Pastan's "Ethics"

This story is a perfect example of how we are as humans. It is said we think we know everything when we are young adults, but the truth is we don’t know anything. I think half of that statement is usually true for most of us, and the other half is not as true as it seems. We really don’t know much, but we also know that. Sometimes we try to cover it up with fancy language or making a bold decision, but the fact of the matter is, we are just bluffing; we are just doing whatever it takes to get by. In this poem the main character is faced with a question of whether to save an old lady or a “sacred” painting. Every year the students have to decide something, but most of the time it isn’t a heartfelt, thought out decision. This is true not only in this ethics class, but in most decisions in a young person’s life. We don’t think about how things might affect us in the future, or even more importantly, how it affects others.

We also see how the perspective changes as we get older. All the situations we have been asked about suddenly become more than just hypothetical and we have to make a decision that will carry weight. All of the things we thought would never affect us are things we begin looking in the eye. The character probably never thought she would see the day when there might actually be an old lady looking at that painting, let alone have it be her.

I love when a poem speaks to the reader in such a tangible way. As literature students, we don’t necessarily think the things we are reading in our classes are going to have a significant impact on us. And while some of them may not, there will be those that (forgive the cliché) change our lives whether we see it now or not.

Art Museum

I went to the Polk Museum of Art for this assignment, and I stayed there for at least 40 minutes.

It was great to walk around the art museum this weekend. I have always known it was there, but I never really took the time to go inside it (which is ironic/sad because I am a huge art fanatic).
It seems crazy to think that so much art is all stored in one place like that, just waiting to be discovered. And it is in such a remote location that I can’t imagine it sees too many new faces very often.
While I was there I noticed a middle-aged couple who were perusing the gallery as well. In the ceramic section I sat down and just watched them for a little bit. I know they weren’t an exhibit, and they may have even just been tourists, but in a way they were still part of the art there. It was inspiring to see the man take such interest and fascination in something that seemed more like the woman’s hobby than his own. And the way she looked at each piece as though it were one of the greatest things, as if somehow each piece were better than the previous. There was nothing particularly memorable about these people, not to demean them in any way, but they stood out to me.
There was a piece outside that I thought was particularly hilarious; it was titled Still Life and Pears (or something similar to that effect, I don’t remember exactly), and it had a house-like structure sitting next to some pears. I know it sound ridiculous but I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. :D
I really enjoyed a lot of the works in the student gallery too. It is crazy for me to think that these people are my age or younger and they have produced works that earned enough merit to be in a museum, no matter how small of one.



The Truth Is…

Just a few faces shining back at me
Like some sort of house of mirrors

Some are smiling, frowning, sober
Others shy, prideful, smug

Some live abundantly and are the envy of their neighbors
The rest are the neighbors, envying even just clean water

It is humbling when you step into the empty home
Realizing they are still happy; even they can be happy.



Labor

Calloused hands run over the page of designs
What will be the next hit is the question
Maybe blossoms, but it is summer so maybe waves
Maybe they will want to get ready for the soon approaching cool season
So maybe maple leaves

Carefully picking out the spindles so as not to rough the material
The calloused hands begin to set up the loom
These threads will form fabric
And this fabric will feed a family
From one artist to another


Laughable

They will see this and not understand
Nevertheless, I continue

Reading for Transformation... by Francis X. McAloon (SJ)

“The encounter described here [in Sandra Schneiders’ The Revelatory Text] goes beyond the accumulation of new data or the enjoyment of aesthetic experience, to focus attention upon the reader’s reappropriation of self.”

This quote from the reading strikes me particularly because of the way it challenges the reader. So often today it is difficult to find a person who even merely reads for pleasure, let alone reading something that they choose to grow from. I say “choose” because that is exactly what it is; we have the choice whether or not to let something affect us.

This text particularly focuses on the practice known as lectio divina. This is a method was originally used by monks to study scripture, but it is now widely practiced for a variety of texts. The purpose is to better understand the message that is being conveyed; not just cognitively, but spiritually, emotionally, and even socially.

Schneider stresses the impact on more than just cognitive gain. Personally I think this is because we don’t think about things in that way; instead we let it impact us in ways that alter how we interact with life. Does this mean we remember the text necessarily? No, but the point of the text is not to remember page numbers or lines; the primary goal is more than that.

