Page By Page

 "Page by page I slowly and lucidly reread everything I've written, and I find that it's all worthless and should have been left unwritten. The things we achieve, whether empires or sentences, have (because they've been achieved) the worst aspect of real things: the fact they're perishable. But that's not what worries or grieves me about these pages as I reread them now, in these idle moments. What grieves me is that it wasn't worthy my trouble to write them, and the time I spent doing it earned me nothing but the illusion, now shattered, that it was worth doing."

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, ch. 169

So, I'm not the only one who thinks this as they write . . . 

However, I think you can also read this on the broader, more metaphysical, level as well. Yes, Pessoa is reflecting upon writing, but he's also, in a sense, obliquely commenting on life itself. Was any of it worth doing? Like writing, life has only "earned me nothing but the illusion, now shattered, that it was worth doing." But you know, the thing about Pessoa is that, at least in my now multiple readings of The Book of Disquiet, he's not as completely despondent as he seems at first blush. I think he's disgusted and disheartened by the brutish coarseness of life, and thus maybe his inability to bring more beauty into the world. Again, at least in my mind, I think he's definitely inspired by beauty, driven by beauty, desirous of beauty, and in the end I think he achieves this on several levels (and through several heteronyms).

Appreciation

 One of the things that Cyndi and Steve and I often remark upon, quietly and privately, is how few students actually say thank you after the endless work of designing, constructing, and leading one of our student trips. I mean, seriously, it's a very small percentage who show any appreciation, even a grunting thank you. It's their generation, but also a broader societal, cultural foolish notion of promoting education as if its a business, and thus our students are customers, and the customers are always right, so of course they shouldn't be expected to show any appreciation for our "basic" services.

That said, there are definitely students who are extraordinarily appreciative and thankful. Here's a gift that my excellent student Addie, and her parents, sent me after the fall's trip to Jordan. As we'd say in the Midwest: they're good people.

I mean, seriously, a Portuguese cookbook!! The thing is, it wasn't a trip to Portugal, so obviously the students were listening when I reflected on my love for the country (second only to Jordan).

And to top it off, what a lovely note. We certainly don't run these trips for recognition, but it is deeply appreciated when it shows up.

Marley and Marley

 My students clearly have too much time on their hands.

To be fair, Wehmeyer is demonstrably shorter than me.

An Earlier Birthday

 And my former student Miranda sent along this picture from an earlier birthday, in this case in Zanzibar, when I led her class there.

I'm usually opposed to any and all selfies, but I vouchsafe this one.

Birthday Lunch

 Recently I celebrated my 63rd birthday (as is well-documented I don't like birthdays which end in a _3 because you can't pretend that you're still cruising through the previous decade - 63 is clearly 70, and 70 is 100) but this one was lovely. Janet was down in Boston on work-related activities, but my friends Kevin and Marcelle ventured into the wilderness of central Vermont to treat me to lunch at Sarducci's. It was a lovely time.

Kevin philosophizing.

My son thinks Marcelle and I are related mainly because we have the same hair (a gift from my grandmother Maude).

The Weariness of All Hypotheses

 "The countryside is always where we aren't. There, and there alone, do real trees and real shade exist.

Life is the hesitation between an exclamation and a question. Doubt is resolved by a period.

Miracles are God's laziness - or rather, the laziness we ascribe to God when we invent miracles.

The Gods are the incarnation of what we can never be.

The weariness of all hypotheses . . ."

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, ch. 375

The beauty of The Book of Disquiet is Pessoa endlessly observing, reflecting, and asking questions - and leaving us to not answer them as we see fit. 

Marjie and Dave

 One of the great joys of our recent trip west was spending a couple days with my long-time friend Dave (it will be forty years in 2024 - although he, selfishly, doesn't see that as an automatic invitation to make a trip to Namibia with me - to be fair, Jack, who will mark fifty years of friendship in the same year, also refuses to go) and his wife Marjie. If there is anything stranger than me getting married at this point in time it's Dave getting married at this point in time. They are so wonderful together and I could not be happier for them.

This picture was made even more special by Scout, complete with his ugly holiday sweater, photobombing it.