Grace in Small Things 131

a vegan option at a company luncheon

a little bouquet that never wilts

learning to read and write

do you think this Windsor restauranteur knows he has a haji firooz?

morning sun on violets

Grace in Small Things 130

I am almost finished reading Radical Presence: Teaching as Contemplative Practice, and tomorrow I am scheduled to attend an all-day workshop at my church called The Conscious Classroom.

This morning Pa gets himself up out of his easy chair without help and appears in the dining room at breakfast time, surprising both the staff and his private PSW, who is just arriving.

I have a dream about a Bald Eagle. It is building a sturdy nest atop the house where a little girl lives with her mother.

When I tell my brother that I am a member of the Coen brothers’ almost cult-like following, he asks me if that makes me a Coen head.

At 3:38 I am sitting in sunny Taloola Cafe reading the paper and sipping a Masala smoothie. The little penciled circles around wee sight words bear witness to the work I was doing a few hours before with two literacy students in the study room.

Le Noise

For a long time now I’ve been in a music appreciation dry spell. Before moving to this city, I downsized my life big time. I sold all my CDs in my garage sale after burning them to my hard drive. I bought an MP3 player but never got into using it.  Occasionally I switch the radio in the car from NPR to a music station, but something strange happens.  I can no longer listen to music from earlier years.  I have only a vague idea why this is so.  It feels sort of like the old music is trying to keep me nailed to the past.  I can only listen to a few lines before I impatiently switch back to world news or Car Talk.

At the same time, I haven’t discovered any new artists that I like. Not in a long time. Nor new songs by familiar artists.

Sylvain texted me the other day to say that Neil Young is coming to the Fox Theatre in Detroit and should he get tickets.  I didn’t think about it for more than 30 seconds.  ”Yes,” I keyed before realizing what I was saying.

I haven’t wanted to go to a concert in, well, since Leonard Cohen came to the Fox (we had to miss it when Sylvain went into the hospital).

After saying yes I read that the concert would include a lot of new material from his latest CD Le Noise, which I’d never listened to. I wasn’t that crazy about the last of his CDs that I owned, Greendale, except for one song, which I played over and over and over.

When I read the Rolling Stone review of the CD, I became intrigued.  By the time I had watched a YouTube interview with Daniel Lanois about the album, I had calmed myself down and stopped second-guessing that lightning-fast YES to tickets.

Knowing you enjoy songs more when you’ve heard them at least a few times, I suggested we order the CD. The box from Amazon came today. I put the CD in my little purple retro-style player tonight.

Oh, yes.  I do like it. I do.

To me it feels honest, intimate, raw, sweet, and in the same way that Dylan’s Time Out of Mind was–introspective.  Forty-seven is not that old, but I find I can relate to artists when they start grappling with their mortality and aging.

The music is fresh and different enough that I’m not getting the “stuck in the past” feeling, yet it’s comforting to hear such a familiar old voice that I’ve loved through the years.

My darling knows how to surprise and delight me. I can’t wait to see the grand old Fox again.

Like Facebook for Dead People

I have found a great-great grandfather who was a lighthouse keeper at Point Verde, Newfoundland. His entire last will and testament is online; he had lots of land. I have often thought that lighthouse keeper would be an ideal job for an extreme introvert.

I have ancestors north and south of the Mason-Dixon line, including slave traders and dreaded southern sheriffs.

Logan County, AR Sheriff Adrian Boykin "A.B." Hardwicke, center

One of my lines goes back to New England blue blood, though I find those stories rather boring.

On my mother’s side, there are lots of planters who came to the early colonies. On my father’s side it’s generation after generation of master mariners who fished the North Atlantic and lived between Nova Scotia and Gloucester, MA.

Today I found a 3rd great grandfather who was a Confederate army captain– complete with a photo of his headstone and a cabin he once inhabited. His father fought in the War of 1812, but don’t tell Sylvain that.

Cabin of Pvt. Thomas Tyler C.S.A.

This is lots of fun, but where will it end? Research in the old days was painstakingly slow and necessitated my driving all over God’s green hills in search of headstones to photograph and microfiche census records to try and make sense of (it requires a lesson in penmanship of the 1800′s).  Having an excuse to drive alone for a couple hundred miles through rural Arkansas on a cool but sunny spring day was wonderful, though.

Dead-ends were frequent and could stall work on a line for years, so when I finally did stumble upon that key name in the graveyard, it gave me goosebumps.  I would stand there and put my hands on the cold, moss-covered stone…trace a finger along the weather-worn numbers of a date.

Now, without leaving my living room, I have more leads than I know what to do with. Every time I succeed in finding another grandmother, she comes with two parents of her own (not to mention siblings and all their spouses, etc.)  Getting back to 1700 was once a rare thrill.  Now I can get from 1925 to the 1600s in one evening.

Even though the thrill has sort of gone out of the hunt, I want to say THANK YOU to the thousands of volunteers who:

• have transcribed the census records so they can be searched in electronic databases
• have walked through cemeteries and photographed all the headstones
• have transcribed the inscriptions on all the markers to digital format
• maintain, at their own expense, family history websites where any member of the public can view passenger lists, photographs, marriage records, obituaries and countless other documents

Nightie night.

Three Excerpts from Scattered Minds

I have just finished reading Dr. Gabor Maté’s book Scattered Minds: A New Look at the Origins and Healing of Attention Deficit Disorder. It is a fascinating read that I highly recommend to: anyone who suspects they or a family member may have ADD; anyone who has been or knows someone who has been diagnosed with ADD; and anyone interested in how a strained, stressed, or in any way disrupted child-parent relationship can impact one’s emotional, psychological and neurological development.

Before I pass my copy to the next person who has expressed an interest in reading it, there are a few passages I want to share here, each for a slightly different reason.

This passage interested me as a student of Buddhism:

There is one major respect in which the specific neurophysiological impairments of ADD do hinder the development of a core sense of self and the attainment of self-esteem. It is appropriate here to speak of a sense of self, because from the neurophysiological point of view the self simply does not exist. There is no neurobiological “self circuit” in the brain, no little gnome pulling all the levers. What we see as the self is really a construct, akin to the optical illusion that makes us believe that a series of photographic images projected onto a screen in rapid progression are people and objects in the real world. The “self” we experience is an unimaginably rapid series of firings of countless neurological circuits. ‘At each moment the state of self is constructed, from the gound up,’ writes Antonio Damasio. ‘It is an evanescent reference state, so continuously and consistently reconstructed that the owner never knows it is being remade unless something goes wrong with the remaking’  It is the relative consistency of the repetitious neurological activities of the brain that convinces us there is a solid self.”

