I am sure women all over America are writing blogs today in response to the news from Texas. Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, it seems, is now offering a new undergraduate degree in Humanities with a concentration in Homemaking. The school is hoping to have fifteen women enroll this fall in the program. Many of us are wondering if we need to return to the days of Blondie in the comics, who for years was a traditional homemaker taking good care of Dagwood, Cookie, Alexander, and even dog Daisy.
My own experience straddling the cultures of feminism and traditional homemaking has had its share of conflict through the years. I consider myself a married feminist though it has been difficult through the years as a member of a conservative Baptist denomination to combine both interests. Feminism as a concept is often seen as anathema by those groups.
I do not think I could have been otherwise, however, since I was raised by a strong, independent single mother who worked a split shift as a waitress six or seven days a week, paid the bills each week (though often needing credit), and made sure my sister and I were both in school and church at the appropriate times. By the time the feminist movement arrived in the United States, I had already been married ten years and was teaching junior high English. It did not seem like a leap of faith to combine both ideas in my mind.
I think of my own training in high school in homemaking. It was under my teacher's supervision that I learned the basic rudiments of cooking, setting a proper table, sewing (I even wore the first jumper I made), and good nutrition. Though I have been a professional career woman for over forty years, the lessons I learned in Home Ec have been helpful in establishing my own home.
In other words, I don't think the new undergraduate program for women at Southwestern is necessarily a bad choice for women. After all, we feminists have fought for the past thirty years or so to advance the idea of choice for women. Also, we realize that our roles are not always static within a long marriage. For me, I have moved from being a traditional homemaker to being a career woman to being a retired homemaker again. Even Blondie made that choice in the comics as she herself has moved in recent years to being a caterer. My only suggestion for a woman at Southwestern who is considering the program is to perhaps combine the concentration with a professional choice as well like business administration.
Classes in homemaking will not be able to teach a woman everything she needs to know anyway about the home. She will still learn through trial and error. My husband can testify to that when, the first week after we returned from our honeymoon, I made a pot roast with vegetables. My husband seemed to be enjoying the meal until he realized I had not scraped the carrots.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
So Long As There Are Plums to Eat
Memoirs and autobiographies still tend to be my favorite genre of literature. I have always believed there is something wonderful about the frankness with which they are told. Mary Karr's Cherry has been lying on my "to read" bookshelf for seven years. I saw it last week and pulled it down since I knew it would be a quick read. The memoir fits into what we describe in literature as bildungsroman. It is the story of an adolescent girl who moves from elementary to middle school to high school in her small town in Texas. On her journey, she learns much about herself.
On the way to adulthood, at one point Mary becomes distraught because she no longer has the interest of the boy she has admired since childhood, her best friend has rejected her friendship, her family is quite dysfunctional, and other peers believe she thinks she is smarter than they. Mary responds to the situation taking pills by the handful. Ironically, they only make her sick, and her parents believe her to be suffering from an intestinal illness. Her father drives from Texas to Arkansas to buy her sweet plums because Mary says that is the only food she could possibly eat. When she tastes the plums, their sweetness and juiciness dripping down her chin, she snaps out of her depression. She decides that "so long as there are plums to eat," and someone who cares enough to bring them, she will live.
Obviously, there are many reasons for adolescent suicide attempts like Mary's. In my thirty-five years of teaching, I have had two former students to commit suicide; both were boys. Research tells us that girls tend to be unsuccessful in their attempts and often are just seeking attention from family and friends while boys tend to be the more serious, and therefore successful. The first boy who took his life by hooking up an automobile exhaust line to the car window was like Mary--rejected by peers and adults. The second, a senior in college, was distraught over the impending death of his mother. To an outsider, both seemed to have been greatly loved by their families. What is the impetus then to cause such an action?
Former President Bill Clinton in an interview about his brother Roger's addiction indicated that people tend to become this way because of one of four reasons: they are hungry, tired, lonely, or angry. I believe these are possible reasons also for adolescents who choose to commit suicide, especially the last two. Once again, the need presents itself for responsible adults role models to come forward, recognize the symptoms, and do their best to intervene. Only then can there be more "plums to eat" in the future for these young lives.
On the way to adulthood, at one point Mary becomes distraught because she no longer has the interest of the boy she has admired since childhood, her best friend has rejected her friendship, her family is quite dysfunctional, and other peers believe she thinks she is smarter than they. Mary responds to the situation taking pills by the handful. Ironically, they only make her sick, and her parents believe her to be suffering from an intestinal illness. Her father drives from Texas to Arkansas to buy her sweet plums because Mary says that is the only food she could possibly eat. When she tastes the plums, their sweetness and juiciness dripping down her chin, she snaps out of her depression. She decides that "so long as there are plums to eat," and someone who cares enough to bring them, she will live.
