I have finally put Jonathan Franzen's book, "The Corrections," to rest and I have started to read thomas Pynchon's, "Against the Day."  It'a a massive 1100 page book with a convoluted plot and myriad characters.  So far, 50 pages in, I'm loving the book.  Which brings me to my topic, how do we read?

 

My favorite time for reading is late at night.  After my husband and the girls are asleep and the house is quiet I can relax into my book.  Otherwise, I'm reading fifteen pages and getting up to tend to something around the house.  Back to the book, and fifteen pages later up to do something else.  I make progress, but I'm never enveloped by the material.  When I can gobble up 100 pages at one sitting...that's reading.  I can feel the rhythm of the book and can empathize more whith the characters when I can remember what they did.  Of course if I only read when I could get in 100 pages during nighttime alone time I would never finish a book.  Either that or I'd be an exhausted hag dragging myself into work every morning.

 

So compromise is the name of my game.  Bring the book to work and read a little during lunch.  Sneak in a couple chapters after dinner and before my walk.  And whenever I can, put hubby to bed, grab an afghan, and curl up on the couch for a couple of hours of losing myself in the story. 

 

I always feel self indulgent when I'm reading fiction.  Reading is the only really effective way I've found to relax.  I put life on hold and escape into the author's world for a time.  Maybe that's why I feel like I have to read at night.  I feel guilty for reading.  By reading I'm doing something for myself alone.  I'm not attending to my husband or dealing with the kids.  I'm not doing the laundry, or cleaning, or doing the bills.  Heck, my family or my house or my problems are the furthest things from my mind, I'm so absorbed in my book.  And maybe that's a good thing, and it need not happen only after midnight.   

 

I had another strange dream last night.  I hope I'm not boring everyone with these, but writing my dreams here is really helping me to remember them.  Here goes:

 

I couldn't get home and I felt impatient and frustrated.  My husband and I were driving home from the Detroit area in separate cars.  I was in the lead and I started driving East instead of West.  The road appeared like a map and I was veering off the road while I drove.  After about 100 miles of driving out of the way I veered onto a side street.  I was extremely tired and kind of zoning out while I tried to drive and consult a map at the same time.  My car drove off the road, up a small hill, and stopped.  My husband pulled up behind me.

 

Just below us on the hill were several police cars and at least ten people lying on the ground with their hands behind their heads--a mass arrest.  A policeman came up to me and asked for proof of insurance.  I found my purse and showed him the cards.  My husband came to the car and we looked at the map and discovered that we had been going in the wrong direction on route 50.  As we talked a policeman was eyeing us suspiciously.  I got the sense that we had better move on quickly.  We switched cars, I drove his car, we turned around, and drove west. 

 

We needed to be home the next morning for work and it was getting very late.  At about 3am we pulled into a rest area in Indiana.  And what a rest area it was!  People were swimming in a pool in bright sunlight at 3am in the end of November!  A gracious host asked us to join them.  I found that I was wearing a two piece bathing suit and I lay down on the concrete by the side of the pool to sunbathe.  As I felt the sunshine on my face and the warm concrete touching my body I thought of how blissful this was.  My husband wasn't anywhere around, but I didn't care.  I was too blissed out, but I was still thinking that we had to be home by morning for work.

 

So here I am at work, blogging instead of working.  I'm tired from my cross country drive last night and I'm hoping and praying that today is a light day.  So far so good.  As far as what this dream means--who knows.  It could mean that Mike and I are now going in the right direction...but it troubles me that we were in separate cars.  I can't wait to see what I dream tonight.

 

 

Even though today isn't Thanksgiving, I'm feeling pretty thankful today.  We survived the meal and the relatives with only a couple blow ups and melt downs.  Mike and I spent this morning making up and trying to figure why we scream at each other before pretty much each and every holiday meal at our house.  The make up sex was wonderful. 

 

It's not that he doesn't help with the cleaning and the cooking.  He just doesn't do it fast enough to satisfy me when I'm in my anxious, harried, not-enough time mode.  And when I ask him to do something and he says, "After I finish this," instead of "OK, here I am," I feel unloved and unappreciated.  When I criticize him for not being helpful enough or for planning to do outside work when I have so much to do to prepare for the meal, he feels unloved and unapreciated.  I'm not coming off too well in this description, I know.  I'm actually feeling pretty guilty for creating a situation where both of us are furious because we both feel unloved and unappreciated.

