i lay in the parking lot
felt the sun
the wind
the color of the sky
el salvador
so still
so still i felt the world turn
"your prettiness is seeping through"
a soul is an important thing to take care of. laying in the sun of a blue sky day, heals mine.
best days ever.
soul tending
Tragedy
From Dr. Coyote's blog:
Well-put and apt. I would certainly agree that the rush to generalize (as in "just another case of...") or particularize (as in "somebody must have made an error somewhere, which, if only identified, could prevent this happening again...") are both equally inapt. As I expressed to a friend, the mainstream media's tendency to try to find some failure of security or record-keeping, some "red flag", which "should have" been a warning signal, proceeds from a unsubstantiated conviction that tragic events are never random and can always be prevented, which is not how the world works.
In my readings and meanderings, I have come across some quotes and pictures and I feel they should be shared together, though they aren't necessarily related.
I am not, for example, first of all a being without hope who may or may not later be converted to hope. On the contrary, I am first a being of hope who, for any number of reasons, may thereafter lose hope. -Paulo Freire Pedagogy of Freedom: Ethnics, Democracy, and Civic Courage.
This is Tech Terrace park in the snow we had last Thursday. 
My mom took me out for lunch to Home Cafe. Delicious! And Fair Trade Coffee. My Mom also thanked the waitress there for offering Fair Trade Coffee, though we didn't order any.
On Friday, Glen and I took Matti and Cally for a walk around Higgin Botthom Park. There were SO MANY GEESE.
It was inspiring.
When we were walking them, a man in his truck pulled off to the side of the road and asked if we knew of any male corgis that weren't neutered--he was looking to breed.
We politely said no.
Then we all ran for a bit. Matti was actually pulling me.
THis is the quote from Corelli's Mandolin that I am trying to use in my thesis:
In Corelli’s Mandolin, Pelagia catches Corelli teaching one of the local children Italian. Corelli throws the small girl into the air, having her repeat “Bella fanciulla.” Pelagia accuses him of indoctrinating the child and Corelli responds, “Signorina, in times like this, in a way, all of us have to make the most of what little innocent pleasure there is. Pelagia saw the resignation and weariness in his face, and felt ashamed of herself. In the silence that followed, both of them reflected upon their own unworthiness."
This morning, the thesis was difficult to write. But after a chai tea latte, jazz, and lady in the water soundtrack, I am finding myself back in sync.
I am fearful. I have fear.
(preface: this is an essay I wrote for my communities in literature class on an essay entitled "practical wisdom" by bell hooks. The assignment is to use the essay as a way to launch discussion. I am holding my discussion this Thursday, so I have not yet turned this paper in. Any comments/feedback/suggestions would be greatly appreciated)
In Teach 16 of her book Teaching Community: a Pedagogy of Hope, bell hooks describes an experience she had at Southwestern University. She had been hired to teach informal classes on race, gender, class, and religion in the predominately white male university. The classes were very successful the dean invited her to give the commencement speech. While the classes had been a positive experience, the speech was not. Hooks spoke to “thousands of white people, many of whom anti-black racist.” The audience didn’t like the government-sanctioned violence, oppression, and student passivity she discussed. Their reactions were harsh and hooks was booed and threatened for her speech.
There is a story to be gained from every experience, and the audiences’ reaction to hook’s commencement speech opens the ground for a powerful discussion about fear. During the speech, there were two types of fear at play. The first was the fear hooks felt when she stood before the white audience and the second the fear the audience had toward hearing a black woman speak about oppression. Many people—students, teachers, professors, staff—have experiences with both types of fear. We are afraid of being discriminated against and/or have prejudices, biases, and intolerance toward others. However, instead of dealing with these fears, we are taught to ignore the first and be ashamed of the second. Fear is controlling and when left untouched and unmentioned, it only grows. The experience hooks gives in her essay provides an opportunity for discussion. In a community, classroom, family, and group of friends we need dialogues about fears we feel, fears we have, and how we can “move through that fear to find out what connects us.” Instead of being a negative emotion we deny, fear can be a communal process of healing “that brings us closer.”
The process of working through fear is laid out in a quote hooks includes from an essay written by Parker Palmer. Palmer writes, “I am fearful. I have fear. But I don’t need to be my fear as I speak to you. I can approach you from a different place in me—a place of hope, a place of fellow feeling, of journeying together in a mystery that I know we share.”
In the first line of the quote, Parker point to the fear we feel. ‘I am fearful’ relates to the specific events, people, places, or things we perceive as being emotionally, spiritually, or physically dangerous. We must first acknowledge what frightens us as we work through fears. In the example I gave above, hooks was fearful of the audience at the commencement speech. She “feels afraid” of their reactions and potential consequences her speech could cause.
In acknowledge what scares us, we can begin to see the fears we have. The fears we have are different than the ones we feel in that they relate more to our prejudices, biases, and intolerances. They are not physically, emotionally, or spirituality dangerous, but are perceived as threats to our lifestyles and habits. The audience members of hook’s commencement speech had fear at her discussing the government oppression, violence, and student apathy. They were not afraid of what she talked about, but of her as a black woman urging people to change. Her ideas were radical and, if followed, would require shifts in mindset, beliefs, values, and lifestyle. The audience members didn’t want this type of change.
It is important to talk about these fears we have, though they are probably the most difficult to discuss. It is hard to understand, but we all carry some amount of intolerance, bias, and prejudice. Hooks feels some disdain toward white men and for many years, I looked down upon feminists. I fed into the feminist stereotype of bitchy angry women independent of men, and justified my beliefs by observing members of Texas Tech’s Feminist Majority Leadership Alliance (though I had never met these women or gone to any of their meetings). Looking back, I can see that my viewpoints were misogynic. Though they have changed, I still feel ashamed to talk about them. Once aware of these fears we have it is difficult to openly discuss our own racism, misogyny, and homophobia in a classroom, community, family, or with friends. We are often ashamed of these fears and feel as if others would judge us for them.
The ‘I am fearful’ and ‘I have fear’ experiences we have should not be kept untold because we are afraid of other people’s reactions. The shame we feel in being afraid to give a commencement speech about oppression or carrying unfounded disdain of feminist classmates does not have to define or control us. Parker wrote “I don’t need to be my fear as I speak to you. I can approach you from a different place in me—a place of hope, a place of fellow feeling, of journeying together in a mystery that I know we share.” When hooks took the podium, looked out over the white audience, and decided to give her speech, she does not let her fear define who she is. She approaches the audience from that different place inside of her—one of “shared humor, deep thinking…and meaningful community.” Though the audience’s initial reactions were negative and hurtful, some students “were moved by [her] words” and she considers the experience a success.
In our classrooms, community, families, and friends, we tell our stories and feelings of fear to “journey together in a mystery we share.” By sharing our stories, we find that others have similar experiences. And with their experiences comes a wealth of knowledge, advice, and understanding. When I was questioning feminism, I found solace in others who had similar doubts. Together we talked about the stereotypes of feminism and what led us to resent and distance ourselves from a movement that we could have found solidarity in. After months of discussion and dialogue, we went to a Feminist Majority Leadership Alliance meeting. The twenty women were nothing like we expected. We participated in their production of the Vagina Monologues and working with them dispelled any stereotypes we had. After the production ended we joined the twenty women in calling ourselves feminists. When left unacknowledged, fear divides. When told, worked through, and shared, fear gives the foundation for a “meaningful community.”
Box Elders
On February 10th, I attended a panel on Literature, Race, and Nature. The English department brought in a guest writer Camille Dungy to speak, and she was joined by Sarah Spurgeon and Priscilla Ybarra. I took a class on Gender, Race, and Nature in Environmental Writing by Dr. Spurgeon last semester, and am taking an Environmental Literature and Legislation course with Dr. Ybarra this semester. Both professors have been excellent and their classes thought provoking. The discussion was very deep and thought provoking. I want to share a few of their thoughts and my own.
