Amanda-Leigh and the Lovely Alcotts

A few days have passed since I have composed morning writings on here. For this, I sincerely apologize. The week began with a visit to my doctor for a lump inside my stomach originating from my battle with blood clots. How can a woman fully open up about those feelings with the world right away? As much as a woman tries to escape a battle with blood clots, the harsh reality will always exist. No matter how much I have tried to become independent of my health problems, they will continue to exist. I am not completely independent of blood clots and probably never will be.

At my doctor’s appointment, I learned I had scar tissue from the Lovenox shots injected in my lower abdomen twice a day during my three hospital stays from July 23, 2010, September 13, 2010, and January 23, 2011. In most cases, the blood vessels break up within a few months instead of being in one big clump. My case can be considered rare. My doctor had not seen this before, and she told me to report any pain or swelling if it happens. I agreed to do this.

After Tuesday’s beautiful weather, all havoc broke loose from above. That’s right, for the next two days, our yards were covered in solid sheets of snow. Even today, my faithful Weatherbug is warning me about a winter advisory. The weather may be frightful but the weather inside is delightful. Since yesterday morning, I have felt extremely cheerful and happier.

I had been “patiently” waiting on the acceptance letter from the college I chose to apply to in my state. The timing this letter arrived could not have been more perfect! Yesterday I needed divine love, and this arrived in the form of an acceptance letter. I will be able to enroll for the summer semester on April fourth. An e-mail address was provided in the letter to get in contact for an Academic Advisor for online courses. This news flew pretty fast thanks to a social networking site. Pretty soon I had likes on the status and picture of the acceptance letter. This made not being able to get outside easier for me to handle.

I also received my pink ballet shoes in the mail yesterday. My burgundy leotard should arrive today. When I think about dancing, I don’t do so with any physical limitations. I may have a history with blood clots, but this does not define the woman God made me. Thinking about how independent and flexible dancers are provides a sense of hope for my own life. The way dancers can do splits in the air and tumbles never ceases to amaze me. There is a unique style dancers carry out that makes a person wonder how this language was created. This is a language of character as well. Character was once instilled in these dancers early on in their lives. Character was shaped on the love of an art. In this case, the art happens to be dancing. If this character and love had not been nourished by faithful attendance, the art would be non-existent in modernism. Women like me are able to enjoy and appreciate dedication and hard work involved with dancing.

This is the way I view my own love, which is literature. With snow falling outside, inside I finished reading Miss Alcott of Concord by Marjorie Worthington. Worthington provides a wealth of knowledge over Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Transcendentalism movement in literature, the anti-slavery movement in American history, and the life of Louisa May Alcott. Still, I am not too fond of Worthington as a writer. In the reader’s role, I felt uncomfortable throughout the entire story. It took every ounce of patience I had to finish the book. If I was not a big fan of Louisa May Alcott, no energy would have been spent continuing on the journey.

The first disagreement I find with Worthington's book are the extremely offensive terms invalidism and cripple. These terms are used in Worthington’s book. To clarify, these terms are degrading to people with physical and mental disabilities. When used, there is a stigma that places every person into one simple category. We are not invalids. We are not bedridden for the most part, and those who are should not be looked down on. We are not crippled either. We have hopes, dreams, and goals just like everybody else who walks this Earth. We are able to live independent lives. if anybody feels burdened by our presence, then we do not need each other. This is how I feel about Worthington’s misguided use of these degrading terms. I do not feel the need to explain further as the subject upsets me. We have advanced from being locked in closets and hidden from society.

 Another thing I disagree with is Worthington’s continued degradation of Bronson Alcott. When I read this biography, I get the uncomfortable feeling Worthington does not value the unsuccessful man who struggles each day to survive. More emphasis is given to the relationship between Ralph Waldo Emerson and Louisa May Alcott. When Louisa May Alcott became ill with typhoid pneumonia at Union Hospital in Washington D.C., Bronson Alcott traveled the distance to take her home. As a career, Mr. Alcott travels the countryside lecturing and advocating for education. Mr. Alcott does forget the needs of his girls at home. The way Worthington portrays Mr. Alcott is anti-man. The message being sent is that we should look down on this man because he did not provide well financially. Mr. Emerson’s financial wealth provided the majority of the Alcott’s needs. Was Mr. Alcott the only man in America who had to rely on traveling for employment? I do not feel Worthington shows mercy on Mr. Alcott's character nor does she depict his role of a man with the justice he deserved. Could Mr. Alcott's nomadic ways and giving up his money to everybody else have been signs he lived with a mental illness as a theory for the famous Russian writer, Leo Tolstoy? 

 I also get the impression Worthington thinks Louisa May Alcott would have been better off being born an Emerson than an Alcott because of this reason alone. In this biography, not much history is provided on Bronson Alcott’s parents or Abigail May Alcott’s parents. Mr. Alcott’s mother is sprung on readers the way a baby is in Charlotte Perkins Gillman's "The Yellow Wallpaper.” Does Mr. Alcott stay with his mother when he travels to lecture? We are disappointed readers as we are not well-informed about Mr. Alcott’s published books. Again, more emphasis is placed on the literary success of Mr. Emerson along with Nathaniel Hawthorne. This is disappointing since Mr. Alcott fathered Louisa May and nurtured her education. Mr. Alcott and Louisa May were born on November 29th and passed away two days apart in March 1888. This must prove the pair really did share a special bond. 

I hope everybody stays warm today. I am enjoying the moods of wintertime. This takes me back to the first stories I read as a child. I remember with fondness. Winter can be a dreary time for most people, especially those who are also in my situation. What keeps me going is realizing that tomorrow’s weather may be nice and sunny. Spring and summer will be here soon. We won’t be able to enjoy the winter as we do now.