 

Loach suggested that Mike's job should be to fill the ice trays, and then he should rest.  There's a grain of truth there.  Maybe I'm expecting too much from my husband.  Because I'm anxious and overwrought I expect him to be anxious and overwrought.  I take his calmness as not caring.  I want him to have the same priorities as me, and when he doesn't understand why our bedroom has to be cleaned and vacuumed when our guests will be nowhere near our bedroom, I get frustrated.  I think when I'm anxious I have this overwhelming need to be right.  I don't hear Mike telling me that cleaning the bedroom is a waste of time.  I hear him telling me that I'm stupid or crazy for even thinking the bedroom needs to be cleaned.  How dare he!!   

 

The unfortunate thing is that after 20 years of marriage, these blow-ups are regular and predictable.  It's as if we become two ten year olds, stuck in a position, saying, "Oh Yeah," ""Yeah," to each other.  Maybe this is why I cancelled a Christmas morning family get-together and planned a trip over New Years to avoid hosting a party.  That has greatly reduced my holiday anxiety, but it's probably overkill.  I think the better solution to this is communication.  I need to communicate to him what I need before we begin the holiday prep.  And I need to somehow communicate to myself that he still loves me even if he doesn't seem too cooperative.  And it wouldn't hurt for him to learn some new tricks also.            

The girls and I had quite a night at the opera yesterday.  I thought my mother was bad until I saw Salome's mother.  As Salome was demanding the head of John the Baptist her mother was singing the operatic equivalent of, "You go girl!"  The king was concerned that cutting off the head of a prophet would cause all sorts of calameties, but Salome and her mom didn't care.  They wanted that head.  I have never seen such insistant bitchy hectoring as those two women badgering the king for that head.  Lots of lessons to be learned there.  Of course Salome got the head, sang to it for awhile, kissed it, and was strangled to death by the king's guards.  That girl had issues.

 

Of course this lead to a teachable moment on the drive back with my 15 and 17 year old daughters.  If a boy dumps you don't cut off his head.  If you do get the head do not kiss it, who knows were that head has been.  And if I catch either of you doing the dance of the seven veils you are grounded for life!!!  Salome has to be the greatest anti-role model for young girls in the history of opera.  She is perverse, selfish, lustful, manipulative, willful, and childish.  And did I mention insane? 

 

At the same time Salome is an absolutely facinating study in human depravity and is totally captivating to watch in the opera.  Debra Voight sang and acted her role brilliantly.  My girls and I were enthralled from beginning to end and Mara's heartfelt, "Thank you mom for buying the opera tickets," made my day.  That and the onstage mayhem went a long way to lifting my funk.  It's hard to be all PMSy grouchy when people who are truly rationally challenged are stripping for their stepfather and having would-be lovers decapitated.  It made me feel like the paragon of virtue, sanity, and stability.  I needed that.

 

So I'm facing today's "pie day" cautiously optimistic.  I've got my list of shopping, cleaning, and cooking, and if I accomplish 1/2 of what I hope to do I'll be thrilled.  I'll enlist my daughters in the cause, of course and I have my honey-do list for my husband.  And just in case hubby doesn't feel like helping, I'll leave the story synopsis from Salome laying around.  Heads up everyone!! 

   

 

        

Here I go, from PTSD to PMS, what a cycle.  It's that time and I definitely have PMS.  I must still have PTSD;  last night I dreamed that my mother (who doesn't drive) was driving me around crazily in her car.  I felt trapped and scared.  And Thankagiving is just around the corner....are we just a little anxious about seeing our family?

 

Otherwise things are back to normal.  The girls are busy with concerts and performances.  Work is hectic and I'm looking forward to the Thanksgiving break.  Tonight is a girls night out as my daughters and I are going to see "Salome" with the newly slimmed down Debra Voight at the Lyric Opera in Chicago.  I think my husband will be overjoyed to have all of us out of the house, as we're all on the same cycle.  Oh, the Davis household is not a pleasant place to be at this time of the month.

 

I was trying to think of something philosophical or at least precient to add to today's post, but I'm just not in the mood for philosophizing.  I'm in the mood to wake up, drink a lot of coffee, try to find an outfit that I haven't worn in the last week, and somehow get through the workday.  I'm thinking opera.  I'm thinking the Dance of the Seven Veils.  I'm thinking about what I'm going to wear tonight.  I'm thinking about my 25 pound fresh turkey (it was alive last Friday) that's sitting in my rapidly warming garage.  I'm thinking about three Midols.  I would not want to be my boss today.  Or maybe I would.  Let him try dealing with PMS and a period for once. 