Reading for pleasure or mere knowledge (I say mere knowledge in the sense that it is only knowledge, I do not intend to belittle the gain of knowledge, nor do I think this is the goal of the author) is great, but if we invested the same amount of zeal in applying this text to ourselves and use it to “reappropriate” our internal self there would be an explosion of effects. We would be changed which would affect those around us who would affect those around them and thus forth.

Lectio divina is more than just a spiritual practice and can be used habitually in everyday life, even that novel sitting next to your pillow.

"Darkness, Questions, Poetry, and Spiritual Hope" by Paul T. Corrigan

Sometimes we read things and think nothing more of them than just casual words to pass the time. Other times we read things at a time that it seems eerily prophetic. Maybe all literature should be more than just a brief encounter, but in this world it simply isn’t true—I am getting off topic. This particular essay struck me when I read it because very similar thoughts have been turning through my mind these past few weeks. While I am not facing a mortal death sentence, I am facing one in a sense. I am not coming back to college this fall, and that is a very scary thing for me. But I have noticed I am not “shaking in my boots” about this fact. Over the past year of have overcome many personal difficulties that I won’t go into detail about, but they led me down some very dark paths. Not to say that I was succumbed entirely to them, but I was definitely not in a good place. One of the biggest involved me nearly losing my faith. But it was in this that my faith was really grounded.

We have to go through the darkness in order to understand it. It is not the same as watching somebody else go through it, or trying to help a friend through a tight spot; each individual who wishes to help another through a trial irrefutably must have gone through one themselves.

“Unless we face darkness, we have nothing to offer those who are hurting and we have no resources for ourselves when we get our own turn at pain—except our cheap religious clichés.” --Paul T. Corrigan ‘Darkness, Questions, Poetry, and Spiritual Hope’

Darkness is something we should become familiar with. I don’t mean just as Christians, but all of humanity, if just for the sake of humanity.

I went to Lake Bonny Park for this assignment, and I stayed there for at least 40 minutes

As Christians, we have an obligation to take care of the earth. Read a poem like Robert Hass’ makes me sad to think that we have let the world come down to such a low state. At the same time, in his poem we can see how there is still beauty all around us.

One of my favorite lines from the poem says,
“What is to be done with our species? Because we know we’re going to die, to be submitted to that tingling dance of atoms once again, it’s easy for us to feel that our lives are a dream—as this is, in a way, a dream: the flailing rain, the birds, the soaked red backpack of the child, tendrils of wet hair, the windshield wipers, this voice trying to speak across the centuries between us, even the long story of the earth, Boreal forests, mangrove swamps, Tiberian wheatfields in the summer heat on hillsides south of Rome—all of it a dream, and we alive somewhere, somehow outside it, watching.”

Sitting in the park after the rain and just feeling the wind blow and the sun dry up the water reminded me very much of these lines. There was a hat that must have been forgotten by somebody and a broken bottle on side of the path right before the boardwalk. It made me think how we all leave some sort of footprint behind that is going to affect somebody else.

When it was time to do the quiet time I sat out on the end of the boardwalk. I couldn’t help but notice the earth has a sort of rhythm to it. Not to say that there is a deity commonly known as “Mother Earth” but everything still has a flow. You can see how God works just in the way the fish swim in the lake below or how the alligator sitting near the shore on the other side waits for his next meal. There is so much to be found in the beauty of the earth, and it all reflects our beautiful God.

Still?
There is a brisk wind blowing at my back
Making my hair blow into my face;
My feet dangle precariously over the rail;
This place is teeming with life
Even in the middle of this suburbia.

The wind is stilled as I catch my breath,
Looking down I admire the fish swimming below me;
Though the weather is mildly warm
I know the water below me is frigid;
Even still I would like to go for a swim.

The sun is starting to lower in the sky
And thoughts enter my mind about leaving,
But it is so hard to do when I am surrounded
With the very breath of life itself
How could anyone look around and not give praise

The wind picks up again, this time with more authority
I hop off the rail and lay on the wooden planks to look up
At first, with lids closed, I listen to the secret language
Between the water and the waves.
I smirk as I realize the affair I am witnessing.