Literature, Race, and the Environment
The Literature the three professors examine can be broken down into many classifications. Dr. Spurgeon researches Literature of the Southwest, Dr. Ybarra Chicana/Chicano Literature, and Camille Dungy Black edited a book on African American Nature Poetry. Though they study this classification of literature, they also look at how their authors write about the environment. Dr. Ybarra and Spurgeon pointed out that there isn't a lot of room in environmental or nature writing for people of color.
There are many reasons for disparity. An audience member suggested that people only want a certain type of nature writing. Dr. Spurgeon took this idea a step further and said the ideal form of nature writing is a lone white man conquering the forest. We can be particular about nature writing because often we want a “nice story.” The story of people of color is not as “nice.” These people—African Americans, Chicanos, American Indians— worked the land as a living, were often forced from it, and at some points in history were considered property like the land. Many do not want to hear this story of the environment.
Stories
All three professors stressed how important the stories and poems of the people of color are. Environmental issues are unique in that they cross boundaries of ethnicity, race, gender, sexual orientation, and socioeconomic class and can unite people in a common cause. In order for this to happen, all voices must be heard, and all stories told. From this discussion, there is one story in particular that spoke to me. Camille Dungy told us a story about a box elder she found while living in Virginia. The box elder was growing in the filtration unit of a pool. She thought this was odd and asked around about the history of the tree. After much inquiry and research, she learned that the pool used to be a public pool. During the late 60s and early 70s, black children had wanted to swim in it. Rather than desegregate the pool, the town decided to close it down. Dungy found the tree both remarkable and haunting. Remarkable in that it had such a rich history, but haunting in seeing a tree linked with segregation. Thousands of African Americans lost their lives in trees.
One of the questions I need to answer for this paper is what I gained from attending. It’s hard to define what one gains from moments of impassioned speech (an audience member from the East Side of Lubbock gave a small monologue on how she wanted books that talked to her and how she never could relate to Shakespeare) or discussions about the relationship between African Americans and the landscapes they were once enslaved in. Since I have to define it, I would say the hour I spent listening to the panel gave me knowledge about a different cultures and experiences I have never had. I heard lines of poetry that were beautiful and stories that gave box elders a new meaning.
"Hello Standard Tuning my old friend, I've come to talk to you again."
-Ty
I've spent my evening eating delicious vegetarian pasta cooked by Glen, watching Arrested Development with Ty and Glen, and then Glen taught me some tunes. I learned Wise Maid on Penny Whistle and Rose in the Heather on guitar! The chords. But my FIRST guitar song.
Now I am listening to Glen play guitar (after a tenor banjo session with Tracey as a captive audience). He was playing Upward Over the Mountain, and it was really moving to listen and sing with him.
"I learned these chords from a super hot girl in South Dakota."
-Glen
That statement was greeted with laughter from Ty, who is sitting in his room, throwing in the occasional comment. What is he doing? I don't know. I'm not "allowed" to ask.
"Laura, you have to learn Slow Cheetah or else I'll never speak to you again."
-Ty
"Happy Trails to you."
And that is where the music stopped.
Or at least I thought it did.
But Glen keeps playing. He will always continue to play.
Finds
Irish Song with English Translation
Fear An Bhata (The Boatman)
Chorus:
Fhir an bháta 'sna hóró éile
Fhir an bháta 'sna hóró éile
Fhir an bháta 'sna hóró éile
Mo shoraid slán leat gach áit a dtéid thú
Théid mé suas ar an chnoic is airde
Feach an bhfeic mé fear an bháta,
An tdig thú anoch nó an dtig thú amárach
No muna dtig thú idir is trua atá mé
Ta mo chroíse briste brúite
Is trick na deora a rith bho mo shúileann.
An dtig thú inniu nó am bidh mé dúil leat
Nó an druid mé an doras le osna thuirseach?
Thúg mé gael duit is chan fhéad mé 'athrú
Cha gaol bliana is cha gaol raithe
Ach gaol ó thoiseacht nuair bha mé 'mo pháiste
Is nach seasc a choíche me gus clóigh' am bás mé
Translation from Irish Gaelic to English
Chorus:
O, Boatman, and another, "horo"
My safe blessing with you everywhere you go
I went up on the highest hill
To see if I could see the boatman
Will you come tonight or will you come tomorrow?
If you do not come, I will be wretched
My heart is broken and crushed
Frequent are the tears that run from my eyes
Will you come today or when I'm longing for you
Or shall I close the door with a tired sigh?
I gave you my love, and I cannot change that
Not love for a year, and not just words of love
But love from the beginning, when I was a child
And I will never cease, even when my death bell tolls
3 images, 1 each of Counties Sligo, Galway, and Clare
Sligo
Galway
Clare
1 song in English which makes specific reference to a specific place
The Dawning of the Day
One morning early I walked forth
By the margin of Lough Leane
The sunshine dressed the trees in green
And summer bloomed again
I left the town and wandered on
Through fields all green and gay
And whom should I meet but a colleen sweet
At the dawning of the day.
No cap or cloak this maiden wore
Her neck and feet were bare
Down to the grass in ringlets fell
Her glossy golden hair
A milking pail was in her hand
She was lovely, young and gay
She wore the palm from Venus bright
By the dawning of the day.
On a mossy bank I sat me down
With the maiden by my side
With gentle words I courted her
And asked her to be my bride
She said, "Young man don't bring me blame"
And swiftly turned away
And the morning light was shining bright
At the dawning of the day.
(Lough Leane is a lake in Killarney)
3 images of Irish art (painting or sculpture only) depicting traditional topics (music, dance, song, foodways, storytelling)
Connemara Girl by Augustus Nicholas Burke 
Painting by Nathaniel Hone
The Dancing Master by Daniel McDonald
Sowell Collection
Since I am neglecting this blog, I've decided to post some of my writing assignments and exercises and just general thoughts.
This is a report on the Sowell Collection at the Southwest Special Collections Library.
In Barry Lopez’s essay “The Passing Wisdom of Birds,” he discusses two small steps people can take to restore a communal relationship between humans and the land. One is to assemble a collection of Natural History. With this thought in mind, for this project I chose the James Sowell Collection to study at the Southwest Collection Library. Beyond Barry Lopez’s advice of gathering books about Natural History, its subtitle intrigued me. The Sowell collections deals with work about Literature, Community, and the Natural World. I value connectedness and one of the greatest thrills for me is to see how things are interwoven, linked, fated, and connected. I wanted to learn what connections existed between literature, community, and the natural world, especially since all three areas are subjects I feel passionate about. The brief description I read didn’t offer any answers. I didn’t expect it to—instead the Sowell collection pointed me in the direction of several authors. The Sowell Collections hosts work, drafts, research notebooks, diaries, calendars, photographs, computer files, and film from many different authors. The authors in the Sowell Collection are Rick Bass, Max Crawford, David James Duncan, Gretel Ehrlich, William Kittredge, Barry Lopez, Walk McDonald, Bill McKibben, Susan Brind Morrow, Doug Peacock, David Quammen, Pattiann Rogers, Sandra Scofield, Annick Smith. The work of these authors is chosen, because they are seen to be part of a communal undertaking of the examination of our world and our place within. I like this idea and I like that these authors take it farther to explore our place in the world not as possessors, but as companions. They are trying to find “what constitutes a just relationship between human society and physical place.” This summer, I want to take time and read their thoughts and learn from their experiences.
Anxious to Know
(This is an explication I wrote from my Environmental Literature class to a quote from Barry Lopez's article "Rediscovering North America")
“We’re anxious now to know what the land has to say to us, how it responds to our use of it.”
When we are children, if we are lucky, we hear stories about the Native American tribes in North America. If we are even more fortunate, we hear about their lifestyles, beliefs, traditions, and relationships with each other and the land around them. But most of us didn’t, and if we did, we ignored their wisdom for our own western version and quickly forgot the teachings. If, sometime later in our adult life, we hear these stories again, we find ourselves equating them with an idealistic painting of Native America. The image is nice, but we know that our culture is too far gone in a different direction to turn back to an indigenous lifestyle.