 

I'm tired and a little bitchy, OK, maybe a lot bitchy.  But wouldn't you be if you had trapped in a car with your mother who doesn't drive, driving like a crazy woman?  Maybe "Salome" isn't the best thing to see tonight.  It's about a woman who has a perverse attraction for John the Baptist and causes his head to be cut off when he spurs her affections.  But right now--in pre-period, wound up, still PTSD'd, psycho-Thanksving cooking and cleaning mode--this might just be the perfect entertainment.   

 

 

 

Thank you friends for all your comments to my last post.  It's strange, I've always prided myself on being logical and in control, but when my daughter called to say that she had been robbed, I lost it.  She was short on details, a "I was robbed,  Mom, but I'm OK," kind of a conversation.  Which left me plenty of time and imagination to fill in any gruesome details I could think of.  By the time she got home and I could talk to her I imagined her threatened at gunpoint, mugged, terrified, and helpless.  Of course none of this happened.  She had her purse snatched.  That's all.  It happens to all of us at some time or another.  

 

Ashley may be OK, but I'm still suffering from the post traumatic stress.  When I think of that night I feel the same panic that I felt then.  I've been moodier and edgier these last couple days, and I certainly can't blame it on my period.  My husband is even being extra nice to me.  That's a sure sign something's amiss.  On Monday the girls were at their quartet lesson until eleven o'clock at night.  I made sure to wait for their return.  I'm sure I'll be anxious until they return from their orchestra practice tonight.

 

I have no intention to limit the girls' freedom in the future.  They're mature and responsible girls and they certainly don't want to put themselves in unsecure situations.  They don't want to be robbed.  This was a learning experience for everyone.  Especially me.  I've learned just how deep is my love for my children.  I've learned how easily my calm world can be shaken.  I've learned that if I allow myself to become hysterical I'm of no use to anyone.  And I've learned that feelings trump logic every time and that I'm terrified that there will be a next time.

 

Sherry wrote about the concept of grace a while back.  I'm not religious, but I am spiritual.  I don't believe in god, but I do believe that there's more to us than we can ever fathom.  I need a little grace right now.  I need a little something extra to help me deal with (not squelch, god forbid) my feelings.  My grace may not come from the Holy Spirit, it may not come from Heaven above, but I believe grace may come from your generous thoughts and comments and the love of my family and friends.  We're not in this alone, and that grace-filled thought makes me feel a little bit better.      

Last night I fought a lion to a draw.  And this wasn't some nice Aslan lion.  It was a large mean snarling toothy lion.  My husband said that as I was having this dream I was jumping all over the bed.  Wouldn't you if you were fighting a lion?

 

In the dream I was protecting my family.  This lion was sitting in a tree outside our window and we were all watching it.  The next thing I knew the lion had entered the house through an open attic window and was trying to get at us.  I pushed the lion out a door and was bitten on one arm.  As I watched my arm bleeding the lion re-entered the house through the same attic window and came after us again.  I grabbed a thick comforter and threw it over the lion.  My husband and daughters ran to grab knives to stab the lion.  The wrapped lion and I continued fighting, and the lion, still under the comforter, pinned underneath him me to the ground.  I could feel his weight on top of me and his breath coming through the comforter.  I was feeling helpless and thank goodness I woke up before I was...what?  Mauled, bitten, raped--there was plenty fo sexual imagery there.

 

In my next dream I was floating and flying.  I've had flying dreams before, but I was always alone.  this time my husband joined me flying over our neighborhood.  How strange to have such a peaceful dream after such a violent one.

 

The source of my protective lion dream:  my daughter Ashley was robbed on Saturday night.  She, her sister, and two other girls were walking to their car after a concert at the Riveria Theater on the north side of Chicago when she had her purse snatched.  That's all that happened.  She lost about $25 and her cell phone, but none of the girls were hurt.  I know I felt worse than Ashley, or her father.  I was a wreck, wondering why did I let my girls go to this concert and feeling like a terrible mother.  I still feel like a terrible, underprotective mother.  I know that there's risks in everything no matter how cautious you are.  I've had my purse grabbed, I've been groped on a crowded subway.  It's different when it happens to one of your kids.