Obviously, there are many reasons for adolescent suicide attempts like Mary's. In my thirty-five years of teaching, I have had two former students to commit suicide; both were boys. Research tells us that girls tend to be unsuccessful in their attempts and often are just seeking attention from family and friends while boys tend to be the more serious, and therefore successful. The first boy who took his life by hooking up an automobile exhaust line to the car window was like Mary--rejected by peers and adults. The second, a senior in college, was distraught over the impending death of his mother. To an outsider, both seemed to have been greatly loved by their families. What is the impetus then to cause such an action?
Former President Bill Clinton in an interview about his brother Roger's addiction indicated that people tend to become this way because of one of four reasons: they are hungry, tired, lonely, or angry. I believe these are possible reasons also for adolescents who choose to commit suicide, especially the last two. Once again, the need presents itself for responsible adults role models to come forward, recognize the symptoms, and do their best to intervene. Only then can there be more "plums to eat" in the future for these young lives.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Having to Dig Your Own Potatoes
I have been waiting anxiously for several weeks for the film Becoming Jane to arrive at our art theater here in Little Rock. It finally arrived last Friday, and my husband and I were able to attend the comfortably filled theater for a matinee yesterday afternoon. The film, of course, is loosely based on the life of writer Jane Austen. It vividly contrasts the fiction she created in her famous six novels with the reality of her life as the daughter of a minister. At one point in the movie, Jane's father tells her (as she is considering marrying for money versus affection), "Nothing destroys spirit like poverty." Jane's mother had already noted that, in choosing affection over money in her own choice of husbands, "I have to dig my own potatoes."
The idea of making such a choice in American society strikes us as being very dated today, but then this movie was set some two hundred years ago in England where class has always been paramount in the minds of its citizens. Jane Austen's novels are filled with this theme: money decisions must always trump heart decisions. After all, back then one had to think of his or her immediate family as well as oneself for future financial comfort.
Is the idea that poverty will destroy one's spirit a key idea even today? Sociologists suggest that the best way to ensure a solid marriage is to have financial security. Studies also show that money arguments, not conflict over sex or children, are the key reasons for the breakup of marriages. I suspect, while we all wish we could live happily ever after on our love for one another, many people still debate the same type of choices that Jane Austen's characters made. In her fiction, her characters (like the prostitute in Pretty Woman) got it all: both love and riches. In reality, Jane Austen never married and died at age 41 of Addison's disease likely. She got neither love nor riches. I am sure she continued to dig her own potatoes until the end.
The idea of making such a choice in American society strikes us as being very dated today, but then this movie was set some two hundred years ago in England where class has always been paramount in the minds of its citizens. Jane Austen's novels are filled with this theme: money decisions must always trump heart decisions. After all, back then one had to think of his or her immediate family as well as oneself for future financial comfort.
Is the idea that poverty will destroy one's spirit a key idea even today? Sociologists suggest that the best way to ensure a solid marriage is to have financial security. Studies also show that money arguments, not conflict over sex or children, are the key reasons for the breakup of marriages. I suspect, while we all wish we could live happily ever after on our love for one another, many people still debate the same type of choices that Jane Austen's characters made. In her fiction, her characters (like the prostitute in Pretty Woman) got it all: both love and riches. In reality, Jane Austen never married and died at age 41 of Addison's disease likely. She got neither love nor riches. I am sure she continued to dig her own potatoes until the end.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Becoming Little Children Again
I am almost always challenged each Friday night when I watch Bill Moyers' Journal on PBS. One of the guests on last night's program was Martin E. Marty, the author of The Mystery of the Child. He reminded the audience that we tend to think of childhood characteristics as a negative as we age. We especially see these negative characteristics in old folks as they refuse to allow anyone to assist them in their daily activities such as eating, walking, or dressing (my 90 year old father-in-law), They become childlike in their responses to family members and accusatory even in conversations with their loved ones.
Martin E. Marty, however, believes these childlike characteristics can been viewed positively if we focus on the unfolding, flowering, open nature of humans as they age. He stated that the highlight of his life is still yet to come. This view impresses me as a marvelously optimistic view of the aging process.
We often ponder the verse in Scripture where Jesus tells us to become as little children if we expect to inherit the kingdom of God. By that He does not mean to assume the negative characteristics but the positive ones of being open to the mysteries of life. For example, children are prone to ask many questions to adults at a young age. If, as adults, we can retain this same spirit of questioning, we can still learn and flower way into old age.
