VA for ERA!

VA for ERA!

Yesterday, Virginia became the 38th state to pass the Equal Rights Amendment. Three-quarters of the states have now signaled their intent to make equal rights for women a permanent part of the U.S. Constitution.

From all reports it was a jubilant day in Richmond. Cheers erupted, and the packed gallery went wild. Say what you will about this being too little, too late, I’m proud of my state for this vote, proud of the women who persevered to bring it to the floor.

I see Virginia as the last, proud runner, the one who keeps her pace even as others streak by only to falter later. I see her now huffing and puffing as she crosses the finish line, long after everyone else has gone home. Maybe her achievement will be discredited — but she knows what she has done. She can hold her head high.

(Photo: Courtesy Virginia Public Radio)

Million Dollar Baby

Million Dollar Baby

As a proud English major I was delighted to read yesterday of a study that finds a liberal arts education provides a $1 million median return on investment 40 years after enrollment.

It doesn’t surprise me, though. I’ve always believed that learning how to think, analyze and write is just as important as learning how to build a resume.

But I also agree with one of the educators interviewed for an article reporting on the study — that education is not about earnings potential or return on investment. Education is its own reward.

I’m grateful that my English major has “paid off,” that I’ve been able to earn a living with it as a teacher, writer and editor. But most of all I’m grateful that I’ve been able to keep learning through the years. That’s the greatest gift of all.

The Art of Grace

The Art of Grace

Sarah Kaufman’s book The Art of Grace begins with a paean to Cary Grant. I like Grant as much as the next person. I especially like to watch him on screen. I wasn’t sure I wanted to read a whole book about him, but that was just fine, because The Art of Grace is about much more than Cary Grant, although it holds up his charm and ease as a visual representation of the topic at hand.

Cary Grant was not only pleasing to look at, he was also easy to be with. He made others feel good — even when they spilled a glass of red wine in his lap. He was one of those people.

But we can have what those people have. Even the klutziest and most awkward among us can become graceful, Kaufman says. And while the best way to understand what she means is to read her book, there is a cheat sheet at the end. I’ve been referring to it often:

1  Slow down and plan, there’s no way to be graceful when you’re rushing.
2  Practice tolerance and compassion, take time to listen and understand.
3  Make room for others—on the sidewalk, at the bus stop, etc.
4  Strive to make things easy for people, even in small ways.
5  Make things easy for yourself. Be easily pleased. Accept compliments, take a seat on the bus, embrace any kindness. This is graciousness and is a gift for someone else.
6  Lighten your load, shed painful shoes, heavy backpacks, etc.
7 Take care of your body, the more you move the better you’ll move and better you’ll feel.
8  Practice extreme noticing. Look for grace where you least expect it.
9  Be generous. It’s a lovely thing to anticipate and fulfill someone’s hopes.
10 Enjoy, raise a glass, as Lionel Barrymore did in “Grand Hotel,” “to our magnificent, brief, dangerous life – and the courage to live it.”
Travel On!

Travel On!

This morning on the way to work I opened yesterday’s New York Times travel section with its cover story on 52 places to visit in 2020. It’s a wonder I made it into the office. I could totally have seen myself looking up at National Airport or Eisenhower Avenue, having sailed past my stop, salivating over a double-page spread photograph of the Lake District.

I’m not a bucket-list kind of person. I love to travel but am more of an “I’ll-take-whatever-I-can-get” kind of person, and when reading a luscious travel section, as I was this morning, I pretty much want to go to everyplace I see — except, maybe, Richmond, Va., — it’s too close!

But articles like these do us a great service, I think. They simulate the imagination, they lead us to research the spots that look interesting, and, who knows, they might even be the first nudge that gets us to Tajikistan or Slovenia or the British Virgin Islands.

It’s a brand new year, a brand new decade. Travel on!

(If you’d told me in 2010 that I would visit Bangladesh, above, in 2017 … I wouldn’t have believed it!)

Walking Tall

Walking Tall

It was an aha moment made possible by a liberal arts education, and it happened in the biology lab. While dissecting the brain of a fetal pig I came across the pineal gland, located between the two hemispheres and thought by some (including Descartes) to be the seat of the soul. I had just been reading Descartes in my philosophy class, and the fact that I was now seeing that very gland (albeit a tiny porcine version of it) made my heart skip a beat.

I still pay attention to things like this, strange connections and coincidences when the fates seem to be saying, listen up … this is important.

What I’ve been noting lately — both from Becca, the physical therapist I’ve been seeing, and reading in Sarah Kaufamn’s The Art of Grace (more later about this fine book) — is the importance of good posture.