 

My daughters are adventureous and wouldn't have it any other way.  And I'm hoping they learn something from this experience.  We had a family talk about safety and paying attention and not parking on the street to save $10.  But the big question is do I reign in some of their freedom?  And how will I feel if I don't.  I know I can't protect them from all the lions that are out there, but I feel pretty helpless knowing that my girls are out there in the jungle. 

I have a big music weekend again, but what weekend isn't a big music weekend in this household?  Hubs and I saw the Chicago Symphony last night perform Mozart's piano concerto #21 in C Major and Tchaikovsky's Symphony #4.  The soloist in the Mozart was 25 year old Jonathan Bliss (son of violinist Miriam Freid) who did a magnificent job.  Subtle, nuanced, playful, even delicate, his interpretation was thrilling.  An then he sat in the seat right in front of us after intermission for the Tchaikovsky.  Very cool.

 

We have had back-to-back Friday nights of Tchaikovsky.  Swan Lake last week and then the 4th yesterday.  And after yesterday's concert we had dinner at Russian Tea Time.  It doesn't get much Slavically better than that.  The 4th is a huge symphony with a fatalistic theme, much like Beethoven's 5th.  Tchaikovsky wrote this symphony around the time of a disastrous sham of a marriage and a failed half hearted suicide attempt.  The symphony practically bleeds the frustrations and heartaches of a gay man forced to put on straight appearances.  The second movement is as sad as the third is playful and the fatalistic horns in the 1st and 4th movements scream, "You can't be what you are."  The symphony is triumphal on its surface, but tragically sad at its core.  It's brilliant and it was brilliantly performed.

 

We have more music tonight as Ashley will be playing the 1st movement of the Saint-Saen Cello Concerto in recital.  Immediately after that Ashley will be jumping on a train for Chicago where she will meet her sister for a concert by the Decemberists in Chicago.  Meanwhile Mike and I will drive Ashley's accompanist and ourselves home.  I think we'll listen to talk radio on the ride. 

Thanks to 2,848 voters in Montana the Democrats control the Senate.    President Bush is in the Oval Office today only because of some 600 Florida voters in the year 2000.  What a fragile and amorphous thing is a "majority."  And what a curious democracy we have where the chance to cede ultimate power is bestowed as if by lottery on a few thousand citizens in an undetermined state. 

 

What is most bizarre is that the fortunate winner of the power behaves as if that person or party has a mandate from the nation as a whole.  No, the mandate is from 600 Floridians, or 2,848 Montanans.  President Bush slashed taxes, voided our participation in the Kyoto Treaty, and brought together the "neocons" who shaped our shameful and bullying foreign policy.  All on the strength of 600 Florida votes.

 

Now the pundits are questioning what the Democrats will do with their newfound power.  There is "pressure to deliver" on them.  They bear the burden of forging a new direction.  For who?  The 2,848 Montanans?  This is far from a landslide, far from a mandate.  This is a first step, nothing more.  With their bare majority in the House and Senate we will most likely see gridlocked government for the next two years.  At least we won't see taxes cut, the defecit deepened, the environment befouled, and rich further rewarded.  And maybe, just maybe, we'll hear less talk of torture and hear some ideas on Iraq other than an endless occupation.

 

The Republican spin machine is at work though.  Hours after the election came the questions about whether the Democrats could deliver.  Deliver on what?  They made no Promises.  The Democrats won because the Republicans abused their power and squandered the public trust.  Even I would set a higher hurdle than that for the Democrats.  But expectations were being identified and raised even before the election night hangovers cleared.  Oh how cruel to make the bleary eyed headachey Democrats face a high hurdle the morning after the victory party.

 

My hope for the Democrats is that they resist the temptation to take on grandiose plans.  Improve things at the margins, accomplish what is doable, and gain strength for the run at the big prize in 2008.  Until then the Democrats should remember that they are accountable to the 2,848 Montanans who gave them control of both houses and they should do right by Montana.   

   

From the sublime to the ridiculous.....Last friday I dragged my husband to see Swan Lake.  I guess it was payback time because last night he took me to see "Borat." 

 

In case anyone has missed the media saturation that advertized this film, it's about a fictional journalist from Khazacstan(?) who comes to America to report on our way of life.  In the course of the film he and his producer travel across the country in an ice cream truck with a bear in the back in search of "America" and Pamela Anderson, who becomes something of a metaphor for America.

