It was that aimless moment after work and before dinner on a recent Thursday. The stuff of our evening meal–diced potatoes, fava beans, onions and celery–bubbled away under the cover of the tagine. In half an hour, I would add a few lumps of the bilious, Japanese paste called Golden Curry. With steamed rice and dosas from a Gits mix, I’d be set. As I said, it was a Thursday, and at our house, we have supper, not dinner, on Thursdays.
My elderly mother was at the desk in her den, mulling over the daily crossword puzzle. My husband, Kit, was settled in his favorite chair, reading the rest of the newspaper. Yes, in our house, the newspaper is still read and enjoyed each day of the week. I rummaged in the bottom of the refrigerator and found a bottle of Gewurtztraminer from Torrey Ridge Winery, a memento of our last visit to upstate New York.
I poured two glasses of wine, handed one to Kit, and sat on the futon that serves as our sofa. Thoughts of my afternoon labor sloshed around my brain like spicy, aromatic wine washing over my palate. Halfway through the glass of Gewurtz, a question popped into my head.
“Can you name someone who graduated from Harvard College?” I asked my husband.
“Barack Obama,” Kit said without looking up from the metro section.
“That’s Harvard Law. I mean Harvard College, the undergraduate part.”
“Well, Michelle Obama,” he answered in the clipped tone that means I should let him read in peace.
“No, she’s Princeton.”
“For heaven’s sake, George W. Bush, then.”
“Nope, he’s Harvard Business. Both Bushes did undergrad at Yale.”
Kit lowered the paper, drank his wine and looked thoughtfully at me.
“Just name one person off the top of your head who graduated Harvard College.”
“Not Condi Rice…she went someplace in Colorado….Hey, I know: Bill Gates!”
“Gates never finished,” I replied.
“Never finished?”
“He dropped out after a couple years.”
The newspaper slid to the carpet like wine running down the back of a dry throat. We stared at one another for nearly a minute. It was passed time to add Golden Curry to the tagine. I went into the kitchen; Kit headed to my study. He returned as I was serving supper.
“Yo-Yo Ma.”
“What about Yo-Yo Ma?” I asked, heaping rice on his plate.
“He graduated from Harvard College.”
“Oh, Yo-Yo Ma….”
“I found it on Goggle.”
*****
My mother had finished her meal and complemented my cooking, as she does whenever I resort to Golden Curry. Kit was clearing the table. I glanced at the listing for the evening’s television programming in the newspaper.
“Name someone who competed on American Idol,” I said.
“Anybody? Any season?”
“Yeah, anybody, any season.”
“Okay,” Kit replied without pausing as he loaded the dishwasher. “Let’s see, there’s Carrie Underwood, Kelly Clarkson and Ruben Studdard. Then, there’s Clay Aiken and that Sanjaya character. Oh, and what about the guy from the Phoenix suburb where your cousin lives..what was his name? David Hernandez!”
*****
Carrie Underwood is no Yo-Yo Ma, and we Americans may be rightly known around the world for our philistine propensities. But here’s a question for you. If it’s so hard to identify strong role models who studied at Harvard in their formative years, then why do so many promising young people stake their hopes for the future on finding a thick envelope with that famous crimson crest in the mailbox?
cheers!
dkb
http://www.beckeracademic.com
Read Full Post »
Campus Notes 
“American Idol”: 6, Harvard College: 1
Posted in Commentaries, tagged American Idol, Harvard College, undergraduate education on June 27, 2008|
It was that aimless moment after work and before dinner on a recent Thursday. The stuff of our evening meal–diced potatoes, fava beans, onions and celery–bubbled away under the cover of the tagine. In half an hour, I would add a few lumps of the bilious, Japanese paste called Golden Curry. With steamed rice and dosas from a Gits mix, I’d be set. As I said, it was a Thursday, and at our house, we have supper, not dinner, on Thursdays.
My elderly mother was at the desk in her den, mulling over the daily crossword puzzle. My husband, Kit, was settled in his favorite chair, reading the rest of the newspaper. Yes, in our house, the newspaper is still read and enjoyed each day of the week. I rummaged in the bottom of the refrigerator and found a bottle of Gewurtztraminer from Torrey Ridge Winery, a memento of our last visit to upstate New York.
I poured two glasses of wine, handed one to Kit, and sat on the futon that serves as our sofa. Thoughts of my afternoon labor sloshed around my brain like spicy, aromatic wine washing over my palate. Halfway through the glass of Gewurtz, a question popped into my head.
“Can you name someone who graduated from Harvard College?” I asked my husband.
“Barack Obama,” Kit said without looking up from the metro section.
“That’s Harvard Law. I mean Harvard College, the undergraduate part.”
“Well, Michelle Obama,” he answered in the clipped tone that means I should let him read in peace.
“No, she’s Princeton.”
“For heaven’s sake, George W. Bush, then.”
“Nope, he’s Harvard Business. Both Bushes did undergrad at Yale.”
Kit lowered the paper, drank his wine and looked thoughtfully at me.
“Just name one person off the top of your head who graduated Harvard College.”
“Not Condi Rice…she went someplace in Colorado….Hey, I know: Bill Gates!”
“Gates never finished,” I replied.
“Never finished?”
“He dropped out after a couple years.”
The newspaper slid to the carpet like wine running down the back of a dry throat. We stared at one another for nearly a minute. It was passed time to add Golden Curry to the tagine. I went into the kitchen; Kit headed to my study. He returned as I was serving supper.
“Yo-Yo Ma.”
“What about Yo-Yo Ma?” I asked, heaping rice on his plate.
“He graduated from Harvard College.”
“Oh, Yo-Yo Ma….”
“I found it on Goggle.”
*****
My mother had finished her meal and complemented my cooking, as she does whenever I resort to Golden Curry. Kit was clearing the table. I glanced at the listing for the evening’s television programming in the newspaper.
“Name someone who competed on American Idol,” I said.
“Anybody? Any season?”
“Yeah, anybody, any season.”
“Okay,” Kit replied without pausing as he loaded the dishwasher. “Let’s see, there’s Carrie Underwood, Kelly Clarkson and Ruben Studdard. Then, there’s Clay Aiken and that Sanjaya character. Oh, and what about the guy from the Phoenix suburb where your cousin lives..what was his name? David Hernandez!”
*****
Carrie Underwood is no Yo-Yo Ma, and we Americans may be rightly known around the world for our philistine propensities. But here’s a question for you. If it’s so hard to identify strong role models who studied at Harvard in their formative years, then why do so many promising young people stake their hopes for the future on finding a thick envelope with that famous crimson crest in the mailbox?
cheers!
dkb
http://www.beckeracademic.com
Read Full Post »