The Savannah Cyclist's Manifesto

Hello Everyone,

On Thursday night, I got in a minor bike accident. My friend Erin and I were independently biking to the Green Truck Pub for dinner and I saw her up ahead at a traffic light. I tried to get on the sidewalk so I could pull up next to her and we could bike the rest of the way together. The pavement was taller than I’d anticipated, so though my body was heading to the right, my front wheel kept going straight. I landed on my face, knee, hand and hip and the visor on my helmet popped off. “Oh no!” I said, and then attempted to fix my bike chain, which had been knocked loose, without getting too much grease in my scrapes. I called Erin and she kindly came and brought me napkins from the restaurant. Once there, I was able to clean up a bit and the server kindly provided some bandaids. Erin and I enjoyed a delicious dinner followed by a fascinating lecture on how the internet changes our brains.

Thankfully, I’m healing quickly and no longer look like I have an unfortunate case of oral herpes. For a while, I’ve been wanting to write a piece on cycling in Savannah and I figured now would be an especially appropriate time to do so. Plus, it’s been quite a while since I wrote a manifesto. Here it is:

The Savannah Cyclist’s Manifesto

Fellow bicyclists, join me as I petition Savannah and her guests for a moment of her time. We who love both economy and efficiency, who swim through the vehicular currents and torrents pulsing through downtown, who curse the cobbles and praise the pavement, we are the Savannah Cyclists.

One: Savannah Cyclists are equal members of the traffic conversation echoing through this loquacious city and are to be treated as such.

Two: Savannah Cyclists are pro-Lincoln, pro-Habersham, and anti-Broughton (and we are not talking Civil War politics).

Three: Savannah Cyclists arrive perspiring but find a parking space within seconds.
Four: Savannah Cyclists are particularly adept at biking one- or no-handedly due to their need to simultaneously tote mat board, Kroger bags, or yoga mats.
Five: Savannah Cyclists delight in coasting down the slight declines, locally known as “hills,” that are sprinkled throughout the city.
Six: Savannah Cyclists are pleasantly surprised every time they return to their bikes and both wheels and the seat are still attached.

We cyclists declare to our vehicular companions a message of peace, of dignity, and of efficiency:

-To the SCAD busses: We have done nothing to you but help to pay for your upkeep. Kindly desist from running us off the road.
-To the tourists (either walking or on Segways): Yes, Savannah is a gem. She’s stunning, gorgeous, charming, and many other adjectives your book hasn’t even conceived of. She is also best appreciated from the side of the street.
-To the myriad tour guides driving fascinatingly slow-moving busses: You will get more tips if you don’t hit bikers during your tour.
-To the drivers entering the traffic circles around the squares who assume you have the right of way: It’s not you, it’s me.
-To the geriatric drivers who pause in the middle of a busy intersection to contemplate the meaning of life, the universe and everything: It’s 42. Let’s keep moving.
-To drivers who have recently parallel-parked: LOOK! I’m a bike this time, and car door beats bike, but next time I could be a U-Haul, and U-Haul definitely beats car door.
-To the horse-drawn carriages: We’re sure it’s awfully quaint up there in your turn-of-the-century buggy, but it’s awfully horse-urine-ish down here.
- To the cars that drive cautiously just behind you for three blocks at your exact speed: We could fit one of the smaller European countries in the space between me and the center of the street. I promise there is enough room for you to pass.
-To our fellow cyclists: Wear your helmets. Use bike lights at night. Don’t ride in the middle of the lanes; you’re giving us a bad reputation.

Finally, Cyclists and Non-Cyclists alike, remember the two things that unite us all:

1.) None of us can see around the parked cars when we’re trying to turn onto a road.

2.) The Savannah Transportation Annoyance Equations:

myself = in the right
everyone else = in the way

Remember that “everyone else” believes this too.

Have a good and safe week!

Sarah/Mouse

Conference

Hello Everyone,

This probably doesn’t come as too much of a surprise to you, but I am a total conference nerd. I love them. It doesn’t really matter what they’re about, as long as there is a bunch of people wearing name tags and carrying matching folders and going to sessions about a very specific topic that they all are passionate about.

