dual personalities

It’s a dark, rainy morning — exactly what I’ve been waiting for. After the snowy silence of winter, the sound of rain brings real pleasure.  This is perfect writing weather, and that’s what I need to get doing. That looming deadline is inspiring all sorts of stress ailments and avoidance behavior, and I am getting nowhere fast. I kid you not, I have written and re-written the first paragraph of this paper for the last two weeks.

Having established that I am suffering from writer’s block, let’s move on to avoidance behavior, which, though it does little to alleviate stress, is much more fun. If I have any well-developed talent, it is an ability to convince myself that what I want to do needs to be done RIGHT NOW, and what I should be doing can wait. Here are my favorite ways to fool myself.

1. I do easy tasks that could wait (email, grade quizzes, type up notes…), but tell myself that it’s still work, so it counts.

2. I clean a room or do laundry. That counts, too, because of course we need to have clean houses and clothes to wear. Cooking also counts.

3. I do ‘research’ on the internet (e.g., genealogy or antique hunting), read, listen to music, or look at art — the search for inspiration takes time! Contemplating interesting paintings should help:

Painting by Philippe Charles Jacquet, found on Google Image.

4. I take a walk or do some Tai Chi. Here I am striking a pose on Dartmoor on a blustery day in 2018.

5. I attend a meeting, where I can daydream to my heart’s content. Obviously, meetings count as work, and if I do not pay attention, I do not get annoyed, so it’s a win-win situation.

Yet, as I diligently avoid working on some project, it is ticking along in the back of my brain. Sometimes in order to make progress on one thing, you have to do something else. At least that is what I tell myself.

Undoubtedly, Bill Watterson’s view is more accurate:

I’m experiencing a sense of déjà vu here, which probably means that I’ve posted about all this before. Oh, well, at least illustrations are new.

Time to get back to that introductory paragraph. Maybe today is the day I’ll be able to move to the next one.

Recently, when reading about that most famous ancient temple, the Parthenon, I came across an interesting tidbit. As you know, the Parthenon was the brainchild of Pericles, the great statesman who made Athens into an empire in the mid-fifth century BC. At the time, the city was the intellectual and cultural center of the world.

The acropolis today

Inside the temple’s inner sanctum stood a colossal statue of Athena covered in gold and ivory. Only small ancient knock-offs have survived but you can get an idea of the size and splendor from these photos of the reproduction in the Nashville Parthenon:

The statue was huge and very, very impressive, though of course only the most important priests and statesmen would have been allowed to enter the temple and see it. Eventually, Athens lost its power and wealth to become  just another city in the vast Roman Empire. Even then the temple drew tourists, and one of them — I’m afraid I can’t remember who it was — managed to see the statue, only to observe with disgust that it was infested with mice. Yes, mice had burrowed under the gold and ivory and colonized the wooden core. If that didn’t ruin the numinous effect, I don’t know what would. How could anyone worship a goddess full of squeaking rodents?

Then again, mice invasions of holy places are not exactly unheard of in modern times, though we tend to find the idea appealing and even natural. For example, read John Betjeman’s Diary of a Church Mouse, from about 1975. Similarly, English author Graham Oakley has produced a beloved series of children’s books devoted to the topic.

Those of us who don’t have to deal with the tiny rodents in the flesh tend to romanticize them, but it has not always been thus. The Romans, apparently lacking the warm-fuzzy gene, knew exactly what to do with mice. Eat ’em up! In fact, they had special jars for fattening dormice, which they regarded as a delicacy.

An ancient Roman dormouse fattening jar, a glirarium, now in the Royal Ontario Museum.

To be clear, the Romans didn’t eat just any old mice. Dormice, which were rather larger in those days than they are now, made the best food. When cooked in a little honey and wine, and with the right spices added in, they were finger lickin’ good — at least that’s what the ancient Romans thought.

Personally, I’d be happy if I never saw another live mouse, and I’d certainly never eat one! They don’t make great gifts either. Next time you come across a mouse, remember that the species has been bothering people for millennia and we’ve managed to survive. It could be worse.

Have a great weekend!

*Genesis, The Mouse’s Night