Things I Learned This Week

Melancholy, Hughes, Spark, Plath, and My Awesome Kid

Sometimes the idea of the unsinkable Molly Brown comes to me. And I think about what it means to be unsinkable. Sure, Miss Brown survived the Titanic, so in her case, she was literally unsinkable. I guess I’m metaphorically unsinkable, but I’m definitely not undunkable. My life has always had ebb and flow in how I feel about myself. Thankfully, menopause helped alleviate a lot of that unease, but not all of it. Just like most people, I have moments where I'm circling the drain. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s Friday, and I’m trying not to let the melancholy completely flood my weekend. So, here I am, telling you about the things that made me happy and the things I learned this week. The things that helped to keep me afloat.

I had to do a class visit this week and learned why you’re not supposed to put your elbows on the table. We were discussing the Harlem Renaissance and how often people living communally didn’t have dining room tables to accommodate, so they would just put boards over the furniture or use sawhorses. Thus, the term "room and board”—the word "board" comes from the Old English word "bord," meaning table. That said, if you were having dinner on a table made up of a board, the last thing you’d wanna do is put your elbow on it and cause the whole thing to slide down. Fun fact I’ve never heard of, now on to the rest.

In the same class, the students were studying Langston Hughes, which led me down a rabbit hole. I don’t know that I’ve ever read much of his poetry, and man, oh, man. One that really rocked me was "Harlem." I’m going to leave this one here because it felt particularly apropos for this week.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore—

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over—

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

I’m reading A Far Cry from Kensington by Muriel Spark in one of my classes and have to do a biography introduction on her. The book is set in the literary publishing scene of London in the 1950s and involves a range of intrigue and mystery. But digging deeper into life, I had no idea that she thought she was psychic, able to foretell the future straight out of the womb. Murders. Accidents. Storms. She felt she had a third eye into the future. Though, apparently, she hardly ate anything and took a lot of drugs to stay slim, so who knows. They could’ve been drug-induced hallucinations or, more likely, a form of psychosis. She didn’t publish her first novel until she was 40, so that’s a good sign. Not the mental health issues, but the late bloom.

Man, do I love colorful ceramics that make me feel good. I was lucky to stumble across Shushank Shrestha, a “ceramic artist from Kathmandu, Nepal, who engages with modern culture through the lens of traditional Nepalese art.” Do some searching, this kid is so freaking talented.

In the spirit of trying to boost my morale, I’ll turn to my son’s college radio show, which has started up again for this semester thanks to a fundraising effort to upgrade the station’s system. I’m really proud of the human he is becoming, and I am so thankful he’s there to introduce me to new music and movies, so I don’t get too old and out of date. One of my favorites from his first show last night is The Magnetic Fields singing All My Little Words. Tune in Thursdays on WECX from 8 to 9 CT, or listen to all the songs from yesterday here. He’s a great kid. I love him. ❤️

Quote of the week.

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”
― Sylvia Plath

‘Til Tuesday kids.

Burgin

(An MFA grad student at 50+… follow along and read my story here.)