A Dog's Life: Serenity

I asked my family to look at this picture of Sundance and give me adjectives that came to mind. Here’s what they said:

Peaceful
Cozy
Heavenly
Serene
Fluffy
Trusting
Adorable
Plush
Secure

These say it all, I think, the hallmarks of a good life. Not just for dogs, but for all of us.

The Birds of the Gulf

Of all the images and information coming from the oil spill, the ones that sadden me the most are the pictures of oil-laden birds struggling to survive. More than the loss of livelihood, of income, or tourism, I feel saddest about the birds.

Evidently others do, too. MoveOn.org sent to its membership one of the most upsetting pictures to surface so far of a bird in Louisiana. With the subject line “Heartbreaking,” the email called on members to protest America’s dependence on oil. MoveOn could have sent a video of angry, frustrated Gulf residents or pictures of the oil plume itself, but instead its organizers chose the bird.

And what about the deaths of the 11 rig workers, which heralded the start of the disaster? Even these losses don’t seem to supersede the loss and degradation of marine life felt so keenly by so many.

Sometimes I think our complicated, uneasy relationship with animals all goes back to Genesis, where we were given “dominion” over all of the fish and birds and every creeping creature on the earth. What did God mean by dominion? When I checked to see if the translators might have had it wrong all these years, I learned that, indeed, the Hebrew word radah means to rule, to have dominion, dominate, tread down.

So the translation is right, but maybe it’s the interpretation that’s wrong. Maybe the intention is that we are to rule benevolently, as caretakers rather than as dominators.

Or maybe it’s that God got it wrong altogether, or that the writer of Genesis misunderstood. Maybe we are to steward the earth jointly with the animals and plants that share our time here together. We don’t seem to be doing such a great job by ourselves. Maybe we need to pay more attention to the clues that the animals are giving us.

The canary in the coal mine takes on more and more meaning as we destroy more of our planet. When birds are covered in oil, they can’t live very well, if at all. The message is this: neither can we.

The Appeal of Silly Bandz

What a refreshing fad this latest craze is. Colored rubber bands in the shapes of trombones, stars, castles, and ice cream cones—to name a few—they’re worn on the wrist like some elaborate, ancient bracelet. One pack of 12 costs $ 3.00, so you can sport a stylish look without losing too much money. Or, as is the case at my daughter’s school, those who have share with those who don’t, so everybody has at least a few. Silly Bandz elicit generosity where it’s sometimes hard to come by.

They also appeal to girls and boys alike. After years of resisting products marketed separately to each gender—brown and violent action figures for boys and pink and gentle dolls for girls—we can finally buy something that obliterates gender. Silly Bandz let kids be kids, rather than forcing boys to be boys and girls to be girls.

Perhaps the most fun of all, they are traded each day on an open market, housed on the playground or school bus. Trade a dragon for a duck. Trade a mermaid for a minotaur. Trade two figures for a phoenix, the most desired Silly Band of all, or hold out for an IPod. Each day brings something new.

Silly Bandz: simple fun in the midst of complicated times.

Belated Thoughts on J D Salinger

When J. D. Salinger died in January, we heard--ad nauseum, it seemed--both about the author's failure to publish beyond his early works and his subsequent life as a recluse. These parts of Salinger's biography were portayed as they usually are, with dismay and with a sense of failure.

After rereading this spring The Catcher in the Rye, Franny and Zooey, and Nine Stories, I can say that I share none of this disappointment. Salinger's work is brilliant. Holden Caulfield speaks not only to the disaffection of youth but also to the heartbreaking, thin line between mental health and mental dissolution. And if you haven't read the short story "For Esmé--With Love and Squalor," find it and read it immediately. The war-ravaged narrator and his meeting with the young British girl are unforgettable and, like Catcher in the Rye, transcendent of time and place.

If J. D. Salinger had more good work to publish, well, I guess it's too bad we didn't get to read it. But more often than not, we read too much from one author. Once a writer publishes one good book, it's often assumed that everything else is equally good. This is rarely the case, I've found, and results in awkward book reviews and undeserved accolades.

Perhaps Mr. Salinger got it right. Put out your best work and allow it to stand on its own merits. And maybe, just maybe, generations of readers will continue to discover you long after the book tours are over.

Birds in Flight

In his research on a bird species called bar-tailed godwits, biologist Robert Gill discovered in 2006 amazing flight patterns that turned previous assumptions upside-down. While godwits had been thought to make several stops in Asia as they migrated from southern Alaska to New Zealand and Australia, it turns out that these large waders fly far out over the Pacific Ocean, traveling “up to 7,100 miles in nine days — the longest nonstop flight ever recorded.”

As reported in a story in this week’s New York Times, advances in technology—such as tiny and remote tracking devices—led to Professor Gill’s findings and opened up the door for similar research. Not long ago ornithologists thought that ruby-throated hummingbirds, for example, stopped in Mexico as they traveled home in the spring. We know now, though, that they “set out from the Yucatán Peninsula in the evening and arrive in the southern United States the next afternoon.”

