've wasted time on the internet. Before the enlightening morning, I took an energetic walk with my sister-in-law and a couple of her new friends, and afterwards, I went home, finished The World's Strongest Librarian while eating lunch, started some laundry, and then started writing this. So it was a good day, a contrast to the night before when I was fighting off that sense of stagnation and self-pity that plagues me when I stay up too late at night.

Even reading that book emphasized the message of the day - getting out there, connecting with someone in however minimal a way, a card, a wave, a walk - makes a difference. Hanagarne's story was a good read -- he's a good storyteller; his struggle with Tourette's is fascinating and his perseverance inspiring; his struggle with faith is honest in a way that doesn't discourage believers but makes real is difficulty; his relationship with his family is strong - unlike many memoirs, this isn't a story of how he overcame familial dysfunction and moved on. He remains close to his parents and depicts them in a way that makes you love them, too. And on top of all that, his descriptions of a librarian's life are all at once amusing, bittersweet, and affirmative of the importance of books and reading and libraries.  The public libraries may be full of homeless people, schizophrenics, bored teens, loud pre-schoolers, and retirees, but he defends their role as  "a potential step forward for a community. If hate and fear have ignorance at their core, maybe the library can curb their effects, if only by offering ideas and neutrality. It's a safe place to explore, to meet with other minds, to touch other centuries, religions, races, and learn what you truly think about the world."

Another good quote: "Many librarians -- I've done this myself -- lament the idea that we might simply be competitors for Netflix or iTunes. I'm past caring about that. I want people walking through the doors. I don't care what their reasons are. That kind of makes me feel like a carnival barker -- that my job might just be to get people in a building -- but I still think it's worth it. Once they're here, we'll work on why they return. Once they're here they've entered an institution dedicated to fighting ignorance and providing a space without ideology. Is it too lofty to hope that a library could curb the poison of racism. That it could create a reality usually expressed by treacly expressions like "a sense of community"? Even if someone believes that the library's primary function is as an expensive homeless shelter or as a place to rent free movies, even if they believe it's a waste of taxpayers' money, even if they think that all the goofy stories I'm telling in this book are the norm .... well... what patrons use the library for doesn't change what it offers. Anyone could enrich their life by spending some time here, if only they were willing to look around.

Nothing rivals this library for its sheer variety of humanity."

I wouldn't have picked up this book if it weren't for the fact that long ago the townspeople agreed to give the library a prominent corner on Main Street close to where I was running errands, and I had some few minutes to spare before picking up the kids from school.  A young tattooed guy with a skateboard was going inside just as I was entering. He made some offhand but awkwardly chivalrous remark about holding the door for the pregnant lady. Another small connection with humanity.

Reading and Remembering

I began a list of books for 2014. I have only finished one: Lord of the World (discussion at Reading for Believers.)  Meanwhile, I have started many.  Can't seem to find time or attention to finish them.  And maybe the fact that I fall asleep while reading or saying prayers with the kids at about 8:30 has something to do with it. Last night I couldn't finish our chapter of Charlotte's Web. I fell asleep with my mouth open on the couch.  I heard my older boys comimg in from their Tuesday night Bible Study, chatting with my husband, getting something to eat. I hadn't seen them all day. But I just couldn't move. My brain was still halfway functioning, but my body was paralyzed in its slouch. In my half dreaming state,  I invented a conversation with the boys. I wondered what their impression of pregnancy is from my slide into indolence. Earlier in the evening, I neither helped make dinner or clean-up, but let my husband heat up leftovers while I sat riding shotgun on my 9 year old so he would finish up his mission scrapbook.  Guilt and discomfort finally pervaded my consciousness enough for me to roll my body off the couch, prop open my eyes, and pose some obligatory questions about the day to the boys before going to get on pajamas and get into bed. Such is the state of affairs of this pregnant 40 year old.

These kinds of nights happen more often when I spend the day away from home, as I did yesterday.  Had field trip duty for the fourth grade - they went to see a one-man play about bullying called "I am Jack."  It made me wonder about how easy it is to take a mediocre storyline, some emotional and slightly naughty dialogue (jokes about underpants), and make money off of it if it is about a touchpoint issue.

After my chaperoning duties were over, I ran some errands, including checking out some books at the library with the intention of finding something EASY to read.

The books I have going: Mansfield Park. It's been some time since I read any Jane Austen. This one I downloaded on the Nook last year, but only looked at after finishing Benton's Lord of the World early enough one evening that I still had energy to read. Reading Austen is pure pleasure, especially since I'm defecting right now from Downton Abbey. I'm just a few chapters in, but it's enough to highlight the superiority of Austen's dialogue over DA's. Probably going to switch from the Nook to my copy in the Penguin collected works of Austen; although it's a cumbersome object, I have very pleasant memories of my grandfather purchasing it for me at a little bookstore in the town where we vacationed in Michigan. Although I was perhaps too young to really appreciate the tensions in Austen, I was attracted to the book's size and pretty pink cover. The pink cover is now falling off, but it is a book that has been well-loved for its content and provenance.

Number two: The Reef by Edith Wharton. Again I am not far along, but already enchanted by the dialogue, even though Wharton's book is tinged by melancholy that threatens to get worse, while the early melancholy of Fanny Price in Mansfield Park promises to be relieved.  I was looking for another E. M. Forster book when I came across this book in a drawer of my desk. I don't know when I bought it. A surprise, like finding $10 in the pocket of your winter coat when you first put it on for the year.

