Strong Enough to Stand Alone

"You have given your idol a heart, but no head. An affectionate or accomplished idiot is not my ideal of a woman. I would have her strong eough to stand alone, and give, not ask, support. Brave enough to think and act as well as feel. Keen-eyed enough to see her own and others' faults, and wise enough to find a cure for them. I would have her humble, though self-reliant, gentle, though strong; man's companion, not his plaything; able and willing to face storms, as well as sunshines, and share life's burdens as they come." ~ from "The Lady and the Woman" by Louisa May Alcott

I spent another amazing day in the company of fascinating women at the Concord School of Philosophy. This time, we had three separate presentations--two before lunch, one after. Debra Ryals from Pensacola State College spoke first on "The Condition of Women: Literature of the 19th and 20th Centuries." She focused on six authors--including Alcott--to demonstrate who women viewed themselves in terms of employment. She also talked about the importance of understanding context before you can appreciate and understand the literature. One piece of context that she shared stirred up some discussion: The suicide rate for unmarried women in the mid to late 19th century was 40% because there were so few options for them. Most often, they'd jump off low bridges into shallow water, breaking their necks. Even Louis May once thought about going over a bridge but was "saved" by a passerby. Jobs for women then weren't great or plentiful. There was no outlet for too many. They'd get depressed at the seeming dead end. This was before Freud, before psychology, before there was any helplines... This was staggering to think about.

The second "conversation" began with a presentation by Cathlin Davis from California State University-Stanislaus who talked about "Louisa May Alcott's Advice to Young Women." She used four little-known short stories to demonstrate the message that Louisa shared over and over--primarily that one person is all it takes to make a difference...and that has a ripple effect One person changes one thing for one person and they change one thing for another and they change one thing, and so on and on.. Alcott, through her sometimes subtle and other times not so subtle stories shows that the sphere of women is greater than what's been told to them and that one person absolutely can change the world. She also encourages young women to reach out with kindness, do what's right, don't give in to peer pressure, be brave enough to think and act on your beliefs, and to step out of the box that others had created for them. She not only tells them to do this, she shows them how to do it with her likable, realistic role models. Louisa has advice for young men, too. She encourages them to respect women and even to help them, work with them as equals... My oh my!

Between conversations, I had a conversation of my own with Debra Ryals mother. That was delightful as she clearly took joy in hearing her daughter's presentation. She told me about the fun they've had reading and learning together. I enjoyed meeting her. During lunch, I had a conversation with Caroline Davis and a couple other participants. We somehow found our way to talking about Anne of Green Gables which is a great favorite with many young people, but isn't often studied in academic circles, but certainly in this context could easily compete...

The afternoon conversation was spurred on by a presentation by Lisa Stepanski from Emmanuel College on "The Friendship of Bronson Alcott and Mary Baker Eddy." Turns out Eddy sent an early copy of her Christian Science manifesto, Health and Science, to Bronson Alcott hoping that he'd read and publicize it--which he did. They corresponded back and forth briefly about it, and this information led to a discussion about mid-19th century religion and spirituality which I found most interesting, and which may well lead to some independent research of my own in the near future. If I get to it, I'll share it here!

In all, it was a stimulating 6 hours in a very warm School of Philosophy building (although much more comfortable than yesterday afternoon).

What Were We Born to Do?

I spent a fascinating afternoon at the Concord School of Philosophy on the grounds of Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House. The discussion, entitled "What Were We Born to Do? The New Women of the Transcendental Era" was part of the 2010 Summer Concersational Series entitled "In Heaven's Name, Give Her a Chance!" Defining the Sphere of Women in 19th Century America. As I said, fascinating.

The four presenters this afternoon were formidable scholars and authors. Phyllis Cole, from Penn State-Brandywine, spoke aboutMary Moody Emerson (aunt to Ralph Waldo Emerson). Megan Marshall, from Emerson College and the Radcliffe Institute at Harvard, spoke about Elizabeth Palmer Peabody, one of three sisters who were movers and shakers in their time. [Marshall wrote a book about these sisters--The Peabody Sisters: Three Women Who Ignited American Romanticism (2005)--which won the Francis Parkman Prize, awarded by the Society of American Historians; the Mark Lynton History Prize, awarded by the Anthony Lukas Prize Project jointly sponsored by the Columbia School of Journalism and Harvard's Nieman Foundation; the Massachusetts Book Award in nonfiction; and was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in biography and memoir.] Helen Deese, of Tennessee Tech University and the Massachusetts Historical Society, spoke about Caroline Healy Dall. [Deese is the author of Daughter of Boston: The Extraordinary Diary of aNineteenth-century Woman, Caroline Healey Dall, and she is the Caroline Healey Dall editor for the Massachusetts Historical Society.] Finally, John Matteson, John Jay College, spoke about Margaret Fuller and Louisa May Alcott. [Matteson received the 2008 Pulitzer Prize for his book Eden's Outcasts: The Story of Louisa May Alcott and Her Father. He is currently working on a book tentatively titled The Lives of Margaret Fuller.]

