Nicaragua diary: The Sculptor

This is my fourth trip to Nicaragua.  My travel buddy, Morgan Smith, arranges for a driver to take us up into the mountains outside of Estili in the northern part of the country. Our objective:  to meet the reclusive, eccentric sculptor--Alberto Gutierrez--who lives somewhere in the Tisey nature reserve.

At 8:00 am sharp, Dagoberto shows up at our Estili hotel with his king cab Toyota Hi-lux pickup, ready to go.  We drive towards the south end of town and turn onto one of the thousands of dirt roads that link the tiny mountain villages of Nicaragua.  Dagoberto is a short, sturdy man of about 50 in a baseball cap and polo shirt.  He does not possess a volume control.  When he talks it is in full voice, like he is hailing an approaching ship on a foggy night at sea.  We learn soon enough that it is a useful voice on the windy hillsides of fincas, where voices must be heard by campesinos who are often away from the gate to their compounds.  

The road is rutted and rocky, dusty this time of year.  Dagoberto tells us dry is better than wet and slippery, like it becomes during the rainy season.  We pass groups of walkers, young and old.  It is Sunday and some look like they are walking off a late Saturday party, while others are headed into town to shop or attend mass.  We invite an ancient-looking couple to ride in the bed of the pickup.  The dessicated woman is carrying a cardboard square on a pole, with bread loaf-sized bags of cotton candy pinned to it.  Her companion is a short fellow who reminds me of a puppy waiting for someone to kick him.  When we drop them off and ask to take a picture, they are confused by the request.

They head off to a baseball field in a rocky meadow along the roadside.  Two uniformed teams and groups of fans are bunched along the chalked first and third base lines.  I notice an umpire is calling balls and strikes.  There isn't a single truly level place anywhere on the field.  The cotton candy treats will be gone before the day is over.

After some misdirection from a passerby we finally arrive at the gate that leads to the sculptor's property.  We are overlooking a stunning valley of farms and hillsides of oaks and shade tree coffee.  Many people live in the nature preserves, growing coffee and subsistence crops, herding a few cattle or goats, raising chickens and the occasional pig.  We stop at the first (and it turns out only) occupied farm along the road, and Dagoberto booms out a hello to ask if we are on the right path to see Alberto.  A man comes out from behind the main house to say we are.

We first walk downhill through browned grass and oak trees that remind me of California foothills.  Then we begin a steady climb towards a cloud forest.  A sign akin to something posted in a national park in the U. S. announces we have arrived at the Tisey reserve.  Two barking mutts form the welcoming committee.  The loudest and most threatening comes straight for me, stops at my feet, and then jumps up to put his paws on my stomach, nudging my hand for a pat on the head.

A thin older man in jeans and short-sleeved shirt wearing an over-sized ball cap comes down the path to greet us.  He identifies himself as the sculptor's brother.  He leads us up the hill into a complex of plain wooden huts and fenced-in gardens where an older woman greets us and introduces herself as Alberto's sister.  She shakes hands with each of us.  She is tall and thin, large-handed and loose-limbed, much like the man who emerges from a small shed-like building up the trail.  It is the sculptor--Alberto Gutierrez.

His leathery face is encased in a white beard and a bushy swab of white hair that waves about like a pulsating halo.  Deep-set eyes sparkle from behind massive white eyebrows.  He is wearing a threadbare shirt, the top 3 or 4 buttons undone.  His trousers are equally worn and soiled, a size too large, held up by a limp leather belt cinched tight.  His fly is half zipped.  His laceless hightop leather shoes appear softened by years of use.  Poet.  Artist.  Philosopher.  Ascetic.  Saint.  He could pose for a sculpture under any of those labels. 

Alberto introduces himself and motions us to follow him.  He shows us a stone along the pathway bearing a chiseled image he describes as a self-portrait, including his name inscribed below it, which he reads, running his fingers across the letters.   A large boulder bears the etched outline of a snake.  He shows us the chisels he uses to carve his work, made from pieces of rebar, and an elongated stone he employs as a hammer.   By way of demonstration, he chips a perfunctory bit of rock away to add detail to the boa on the boulder.  As we walk along, he points out other stones along the way, including a stele with the twin towers, in memoriam of September 11.  

We follow him up a narrowing path and along the side of a steep hill overlooking the vast valley below.   Here his art is carved out of rock outcroppings embedded in the hillside.   Everywhere there are images of animals--snakes, tigers, elephants, armadillos, eagles, even a camel.   Also prominent are biblical icons, and scenes depicting Nicaragua's history, including a carving of a large helicopter which likely flew above his land during the civil war.   We stop to take pictures and he walks on, reciting what he has shared many times for his thousands of visitors, pointing to symbols and reading the occasional words and dates that are interspersed with the tableau.  My guess is that he is barely literate, as the spellings and letter shapes vary from upper to lower case within words, and he "reads" these chiseled messages by running his fingers over the letters, like a blind man, reciting the content in a singsong voice.  

I begin to notice repeated images.  Crosses are either religious in intent or representative of the ordinal points of a compass.  He stops to assign a value to the four directions--sometimes geographic (accounting for Africa and North and South America in relation to Nicaragua), sometimes historical or chronological.  There are many self-portraits, all stylized versions of himself but with consistent features.  Hearts are placed in biblical and human sculptures.  A triangle outlines all references to Nicaragua.  

He stops part way and shows us rough hewn split logs that have been fashioned into benches.  Motioning for us to rest, he offers to recite a poem.  The whole impression is of a man who has developed, despite being cut off from the larger world for most of his life, a personal iconography--a set of symbols and images and recited poems that explain his understanding of what is important in this life.  He tells us that he has not been to Estili, the nearest town, since 2008.  But over 20 thousand visitors have brought the world to him over the 34 years that he claims to have worked on his sculptures.   