Last week was my Spring Break, a much needed time after the most demanding term I’ve had at SCAD. But immediately after finishing up with classes, and before my parents came to Savannah for a great week-long visit, I raced down to Orlando, where I attended the International Conference for the Fantastic in the Arts. This was both much cooler and much nerdier than it sounds. It was nerdy because it was a giant collection of people from around the world who think writing, music, art and film are better when they contain elves and wizards and aliens. It was also nerdy because there were occasional werewolf howls that arose during the sessions or at particularly convivial meals.

On the other hand, it was cool because everyone took each other seriously. There were well-known writers and editors, as well as professors and graduate students from a wide range of institutions and backgrounds. There was a high level of scholarship, and it was such a treat to be around so many people who are so intelligent in an English-major-ish kind of way. In one of my favorite British comedy shows, one particularly pedantic character gets excited about an exhibition in a neighboring town on the “train timetables of the 1920s.” When I first heard this, I thought, “Well, that could be interesting, provided it was presented in the right way.” In other words, I am pathetically easily interested. However, if you throw children’s literature in the mix, I’m yours for life. At the conference, I was in the Children’s and Young Adult Literature and Art division, and I was able to attend sessions on topics ranging from food and commensalism in the Harry Potter series, menstruation (or the lack thereof) in the Twilight series and the resulting feminist implications, and the ethics of anthropomorphism in children’s books. SO COOL!

Even more exciting for me was the opportunity to present my own paper. During this last term, as I was worrying about when I was going to find time to write it, one of my SCAD friends tried to reassure me. She told me that her boyfriend presented at a conference a while ago, and that he wrote his paper in the hotel bathroom the night before (so as not to wake anyone up, I assume, or else perhaps he just thought it had better lighting). I swore I wouldn’t do this. I was taking this opportunity extra seriously and unlike with most of my college papers, I determined to leave time to at least proof read! No way was I going to write my paper in the bathroom the night before. And I’m happy to report that I didn’t! I wrote it in the lobby.

While I had done all of my research, I just didn’t have the time to put it all together until after I’d arrived in Orlando. I finished it at 4:00 am and presented it at 8:30 am. After I was done, anytime I wasn’t doing anything crucial like eating, showering or attending sessions, I fell asleep. I’m pretty sure that my two roommates were convinced that I was narcoleptic.

Assuming I remember correctly, I presented a paper on Haroun and the Sea of Stories by Salman Rushdie.



I’ve mentioned this book on several occasions before, and it holds a special place in my literary heart. I first discovered it in my ninth grade English class around the same time I discovered how thrilling literary analysis can be. In retrospect, I’m not sure which led to which. Later, I chose to represent the book in my final self-portrait project for my painting class in college, just at the time when I was becoming excited about creativity.




In Haroun, one question haunts the title character throughout the book: “What’s the point of stories that aren’t even true?” his neighbor asks. This is a good question, and one that Rushdie himself was struggling with when he wrote it in exile from his family, friends and country. What’s the point of fiction? Does it actually affect its readers? Furthermore, what’s the point of fantasy, which in some sense is even less “true” than more realistic fiction? Why would several hundred people gather in a hotel near the Orlando airport for five days to discuss the fantastic in the arts?

Haroun eventually realizes that he too has no time for stories that aren’t true, but the truth he discovers is not merely factual. Its source is much deeper, and can be learned only through venturing so far outside of his normal existence that he can finally see his life for what it is. The only story worth telling is one that isn’t “only a story.”

I came away from the conference a little bit nerdier and a lot happier. I was quietly gathering ideas for my thesis, which I am beginning now that the Spring Quarter has officially started. I’ll share more about that once I’ve gotten a more clear idea of what I’ll be saying. So look for an email at about 4:00 am the night before it’s due.


Have a good week,
Sarah/Mouse

More Amazing Things

Hello Everyone,

Several months ago, I gave some highlights from my Amazing Journal, where I record the most amazing thing that happens each day. Since my workload the last few weeks has been quite heavy, and it’s only going to get more intense before the quarter ends, I thought this would be a good time to mention some of the amazing things that have happened since then. For one thing, it’s simpler than writing a whole new letter, and for another, it’s at times when I’m most stressed that I need to remember that I’m surrounded by truly wonderful and at times, ridiculous, things.

October 25, 2010: Today at dinner, Cindy got indignant about something and flung her chopstick at a neighboring patron.

