September Book Report: Jane Austen, A Life

This is my second reading of Claire Tomalin’s thorough and thoughtful book about the life of Jane Austen.  I’m your standard Austen-o-phile and I love all things Jane.  I first picked up this biography more than 10 years ago.  It’s a terrific accompaniment to the Austen novels but even more than that, Tomalin’s exceptionally well-researched book demonstrates over and over again how much the lives and stories of women have been neglected over the years.

That’s no news bulletin, but as a woman alive in 21st century, at a time when women can’t expect a seat at the table or anything near equality, I’m struck by all that is lost when women don’t get included.  In Tomalin’s story of Austen’s life, she researches the people around Austen in order to gain an understanding of Jane.  One of the things that becomes clear is just how much women’s lives in the 1800s were caught up (and regularly ended) in matters of childbirth.

As a woman born in the 20th century who is the mother of one (indulged!) child, it’s easy to take for granted the ways in which I was able to choose to have motherhood shape my life.  That’s a modern development; one that really unfolds in my lifetime.  Austen’s decision not to marry (and Tomalin certainly believes it was a choice), was in part about avoiding brood mare status and saving time for her writing.

But even that decision does not empower the life of Jane Austen.  As a woman of a certain class living in a time when compensation for work was a male privilege, Jane finds herself frequently at the whim of her father and then the brothers who are expected to support their widowed mother and unmarried sisters.  Even the idea of a home of her own (or even just a room!) would prove a struggle for Jane as she shuttled between relations for much of her young adult life.  Given her personal writings and her novels about the idea of home, one can only imagine how painful that existence must have been.

In the end, Tomalin’s biography wraps itself around many unanswered questions.  The feminist reader and historian in me recognizes that much of what we don’t know about Jane Austen is a function of her status as an unmarried woman of the 1880s.  That women today can expect much more is not lost in me; that we can still not expect equality is infuriating.  Jane Austen wrote impressive and powerful novels, stories that were not bestsellers in her day but live on in my lifetime as a virtual industry of their own.  It seems a tragedy that a woman of such talent and ability could not expect such admiration in her lifetime.

A System of Checks and Balances

It’s no secret that I never liked - or respected - Donald Trump.  Aware that he won the Electoral College but lost the popular vote by 3 million, I felt that he was a barely legitimate president, one whose term in office should be governed by a sense of the fragility of his hold on the White House. 

But from the outset of his term in office, Trump seemed utterly unwilling to acknowledge this reality, let alone govern as if it was important.  The national divide that was present on Election Day 2016 would only grow larger.  At this writing it seems a chasm we may never bridge.

I didn’t call for impeachment the day Trump took office and for some months afterward.  Though I was increasingly horrified by his Administration, and confident that he had earned impeachment through the emolument clause at minimum, I didn’t think impeachment was the answer.  I thought that checks and balances would work.  I found a partial answer in the Congressional elections of 2018, when Democrats and Nancy Pelosi took control of the House of Representatives.  I felt better, as if there might be some credible check on an increasingly incompetent and self-serving president. But I still withheld my support for impeachment.

It’s only been in the past few months, as Trump’s incompetencies have grown greater and more dangerous; as our national divide has followed, that I supported an impeachment investigation.  In my case, it’s been less about the emoluments clause or the obvious high crimes and misdemeanors than it has been Trump’s absolute unwillingness to acknowledge the limits on his power.  He’s a tyrant with authoritarian aspirations and no sense that there is a boundary to his authority.

And then came the Ukrainian phone call revelations.  None of it was surprising, though I’ll confess some shock at the GOP’s continued willingness to support this president and their party-above-national interest-position.  I understand that the House impeachment inquiry poses the risk of being political; that it’s unlikely to end with a Senate conviction.  At this juncture, that’s not the point.  Impeachment is political.  But so is our current crisis.

The point is that we have a Constitution that organizes, demands, and can only function effectively with checks and balances in practice.  The last three years has me fearful that the check and balance tradition has been smashed beyond repair.  A House investigation and impeachment inquiry are the only chance we have to restore the balance; too once again have a Constitutional government.  So I support the House impeachment inquiry in the strong belief that such an inquiry is the only way we can preserve the American system.

If that sounds dramatic, it is.  As a nation, we are at the crossroads.  If we wish to be a nation with Constitutional checks and balances, we must take action.  The option on the table is impeachment.  I support it.

