being nice to the core

During snack-time today, one of my students mentioned that his wife said she didn't want to dance anymore. He was rather forlorn over this and grieving to some of his friends. "She said she just doesn't want to dance anymore", he said. "I really like dancing but I can't dance without her, so I guess that's that". One of the other men suggested she might change her mind--he said his wife often did--but K didn't think so.

I've never met his wife. Perhaps she said this months ago and it just came up today; perhaps she has arthritis and it hurts too much to dance. At any rate, there was not much i could offer by means of consolation. I asked him what kind of dancing they used to do: mostly ballroom, he said. He's right--that is a style in which it is difficult to change partners. It's not like going square or line dancing.

I enjoy (tame) ballroom dancing very much--it's about music and love and communication and partnership--and i can't imagine what i'd feel if i had a life-long dancing partner who didn't want to dance [with me] anymore someday. I hope i never do something like that to whoever he may be...

...just like i hope i lose the ability to speak rather than become an old lady who randomly swears at people in the hallway.

hope and Helm's Deep

My view of the world used to be that life--whether mine specifically or human existence in general--was like the battle at Helm's Deep in Tolkien's trilogy. We're stuck in a dismal chasm with no escape, a small band fighting to the death and watching our friends fall beside us. It is deep night with dawn a long way off, and hope of rescue even further. The enemy blankets the valley in front of us, foully raging at us and mocking our predicament. We sent for help--we know it is coming--but it seems highly unlikely that help will arrive in time.

And then, just when we completely lose hope and charge out to deaths that will be, at least, valiant, Gandalf comes charging over the mountains with reinforcements and drives away the hordes. The tide of battle shifts completely--but it is a gift, an amazing miracle, that he arrived in time.

I have been told--and i am coming to realize--that this is not an accurate view of the world. ;-) People have different metaphors for life, and mine will probably always be a battle (versus a race, a game or a journey) but i'm trying to no longer see it as a losing battle. I don't even think it's accurate to see it as losing-the-battle-but-winning-the-war. On the other hand, i have no solid image with which to replace the picture of Helm's Deep in my mind.

I may be the elf that dies on the wall or i may be Eowyn who lives to fight another battle, but in either case, the situation is not hopeless. (Okay. I'd probably be a mere peasant, not Eowyn or an elf.) Hope was not in vain, not even for those who died before seeing that hope fulfilled. Things might (and did, and do) get worse, but they will be all right someday. It isn't a fluffy, imaginary hope--it was based on something and someone solid and dependable, a person who had given them that hope and had the means to fulfill it.

That is something i would like to see aptly captured in a film: Hope, especially a desperate hope, fulfilled.

I am camembert

This is from a cute little test that i stumbled across while doing research for my boss on a hiring/recruiting website...i took note of the title and took it tonight. I turned out as blue cheese a few times, once as chevre, but mostly as camembert--but i don't think any of the descriptions are much like me! I'm not very organized (although i'd like to be) and i'm quite a klutz. On the other hand, camembert and bleu combined on a cracker is quite delicious...mmmm.
Try it for yourself


You are camembert!

"You are a creamy, delicate tasting cheese. You are refined and graceful and very organized. As a very insightful cheese, you like to ponder the meaning of life.

A very famous French cheese, Camembert dates back to the 18th century and is named for a Norman village in which there is a statue of the creator of this particular variety (Marie Harel). Originally, this cheese was dry and yellow-brown, but after a few modifications it became softer and more earthy. In 1855 one of Marie Harel's daughters presented Napoleon with a piece of that cheese, saying that it came from village called Camembert. He liked it a lot and from that moment Camembert became known by its contemporary name. At the beginning of its ripening, Camembert is crumbly and soft and gets creamier over time (usually 2-3 weeks). A genuine Camembert has a delicate salty taste.
[ Country: France || Milk: cow milk || Texture: soft ]"