There’s something comforting about this news from the animal kingdom, especially when our own species seems to have gone so far off track. With angry finger-pointing over the BP oil spill and violence at the Mexican border, we seem to be at war with ourselves. And not just in America. Tensions are mounting between North and South Korea, and Europe is in a tailspin over its economic woes. It’s as if the gods on Mount Olympus are looking down at the humans and wondering at the mess they’ve made of things.

I’m reminded specifically of Pandora’s Box. She seems to have opened it even wider these last several years, allowing greed and anger and hatred to flourish. Fear and mistrust abound. But Pandora offered a gift to humans as well. It was Hope that tumbled out alongside the pestilent plagues. Hope that would remain a constant comfort to the mortals below.

The bar-tailed godwits and the ruby-throated hummingbirds seem to me to carry Hope with them as they soar miles beyond our expectations. Unlike us, they’re using their god-given talents not only to survive, but to survive with grace.

We have god-given talents, too, with our minds and imagination and heart. If we use these gifts the way the birds use theirs, we just might find our way home—the home that most of us want, one devoid of hatred and injustice.

The Berenstain Bears & the Trouble With Them: Part II, Papa Bear

So Papa Bear is a problem, too. As an opposing figure to Mama Bear, ever efficient and orderly, Papa is a total screw-up. He's one of the most incompetent fathers in contemporary children's fiction. When Mama is called away to help Cousin Bertha with her baby twins, Papa manages to destroy the house in a matter of hours. In one scene he forgets to open the fireplace flue, and as the house fills with smoke he swats the flames with a feather pillow. His two young children rescue the situation, knowing wisely that water works better than feathers.

In nearly every book Papa Bear is the one who doesn't get it. He still wants Choco-Chums and Sweetsie Cola when everyone else is choosing carrot sticks and raisins. He's the last hold-out on pollution--a modern-day naysayer on global warming--denying until the story ends that Professor Actual Factual may be right after all.

But as in the case with Mama, Papa Bear hits a little too close to home. For fathers today are a bit like him: involved, but incapable of doing it right. Sure, we've got more dads than ever before changing diapers and staying home with their kids. But are we really comfortable with how they do the job, particularly the work that women used to do?

If you send any father with his child to the doctor, I guarantee you that the mother of that child won't be happy with the information, or lack of information, that he brings home. Send him to a school conference and she'll wish she'd gone. The questions that Mom deems important aren't the same ones for Dad.

So what would happen if Papa Bear suddenly starred in a story where he commanded respect, instead of bumbling his way around the periphery of the family? Perhaps he could be seen taking charge or simply listening to his kids. This would get us closer to where we'd like to be, and where we often are when we're not invested in maintaining control.

For this is what it's all about, the grasp to control our children's lives in whatever ways we think possible. We delude ourselves, though, at a cost to all of us. Lives unfold in ways we never imagined, including the lives of our children.

If we can find ways to cede the control, we just might restore the balance we so desperately need.

The Berenstain Bears & the Trouble With Them: Part I, Mama Bear

Though the Berenstain Bears books no longer occupy the main shelves of our family's library, it's not that long ago that I read them over and over again--and discovered that I couldn't stand them. I wasn't alone; I often heard other parents say, "I hate the Berenstain Bears."

They seem like a harmless lot until you catch on to the unfortunate portrayal of Mama Bear. For starters, she's always dressed in the same blue and white polka-dotted dress. It's frumpy and unfashionable, and with her matching cap and roly poly body, she's all Mama and nothing else.

She's got no sense of humor, no secrets or hint of allure, and no surprises in her personality. Sure enough, when she and Papa Bear head out for their second honeymoon, she's dressed in that old familiar blue and white polka-dotted dress.

Moreover, Mama Bear always has the right answers to the family's problems. When Sister starts biting her fingernails in first grade, Mama devises thoughtful, Pavlovian solutions. When she tackles the family's weight problem (without ever acknowledging her own), she trashes the junk food and initiates sensible healthy eating.

The trouble with all of this is . . . it hits close to home. Even though most of us don't look or dress like Mama Bear, we may feel like her, especially when raising young children. It's hard to escape being Mama--even for a moment--when a baby's at your breast, when a toddler follows you into the bathroom, or when a pre-schooler hangs on your skirt and drags it off your hips. It's hard to find time to choose earrings for the day or find something new to wear.

It's easier to pull out that polka-dotted dress from yesterday.

And Mamas today still solve most of the family's problems. Maybe we're genetically hardwired for this responsibility or maybe we don't trust fathers with the task. In any case, the trouble is this: Mama wil eventually meet up with a problem that's too big to solve alone. Then will we see the real Mama, her cap askew, her daisy wilted? Will the title be "The Berenstain Bears and the Depressed and Overwhelmed Mama"?

Don't count on it. It's not a book we'd like to read.