A good day in NYC

Dear friends and family,

Today is our son Lincoln’s birthday. Hooray Lincoln! What a wonderful person you have turned out to be.

Not a surprise because even as a child, he was remarkably caring about others—and brilliant. I know it’s wrong to brag about one's children, but Lincoln has special gifts. He knows how things work and knows how to explain how they work to others. All our children have admirable skills, each one very different from the others. It's been quite a trip. We took care of our sons—and now they take care of us. I feel so lucky.

Thanks to Laury, we had a good 24 hours or so in NYC. She dropped us off at the door at #32, where I was greeted with hugs from Ricardo, a witty doorman there, and then by Terry, the helpful porter. I felt that I was coming home. Though physically I was having one of my weak days, I was mentally energized by the city and very glad to be in our pied-a-terre. The view out the window of Bryant Park with all the surrounding buildings thrills me. Merwin got take-out food from my favorite restaurant in the neighborhood, Szechuan Gourmet, and we enjoyed a quiet evening, reading and listening to music.

The next morning, our almost 5th son Rick came to have breakfast with us. I felt up to walking to the corner of 40th and 6th to Pax, a chain restaurant offering very good value. Nothing fancy at all: pick up your food at various stations and choose a plastic table. But very tasty. Rick left us early, and we continued to enjoy our quiet time. In the afternoon we walked across the street into Bryant Park and stopped off at a few of the boutiques that pop up before Christmas. Laury picked us up and brought us home. What a dear!

Home again, I returned to the essay I am struggling to write for her collection of essays. It's coming along very slowly. My thinking is OK; I know what I want to say. The problem is just getting everything in order.

Unfortunately, Merwin is not feeling particularly well. It may have been set off by the Chinese food, though he did not eat the most spicy dish, the baby eggplant in garlic sauce, which is HOT! I am so aware of how much he does for me, how little I can do for him, and how much I need him.

I heard last evening by phone from an old conference friend. It was quite a surprise. Knowing that I am writing about Measure for Measure, he wants me to read something he has written about the play, an essay that he feels has been ignored by the Shakespeare establishment. I recognize the feeling. An essay I wrote about the play years ago has as far as I know never been cited by anyone. There is an Internet program that allows you to find out who has cited your work, but I don’t mind not knowing. I get my revenge by citing my old essay myself both in the Measure for Measure edition and in my current essay, So there!

I have wanted to write about the politics of citing the work of others. My colleagues definitely prefer to cite the well-known scholars, those that are known even to civilians, even if someone obscure like me has written something worth while. The relatively open community of Shakespeareans have their prejudices. I call the community “open” because from the beginning, I was welcomed in the most heartening way.

My good friend Ken Rothwell was partly responsible for that: he got me an invitation to join a seminar at the Modern Language Association the very first year I switched from Medieval Scottish literature to Shakespeare. Earlier that year, 1976, we had started the Shakespeare on Film Newsletter, which has been absorbed into the Shakespeare Bulletin since 1992. Ken died about a week ago, having had a wonderful life as husband, father, scholar, teacher, athlete and friend.

Rambling on . . . .
Love,
Bernice