The next passage refers to the experience of growing up being different:

“No matter how clever the alien becomes at attempting to pass as an earthling, some telling awkwardness in his manner, some fatal expression of his true nature will, in unguarded moments, betray him for what he is: different.

Although the soul-destroying fear of being different is shared by many in North American culture, conformism is less a painful struggle for those who really do fall in with social norms. Those who do not consciously experiences themselves as different may also shrink from any temptation to be themselves, but they are not compelled to live every day aware of the mask they are wearing, tense for fear it will slip.

The irony is that the energy ADD adults expend on their attempts at sameness is wasted, as is the anxiety parents generate over their child’s differentness. The world is much more ready to accept someone who is different and comfortable with it than someone desperately seeking to conform by denying himself. It’s the self-rejection others react against, much more than the differentness. So the solution for the adult is not to ‘fit in,’ but to accept his inability to conform.”

The last passage I want to share resonates with me because I am very tired of proponents of the western model of medicine, who think they know what they know and are very closed to alternate viewpoints.

The state of medical knowledge about ADD today reminds me of the way doctors used to conduct deliveries about twenty years ago, when I first began to practice medicine. It was routine to perform an episiotomy on every woman giving birth. ‘Time to make a little cut now,’ I would announce as the infant’s head was ready to exit the birth canal. Having injected local anesthetic near the vaginal opening, I would then make an incision a few inches long, catch the baby and hand it to the nurse. Then I set to repairing the wound I myself had caused. This is what I had been taught to do in medical school; I knew no other way. I happened to learn from some midwives–in those dark ages still working illicitly in British Columbia–that an episiotomy is not necessary in most labors. Other surprises followed: women could deliver babies without their feet in stirrups or even without lying down. When there were no complications, the baby could be handed to the mother without being poked and prodded under bright lights and having plastic suction tubes shoved in her mouth. These heretical doctrines have since been validated by solid medical research, so doctors can now practice with peace in their hearts what midwives have been doing safely for hundreds of years. Years of pressure from pregnant women and laypeople have now established natural birth procedures in many hospitals–although far from everywhere.

Three conclusions may be drawn from that experience. First, the medical view of the world tends not to trust nature very much. Second, there are things in the world that are true, even if they’re not taught in medical school. Third, sometimes doctors have to be educated by the public–under duress, if necessary.”

 

Morning Bird Walk

You know you are blessed when you can see Bald Eagles before you’ve even left your driveway.

This morning was my date to have breakfast with Pa at the nursing home, which I use as a great excuse to get my butt out of bed early and have a longer Saturday. I enjoy mealtime there because it’s a pleasant time of day when everyone is open to talking and greeting one another. At the end of breakfast, Ma showed up, so I went on my merry way.

Eager to recheck Centennial and John’s Ponds between the Ganatchio Trail and McHugh where I’d seen diving ducks a couple of days before, I put on my hiking boots, grabbed the binoculars and field guide and enjoyed an early morning walk up the Little River extension.

Male Red-winged Blackbirds were very vocal. American Robins were active and singing, while Mourning Doves shot past overhead. Canada Geese were everywhere, as usual. The first really interesting bird of my walk was a diving duck on one of the ponds. From the horizontal white cheek marking, I’m calling it a female Bufflehead. That makes sense because I saw a pair of them on the nearby pond three days ago. Tree Swallows were swooping over the pond, too. The morning sun was striking their iridescent green-blue feathers, jewel-like next to their snow-white underparts.

Another fun sighting was a pair of Gadwall that were hanging out with some Mallards. I am very rusty when it comes to identifying ducks, so I had to consult my field guide a few times. On the far pond that you come to after passing under Wyandotte and continuing south for a bit was a pair of Mute Swans. I could hear a Hairy Woodpecker rat-a-tatting on a tree in the distance. Song Sparrows were hanging out with Juncoes on the grass. One Song Sparrow was chasing another in and out of the reeds. A male Northern Cardinal flew past in hot pursuit of another male of its species. The large group of Rock Pigeons that lives on and in the old brick warehouse at Sand Point circled a few times before settling atop the building.

Everyone who passed me on the trail looked happy. All the dogs were wagging their tails. I think a lot of people got cabin fever this winter, since we had record (repeated) snow falls.

After my walk I drove to the marina where grandparents were teaching children of 8 and 9 how to fish. Never mind that it’s illegal to fish there; it seems to be a Windsor tradition. Out on the water were Canvasback and other ducks. By then my fingers were cold and I had to pee, so I gave up trying to identify the rest of the birds around me.

When I got home, I invited Sylvain over for pancakes.

Sunburned in March

The temperature doesn’t have to rise very much for Canadians to start running around in tee shirts and shorts. As soon as the snow begins to melt and the mercury gets above 60 F, out come the roller blades and bikes.

I surprised Sylvain this morning by suggesting a drive to Point Pelee. Normally he has to coax me out for such outings. While he was checking on his dad after a little incident at Aspen Lake, I went to the store for the picnic items.

Brie, maple walnut spread, cashews, royal galas, rosemary raisin almond crisps

I put on my birding vest that is covered in badges, pins and buttons.

Once Sylvain had handled the mini crisis at the nursing home, we headed down to the point. My colleague is in Rome this week, and we were as far south as she is! Hard to believe, eh?

We had a scrumptious picnic with lots of mmmm noises as we savoured the maple walnut cheese complement on top of Brie on top of a rosemary raisin almond crisps. Oh, baby.  Sylvain says I am in charge of picnic food shopping from now on.

There was nothing much happening bird-wise except for lots of Common Grackles, a few Robins hopping about and several male Red-winged Blackbirds starting to stake out territory. The females have not yet begun to arrive.

There were lots of ducks bobbing on the rough water, but we didn’t have the scope and the sun wasn’t cooperating; we couldn’t make out colours.