A few mosquitoes have decided to have an early dinner
So I reluctantly stand to my feet and stretch
I realize there is never a single moment of silence
There is never a time when the world just stops
Be still and watch what you are missing

State of the Planet by Robert Hass

This poem is, on a shallow description, the story of a little girl who is waiting to cross a street on a rainy day. She has a book in here bag called Getting to Know Your Planet and the poem goes on to say what the book describes inside. Hass goes beyond that though and explains what should be in the book too.
It is clear throughout the poem that the author is addressing environmental issues, but it was in an unexpected format, at least for me. It doesn’t seem like he is talking to the reader, but to an outsider, a visitor to Earth; I do not mean in a weird “Area 51 alien” sort of way either. There was very much a tone of melancholy throughout the poem that is infective. Hass seems to be mourning over the treatment of the planet (which he has every right to do so) and over the ignorance of the inhabitants. We are doing things that destroy our planet and we know they do (cars), but we also have things that not everybody realizes cause harm, so it is considered accidental (refrigerators). We selfishly exploit this beautiful gift not realizing the beauty it already possesses.
I like how he adds the part in about everything seeming like a dream. It doesn’t seem like it is real, like the earth cannot be going to this sort of state. If it gets too bad surely we will wake up. Sadly this is the view of a lot of people; some of them may not even realize it. People think the things they do don’t affect them, so why should they care? This poem sends a reality check out to everyone: it is easy to just tell ourselves what we want to hear to make everything have a happy ending, but the truth is it still does not change reality; actions do have consequences.

"This Blessed House" by Jhumpa Lahiri

In this story we see two people, Sanjeev and Twinkle, who seem very different. Sanjeev seems like the kind of guy who is very straightforward about doing things. He seems like he tries to play the “tough guy” sometimes, but he really is a nice guy. He works hard for what he has and would like to live a simple, uncomplicated life. His wife, Twinkle, seems like a free-spirited woman. She has also worked for what she has, but she seems more like the party girl. She likes adventure and doesn’t fancy the traditional role of being a housewife to stay home and cook all day. These two seem like an unlikely couple: they were married after only knowing each other for a few months. Sanjeev even talks in the story about how Twinkle used to have such good taste and he wonders what has changed. They don’t seem to have known each other very well. Nonetheless, I think they have a unique relationship that has a key in it that other relationships today seem to be lacking: respect. Not to say they don’t have arguments or anything of that nature, the point is even after these things, they see what really matters. Sanjeev really would have taken that yard ornament to the dump if he had no respect for his wife’s feelings. Even Twinkle, although rebellious and still much like an adolescent in some ways, tries to respect her husband on some level; she cooks him dinner one night that he is thoroughly impressed with.

I think what makes these characters so real is that they are not perfect. They don’t have that classic fairy tale ending, they don’t have to have the perfect marriage or social skills, and there are so many other reasons that make them imperfect. The fact that they have so many flaws, I think, comforts the reader not because it makes the reader feel superior, but that it lets them know they are not alone. It is almost essential to have a character that has a flaw or they won’t seem real; if they aren’t real, chances are the reader won’t connect with the characters.

Character-based short story

They told me the house was abandoned. And besides, I had to go in if I wanted any chance at joining in their circle. So I did what any new girl would do, I went up to the house.

Halfway up the sidewalk I heard the group snicker, but I only heard a few of the whispers that were passed between the four of them, not friendly words either, “crazy…haunted…loser…ditch…”
I knew this was a joke on me, that these weren’t really my friends after all, but I would prove to them I wasn’t afraid anyway. I would still walk straight up to and go inside that house.

Stepping onto the porch I turned back to give a final glance, but they were already running down the street. As I turned to face the door again I noticed a lithe shadow in the window pull back. Pausing for a moment, I still decided to reach for the door handle just in time to have it pulled away from me.

Looking up, my surprised eyes met a startlingly composed pair of round green eyes, much like two clumps of moss hanging suspended in pearl orbs.
“Uhhh… I was just—“
“I know what you were doing. Why don’t you come inside with me and we will have a little chat.”
Taking one last glimpse over my shoulder for any of my so-called friends, I reluctantly stepped past the lady who now, impatiently tapping her foot, stood to the side holding the door open.

The house had an old, artsy feel to it; it was one of those houses that when you walk in you know it is inhabited by somebody who has really lived life to the fullest. She had pictures hanging on the wall surrounded by frames of delicate filigree, little trinkets from every corner of the world, even the furniture had a foreign luxuriousness air to it. Only then did I stop to actually look at the woman who was leading me, her thick, wavy silver hair was the same color as fine china, her wardrobe made of material that seemed so fine that it couldn’t possibly be from this world. I even marveled at her bare feet treading across the hardwood flooring. The woman herself was, albeit slightly aged, a fine beauty herself. My fear left with my jacket in the coat room, I followed her into the kitchen with a sudden curiosity welling up inside.

