September 10, 2007

Shakespeare and Insomnia

Recently, we've discovered that our local library--the one I made fun of at first, but am now learning to appreciate--has the complete BBC produced series of Shakespeare plays.

In the past, I haven't appreciated Shakespeare the way that I knew I should. I love to read, but for some reason, I can't seem to get the rhythm and sense of Shakespeare just from reading alone. But when I hear it out loud, it's beautiful, and even if I don't consciously understand every metaphor layered upon metaphor, my subconscious fills in the sense of it. Tim prefers reading Shakespeare to watching his plays, but since the BBC productions are so well-made and preserve the plays word-by-word, he's having a great time with these as well. Right now, we're working through some of the history plays--Richard II through Henry V (which we're currently watching).

A couple of recent intersections of pregnancy-induced insomnia and Shakespeare...

1) "How I sometimes feel these days, only Shakespeare says it so much better"

O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

--Henry IV, Henry IV, Part II

(Tim couldn't figure out why I was laughing during this incredibly stirring speech-it was just so true!)

2) "When Shakespeare and insomnia don't mix"

After watching the beginning of Henry the Fifth last night, I fell asleep only to halfway wake up an hour or two later. I was convinced that King Henry thought that I was plotting to steal his crown. I knew that whatever I did--whether I fell back asleep or kept myself awake--he would read it as evidence that I was planning a coup. I was awake enough to question my logic, but not quite awake enough to undelude myself

I finally woke up my ever-enduring husband.

Tim: "What's wrong, honey?"
Joanna: "I don't know, I think it's the king."
Tim: "What king?!?!?!?"
Joanna: "King Henry. He thinks I want to take over his kingdom."

Instead of laughing at me, Tim helped to soothe me back to sleep. Meanwhile, I tried to reason with myself that being such a lowly minion, it would be a delusion of grandeur to think that Henry would be worried about me stealing his kingdom.

Posted by Tim and Jo at 11:50 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

July 03, 2007

Shared obsessions and home decor 101

In getting ready for our anniversary, I've been reading through our early chronicles. Starting with the time leading up to our first date and continuing through the present (Vol. VII just came out!), Tim (and I, since we got married) has kept a chronicle of our life together.

Anyway, I had forgotten some of the details of what inspired his first attraction to me, beyond our shared faith. It's such a quirky list that it really shows me God's providence in bringing us together (who else would have a list like this??). Among the things that sparked his interest were:

*the fact that I had read Dickens' novel Dombey and Son
*my love for writing fugues
*our shared interest in Marcel Proust's In Search of Lost Time (the inspiration for our blog title)--neither of us have quite made it through the 3,000+ page novel, but we're both still working on it (Tim has passed me now!)
*our mutual love of travel
*my love for Tolkien (before the films, cough, cough)
*the use of semicolons in my SIP/senior thesis

The beginnings of my attraction to Tim? Well, it didn't involve any use of semicolons. :-) But his love for music, literature, and travel were definitely a huge part of it. Plus watching him covered in cute kids every week at church definitely caught my attention.

Anyway, some of our shared obsessions are making it into our house decor. Before his solo trip to London in 2001 (a life-changing experience for him, I should have him tell some of his stories on this blog) and before our joint trip to Paris in 2005, Tim found pictures of London and Paris that he loved and blew them up into posters on his printer. He had put them away since we got married, but now we have tons of blank, mundane wall space begging for some color. So, our house is looking like something in between a museum and a tourist trap! But it really reflects us!

On our fireplace, we have our Dickens and Shakespeare collection, flanked by each of our copies of In Search of Lost Time.

Over Dickens, we've hung up a picture of The Old Curiosity Shop, the Globe Theater hangs above Shakespeare, and a Parisian art nouveau metro stop coordinates with the covers of Proust.

Fun times!

Posted by Tim and Jo at 03:05 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

July 01, 2006

Frank McCourt Part 2: Tim's Take

So...continuing the theme...here's Tim's ideas on Frank McCourt. Enjoy!