On our return walk he points out the hundreds of orchids and native plants in his "garden."  He is especially proud of his coffee and pineapple crops, and of other trees and shrubs given to him by visitors from abroad.  A small evergreen, a gift from a Japanese visitor, grows alongside native trees.  

We stop and sign his guest book and take a few more photos, and then he walks towards the gate to signal that our tour is over.  I leave feeling that I have met an exceptional man--a man whose disengagement from the broader world has given him the chance to patiently create art and poetry explaining everything, both real and imagined, that has touched his awareness.

Smithsonian exhibition on Jefferson's slaves

In the rock garden leading to the front stoop of the house where we raised our family in Colorado, a bed of baby blue flax opened new blooms every day for years during the growing season.  They always reminded me of the summer we took our adolescent kids on a 4000 mile road trip to give them a dose of American history and geography.  We brought home plenty of keepsakes from that trip, but the flowers blooming at our doorstep lasted the longest.  They were planted from heritage seeds we bought at Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's stately home in western Virignia.  Having been to Monticello several times since, I know that his gardens continue to display a colorful collection of the flowers he developed, a testament to his curiosity and wonder at the natural world.

However, the cost of that beauty rests in deep soil, watered by the sweat and tears of generations of slaves.  Although Jefferson personally supervised his architectural, horticultural, and agricultural projects, their successful consummation depended on the toil of others.  That is why visitors take away another, more somber, memento from any visit to Monticello:  namely, a lasting impression of the human cost of Jefferson's accomplishments.  He was without a doubt a man of prodigious intellect, vision and compassion.  But, his legacy--and the legacy of our nation--cannot be assessed without paying tribute to the enslaved persons whose strength and endurance, faith and determination were its underpinning.

A new exhibit at the Smithsonian American History Museum called Slavery at Jefferson's Monticello: Paradox of Liberty lives up to its title.  It contrasts the everyday lives of Jefferson's slaves with his opinions of them.  Sponsored by the soon-to-be-built National Museum of African American History and Culture, the exhibit is literally built around a replica of a bronze life-size statue of Thomas Jefferson, emphasizing the central paradox of a slave owner who was also a champion of Enlightenment ideals.   His slaves, like all slaves during that time, knew that their lives depended on their master's decisions.  How they responded to their circumstances, though, was a matter of personal character.  And the exhibition makes clear that many slaves and their descendants, by their thoughts and actions, came to embody the very ideals of liberty and human rights that Jefferson himself could never reconcile with the institution of slavery.

I have been to the exhibit twice, trying to absorb the lessons it has to teach.  The displays are modest and the exhibit space relatively small for all it encompasses.  But, if you are able to see it without the press of too large a crowd, I know the exhibit will resurface often in your thoughts.  It has certainly tugged at mine since I last visited a week ago.

Thomas Jefferson

Jefferson will always be a towering figure in the American mind, because his words frame our democracy.  But, he also was aware of a troubling exception to the doctrine of equal opportunity--the thousands of slaves on whose backs rested the economic prosperity of early white American landowners.  He believed, in his own words, that blacks "are inferior to whites in the endowments both of body and mind."  We cannot excuse, but can acknowledge that his belief reflected the misguided judgments of his time.  And to his credit, he understood that slavery was inhumane and needed to end.  During his presidency he signed a law prohibiting the importation of slaves into the US.  He also proposed, according to the exhibit, several schemes to return slaves to a condition of freedom.  In his Notes on the State of Virginia in 1785 he put forth the idea of gradual emancipation.  He also wrote that colonization back to Africa would end the institution and restore slaves to their homeland.  At one point he advocated diffusion of slaves into the western states, in the hopes that by diluting the number of slaves in any one place the institution itself would collapse.

Although he certainly struggled with the idea of slavery and treated his own slaves well by the standards of the day, during his lifetime and in his will, he freed a mere nine individuals, all members of the Hemings family (more on them below).  And because Monticello, even with slave labor, was badly in debt at the time of his death, his heirs eventually sold almost all of the remaining slaves to pay off his financial obligations.  Hardly a benevolent legacy.

Jefferson's Slaves

On the curved wall behind the statue of Jefferson are the names of the 600 slaves who lived and worked at Monticello during Jefferson's lifetime and whose identities are noted in his meticulous records.  They provide a another stark framework for the exhibit.  The names appear, line after line, and cover a space about 12 x 15 feet.   The vast majority do not include a surname, as if slaves did not need one.  For example, there are four named simply Abby, seven named Aggy, twelve called Betty (only one with a surname); seven men known only as Will, four as Ambrose.  And so on.  From this group, historians were able to establish clear identities and family ties for six family groups.  Those families--their genealogies, a bit about their personal histories, and artifacts recovered from Monticello excavations that relate to their daily lives--are the focus of much of the remainder of the exhibit.

Archaeological excavations of Mulberry Row--the line of slave quarters and workplaces at Monticello--uncovered the vast majority of the artifacts on display in the exhibit.  These artifacts help to characterize the six families featured in the exhibit and give a sense of what life was like for the men, women, and children who labored at Monticello during Jefferson's lifetime.

The Hubbard Family.  Two of the sons are featured in this display.  Both were purchased when they were young and sent to work in the Nailery, a business venture Jefferson started to supplement plantation income.  Because it was a low skill task, many young slaves started their working life in the Nailery.  Many of the bent remnants of this work were discovered when the Nailery was excavated by archaeologists and are on display here.  The exhibit also describes how each of the brothers attempted to run away from slavery, one several times before finally disappearing.  Their motivation was to join spouses who had been sold or given to other owners.