But is it?
Barry Lopez, in his essay “Rediscovering North America” makes a brilliant case for the possibility of change in our culture. He acknowledges “one of our deepest frustrations as a culture…must be that we have made so extreme an investment in mining the continent, created such an infrastructure of nearly endless jobs predicated on the removal and distribution of trees, water, minerals, fish, plants, and oil, that we cannot imagine stopping.” It is important to acknowledge this frustration because it means that we are upset. We aren’t happy with our current lifestyle and want to change. Though we don’t necessarily understand how, the desire, yearning, and willingness is with us.
When Lopez writes a few pages earlier “we are anxious now to know what the land has to say to us” he is describing a shift in thought. For several centuries—he places the date at 1492—western culture has viewed the land as a possession. Now we are slowly returning back and taking our thoughts in a different direction of treating the land as companion or person. In his line “we are anxious now to know what the land has to say to us” Lopez also offers a teacher in which we can learn from. Indigenous people often viewed themselves as one with the land. They wouldn’t have thought to distinguish between their bodies and an oak tree near their home or the canyon they hunted in. So when Lopez says that we can listen to the land, he is also suggesting we listen to the indigenous tribes of North America as they can be seen as the same.
Listening will not always be an easy task. We will hear stories that go against beliefs we were raised with and stories that urge us to change lifestyles we have grown accustomed to. And in these stories, we will also hear the truth of our culture and its impact on the earth. The land, the people, will “respond to our uses of it.” It will be difficult to hear, but we can endure its tale. We will listen because we are frustrated and anxious to hear a story other than our own.
I am thankful for:
Chaucer
Earl Gray loose leaf tea
Candles (On Saturday, I was working on the kitchen table, and my mom put three candles by me, lit them, and said I was encircled by light)
O Fortuna
Lady in the Water Sound Track
You
Google chat
Guitar
Music
Writing
These are getting generally more broad
Maps
Barry Lopez.
I have had a wonderful afternoon (I finished writing my Chaucer essay!) and I wanted to share some of the energy.
you do not have to be good
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Wild Geese, Mary Oliver
"But, five hundred years later, we intend to mean something else in the world."
-Barry Lopez.
Here it is in context: "The second point I wish to make is that this violence corruption needn't define us. Looking back on the Spanish incursion, we can take the measure of the horror and assert that we will not be bound by it. We can say, yes, this happened, and we are ashamed. We repudiate the greed. We recognize and condemn the evil. And we see how the harm has been perpetuated. But, five hundred years later, we intend to mean something else in the world."
From his essay "The Rediscovery of North America"
For my Environmental Literature and Legislation class we have to research an endangered animal and tomorrow turn in a one page report over its current state. I thought it would be more fun to type it all up in a blog post, so here is what I found:
I've seen West Indian Manatees a few times in the Gulf of Mexico when I visit Florida. Usually they poke up their noses out and flare their nostrils to breathe. Sometimes they are curious and raise their heads from the water. I observed the Manatees from a bridge and didn’t see the full extent of their bodies. West Indian Manatees are large aquatic mammals. On average, they are ten feet in length and can weight between 800 and 1,200 pounds. According to the research I've done and my observations from the bridges in Florida, Manatees are gentle and slow-moving animals. They swim at a pace of three to five miles, but have been known to reach speeds of twenty in short bursts. At their normal pace of three to five miles an hour, they meander through the ocean to graze on their completely vegetarian diet of aquatic plants. West Indian Manatees are herbivorous grazers that consume 15% of their body weight in vegetation daily.
To me, Manatees have very interesting migration patterns. They need warm waters to survive, so in the summer, they can be seen Florida’s rivers and coastal waters. A few have been sighted as far west as Texas and north as Virginia. In the winter, they migrate south and spend November though March primarily in Florida. To quote directly from my research “Water temperatures that fall below 21° C (70° F) cause manatees to move into warm water refuge areas. Scientists don’t know what cues manatees follow, but they seem to know when cold weather is coming and seek warm water areas.”
Manatees live in shallow, slow-moving rivers, bays, estuaries and coastal water ecosystems of the southeastern United States. Often they come into contact with humans. Many photographs show Manatees with deep gashes along their back. These gashes are caused by motorized boat’s propellers. As I mentioned earlier, Manatees swim at slow speeds and cannot easily move when they sense a boat approaching. The frequently collide with boats and are cut by the propellers. Many die from these accidents. Humans are cited to be responsible for 40% of all Manatee deaths. Manatees also die from ingesting fishhooks, litter, or becoming entangled in crab trap or monofilament line. Others find themselves trapped in a flood gate or canal lock and are crushed or drown. Yet hope is not lost. Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission coordinate the rescues of injured Manatees. Once rescued, these Manatees are taken to rehabilitation centers to be cared for until they heal.
can
No Children, Mountain Goats
i find this song nothing but inspiring. and laura, i thank you for playing it tonight.
I heard from someone you're still pretty
Songs motivate me to want to learn guitar. There are two songs in particular: John Doyle's Morning Dew and Iron & Wine's Upward Over the Mountain. I have been picking up the guitar most days, teaching my fingers to curve over the strings, learning E major and minor chords, C, straining to reach G, feeling the wire cut into my skin, awkwardly holding a pick and trying to make sense of it. It's a beautiful instrument.
Heather went on a rant about oboe last night at the Sequentia concert that I thought was hilarious but also true. Oboe is a really pretty instrument. I've struggled with calling it that for years now, but I firmly believe that all instruments have the potential to be beautiful, it mostly depends on the passion of the person playing it. So it is. It also requires a LOT of maintenance. And this can be frustrating when you don't know what you are doing. Or particularly want to learn what you are doing.
So I am slowly abandoning it. Yes. I am letting oboe go.
I would really like to give it to a freshman music major who loves oboe but couldn't necessarily afford one. Or donate it to the oboe studio. Because oboe is not an instrument that you can just pick up and play. As I said before, it requires maintenance.
I realize that guitar requires maintenance too. But I am excited to learn about that maintenance. When Tracey showed me how to tune a guitar last semester, I felt as if I had achieved something.
Does this sound weird? That learning to tune a guitar would be a momentous occasion in my life? Probably.
But, if I was to look deeper, I would see that being able to tune the guitar is an affirmation of something I can do that I thought I couldn't. Much like pouring cement. Biking past the loop. Possibly going to New York this summer to teach a course. Telling my Dad I didn't feel comfortable going to church with them on holidays.
There is still negativity in my life. I've come to realize that a lot of it is my reactions to experiences and events around me. I'm considering Buddhism and whenever I feel myself becoming stressed or agitated, just thinking about it calms me down. I also think about Dr. Smith's house and Dr. Mariani's amazing studio.
And admitting and pursuing what makes me happy has helped. I had an amazing conversation with Tracey on Friday, and at one moment we talked about being more drawn to social/psychological issues than global issues. I've also come to acknowledge that I am drawn to writing, art, theater, and music. I feel like in the past I've fostered my writing and music, but starting last semester and continuing into this one, I've nurtured it.
I also am coming to realize that I want to teach. I don't think I really want to work for a non-profit or do social justice work. I don't think social justice and teaching have to be exculsive. But I want to teach creative non-fiction. I had a moment thinking about teaching creative non-fiction as a means of empowering people. Writing can be a powerful medium for healing. But also for change. Touch people in ways they don't expect. Find a way to make that statistic into a story.
Ty played the theme for Lady in the Water in Dr. Mariani's studio on Thursday. The part of the song that I think is some of the most powerful notes in music (I will attach a link to them at the end of this post) stayed with my for the remainder of the evening. The music brought up scenes from the movie--especially moments where they talk about the universe aligning and every being having a purpose.
As I was laying on my bed, replaying the notes in my mind, and the words, I felt a sense of profound purpose.
And I think that purpose is to teach.
