A chilly death

A snowy week. Some days have been frigid. But in the “Little House” books the prairie settlers do just fine at 20-below (°F). It’s at 40-below that they start to worry. Today I wore shorts to take Samuel to his bus stop. It was 5 °F. The bus was 10 minutes late. I barely felt the cold (there wasn’t much wind). Samuel and I joked around: I sang, he punched. On the way back to the house I passed the cardboard box containing the frozen cat I’d put out by the curb, on Monday. Karin found the corpse in our shed. The Animal Resource Center promised to pick it up but never did. It’s no longer so distressing. The cat is under a blanket of snow. I know to look for a single paw that sticks out of the box; that’s how I can tell the cat is still there. Children pass it trudging to and from school. Sorry about this bummer of an entry.

A lifestyle change

A TikTok for the plus-sized. (Hat tip: Karin.)

This reaches deep into my psyche. I often dream that I’m searching the nooks of shopping malls for neglected fast food restaurants. (For more on shopping malls, see John Collier, “Evening Primrose.”)

🥨 🥨 🥨 🥨 🥨

The alluded-to lifestyle change is this: We’re placing our televisions under lock and key, away from our children.

’Bout time, I can hear you all murmuring.

No longer will I regularly watch TV with my wife, which I love to do. I’ll still view Hoopla and Kanopy and Tubi on my laptop. For special occasions (e.g., the World Cup), a television will be wheeled out for us all to view together.

The hoped-for gain is a reversal – or, at least, a slowing down – of our children’s barbarism. Daniel, especially, has been behaving like the titular character in the movie Bronson. This may be due to the arrival of his new brother, or it may be due to an excess of TV (or both). I’ll begin by trying to cut out TV.

Out, not down, because over time the safeguards have been eroded and the children’s dependency has become acute.

When Samuel was littler, I’d carefully restrict his viewing time. I believe what he viewed did him some good. He’d watch phonics videos; lo and behold, he learned to read. Other videos taught him countries, states, and capitals. A couple of years ago, he knew the names and nationalities of most of Brighton & Hove Albion’s soccer players – from viewing TV.

Then his preferences narrowed. He got hung up on the brands and models of motorcars, and then on Lego-building videos. Nothing wrong with those interests, but they crowded out the rest.

Daniel quickly learned the planets and dwarf planets … and, more than a year later, he still solemnly recites the planets and dwarf planets, and the numbers from one to ten. More than Samuel, he is drawn to purely sensory pleasure. Again: not bad in itself, but potentially limiting.

But much worse is how he behaves when he doesn’t get his “fix.” (Samuel, too.)

I hate to cut them off. Samuel has just gotten very interested in one of my childhood favorites, Captain Tsubasa (a.k.a. Supercampeones). (Or, to be precise, he is interested in its latest reboot, which has the same look and charm as the original.) He saves the show until night-time, along with certain snacks. Then he watches with utter emotional absorption. It’s as if he’s just now discovering TV as it’s meant to be viewed.

January’s poetry

… reminisces about the Trojan Horse.

I’ve begun watching The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, my first “real housewives”-type show. The religious angle picqued my interest. (The mountains are nice, too.)

So far, I’ve been struck by:

(a) The Jesus artwork in the McMansions.

(b) The very early marriages (late teens for the women). Performed in the Temple.

It’s hard to see how Mormonism or anything Christian has anything else to do with these people’s lives, even as a force to be reacted against. The characters make some half-baked references to resisting the patriarchy, but it’s clear that they just do whatever feels good at the time.

Or whatever makes money for them on TikTok.

Anyway, here is the poetry. The Greeks could have starred in one of these shows.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

But Helen, child of Zeus, had other ideas.

She threw a drug into the wine bowl

They were drinking from, a drug

That stilled all pain, quieted all anger

And brought forgetfulness of every ill …

“… I couldn’t begin to tell you

All that Odysseus endured and accomplished,

But listen to what that hero did once

In the land of Troy, where the Achaeans suffered.

First, he beat himself up – gave himself some nasty bruises –

Then put on a cheap cloak so he looked like a slave,

And in this disguise he entered the wide streets

Of the enemy city. He looked like a beggar,

Far from what he was back in the Greek camp,

And fooled everyone when he entered Troy.

I alone recognized him in his disguise

And questioned him, but he cleverly put me off.

It was only after I had bathed him

And rubbed him down with oil and clothed him

And had sworn a great oath not to tell the Trojans

Who he really was until he got back to the ships,

That he told me, at last, what the Achaeans planned.

He killed many Trojans before he left

And arrived back at camp with much to report.

The other women in Troy wailed aloud,

But I was glad inside, for my heart had turned

Homeward, and I rued the infatuation

Aphrodite gave me when she led me away

From my native land, leaving my dear child,

My bridal chamber, and my husband,

A man who lacked nothing in wisdom or looks.”

And Menelaus, the red-haired king:

“A very good story, my wife, and well told.

By now I have come to know the minds

Of many heroes, and have traveled far and wide,

But I have never laid eyes on anyone

Who had an enduring heart like Odysseus.

Listen to what he did in the wooden horse,

Where all we Argive chiefs sat waiting

To bring slaughter and death to the Trojans.

You came there then, with godlike Deiphobus.

Some god who favored the Trojans

Must have lured you on. Three times you circled

Our hollow hiding place, feeling it

With your hands, and you called out the names

Of all the Argive leaders, making your voice

Sound like each of our wives’ in turn.

Diomedes and I, sitting in the middle

With Odysseus, heard you calling

And couldn’t take it. We were frantic

To come out, or answer you from inside,

But Odysseus held us back and stopped us.

