Calling All Scholarly Mamas!

Remember my pitch for The Scholarly Mamas Society? Well, I have wonderful news! The Scholarly Mamas Society will meet at North Branch Library on the first Tuesday of the month from 10:00 a.m. until noon, beginning March 3, 2009.

For our first meeting, we'll be discussing an article by Dana Gioia-- "Why literature matters: Good books help make a civil society."

Please send me an e-mail with any questions.

The Scholarly Mamas Society

Before marriage and motherhood, my inner circle was academic in nature, populated with all sorts of interesting, scholarly types. I love being a mother, but lately I've been missing my intellectual life an awful lot. So I inquired about a book club meeting at the library, asking whether or not my 13-month-old son would be welcome. The response was positive, as long he didn't disturb anyone.

Well, as the mother of a toddler, I'm always "disturbed," so to speak, and I know that my very active son won't play quietly in a corner whilst I participate in a lively discussion of Gabriel García Márquez's Love in the Time of Cholera. So it occurred to me to seek out other mothers with scholarly interests and form The Scholarly Mamas Society (TSMS). To that end, on Friday afternoon I'll be meeting with a librarian from Denton Public Library's North Branch to discuss TSMS.

If you're a fellow Scholarly Mama, stay tuned for more info, and let me know if you're interested in TSMS!

THE SCHOLARLY MAMAS SOCIETY

Who We Are

We are scholars. We are creators and cultivators. We are thinkers of original thoughts. We are Mothers.

Our Purpose

To provide an opportunity for mothers of children of all ages to meet in a relaxed atmosphere and enjoy a common interest in literature and other forms of culture.

At monthly meetings, members discuss literary and cultural texts of interest while we change diapers, chase after our kiddos, etc.

Our children are always welcome at our gatherings.

My Wait is My Portion

I used to read the Henry James novella The Beast in the Jungle every year. I read it to renew myself, to remember myself, to remind myself to remember him, John Marcher: egocentric, stagnant, lonely as he watches and waits for something to happen.

Marcher believes that "[s]omething or other lay in wait for him, amid the twists and the turns of the months and the years, like a crouching beast in the jungle" (James Ch. 2). Marcher is convinced that he is fated for some gravely significant event, or that some gravely significant event is fated for him. Obsessed, he watches and he waits for the “beast in the jungle” to spring; his friend May Bartram watches with him.

I never wanted to be like him. I desperately do not want to be like him-- not now, not ever, but I have forgotten myself, holed up in my cave, caught up in learning how to be a wife, and now, a mother. And so I forgot him. I forgot John Marcher...until now.

At first, the memory was imperceptible, a faint echo in the interior of the cave set off by Practicing Happiness. Thus incited, I turned to Henry James and read The Beast in the Jungle for the first time since my husband and I were married in 2005.

The memory-echo grew stronger and clearer as Mr. Marcher and I got reacquainted. In a moment of piteous illumination, Marcher understands "the truth, vivid and monstrous, that all the while he had waited the wait was itself his portion" (James Ch. 6).

The memory-echo crescendoed.

Aha!

My moment of illumination is anything but piteous. My moment of illumination is filled with joy and hope and gratitude: My wait is my portion. Before marriage, before motherhood, this was my mantra!

My wait is my portion, and what a portion indeed! I am blessed with a beautiful family—a loving husband and a happy, healthy baby boy. For the most part, our needs are met and our wants are rightly ordered. We have a generous extended family and the kindness of those who reach out in the spirit of friendship.

If you don’t know John Marcher, perhaps you’ll consider getting acquainted. You’ll find him, “the man, to whom nothing on earth was to have happened,” at May Bartram’s grave, looking upon “the sounded void of his life” as he realizes with profound horror that “[t]he escape would have been to love her; then, then he would have lived” (James Ch. 6).

It’s back to the cave now, to watch and to wait as I live—and love—my portion.