Number three: St. Francis de Sales' Thy Will Be Done.  This is one of those spiritual books that I have started more than once and never finish. Like spinach, it is sure to be good for me to read, but it's written in a style that's hard to digest in its certainty and sweetness.

For balance, at the library yesterday I picked up Anne Lamott's new book Stitches:A Handbook on Meaning, Hope, and Repair.  It is a long essay on finding meaning.  Sometimes I like Lamott's writing better than other times.  I've only read the first chapter while hiding in the bathroom, but so far it lacks the charm and originality that the other books of hers I've read (Bird by Bird, Traveling Mercies) have had. Maybe she overemphasizes the uncertainty? Or as the reviewer said in the link above, maybe it's the weariness detectable even in the first few pages that colors the idea that we carry on through tragedy by relating with others.

The engaging, easy book I started reading at breakfast is a new memoir, "The World's Strongest Librarian," by Josh Hanagarne (his blog here).  It's the story of his struggle with Tourette Syndrome and finding work and love, intertwined with a memoir of his life with books. I prefer life with books memoirs over most other kinds of memoirs, perhaps because, with my infinitely ordinary childhood, I identify with them more than with narratives about difficulty and distress. (This morning on the way to school my kids asked me if I said "duh" much growing up in the 80s. I know I did to my siblings, but I  think I was too nerdy at school to pose that kind of sarcasm to fellow classmates.  I don't even remember many conversations with classmates. I could never write a memoir.)  Hanagarne's tone is engaging - and his description of his early years spent falling in love with books and libraries encourages empathy -- a desire to say, "me too!"  Except I wonder, how much does he remember from those years before first grade? I do vaguely remember the branch library near the house where we lived until I was seven, but I don't recall any specific books that I loved at that early of an age, except Tasha Tudor books, Are You My Mother?,"and the illustrated, abridged version of Bambi and the Little Golden books at my grandparents' houses - in particular, The Tawny, Scrawny Lion, the Pokey Little Puppy, Eloise Wilkin's little prayer book, and Rudolph. Richard Scarry books, A Prayer for a Child, and Margaret Wise Brown books were a part of our baby library, too, but they are so familiar, I'm not sure I remember anyone reading them to me, as I recall my mom's dad reading the Pokey Little Puppy and my dad's mom using a deep voice to invoke Bambi's father, as much as I recall them being around and reading them to my little brother who was born when I was almost eight.

This book also brings back sketchy memories of a summer during high school when I took government and economics during summer school.  The summer classes were populated mostly by students who had failed these prerequisites for graduation, plus a couple overachievers like my friend and myself who wanted to get ahead in credits so we could take more electives.  The econ class was taught by a business man, not a professional teacher, and he had us bring in a couple of dollars to invest in a real stock for the duration of the class.  He was engaging in a way that most teachers ground down by the daily struggle to instill some facts in recalcitrant students weren't.  He treated us like we had ideas, even though we were an odd mix of flunk-outs and nerds.  In between his unusual, casual style of teaching, and the several hours that the condensed class consumed on summer mornings, my other overachieving friend and I made friends with a couple of boys who, during the normal school year, usually hung out in the back of the school parking lot where other members of the Future Farmers of American parked their pick-up trucks. (Rural Indiana Public School, remember.) We checked the stock market readings in the business section of the newspaper together to see how our stock was performing.  One of these boys had Tourette's.  He had odd facial tics and would sometimes let loose a string of profanities.  I remember him confiding this to me - at first I thought he was just telling me a story to elaborate about why he used such bad language, but then the profundity of his confidence sunk in. He was telling me he had a disability, which back then was not a label you wore with pride.  I had always judged him to be a misfit by choice, someone who got in trouble because he didn't care about school and spurned authority figures. But I realized by the end of the six weeks or so (over which we each made about $1 on our stock choice), that he might have been someone else, if he wasn't embarrassed and angered by his body's inability to be controlled.

By the end of the class, he was calling me to talk, not just to ask about class, and would show up places where my friend and I were hanging out.  Eventually I asked him to stop calling and following me around.  Shadowy memories of being almost of afraid of him when I saw him punch a wall in frustration have been locked away for decades in the odd spaces of memory.  I have the same deep shame about the way I treated him - rarely acknowledging him on the rare occasions when our paths crossed once the regular school year began -- as I do about the miserable selfishness I displayed when I asked one of my orchestra classmates not to tell anyone I had gone to the symphony with him one weekend.  How and why was I so mean?  I read a lot of books about misfits and empathized with independent characters in books, but in real life I was just as concerned with "reputation" and being liked as most other teenage girls. An ugly stage.

So anyway. I'm reading this book and intend to enjoy it, despite its ability to resurrect painful memories. I expect it will also help me recall pleasant associations with Books I Have Read. I'm also interested in his experience of Mormonism, which fascinates me. Now if I can just stay awake to finish some of these books.

Daily Distractions

What I've been thinking about lately:

1. Baptism: We started talking about godparents for the new baby the other day. We have some good options amongst our family members, but soon we have to make a decision. Decisions are very hard for me, so I always appreciate when we have limited options. Fortunately and unfortunately we know a lot of practicing Catholics who would be wonderful godparents. We have always stuck with family members because we want our kids to know their godparents and you never know which friends you'll keep in touch with for the rest of your life. Sadly, a few of the kids' godparents have fallen away from the Church as they've grown older, so we've grown more cautious.  Is it possible to pick new godparents? I have a little superstitious fear that my children's faith might be weakened by the lack of praying godparents, but rationally I know that's silly. I really appreciated the import that the role of godparents received in Guam -  godparents were expected to help raise the child not just in the faith but financially.  I wonder if this commitment made godparents more hesitant to accept their responsibility.  Did anyone ever say, "You know, my faith isn't really that firm right now; I appreciate the honor, but why don't you choose someone else?"