November 4, 2010: Today I read that scientists have made early progress in inventing an invisibility cloak.

November 6, 2010: Today I learned that the average person in the States eats 126 lbs of sugar each year. That’s more than my body weight! And with all my Werthers, I could well see me being above the average . . .

November 7, 2010: Today I learned about these giant busses that will be made in China. They will straddle two lanes of traffic and cars will be able to pass through them as thought they were moving tunnels.

November 8, 2010: Today I found out that while Colin S. was in college, someone broke into his car, stole his Michigan basketball shorts and left a recipe for soup.

November 9, 2010: Today Colin J. told about how he was driving behind this old lady and he noticed her license plate said “Anus tart.” He got really grossed out and worked up. It took him a while to realize she meant “A nu start.” Oh boy.

November 14, 2010: Today I saw bikers who had flashing spinners on their wheels. Who says being safe isn’t fun?

November 18, 2010: Today Bri told us that her dad had been capturing chipmunks on their property and releasing them elsewhere. Her mom was convinced that they were returning, so her dad spray painted the captured ones pink so that they’d be able to tell if they ever came back. They didn’t.

November 19, 2010: Today Daddy sent me photos of an elephant getting attacked on its trunk by a crocodile. It dragged the crocodile out of the water and eventually got away with her baby who was also there. But it was just like the Just So Stories!

December 7, 2010: Today I learned that Julia Child used to be a shark frightener in WWII. She and others were employed by the Allies to keep sharks away from underwater bombs (which they kept exploding when they’d get too close). Dead sharks have a scent that repels other sharks, so she and the others used that.

December 14, 2010: Today at the post office, I overheard a short, rotund, elderly, ex-military German man say, “It’s not like anyone put a gun to your head and said, ‘You have to be a makeup artist.’” Never a truer word.

December 17, 2010: Today at the Costco fast food section, I saw a guy wearing a specially designed hair net on his chin strap. He was also wearing a normal hair net. Hot.

January 10, 2011: Today Becky had her hands full and asked if I could open her bedroom door for her. As my hand got about a foot from the doorknob, the door opened on its own!

January 14, 2011: Today a helicopter landed in the parking lot across from the police station.

January 17, 2011: Today I found a website called Spokeo that gives you name, contact information and other personal information for people all over the country. It knew my age, my address in Spokane, how much the house is worth, who my family members are . . . creepy. It also thinks I’m married.

January 22, 2011: Today Erin told me that in a history test in high school, she was asked “What enemy of the French did Napoleon never defeat?” She misunderstood, thinking it was asking, “What French enemy . . .” So instead of Russia, she put “syphilis.”

January 29, 2011: Today a lady on a bike used one of those super corny cartoonish hooter things to signal she was going by. I didn’t know those still existed.

February 5, 2011: Today I read that Malawi is banning farting in public.

February 15, 2011: Today the bottle of ink I ordered arrived. It’s 32 oz, the same as my water bottle. Let’s hope I don’t get confused.

February 18, 2011: Today it got very smokey all afternoon and it was raining ash. Erin and I think it was from a fire that burned 10 acres yesterday when a trailer near a meth lab exploded several towns away.

February 19, 2011: Today the first National Tree Climbing Competition was held in Forsyth. There were about 70 contestants and the participated in five events. They said things like, “Think like a squirrel,” and “Your mother’s a beanbag.” They all wore bright colors and helmets. I think I’ve found my calling.

February 25, 2011: Today I saw a sort of a wagon vehicle downtown that had a long elevated kitchen table and chairs around it. People sat at the chairs and pedaled and that moved everyone along. They even had drinks at the table. Classy.

Have an amazing week,
Sarah/Mouse

Heroes 7-13

Hello Everyone,

Firstly, I apologize for the huge delay since I last wrote. The past few weeks have been very full with projects and other work, and I haven’t had much of a chance to stop and think, let alone stop and write. Several weeks ago, I talked about the picture book Of Thee I Sing, by Barack Obama and Loren Long, which highlights thirteen people whose stories have impacted the United States in various ways. I decided that it might be a helpful exercise to come up with a similar list of heroes, people who I don’t know, but whose examples and words have inspired and changed me. Last time, I talked about six of them, and now I’ll finally finish the list.


