Good

A heads-up to you reader that this will be a disjointed entry. It will be unsatisfying. Maybe you'll even cry a little. Or erase my blog address from your shortcuts list. But I've been thinking about the concept of goodness. And I've come to the conclusion that most of us aren't as good as we think we are.

Here's the latest heartbreaking news from Africa:

Sudan women feed babies leaves to avoid starvation
Reuters - Thu May 26, 3:19 AM ET
PALIANG, Sudan - Mothers in southern Sudan are feeding their children leaves to stop them starving to death after rich countries failed to heed months of appeals to prevent the region's worst food crisis in seven years. Young women on Thursday crushed foliage torn from trees then boiled it over fires outside their huts, draining the green-tinged water before their children devoured their sole meal for the day with their hands.

This is why I feel like a complete ass right now, sitting here with my laptop on my lap, my pampered chihuahua by my side (who by the way, has never had to eat leaves. Rather, he eats diet dog food), and picking at a jar full of M&M's.

Just a few weeks ago, my husband and I went to see Jane Goodall speak at Yale. This petite English woman had spent her entire life in Africa, caring for chimpanzees, saving them from poachers, looking into their very human eyes. She told the story of one gentleman at a zoo, who jumped into a gorilla's enclosure and dove into the water to save the creature from dying. When asked why he did it, as his children and wife looked on, sure he'd be mauled by the other gorillas, the man said that he had looked into the gorilla's eyes as he went under, and what he read in them was ,"Won't anyone help me?" Is that not good?

The other day, my colleague's son-in-law came to visit our students with his sisters. They are from Cameroon, and were so open and happy to answer the questions of loud American teenagers. My favorite moment came when one of the sisters was asked what Cameroon has that America doesn't. Her answer was "a fighting spirit." She went on to apply that statement to American students, who, she says, take what they have for granted. And as she spoke, she pointed at the computers in our room, the shiny poster of Martin Luther King Jr., the bookshelves crammed with dusty books that my students never pick up.

I think there are a lot of dusty corners in the world. I don't mean to preach. If anything, I'm flogging myself publically for never giving money to the homeless (I once watched my friend Danet give a homeless man a ten dollar bill. Would you do that?), for never writing to my senator to demand change, for all those times I threw out the food on my plate, even after I got the lecture about the hungry kids in China (except in my house, it was the hungry kids in Cuba).

I can only think of one nice thing I did today, and that was saving an inchworm from certain death in my car. I put him on a tree outside. An inchworm today, maybe something bigger tomorrow. And perhaps someday, I'll feel like I've done some good.

P.S. Happy birthday, Jonathan! We're primitos, and primitas!

Tia Chanty

My cousin, Andrea, went for her sonogram today. She will be having a girl this October. I know it will sound cheesy to you, but the minute she said it, laughing and shouting, I fell in love with that little girl. My heart pounds now just thinking about it.

I think of all that this baby (whose name might be 'Erin') will have, how lucky she will be. She will know what it is to have a huge, loud family. She will be gushed over at Christmas time when people say, "Llego la nina," "She's here!" and douse her with presents from Santi Clo. This child will have monster birthday parties with enormous pinatas, not the Mexican kind that you hit with a stick, but the Cuban kind with the strings dangling from the paper bottom, in which all the kids yell "Pull!" and the candy and toys come down like a thunderstorm. She will be a great dancer. She will be the girl at the quinces that makes everyone stop and stare. She will know her great-grandmother. When she is much older, she will show pictures of her mother to her friends, and they will say, "Your mom was beautiful" and they would be right. God, I love this girl already, and she isn't even mine.

My grandmother used to say that Andy, Belkis and I, as well Ferny, Mayi, Ivette and Landy, were all primos-hermanos, cousin-siblings. And though I was the singleton then (lucky to get my sister Andrea when I was already fourteen), I felt like I had brothers and sisters. Especially sisters in Andy and Belkis, in Andy Pandy and Belkis Baby Blue.

So, what does this mean? This means I'm an aunt. A real aunt. Forget all that second-cousin business. I'll be Tia Chanty to this girl-whom-I-already-love.

Candlelight

My sophomores have been writing research papers on human rights abuses. They've found topics ranging from the rights of women in Saudi Arabia, to Operation Pedro Pan, to Tiananmen Square, and the AIDS crisis in Africa. I keep telling them that the process of research, the finding of truth, is the most important part of this. I sound like a broken record when I say, "The thing you must answer is this--'Why should I care?'"

And why should I care that they do this assignment? These youngsters (many of them gifted and privileged) will be taking care of us someday. I know it's cliched, but they will be the CEO's, the senators, the teachers, the journalists and tv producers of tomorrow. And they should care. They should care very much about their fellow human beings.

They should know that people like that lone student in China's Tiananmen Square, who faced off a tank over a decade ago, still exist and still risk everything for what my students have every day.

Por ejemplo...May 20th, the Assembly to Promote Civil Society in Cuba, composed of members of the Cuban opposition, will gather in Havana to demand their liberties. The House of Representatives issued Resolution 193 recently in support of this event. It was passed by a slim margin, proving once again that partisan politics turn the human heart to ice.