Isaac Granger

The Granger Family.  George and Ursula Granger were both purchased in 1773 and raised 4 sons, including Isaac whose photo is one of the seven surviving portraits.  Ursula supervised the kitchen, smokehouse, and washhouse--all positions of significant responsibility.   George was farm foreman and later became an overseer, the only African-American overseer at Monticello.  He was known as Great George, and he received an annual wage, again something unique to him.  All of their sons were skilled artisans.  Their son Isaac eventually lived as a free man in Petersburg, where he dictated his recollections of Monticello to a transcriber before he died.  Among the artifacts displayed with the Grangers are items associated with the blacksmith shop, where two Granger boys worked (horseshoe, axe, scythe, file, hinge, and horse's bit--all fashioned by slaves).

The Hern Family.  David and Isabel Hern raised a family of 12 at Monticello.  He was a skilled woodworker and wheelwright, and some artifacts associated with his trade are displayed (e.g. part of a jack, an ox shoe and yoke).  His son David Jr. drove a wagon to DC during Jefferson's term as President, to deliver supplies but also to see his wife who was an apprentice cook at the White House.  Although the exhibit does not discuss it, slaves in the American south were encouraged to take wives, since they could produce offspring and thus continue to supply new workers.  This was in contrast to the South American slave trade, which brought in almost all men in an arrangement that was a form of indentured servitude; many of these slaves were able to earn their freedom.  Thus, a continuous supply of new labor was always needed.  The exhibit notes that two of the Hern brothers married "abroad"--outside the plantation--and then persuaded Jefferson to buy their wives, something he no doubt saw as a sound investment. When Jefferson died, 34 of the Hern's surviving offspring were sold to help erase farm debts.

The Hemings Family.  Jefferson's liaison with Sally Hemings has been widely discussed.  The lives of the Hemings family have been dissected and debated in some detail, and records of their experiences have been our window into the life of the most privileged slaves on Jefferson's estate.  Sally's mother, Elizabeth, was inherited by Jefferson from his father-in-law, John Wayles, in 1774.  She brought with her 6 children, all of whom were probably fathered by Wayles, including Sally, who would have been the half-sister of Jefferson's wife, Martha Wayles.  Sally accompanied Jefferson, who was a widower at the time, to France when he served as US Minister.  Most historians now agree that she was, in fact, his concubine and he was the father of some, if not all, of her children.  She and 8 other slaves including four of her children, all members of the Hemings family, were the only people Jefferson freed either during his lifetime or in his will.  The rest of the Hemings were sold after his death, as was the case with other families featured in the exhibit.  The many skilled artisans in the Hemings family,were valuable not just to Jefferson, but to whoever owned them.  Their skill is particularly evident in the exhibit's display of fine woodworking tools, a hanging cupboard, and chair, all used or crafted by John Hemings or one of his sons.

The Fossett Family.  Joseph Fossett was the son of Mary Hemings Bell, daughter of Elizabeth Hemings.  His wife, Edith Hern, was a trusted slave who lived in the White House while Jefferson served as President.  One story recounted in the exhibit is of Joseph being reported as a runaway, until it was discovered he was visiting his wife in DC.  Both he and his mother, Mary, both a part of the Hemings line, were freed in Jefferson's will. But Edith and seven of their children were sold to pay off plantation debts.  His son Peter, who was literate, took his books to his new owner, who discovered him reading soon after he arrived.  The owner, a Col Jones, told Peter that if he ever caught him with a book again he would whip him.   A small pencil and slate, only about 3" square, are part of the artifacts on display.  Also, a finely wrought copper vegetable pot and saute pan hint at what Edith might have used while cooking at Monticello.

The Gillette Family.  Edward and Jane Gillette (known as Ned and Jenny to Jefferson) were industrious and resourceful, even within the confines of slavery.  Their son, Barnaby, was a cooper who made flour barrels.  Jefferson encouraged his work by allowing him to earn the price of one barrel for every 31 he sold, which produced an income up to $40 a year.  The family also sold fish, chickens, eggs, garden produce and wooden pails.  But, despite their status, in 1827 after Jefferson's death, both Ned and Jenny, 9 of their children and 12 of their grandchildren were sold as part of the estate's efforts to pay off debts accrued by Jefferson during his lifetime.

The Descendants

The last partitioned space of the exhibit traces the lives of those who came after these families.  What is clear from the brief displays and a short video is that even though their ancestors did not come voluntarily to this country and were treated cruelly for many generations, the descendants of slaves must be proudly counted among all citizens who have dedicated their lives to fulfilling Jefferson's promise of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  This fact is bolstered by the stories descendants of Jefferson's slaves tell in a recently initiated oral history project, Getting Word.   Although the exhibit makes limited use of these interviews, complete information is available on the Monticello website.

The repeated themes of these interviews are notable.  They stress

• the importance of education
• the centrality of faith
• the strength of family bonds
• the struggle for freedom and equality

The descendants of Monticello slaves have established churches, fought for civil rights and women's suffrage, worked as judges, teachers, doctors and public servants.  They have, in short, helped build our nation.  Their accomplishments and this thought-provoking exhibit deserve widespread attention. 

What Winter?

That's what we're asking ourselves in Northern Virginia.  The afternoon temperatures were in the 60's yesterday and are predicted to return today.

I hauled my bike out of mothballs and rode an hour yesterday along the Mt. Vernon trail.  The sunshine and mild temperatures enticed me out to see my shadow--not that it's been all that cold this December and January.  On the contrary, it has been unseasonably mild.  With a little winter gear, I could have ridden comfortably on at least 10 or 12 different days in the past couple of months--supposedly the "dead of Winter"--but (no excuses) lethargy kept me in hibernation.  Yesterday was warm for even this odd Winter, and I finally made it out the door for some exercise.  To give an idea of how warm:  at the turnaround point on my ride, near Roosevelt Island, I took off my long pants and pedaled home in my biking shorts.  I had to dodge joggers in shorts and t-shirts out enjoying the day.

