The Canadas
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Fall 2000 News Updated August 11, 2002 |
Celebrations
Later in the season, we traveled to Birmingham, Alabama,
for a conference and spent Christmas in Indiana, where we celebrated with our
families in Indianapolis and Fort Wayne. |
With
our wonderful family, jobs, home, and other blessings, we always have
occasion to celebrate. Over the past few months, though, we have
enjoyed some special celebrations. For starters, Lisa and I celebrated
our 11th anniversary on September 23. We marked the occasion by
spending a couple of days in our favorite city, Charleston, South
Carolina. Thanks to our friends Howard and Jessica Corcimigilia, who
watched Essie for those days, we even got to go for leisurely walks, eat at
nice restaurants, and have meaningful conversations without having to look
out for cars, pick up macaroni off restaurant floors, or rack our brains for
answers to that dogging question, "Why?" Actually, it was a
little weird. We had a good time, though. Just as we were approaching
the city, the sky cleared, and we headed straight for Isle of Palms, where we
spent a sunny, cool, and generally glorious afternoon on the beach.
Later, we had dinner at Magnolia Grill and spent the night at the Meeting
Street Inn. The next morning, which was also pretty, we went--as we
always do in Charleston--on a long walk among the beautiful old houses and
quiet little streets, finishing up with brunch at Poogan's Porch. 
Lisa
and I weren't the only ones celebrating. Early in October, Essie's
little buddy Heydon Ward celebrated his third birthday, and the entire gang
gathered at the Wards' home for a blowout, complete with cake, ice cream,
even a moon walk. Essie was so moved by the experience that she
proposed to her parents that we have a birthday party for her. While we
certainly were amenable to the idea, we felt compelled to explain that a more
appropriate time for such a celebration would be, well, her birthday, which
was not due to arrive until January 18. Apparently we were not
sufficiently persuasive. For days or weeks, she talked incessantly
about her birthday and, hearing that her grandparents were on their way from
Indiana, decided that they were coming for--what else?--her birthday.
One day, when Lisa went to pick up Essie at her preschool, one of the
teachers asked her if we were planning a party. Essie evidently had
been extending invitations to her classmates. Since Halloween was just
a few days away, we finally resolved to have a small Halloween party and
postpone the birthday celebration. Lisa made a butterfly costume and
baked a chocolate cake, Granny and Papa supplied the presents and party
favors, and I captured the festivities on videotape. Essie, of course,
had a great time, and we followed up the party a few days later with a night
of trick-or-treating. Already a veteran of Halloweens, having
masqueraded as Madeline and a penguin in years past, Essie marched right up
to the various front doors, said the magic words, thanked her benefactors,
and left with the goods. The only hitch came at a house where the boy
delivering the treats was wearing a scary mask. Essie marched up to the
door, as usual, but when she saw the boy, she literally staggered. I
reached behind her to keep her from falling backward off the step. She
didn't scream or cry though, and after the boy removed the mask she recovered
rather nicely. Thoughts on the Election
November 2000: Why would anyone want to be president? Give the candidates the chance, and odds are they will talk of serving--their country, the American people, everyone and everything but themselves. And to some extent, at least we hope, they are right; they do believe in America, and they believe they can serve it by leading it. Still, they are ambitious people--these presidential candidates--and they know there is no surer way to make a mark on history than by becoming president of the United States. Only 42 men have achieved such stature, and every one--simply by virtue of getting himself elected or, in a few cases, appointed--has assured himself an assortment of perks: a portrait in the National Portrait Gallery, at least a passing mention in every subsequent encyclopedia and almanac published in America, perhaps even a monument. Even William Henry Harrison attracted more fame by spending 31 days in the position than millions of Americans have earned by saving lives on operating tables or storming the beaches of Normandy. Presidential legacies may be rare, but lasting fame comes with the job.
