Summer Reflections

Summer, with all its unpredictable angst and teasing whispers of freedom, is no longer taunting me. I have books piled around me whose titles all appear in demanding authority on the pages of the syllabi I've collected over the past week: Waverly, The Taming of the Shrew, The Collected Poems of T.S. Eliot, Shakespeare's Sonnets, and more. I've begun my half-hearted effort at organizing notebooks and courses into three-ring binders. I've also performed the necessary pre-semester bemoaning of limited shelf space in my room for the flood of incoming books.

What I've done this week that I have never done before is stand in front of a group of students, introduced myself as Ms. Duemler, and handed them a syllabus with my name at the top. I'll be teaching a class this semester for the Intensive English Program,  Catholic's ESL program. The course meets twice a week and is intended to help students increase their vocabulary and improve their spelling. So far I have been able to pull off a teacherly attitude and demeanor, but I keep waiting for someone to call my bluff.

As this first week of class is coming to a close I am feeling pensive and reflective. This past summer has felt at times like a crucible for my emotions, both positive and negative. I worked part time as a companion for an elderly lady with dementia, and while that is a rewarding job on many levels, it is also emotionally exhausting. It is a transparent position working with someone who can't remember you when you aren't there for a day (or when you've left the room for five minutes). I floated in and out of her life this summer, blurring out of focus, constantly explaining my presence and trying to ease her anxiety and her daily, urgent desire to "go home." She was always aware of a sense of displacement, of  being in a foreign environment, and her powerlessness to alter her situation in any way. I ached for her when she confided in me that she felt like a burden to her family, and I wanted to tear my hair out when she complained loudly about "over-priced" birthday cards I was helping her to pick out. The experience had me thinking about the year and a half I spent after college working in a nursing home on a floor filled with people like her and yet each so unique. I went through some old reflective poems I wrote during that time and came up with one that captures some of the unsettledness I feel now:

"Time goes on; Either you have it or you don't....and that's a good thing Because life—all of it—is a blessing" ~P.L. Resident at Cook Center 2009

  

Life and Time among

The old

Teach understandable

Morbidity—reflection

With eyes trained

On the ever diminishing

Image in the

Hall of mirrors.

Such halls as may

And do

Exist

Down which

Each day, 

I walk,

knock

and enter

Rooms filled with mirrors.

Life looks back—

Pale and young

Smooth complexion

Clean hair

Deliberate smile

Each room I check

She’s still there

Diminished in quality

From the unknowable

Reality.

She says nothing of

The future

Or the past

Only the untouchable

Present.

She is the only time

Anyone is actually

Given.

I see her in the mirrors

And in the empty

Eyes that stare

Into mine

Searching in me

For what used to be.

This is The tragedy and comedy

I share with the old

In the house of

mirrors:

The image is created

Newly, fresh

Every moment alive

But always created,

Reflected,

And perceived;

Never touched.

"Time goes on"

eventually the past is lost

or fades

like a photo graph

poorly preserved

the present and future

are the two-thirds of time

left in the draining

glass

Neither, responds

with warmth or recognition

to the mental touch

Only the self can

exist in the present

--the self and God,

the eternal present—

and the future is

"strangely uncertain"

Even when time is

lame--lost the leg of the

past,--

it must pass on by

hobbling as it goes

minutes drag by and

a quiet future

looms eerily

in the unrecognized face

in the mirror.

“Time goes on."

On a far more pleasant note I had an extraordinarily wonderful thing happen to me this summer; I became engaged to a man that I love and respect, and who I am thrilled about spending my life getting to know more deeply. Jake proposed to me while we were vacationing with my family in Missouri. On a day trip to the botanical gardens, he and I were alone in a bright, garden filled with colorful foliage and lovely flowers. While we were admiring its aesthetic value, Jake took me by the hand, got down on one knee and in very heartfelt, straightforward language asked me to marry him as he produced a ring that sparkled as if it were on fire in the noonday sun. I said yes, and there was much rejoicing.

The garden in which Jake proposed. Note the statue of Juno in the center.

The ring.

On that note, to wrap up this update, I'm going to recommend some fun reading. Over the past year I was introduced to and read several mystery novels by Dorothy Sayers. For anyone familiar with her work, she needs no introduction and indeed I feel like it is somewhat inappropriate to recommend a well-established author; as if she would find it condescending in some way to be getting a "two-thumbs up" from me. Nevertheless, I want to promote a revival of interest in her writing. In general  I'm fairly skeptical about the quality of mysteries; while I understand their popular appeal and enjoy indulging in them from time to time, I'm enough of a snob that I don't usually pass them along with high recommendations. However, I have been very impressed with the literary quality of Sayers' novels. In particular I've enjoyed the Harriet Vane and Lord Peter Whimsey novels, Strong Poison, Have his Carcasse, Gaudy Night, and The Busman's Honeymoon. The last two especially treat on deeper themes while maintaining an engaging and interesting mystery plot line. These four books follow the relationship between Sayers' aristocratic detective, Lord Peter Whimsey and Miss Harriet Vane, a writer of popular mystery novels. While Whimsey is a constant character in all of her mystery novels, Sayers introduced Harriet in these four books which acts as a compliment to Peter adding surprising depth to his character and pulling him from a charming 2-dimensional solver of mysteries into a three-dimensional person. Sayers true triumph, though, is Miss Vane, a well crafted character in whom she captures the struggles of an intelligent woman to find a place in a pre-WWII male centered world. Filled with literary allusions, latin quotes, dry British humor, a plethora of proposals, and surprising plot twists, these books were a delight for this English grad student to read and I hope you find them enjoyable as well.