Mr. Joyce Takes on the World

Jane Meets World               It was on this day, in 1775, that the Reverend George Austen, and his wife Cassandra welcomed their second daughter into this world. She was nicknamed “Jenny” at first, but was baptized a day later as Jane.             Social satirist, novelist, romantic, feminist icon whatever you call her, Jane Austen means so many things to so many people. There’s no one word that describes her, or her writing. From a small cradle in Hampshire came a literary giant. To paraphrase Northanger Abbey , “No one that saw Jane Austen as a child would know she’d grow up to become a heroine.” Indeed, no one in her family would know that, and yet she still is an inspiring figure. Her words flow like the rivers of the Avon and Thames; timeless, and ceaseless. Despite 2017 being the 200 th anniversary of her passing, it feels as if she never left us. Every drop of ink has inspired us to think, to grow, and to love. She knew the contours of the human heart bef

What’s in Your Stocking?             There were certain things I knew would be in my stocking every Christmas. So much so that I looked forward to them.             I always knew there would be a Life Savers (Polos to my U.K. friends) Storybook. These aren’t books, but instead, a box of Life Savers that fold out like a book. Both sides of the book have a variety of flavored Life Savers. The famous five flavors would always be the first to go. The second would be the tropical fruit. Finally, the butter rum (butter scotch) would be devoured. There was also the Wint-o-Green, which, according to popular myth sparks when you bite it in the dark. I tried this once, and discovered that it actually does work! But you have to bite into a piece before the gets too dissolved in your mouth. I’m not sure how it works. Maybe some sort of static discharge of the ionization of mint polyhedron covalent bonds…or something. Chemistry was never my strong suit.             There was alwa

To Raise the Temeraire             I remember the first time I saw The Fighting Temeraire by J.M.W. Turner. It was on the cover of an anthology of literature book. It was a collegiate tome that my father had acquired, when he took business classes at a local community college (In America, this is a two-year university level program). He wasn’t much of a reader, but he held onto that book. One night, when I was about seven or eight, he read Hemingway’s The Undefeated to me from that book. It was an odd choice, as my mother loved Hemingway, and my father knew practically nothing about him. However, that book was to become influential in other ways.             It was the first place I’d read James Joyce, as it reprinted The Dead , the final story from Dubliners. It was also where I read H.G. Wells’ Country of the Blind , and were I was first exposed to the name Oscar Wilde. Reprinted in those pages was The Picture of Dorian Gray.             I still have that book, al

…A Time to be Born…A Time to Cook             It was on this day, one year ago, that my mother’s funeral happened. I read a eulogy that I’d written, and was the only one to do so.             I won’t recount that event here, as I’ve written about it before. Instead, I’m thinking about the strange parallels between that event, and today. For example, it rained the night before my mother’s funeral. It rained heavily last night. The morning started out cold, and then the day heated up. It did so again today. As I waited for some sign to emerge, I found it toward the end of my work day.             As I waited for public transport, I heard the growl of a motorcycle down the street. The stereo onboard that hog blasted one of Prince’s songs, Kiss . Mom would have liked that. If it had been Diamonds and Pearls (my mother’s favorite) I may have started to cry where I stood.             Last night, I drank tea out of a paisley cup I’d bought for my mother. It was a birt

One Year and One After Life             July 26 th marks one year since the death of my mother. It feels like it just happened ten minutes ago.             I don’t have any big celebrations planned, or any sort of memorial. Truth be told, I’m so busy with living now that I haven’t had the chance to process it. So, instead, I’m going to concentrate on where I’m at now in life.             I can’t believe I’m 38 years old. June 6 th was my first birthday without my mother. It’s also the second time I flew back from England, and she wasn’t there to ask me, “How was it? Did you meet the Queen? Is Duchess Kate just as pretty in real life?”             The answers would be, “Extraordinary. No, I haven’t. You know she is!”             Well, I haven’t met the Duchess either, but I think it’s a safe bet that she is just as stunning in real life.             She would also ask, “How was the weather? How was the tea? Did you have a long flight?”             “It

The Saddest of Days A Eulogy for Jane Austen             July 18 th is the saddest of days for Janeites. Yet it is also a time of celebration. While we collectively mourn the loss of someone so great to us, we also celebrate her life. Indeed, it is a time of both long-delayed tears, and joy.             As General Patton once said, about the casualties under his command, “It is foolish to mourn the dead. Instead, we should thank God that such men lived.”             I half-agree with the esteemed general. It is not foolish to mourn the dead; whether recent, or in the past. Though I agree, we should be thankful that such a woman lived. The daughter of a humble clergyman changed the world. She had lead no battlefield victories. Nor, did she run for office. Instead, she fought against convention. In a time when there were few opportunities for women, she created her own career path. In that respect, she did fight a battle, and won. She became not only an inspiration

Have You Met Jane?  “Know your own happiness. You want nothing but patience – or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope.” — Sense and Sensibility             My pulse quickened as we approached Winchester Cathedral. We stood on the path that lead to it massive doors, and I paused. I imagined it’s what the entrance to heaven would look like; veiled by trees, with a grand edifice beyond that long walk.             “You can’t see the cathedral through the trees.” I joked.             It was a nervous joke, but also true. I could see old headstones in the churchyard, but not the cathedral itself. I took a photo, and thought, “This must be what it looks like to pass beyond the veil.”               My friend, who served as tour guide, is a fellow Lindsey Stirling fan, so she will have got the reference.             We continued our walk, and I thought to myself, “I’m going to meet Jane.”             I dressed up for the occasion; navy blue trouse