Being Tested Redux

What is the most difficult moral dilemma you've ever faced?

Woody Allen finds a few ways to pose that provocative question to each of us in "Blue Jasmine". To start, if you were fabulously wealthy like the eponymous character played by Cate Blanchett in the film, what are the chances you would expose a spouse's financial chicanery? Like many people, I've railed sanctimoniously about Ruth Madoff's level of responsibility for her husband's thievery. But if Pat were in Jasmine/Ruth's moccasins, what would he do? What would you do?

Then Woody ups the ante with a moral dilemma more common to all economic groups. If you were sure the spouse of a good friend or sibling was having an affair what would you do? Back in my naive "black is black" and "white is white" days, I recall playing a board game called "Scruples" that posed a similar question. My self-righteous answer then, before I was smart enough to sometimes see shades of gray? "Of course, I would tell my friend (or sibling) about the affair!"

Mostly, "Blue Jasmine" made me happy I haven't been tested like Allen's characters; yet.            

Improvised Vacations

Thanks to our ineffectual elected officials, this year only Congaree in South Carolina will be added to the list of National Parks my wife and I have visited. Our putative destination tomorrow was Smoky Mountain; that will have to wait until 2014. But the camping gear is ready, bike rack is on the car, I-pod is loaded with tunes. Only thing missing this moment - an actual destination.

Stay tuned. Next post could be as soon as tomorrow or...several days from now. Our semi-improvised itinerary is pointing north; upstate New York or somewhere in New England - good direction to head in the early Fall. If any readers up that way want to make us an offer, I'm listening. And since departure time is still up in the air, catch us before we leave and you could have two charming visitors; I'll even play guitar for our dinner. If you have Internet service, sweet!

Where did you go on your last improvised vacation? What forced you into improvising? How did it turn out? No stories involving showers or hotel proprietors named Norman, OK?

Mudbound

Though the assured prose and unique use of six narrators grabbed me immediately, about 80 pages into "Mudbound" (2008), my guard went up. As the tale of two families in Jim Crow Mississippi right after WW II began its slow build, I felt a familiar sensation; novels like this often take a toll on me.

I was right to be concerned. About 70 pages later, the oldest son of the black family in Hillary Jordan's stunning debut describes in flashback the liberation of Dachau; I had to stop reading for a while. Horrifying as that experience was for Ronsel Jackson, he has returned home to a country prepared to torture him further. As Act Three in Jordan's classic structure began, only her undeniable skill as a writer propelled me forward. Nobody can enjoy what they read in a book like this. But anyone open to them can learn important lessons.

"What we can't speak, we say in silence". Even though that sentence is nine pages from the end of "Mudbound", they could have easily been the final words. I don't believe it's a coincidence the words have the familiar ring of Martin Luther King: "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about the things that matter."  Nor do I believe it's a coincidence this talented author has the youngest son of the white family speak the words at the top of this paragraph.

Shortcut This Time, Please

"How much are we willing to reveal about ourselves?"

Except when I'm out of Internet range, if "Reflections" land is quiet two days in a row, assume something jarred me. For these two days just past, the question above from a NY Times op-ed piece was the trigger. Then, observing the sea of gray hair and hearing aids while at a free jazz concert the following day, the deal was sealed. How did these two seemingly unrelated things temporarily silence the bigmouth blogger?

How would you answer that question? Having revealed myself to an alarming degree here since March 2011, you already know my answer. So, my atypical cyberspace quiet this time was initially triggered when that question helped me first fully recognize the extent of my semi-public psychic nakedness. From there it was a short distance to reflecting on what drives me to reveal myself willingly and voluntarily.

Connection to the gray hair & hearing aids? With the question and subsequent reflections keeping my face red, those visual cues reminded me again there are fewer years ahead than there are behind for me to at least approach some good answers. So, despite my clear skill at plodding and postponing gratification, I'm disappointed the only answer I found after two days of processing is a question that contradicts those complementary abilities: Where is the shortcut to Nirvana?

