For Love and Art

My Valentine's Day gift for Roland didn't arrive until last week. I knew it was going to be late, but it was worth it.

When we were at the sailboat show several weeks ago, we saw some artwork at a booth for The Crystal Cave. Gorgeous, but expensive. You send them a picture of your sailboat or your favorite lighthouse or bridge or city skyline and they engrave it on glass. When the salesman said they could engrave our boat with the Mackinac Bridge in the background, we were intrigued.

In our new piece of art, you can see every detail, including Roland at the helm. (I took the picture of Freizeit from the breakwater at the Hammond Marina several years ago. The Mackinac Bridge is from an image The Crystal Cave already had.) Our new art piece sets into a stand and is lit from below, sending a soft glow into the room when the rest of the lights are off.

I love it. I love my husband, too.

And the best Valentine's Day gift is one we can both enjoy.

Accusing Eyes

Last week I mentioned the workshop I presented on poetry as an agent of social change. During the workshop, I asked students to write their own poems about social responsibility. I don't believe in asking others to do what I won't do myself, so I wrote one, too. Actually, I may have cheated a little, because I wrote mine in advance and took time to polish it so I could use it as an example.

Here is my poem.

  Accusing Eyes

Screams wake me
To visions of her eyes.
Haunting eyes
Crying without tears.
Behind thin walls
Mine close in sleep. 

Not my nightmare.

Bruises cover arms
Exposed to summer sun.
Pleading eyes
Stare into mine.
Clumsy, her mother says,
Always bumping into doors.

Not my business.

Sirens wake me
To flashing red lights.
Covered eyes
Carried through corridors.
Accident, her mother says.
Murder, the cops reply.

Not my fault. 

 © 2013 by Kathryn Page Camp

A Boring Subject?

Last Tuesday I presented a workshop on poetry as an agent of social change. Actually, my contribution was a breakout session from a larger workshop presented by the Indiana Writers' Consortium (in which I am actively involved) in partnership with The Writing Center at Purdue University Calumet.

The workshop was part of PUC's One Book/One University project, where freshmen read and discuss The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot. Most of the sessions the students have attended over the academic year concentrated on the medical and ethical issues raised by the book. Our workshop looked at how creative writing techniques can be used to make a difference in the world.

Written as creative non-fiction, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks takes the complicated and often boring subjects of cell culture and scientific research and turns them into a fascinating story about one cell donor and her family. The book explores the ethical issues involved when taking living cells from a donor without her consent and using those cells to produce medical advances that benefit millions

When I first volunteered for this project, I did not look forward to reading the book. Medical issues sounded about as dense and dull to me as legal issues sound to most of you. But I soon found myself drawn into the story, and I learned things I would have tuned out if they were part of an academic or medical treatise. This book proves what H.L. Mencken said: "There are no dull subjects. There are only dull writers." Rebecca Skloot is not a dull writer.

So if you want to expand your mind without being bored, I recommend The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks.

Being Thankful for Family

My Uncle Russell died last week. He is the second from the left in this picture and the fourth of the siblings to die. (Or at least the fourth of the five who survived to become adults.)

These four brothers and one sister all lived long, healthy, and productive Christian lives. My father died youngest at 88, three died in their 90s, and my surviving uncle is 91 and still going strong. That's my heredity, and I'm thankful for it.

But I'm mostly thankful for the wonderful family I was born into. I have great memories of visits to and from my aunts and uncles and cousins. A loving, close family.

And I'm grateful.

My Kingdom for a Desk

What makes us wish for things that are beyond our means? I'm perfectly happy with our 34-foot sailboat. Except . . .

I want a dedicated desk.

Roland and I have taken two vacations on Freizeit (one with my brother along), and she also became our temporary home when the remnants of Hurricane Ike flooded us out of our permanent one. So I know we can live on her. And although she's a little cramped to use as a long-term residence, she works fine for our purposes. Except . . .

When I have to move my laptop off the table so we can eat breakfast or dinner.

Stowing it in my laptop bag under the chart table is inconvenient, too. I could use the chart table as my desk, but that table also has other uses, and I would have to move my laptop every time we wanted to lift up the top to get something out of the drawer under it.

So I would love to have a dedicated desk, like the four I saw at the Strictly Sail show in Chicago on Friday. Two were on Beneteaus that are larger than ours, and the others were on Sun Odysseys (also larger). All boats we can't afford and don't need.

Really, I'm fine with the way things are. Not ideal, but workable.

But I can still dream.

Living Mercy

Yesterday was Sanctity of Human Life Sunday. It was instituted in the wake of Roe v. Wade to remind us that the yet unborn are people, too. I totally agree with that purpose. I believe that we are human from conception and that abortion is wrong. And having a day set aside to remind us of that is a good thing.

But Christians can't stop there.

Honoring the sanctity of human life requires more than just taking a stand against premature termination. Our responsibility doesn't end when a child is born.

As Christians, our responsibility is to care for those in need--spiritually, physically, or emotionally--no matter what their age.

We do this in many ways. We care by volunteering time or donating money to programs such as food pantries and emergency relief organizations. We also care by taking a casserole or a listening ear to the neighbor down the street who is out of work or dealing with a death in the family. But however we do it, we do it because Christ did it, and we want to follow his example.

Christians are called to live mercy. The word means treating people with compassion and alleviating their distress. And when we do, we serve God.

As Christ himself put it in Matthew 25:34-40 (NIV):

     Then the King will say to those on his right, "Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me."

     Then the righteous will answer him, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?"

     The King will reply,"I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it for me."
 

So go out and live mercy.

 

Failing Grades

What do they teach children in school these days?

This past Wednesday I crossed the state line into Illinois to talk to an eighth grade class about being successful. My main point was that successful people don't give up. They try and try and try until they reach their goals.

I used several examples, mostly famous writers who were buried under rejection slips but kept submitting their work anyway. The class seemed to know who Dr. Seuss was, and a few of the students recognized the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. One girl even said she checked one out of the library but hadn't read it yet.

None of the eighth graders had heard of Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell or knew who Jack London was. That didn't surprise me. With all the good literature out there and so little time to read and teach it all, I understand how some of the works we thought of as classics can get lost in the crowd.

But one of my examples left me speechless.

Only one student knew who Thomas Edison was.

Thomas Edison, who invented the phonograph and perfected the light bulb. Thomas Edison, who saw every "failure" as a success even when it took him over 3,000 tries to find a filament that burned long enough to be commercially viable. Thomas Edison, who has been called the greatest inventor who ever lived.

Where have these children--and their teachers--been?

I realize there are other schools that do a better job of connecting children with their heritage. This was a suburban "inner-city" school and probably had more than its share of problems to distract teachers and administrators from their primary job of educating students.

Still, I have to give that school and its staff a failing grade.

I have high hopes for the student who knew who Thomas Edison was. As for the others, I pray the school's failures don't become theirs.

And that they don't give up.