“There’s something dangerous about the boredom of teenage girls”

This is a quote from

Dare Me   by Megan Abbott.

I just finished listening to this novel ; downloaded it from the public library.  I listened to it because it is up for an Anthony Award for best mystery novel of the year. 

  The five nominees are:

Dare Me - Megan Abbott [Reagan Arthur]
The Trinity Game - Sean Chercover [Thomas & Mercer]
Gone Girl - Gillian Flynn [Crown]
The Beautiful Mystery - Louise Penny [Minotaur]
The Other Woman - Hank Phillippi Ryan [Forge]

I have also read/listened to Gone Girl, which I wrote about in an earlier entry, and The Beautiful Mystery, which I loved.  I haven’t been able to find the other two yet.

My vote would go to The Beautiful Mystery, without question. I love the way Louise Penny writes. I love her detective, Armand Gamache, his wife, his second in command, and the whole troupe of characters who populate Three Pines, a village in Quebec in which many of the novels are set. The Beautiful Mystery, however, is set in a trappist-like monastery far in the Canadian wilderness.  The novel is about Gregorian Chant, about monastery life, about jealousy and politics and love.  It is so far above the other two that I find it difficult to think of the three of them in the same category.

I listened compulsively to Dare Me, I confess. She’s quite a good writer. She takes a fairly ordinary plot and applies it to a topic no one seems to have treated: the culture of Cheer… cheerleaders.

I admit it: I am an old fogey. Fogie?  I remember the cheerleaders in my high school in the mid-sixties.

 ( these aren't from my high school, but a close approximation)

Then, I remember the cheerleaders at the little coed Catholic high school where I taught in the early eighties. The two groups didn’t seem that much different from each other.

The cheerleaders in this fictional high school are another order altogether. I am so afraid that cheerleaders are really like this today.  When I meet my university students next semester, I am going to ask them.  Is it really that bad?   I am so distanced from so much of youth culture. It can’t be any other way, really.  I don’t even watch television shows that might give me a clue; I’ve never seen “Glee,” for example, and I feel that “Cheer” must be the evil twin of “Glee.”

I’ve understood for a while that cheerleading has evolved into a real athletic enterprise – really, today, it is a form of gymnastics, with all the vigilant weight monitoring and rigorous exercise that that entails. But these girls go way beyond that.

The narrative voice is very convincing and lively. I found it even moreso because I listened to the novel. The dialogue is energetic, aggressive, violent, and unrelenting. 

This blurb appears on Megan Abbott’s web page: 

Gillian Flynn recommends Dare Me as one of her favorite books: "Lord of the Flies set in a high-school cheerleading squad. ... Tense, dark, and beautifully written."

I am not in the least surprised that Gillian Flynn ( author of Gone Girl) likes Dare Me.

The girls are so cruel to one another- vicious, really.  And the culture of texting exacerbates the malice.

The power plays between the evil Beth and the other characters just made my skin crawl.

The critic from Entertainment Weekly said this:

“What's exciting about Dare Me is how it makes that traditionally masculine genre [noir] feel distinctly female. It feels groundbreaking when Abbott takes noir conventions — loss of innocence, paranoia, the manipulative sexuality of newly independent women — and suggests that they're rooted in high school, deep in the hearts of all-American girls.”

To quote Kristen Sample in her review, "Abbott’s depiction of the world of a competitive cheerleading team is amazing.  Just as interesting as the question “Who killed the Sarge?” is the inner-workings of the team and the hierarchy, and fight for dominance between Beth and Coach...”

And the coach!!!

To portray a twenty-seven year old married woman and mother like this really disturbed me.  The narrator, one of the main cheerleaders, is too young to see the boundary transgressions that the coach commits:  smoking and drinking with her underage squad , inviting select members to her home, and ultimately involving the narrator in aiding and abetting her love affair with the Army recruiting guy!

The narrator has a huge “girl crush” on the coach, and never questions the ethics of any of the coach’s behavior.

The reviewer in the New York Times said:

“At its core, “Dare Me” reveals something very true about the consuming, sometimes ugly, nature of female friendships.”

That is certainly true of the characters in this book, but is it true about teenage girls, and twenty-something women, in 2013?  Say it isn’t so!

Time it was and what a time it was...

Graduation weekend at Mount Saint Mary's.  Baccalaureate Mass today. During the Mass, I was distracted by figuring out that I probably knew more members of this senior class than any other class I've ever had at the Mount.  Because of the courses I teach...  In these four years, I've had members of this class for Freshman Seminar, two rounds of Mod Civ, three rounds of Women of Faith, three rounds of Intro to Poetry, one round of Intro to Short Fiction, one round of Christian Spirituality, one round of Creative Writing, and one round of Poetry Writing.  And that may not be an accurate count!
I have loved this class - just a great group of human beings.  Very few grade grubbers or slackers.

