Who was Cassandra?
In the Iliad, she is described as the loveliest of the daughters
of Priam (King of Troy), and gifted with prophecy. The god Apollo
loved her, but she spurned him. As a punishment, he decreed
that no one would ever believe her. So when she told her fellow
Trojans that the Greeks were hiding inside the wooden horse...well,
you know what happened.
the cassandra pages
words, pictures, and a life
Saturday, July 03, 2004
Today, some recommendations. This ball, from a construction site in Montreal, reminded me of something qB might photograph. Since we're in mind of our buzzy lady from London, please bookmark the hilariously awful account of her day from last Wednesday, and re-read it whenever you are having a bad day yourself, as many of us seem to be enduring lately (what is it, anyway?? the moon? alien x-rays?)
I've just discovered a blog that I've been reading avidly, and want to recommend to you: it's called FunnyAccent and is written by a young Malaysian woman, named Anasalwa, living in Boston. She is a fine, sensitive writer, and her stories - and questions - will open up a new world and a new point of view for you. I haven't made my way through her archives, but I am looking forward to reading each post.
Finally, I think all of us who visit Creek Running North know that Chris is a very gifted writer as well as being enormously knowledgeable about science and the natural world. What is unique about him is the way he weaves both together. He recently wrote a post, following on the death of his grandmother, that reflects on the legacy of the women in his life. I'd have to place it at the top of my "Best of Chris" list; please find a quiet moment and go there and read it.
Happy Fourth tomorrow, everyone! Let's try to remember and celebrate the many things that are wonderful about our country.
Conducting good interviews is a particular skill, one that I've come to appreciate much more now that I'm doing a lot, and trying to improve my own ability. I try to prepare as well as I can beforehand, both with background information and questions I'm planning to ask. I plan the timing and pacing of the interview, as much as I can: warm-up topics to try to get the subject comfortable with me, then a succession of more difficult ones, with breaks and opportunities to step back, relax, and reflect. I try to give the subject ample opportunity to talk about him- or herself freely - but some people don't like to do this. Then it's my job to draw them out. I like to have some questions they won't have anticipated, not in a let's-trip-them-up sense, but in order to try to elicit some less predictable responses. I tend to be hopelessly linear, but many people aren't. Often, I have to circle back, try a topic from a different point of view when a person has failed to answer a question. In almost every interview, there are also surprises - sometimes requiring that I abandon my "script" temporarily or totally, in order to go with a new, important direction. Being prepared for that is also part of the mix.
What I can't anticipate is how the subject is going to be feeling on that day. Wil they be focussed and sharp; eager; friendly? Or tired, distracted, even annoyed? People usually like me, but liking someone is different than trusting them. It's my job to try to quickly establish rapport and build trust, so that as the interview progresses, I can eventually ask the questions I most want answered and have a chance of getting an honest, direct response. Part of this is sensing how much to talk to a particular person myself, in order to reveal my approach and knowledge and sympathy, and how much to listen: 10/90? 30/70? Different people and circumstances seem to require a different balance.
I don't think I could have done this when I was younger. It takes all the inter-personal skills I've learned over my lifetime so far, and it also requires tremendous energy. I find I need a good night's sleep and razor-sharp intellectual focus during the interview, as well being keenly aware of body language and other signs of fatigue and annoyance, or enthusiasm for a particular thread of conversation. People change a lot from day to day, too, and what worked one day might not work on another occasion.
I especially like this aspect of my work, though, because it is so real-time, and so challenging on many levels. When J. is also talking pictures of the subject, during the interview, we work together to put them at ease so that they can forget the camera and just relax. Usually, we're successful, but as I review the session later, I'm often aware of things that worked and things that didn't. Each interview is an opportunity to hone my skills and improve for the next time.
Have any of you had experience in this field - either as interviewer or interviewee - that you'd like to share?
Wednesday, June 30, 2004 Loving in the face of utter rejection means following in some of the most painful footsteps of Jesus, the Christ. But I'm convinced that peace is to be found in accepting that calling - not peace in the everyday sense of tranquility, but the kind of peace that emerges from believing in our wholeness and the rightfulness of our place in the cosmos. Loving in the face of persecution may not always yield happiness, but it seems to be the only response that allows us to make any sense at all of our lives.
John Fortunato, Embracing the Exile: Healing Journeys for Gay Christians (1982).
