THE SPOKEN WORD

If memory serves me biographers of William Shakespeare, at least one English professor and several movie characters all conceded that poetry was written to be heard not read. When first introduced to poetry, many like Robin William’s students in “Dead Poet’s Society,” groan when they see a thick anthology on their teacher's desk, dreading the analysis of iambic pentameter and couplets. But in an inspired English class. students, such as those in the movie, needn’t worry.

I was raised in a more oral tradition. We had often heard readings by poets from many cultures, seen Shakespeare’s plays and film adaptations long before I began studying poetry in school. You see, my mother and father didn’t go to college and had haphazard schooling. Dad did go to the American Academy for Dramatic Arts in New York City for one year, then taught English and Drama at a secondary school in upstate New York, where he would he meet and marry Mom.

Mother, the always humble intellect, wrote a Greek play in free verse when she was eleven years old (she couldn't repeat the feat and sadly the work was lost in storage after the Great Depression hit). My Mom also spoke conversational French and Italian from living in Europe before the Depression. She attended a variety of schools until thrust in the working world because of my grandmother's debts. Then Mother would often read on her own the great writers and poets, as well as attend multiple lectures in New York when she could. Years later, Mom would sing French songs and read French stories to me. Both parents were eloquent public speakers; hearing my father read bedtime stories aloud never got boring. Mom loved poetry. Dad was more reluctant. However, their enthusiasm for the spoken word never wavered.

Conversely, my early English teachers tried, unsuccessfully, to go by the book, parsing every line of Shakespeare’s works, T.S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Songs from the Portuguese, etc. When we got to Emily Dickinson, I threw in the towel, and barely passed English that term (1/6 in Junior High, a momentary blemish). What saved me from becoming a “versa-raptor”?(My term for one who dislikes poetry.) An English teacher in high school who believed in playing records, yes the vinyl ones, having his students read aloud or watching movies to give us visual and aural reinforcement of the written verse. Mr. Ingraham also wrote his semester reports adding a quote from Shakespeare particularly suited to his comments, no doubt from his head as he would recite Shakespeare's verse in class. He restored my admiration for poetry and laid the foundation for my writing. 

Later, two events reinforced that love of the spoken word. One summer day walking by St. Bartholemew’s Episcopal Church in New York, I happened to notice a sign: FREE. Jeremy Irons Reads His Favorites, at 12:00 pm. I looked at my watch, 11:45 am, and sprinted inside. Most of the pews had already been filled. I didn’t care. I took my place off-center and couldn’t believe my luck. The English actor had chosen several morsels, including lines from Pinter’s plays, Shakespeare soliloquies and D.H. Lawrence’s poetry, including “The Elephant Is Slow to Mate,” a favorite of mine. Spurred on by an adored professor from college, I had read everything D.H. Lawrence wrote. I listened to Irons' every nuance, each word as if new. In my mind, I can still hear his inflection, cadence, crisp articulation and pure joy.

I wavered from regularly reading or listening to verse for a few years until the inauguration of President Bill Clinton. Along with my mother, we watched the introductions until writer and poet, Maya Angelou, approached the podium. Not surprising, Mom knew of Angelou’s work. Angelou had achieved renown through her memoir, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.  Mom and I sat entranced: Angelou's cadence, inflection, performance, all came together. She mixed serious, societal commentary, using metaphor, and jubilant resolution. When she finished, I shook my head and watched my mother. She continued to watch the screen as Angelou was escorted back to her seat and Clinton stood up to hug the majestic lady. “Mom, wasn’t she magnificent?” I bellowed. My mother said simply: “Exquisite.” Maya Angelou had left my mother speechless, a major victory.

How fitting that an actor from a rich oral tradition and an actress, singer, poet from an equally rich oral history would have shared formative moments in my life. I’ll never forget Jeremy Irons’ lustrous voice and Maya Angelou’s proud resonance. And, where the British, historical precedent of English Literature, particularly in poetry, has waned, the American voice continues, even with the passing of one of our finest songbirds.