Also, it is interesting to me the way each parish has a different number of hurdles to leap before receiving this sacrament. I talked to the deacon yesterday about what this parish requires: an interview, application, affadavit that at least one of the godparents is baptized Catholic, confirmed, and in a regular marriage, attendance at a class, and a copy of the birth certificate. After all this, you can sign up for one of two weekends a month when community baptisms are held. Of course, in emergency and special situations, exceptions can be made, but the deacon made the point that baptism is an opportunity to welcome young families back into practicing their faith if they haven't been active.

Or it could scare them away.

At the other end of the spectrum: at my parents' small church where three of our kids were baptized, we just had to call in and find out if the weekend we wanted was available. Showed up at the Church, received the sacrament, went home and had a party.

Our first two kids were baptized during Mass on Easter Sunday at two different churches. Both of these pastors loved the idea of having an infant baptism as a part of the ceremony.  One of the parishes had a brand new baptismal font, so our son was the first to be baptized in it (no adult baptism's the night before at the Vigil).  The priest wanted to fully immerse him nekkid, which scared me - what if he polluted the water!! - but my fears weren't realized.  I had to leave Mass to get him dressed and nursed afterwards, but it ended up being a beautiful experience. All the church ladies came up to us afterwards to tell us how much they loved it.

2. College: Everyday we get new fliers in the mail for our high schoolers. Some - many? - of these places I've never even heard of. We did just get an ad for summer school at Harvard - thanks but no thanks! But the endless barrage makes me aware of how many options there all - that and the 1000 pages of the Peterson's college guide. (Picked up the 2011 version for $1. Mostly the same info as the $26 2014 version, right?) My mom sent the ISI Guide to colleges for "conservatives and old-fashioned liberals."  PSAT scores just came back and our junior will take the SAT soon.  The school the boys go to always has a counselor's page in their monthly newsletter devoted to listing scholarship opportunities  (from lots of $500 options to $40000 from the GE-Reagan Foundation and Edison International.) and upcoming visits from college reps. This month there were 4 pages of counselor notes. 'Tis the season for making decisions about where to apply.

This is somewhat terrifying to me. On the one hand, you have my husband who applied to one school, got in, got a full ride from ROTC, found a wife and a career and a passion for architecture and his faith, and never looked back. On the other hand, I am haunted by visions of thousands of indebted, faithless, hungover, STD riddled, poorly educated, unemployed, directionless recent college applicants. Choosing a college may be one of the last big decisions I get to help my sons make.  What if we make a mistake?

I know in my heart there isn't necessarily one perfect place for each kid. Many colleges would nurture their hearts, minds, and souls, or, if they choose a secular school, many places have  Newman centers or church communities that would feed their souls while they learn.  And the tuition? I'm still optimistic about aid. Maybe blindly so.

This topic is sure to occupy more of my attention as the year goes on.

3. Our first parents: We've been going to a small group meeting on the Catholicism series by Fr. Barron at our parish.  Every other Saturday we meet to watch a part of the videos, have wine and cheese, and talk about the questions in the study guide. Last Saturday's session was about Aquinas' proofs from God, and one of the questions led to a discussion of Genesis and evolution. I said something about reading the Genesis account figuratively. I'm no creationist, and it seems to me that the order of creation in Genesis seems to correspond with roughly the story of creation told by secular scientists: light and darkness, land and water, fish and birds, land animals, people. But one member of our group declared, "Well, you have to believe in the Adam and Eve" and referred to Humani Generis, Pope Pius XII's document from 1950.  Both his tone and positivism irked me a bit, so I did a little research.

Here's what I found:
A summary of a priest from Berkeley's thoughts.

The Catechism: "How to read the account of the fall

390 The account of the fall in Genesis 3 uses figurative language, but affirms a primeval event, a deed that took place at the beginning of the history of man.²⁶⁴ Revelation gives us the certainty of faith that the whole of human history is marked by the original fault freely committed by our first parents.^265"

Here is a nice summary from Catholic Answers that corresponds to how my thinking on the topic has been formed.  In summary, it suggests that Catholic teaching allows that the human body could have developed over time, but that the human soul was and is created immediately by God.  Still posits the First Parent argument, without which, the doctrine of original sin is called into question. So to me both science and faith leave open any definitive explanation of the coming into being of humanity. We receive our physical traits from our parents but our souls come from God. So at what point in history did God create the first human soul?

Fr. Longenecker's more vernacular explanation.

If I think about this too hard, my head begins to spin. And to what extent does the timing of creation really matter?  Sometimes I wonder if my faith suffers from a tendency to de-personalize God, to make Him into a metaphor.  I don't hesitate to believe that God exists, but I struggle to identify with or to feel the loving language of relationship with God that some writers use, as is the idea that "God wills" certain events. I prefer "God allows." But "I prefer" sounds so ego-centric.  Humility in this: "I don't know."

4. Downton Abbey: I think I'm done with this show. We watched the first episode of Season 4, and then I read spoilers about the 2nd. I don't think I want to commit any more time to watching. I'd rather read a good book.  And then the high schoolers have gotten into watching BBC Sherlock Holmes episodes, which are pretty fun, too.

