Latest news with #Proust
Hamilton Spectator
7 days ago
- General
- Hamilton Spectator
Antisemitism, celibacy and the piano: Iqaluit's Catholic priest takes Proust Questionnaire
Rev. Barry Bercier has been a Roman Catholic priest for more than four decades. Originally from Connecticut, he served all across the U.S. and also spent a few years in Jerusalem. But he always had a calling to go to the North, he says. Over the years, he spent several summers in Greenland, and in 2017 he came to Igloolik and served as a priest for three years. And for the past year and a half, Bercier has been the sole priest at Iqaluit's Our Lady of Assumption Roman Catholic Church. In his apartment attached to the Iqaluit church, Bercier took some time to answer the Proust Questionnaire. What is your idea of perfect happiness? Well, it's something not realizable in this lifetime, for sure. But the goal of happiness, I think, is to be what you were created to be — a human being. It's to be with and for other people. What is your greatest fear? Failing to do this. What is your greatest regret? Maybe not having kids of my own. And that was not a thing that was focused on when we were training to be priests. This talk about celibacy and, you know, not having sex and all that, but not having kids is really the big thing. So that's regret. But life is choices, and to choose this is to not choose that. And I guess, not having kids is the sacrifice of making this choice. I would probably just do the same thing over again if I had to, but I think they should change that. They should do away with this requirement of celibacy. Which living person do you most admire? Most of the people I admire are dead. I'm gonna be 80 this year, so I can only think of a bunch of dead people. What is your greatest achievement? Well, I wrote a couple of books, and I just recently finished another one [expected to be released this summer, titled The Bond]. What is your current state of mind? I'm not sure. I like being up here in the North. But I don't know what's next, and like I said, I'm gonna be turning 80 soon, so maybe there isn't that much of a next. But still, it's the question on my mind right now. Which person do you most despise? Nothing gets my goat more than an antisemite. If somebody starts to talk along those lines, my ordinarily calm personality explodes. It's something I cannot tolerate. Which talent would you most like to have? I wish I could play the piano. I wanted to do that when I was a kid, and I used to ask my parents for piano lessons but we were kind of poor and so that never happened. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? I'm convinced of divine providence and that God works with what you have, and that includes your limitations. So I would not want to change anything. How would you like to die? Well, I don't want to be sick for long. I don't think I want to die saying 'oops,' because I fell off a ladder or something like that. I would like to have a few people around who are close. Nunatsiaq News is borrowing the old Proust Questionnaire parlour game to get to know people who are in the news. If you know someone in your community who our readers should get to know by taking this questionnaire, let us know by email: editors@ . Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .
Yahoo
10-07-2025
- Automotive
- Yahoo
Rev up the luxury: These pro tips will make your car smell like a 5-star hotel
Our sense of smell has an outsized power to shape our memories. Just ask Marcel Proust, legions of neurologists ... or me. I'll never forget my first experience sitting inside a Mercedes S-Class. I found myself enveloped in an aroma that I can only describe as "luxurious." It wasn't "new car smell" but an elegant, discrete perfume that seriously enhanced the time spent in that car. It reminded me of staying in a nice hotel or getting dressed up and going to dinner at a fancy restaurant. I've long forgotten the name of that scent, but I'll never forget the class it exuded the moment I plunked myself down. While I won't be driving a Mercedes S-Class again anytime soon, in my decade as a car expert, I've learned a few tricks — namely that you can make any car feel a little bit more luxurious and a whole lot more spa-fresh. With a little bit of upkeep and a few tried and true tools, your car may not be a Mercedes on the outside, but it'll come a whole lot closer to feeling like one on the inside. I know, I know, what fun is that? Actually, cleaning? I hate to say it, but no amount of scent is going to mask the rotting French fries you have under the seat. Luckily, it doesn't take much to clean out a vehicle. A regular once-over with a car vacuum will keep the buildup of pet hair and stale Cheerios to a minimum. And an over-the-seat garbage can like this one will keep wrappers (and stinky scents) from accumulating. Unless you never plan to eat at a drive-thru or jump in the car after a day at the beach, you're going to need something to combat odors. You don't just want to mask nasty scents, you want to eliminate and neutralize them. That means updating your filters and keeping some odor absorbers on hand. Forget those little fragrance trees hanging from your rearview mirror. They emit a chemical smell and, honestly, their scents are way too strong. There are many better options out there that smell better, last longer and won't hinder your view of the road. Looking for a scent solution that is long-lasting, customizable, and will make your car feel a bit more like a spa? A diffuser is what you want. These devices release a scented essential oil into the air, much like a perfume. Available in both a powered version that releases aromas into the air in predetermined intervals or a passive vent clip that utilizes your vehicle's HVAC to fragrance the air. Just like you use fragrance sprays for your home, you can use them in the car. It is important to note that, no matter how big of a ride you pilot, your vehicle is much more compact than your home, so a little fragrance goes a long way.