Before leaving the park, Sylvain chatted with a docent who told him where to find a great collection of dabbling ducks. We exited the park and drove slowly up and down two narrow dirt farm roads until we found the flooded area. The birds were far away from the road, but we managed to make them out: Northern Pintail, Gadwall, Northern Shoveler, American Wigeon, Blue-winged Teal, Green-winged Teal, and Wood Duck. We also saw Killdeer and lots of gulls picking around in the mud.

We came home happy, tired and even sunburned.

St. Patrick’s Day Gift

I have been a hobby genealogist on and off since about age 18.  I inherited an excellent file containing years and years of work from a great uncle on one side, and even more data from a distant cousin on the other side.  As soon as I had my own personal computer, I bought Family Tree Maker software and began loading it up with names and dates from those files and from all the family Bibles I could get my hands on.

At one point I got REALLY into it. I traveled around Arkansas to visit and photograph the headstones over the graves of my grandparents, great grandparents and great-great grandparents. I also brought my tape recorder along to interview close and distant relatives, whoever would let me in the door.

I visited the genealogy departments of libraries where I spent hours scrolling through microfiche archives of  newspaper obituaries and census records. My local library had a set of CDs containing all the genealogical records of the Church of Latter Day Saints.

Around the time that I was doing all of this obsessive collecting of data, online databases were just warming up. If I wanted to, I could volunteer to transcribe local cemetery records or reels of microfiche into digital format so that everyone everywhere could access such records without having to drive across the country or write pleading letters to reference librarians.

My huge family tree file, which contains around 3,500 individuals and takes one line back to the 1500s, has survived the crash and burn of two computers. I back it up before anything else.

My current computer is getting up there in years for a laptop. It could fritz out any day now. With that in mind, I finally went to the trouble to privatize my family tree (hide birth dates, etc. for all living individuals) and upload it to the web for the benefit of all.  After I had done that, I slept more easily. My computer can now die if it wants to. (But it’s an Acer, so it will probably keep on chugging a few more years.)

A couple of weeks later I got a message from someone who is actively working on a line of ancestry that we have in common. She invited me to view her file and before I knew it, I was filling in some gaps in my tree. This led me to start exploring the new features of Ancestry.ca/com, which have totally blown my mind. Over the past ten to fifteen years, everything I used to do in the stacks at the library can now be done online.  No more loading CD-ROMs into drives or winding reels of microfiche. All the census records are there, all the U.S. Social Security Death records are there, everything!

So, of course, the bug has bitten me again.  I should have been in bed three hours ago. But noooooo. Here I was, parked in front of the computer, uploading photos and making breakthrough discoveries on lines that had been dead ends I thought could never be broken through.

One thing I had never been able to do before, due to the fact that many public records in Ireland were burned, was take any of my Irish lines back to the old country. I always had to write “based on surname distribution, this ancestor was PROBABLY from around Tipperary,” and so forth.

Tonight, at 15 minutes into St. Patrick’s Day, I was able to trace one of my lines back to the immigrant ancestors, complete with birth dates, towns and county in Ireland.

Heallen (Pendergast) Callaghan

James W. Shea and Annie Jane Callaghan

Happy St. Patrick’s Day to me!

Wish I Knew…

By request, here is a follow-up list to the “Glad I Know” list, previous post. Everyone is welcome to join in.

I wish I knew:

• how to read, write and speak Arabic, Mandarin Chinese and Farsi fluently
• how to juggle
• how to quilt
• how to knit a sweater or pair of socks
• especially Fair Isle
• how to motivate myself to exercise more

I’m Glad I Know

I’m not sure why I feel like listing random things I know how to do, but this idea has been bouncing around my head for several days.  These are things I’m glad I know or know how to do, and most of them are things I learned neither in school nor from my parents. What about you? Can you list at least five things you’re glad you know?

I’m glad I know…

• how to drive a stick shift
• how to use a power drill
• how to change a flat tire
• that turning on the heater will help cool an overheating engine
• how to sew my own clothes
• how to darn a sock
• how to make a wood cut or linoleum block print
• how to fold a crane from a piece of origami paper
• how to keep score in bowling
• how to communicate the basics in several languages
• how to make crème brûlée, including torching the top
• how to build a database
• how to write code
• how to edit the HTML on my blog
• how to drive a nail
• how to use a router
• and a table saw
• how to ride a horse (western)
• “rightie tightie, leftie loosie”

LA RIQUEZA E IMPORTANCIA DEL CANCIONERO SEFARDI

This thesis, written in April of 1987, was inspired by a couple of cassette tapes loaned to me by my Spanish prof. On that two volume set put out by the Spanish Ministry of Culture were two dozen or so works performed by Joaquin Diaz. Before listening to these medieval ballads and love songs, I had never heard the word “Sephardi.” After listening once, I became so obsessed that I wrote my thesis on this musical tradition, the people who had preserved it, their language and history.  The term paper refers to and was accompanied by the cassettes. Instead of providing you with those, I have linked to MP3 files of some of the songs.

Tesis:  Los sefardíes se llevaron de España y han preservado desde aquel entonces con asombrosa fidelidad todo un cancionero español que, además de ser rico y bello, es importante por contener varias obras que hace mucho se olvidaron en la península.

cover

Cuando los judíos fueron echados de España en 1492, llevaron consigo el lenguaje y las canciones de la época.  Debido a su fuerte carácter conservador y al amor que aun sienten por su antigua patria, estos sefarditas siguen hasta hoy guardando con asombrosos vigor y fidelidad un rico cancionero. Este cancionero es importante porque contiene varios romances que hace mucho se olvidaron en la península.