5. Interesting articles about literature I came across lately:  http://www.patheos.com/blogs/goodletters/2014/01/the-contemporary-novel-of-belief-part-2/
http://dgmyers.blogspot.com/2014/01/academe-quits-me.html

Both of these are two part posts.

And now to get back to work on more pressing things, like dishes and laundry.

Tickets Home and Back to Quoting Welty

A couple nights ago I bought one way tickets back to my midwestern homeland.

Not staying there forever - just hit a fare sale that was too good to pass up. We couldn't drive to Indiana for the cost of these tickets for 7 of us. Travel won't take place until late June and return fares weren't published for July yet; hence, the one way option.  I was hesitant to hit the purchase button, but my husband sat down with me to do some calculations on drive-time/cost of gas/various options for return travel, which convinced me to commit to flying out to Indiana for our summer vacation.  We also plan to visit his family in Oklahoma, like we have done for all but one of the past 17 years.

Options for the return to CA?  If cheap fares show up, we may fly, but the most likely option is that my husband will drive out. He can't be gone from work as long as I would like to be gone (although he's still planning to be gone over a week, which is longer than some husbands are willing to leave their jobs), so we'll fly ahead, and he'll join us for the Fourth of July holiday and the drive home. Yes, this means that we will still have pay for the gas to drive out, but his food and hotel stay will be cheaper than ours. And for him to spend three days alone in the car will be like a vacation, compared to three days in the car with 7 kids, one of whom will only be about 3 months old.

The idea is a little convoluted and still not the least expensive option, which would be driving, nor the most expensive, which would be flying everywhere.  My practical conscience wants to question why we are committing to this trip when we have other expenses looming (tuition! car repairs! college!), while the voice of my romantic self asks, "Why the same thing every year? Think of the places you could visit instead of going to see family..." These locations aren't destinations featured in travel magazines in articles about places to see before you die.

That voice was sympathetic to the discussion we had last weekend over one of the best dinners I've had in a while at a fish restaurant with my brother- and sister-in-law.  Eating good food seems to make good conversation flow more easily.  I had wild California halibut and roasted brussel sprouts, which thinking of now makes me hungry. So often we go to a restaurant and leave slightly disappointed, but this was not the case. I only sampled the wine, but it was good, too, and no one offered to share another sip of their glass with me.

The discussion? One we've had before (and one I've written about a few times): The in-laws' argument was that travel makes you a better person; my husband and I maintain you don't need to travel in order to have an understanding heart and a curious mind.  The talk came up based on our experience in Guam.  As much as we loved our island life, I don't know whether I can say it made me a better person.  We couldn't get a handle on what "better" means, for one thing. Better than we were before? Better than someone else? Better in what way?  There are saints who never went anywhere and villains who have circled the globe.  There are people who are kindhearted and understanding who haven't left the community they grew up in.  And then there's the lady down the street who has been on 79 cruises, but you wouldn't guess it except she has a great tan. The missionary and the hedonist both travel.

Certainly the tourist industry wants you to believe that going to Bali will make you a better person, or a happier one, at least. But I remember feeling absolutely miserable one night when we were in the Caribbean after my husband and I had had an argument, where we supposed to be having this wonderful bonding time and I never felt more distant.

At the dinnertable, we played devil's advocate and argued long and hard against the notion that you NEED to travel to appreciate the world and its people. It's a falsehood to think you can understand a culture after a visiting a place for a few days, a few weeks, even a few months.

On the other hand, I do understand the desire to experience places and people first hand. I'm drawn in by Travel magazine's 10 Most Fabulous Places Ever.  As much as I love going to the airport and getting on a plane, I also have felt the letdown after arriving someplace far away and finding out it isn't so different after all, not as foreign and exotic as I had hoped.  But then I've also been surprised to find out how foreign some places that aren't really so far away feel (New Orleans?).  Dissonance is a part of the pleasure of vacationing.

And I agree that travel does change you.  How much more meaningful our trip to Rome for Mother Teresa's beatification and Blessed John Paul II's 25th anniversary as pope was compared to the trip to Japan.  In Rome, we were pilgrims. The focus of the trip was on sharing our faith with the thousands of other pilgrims in the city, but we also visited and prayed at sites and paintings and churches we had studied and read about.  We had a purpose for the trip, and it changed the way I feel about Mother Teresa and the former Pope.  In Japan we were tourists.  I had my guidebook handy at all times.  We didn't understand the significance of much of what we saw because we didn't understand the history.  We didn't know who many of the shrines we saw we dedicated to.  But I have to admit that trip did alter my imagination of Japan. It made me more curious about the place and its people.  And as a family vacation it was unforgettable.

The problem is that there are just too many places and not enough time.  And conversion - and good conversation - can happen anywhere - no need to travel to change your life.  Stepping away from the everyday is useful, but you don't have to go far, especially where we are located, with mountains a few miles to the east, an ocean minutes away to the west, and giant sequioas waiting for us a few hours north.

But our first priority is to spend time with people we love.  That time grows shorter as our kids and parents age.  Sometimes vacationing with family can be an emotional drain, but no one we met in Japan on our week's vacation is going to come to our funerals and pray for our souls.  My kids spend more time looking at photo albums of time with their cousins than any of our vacations. Surely to be known and loved is better than to be well-traveled, if you have to make a choice.  So again we adjust our compass by the lodestone of "home."