 

I never imagined that I would use the word "metaphor" to describe this incredibly crass, occasionally disgusting, and always offensive film.  "Borat" sets up and knocks down rednecks, polite society, fraternity boys, politicians, news reporters, driving instructors, homosexuals, homophobes, women, Jews, Christians, and every sacred cow you can possibly think of.  The character Borat asks a group of feminists to define "feminism."  When they say they are fighting for the equality of women, Borat bursts out laughing.  When told about the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals, he incredulously responds in his thick Kazak accent, "You are AGAINST cruelty to animals?" 

 

I laughed at this movie in spite of myself.  And then I laughed some more.  Just when you thought that he had gotten as un-PC as he could possibly get, he would manage to top it.  Borat brilliantly points out the absurdity of this country.  It's not for everyone, but any film that I'm still thinking about the next day has to have at least a little sublime in its ridiculousness.  

Last Friday my daughters and I dragged my husband to the Auditorium theater in Chicago to see Swan Lake.  Actually, he was a good sport about it;  he had to drive Mara into the city because Ashley and I were in Oak Park for her music lesson.  We reunited at our seats at the theater, Ashley and I from Oak Park, Mike and Mara from the suburbs.

 

The ballet was performed by the Kirov ballet of the Maurinsky Theater of Russia.  Next to the Bolshoi, this is one of the finest ballet troupes in the world.  A 66 piece pit orchestra from the Maurinsky Theater (Valery Gergiev, music director) accompanied the performance.  The orchestra had been performing Shostacovich in Carnegie Hall just two weeks before.  So there we were, in a one of the most gorgeous theaters in the world, all of us wearing our best dresses, jewelry, and strappy heels, thrilled to see and hear one of the greatest ballets ever, performed by one of Russia, and the world's, top companies.  It's just too bad they tacked on a happy ending. 

 

We saw three hours of glorious dancing and beautiful scenery and costumes.  The orchestra was magnificent.  It is clear that the Russian dancers are among the best in the world.  The males are incredebly athletic and the women are as perfect as china doll ballerinas brought to life.  The pas de deux in the second act between Odette and Siegfried accompanied by the solo violin was tender and sublime.  You could almost believe in love at first sight.  Just as you could feel the sinister treachery in the third act pas de deux with Odile and Siegfried, accompanied likewise by a solo violin.

 

The production was as good as it gets, on a par with the Bolshoi's "Romeo and Juliette" that I saw a few years ago.  That is, until the waning moments of the fourth and last act when Siegfried ripped a wing off the evil sorcerer Rotbart and began beating him with it, and continued beating him with the wing even after he was on the ground twitching in his death throes.  It was clumsy, ungainly, and unintentionally funny.  Ashley was laughing out loud.  After the beating Rotbart lay dead on the stage flanked by happy swans and a very much alive Odette and Siegfried, with Siegfried still holding the severed wing.  The music rose triumphantly and the curtain fell. 

 

........WTF?  I sat there dumfounded.  Was that it?  Where's the ending?  Where's the tragedy?  The entire musical theme, the entire dramatic thrust of this ballet forebodes the death of Odette and Siegfried.  They are SUPPOSED to die, and in their true lovers' death the swans are freed from Rotbart's curse to become girls again.  That's the meaning of the closing music's sudden shift from minor to mjor, from tragic to triumphal.  Instead we are left with a trite, insubstantial story with an unsatisfying happy ending.  Change the sets, re-coriegraph the dances, even change the gender of the swans.  But please don't change the ending.  Booooo.            

         *sigh* it's done.  I feel like I just spent eight hours in the delivery room giving birth, so no more explanation.  I'll tell you how this sermon is received in church tomorrow.  (please excuse the funky type size.  It's not intentional and I don't want to emphasize one paragraph over the others.  It's just that I don't know how to correct it.  One last thing.  My readings tomorrow will be the appendix on Newspeak from Orwell's book "1984" and the parable of the good samaritan from Luke 10:25-37.  My meditation will be Lewis Carroll's "The Jabberwocky."  Here it is.  Please...give me your thoughts on this topic.

         "Blaming the Victim"

           We are what we speak.  Our language, the very words that are available to us, our syntax and grammar, frame how we think and what we are able to think about.

          I just completed a forty-hour training course in the mediation of family matters.  One of the first points of instruction was how to use the proper language to frame the mediation.  The word “issues” translated to  “needs and interests.”  “Alimony” translated to “family support,” and “custody” and “visitation” became “parenting time.”