La palabra sefardí, según la Encyclopedia Internacional, viene de “Separad” (Obadia, 20), la cual parece mucho a “Hesperia,” que significa “España” (360).  Refiere a los descendientes de los judíos que vivían en España o Portugal antes de la expulsión de 1492 (Enciclopedia Judaica, 1164). No sabemos exactamente cuando vinieron los primeros poblados de judíos en la península. Según David Solomon Sazón, los historiadores admiten que desde la destrucción de Jerusalén por Tito, se hallaba ya gran número de judíos en la península (1). Conviene llevar en cuenta una breve historia de los judíos en España, que no da Sassoon:

Primeros siglos de la Era Comuna:	Las autoridades imperiales romanas reconocen generosamente los derechos de los judíos. Hasta tiempos de Constantino hay poca persecución.
Siglo IV:	Se reconoce la cristiandad en Roma; el Consejo de Elvira prohíbe toda comunicación entre los cristianos y los judíos en la península.
Bajo los visigodos:	Hay un periodo más agradable.
Cuando el rey Recaredo se convierte desde la cristiandad arriana a la fe católica:	Hay un cambio hacia el peor
Después del Consejo de 589:	Los judíos no pueden tener oficina.
Después del Consejo de 612:	Los niños se deben criar en conventos.
Después del sexto Consejo:	Todos los no cristianos se deben marchar. No se hace cumplir.
El 17º Consejo:	Prohíbe la pascua y el sabado de los hebreos, y la circuncisión.
El año 711:	Vienen los beréberes y árabes, y con ellos una revolución social para el judío. Desde la opresión mas honda, entran en una época de perfecta tolerancia y libertad bajo el reino civilizado e ilustrado de los árabes. Por 400 años, desde Abú Ramán hasta el último de los almorávides, los cristianos y judíos gozan de un gobierno clemente y justo de reyes sabios y cultos.
Una secta fanática de musulmanes surge:	Hace convertir a muchos. Se prohíbe la huida; así los judíos guardan su judaísmo furtivo, y quitan el disfraz después de tres generaciones, cuando la Batalla de Navas de Tolosa pone fin al reino árabe.
	Por 170 anos hay paz comparativa bajo reino cristiano. Florecen la literatura y la enseñanza.
1228:	Jame I de Aragón, bajo instrucción del Papa, hace a los judíos llevar en la ropa símbolo que indique su judaísmo.
1391:	Fernando Martínez incita la multitud a quemar las juderías, echándoles la culpa por la peste. Los hacen abjurar su religión. Muchos se convierten ostensiblemente. Otros eligen la muerte.
1412:	Toda ciudad se requiere por la ley construir juderías y morerías encerradas por muros con una sola salida.
1418:	Empieza la inquisición. Sigue hasta 1826.
1492:	Por edicto, los judíos son expulsos.      (3,4)

Nos dice Federico Pérez Castro que “en el siglo XIII,…el pueblo judío-español vive como el resto de los españoles. Sus formas de vida y de cultura son perfectamente españolas, judío-españolas, y sus características diferenciales dentro del judaísmo se deben a España. Solo así se explica el fenómeno de que los judíos sefardíes conservan después a través de los siglos la cultura de españoles hasta en sus mas pequeñas detalles…,” cosa que no paso con los árabes. “Tan profundamente calaron en el alma de nuestro judíos las raíces de lo español que,…al salir de España, si bien físicamente la dejaron atrás, se la llevaron consigo dentro de sus corazones y, en lejanas tierras, no solo siguieron viviendo según nuestros modos, sino que los impusieron allí donde fueron a establecerse;” Todavía hoy hablan con emoción de las patrias chicas de sus antepasados –como Toledo con su Sinagoga Mayor (311).

Nos informa la Enciclopedia Judaica que fueron unos 250.000 que se marcharon a la África del Norte, Italia y la Turquía, llevando consigo el lenguaje que iban a preservar tras siglos (1166,76).

migraciones

Este idioma que llevaron se menciona en un poema de Unamuno, citado por Henry V. Besso:

Noble lengua ladinada

Con que lloro, Sión,

Y a ti, España la posada

Nido de consolación;

Te apechugaré sin miedo,

Dulce lengua sefardí;

La que manaba en Toledo,

Cuna de Jeuda Leví… (608).

El ladino, según Collier’s Enciclopedia, es el idioma español aun hablado en Norafrica, Israel, Turquía, la Península Balcánica y hasta en Nueva York por unos 125.000 Judíos sefardíes. Es importante por su carácter arcaico y porque en ella se preservan muchos palabras, dichos, leyendas, cantos y romances antiguos (244). En un tono  algo menos objetivo, dice La Enciclopedia Universal Ilustrada Espasa Calpe que “junto a palabras desusadas y giros arcaicos, emplean neologismos innecesarios extranjerizan unas veces, alteran otras, muchas inventan a capricho.  Es, en suma, un castellano bastardeado por el roce, durante siglos, con el árabe, turco, italiano y francés; pero en el conservan nuestros refranes, cantan nuestras coplas y recitan nuestros romances” (1429).

Los cambios fonológicos que conviene llevar en cuenta para mejor apreciar el cancionero sefardí son:

ue       >          o

ie        >          e

e         >          ie

o         >          ue

u         >          v          >          b          (cibdat, debda, bibda)

b         >          v          (alva, árvol)

sue     >          esfue   (esfuegra, esfueño)

hue     >          güe

n inicial          >          m

f inicial           >          f, h ó 0

rd       >          dr        (vedre, sodro, cuedra)

Tambien, se retienen los adverbios agora, ainda y muncho (Encyclopedida Judaica, 1344, 5)

En cuanto al cancionero que se preserva por medio de este lenguaje y el pueblo que so lo llevaron de España, Menéndez Pidal nos provee de una magnífica y compasiva narración de su salida, su expulsión, escrita por El Cura de los Palacios en su Historia de los Reyes Católicos: “Iban por los caminos con muchos trabajos, unos cayendo, otros levantando, otros muriendo, otros naciendo, otros enfermando, que no havía cristiano que no hoviese dolor dellos. . . y los rabies los iban esforzando y facían cantar a las mujeres y mancebos, y tañer panderos y adufes.” Así salían de su patria, comenta Menéndez Pidal, llevando en la boca y en el corazón los cantos que habían aprendido por los siglos allí, sin el más mínimo rencor sino con gran amor para su tradición (552).

William Samelson nos informa que en sus nuevas tierras—Inglaterra, Italia, Francia, y el Imperio Turco (Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, Rumania, las ciudades de Salónica y Rodas), Costa Norte de África—seguían cantando los romances españoles, usando el antiguo castellano vernáculo (ladino). Muchos se cantaban todos los días en forma de arrullo (532).