Here's a link. Mostly I want you guys to watch the movie: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bmp1SlODtK8&feature=related
"Oh she says I'm a poor lost girl, and I'm a long ways from home."
-Anonymous 4 on their album "gloryland"
Where is it?
Here is a link to their song: http://www.last.fm/music/Anonymous+4/_/The+Lost+Girl
Solider
A post with pictures from chicago is pending.
First this:
What have they done with the lives we laid aside?
Are they young with our youth, gold with our gold, my brother?
Do they smile in the face of death, because we died?
-Humbert Wolfe (From his poem, Solider)
longings
buns! how i would love to be sitting at j&b with you discussing and researching theater of the oppressed.
the most beautiful gray sky decemeber
it's raining in cooper texas. living in lubbock can cause one to forget what rain sounds like, and oh how i've missed it! right now i think it's more beautiful than anything in my itunes.
tracey and i are painting a sign for a local telephone co-op this break, a 10x23' sign that begins 7' high on the old tired bricks.
tom was a really big help and aided in our transportation of 10' and 30' ladders. he made it look not very heavy, but looks can be decieving. tracey and i have worked out a system though, and we are now pros at raising the ladder to 17'. tracey loves it up high.
Observations from the Dining Room
Observations, memories, thoughts, darkness, and weight
For Christmas I got a chinese coin with the center cut out (an aunt went to china) and Barbara and I made feng shui hangers from them...and by that I mean we tied Celtic knots through them with sky blue and lime green chord and braided bells into the medley.
When you feel like writing, take advantage of it. I have a cup of tea, the cold snow outside the window, Barbara, my Dad, and Kristin home, an entry for the blog, and a new document open to rewrite a scene for my Costa Rica story.
I listened to a Radio Head song on Pandora, unaware the band was radio head, and liked it.
Barbara used a picture of a Victoria Secret's model as wrapping paper for a gift for my grandmother and wrote "You'll be a Hot Mama when you use this".
My sister and I went to the rec to work out today and when we got back, my dad held the door shut as I tried to open the door. He was in a bad mood for the morning, so it surprised me to see him trying to joke.
I'm listening to a song called "wildwood flower" by David Grisman and Tony Rice on an album called Tone Poems...which I think it a really pretty combination of words.
Words, words, words!
Roger Landis is not on Pandora. Nor is Mason Brown.
Mason Brown goes to Naropa. More incentive?
I think what one person considers an opportunity another could easily see as a mistake.
Will only time say who is right? Or are both right? Or neither?
Who can tell?
Why do we try to tell?
I'm not as scared of eternity as I used to be. I've become more resolved to the idea that when we die we could exist as energy and nothing more. Or nothing less?
The music on pandora is really pretty right now. I like when tea, music, and writing align and leave me feeling inspired and peaceful.
who are you selling it for?!
there is snow in cooper texas, not much but some! my grandma is as crazy as ever. she asked tracey and i, as we brought her potato salad, if we were selling it for church or school and who she had to pay. i got 'terri' hugs from my dad. my mom is frantic and refuses to use newspaper for wrapping paper. tom eats ten eggs at a time.
things don't change much! and that's ok with me.
Snow & Wind
I finished looking through the Celtic Christmas photos...that and playing through smeceno horo and listening to the concert online (http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/3297339) while baking rolls brought me back to it.
It was a good concert.
I would argue that it was one of our best. My parents and friends comments ranged from the concert being fantastic to being unable to hear to wanting the ensemble to perform more and the guest artists less.
What made the concert amazing for me (in part) was the guest artists. Playing with them, sharing the stage, and being part of the music coming from all of our different instruments was exhilarating. Too strong a word? I don't think so. I felt a connection to the music and the people playing and listening that I had never experienced in concert band or our other recitals. It was, in part, because of the familiarity of the music, the knowledge that this is the last time I will sing Mari Lwyd while carrying the totem, and Tracey, Glen, and Ty playing along with me. But it was also playing along side of people who had dedicated their lives to music and were amazing at it.
Maybe it's hard to appreciate their talent (from my parent's perspective) when they probably don't know what the guest artists were playing, must less the style and technique.
But I'm glad they were there. I am glad to be part of an ensemble that brings together a community to share, learn from, and enjoy Celtic music.
And I feel no matter where I go after May, I can carry that with me.
BUT! It snowed today. That is really why I came here to blog, but I got distracted by nostalgia and pictures.
So I will post some pictures from the snow.
Here is Matti. She looks hilarious when the snow is too deep and she has to bound.
The snow was so deep! It is still deep!
Kristin wouldn't stop eating my dough...
Gross Indecency: The Three Trials of Oscar Wilde
There is another blog post about Gross Indecency forthcoming, but for now I want to leave everyone with a quote.
The play ends with a prose poem by Oscar Wilde called "House of Judgment." "House of Judgment" is about man coming before God. God recalls everything man has done...bad things, and says "surely I will send thee into Hell. Even into Hell will I send thee.
And man cried out: 'thou cannot.'
And God said to man: 'wherefore can I not send thee to Hell, and for what reason?'
'Because in Hell I have always lived.'"
I thought that was a really powerful ending for a play.
Go in peace.
Questing for answers
The semester is winding to a close. I turned in my 15 page South Africa essay last friday, my Austin story (Moss, Sea, and Sky) with critical introduction on Tuesday, finished classes up, and met with Caswell today. I have the rough draft for my Honors Thesis done (with the exception of a final scene) and wanted to know where I go from here. I read over it all yesterday and...didn't like it. It's a good narrative, but that's all I feel like it is this way. As Professor Caswell put it: I have themes, I just don't know where I'm going with them and they need to deepen.
(fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!- Ty McDonald)
Anyway, so he told me not to work on it anymore. I was going to start revising it, but he said it would help me make the connections and see the larger picture if I set it down and left it alone for a month.
BAH! SO I am essentially done. I just need to put it together in an official honors thesis format, turn it in, and do my Spanish final.
BUT as one of the ways in which I am going to "deepen" and "expand" my honors thesis is to include quotes and commentary by other writers.
I'm starting with two of the books I read while I was in Costa Rica and then moving onto Costa Rican literature.
I am very excited about all of this.
So I wanted to share the advice, because I think it's applicable to more situations than just writing. Maybe we should just set things down, let them be, and then come back to them. The answers will come.
The answer is 42.
-Howard Fisher (my former writing mentor)
The answer is 47.
-Rajiv (my physical therapist)
Part of the Healing Process
I have finished From Our Voices: Art Educators and Artists Speak Out About Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgendered Issues and while I do not plan to be an art educator, I feel like their stories are applicable to anyone who finds themselves in a teaching role.
I posted a quote a few entries back from the anthology, but I would like to add some more.
This is from Ed Check's essay "The Pleasures of Adolescence":
"What I lost for so many years because of public humiliation and cultural and self imposed homophobia and misogyny, I am slowly recapturing through my art and writing. I use memory and imagination to explore the simultaneous pains and pleasures of growing up gay in a straight world" (Check, 155).
I found this to be a really encouraging thought. In one of the previous essays, Ed discussed his school and college experience as a gay man and it's hard to read at times. So to hear him say that he is not bitter or angry about his past, but rejoices in it is amazing. I liked that he was "recapturing" his past and experiences with his writing and art, because that sounds empowering. I've been thinking a lot lately about the difference between empowerment and powerful. I feel like our society tends to use "powerful" more often than empowerment, but I think there should be a distinction.
To me, empowerment is good. It is working with yourself or others to realize and teach rights to happiness, life, love, and freedom. To me, being powerful is the opposite. Powerful is imposing on someone's right to love, happiness, life, and freedom.
Art empowers Ed. Through art, he empowers himself.
Thoughts for the Days
Hello AMAZING friends!
I am going to repost from Coyote Banjo, because I feel like his words may help you:
So here's your plan:
"1. I am obligated to work constructively and peacefully toward completion of my degree requirements. Therefore I must spend some time each day working on coursework.