The pansies in the photo taken this morning on our back deck (left; notice the bare branches in the background) have refused to give up this Winter despite quite a few nights in the mid 20's.   They tell the tale of this winter--many days the thermometer registers in the 50's.  Recently, in the morning when I take the dog for a walk, flocks of sparrows and the occasional cardinal perch in leafless trees, chirping away like Spring is just around the corner.  And maybe it is.  This morning I saw the first dove of the season, at least a month earlier that previous years.  The squirrels have been frantic since mid-December, scurrying about like they are getting ready for a picnic, instead of hibernating like they usually do.  The weather forecasters seem to think the La Nina system in the Pacific will keep colder weather north of us for the rest of the Winter.  So mild is the word.

Although, when you draw back and look at the bigger picture, as always there is another story to tell.  Talk to the snowbound residents of Valdez, Alaska, or eastern Europe.  Storms have piled over 16 feet of snow in Valdez already this Winter.  Snow removal equipment has been brought in to deal with overburdened roofs and to help dig pathways between the walls of ice and packed snow that cover the city.  Snow emergencies have been declared in Serbia, where elderly residents in remote villages are  without heat or electricity and temperatures have plummeted to -30º F.  This past week, skiers and travelers have been trapped in Austria, southern Germany, and the Swiss and French Alps after a "snowstorm of the century" dumped as much as 18 feet in those places as well.    The list goes on--just like any Winter, actually--to include massive snows in Pakistan, the Ukraine, Japan, and China.  Meanwhile,  farmers in the U. S. and Britain worry about a second consecutive year of drought.

Surprisingly, I haven't heard much squawking about global warming to accompany this unseasonal Winter.  But, I imagine it will make the news again any day now as the candidates look for something else to blame on their opponents.  That debate seems to dip and soar like the jet stream, a constant flow of denial or warning, depending on your point of view.  A little puff of information came almost unnoticed over the news waves this week to suggest that whether you believe in "global warming" or not, you had better prepare for some "climate change."

The US Department of Agriculture (USDA) has revised its plant hardiness map.  If you are a gardener, like me, you know that this is the time of year to check on where you reside on the hardiness zone map--to see which trees and shrubs, flowers and vegetables can be safely grown in your area.  You may do a double take when you see the new hardiness zones, as if the earth has titled a bit on its axis and thrown you off balance.  Didn't you used to reside in Zone 7?  But now you are on the southern edge of Zone 6 instead, which means you can finally plant a lemon tree like the one you remember in your backyard growing up as a kid in California--and expect it to survive the winter!  Or a hibiscus like the one that blossomed outside your hotel window in Florida, the year you went south for a week to avoid the (formerly) chilly north.

Although the official USDA map has not been released, preliminary announcements portray the warmer hardiness zones as creeping northward.  What that means for the area where I live is that flowers and other plants which you couldn't grow here 20 years ago are now safe to cultivate for a longer part of the growing season--or even year round.  The new demarcation for hardiness reflects the fact that average temperatures in many areas are now what you would have found 200 miles south of your present location.

A shift northward of warmer climate zones two hundred miles seems pretty significant to me.  I'll leave the debate for causes and consequences of this change to those better qualified to comment.  All I know is that this may be the year to finally try tuberous begonias in our hanging planter, with the confidence they will survive from early spring to late fall.

Grandpa at the movies

The Academy Award nominations were announced yesterday and I'm already placing my bets on a number of Oscars.  One of the perks of retirement has to be time for movie going, assuming you can afford it.  Even though the days of 50 cent Saturday matinees (and 25 cents for a gallon of gas) have gone the way of civil public discourse, most folks can still come up with the price of a movie ticket, even old folks.  That's apparent in the fact that in 2009, at the height of the housing and banking collapse, the number of movie tickets sold worldwide jumped to an all-time high--over 1.4 billion sold-- a record 5% above the previous year's total.  Bad times bring people to the movies.

The other perk of being an Old Fart, I've discovered, is that suddenly everyone wants your business again, and they'll make crazy offers to get you in the door or onboard ship.  For example, all of the multiplex cinemas offer senior discounts.  The AMC art house near us has senior Tuesdays with admission only $6.  I consider that a bargain, compared to the regular $11 admission fee,  even though I remember when a dollar from mom would get me in the theater door with enough left over for a box of Milk Duds and a bag of popcorn.

I haven't seen all of this year's nominees in any category.  On my list of the Best Picture nominees to see still  are Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close (panned by local critic Ann Hornaday), The Tree of Life, and War Horse.  I'd also like to catch My Week with Marilyn and The Iron Lady, and have heard much about the Iranian film, A Separation, which will probably hang around local theaters longer than usual due to its nomination in the Best Foreign Film category.

Of the flicks I've seen so far, I have some favorites.  That doesn't mean they will win an Oscar, but they did pick me up or make me laugh or stick with me beyond 100 minutes of screen time.  It's too early for predictions, really, but what the heck.  Isn't that the fun of Oscar night anyway--rooting for the movies and performances you loved, even if you haven't seen the competition:

Best Picture:  I'm pulling for The Artist.  A black and white silent film scoring an Oscar in 2012?  Not likely.  But the movie had my attention from title to credits.  If for nothing other than daring, it deserves a nod from the Academy, and that may be exactly what the Best Picture nomination is all about and nothing more.  But, I wouldn't rule it out as a winner.  Depending on modern actors to carry a story with nothing beyond gesture and facial expression is asking a lot.   Yet that is precisely what the leads in The Artist accomplish.  Jean Dujardin and Berenice Bejo both are expressive actors, totally comfortable with the physical demands of their roles.  This is made even more emphatically apparent at the end of the film when the pair, smiles beaming, perform a joyous final tap dance number reminiscent of the great Hollywood hoofers.