Sydney Morning Herald
04-07-2025
- General
- Sydney Morning Herald
Why do I lie awake at night? Because it kept my ancestors alive
Gloom begets gloom. Darkness is the perfect environment for anxiety. As I'm taking nightly refuge in bed, whatever anxieties I currently have enliven into a rude health they couldn't hope to attain while I'm in daylight and din. A gutter that has rusted through is dripping outside my window, sounding like a bass drum keeping slow time for a funeral march. It is a noise that, during daytime, would be so unremarkable as to need someone to point it out to me. 'Listen. Do you hear that? I think your gutter's buggered.' But at night, when the anxieties emerge gaudied from their dressing rooms and begin to dance across the stage of my mind, the dripping gutter keeps time for the worries that need immediate attention. The gutter itself must be replaced. Reminding me (drip) every five seconds (drip) of the accelerating deterioration of the house, the floorboards need polishing, the walls painting, and then, of course … the deterioration of everything, of the friendships, of the faculties, and the organs, the memory, the prospects, the dwindling likelihood of ever understanding crypto … life's abstract imperfections blossom into a banal apocalypse given silence and darkness. I'm a better friend to myself during the day than at night. I think we all are. Maybe the night brings honesty, a more accurate reckoning of who we are. Maybe I'm cutting myself too much slack as I skip through my days. During daytime, I get on well with the ghosts of my past – but at night they seem a degraded crew who never got off their arses to have a go. The 'what ifs' and 'I shouldn't haves' mingle and mate in the mind until cause and effect give birth to a roughshod, idiot tribe of Ansons who have galloped headlong at disgrace. It's impossible to sleep with this going on. And sleep is a type of healing, so if you don't get enough you rise sick in the morning. At one stage I was getting about two hours a night. You'd be amazed at what an abstract, removed world this becomes when you're sleep-deprived, groggily walking around in a near dream. I was colourblind on two hours' sleep a night. I'm a much better sleeper than that now and the world is, again, ablaze with colour. Proust wrote in a cork-lined room so he had no distractions and his thoughts could be better heard. The stillness of night performs the same function as that cork room, allowing your worries to amplify until they're like those Red Army propagandists bawling through speakers in the icy Stalingrad night across the frozen Volga at the frostbitten soldiers of the German 6th Army: 'Every seven seconds a German soldier dies in Stalingrad. Every seven seconds a German soldier dies in Stalingrad.' A lot of people lie in bed listening to versions of that. Loading The dark is where evil traditionally lives – the night was always a time of tension. In past nights carnivores loped across plains with their noses to the breeze for your ancestors' scent – those who slept soundly woke in bears' bellies and have no descendants. Witches ride brooms and every haint and devil is at their pomp in blackness; ghosts that are knock-kneed and pot-bellied in sunlight are warlords by midnight; muggers and hatchet men lean into suburban hedges waiting for passers-by. A subconscious vigilance in the small hours kept our ancestors alive and it buzzes in us still. The brain is looking for threat and primed for negative thinking and, without the distraction of kids, PlayStation, and business meetings, becomes trapped in a negative loop. I used to try to get to sleep by thinking mild and pleasant thoughts. But my brain is as likely to be led into slumber by mental elevator music as a rhino is into a horse float. Now I reach for my e-book. The room remains in darkness and Sarah undisturbed. The e-book is a portal into the waking world from the swamp of my nocturnal thoughts. A way out of the night, an escape hatch, a path to Shangri-La … to all those Neverlands authors offer. 'I reject completely the vulgar, shabby, fundamentally medieval world of Freud, with its crankish quest for sexual symbols (something like searching for Baconian acrostics in Shakespeare's works), and its bitter little embryos spying upon the love life of their parents.'