Hence, the poignancy of Eudora Welty's words from her essay on place I quoted last time, worth recopying since she is more eloquent than I.  If I had had the book handy at the restaurant, perhaps I would have pulled this out:

 "The open mind and the receptive heart -- which are at last and with fortune's smile the informed mind and the experienced heart -- are to be gained anywhere, any time, without necessarily moving an inch from any present address. There must surely be as many ways of seeing place as there are pairs of eyes to see it. The impact happens in so many different ways." 

So the reason why we touch base with our blood ties - the place and the people -  when we can: those blood ties define us and teach us to find meaning.  We have to love those people and places, even if they aren't the most beautiful in the world or the easiest to get along with. If love is always easy, we can't really know what it means to love. Welty quotes Faulkner in her essay on time in fiction to explain why we need our memories and need to understand our past and our ancestors:

"Remembering is so basic and vital a part of staying alive that it takes on the strength of an instinct of survival, and acquires the power of an art. Remembering is done through the blood, it is a bequeathment, it takes account of what happens before a man is born as if he were there taking part. It is a physical absorption through the living body, it is a spiritual heritage. It is also a life's work.
 "'There is no such thing as was,' Faulkner remarked in answer to a student's question as to why he wrote long sentences. 'To me, no man is himself, he is the sum of his past. There is no such thing really as was, because the past is. It is a part of every man, every woman, and every moment. All of his and her ancestry, background, is all a part of himself and herself at any moment. And so a man, a character in a story at any moment in action , is not just himself as he is then, he is all that made him; and the long sentence ... is an attempt to get his past and possibly his future into the instant in which he does something...'"  

And so I think that returning to see our families is an imperative, despite expense and inconvenience. I want my children to know who their people are, to know more about themselves.  I can't tell them all the stories.  If because of our transient life, they don't have one place to call home, they will have these blood ties. 

...  "There may come to be new places in our lives that are second spiritual homes -- closer to us in some ways, perhaps, than our original homes. But the home tie is the blood tie. And had it meant nothing to us, any other place thereafter would have meant less, and we would carry no compass inside ourselves to find home ever, anywhere at all. We would not even guess what we had missed."

There are many beautiful places in the world, many places we daydream about visiting or living after retirement from the military.  But the familiar is what is most beautiful.  When we move around, it sometimes takes me weeks and months to become fond of a place. I have to learn to know it.  And perhaps that's why going away/traveling is valuable; it allows us to appreciate the known more when we return and return and return - the ongoing conversion.

Bits and pieces

******
I found out I failed my glucose tolerance test again shortly after posting the New Year's Resolutions. So cutting back on sugar is now more of a prerogative. My numbers were only slightly elevated, as they have been for 3 other pregnancies, so I'm not overly concerned, but now I have a source of motivation. Of course, all I've wanted to do since hearing the diagnosis is eat candy and cookies. My husband threw out the last of sugar cookies (horrors!), but I have a stash of M&M's and a Toblerone bar from one of the kids. My mom also pointed out that dark chocolate is low on the glycemic index, and if you pair them with almonds, the protein helps balance the sugar intake. Sounds like a perfect snack.

*******
I subbed the first three days of this week and loved it. I liked having a purpose to get dressed each morning. I liked spending time with the students and the teachers.  I liked having direction to my days. The kids were fifth graders - interesting, curious, but still rule-followers, not rule-stretchers like the middle school kids.  Surely, sixth to eighth grade has got to be the most awkward stage - not quite big kids but not little kids either.

As much as I enjoyed the days at the school, I'm relieved to have a morning at home.  So still not any closer to deciding whether to commit to a certification program.  I was thinking the other night about how vanity plays into my desire to have a job.  I want to be able to say "I'm a teacher," or some other label, when someone asks me what I do. It's a desire to be known and understood, and hopefully, loved, even if those things really don't have anything to do with a "job" as my husband likes to point out.  But is identity revealed in the choice of our vocation? Are we known by the things we do, not what we say and think? Is doing what creates identity and memory - and objects of beauty - more than "being"?

When I meet other women who stay home with their kids, I don't think twice about their choice to work or not, and if anything, I always wonder "how does she do it?" when I meet women with younger children who work full time.  However, knowing what someone does is a way of knowing them, even if it isn't really a shortcut to friendship.  Perhaps if we didn't move, I wouldn't feel this urge to prove myself by having an identity linked to a profession, but I can't really blame it on that as much as a lack of humility. I'm embarrassed by how often I catch myself thinking of what I'm going to say instead of really listening to some one else. Instead of worrying about what image I'm conveying, I should feel content to let others lead the conversation.

*****
Related:  I had a moment of self-awareness the other day when I was aimlessly carrying on some small talk with a slight acquaintance about how lucky we are in California not to be effected by the "Polar Vortex." We don't have to deal with all that cold weather clothing.  Of course, it set me to reminiscing about how the weather in Guam was even better:  "In Guam, we never had to change from flipflops and shorts."

How many times do I start a sentence with "In Guam" followed by something awesome?

On Saturday I was talking to someone about the running club.

On Tuesday I was talking about pancit and balutan.

Over break, I talked to someone about the bunelos dago after midnight Mass.

Have I started to become annoying?

Controlling my tongue should be another New Year's resolution.

