Chautauqua

I always liked the movie "Brigadoon"-- Gene Kelly was reason enough, but the idea of waking up in another time was an attractive concept. (And yes, I was a fan of the "Outlander" series, and books by Edward Ormondroyd for kids, and the Thursday Next series, and 'Time After Time"...) Maybe it's the pace of life today, but I've often thought that stepping back in time might be fun--at least for a few days.

Well, I did it.  Together with our friends, Mike and Debbie, JC and I embarked on an adventure. It's called Chautauqua, and it appears every summer on the shore of the eponymous lake in New York. Near Erie, south of Buffalo, west of Jamestown, home of Lucille Ball.

I'd heard of Chautauqua, but always thought it was sort of a long-lived Sunday School summer event--more like a revival than anything else. I've never been one for "Elmer Gantry"--too intense for me. And the idea of Amy Semple McPherson sermons and hymns left me cold. But, they told me that that was not the idea at all. True, Chautauqua was begun by a Methodist minister. True, it started out as a training ground for Sunday School teachers. True, it turned into a summer educational movement in Victorian times that spread across the country, and became quite popular. But, today's Chautauqua, while holding onto the same principles and mission that it began with, is quite a different animal. Nine weeks of daily lectures on a different theme each week. Workshops and courses on everything from art to music to the Middle East and beyond. Concerts and opera and plays. Sailing and kayaking and a beach. And, of course, a religious element in the form of a different chaplain each week who would address a number of issues in his preaching and meditations.

And so, we bought our gate passes, registered for some classes, packed our bags and set off for New York. On the way, we stopped and visited Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater, took the tour, had a bite of lunch, and took a few pictures. But the featured event was yet to come.

The first thing you notice is the quiet. Stepping through the gate, you are enveloped in small-town America. There are trees and gingerbread-bedecked houses and Victorian (read 'cluttered') gardens. No cars--but bicycles and shady porches with gladiolas. A town square with benches and shade trees and a fountain. People playing Frisbee (okay, it's not TOTALLY Victorian) and kids playing in the fountain. Little shops and a post office and lampposts lining the square.

It slows you down. You let go of the tension of fighting traffic, of the tyranny of the cellphone and Blackberry. The daily news isn't as important as your morning walk, and the to-do list you left at home recedes to the back of your mind. Instead you open up to the ideas and thoughts and understanding of the speakers, to the knowledge and skills and insights gained in classes that you never had time for at home. For one week, your focus changes from the mundane to the truly important. For one week, you can be the person you want to be, rather than the one dictated by your circumstances.

No wonder people come back, again and again.

Post-Vacation

I was all set to write about Chautauqua as soon as I got home, but ended up caught in the maelstrom of returning to life-after-vacation, and just didn't quite make it. In the four days since we've returned, we have enjoyed/endured/participated in/dealt with the following: a church service, a marathon brunch (delicious!), a search for a new car to replace the Jeep we drove to Providence a couple weekends ago, a few peeks at the Olympics, paper signing for a refinance of our mortgage, a dinner with a friend who is leaving the area, a visit to my mom, conversations with the pharmacy, the doctor, the insurance agent, a couple phone calls with family about my mom and her status, checking in with our cat-sitter, as well as a check with our contractor/friend who installed a light fixture in our absence, grocery-shopping....and of course the sine qua non for all vacations--a mountain of laundry. Add in the process of finding all the things we knew we had to take care of as soon as we got home--think bills and repairs and phone calls and decisions--and it's no wonder we haven't accomplished much along the lines of reflection since we returned.

I am putting together a photo book of the week--right now--so I don't forget the experience, And I promise to write about it. Soon.

Harvey

Sometimes I lose perspective. It is so easy to get embroiled in the present, and the storm und drang of the RIGHT NOW and HOW THINGS ARE, that I forget to stand back and see the big picture or look at everything from a different angle. (I need to write more often.)

What prompted this foray into my somewhat warped personality and ways of dealing with life was the fact that we drove our seven-year-old Jeep to Providence last weekend to give to our daughter and her family as a replacement for their even-older Honda. The Jeep is still in good shape, had better tires and about half the mileage of the Honda, and we were thinking about replacing it anyway, so it all seemed like a good idea.

That should have been the end of it: drive, deliver, do the paperwork. But, after we'd turned it over, in the process of installing the kids' carseats in the back, Kay and Paul and Audrey were climbing in and around the car, and pointing things out to each other...The height would make it easier to change a diaper in the back, and also make it easier to load and unload. Audrey could stand on the back seat and see what was going on while all that was happening. The extendable cover on the back storage space would be nice to hide purchases (and provide a hiding place for Audrey.) There was an outlet in back where Audrey's DVD player could be plugged in for trips. The V6 engine might allow Paul to pull a trailer for shows. A myriad of possibilities that we had never seen or considered. "And," Audrey asked,  "is the Jeep a boy or a girl and what is its name?" I'm not sure I've ever named a car or thought about its gender.