The Age
04-07-2025
- General
- The Age
Why do I lie awake at night? Because it kept my ancestors alive
Gloom begets gloom. Darkness is the perfect environment for anxiety. As I'm taking nightly refuge in bed, whatever anxieties I currently have enliven into a rude health they couldn't hope to attain while I'm in daylight and din. A gutter that has rusted through is dripping outside my window, sounding like a bass drum keeping slow time for a funeral march. It is a noise that, during daytime, would be so unremarkable as to need someone to point it out to me. 'Listen. Do you hear that? I think your gutter's buggered.' But at night, when the anxieties emerge gaudied from their dressing rooms and begin to dance across the stage of my mind, the dripping gutter keeps time for the worries that need immediate attention. The gutter itself must be replaced. Reminding me (drip) every five seconds (drip) of the accelerating deterioration of the house, the floorboards need polishing, the walls painting, and then, of course … the deterioration of everything, of the friendships, of the faculties, and the organs, the memory, the prospects, the dwindling likelihood of ever understanding crypto … life's abstract imperfections blossom into a banal apocalypse given silence and darkness. I'm a better friend to myself during the day than at night. I think we all are. Maybe the night brings honesty, a more accurate reckoning of who we are. Maybe I'm cutting myself too much slack as I skip through my days. During daytime, I get on well with the ghosts of my past – but at night they seem a degraded crew who never got off their arses to have a go. The 'what ifs' and 'I shouldn't haves' mingle and mate in the mind until cause and effect give birth to a roughshod, idiot tribe of Ansons who have galloped headlong at disgrace. It's impossible to sleep with this going on. And sleep is a type of healing, so if you don't get enough you rise sick in the morning. At one stage I was getting about two hours a night. You'd be amazed at what an abstract, removed world this becomes when you're sleep-deprived, groggily walking around in a near dream. I was colourblind on two hours' sleep a night. I'm a much better sleeper than that now and the world is, again, ablaze with colour. Proust wrote in a cork-lined room so he had no distractions and his thoughts could be better heard. The stillness of night performs the same function as that cork room, allowing your worries to amplify until they're like those Red Army propagandists bawling through speakers in the icy Stalingrad night across the frozen Volga at the frostbitten soldiers of the German 6th Army: 'Every seven seconds a German soldier dies in Stalingrad. Every seven seconds a German soldier dies in Stalingrad.' A lot of people lie in bed listening to versions of that. Loading The dark is where evil traditionally lives – the night was always a time of tension. In past nights carnivores loped across plains with their noses to the breeze for your ancestors' scent – those who slept soundly woke in bears' bellies and have no descendants. Witches ride brooms and every haint and devil is at their pomp in blackness; ghosts that are knock-kneed and pot-bellied in sunlight are warlords by midnight; muggers and hatchet men lean into suburban hedges waiting for passers-by. A subconscious vigilance in the small hours kept our ancestors alive and it buzzes in us still. The brain is looking for threat and primed for negative thinking and, without the distraction of kids, PlayStation, and business meetings, becomes trapped in a negative loop. I used to try to get to sleep by thinking mild and pleasant thoughts. But my brain is as likely to be led into slumber by mental elevator music as a rhino is into a horse float. Now I reach for my e-book. The room remains in darkness and Sarah undisturbed. The e-book is a portal into the waking world from the swamp of my nocturnal thoughts. A way out of the night, an escape hatch, a path to Shangri-La … to all those Neverlands authors offer. 'I reject completely the vulgar, shabby, fundamentally medieval world of Freud, with its crankish quest for sexual symbols (something like searching for Baconian acrostics in Shakespeare's works), and its bitter little embryos spying upon the love life of their parents.'