OVERCOMING THE INVISIBLE

It's what we can't see that could hurt us. That's my adage for today. Radiators that go bump in the night. Flapping wings of bats in the dark. Cruel schoolchildren that harass. Unspoken derogatory remarks that we know emanate from acquaintances or co-workers who avoid confrontation. From childhood to adulthood, layer upon layer of imagined terrors and snarly slights amass. In some, these imaginings cause neuroses, insecurities that may lead to therapy or constructive outlets. In others, the consequences are more severe. A dangerous mindset develops with denial, suppression of imagination, or overlooking the unknown. Sadly, even with intervention, shunning of the mentally ill by society often brings more violent responses.

Today, I'll return, briefly, to an earlier argument I've made about mental illness and gun legislation. Then, I will look at how those with chronic physical illnesses, often invisible to the untrained eye, who are dismissed as unproductive contributors to society. There is a thread that connects these two issues: an inability to recognize and give credence to the invisible.

The NRA obsessively quotes the "right to bear arms," but what they will not admit is that what they can't see could hurt them. Countries, including Canada, England and recently Australia, Indonesia and Thailand, have enacted strict gun legislation. So, why does the U.S. Congress kowtow to the NRA? For two reasons: first the historical precedents laid down in the Constitution and weighed down by Conservatism that hasn't budged from the beginning. Second, the NRA makes the argument that even with gun laws, people such as the latest mentally ill shooter in Santa Barbara, would find ways around the restrictions.

You see their argument is that no one could predict if a person will snap, and arguably, most psychiatrists would be hard-pressed to disagree. What brings depression and social anxiety to one child, elicits violent anger from another--almost always, in the case of mass shootings and serial killers, boys or men. To those NRA supporters against gun control, without knowing who the enemy is, how can you defend innocent victims from violence by allowing easy access to guns?

And to address the NRA's latest argument that potential shooters would "get around" gun laws,consider gun smugglers. The NRA doesn't appear to care who gets the arms, only that the organization enable the guns to be sold. FBI experts have said that smuggled guns from this country have often been used against American soldiers. Giving anyone access to guns only enables potential shooters to use those guns on innocent bystanders. Just as smugglers use arms against our law enforcers and soldiers.

Yes, loyal readers, I've written about mental illness and violence in America before (read my earlier post: Let's March to a Different Drummer), so I'll move on to my next point. When will geneticists begin to correct the gene that propels men, especially, to overlook what they can't see in front of them? Not only that mysteriously vanished mustard bottle or sandwich meat in the refrigerator, but markers that even trained professionals often miss because they can't immediately see the symptoms, only relying on blood tests to support their diagnoses.

Tests aren't the only answer. Looking at the entire package, the whole picture is the first step. Medicine reacts to violent attacks, as with the Boston Marathon bombings without blinking. But doctors, sometimes for many years, are unable to detect or worse give credence to diseases that aren't obviously symptomatic, such as Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME) a.k.a. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS). According to the CDC, Center for Disease Control:

Chronic fatigue syndrome, or CFS, is a debilitating and complex disorder characterized by profound fatigue that is not improved by bed rest and that may be worsened by physical or mental activity. Symptoms affect several body systems and may include weakness, muscle pain, impaired memory and/or mental concentration, and insomnia, which can result in reduced participation in daily activities.

For those naysayers who have already closed their minds to the illness, if you have read the books Seabiscuit or Unbroken, written by Laura Hillenbrand, or know of them from the former's film adaptation and the latter's soon-to-be released  movie, you may be surprised to learn that Hillenbrand suffers from acute CFS. If you look at her book jacket or the few publicity photos released, she appears to be a beautiful, healthy individual. How could she be ill?

