The Great Multi-Tasking Dilemma

This weekend I'm still trying to finish grading papers (I have twelve left); I'm also preparing the house for my son's Communion reception. This is a multi-layered task, as it also involves mowing the lawn, watering flowers, finding places for a lot of clutter, picking up food, etc. In addition, I'm supposed to use this weekend to put together some Madeline Mann publicity packets (a little at a time is my motto) and write some essays to apply for scholarship aid for my Master's Degree.

Sadly, it's always sort of like this--lots of balls in the air. My husband recently read an article which suggested that if people continued to multi-task with the ferocity that we Americans do now (especially American young people, I think), that human brains would eventually be capable of more multiple shallow thoughts, but less deep thought on any one issue. There's a frightening prediction. I try to remind myself of that when I sit making my endless lists of WHAT MUST BE DONE TODAY. :)

There's a wonderful story by the German writer Heinrich Boll called ACTION WILL BE TAKEN. It's a satire about people's tendency to multi-task and how ridiculous that really is. I think I'll have to re-read it today so that I don't go a little crazy. Or I can turn to the ever-wise words of Robert Frost, who advises in his poem "Take Something Like a Star" that one should find something large, permanent, miraculous to focus on when life gets out of control:

"So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far
We may take something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid."

(Image:http://pearcemayfield.typepad.com/patrick_mayfield)

And The Snow Keeps Falling in the Midwest . . .

Last night, as we watched the snow shawl down outside our window, a relief of white against the blackness, I was reminded of this poem:

Acquainted With The Night

by Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain--and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat,
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

But If It Had to Perish Twice . . .

These photos were sent to me in an e-mail; they were taken in a town called Versoix, Switzerland, and the title of the missive was "You think you're cold?"

The images got me thinking of setting and its power to evoke mood, both in life and literature. This is not just ice, it's a city turned to ice, frozen motion, and there's something both terrifying and beautiful about it, almost as though we have to be reminded of Nature's power in different ways, sometimes, in order for us to see that it is universal.
And naturally, because everything reminds me of poetry, either that someone has written or that I would like to write, I thought of Robert Frost's famous poem, "Fire and Ice."

Fire and Ice

by Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire,
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is just as great,
And would suffice.
I also wonder about the people of Versoix. Is this a regular occurrence for them, something they take in stride each winter? Or were even they surprised by the intensity of this ice, the seeming permanence of it, as though Poseidon had cast a frozen curse upon the land?
In any case, the e-mail served its purpose; sure, it's snowing again here in Chicagoland, and it's supposed to snow all week, but it won't be that much of an effort for me to flick the light stuff off of my car windows. And when I do I'll think of the ice in Versoix.