*******
In an unrelated train of thought the other night, I was thinking about how much I value the paintings I have from my great-grandmother after my sister posted a picture of one of her paintings.  I love the recipe cards I have written in my grandmothers' handwriting. I love the quilts my sister-in-law has made, and I love the hats we just received from my other sister-in-law. I have a little dress hanging in the girls' closet that my cousin smocked for my first daughter and the dress she smocked for me for my baptism when I was 7. I have all the doll clothes my mom made for our Sasha dolls that my girls redress every now and then, and that reminds me that I also have a box with one of my mom's dolls and her doll clothes that I should let the girls use since they aren't doing any good resting in a box.  The doll needs new rubber bands, though - hers rotted some time ago so that her head and appendages are unattached.

If I love these handmade things so much - and I don't think at all about what profession these women were, although they all worked at one time, (one of my grandmothers once worked in the game room at Ayres when she was young and was a club president when she was older, the other was a patient representative at a hospital in her middle age, my mom and sister-in-law were nurses and my cousin a dental hygienist. And I think I heard at one time that my great-grandmother who painted was a secretary for her second husband's office, but now I don't trust my memory.) - why aren't I making things? What will my children and grandchildren treasure?

I remember my grandmother occasionally treating my sister and cousins and me to a fashion show from the boxes she kept of clothes made by her family members. She had a grandfather's yellowed wedding vest that was over a hundred years old along with a letter with feathery writing. A cotton dress of her mother's that seemed sturdy but also attractive. Her own satin wedding gown we were allowed to try on and her pretty satin shoes. I wore a few of the wax orange blossoms from her head piece in my own wedding headband. There was also a white dress made by a great aunt that I wore to my own high school graduation, although to my chagrin, some of the delicate lace around the neckline tore away from the thin cotton fabric when I was taking it off. And my favorite: an elegant chartreuse formal dress that draped like a column. I think it had some silk floral adornment near the neckline. Maybe it was cotton chiffon? Not sure of what the thin gauzy fabric was. I just remember thinking it was the most beautiful dress in the world. Perfect for a princess.

(Leaving behind the work of their hands isn't limited to my female relatives: there is the bed my brother-in-law made. Hard to believe he's not making thousands making furniture full time. And cabinets from my father-in-law. Bookshelves, castles, and dollhouses from my husband.  How about honey from my dad?)

An array of crafty stuff on the bed made by my brother-in-law, next to which is a side table made by my father-in-law. My only contribution: The skirt the bitty twin is wearing.

Maybe I need to learn to knit.

*********

Some recent photos that have led to conversations lately :

Eastman Johnson's picture "Woman Reading." Who reads while walking in front of a harbor?
Someone calm and meditative, like this painting from the San Diego Museum of Art. Need we be anything more?

A view from the car of the Disney Concert Hall designed by Frank Gehry, inspired by sailing ships. Hope to go inside to a show one day, although the interior is supposedly not as iconic.  Started a conversation with the teenagers about the purpose and value of modern art. Would you rather look at Eastman's painting or Gehry's building? The concert hall is kind of wedged into a busy space and is next to a parking garage. It's difficult to get a good view of it. Would it be better served in a more spacious area? Or does it provide a moment of delight to the viewer who rounds a corner and happens upon it, like some kind of fairy tale castle, completely fantastical and unexpected? LA seems to have so few pedestrians, unfortunately, unlike other big cities. 

What happens when you ask siblings to act like they like each other.

Attempting a panorama of the Space Shuttle Endeavor at the science center in LA. Millions
were spent for the heat resistant tiles that cover it and that had to be replaced
after each journey.  We debated the merits of the space program on our way home:
money wasted or well-spent for the germs of knowledge and the leaps of stimulated imaginations?
The most poignant memory of this trip: reading about William McCool, an astronaut who died in the Columbia explosion. The kids' school in Guam (!) was named after him.  Most crowded space: Around the space toilet. Voiding in space: infinitely fascinating.

What happens when I craft. My 11 year old daughter and I tried
to make this dollhouse chair from a kit she received for Christmas. Homage to the
favorite chair of my youth, where I spent hours reading. Also proof of our inability to manage glue.

Pigwidgeon and Juanito - newest members of our household. I find parakeets fascinating, much to my husband's bafflement, who finds them rather dirty and loud, although vieually appealing.  I can't tell if they are fighting or loving on each other half the time. They have different personalities: Juanito, the green bird, is younger according to the lady we bought him from at the flea market. He is more tame, but less assertive. Widgie is a bit of a bully, I'm afraid. I don't know that we'll be able to tame him and I fear he'll become a biter like his predecessor Percy. Attempting to tame slowly.

Reading in review 2013

'Tis the time of year to turn again to the review of books. I know this isn't especially interesting to anyone but me, just like the last post, but I'll do it again out of a desire for keeping track, for trying to measure some accomplishment or use of time that wasn't necessarily useful or productive, but not wasted either, or some accumulation of knowledge or wisdom, or for exercising my weakening memory.

 Books read: 53
Of these, YA books numbered: 23, at least
Of the 53, at least 14 were written before 1950. (Weil was published in 1951.)
16 or so were written in about the last 5 years.
37 were fiction.
The Hobbit, Skylark, the Ramona books, and Homer Price were read alouds. Most of the other YA books were newer ones that we read for our little mother-daughter book club in Guam: a brief source of joy for me and her, I like to think (although I'm sure her happiness came from sharing snack time with friends.)

