An imperturbable demeanor comes from perfect patience. Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened, but go on in fortune and misfortune at their own private pace like a clock during a thunderstorm.—Robert Louis Stevenson
It is a newer expression, “Read the room.” It suggests that a person should have the sense of where others are emotionally and intellectually, how they view what is said and seen, and more critically, whether they agree or are inclined to wrestle with your words and actions and very presence, to be annoyed or even angered.
The sky need not be blue or cloudless, the earth need not be subdued, our hopes need not be limited nor contained. It is in us to maintain faith a kindness, generosity and compassion. We might share; we might see our duty to others.
Reading the room when I’m not in the room isn’t a skill I often possess. I misunderstand or fail to appreciate the inclination of my audience. However did I manage a classroom? Zoom didn’t exist. Determination to do right, to accept that my understanding, experience, and knowledge might be shared.
The signature CALYX image celebrates fifty years of CALYX: A Journal of Art and Literature by Women+ founded in 1976, on the 200th anniversary of our nation. It served as a reminder of the great ambition of readers and writers, makers and thinkers, a reminder that we have not yet reached our ideals.
Last weekend, Saturday the 14th, I was in my hometown, Corvallis, Oregon, for the 50th anniversary of Calyx: A Journal of Literature and Art by Women. Gary doesn’t care for events (to be honest, neither do I), so I would have attended alone. Fortunately, I was joined in the day’s events by my friend, once-writing partner, former student, and current popular college professor Rebecca Olson, author of ARRAS HANGING: The Textile that Determined Early Modern Literature and Drama (2013) and Early Modern Reading and the Imagined Self (2025), as well as numerous articles on Shakespeare, early modern textiles, and inclusive pedagogy.
In the first episode of the new series, Scarpetta, a scene from “28 years earlier” (1996?) had “The House of the Rising Sun” playing. Good cover. Gary would know the group, the guitarist, and the guitar the lead guitarist was playing*, but I’m not so knowledgeable. Absolutely everyone performed that song in the 1960s, mostly men and boys. I sang it too, when I was playing guitar and singing, because it has—what?—3 chords, 4? The fingerpicking is simple too, though I don’t remember any of that now. There’s a violin on the wall in that show, and I have to say that people do put instruments on the wall. It’s a show-off thing to do. But no one who really loves their guitar or violin or gold flute, leaves it out, not even to show it off. Displaying your instrument is about yourself.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about those days, about guitar lessons and singing. Candy Mack taught me to play “The House of the Rising Sun” out of The Joan Baez Songbook. When my mother heard it, she insisted it made more sense for a woman to sing it. “It’s been the ruin of many a poor girl…” works best, I’ve always thought. Men change the words to make it work.
Everything comes with a story. Every porcelain ornament, every basket, and everything hidden inside—pieces gathered, gifted, and made. That’s my two-headed dragon in the middle of the top shelf. The stories only matter to me, but I’ll admit that basket-weaving is one craft I’ve never tried.
I love a stormy sky, and I surely got wet on the day I took this photo. We often are rained on during our walks. I know what it feels like to have gloves and rain gear soaked through, to feel my fingers stiffen. It’s why I understand the bits of rope we find onshore, usually with a knot, often only a knot cut from a working line. The man who cut that plastic twine or rope (maybe the woman) could barely feel their fingers. There was no chance of untying the knot. It drifts in the salt water until it’s cast onshore, and my husband and I gather it and toss it along with other bits of plastic and foam—all the pounds of litter we gather from the shore.Continue reading →
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