Habitual

My older daughter walks to work, and it is one of life’s gifts that she enjoys my company; her call each weekday morning is both alarm and balm. Until recently, I tackled some chores, walked in my own neighborhood, or snuggled deeper into my nest of blankets and lounging cats while we chatted. One morning last month, though, I rose, walked down the hall, and hopped on the exercise bike when her call came in – painlessly adding another twenty minutes of movement to my day. One day of biking followed another, then another, then another, and now it’s a habit (if still a relatively new one).

Simple rituals, such as my daughter’s call, and habits, such as biking during that call, give the day a reliable rhythm (and, in this case, a great delight) and help me meet objectives (e.g., increase movement) or goals (e.g., maintain healthy blood pressure). I learned this well during the years I worked while parenting and teaching, and it’s a lesson I credit with slow but steady improvements in my physical fitness and music performance. But even someone as committed as I am to the value of small changes, mindful plans, and reliable rhythms requires a periodic reminder.

Late last summer, I appended a note to my work on Lesson 7 of my Latin tutorial: “I recognize that I may be your slowest student ever but trust that if this represented a problem, you would advise me.” My wonderful tutor more than allayed my concerns, but I still hoped to pick up the pace – only to fall short of my expectations week after week. Although I continued to use long drives to and from adventures in Chicago, Milwaukee, and Ann Arbor for vocabulary, declension, and conjugation review, progress with the translations and readings stalled after my Lesson 8 submission in the fall. How was I able to add another walk to my day, another instrument to my practice roster, another course or book group to my calendar but not consistently work on the Latin lessons? I lacked neither time nor interest. What was the deal?

Captain Obvious finally smacked me with the Wheelock’s text: My Latin studies lacked a ritual or habit. So. After my first walk last Monday, I worked on them for an hour. The same on Tuesday. Then Wednesday. And so an infant habit is born, one that yields a completed lesson every three weeks, dovetails the other tasks on my daily schedule, and suits to my learning style. 

“I am Misanthropos and hate mankind.”

The always excellent Christopher Prentice at the Newberry Library on Saturday.

On Saturday, the Shakespeare Project of Chicago (SPC) presented Timon of Athens at the Newberry Library — their first reading in that venue since February 2020.

Put up thy gold: go on, — here’s gold, — go on;
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove
Will o’er some high-viced city hang his poison
In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one….

Timon of Athens, Act IV, Scene iii

Peter Garino in the titular role absolutely rocked, but the rest of the cast was excellent, too. What a return!

My affection for SPC’s work is long-lived. My son and I attended our first SPC production, The Merchant of Venice, twenty-one years ago. That fall, we saw The Two Gentlemen of Verona, directed by Jeff Christian, who also played Valentine; then, in 2005, we caught The Winter’s Tale. After that, the move from Chicago coupled with busy weekend schedules prevented us from attending the theatrical readings.

Nearly a decade later, though, in February 2014, I finally introduced my husband and daughters to the SPC, and in a neat “full circle” moment, the production was The Two Gentlemen of Verona, directed by Jeff Christian. For a few moments, it felt as if time were bending, folding in upon itself as I remembered encountering this play with my son while my husband took our then quite young daughters to play in a nearby park.

The four of us also saw All’s Well That Ends Well in 2014, and in 2016, we attended three SPC productions: The Winter’s Tale in January, Cymbeline in late February, and Cardenio in April. Excellent, all, but Tale featured Christopher Prentice and so provided the synchronicity / serendipity / synthesis I so appreciate. You see, Prentice was a standout at the Illinois Shakespeare Festival we attended in 2014 — an impressive Beatrice in Much Ado about Nothing and a perfect Ned in Elizabeth Rex. At Much Ado, in another of those moments in which time bent, folded upon itself, and left me breathless, we read in the program that Prentice was a founding member of the now-defunct Signal Theatre Ensemble, and I remembered that in 2003 he played Benedick in Much Ado,a production my son and I saw at a studio of the Anthenaeum Theatre on the grounds of St. Alphonsus Church in Chicago. 

Time bends and folds.

After our daughters headed to university and beyond, my husband and I continued to attend SPC readings: Henry V in October 2016, King John and The Changeling in 2017; Coriolanus and Women Beware Women in 2018; Titus Andronicus in 2019; and Richard III in early 2020. Yesterday’s was the first we attended at the Newberry Library, and despite the wildly uncomfortable chairs, we think we may continue to see them there. (We saw the other readings at the Highland Park, Winnetka, and Vernon Area public libraries).

Speaking of time’s bends and folds, Christopher Prentice introduced yesterday’s program.

The material in today’s entry was culled from an earlier post
and the title comes from
Timon of Athens, Act IV, Scene iii.