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, April 23, 2005
GOTTA LOVE THOSE MOUNTIES
Kevin Bourassa and Joe Varnell will be honored at a GLBT civil rights event in Philadelphia on Sunday, May 1. Bourassa and Varnell were the first gay couple to be legally married in North America. Two RCMP officers will accompany them to symbolize Canada's commitment to same-sex couples. The trip will be a far cry from one Bourassa and Varnell attempted to make shortly after their marriage in 2003. The couple was turned back by US Customs and Immigration officers when they attempted to board a flight from Toronto to Georgia. US Customs and Immigration pre-check people traveling to the US at most major Canadian airports. They couple was rejected after filling out a form identifying themselves as a family.
Other recipients of the "40 Heroes" awards are Martina Navratilova, Melissa Etheridge, Barney Frank, Gene Robinson, and Ellen DeGeneres.
AND A MORE POIGNANT NOTE:
This anonymous letter at Planet Out! from a gay Catholic priest describes his reaction to the election of the new pope, and is a poignant commentary on what "keeping the faith" means for someone in his situation. I was interested, and glad, to see that he mentions Bishop Gene Robinson as someone whose witness has helped him continue under very difficult circumstances.
2:26 PM
|
Friday, April 22, 2005
HOLDING THE LINE
“I had a very good day yesterday,” announces my father-in-law, as he settles into his chair. From the buffet, he’s brought back a plate of salad greens topped with baby carrots and ringed with six big strawberries, and another plate with a grilled hamburger from the buffet. He peers under the bun, and starts carefully spreading the hamburger with ketchup, mustard, and relish that he’s arranged in layers in one of those tiny folded paper cups that mints or condiments are served in.
“What was especially good about it?” we ask.
“Well, for one thing I was pleased with the new pope. And I wrote a few letters, which was something I haven’t been able to do at all lately.”
“You were pleased with the pope?” I’m astounded that he’d say this; a few weeks ago he made it clear he was completely disgusted with the entire thing.
“Oh yes,” he says, nonchalantly, and goes on preparing his hamburger. J. looks at him, hard, shakes his head, and goes off to get something he’s forgotten in the buffet line.
I'm somewhat at a loss. “You are kidding about the pope, aren’t you?”
“No! I think he’s an excellent choice.”
“You don’t think he’s too conservative?”
“Someone has to hold the line.”
“What? So you really think it’s good to have someone in there who, let’s see, forbids contraception?” Now I'm getting suspicious; it looks like he’s enjoying this; his eyes are half serious, half mischievous, and he knows I can’t tell exactly where he’s going to land today.
“Sure. Someone needs to be against contraception…and that other thing…” he makes vague gestures in the direction of his abdomen.
“Abortion.”
“Yes. And no…”
“No women priests.”
“Exactly.” He crunches decisively on a baby carrot.
“Come on,” I say.
“No, I mean it,” he says. “Somebody needs to counteract my liberalism, you see. I worry that there is too much liberalism like mine and unless it’s opposed…”
“People will go wild.”
He nods, and takes an appreciative bite of his hamburger. “I’ve put on weight in the last two weeks,” he says. “I need to watch it. But you should eat more. Go gets some cake.”
“I’ll get something else later,” I tell him. “Now, do you really think that?"
“Yes! Did I ever tell you – once the prep school where I was teaching sent me as a ‘delegate’ to a Catholic prep school conference, so I went, and there was a theological discussion in which everybody seemed to be taking a very liberal point of view. So I decided, for the fun of it, to take the opposite view, and I argued the strictest, most conservative Catholic position. Afterwards one of the priests came up to me and whispered, ‘That was very impressive – may I ask, what Order are you a member of?’”
"Maybe you should go to Africa," I tell him. "You might fit right in with those conservative bishops."
He looks up in mock horror. "I don't think so!"
I look at him, grinning, and shake my head. He seems very pleased by the memory. "You see," he says, "if no one takes the traditional view, there's no one for me to push against."
And I still don't know what he really thinks.
4:07 PM
|
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
GRIMALDI'S
At Idle Words, a commentary on New York-style pizza, a subject dear to my heart. J., who is at this very moment making pizza crust in the kitchen, has been a pizza aficionado since long before we met; it was clear to me at the start that loving pizza was going to be synonymous with loving him. In his post, Maciej describes several pizza places we also count among the very top - Pepe's in New Haven, is our #1 - their white pizza, a blend of garlic, clams, parmesan, and olive oil on the best crust you have ever eaten, served unpretentiously on a rectangular tray, is well worth the drive off the highway into the city, and the potential wait to get served. And Grimaldi's, at the end of the Brooklyn Bridge, also makes our top five. What about John's, in the Village? We've never, however, eaten Staten Island pizza, and it sounds like we've missed the best of the best.
