Literary Travels, Part IV

The final leg of my trip to Europe provided a return to somewhere I had visited my freshman year of high school (in other words, a couple of decades ago!): Amsterdam.  I have to tell you, visiting Amsterdam as a chaperone versus as a student is an entirely different experience!  But that's another conversation.

During our two days in Amsterdam, we were able to see much of this beautiful city.  We took a canal tour that provided us with history as well as a description of Amsterdam's modern buildings and contemporary way of life.  I found the emphasis on bicycle riding particularly inspiring.  Bicycles are everywhere in this city.  In fact, whereas we were used to seeing car parks as we traveled throughout Europe, in Amsterdam, we saw bicycle parks!

The canals of Amsterdam, the architecture of the buildings, and the emphasis on flowers and greenery are what truly lend charm and beauty to this city.  There's an interplay of natural and man-made elements--a harmony--that is unlike any other major city I have visited.

As you may recall from my earlier posts, I had several comical disappointments on the trip (and I write these words with full, authentic gratitude for the opportunity to travel abroad), beginning with my attempt to finally commune with Thomas Hardy in Poet's Corner.  The trip began this way, and it ended with another "You've Got to Be Kidding Me" moment.

My favorite visual artist is Rembrandt.  Since my first visit to Amsterdam in 1995, I have been entranced by his work, particularly his use of chiaroscuro.  In high school, we studied him in my American Literature class as part of our Scarlet Letter unit (discussing Hawthorne as a painter with words).  I even had a print of what is referred to as "Self Portrait with Disheveled Hair" (my favorite!) hanging on my wall as a teenager.  So imagine my excitement when we walk up to the Rjiksmuseum and see a huge banner proclaiming the "Year of Rembrandt", a year in which every Rembrandt piece the museum holds will be on special display!  Let's just say I was overcome.

So here's the scene:

We enter the museum and I am so giddy I'm like a kid on Christmas morning.  I can barely stand still as we're given instructions and reminded of the time we're due back.  At last, we're released, and I run--literally run--to the special exhibit where I learn I need a special ticket.  No problem; this is absolutely worth the extra money.  I go to the ticket counter where I see "Rembrandt Exhibit Sold Out Today."  Our last day in Amsterdam.

But that's okay.  Ever the optimist, I know that my favorite Rembrandt--"Self Portrait with Disheveled Hair" (I really love that title) is on permanent exhibit, so while this is disappointing, that's the way things go.  And so I follow my terribly confusing map for the next half hour as I desperately seek the Rembrandt permanent exhibit.  I see "The Night Watch", which is great and all, but I'm after the hair!  Finally I find the room, tucked between two larger galleries (I also ran into Van Gogh on the way, which was utterly amazing!).

I enter the gallery, calm my breath (I've eaten way too many pastries on this trip), and leisurely walk about, playing it cool while freaking out inside.

I don't see a single Rembrandt.

I check the map again.  I am definitely in the correct gallery.

And that is when I see the small, freshly printed sign: "The Rembrandt pieces usually on display have been moved to be part of 'The Year of Rembrandt Exhibit'".

Seriously, y'all.  You have to decide: do you cry or do you laugh?

Trick question: you buy goat cheese pie and hot chocolate and throw yourself a pity party at the museum cafe.

But once fed and sugared, I made my way with an understanding friend to the museum library.  This exists!  And it's beautiful!  It looks like the library in Beauty and the Beast with a second floor overlooking the research desks where scholars are reading about the artists whose works are on display inside the museum.  I may not have gotten to gaze upon the brushstrokes of Rembrandt, but there's little in this life that standing in a beautiful library cannot (at least temporarily) fix.

Yet the most outstanding experience in Amsterdam--literary or otherwise--had to be our visit to the Anne Frank House.  I had visited this site in high school as well, and it has certainly expanded since then with a large visitor's center in the building adjacent to the house.

I'm not sure how to convey the power of this place.  It's somewhere you simply must enter for yourself.  Walking up stairs tucked behind a bookcase, the same bookcase door and stairs that Anne and her family entered to take refuge in the secret annex, is a powerful experience.  Gazing upon her postcards, the "stars" with which she adorned her walls and that are still there, though now behind plexi-glass, breaks the heart.  Gazing upon the actual diary, the ink with which she wrote the words that have connected with so many fellow humans over these years, is almost unreal.  I had to walk out when the video of her father began playing.  The idea of this being my child was too much.  I stood outside with a friend (and fellow mom) and wept.