Well, even doctors are quick to say, "There's nothing wrong with you," implying mental neuroses. Funny, but I recall vividly seeing an episode of "The Golden Girls," with Dorothy (the late Bea Arthur) being humiliated by so-called experts who say there is nothing wrong with her, until she finds a specialist who believes her. This episode aired in 1989. Did you know that Susan Harris, the creator of "Soap" and "The Golden Girls" has CFS? Her illness kept her from actively participating in tapings. Men who have been diagnosed include Michael Crawford, "Phantom of the Opera," and producer, David Puttnam, "Chariots of Fire."

The disease, like Parkinson's, MS, and other chronic illnesses has a continuum: from functional CFS sufferers who work a full day then collapse at night, to those who have remissions or recovery such as Cher (Yes, that "Cher"), to those who have learned to pace themselves and live with the day-to-day disruptive fatigue that sometimes severely curtails their lifestyles.

So, for you men and women out there who in your eyes refuse to see that invisible diseases exist, if you choose to watch the highly anticipated film , "Unbroken," think about its director, Angelina Jolie, and the hero, Louis Zamperini, of the story. Angelina Jolie, who when photographed always looks beautiful, has carried with her the genes for breast cancer and ovarian cancer, prompting her proactive, preventative approach to stop the latent diseases in their tracks. And, think about the PTSD that Louis Zamperini, understandably has suffered, though not immediately discovered or diagnosed until years later. Think, again, about the author, Laura Hillenbrand, who wrote the book, "Unbroken" who rarely leaves her home.

Then go back and think about gun control. Remember that child who's bullied and ignored; what he or she could become, even with all the best intentions. Don't give a loaded gun to an invisible threat. Don't assume what's visible is reality.

Moreover, to those of you who have faith in God or a higher being who support the NRA's policies or dismiss invisible chronic illnesses, you may not see your savior but in your mind, along with millions who believe, you have no doubt. That surety, faith, means you have the capacity to understand. Use that same conviction to spare the lives of  future victims, to have compassion for what you cannot see.

"DON'T SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF!"

We all have our share of words, phrases or exclamations that we’ve heard too many times, that put that bur under our saddle. For me it’s the above advice, usually given by well-meaning people who want to reduce my anxiety. However, they rarely put the irritant into context through asking for details; more importantly, these people are often unaware of the vagueness of the expression.

First, “Don’t Sweat,” could be interpreted literally, as in don’t perspire. Instead the intended meaning is: do not get upset. I’ll explore “sweat” farther in this blog. The second part or in grammatical terms, the object of the exclamation, “the small stuff,” makes even less sense. Small implies a quantifier whereas stuff is an uncountable noun. How can “stuff” be “small?” Again, arguably a matter of semantics. What is “stuff” or in its intended definition, insignificant details to one person could be significant particulars to another.

Case in point, money matters: I’ll admit that at this time, like so many in America, my budget is limited. Without divulging too many personal issues while providing a context, I'll say that paying $95.00 a year to take my trash to the dump, up from $85.00 last year, strains my finances this month, thereby curtailing my holiday weekend. I mentioned this to a counselor who quoted the above: “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” Have you ever noticed that people who dismiss, albeit constructively, your concern with that expression often are secure themselves? They have a home, a well-paying job, etc.

Now, those of you who are accountants, financial advisors, or even cost-minded individuals, I can hear you say: “She should have allotted the yearly expense in her budget.” Well, you would need to know more details in order to understand my concern. And that’s the rub. Do you want to hear the explanation? I’d bet no. Telling someone to ignore a problem without getting the back story isn’t helpful. Now, if the counselor had offered: “That is the price you pay for the opportunity to live on Cape Cod,” I would have agreed and moved on.

However, I still have more to say about, “Don’t sweat the small stuff,” so  I’ll focus on the person who offered the advice.  Humor me as I ask you to guess the sex of the counselor. . .and the answer is a woman. Should a person’s sex matter when making a statement about ignoring “small” problems? Of course not, but society has conditioned many to believe women are more detailed-oriented whereas men not as much. True, I’ve had many experiences where men have told me I’m worrying about “nothing” or, better, offer quick fix solutions. So, I did an informal poll of some friends, and they, men and women, said, “Yes,” they’ve used the expression. Thus, among my circle, “Don’t sweat the small stuff,” is unisex.