Best Actor:  Of the five nominees, I have seen four--all except Demian Bichir in A Better Life, which I can't find playing anywhere in the area.  George Clooney is George Clooney in The Descendants, although he is forced to move beyond his usual persona as the suave cynic in a couple of scenes.  Likewise, Brad Pitt is Brad Pitt, firmly in charge but aware of his limitations, playing Billy Beane, general manager of the Oakland baseball Athletics in Moneyball.  Of the remaining two movies, the performances are so unlike each other that it is impossible to elevate either Jean Dujardin (The Artist) or Gary Oldman (Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy) on comparative merit.  I'll go with Oldman, whose performance as George Smiley is controlled and understated, but never seems to waver in intensity.  He carries the movie without once drifting into the "Look at me" bravado that characterizes plenty of other actors in similar roles.

Best Actress:  Of the 2 nominees that I have seen (Viola Davis in The Help, Rooney Mara in The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo), both are deserving of an Oscar with a slight edge to Davis.  I hope to see Meryl Streep (The Iron Lady) and Michelle Williams (My Week with Marilyn) in the next week or two.  I probably won't see Glenn Close in Albert Nobbs, unless the popular buzz (not the Hollywood promotion machine) on that movie's behalf makes it impossible to ignore.  No pick yet.



Supporting Actor:  Of the 5 nominees in this category, I've only seen Jonah Hill in Moneyball, another understated performance.  "Understated" seems to be the operative term this year (see Gary Oldman), as well as "Silent" (isn't Max von Sydow's character in Extremely Close a mute?).   Whassup with that?  Maybe we're exhausted already from the noise of the presidential campaigns.  Besides von Sydow, the other nominees are Kenneth Branagh in My Week with Marilyn, Nick Nolte in Warrior, and Christopher Plummer in Beginners.


Supporting Actress:  Having seen 4 of the 5 nominees, I'm going to make a leap and predict that one of the two actresses from The Help will take home an Oscar in this category--either Jessica Chastain or Octavia Spencer.   My wife had to drag me to this movie, by the way, which she had seen before and was willing to see again.  I'll admit to not only liking it, but to rooting for all of the plucky female characters and against the villainous female bigot, whose character had the least depth but then, as a foil for everyone else, she probably didn't need all that much.  Other nominees are Melissa McCarthy (by far the funniest performance of the year in Bridesmaids), Berenice Bejo (The Artist) and Janet McTeer (Albert Nobbs).

Animated Feature:  My favorite category, having grown up on Disney flicks.  If two of the nominees (A Cat in Paris and Chico & Rita) have played anywhere in the DC area, I'm not aware of it.  The other 3 all made the multiplexes, which doesn't diminish what they have to offer--both visual and storytelling impact.  Kudos to Panda 2 and Puss in Boots, both derivative but entertaining.  My grandkids know the characters and best lines from their prequel movies better than their bedtime stories, and I know they'll enjoy these sequels when they are released on DVD.  My vote goes, though, to the original Rango--a weird combination of slapstick, gunslinging, eco-terrorism, and science fiction.  Plus, almost anything with Johnny Depp catches my interest.

The other award categories are drowned out by the sound of mutual back-slapping among industry technicians and insiders.  The decision made a couple of years ago to hand out some of the technical Oscars prior to the televised show has put these awards where they belong.  Serious movie buffs can slug it out in the chat rooms on their own time, about who deserved the flim editing or makeup prize.  But leave them out of Oscar night.  That's when I want the jokes and music and glitter--just like at the movies.

Who will govern us all ?

It's presidential election time.  Feel free to shudder at the thought.  Fortunately, the hardcore media blitz has barely touched us here in Virginia, across from the nation's capital.  Republican primary states have been getting the worst of it so far.  But, the campaigns and their henchmen, hiding behind the cloak of "action committees," will inevitably blanket us with the same invective that unfortunately characterizes certain brands of political discourse of late.

My impression is that all of the clamor and rhetoric seem particularly divisive and mean-spirited this time around.  (I'm aware that nasty slurs and ad hominum attacks have always been a part of American politics.  Read what the press and opponents had to say about John Adams or even Thomas Jefferson.)  But, I haven't given up on our electorate or those who govern us.  There are good people in government at all levels and good people who make the choices that elect them.   The key in this election, I believe, will be moving beyond the rhetoric to focus on one simple question:  Who will govern us all ?

Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, Eugene Robinson, in this morning's Washington Post, addressed that question while examining the inflammatory rhetoric of the current crop of Republican presidential hopefuls.  With so many challenges facing people in this economy and at this point in our nation's history (jobs, unemployment, balancing the budget, the collapse of our social safety net, a widening economic and social divide, the nuclear arming of Iran, our role in Afghanistan, etc.), Robinson questions why Republican candidates spend more time railing about "defeating this president" than addressing our national issues.

Their stump speeches and campaign literature drum away on the theme, "We've got to take this country back."  I've heard more of this kind of apocalyptic language from Republican candidates--and a good bit of the same from the far left--in this election cycle than ever before.  The world is coming to an end, they shout, unless we send to the White House and Congress an army of right-thinking, self-righteous, government-dismantling firebrands, who will build on the "My way or the highway" approach that has so successfully brought our legislative process to a stalemate for the last two years.

"We've got to take this country back."  The question is, take it back from whom?  And for whom?  As Robinson asks, "Who is in possession of this country of yours?  And what makes it yours, not theirs?"   What has happened, he wonders (and I wonder) to the notion that this is our country?

