I Really Do Have a Good Excuse...

...for being AWOL for so long. I've actually been writing another standardized test (couldn't say no, too good of an opportunity), and we're still technically in transition.

I'm hoping to get back into the swing of things in June, but honestly it's going to be hit or miss until then. I will try, though, to review Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card, some time soon. I have *ahem* a few opinions about it.

Music: Folk Music from Vaughan Williams

"English Folk Song Suite," by Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958)

I'm a great lover of the music of Vaughan Williams, and this is one of my favorites. Whereas many of his contemporaries chose the route of exploring boundaries in modern music, Vaughan Williams chose to reinterpret traditional English music. For those interested in exploring more, I recommend "The Lark Ascending." A true masterpiece of modern English music.

Art Study: Tea Urn

As far as I'm concerned, "fine art" is a fairly broad descriptions that is in no way limited to paintings, murals, sculptures, and items of that ilk. This is a beautifully crafted urn made by that midnight rider himself, Paul Revere. As I'm currently reading the American Revolution section of A History of the American People, by Paul Johnson, this urn seemed appropriate when it popped up in my Reader.

Description:

Tea or Hot Water Urn, 1791
Paul Revere, Jr. (1734–1818), Maker
American; Made in Northeast, Boston, Massachusetts, America

The urn is recorded in Revere's ledgers, where on April 20, 1791, a debit is charged to Mrs. Hannah Rowe for a silver tea urn weighing 111 ounces. It is the earliest and the largest of the three known tea or coffee urns by Revere.

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Derived from the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Poetry Study: Stately Pleasure Domes and Sacred Rivers

One of my all-time favorite poems. Coleridge claimed that it came to him after a dream (which might or might not have occurred during an opium-induced stupor). Many scholars believe, however, that the poem is far too complex to have been the mere fantasy of a dreaming mind and that Coleridge just used this idea to sell the bizarre and dreamlike quality of the poem. Either way, it's a lot of fun and a beautiful work of poetry at the same time.

I recommend reading this one aloud. There's nothing quite like the sound of "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan..." rolling off the tongue.

"Kubla Khan," by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced;
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves:
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 't would win me
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

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Taken from Poetry Eserver.

Music: Couperin Chamber Music

François Couperin (1668-1733), Premier Concerto

Art Study: Female Dancer, Han Dynasty

Female Dancer

Han Dynasty (206 BC – AD 9), earthenware

Text taken from the Metropolitan Museum of Art:

Once part of a larger retinue, this elegant dancer is extraordinarily compelling in her ability to convey a feeling of life in a perfectly motionless form. The sculptor chose the moment in the performance when one sleeve is thrown back as the dancer gently stoops and flexes her knees, lifting one heel from the floor; she is motionless for a split second before she advances on her toes, her pendant arm remaining supremely still.

The desire for an afterlife through which worldly pleasures and activities are maintained is reflected in the placing of models (known as spirit goods, or "mingqi") of attendants, entertainers, pets, domestic animals, and a host of worldly goods in Chinese tombs, particularly during the first millennium. Tomb furnishings reflected the wealth, status, and interests of the deceased, while equipping tombs with such items was often understood as an act of homage by the deceased's family and descendants. Although certain spirit goods were made of bronze, jade, and other materials, clay was most commonly used.

I thought this was a particularly elegant piece of pottery with the gentle, delicate curves, so I decided to use it for this week's art study.

Book Review: Entre Nous, by Debra Ollivier

Well, this is a totally cheesy book to review...but here goes.

I purchased this the other day while on an outing of *ahem* retail therapy at Anthroplogie. All things considered, this probably isn't the kind of book that one should spend money on, but at the same time it's so fun and enjoyable that it really did make my day to buy it and then to read it. Ollivier's subtitle for the book is "A Woman's Guide to Finding Her Inner French Girl." I'm not sure I'd say that's entirely accurate, but it's probably as close as she could get to describing the real purpose of the book. I should mention up front that I'm big on the French way of life: the overall French approach to food, fashion, style, and so forth is undeniably intriguing. And all things considered, I'd have to say that they're onto something. I've been to France. The women there really are chic and stylish; they're elegant and graceful without trying too hard (and without needing to be covered in obvious designer ready-to-wear); and I was hard put to find someone who looked even remotely overweight. Now, I know there will be naysayers who can find statistics to contradict me, but as far as an entire culture goes they definitely have something that Americans don't have.

What draws me the most to books like this (another being French Woman Don't Get Fat, which I found to be surprisingly substantial) is the description of pace among the French people. While times may change, and there are definitely people in France living the fast-paced life that Americans know well, the pace is still different there as a rule. This attracts me, because I don't enjoy the pace of typical American life. I don't like feeling as though I must be doing forty-seven things at once. As though sitting down for an hour and enjoying a cup of tea is somehow equated with laziness. As though taking the time to make a nice meal is something for special occasions and can't be something for every day. As though I would be required to enroll my children (when and if I have them) in every activity possible, to the point that I'd be running around like a chauffeur most of the day. As Ollivier points out, this in particular is largely foreign to the French lifestyle. I'm sure that with the changing times there are some French children with parents who keep them busy, but it's apparently more the exception not the rule. All of this is a reflection of the way that the French approach the pace of life. And the phrase "quality over quantity" keeps coming up. It's not about how much you do, but how well you do the things that you do. This is such a beautiful concept to me. I must have sold out on being an American a long time ago, but I'd much rather have a life with a few beautiful experiences rather than a life that is just full of experiences.

Truth be told, a lot of this book is fluff (as is this review, no doubt!), but in retrospect I'm glad I bought it, because I think I'll probably go back and read it again some time. Yes, Ollivier generalizes a lot -- even when she claims that generalizations aren't really accurate -- but by the end of the book she's made a point. She concludes with a passage that I'll just quote, rather than try to paraphrase:

There is clearly something to say about coming from a mythic country, whose major city is a mecca of good taste, high culture, and haute couture. Like her country the French girl is not striving to become: she just is. We, on the other hand, like our own country, are still in the process of becoming. Where French girl seeks culture or knowledge, we seek self-improvement, self-help. This is our burden and our blessing. It makes us open to novely and the unknown, but also unsure of who we are.

In many ways, the archetypal French girl is a counterpoint to our world. She's a sensualist and a libertarian. She's a giver, but she doesn't giver herself away. She's not a worrier. Her consciousness is very likely rooted in the historical underpinnings of the world around her, even as she embraces the future, thoroughly modern.

To unleash her, we don't have to act French or (God forbid) pretend to be French. But we might want to rethink our values. Reject certain aspects of the status quo. Reposition ourselves against the currents (raging at times) that pull us away from our own center.

Edith Wharton reminds us that "the four words that preponderate in French speech and literature are: Glory, love, voluptuousness, and pleasure." Add to that list self-possession, discretion, authenticity, and sensuality, and you're well on your way to finding your inner French girl.

As Ollivier suggests, this really isn't about imitating a nationality but about finding balance and enjoyment in life. Whatever the silly features of this book may be, I can certainly appreciate that.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go enjoy a glass of my favorite wine and relax for a while.