Indian Summer

After some days in the 70s, Summer’s heat has returned in the last week.  That’s a chance for a few more tomatoes and zinnias and the garden is hard at work.  This week’s heat may give these tomatoes enough time to ripen.

There were a handful of cherry tomatoes and a few pretty zinnias.

The tomatoes were had for supper; the zinnias joined the Mason jar bouquet on the table.

I am ready for cooler weather but these Summer treats are always welcome.

Indian Summer

After some days in the 70s, Summer’s heat has returned in the last week.  That’s a chance for a few more tomatoes and zinnias and the garden is hard at work.  This week’s heat may give these tomatoes enough time to ripen.

While I wait, there were a handful of cherry tomatoes and a few zinnias ready to be picked.

The tomatoes were had for supper; the zinnias joined the Mason jar bouquet on the table.

If we can't yet have cooler weather, at least these Summer treats are sticking around.

Representation Matters

This week, with the death of Cokie Roberts, as I teach a diverse group of 7th graders about colonial society, I am reminded again how very much representation matters.  Roberts, a long-standing political reporter and commentator, was an enduring part of my world.  I listened to her on NPR and watched her on ABC news.  She always brought attention to women, especially women leaders, and gave me an abiding sense that women could matter in the political world.  

If that belief was ever tentative (and I don’t think it was), these days it’s foremost in my mind.  I raised a son who learned to value and enjoy women’s sports and I am proud that at the age of 19 he considers himself a feminist and an advocate for women.  I teach in diverse classes with 12 and 13 year old girls and boys; the girls coming of age in a society that regulates their bodies and is prone to underestimating their brains.  These years are formative and in my class I emphasize the empowerment of women.  I do this for the benefit of all of the students and I search for the examples of representation that show the truth of my words.

But for all of these efforts, it’s examples and representation that matters.  When we open our textbook and look at the picture of delegates to the Continental Congress as they contemplate declaring their independence, we mark who is missing.  We read Abbigail Adams’ letters to her husband, present at that meeting and prepared to ignore his wife’s request that he and his peers remember the ladies.  We don't forget the ladies.

I remind them all that someone must go first for the rest of us to follow.  I show them the Americans who made room for others and I emphasize the power of that small change.  And over and over again I remind them that representation matters.  Cokie Robert's passing is a loss for all of us.  I will always remember her with gratitude for the way she always showed me the enormous power of representation.

Early Fall

The backyard is where I first see the signs that the season is changing.  The apple and pear fruit trees lose their leaves first and then the hostas start to look peaked.  The dogwood tree begin to change;  the peach tree follows.  

Old Man Tree takes his time and moves in stages toward the fall.  As if aware that there’s no hurry, he won’t finish the job until the first of November, moving at a stately pace through the month of October.  These pictures were made after I had mowed the lawn and things look tidy.  When the morning light arrives, the once-lush grass has yellow leaves spilt all over.  They clean up when I mow but soon enough the supply returns, more with each cool morning.

Mother Nature prepares for her rest intentionally, moving toward the quiet beauty of Winter with splashes of Fall color that are splendid and lovely, inspiring me to look to my closet for a Fall sweater to wrap around my shoulders in the morning.   That’s happy!

Volunteer Gourd

Last Fall, toward the end of November, the neighborhood squirrels helped themselves to the gourds and pumpkins on my front porch, taking a few bites from each and then moving on for other items on the front porch buffet.  Before the month ended, the pumpkins and gourds were unceremoniously tossed off the porch into the flowerbed below, where they were left to rot over the winter.  I do this a lot, because this produce is good fertilizer.

This year, some of the seeds took root and in August, I noticed a squash vine clinging to a front yard bush.  I’m a curious gardener so I let it bloom to see what would appear.

Gourds.

A few of them, by the looks of things.  The vine is now clinging to several feet of bush, proudly showing the whole neighborhood what a messy gardener I sometimes am.  I’d be embarrassed, but the gourds are nice and I plan to add them to my October front porch display.  In this way, the squirrels can dine again and the cycle of garden life will b complete.

Bulletin Board

Today marks the close of the second week of school.  It’s Friday the 13th and a full moon, so someone in charge has a sense of humor.  By the end of next week, I’ll start to secretly wonder if I’ve contracted a serious medical condition.  Then I’ll realize it’s just my annual start-of-school exhaustion.  I’ll sleep a few extra hours and come October I’ll emerge on the other side, having built up some stamina for the school year.