7.) Salman Rushdie:


I first discovered this writer as a freshman in high school, when we were assigned to read Haroun and the Sea of Stories. This remains one of my favorite books of all time, so much so that I will be presenting a paper on it at a conference in March. Rushdie has received numerous accolades and threats as a result of his writing, and for a while, had to live underground in Britain. His writing rings with his passion for free speech and his belief in the power of stories. He has an energy and excess of language that showcases the ability words have to breathe life into us.

8.) Amy Poehler:


Having never gotten into Saturday Night Live, I was introduced to this comedic actress only recently, but my opinion of her continues to rise. (The fact that my life is often frighteningly like that of her character on the show “Parks and Recreation” is entirely beside the point.) I find her very funny, and that’s usually enough to be liked in my book. But what I love most about her is that she is using her fame and talents for a cause outside herself. Last year, she and two of her friends started a series of webisodes called “Smart Girls at the Party,” which highlights talented girls who are, as the show’s tagline boasts, “changing the world by being themselves.” Poehler’s show celebrates individuality and intelligence, encouraging girls to resist the pressure to conform to peer pressure or societal norms. (Check out some episodes from the show at http://www.smartgirlsattheparty.com/video/video/listTagged?tag=episode)

9.) Frederick Buechner:


If Karl Barth (see previous letter) taught me about the simplicity of faith, this preacher-writer taught me about the subtleties of faith. I have liked everything of his that I’ve come across, but his Wishful Thinking, a theological alphabet book, is particularly stunning. He has a way of pairing mystery and the quotidian so that they both become more real and more sacred. His picture of Christianity leaves a lot of room for doubt, and he has taught me that doubt can be a healthy counterpoint to belief, and that their conversation comprises faith.

10.) Desmond Tutu:


This man was one of the main advocates for change during the Apartheid era in South Africa, and he remains an icon around the world for peace and justice. He exudes joy, and has a mischievous spirit. He is fearless in decrying injustice and yet remains humble, recognizing that any voice or authority he has comes from Outside himself.

11.) Eric Carle:


Eric Carle’s books have played a prominent role in my life since before I could read. Their bright colors and explanation of an underlying order in the natural world attracts children from across the globe. As I have gotten older and am studying picture books more systematically, I have become more and more impressed with his work. Beginning with his famous The Very Hungry Caterpillar, he has continually blurred the boundaries between books and toys, between science and story. Unlike some picture book creators, his primary audience is always the child.

12.) John Newton:


The story of this slave-trader turned abolitionist and hymn-writer is well known even in secular circles, but it remains one of the most powerful reminders to me that anyone can change, even if this change can take an entire lifetime to occur. It was over thirty years after Newton retired from the slave trade and over forty years after his conversion to Christianity that he began to speak out against slavery. I see the beautiful irony that “Amazing Grace” has a particular home in the African American spiritual tradition as proof that when God changes a person, the effects can resound throughout history. The final (and, I think, the most beautiful) verse of the hymn as we know it today was not written by Newton, but was adopted from an African American song: When we’ve been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun, we’ve no less days to sing God’s praise, than when we first begun. I suppose in light of eternity, thirty or forty years doesn’t seem quite so long.

13.) Tacky the Penguin:


There once lived a penguin. . . . His name was Tacky. Tacky was an odd bird. This book, written by Helen Lester and illustrated by Lynn Munsinger is my favorite picture book of all time. I love the pictures. I love the words. I love the story they both relate. I love reading it aloud to children. I even ended up using it for a theater audition in college. (I didn’t know I was supposed to have a piece prepared and it was the only thing I had memorized. I performed it with flair and vigor, I must say, and the director was duly impressed. The show was about suicide, however, and Tacky didn’t have quite the right tone. Needless to say, I didn’t get the part.) But as much as I denounce didacticism in children’s books, it is the moral of this book that I love the most: Only by being yourself, Tacky says, will you be able to help others.

And there you have it. Thirteen people who have changed me in one way or another. Who are your heroes?

