Going Wheatless

This is my second week of wheatlessness. I decided to experiment with it, partly in solidarity with some friends doing the Wheat Belly diet, and partly out of curiosity and the need to mix it up.

It’s been interesting. Even though I haven’t been totally strict, I can sense differences in my appetite and satiety level. This past Sunday I decided to eat wheat again and tried eating cereal. I only made it 3 bites before I felt really bloated. Further experiments reveal that a bite of naan or pita doesn’t affect me the same way—probably not as much fiber.

Last week, the limited possibilities helped me eat fewer Points each day, so that for the first time this calendar year I was actually within my appropriate range. But then it didn’t result in a weight loss and my appetite came back.

I know I’m going to switch back to wheat at some point—I love pizza too much, plus I adhere to Weight Watchers’ belief that there are no “bad” foods—but right now I’m still intrigued by the changes.

What I’m really hoping to get out of this is a re-conception of what constitutes a meal. Sometimes now my meal will be carrots, hummus, and a few crackers. Or French fries and peanut butter on seed crackers. I keep falling into the habit of trying to replace wheat products with gluten-free substitutes, but this isn’t actually a good idea, I think. It’s nice when I have a super craving for toast to have my ridiculously pricey bread on hand, but it can lead to the same patterns of eating as before. I want to be more creative and simple about my meals, more dependent upon straight-forward fruits and veggies, foods with less processing, fewer calories, and more nutrition.

The Forever Impact of YA Novels

There's a meme that's been going around on Facebook asking people to list 10 books that affected them, and to make the list without thinking too hard. I didn't make a list. I tend to view these trends with suspicion, possibly things started by Facebook to get me to give them more information. But I've been thinking about. And all the books that initially come to mind are books I read when I was young. Maybe it's that I hadn't read many books yet and so each one had more of an impact? Or perhaps there is something innate in YA reading that appeals to my psyche--I tend toward the latter solution.

Some of the books that profoundly affected me:

The Girl Who Owned a City, by O.T. Nelson. This dystopian, adult-free world appealed to my sense of isolation and the belief that the only person I could rely on was myself.
The Flowers in the Attic series, by V.C. Andrews. This was warped and twisted. Another world of oppression where adults can't be trusted, now with incest. This is one of many books I shouldn't have been allowed to read. Probably not YA, but I didn't know that.
Soul Rider series, by Jack Chalker. Another series I seriously should not have been allowed to read. Chalker is undoubtedly a sick, though fascinating, bastard. This series featured Cassie, another strong heroine, exiled from her home and figuring out her place, but who is also manipulated by the Soul Rider and by some twisted sexual dynamics. Chalker introduced me to the idea that men grasp for power so much because otherwise they don't have much of a function; only one man is needed for many women to procreate. Okay, this one's definitely not YA, but I read it when I was 12.
The Blue Sword, by Robin McKinley. This wasn't marketed as YA but as Fantasy; now it's known as a YA classic. An orphan named Harry is unfeminine and out of place but secretly has magical powers and finds her new place as the partner to the king of India--um, I mean Damaria. Also similar is The Hero and the Crown, in which Aerin is treated as an outcast but turns out to be more powerful than everyone.

You can see where this pattern is going, I think. So today I read another book like these, with much more conventional sexual dynamics: Divergent, by Veronica Roth. Beatrice, who renames herself Tris, rejects her Abnegation upbringing because she realizes she is too selfish to belong. She joins a new faction, which strangely seems to be run by mostly teenagers; Tris comments that she doesn't see older Dauntless members. She learns bravery, confidence, a sense of belonging, and love. If I had been 12 when I read this, it would have had a huge impact on me. However, it's ultimately pretty conventional, even in its revolutions. If I had read books like this instead of the Bio of a Space Tyrant series by Piers Anthony, I probably would not be writing a book about rape in Victorian novels. FWIW.

Field work

Yesterday was a foundational bird-watching experience. I travelled to the Volkswagen campus near Chattanooga to find a White-faced Ibis.