I have also kept my ears open to public use, call it a casual empirical study (Deborah Tannen, author of The Power of Talk, and noted Linguistics professor, if reading this, please remember this is a blog.) about the declaration but the results were inconclusive. Still, I’ll state the counselor’s sex didn’t make a difference in this case. And since “Don’t sweat the small stuff,” is used regularly, we can surmise, therefore, that the comment has become habitual, arguably, by this time clichéd. Another reason for me to object to its usage.

And then there is: “Don’t sweat.”  The negative contraction and auxiliary, “Don’t” is self-explanatory, but the main verb “sweat” I can’t avoid. Semantically, “sweat” is the meat of the construct. Without “sweat,” we’d be left with, “Don’t small stuff,” more useful as a negative connotation (with a comma included) than about someone who is short, in particular, vertically challenged.

Returning to “sweat,” the problem is, readers, I literally do not perspire—maybe a few beads now and then when hit with a hot flash or high humidity—a rare phenomenon, however. Of course, the speaker’s intended meaning when using “sweat” is: not to get too anxious or obsessive. Well, show me a  person, man or woman, who doesn’t have some anxiety about seemingly unimportant issues, internally or externally (including yoga and mediation enthusiasts) then I will be less critical.

Last, why am I spending precious blogging time on what I’ve concluded to be an overused, inappropriate, and semantic-challenged piece of advice? Well, that’s the irony. At this point, you may be asking yourself the same question per reading this commentary. In fact, I’ll be so bold to state you’re thinking: “Don’t sweat the small stuff!”

LIVING ORGANICALLY IN THE 21ST CENTURY: A Personal, National and Divergent Perspective

We all make assumptions. Reading the above title some would expect an article about food or composting. Naturally, for we all bring the semantics accepted in popular culture to what we read. Language usage these days changes as fast as chameleons, in a sense its organic.. In this blog, I’ll incorporate the dictionary meaning of “organic” not often used, “Forming an integral element of a whole,”(Merriam-Webster Dictionary) with another usage often heard but not listed, “organic” implying “change.”  I interpret the adjective “organic” as being an integral component of Mother Nature and following a holistic path based on  natural rhythms. Earth’s rhythms, not what man has created, nor one group or individual. Only flora and fauna, together as a whole can determine the balance of nature, for nature is organic.

For centuries, mankind has tried to overlook the organics of environment by eradicating, manipulating, exploiting and purporting the rules by which humans and animals should live. Animals have been here to serve us, to dissect so that we may learn their secrets—for example scientists continue to explore the intricacies of vertebrates and invertebrates and behold wonders— and apply those new-found discoveries to ourselves, often and arguably for humane benefits. What has tied the historical roots of the ascension of the homo sapiens to our animal kingdom is our ability to evolve behaviors, and over the eons, mutate, change physically and mentally. Have humans improved? That’s another story. My argument, today, is that if you accept these concepts then you agree animals and people have pre-determined behaviors, are an integral part of a whole, along with having an innate mechanism to adapt to the environment around them, to change. Thus, all living things are organic.

Whichever doctrine you profess, evolution or creationism, the reader cannot dismiss the key word and the organic element of this blog: change. To live organically, is to accept this principle.

Moreover, societal rules that have governed cultures must adapt to our ever-evolving environment. The more people there are, the fewer resources, and the necessity for acceptance, tolerance and living organically. Each of us brings to the world, as adults, environmental and individual experiences that like fingerprints are never the same. We all “change,” to adapt to life’s challenges, for better or worse. One small incident can have lasting affect on how one person sees the world.  