"2. I am obligated to work constructively and peacefully toward my own health. This means I must spend some time each day exercising, eating healthfully, and working on emotional health issues
"3. I am obligated to work constructively and peacefully on my professional obligations. This means I must spend some time each day on assistantship, teaching, and/or other professional work.
"4. I am obligated to work constructively and peacefully on my own artistic development and self-expression. This means I must spend some time each day on art, music, writing, or other creative activity.
"5. I am obligated to work constructively and peacefully on my own emotional community and support network. This means I must spend some time each day enjoying my living space, communicating with friends, thinking about or communicating with family, and so on. In addition, I must spend some time each day thinking about ways I can actively be a good friend and support-network-member for people who are important to me, and taking action on those thoughts.
"6. I am obligated to work constructively and peacefully on my own spiritual health. This means I must spend some time each day in prayer, meditation, visualization, or other spiritual practice.
"7. I am obligated to work constructively and peacefully at building the future I want for myself. This means that, in addition to items 1-6 above, I must spend some time each day developing my skill set and my portfolio, visualizing the kind of job I want when I depart, searching the Chronicle or other job source to familiarize myself with current job profiles, revisiting and polishing written pieces that I might send out to specific academic targets, and so on."
A life spent engaging in some healthy combination of the above 7 activities would be a good life, and a full-time job. Print 'em out and stick 'em on the damned wall!
You're Not Alone
From From Our Voices: Art Educators and Artists Speak Out About Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgednered Issues:
This quote is from the essay "The Illusion Was to Think She Had Any Control Over Her Life" by Deborah L. Smith-Shank
"Trauma can also be caused by exclusion. We have all heard the stories of ancient times when banishment was an ultimate punishment...it is a trauma of omission. Adrienne Rich articulated this experience and brought it into a postmodern context: 'whatever is unnamed, undepicted in images, whatever is omitted from biography, censored in collections of letters, whatever is misnamed as something else, made difficult-to-come-by, whatever is buried in the memory by the collapse of meaning under inadequate or lying language, this will become, not merely unspoken but unspeakable" (Smith-Shank,144).
I have not had a chance to listen to Brownbird today. It's been largely busy--one thing after the other, and I have been so absorbed in writing that music has become a distraction. I went to 10,000 Villages, hosted by Covenant Presbyterian Church, this morning with my mom and Micaela and bought a few items. With the exception of food and books, I have trouble buying "things." I can always think of several reasons why I don't need it. But I really wanted to support 10,000 villages, the church, and the people who made the crafts, so trying not to think, I went and grabbed a Bangladesh prayer flag. It just occurred to me where Bangladesh is and that makes me appreciate it a little more. I took a really amazing world geography class last semester and learned that Bangladesh used to be a part of Pakistan because the British thought it would be a good idea to polarize the Hindus and the Muslims further, so India became a Hindu state and West (Pakistan today) and East Pakistan (Bangladesh today) became a Muslim state.
After 10,000 villages, I tried to write an essay until Jesse's AMAZING guitar recital. His individual pieces were incredible and engaging. After he finished, four other guitar players joined him and the music they played was powerful. Glen and Tracey began to teach me mandolin last night and I have a new appreciation for strings, fret, and finger position. To diverge, I really like guitar and mandolin in that they remind me of playing piano. I like the idea of stretching and curving finger to produce the sound--not breathing and reeds as it is with oboe.
I feel like I can flow with the music better when I play with my fingers and not my air.
Where does dancing fit in then?
But coming back to the essay...I would like to post it here when it is finished. It is my essay about Austin and I hesitate because it is creative non-fiction, and the blog is available to the internet.
But I finished the critical introduction today. I wrote it without an outline and watched in wonder as the ending to my introduction became the ending of my essay. I pieced together thoughts and ideas in places I hadn't originally intended and felt as if I was crafting, not writing, a story.
"You get one life and who wants to spend it at the wee hours of the morning, writing?"
-Janisse Ray
Wednesday Mornings
Some of the happiest moments of my life are in the morning, drinking earl gray or english breakfast tea, doing homework of some sort that involves writing, and listening to really good music. This morning the music is the pandora nickel creek station and some beirut, the tea is fair trade english breakfast, and the homework is a nearly completed essay on JM Coetzee and torture during the apartheid.
I want to share some of the joy from my day. It's a picture from a link from Terri.
Life is full of simple joys (I think that is what makes it so rich and worth living). This is one of them.
Please share any simple joys that you have had. I would love to hear them.
Also, to credit the picture, here is the link: http://niemann.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/11/17/bio-diversity/
Sitting puffed out on a branch
I am home. I was surprised this morning at how excited I felt to be driving from my apartment to my house (around three miles away). To express my excitement, I came home and promptly woke Kristin up. As she groaned and hissed at me, I told her how excited I was to be back. She responded by threatening my life if I ever went into her rooms and opened the curtains again.
The washing machine is rumbling. I am not sure how many people do this (probably a lot of college students), but I just brought my dirty laundry home (I liked bringing dirty laundry home--since I live in Lubbock I've missed out on a lot of things in terms of going home that my friends have gotten to experience). The birds outside are sitting puffed on their branches. I love the windows in this house. Looking out the middle pane, I can see a fiery red and green tree hanging over the fence, with doves and sparrows perched on it's branches. Occasionally they swarm the ground. Looking out the left pane, the light is bold and brilliant. The right pane shows me a cheeto bag buried in the leaves.
The birds swarmed again. I hung up my laundry to drive, and coming back to work, I passed my dad's desk. On his desk was a book, and being pulled to books, I stopped and meandered over to it. It is called "Impossible Extinction: Natural Catastrophes and the Supremacy of the Microbial World." My dad is in Washington DC right now visiting my aunt, but I really want to ask him how the microbial world is "supreme".
"Tell me where you're from, and I'll tell you who you are."
since Terri and Glen have forbidden me from talking
My freedom of speech has been restricted in Glen and Ty's apartment. I am not allowed to tell either Glen or Terri what I learned at the Institute for Interfaith Dialogue dinner this evening, because it's "distracting" so I will write it here:
Show me a fight over religion and I'll show you a fight over poverty, political power, and greed.
We can put man on the moon, and robots on mars, yet we have problems reaching out to the corners of the world
We can destroy the world, yet we cannot educate those who are compassionate.
If you only love those who are like you that is egotism and self-centeredness.
Oh, sisters let's go down.
I want to take you to this past Monday when I was in Stephenville. I went with the Celtic Ensemble to Tarelton State University to give a masterclass and performance. The masterclass was invigorating. Dr. Smith, our instructor, is amazing at reaching out to other students. The majority of the students that showed up were trumpet, trombone, and saxophone players, which are not traditional celtic instruments (as oboe is not a traditional celtic instrument), but he worked with them. They were jazz players, so he related learning celtic music to how people learn jazz, and then told us about their differences. Celtic music places more of an emphasis on melody, so you don't have the complicated undertones that you do in jazz. I had NO idea! It makes sense, of course, and I had always kind of wondered why we all just kind of played together and didn't really have parts. It's cool that that is the way the music is supposed to be.
But I would want to take you specifically to after the masterclass. The professor who invited us to Tarelton took us to her house and fed us pizza. One of the women in the ensemble (I've stopped using the word "girls" I think it's slightly degrading) is allegoric to cats, so she stayed outside on the porch. A few people gathered with her, and they started singing. It was beautiful. They sang "down to the river", "go to sleep little baby"...man I don't know the names, but basically the songs on Oh Brother Where Art Thou. And they could sing! Occasionally we do group pieces in the ensemble, but it's hard to hear individuals over everyone else (which is good perhaps). So I never really get to hear these women sing, and they have beautiful beautiful voices. I spent my dinner outside, on the porch, on a swing, listening to songs I don't ever remember really hearing but somehow knowing the words to.
Music is a beautiful thing.
It's odd of me to think of myself as a musician, but I had the realization this weekend that I was. It's exciting to consider myself as such.