Posture is a foundation for moving gracefully, Kaufman writes, and good posture provides an uplifting feeling. This was seconded by Becca, who tells me that in the process of tightening my core I should concentrate on being pulled up, that this will counteract a tendency to collapse in the midsection that can irritate the spine and cause sciatic flare-ups.

“If you watch people walk,” Kaufman writes, “most of us sink into our hips. … There should be a comfortable tension in the torso, lifting the abdomen and hips against gravity while helping relax and easing shoulders down slightly.”

The fates have spoken  — and I’m trying to walk tall.

Blank Slate

Blank Slate

I’ve started off the new year with almost as much clutter as before — with one notable exception: I cleared off one counter in the kitchen. I banished the bread box, moved the canisters and corralled the papers. Which means I begin 2020 with one clean sweep of vintage Formica.

I’m not sure why I did this, but there must be a deep-seated need to begin the year with a blank slate, to clear the way for 12 more months of experiences … and stuff.

Nature abhors a vacuum, of course, especially in this house, and things are constantly piling up on the counter: newspapers, mail, glasses, crumbs. But so far nothing I can’t dispatch quickly to its intended spot or to the recycling bin.

This won’t last long, I know. The house in general is full to bursting. There’s a warren of boxes in the basement, and a vanity and bathtub in the garage … but here in my kitchen, at this very moment, there is a lovely open countertop. And I’m going to keep it that way as long as I can.

Little Women

Little Women

We were at least 20 or 30 minutes into the new film version of “Little Women” before Jo uttered the famous first line: “Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents.” But the disjointed telling of Louisa May Alcott’s tale is one of my few quibbles with this lovely new movie.

What a moral world Louisa May Alcott has created for us in Little Women, and what a fulsome rendition of it director Greta Gerwig has brought to life in this new adaptation. Seeing it with one of my own “little women,” I thought about the world it evokes and the world she and her sisters inhabit — a world where personal sacrifices seem as out of place as dance cards and turned collars.

I devoured Alcott books as a girl and took their lessons to heart. They are simple and old-fashioned — be kind, work hard, think of others and not just yourself — but as difficult to follow now as they were then. It’s not as if the modern world doesn’t celebrate these virtues too, but the concept of self-improvement, that we are pilgrims on a moral journey, often seems lost in bits and bytes and likes.

Being immersed in an earlier time for two hours, albeit glamorized and spit-polished, made me realize what we have lost. It is much indeed.


(Photo: “Little Women,” Sony Pictures)

Whiff of a Resolution

Whiff of a Resolution

At this time of year ought we to be skeptical of the new behaviors we see in others? Was it my imagination or did the energetic jogger I noticed on the street the other day look down a bit sheepishly? Did he realize what I was thinking, that I was wondering whether he’ll be running this time next month?

And to use myself as an example, will the perennial “don’t worry, be happy” resolution prompt people to think “Hmmmm …. she sure seems cheerful … there’s a whiff of a resolution about her?” Probably not, of course. People aren’t thinking about much other than their own concerns, understandably.

If resolutions are even made anymore, then this time of year ought to witness some of the kindest and gentlest of interactions, both in person and in traffic. With the exception of the dieters, of course. They are allowed to be cranky.

For us resolution-makers whose earnest attempts invite knowing smiles or arched eyebrows, let’s just plow on. Yes, there may be whiff of a resolution about us … but that’s just the aroma of change.

Flip Side

Flip Side

Washington, D.C., had its first official snow day yesterday, with a quick-moving and more-powerful-than-anticipated storm closing federal government offices and sending commuters and school kids out on deteriorating roads.

It was a chaotic scene that’s now replaced by the peacefulness of a snow-crusted Wednesday morning. I’m working in front of a window with the transformed world spread out before me. Every limb and branch is coated in white with crows providing the contrast. When birds land on a snow-covered limb, a bit of the white stuff falls to the ground in a small clump, creating a second gentle snowfall.

I’m not a skier or skater. Walking and shoveling are the occupations that get me out into the elements. But I love these snowscapes just the same. They are a monochromatic, matte version of the usual scenery, a flip side, so to speak.

Absolutely Ridiculous!

Absolutely Ridiculous!

Early January requires a sense of humor, I’ve decided. Holidays behind us, long nights and bad weather ahead, we must cultivate a lighter way of looking at things. This does not come easily — especially with the doom and gloom that come to us regularly from the airwaves and our phones.

Watching comedies helps. So does talking to upbeat people, animals (though they seldom talk back) or, in a pinch, to one’s self (again, talking back seldom happens, or at least let’s hope that it doesn’t).

The right kind of book can also do the trick. The Salt Path, which I just finished, is one example; of course there are thousands of them. And then there is noticing the silly and ridiculous details of daily life. That works best of all.