I was raised in a patriarchal household. At times I adored and feared my 6’3 father with broad shoulders and a booming voice, volcanic when angry. In contrast, he would often read me bedtime stories, sometimes of his own imagination, when home from traveling for work. Complex would be an accurate term to describe my Dad. He raised me to believe I could enter any profession, yet he’d always encourage me to believe that the princes in fairytales shouldn’t be dismissed. “Wendy, someday you will meet your prince and get married.” Conversely, my mother would say, “You shouldn’t tell her that.” Her argument wasn’t with marrying—she “prayed” I’d meet the “right” man someday—but the fairytale picture my father had painted, misleading even to her. Luckily, I learned quickly to forge my way, to experience life, to work and enjoy independence. My parents wish for me, in whatever form, however, had become entrenched. Like Bridget Jones, I envisioned marriage as the final culmination. Unlike Helen Fielding’s character in the book and film, I realized quickly not to hold my breath.

Then, one day after years of knowing one man professionally, I began a relationship. Since we’ve met, our time together has been like switchbacks. Each stepping away for fear of being hurt, then reuniting when we accepted what mattered: our love has a basis in  companionship, passion, tolerance, mutual respect and independence. That last attribute has been the hardest for me to accept. My boyfriend has already lived the dream my parents had hoped would happen for me: marrying, having children (his are grown now), as he worked in a venerable profession. Ultimately, however, his divorce, later in life, shattered that respectable bond. More so, what he faced as a child and an adult I couldn’t possibly fathom I would have survived. Losing his parents, two siblings, racial intolerance and so on. I didn’t face family loss and traumatic rifts until much later. I consider myself fortunate.

But when I met this wonderful man I brought with me conventional expectations, confusing role models, and a firm plan as to how a relationship should evolve. Some friends knew my future hopes and encouraged me to remember my life goals, reminding me what I had told them. Not, however, without stating, “Men don’t change.” And that’s my tie-in to my initial discussion. I disagree with the former declaration. I’d rephrase the statement as, “People do change. Life experiences do not.”

To reiterate, what I’ve seen in my lifetime doesn’t compare to my boyfriend’s challenges. He may have forged ahead, but the stains of trauma will never rub off completely. How can I expect him to knock down the wall he’s built in order to survive? Only as life continues, will he be able to chip away the concrete and soften his hardened edges. The wall will never go away; however, he’s made it clear he will strive to become a better person. What shaped the man I love is one part of the organic whole. We all grow, reshape, change to live with others, but ties to our past will never completely be severed. My relationship will not be dictated by what is expected, has been, but what life brings over time. I will finally live, not retreat. Accept change as it comes not force it to my will.

Organic living also means being ready to adapt to evolving cultural mores. Animals must do this or go extinct, and we humans aren’t too far away from that possibility. Our country has never been more polarized. I won’t assign blame or toot the liberal horn. I will say that those who resist the evolution of societal norms and adhere to outdated viewpoints, are keeping our nation from growing, moving forward. 

Albert Einstein’s ubiquitous quote: “The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge, but imagination,” has foretold the political quagmire which exists in Congress and among state politicians: too little imagination, lots of unsubstantiated “facts,” and an inability to move with the staggering economic and environmental challenges, not only in the U.S. but our global community. Unless, these men and women see the world for what it is now, forgetting what has been, being open to what the country could be and change, our nation will stagnate, deteriorate and die, as do all living things that are unable to evolve organically.

The line between organic and technological blurs when scientists discuss improving DNA, inserting microchips into the human brain or genetically altering cells to become stem cells, really a union of organic chemistry, genetics and micro-technology, much of which benefits people.

With that said, technology allegedly keeps humanity moving forward. I disagree. To quote Einstein again: “It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.” I’d like to take liberties with Einstein’s chilling prediction and qualify his assertion:  Dedicated, functional technology has separated the humane from humanity. Man from nature. I’m not going to harp on the etiquette expounded by pundits everywhere—although I wholeheartedly agree with their call for cell phone/smart phone restraint. What I’m alluding to is that the gadgets and devices we use in our everyday lives dismiss our ability to adapt, other than to learn the latest versions of i-Phones or i-Pads.