Right now, my office is a wreck of lost sweatshirts and pencil cases; missing books and nameless folders.  Next week, I’ll get the mess in hand.  In the meantime, I come to school each day and admire my newly designed bulletin board.  It has pictures of things and people I love, examples of craft projects, a few inspirational words, and samples from my collection of buttons and stickers.  All year long, I collect the items that will make up the next year’s bulletin board.  I put it together just before school starts and it always makes me smile.

This year is no exception and that’s very happy.

Bookish

I start every summer with a pile of books to be read.  For the most part, I make steady progress through that pile, picking up a new read every week or so.  Books get added to the pile when the mood strikes; others are set aside for a different time.  The existence of a list of to-be-read books is a source of enduring happiness for me; a way of looking forward with ease in my heart.  I see it as a comfort; as a way of looking after myself.

Books are that way for me: comfortable friends who make life richer and happier.  Summer’s relaxed pace and long, warm days ensures that I have plenty of time to sit on the front porch and read.  Come September, mornings on the front porch are too dark to read.  If there is time when I get home, I will steal it on the porch with my current book.  But it’s not as dependable as it is in the Summer. and now it feels like a treat  In the busy days at the start of school, there’s no time to mourn the seasonal transition.  That waits for Winter, when I cozy under a blanket on the sofa and look out the front door to the porch, marveling at the hours I spent out there just a few months back and sometimes longing for the ease of days when I can step outside in flip flops without fear of frostbite.

Seasons change; my habits do not.  I read whenever I have the time.. There is less time when school is in session but I travel everywhere I can with my book. I grab the time that is available.  I maintain a list of books to be read and eagerly look forward to my next read.

That’s happy!

Jam Making

This past weekend, T and I decided to stir up some jam.  Usually, we make jam at the peak of strawberry season.  This year, that peak blew past us.  But there are still strawberries around and the prospect of cold weather without the consolation of fresh-tasting homemade summer jam was unthinkable, so we got to work.  Homemade jam is one of those projects that is always worth the effort.  We canned 7 pints this weekend and will make some more before the cool weather sets in for good.

That’s happy!

Warning!

Last week, I had cause to open a new bag of flour when I saw this warning.

What?

Seriously...what? Has it really come to this?  Since this is the case, we likely deserve our fate.

Leaves of Three I, Apparently, Did Not Let Be

My backyard is awash in volumes of poison ivy.  I know what it looks like and I take care.  Not always perfect care, because every summer I get a touch of poison ivy rash.  Usually, it itches uncomfortably but within a week, the rash has dried and I am feeling much better.  

Emphasis on usually.

Sometimes, it doesn’t get better and I need a few days of prednisone to clean things up.

And then there is my most recent exposure.  I knew my ankle had been brushed by poison ivy on Sunday, August 25th when I cut the grass and did some trimming of bushes in the yard.  I washed the spot and moved on.  Four days later, a rash emerged on my left arm.  And then all along my waistline.

A spot emerged on my face and neck.  

And then my chest.  

My ankle was a mess.

By Labor Day weekend, I was a walking itchy and scratchy advert.  And new breakouts kept appearing.  I took myself to the doctor and got some prednisone, first a shot and then six days worth of pills that would gradually taper off.  I also got a steroid cream to use.  At once, my symptoms began to ease.

But now, here at the end of the taper off, I am still getting new outbreaks.  Clearly the exposure was more than my ankle.  In fact, T saw a patch in the front yard where I had been trimming that I didn’t see at the time.  In all fairness to me, we’ve never had poison ivy in the front yard.  In all fairness to poison ivy, I have sometimes taken a cavalier attitude toward its presence.  

My last prednisone pill will be taken tomorrow.  At this rate, I’ve the notion that by Tuesday I am going to remain a very unwilling poison ivy subscriber, this time headed for round 2 of steroids.  Will I ever learn?

That’s a rhetorical question.

Close of the First Week

The first week of school is always a whirlwind of busy halls and energetic students; exciting competing with anxiety to determine who will rule the day.  At my school, the faculty are nearly as excited and that makes for happy and hopeful hallways.  A new school year always feels fresh and full of promise and in this way, I always welcome its arrival.  I am ready for something new.

Right on schedule, Mother Nature brought signs of Fall change.  On Monday, I sat on the back deck and when I looked up at the sky, I saw that old man tree has already begun to change his leaf colors.