To say it was a formidable group would be an understatement. We met in the actual School of Philosophy that Alcott built on his Orchard House property for the purpose of educating adults. Quoting from the welcome we received from Executive director Jan Turnquist, "Mr. Alcott's dream of an adult education facility--one of the first in the country--came to fruition in Orchard House on July 15, 1870, when The Concord Summer School of Philosophy and Literature welcomed adults from all walks of life, and women were embraced as full intellectual equals." Since we were in the original building, there was no a/c or fans (noise would have drowned out the speakers. It was sweltering, but most of us were able to get past the oppressive heat to enjoy the stories the four speakers had to share. I am about half-way through Matteson's book, but I now want to read the other books (of course)...

I'll have more to share tomorrow from the things I am learning, but I'll close here by asking the question these four challenged us with: What were you born to do? Matteson says that when you ask that question, you also have to ask "what are we born to show [others]?" And what are the risks involved? As I sat and listened to the stories of 5 key women who influenced the way I live my life now, I was asking myself what I was born to do? And to what extent have I accomplished that purpose? And what am I doing about achieving it?

Jan Tourquist's parting words were about "simmering." Louisa May Alcott didn't have a lot of time to do the work she felt she was born to do. She had other responsibilities. She talks about her stories simmering in her brain while she was simmering things on the stove. That's the nature of creativity and work for women. Men will do one or the other. But women are charged with doing both if they want to do the creativity. It is rare to have the luxury to do just the one. Certainly it was in the 19th century. I left determined to refine my life's purpose and to find a way to accomplish it even more...and better.

Two Less at the Table

I'm not afraid of growing old, or of dying. But there is something unsettling about the fact that it happens, regardless of who we are, what we do. It's not so much about it happening to me as to others. This week, Tuesday, was an unsettling day for me with regards to age and mortality, as I experienced first hand the effects of both.

As principal of the local church school, I am also the Educational minister of our church, which automatically made me a member of the church board. I've been attending this predominantly male board for two years, now, and am only just now beginning to feel comfortable with the group. For these two years, there have been three other women meeting around the table along with me: two who serve as elders, and the church clerk (the science teacher at school, and my VP for the past two years).

This past Tuesday, for the first time, I was the only woman at the table (one of the elders came 1/2 hour late). No big deal, really, except that two are permanently gone. Our science teacher retired last year and has moved to Maine. She won't be coming back to serve on the board, although I expect that someone will fill her shoes soon. But one of the two female elders passed away suddenly on Monday afternoon. She, too, had just retired and was preparing to move. She was just waiting for her house to sell, when she experienced sustained stomach pains and went into to the hospital for tests. Seven weeks later she was dead. The quickness of it all was shocking.

The absence of these two ladies, friends of many years now, got me to thinking about the aging process. About how you work hard to get to the place where you can comfortably retire and enjoy a slower, less hectic pace of life. You get to that point, and it can go either really well, or horribly awry. And the quality of the life you led to get there really has nothing to do with it. Both these ladies were good, deeply spiritual, faithful servants. Both these ladies were thoughtful and generous with their time and energies. Both lived alone, one widowed, the other never married. Both were widely recognized for their cheerful and willing attitudes. Both were looking forward to enjoying retirement. One made it, the other did not. One, even though she's gone from the community she was born into, is now finding a new niche, another place in which to make a difference. That was the plan of the other, but instead, she is resting quietly and passively, awaiting the Resurrection.

So...the question comes, which one has the better retirement? You can hardly feel sorry for the one who has escaped the miseries of this world and only has a short sleep until she sees her Savior face to face. And the life the other now has is certainly not to be disdained for its peaceful pace. Why is it, then, that I feel only sorrow for the one and envy of the other? Maybe it's not really sorrow for her so much as it is sorrow for the rest of us who will miss her. It definitely is envy of other, though =)

The Principal Thing

The principal thing is perhaps the hardest thing I've done, professionally. There are many days I question my sanity, wonder at the wisdom of my judgment, doubt my decision-making ability when I think about having chosen to become a principal after 26 years of being "just" a high school English teacher. I've not given up all the English classes. I still teach four classes (senior English, Honors English, journalism, and freshman study skills), but the majority of my time is taken up in problem solving instead of lesson planning, penny pinching instead of essay grading, and phone conversations with parents instead of face-to-face conversations with students.