Source: Alan Vernon, Wikimedia.org

This is an image of the bird in its summer plumage, when the white is visible on its face. In winter, it's identical to the Glossy Ibis except for its red eye, usually only discernible with a scope or excellent camera.

Four potential White-faced Ibises had been spotted and photographed, most in juvenile plumage. The red eye was visible in the photos. I did manage to see all four birds, but I would not have been able to positively ID them if I hadn't already known what to look for. I only saw them in flight.

Bird-watching takes me to some unusual places, and this time was no exception. The birds had been sighted near a pond on Discovery Dr, a road too new for my GPS. The city was constructing a new water main next door, so to get to the pond I had to walk over fill dirt and bracken and past the worker busy flattening the new dirt with his bobcat.

I approached the pond slowly, nervous about scaring the birds away. I stopped each time I had a glimpse of the pond, then peered around the edge of the line of bushes. Nothing but killdeer. I found a place to sit where I could see most of the pond and be shielded by the tall grasses, and there I sat for two hours.

That was the foundational part. Just sitting and waiting. It's hard to slow down and just observe. I found I kept checking my iPhone or my bird book. I had to force myself to enjoy the temperate October weather and the pleasant sound of bird song.

Patience was harder because I saw the birds early in the sit. About 10 minutes in, one ibis flushed from a grassy field (I also detected a Great Blue Heron hanging out in the tall grasses). About 30 minutes in, I saw 3 ibises fly overhead. So, task accomplished but greater view desired. Hence, the wait. They never came back, but I did see an additional 16 species, including a Gray Catbird and a Belted Kingfisher, two species I find fascinating.

This was a life-bird for me and an unusual bird to find in Tennessee at any time, so it was worth the 90-mile drive. I regret not having a better view, which I would have gotten if I had stayed an hour longer. Overall, this experience's greatest value was that it forced me to slow down and focus on something fun.

How to Be Good Company

As an introvert who was always more comfortable with books than people, I've had to learn the hard way how to be good company. I don't always succeed, but I have learned some general guidelines.

1. A good conversation is never about one person. 
If I'm talking too much about me, just interject and draw the conversation back to you. And expect me to do likewise. If I notice myself (or someone else) dominating the conversation, I'll pause and ask someone else a question.

2. Never interrupt someone else's story. 
(Unless they violate rule 1.) If you only have a few minutes and there's something you're dying to tell, go ahead--but that isn't really a conversation. It's more of a confession. In a conversation, you're probably spending several minutes, maybe an hour, with the same set of people. Expect give and take. There will be time to bring the conversation back around to your story.

3. Avoid starting or ending with something serious. 
Conversations have a natural rhythm and flow. The first bit gets the conversants comfortable before the real work can begin in the middle. But don't wait too long for that moment! There's a point when people want to withdraw, and then it's too late. If people are yawning or talking about plans for the morning, those are signals that they want to withdraw. Also check to see if they are looking around for other people to talk to. No matter how much people like you, there's a limit to how long they want to converse.

4. Bring something to the conversation. 
Sometimes it's difficult to know what to say, especially to someone you've just met or someone you see all the time. That's when you draw on your prepared topics. What have you done recently? Have you eaten at a good restaurant? Heard an interesting new song on the radio? Started a new gym class? Saw something funny on the internet?

4a. Elaborate and help out.
I offer this classic interchange from L.A. Story:

Trudi: Sheila has been studying the art of conversation.
Harris: Oh, you're taking a course in conversation?
Sheila: Yes.
[long pause]

Sheila should have said something about the class, even if it's "but it's nothing." Then maybe Harris would've asked a follow-up. Similarly, if someone says they've heard an interesting song, ask something about it, even if it's just what station.

What other advice would you offer?