I won't do it justice, so I will not try to describe the visit here.  Yet I urge you to get there and experience it for yourself.  You cannot go inside that building and come out without feeling compelled to do whatever it takes to prevent further atrocity in this world.  We must--we must demand peace and kindness everywhere.

My literary travels complete, I flew home the following day, still processing everything I had seen and experienced.  As we flew away from Europe, I saw a farm of solar turbines in the waters of the Atlantic, turning beautifully in the morning sun.  There was something about that sight that touched me.  Maybe you'll find this silly, but they brought me hope.  Hope that we can do better.  Hope that we can use our experiences to improve life for all of creation.

Words matter.

Keep Christ in Christmas

This post was taken down for a bit, but I'm excited to return it to the blog! It originally appeared in December 2018.

I was recently asked to give a talk at a non-denominational student gathering.  Here is what I presented. I hope it gives you some food for thought. No matter your creed, faith, or personal beliefs, I wish you the happiest of holidays!  May we all see in one another beautiful beings embodying inherent worth and dignity.

Good morning.  I’m so honored to be here with you today.  I’ve been to many Agape gatherings in previous years, and I’ve always been impressed with the atmosphere you’ve created here.  An atmosphere of love, acceptance, and fellowship. An atmosphere of unity. As a Lutheran, I’ve also appreciated your willingness to invite protestant preachers and teachers, to hear their witness to the love of Christ.  It helps us see what we all have in common.

I’ve given a lot of thought to what I should talk about today.  I don’t have much opportunity to talk about my faith journey in my everyday life, and yet it is such an essential part of who I am. .

There’s so much I’d like to say to you, but since we’re in my favorite season, Advent, I thought I would talk a little bit about what’s heavy on my heart this Advent, and give you some suggestions of how you and I can make these Advent and Christmas seasons more Christ-centered.

I’m struggling this Advent.  It’s my favorite time of year, but this year I’m having a difficult time getting into the spirit of things.  Like I said, I love Advent. I love going to church every Sunday and seeing the Advent candles lit (and I love the song we sing while we light them). I love the Christmas pageant my kids participate in at church.  I love the service of Lessons and Carols I was at this past Wednesday. And, in a broader context, I love driving around and looking at Christmas lights. I love wrapping gifts. I love baking and giving treats away in bags signed, “From the Christmas Elves”.  I love Charlie Brown Christmas.  I love Linus telling the Christmas story, even though I thought it was long and boring as a child.  I love decorating. I love Christmas Eve service and singing “Silent Night” by candlelight.

But I’m struggling this year.  And here’s why.

Everywhere I turn I see signs proclaiming “Keep Christ in Christmas”.  I turn on the news to see people getting all uptight about people greeting one another with “Happy Holidays” or angrily proclaiming that the Starbucks cup isn’t “Christmasy” enough. And then the very next story, on the very same news channel, is about the dangers of immigrants and asylum seekers followed by people arguing about what we’re supposed to do to keep other people away from us.

And this bothers me.  It doesn’t necessarily bother me for political reasons.  It bothers me because how we treat others is a Christian issue.  And if we’re so concerned with “Keeping Christ in Christmas”, then we need to realize that WE are the way to keep Christ in Christmas.  As many of you know, I have a motto by which I live. "Words matter". So when we say “Keep Christ in Christmas”, we need to mean it. And not just by making sure we aren’t consumed by materialism, but by being Christ to those around us.  "Keep Christ in Christmas" should be an instruction, a directive, of how we treat one another not only at Christmastime, but all year long.

When I was in high school, it was really popular to wear “WWJD” bracelets--What Would Jesus Do?  And as much as that became a trend, the message is correct.

Being Christ to others--Keeping Christ in Christmas.  That means seeing everyone around us with the inherent human dignity that they embody as children of God. That means speaking of and to our LGBTQIA+ brothers and sisters with dignity. That means not using words like “Gay” and “Retarded” as derogatory terms.  Words that describe something essential to the identity of others should NEVER be used to tear people down. Keeping Christ in Christmas means seeing the beauty of faith in people who have different religious beliefs than ours. It means asking questions and learning from people whose stories differ from our own.

