OK, yeah, I was trying to be overly clever with this photo, but I still think it turned out pretty well. We were sitting in a little restaurant next to the Rialto Bridge watching the world go by.
As I've mentioned before, inexplicably, Janet had never visited Italy before. Considering that her last name is Pocorobba, and that her grandfather came from Sicily, this, of course, had to be addressed. She definitely loved her time there, and I'm sure it's just the first of several trips to Italy that we'll make in the next few years.
A week ago today we returned from Venice, although, truthfully, it feels like a much longer time ago than that. I'll definitely have a lot to say about the trip, but I'm still unpacking it. One of the reasons why it seems so long ago is that as soon as we returned I heard that my dad was fading badly, which led me to make a mad dash west, only to not make it before he passed away. That will also take a lot of unpacking, as, clearly, he and I had a very complicated relationship. In the short term, anyway, it gives me some comfort to dig into some of the pictures that we snapped while overseas.
Just another photo from the tile museum in Lisbon. I remember when I made my students track down their favorite tiles when I led a student trip to Portugal (and Spain). Oddly, or maybe not so oddly, they had a ball doing it. One of the lessons I learned about Champlain students is they love games and challenges, which I quickly brought into my class assignments.
I've already spent more time blogging today than I actually have to spare, but I did get all of my grading down yesterday so I guess I've earned a little reprieve. Still, this is just an introduction to a later richer post on a visit from my summer trip to Portugal. While there I finally made my way to the Museu Nacional do Azulejo, the tile museum, in the outskirts of Lisbon. I was hoping to bring my students there on a proposed March trip, but my undependable health led, sadly, to the cancelling of that course. It is a lovely museum, and I'll share some more pictures on a later date.
The generation I belong to was born into a world where those with a brain as well as a heart couldn't find any support. The destructive work of previous generations left us a world that offered no security in the religious sphere, no guidance in the moral sphere, and no tranquillity in the political sphere. We were born into the midst of metaphysical anguish, moral anxiety and political disquiet.
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, text 175
In a time of extreme disquiet, I suppose it's not surprising Pessoa continues to resonate so profoundly. When I watch the talking heads dissect this distressing election (and I've made an effort to watch as little as possible) it's obvious that they don't have the power to do so, mainly because they are viewing the issue on the micro level (i.e. mistakes in the Democratic platform or in a particular speech - or Trump's decision to double-down on racism and grievance) and not even trying to grapple with the problems revealed on the macro level (the religious, moral, and political spheres that Pessoa referenced above). And it's not simply the generation voting now which so alarmingly displays any sort of depth of thought or humanity (or even common sense) that I find so troubling. After the election I wrote to several of my friends who had daughters and told them that, as bad as I feel at this moment, I feel much worse for them. Think of the lives that those young women will be forced to lead - and think of the non-lives of the children they won't have, and not because of abortion, but because of their decision to not have children, because, well, why would they? What dream for the future is inspired by this electoral abortion?
In times like these - when I could readily understand ascetics and recluses, were I able to understand how anyone can make an effort on behalf of absolute ends or subscribe to a creed that might produce an effort - I would create, if I could, a full-fledged aesthetics of despair, an inner rhythm like a crib's rocking, filtered by the night's caresses in other, far-flung homelands.
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, text 207
In the cold, cruel days after this last election, I guess it would be far too easy to give up to "a full-fledged aesthetics of despair." Obviously, it's not normally how I roll. My classic response to bad moments like this, and I've had more than my share, is to give myself over to a short period of despair, allowing myself to wonder why I even bother and considering the beautiful option of surrendering, but then I quickly turn things around and plot how to overwhelm those foolish enough to pick a fight. However, this may be different. I was making this point with a couple folks the other day: there's something about 51% of Americans voting for this cruel, incompetent, orange con artist that is difficult to get past. There are so many people who voted for him, and who don't really have a safety net and can thus ill-afford the disaster that awaits, who will suffer because of a vote inspired by greed or racism or misogyny or xenophobia or Islamophobia or, well, simple cruelty. I choose the last word carefully and intentionally. We've reached the late Roman stage where the powers that be view a large part of their job, and their hold on power, in producing a blood sport to amuse/distract the masses, hungry for the suffering of others. In my Nature of Evil class we read a much too short piece from Emanuel Levinas's "Useless Suffering," where he made the point about how so much of the suffering of the 20th century was based on a fascination with our own suffering, often over-blown if not entirely self-generated, while ignoring the suffering of others - when our greatest emphasis should be on the suffering of others. So, it should not be "America First," but rather "Humanity First." Instead, we've taken a very dark turn, and one of my goals is to not let my despair give way to a schadenfreude at the inevitable suffering of people who threw their support behind one of the largest cults in world history, and clearly the largest in American history. So many of these people have truly suffered through the ravages of late stage Capitalism, and whose suffering was all too often ignored by the elites in the Democratic party and manipulated by elites in the Republican party. I would be taking away the entirely incorrect message from Levinas if I celebrated a decision on their part which is only going to make their lives worse. That said, it doesn't mean that I have to hang around watch it happen. I've been thinking about relocating overseas, to "far-flung homelands," for some time, and I think we've reached that tipping point. It's not simply that I don't want to live among the ruins, but rather that I want to live a saner, more moderate life, one of balance and relative peace and quiet, not a plaything of the greedy rich and heartless corporations.