Motioning for me to have a seat at the small round table in the corner of the room, she pulled two tall glasses from the cupboard. Setting them down on the table, she continued to walk to the refrigerator to pull out a pitcher of lemonade; all the while I noticed that, despite her age, she didn’t tremble, pause, or have a limp in her gait, she seemed as healthy as myself.

After filling both glasses, she finally has a seat in the chair opposite me.
“So what is a girl like you doing trying to bother an old woman like me?”
“Honestly it was all a mistake and I am new and I just wanted to make some friends and I didn’t realize they were that kind of group and I was told it was empty and—”
“Okay, okay, calm down sweetie. Kids sure haven’t changed one bit. Sure the styles and technologies have, but deep down inside they are the same now as they were when I was your age.”
She wasn’t upset over the matter, she just didn’t want another kid to end up in the wrong crowd. That afternoon we finished the pitcher of lemonade while she talked about her travels of the world. She never married she said, but she had lovers in abundance. Nevertheless, she was a dignified lady and maintained a proper reputation. She traveled by train, painting the countryside and selling the canvases every time she went into the city. She never really settled down until her father died, and then only because he had left her this house. Certainly it wasn’t much to look at on the outside, but she preferred it that way, “to shy away unwanted guests,” not referring to me necessarily, though.

Looking out the window I realized the afternoon was over and that it was even nearly dark. Reluctant to leave, I stood up from the table and went to retrieve my coat and said goodbye. Walking down the sidewalk I reached into my pocket to find a note written in fine, elegant cursive. Looking back she gave me a knowing wink, smiled, and then closed the door. Inside the note it read:
“Live while you can to the best of your ability in every moment. Every breath is a gift.”
It was unsigned, but I knew who left it there. That moment, as the streetlight above me came on, I realized today I had come to this house to make a friend, and that is exactly what I did, however unusual a method it was.

The next day I went over to see her again, hoping to have another conversation, maybe about her travels more, or her childhood, anything was possible. I stood knocking on the door, and after nobody came I knocked again. There was still no answer. I went around the side of the house to see if I could see is she was home through the window. As I pushed the tiger lilies away from the window, a neighbor walked up behind me.
“She’s not in there,” he said matter-of-factly. “The ambulance was here last night. Said she slipped on the stairs and took a bump to the head. Always kinda wondered what kinda woman lived in there. ‘Guess now we’ll never know.”
Shocked, I stood like a deer in headlights. This couldn’t be true. I ran home and sat in my bedroom with my back against the bed the whole day. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed her note sitting next to my jacket. I pulled it down and reread it to myself. And I read it again. And again. Her words rang so clearly in my head. I could hear her voice speaking it to me more clearly each time. She had a point. You never know when your breath is going to be your last.

1. The reiterating descriptions are especially effective for portraying the meaning
a. “I read about it in the paper, in the subway, on my way to work.”

2. The entire story is filled with so many descriptions that appeal to the senses. It is very “VAKOG-ian.”

3. It is really interesting how the narrator sees the child in everyone. He makes many references to children, whether it is children in the present playing on the playground or how a weathered woman used to be so youthful and vibrant, even referencing himself and his brother and the environment they grew up in as children. This could represent many things (e.g. everyone is essentially the same inside always, the innocence of people and how it can be so corrupted through life…) or it could be nothing

4. I noticed he repeated certain images, one being the mentioning of a cloud of smoke (from cigarettes (pages 386 and 398). This can be particularly useful for recognizing a theme or meaning in the story. It could even allude to the drug addiction (i.e. drugs put you an a hazy state)

5. There is a lot of passion in this story. Passion between brothers. Passion between father and son. Mother and son. Husband and wife. Man and music. Just passion in general. We see them risk their lives for what they love, to feel loved, and just to make a difference.

6. There are several themes in this story, almost like threads that make a blanket. One of these threads is a theme of independence. We see the brother of the narrator trying to find his place in the world, even if that means joining the navy to see the world. The narrator leaves his mother to start his family.

