Sorting shells

Saturday, MerrillNC met up at Joe and Mo’s for a family gathering. It had been awhile since we had all been together--a year or more. It was Andrew and Joni’s first visit to the new house in Cary and two year-old Mya’s opportunity, the first she’ll remember, to meet her cousins. Introductions were in order all around.

Three-year old Jacque and I were on the patio bouncing on the ‘bouncy’ chairs, engaged in conversation about barbie dolls when Mya arrived, parents in tow. Jacque noted their arrival but showed little interest. “Let’s go see little Mya,” I said taking her hand. Jacque shot a look: Not interested. “Come on,” I urged. “You might like her.”

In the front entry hall, we found Mya clinging to Andrew’s leg, shy, a bit bewildered. Just then a troop of older children poured through doorway, yelping, baying, dogs barking--a terrifying commotion. I swooped down and picked Mya up. She threw her arms around my neck, clinging tight. Jacque was not impressed. Another look came my way: I’m a big girl. She’s a baby. Still not interested.

As I said, introductions were in order. I led Jacque into the living room, the only quiet spot in the house, and sat down on the couch with Mya. “This is your cousin Jacque. Jacque is three, almost four. Her birthday is January 5.” Jacque seemed pleased, repeating, “Yea. January 5, my birthday.”

To Jacque, “Mya is two almost three. Her birthday is March 4. She’s only two but she isn’t a baby. She goes to school, talks, and wears big girl pants.” At this point, Mya, sensing she had a role to play, unlocked her arms from around my neck and pulled her finger out of her mouth.

As Jacque assessed the situation, Mya slipped off my lap and began picking through a collection of shells on the table. Taking one from the bowl, Mya declared clearly, “I have shells at my house. From Myrtle beach!”

Jacque was taken aback by this, not expecting such a firm declaration from one so young. She drew nearer to the bowl. Heads together peering into the bowl through tangles of dark and light hair, the two sorted shells together--some to one pile, others to another in an order understood only by the two of them. A relationship felt; a bond established.

“Do you want to see my Barbies?” Jacque asked. Mya’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!” Enough of grandma and shells. Off they went--the real work of child’s play to begin.

Lacuna

The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver (2009)

Blues book club met to discuss Barbara Kingsolver’s book, The Lacuna (2009). The discussion opened with the question: Who liked the book? Carolyn, Helena and I expressed our approval. Martha admitted, she didn’t like the book, so we led off with her. Martha didn’t relate to the character(s). She found the plot confusing. The book just didn’t hold her interest. NPR’s book critic Maureen Carrigan agreed.

Carolyn admitted that she, too, was frustrated with the novel’s opening section. Her interest in the use of narrators and narrative point of view grew as the structure of the novel unfolded. Carolyn also pondered the question of writing as a means of writing oneself. Does one exist through the word? Through writing?

I led off with my usual question: What’s the book about? In this case, the answer is simple. The book is about ‘lacuna.’ Images of lacuna as gap, passageway, cavity, void, recur throughout the novel. Lacuna as a metaphor for that which is missing, the missing piece, is the novel’s central image and theme.

The author states this in the following passage in which Violet Brown scolds the protagonist, Harrison Shepherd (HS) for not telling her of his 30th birthday. “A man turns thirty years, that’s important . . . and to think I sat here and knew nought of it, all the day long.”

HS reflects on this statement of knowing nought (a gap, lacuna). “I didn’t say what Frida would have (another gap). That you can’t really know the person standing before you, because always there is some missing piece: the birthday like an invisible piñata hanging great and silent over his head, as he stands in his slippers boiling the water for coffee. The scarred, shrunken leg hidden under a green silk dress. A wife and son back in France. Something you never knew. That is the heart of the story (325).”

Not only is ‘lacuna’ a central image and metaphor for the novel, it also forms the structure of the novel. The lacuna--that which is missing, something you never knew--gives the novel it shape, its structure. How? The lacuna gives the word, the written piece, its meaning, which in turn, determines its structure. Helen and Carolyn blinked at this. I’d lost them here.

Kingsolver cleverly lays this out. The content of the novel comes from a series of notebooks written by HS throughout his life. Fearing entrapment from the FBI, HS hurries to burn the notebooks. He watches at the window as his secretary, Violet Brown, carries out the deed. But she doesn’t burn all the notebooks, only one, “The Potomac Academy 1933” in which HS describes his first sexual encounter with a male friend. No one needs to know this, she reckons. But the others, she stashes in her mail bag.

After burning the notebooks, HS flees to Mexico to avoid arrest and disappears. Five years later, Violet receives a trunk from Frida Kalko containing various and sundry personal items belonging to HS, among them a notebook written by HS later in his life, that recounts his discovery, at age 12, of the lacuna on the island Isa Pixol. This notebook contains the key, the missing piece that brings the whole story into focus. Upon reading of HS’s discovery of the lacuna, Violet Brown knows what happened to her former employer. He is not dead. He didn’t kill himself. Instead, he returned to the island to escape through the lacuna to a new life. Rather than die, he chose to fight. This is confirmed by a cryptic note from Frida stating that HS is gone, but ‘some else is here.’ With this missing piece, Violet pieces together the narrative that forms the structure of the novel.

