Meanwhile, nations like China and India realized that with some changes of their own, they could compete in this new world. And so they started educating their children earlier and longer, with greater emphasis on math and science. They’re investing in research and new technologies. Just recently, China became the home to the world’s largest private solar research facility, and the world’s fastest computer….

And yet, as many as a quarter of our students aren’t even finishing high school. The quality of our math and science education lags behind many other nations. America has fallen to ninth in the proportion of young people with a college degree.

As the nation deals with unemployment and the lingering recession, we are all straining to see our way out. Obama’s SOTU suggested that, to him, the way forward lay in a renewed national focus on education in technology, science, and math. He pointed to the rapidly increasing economies of China and India, and their intense focus on math and tech fields beginning very early in life. He indicates that our lethargic math/ science/ tech education is partially to blame for the loss of jobs to other countries.

I am asking myself- is this the best solution? Or simply the most immediate? Do we want our nation to look like China or India? Or do we want innovators, entrepreneurs, forward thinking citizens, etc? (This is not to say that these do not exist in China/ India, only that the impetus is on the advancement of the sciences and with it the nation/ governing body rather than the advancement of the citizenry.) Does a nationalistic focus on the sciences resemble a type of servitude to a government?

I do not mean to be political about this, because I do not “follow” any party with particular vehemence. It’s just that it seems to me that the solution to our current “pickle” is far more complicated. We need to teach our students to think, to explore, to create. Some will choose science, some will choose art, some will choose business, and all be be of great inherent value. Isn’t that what freedom is?

Obama goes on to say…

…our students don’t just memorize equations, but answer questions like “What do you think of that idea? What would you change about the world? What do you want to be when you grow up?”

But I make my own observations (and I am no great thinker myself) of some of America’s most educated. Even they seem unable to deconstruct assumptions and examine why they think what they do. Then I read articles like this one about Rhodes Scholars, some of our nation’s very brightest. I think my point is that the answering of questions like “what would you change about the world?” are not what our teachers should be focused on. Instead they should be teaching students to keep asking these questions and keep examining what answers they may find.

Pushing the sciences does not teach this sort of engaged living. But teaching this sort of engagement could lead students into the sciences because it is their strength or talent, just as it might lead them to arts, or homemaking.

I guess it depends on one’s priorities. If you want a strong “nation” built on people, then focusing on the sciences is one way to beef-up the labor force needed to advance such an ideal. If instead you want a nation full of strong people, then critical thinking is, in my mind, a better route.

I know, I know…“How?”

We should all think on that….critically.

A word of warning: Some of this is legitimate research…much of it is my own musing, not particularly well referenced or double checked!

——

Way back in 1374 “liber” meant “free” and also “book”, a coincidence (some say*) that illustrates the entire point of the as-yet-to-be-founded Liberal Arts Education. In 1375, someone coined the word “liberal” as the adjective to “Liberal Arts” which were designated as those “objects of study worthy of a free person”.1 Its no wonder that class-ism has plagued the Liberal Arts for the last 636 years. The implication is that trade and practicable skills are below the free and that the liberal arts are worthy of study largely due to a particular type of uselessness. This concept of education did not originate here, but more likely with Aristotle.
This flies in the face of what we know to be the “why” behind the Liberal Education today. Today, we say that the mind is set free by knowing how to think, rather than what to think. In theory at least, we learn how a mathematician and scientist thinks, rather then memorizing the facts they discover or methodologies. In this there is a root of utilitarianism that I do not see in the original meaning of Liberal Arts.
That is not to suggest that today we denied the beauty of knowledge for its own sake, only that we sometimes feel compelled to dress it up in slightly less ostentation clothes. I think that we feel compelled to attribute usefulness in order to seem less aloof. Which is completely fair, despite being perhaps misguided. Shouldn’t we aspire that our society grant more people the chance to think useless thoughts rather than to hide in closets the fact that a few do? It is a great privilege to ponder such worthless questions as, “what if you were suddenly released from a cave wherein all your life you had watched shadows on the wall and known nothing else?”
When looked at in comparison to the other educational option of the day, the answer to preference seems rather clear. Back in 1375, if you weren’t liberally education, you would be lucky to have a trade. Starting at a young age, you would train to do one thing, and one thing only. There was no mid-life crisis involving a career change. Frequently you did the same thing your father and/or mother did and rarely learned about much else. Small wonder the stark class divides persisted as long as they did- there was nothing for them to talk about, hardly even a common language to bridge the gaping void.
This type of training was all the less fortunate could do to survive and remain comfortable- that is, stay out of the streets. Meanwhile, the elite class was able to pursue pointless musings, learning utterly useless information with which to make great conversation.
So, are you feeling better about your choice of education? Consider this- 635 years ago, technology was much the same as 535 years ago, or 735 years ago. In fact, change came so rarely and so slowly that a person was able to count on his/ her trade for a life time and the lifetimes of their children. In other words, training such as they had lent itself to a sort of low comfort and to survival. In contrast, today technologies change so rapidly and so pervasively that is it silly to assume that your first job will even remotely resemble the job you from which you will retire. Today, the liberal arts are a fail safe against the quickly changing society in which we live.
While still not what most people would call “useful”, liberal education does in fact provide a way to navigate a rather unpredictable life. In teaching one how to think, it has prepared us to do a bit of a dance. In encouraging us to stay thirsty for seemingly useless (but oh so attractive) knowledge, we perhaps accidentally stay up-to-date and cutting edge while those who go the more practical, vocationally drive route risk falling irrelevant during the frequent seismic shifts.
SO, perhaps someday those of us who took the less practical way will someday find that, in actuality, we took the wiser, wider path.
Now…if only those bills didn’t take so long to pay off.