7. It is interesting to see how the two brothers ended up leading two completely different lives even though they grew up in the same household. Many things affect this obviously (age difference, genetics, etc) but they were very different, even more than I expected at least.

The Play

I attended Southeastern's production of The Imaginary Invalid and watched the entire play...

And I loved it!

I thought the actors did well, especially knowing what some of their personalities are like off the stage. I loved how they had the dancers come out and interact with the audience.
The set really surprised me; even though I had seen it was a house from chapel, I did not know it opened up like it did.

I went to the Thursday night showing for students, and I was a little surprised at how few people there were. It wasn’t empty, but I would have thought a lot more students would have wanted to come out than did.

Whenever I watch a movie or play or read a book, I always try to pick one character that I feel I relate the most to (I think this is pretty common for a lot of people), but in this play it was a little difficult. Mostly because I found that each of the characters were like me (or me like them; however you want to put it) but none of them was really what you call an “exact fit,” which I suppose is also pretty common.

When you look at the conclusion of the play, it really isn’t a conclusion. I didn’t think the problems were really solved. I mean, the dad became a doctor so he could take care of his “ailments” and the older daughter was able to be with the one she wanted, but it just didn’t seem like the right ending. If it was to have a healthy ending then the dad would have come to the conclusion that he wasn’t really sick and the step-mom could have sent the daughter to a convent where she would then proceed to escape somehow. Maybe the step-mom would have had something from her past come back to haunt her and she would be out of the picture anyway.
I am sure there are a million ways to end the story, and I am sure they are much better than the scenario I described above. I still thought the play was great, I just wish it had a different ending.

The Tower of Babel

In class one of the things we talked about was the fact that Wikipedia was an essential part to our society. I think this is very true. It is interesting how a society that has so many conflicts and differences can come together to create such a massive collection of knowledge. It is such a powerful tool that it has even been blocked in some countries. I think this just goes to show how much the people could do if they work together. Not that we didn’t know this already…

I think this is just a small step toward uniting everybody in one united community instead of this society we live in now. We worry about world poverty and hunger and homelessness and disease, but I think the truth is if we were all as worried about it as we say we are then there would be no problem. These things would not be an issue. So what is holding us back?

I have heard it estimated that the 25-30% of Earth’s population is Christian. Even if this estimate is a little off, shouldn’t that alone make a huge difference? My question is what are we doing with our life, our time, our money? Are we using it to further the Kingdom or our own intentions? If we can all rally together and hold each other accountable for keeping a website right and proper I think we can help a hurting nation. What if Wikipedia had been a site for helping feed the hungry? Can’t we still do that? We could use these major websites like Yahoo and Google and Wikipedia and promote even one worthy cause. The problem is even if we do this, ultimately it is up to each individual to contribute.

My goal isn’t to condemn, maybe convict a little, but isn’t that our job as Christians? Shouldn’t we hold each other accountable?

Could it be that Wikipedia is the Tower of Babel for today? Maybe it doesn’t blatantly defy God, but if it isn’t promoting His agenda, then maybe that is just as bad. Could it be?

There is no doubt it is a good resource, but maybe it could be better. Maybe it could be a resource of life.

blogging

In what ways can you see connections between the instructions for the blogging project and the activities we've done in class and, more importantly, the ideas about reading that we've discussed in class?
 I think it seems fairly obvious that the blogging project is matching what we are doing in the classroom: connecting with the reading on a deeper level.  All of the instructions for things on class have asked us to look at readings in ways we may not in other classes (e.g. is the onion a person?).  The blogs also ask us to look at readings and other activities in a new light. 

In class we are asked to work in small groups so we can better help each other learn.  After class, we comment on our classmates' blogs in order to provide either constructive criticism, statements of agreement, or even simply disagreement. 

In what ways does blogging extend the reading process? And, how well have you been able to make this work for you?
 Blogging extends the reading process considerably.  We aren't just reading something to get it done and over with, instead we are reading it, discussing it in class, then letting it linger in our minds to put in a blog after class.  Even more than: we are looking at other people's thoughts and connecting to them with our comments. 
I think my favorite thing is that it isn't formal.  So in a way we are writing a paper, but better.  Because it isn't formal I think students, at least for me personally, find it easier to express themselves because they aren't restricted to one format and that leads to them putting more effort into the assignment.  We can write poetry, a short story, record a dramatic reading, or even make a painting.  Really, any way that will accurately convey our understanding of the poem and what we have to say about it seems to be acceptable. 