What would Jesus do?  Jesus was the best listener.  He would sit amongst those who were different, those who would scare many of us or make us uncomfortable, and he would listen and then extend love to each and every one of them.  I see the way people are treated in this country and in this school as a serious issue for Christians, because we are called to love everyone.

The Book of John reads:

"As the Father has loved me, so I have I loved you. Abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full. “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you."

We need to look at asylum seekers with Christian eyes.  Where would Jesus be? Would He be to the side, his back turned, overgeneralizing and looking at a group as a threat?  No. He would be amongst them, seeing the humanity in every man, woman, and child. He would be listening. He would be loving.  He would be a protector, to be sure. But He would not dismiss people out of hand.

If Jesus were in the hallway of this school, and He heard someone use a slur against another student or in reference to a student who wasn’t present, would He walk past?  No. He would intervene immediately. And probably flip over a table.

You see, Jesus isn’t a bystander.  Jesus is political. Jesus is engaged.  Jesus is passionate. And Jesus is a listener.

Okay, Mrs. Koon, this is a pretty tall order.  What are you suggesting we do?

I’ll tell you.

I’m suggesting that you decide that this Advent, you will look at every person you encounter as the child of God that they are.  I’m suggesting that you acknowledge the inherent dignity of every single person. Every single creation of God.

I’m suggesting that you leave a note in the locker of someone whom you often see alone.  A note that says, “You are a beautiful child of God. Merry Christmas.”

I’m suggesting that the next time you hear someone call someone else or something “gay” or “retarded”, you intervene.  Tell them that they cannot use that language. Be Christ turning over the tables. Be brave through your faith.

I’m suggesting you reach out to those in need.  Jesus was a migrant, an asylum seeker, a baby in need. Reach out to those who are also sleeping in cardboard boxes and shanties.  Reach out with prayer. Or, at the very least, look at their faces and see the dignity within. See the person in front of you, created by God.

I’m suggesting that you tell members of our school community who feel isolated because they are a minority--through race, sexual identity, socioeconomic status, or religious belief--that they are loved and appreciated. That they have inherent worth.

I’m suggesting that we all take responsibility for our words.

I see signs of Christ’s love everywhere.  I see it when a student hugs a crying classmate in the hall.  I see it when a student writes a thoughtful message on a clothespin and clips it to the backpack of a student who is completely unaware.  I see it when teachers share the "ah-ha" moments of students in class. I see it when I hear people ringing bells next to Salvation Army kettles.  I see it when my son looks at me and says, with no prompting, “Mommy, I just love you.” I see it when students sit in my class arguing for justice and reconciliation in the world.  I see it when a student reaches out to someone they don’t know and says, “It’ll get better.”

I’m suggesting that this Christmas we move beyond words.  I’m suggesting that this Christmas we don’t just say “Keep Christ in Christmas”.  I’m suggesting that we BE Christ in Christmas and in this world. I’m suggesting that we take it upon ourselves through our words and actions, to be the ones who keep Christ in Christmas.  Not on a banner, a bumper sticker, or a billboard, but through our actions and our words. Be Christ for others. Create the Kingdom of God on Earth. Keep Christ in Christmas. Be Christ to all of God’s children.

I want to close by praying over all of you.  I love praying over people, and I don’t get to do it as often as I would like.

Lord, I pray that you would bless these students.  Bless their tongues that they may speak words that spread your love, bless their hands that they may reach out and hold the hands of those in need of your touch.  Bless their eyes that they may see You in all people. Bless their hearts, that they may be open to seeing ALL people, every single one, as a child of God, no matter the person’s race, age, gender, sexual identity, physical and mental ability, socioeconomic status, political party, nationality, religious faith.  May we not pass the judgement on others that we so fear being passed on us. Bless them that they may have the courage to speak out against the words and actions that harm our precious brothers and sisters. I give you thanks, Lord, for the opportunity to be your face in the world. I give you thanks for these beautiful students. May we be, above all, the face of Your love.

Amen.