Yesterday we had a good visit with the bishop. He was tired, and for the first part of the interview - we had 2 1/2 hours scheduled - I was worried that it wasn't going to be productive for me, or pleasant for him. During the past two weeks, he's been dealing with a deteriorating situation with the one parish in New Hampshire that has refused to accept his election. There was a meeting scheduled a week ago between the diocesan representatives (the bishop and the president of the Standing Committee) and the parish vestry. G.R. decided to give them everything they asked for - their own choice of priest (he agreed to re-instate a priest that the former bishop had fired), pastoral oversight by a conservative bishop instead of himself, with only the requirement of one informal visit per year by himself. (Canon law requires one formal pastoral visit by the bishop every three years.) At the meeting, it became clear that despite their former assurances and demands, there was no intention on the part of the dissenting parish to negotiate or accept even these offers. A member of the American Anglican Council (the group that is spearheading opposition to homosexual ordinations and encouraging the formation of a new, "faithful" Anglican Church in the U.S.) was present, and, according to G.R., the parish members "read from scripts" that had been prepared by others.
"If you rolled up all the hatred I've encountered all this past year, it wouldn't equal what I had to endure that evening," he said. "Even the priest I had offered to reappoint entered into a diatribe, attacking me personally, shaking his finger at me." No wonder so much pain and fatigue could still be read in his face. But, he said, "I decided partway through that no matter what, I was going to outlast them; I'd stay at the table and if anyone was going to walk out, it would have to be them." He said he didn't say much, didn't answer their hatred. And eventually, their own anger got the better of them; as a body - about 35 people - they slammed their keys to the church on the table and walked out. "I said to Hank," (the president of the Standing Committee of the diocese) "pick up those keys. Tomorrow we're changing the locks on this building, and starting to rebuild this congregation." On Sunday, G.R.'s assistant preached there, to a crowd of supporters numbering over 100, and including a number of people who had left the congregation in dismay over the vindictiveness and unwillingness to compromise.
While we were in his office, one of the most conservative bishops in the country called on the telephone. He had read the press reports of what happened, and wanted to tell G.R., who he had gotten to know through the General Conventions of the church, that he admired how he had handled it, that he had bent over backwards to try to accomodate the wishes of the congregation and preserve diocesan unity, and no one could have done more than that. Although he'd been through a wringer, G.R. felt relieved; he wouldn't have to deal with these people anymore and could concentrate on rebuilding that parish.
After we got this painful subject out of the way, things improved. I asked him some questions some of you have suggested ("Hmm - good questions!" he said.) He told me some stories about his experiences as a young person in the Disciples of Christ Church; I told him some stories about my father and his circuit-riding Methodist minister father, we all began to laugh and relax, and when five o'clock rolled around, I was the one who had to say, "Ok! Time to stop!"
10:12 AM
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Sunday, June 27, 2004
TOM MONTAG
The other day in the comments, my friend Tom Montag mentioned that his blog gets considerably fewer readers than this one. He didn't care, he said, and I believe him: he'd rather have a small group of appreciative and interested readers than a whole slew of casual, silent ones. But if what he says is true, it's a crying shame, because Tom is one of the best writers out there and what he's doing, in his quiet, steady way, is worthy of far more attention.
Tom's blog, The Middlewesterner, gives us excerpts from his "Vagabond Journals" and other writings about the people and character of the present-day Midwest. Some literate urban dwellers of the coasts of our great country manage to dismiss or neglect the Midwest. The south has its great pantheon of writers, after all, and there are a few Chicagoans of note, but when it comes to the prairies and small towns of Iowa, Wisconsin, Indiana...there's Willa Cather, and not a great many others. Or perhaps some identify the Midwest with that Nixonian phrase "Middle America" and see it as the antithesis of all that is cultured, educated, outward-looking. To do so is to miss out on the core of America, and also to miss looking back into our past, which this area of the country represents. I don't think any educated person can claim to understand America without knowing something about the Midwest.
I grew up in rural New York, too far east to be in Tom's geographical definition but with many shared characteristics. Like him, I appreciate the plain-spoken people and honest direct life lived there, close to the land - land which is still being used to grow food.
Yesterday, walking along a country road here on top of a hill, it was totally quiet except for the exuberant calls of the songbirds. A meadowlark sang on the edge of tall grasses in a pasture dotted with daisies and buttercups, and fragrant with bedstraw; occasionally a cow lowed in the distance, and over it all a wind swept cleanly and freshly from the west. It was a beautiful, timeless moment, as measured in the memories of my life, but it's disappearing.
Tom is trying to do something about that - to capture the elusive character of the agricultural land, the small towns and grain elevators, and most especially its people, the sort who don't talk about themselves much - before they disappear. His prose moves me, and I commend it to you. As a writer, he works steadily and productively, and his occasional advice to less experienced writers is well worth taking.
He's also a fine poet, as this poem from a recent post will show you:
THIS GATHERING SEASON in MIDDLE GROUND (1982) by Tom Montag
The steady eye, of course, survives
this rip in darkness, a slash
of morning light the color of snow
in April - The silence of daybreak
measured in the regular pattern
of her breathing. She sleeps. Each breath
sucks the husk of night; returns,
then, a glow to the room - The day
becomes more than I can own or hold.
Tom, thank you for being there and for what you are doing with your life and talents.
3:21 AM
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