——

*I’m not so sure. In a time when literacy was low and books largely unavailable, it seems to me that the ability to read and write would be a very precious sort of freedom.

1) Age- early in the book we learn that Karl has been exiled by his parents due his relations with a house maid who is atleast several years his senior. In his recounting of his seduction, he is more or less raped by the stronger older female and then punished by his parents when she turns up pregnant.

2) Governmental- on the ship, just prior to his arrival in America, Karl meets a stoker who is victimized by his supervisor. When Karl helps him make his case to the ship Captain, we discover the Captain to be  a man with little character. The Captain is less interested in justice than the show that the hapless Stoker provides and his own reputation.

3.) Parental- not unlike the situation with his parents, Karl is later exiled by his uncle/ guardian when Karl fails to obey a less than clear order to stay home rather than visit with friends.

4.) Employers- when Karl finds employment with a hotel, his lot seems to be improving. However, when he makes a mistake in dealing with a bad situation, he is fired by an employer without having adequate opportunity to voice his side of the story.

These motifs appear repeatedly and in all situations. At the “end” of the unfinished story, Karl arrives in the wild west. I cannot help but wonder where Kafka was headed with this tale. Would the wild west be an anarchist haven where less authority gave Karl the freedom he needed to thrive?

Or would Karl eventually have lost some of his naive noblesse?

He was the type of person for whom saying are coined, like “only the good die young”. He was inspirational, motivated, deeply compassionate. All the things that we loved about him also made him occasionally annoying. If you were being selfish, he would let you know in his own subtle way. I know that’s not the sort of thing people say about the dearly departed, but it seems more unfair to lie than to admit my own faults to my friend now in the afterlife- whatever it might be. He was Buddhist, I think, with an interest in native traditions. Or maybe its the other way around.

I hope he came back as a tree. They are about the most immortal and regal beings I can think of and he deserves the best.

While he and I were not what would be considered the closest of friends, he was someone I spent many hours talking with, discussing philosophy and religion, and generally trying to imagine our way into creating Utopian societies. Peace was our mutual passion. We went to parties together, took yoga classes together, hung with the same crowd, took similar classes, cared for the same causes. Despite all of this, or perhaps because of this, we were never Facebook friends. I know we both were somewhat resistant to the fad and, while we both had profiles, we were less than enthusiastic users. And so, in cyberworld, we never connected.

It bothers me now that there is no record of our relationship. Sure there are a few photos out there in the cyber-web where we smile at the camera with arms on each others’ shoulders. But, as I discovered when I heard the news of his tragedy, I could not leave my wishes and thoughts on his wall. I could not put my regards out there for other people to see. I wish I could, if only so his family could know that there is one more person out there who still thinks of him.