The opportunity to achieve such fame surely stands behind Al Gore's and George W. Bush's tireless efforts first to win the presidency and now to keep it from slipping away. Each stands perhaps only a few votes--maybe a few mutilated or forgotten ballots--away from becoming the next most famous person in the world. But an even greater prize waits, apparently ignored by both men. Only 42 men have accepted the presidency of the United States, but even fewer--zero, to be exact--have turned it down. A century from now, historians and diligent elementary school students will know who became president in 2001. How many more would remember the man who did not. In passing up the presidency, George W. Bush or Al Gore could do what only a few have done: brilliantly trump the apparent winner, achieve a poetic victory through submission. In writing his concession speech, he might borrow a phrase from America's most famous non-president, Henry Clay. Told that his position on an issue might keep him out of the White House, Clay declared: "I had rather be right than be president." Looking political death squarely in the eye, he might even rightfully quote from Charles Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities--"It is a far greater thing that I do than I have ever done; it is a far greater rest I go to than I have ever known"--or from Lou Gehrig's farewell speech: "Fans, you might have heard over the last two weeks that I have been given a bad break. But today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth." Such sentiments border on the melodramatic, but by next year only one man in American history will know how such a narrow miss feels. Rather than curse this moment, Al Gore and George W. Bush might embrace it. If either does, he will see in it a choice. He can relentlessly and contentiously seek to win the presidency--and chance losing it--or he can certainly, gracefully, heroically give it away.
Birmingham, Alabama
November 10-12, 2000: Poor Birmingham. Like Detroit, Gary, and all of New Jersey, it has a reputation that does not exactly attract tourists. Indeed, it probably keeps many people away. They don't know what they're missing.
Lisa, Essie, and I were in town for the South Atlantic Modern Language Association's annual meeting, where professors of English and several foreign languages gather to share ideas about language, literature, and teaching. In addition to attending sessions on Truman Capote and Harper Lee, "great books," Mark Twain, and Charles Dickens, I gave a presentation called "Real Work, or How Students and I Learned to Like Composition."
We
also took some time to get out and see Birmingham. On Saturday, for
example, Lisa went shopping while Essie and I spent the afternoon
downtown. It turns out that Birmingham has some great spots for
kids. We started at McWane Center, a children's science museum with
dozens of exhibits. Essie's favorites, of course, were ones involving balls.
She must have spent a half-hour or more using columns of air and water to
suspend balls in the air. While at the museum, we also attended a
presentation on turtles, and Essie got to pet a real one. As luck would
have it, Saturday was Veterans' Day, and after our visit to the McWane Center
we caught Birmingham's Veterans' Day parade, which featured horses and marching
bands. We wrapped up our sightseeing with a visit to the Birmingham
Museum of Art, where Essie got to spend some time in an "artist's
studio" designed for kids. Later, I popped her in the stroller and
went on a whirlwind tour of the adult exhibits, which featured works by some of
my favorite artists: Auguste Rodin, Frederic Remington, and Albert Bierstadt.
Downtown Birmingham
Although I didn't know it until I arrived, downtown Birmingham is also a perfect spot for a jog through history. Eager to add to my list of "moving experiences," excursions that involve both sightseeing and exercise, I left our hotel early one chilly morning and went for an exhilarating run through the city's Civil Rights District. There I saw the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, where a bombing in 1963 killed four girls and inspired "The Ballad of Birmingham," a song I have taught in my Introduction to Literature class. I jogged through Kelly Ingram Park, the location of some famous civil-rights demonstrations in the 1960s and the current site of some striking sculptures designed to encourage visitors to reflect on the experience of the demonstrators and on racism in general. Other highlights included the Fourth Street Business District, where black businesses emerged in the early 20th century and continue to this day, and an impressive outdoor sculpture honoring hometown hero Eddie Kendrick, lead singer of the Temptations.
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A White Christmas
December: I had it all worked out. Just before Essie came down the stairs at Grandma and Grandpa's house on Christmas morning, I started the camera, first focusing on a ceramic village on the mantle, then shooting a little bit of the snowy neighborhood outside, and panning past the Christmas tree and the giant dollhouse that Saint Nicholas had brought. Just then, Essie and Lisa were descending the stairs, and I turned to capture the special moment. According to my script, Essie would zero in on the dollhouse and then head straight toward it. Meanwhile, master director Mark Canada would get the whole thing on celluloid, or at least magnetic tape. As every director knows, though, stars sometimes have minds of their own. Essie spotted the dollhouse, and I captured her expression. Then she disappeared from the viewfinder--she was not running to the dollhouse, but toward something else! I fumbled to put her back into camera view, but I couldn't keep up. The next thing I knew, she was at my feet, hugging me around the legs. My unpredictable prima donna had ruined a perfectly good script--and turned it into a scene far greater, far more memorable than anything I could have written.
