Never underestimate the power of little pleasures

Maybe I just boxed myself into a corner. I mean, of the scores and scores of blog entries I have written in the last 45 months (wow—really?) many felt epic, at least to me. They were jeremiads or sermon-ettes, or inspired by big, big things, and sometimes I forgot about the simple little pleasures that can make a day. I think each blog entry must be Churchill-ian or Orwell-ian in scope.

Yesterday I went to McDonald’s. Now, that is not a big surprise, except that I went on Friday instead of on Saturday night when I usually stop by the big McDonald’s on Airport Road about 10 minutes out of Amman and 20 minutes before KA. I rarely go to McDonald’s while I am in the United States, (he hastens to add!) but here in Jordan, again, almost every Saturday night. I go on my way back from church heading back to school and gearing up for the new school week. I go every week for several reasons, not least of which is that the hot fries are really good. Yes, I have seen the movie Supersize Me and not only did that not curb the weekly habit, it made me hungry for Saturday night. But I go in part to McDonald’s every Saturday night because it gives this world-away-from-home some structure and predictability. That in itself is a little pleasure (maybe even a big pleasure).

I went to McDonald’s yesterday because two guys from class missed some extra classes this week and they wanted to study the art they missed. As we wind down the AP Art History class, I wanted to make sure I didn’t rush too much through early 20th century art, so I added three classes in a segment of the day called “O Block” at the end of the school day. It is a catch-all time when various clubs could meet or AP lab sciences or anyone else who wants to claim it. I wanted to meet and discuss the art of Edvard Munch and Gustav Klimt one day, Pablo Picasso (rather big in the course you might imagine) another day, and then some crazy Russians, Malevich and Tatlin on a third day. Omar and Ramie were already “claimed” by another zealous teacher and were going to miss the extra classes.

Of course they could have just read the textbook and learned a fair amount. I am also so hip now with technology that I post all the power point slide shows on-line so you can zip through the art works anytime you want (oh, my, the changes from when I started teaching this course a decade ago with the slides!). But Ramie and Omar wanted to meet and really discuss the art, so I suggested we meet on our day off for lunch at McDonald’s. Now, it’s one thing to suggest a meeting, and it’s also one thing to intend to want to study more, but it’s another thing for teen-agers to follow through on that! Omar and Ramie really showed up! But then again, I knew they would—these are in the cream of the crop.

We met a little after 1:00 and we decided to go outside to a table and do all the art stuff first. The noise was a little loud inside—McDonald’s is very popular in Jordan—and the “Habibi songs” were cranked up a little too much. (“habibi” is an endearment in Arabic, and to my ears, every Arabic song sounds alike with a heavy emphasis on panting about your “habibi.” I guess that would be like almost 50 years ago when to older ears every “Beatles” song sounded alike!) So we sat outside and looked at the art on the laptop, discussing it, noting how this art broke with traditional expectations and conventions of art, seeing links with older eras of art, and trying to understand what theories they developed. Kazimir Malevich is an especially interesting artist—but you have to meet him on his own terms. His art is called “Suprematism” (oh, the explosion of –isms at this time is daunting and hilarious!) and he imbues his art with theories of color. Black, for example, is the supreme feeling—Omar noted that black, as an artistic value, is actually the combination of all other colors, and so that made perfect sense to him. White is the absence of feeling, a void that has been created. We looked at an art work, White Square on White Square, and instead of the obvious, “Oh, please, that’s nothing!” they realized that Malevich was bemoaning the fate of the world. Malevich fell into the same camp as Sigmund Freud at the time lamenting that civilization had gone so far and would never recover. They discussed the historical phenomena that might allow Malevich’s pessimism to overwhelm him the way he showed the white overwhelming and consuming all the feeling.

After about an hour we went inside, got the fast-food that cardiologists warn us about and we proceeded to sit and talk. I had thought I would be back on campus an hour before I was, but it was such a pleasurable, casual time sitting with Omar and Ramie and talking about New York, about college, about home towns, about teaching and school and headmasters, all those things that just pop up in an organic and enjoyable conversation. At 3:30 I got in the car, stopped at the grocery store and headed back to campus.

Not a life-changing event, no camels, no spiritual or sit-com revelations, just an enjoyable afternoon with curious, hard-working, fun students.

On another note, I had to call Hamzeh and say that I would be late. We had an appointment for a “graded talk,” but I knew he wasn’t in a rush, and I decided not to be the German train I am 99% of the time. This “graded talk” has been a good idea. Another little pleasure this weekend.

In the History of the 20th Century class I had assigned a memoir by a man named Alfons Heck that is entitled, A Child of Hitler: the Days When God Wore a Swastika. Some title, huh? It is a compelling read about a young man in the Hitler youth who, down the road, must come to terms with what Germany did in the Second World War. In the end he pleads for sympathy and understanding, stating that he is a victim of Adolf Hitler as well. I decided on an unusual assignment: I wanted each student to explore a different WWII-era film, so I wondered if they could juxtapose the memoir and the film. Before the paper was due I told the class I had changed my mind about the paper and I preferred that we sit and discuss the assignment, one-on-one, instead. As we come toward the end of the school year, there are fewer times for good one-on-one discussions.

Yesterday I had four of these discussions, all very exciting, very pleasurable, and all different. Each student looks at the book differently given the movie they have watched, and so far, each has found an unusual parallel in the book to illumine something about the war they hadn’t considered before. Faisal watched Spielberg’s Empire of the Sun and found a great parallel of the two lads, Hamzeh watched The Great Escape, Zeyna saw Casablanca and Rob enjoyed The Pianist, and again, each found insights very original from juxtaposing the film and the memoir. I have 10 more of these to enjoy in the next couple days.

Somehow in the midst of all this talk—either in McDonald’s, my apartment, or the Dining Hall or my car—I thought of the biblical image of the Peaceable Kingdom, the highly unlikely scene Isaiah paints for us of peaceful co-existence. I don’t know why it popped into my head, but again, I live in Biblical Territory, so maybe seeing those hills of David just beyond us here creates that open space for Bible images. Maybe it is also perhaps from the images in the news from the Middle East these first 99 days of 2011—we live in a world that reminds us again and again how preposterous the idea of a peaceable kingdom is, and how unnatural. Isaiah lived at a time and in a world red in tooth and claw, a time and a world in which insecurity and terror was the norm, war was routine, natural, inevitable. I would bet that Isaiah was laughed out of many a room for this co-existence silliness. “That Isaiah,” they’d hoot, “he’s mad as a hatter and crazy as a loon.”

Peaceful co-existence. Do you believe it is worthy of our highest efforts? I do. Or at least on my good days, I do. Even on my bad days, I really want to. But of course, courage and wisdom and love are forged slowly and painfully. As I thought about it, this concept of a peaceable kingdom may be unnatural but not foolishness.

Oh, all of this comes from having a 30-minute drive back to campus. I am sure if I had not had that drive I wouldn’t have even wondered about my little pleasures with my students and the chance of a greater peaceable kingdom. Right now the drive is almost like a drive through Ireland with the beautiful spring carpets of green here in Jordan, and that time to wonder and reflect and have my mind dance as I drive to and from Amman.

I resent that drive sometimes—like when I want to go out to breakfast or brunch on a Friday and it is a 45-minute drive to get to a decent place for brunch. But maybe it is the quiet drives that have allowed some of the wonderings and jeremiads of the last 45 months.

Anyway, I pull into the KA driveway, wait for the security guard to open the gate, park the car and put away the musings about the peaceable kingdom for the moment. This is a weekend of little pleasures and savoring of these exquisite conversations.