One small mercy is that his privacy settings were lax enough for me to see his wall. I could check in occasionally, to see who else had been thinking about him. It’s surreal, because it feels like I have stepped into some dusty corner of the internet. It’s like a shrine. I sent him a friend request even though I knew it was too late.

Sadly, today I wanted to stop by, which always required the convoluted approach of finding a mutual friend and searching their friend list for his profile. He was no where to be found. I guess Facebook determined he was gone. Wild thing to think about- it like the pronouncement has happened all over again. I actually cried again. I guess I hoped it would always be there.

Maybe someday I will find a tree that reminds me of him. If so, I will leave messages for him there. Until then R.A., rest in peace.

The mirror is dusty. Alice places her cheek against the cold glass and looks down along its surface. Where, she wonders, does all this dust come from? It appears to hover above its reflection, suspended by the clear glass. Her finger carves a faint hello. She steps back, moving from side to side, watching the dust dance in her wake. Dusting day was Tuesday, Today’s only Friday. Windows stay closed… She runs through her weekly cleaning routine, inventorying surfaces and functions. The dust must come from somewhere. She chastises herself while returning to her morning ablution.

Where was I? she seeks to find to the train of thought from before the dusty distraction. The toothpaste oozes onto the brush. Departure by 8:05am to beat the trash truck is on schedule… assuming Daniel is finished with breakfast by now. She bites down on the toothbrush, fighting the urge to “encourage” him to be on time. The bed is made, the dishes are washed. She brushes harder. Coffee is ready to go. If I am not through the light on Clifton and Calhoun by 8:09 am then…

She spits, rinses and inspects. Then what? She stops, noticing the slightly wide-eyed expression. She checks her pulse. A little too fast. Her throat is tight. Her stomach too. Then what? She imagines arriving to the office at 8:32am. Her boss stands over her desk, arms akimbo, frowning, staring. Two minutes late. She blinks at her reflection, relaxing. I will get there.

She picks up last night’s wash cloth and wipes down the basin, shining the faucet. She sinks into her expectations for the day. Mail the bills, utilities are due next week. Must not be late. Check in with the production company. Will my assistant be on time? Filing must be complete.

In the living room, Daniel picks up his guitar and begins singing Alice’s favorite song. Alice winces, throws the cloth in the hamper and heads for the living room. “Are you ready?” speaking over the music. He nods, never losing the lyrics. Don’t fuss, don’t nag. She checks the clock so he sees. He closes his eyes and sings. His books aren’t packed, he’s not ready.

Alice returns to the mirror. She opens her makeup case, chooses the eyeshadow that matches her top. Begins applying foundation. Do I have everything for dinner? Meat is thawing in the fridge. I hate going to the store at 5pm. I get home at 5:20pm, change clothes, run for 1 hour. She smooths away the lines at her chin and jaw. Daniel is home at 6:30, hungry by 7pm. He’ll eat junk if dinner’s not ready. Will it be? Carefully, eyeliner is applied. If I don’t run, I will only have gone twice this week. I’m getting fat. My clothes won’t fit. Daniel is repeating the chorus in the living room. Playing for 7 minutes. I could go over lunch break. But I’ll only get 30 minutes of running in and then no lunch. I must go after work. She sets the eyeliner down, checking the clock. 28 minutes to go. She reaches for shadow and stops, catching her reflection. Messy eyebrows. She straightens them. Furrowed. She relaxes her face. I’ll run tonight, Daniel will be fine. Probably won’t even notice. Daniel finishes the song. Alice leans into the living room. He still sits atop the stool, guitar in hand, basking in the hanging notes.

She runs into the kitchen, grabs the lunches that she made the night before out of the fridge and drops them into their respective bags. Heading back to her mirror, she picks up her coffee mug and sips. I wish I could stay home all day, listen to Daniel’s music. Will he pass the bar next summer? Will he find a good job? She picks up her brushes and pushes the dark shade into the crease above her eye. What will I do next year? Something I love. I cannot wait to do something I love. She switches eyes. That’s ridiculous. Why wait? I am doing something I love. Am I happy? She runs again through the day that awaits her at the office. She sighs. Daniel passes the door on his way to the kitchen, smiling at her routine. The glimpse in the mirror makes Alice smile too. Yes, I’m here with him. We are making a life. We are happy.

