January 12: More Snow, More Wilder, More Mythology

Not quite this bad

It's been storming all day long.  Each team I've walked by a window, it was like a scene from the movie Alive, less the plane crash, soccer team, and cannibalism.  However, I just spoke with my wife on the phone, and it isn't snowing in the town where I live, about 20 miles away.  All I can say is, "Hallelujah!"

Today at work has just been more of the same:  catch up from vacation.  I'm happy to say that I have now almost caught up in one area of my job.  Now I just have to tackle the other areas where I'm still two weeks behind.

I know you're probably wondering, "What happened to The Wilder Life?  Why hasn't he posted about it recently?"  Well, the fact is, when I got back to work, I sort of stalled in my reading.  I have every intention of finishing it up in the next day or so.  I will give you my opinion about the entire book when I have completed it.

Tonight, I have to work on my syllabus for my mythology classes since the winter semester starts on Monday.  I'm streamlining the entire course.  Cutting out response papers and reading journals.  Increasing the pointage for the mid-term and final.  Putting more emphasis on classroom discussion and quizzes.  It's a whole different class, baby.

Saint Marty is kickin' mythological butt and takin' names.

January 9: Last Day, "The Wilder Life," I Am Not a Kook

Today is the last day of my vacation.  Of course, I'm a little melancholy about this fact.  I get two weeks off during the year.  The first week comes at the beginning of January.  The second week comes at the beginning of August.  I'm in for a really long eight months now.  All work, very little play.

I dropped my daughter off at school this morning, loaded my son onto his bus.  Later on, I will be visiting my son's a.m. classroom.  I'm trying to work myself up for this visit.  When you step into a room full of three- and four-year-olds, there's a certain energy that kind of drains you after about an hour and a half.  The kids want to take you by the hand, lead you around, talk to you, give you food that you don't really want to eat.  However, just seeing my son's reaction when I step into his classroom will be worth it.

I'm nearing the end of my reading of The Wilder Life, and I'm becoming a little annoyed with the author.  Wendy McClure is coming off as a little bit of an elitist.  On her forays into "Laura World," she encounters a lot of Christian people.  Some of these Christians are on the fringe, preparing for the Rapture by living on compounds and learning how to make soap and yarn.  Other Christian people she encounters are home schoolers and a little on the fundamentalist side.  McClure seems to treat any Christian she meets like a child.  She seems to think that her approach to Laura World is somehow better because she's more academic and, therefore, a little jaded.  The attitude she exudes borders on condescension at times.  At least for me.

Do I look crazy?

I'm a Christian.  I teach at a university.  I love William Faulkner and Jesus Christ (although Jesus beats Faulkner, hands-down).  I consider myself just as intelligent and urbane as McClure.  (By the way, Noel Coward she ain't.)  I'm not living in the middle of the woods, stockpiling ammunition and canned goods, waiting for the end of the world.  To borrow a line from Richard Nixon, "I am not a kook."

I'm hoping McClure does something in the last pages of her book to redeem herself, although it's a slight hope.  I think she's pretty satisfied with herself.  As I read her book, I can almost see her smirking behind every word.  Perhaps I'm being too harsh.  Perhaps I'm tired and hungry.  Perhaps I'm transferring some of my latent hostility toward my present economic situation onto McClure and her book.

Saint Marty isn't playing well with others at the moment.

January 4: "Wilder Life," Driving My Daughter, Fezziwig

“He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil.  Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count ‘em up:  what then?  The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.”

Scrooge says this to the Ghost of Christmas Past about his childhood employer, Fezziwig.  It’s a great description of a person who, through the generosity of his spirit, makes everyone’s lives just a little bit happier.  Fezziwig isn’t Donald Trump, going around and paying off people’s mortgages.  He isn’t Ty Pennington, showing up with a bullhorn on your front lawn one morning to announce that he’s going to tear down your old house and build you a mansion.  Fezziwig is a man who shakes your hand warmly, probably hugs you, and makes you feel as if you matter.  You’re important.

I know I’m not a Fezziwig.  I have more in common with the pre-redeemed Scrooge at the moment.  Always worried about finances and bills.  Not wanting to buy even a dollar Diet Coke at McDonald’s because that money could be spent on something necessary.  Something important.  I’m ashamed to say that I understand the miser mentality.  It comes from constant fretting about things like mortgages and car payments and gas bills.  I’m sure the current economic situation in the world is going to produce a generation of Ebenezer Scrooges instead of a generation of Fezziwigs.