Have a good week,
Sarah/Mouse

Heroes 1-6

Hello Everyone,

Last week, I talked about the picture book Of Thee I Sing, by Barack Obama and Loren Long. The book highlights thirteen people whose stories have impacted the history, culture and values of the United States. This week and next, I want to talk about some of the people who have inspired or changed the way I think or act either through their words or by the examples of their lives. It would take the rest of the year to describe how the people who I’ve actually met have affected my life for the better. So here, I’ll limit myself to the heroes I don’t know. Other than that, the list is rather arbitrary. Some of them are still alive, some of them aren’t. Some are fictional, some aren’t. Many have connections to writing or art, but not all of them do. I’m sure I have left many people out, but as with Obama’s list, mine is meant to represent a broader community. So here, in no particular order, are the first six of my personal heroes and the lessons they have taught me, the rest to follow next week:

1.) Leonardo Da Vinci:

(Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man)

While I’ve never really been into naked snow angels and I’ve never seen the big deal about his Mona Lisa, I admire Da Vinci because, perhaps more than anyone else in history, he represents a true “Renaissance Man.” In addition to his role as a painter, he was an engineer, a scientist, a cartographer, a botanist and many other things. His unrestrained curiosity reminds me that art is often stronger when it is influenced and supported by a diversity of interests.


2.) Charlotte from Charlotte’s Web:

(art by Garth Williams)

The title character from E.B. White’s well-known book, Charlotte exemplifies the sacrificial nature of friendship. She uses words that could perhaps more accurately describe herself to save her friend Wilbur. She is articulate, clever and beautiful and, as her last word for Wilbur attests, “humble.” She is willing to stand back and let Wilbur take the glory for her work simply because he is her friend. The last two lines of Charlotte’s Web are as beautiful a conclusion as any I’ve come across: “It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.”


3.) C. S. Lewis:


I appreciate Lewis for many reasons. His desire to explain Christianity in a concise, logical way, coupled with his unabashed belief in the value and truth of stories, shine throughout his varied writings. He said that the only books (apart from books of knowledge) worth reading are those that you will want to reread, and his best work falls into that category for me; I know I will grow old with his writing. Perhaps the most influential concept that I have taken from Lewis is his explanation of what he calls “Joy”: our deepest desires -- whether for peace or beauty or companionship or a sense of home -- cannot be completely filled in this time and this place. However, he says, these longings are hints of an ultimate reality which is both our destination and, miraculously, our guide along the way.


4.) Saint George:

(art by Trina Schart Hyman)

For 13 years, I attended Saint George’s School, and therefore was familiar with the story of Saint George, the patron saint of England, slaying the infamous dragon. However, it wasn’t until college that I read the legend in Edmund Spenser’s Faerie Queene, an epic English poem written in the late 16th century. I was struck with George’s persistence and courage as he encounters the dragon multiple times, getting injured and becoming exhausted. I find it helpful to remember his example whenever I am facing a dragon. Or a tough assignment. Or a spider.


5.) Karl Barth:


I know next to nothing about this important Swiss theologian, but he features in one of my favorite anecdotes of all time. A prolific writer and brilliant scholar, he was once asked how he would sum up all of the works he had written. He responded, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” In this story, Barth reminds me that while it is important to recognize the paradoxes and complexities of Christianity, the essence of what I believe can be summed up and understood by a three-year-old. This simplicity of belief is an important reminder when I get stuck in theological brain-eddies.


6.) Père Tanguy:

(Van Gogh's Père Tanguy)

Julien Tanguy, affectionately called “Père,” or “Father” Tanguy, owned an art supply store and informal gallery in Paris. He befriended many young Impressionist and Post-Impressionist painters, and often “bought” their paintings in exchange for supplies so that they could continue painting. His shop was a hub for artists in Paris, and his collection of Japanese prints helped usher in the wave of Japonism that influenced late 19th and early 20th century Western Art. Because Van Gogh was among the least profitable of the artists Tanguy encouraged, I find it fitting that his portraits of this fatherly figure have kept his legacy alive. As I (hopefully!) transition from being a young, penniless student to a self-sustaining adult with a career, I want to remember his support of young people with the resources he had available.


Tune in next week for 7-13.

Have a good week,
Sarah/Mouse

Of Thee I Sing -- by Barack Obama and Loren Long

Hello Everyone,

Normally, I avoid politics in these letters. It’s not that I think it unimportant but rather that it is important only when it affects things we care about. I figure I’d rather just cut to the chase and talk about the things we care about. Being one of the primary figures in current U.S. and world politics, President Obama, therefore, hasn’t featured in many of my writings. However, a few months ago, his first children’s book, Of Thee I Sing, was released. This is obviously something I care about. I had mixed feelings about the book before I saw it. On the one hand, I loved his first book, Dreams From My Father, because of his ability to capture elements and themes of his own story in such an eloquent and evocative way. It was written before he entered the political arena, and it is a man’s voice that sustains the narrative, not a politician’s.