I miss full-time teaching! Even though I am looking forward to the school year, and I have a feeling (intuition if you will) that this will be a good year, there is a hollowness inside when I think about the things I have to do as opposed to the things I want to do. We have a good team. We like each other. We respect each other. We get along. This makes it easier to work together. But right now, I just want to go to my room, make a few bulletin boards, line up the desks, and not have to worry about the gym, the storage shed, the playground, the finances.

Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I don't have the energy right now to step back and look at things objectively. Maybe it's the fact that I haven't had a day off to speak of since the middle of July. I don't regret my decision. It was right for the time. But the little voice in my head, the wisdom of self-preservation and to-the-bone satisfaction, tells me that I need to find a way not to internalize things I have no control over. That I need to trust. That I need to keep full in my consciousness the fact that God can still the storms inside and out.

Wisdom is the principal thing. Ironic, isn't it, that I find this quote at Snapshots of Joy just when I'm wondering the wisdom of the principal thing?!!!

Long days journey frequently into night...

It's been an exhausting weekend. I worked until 5 on Friday, putting in a few hours after the basketball camp ended (normally, in the summer, we close up at noon). I had a 15 minute worship talk to give at church, so had to write that when I got home.

Since it was on my mind, I talked about commitment, and about the importance of doing "whatever thy hand findeth to do" and of doing it "with all thy might." I used the basketball camp and coach as examples of how this can work. It seemed to go over well.

Saturday afternoon, my sister and her family and I went up to my parents to meet with them and my other sister and her family for the August birthdays (nephew, mother, and brother-in-law). My parents live about 15 miles inland from Kennebunk and we pass the Sanford Airport on our way to their house. As we were passing the airport, I noticed a big jet parked in front of the presidential hangar (built back when George 41 was president for when he flew in to spend time at the family home on Walker Point in Kennebunk). No one believed me when I said that was Air Force One, but we were able to drive up surprisingly close and sure enough, it was the President's plane! They were in town for a family wedding, and a luncheon with the President of France who is vacationing in NH.

Our own family gathering was leisurely and pleasant. My parents' gardens are lush and beautiful, and the bees, butterflies, and birds were quite friendly. The cake was a lovely vision. Our time together not long enough, as usual.

I went to school when we got back from Maine and spent some time talking with the three other teachers who were working there late on a Saturday night as well. Left there after 11, went to bed after 1, got up at 6 this morning, was a school by 7:30 and didn't leave until after 9 p.m. I met with the staff at 10 and had registration from 1-5, although people started coming at noon and didn't leave until 8:30 p.m. I talked with dozens of parents and even more kids.

Everyone is excited about the coming school year. Even this exhausted principal/ teacher who isn't even remotely ready for school to start, but letting go of the stress knowing that there are still two more weeks that will fly by, but find me ready at the end. I hope!

Shuffling our attention span

I was watching Charlie Rose's interview with Paul Simon earlier this evening. Paul is a hot commodity right now because he was just awarded the first ever Library of Congress Gershwin Award for Song Writing. A couple of nights ago I watched the concert that commemorated this award with all kinds of other artists singing his songs. That was a treat. But this with Charlie Rose was fascinating as they conversed about the craft of song writing.

Towards the end of the conversation, he started talking about how first CDs and then the iPod changed the way he writes, the way all songwriters write any more. He said it used to be that you planned out an album as a whole, a collection of songs that create a theme or a message the artist wants to convey. With the old records, you had a side A and B, and you designed your play list to lure the listener over to the other side of the record. There were about 22 minutes to a side, and that was about right for one's attention span, he said. With the advent of the CD, there was now 65 minutes to hold a listener's attention. "That's longer than your English class!" he exclaimed. But with the option of "shuffle" on your 5-CD player or your iPod, you are no longer listening to a whole album at once, nor are you listening to a single artist at one time. Your musical attention span has diminished as much as your others. He said this, along with the ability to download any song you want, has changed the music business so much that he may never release another album again.

I must confess that I had not thought of that aspect of this new technology before. No doubt, though, it will soon be a topic of discussion in the academic world, if it hasn't been already. He talked about the loss he feels with this speeding up of the world. He talked about the pleasure of slowing down, of listening to something all the way through, of a sustained musical experience. He said that people think they are getting more by speeding up, but the reality is that you can get more by slowing down, by going deeper.

There's more, much more in this interview. Rhythm, world music, deconstructing and reconstructing a song. The emotionally draining experience of writing even a single song. If you have the time, listen to the whole thing. His observation about music can actually apply to many other aspets of life.