I hope the day gets some coverage in the news, both here and globally. As for me, I'll be lighting a velita on the 20th of May...and gearing up to grade thirty research papers.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Fern. We're primitos and primitas!

Doing Laundry

My writer friend, Mary, calls it "Doing the laundry." It is what she does when she should be writing. I do the laundry all the time (despite the overflowing hamper in my bedroom). I watch television, clean the slimy gunk in the bathroom, knit the baby blanket I'm making for my cousin, toss the dog's toys around, and write this blog.

One prime example of laundry doing is this brilliant brain sex i.d. quiz which told me I am irrevocably female minded (not to be confused with feeble minded).

Instead of wasting time, I should be writing my next book. I have two lovely ideas, both tragic, both involving boats for some reason. And while those still-infant characters repeatedly rap the insides of my head with their tiny paper knuckles, I'm busy reading The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime and spending my free periods at work stuffing prom envelopes.

Someone ought to give me a detention. Or invite my mom in for one of those horrible parent/teacher conferences I subject my students to. Anything to keep me from slacking.

The Ultimate Obnoxious Question: What is Art?

I am noticing a trend.

First, the backstory. Last weekend I was honored to give a workshop at Connecticut State University's Student Creative Writing Conference. I had three lovely students (two were juniors at Central, another was a high school freshman), and I got to meet writers from all over the state.

While at this conference, I got into a discussion with a writer who was recommending Ana Menendez's book, Loving Che. I've heard of this book before, but haven't read it myself. The person who was recommending the novel was saying that its strength was that the reader can't ever tell what political side of the aisle Menendez is on. He also praised her first book, In Cuba I Was a German Shepherd, because it ignores politics altogether (again, I haven't read either novel. I will, though). This is the trend part.

I've struggled with this idea myself. Does art transcend politics? Well, certainly the English teachers at Loyola, who teach English in Cuba think so. Because they just received a hefty U.S. grant to fund their program, Cuba has kicked them out. Of course, they are crying foul. Politics shouldn't affect learning, right?

Then there's Audioslave , who will be playing in Cuba this month, on the Anti-Imperialist Stage of all places. The band members say that it isn't about the politics. I'm sure they are not getting paid well to do this (note, most of the members in this band were part of another band, Rage Against the Machine. Read into this what you will). They are happy that a country that once imprisoned young people for listening to rock music is letting them play.

Now that I've written a book about Cuba, a book where the characters welcome the revolution at first, then are saddened and separated by its aftermath, I wonder if people will think about where I stand. Will they scorn the book because it doesn't keep politics at arms' length? Should they? Does it matter? Does art transcend politics?

Sometimes it does. But imagine, if you will, a novel about people in Stalinist Russia. Would they have an opinion on, say, the gulags? Or set a novel in Iran now. Will the female protagonist think about the politics that force her to wear a veil? Probably. No, scratch that, most certainly they'd have an opinion. And if art is to resemble life, isn't that opinion part of life, part of the verisimilitud of their story?

Audioslave may feel to their core that politics aren't part of their concert (though with Rage Against the Machine's song titles like "Take the Power Back" and "Township Rebellion" you have to wonder), but I guarantee that every one of their audience members will have politics on the mind in some way. They can't hop on a plane to escape it. They live it and breathe it every day.

Art needs two players, the creator and the spectator, and neither one lives in a vacuum. I can't dismiss politics when I write about Cuba, unless I decide to write a fantasy novel. Call me earth-bound and unenlightenend, but the truth about Cuba, no matter if you swing right or left, is that this is an island nation in serious, unsettling trouble. It has been for a long time. Even art can't ignore that.

Space Geek

You may think all I do is ponder books, and Cuba, and the warm weather. Au contraire! I also think about Star Wars. Recently, I've been doing this a lot.

You should know, if you don't know already, that I sometimes phase in and out of "quintessential geek girl" mode. I watch old episodes of "Lost in Space" in the evenings, think "Deep Space Nine" and "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" are quality television shows, and am nearly beside myself knowing that the final Star Wars movie is almost here.

I know I am not alone in this. I can write about how my heart went pitter-patter when I first heard my husband (then, just a classmate in a high school creative writing class) talking about The Empire Strikes Back. Or what about Diane, my dearest friend, and her utter obsession with the films. Put us together in one room and it will take about fifteen minutes before we reference either the Force or Harrison Ford, or one of us says, "Uta guta, Solo?"

What is it about this particular space opera that touches me so? Don't have an answer. I could very well offer up a bunch of Joseph Campbell mumbo jumbo. But I think it's much more simple. I'm a geek. I love Luke Skywalker and lightsaber battles. If I could own a lightsaber, I would. It would be pink. It would slice and dice with the best of them. And so what if it's so commercial, so what if C-3PO is on a box of Cheez-Its? This is my guilty, guilty pleasure.

I will be there with all the caped, helmeted, cinnamon-bun haired fans when Episode III is released. I won't be in costume, but I'll wish I was in the end. I'm off for now to explore spoiler websites and indulge some more. Catch you all later.

And of course, may the Force be with you.