Arthur Schlesinger's 1991 book, The Disuniting of America:  Reflections on a Multicultural Society, prefigures this loggerheads.  In it he expresses his fears for the American democratic system, because of its attack by those who would elevate personal or group identity above national identity.  Although he was referring mainly to ethnic minorities, his thesis certainly applies to our political times.  Every day another splinter group emerges.  We appear to be breaking into tribes, armed for battle to the death at every little insult.  I am alarmed by parents who scream cultural or physical "genocide" when their children are exposed to something with which they disagree--an idea that does not fit their limited view of the world (evolution, global warming, a religious faith unlike their own, baked goods with too much sugar, schools that mix their obviously gifted children with "those kids who don't want to learn").  Look around.  There are plenty of places in the world where people have broken into enclaves, rigid tribes that refuse to budge a centimeter on any issue, spewing hatred towards anyone unlike themselves.  We cannot afford to do the same.

There is hope, especially given our democratic tradition.  As Schlesigner notes, our country has absorbed people from every corner of the globe, from every class, from every religion.  We have managed 200-plus years of the peaceful transfer of power through a democratic political process.  How has this been possible?  The answer is instructive for our times:  By what we share as a people taking precedence over what divides us.  What we share (or at least have shared, for the most part, up until recently) are a set of values expressed most poignantly by our founding documents (Declaration of Independence, Constitution and Bill of Rights) and by our most honored president, Abraham Lincoln, in his speeches and inaugural addresses.  Life.  Liberty.  Equality.  Freedom of expression.  Freedom of religion.

We hear these terms bandied about by candidates, but they are being used to mean life, liberty and freedom for us on our terms; and certainly not for those who do not look or think or act like we do.  It's our heritage and we don't want to share it with homosexuals, Muslims, immigrants (legal or not), socialists, or anyone who will ask us to restrain our own behavior in any way (gun control, regulation of financial institutions or industry) for the good of the community.

Why is it that these values are so distorted during our electoral process?  What we need, more than ever right now, is someone who can transcend the accepted wisdom that getting elected in America depends on appealing to the basest fears of the electorate.  Someone who can remind us that our diversity is an asset, not a liability.  That we can work together to build a better nation, instead of shouting that those who disagree with us are responsible for the destruction of civilization.  We need candidates to remind us that our common values make it possible for us to stand behind our elected leaders, once the rancor of the campaign has ended.

I have been lucky enough to live and travel outside of the U. S. most of my adult life.  There's nothing like travel abroad to give you some perspective when you return home.  We complain about government intruding into our lives.  But spend some time in mainland China or Nepal, Burma or Nicaragua if you want to see what it's like to live under a government that treats you badly if you are not aligned with the ruling autocrat/dictator/oligarchy.  The elected and appointed officials in our government--all branches and at all levels, from local to national--may not stand for much of anything you hold personally important.  And their decisions may result in policies with which you disagree or even find reprehensible.  But, because we have a tradition of rule of law, equal treatment, and democratic elections--no matter how flawed they may be--we can wake each morning knowing that jack-booted soldiers will not be knocking at our door to haul us off to prison without cause, never to be heard from again, no matter what the fearmongers are spewing on Fox News.

If talk show bloviators and paranoid politicians tell you otherwise, stop a minute and look around.  We are still the most prosperous nation on earth.  Our universities attract students from every corner of the world.  Immigrants leave family and friends to start new lives within our borders, because we offer them the chance to realize their dreams in a country free of tyranny and full of opportunity.

Former U. S. Representative and ambassador to India in 2009, Tim Roemer, writes about how deeply admired the United States continues to be worldwide.  True, he notes, we have problems:  millions of Americans out of work, an enormous trade deficit, news stories that chronicle the latest scandal of greed and corruption, a Congress paralyzed by partisanship.  But having lived and travelled abroad, he knows that all countries face similar challenges, many much worse.  What we need to be reminded of is our shared values and our resiliency.  We can deal with this moment in history, as we have dealt with others.

Our "decline" as a nation is largely imagined, he says, because of the pain we currently feel for our circumstances.  Others simply do not see us in that light.  Roemer reports on students abroad still eager to enroll in our colleges, entrepreneurs eager to tap into our markets, capable immigrant technicians headed for Silicon Valley.  We are still the nation of innovation and problem-solving, as reflected in the number of Nobel Prizes we garner.  Our government has invested in vital research, such as that which developed the internet, and has kept our national infrastructure strong.  (Drive on the roads in Costa Rica or Nepal if you want to see what limited federal government looks like.)

I retain hope that we will stay true to the belief that this is a country where change is possible.  Hurrah for the Occupy and Tea Party movements, no matter whether I subscribe to what they espouse.  Kudos to the watchdogs (like my friend Phil) who attend hearings, gather legal advice, monitor behavior, and rail against unsafe industry practices in oil and gas exploration, manufacturing, drug and food production.  A round of applause for all of those who say "We can do better."  All I would add to their slogans is, "We can do better together."

We must continue to be a place where differences--of opinion, of religion, of politics, of lifestyle--are acknowledged, but where common values make it possible for us to live together in peace.  When we face decline in these values, then we have truly lost our way.  I do not think we are there yet.

In praise of less praise

Late in my teaching career, a sophomore in one of my English classes had made exceptional strides in her writing and understanding of literature.  She was a new citizen, still learning the language, so she worked extra hard at her studies.  Her work habits made it evident that she would be successful in whatever she attempted, both in school and beyond.  In her self-evaluation at the end of that school year, she was proud of what she had accomplished and wrote:  "This year in your class I have increased my self of steam."