Otras categorías que se pueden distinguir dentro del cuerpo de música o poesía hebreo-española se citan por Aharon Mirsky:

A: poemas y cantos públicos

B: poemas y cantos de amistad

C: canciones de amor

D: cantos de boda

E: cantos de vino y banquete

F: elegías y cantos fúnebres (270, 1)

Es el motivo que se alteró dentro de la tradición sefardí, explica Samelson. Los motivos principales del romance cristiano eran: la caballería, el amor, y la religión; llegaron al saber popular como poemas de guerra hecha por amor y religión (salus, venus, virtus). Los desterrados rechazaron esos aspectos del romance que los recordaban de lo desagradable de su patria anterior. También evitaban toda tema que no correspondía a sus costumbres religiosas y éticas. Pero extrajeron temas del romance y cantaban estas canciones que les agradaban como Israelitas. Así que los temas que mas aparecen son: el amor no correspondido, la infidelidad, la fidelidad, los sacrificios supremos y el arrepentimiento tardío.  Otras canciones tratan de los deberes de una buena esposa y la sabiduría que cuesta un feliz matrimonio (531-33).

Como ilustrativos ejemplos de dichos temas, escuche Temas Sefardíes, Vol. I y Vol. II, que se incluyen con este trabajo. En cara A del primero, “Caminando por la plaza” contiene bonitas palabras de las supremas declaraciones y promesas de amor hechas por un mancebo a una dama que el ha visto caminando por la plaza. Dice “por ti mi linda dama, daré mi vida entera; por ti mi corazón se me desespera. No se lo que haré, no se lo que diré… dame un a parola, sino me mataré.”  En la misma cara tenemos “Despedida de la novia” en que una chica le dice a su mamá que ya esta se tendrá que cargar de los quehaceres de la casa, que la hija se marcha “a servir buen marido, a ponerle la mesa … a ferle la cama” y a echarle a su lado. El siguiente romance cuenta la historia de una doncella cuyo amor está en la guerra. Ella está por sacrificarse las lindas trenzas, los lindos brazos, hasta su propia vida para verlo volver sano y salvo de la guerra. En la cara B encontramos un arrullo llamado “Durme, durme,” una version de la cual nos cita Samelson:

Durme, durme

hermosa doncella

durme, durme

sin ansia y dolor

Es tu esclavo

que tanto desea

ver tu esfueño

con gran amor (543).

En la segunda cinta, cara A, encontramos las famosas “Coplas de Purim,” que según O. Camhy, “célèbre la délivrance des Juifs de Perse sous le roi Assuérus. Les principaux personnages sont: le grand vizir Haman que obtienne du roi, a la force d’intrigue et d’argent, un décret appelant le peuple à exterminer tous les Juifs de Perse; la reine Esther, que guidée par son oncle Mardochée, obtienne de son royal époux l’abrogation de ce décret” (570). Sigue las coplas « El marido disfrazado, » que trata de la fidelidad de una mujer. Su suegra hace que el hijo se disfrace, venga a la puerta y le pida un beso, para ver si es honrada la nuera. En la cara B tenemos una canción de amor dulcísimo que dice lo siguiente:

Debajo de la rosa

Debajo del limón la novia

Sus pies en el agua fría

Debajo de la rosa

Debajo del limón la novia

Sus pies en el agua helada

Debajo de la rosa

¿Dónde estas mi novia galana?

Aguardando a vos mi alma

Para fer con vos morada

Debajo de la rosa

¿Dónde estas mi novia querida?

Aguardando a vos mi vida

Para fer con vos guarida

Debajo de la rosa

Pero además de un cancionero relleno de bonita y rica tradición judío-española, quedan muchos romances con suma importancia porque hace mucho se olvidaron en la península. “Llevaban en su memoria,” dice Menéndez Pidal, “el romancero que se cantaba en el siglo XV en España y lo conservaron con una fidelidad maravillosa, mientras entre los españoles se olvidó en gran parte. Sabemos, por ejemplo, que las damas de Isabel la Católica… en el ano 1495, cantaban el romance que comienza:

Morirse quiere Alexandre

de dolor de corazón

envío por los maestros

cuantos en la corte son

Entre estos maestros viene Aristóteles, ayo de Alexandre, que le dice:

faced vuestro testamento

poned vuestra alma con Dios” (552).

Tales romances, explica Menéndez Pidal, al chocar con el Renacimiento con sus más preciosos sentimientos, tenían que ser muy pronto olvidados en la península ibérica. El romance de Virgilio se olvido en España pero en Marruecos, el Oriente, Adrianópolis, Constantinopla, etc., se canta:

“Preso llevan a Vérgico

el rey le mandó prender

por una traición que ha hecho

en los palacios del rey

de forzar a una doncella

que se llamaba Isabel…”

Los sefardíes conservan estos romances con plena vitalidad durante 500 anos debido “al extraordinario apego del pueblo sefardí” a su patria perdida y a sus tradiciones (553).

También se ha conservado por este pueblo sefardí épicos como Cabezas de los siete infantes de Lara y El Rey don Sancho cuando en Castilla reinó (555). Continua Menéndez Pidal: “En Francia la Chanson de Roland se venía cantando desde el siglo IX;”  Se cantaban dos fragmentos  de ella en España por los juglares desde el siglo IX. Se olvidó por completo en la España de los siglos después del XVI, mientras todavía lo cantan los sefardíes (555).

Así que los sefardíes nos brindan un cancionero ricamente cargado con dulces canciones de amor, cantos de boda, coplas religiosas y mucho más. Tras esta tradición de los hebreo-españoles se ha preservado un romancero español que, si no fuese por estos judíos, no habría sobrevivido. Dice Menéndez Pidal que “con ser el romancero una tradición muy arraigada en todos los pueblos de habla hispánica, el pueblo judío deja atrás a todos ellos en la fidelidad y el vigor con que guarda esa tradición (552).”

Muy bonitamente hecho.

Besso, Henry V.  ”Judeo-Spanish: Its Growth and Decline.” En The Sephardic Heritage, redac. por Richard Barnett, 604-635. Nueva York: KTAV Publishing House, Inc., 1971.

Birmingham, Stephen. The Grandees: America’s Sephardic Elite. Nueva York: Harper and Row, 1971.

Camhy, O. “Le Judeo-Espagnol: Facteur de Conservation Pendant Quatre Siecles.” En The Sephardic Heritage, redactado por Richard Barnett, 560-603.

“Ladino.” Collier’s Encyclopedia, ed. 1986.