What happens when the lights go out and you have no generator or cell tower?  Friends, family, loved ones have lost personal fortunes or sacrificed others’ needs so that they could buy a widescreen television, a new smart phone, or a better digital camera every year. When will it stop? A denim jacket I bought in Finland thirty years ago has lasted longer than my laptop computers, needing replacement every three years. We may have modern gadgets at our fingertips but they don’t withstand the sands of time.

More so, there are many who don’t have access to what we consider to be basic necessities, nowadays, including cell phones. Consider the people who need to escape the relentless bombardment of our modern world. Not contestants on “Survivor,” but those who, once a year, get to live closer to nature during the summer. City-folk get it, especially the poorest, e.g. children in New York’s Fresh Air Fund. These girls and boys clamor to smell flowers, climb trees, and swim in cool lakes. Most of these kids don’t take nature for granted as they are burdened the rest of the year with the endless cycles of “must haves” when they would be happiest being able to just survive. How can these children keep up with the latest advances in technology when they don’t have enough food on the table?

Whatever the age, there are also those who resist adaptation. Change frightens people. They’d rather languish than allow for or adapt to nature’s ever-changing world. More scary, however, is that people who hide their heads in the metaphorical sand will encounter catastrophic change as never before, when it will be too late to adapt. And, to live organically, means to live with constructive change, accept change of which we have no control, and not pushing the limits of change to dire consequences. Whether it be relationships, politics or technology, we must return to the building blocks of life. We are one part, in the fundamental whole that is Nature.

We must learn to reassess our viewpoints about our desire to return to the past, to regress and not allow modern developments to smother our imagination. James Lovelock, the English writer, said: “Nature favors those organisms which leave the environment in better shape for their progeny to survive.” Those organisms work with nature, change and adapt for the next generation. They live organically.

Why the One Percent Must Read (or Re-Read) Austen's "Mansfield Park."

Before I proceed with my opinion, I must give credit to my erudite Tweeter in England, Himadri Chatterjee, for choosing to re-read all of Jane Austen's works and mentioning Mansfield Park (1814). Look out for his analysis via Twitter in the coming weeks.

SPOILER ALERT: If you haven't read Mansfield Park, CONTINUE READING to see what you've missed.

Years have passed since I've read Mansfield Park, but I disagree with naysayers who state that Fanny Price's character is unlikeable. Critics or readers often describe Fanny as too passive or an unworthy heroine. I see her as an observer who, like Austen, watches events as a reporter with sometimes detached objectivity, though she may be experiencing oppression or neglect. That separateness also keeps Fanny from being noticed romantically by her friend and cousin, Edmund Bertram. Also, her lower class status makes her an unfit member of the household as she is reminded again and again by Edmund's siblings. And even the widow, Mrs. Norris, one of Fanny's aunts reluctantly agrees with her sister Lady Bertram, to bring the young girl in and raise her. Mrs. Norris would be labeled today as lower middle class at best. Still, she considers herself above Fanny in social status. Whereas the younger Fanny is affected by her relatives slights, the adult has resigned herself to the outside looking in.

Fanny Price learns to subtly manipulate. Her eventual financial (albeit humble) success is given to her through marriage with Edmund when he recognizes his mistakes. Nonetheless, Fanny brings her younger sister to live at Mansfield Park and sees that her family benefits from her new-found circumstances. She survives. Like her character, Fanny, Jane Austen doesn't judge her protagonist's behavior or fate. Instead she lets her readers decide. I have. Fanny Price has wealthy relations, who for better or worse, brought her to a place where Fanny would have the opportunity to better herself. For much of the story Austen holds us in suspense as to whether Fanny will overcome class boundaries. 

Mansfield Park, as well as Austen's other opuses, continue to stir impassioned reactions. I chose the plural of opus because its plural form can also be written as "opera." Mansfield Park has the ingredients of grand opera: abject poverty, greed, class conflict, death, treachery, jealousy, well you get the idea. However, don't let the allusion to "opera" dissuade you. Jane Austen's deceptive simplicity grasps your attention and the more you read or re-read her works the multiple layers elicit details missed.