There were many other interesting facets to the book, but none more intriguing than Kingsolver’s brilliant use of ‘lacuna’ as both image and structure. I add my insight, perhaps shared by the author, that the two are really one and the same.

Incident in Tucson

Lots of talk this week about Saturday’s ‘incident’--the shootings in Tucson, Arizona, that left six dead, others wounded, among them Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords. In the aftermath, commentators search for a cause, an explanation for the shootings.

Yesterday, from an NPR report on a grief/trauma-processing gathering in Tucson came this explanation. Hate! Hate was the motive. Hate drove the shooter to kill innocent people, including a nine year-old girl. The answer: Do away with hate! In the background, the voice of a woman directs attendees: Go to the table and get yur black armband then come back here and make yur pledge. Each and everyday, I pledge to smile and say a good word to the loners of the world.

Someone used the term ‘unthinkable’ to describe the shooting, which gave me pause. How can one use the word ‘unthinkable’ for something that happens everyday? Each and every day, we hear of ‘unthinkable’ acts of violence, usually committed by men with guns, somewhere in the world. Some of the violence is ‘thinkable,’ i.e. authorized, for a good and justifiable purpose, including but not limited to: The war on terror. Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Whereas ‘unthinkable’ violence tends to be unauthorized, such as killing innocent victims, except in cases where killing of innocent victims is an exigent circumstance of killing ‘bad guys.’

Later in the day Diane Rheam called in a panel of mental health experts to explain what may have been going on in the mind of Jared L., the ‘alleged’ shooter. What caused him commit this ‘unthinkable’ act of violence? Ethical concerns prevented the experts from speaking specifically about the case, but they did offer their assessment of similar cases, this being that a chemical imbalance in the brain was to blame. Many suffer from a biological disorder, possibly genetic, which causes the brain to malfunction. The inference being: The shooter isn’t crazy. It wasn’t his fault. His brain wasn’t working right. Therefore, he is not culpable.

The FBI has a different theory, i.e. the shooter is not crazy, hence culpable. Today we learned that the FBI has called an ‘all hands on deck’ investigation of every friend, classmate, acquaintance of the alleged shooter. Every phone call made, email send, internet sites, books, blogs, talk shows, TV programs, bars frequented. As many as 500 agents across the country focused on one thing--motive. What was the motive for the crime? We await the results.

Folk singer Cheryl Wheeler has another idea, expressed in her song, “If It Were Up to Me?” from her album “Sylvia Hotel.” In considering a remedy to ‘unthinkable’ violence, she lists possible causes that we hear floated about: movies, books, bullets, real crooks, parents, high schools, teachers, music, fast food, divorce, abuse, senators, the system, radio, TV, El Niño, athletes, magazines, the internet, KKK, skinheads, art, sex, the homeless, immigrants, chemicals, ozone, ads, etc. But, I know one thing, she concludes, if it were up to me, I’d take away the guns.

Removing guns would be a good start. But it’s all dust in the wind, we’re chasing our tails, until we as a ‘civilized’ society address the root cause of ‘unthinkable violence,’ be it authorized or not--the many forms of male violence. Until we look that little devil in the eye, we’re forever chasing our tails.

Highlights 2010

One of the year’s highlights is publishing my yearly newsletter, “Dr. Mar’s Highlights 2010.” The process goes like this: I pick out my favorite photos--those that make me smile. Once the photos are in place, I ask myself: What is it about this photo that makes me smile. When I get the answer, I write the story. You see why I love publishing “Highlights.” It makes me happy to reflect back on all the wonderful moments of the year. Plus, there are always surprises.

For example, I realized as I wrote the lead article the importance of Order this past year. It seemed that from the moment I got home to Gerryland, I scurried around, here to there, doing this and that--all to establish order in my life that felt so dis-ordered, neglected, after extended stays in Utah.

I didn’t beat myself up (a deeply rooted, old pattern) about this. Instead, I decided consciously to go with the flow and allow the process to manifest itself. I unpacked bins, chased off critters, cleared out drawers, built shelves, caulked up cracks, laid down rugs, and, through it all, the process did manifest itself. It is this: Establish external order first as a template for new patterning of internal order. In 2010, the work was outside. In 2011, the work moves inside. Rather than feel like a waste of time, it feels like I accomplished a lot. This makes me happy. Can’t wait to see what follows.

Another surprise was this realization: The further I moved away for the old patterns, the better I liked myself. Rationally, I knew this to be true. This past year, 2010, I felt it for real. This was the biggest, best surprise of all!

New Year’s resolution: 52 mid-week posts to Dr. Mar’s Daybook.

Happy New Year!