Spin The Word

Let's play spin the word. Without using a dictionary to parse your response, answer the following:

a.) You're an attentive parent. Which would offend you more - someone referring to your child as coddled or doted upon?

b.) You occasionally lose your cool when playing sports. Would you prefer your teammates call you competitive or intense?

c.) Your tastes in food, music, etc. are well known to people close to you and largely unchanging. Would you be more likely to refer to yourself as predictable or an open book?

Pay close attention and tell me the next time you run into a potato vs. potahto scenario similar to a-c above. I'm curious to know if the next tomato/tomahto situation you encounter is one not already on my list. And as far as that list is concerned, call me thorough or quirky - I've heard both. Just depends on who is spinning the word.

February 2, February 2, February 2

Of the many silly movies I've seen, Harold Ramis' "Groundhog Day", starring Bill Murray, has returned to my mind more frequently than any other. Case in point:

Whining about how my planned trip to Smoky Mountain National Park next week will likely be cancelled because of boneheaded politics, a new friend helpfully commiserated. Then he added - "Imagine those people who were already camping in Yosemite or elsewhere and were told to pack up and leave a park!" In a flash the central premise of "Groundhog Day" came to me - How many times have I made this same mistake over and over? While busy feeling sorry for myself, others have been so much more inconvenienced than I.  And how about all those Federal employees on unpaid furlough?

Pat whines; friend speaks; "Groundhog Day" flashes; Buddha intones -"When a student is ready, a teacher appears"; perspective returns. Until the next time.

A Cranky Minority

You notice someone reading a book you've read and ask how they're enjoying it. What other circumstance readily comes to mind where you initiate a conversation with a total stranger?

Direct from codger-land comes my next question: If the same stranger is using a Kindle or a Nook, what are the chances of you initiating that conversation? Though reading is a solitary act, even a superficial conversation with a stranger can deepen my enjoyment of a book. And perhaps equally important, a visible book title acts as a socially permissible entree for human connection, no matter how brief.

In a galaxy far away, I recall being in the distinct minority when those loud boom boxes were everywhere on the streets. Even when the music temporarily pummeling me was not to my liking, at least I was sharing an experience. When the Sony Walkman soon after became the polite and default way to retreat into a private concert, I got a bit wistful for the chest rattling bass of those boom boxes. Minority status could soon be mine again vis-a-vis my current posture re Kindles etc. There are worse things.

Your Place Or Mine, Barbara?

I doubt it's a coincidence that the writers I most want to meet came to me via non-fiction.

I clearly recall my first experience like this, right after reading Anna Quindlen's 1993 book of essays "Thinking Out Loud", which I finished around the time of its publication. I began by writing her a letter of introduction - never sent. And though I've subsequently read and liked some of Quindlen's fiction, I can't this moment remember an instance when my gateway for wanting a tete-a-tete with an author was a novel. For example, my first experience with the late David Foster Wallace was trying to crack his breakout novel "Infinite Jest". Had no luck with that and his short stories are equally inscrutable. Yet, two of his books of essays made me want to look him up; seriously.

Immediately after finishing "This Is How" by Agusten Burroughs last year, I tried communicating with him via his website. Wisely, his firewall is avid fan/stalker/nut proof. Oh well. Regular readers of this blog know of my unadorned admiration for the non-fiction of Christopher Hitchens. Though I'd have been hard-pressed to hold my own in a conversation with him, that didn't prevent me from fantasizing about exactly that scenario while Hitchens was still alive.

Now, directly on the heels of completing "Nickel and Dimed" (2001) by Barbara Ehrenreich, a few years after reading her 2008 book "This Land Is Their Land", I've added another candidate for that dinner all serious readers have imagined. If you had that dinner and only writers were invited, who would they be? How many would be, like mine, primarily from the world of non-fiction? For the record: If E.L. Doctorow, Toni Morrison or Philip Roth want to discuss their fiction with me, I am so available.