She dabs a lighter shade into the corners of her eyes. Stepping back, she observes. Two and a half years in law school, after moving across the country. We have everything we need. We may start a family. She projects her future, the choices ahead and those made in the past. Daniel is in the kitchen pouring a second cup. “I’ll take some more.” He brings in the pot and cream. She settles a curl of hair back on his head.

She checks her nails and sips her coffee. Siting on the edge of the edge of the bed, she pulls on her stockings. No regrets. She sits up, sips her coffee. Enjoying it. Daniel knows how much cream she likes. Daniel is packing his bag in the office.

She returns to the mirror, picking up the powder compact. She pats it onto her face. Leaning in close she checks the texture of her skin. She watches as the tiny particles of powder float away from her, settling on the mirror.

My sister has been many things to me- rival, friend, underling, foil, confidant, comedian, annoying, scapegoat, co-conspirator. I’ve heard it said that sisters are a bit of childhood that we never loose. I’ve read that two sisters are likely to be more related than another sibling combination. Yes, there truly is no relationship like the sister-sister bond.

It got me thinking about the evolution of our relationship. I (vaguely) remember my mother’s pregnancy though these memories are overshadowed by memories of my parent’s divorce. When Phoebe arrived, she was quickly my distraction from painful and confusing circumstance. I clearly remember climbing into my mother’s hospital bed to snuggle next to her while she held my brand new, squirming and pink little sis. While I was not always appreciative of the distraction she was to my mother, she meant more to me than almost anything else in the world. She became my partner in ways that I have only recently come to understand.

As we grew up, we went through all the difficulties together- the difficulties of divorced parents who perhaps still loved each other, that whole ‘cult thing’, money troubles, the sadness of dad’s remarriage, the challenge of my mother’s remarriage, the social alienation that came from a small town/ church where we never totally fit in, loosing grandparents who raised us, loosing places we considered home, loosing pets in marital upheaval, the invasion of step brothers, etc. While I do believe that my parents and guardians sympathized, my sister actually experienced it along side me; she knew what was happening in a way that no one else would ever be able to. She was also my project- through all the circumstances, she gave me someone to think about other than myself. I felt that I could look after her, thus alienating myself from the pain associated. I only hope that she was able to find such relief in me or elsewhere.

This is not to say that we were always holding hands and singing pretty songs together. We fought like banshees, and I rarely allowed her (or anyone) to actually touch me for years after the age of 8. We were not uncommon in that regard. At the same time, fighting her was frequently like fighting with myself (why didn’t Freud explore sibling relationships more?). I would hate her for a moment, but so quickly the anger would disappear and we would return to playing any number of games. My mother was frequently exasperated by this behavior. Together we imagined worlds, and languages. I learned to read lips so that we could communicate over distances without others hearing us. (This also came in handy when eves-dropping on the ‘rents!) We had our secret hiding spots that we imagined no one else knew about. We each read the others diary (with or without permission). We planned adventures. In short we did everything together.

I have one major regret where my sister is concerned.

Pheebs, I feel I let you down when I went away to college and left you all alone. Had I seen that future, I would have gone back to High School just so you would too, just so you would not have to take that step alone. I left you to deal with the drama of step-parents, grandma’s dementia and school all in that one step I took in leaving home. While I say all this with a big sister’s guilt, I think you handled it all with immense style and came out of Wharton with more poise and self-awareness than I had ever given you credit for before that. Everything worked out just fine.

You are the best sister a big sister could ever ask for, despite all the poking and aggravation you caused me as a child. I’m glad you were there to take care of me when I thought I was taking care of you. I think you kept me sane when I might have just gone bonkers. I love that you were there to see my life and that I was there to see yours. Thanks for lots of happiness and love!

- Your Sister

PS- Thanks to mom and dad for that one gift in parting. I mean that with complete sincerity and appreciation for the difficulties you both went through at that time. While it might have made the separation harder on the two of you, it made a lifetime of difference for me.

I am looking forward to a change of seasons in my own life. For (almost!) three years, everything has revolved around the Law School Beast. My man will graduate in May and we will begin a transition. More than likely it will not be the swiftest of transitions.