Learning to Love Venice

Santa Maria della Salute

"It is a great pleasure to write the word; but I am not sure there is not a certain impudence in pretending to add anything to it. Venice has been painted and described many thousands of times, and of all the cities of the world is the easiest to visit without going there. Open the first book and you will find a rhapsody about it; step into the first picture-dealer's and you will find three or four high-coloured "views" of it. There is notoriously nothing more to be said on the subject. Every one has been there, and every one has brought back a collection of photographs. There is as little mystery about the Grand Canal as about our local thoroughfare, and the name of St. Mark is as familiar as the postman's ring. It is not forbidden, however, to speak of familiar things, and I hold that for the true Venice-lover Venice is always in order. There is nothing new to be said about her certainly, but the old is better than any novelty. It would be a sad day indeed when there should be something new to say. I write these lines with the full consciousness of having no information whatever to offer. I do not pretend to enlighten the reader; I pretend only to give a fillip to his memory; and I hold any writer sufficiently justified who is himself in love with his theme." --Henry James, Italian Hours

Inside the Doge's Palace

It's fair to say that I knew next to nothing about Venice before this year. Somehow, the centuries that La Serenissima ruled the Mediterranean were skipped over in my Western Civilization course (perhaps not "Western" enough?). I didn't know of its artistic heritage. I had a vague sense of its importance in the Grand Tour and a suspicion of some nineteeenth-century fighting with Austria. Of course I knew of the canals and gondolas, but I didn't even know that Venice was a grouping of islands. 

My experience was, then, the exact opposite of Henry James'. When I read the above opening paragraph to Italian Hours, I felt out of the loop. This feeling persisted in my other readings about Venice, especially the prose of the Ruskins. I decided that my goal in Venice would be to discover why people love it so. 

I didn't succeed. Love isn't something rational that you can set out an argument for. Love creeps in on you, unawares. I arrived at Venice skeptical of its charms and seeing exactly what I had been prepared to see. I was unimpressed and distant. But leaving Venice was hard, and even though I'm back home, part of my spirit is still there. How did this happen? 

Maybe it's all the water. Water is an incredible force, and Venice has managed to accommodate the demands of the sea. The gentle rocking of the boats, necessary for getting around town, also has a lulling effect on the psyche. 

The Grand Canal

Maybe it's the clarity of the light. In summer, Venice has 5 or 6 days a month of precipitation. I arrived on one of the overcast days; once the sky cleared, the spell began. 

The Grand Canal, early morning.
Zoom in to see the art on the side of the building.

Maybe it's ancient architecture. There's an amazing wonder to standing exactly where someone 500 or 1000 years ago stood, and seeing essentially the same buildings. And I love the pointed arches of the Byzantine Gothic. 

Inside La Salute Church

The Doge's Palace

Maybe it's that there's art everywhere. Even on the outside of buildings, where the elements gradually destroy everything. And yet no place better exemplifies the saying, Ars longa, vita brevis. 

Detail outside the Basilica

Inside the Basilica. Isn't that amazing?

Part of the altar inside the Basilica

I don't think it's that I conceive of Venice as being in the past, as a museum. Reading Donna Leon's excellent mysteries, set in the present and concerned with permanent residents, deepened my affection for the city. 

Accademia Bridge and traffic on the Grand Canal

The chemistry of this love is complex. All I really know is that I would like to go back, and this time bring my husband. Because Venice is a city of love. 

The Local and the Global: Venice 2013

"State of the Field" panel

My excuse for being in Venice was a Victorianist conference coordinated by three excellent organizations: the North American Victorian Studies Association, the British Association of Victorian Studies, and the Australasian Victorian Studies Association. The conference theme was "The Local and the Global." Paper topics included cosmopolitanism, tourism, attitudes in Britain towards Italy, transportation, historicism, Dickens, Ruskin, and the Brownings. Attendees ranged from the top scholars in the field to promising graduate students, some of whom (like Kat Powell, whose thoughts on Venice can be found here) were fortunate enough to participate in a professionalization workshop the week before.

Victorianists in line for dinner

The conference was held on the beautiful island of San Servolo. This walled island was once the location of a monastery and an infamous insane asylum, but now it houses Venice International University, which is a consortium for Study Abroad programs. It's incredibly beautiful, which at times can be distracting, but overall it's an excellent venue for a conference. The meals I ate at the conference, both catered and at the cafeteria, were the best I had in Venice.