“Ladino.” Enciclopedia Vniversal Ilvstrada, Espasa Calpe, ed. 1966.

“Ladino.” Encyclopedia Judaica, ed. 1971.

Katz, Solomon. The Jews in the Visogothic and Frankish Kingdoms of Spain and Gaul. Cambridge, Massachusetts: The Mediaeval Academy of America, 1937. Nueva York: Kraus Reprint Co., 1971.

Lindo, Elias Hiam. History of the Jews of Spain and Portugal. Nueva York: Burt Franklin, 1970.

Samelson, William. “Romances and Songs of the Sephardim.” In The Sephardic Heritage, redac. Barnett, 527-551.

Sassoon, David Solomon. “The Spiritual Heritage of the Sephardim.” En The Sephardic Heritage, 1-28.

“Sephardim.” Encyclopedia International, ed. 1981.

Menendez Pidal, Ramon. “El romancero sefardi: su extraordinario caracter conservador.” En The Sephardic Heritage, 552-559.

Mirsky, Aharon. “The Principles of Hebrew Poetry in Spain.” En The Sephardic Heritage, 186-274.

Neuman, Abraham Aaron. The Jews in Spain, Vol. I. Nueva York: Octogon Books, 1969.

Patai, Ralph. The Vanished Worlds of Jewry. Nueva York: MacMillan Publishing Co., Inc., 1980.

Perez Castro, Federico. “Espana y los Judios Espanoles.” En The Sephardic Heritage, 275-322.

Printz, Joachim. The Secret Jews. Nueva York: Random House, 1973.

“Temas Sefardies,” vols I y II. Cantadas por Joaquin Diaz. Madrid: Ministerio de Cultura, 1972, 1975.

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Other resource discovered in preparation for posting this paper: Ladino Song Database

Likes and Dislikes are of the Ego

Sunday the ACIM group resumed meeting at my place after a two-week pause during which two of our members attended a 10-day Vipassana retreat.  I’m not sure “retreat” is a very apt word for what they went through. Meditation Boot Camp might be a more appropriate term.  I am in awe of them both for being able to complete the ten days.  Another of my friends who does not come to my home on Sundays also went, but she did not last the whole ten days.

It was fascinating to hear their version of what it was like after having heard my friend’s version a few days earlier.  Every day I receive more evidence to support the idea that there is no objective reality. Well, maybe there is something we could call naked reality somewhere down there under all our projections and illusions.  But it’s very clear to me that we all perceive the world in vastly different ways. Ego goes a long way toward clouding our vision, doesn’t it?

For our ACIM lesson we talked about valuing.  Our group leader said that this refers to preferences. Pema Chodron says that likes and dislikes are of the ego.  In any given situation, you can choose not to have preferences. You can free yourself from all suffering by releasing preferences.

How timely it was that we reached this workbook lesson just when two of our members were able to tell us what it was like to sit for hours and hours unable to wiggle, doing nothing but focusing on the breath.  They told us what it was like to keep noble silence (not even making eye contact) while surrounded on all sides (CLOSELY ON ALL SIDES) by scores of other people for nine of the ten days.

The conditions of this retreat were very challenging. One of my friends responded to these conditions by giving in to her ego’s stories and fears. She hopped on a bus and came home. The other two walked through the fire and came out the other side.

I have a lot more to say on this topic, but it’s very late and I have to rest.

Hodge Podge

On the wall of my kitchen hangs the 2011 Milk Calendar.  Last week I made the May recipe, a Maritime favourite that I had never heard of before: hodge podge. Am I ever glad I tried this recipe! The white sauce coating all the crisp-tender veggies is so smooth. I slightly misread the ingredients list and for my herb I used fresh savoury, an herb I had never cooked with before.

I’m not sure how…maybe it was the combination of sugar snap peas and savoury and onion…but the dish ended up tasting almost of cinnamon. Sylvain added salt to offset a slight sweetness.  We both consider this recipe to be a definite keeper.

hodge podge

The nice thing about this recipe is that if I make it at the right time of year, all the ingredients will be found locally.

Here is the recipe.

INGREDIENTS

12 baby new potatoes, cut in half
1 cup (250 mL) thickly sliced carrots or baby-cut carrots
Salt
2 cups (500 mL) broccoli florets
1 cup (250 mL) sugar snap peas, snow peas, or green beans, trimmed
1/2 cup (125 mL) frozen green peas
2 tbsp (30 mL) butter
1 small onion, finely chopped
1/2 tsp (2 mL) dried tarragon, savoury or thyme
Pepper
2 tbsp (30 mL) all-purpose flour
1-1/2 cups (375 mL) milk, heated
2 tsp (10 mL) Dijon or dry mustard
2 tbsp (30 mL) chopped fresh basil or dill (optional)

 

instructions

In a large saucepan, combine potatoes and carrots; add cold water to cover by 2 inches (5 cm) and 1/2 tsp (2 mL) salt. Cover and bring to a boil over high heat. Uncover, reduce heat and boil gently for 10 min or until potatoes are almost tender.

Add broccoli, sugar snap peas and green peas; boil for 3 min or until tender-crisp. Drain; set aside.

Return pan to medium heat; melt butter. Sauté onion, tarragon, 1/2 tsp (2 mL) salt and 1/4 tsp (1 mL) pepper for about 5 min or until softened. Stir in flour; sauté for 30 sec. Gradually whisk in heated milk and mustard. Bring to a boil, whisking constantly; reduce heat to medium and simmer, whisking, for about 2 min or until thickened.

Remove from heat; stir in vegetables and toss to coat. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Transfer to a warmed serving bowl and sprinkle with fresh herbs (if using).

I Want My Pillow

Every other Saturday there is nobody scheduled to be at the nursing home in the morning. I volunteered to bridge that gap this morning, and also volunteered to be there by 5:50 so we can know for certain that Pa is getting his 6:00 meds on time.

The meds did come on time.

