Not My Most Prized Possession

"Why would you keep your most prized possession on the street?" The guy at the bike shop wanted to know, when The Mate asked if he had a security camera in his store that might have gotten some video of the guy who smashed the window on our car.

"It's not my most prized possession," The Mate tried to tell him, but he was already lost in his rant. Fair enough; I'm not thrilled about the configurations of work, family, and health that make it almost impossible for me to live without a car, given the sorry state of public transit in this part of the world.

But then I got to thinking about the idea of "prized possessions" -- because ordinarily, I wouldn't use the two words in the same sentence.

Sure, I have stuff; and sure, I like much of my stuff: I'm particularly fond of the desk I'm typing this on, because it belonged to my Great Aunt Helen, who was a smart and independent woman in a time when it wasn't easy to be all those things at once.

Plus, she was a librarian, and if I prize anything, I guess it's my books, in the aggregate. I love getting lost in a narrative or following an argument; I love re-visiting a favorite book and savoring the language and the flow of ideas or images.

But really, I prize the intangibles.

The Mate and the Offspring. Family, and extended family, who are smart, creative, funny, and committed to making the world a better place.

My job, which allows me to spend my time reading, and thinking and talking about books, with good students and valued colleagues.

Living in New York, where there are a gazillion more smart, creative, independent people (who do things like this, and this). And of course I can't forget The Pet.

Beyond Palatable

I've been buying gasoline from BP for the past couple of years, because I bought into the "Beyond Petroleum" slogan, let myself be convinced that they were invested in alternative energy.

But as the entire planet knows by now, British Petroleum is the owner of the oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico that is spewing petroleum into the water.

Consequences are disastrous. The spill is killing marine life. But the folks in charge at BP are going around telling anyone who will listen about what they're doing to keep the oil from reaching shore, and trying to get everyone to forget the fish, shrimp, turtles and other creatures already dying in the water.

And worse, it appears that BP avoided putting in various safety features--required in the North Sea and elsewhere--could have stopped the spill from happening, or mitigated its severity. BP executives acknowledge they don't use such safety features, but they claim it's because they're not necessary.

It really, really makes me wish I could get rid of my car. In any case, I'll stop buying gasoline from BP, though I really have to wonder what difference it will make.

Psst!

These have been on my radar for some time now, but I couldn't quite wrap my mind around the idea and didn't feel comfortable buying them on-line. Then they turned up on the shelf at Whole Foods, so I bought one and brought it home.

And I can't believe I waited that long. That's all.

Bicycle Built for Two...

... if the two are Mary Poppins and Bert.

Ends and Beginnings (Commencement)

My institution's Commencement has been in the news lately, and it's gotten me thinking about my own commencements, or graduations as they're more commonly known among the graduates.

One word signifies an end, the completion of whatever one set out to do in the educational institution--or whatever one accomplished in spite of or in addition to goals set on arrival.

Entering college, I was going to be a doctor, or maybe a lawyer, or failing either of those, a philosophy professor. Three semesters of calculus and four years later, I applied to one graduate philosophy program, zero medical institutions, and one program for English teachers in China. Bingo: I got the position as an English teacher, and one thing led to another, and 20-odd years later, here I am professing English.

Entering grad school, I was going to be an ESL teacher, or maybe teach high school English. One half of one course in medieval literature later, with the late great Robert Raymo, and I was hooked. Nearly 20 years later, I'm professing medieval English literature.

And at that Commencement, I cried. Leaving high school, I was jubilant, profoundly relieved to be able to get out of rural New Hampshire. Leaving college, I was jubilant again. Leaving grad school, where I finally felt at home, I sat in Carnegie Hall and wept, and wept, and wept, as various speakers gave various kinds of good advice, of which I recall very little.

And then we walked across the stage to receive our degrees, and Professor Raymo placed the doctoral hood over my shoulders, and my father met me at the other end of the stage with possibly the biggest hug he ever gave me, and it was all over.

But also: a beginning. And this year I'll get to watch another batch of graduates commencing, going into a world that's uncertain, yet still beginning lives as people hopefully transformed by their years of education.

Uncivil Law

Jan Brewer, governor of Arizona, has just signed into law a bill requiring residents to carry documentation proving they are in the country legally. If police find that there is "reasonable suspicion" that a person is an illegal immigrant, they can detain that person and demand proof of legal residency.

President Obama opposes the law, as do many people in Arizona and the rest of the US, who fear the law will be used to harass citizens and other legal residents. Brewer claims it won't be used in that way.

But how on earth does she imagine police are going to decide whether someone is worth stopping and asking for documents? What would provoke "reasonable suspicion"? Looking Hispanic? Speaking Spanish? Speaking English with a Spanish accent? Somehow, it's hard to imagine the police stopping an English-speaking Caucasian and demanding documents.

I'm tempted to go to Nogales and stand around speaking German, just to see what happens. Maybe I'll have my German birth certificate, but not my US passport, in my pocket.

Consuming Earth Day

How many feet can that thing get to a gallon?

Earth Day is feeling sort of inconsequential. It seems to have morphed, this year, into both Earth Hour and Earth Month.

I guess people feel good about turning off lights for an hour, participating in a big movement, doing something green. My problem with it is that it's so minimal in its impact. If "Earth Hour" were about figuring out one way to use less energy on an on-going basis for the rest of one's life, and each year's Earth Hour involved another commitment, it would seem more meaningful.

And Earth Month seems to be a big advertising bonanza, used by marketers for all kinds of greenwashed opportunities for the populace to engage in yet more buying bonanzas.

What we need is a complete re-thinking of the ways in which we interact with stuff. A one child per family policy for the entire world, until populations reach roughly 1900 levels. A thorough-going commitment on the part of individuals, businesses, non-profit organizations, governments, and pan-governmental organizations -- yes, ALL of them -- to limit further production and consumption.

For the 40th anniversary of the first Earth Day, I'm feeling discouraged.