Before
and after that climax of the Christmas season, the Canadas enjoyed a number of
other special moments. The stage was Indiana, where Lisa and I both grew
up. For weeks before the trip, Essie had been making plans: we were going
to build not one, but two snowmen: "a big one and a little
one." For perhaps the first time in my life since I was a kid, I was
actually hoping for snow. We got it--some 12 inches of it, along with
below-zero temperatures, biting winds, and even some ice on the van windows,
just for old time's sake. Although my enthusiasm for snow has dropped
since approximately the time I learned to drive, this time it was worth every
flake to see the look on Essie's face as she played in it around my parents'
home in Indianapolis. It was, as any Midwesterner can tell you, the wrong
kind of snow--at least for making snowballs and snowmen--because it would not
hold together. Essie didn't care or even notice. Even while the
snowballs crumbled in her little hands, she just glowed. We managed only
the second of her requests, the "little" snowman--only about a foot
high, in fact, and embarassingly misshapen--but she got to throw snow at
Granny, ride in a sled behind my dad and me, and run around in snow up to her
knees. She even made several snow angels. "Like Little
Bear!" she said, remembering a video where she had learned how to make
such things. Later in the day, Granny and Papa took her downtown to the
Indiana State Museum, where she rode a little train through an imitation winter
landscape and saw many of the mechanical figures that had adorned windows in
the downtown stores for years during the Christmas shopping season. Over
the next few days, we also spent some time back at Granny and Papa's house, where
Essie, now a veteran of three Christmases--quickly took charge of the gift
exchange, nearly as content to deliver presents to the adults as to open the
ones addressed to her. She scored big in the event, collecting among
other things a Fisher-Price van and a miniature supermarket checkout complete
with cash register, scale, and conveyor belt.
Early on Christmas Eve, we headed up to Fort Wayne to visit Lisa's family. A sucker for high ceilings and high church, I decided to join Lisa's dad for midnight Mass at the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. The idea had looked much better in my mind than it looked when we ventured out that night in the frigid air. When we arrived, however, I caught a glimpse of the towering cathedral through the falling snow--a spectacular gift wrapped inside the chilling night. Inside, I gazed up at incredible wood carvings and an enormous stained-glass window. Music from both brass and strings, as well as choir--"What Child Is This?" and "Coventry Carol"--cascaded down from the balcony. Incense drifted through the congregation as the bishop and a dozen or so attendants marched up the center aisle and took their place around the altar. Hundreds of other people and I brought in Christmas morning with "O Come All Ye Faithful" and, an hour or so later, ended the service with "Joy to the World." The experience was a stirring one for me and one of the highlights of my stay in Fort Wayne. The next morning, we celebrated Christmas Day at the home of Lisa's parents. Essie reveled in her dollhouse, which she just kept calling "beautiful," and we all enjoyed a brunch that Lisa made as a gift for her parents. After an afternoon of exchanging gifts and visiting with family, we stayed up until midnight playing a board game. Over the next several days, Lisa rested a bit while Essie and I took trips to some Fort Wayne attractions, including the Lincoln Museum, the Historical Society, and Science Central. One night, Lisa's dad and I ventured out again, this time to take in Plymouth Church's 26th annual Boar's Head and Yule Log Festival. Modeled after an English Christmas celebration at least 650 years old, the festival was more than I could have anticipated--in a word, spectacular. More than 100 actors in brilliant costumes, along with a choir and a small orchestra, collaborated on an amazing display, that included music, dancing, drama, even wassailers traveling through the audience.
Although
I enjoyed all of this holiday activity, perhaps my favorite experience of the
entire vacation was a quiet afternoon I spent with Lisa. While Lisa's
sister Jessica and Jessica's friend Melanie took Essie for an afternoon of
sledding and other excitement, Lisa and I drive out to Fox Island Nature
Preserve and went cross-country skiing for the first time. The next hour
was not spectacular or exciting or even particularly stirring, at least not in
the way that "O Come All Ye Faithful" sends chills up my spine.
It was, instead, the kind of quiet, peaceful, and strangely magical experience
that comes only so often and lasts forever. Maybe there's something in
the nature of such experiences that explains why they can't be explained, but
perhaps the feeling we experienced came from the combination of learning a new
skill, of immersing ourselves in nature, of experiencing the calm of a snowy
wilderness, or simply of being together in a new and beautiful
environment. Whatever the reason, the experience had a strange and
wonderful feel--the feel of living nostalgia.