Pa wanted to doze in his recliner before breakfast, which is served at 8:30, so I ran up the road to get a medium double double for the young woman who lives in the room next to Pa’s.  She seems to have some sort of acquired brain injury; she can communicate verbally, but everything she says is in super slow motion. It took me about a week to realize that the long, drawn out moans she makes are actually words. Now that I can understand her, she has me doing her bidding! :)

On the way to Tim’s for this woman’s coffee, I decided to get one for myself so I wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle of helping Pa with his eggs.  When I got back with the two medium double doubles, I asked S “which one feels lucky?”  (It’s Roll Up the Rim to Win time.)  She picked hers and rolled away to ask a staff member for her special coffee mug.

Pa and his table mate let me keep them company at breakfast time.  I had already eaten, but made myself useful helping Pa with the scrambled eggs while he dealt with the toast. Parkinson’s is a strange animal. At times I’ll see Pa sitting there staring at the spoon or fork in his hand. I know he’s telling his brain to send his hand up to his mouth, but he can’t get the motion started. Sometimes all I have to do is give his hand a little nudge in the right direction, and zoom! There goes the spoon to his mouth.

His table mate, a very pleasant gentleman who is recovering from a stroke, asked me to open a sugar package for him.  I like it when people can ask for the help they need.  (Hmmm, maybe I should take a lesson from that?!)

Since Sylvain had a board meeting to attend, I stuck around after breakfast and through lunch.  Pa was being especially clear about his wants and needs, which was surprising and wonderful.  We often worry about him whenever one of us can’t be there because of his tendency not to communicate what he wants or needs.  Well, he sure was communicating today! He let me know when he wanted to take a long stroll around the building and also when he wanted to take a nap.  At meal time he was very specific about what he wanted and didn’t want to eat and drink. He also asked for a shower even though today wasn’t one of his regular shower days, and they squeezed him in.  All of this was so atypical for him that I texted Sylvain, who said that he’d been talking to his dad about the importance of articulating his needs.

After breakfast I asked S if she had won anything with her coffee cup. She had won a free coffee and had already arranged for the maintenance guy to pick it up for her on his way back from an errand.

This evening we did some measuring and hammering. We hung up his northern wilderness calendar and a clock, and moved the telephone to where he can easily reach it. Sylvain bought a DVD player and I hooked it up.

The room is so cozy now, it has pretty much become a place either of us is more than willing to hang out for hours at a time. Ma is knitting Pa an afghan for the bed (Pa picked the colours: three shades of blue).

I’m glad we got so much done in Pa’s room today, but now I don’t want to see another human for about 50 years. Tomorrow morning I will have five or six straight hours of CAVE TIME.  Then I will emerge to buy groceries and will return to my quiet cave to chop, dice, and cook in solitude.

Gah!

Can you help me? I am trying to think of the names of those two guys… I’m not sure if they have a television show or only appear on YouTube. Anyway, one is taller and portly. The other is short and never speaks. They have short “shows” in which the tall one rants about any number of topics. They are funny in a cynical sort of way.  I have gone through the alphabet in my mind a few times and can’t remember their names.

Help?

William Wordsworth’s My Heart Leaps Up

The other students were choosing multi-page works by Keats and Shelley. When I told my prof in February of 1988 that I wanted to do my paper on the simple 9-line poem, he suggested I could take on something a bit bigger. I told him I would rather cover a small work thoroughly than not do a large work justice. He conceded. Please forgive the sexist language. I have since reformed.

My Heart Leaps Up

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky:

So was it when my life began;

So is it now I am a man;

So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die!

The Child is father of the Man;

And I could wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety.

–William Wordsworth

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Although at first glance “My Heart Leaps Up” by William Wordsworth may appear to be a simple little rhyme, after more profound inspection we shall see that it is actually the result of great toil and the product of remarkable skill. Some think that long, wordy works are more difficult to write than short ones. To the contrary, presenting a complex idea is not such an ominous task when one is allowed as many pages as one wishes in which to do so.  It is when that same complex thought is to be distilled until only its potent essence remains that true genius is required. And that is exactly what Wordsworth’s “My Heart Leaps Up” displays. In a few simple lines it encompasses almost all of the themes central to the British Romantic movement. As a matter of fact, “My Heart Leaps Up” is a Romantic poem in both form and structure, as well.    Excellent intro.

“My Heart Leaps Up” embodies the following Romantic themes: that of the importance of the emotions; the idea of the importance of nature; the idea of the transience of Joy, whence springs creative power; the concern for the loss of creative power; the theme of the sanctity of childhood; and, lastly, the theme of the exalted position of rustic man.

The idea of the importance of the emotions is represented in the title/first line of the poem. This idea is the foundation of the Romantic movement, which was a reaction to the inordinate emphasis being put on reason, empirical knowledge and book learning by philosophers of the Enlightenment, to the downplay of the emotions, intuitive knowledge and “natural learning,” so to speak.

The importance of nature, another Romantic theme, is touched on in the first and second lines: “My heart leaps up when I behold / A rainbow in the sky:…”  Here we have the narrator of the poem telling us of an experience out of doors as he gazes at the sky.

The idea of the transience of Joy, on which Wordsworth and other Romantics often expound, is introduced in line two by the rainbow. A rainbow is an ethereal thing. It looks almost like a stairway to the heavens. It might well symbolize that bond one feels with God when in a state of Joy. This Joy is a precious and exhilarating state, yet it, like a rainbow, is destined to fade.

At the core of this exquisitely brief work we have two themes which are hard to deal with separately, for (in Wordsworth’s view, at least) they are inextricably intertwined. These are: the theme of the quasi holiness of children vs. the pitiful if recompensed state into which we drift as we age, and the concern for the loss of creative power.

The latter of these two ideas is treated in lines five and six: “So be it when I shall grow old, / Or let me die!”  The author is expressing a yearning for an ongoing union with Ultimate Reality, a continual sense of harmony with the Universe. He wants always to have a natural affinity for nature, as does a child, and wants always to find creative inspiration. This is a noble quest, but something he senses will not be.

The fear Wordsworth has that Joy will leave him is tied to his philosophy regarding the relationship between Joy and childhood/adolescence.

The author, in retrospect, sees childhood as a time full of awe of nature, innocence and intuitive “certainty.” He sees these things as far superior to the more conscious relationship and more rational knowledge we develop as we grow older. This idea of the child as a wiser philosopher than we bumbling adults is seen in the famous and very eloquently and concisely stated line seven.

