The Wife of Bath

The best gifts are the most unexpected ones.

Today I had the joy of receiving a note from an old friend with whom I have been too long out of touch. She is an artist, residing in Bath, Pennsylvania. Upon finding her name in my dad's address book--unearthed in this month's portion of the continued sifting through his estate--I wrote her a few weeks ago.

What should appear with the note today but a gift of several bars of soap, made by the Wife of Bath--with a name whose pun works two ways. Here is the label from a soap called Instant Karma:

I cherish those things both artfully made at home and which bear a pleasing scent--perhaps learned from a few years of my own wife's work with homemade candles. I also enjoy references to medieval poetry which make me dig up again that ancient high school learning so long buried.

If one should desire for one's spouse a gift of handmade soap, composed lovingly with an artists' palette of scents and colors, then let me recommend a purveyor of such fine goods: Linda Kondikoff, kondikoff2@ptd.net.

Just remember first to ask your spouse what she most desires.

Thanks, Linda, for the wonderful surprise!

~ emrys

Happily Ever Before?

Disney's newest classic, Frozen, has rocked the world of a whole new generation of Disney Princess fans. For those of us who have lived through several iterations of the "one day my prince will come" plot line, a major epicenter in the film was the moment when (spoiler alert!) Prince Hans of the Southern Isles abandons Princess Anna to the demise of her frozen heart. What? The prince and princess aren't going to ride off into the sunset together? No: As promising as Kristoff and Anna's relationship appears, the act of True Love that saves Elsa is her sister's self-sacrifice, not a chivalrous kiss.

What happened to that universal salve for loneliness and meaninglessness, Marriage?

This very question Stephanie Coontz explores in her book Marriage, a History: from Obedience to Intimacy, or How Love Conquered Marriage (Viking 2005).

In her exhaustive, scholarly tome, Coontz provides a breathtaking panorama of the institution of marriage through history. She begins with the fragmented anthropological tiles of ancient societies and slowly walks us down the aisle to twentieth-century marriage. On either side of the aisle sit the sweeping forces that contribute to our understanding of marriage: sociology, economics, law, and psychology. Coontz takes them all in, reflecting on the shifting effects each element of our Western society has on this bedrock covenant commitment.

As a "history," the book does not have a thesis per se. But one facet of the study seems to me to rise in greater relief, as I view the subject from my perspective in 2015. This aspect is described pithily in the subtitle: "How Love Conquered Marriage." Coontz asserts that in the 19th and 20th centuries the idea of marrying for the love of two individuals--the "love match"--radically and irrevocably altered the nature of marriage in our society. She emphasizes how re-centering marriage on the desires of two individuals has made the institution (if it can now be called that) both more satisfying and more fragile than it's ever been.

I appreciated Coontz's book for the rich detail engendered by her depth of research. But adding value to her work is her humble recognition of our biases and the concomitant surprise when faced with historical facts. We (especially we Disney viewers) assume that the Donna Reed version of marriage represents not only the ideal scenario but also a relationship reflective of the institution throughout Western history. Sure, they didn't always have electric toasters; but it was always the wife's job to stay in the home and wait for her husband to return from work, right?

As someone who officiates at weddings more than the average citizen, I am especially sensitive to the changing mores and family systems that affect--and effect--marriages. I am far from certain that a nostalgic insistence on the way things were (though they probably weren't) is the panacea for the fractured relationships that individualism produces. As in all relationships, nuptial or otherwise, I am convinced that commitment and self-sacrifice, no matter what the precise language or circumstances of the covenant, are the central features of success; who earns more money, who does the grocery shopping, and who spends more time with the kids matter less. As strange as it feels to me to quote a Jack Nicholson character in connection with marriage, his guise in As Good As It Gets says it well: Each spouse must feel of the other that "you make me want to be a better person."

So perhaps Frozen has touched this chord, too, with the zeitgeist-savvy writing by which Disney has made its trillions. It is not the descent of a privileged Prince Charming to the lowly station of a Damsel in Distress which melts the ice on a cursed world. Instead, the willingness of a sister to sacrifice her life exemplifies true love. So if marriage is going to last, even in our self-obsessed culture, it must help spouses commit to the discipline of sacrifice: What will I give up to bless my partner in our life together?

For anyone who wants to rethink the purpose and power of marriage, or to better understand the strange times in which we live, I recommend Marriage, a History.

~ emrys

Wanting Another Future

Somehow I got invited to a community forum for Rural Broome Counts, an effort to research and address the human service needs of the rural portion of our county (Broome County, NY). One of the presenters at this forum was Frank Evangelisti, who brought us a summation of the 2013 Broom County Comprehensive Plan: Building Our Future. After his brief presentation, he half-jokingly offered copies of the full plan and report, a 300-page spiral-bound tome with graphs, data, narrative, and an extensive vision for Broome County's future progress. After the forum, I got myself a copy.