Martin E. Marty, however, believes these childlike characteristics can been viewed positively if we focus on the unfolding, flowering, open nature of humans as they age. He stated that the highlight of his life is still yet to come. This view impresses me as a marvelously optimistic view of the aging process.
We often ponder the verse in Scripture where Jesus tells us to become as little children if we expect to inherit the kingdom of God. By that He does not mean to assume the negative characteristics but the positive ones of being open to the mysteries of life. For example, children are prone to ask many questions to adults at a young age. If, as adults, we can retain this same spirit of questioning, we can still learn and flower way into old age.
A Role Model--Elvis
My husband and I got an unexpected surprise on our trip last weekend to the Mississippi Delta and hills. We realized that it was the 30th anniversary of Elvis' death. We had already planned to visit a relative and spend the night in Tupelo on Saturday, August 11. Elvis was born in Tupelo in January of 1935. When we arrived at Doris' apartment, she picked up the newspaper and began reading to us about all the activities planned in commemoration of Elvis' death. There was to be a small mobile replica of Graceland that traveled around the country, a singing that night, and lots of events at the original house. We could also expect to see some 850 guests from England who were in Tupelo especially for the event.
Since we had lived and worked in Tupelo for a couple of years in the late 1960's, we were already familiar with the town and area. Garlan was a student at Itawamba Junior College where he rode a school bus by day to attend classes, and I worked for an insurance company as a claims clerk. Our food budget was $15 a week, so we ate a lot of potatoes, beans, and cheap cutlets from the Big Star grocery store. One of my husband's friends, Charlie, sometimes would take us to a movie since he knew we could not afford to go.
By the time we lived there, Elvis had already reached the height of his singing career most likely(the Beatles were currently the rage of the world), but we still liked to drive around occasionally to see the little house where he lived with his Mama and Daddy as a child. Just driving by to see the abject poverty into which he was born somehow gave the two of us hope that one day we would also have some upward mobility in American society. If a poor boy could move from rags to riches, what could we also do with a college education?
We were not alone among countless other fans who loved Elvis for different reasons. My grandmother, whom I lived with as a teenager growing up in the Delta, also liked Elvis. She always, until her death at 84, talked about how much Elvis loved and respected his Mama. She was brokenhearted herself when he died just a year and a half before she did.
On this day, however, we parked across the street from the little house of Elvis' childhood. There was a convertible jalopy beside us with the inscription "Loving You" on the back. The house was flooded with people in line, a large camera was mounted near the front porch to capture the size of the crowd, and a gospel group was singing Elvis' favorites. We took a quick picture to remind us of all that Elvis meant to people in the Deep South especially, and we left the next visit until later when the weather was cooler and the crowd was thinner.
Since we had lived and worked in Tupelo for a couple of years in the late 1960's, we were already familiar with the town and area. Garlan was a student at Itawamba Junior College where he rode a school bus by day to attend classes, and I worked for an insurance company as a claims clerk. Our food budget was $15 a week, so we ate a lot of potatoes, beans, and cheap cutlets from the Big Star grocery store. One of my husband's friends, Charlie, sometimes would take us to a movie since he knew we could not afford to go.
By the time we lived there, Elvis had already reached the height of his singing career most likely(the Beatles were currently the rage of the world), but we still liked to drive around occasionally to see the little house where he lived with his Mama and Daddy as a child. Just driving by to see the abject poverty into which he was born somehow gave the two of us hope that one day we would also have some upward mobility in American society. If a poor boy could move from rags to riches, what could we also do with a college education?
We were not alone among countless other fans who loved Elvis for different reasons. My grandmother, whom I lived with as a teenager growing up in the Delta, also liked Elvis. She always, until her death at 84, talked about how much Elvis loved and respected his Mama. She was brokenhearted herself when he died just a year and a half before she did.
On this day, however, we parked across the street from the little house of Elvis' childhood. There was a convertible jalopy beside us with the inscription "Loving You" on the back. The house was flooded with people in line, a large camera was mounted near the front porch to capture the size of the crowd, and a gospel group was singing Elvis' favorites. We took a quick picture to remind us of all that Elvis meant to people in the Deep South especially, and we left the next visit until later when the weather was cooler and the crowd was thinner.
Reviving Larry Brown
My husband and I have long been fans of Mississippi writer Larry Brown. We were saddened to learn in the fall of 2004 about his sudden death of a heart attack while he was still in his early fifties. Therefore, we were both quite interested in reading his unfinished last novel entitled A Miracle of Catfish. We just recently ordered it from Amazon since we knew we had an upcoming trip to the Mississippi Delta and hills ourselves and wanted to check the novel out for its authenticity. We were not disappointed.
