Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons
I am just floored by all the new things I am learning for Triss' next school year. I am going through her book list, and every time I open another book, I think, "Wow, this is great!" and then "Whoa, this is deep!" and then "Gee, I wonder how far she has to understand this in order for me to count it 'done'?"
I am currently reading Postmodern Times by Veith, The Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis, and I started skimming The God Who is There by Schaeffer last night. I need to slow down, but the clock is ticking. Between out-of-town guests and out-of-town trips, I've only got a couple more weeks open this summer to get the tracks laid down for next year.
Ever since I started Postmodern Times, I have found myself playing with the term "postmodern" like a shiny new toy, labeling everything with it:
--Architecture-- the mall nearest to us has got the mismatched little-bit-of-every-era design.
--The children's library books-- they just discovered the Choose Your Own Adventure series.
--Musical theater-- the Stephen Sondheim musical, "Into the Woods," keeps popping into my head as I read. (We haven't allowed the kids to see that one, but perhaps it might be a proper illustration of nihilism, if I'm using the word correctly. Actually, Seinfeld would be more to the point, but what does "Into the Woods" illustrate, I wonder? Despair?)
--Movies-- "Edward Scissorhands" is one I haven't seen in years, but keep thinking about.
--The two subdivisions on either side of our neighborhood, each boasting a water park, fanciful Disneyland styling, and an out-of-Texas Main Street experience-- one is modeled after a nonexistent Rhode Island neighborhood, and the other emulates a village on the coast of Georgia, complete with palm trees. Before we bought this house in its sensible subdivision, we thought it would be infinitely more interesting to live in one of those neighborhoods (we call them the Disney neighborhoods, although they are not affiliated with Disney). But in the fanciful homes we could afford, the closets were too small.
--the Internet-- between social networking sites and blogging, it is the ultimate narrative generator. (For instance, all you are getting from me in this post is my interest in school-- I'm not telling you about the dirty laundry awaiting my attention, the children's little squabbles, my struggles with unforgiveness and temptation, or the number of flies that are currently in our house. I haven't shared those things on FB either. ;o)
At this point, I wonder if these things really do reflect postmodernism, or if this word is simply the flavor of the month for me. They probably do, because from what I have read so far, it sounds like we are in the thick of postmodern times.