Other characters among the throng include Henry and Mary Crawford representing the calculating ambitious social climbers, scraping the edges of the upper class. Being deluded, however, their schemes are uncovered; they are banished as is Mrs. Norris in the climax. When taking an nonjudgmental analysis, the power and freedom the Crawford's long for are squelched by those who have the real control: Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram.

How brilliant Jane Austen is for she captures the crux of social inequity: the inside's inability to look outwards. Sir Thomas Bertram is one of the worst offenders, not only with Fanny, but his plantation in Antigua run by slaves, his empowerment of Lady Bertram's divisiveness which he shares, and his inability to see his son's, Tom's, gambling and drinking as vehicles to escape the stifling Bertram family and Tom's lack of purpose. Sir Thomas initially sacrifices his other son's, Edmund's, aspiration, that is to become a minister (in those days parishes were purchased), because of his older brother's debts. Only when Sir Thomas's crafted world becomes threatened, however, does he bring Tom with him to Antigua. A shrewd move by Jane Austen as it gives Fanny the chance to question Sir Thomas' using slaves, and in my mind, plants a seed of morality in Sir Thomas' closed thinking.


What reads as a picture of the English class system at its worst also underscores the economics of a nation not far from the beginnings of the industrial revolution. Slaves would be replaced by the already existing and increasing child labor force. The working poor would also continue to be suppressed.

So, how does Austen's book, Mansfield Park, reflect Americans, in today's society? The correlation, like Austen herself, is deceptively simple. Having observed the ins and outs in our so-called modern society, I will state: we are quickly becoming a world Austen would recognize. We are a nation with a working poor or suppressed poor without prospects. Our country's populous,all races, creeds, ethnicities is losing momentum. We have a stifled middle class that has become split between those who are resigned to their fate, i.e. no future opportunities to move up the ladder, and those who will do anything to break the one percent barrier.

Why such a bleak, retrograde picture of a once promising American Dream? Because the one percent, who are richer than any of the wealthiest strata in the world, have shuttered their minds, and like Sir Thomas Bertram, will only be stirred when their foundation, the struggling working force, erodes to the point of collapse.

 

MUSIC: THE SLEEPER HAS AWAKENED

Discussing the decrescendo movement wafting through our country’s battered psyches had been my plan for this blog. Then I was stilled. My breathing calmed. My heart stirred. Dark sorrow surfaced and transformed me for I just finished listening to and watching, again, the “Adagietto” from Mahler’s Symphony, No. 5 on YouTube. As performed and recorded for the BBC Proms at Victoria and Albert Hall by the World Orchestra for Peace, in August 5, 2010, the movement pierces the marrow. Valery Gergiev infuses his conducting with his Russian soul, and there are moments when not even the breathing of the audience can be seen or heard.

Gergiev’s technique demonstrated deceptive subtlety, nuance. He roused his musicians with each stirring crescendo; he softened the orchestra during equally powerful decrescendos, with a slight touch of the hand, a firm eye—those were all he needed.

I’ll admit that from the time I passed puberty, I have been aroused by all forms of music with classical being notably forceful. As I grew older I thought I’d put away foolish musical things: sentimental pop, top 40 radio, and Romantic classics. Well, I hadn’t, though I widened my playlist adding eclectic choices such as alternative, jazz, blues, soul, world, neo-classical, and deeper, more pungent lyrics and/or performers.

Then, after several life-changing occurrences, I shuttered my love of music. I can’t pinpoint when I resumed my passion fully, maybe around the time when the bottom fell out from my budget and when faced with health challenges. I returned to listening to my multiple CDs, moving up to downloads from I-Tunes and finally earning an I-Phone (free upgrade) for which I’ve downloaded Pandora© and my digital playlists. In particular, the classical CDs gathering dust, including some from my late father’s collection, returned to the CD-player. And then YouTube caught my interest: it opened my eyes, ears, and emotions.