Brown had no formal training as a writer and served for a number of years as a captain in the Oxford, Mississippi, fire department. Yet he was always "spot on" in his characterization of the Mississippi character and dialect. The novel featured three main characters, a little boy named Jimmy, his daddy, and an old man named Cortez. Cortez is the one who establishes a catfish pond on his land and gets to know Jimmy quite by accident. Since most novels educate as they entertain, we read of each step of the catfish adventure--the preparation of the area, the buying of the small fish to place into the pond, and the feeding of the fish by night. We also read anxiously when Cortez' tractor overturns into the pond, intertwining him, until Jimmy saves him by calling 911 and brings Cortez a rubber tube to breathe through until help can arrive. We follow the description throughout of Jimmy's uncaring red neck dad who impregnates a girlfriend, takes away Jimmy's favorite toy, his go cart, and gets arrested for carrying open beer in his car in a dry county.
On Friday, August 10, my husband and I headed toward Mississippi on a blistery 106 degree day to spend the night with our friends, Beverly and James, on their farm in the Mississippi Delta. We were both interested the next morning when James offered to take us out to his new catfish ponds and show us the operation. We had already heard the night before about the phone possibly ringing in the night if the fish needed more oxygen. We watched as James filled his truck with catfish food and drove around the pond with it shooting out into the pond. In some areas, the fish ate the food greedily, but in some they seemed uncaring. We met three children, all related to James, who live nearby. One was William who was going into fourth grade this school year. He had been riding his four wheeler back in the spring with the other children on another when the two small vehicles collided. William was knocked breathless to the ground. His sister Susanna, a little older than William, had viewed a CPR demonstration in school that year and knew immediately what to do: she pounded on his chest until he began breathing again. He suffered several injuries including a concussion and a bruised spleen, yet he lived because of his sister's quick response.
Driving home the next afternoon, we were startled to see a black revved up pickup truck pull out of a side road in front of our car. Since the highway was four lane at that point, there was no danger, but both my husband and I looked at the driver as we passed. He had curly black hair and a scruffy black beard and was not wearing a shirt. "Jimmy's dad," we both thought as we looked at one another, convinced that writer Larry Brown had indeed been revived again.
Brown had no formal training as a writer and served for a number of years as a captain in the Oxford, Mississippi, fire department. Yet he was always "spot on" in his characterization of the Mississippi character and dialect. The novel featured three main characters, a little boy named Jimmy, his daddy, and an old man named Cortez. Cortez is the one who establishes a catfish pond on his land and gets to know Jimmy quite by accident. Since most novels educate as they entertain, we read of each step of the catfish adventure--the preparation of the area, the buying of the small fish to place into the pond, and the feeding of the fish by night. We also read anxiously when Cortez' tractor overturns into the pond, intertwining him, until Jimmy saves him by calling 911 and brings Cortez a rubber tube to breathe through until help can arrive. We follow the description throughout of Jimmy's uncaring red neck dad who impregnates a girlfriend, takes away Jimmy's favorite toy, his go cart, and gets arrested for carrying open beer in his car in a dry county.
On Friday, August 10, my husband and I headed toward Mississippi on a blistery 106 degree day to spend the night with our friends, Beverly and James, on their farm in the Mississippi Delta. We were both interested the next morning when James offered to take us out to his new catfish ponds and show us the operation. We had already heard the night before about the phone possibly ringing in the night if the fish needed more oxygen. We watched as James filled his truck with catfish food and drove around the pond with it shooting out into the pond. In some areas, the fish ate the food greedily, but in some they seemed uncaring. We met three children, all related to James, who live nearby. One was William who was going into fourth grade this school year. He had been riding his four wheeler back in the spring with the other children on another when the two small vehicles collided. William was knocked breathless to the ground. His sister Susanna, a little older than William, had viewed a CPR demonstration in school that year and knew immediately what to do: she pounded on his chest until he began breathing again. He suffered several injuries including a concussion and a bruised spleen, yet he lived because of his sister's quick response.
Driving home the next afternoon, we were startled to see a black revved up pickup truck pull out of a side road in front of our car. Since the highway was four lane at that point, there was no danger, but both my husband and I looked at the driver as we passed. He had curly black hair and a scruffy black beard and was not wearing a shirt. "Jimmy's dad," we both thought as we looked at one another, convinced that writer Larry Brown had indeed been revived again.
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