I give up; where is he?

One guy's "quirky idea" of tracking currency via www.wheresgeorge.com may help us prepare for future pandemics.

I ran across this article in today's Orlando Sentinel, and think it's a great example of that lightbulb moment when ideas connect. I've never been a "Georger" but I definitely will find the time to do it now.

http://www.orlandosentinel.com/news/local/orange/
orl-george3106may31,0,2321534.story?
coll=orl-home-headlines

. . . or just Google the words where's george pandemic and you should get several versions of the story.

For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come

This is Edward Hughes’ symbolist work, Night with Her Train of Stars and Her Great Gift of Sleep. I’ve always loved it and since he is a Victorian artist who took the theme and title from a great Victorian poet, William Ernest Henley, I decided I needed to own it. I can’t hang anything on the ancient plaster walls here but I can tape it up over my bed, and hope that the Great Gift of Sleep is bestowed upon me on a more regular basis.

Henley may be best known for his poem “Invictus” which, to the consternation of those who love it, was chosen by terrorist Timothy McVeigh to be read as his last words before he was executed for the Oklahoma City bombing.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.


The poem that inspired Hughes’ painting is titled “In Memoriam: Margaritae Sorori”:

A late lark twitters from the quiet skies;
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's work ended,
Lingers as in content,
There falls on the old, gray city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace.

The smoke ascends
In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires
Shine, and are changed. In the valley,
Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun,
Closing his benediction,
Sinks, and the darkening air
Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night--
Night with her train of stars
And her great gift of sleep.

So be my passing!
My task accomplished and the long day done,
My wages taken, and in my heart
Some late lark singing,
Let me be gathered to the quiet west,
The sundown splendid and serene,
Death.

Oooh, did we need that last stanza? Well, Henley is simply expressing a concept embraced by most religions and many philosophers -- that of death as a kind of sleep or transition. As he accepted the cup of hemlock Socrates chided his followers for weeping, reminding them that a philosopher welcomes death. (I wasn't surprised to see Dumbledore, a Socratic character, tell Harry Potter that death is the next great adventure.) “Teach me to live, that I may dread the grave as little as my bed.” I also see this sentiment in a saying that I can’t attribute to a particular source except that it is an indigenous society; but whether Native American, African, or which I can’t remember: “I am running as fast as I can toward the edge of the world.”

What does “Margaritae Sorori” mean? I’ve seen some speculation online about ‘margarita” meaning pearl and being a reference to The Tempest; but I think it’s more likely to refer to Henley’s only child, a daughter named Margaret who died when she was five; and “sorori” meaning “sister.” I’m guessing it means “To the memory of Margaret and her sisters” but I’m not sure I’ve got the cases right – I’ll kick this one up to my Latin instructor.

She's A Gem.

This is Mom's 75th "Diamond" birthday, and the more I think about it the more apt it seems. She's always been a treasure in our family, she's beautiful inside and out, and while she may have her flaws, you'd need a jeweler's eyepiece to find them. Her love always shines on her family and we all feel cherished by her. She's always true to herself, and a tower of strength for her children, grands, and greats. I hope at 75 I've done anywhere near as well. Happy Birthday and many, many more to the best Mom (and Grandma, and Great-Grandma) ever!

Return To the Blogosphere

Here it is, May 1; I’ve just submitted grades for the 68 students who took my sections of the online film course, and have a breather until Monday, May 7, when I start Latin II. Later in the summer I’ll start the Graduate Music History Survey, which will fulfill the music course requirement of this degree – actually, I will have to do a DIS with Dr. Martinez for an extra hour in music as well, but that’s fine with me. Then I have three weeks off in August, then back to the coal mine, probably teaching two sections again and taking three, or possibly four classes.

I think that with luck I can finish the coursework next spring, read over the summer, take prelims in the fall, start writing the dissertation, and (again, with luck) walk in May ’08. Anyway, one of my many summer tasks (this will be the lightest load I’ve had since I got here) is to make sure I am on track. I now know there’s no such thing as a fast track in this degree, but I don’t want to spend any unneeded time here.

This spring I took Victorian Performance Culture, which looked at plays from early melodrama to Ibsen and Shaw, as well as other aspects of spectacle in Victorian novels; circus, music halls, the rise of a new middle class and their leisure activities, Oscar Wilde and the flaneur, and a host of other fascinating subjects. I wrote a paper on the origins of the Savoy Theatre (being a Gilbert & Sullivan devotee) and another on my favorite of their operas, Ruddigore, discussing its (highly relative) lack of success when it opened in 1887 following the smash success of The Mikado. My thesis was that it was not well-received because the late Victorian West End audience did not relate well to a parody of melodrama, which they saw as a step backward in time and also across the Thames to the south London theatres which catered to the lower classes. The illustration in this post is by Gilbert himself; whether it’s a typical character in melodrama or Mad Margaret from Ruddigore, I don’t know. I only know there have been moments when I could relate.

I also took Gender and Disease in the Victorian Novel, which centered around a series of novels but also pulled in a huge amount of other readings, from medical narratives to critical theory. I wrote on Dracula as the personification of Consumption. I was pretty excited about that one because as Dr. Kennedy noted, it’s hard to find a new angle on Drac.

Both of these courses were with English grad students. Almost to a person they were young brunette women. I have no idea what that portends, if anything, but I couldn’t help noticing it. Both instructors were fantastic and the courses were stimulating and fun. I’m taking English History 1750 – 1890 in the fall, and that will complete my major area.

I also took Latin I. I hesitated too long over whether to take it credit-no credit, and ended up sweating each quiz and exam, but I think I pulled an A nevertheless. I will definitely take Latin II and III c/nc; that way I need a “B” average to pass and it doesn’t affect my gpa. Once I complete III, that’s my second language out of the way. It was harder than I expected but also very satisfying and I enjoyed it. I sometimes felt a little overwhelmed with the sheer memorization of declensions and conjugations – many and many a time before the weekly test I’d wonder if I really had enough Random Access Memory to pull it off. Latin reminds me of doing cryptography, or what I imagine cryptography was like before computer encryption. More of a puzzle to be solved, and I like that.

So that’s what I’ve been doing. It seems as if the last half of the semester came at such a rush and I was running all the time to keep up. And then the unimaginable – Les passing away. It was such a shock, and it felt especially distressing not to be able to pick up and go be with Jan. I’m so glad Joe and Susan and their family did – that meant the world to Jan, I know, and to all of us.