And yet, on the other hand, I’m skeptical of children’s books written by celebrities, and I think most people in the industry are. I suspect this stems in part from deflated egos. Who wants to admit that something she does as a full-time profession could be done far more successfully (at least in terms of recognition and revenue) by someone else who considers it a mere hobby?

But there are specific instances where it is clear that it is a person’s name that sells the book, not the quality of the work in it. In my picture book creative writing class, we became convinced that Katie Couric’s The Brand New Kid was actually written not for children, but as a manual to all children’s writers advising them what not to do. And so, I approached Obama’s book warily. He can certainly write well for adults, but how does he fare with the younger citizens he serves? And even if the book were well written, the brilliance of a picture book is the marriage of text and image, and his words would be only half the battle. I could easily see a publisher choosing a second-rate illustrator, counting on Obama’s moniker to ensure sales.




I needn’t have worried. Of Thee I Sing is one of the better books I’ve come across recently. Obama wrote it as a letter to his daughters, and each page highlights a different virtue and a hero from U.S. history who exemplifies that virtue. “Have I told you that you are creative?” he asks, and describes painter Georgia O’Keeffe. “She helped us see big beauty in what is small: the hardness of stone and the softness of feather.”

“Have I told you that you are strong?” he asks, and tells of Helen Keller’s fight “through long, silent darkness. Though she could not see or hear, she taught us to look at and listen to each other.” He uses words like “courage” and “respect,” and well-known phrases like “listened to their hearts,” and “liberty and justice for all.” But the stories of the heroes Obama has chosen are powerful enough that they inject life into any cliché language, and remind us why we invented it in the first place. We use the word “brave” because of people like Jackie Robinson; we use the word “inspiring” because of people like Cesar Chavez.

Like a university viewbook, the diversity represented is obvious. There are men and women from different ethnicities, time periods, walks of life and even countries of birth. Though he highlights only 13 people, the breadth of their experience indicates that they represent the numerous other varied victories in the nation’s history. And like a university viewbook, the blatant diversity is part of the point. It doesn’t just say, “This is who we are,” but “This is who we want to be.”

As I said, text is only half of the effort. Obama is responsible for the variety of characters in the book, but the illustrator, Loren Long, is responsible for unifying them into a cohesive whole. He develops a brilliant conceit of representing each of the heroes as children standing next to Obama’s daughters. They all have their backs to the reader.



As the book goes on, the number of children grows until there is a veritable army of people “watching” each of the heroes' stories.



The final spread opens up to all the children, joined by many, many others, finally facing the reader face on. “You children,” the book implies, “are the next legends. You are this country’s future scientists, musicians, and presidents.” All of these people, Obama tells each of his daughters, are “a part of you . . . and you are one of them.”

I can hear some of you saying, “Now hang on, Sarah Jackson. You are usually wary of such blatant patriotism. Are you really going to be swayed into the Happy-Clappy, Ultra-Sappy, Wave Your Flag, Don’t Be a Drag Camp by a few pretty pictures and some nicely worded text?” Fair point. Normally, overt patriotism makes me nervous and if I’m able to suppress a gag, I can’t help letting an eye roll escape. But there is a subtle but important difference in this case. Whereas most patriotic books, songs, and speeches begin with how wonderful the country is, this one begins with individuals -- a huge variety of them. The United States is not great in and of itself, and it never will be. That is the beauty of it all: any greatness this country has comes from people like the ones described in this book.

We are great because we live in this country.
This country is great because we live in it.

These two sentences are so similar. They are made of the same basic components. It would be easily to gloss right over them. And yet the subtle distinctions between the two mean the difference between blindness and truth; between bigotry and compassion.

That I recommend Of Thee I Sing is obvious. But I also recommend thinking about who your heroes are. Which characters, real or fictional, have made you who you are? Who has changed you irreparably? Who do you try to emulate? Next week, I’ll talk about some of mine.