This morning, I’m going to read Wendy McClure’s book The Wilder Life some more.  I’m just as engaged with the work as when I started reading it.  It sort of dovetails into my Fezziwig versus Scrooge musings.  You see, McClure embraces the simplicity of the “Laura World,” as she calls it.  McClure realizes that the world Laura Ingalls Wilder created was based on fact, but was mostly fictional.  As she delves more and more deeply into the reality of the Little House series, McClure realizes how much Wilder left out or embellished in her books.  There’re problems with racism and starvation and homesteading and greedy railroads and Native American treaties that just don’t enter the doors of the Ingalls log cabin.  If they do enter the cabin, these subjects are veiled, at best, or are painfully obvious to a 21^st century reader, at worst.

McClure, however, isn’t really looking for the truth behind the fiction, even though she encounters truth at every turn.  McClure wants to recapture the Laura World she remembers as a child.  Innocent.  A little scary.  Above all, uncomplicated by modern life’s complications.  She’s looking, in a way, for a world populated by Fezziwigs.  The wolves may be baying at the door, but, inside, you’re safe, warm, and important.  As Dickens writes, the Fezziwig happiness isn’t about money.  The Laura World happiness isn’t about money, either.  It’s about the undying human capacity for love.

When I drove my daughter to school this morning, this is what I was thinking about.  I realized I loved making my daughter and son breakfast.  Getting them dressed for school.  Packing their lunches and backpacks.  Saying things like, “Do you have your snow pants?  Your boots?”  All these “little” things that don’t cost a cent, but that show my children I love them and care about them.  That’s what the Laura World is all about.  That’s what Fezziwig is all about.  That’s what Christmas is all about.  Caring about the people around you—family, friends, acquaintances, and strangers.  There’s nothing wrong with keeping that alive all year ‘round.

At least Saint Marty doesn’t think so.

January 2: Snow Storm, "The Wilder Life," Christmas All Year

"I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!" Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed.  "The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me.  Oh Jacob Marley!  Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this.  I say it on my knees, old Jacob, on my knees!"

The above quote from Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol sort of inspires me.  Around January 2, the Christmas trees start disappearing, and everyone starts returning to their routines.  Gone are the feelings of peace and good will.  All that's left is a little egg nog in the fridge, maybe some frosted Christmas cookies, and a sense of loss.  That's where I am right now.  I don't want the holidays to be over. 

I think Charles Dickens had it right.  We should live every day like it's Christmas day.  One of my biggest pleasures at the moment is a local radio station that's still playing Christmas music, 24-7.  I love the fact that, the day after Christmas, the station didn't switch back to heavy metal or country.  I feel like Scrooge.  I want the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future to strive within me, all year long.  I'm hoping the radio station keeps playing Christmas carols from now on.  I'll never switch stations.

The forecasted snow storm has been  dumping snow on the Upper Peninsula all day long.  It started shortly after I wrote my post this morning.  It's still blowing and snowing, and it doesn't look like it's slowing down.  I saw a little blue sky a little while ago, but it was quickly replaced by near white-out conditions.  I think my daughter is hoping for another day of Christmas vacation tomorrow.  I'm not convinced she's going to get it, though. 

I'm currently reading January's book club selection.  It's by Wendy McClure, and it's called The Wilder Life.  It's about McClure's obsession with everything Laura Ingalls Wilder.  I'm loving it.  Of course, I love stories about obsession and literature, so it's right up my alley.  And it's a great book to read on a winter day.  I feel like I'm wrapped in a patchwork quilt while I'm lost in its pages.  I can hardly wait to get home and get back into it.  Currently, I'm sitting in McDonald's, freezing my butt off.  I'm hungry and a little tired.  I want to go chase Laura with McClure some more.

I'm going to try to remain in the Christmas spirit as long as I can.  Reading McClure's book is helping me with this.  I really believe that  Dickens was right.  Christmas isn't just a once-a-year moment to be packed up and stored away in the attic come January 1.  It's something we should all carry around with us always.  Try it out for a few days with me.  See how it works.

Saint Marty says, "God bless us.  Everyone."