The harder job is to pick a favorite book of the year.  The top runners:
Anna Karenina, A Passage to India, and Grapes of Wrath
  - What can I say? The classics remain classic for a reason. All three of these had fascinating characters, lyrical writing, haunting imagery, and timeless themes.  All three are very different.  Plenty of reasons to love these books that I don't have time, the eloquence, or the need to go into.
Least favorites are easier to choose. None of these were horrible books; they just were forgettable to me:
The Marriage Plot - bloated
Ship of Fools - boring
Language of Flowers - thin

Very little spiritual reading done this past year. Enjoyed reading Thomas Merton and want to read more. Didn't enjoy the Weil as much as I thought I would, but perhaps my situation was a distraction.  I just didn't have much appetite for mysticism at the moment.

Best non-fiction? Enjoyed my uncle's self-published memoir Leaf of Mine for personal reasons. Keep coming back to A Geography of Bliss in conversation with other people. One reason for reading non-fiction for me is to figure out what people are talking about and to have something to talk about in awkward social situations.  And a second reason is to stay somewhat informed/inspired about reading/teaching reading just in case.  So I have to say I really enjoyed the Bradbury book Zen in the Art of Writing both as a book about reading and about writing, and the same goes for the collection of Welty essays The Eye of the Story. Both of these were Christmas vacation reads. I have to admit I skimmed some of the Welty essays, so technically I didn't finish the book, but the essays I did read were so meaty, I didn't have the energy to read the whole thing, which includes author studies, essays on fiction, reviews, and some more personal prose. Her essays on Jane Austen and Willa Cather were especially good, as are the essays on fiction. For example, here is a paragraph from "Looking at the Short Story":
               "And we have observed that the finest story writers seem to be in one sense obstructionists. As if they held back their own best interests - or what would be in another writer their best interests. It's a strange thing. And what is stranger is that if we look for the source of the deepest pleasure we receive from a writer, how often do we not find that is seems to be connected with this very obstruction.
    . . . We are speaking of beauty. And beauty is not a blatant or promiscuous or obvious quality; indeed, it is associated with reticence, with stubbornness, of a number of kinds. It arises somehow from a desire not to comply with what may be expected, but to act inevitably, as long as some human truth is in sight, whatever that inevitability may call for. Beauty is not a means, not a way of furthering a thing in the world. It is a result; it belongs to ordering, to form to aftereffect."

Or from the essay "On Place":
"Through the story's translation and ordering of life, the unconvincing raw material becomes the very heart's family. Life is strange. Stories hardly make it more so; with all they are able to tell and surmise, they make it more believable, more inevitably so."

And later (this pertains to a discussion we had recently with my brother- and sister-in-law):
 "The open mind and the receptive heart -- which are at last and with fortune's smile the informed mind and the experienced heart -- are to be gained anywhere, any time, without necessarily moving an inch from any present address. There must surely be as many ways of seeing place as there are pairs of eyes to see it. The impact happens in so many different ways." (The conversation was about whether travel makes you a better person. More on that...)

And every transient person, military or otherwise, must sometimes agree with this:
 "There may come to be new places in our lives that are second spiritual homes -- closer to us in some ways, perhaps, than our original homes. But the home tie is the blood tie. And had it meant nothing to us, any other place thereafter would have meant less, and we would carry no compass inside ourselves to find home ever, anywhere at all. We would not even guess what we had missed."

It's a big book of essays; I could quote more. Instead, I'll look forward to 2014.  What are my reading goals? Number one is to continue the reading with the kids, but I'd like to get in another Dickens and Shakespeare - could those be kids' lit choices?  Also I want to reread some more of what we have on the shelves: Cather and Faulkner, Austen's Mansfield Park?  I walked past Henry James yesterday and thought maybe I should reread one of his. And I still have more Forster books I haven't read.  But the Navy wives book club pick is A Child Called It. Sure to be interesting even if not intellectually challenging.

Meanwhile, finding reading time remains challenging. My list gets shorter every year. And with no travel this Christmas break, I haven't even finished a book in 2014. Time to finish up something!

Farewell, 2013

Happy New Year! Happy Epiphany!

I'm ready to bid adieu to 2013 - it wasn't the best of years for me. Although I'm ready to make a fresh start, it's always helpful to look back at the past year to see what worked and what didn't, even if I don't actually apply those lessons. I don't like reading my old diaries - they are boring and whiny - but I don't mind looking at old blog posts.  As I look back at my past resolutions, I see that I do not have a very good track record for keeping them, but some bit of practice seems to stick, so I'll continue to make them.

A review of last year's progress: First the academic resolutions: I DID read the Gerard Manley Hopkins book. And I nearly finished the letters of Edith Stein. They are dull. I still have not read Story of a Soul, and I don't intend to anymore. I DID read aloud to the kids more. I DID NOT do well with my last semester of homeschooling. I have done better about keeping up with what the kids read and helping with homework and having meaningful discussions with teenagers now that I'm not responsible for the heavier lifting parts of home schooling. We've read aloud more in the last six months than we did in the past two years.

I DID NOT do well with my spiritual resolutions. I am in a slough these days; this has been my dark night year. Little I read moves me - did not read any good documents for the year of faith. My participation at Mass is distracted by my irritation at the younger children, the jazzy music, the self-pity. I continue to go through the motions of practicing my faith and hope that one day consolations and real love will conquer my apathy.  We did make it to First Friday Mass yesterday, and coming out of Confession I felt lighter than I had in awhile, but then I made the mistake of looking at our finances before going to bed. Not a wise way to encourage sleep.

The physical goals were easier: I ran more, and I drank more water. I am doing much better about drinking water now, in my pregnancy state, and although I am not running much anymore, I am eating better and, of course, drinking less wine and coffee. I do still have a sugar addiction, but that may have to be curtailed when my glucose tolerance test results return next week. Enjoying sugar while I still can!