In the meantime, have a good week,
Sarah/Mouse

Christmas Shopping

Hello Everyone,

As some of you may know, shopping isn’t exactly my cup of tea. I understand that it’s necessary, at least in the society in which we live, but I find it boring, expensive and difficult. Hell for me would involve a gigantic warehouse full of shoes and I would have to find an affordable, comfortable, and relatively decent-looking pair. Demons in the form of apathetic, minimum-wage-earning employees would swarm around me as I tried on each shoe. Completely uninterested in the answer, they’d nonetheless ask, “Can I help you find anything?” and then monitor me obviously from a short distance away as I failed repeatedly to find a pair that fit the adolescent hobbit feet attached to my legs.

Shoes are the worst, but even groceries are a challenge for me sometimes. I get completely overwhelmed by the possibilities and end up spending half an hour debating whether locally-grown organic sourdough is healthier for me and the environment than store brand whole grain, and in the end, I just buy graham crackers instead. I’ve measured, and it seems that I have about a 10-15 minute attention span once I enter a store, after which point, I become irritable and end up sitting on the floor.

Christmas shopping presents a dilemma for me, though, because as much as I hate shopping, I love giving gifts. I can’t think of anything more satisfying than giving someone something I know he or she will love. If I could be a professional gift giver, I would. So you’d think that shopping for gifts would be an exciting thing for me. The problem is that very often, I have absolutely no idea what to give someone, and at Christmastime, this intensifies exponentially, turning into an outright consumerist panic.

My parents are definitely the most difficult people for me to shop for partly because they are fortunate enough to really not want or need much other than what they already have. But part of the problem is that I can’t just do what I did in second grade and give them a drawing I’d made since their office walls are already totally occupied with my artwork (I’ve got to store it somewhere!). Gift certificates are out of the question. For a person who loves giving thoughtful and creative gifts, this is like an English teacher coming home after a long day, settling into his favorite chair with a glass of wine, and pouring over an instruction manual.

So after finals each fall term, I begin the greater test: trying to find something I can give my parents for Christmas. The first week or two is characterized by a serious attempt at rationality: “What do they really need? What might they really like?” This is followed by a period in which I valorize Scrooge and the Grinch and whine to anyone who will listen about the misplaced values that abound at Christmastime. “Who decided we have to spend, spend, spend, in order to have a meaningful Christmas? I doubt people will like me any less if I don’t get them a present,” I grumble. “Surely they’d rather I conserve my Gift Idea Energy and wait until I come up with an idea for a truly unique and personal present . . . in April . . .”

But then I remember what a gift really is. The word “present” comes from an Old French expression meaning to “put a thing into the presence of a person.” Gifts are not just mandatory accoutrements in a given cultural celebration. They are objects we choose to leave in people’s presence. When we are away, they remind people that we love them. I think back to presents I’ve been given. I love my red scarf not just because it is beautiful, but because my friend Nani gave it to me. I love my seat cushion not just because it is comfy and has a pretty design on it, but because it came from my friend Katy.

So I gather my courage and decide I want to give my parents Christmas presents after all. But the problem remains: I still have no ideas whatsoever. It’s round about this point when I begin free associating. This method works well when I experience a creative block while writing or drawing, but it’s not as helpful here. “Ok,” I say, summoning my energy, “let’s start with Daddy. What would he really like? How about . . . a bullfrog! No, that’s too noisy . . . . A trowel! No, you just like that word . . . . A billboard! No, we already have storage issues . . . . Some soy nuts! No, you’re just hungry . . .” After a bit more desperate rumination, I eventually come up with something. Sometimes I’m lucky and my parents love what I’ve given them. Sometimes, well, that’s why we invented clichés like, “It’s the thought that counts.”

Normally, I try to avoid clichés like, um, the plague, but in this case, it seems to fit. My parents hate shopping as much as I do, and they know that whatever I buy them costs more than the price of the item. (Last week, each of them independently thought of rewarding me with a session at Starbucks after successful shopping ventures). Giving is costly, and it should be.

This year, I gave my mom a book written by a woman who floated down the Nile on a fisherman’s skiff. My dad got a Car Talk daily calendar. Not the best ideas I’ve ever had, but not the worst either. At least neither of them wanted shoes.

Have a good week,

Sarah/Mouse