Grimaldi's made it into a poem I wrote a long while back - and it's as good a time as any to post it. That was another early spring day, much like this one. The "Kim" in question is now a late-teenager, with bright red-dyed hair; she is escaping as best she can.
Two Dollars a Day
After pizza at Patsy Grimaldi’s we walked past tulip gardens and pear trees and then across the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset with the skylight still glowing and the riches of Manhattan sparkling blue and gold and silver.
Liberty beckoned from the harbor; the Verrazzano, a diamond necklace in the distance. Lacework cables above us, bicyclists rattling the wooden decking; a big black jogger, woman in a suit and Nikes, other lovers.
Beneath city hall and its gilded dome down to the trains where a Frenchwoman read philosphy and a black couple leaned against each other uptown to 32nd Street and out into the city night small again on the fast streets full of yellow taxis and hot smells and people intent on their destination.
----
“Where did you go?” said Kimmy, who had fed the cat and brought in the papers.
“New York,” we said. “Have you ever been there?” and she said no, she had never been anywhere except California once and it was wonderful, there was so much happening! And here nothing ever, ever happened, except they had a new puppy, which liked to bite her.
So she took her dollars and went back home, and later in the day I saw her riding her bicycle up and down the street, the way she’s always liked, and she smiled brightly and pedalled furiously as if she had somewhere important to go.
Last night was too warm and too lovely to spend inside. We walked in the park, along the serpentine lake, and then, reluctant to go in, got our bikes and rode up absolutely quiet, nearly deserted streets, past cars parked along the sides shining like dark green and black carapaces under the indefinite streetlights; the sound of a piano or a violin drifting from a window, yellow light behind lace; an occasional rustle revealing a mother coming home with a child; someone bringing in a folding chair; a cat; a woman with a cigarette gazing at the street from the shadows on a third-floor balcony.
I caught up with J. and we rode side-by-side on the dreamy street, saying nothing, reaching out once to touch hands.
Across on St. Gregoire, at the top of the Plateau -- and then coasted back home.
5:32 PM
|
Monday, April 18, 2005
A COUPLE OF LINKS
There's a wonderful story at FunnyAccent which gives a different take on running in Boston, and on the difference we can make without even knowing it.
Thanks to Language Hat, who linked to my post on language-learning, I found a new blog, amusingly named "La Coquette / Don't Hate Me Because I Live in Paris". She too is learning French, and since I had had a similar experience getting new contact lenses, I related to her story of a French eye exam.
We rode our bikes through nearly-empty streets this morning for the 10:00 church service at the cathedral; it was the first time we've been able to do that this spring, and it felt great. Our usual route takes us down the Av. Berri bike path past the new and about-to-open Bibliotheque Nationale with its pale aqua louvered glass facades, and then along Maisonneuve past Place des Arts into downtown. This morning as we waited for the light near Jeanne Mance, a woman rode by wearing a retro black-and-white checked coat-dress with a tight waist, 3/4 length sleeves and flared skirt, black fishnet stockings, black flats, and oval black movie-star sunglasses; she had a bright pink milk crate on the back of her bike. She looked like she had walked out of Lauren Bacall/Humphry Bogart movie - it was a great outfit, and she had the attitude to go with it - some study had definitely gone into that one.
I just washed down the planters and bench out on the terrace; the sliding doors are open and every now and then the sound of the traffic and bicycle wheels is broken by the voices of a passing group, talking happily in French. I want to thank everyone who commented on my post about language frustrations; I'm sorry I couldn't write back personally to everybody because I really appreciated what you said. Hearing your experiences not only encouraged me but reinforced the fact that this is a universal feeling that one simply has to go through on the way to becoming more fluent and more comfortable. Most days I just enjoy the bilingualism of the city and go with the flow of it; it's easy to see that I've made a lot of progress just from noticing how much more easily I understand whatever spoken French I hear and how much more comfortable I am in various situation than I was when I first came. Along with humility, I think another lesson to be learned is patience!
This morning quietness, combined with the beautiful music and sense of peace, shared commitment, and community I've come to find at the Cathedral, have helped me rejuvenate after many days of very intense work. I could feel myself fraying on Friday and Saturday: very much in need of a break and some extra rest, if not sleep. I still feel tired but much better than I did. I like the work I'm doing a lot, and feel grateful for it - as usual, the question is balance and taking care of myself, something I've come to accept as a continual task and responsibility, not a place I'm going to arrive at and stay without readjustment.
4:03 PM
|
