Browsed by
Category: ideas

Eleven Years

Eleven Years

Comments 0 Comment

Eleven years ago today, on another snowy Super Bowl Sunday, I started this blog. It was something I’d been meaning to do for years, but the windfall of time made possible by a weather disruption gave me the space I needed to make the resolution come true. 

I still remember sitting on the couch, setting up the blog account, finding it easier than I thought. I had the title in mind, and a rough idea of what I wanted to say (though it would take months to learn how to size the photos), but it came together with the ease of something that was meant to be.  It seemed to me then, and on good days still seems to be … magic. 

Magic occurs when ideas have the room and reception to put down roots and grow. “Ideas are driven by a single impulse: to be made manifest,” writes the author and memoirist Elizabeth Gilbert. “And the only way an idea can be made manifest in our world is through collaboration with a human partner.” 

For eleven years, I’ve partnered with the idea of A Walker in the Suburbs, writing about walking and place and books and family life. I’m glad it came to visit me, this idea. But most of all, I’m grateful I chose to welcome it. 

The Mirror and the Light

The Mirror and the Light

Comments 0 Comment

I just finished reading The Mirror and the Light, the 750-page conclusion of Hilary Mantel’s brilliant three-part reimagining of the life of Thomas Cromwell, Lord Privy Seal of England and Henry VIII’s right-hand man … until he wasn’t. 

In the final pages, Cromwell prepares for his execution. He ponders heaven and hell, thinks often of his father, Walter, a blacksmith and a drunk who beat his son and propelled him out from Putney into a life he could not have imagined from his beginnings, a life of service and, more than most, of influencing history. 

Still, when Cromwell confronts his end, he shudders and he trembles, he sees ghosts. He also realizes that life will go on without him, as it will, of course, for us all:

It occurs to him that when he is dead, other people will be getting on with their day; it will be dinner time or nearly, there will be a bubbling of pottages, the clatter of ladles, the swift scoop of meat from spit to platter; a thousand dogs will stir from sleep and wag their tails, napkins will be unfurled and twitched over the shoulder, fingers will be dipped in rosewater, bread broken. And when the crumbs are swept away, the pewter piled for scouring, his body will be broken meat, and the executioner will clean the blade.

Mind and Body

Mind and Body

Comments 0 Comment

Over the weekend I read an essay about the power of literary analysis in the college classroom — and, because of the unique times in which we live — also not in the college classroom.  Apart from the many excellent points made about education in the humanities — the lessons of the great books have never mattered more, the ability to think and analyze is prized in the workplace — the author, Carlo Rotella, made one that brought a crucial point to mind. 

While teaching via Zoom, Rotella said, he realized how much he uses visual cues in his class, figuring out who he should call on, who’s getting a concept and who is not. I ran this through my own, English-major memory, and sure enough, the same seems true from the student’s point of view. 

What I remember most about college literature classes is not just the ideas that seemed to be exploding in my brain as we discussed The Magic Mountain or The Brothers Karamazov, but the visual impressions my teachers left as well. 

I recall in particular my favorite college professor, Dr. Ferguson, who would curl himself around the podium when he lectured, one knee on the desk, one foot on the floor, while stork-like, he led us through the great books. It’s not that I don’t recall the ideas themselves — I think about them all the time — but until I read this essay I wasn’t aware of how closely they are linked to the physical peculiarities of the professors who introduced them to me. 

This essay triggered a dialogue in my brain, a conversation between the author and me, and the part that I supplied surprised me — as it should, when the “conversations” are deep and good. 

Slow Sunday

Slow Sunday

Comments 0 Comment

It’s already past noon, but I’m finishing up laundry and online church in hopes that the rest of the day will be slow enough to read and write and generally while away some time. My partner in crime: this hammock, which I plan to enjoy again as soon as I push “publish.”

The evolution of Sunday from a day set aside for special treatment to just another weekend day is one I lament. Not that it would be fun to have stores closed and activities shut down. But it would be nice to have a day that is marked by doing less and reflecting more. A day devoted to gratitude and taking stock. 

Some would say we can get by with a few of these a year; we don’t need one a week. But I think we might be happier and healthier if we could make slow Sundays the rule instead of the exception.

Moderation

Moderation

Comments 0 Comment

A metaphor came to mind today: As is true in many houses of this era (mid-1970s), the venting leaves much to be desired. Despite numerous adjustments, in the summer it’s still too warm upstairs, too cold in the basement and, though I would like to say it’s just right on the first floor, that’s not entirely true. Let’s just say it’s less extreme than the others.

What I was thinking about this morning while adjusting the thermostat — with one of us in the basement, another on the first floor and the third up above — is about regulation, moderation, in general, how making one of us slightly more comfortable may make the others slightly less so. I was thinking, in short, of sacrifice: that the good of others may depend upon our discomfort.

I wan’t intending this to be about mask-wearing. My initial thought was much more general. But given the times we live in, it wasn’t long before it trended this way.

Spacious Mind

Spacious Mind

Comments 0 Comment

A happy mind is a spacious mind, intoned the voice that I have come to associate with calm. It’s the voice of the Headspace application (its founder, as a matter of fact), and it has been my guide on this several-month journey I’ve been taking recently, dipping my toe into the shallowest end of the deep waters of meditation.