I’ve started reading Angela’s Ashes, recommended by Joanna who recently discovered his writings. I’ve seen the movie version several times and love it but I’ve never considered reading the book until now. Joanna’s has also read ‘Tis and Teacher Man. I was quite skeptical when I read some critiques of the book saying that McCourt could be compared with such writers as James Joyce. Now that I’m reading the book, I have to say that I've never read something so tragic that is also so hilarious. A few excerpts for the book and movie:


The classic opening: "When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I managed to survive at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood."


Grandma to young Frankie: "You have enough dirt in your ears to grow potatoes."


Frankie to priest in confessional: "Bless me father, for I have sinned. It's been a minute since my last confession."


Frankie: "Oh, America. Where no one has bad teeth and everyone has a lavatory."


School teacher: "Stock your mind, it's your house of treasure, and no one in the world can interfere with it. Fill your mind with rubbish, and it'll rot your head. You might be poor, your shoes might be broken, but your mind, your mind is a palace."


Frankie in the hospital: [Reading Shakespeare is] "like having jewels in my mouth when I say the words. If I had a whole book of Shakespeare they could keep me in the hospital for a year."

Posted by Tim and Jo at 10:07 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 22, 2006

Teacher Man

In my spare time, I just finished reading Frank McCourt's new book Teacher Man. Following Angela's Ashes and 'Tis, it narrates his life as a high-school teacher in New York City, and his own aspirations to become a writer.


His terse narration is darkly humorous at some points--taking a group of rowdy inner-city adolescent girls to a performance of Hamlet--and incredibly poignant at others--the heart-breaking lives of those he calls the "lost children of the Lost Generation."


As I was reading, I realized that as he taught--and as I've taught--what you're fighting much of the time isn't ignorance, though that has to be fought as well, but apathy. The sensation of 50 eyes looking up at you, as you fight them to express an opinion, any opinion, to think, to interact, to care. Aptly, McCourt uses battlefield imagery to describe teaching.

What makes teaching worthwhile (and this book so powerful) are the moments when you can break through the apathy. His creative means of breaking through were wonderful--having the kids write excuse notes for Adam and Eve and Al Capone. Or having them read recipes as if they were poetry, and the musical accompaniment that the kids improvised for the recipe readings on the spot. Beautiful!

Those moments make teaching worthwhile. I had one of those moments accidentally. I said something to one of my classes, not realizing the lurid double entendre that could be overlaid onto my innocent words. The class erupted in laughter. It felt like ages before I could get the class under control again. But from then on--for the rest of the semester--I had their undivided attention. It was a magic class. And at the end of the semester, they all clapped for me, and I felt like I had made some kind of real difference in their lives.

I've been meditating on teaching over the last week. I saw one student from the class I TAed (not mine, but another TA's) out on a date at a restaurant last week. She was pals with one of my students, and these two cheerleaders would chatter-chitter-chatter through the large lectures. Mine would grade-gripe. Not just grade-grub, but grade-gripe. Urgh! I didn't introduce myself, I just sort of snickered to myself when I saw her, remembering the moments of frustration throughout the semester with those two girls.

Then this week, Tim and I went out to share a dessert at a local Cracker Barrel. And one of my lovely students turned out to be our waitress. She's working two jobs and taking two classes this summer. I'm always impressed by students who earn their own education She was usually quiet, but attentive and respectful in class. And she said that our music appreciation class was her favorite class she's taken at the university. Happy! And touched that she would share that! We left a big tip and a little napkin note, hoping that she succeeds in school and life.

And finally, an inspiring McCourt quote on writing to wind this up.

Every moment of your life, you're writing. Even in your dreams you're writing. When you walk the halls in this school you meet various people and you write furiously in your head. There's the principal. You have to make a decision, a greeting decision. Will you nod? Will you smile? Will you say, Good morning, Mr. Baumel? or will you simply say, Hi? You see someone you dislike. Furious writing in your head. Decision to be made. Turn your head away? Stare as you pass? Nod? Hiss a Hi? You see someone you like and you say, Hi, in a warm melting way, a Hi that conjures up splash of oars, soaring violins, eyes shining in the moonlight. There are so many ways of saying Hi. Hiss it, trill it, bark it, sing it, bellow it, laugh it, cough it. A simple stroll in the hallway calls for paragraphs, sentences in your head, decisions galore.

--Frank McCourt, Teacher Man

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