Seasonal change is always pretty in my corner of New Jersey and this year is no exception.  Changing colors will help me to embrace the transition to school (and the need to wear shoes!).  Classes started on Tuesday; last night was Back to School Night, and today is Friday.  Sweet, blissful Friday.  That the weekend will be followed by more school is good news.  We’re back and that’s happy!

September Front Porch

September's front porch is a last cheer for summer’s beauty.  There is a sunflower flag because sunflowers always stand tall and cheerful as the summer comes to a close.

Most of the impatiens have grown weary of flowering but their leaves remain pretty and they cheer on the houseplants that set out here in the summer.  Soon, those plants will file inside to set in sunny windowsills near warm radiators.  But for now, they are in their glory, soaking up the last of the sunny, warm days, while my wooden village tucks around them.

I moved the ruffled pot of ivy to sit by the shefflura and the rocker.  This blue pot has been in my plant world since 1995, when I took it with me to Nebraska.  It’s crumbling apart and will likely return when it’s time for the plants to come inside.  It’s held many plants over the years and I’ll miss it when the cracks finally give way.

The front door impatiens continue to show off, issuing a happy greeting at the front door.  Whenever possible, I’ll find time to sit out here and enjoy the porch.  Cool mornings haven’t yet given way to cold days so there is still plenty of front porch sitting to be had.

This porch is a nice welcome home at the end of the day.  That’s happy!

Back to School 2019

For the last three nights, I’ve dreamt either that I was late to the first day of school or that I got to school only to that it was the first day but I had no plans for the classes I teach.  Last night, I had both dreams.  That can only mean one thing.

My school bag was packed up last night.  This morning, I’m wearing shoes and made an extra effort by putting on mascara and eyeliner.

That can only mean one thing: school is back in session.

I’ll welcome familiar and new middle schoolers this morning.  This year’s 7th grade will get their assigned seat and their first homework assignment.  There are familiar lessons and newly designed lessons on the horizon for them; I’m excited to think and talk about history with them. Even after all these years of teaching, the first day still feels like an exciting fresh start.  That's happy!

Here we go…….

Some Labor Day Thoughts

Ever since T named the smallest backyard bunny Herbert, I’ve been thinking about my grandfather, whose name was Herbert but who always went by the nickname “Bud.”  Bud was a lifelong democrat and Union man and today, Labor Day, it seems fitting to pause and think of him.

He was a mechanic who could fix nearly anything and helped teach me to drive a stick shift car (and parallel park virtually anything).  He liked a cold beer (or two or three) but never drank Coors, because Joseph Coors was a Union-busting, Republican-supporting millionaire and Bud was not a forgiving man on that front.  He despised Republicans, and I have an ever-lasting memory of him laughing when Nancy Reagan fell at the 1984 GOP convention.  He’d been recording the convention (!) and later on enjoyed rewinding to drop Nancy a few more times.

My Uncle David liked to harass Bud about politics and it could get heated when Dave would claim to be a Reagan-loving Republican man.  Such notions received little tolerance in Bud’s house and much like his wife would quiz newcomers to the family about their stance on the death penalty (she was opposed), he judged your intelligence and virtue based on your party registration.

These days, as Trump exploits the working man and our nations widening tolerance for racism, I think of my grandparents a great deal.  They would have been horrified by the rise of such politics and I suppose that says a lot about me and my family.  Our blood runs Democratic blue all the way and on this Labor Day I am grateful for that inheritance.  

September 1: Fairy Garden

The weeds along the line of the fairy garden fence never lost their access to abundant rain this summer and they’ve rather taken over.  There’s green everywhere in the yard; enough that it’s hard to believe Fall and September are at hand.

And yet, here we are.  There’ve been enough cool mornings to get the dogwood tree to think of the coming season.

The same is true for the peach tree.

Though the hostas don’t look bedraggled by the heat as they usually appear in August, they do look a bit tired.

Summer flew by and I can’t quite believe that Fall is at hand.  I’m never ready to say goodbye to flip flops; this year is no exception.  But tomorrow is Labor Day and Tuesday is the first day of school and just like that, I’m wearing shoes again and we’re off and running.  By this time next month, the fairies and I will be planning for their slumber season.  I’ve already stacked up some garden bulb catalogs to enjoy as a treat this back-to-school week and as September closes out, I will have ordered some bulbs for next Spring.  At least a few will be planted in this fairy patch.  Gardening always rewards advance planning and I like that.  

I especially love the seasons as they are changing and nothing is more lovely than the cooler mornings that signal Fall on the horizon.  The fairies and I are ready for the change.