Broome County has about 200,000 residents, living in situations as diverse as dense inner-city apartment buildings and 150-year-old farmhouses without a neighbor in sight. I was fascinated to read through all the data, distillations, and declarations made in the "comprehensive plan" for such a population.

More than the hard data, the vision-casting that goes on in the document makes me think. For instance, how does leadership make a community "vibrant"? This term came up specifically in the dream of the comprehensive plan. Color? Art? Smiles on faces? People walking with energy, rather than huddled and plodding against the driving wind?

Being outside the leadership of Broome County--and therefore suffering the separation of abstraction--I found myself reflecting on what a "comprehensive plan" would look like for the community of which I am a leader: the Church. Every item in the Broome County plan called for some change, some additional investment of energy, and probably some money. How does a community get people to want to do such things?

How does the Church get people to want to enact a vision for her future?

~ emrys

Both Ends of the Spectrum

The stark contrasts within my children sometimes amaze me. It's as if, at the age of 5 1/2, there is a policy of full inclusion, unconscious of paradoxes that we will see later in life.

Here is my daughter, gleefully sloshing in the autumn creek water, one of her favorite activities outside:

And here is that same young lady, poised and ready for the beginning of Sunday morning worship:

I'm not sure who taught her to cross her legs like that--I suspect that, yet again, she's imitating Kerri. Of course, one thing is constant: PinkAndPurple.

What a grand mixture we are, from the very beginning!

~ emrys

The Way of the Cross

There is little to be said about the work of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, not because his work is not worthy of note but because his work and story speak best for themselves. So it is that after reading Letters and Papers from Prison (Eberhard Bethge, ed., 1967), I recommend it to you for its earthiness, sublimity, and challenge, which only diminish in description.

Nonetheless I must note three quotations, which speak to the theology arising out of Bonhoeffer's experience. He writes, "Our being Christians today will be limited to two things: prayer and righteous action among men [sic]" (p161). Bonhoeffer's thinking, in these letters, has little use for religiosity and ceremony.

"God lets himself [sic] be pushed out of this world and onto the cross. He is weak and powerless in the world, and that is precisely the way, the only way, in which he is with us and helps us. Matthew 8.17 makes it quite clear that Christ helps us, not by virtue of his omnipotence, but by virtue of his weakness and suffering" (188). Here is a clear strain of Lutheranism, to be sure, but also a radical sort of faith that on which even Paul in his letter to the Corinthians only begins to touch. Bonhoeffer has no patience for the deus ex machina, the God who extracts by miracle, brand of Christianity.

Thus: "It is only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith . . . . By this-worldliness I mean living unreservedly in life's duties, problems, successes, and failures, experiences and perplexities. In so doing we throw ourselves completely into the arms of God, taking seriously not our own sufferings but those of God in the world--watching with Christ in Gethsemane" (193). Bonhoeffer's testimony against religious escapism gains great credibility from his own choices: to plot against the Third Reich; to serve as chaplain to inmates and guards while incarcerated; and to go peacefully to his execution on 9 April 1945.

Would that we could all take up the cross, when that path calls us, in such a manner as he. And would that we who follow Jesus could live each day as if we are preparing to do so.

~ emrys

Dismantling a Dream

Since visiting Disney World when I was a teenager, I have loved treehouses. The Swiss Family Robinson part of the park sold me on the wonders of living in tight, handmade quarters high up off the ground. I have dreamed for many years of one day having the chance to make one of my own. In 2006 we purchased (or began a handy arrangement with a bank to live on) 3.25 acres of forest with a house on it. 

In 2007 I began building my treehouse. Soon I had Phase 1 finished and had moved on to Phase 2. Soon after the floorboards started going down on Phase 2, My Lovely daughter was born; and everything non-parental in my life slowed down. Including treehouse construction.

Fast forward to the spring of 2014, when my construction-savvy brother came visiting. He noticed that the growth of the treehouse-hosting trees was pushing the boards off their anchor bolts. Slowly but surely, my treehouse was becoming a disaster waiting to happen.

So over the last three months, my treehouse has come down. Rather than let it turn into a decrepit shambles hanging in the distant trees, I decided to give it a proper end.

Here is the roof, torn off the rafters and sent drifting to the ground:

 Phase 1 without a roof (note that the condemnable wooden ladder has been replaced by a safe aluminum one):

 The only proper end for wood that's been hanging out dutifully in a tree for seven years is sublimation in a funeral pyre:

 Phase 1 with rafters and half of the railing gone:

 Where my foot went through the deck, proving another facet of my brother's concern:

 View from below Phase 1, after the decking was removed:

 The first night of returning the elements to whence they came:

And My Lovely assistant, who is ever ready to help on such solemn occasions:

Phase 1 with only two whole boards left. I cut the main joists, because of what you'll see in the next image:

Seven years of growth consumed more of the shafts of the lag screws, pushing the (rotting) wood outwards. An attempt to unscrew the lags met with significant resistance. Of course! A hard wood like maple would certainly grip the screws ever tighter over time. I decided to leave them in, and mark the tree for anyone who might show up with a chainsaw.