Then everyone else stayed quiet also,

Except for Anticlus, who wanted to answer you,

But Odysseus saved us all by clamping

His strong hands over Anticlus’ mouth

And holding them there until Athena led you off.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

From the Odyssey, bk. 4, ll. 200–300 (approx.). Translated by Stanley Lombardo.

Some “life hacks”

(1) Stretch pants.

(2) Using the Internet to find out what’s avaliable at your local Half Price Books store.

This is harder than you might think.

The critical link:

https://www.hpb.com/search?q=&prefn1=instorePickUpAvailableStores&prefv1=HPB-131&prefn2=rareFind&prefv2=No&srule=recently-added&sz=80

Suppose that, at Christmastime, both sets of in-laws put gift cards for HPB in your stocking.

Rejoice! Be glad!

But also: How good is this “good” luck, really?

For it may be that you live in South Bend, on the West Side, and that HPB is in faraway Mishawaka (known, locally, as “BFE” or “near-BFE” [“E” is for east; “BF” is vulgar]). Who wants to trek out east twice in January to use both $5 discounts – each, activated by a separate $25 gift-card purchase – without prior knowledge of the inventory?

But HPB has online ordering!

Alas, it costs $3.99 to have each book shipped to your house.

But books in your preferred store can be reserved online and retrieved, gratis, in person.

Again, how are you to know what’s in your preferred store? (Besides by searching for one book or author at a time and then trawling through items that may or may not be in that store.)

By clicking the above link, that’s how. Behold a list of most of the books in the store.

Here’s the link again:

https://www.hpb.com/search?q=&prefn1=instorePickUpAvailableStores&prefv1=HPB-131&prefn2=rareFind&prefv2=No&srule=recently-added&sz=80

I’ve tweaked the search to exclude collectables and to show recent arrivals on top.

To add keywords (e.g., “Agatha+Christie”) to the search, type them into the web address between the first equals sign and ampersand:

https://www.hpb.com/search?q=Agatha+Christie&prefn1=instorePickUpAvailableStores&prefv1=HPB-131&prefn2=rareFind&prefv2=No&srule=recently-added&sz=80

Maybe you don’t want to order and retrieve from Mishawaka’s store. Maybe you live in darkest Chesterfield, Missouri. Then replace “131” above – the Mishawaka store’s number – with the “120” pertaining to Chesterfied’s store.

https://www.hpb.com/search?q=Agatha+Christie&prefn1=instorePickUpAvailableStores&prefv1=HPB-120&prefn2=rareFind&prefv2=No&srule=recently-added&sz=80

Voilà.

(The “store finder” page is here.)

R.I.P. Dr. Root, acquisitions librarian

His obituary is here.

I knew him best as the director of Bethel’s library, in which capacity he employed me as his student assistant. I also took a course from him, on Russian history.

He was very kind to students, as the following examples will show.

(i) He got back in touch with me in 2018 and urged me to finish writing my long-overdue dissertation. He was hardly the first person to urge this. But his intervention did the trick. He asked to read what I’d written so far, and he commented on a number of sections.

After this jump-start, I wrote regularly. I completed the Ph.D. the next summer.

(ii) A college acquaintance told me, long after the fact, that he and other young bucks once rashly denounced the quality of Bethel’s library holdings, in a letter posted on the “Wittenburg Door.”

(The “Wittenburg Door” was a cafeteria bulletin board. It was the college’s most picturesque – and cringeworthy – public forum.)

Dr. Root invited the young bucks to his office. He treated their concerns seriously and graciously, solicited advice, and ordered books they asked for. Little did they know, the library’s resources were severely constrained. Dr. Root didn’t complain of this to students; even I, his assistant, learned it from other sources.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

In his dress and in his politics, Dr. Root was a 1970s conservative. He hung a large portrait of Nixon over his student workers’ desk. Bold! But he didn’t do it to taunt the libs; that wasn’t his way. He genuinely admired Nixon’s statesmanship.

He grieved – privately, to me, at least – that the Republican Party, which he staunchly supported, had turned Trumpist.

He venerated missionaries. One of his pet projects was the indexing of Jim Elliot’s journals. I worked on this, occasionally, when there was nothing else to do; it was a relief when Jim and Betty finally tied the knot and Jim got courtship off his mind.

Dr. Root spent his life in midwestern towns and cities and shared his midwestern pleasures with his student workers. The end-of-term banquets were especially generous: I still savor the memory of one of them, an Amish dinner in the countryside. The summer workers were treated to daily donuts and the occasional lakeside outing; we’d observe a surprisingly lively Dr. Root playing volleyball and croquet. I was amused, too, when he’d return with stories of his holidays. Sometimes, he’d go abroad; usually, he’d stay in a friend’s Manhattan penthouse. For a few days each year, he’d change into a wild baseball- and theatre-goer, sushi eater, and book buyer. Book buying was his job, of course, but he relished the hunt.

It occurs to me that my time helping him to buy books for the library was what made me the habitual bargain hunter I am today.

Then again, he may have chosen me as his student worker because he already perceived that tendency. One day, he invited me into a back office to take what I wanted from the surplus of donated books. He must have liked the gusto with which I went about choosing, because that was when he offered me my job – much of which would consist of filling out forms from bargain book catalogs.

There’s a scene in Evelyn Waugh’s Decline and Fall in which the ne’er-do-well Captain Grimes is offered his dream job of traveling from pub to pub to sample and rate the beer. (He has to turn it down for personal reasons, of course.) Something comparable, involving low-budget book buying, might have been my ideal job – the realization of my “true self.” Dr. Root did that job. Lucky man! I’m glad I was able to do it with him for a time.