Any progress I’ve made has been courtesy of my place of employ, which has sponsored Headspace meditation sessions every workday since mid-March, most of which I’ve attended.

Some days I’m a hopeless case and can barely follow the instructions. But other days I can feel myself in another place, one where thoughts flit into my mind and just as easily float out again; one where following the breath, flowing with the breath, is becoming a little more second nature.

Today, when I heard this line that a happy mind is a spacious mind, a mind that has room for other people, other ideas, I’ll admit I broke the first rule of meditation. I didn’t let that thought move through and out. I savored it a bit, I pondered the implications.

Equating happiness with spaciousness, yes, it works — though you could just as easily equate it with coziness and smallness and manageability. But in this case I imagined the clear sky that you reach when you soar above the clouds. The spaciousness of the heavens, of the mind unencumbered.

Viva La Cite!

Viva La Cite!

Comments 0 Comment

Into my inbox this morning comes news from Jeff Speck, whose occasional newsletter I signed up for after reading one of his books on urban planning. Speck’s headline “No, Cites Aren’t Over,” was a welcome counterbalance to my own recent post “Solace of the Suburbs.”

When the question of urban density was raised at a public hearing about transit-oriented development, Speck says he reminded people that some of the countries that have best controlled for the virus are exceptionally urban ones — Japan, Korea, Hong Kong.

Also, he says, denser cities have the most patents. “Cities exist because they solve problems,” he writes. The Black Death didn’t do much to slow urbanization and was followed in short order by the Renaissance.  “So even though much of the ruling class has slipped off to their country houses a la Boccaccio, the future still lies in walkable urban places.”

I want to believe that, too.

(From the Boston Globe via Jeff Speck’s newsletter.) 

Silence

Silence

Comments 0 Comment

I just finished reading Jane Brox’s lovely new book Silence: A Social History of One of the Least Understood Elements of Our Lives. Brox plumbs her topic by comparing the silence of solitary confinement with the silence of the cloister, an interesting approach that gives her a chance to examine the trials of silence as well as its gifts.

She draws often from Thomas Merton, the Trappist monk who lived much of his life in the cloistered Abbey of Gethsemani but whose writings gave him a worldwide audience. Here she quotes from Merton’s Asian Journal: “Our real journey in life is interior. It is a matter of growth, deepening, and an ever-greater surrender to the creative action of grace and love in our hearts.”

Brox notes the creative power of silence, and its necessity. She concludes with this thought:

Silence can seem like a luxury. Or the fraught world has labeled it that way. But from what I know of it, I would argue that silence is as necessary as the constitutionally guaranteed freedom of speech, which we so carefully guard and endlessly ponder, for it affirms the meaning of speech even as it provides a path to inner life, to beauty, observation and appreciation. It presents the opportunity for a true reckoning with the self, with external obligation, and with power.

The Contemplative Life

The Contemplative Life

Comments 0 Comment

Shortly before leaving the house on Saturday, I panicked about what books to bring.  I jettisoned the hefty library book, a novel scheduled for September book group. There will be plenty of time for it, and it hadn’t grabbed me yet.

I thought about packing a book I’d already read, a security blanket of sorts. But that seemed too unadventurous.

I ended up with Virgin Time: In Search of the Contemplative Life, by Patricia Hampl. It is part travelogue, part memoir and part spiritual exploration.

The contemplative life is what Hampl is after, but to get to it she takes a walking tour to Assisi, home of St. Francis.  The walking feeds the contemplation, and provides authentic moments like the one when a woman in a kerchief runs out to offer the pilgrims two bottles of her homemade wine, a gesture “a million years old, far beyond courtesy, rooted in ancient communion.”

“Walking allowed such timeless moments, making us slow-moving parts of the landscape we passed through. Maybe the world isn’t, at its daily heart, as modern as we tend to think. As we walked, it kept reverting to an ancient, abiding self.”

And it is in that “ancient, abiding self” that Hampl discovers — and perhaps all of us could find — the lives we are looking for.

Embracing the Puritans?

Embracing the Puritans?

Comments 0 Comment

I’m finishing up Marilynne Robinson’s book What Are We Doing Here? Throughout her career, Robinson has been fascinated by erasures and omissions, and in an essay titled “Our Public Conversation: How America Talks About Itself,” she asks us to rethink our Puritan heritage, its spirit of reformation, its genius for education and institution building.

Puritans get a bad rap, Robinson says, in so many words. Some of their greatest achievements have been forgotten, including a code called the Massachusetts Body of Liberties (1641) that anticipates the Bill of Rights. The abolition movement flowered in colleges founded by Puritans. There is much to appreciate about them. But they are not hip.

This latter point is my own opinion, and an extrapolation, but I make it because Robinson opens her essay by mentioning an article about herself in which she is described as “bioengineered to personify unhipness.”

She laughs off the characterization — figuring that it’s because she’s in her 70s, a Calvinist and lives in Iowa — but she takes seriously the fact that Americans are inclined to “find their way to some sheltering consensus that will tell them what to wear, what to eat, what to read, how to vote, what to think.”

Anyone watching the Democratic debates last week would be hard pressed to disagree with her.

(Picture of the Westminster Assembly by John Rogers Herbert, courtesy Wikipedia)