I had meant to write a blog entry on a single panel, but looking at my notes I found a problem: I seemed utterly unable to stay awake for every paper in a panel. I would be really engaged at the start but then drift off and have no notes. I blame jet lag. I should have excused myself for a moment after the first two papers to get some fresh air so that I could be ready for the third. Nothing else seemed to work.

I was able to hear some excellent papers at the beginnings of panels, anyway.

• Chris Ferguson showed us early photographic experiments in which London was flooded and buildings were separated by canals, making London into Venice. 
• Richard Pearson, of the Victorian Plays Project, discussed Kiralfy's "Venice in London," an 1891 spectacle in which a lagoon was built inside the Olympia Theatre and gondola rides could be had for 6d. 
• In the "Writing Italy" panel, Emily Allen shared her experiences teaching a Study Abroad class in Venice, in which her greatest success was treating scholarly articles about tourism as primary texts and having students reflect on their own experiences as a tourist. 
• Claire Horrocks analyzed travel writing as a genre in Dickens' Pictures from Italy and in a maid's memoirs. She suggested that in addition to James Buzard's categories of "traveller" and "tourist" (The Beaten Track, 1993) that we add "sight-seer" for those travelling with another purpose (like a conference).
• Mary Armstrong also discussed Pictures from Italy from a rhetorical perspective, especially the role of quotidian elements and the treatment of reality.  (I'm afraid I started to become less focused here, and was semi-conscious by the start of the final paper.)

And these were just on the first day!

The "Writing Italy" panel is the one that most moved me to blog because it made me reflect on my own role as an anti-tourist and on my perceptions of Venice. For Dickens and Ruskin and James, Venice was a place of mourning for something always already lost. But for Effie Ruskin, Venice was a place of plenitude and freedom. John would work on his projects and she would socialize. She loved people, and she loved learning the language and the city. Reflecting on Henry James, it occurred to me that his experience of Venice was also highly social. In Italian Hours, he writes, "If you are happy you will find yourself, after a June day in Venice (about ten o'clock), on a balcony that overhangs the Grand Canal, with your elbows on the broad ledge, a cigarette in your teeth and a little good company beside you." That "good company" is often an overlooked element. I reflected that perhaps a "genuine" experience of a place is necessarily a social one. To consume the present and not the past of Venice, one must meet people. Even if those people are other tourists.

This attitude made me much more patient with all the tourists in Venice. They are part of the nature of the place. Without tourists,  there.  is.  no.  Venice.  And yet, there is also a Venice that transcends the daily steps of transients. The museums, the city's routine, the people's daily life, even the weather, they are essential to Venice as well.

I think it is safe to say that, as resistant as I initially was to Venice's charms, it continues to haunt me.

Communicating in Italian

One of my favorite things about being in Venice was the experience of being in a place where I didn't speak the language. I found that I was quieter and self-conscious, and it occurred to me that this is how many people feel when they come to America. I could be quite voluble when I ran into a conference-goer, but otherwise I spoke very few words.

People in St. Mark's Plaza

I learned some basic Italian to smooth the way. I took a 4-week night class, studied a phrase book, and listened to a CD. I typed out some phrases I might need. Things like, "Dov'e la toilette?" and "Vorrei un bichierre du vino" and "il conto, per favore." I could say I'm lost, I don't understand, and ask for my room key. I also knew my basic numbers.

Everyone says that you don't need to know the language when you go to Europe, that "everyone" speaks English. That just seems rude to me. I saw this as an opportunity to expand my knowledge, and I'm glad I did it. Not everyone in Venice speaks English, and many that do have limited vocabularies. My hotel staff were pretty fluent, for instance, but they didn't know "Advil" (if I had said "ibuprofen," they would have gotten it, since the Italian is "ibuprofene"). The merchant in a paper shop in Dorsoduro didn't speak English. Even those that spoke English well were amused by my attempts to speak and tried to encourage me. I learned from the hotel staff to say "Vado fuori" when I was leaving and that I had to put the "cento" into my room number, "due cento settante sette."

Ultimately, Italian is a beautiful language that was a pleasure to speak. I wish I had another month there so that I could become more comfortable with it.