For Glen
"I can look at a canyon shadow or a Byzantine mosaic and understand blue better than I understand a dissertation on the comparatively stubby quantum of electromagnetic radiation measured as 4 X 10-7." (The Anthropology of Turquoise)
I love the idea that we don't see blue the same. <3
What we really want is to come to life.
I'm going to bring the blog back to Artic Dreams for some time, because on Thursday, Barry Lopez came to speak with our class. It is so amazing to meet the author behind the book you have read, spent time with, discussed in class, and realize that those are his words. The man in front of me wrote this beautiful 400 page book. Saying he wrote it feels like an understatement. He labored over it, spent hours rewriting passages he probably didn't use, edited countless drafts...so much goes into writing that is unmarked. As with every piece of art, I would imagine.
Barry Lopez wasn't intimidating, he didn't feel like a stranger. I really like that non-fiction is non-fiction in that everything he wrote about actually happened. And he was there! It is such an exposure, but such a connection at the same time.
And he speaks so eloquently. He really reached out to the class, and talked to us on a level that we could understand and relate to. I would imagine that would be difficult with all of the scientists he has traveled around with, but maybe easier, because he can appreciate being with different groups of people.
Mostly I just want to share some quotes with you that I scrambled to write as he spoke.
I have no point to make in the moral universe--my universe, I'm not asking anyone to live there.
My effort as a writer is to be a companion rather than an authority.
It doesn't mean that I'm some sort of a nutcase when it comes to detail.
I don't always know what I'm doing, and it doesn't bother me. I'm trying to make a beautiful pattern.
Beautify is found in the complexity of the world, both in the light and the not light.
[In regards to writing Arctic Dreams]...I spent two years looking at things and trying to not make them mean anything.
[in regards to talking about death or any near death experiences] Just let it alone, be glad that you have come home.
I love the kind of humor that keeps you going when your face is peeling off with frost bite.
When people applaud, what they are really applauding is how they feel.
[in regards to what has made it all worth it]...the realization of the divine...that makes you aware of the enthusiasm for light, I mean life. (I like that he slipped there, light is a beautiful answer too.)
This is one that really spoke to me:
Although we say we want to go to heaven, what we really want is to come to life.
Turquoise in shades of blue and green
I feel the need to burden this blog with more thoughts about The Anthropology of Turquoise. I have to draft an outline or free write for 2-3 pages about a chapter in the book, so I am going to post the question here, and then write my response. For some reason mediums of writing influences my desire to write, and I have found that when doing this type of assignment, the blog is more inviting than a word document.
Here is the question:
In "A Wilderness of Monkeys," Meloy gives us the geological and cultural history of turquoise, and writes on pg. 107 that "Turquoise is a sympathetic gem." In a short (2-3 pages) outline or free write of a possible essay, discuss why, of all possible gems and/or stones she could choose, does Meloy focus on turquoise (besides the fact she likes how it looks)? What symbolic meaning does turquoise carry for her?
“Is turquoise green? Is it blue?”
“In the Deeds and Sufferings of Light,” Meloy raises questions about the nature of green and blue. Blue is a strong color. It came into evolving languages late, but had a dominating effect. It preceded black, white, red, yellow, and green, and for unknown reasons replaced green. Blue is now used to describe objects formally perceived as green. Green was pushed into ambiguity. We often fumble for words when trying to describe sea green and ocean blue and other shades that fall in the "is-it-green-is-it-blue" category. Turquoise is a stone that encompasses this ambiguous blue and green. In some areas of the world, it is a clean cerulean color, others a deep sea-green, and others stark sky fissured with black. Meloy focuses on turquoise because it is an answer to her question. Objects can be both green and blue. There is not always a need for distinction.
“to scare myself witless by swinging on the thick hemp rope outside the safety of daylight and visible depths”
From Meloy's essay, I have gathered that she doesn’t consider the stone’s wealth in terms of money. She values it with memories. In her earlier essay, “The Deeds and Suffering of Life”, she writes that every color has a story. Turquoise has a part in many of her stories. From the Mariachi band in El Paso, to the cheap turquoise ring a family of hippies stole from her mantle, to the Iranian turquoise ring set in silver her brother gave has a gift. Each event is precious. Each event is associated with turquoise. Turquoise is the storyteller. My favorite of her stories involved the Iranian turquoise ring. I liked that it was a gift, and I liked the Persian proverb she pulled that stated the power of turquoise could only be experienced as a gift. To Meloy, this ring also represented her post-college need for freedom. Freedom is not the right word here. I can't find the passage, but at one point she mentions that she needed reassurance she would not fall into a linear boring adult life. So, post-college, Meloy and a group of friends tied a rope to a tree and catapulted themselves into the river below. They jumped from 55 feet waterfalls. Meloy hiked alone to the spot one night and dived into the dark river. She comes back to this ring at the end of her essay, saying that one day she will give it to her niece. She says nothing of the value of the ring she hopes to pass, but instead the memory behind. The memory of “the night that the ring flew with me, on a hemp rope high over an opaque river, in the cusp of youth with no hazard of thought, only the sheer suppleness of sensation.”
Austin is blue, green, and sea-green
I have written and told this story in several different places, but it made me so happy that I feel I need to share it. In my Gender, Race, and Nature class, we got to write creatively. The assignment was simple: identify the three colors you would begin with to describe either the high plains or canyons of the caprock country around Lubbock, or your own home region.
I chose Austin. There were many reasons regarding this decision. The colors I chose were blue, green, and sea-green and there was a passage in The Anthropology of Turquoise that related to them. Also, there is a story behind the blue, green, and sea-green as "within every color lies a story." It was so liberating to write in class. I am feeling pulled in many directions in my life right now, and this experience pulled me further toward pursuing creative writing.
I felt so happy writing. My thoughts raced and my hand was not able to keep up with the ideas rushing my mind. I got lost within my writing during the 10-15 minutes she let us write.
If it makes me feel this way, why am I not doing it?
But I LOVE the book we are reading which prompted this discussion, and I wanted to share some thoughts. The book is The Anthropology of Turquoise by Ellen Meloy.
These passages are from "The Deeds and Sufferings of Light"
It has been shown that the words for colors enter evolving languages in this order, nearly universally: black, white, and red, then yellow and green (in either order), with green covering blue until blue comes into itself. Once blue is acquired, it eclipses green. Once named, blue pushes green into a less definite version. Green confusion is manifest in turquoise, the is-it-blue-or-is-it-green color. 12
Some days, high on the ridge, with a seventy-mile view in all directions, I feel compelled to strike up an existential query and a lotus pose, forming profoundly spiritual questions and throwing them out into the ethos.
What do I know?
What is my place in the universe?
How little do I need to have everything?
What are the obligations of living a certain geography, of narrowing the distance between eye and beauty, of making the visible world an instinct? 14
Certain places try to tell us something, or have said something we should not have missed, or are about to say something. 15
Before night falls, blue-green is the last quantum of visible light to pass through the atmosphere without scattering. 17
I suppose this could be a prayer
I came to this blog wanting to write, but not knowing the words. I have so many thoughts filling my brain that I feel chocked. I've retreated to my apartment for the day, brooding. But I don't want to think. I've been dealing with a lot of difficult issues lately, and they are exhausting.
My thoughts based off of the stories I have been reading and research I have been conducting.
All it is has to do with violence.
Violence can really weigh a person down.
It can overwhelm them. It literally can. I've been reading A Memory, A Monologue, A Rant, and A Prayer edited by Eve Ensler, and I feel as if my zest for life is diminishing. Only slightly.
That is not what I want my words to do. I want to write about these HARD issues, but I don't want to give people this burden in which they HATE themselves, or feel guilty about the amazing life they have, because what we want is for EVERYONE to have that life.
It is okay if your life is great. That is what I want for you.