          At first it seemed like a silly game, being corrected every time I said the words “custody” or “visitation,” words that are the staples of the divorce, I mean dissolution of marriage, trade.  But as the week wore on and I wore out I came to think differently about the couples’ and the children’s needs as I adopted the new, more touchy--feely, I mean sensitive, language.  This isn’t about blame.  This isn’t about assigning custody and visitation rights.  This isn’t separating one parent from the children.  This is all about dealing with a difficult situation and maximizing parenting time and contact with the children for everyone.

          What had seemed endlessly silly and hopelessly utopian at the start of the week seemed not only possible but also achievable by week’s end.  The goal of mediation is to change the framework from parents combating each other to a cooperative venture where the parents would work together for the best interests of the children.  This would begin by altering the very words that all parties, the mediator included, would use when discussing their needs and interests.

          Words have power.  They have a life of their own.  When “global warming” becomes “climate change” that alters how we can think about the issue.  An “associate” at Wall-mart is different than an “employee,” as is an “assistant” from a “secretary.”  Even the words “conservative” and “liberal” have become shorthand for “good” and “evil.”

          We argue with words.  We make our positions known with words.  They are all that we have.  In his novel “1984,” George Orwell’s fictional government created newspeak to control the thoughts of the masses.  In a nonfiction work, “Politics and the English Language,” Orwell wrote, “The words democracy, socialism, freedom, patriotic, realistic, justice, have each of them several different meanings which cannot be reconciled with each other…Statements like…the Soviet Press is the freest in the world and the Catholic Church is opposed to persecution are almost always made with intent to deceive.” 

          Lewis Carroll’s masterpiece of convoluted logic and language, “Through the Looking Glass,” gave us this quote.  “The question is,” said Alice, “Whether you can make words mean so many things.”  “The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “Which is to be the master.  That’s all.”

          Orwell stressed that when one is arguing against the other side; do not use their language.  By adopting their language, by using their terms, you have already lost.  Quoting Orwell again, “The invasion of one’s mind by ready made phrases …can only be prevented if one is constantly on guard against them as every such phrase anesthetizes a portion of one’s brain.”

          If we so choose we can believe that we live in a homeland peopled by consumers who crave freedom, democracy, and fair taxes.  We have good laws like the “Clear Skies” bill that eliminates emission standards and the “Healthy Forests” legislation that allows the clear cutting of trees.  Of course some people have an agenda that runs contrary to the good of the majority, such as the “Liberal Agenda” or the “Homosexual Agenda.”  So thank goodness many of us are protecting Family Values by seeking the elimination of the Death Tax, supporting No Child Left Behind, and upholding the Right to Life and the Sanctity of Marriage.

          In our Brave New World, the poor and the powerless; those with inadequate shelter or access to medical care for whom the “American Dream” in inconceivable, have only themselves to blame for their situations.  If only they would exercise “Personal responsibility” they would be prosperous citizens and this world would be a much better place.

          “Personal Responsibility.”  Could two so benign words be used more malignantly?  If only the victim in the parable of the “Good Samaritan” had exercised personal responsibility for his own safety—not traveling alone, paying more attention, carrying a weapon—he wouldn’t have become such a burden on others.  One pundit noted that “Personal Responsibility” was, “The notion that persons other than oneself are responsible for all problems.”

          Recently the term “Personal Responsibility” has come to have a myriad of meanings.  This from the website selfgov.org, “The idea of personal responsibility is at the heart of a free society.”  Neither the Constitution nor any political philosopher was footnoted for that quote.

          In the name of personal responsibility some advocate severe limits on the right to bring claims for damage caused by others’ failure to act reasonably.  Others decry the “food cops” who would limit the people’s choice to eat whatever high caloric, high fat foods they want, while enjoying a cigarette in the restaurant after dinner.  Some assert that parents are personally responsible for their children’s education and that by sending them to public schools they abdicate their responsibility to the state.  Others argue that criminals should work in jail to pay financial restitution to victims or that instead of social security we should be personally responsible for handling our own retirement accounts.  There seems to be no end to what we are personally responsible for.

          But are we not citizens of a larger society?  Is our only obligation to society as a whole to keep our own house in order?  This notion of “Personal Responsibility,” in a decidedly un-Christian turn, appears to reduce rather than broaden our obligations to our neighbor.

