A Slice of Charles

Sometimes, the richness of my life astounds me. Such was the case this past Tuesday evening.

The day was pleasant if fairly routine. But early that evening, my wife skillfully moderated a spirited discussion of A Christmas Carol for the book club I began in 2017. Few things energize me as much as spending time with readers. If the day had ended with the discussion, I would have been more than satisfied.

But then several of us decided to go out for pizza. How dull would life be without pizza? Looking at the disparate group, the richness mentioned above came into focus. Aside from my wife, there was a musician friend and his wife; she is a frequent travelling companion of ours. Also with us was the moderator of the first book club I ever joined - fifteen years ago - and a couple I met via my music classes who have since become good friends. We've already travelled several times with the moderator - did I mention she is a reading soulmate? - and early next year the couple will be joining us on a Road Scholar trip to Spain.

Rounding out the group were two of the newer members of my club, both of whom we met via a hiking group. Come on! A rewarding book discussion, delicious pizza, stimulating conversation with eight people I enjoy all in the span of a few hours. Does it get better than this? 

Actually, it does. Before the meeting, a new member of the club - met her via a writer's group she runs - spent time with us at our home. Although we briefly touched on the Dickens novella in our pre-meeting conversation, little did I suspect she would soon after help guide her team of four to victory in the trivia contest my wife designed for the book discussion. Definitely helped that she'd finished the book just hours before the meeting. And though she didn't join us for pizza, between slices, one of the hikers - a member of her team - mentioned her crucial role in their victory. Nice, right?        

The Way Things Go

"December 7, 1941, a date that will live in infamy..."

My dad was twenty-three years old on this fateful day eighty-four years ago. And his life - like many young men his age at the time - was immediately altered. I don't recall ever having a conversation with him about getting drafted. What would be on your mind if you were newly drafted at twenty-three as the country was entering a World War? 

I've never faced a situation even remotely as frightening as this. If I try to imagine how I'd react by first recalling myself at twenty-three, it's difficult not to laugh. I was immature and self-absorbed. Serving my country was not a priority; I would have done almost anything to avoid getting drafted. Hero material? Not then, not now.

My dad was too unassuming to ever have thought himself a hero. If he thought about his situation at all after getting drafted, I can imagine him saying something like "It's just the way things go."

Chronicling Overkill

Chronicling overkill: A syndrome characterized by a compulsion to chronicle mundane details from one's life. Said chronicling includes - but is not limited to - books finished, movies viewed, music listened to, places visited. 

The entries in my book journals routinely begin with a sentence describing either how I learned of or why I chose to read the book in question. Straightforward enough, right? If you keep a book journal, do you include something like this to help you recall how you came to read something? Reasonably normal behavior, wouldn't you agree?  

Several weeks back, that straightforward opening to an entry for Elizabeth Strout's Tell Me Everything (2024) catapulted me into chronicling overkill. I quickly filled a full page in my book journal before realizing how carried away I'd gotten. Lest you recommend medication, I'll spare you further details about the cavernous rabbit hole I descended into that morning. One saving grace: I was able to climb out after inventing a syndrome which helped me rationalize my aberrant behavior.

Unfortunately, long before I named it, chronicling overkill had me in its grip. And though I expect no one to join me in the bell curve confession booth - at least not publicly - it's always nice to know at least a few other people share my struggle. Is there perhaps a need for a support group? 

Historians Gone Awry, anyone? 

 

Guest Post: Musings on Language

For just the second time since my blog's inception, I'm pleased to welcome a guest contributor. The post below - written by good friend, fellow musician, and published author Alan Struthers - fits critical bell curve criteria, i.e., it's brief and borders on the nerdy. But it also stands apart from my day-to-day musings with its semi-scholarly whiff. Language geeks: Please comment on this post; helps Alan and me to know we're not alone in our nerdiness. Thanks.

Just for fun, I've been researching the Great Vowel Shift, which occurred from the mid-fifteenth to the late sixteenth century, roughly from Chaucer to Shakespeare. OK, maybe that doesn't sound like fun to you, but it is a huge mystery with few theories to explain it. 

For some reason, all the English vowels changed during that period, "shifting" to new positions in the mouth. For example, the sound of "i" moved from "eee" to "aye", that is, moving from the back of the mouth to the front. (Say these sounds and feel what happens in your mouth.) All the vowels moved in the mouth and took on new pronunciations. In addition to this "shift", vowels generally became diphthongs, where the mouth moves while sounding the vowel. This didn't happen in any other language, nearby or remote - not Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italian, German, Swedish, etc.  

This all made the earlier English dialect (or dialects) virtually incomprehensible to speakers of the new one in the short period of 150 years or less. Put this into a contemporary time frame and imagine the Gettysburg address - delivered in 1863 - being gibberish to today's listeners.

So why did the shift happen in England, and why then?  In Inventing English (2007), scholar Seth Lerer posits the following: During the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the upper classes of England shifted from French to English as their chosen “prestige” language.  The sounds of English may have changed then as part of a larger process of replacing a lost prestige language with a prestige dialect – a dialect not keyed to region but to social class, education, or wealth.  

Will our great grandchildren see a different seismic shift in English grammar or pronunciation? Perhaps today's common grammatical usage or new forms of class or wealth will foment great linguistic changes in the future. Or maybe not.