That is what I want for every person in this world. So if you are one of the people who already has it, how amazing. How beautiful. How blessed. Not lucky. Luck has nothing to do with it. You were born into your life for a reason, and love that reason. Don't hate it. Don't wish it were another way, because why would you want that other way? Why would you want the violence, the poverty, the hate? The people living in violence, in poverty, in hate, would not wish that on you, so do not wish it upon yourself.
I've slipped out of my routine. I've practiced oboe every night since Sunday. I usually practice once a week. I've been writing more. Reading more. Thinking more.
Spending time with Terri more.
I have no idea what I was doing with my time before this.
I want to just pour myself into music. I feel like I can think less when I play. Maybe this isn't healthy, but words can get so overwhelming. I feel like I need a different medium right now.
Terri and I were talking the other day about how stretched we feel. We are both very busy with many things, but we LOVE all of those things we are doing. But because of the time commitments they all require are never able to be "great" at them.
We decided maybe we aren't meant to be great. Maybe in order to do one of those things, we need to be doing all of them.
A segment
Here's a piece from my honors thesis that I wrote this morning. To give some context, I have just found out that I am going to design a recycling program for the school.
Lorna sighs her ‘the school is underfunded sigh.’ I wonder briefly how am I going to design and implement a recycling program in a school that doesn’t have enough money to pay for a counselor or soap in the bathrooms. I think of the expensive shiny recycling bins back at the few green conscious businesses and schools in Lubbock. They used grant money to build their programs. I have the equivalent of twenty dollars from my study abroad center.
But how much would their security increase if they had these things? I wonder. Not recycling bins, but more modern computers and televisions in every room? If their classrooms looked like the elementary classrooms back in Lubbock, how many extra rows of barbed wire would they need to keep out those who cannot afford such luxuries? Rely on policeman? No. The barbed wire surrounding the campus is there because the police do not protect it. The homes around the school are shrouded in metal gates and barbed wire because we do not feel safe. Not being able to trust the government or the police, we take safety into our own hands. We do not go out alone at night. We take taxis during the day. We leave with only house keys in our pockets, an umbrella around our wrists, and enough money for the taxi ride there and back. When we are attacked, we call the police. They do not come. We go to them. We file our reports. We hear nothing back. We return to our barbed wire, metals gates, and cages, and wait. Wait, because we don’t know what else to do. Wait, because we know that crime is increasing in urban Latin America, and Costa Rica is part of it. Blame it on the Nicaraguans, the Colombians, as Mama Tica does, but they are not at fault. Blame it on the economy and poverty and loss of jobs, but they are not at fault. Violence is bigger than any one issue.
Cardboard, I think. I can use cardboard boxes for recycling bins. I plan out how many the teachers would need as I follow Lorna into a classroom of fifth graders. We enter and the students shout a chorus of “hello teacher.”
“Hello, hello,” I say back, finding my seat at the back of the classroom.
Lorna takes out her markers and starts to write the names of various diseases on the board. The students watch her, eagerly waiting for their lesson to begin before the final bell rings and they can go home to their barbed wire houses around the school.
My South Africa class continues to expand my expectation on the ends of human stupidity
But here is something slightly more inspirational:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/28/opinion/28wed3.html?emc=eta1
Thoughts on The Good Body
The Good Body is a short play written by Eve Ensler after her work with The Vagina Monologues. Like The Vagina Monologues, the play relies heavily on interviews with various women throughout the world. But unlike The Vagina Monologues, the play focuses on a different part of a woman's (or anyone for that matter) body. Our stomachs. The chapters of the play are interviews, but in between Eve uses commentary on her own relationship to her body. The Vagina Monologues was an attempt to make peace with her vagina. But instead of doing so, she feels as if the negative energy and feelings moved to her stomach. She writes that "I suppose I had this fantasy that after finally coming home into my vagina, I could relax, get on with life. This was not the case. The deadly self-hatred simply moved into another part of my body"(Ensler, xii).
I really liked her introduction. I pulled a lot of quotes from there, and would like to share them, because I feel like they are a good reflection of what the book is about.
The play begins: "In the midst of a war in Iraq, in a time of escalating global terrorism, when civil liberties are disappearing as fast as the ozone layer, when one out of three women in the world will be beaten or raped in her lifetime, why write a play about my stomach?" (Ensler, ix).
Her answer: "I see how other women's stomachs or butts or thights or hair or skin have come to occupy their attention, so that we have very little left for the war in Iraq--or much else for that matter" (Ensler, x).
I feel like this is excellent insight! I am very involved in a social justice group on campus that is currently waging a fair trade campaign. I've been involved with it for the past year and a half, and we have worked with several different issues, ranging from the conflict in Darfur, to hunger, to the rapes in the DRC. It was through this organization that I first heart about Eve Ensler and become a member of the cast of the 2009 production of The Vagina Monologues. But, getting back on track, I have spent a lot of time trying to get the texas tech campus aware/interested/active in current events and social justice issues in our community and world. I don't want to sound cynical, but I would say that the majority don't care. And I think this is a reason! While it may not apply to everyone, I think we spend a lot of time worrying about our bodies! I do. I can completely related to Eve Ensler wanting a flat stomach, because that is something I have wanted for years (though if I had one, I don't know if I would even recognize it).
I think this also goes with the thought that in order to help others, we have to be whole ourselves. We have to work through our own issues before we can begin to help others work through theirs.
And this book is an excellent starting place for starting a dialogue about body issues.
One of the great things about theater, is that people have to gather to experience it. So, once they are gathered, why not talk?
Especially within the American culture, there are many issues concerning our bodies. Her interviews are vast and range from plastic surgery, vuvla shrinking, fat camps, intentional breast removal, acceptance of ones' body, and spiritual nurturing. I would like to go into detail about each chapter, but I think that would make this already long blog post even more obnoxiously long. So instead I am going to leave you with quotes.
Some of the quotes I pulled from these chapters that I liked are as follows:
From a 74 year old African Masai women: "We are all trees, you're a tree, I'm a tree. You've got to love your body, Eve. You've got to love your Tree. Love your tree" (Ensler, 74).
From Eve's conclusion: "Our body is our country, the only city, the only village, the only every, we will ever know" (Ensler, 91).
We must love ourselves, our bodies, to love and help the world around us. As I am writing this, I can't think of a better book to begin my journey on social justice theater with. Good body, good self, good community, good country, good world.
The Solace of Open Spaces
From the clayey soil of northern Wyoming is mined bentonite, which is used as a filler in candy, gum, and lipstick. We Americans are great on fillers, as if what we have, what we are, is not enough. We have a cultural tendency toward denial, but, being affluent, we strangle ourselves with what we can buy. We have only to look at the houses we build to see how we build against space, the way we drink against pain and loneliness. We fill up space as if it were a pie shell, with things whose opacity further obstructs our ability to see what is already there.
- The Solace of Open Spaces
Pandora's Nickel Creek radio station is BEAUTIFUL. HOLY CRAP.
I want you guys to listen to it.
Josphine-Brandi Carlile
I do not think that flicking someone with your toothbrush water warrants being tickled and playfully kicked by their foot.
But that is just my opinion.
Once again, at J&B and finding time to write on this blog. Despite the amount of people here, it is surprisingly quiet. And the music is beautiful. They just played a version of "hallelujah" that I hadn't heart before and it was so pretty! All of the music is pretty.
And it's still going on! I thought it was over. Small surprises.
Mostly, I've been writing on my honors thesis. I completed a small segment, and am going to post it here to see what everyone thinks. It's about the day after I was robbed and having to go to the police station to identify my attacker. I met with Professor Caswell today and prior to our meeting I was very lost about where to proceed in my story. I had just finished the actual robbery scene, and wasn't sure where to go. So I talked to him about it, and just in talking with him, I was able to see a clear path to take with this next scene. He is a really awesome mentor. We talked about his book a lot today, because I have been reading it to get a better idea of creative non fiction.
Very broadly this is what I took from our conversation: if something you are writing about makes you uncomfortable, write about it anyway. It usually ends up being a better story.