Literary Travels, Part III

On my recent European trip, the grandest surprise had to be Belgium.  I'd heard from multiple people that Belgium was a beautiful, amazing country, and yet, I'm ashamed to say, before this trip, I would never had said that Belgium was on my bucket list.

I can now say that returning to Belgium is near the top of that list.

First: The Food.  And if you know me at all, you could have guessed that this element would be first.  I love food.  I love exploring culturally and ethnically diverse foods, gawking at beautiful foods, cherishing fresh foods, and, in general, eating.  My first meal in Belgium consisted of hot chocolate, croquettes, and frites.  This may not seems like an overly exciting meal, but, by golly, it was my favorite meal of the trip.  The hot chocolate was delivered in pieces; by that I mean that the warm milk arrived in a clear, insulated cup and was accompanied by a ramekin of dark chocolate chips, a ramekin of whipped cream, and a spoon.  I poured the chips in and watched them melt, swirling about the milk until it was a creamy brown.  I dolloped the fresh whipped cream on top and then stirred, thickening my drink.  And then I tasted the greatest hot chocolate of my life.  It was a hot day and I was outside--no worries.  I savored every sip.

The croquettes were cheese (real, European cheese), perfectly crispy, and served with a sweet and tangy, semi-creamy dip that I could have eaten with a spoon.  And the frites--OH, the frites!

That evening I enjoyed a freshly made waffle slathered with nutella and chopped bananas at a "Waffleteria" (that's real, y'all!), true Belgian chocolates, and Belgian beef stew.  And for breakfast I went downstairs in the hotel to find a cheese station, a meat station, a bread station, a fruit station, and--best of all--an orange juice machine that squeezed the oranges before my eyes!  I'll tell you this, Europe does breakfast right!

The Literature: Before you read on, I suggest you read the poem "In Flanders Fields" by John McCrae.  For it was in Belgium that we visited these fields.  We first went through a museum that included a recreation of both trenches and dugouts.  Then we took a stroll along a path cutting through the fields where bloody warfare took place during World War I.  It was a beautiful day.  Butterflies cut across the path, tractors plowed fields now producing livelihood, and homes with swing sets in the backyard stood just across the grass that spread from either side of us.  It was a solemn walk, and I was struck by the beauty of this place in contrast to the images we had seen in the museum.  It's difficult to make that walk, to see the remnants of dugout entrances and solidified bags still standing at the sites of trenches, and not feel that war must be ended everywhere.  We ended at Tyne Cot Cemetery where rows of white markers were dotted with red poppies.

That evening, in Ypres, we attended the Last Post Ceremony at the Menin Gate.  This ceremony began in 1928, and has been taking place every night since (with exception during the second world war).  Words cannot describe the solemnity of this occasion.  It was certainly one of the most meaningful experiences of my life.

Bruges: Finally, visiting Bruges for a lunch break was a highlight of my time in Belgium.  This beautiful, medieval city is a place to which I will certainly return.  The city is surrounded by a wall and is sometimes referred to as the "Venice of the North" because of its many canals.  The highlights for me were the Church of our Lady, where we saw an authentic Michelangelo, The Basilica of the Holy Blood, which contains the relic of the Holy Blood, and the Markt with its beautifully painted buildings and impressive belfry.  I enjoyed stolling the streets, looking at the windows which housed intricate miniatures, Christmas decorations, and needlepoint pillows and handkerchiefs.  It was on this stroll that I consumed a "Waffle on a Stick" because--obviously!  But the best part of our visit was sitting with my friends, eating frites at a table in the Markt.  This is a city I want to return to and dwell in.  The medieval architecture still intact, the sights of Bruges are unlike anywhere I have been.

Belgium--you were more than I could have expected.

https://poets.org/poem/flanders-fields
http://www.greatwar.co.uk/events/menin-gate-last-post-ceremony.htm

Beach Reads 2019!