I boarded my flight home with a somewhat bemused smile. The Jeep was embarking on a new life, appreciated in different ways for entirely different reasons: it was like sending a child off to school on his/her own. Not mine anymore--at least not ONLY mine. But other people would see the value, the positive (and I guess, the negative) aspects, where before, they were reserved for me alone.

This isn't only about a used car, of course. There are multitudes of events and experiences that I miss because I am so enamored of my own blindered viewpoint. Maybe I should expand my sight range on other things as well. Who knows what hidden bonuses I might find?

I wish I had a photo of the Jeep to paste right here. He would remind me of that. Maybe his name is Elwood--like the Jimmy Stewart character who saw something no one else could see: a giant rabbit named Harvey.

Trip-Tik

Once upon a time, long, long ago, I joined AAA. We were on our honeymoon, and because JC did not have a great deal of leave time, we had gotten married just before the annual Navy JAG Conference here in DC, so that we could have an extra week or so. Of course, JC had to attend some of the meetings, so I ran errands while he was otherwise engaged--returning a few wedding gifts, writing 'thank you's--and joining AAA, preparatory to our long drive cross-country. (JC was at that time stationed in Oceanside, CA.) I got maps (GPS not having been invented yet, much less the cell phones and laptops and other devices we now rely upon..) And I got Trip-Tiks. Personalized maps and guidance across the entire country, pointing out the locations of hotels, restaurants, gas stations, and places of interest along the way. I wish I'd saved them.

We were very young, and though JC had made this trip before, it was my first cross-country adventure. I'd never traveled too far from home before, and certainly never beyond the Mississippi. The Trip-Tik reduced the magnitude of the trip to small bites, which made the concept far more digestible. And nibble by nibble, bite by bite, we ate up the distance between here and there--"there" being San Diego.

Today I found myself again at the AAA office, asking for another trip to be sliced and diced into manageable chunks. We are driving to Rhode Island to deliver a car to our daughter and her young family. There have been a lot of trips in between, lots of water under lots of bridges, some with little girls sprawled in the "wayback" of a station wagon, some replete with "Are we there yet?"s and "I'm hungry"s. I remember trips where each child got a roll of quarters at the beginning of the trip, and had to give them up, one by one, for various acts of mommy-prohibited behavior. What was left at our destination was souvenir money, to do with as they pleased. There have been happy trips and sad trips, funerals and graduations, weddings and vacations...How much time have we spent in the car over the years? More than we should have, I'll warrant. And yet, those rides are where we made decisions, discussed problems, figured out answers. It was where we listened to books on tape, told stories, sang songs, played games, and did a lot of talking. It was there that we discovered ourselves and each other.

There's no map for all the territory we've covered in the car, no Trip-Tik that delivers us safely to our destination. But there's comfort in the Trip-Tik lesson: no matter how long the trip, no matter how arduous, or how many construction delays or traffic jams we encounter, we get where we want to go, bit by bit, mile by mile, by taking each journey a page at a time, managing each piece and moving forward, ever forward.

Trial--and Error

I have a very soft spot for lawyers, being married to one and being the mother of another. As the saying goes, some of my best friends are lawyers.  Usually I am able to cut them a lot of slack. A lawyer's job is to help his client. Anyone accused of anything is entitled to a lawyer and a good defense. I have a more difficult time believing this in cases that are really cringe-worthy--anything that involves children as victims, for example. I've managed to avoid comments on the whole Penn State brouhaha, but yesterday, a defense lawyer, commenting on (not answering) a question as to whether Sandusky would testify on his own behalf, said (I paraphrase) that he couldn't answer that question as it would 'ruin the excitement'. That was the word he used. Excitement.

Excuse me if I fail to see what is exciting about a trial concerning child abuse. It might, I suppose, be exciting for a young lawyer to be involved in a high-profile, nationally-covered trial, but the testimony (or non-) of the defendant shouldn't make a difference there. What the lawyer said, as far as I can see, is  an indictment of the public. Are trials of this sort public entertainment? Is this theater? And of course, it is--witness the OJ Simpson trial, the trial of Michael Jackson's doctor, the multitudinous legal hi-jinks of  Lindsay Lohan, or Charlie Sheen, or Robert Downey..  All of these garner ratings that any network would die for.

If it were just celebrity worship, if it were just fans following the lives and doings of their favorites, it might be forgivable. We ordinary people are often fascinated by the foibles of the other half, the misfortunes that prove that wealth and fame don't really make them different from us. An occasional reminder of their feet of clay (complete with photos) isn't so bad. But here? Here we have a trusted (and, of course, famous) coach, accused of preying on the young men in his charge; who were in fact purportedly being helped by the coach's own charity foundation. And his lawyer is worrying about ruining the excitement of the trial??? I doubt the judge and jury are worrying about whether they will be kept on the edge of their seats. I doubt that the young men and their parents, or families and friends, or even the defendant himself, are too concerned about how exciting the big finish is going to be. This isn't "Dancing with the Stars". This isn't the movie of the week (though I have no doubt it will become that, sooner or later.)

