Push-up

According to signage at the Institute for the Study of Ancient Cultures, nude female figurines cupping their breasts emphasize fertility. While we may be in no position to question the scholars who assert this, my older daughter and I do wonder if it is possible that the pose might simply emphasize “being a woman.” Certainly, cupping one’s own breasts can be a sexual display (fertility). But sometimes women just hoist ‘em: when wondering when we will need a real bra, for example; when aching during menstruation or before nursing; when lamenting the southerly migration of our once-fine assets; and apparently when seeking to reduce stress.

The plaque for the figure with the incised archer (pictured above) indicates that the piece, dated between 900 and 550 BC, was crafted eight thousand years after the earliest examples of female figures holding their breasts. And now we also wonder how, of all of the possible attributes, gestures, tasks, work, etc., this one pose became the artistic representation of “woman” across millennia.

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.