Wish I had taken photos of them over the years, especially that group I had as Freshmen.  They were spectacular.

Also, on this day, I heard from my family back in my home town:  my cousin ( technically, my first cousin, once removed) contacted me to let me know that his aunt, my first cousin, died last night.

I hadn't even known she was sick.

She was diagnosed with leukemia on March 6, and died almost two months to the day. She died at home, on hospice.  She was 71.   This is the only photo I have of her, taken in 1984:

She's on the right, sitting with her mom... who died about 2007.  It's spooky to think they are both gone.  It's spooky to think that this cousin died so much younger than her mother or my mother or her father or my father.

A vivid memory of her took place when she was in the eighth grade and I was in the first grade, at Saint Agnes School.  I had sustained a wicked brush burn on my leg a few days before, and in the playground this particular day, while playing tag, I had knocked off the large scab and as a result had a lot of blood running down my leg.  Someone - probably the sister on recess duty - carried me in to the eighth grade classroom and sat me on the large high window sill. This cousin - my cousin Barbie -was right there, taking care of me.  I wasn't really very hurt, but the blood made it dramatic. I loved all the attention, especially hers.

I attended this woman's graduation from Cabrini College,  her wedding, held her firstborn son in my arms when he was a few weeks old, and then became friends with that same son when he was a freshman in college at the Citadel in Charleston when I was one year into my mission time in that city.  My care for that boy endeared me to Barbie, who always took me out to dinner with them when she and her husband visited their son. I also attended the wedding of Barbie's daughter sometime in the 1990'a.   I also attended the funeral of this same son in 2000. I also stayed at her home a number of times over these years when my parents no longer lived in West Chester.

I hadn't seen her in about a year, and didn't even know she was sick. But she was like that ---kept things quiet.   What a shock, and what a loss.  Another large piece of my family history dies with her, too. Many other small get-togethers over the years - her mother and my mother and she and I spending a Saturday together at Cape May, for example.


This death has really hit me hard.

Ryan Teitman

This past Friday, Ryan Teitman came to read his poetry to us at the Mount.  I loved his poetry!

Here is one of his poems, from his book   Litany for the City.   It also appeared in The Diagram,Issue 9.5:

ODE, ELEGY, AUBADE, PSALM

Ryan Teitman

1
The songbird that escapes
from a burning house
will build its nest
in the shape of a cage.

2
This is one thing
we know: song begs
for the places that make it
grow from seed to starling,

3
places that put the heart's hemlock
in an empty rowboat
and heave it from the shore.

4
We only praise what we cannot
keep: violin strings berried with rain,
teacups overflowing with brandywine,
radios sickened with static.

5
Glass tossed out with the tide
will come back smoother and stranger,
but never to the same person.

6
This is something we want
to know. The woman in love
never touches her ears.

7
The man in his house is always lost
without her.

8
Morning pulls light
from the dark like a boy
hoisting a trout from the lake
by its clean, pink gills.

9
When the woman escapes
from a burning house
she will know the path of the wind,

10
how it writes its scripture
in peach blossoms blown
into a baby's empty pram.

11
She'll feel it compose its words
against her body, against the night,
against the water, in an endless, artless psalm.

End of the semester busy-ness

Not much time to write these days.

The garden is in dire need of my attention... lilies of the valley are taking over everything. I don't know what happened to the Cardinal Flower.

Will try to get back in another day or so.

Who won the books?

Winners of the Big Poetry Giveaway from this blog:

Renee  of    http://hyacinthsbiscuits.blogspot.com/

  won  Evidence   Poems by Mary Oliver


Suki Poet of  Paint, Poems, and Ponderings   http://sukipoet.blogspot.com/

 won    my poetry book   Scattered Showers in a Clear Sky


Thanks to everyone who put their names in the hat!

May Songs

There are many.  Here is one of my favorites:   "Claudy Banks"

The Banks of Claudy   (Roud 266)

‘Twas on a fine summer morning, all in the month of May,
Down by a flowery garden where Betsy she did stray.
I overheard a female in sorrow to complain,
‘Twas all for her true lover who ploughed the raging main.

I went up to this fair maid and took her by surprise.
I owned she did not know me for I was in disguise.
I said ‘my pretty fair maid, my joy and heart’s delight,
How far have you to travel this dark and dreary night?’

