& music perhaps

Didja hear any of Fresh Air today? An interesting interview with Randal Keynes, the great-great grandson of Charles Darwin and the author of a new book on the evolutionist (and the owner of a terrific plodding, gravelly English voice). Keynes opens his book, apparently, by pointing to a wonderful document written by Darwin as he tried to decide whether to pursue marriage or not. (You can see the document, and a transcription, here).

For the most part, as Terry Gross pointed out, it's a remarkably contemporary document in its central focus: the act of juggling one's goals, one's family responsibilities, and the pleasures and pressures of marriage. Those same themes formed the subject, for instance, the feature story in last Sunday's Washington Post: an involving jeremiad by a working mother who simply cannot believe the time management specialists who tell her that she actually enjoys (in addition to her constant feeling of being overworked) 30 hours of leisure time per week. Brigid Schulte, please meet Charles Darwin - who realized 170 years ago that being a husband and father meant "Loss of time."

But Darwin's list of pros and cons, of course, is far from simply dystopic. Yes, it is, as Gross noted, more than a little sexist, but Darwin's clearly attuned to some of the real appeals of home life. He never knew, I gather the pleasure of watching Jeopardy! with a wife over homemade tacos, but you can't argue with a sofa and a good fire (perhaps the 1839 version of a TV show?) either. The heartfelt, almost aching parenthetical "if it please God" qualifying fatherhood strikes me as especially touching, too: even now, when infants are much more likely to survive than they were in Darwin's London, there's an element of grace and surprise that colors the entire endeavor.

And, finally, there's music. Darwin clearly associates it with his wife - which makes sense, as many women of his class and era would have been adroit piano players, or singers. Nowadays, I suppose it's rarer to find, upon arriving home, one's wife weaving a melody on the upright. But Darwin's point still holds, in other senses. At several points over the last week, L.'s put on a Lyle Lovett CD, and spun through the living room with Cleo in her arms. And it's not unknown to hear her singing, softly, a lullaby to our little daughter. Where there's a wife, then, there's still often music.

With an ear of tin, I've got few gifts in that direction. But at least, like Darwin - who decided, of course, in favor of marriage and fatherhood - I'm aware of some of the pleasures that come with such decisions. Sure, I can't say I've enjoyed the "conversation of clever men at clubs" very often of late. (Unless you count that quick exchange about the Ravens loss at school today...). But companionship? Sure. Chit-chat? Often. & music, perhaps? Most certainly.