That innocent, well-intended phrase still makes me smile.  She was a good sport and confident enough to laugh at herself when I showed her how to correctly spell self-esteem during her final evaluation conference.  I count her as one of those success stories you cherish as a teacher.  I still remember where she sat and how she never took her eyes off the speaker in class, whether teacher or fellow student.  But what sticks with me as much is the image she inadvertently coined.  Oddly, it conjures up not just its intended meaning, but also an opposing vision.  I hear egos deflated when I think of it, confidence hissing away like air escaping from a balloon.  This is a tough and fragile business, this belief in yourself.  I know.  I have seen too many youngsters gain confidence, only to lose it all with a single failure or an unkind word from a teasing classmate.  Self of steam.

The concept of self-esteem as a necessary underpinning for productive behavior gained prominence the same year (1969) I entered graduate studies in Secondary Education.  That was the year Nathaniel Branden, a Canadian-born psychologist and sometime romantic partner of Ayn Rand, published his book, The Psychology of Self Esteem.   In it he argued that healthy self-regard is a basic human need and that without it people are more prone to self- and socially-destructive behavior (e.g. anxiety, depression, violence).  His work led eventually to the National Association for Self Esteem in the 1980's.  Although Branden's practices and beliefs about self esteem became more nuanced over time, they were misinterpreted from the start.  The pop culture understanding of his ideas led to praise for praise's sake, and an industry of cheap trophies for every member of  every youth soccer league in America--even for kids with two left feet.

The notion that self-esteem is a pre-requisite for healthy, productive behavior found especially fertile ground in schools, shaping expectations for how teachers should treat children.  Praise for even the smallest accomplishments became a staple of accepted pedagogy in the 1970's and continues to influence classroom practice today.  I know it had an impact on how I thought about myself as a teacher early in my career.  A part of my role, I believed, was to encourage the discouraged.  Build up their confidence so they could engage with my subject matter.  I tried to look for any positive behaviors--even minimal effort, diligence, interest, cooperation, a paper (no matter how lousy) handed in on time, a comment in class discussion (no matter how inane)--and praise them highly.

But I was predisposed even then to be suspicious of too much praise for a couple of reasons and became almost immediately more sparing with my compliments, although not with my encouragement.   I was raised in the old school where praise (if given at all) was for what you did, not for what you could do.  My taciturn mother gave only a nod for things well done, rarely more, although it was easy enough to tell when she was proud of me or my brother.  I was also prone to self-criticism even as a youngster.  The final word is still to be spoken on whether that was a genetic or learned inclination.  But the fact of the matter is that I found my own flaws quite early on and worked hard to hide or overcome at least the ones that I was aware of.  My mindset (more on that term later) was to dismiss praise for something I had done or said or written. feeling that I could always do better or that my praiseworthy deeds paled in comparison to others more deserving.

Educators and parents, it seems, have also begun to question the value of excessive praise.  How much praise is enough?  When should it be given, if ever?  What consequences does praise have for how we view ourselves and our abilities?  Does praise affect different people in different ways?

Stanford psychologist Carol Dweck has spent decades exploring facets of those question.  The premise of her book, Mindset, is that our beliefs about intelligence and talent influence the way we respond to encouragement and failure.  She has found that our "mindset" is a significant factor in whether we enjoy success in whatever we attempt.  I have just begun reading the book after it was mentioned in a recent article in the Washington Post [1] about brain research, debunking the notion that building self-esteem in students is imperative if they are to have the confidence to learn.  As Dweck puts it, researchers over the past 3 decades have discovered that you can't "hand children self-esteem on a platter."

Empty praise is particularly deadly for youngsters.  But, so is praise that rewards children for being "clever" or "intelligent."  What studies have found, quoted in the Post article, is that children "rewarded for being smart become more likely to shy away from hard assignments that might tarnish their star reputations."

What works is praise for "trying hard or taking risks," especially if it is accompanied by an explanation of how our brains literally grow with new learning.  That puts accomplishment in the hands of the learner, who realizes that sticking with even a difficult or frustrating task can help create new neural pathways.  It can make you smarter.  And it implants the notion that learning is a lifelong process, fueled by curiosity and the satisfaction that comes with each new bit of skill, information and understanding.  In short, our mindset about the nature of learning makes a difference in how, and even whether, we learn.

I have heard this expressed in a slightly different form as an explanation for why some cultures produce more female scientists and mathematicians than the U. S.  In America, the explanation goes, we believe that some people are born with talent and intelligence and others are not.   In this mindset, the die is cast early on, so effort by the untalented is futile.  Remember the Barbie dolls programmed to say, "I'm not good at math"?  Sadly, I often heard that excuse or something similar ("I'm not a writer") voiced by children of both sexes when they came upon an academic challenge that moved them out of their comfort zone.  In Asia, by contrast, effort is what counts.  If you work hard at something--spend hours in tutoring beyond classroom time, for example--you can master it.   That is true for boys and girls.

Although these are both oversimplifications of cultural attitudes, the second "mindset" is much closer to the truth.  What research shows time after time is that intelligence is malleable.  Labeling a handful of students "gifted" early on or saying that girls are not good at math discredits the potential of an enormous number of kids, most of whom have the capacity to learn as much or more than their supposedly more intelligent peers.  And it really does no service to those in gifted programs either, who often become praise junkies, dependent on outside validation of their accomplishments.  Hearing constant praise (which can morph into self-praise) for mediocre work--especially for effort that merely repeats what is already mastered rather than risks covering new ground--can lead to a false sense of ability, such as those American students who reported themselves as good at math, and yet scored much lower than their peers from other nations on standardized measures.

What all students can prosper from, according to Dweck, is praise that "encourages risk-taking and learning from failure . . . experiences that make way for invention, creativity, and resilience."   We need students to build up a head of steam to power themselves through life and learning.  Like the boilers of old, their cerebral engines need to be constantly fed by the fuel of curiosity and intellectual challenge.  They need a mindset which says, with effort I can learn.  And we need to reserve our praise for effort that produces instructive failure and real success.