‘Kind sir the way to Claudy Banks, if you would please to show,
And pity a maid in distraction, for I’ve so far to go.
I am in search of a young man and Johnny is his name,
And it’s on the Banks of Claudy I’m told he does remain.’

‘This is the Banks of Claudy, the very place you stand,
But don’t depend on Johnny, for he’s a false young man.
Oh don’t depend on Johnny, for he’ll not meet you here,
But come with me to yon green woods no danger need you fear.’

‘And it’s six long months I’m bitter, since Johnny left the shore.
He’s crossing the wild ocean where foaming billows roar.
He’s crossing the wild ocean for honour and for gain.
And I am told the ship was wrecked all on the coast of Spain.’

And when she heard those dreadful news, she fell in deep despair,
With a wringing of her hands and a tearing of her hair.
‘Since Johnny he has left me, no other man I’ll take,
But through lonesome glens and valleys, I’ll wander for his sake.’

Then when he heard her loyalty, he could no longer stand.
He took her in his arms, saying ‘Betsy I’m the man.
I am this faithless young man, the cause of all your pain,
But since we met on Claudy Banks, we’ll never part again.’


I'm looking on YouTube for the version I like - apparently these lyrics have been put to many musical settings.  When I find it, I'll post the link.

One Misty Moisty Morning

 It is , here today.

Song from Steeleye Span, a favorite group of mine back in the 1970's:

  One misty moisty morning when cloudy was the weather
  I met with an old man a-clothed all in leather 
 He was clothed all in leather with a cap beneath his chin 
Singing, “How do you do, how do you do and how do you do again?”
This rustic was a thresher as on his way he hide And with a leather bottle fast buckled by his side He wore no shirt upon his back but wool unto his skin Singing, “How do you do and how do you do and how do you do again?”
I went a little further and there I met a maid “A-going a-milking, a-milking, sir,” she said Then I began to compliment and she began to sing Saying, “How do you do, how do you do and how do you do again?”
 
I having time and leisure, I spent a vacant hour
  A-telling of my treasure while sitting in the bower 
 With many kind embraces I stroked her double chin 
 Singing, “How do you do, how do you do and how do you do again?”
 
I said that I would married be and she would be my bride 
And along we should not tarry and twenty things beside
  I'll plough and sow, reap and mow and you shall sit and spin
  Singing, “How do you do, how do you do and how do you do again?”
 
Her parents then consented, all parties were agreed 
 Her portion thirty shillings, we married were with speed
  Then will the piper he did play whilst others dance and sing 
 Saying, “How do you do, how do you do and how do you do again?”
 
Then lusty Ralph and Robin with many damsels gay 
 Did ride on Roan and Dobbin to celebrate the day 
 And when they met together their caps they off did fling 
 Singing, “How do you do and how do you do  
And how do you do and how do you do again?”

 

Here's a YouTube link if you'd like to hear them sing it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=heCWKiII29A

April Birth

Here's a poem I wrote sometime in the 1990's:

April Birth

I was born on a green day

with shoots of April green sparks

flashing in the trees.

Light green leaves pushing

white blossoms into flight,

having just arrived,

Olive green birds with white breasts

jumping from branch to branch.

The sun poured lime green smells

on the hands of the warm wind.

Grass green bugs began their march to summer.

I opened my tiny voice

and my newborn cry

was a green poem

to Tuesday afternoons.

Peony Moon

It was shining bright last night, and promises the same tonight.

wonderful painting:   "Peony Moon"   by Michelle Lee 


I love this name for the April full moon, which also goes by  Full Pink Moon , Full Sprouting Grass Moon, the Egg Moon and — among coastal tribes — the Full Fish Moon, when the shad come upstream to spawn.

here is a photo of last night's moon, from the Facebook page EarthSky:

and here's another artist's image : Large Peony with Moon,  by Veronica Winters:

The Peonies in my garden have very tight buds, and with this cool Spring, they don't look ready to bloom for a while... which is fine with me.  The profusion of Tulips, Lilies of the Valley, Ajuga, and Moss Phlox don't need any more competition .

Busy these days

Grading papers and correcting the proofs for my book.  The garden and its pile of mulch await me.

Birthday coming up.  Posting some childhood photos:

 

In these gorgeous days of April

the most delightful April weather I remember in many years,

This came today:

The Real One, with MY name on it.

I knew it was coming, but I confess it gave me pause.

All I could think of was poetry -- lines from poetry like these from Andrew Marvell:

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near.