          In his discourse, “The Social Contract,” Henri Rousseau opines that before uniting together mankind was fragmented and powerless.  Only by coming together did humankind gain the means to preserve itself.  Only by acting in concert could people insure the protection of their goods and themselves.  It was the Social Contract, said Rousseau, which allowed individuals to unite with each other for protection while at the same time enhancing their freedom.

          Rousseau understood the social contract to be, “The total alienation of each associate, together with all his rights to the whole community; for, in the first place, as each gives himself absolutely, the conditions are the same for all; and, this being so, on one has any interest in making themselves burdensome to others.”

          The notion of Personal Responsibility removes individuals from the larger society and isolates them in a sphere of limited power and influence.  Perhaps this is the idea.  If people are busily concerned about their Personal Responsibilities and judgmental about others’ lack of personal responsibility then they can’t concern themselves with the responsibilities of massive corporations to provide healthy food or safe products.  Or to provide financial services that don’t steal from the gullible or to provide power, communications, and information in a responsible and affordable manner.  If people were less concerned about Personal Responsibility they could focus more on their government’s responsibility to educate its citizens, to assure clean air and water, to provide fair and unbiased police protection, and to be equally responsive to the needs of all, not just the rich and powerful.

          “Personal Responsibility” is a meaningless distraction.  It preys on our guilt that we are not doing enough.  It takes advantage of our judgmental natures and encourages us to accuse others of not doing enough.  It divides rather than unites.  It sows suspicion and, contrary to the bible, suggests that no one is our neighbor.

          Rousseau found the essence of the Social Contract to be, “Each of us puts his person and all his power in common under the supreme direction of the general will, and, in our corporate capacity, we receive each member as an indivisible part of the whole.”

           “At once, in place of the individual personality of each contracting party, the act of association creates a corporate and collective body, composed of as many members as the assembly contains voters.  This public persona…now takes the name of Republic or body politic.  Those who associated in it take collectively the name of people, and severally are called citizens.”

          Our society is constantly beset with the centrifugal and centripetal forces of Individual and Citizen.  Usually the forces balance themselves, providing an accommodation for the individual amidst the demands of citizenship.  But often, in this country of freedom and liberty, where government is resented as a necessary evil, and where we wish to carve out a larger and larger place for individual enterprise, the balance is tilted in favor of individual rights.

          “Personal responsibility” further upsets this balance.  It removes actions usually performed collectively and places them in the personal spheres.  Education, property use, nutrition, transportation, security, become matters over which we are expected to take control, and over which our collective body, our government, is expected to relinquish control.  The result is a citizenry with less and less confidence in the Republic to protect its people and to solve its problems.

          Citizenship calls us to unite for a better community.  It is axiomatic that community is not enhanced by our separating from each other into smaller and smaller units.  Balance is essential.  Civic life requires us to sacrifice some of our personal preferences for the common good.  Social awareness takes us outside of ourselves to find solutions to the broader problems that affect society.

           We must have our houses in order to be able to effectively exercise our citizenship.  If we cannot care for ourselves we aren’t in a position to contribute to society.  But a focus on “Personal Responsibility” without a commensurate focus on “Social Awareness” cheapens and devalues our stake in the American enterprise.  It cedes our decision-making powers to those focused and powerful enough to pursue their own interests.  Our capital is raided while we fret about the interest.

          We are not simply individuals whose highest good is to take care of ourselves.  We are partners in the contract of civilization.  We have life, knowledge and power because of our collective enterprise.  To encourage us to remove ourselves form the enterprise of citizenship under the guise of Personal Responsibility is the height of Civic Irresponsibility.

          As Humpty Dumpty said, “The question is which is to be the master…that’s all.”

          May we assume power over our words and expressions in a socially aware manner, and in so doing, may we assume power over our lives for the good of all. 

 

         

            

            

         

         

         

           

 

           

I'm still researching my sermon.  I hope to begin writing it tonight.  My sermons usually run fifteen minutes long and they require ten hours or so for the writing, editing, and re-writing.  Thanks to all those who commented.  I hope to be posting the completed product on Saturday.

 

I'm not in the panic stage yet, but I'm aware that I'd better get something on "paper" today.  Tomorrow night we're going to the ballet in Chicago so that does it for Friday.  I'm packing up my books and notes and taking them to the office with me today.  Maybe I can squeeze in some writing time at lunch.