Although I haven't really implemented any of the other ways of blogging, I certainly intend to in the future.  I have found that doing my blog the night before class instead of the night after class gets me ready with what we will be discussing in the morning.  The blog keeps my brain thinking about the piece we are studying throughout the week which makes it easier to remember the topics (being a college student is a busy occupation sometimes). 

I love having such an unorthodox way of demonstrating knowledge and participation in a class, I really think it is a much more effective method. 

cemetery visit

I went to the Lakeview, Roselawn and Tiger Flowers cemetery complex for this fieldtrip, and I stayed there for at least 40 minutes. 

 

  

 

Joel Painting

 

"Indeed the rejoicing dries up from the sons of men"

Like a drought across the land, if the rejoicing if life dries up then there really isn't much life to be found.  You can see the evidence all around, you don't need to tell somebody you have no joy or peace in your life.  Rejoicing comes from the word joy.  We only get true joy from the Lord, so we need Him in our lives our we are essentially dead, at least spiritually. 

pass

Theme Parks

The United States is littered with theme parks; basically every single state has one. Most people have visited at least one in their lifetime. Some of these places might include Disney Land/World, Hersheypark, Dollywood, Universal Studios, and Seaworld. These places all have a lot of rides and attractions, and each of these things does their own thing within the park. Altogether though, the rides give the park a theme.

This applies to literature, too. In a work, there may be several subplots, but altogether they add up to what the story is about. Maybe it is a general, vague theme, but sometimes it is a very specific theme.

Literature is often a reflection of what happens in “real-life” so it makes sense that it would apply to us as well. We go through tragedies, sometimes there is comic relief, and sometimes there is just a plateau. Sometimes death can even play a theme in our life.

The Book of Joel

We are told such a beautiful story that shows God's love for his people. At first we see that God's people turn away, but once they start to see there are consequences for their actions then they turn away from these behaviors. God sees their hearts have truly changed, so He changes his mind about destroying them, and instead dwells with them forever.

We all have come from a place in our lives that was not acceptable in God's eyes. It could be something as major as drug addiction or murder, or even as simple as having that extra slice of pizza or sleeping past noon. Nobody is born a Christian, but God still loves us so much. We need to stop and recognize the things in our life that are destroying us, the things that are keeping us from getting even just a little bit closer with God.

Is it really worth it to let something that you have control over separate you from God? There is so much that we are giving up not being with Him, but we have it stuck in our head that we have to give up so much in order to be with Him.
Maybe it is time to realize that we are giving up so much more by choosing to let these things separate us from Him.

God offers us the opportunity to be rescued from condemnation and at the same time He offers us a life with Him. He will reside with us. Forever. If we just let go of the things holding us back.

Let go. Run to Him.

"The Things They Carried" by Tim O'Brien

In the part of the text we get to read the narrator describes each man. He doesn’t necessarily go through and say, “…and he is six foot with brown hair, hazel eyes…” Rather he lets the reader connect with him. Sure, it is helpful to know what a person looks like, but when you think about the person you know best you don’t (at least I don’t think so) think of their physical features unless, maybe, it is something that affects their personality; a person is not his/her weight, height, or hair color. Instead that person can be described by the things they do, the way they act. Personality reigns over aesthetics when it comes to know a person.

In this particular text, we get to know each man by what he carried with him. The fearful man carried tranquilizers, the hygienic man carried soap, and the lovesick man carried letters from a girl. The list goes on, but in each of these snapshots we learn a little more about the personality of that man. We learn their weaknesses, their fears, their hopes, dreams, and desires. These things are what we really connect with as the readers. While it may be a sad story, it is one we can relate to. There are happy moments, sometimes small celebrations like not being chosen to crawl through the tunnels, or sometimes major successes like making it out of the warzone alive. Even in the midst of a war that isn’t fully supported from back home, these men still find comedy and pleasure. Even the camaraderie is seen as a positive light. They may have occasional spats, but in the end they know that there is still going to be somebody to share the load with, somebody to pass along a word of encouragement.

If these men can find joy in the middle of a life-threatening battle, surely we as Christians and well-fed Americans can find something to be happy with. Things may seem tragic on the outside, but dig deeper, you will find even in the darkest moments there is still a ray of sunshine.