Being visual has meant that I’ve absorbed meaning more from my eyes than through listening. Sometimes I have to hear a piece multiple times before I appreciate it. I’ve been delighted to retrieve old performances on YouTube and elsewhere on-line, some of which are from thirty or more years ago, of favorite singers, groups, musicians and orchestras. Each music selection has significance, not only nostalgia but reaffirmation that great depth, exquisite beauty underscore the darkness and the light we all encounter in our lives.

I no longer run away from the pain, musically, and hope to continue to open other closed doors which I’ll reveal another day. Suffice it to say, my heart beats faster these days. And whether it be Bill Withers, Jefferson Airplane, Sinead O’Connor, pop divas and other performers (check out my 50 video list on YouTube, under Wendy S. “Favorites”); songs from Leonard Bernstein’s Candide, Gustav Mahler or other classical favorites on mainly on CD (list on YouTube under construction), or 60s,70s, 80s, 90s, and current artists on I-Tunes that cover the majority of genres, I have heard what I’ve been missing. I will never be lost again.

WOMEN UNDER THE RADAR: A HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE

If you search the name “Artemisia” on Google, the first reference listed is the naval commander under Xerxes the leader of the Persian Empire who tried to conquer Greece. Hollywood recently captured this woman's exploits in the action/adventure movie, 300: The Rise of the Empire, depicting Artemisia as a bloodthirsty, soulless warrior. Until I saw the publicity for the film and then read the documented history, I had no idea that a woman warrior and general had  played such a significant role in the Battle of Salamis. Sparking my curiosity about other women whose achievements have been overlooked, I recalled another Artemisia.

Caught up in the violence of the Baroque period, Artemisia Gentileschi (1593-1656), the artist born in Florence, had her own battles with the male-dominated academies in sixteenth century Italy. She revered Caravaggio's work, whose technique her father had studied and emulated, and took a strong interest in allegorical subjects from which she often depicted violent scenes, in part, art historians believe due to her being raped by her father's colleague.That horrific event, nonetheless, didn't stop Artemisia, from achieving prominence. Against the odds, she persevered and won the respect of fellow artists and some patrons. Artemisia the seventeenth century painter and Artemisia the Greek who fought for the Persians both overcame patriarchal, brutal societies to follow their passions.

Across the continent and a century after the Baroque period, another woman lived as a mistress among the shadows of France's literary great in the Age of Enlightenment, Voltaire. Her name was Emilie du Chatelet (1706-1749). Even in the freer French circles among intellectuals in France, du Chatelet was initially labeled for her illicit relationship with Voltaire. In time, however, Emilie achieved high praise and the respect of her peers as a physicist and mathematician whose research advanced Issac Newton's Principia Mathematica's principles within a rigid scientific community. Of course, among the contemporary academics in France and elsewhere today, those who study physics, natural philosophy, and advanced mathematics would be familiar with Emilie du Chatelet. But it wasn't until David Bodanis wrote his acclaimed novel, Passionate Minds, did her name regain the recognition she deserved.

Qiu Jin (1875-1907), known in China as the country's first recognized feminist, also achieved notoriety for her refusal to adhere to expected conventions, including not binding her feet, writing about women's rights, encouraging women to work as equals with men, and becoming an advocate for female education, including running a school for girls. She fought alongside her male comrades against the Manchu regime for which she was later executed. A hero in China today, Qiu Jin spirited a cultural movement long before the Western world knew it had existed.

On the shores of America, in North Carolina five years later a baby was born who would later become an innovator and inventor. Mary Beatrice Kenner (1912-?) faced obstacles, besides discrimination and sexism, to create such devices as the sanitary belt and later the bathroom tissue holder. She received multiple patents yet has only marginal mentions on the Web for her achievements.

These women shared unwavering ambitions as they pushed past the hurdles strewn across their paths. And, they have reminded me that from ancient Greece to now, history's chronicles, including our modern media, have barely touched the surface. Most importantly, I hope to one day see worldwide recognition for these women, along with many others who have gone unnoticed. These pioneers' contributions must not remain hidden from public view.