Wednesday, April 21, 2004

Wild flowers, sent to gladden hearts less mean than mine



If keeping a blog verges on being slightly narcissistic (I have been told this!), then posting notice of one’s birthday has to be the epitome of (inoffensive, to be sure) self-indulgence. Oh, but how nice it is to hear from everyone!

Still, I worry that it is an unreciprocated event. I think of all the birthdays, name days, celebrations and important dates in people’s life that I have passed without so much as nod of greeting. Makes me cringe with shame.


These flowers, then, are for all those forgotten, unrecognized, or mistreated by me souls (oh so many!)!


[BTW, the answer to the earliest post of the day is, of course, that all those faces belong to April 21st birthdays; this post title is my blasphemous reworking of a poem line by Clare]

On a more serious note...

Kristof’s Op-Ed piece today in the Times (here) again reminds us that the current administration, preoccupied as it is with Iraq, refuses to engage in negotiations with N. Korea. Kristof writes:

“Resolving this crisis is in the interests of virtually everybody on the planet, with two exceptions: President Bush and Mr. Kim. They may have nothing else in common, except that their fathers also ran their countries, but they do share an interest in delay.”

It’s as if we only ever have enough mental energy to worry about one issue at a time. But with each day, nuclear arsenals grow, the air quality goes down, the Sudan massacres continue, a child falls sick, a weapon takes a life, many many lives actually, and we continue to sit back passively, refusing to hold our current leaders accountable, as we skim the papers and debate Kerry’s upbringing or oratorical style. There’s something terribly wrong here.

Tatuś (Polish for dad)

My father called minutes ago. This blog never hears about there still being a father which, I suppose, is because I rarely hear about there being a father either. He lives in Poland and he makes no use of computers, little use of writing implements and certainly even less use of the phone (international phone rates from Poland are, I believe, the highest in the world: when last I stayed in a hotel in Krakow and called Madison for about ten minutes, I was amazed to see at checkout time that the phone call cost me more than the room for the night).

It’s easy to lump my father into the UN fold and refer to him as that UN guy, since he played such an important part in the life of the organization (from its inception almost 60 years ago up until he retired at the end of the 1970s). But has the organization really shaped him substantially as well? I didn’t see that it had. Up until this year I had regarded him as being the quintessential Pole – shaped, more than anything, by the war years and the political transformation that ensued.

But during my last visit to Poland, I talked about this with him – about his Polishness, about his feeling of belonging there (when he finished his tour of duty at the UN he was asked if he would like to stay in the US: no thank you, was his answer). It seems, however, that my images haven’t been that accurate all these years. He told me he prides himself in having little allegiance to feelings of nationalism of any sort. Poles typically swell with pride when they speak of their deeply wounded country, torn apart by neighboring states over the centuries. He, on the other hand, said to me “I’ve always actually wanted to be born to a Nordic father and an Italian mother – I’d have both the height and the good looks on my side!” He is a pretty short guy (not helped by the fact that my mother is tall and for a long time wore high heels. Maybe that’s why they eventually separated!).

Anyway, he called today and he even remembered to inquire about other members of the family, though I’m not sure my answers registered much. I’m going to fault the bad phone connection for that. Today, I just prefer to have this image of him--sitting by the phone, dialing, wondering whether I’d be home, then singing a song befitting the day.

April 21

When I was born (in Warsaw, Poland, April 21, 1953), my mother displayed her rebellious streak by refusing to name me according to the conventions of the day: she did not want to be constrained to the use of names that were those of known saints. Her decision was so out of conformity with the norms of the time and place that it took a while for the governing authorities to approve her choice. But eventually she got her way and so I came to have a name that was not on the calendar of Saints. Thus, in addition to belonging to the .000001 % of non-Catholics in Poland at the time (or so the percentages seemed to play out for me), I also had a name that had no “Name Day” celebration associated with it.

Perhaps this is of no consequence to those who read this here, in the States, but for me this was deeply disturbing (at least from a kid’s point of view) as in Poland Name Day celebrations were far more consequential than birthdays. You were a star in school on your Name Day. You brought treats for the class. People fussed. Your house was filled with drop-in visitors all day long.

April 21 has thus had to serve double duty, or, more often, no duty at all, since celebrations of this sort were of no great consequence in my childhood household, particularly once one passed the age of 10. Still, for me, this day isn’t only about a birthday. Really, I just like this time of the year. I also like the symbolism of days that stand for progress, movement forward, a leap into the future with a glance and a smile at the past.

April idling

What do these people have in common?

Charlotte Bronte

Catherine the Great

Queen Elizabeth II

John Muir

N Dorota Lewandowska C

[It has been suggested that Hitler and Lenin be added to the list, but that would be just wrong.]

[Answer to follow later today]