Love and Death

The past few texts we have been reading in class have seemed to focus on these two themes; you can't seem to have one without the other either.

In the song "Frankie and Johnny" we see how they loved each other so much. Everyone one around them could see how much they loved each other. In the end, one of them still ends up dying.

In the short story "Happy Endings" the characters always died in the end. It didn't matter if their life went perfectly or if one of them cheated or if they got a disease or even if they married somebody else: the point is you still die in the end.

In "What Do We Talk About When We Talk About Love?" we learn of the death of Terri's ex-lover. She said that he loved her more than anything, even if he did have a different way of showing it.
Maybe it isn't even a physical death, maybe it is a spiritual or emotional death. Maybe it is like what happened to Mel and his ex-wife and the love just "dies" in a sense.

Even now in C.S. Lewis' book, A Grief Observed, we see a man dealing with the loss of his wife. These other stories may have briefly passed over the thought, but now we are going into depth, into the personal story of a man dealing with the loss of the love of his life.

Maybe love and death inevitably go hand-in-hand. Jesus died for us to have a relationship with him. Our parents' life without kids was sacrificed to have us. What is your husband or wife, or even your boyfriend or girlfriend, sacrificing to be with you? Can you have a deep, intimate relationship without this sacrifice?

Tuscana Ristorante Class Breakfast

When we think about literature, we don't normally think about it in everyday applications; we don't realize just how much literature affects us in our everyday lives.
Imagine a world with no bulletin boards. No novels. No magazines. No bibles. No mail. At first you might not literature has such a significant impact on our everyday lives, but when we start to think about it we discover that it, in reality, runs our lives. We discuss it in everyday social situations, much like we did for this class assignment.
We may not literally say, "I read this book and it said..." Instead we might say, "Well, I heard that...," or "Did you know...," followed by some witty remark or comment we read somewhere.
The internet is becoming one of the greatest sources of literature with access to news, novels, and other sources. We will continue this literary trend as long as we exist. The world was designed for literate people; ask anybody who can't read.

Reading isn't only for nerds, so why are we so afraid to let the world know we read? This class meeting, in my opinion, helped everybody see that. We all read.

"Happy Endings" Margaret Atwood

Pass

"What Do We Talk About When We Talk About Love" Raymond Carver

When I first started reading this story, I found the story of Terri and Ed very interesting. While I thought it was bizarre at first that she considered what he did to her "love," I realized if that was all she knew then what else could we expect. I also began to wonder what must have happened to Ed to make him "love" somebody like that. What does it take to make a person think that showing love means being abusive or abused? Do they think if they aren't loved then they will be hugged and kissed?

Then Mel goes on to say how he loved his first wife and now he hates her guts. Was what he called love, in fact, true love? Can you fall out of love with a person?

In another part of the story the group discusses how young and new Laura and Nick's love is, and to wait until they get further along in their marriage.

In the end of the story Mel says if he weren't with Terri and if Nick wasn't his best friend then he would fall in love with Laura.

Are any of these portrayals love?

I don't think so, at least not true love. As a Christian I have come to learn that true love never fails, it doesn't judge, it doesn't lust, it isn't jealous or selfish. I am not sure if humans are capable of pure, true love. We think love is an emotion, but it is more than that: love is a commitment. We need to be careful with the words "I love you" because what we may mean when we say it is not necessarily how the other person will interpret it. As seen in this story, there are many opinions about love.

Literary Profile

Growing up I didn't really have stories read to me too often; my parents weren't the type to sit down and read a bedtime story or have a story time or anything of the sort. When I first learned how to read, I started out with the basics that everybody does: The Hungry Caterpillar, Rainbow Fish, Chicka Chicka Boom Boom (which happened to a be favorite ;D ), and many others. It wasn't too long, though, before I started wanting more, so I began to read novels. This has been a pleasure that I have carried throughout my educational career.
There are a few books over the years that I have found really have a significant impact on me. Some of them include The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls, several of Ayn Rands novels, and many others. I love many different genres, from memoirs to self help to science fiction, and everything in between.
Literature has a substantial impact on society. It can dictate a country, brainwash a culture, educate a student, even start a revolution. It may not seem like an important matter, but it may, in fact, be one of the most important parts of society. We use it for communication, education, documentation, even pleasure. I do not see how it could be considered unimportant.