There are few who would disagree that there is something precious about childhood which cannot be recaptured later in life. I wish to contradict, however, Wordsworth’s idea that Joy is somehow an inherent part of early life which gradually dissipates as we drift farther and farther from Heaven’s gate (birth). More in accordance with Coleridge’s view, I see Joy as a state which may come and go several times in one lifetime. But it does not really matter whether Wordsworth’s philosophy is “right” or not. The fact is that in believing as he does, he creates a self-fulfilling prophecy. Even Wordsworth knew that doubt was the venom that killed Joy, yet he embraces the idea that in old age Joy will not return to him.  He is, then, in effect, preventing it from doing so. Thus, at least for his own case, he ends up being “right” after all.

With regard to the final theme outlined, although the notion of the significance of the common man is not mentioned directly, it is nonetheless very present. In choosing Classic Ballad Stanza as the vehicle of his message, the author is telling us a great deal about his values. This poetic form is used in the folk songs of the time, the poetry of the rustic people, who are raised to an exalted position by the British Romantic school in its so democratic tradition. The rank these common folk are afforded is similar to that of priests. And, surely, if nature is to be the nave of a new church, there are none better qualified to be the messengers of God than those who live in constant contact with Her.

Structurally, the poem follows the pattern which Wordsworth tells us is intrinsically part of the mechanism of artistic creativity:  The poet has an experience in nature which he takes in through the senses. In the case of “My Heart Leaps Up,” the poet beholds a rainbow. He is moved emotionally by the experience. (His heart leaps up!)  He sits and reflects on the experience. Using his imagination, a faculty so important to the British Romanticists, he contemplates the event in the context of the past, present, and future (lines three, four and five). Finally, using the skills with which he is endowed as a poet, he attempts to reproduce through language what he has experienced, in hopes of evoking in the reader similar emotions.

Not being a literary critic, Yes you are. What do you think you’ve been doing here? I am hardly in a position to judge this poem’s worth. There is, though, at least one criterion of evaluation at my disposal, i.e., the question of whether the author has achieved what he set out to do. I may presume to know this since, in his “Preface to Lyrical Ballads,” Wordsworth states that one of his principal objectives is that of producing or enlarging the capability of the human mind to become excited without the “application of gross and violent stimulants….” (Bloom, Trilling, 597, 98). Wordsworth saw such a service as especially important in his time, when urbanization and industrialization were lulling man into a state of spiritual atrophy. The poet is concerned with moving the reader emotionally, perhaps even with prodding him to reestablish his too long dormant relationship with Nature or God. No poet can take each lost soul by the hand and lead him back to God. But, perhaps, by writing in a language that every person could understand, the poet might stir him to feel again. What a great service to mankind that would be! Today, over a century and a half later, the crisis has not diminished. No, in this time when the average American household has the television set on seven hours a day, the situation can only be said to have gotten worse. In our time of virtually total spiritual (and intellectual) decay, it would be a grand accomplishment and mark of success if the poet were to touch and move even one individual.

If I am allowed to use such a yardstick for measuring the success of Wordsworth’s poetry, then “My Heart Leaps Up” is a good poem. Because this reader, for whom alone I may speak, has been aroused from a long sleep by this poet’s lines.

Neat stuff. This is a super paper, going beyond the assignment. Thank for letting me read it.  A

Spring Cleaning

One way I keep to a simple, stress-free life is to own very little.  I don’t have a TV, stereo or music CDs.  Occasionally the stacks of magazines that I keep around as realia for the classroom begin to feel overwhelming and I take them all down to the magazine area in our laundry room.  Today I took five books down there, too, because the clutter is starting to stack up again, which makes me feel anxious.

I have stopped keeping paper journals. My blog is my main journal and my dream journal is electronic courtesy of Penzu.com.  I’ve whittled my photographs down to one small box, though at some point I scanned the important ones and have them in an album on Facebook.  Within a year or two I will probably own no photographs at all.

I am a huge fan of purging the paper from my life in favour of digital storage.  I love paperless billing and do not save receipts.  The odd time when I have to return something to the store, I can dig back through the “TO BE SHREDDED” bag that lives in my pantry and gets emptied once a year on free shredding day.

In this spirit, I have thought of a way to ditch those term papers I wrote in university…the ones I have been carrying around with me for all these years, not having the heart to toss them in the trash can. I have decided to post them to my blog. Then maybe I can finally bring myself to toss out the hard copies.

Hello, My Name is K and I’m a Filmaholic

I am home recovering from what may have been viral gastroenteritis, a strain that seems to be making the rounds in this city and at my workplace this week. It is wonderful to have a sweetie who will drop what he’s doing and offer to bring Pepto Bismol, ibuprofen and electrolyte replacement beverages to me wherever I am.  Without his rescue efforts, I probably wouldn’t have been able to drive my car home from work yesterday.

To anyone else suffering from the stomach bug, I recommend the B.R.A.T. diet: bananas, rice, applesauce, toast.

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Did you watch the Academy Awards? Wow, what a great batch of films we got in 2010, eh? No matter who had gotten the award for best actor, I would not have been disappointed. They all were amazing.  I felt the same way about almost all the categories.

Since we had managed to see almost all the contenders during the year and over the past two months, it was fun trying to predict the winners. I correctly predicted 10 of the 24 wins.  Unfortunately, I had to do some guessing since certain films never made it to our fair city. Maybe they will come now that they have won. Some are playing in Waterloo, and I’m tempted to make the three hour drive. We could also cross the border to Detroit. Yes, I am that much of a cinema fanatic.

The montages, other winners, and on-stage banter kept me scribbling all night. Now we are left with a long list of films and documentaries to try to see, one way or another:

Alice in Wonderland, Animal Kingdom, Biutiful, The Lost Thing, The Illusionist, Toy Story 3, Another Year, In a Better World, Incendies, I’m Not There (no, I STILL haven’t seen it!), Strangers No More, Exit Through the Gift Shop, Inside Job, Blue Valentine, 127 Hours, Restrepo, Rabbit Hole and the movie where James Franco plays Allen Ginsberg.

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Just for my own records, I/we did manage to see:

The King’s Speech, Black Swan, The Fighter, Inception, The Kids Are All Right, The Social Network, True Grit, Winter’s Bone, How to Train Your Dragon, I Am Love, Barney’s Version, Love and Other Drugs, The American, and The Town.