Boston Globe
21-06-2025
- Politics
- Boston Globe
Still marching after all these years
Many of us have had a lot of practice: Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq. We protested every bad government action. Advertisement I learned nonviolent civil disobedience from my parents, growing up in Brooklyn. They were activists even before Vietnam. During the civil rights movement, in 1964, driving through St. Augustine, Fla., they attended a demonstration. When protesters refused to leave a sit-in attempting to integrate the Ponce de Leon Motor Lodge restaurant, some were arrested and jailed. My parents were not arrested, but they were present, in solidarity, as lifelong believers in human rights, in including Black Americans in the American Dream. What we now call DEI was already a good goal. Advertisement And me? Young as I was, my good-girl head was down, finishing my master's thesis on Proust, in graduate school far away. I was merely an educated girl, not political yet, not focused on the common good as they were. Both of them had been radicals in the 1930s, when Jewish leftists and others hoped that a popular front could remake US labor relations, control capitalist greed, and bring America closer to equality for women and people of color. Paul Robeson was one of their idols, along with Eleanor Roosevelt. Later, they opposed the Vietnam War, just as my husband and I did. In 1968, running against feckless Hubert Humphrey, treacherous Richard Nixon promised to end the war, and then prolonged it until more than 50,000 men my age died, as well as countless Vietnamese and Cambodians. In 1972 my father worked to elect Elizabeth Holtzman, also of Brooklyn, to Congress. So she was in the House of Representatives in time to vote to impeach the corrupt Nixon in the summer of 1974. My father, with ALS sapping his body, had followed the investigation and trial avidly from the green couch in the living room. But he missed out on the ending. By August he was in a coma; he died two days short of Nixon's ignominious exit. The night Nixon left, making his awkward, hypocritical peace signs, my mother and I were dining in the dim kitchen with my cousin Sherry, grieving and rejoicing. In that painful, complex mood, we poured some wine and drank to him: 'Marty should have been here to see this day.' 'Daddy should have been here.' Advertisement I know my parents would be out with me on the streets now. They were there, in a sense — at a #HandsOff rally on April 5 in Newton, at an April 19 event to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the beginning of the American Revolution in Waltham, and then at the 'No Kings' rally. The signs were clever and scathing at all these events; drivers going by were honking in approval, shouting, applauding. My laconic father's sign would have said, very big, in block letters, 'NO!' Once when my mother was in her 90s and had lost many memories, I asked her, 'What is wisdom?' She answered unhesitatingly: 'The greatest part of wisdom is kindness.' Her sign, which I saw an older woman hold at the Waltham rally, would have read 'Make America kind again.' 'Nothing is stranger than the position of the dead among the living,' Virginia Woolf wrote in her first, unpublished novel, 'Melymbrosia.' I find it marvelous that my parents can still stand by my side. The rest of our family is in the streets, too: our son and his children in New York City. That solidarity is so welcome to us — just as it must have been to my parents when we opposed the Vietnam War early on, when they felt alone and scorned, when so few Americans had yet come to their senses. Advertisement Intergenerational solidarity is precious. That preciousness includes not only the next generations, but the oldest, too. To all of us lucky enough to have older people in our lives, they comfort us by their presence. Repositories of family lore and legend, they dole out secrets and, for better or worse, guide us by their experiences. And sometimes by the energy of their activism, right now! I see my parents' faces vividly. I summon them and their will to do good, which survives them, in this national emergency. Their memory is a blessing in the here and now and the strife to come.
