The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning

A commentator in The New York Times today said he thought there was no point to the humanities. They are of no purpose, no use and have no measurable value to the world. Perhaps.

My favorite college English professor once told me that, as he saw it, the purpose of a college education was to make you unhappy. (When he said college education, I can only assume he meant an education in the humanities, for he taught at a liberal arts school and was of the type to whom no other education counted.) He thought college should open our eyes to the injustice and ethical problems in the world and make us unsatisfied with the status quo. Education would make us forever fretful, unable to rest because we saw the truth—the world is hard and cold and ugly and we are taxed with the job of working to improve it.

A lot of students didn't care for my favorite professor. He was a little too harsh, too demanding in class. He was even known to laugh out aloud when someone volunteered an answer he found particularly wrong. But I think he was right. The humanities—art, literature, history, philosophy—make us unhappy with our lives. Money and success become dry and tasteless when we understand how they have been used in the past.

But the truth is that sorrow can enrich life. It can teach us to feel more deeply, and even to love with more passion. Seeing the bad for what it is makes the good that much brighter. So when my professor said education makes us unhappy, I think he really meant unsatisfied. Because we know that we can never rest easy when we know the world. The humanities bring that world to us. At their best, they shouldn't lock us in an Ivory Tower. They should unlock our hearts, so we can feel the pain of our neighbors, and understand the love that triumphs over that agony.

My First Caucus

It was standing room only in precinct 315 in West Des Moines. Attending my first caucus had kept me excited all week, and now I was finally there. The noise level slowly climbed from a low hum to a rapid buzz. People filed in, heading to their corners and sporting stickers for Clinton, Obama, Edwards and the rest. From the youthful look of others in the room, it was many peoples’ first caucus. The Obama tables filled up first, then Clinton’s. Soon, the elementary school cafeteria was packed, and crowds of people stood along the walls. These are my neighbors, I thought to myself. Yet I had never seen them before.

Everyone seemed to be smiling, eager to enjoy the process. I smiled too and felt happy that I was part of it. After months of political commercials, phone calls and newspaper articles, I was finally casting my vote. We took a head count the way you do in grade school, with everyone calling out a number. It was a packed house and people strained to look as the numbers were ticked off—254 in the end. Applause broke out when the precinct chairman announced the total from atop a lunch table. He said it was a record.

We then counted the number of supporters for each candidate. There were 106 for Obama, 47 for Clinton, 42 for Edwards, 25 each for Biden and Richardson, three for Dodd and seven undecided. The people whose candidates didn’t make 15 percent of the vote had the chance to switch. I thought there would be organized speeches to try and sway them, but it was chaos as people yelled and waved their arms. I hadn’t seen a group of Iowans that excited since, well, never. Chanting matches broke out between rival factions, with Obama’s supporters yelling O-BA-MA while Clinton’s and Edwards tried to silence them with cheers of their own.

In the end, Obama got two delegates, while Biden, Clinton and Edwards each received one. I’m glad I caucused. I felt good about Iowa, and good about America. Things can’t be all that bad when 254 neighbors can gather in a cafeteria and good-naturedly pick a candidate.

Caucus Fever!

Tomorrow night I will be attending the Iowa Caucuses! After so much build up, I am super excited to see the political wheel in motion. I am stoked to stand up and be counted as supporting a candidate. Having never caucused before, it may be confusing, and I have no idea how fervent the people will be in their defense of their candidates. I hope to provide photos to document my caucus experience, so check back soon!

Won't You Be My President?

Mike Huckabee is good. While the other presidential candidates are slinging muck, furrowing their brows and sounding stern, Huckabee is making himself as easy to love as eggnog. He has a new commercial out in Iowa that features a close-up of him in a red sweater, in front of a Christmas tree. He says that while campaigning is important, we all need to take time to remember what the season is really about—celebrating the birth of Christ, and spending time with friends and family. He wishes all Iowans a merry Christmas, and smiles with the perfect mix of serenity and confidence. It warms my heart.

I'm not voting for him, but his commercial sure makes me feel nice.

Asolutely, Completely, Really Very Bored

I am so supremely bored. I'm in the throes of a funk that makes me want to cut my hair, buy all new clothes and paint my fingernails black, just for a change. The sight of my regular breakfast cereal makes me sick, and I can't stand my normal morning routine.

It's the Christmas season! Why am I bored? Maybe because I am waiting for Christmas to get here, and to be with all the people I love, and the waiting is so dull and monotonous. And of course it's winter, which always makes me go a little crazy.

Everything is the same, and I am sick of it! Just a few days ago I blogged about how much I hate change. That is true too—I am scared of big changes (and small ones). But sometimes I just get so bored and restless that I itch for a change of any kind and feel like I must absolutely chop my hair off really short before I go completely insane!

But I don't want really short hair. Or pierced ears, or black fingernails. It's a change of scene that I really want, and a change of occupation. And while right now I crave them, I'm sure I will be terrified when they come. In a way, that's comforting.

What I Want

My blog is narcissistic, I can't hide it.

I want a room with bookshelves on at least three of the walls.
I want to wear a pink dress.
I want to go on a long bicycle ride that lasts for miles and miles, like an all-day adventure trek.
To eat sushi by the ocean.
Take a rainforest canopy tour.
Write a book.
I want to stand on a high green hill in the Yorkshire Dales, where it's always windy.
I want to own every episode of The Dick Van Dyke Show
To study the Bible regularly, and really read it, not just flip through the pages
To be stronger, physically and emotionally
To do ten push-ups, the real kind (I used to be able to do this, so I know it's possible!)

Cake

It's December, and all I want to do is put on my flannel pajamas and burrow under a blanket on the couch, maybe with a hot cocoa, or better yet an Irish coffee. I want to be warm and cozy and safe. I want to turn on all the lamps, every glowing bulb, and flood my little apartment with yellow artificial light. The Irish coffee will warm my lips and belly with the subtle heat of whiskey, and the canned laughter from a TV sitcom will relax my facial muscles until I'm smiling along.

Maybe I'll even bake a cake, a dense, chocolaty one with gooey icing and chopped walnuts on top. It would be the perfect counterpoint to a crisp, chilly evening. It's been a long time since I've made a cake, but I'm sure the recipe is still in my box, covered in butter stains.

Baking a cake seems like the beginning of a story. Who is the cake for? Will it taste good? Will they like it? But I don't have time for a whole story right now, so I will just put on my pajamas and go to bed. Maybe I will leave the lamp on for a while.