Our plan is to move back straight away so that he can begin prepping for the Bar Exam and job hunting. Only once he finds a job will we be able to determine our next place of residence. In that lengthy “meanwhile”, we will be living with one parent or the other and making the best of it. While I have a fantastic relationship with both his family and my own…well, there is a time when even the strongest ties become strained.

Nothing is a waste of time if you use the experience wisely.
-   Rodin

As I look forward to this next step in my life, I am trying to plan what comes next for me. Specifically, am I ready to go back to school, or to have children, or to start a business or some combination of these? While a lot is riding on unpredictable variables, I am trying to discern which options fit me now, which ones are vestiges of a former life, and which will be better realized even farther down the road.

So, I am preparing to study up on a particular business idea. Winter is the perfect time for me to get cozy while typing up a Business Plan. Meanwhile, I need to make some Pumpkin Mole and enjoy the present in all its golden glory.

To any readers out there, what does your future hold? What do you  hope to achieve in the next year or two?

Pom Love from Persia

I want to share one of the most amazing recipes in the history of the world. And this is (probably) pretty old. Its one that my man taught me in his venture to turn me Persian. And for this recipe, I do my best.

Fesanjan is not difficult, but does take a while, though its well worth the wait. This makes enough for two people.

You need:
cooking oil
1/2 red onion
tumeric or curry powder (to taste)
2 chicken breasts (cut into chunks for stewing)
Salt and Pepper
1/3 Lbs walnuts, processed to crumbly texture
Pomegranate juice (2 cups) or paste (2 Tblsp)
pinch of sugar

Directions:

Bring a kettle of water to boil.

In a large pot (I use my dutch oven), heat the oil. When hot, saute the onions until beginning to soften. Add chicken, S&P to taste, and cook over med-high heat until beginning to turn golden on edges.
Pour in enough of the boiling water to just cover the chicken pieces. Immediately add the processed walnuts and stir to combine. Cover and simmer for about an hour. The oil should begin to cook out of walnuts and will separate on top of stew.
Pour in the pomegranate juice or paste. If using paste, you may need to add more boiling water. There should be enough liquid to cover the chicken by about an inch. If you want to add some prunes, do so now.
Simmer again for about 45min, or until the liquid reduces to a thick syrup. Serve with Persian Rice and enjoy. Try not to eat too much!

This is what I found, and I got to say, this works!
http://www.ageless.co.za/facialeye.htm

I have come to the idea that its the cadence and timing of a life that makes it beautiful. Whether its an art or a skill, or even a touch of prescience, the habitant with a sense for the rhythm surrounding them is able to lead a life that is rich and full and beautiful.

I have been trying to unravel this rare virtue and find that when I make certain adjustments to my own rhythm, my life feels more beautiful. One of these adjustments has been to slow down…I have made a very conscious effort to live more completely in the present moment. (this seems absolutely vital) rather than continually running to the next thing or rehashing what happened “back there”.

The first adjustment, and one that has made a considerable impact, is to get up earlier. It allows me to have slow, calm mornings and to arrange my day deliberately. I feel more collected, more present, and consequently, more beautiful. I know I am more pleasant to be around.

Another adjustment, has been learning to say “no”. Frequently I allow myself to take on tasks or projects that must be turned around NOW. I have always felt that if my boss was asking me to do something, then it must be possible or else she/he would not ask. As I get older though, I am learning that frequently this is not the case. When they are asking then I have the power to tell them that I do not think the given task is possible in that amount of time. I can offer suggestions or assist in some other way, but learning to say no has given me a certain amount of stability in my present that is calming and reassuring.

"The Book of Courtesans" by Susan Griffin

In my search to understand a beautiful life, I have been looking for examples. I came across the Courtesans of a different time. These were women with exquisitely beautiful lives. I am enjoying Susan Griffin’s “The Book of Courtesans”.In it she speaks directly to the magnetism that flawless “timing” can create around a person. As she presents it, it was one of the tools that made some of the more legendary courtesans so successful. While the title and class of courtesan is largely lost, we can perhaps learn a thing or two from the women who created their own niche in a male dominated society and, in doing so, helped to bring down the male dominated societies under which they lived.