A Happy Couch Potato

Though on occasion I lament the loss of my earlier-in-life habit of seeing most films for the first time in a theater, I'm not at all unhappy with how convenient it is nowadays to easily see recently released movies at home. What has been your ratio of movie theater vs. home viewing over the last two or three decades? I'd bet my daughter's ratio over her young lifetime is 1:5, at best. Contrast that with my estimated lifetime ratio of 3:2, even when taking into account the near-total shift in my habits over recent decades. 

But aside from the convenience of home viewing, the ease of discovering unsung gems like The Ballad of Wallis Island in our modern era makes yearning for a return to any good old days seem silly. Pre-1990 an unassuming jewel like this early 2025 release could have easily escaped my attention. Tiny cast - with just one marquee name, Carey Mulligan - no superheroes, car chases, explosions or noise, a simple story, simply told. If a movie like this makes it to the local megaplex, it usually lasts a week, at most. In my young adult life, you'd have had to search out this treasure at an "art" movie house. I sat on my couch, munchies nearby, fully immersed for over ninety minutes. 

What worthwhile film did you most recently uncover thanks to modern convenience?      

Today's Happy Dilemma

In my experience, being blown away by two novels in a row is fairly uncommon. When did this last happen to you?  

 

Heart the Lover (Lily King, 2025) and Trust (Hernan Diaz, 2022) are equally exceptional. The former has a slightly more conventional architecture than the latter. But King is Diaz's equal as a storyteller and prose stylist. Both novels are intelligent, emotionally rich, fresh; each held me from first page to last.

And therein lies today's happy dilemma. Which of the two do I recommend you tackle first? Ever since finishing Trust, I've spent some time reflecting on this. Let me give it a shot.

In the mood for love? Start with Heart the Lover. Historical sweep? Start with Trust. Characters who like to read like you? Heart the Lover. Characters powerful enough to shape public perception? Trust. Space? Heart the Lover. Density? Trust. 

Hope that helped. 

Key Learning: Year 76

Yesterday I looked forward by declaring a goal for my 77th year. Today's post looks back. Just as I have on every November 23 beginning in 2011, today I reflect on something the previous year - my 76th - has taught me. And just as with yesterday's post, I hope you'll join me. Birthday aside, what has been a key learning for you over this past year? If you can't find something that neatly fits that narrow parameter, why not go back to a key learning from two years ago, or three, or ten. I'm listening.  

Not long after visiting the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg South Africa, I made a conscious choice to begin modifying my habits in search of a balance that has long eluded me. Each time an experience like that museum - or a book, song, or film - reminded me of the importance of continually bearing witness, I resolved to find some ballast to help offset the despair that can often accompany those experiences. Beginning in mid-2024, I began noticing how this new practice was getting me within striking distance of that balance. My resolve was fortified. Over the past year +, this simple practice has now become a healthy reinforcing loop for me. 

For example, perhaps for the first time in my life, I've recently found myself able to more quickly recover when a book (e.g., Survival in Auschwitz), song (e.g., Strange Fruit), or film (e.g., I'm Still Here) has taken a significant emotional toll on me. My recovery strategy changes from situation to situation - sometimes meditation, a conversation with a soulmate who values bearing witness, maybe some humor (e.g., a funny book to follow the important but intense book) - but each strategy is aimed squarely at getting me back on my feet. 

Because, getting back on my feet is critical in maintaining a commitment to continually to bear witness. I must do this. If instead, I surrender and choose to not visit that disturbing museum, read that unsettling book, listen to that uncomfortable lyric, watch that upsetting film, doesn't that make me part of the problem? As a species, I believe our greatest hope to ensure the horrors of history are not forgotten, lest they be repeated, is choosing to bear witness, no matter the cost. We've all got so much work to do. I'm relieved to have learned over the last year + that there is hope in finding my balance.      

Goal for Year 77

Since the inception of my blog in 2011, on this day before my birthday each year I've announced here one or more goals I'm aiming to reach by my next birthday. I've also encouraged you to join me every year, birthday aside. There's significant research showing publicly declared goals are much more likely to be attained than those that are simply talked about idly with others. Although I've missed as often as I've hit, I'm pleased with my track record after fourteen consecutive years doing this. I hope you'll jump in this time.   

In my 77th year I will begin a project connected to my one-year-old grandson, modeled after the one I did for my daughter. Each year on/or near his birthday I will write a letter to him recalling important moments or events we've shared over the previous year, working from notes I'll make throughout the year about those moments or events. This is the same process I used starting with my daughter's eighth birthday and continuing through to her twenty-first. I'm starting his project today.  

I'll then save all of the letters to present to him as a book - with pictures, when applicable - on/near his sixteenth birthday in 2040. Thought about waiting until his twenty-first birthday - as I did when I presented my daughter's book to her in 2010 - but in 2045, I'll be ninety-six years old. I'm not that confident I'll remember. Even waiting until I'm ninety-one might be pushing my luck a little. Still, think I'll err on the optimistic side.

If you do jump in with me here, remember the SMART model for goals. Make a goal Specific, able to be Measured, include Action steps, make it Realistic, and include a Time frame. Doing those five things greatly increases your likelihood of success. Good luck.