Not to indulge in too much melodrama... but it did take me aback.  I never minded turning 40, or 50, or 60, but this milestone gives me pause.
Now my gift for both yesterday and today, and, hopefully, a few more days, is that a Red-headed Woodpecker is coming to my bedroom window to munch on the suet and the fruit and nut block. He is very skittish, but I have been able to see his wondrous red head.  It's a totally different red than that of the Cardinal, or the head of the Red-bellied Woodpecker.  It's a deep crimson.  This photo doesn't do it justice, though it's from the Cornell Lab, and is better than anything I could take:

 

Garden report

First, the bad news:  a pair of house finches have been trying for a while to build a nest in the concrete lattice wall by the back door; each time the nest material has fallen out. They, however, kept at it. This evening when I went out to inspect the garden, after yesterday's gale force winds and torrential rain, there, on the pavement, was the nest.  Empty. And there, on the other side of the door, were the smashed little eggs that had blown out of the nest as it came down. So that's one less finch family this Spring.

More bad news, but not so bad as the finch news:  The Groundhog is back and has excavated another hole, this time at the other end of the garden:

The next news item falls into the "I have work cut out for me" category.  The grounds guys delivered my mulch:

and, after that rain, everything is growing wildly; the lilies of the valley are taking over, and must be beaten back. The lambs-ears are nearly drowned in them:

The good news:  In the slanting light of this late afternoon/early evening, the tulips are so lovely:

Between Heaven and Mirth

Last evening, Fr. James Martin was on the campus where I teach.  He gave a great talk based on his book, Between Heaven and Mirth.  The message was that a sense of humor was part of being human, and that we need to allow a spirit of joy to permeate our religious practice.  Too many gloomy Christians.  He punctuated his talk with some really hilarious jokes, many of them on himself. The man could be a standup comedian!  We had a good crowd, among them my students from the first semester course on Christian Spirituality. I had used Martin's book  The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything  as one book in that course, and the students loved it.  I was so pleased that they came to his talk when they had long since finished the course!

one joke he told:

A man knocks on the door of a Franciscan church and asks a priest to pray a novena so that he might be able to afford a Lexus. “What’s a Lexus?” says the poverty-minded Franciscan. Frustrated, the man goes to a parish run by the Dominicans (the order, not the nationality). “Will you pray a novena so that I can afford a Lexus?” Says the Dominican: “What’s a Lexus?” Finally, the man figures he’ll go to the Jesuits, since they have a reputation for being so worldly. “Father,” he says to the priest, “do you know what a Lexus is?” The priest nods. “Good,” says the man. “Will you pray a novena that I can afford one?” “Sure,” says the Jesuit. “What’s a novena  ?

one more:

A Jesuit, a Dominican, and a Franciscan were walking along an old road, debating the greatness of their orders. Suddenly, an apparition of the Holy Family appeared in front of them, with Jesus in a manger and Mary and Joseph praying over him. The Franciscan fell on his face, overcome with awe at the sight of God born in such poverty. The Dominican fell to his knees, adoring the beautiful reflection of the Trinity and the Holy Family. The Jesuit walked up to Joseph, put his arm around his shoulder, and said, “So, have you thought about where to send him to school?”

Maybe you have to be Catholic to get these jokes, but the crowd last night roared with laughter at them.  

On this day, thirty-five years ago

I became a member of the Daughters of Charity of Saint Vincent de Paul.  In our parlance, I was incorporated into the Community - my vocation day.  Here's how I looked then, at age 30:

 No grey hair, and fifty pounds thinner.  Unbelievable.  That background, the tomb of Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton,located in the Basilica,  looks unchanged today.

Those almost two years as a novice -- in our parlance, "Seminary Sister" --- were tough ones for me.
But they helped me grow painfully in self knowledge and in community living skills, and in my relationship with God.

I am very glad it is now and not then, though.

In a Dream I Walked with God...

Dag Hammarskjold died in a plane crash 52 years ago. For younger readers, he was the Secretary General of the United Nations.  A book of his journal entries and insights, called Markings, has never been out of print since publication.  I have loved this book for a long time.

Here are some quotes from it:

 

“You wake from dreams of doom and--for a moment--you know: beyond all the noise and the gestures, the only real thing, love's calm unwavering flame in the half-light of an early dawn.”

“Forgiveness is the answer to the child’s dream of a miracle by which what is broken is made whole again, what is soiled is made clean again.”

“In a dream I walked with God through the deep places of creation; past walls that receded and gates that opened through hall after hall of silence, darkness and refreshment--the dwelling place of souls acquainted with light and warmth--until, around me, was an infinity into which we all flowed together and lived anew, like the rings made by raindrops falling upon wide expanses of calm dark waters.”

photo from the red horse blog.com