All the while, autumn was falling. So my Two Wee Helpers took frequent breaks to enjoy the crackling shower of lofted leaves:

Phase 1 with only screwed-on chunks left:

Phase 2: the next target for demolition:

 An example of where the rotted board had torn off its anchors, leaving one joist precariously perched:

Only the three joists left on Phase 2:

It turns out the lag screws did come out of the soft hemlock:

The free-floating triangular support that held up one half of Phase 2, on its way to the ground:

Emboldened by my success on the hemlocks, I made another attempt to get the screws out of the maple tree. With some persistence and lots of grunting, I did finally get the screws loose, dismantling even the last scabs of wood from Phase 1.

Lastly, the maple tree that hosted Phase 1, stripped naked but for a few holes and the green paint with which I had marked it:

Adieu, fair Treehouse! Though it lacks a structure of which to brag, this little stand of trees will hold for me memories of brilliant plans, time with teenagers, and adventures with my Two Wee Ones. It was worth it.

~ emrys

Tyler Family Jewels

I didn't know it until about two years ago, while unpacking more of the articles left to me by my dad's death, but he had his own silver ware as a child:

 Note the "T" on the handle of the utensils (which are, by the way, baby-sized):

 Dad was not technically a "Second," since his father's name was George Horsley Tyler and Dad's was just George Tyler. But the shorthand in the Tyler family was always George I, George II, and George III (for my half-brother, George Moreland):

 The silver cup had an assortment of exotic animals etched in it:

Neither of my kids ever wanted to eat out of it . . . I'm not sure what's going to happen to it. Maybe I'll have it melted down for something.

~ emrys

Freedom's Apostle

"These are the times that try men's souls . . ." These words of Thomas Paine's helped stir a generation of English subjects to throw off the mantle of royal rule and vie for independence. Though many of us, myself included, have filled in Thomas Paine's name on a high school history test or two, I had never read about Thomas Paine's life as a whole.

In Tom Paine: Freedom's Apostle (1957), Leo Gurko presents an accessible and engaging portrait of Thomas Paine. Gurko's expertise is literature, and this story, without footnotes or references, reads much less like academic history and more like a novella. While I am certain that some ambiguities about the reported events receive a glossing, and that some quite specific details have been inferred, Gurko's work cuts a genuine and compelling figure of the sometimes paradoxical life and career of Thomas Paine.

As with most other historical works I have read, Freedom's Apostle makes me realize how simple my understanding of history remains. To cite one example: Thomas Paine's fluid movement between England, America, and France during his lifetime betrays my mental caricature of three nations and cultures so discrete that never twain shall meet but over the tips of swords. Thomas Paine could be a primary agitator and champion of the American Revolution, yet a decade later be a resident of London, England, and five years later be considered a beloved citizen of France.

Another tension that continues to fascinate me, especially in the current generation of "polarized politics," is the contrast between liberal Deists, such as Paine and Jefferson, and orthodox Federalists. The government--and, more importantly, culture--of the United States was forged between the anvil of firebrand conservatives and the hammer of rationalist liberals. I am slowly forming the hypothesis that those who believe America's birth came from harmonious thinking and unified effort prefer not to examine the foundation of their beliefs.

As for Paine himself, Gurko challenges me to see him not just as a brilliant author, but also as a manic loner, with an addiction to explosive cultural crises, a passion for Reason and a gift for eloquence. On such enigmas of the human spirit does the wheel of history turn.

To those who relish vivid and fast-moving accounts which nonetheless illuminate the complexities of history, I recommend Tom Paine: Freedom's Apostle.

~ emrys

Dirty Work, Dirty Play

We're rearranging our garden for next year, which means dismantling seven of the raised beds and planting grass seed. Yesterday morning, Gwendolyn asked if we could work in the garden after breakfast. Micah piped up with his approval of the idea. So out we went. They love wheelbarrow work, because it means both moving dirt and riding to and fro in the empty barrow.

We've razed two beds and seeded them for next year:

We found a toad, petted it, held it, and followed it around in the grass for a while:

The dirt from the garden beds is going to fill in the earthen ramp on the north side of the back porch:

Micah spent a good half hour playing by himself inside the barrow:

His big sister spent that time discovering textures in the moist earth:

Both really like shovel work: cutting, lifting, and dumping:

Here is Minute 14 of the first 30-minute period this week when they occupied with same space without making each other angry:

What a blessing to work and play in the dirt with my children!

~ emrys

Remember When . . .

. . . you could fit inside a vacuum cleaner? Remember when you wanted to?

Digging out my mobile phone pictures, I found these two of Micah, at 1.5 years, loving the steam cleaner. It's in repose, getting its resevoir refilled. While an adult makes the trip from living room to kitchen faucet, Micah seizes the moment to climb into his race car and take off.

And for the times when the race car is not going fast enough, the geniuses at Hoover even added a crop with which to whip your vehicle to greater speeds:

Yee-ha!

~ emrys