A few days ago, I participated in my "Summer is Here!" ritual: walking the stacks of the library, judging books by their covers.  If you haven't read my post on this ritual, you can find it back in June of 2018.  It's my favorite day of the year, and , yes, that means I like it even better than my birthday.  Here's my Summer 2019 stack, along with my thoughts (often quite superficial) upon choosing each book:

Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard by Kiran Desai: The bright cover caught my eye, but so did the name of the author.  I am embarrassed to say that I've never read a book by Desai, though one of my AP Lit students' least favorite prompts is from The Inheritance of Loss, which I've picked up on several occasions only to realize that the timing wasn't right.  That said, I chose this one, no joke, because I love guavas and "hullabaloo" is one of my favorite words.  Go ahead--judge me.

Jack the Ripper: Case Closed by Gyles Brandreth: The most recent book in the Oscar Wilde Mysteries, a series I spend time in every summer.  I absolutely adore these books because I adore Wilde.  What a man!  What a life!  What extravagance!  You may recall my recent near-faint experience when I passed by the Savoy on a bus, so my excitement about this book shouldn't surprise anyone.  The American title is Oscar Wilde and the Return of Jack the Ripper, but it's only available in hardback, and I prefer a nice paperback at the beach, so, to my chagrin, this book will not match the others in the Gyles Brandreth section of my library.  (I purchased this book since the library did not have it--a travesty!)  I also have a peculiar fascination with all things Jack the Ripper, so the marriage of the two in this book certainly has my expectations at an insanely high level.

The Minor Adjustment Beauty Salon by Alexander McCall Smith: If you follow this blog, then you know that each summer the first book I read at the beach is the next in McCall Smith's "No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency" series.  To me, his books mean "summer".  If you've not begun this series, I encourage you to do so.  Both men and women love the main character, Mma Ramotswe, along with the mysteries and the cultural aspects of the books. 

Possessing the Secret of Joy by Alice Walker: I realize this one doesn't seem like a "beach book".  The subject matter is heavy, but important, but when I'm at the beach, I find I can think clearly and better deal with the issues that are troubling me.  I admire Walker more than I can say; I truly believe she's one of our greatest living writers.  I will read anything she writes, be it novel, poem, or lecture.  And you should too.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera: Perhaps my most superficial choice.  The title is beautiful.  The cover features a bowler hat floating above a sepia toned lane.  I know I've heard of this book.  Now's the time.

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin: I always read a book before seeing the movie, and I'm ashamed to say I didn't know about this book before the movie adaptation began receiving such great acclaim.  My lack of knowledge shows exactly why voices that have been denied a place in the literary canon need to be brought to the forefront.  I'm excited to read this one as I'm new to Baldwin (also an embarrassing admission), though I Am Not Your Negro is one of the most poignant, important films I've seen.  I'm looking forward to reading Baldwin's words on the page.

Dear Mr. Knightley by Katherine Reay: The pink cover with swirly, black script caught my eye.  The reference to Austen and the epistolary form are right up my alley.  That's all it took.

Swallowing Mercury by Wioletta Greg: Shortlisted for the Booker Prize.  Written by an award-winning poet.  Beautiful cover.  Yes, please.

Curtain by Agatha Christie: No one should ever need to explain why they're reading an Agatha Christie novel.  A few years ago, I chose to have "The Summer of Agatha Christie", and I tore through her novels.  Thankfully, there are still a few left to read.  If you've never picked up a Christie novel, I am incredibly sad for you.  You need to right this wrong, immediately.

At the Water's Edge by Sarah Gruen: I adored Water for Elephants.  I love novels set in times and places I have only ever imagined.  I also adore a book that incorporates vintage photographs (just one reason I also love Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children).  I'm excited to read another book by the author.  I didn't even need to read the inside flap.  She had me at Water for Elephants.

This is my starter list for summer.  What should I read once I finish this stack?  Leave your recommendations in the comments here or on my Instagram post!  

Literary Travels, Part II

Pardon the delay...the end of the school year happened.

One of my life goals was to cross the British Channel, and so after our sojourn to England, our tour group boarded a ferry to do just that.

We embarked in Portsmouth, which has a rich literary heritage.  In a pub called "The Slug and Lettuce" (I kid you not), photographs of Rudyard Kipling and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle don the walls, and here I learned that Conan Doyle actually wrote "A Study in Scarlet" while living in Portsmouth.  Thus, this seaside town is the birthplace of Sherlock Holmes. 

