Margaret Fuller

“Nature,” she says, “seems to delight in varying the arrangements, as if to show that she will be fettered by no rule; and we must admit the same varieties that she admits.”

--Margaret Fuller
from Judith Thurman's An Unfinished Woman





There are 217 Margarets in my family, and not one of them goes by Margaret. This is the only name I know that is given, along with but thou shall be called Clementine. 


Of the Margarets I know, the variations of non-Margaret thou shall be called names are all unique. 
No two non-Margaret names the same.


This is probably due to something that Liz Lemon touched upon, in her despising of St. Paddy's Day, as she wears orange and pranks the parade revelers. 




There can never be too many Margarets.
 


This particular Margaret, I had never heard of until listening to Cheever's biography of Louisa May Alcott.

This Margaret went by Margaret. 






Cheever, in her biography of Alcott, writes about The Conversations.  The Conversations were a thing  (official title that) back in the 1800's that were held by folks who had a lot of ideas and energy but couldn't hold a teaching job and were too antsy to write very much for very long.  Louisa May Alcott's father became king of these: The Conversations.   Because he was kicked out of every school he opened.  And because Emerson eventually stopped financially supporting him. 


To hold a Conversation was to hold a chat about something on which you had a lot of thoughts/ideas/opinions.


It was The Internet, in 1840.


The Conversations spurred other conversations.  (aka The Comments section).


Some folks who held Conversations were paid to do this for a living. 
(Like banner advertising and sponsored posts)


(This post is brought to you by Barry's Tea, though they are not paying me to write about them.  I should look into this.)


Back to Margaret, aka Margaret. 


She is next up on my reading list. 


Here are some Fuller quotes:

Nature provides exceptions to every rule.

The especial genius of women I believe to be electrical in movement, intuitive in function, spiritual in tendency.

If you have knowledge, let others light their candles in it.

I now know all the people worth knowing in America, and I find no intellect comparable to my own.

Beware of over-great pleasure in being popular or even beloved.

Very early, I knew that the only object in life was to grow.

Today a reader, tomorrow a leader.

It is astonishing what force, purity, and wisdom it requires for a human being to keep clear of falsehoods.

Essays, entitled critical, are epistles addressed to the public, through which the mind of the recluse relieves itself of its impressions.

 
Two persons love in one another the future good which they aid one another to unfold.

Her selfie  (hand drawn due to limiting circumstances.):

Teenage Dream: What We Learn From Each Other

The more time I spend with teenagers, the more I'm blown away. 


This letter is a an example of what's in there. 


To the Teenage Girls Swimming at the Pool by Christine Organ

And then one of you looked me right in the eye and, with a firm gentleness, said, “You will regret it if you leave here today and do not do jump. You will regret it.”

“I know,” I whispered. “You’re right.”

Farewell, Atticus

I had decided not to read Go Set A Watchman because this: there is enough reality in the world and I want to keep my fictional heroes intact. 
If I don't read it, Atticus doesn't have to become too human and that's how I like it.


This evening Miss C and I went to the library to watch a movie that was playing in the community room, Into the Woods.  I love movies at the library.  When the audience is young enough, there are kids yelling at the screen.  Tonight was an older crowd and at the end, people applauded.  It was pretty cute but I didn't understand why.  Because it was a projector. 


On our way out, Miss C picked up a few books and we went to check out.  Our favorite librarian made eyes at a book on the counter that had just been returned.  She leaned conspiratorially toward me, "Do you want it?"  I looked down.  It was Go Set A Watchman, 


"Is it IN!" I grabbed the book.  Apparently I'm ready for the fall of Atticus.  "Is it available?"


"7 day loan," she said.  And checked it out to me. 


Miss C was not understanding the fuss, so the librarian and I started simultaneously explaining the fuss, the first book, the controversy. 
By the time we got home I was still talking about the book and she quietly walked into the living room, picked up a pair of ear buds, turned to me and placed them in her ears.  They were connected to nothing.  Dangling cord but ears stuffed.  Point made. 


I'd fully committed to The Goldfinch for the next 9 years, but I'm taking a detour and bracing myself for the fall of a giant of justice and hoping that at least Scout is intact at the end of this journey. 

Golly

Photo: Ronald Martinez/2015 Getty Images

My dad used to tell these soccer stories about myself, my brothers.  We always were the star player though there was a team of 11 on the field.  We always were kicking arse and taking names. 
We always cleared the ball, scored the goal, or had an assist. 
Occasionally the stories were true.


This is called the side-door brag.  Where someone tells a nice story about you.  And occasionally it is true.


My dad used to tell these stories over and over and we'd go, "Dad, enough already."


Then last night, in a packed pub in Maine, among mostly strangers and one soul-wonderful friend, I looked around at all the men and women who were glued to the big screen.  I looked at the full stadium on the big screen.  And I suddenly felt the urge to tell a story my dad used to tell, which begins and ends in one sentence.  It is actually a fragment:


When I played against Abby Wambach.


The rest of it would go: we always lost/ she always scored a lot of goals/ it always looked effortless/ golly/ we'd assign 4 defenders to her/we still always lost


My friend had introduced me to the term "back-door brag," a casual mention of something you want people to know buried in an unnecessary context.


Also to the term "Irish-goodbye," where one gets up from a social gathering, says they are going to use the bathroom, get a drink, be right back, and never returns.


And I have determined that this is neither back door nor side door brag.  It is a front door acknowledgement of wonder:  my team got occasionally killed by her team and how cool is that?


I'm going to get a drink now.  I'll be right back. 

The Fantasy Film of Therapists Everywhere

I went to see Inside Out and loooooved it.

It's like the film Being John Malkovich, except more appropriate for children, and more appropriate for adults too.

Can I just say: how wonderful that Disney co-created a movie in which the main characters are the emotions operating an 11 year old girl's brain?   I just got all tingly writing that.  Joy!


When Anger, Joy, Sadness, Disgust and Fear are at the helm, there is far more action and adventure than in all 17 Terminator movies multiplied by Die Hard with Avengers on Fury Road.  That's a total fact. 


Looking forward to Inside Out: Puberty (3-D). 
On the big screen, not in real life.
I like a tidy 90 minute experience as much as the next escapist. 

Gotta Keep Reading!

Miss C's class sang this song as they wrapped up their second grade career.
Just stinkin' cute.


This is, I believe, the original:

The Right to Bear Arms

This week, in reading about another incomprehensible shooting that took place in Charleston, South Carolina, one question I see repeatedly is: Are Americans more violent?


Over two years ago, just after the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, I wrote this:


The Right to Bear Arms