But that last resolution to be more involved in serving the community remains unfulfilled, as well. In between hoping to find a job in California and then finding out about having a baby on the way, I have refrained from committing to anything regular in terms of serving the community, except my volunteer jobs at the school and the occasional evening spent helping at Many Meals, which is our parish's outreach to the hungry on Wednesday evenings. We've gone about once a month, which makes it as regular as anything we do.

So much for reviewing. How can I make resolutions I can stick to? Make easy/obvious ones? Post the list somewhere I have to look at it every day? Get my husband to do the same resolutions? Any other suggestions?

More goals than resolutions, here are some practices I have been thinking about which correspond to the same four parts of human life:
1. Health/physical goals: My husband has already resolved - and has my grudging support - to cut back on sugar and white flour.  We have multiple friends who extol the virtues of the Paleo/primal diet or who are gluten free or who juice or whatever else is trendy, but I tend to stay away from formulaic diets and just try to feed the family wholesome foods that aren't too processed. But we do eat a lot of cereal and pasta and rice, and when I pack the kids' lunches, I almost always send sandwiches and granola bars. After reading multiple reports of the connection between high glycemic foods and alzheimer's/dementia, which run in our family, I'm convinced that processed white flours and sugars are to be avoided as much as possible. Not that this is anything new. My mom raised us on whole wheat bread and lots of vegetables and fruits, but everyone in my family seems to have a sugar addiction, so we also ate a lot of ice cream and cookies. We always give up sweets for Lent; now I want to commit to cutting back on the cookie baking and chocolate consumption on a regular basis, especially since I have the motivation of being pregnant and need to eat foods that nourish growing brains.  I also plan to phase out more of the pasta/rice/cereals and get creative with vegetables and things like quinoa, but since cereal is my favorite breakfast and snack, I'll struggle with this part.

Part two of the physical goals is the easy/obvious one: get back into shape after the baby is born.

2. Academic/Intellectual goals: These are perhaps the easiest to realize because they are something concrete. My number 1 goal for myself, the kids, and our family, is to keep reading aloud. We haven't been actively reading since Christmas break began, but once we get back into our routines, we should have time to read several times a week.  So I want to keep that bedtime routine going as long as possible. Charlotte's Web is next up because I can't get my 4th grader to read it on his own. He's been addicted to Guinness Books of World Records and Gordon Korman books lately.  Then I want to add some challenging books - maybe Dickens or Stevenson - classics the kids wouldn't read on their own although not beyond their understanding and that I enjoy reading.

As for me, I'd like to get back into regular blog/writing habits.  I only posted 50 some times last year on this blog. Because of teaching, because of moving, because of socializing, social media, because of the computer being in the kitchen and the kids needing it for homework, because of being busy, I haven't made writing a priority. But if I have time to check Facebook, read emails three times a day, browse articles on the internet, etc, I should have time to write down my own thoughts. So I hereby resolve to re-envision the blog or let it go. Post more, read things like Facebook less. I like Melanie's idea of posting poetry or art, so I may try to do that once a week.

Another resolution: make a decision about getting certified to teach school or find something else to help contribute to the finances. After that financial analysis with my husband the other day, I feel both constricted and compelled by finances to do something.  Although his income keeps increasing, so do our expenses, and this semester of private school tuition added to the increased cost of living in California has made us realize that some of the habits of going places and doing things that we formed in Guam need to change. We've never been big spenders on things like eating out or movies or shopping, but we do spend a lot on gas, groceries, and events like museum trips or vacations.  Vet bills, car repairs, the trip to San Diego, and Christmas shopping derailed the budget we set for ourselves the past couple of months. We have a list of things we want to do and see while we live on the west coast - Yosemite, Sequoia, the Grand Canyon, San Francisco - but we also have college costs looming and will have 3 high school tuitions to pay next fall.  The baby won't cost much (friends have already given us a crib, a car seat, a back pack, a baby bjorn, and some clothes) but she will prevent me from getting out of the house as much. So the question of the month is: Should I enroll in a certification program online so that in a few years I can work to help with college costs? Will the cost of MY tuition be offset by earnings? The drawback: I don't really want to work full time. The easy answer is to find another adjunct job, but they don't seem to be available around here.

3. Spiritual: The hardest goals to keep. I need to get back into a morning prayer routine before the baby comes, so that it will be a routine.  I don't have any books lined up to inspire me right now, but perhaps it's time to turn to one of those apps that have the office of readings or the readings for the Mass of the day. And then I need to look at it daily. Hoping that if I do this, I'll be motivated to scratch away some of the selfishness that I've been accreting all these years. Trying to make this goal simple and realistic. Plus, you know, be a better person and all that.

4. Finally, my community service/civic goals: I'd like to get involved with St. Vincent de Paul again or a program like Meals on Wheels. I enjoyed volunteering for both of those groups before, but the easier resolution is to be more faithful about our participation with Many Meals. The older boys both did community service projects with Foodshare and the CSC sisters who have a convent here; I went along both of those days and would be happy to go again, especially to help work in the sisters' garden. Several of the sisters had worked at Notre Dame and one had been a middle school teacher who had a large supply of punny jokes.  They enjoyed the company of the students, and I enjoyed their company.

So now, according to all the self-help gurus, since I've formulated my goals and written them down, I should be all set to be a happier, healthier, more successful person.  Or a more realistic one, as I realize again how difficult it can be to stick to the simplest of goals.