Now on to the Channel crossing, but let me begin by taking a moment to tell you just how much I underestimated the term "ferry".  We were to take a "ferry"across the English Channel.  Now, where I come from, in South Carolina, a "ferry" is a small, sometimes double-decker boat that has little benches inside and a narrow, railed deck wrapping about the "cabin".  We usually have a cocktail and cross the harbor on our "ferry" at sunset, looking for dolphins.

This was not like our South Carolina ferries.  For starters, when I walked out of the terminal, I saw what amounted to a cruise ship and proceeded to wheel my suitcase up a series of ramps to reach the gangway.  We gathered in the movie theatre for our embarkation instructions, were notified of the disco upstairs as well as the cafeteria, and were then sent to our staterooms, rooms so tiny, our suitcases wouldn't fit on the floor, but with bunks, which is very literary indeed!

Being the person I am, I immediately ran to the back of the ferry to catch a glimpse of Osborne House on the Isle of Wight, Victoria and Albert's vacation home.  It was nearly eleven at night, so I didn't get the view I had hoped for, but I saw the dim outline of the island and the faint glow of a light.  And then I took about ten pictures--of what amounted to darkness.  No matter.  My heart was full.  My roommate and fellow English teacher took the opportunity to read Matthew Arnold's "Dover Beach": "The sea is calm tonight./The tide is full, the moon lies fair/Upon the straits" (1-3).

The next day began with a visit to Arromanches, Normandy, and Omaha Beach.  There's no sense trying to describe the feeling of these places.  I stood on the beach on a beautiful April day, looking inland, towards the hills, and I was overwhelmed.  That's all I can say.  Sometimes the absence of words matters as well.

We stopped in the picturesque town of Bayeux and had crepes and frites at a creekside restaurant before visiting the famed Bayeux Tapestry, a literary landmark in its own right.  The ability to tell stories through images is astounding to me.  Every detail was specifically determined, and it was a wonder to imagine the fingers that made each stitch, thousands of stitches used to tell the story of the Battle of Hastings.  More than reading reprinted ink words on a page, the human touch on the story had a significant impact on me.

We spent the night in Caen (where I broke down a bought a cheeseburger after an unfortunate salmon incident) and that was the night that Notre Dame was overtaken by flames.  I recall standing in a restaurant, waiting on my to-go order, and watching the tragedy play out on two giant flat screen televisions.  The restaurant was remarkably quiet, and our server was visibly distraught, at one point apologizing through her tears because she was so distracted.  It is surreal being in a place where a national tragedy is happening, and yet being not of that nation.  There were no words to comfort our French neighbors, but the images of people singing and praying and holding one another revealed the strength and endurance of the French people.

My literary travels continued the next day when we stopped for lunch at Montreuil-sur-mer.  This was an unscheduled stop, but a happy one, as it is the town where Victor Hugo often visited and which he immortalized as the town of which Jean Valjean is mayor in Les Miserables.  I naturally overreacted about this in an embarrassing display that may have included a quiet rendition of "Look Down". Laurence Sterne also describes this beautiful locale in A Sentimental Journey.  Afterwards, we went to La Coupole, a site of which I was completely unaware before the trip.  La Coupole was a Nazi bunker complex where V-2 rockets were to be launched at London.  It's built into the side of a quarry and, as one fellow chaperone put it, looks like the Death Star embedded in the side of a mountain.  This was another place that words cannot describe.  A sign upon entry reads, "La Coupole was a place of suffering.  Today, it is a place of remembrance.  Europeans of nowadays, you who live on a continent at peace, please visit in SILENCE." 

Our time in France ended with an overnight stay in my new favorite city in France: St. Omer.  I vow to return there one day, pen and paper in hand.  If you want a place to be inspired to write, St. Omer will certainly fulfill your need.  We stayed in a hotel just off the central square, where restaurants, pubs, churches, and markets mingle.  I purchased pastries from a local chocolatier and fresh blueberries from the open air market.  I could see myself residing there, giving up my vehicle for a place where I could walk wherever I needed to go, writing in the creperies and coffee shops. 

Hemingway was always fond of France for writing.  He was certainly onto something.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43588/dover-beach
https://www.bayeuxmuseum.com/en/the-bayeux-tapestry/
https://www.lacoupole-france.co.uk/