[1] Chandler, M. A., "Telling kids they're great isn't so good, schools find," Washington Post, 16 Jan. 2012.  

Taking care of grandkids

I've written elsewhere about the prime directive of grand-parenting--namely, that when you tire of the little darlings, you can always send them back to mom and dad.  This is a topic that has been on my mind since the holidays.

Like every generalization, exceptions contradict the norm.  We have friends in their late 60's who have become legal guardians for a grandson, who is now about 7 years old.  The child's father, our friend's son from her first marriage, has battled drug addiction since his adolescence.  Both son and grandson live with them, although the son bounces in and out of the house as a result of time spent on binges, with various women, and occasionally in jail.  As for the grandson, he is a sweet kid who has his ornery moments as would be expected of any little boy.  For his grandparents--his legal guardians--there is no "sending back" when fatigue sets in or patience wears thin, a responsibility they bear with determined goodwill.  They will be in their late 70's by the time he graduates from high school.

An aunt and uncle of mine raised five of their grandchildren during the 1950's and 60's.  Their daughter, my cousin, first handed over 3 young daughters to her parents, who were at the time in their early 40's.  My uncle worked as a janitor in the local junior high school, his modest single income supporting the entire brood.  To me he was the eye of the hurricane, sitting in his recliner-rocker smoking his pipe, rarely saying much unless spoken to.  My aunt sewed clothes, cooked, and jabbered away from sunrise to bedtime, raising her granddaughters with alternating strictness and charity.  About the time the granddaughters were finally off to lives of their own, two more of their siblings arrived, a half-sister and brother from a second relationship for my cousin, who was still ill-equipped to raise her own children.  So my aunt and uncle housed and fed and scolded and loved another batch of grandkids.  Looking back, I marvel at my uncle's equanimity and can hardly blame my aunt for her alternating crankiness and good humor.  She and her husband did what they had to do, without complaint, at least as far as I ever heard.

We had a taste of their experiences while we were in Colorado visiting our son's family over the holidays. My son's wife, who has been battling demons of her own for quite some time, finally sought help a few days after Christmas and was in residential care for almost two weeks.  She and our son have also been battling each other and their marriage appears to be in jeopardy--not a good situation for them or their four young kids.   With mom out of the picture for 10 days, we suddenly became the grandparents in charge, their full-time caretakers during our son's workdays.  We also pitched in to help clean up their house, which had slipped into chaos as a result of their parents' unhappiness with each other and themselves.  My wife had to fly back to work shortly after Christmas, but I stayed a week beyond New Year's to take care of the kids while our son worked and to help return the household to some semblance of order before his wife returned from her incapacitation.

The lessons I wrote about earlier when describing our Christmas decorating routine helped me to not only survive, but also to enjoy my week alone with the grandkids.  First, I set some simple rules, and second, I made keeping them a way for the kids to do their part to help things run smoothly.  As I noted before, most children thrive on routine and welcome responsibilities they can perform.  So I simply asked for help and they gave it:  No eating except at the kitchen table.  That helped keep the cracker crumbs and half-eaten bananas out of the rug and couches or wherever else a one or two or three or five-year-old might drop them while wandering the house.  It also made room-by-room clean up possible.  The kids were shown how to clean up after themselves in the basement toy room and in their bedrooms.  Everyone picks up 5 toys at the end of playtime.  Toys go back in the buckets and on the shelves when done.  Dirty laundry goes in the laundry basket in your bedroom.  Trash goes in the wastebaskets I bought for every room in the house.  Dirty dishes and silverware go in the dishwasher after meals or snacks.  The two oldest also love to help cook and even clean, at least for short bursts, so I always had volunteers when I asked for assistance with breakfast or lunch or even a bathroom scrubbing.

I set up a daily schedule and stuck to it, which included delivery and pick up at school and morning daycare, time for homework and sharing about what the oldest did in kindergarten, time for help with laundry, time for one or two children's TV shows, play times, nap time, meal times.  Within a couple of days, I could see all four kids relax and fall into a routine.  There were opportunities for plenty of laughter and playing together, mostly on their own but sometimes with grandpa included.  After the first couple of days, I barely heard a squeak when I asked everyone to sit at the table for a meal or snack, or announced it was time to pick up toys or read together or brush teeth or put on pajamas.  The four kids play amazingly well together, although the occasional tug-of-war over a toy or bonk on the head occurs.  When I heard, "Grandpa, she won't let me have . . ." I responded with my dad's favorite line:  "You guys work it out yourself."  That solved the problem 90% of the time.

I'm not pretending that parenting is an easy job.  As my wife always jokes, "That's why you have kids when you're young."  It takes energy and stamina and patience and discipline to go along with love.  We certainly love our grandchildren and enjoy their company.   But, we have no desire to be responsible for raising them as a second family at our age, although we would undertake the task if absolutely necessary, as have so many grandparents before us and as do millions of grandparents now.  Data from the 2007 census counts 6.2 million grandparents in the United States who have grandchildren younger than 18 living with them.   Of that number, 2.5 million are entirely responsible for these children's food, clothing, and shelter.  Over 700 thousand of them suffer from some disability themselves, while also caring for grandkids.   Seen from another perspective, the census reported 4.4 million children living full-time in a grandparent's home.

After 10 days caring for four little ones, I came home from Denver  5 pounds lighter, exhausted and sore, although it broke my heart to leave them as it always does--even when they just come visit for the day.  I admire my friends and relatives and the millions of others who have taken on the challenge of raising grandchildren.  I hope that my wife and I will continue to be a large part of our grandchildren's lives, but we're also hoping that my son and his wife can "work it out" for themselves so that they can raise their own family and so that we can enjoy their children often and send them home after a visit with grandma and grandpa.