This is real life, not reality TV. The workings of the justice system should not be measured by its excitement level or its entertainment potential. What is wrong with us?

Elections

Tomorrow is Alexandria's Democratic primary, and it's a doozy. Fourteen candidates in a fight for six City Council seats: this is a situation where voters need to be informed in order to walk into the voting booth and make any kind of decision at all.

I have opinions on most of the issues: education (as always), the development of the waterfront (hot button issue this year), affordable housing, where we should be spending our money, the arts and the city's support thereof... No one candidate is going to agree with me on all of these--much less six of them. And so, I am combing through their resumes, reading their answers to questions, looking at their records (if there are any), and thinking about my impressions when I've met them or heard them speak.

I have arrived at this very subjective checklist that I am willing to share with candidates.

• The articulate candidate gets my attention. If you are well-spoken and know how to put together a cogent sentence or two that conveys your thinking, I'm willing to listen, and perhaps be persuaded. 
• If I have seen you out and about, talking to citizens...good for you. You have an ear to the ground and might just have a clue as to what your constituency is saying. 
• Practical experience is a plus as well. Educators know education; transportation specialists know transportation; planners know the steps in getting things done. The Council doesn't need anyone on it who doesn't have some sort of expertise on at least one of the issues, or who is unwilling to be educated. 
• The ability to work with those with opposite views gets big points with me as well. Nobody gets their own way all the time. Compromise and negotiation are vital skills.
• I don't vote for a person's ethnicity or school ties or family or longevity or even specific party affiliation. I don't like voting for someone whose tactics to get elected are less than honorable. The way you treat an opponent tells how you treat people in general. Likewise, dishonesty in one area leads me to suspect dishonesty in others. Be upstanding. I don't want to be ashamed of someone I've voted for.
• I do cast a serious look at who has endorsed you. The recommendation of any person I respect and who has served their community well carries weight. 
• I look for dedication, for someone who is willing to put their time and effort where their constituency's interests lie. If I give you my vote to be my representative, I expect you to represent me.

All that being said, I am making my list and checking it twice. I may not know who is naughty (demerit given) or nice (a much-neglected quality that I like in a candidate), but I do know which candidates will have my vote in their stockings tomorrow. 

At the Met

We went to New York this week. JC had a map auction he wanted to attend on Thursday, and we decided to go up Wednesday, have dinner and see a play ("The Columnist" with John Lithgow) that night, then come home after the auction. Fate smiled. The weather was wonderful, the to-and-from train rides uneventful, and while the play was perhaps not as good as we'd expected, we had a great dinner and John Lithgow gave a Tony-award quality performance. I finally finished a book that I've been slogging through just to see the ending (the author cheated: EVERYONE did it, but not in a clever Agatha-Christie-Orient-Express style, but in a just-plain-stupid-why-doesn't-the heroine-SEE-this? way) and got halfway through another one I've had languishing on my Kindle for far too long. But I digress.

In the middle of Thursday, in the middle of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I was wandering rather aimlessly from room to room--simply stopping whenever a piece spoke to me. I traveled through Greece and Rome and Egypt; I traversed the American Wing and saw everything from the Wild West to the modern East. I had lunch in the cafe in a  huge open space with a glass ceiling, with clouds billowing overhead. I stood by Tiffany windows, and peeked into a complete French dining room with finely carved paneling and ethereal painted panels, reconstructed with precision from its own place and time. I stopped by Ellsworth Kelly's plant drawings, just to see what that was all about--and specifically because Sallye Mahan-Coxe (an art teacher friend from Robinson) once said that, whenever you have an opportunity to see drawings, you should go, because they aren't often on exhibit. In any case, I came, I saw...and then I started to think.

Who is there to say that I am not one of the luckiest people on earth? I  have a world of opportunity that waits for me every day. I can take myself to museums--both in NY and at home in Washington-- that have the best the world has to offer. I have access to one of the two best libraries in the world, barely a 20-minute drive away. I live in a place that values history and the arts and quality of life. I have technology that will do my bidding (most of the time) and keep me in touch. I have friends. I have the freedom to be in New York, or Virginia, or California, or Europe, or any of the places in between. I have the best of food and shelter and transportation. My limits are pretty much of my own creation-- the normal aches and pains and memory lapses notwithstanding. I can travel, I can read, I can write, I can look. Not all of the throngs of people at the Met on Thursday--sitting on the steps, poring over maps, standing in lines, sitting (gratefully) on the benches--have those luxuries. Even fewer of the people that mob the streets can spare the time or energy--or even the cash--for them.

I can, in short, be inspired. I just have to remember that. I just have to follow the inspiration that taps me on the shoulder and says, each day, "Here. This way." I am so lucky.