I am not in a state of mind to do our conversation justice, so I am going to end there. This is what I wrote here at J&B tonight. It's a really rough draft, but let me know if you have comments/suggestions/praise.
Two police officers talk lowly in Spanish. I sit in front of an old dell computer, the kind I had when I was ten, and stare blankly at the screen. I try to focus on the twenty mug-shot faces looking back at me, but their voices are distracting. One of them is young, a few years older than me. The other has a beard and a receding hairline. I listen to them, catching words with as much success as catching rain on my tongue. I shake my head and tell myself to be more fair. The sleeping pill I took last night lingers behind my eyes, and my mind is too distracted bursting in bits of memory to focus on another language. I turn back to my twenty faces. I look at each, not wanting to hurry and miss his face, but knowing that each pictures takes my memory further from me. I skip over the black and white men—his skin was the color of a dark walnut wood and the ones shorter than 5’7. He towered over me. On the third page I find a man with the same black eyes and similar facial features. I click the box beside his name and am asked how sure I am. I type in fifty percent. Something about his face feels unfamiliar, so I change my answer to forty. I move onto the next man, and feel doubts about my decision. I don’t want to condemn the wrong man. I have it in my mind that when I see him, I will know. Like a soul mate, I muse and click the next button. Twenty new faces. On the fourth page, I find him. Or at least the closest I come to finding him. I pick a man with the most similar facial features—the same color skin, square face, flat nose, high cheekbones, and black eyes. I choose him with sixty percent accuracy. As I submit the numbers, I wonder how certainly he chose me. How did he know I would have anything of value to take? Was it even those physical things—computer, credit card, phone, he wanted? Money can be replaced easily. Fear takes longer to put to rest.
Seeing him, or someone that could be him, sends new floods of memories through my mind. I close my eyes, willing my mind to stop. Please stop. I’ve replayed it enough. I’ve replayed every detail, every movement at least ten times today and I am tired. There are dark circles beneath my eyes and my cheekbones are red from crying. My mind reaches the point where he takes out the gun, and I bite my lip. Don’t cry, not here. I click the next button. Twenty more faces. I can pick up to four men. I look in the top right corner. Only two hundred more to look through. I don’t find anyone else who looks like him. I thank the two men and leave.
Brian at J&B
I should have included this a long time ago. This is a picture from our fair trade cookie baking night. We are standing in front of well body honoring the sun.
I am sitting in J&B waiting for 2:45 to come along. Not really waiting, more just being with the time, letting it pass as it will. I need to slow down the pace of my fingers, because they are typing too quickly and that is rushing time along.
My mom met me for lunch at Angela's cafe. It was kind of her to do that, as it has been a busy day and I did not have to deal with packing a lunch. I enjoyed seeing her. I talked animatedly about the Shelby Knox documentary and panel discussions I have been to this past two nights. (Slight divergence-it is so random to turn around and see someone you went to high school with that you haven't seen in years. This particular guy I have known since Kindergarten, I believe.My most distinct memory of him is from the 4th grade. We were all taking the TAAS test and he farted. Because it was quiet, everyone heard him and even the teacher started laughing. It really hurt his feelings and he went to the counselor's office crying. We felt horrible after that, and I blamed one of my friends for laughing and then causing me to laugh too. It's funny...maybe our entire life is remembered some way or another, but just by different people. I would be really surprised if he remembered that...but maybe he remembers something about me that I don't. I like that thought)
But getting back to my original post. These past two nights at the separate discussions of GLBTQA events (Gay, Lesbian, Bi, Transgender, Queer, Ally!) have been very eye opening. These are a couple of thoughts I have gathered from them:
-with privilege comes power. There is no reason to feel guilty for being a white female heterosexual, instead use that to your advantage. Straight people are more likely to listen to other straight people, so take advantage of opportunities that present themselves
-you can't advocate for something when you don't feel like you are doing anything to change it (oh, Darfur)
-Don't let things go. Don't let people make comments, tell jokes, use terms that are homophobic. Standing up for the GLBTQ community can be as simple as not using the term "gay" to describe a situation that is undesirable
That is all I have now. Mostly I wish you guys a beautiful wednesday and take a moment to appreciate that it is wednesday. Shout glory!
I am going to repost from Coyotebanjo, because I feel as if this is something I really struggle with, and he phrased it really well:
"But more from watching how my great therapist/Dharma sister/teacher handled the emotions of others. The therapist's charge is to maintain perspective (not "objectivity", which is a bullshit chimera that some therapists hide beyond in order to avoid commitment), but the Buddhist teacher's charge is to not only maintain perspective but also to manifest compassion. Which is a delicate line to walk, and every circumstance is different. But I also learned that one of the best ways to walk that line most constructively is to be present in the moment. And part of that "being present" is to sit with someone else's pain, and refrain from either trying to escape it, or to "fix it"--both of which are attempts to avoid it."
When someone comes to me crying or in pain, I am usually thinking ahead of how to fix it. Because I honestly thought that that is what they wanted. But when I am crying or in pain, how much do I want a quick fix? Does it really mean something to me? Or do I want my friend to listen and sit with me as I cry?
Do I even need a solution? Or do I just need to cry?
Beautiful advice.
On life and all of its choices
I think it is really cool when things you have been pondering come up in every day life.
For example. Today I was reading an essay in Professor Caswell's book "An Inside Passage". He mentions that his wife is in Boulder, CO doing a degree at Naropa University. I think, how interesting.
For the past couple of weeks, I have been contemplating going to Naropa myself for a degree.
Right now, it seems as if the course of my life is going to take quite a drastic turn then what I had discussed in my previous posts.
Here is what I am considering so far:
1. Americorps
2. Social Justice/Human Rights MA program at Arizona state university (I talked with the director today, and the program seems awesome! It is really flexible, and I can direct my focus to either domestic or international issues. I can also do a CREATIVE thesis! HOW AMAZING!)
3. Breadloaf MA in English (a summer program. Caswell did it, and said that it would be perfect for me. Takes 5 years and is only taught during the summer)
4. Naropa...either a Masters in Contemplative Education or Writing
5. Teach For America
Terri told me, on behalf of advice she had received from Lynne, to apply and then consider what my options are once I have been accepted.
Any thoughts or advice?
Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts by Tracey
I just wanted to remember this:
Essays are never just essays. They're massive undertakings to see the entire world through a small piece of glass.
On time
There were too many thoughts in Artic Dreams (by Barry Lopez) to ignore, so I am going to share a few with you.
"Time hovers about the tundra like the rouhg-legged hawk, or collapses altogether like a bird keeled over witha heart attack, leaving the stillness we call death."
"To lie on your back somewhere on the light-drowned tundra of an Ellesmere Island valley is to feel that the ice ages might have ended but a few days ago. Without the holler of contemporary life, that constant disturbance, it is possible to feel the slope of time, how very far from Mesopotamia we have come."
172
It frustrates me when a subject comes up that I really really want to talk about, but I feel intimidated so I don't.
Even if I don't talk, I just want to keep talking, but I don't even speak up to forward the conversation.
Because when people bring up sex, and their upbringings, and I can relate...I still hold back from saying anything because I was brought up to hold back and to not talk about sex.
*frustration*
I thought something was missing
but when I walked into our kitchen and looked around, I couldn't place it. The kitchen was unusually clean. Almonds on the floor, yes, rice from my lunch. A coffee-ground brown circle stain on the counter. I was running late with my tea this morning.
The bamboo rug was off center. I pulled the suction pads off last year, attempting to clean beneath it. Nothing new. Nothing different.
The motivational peace corps postcards hung unevenly on the wall. The bumper sticker reading "stop bitching, start a revolution" had not been peeled from the cupboard.
I glanced above the sink. Several white thumbtacks were scattered on the wall like stars.
I looked behind me, above the stove. The same constellations. The same story.
Terri...where did your prints go?
Social Justice Short Stories
Since the short story I will be writing for my thesis deals, in some ways, about social justice, I decided to google social justice short stories to see what I could find.
And here is what I found:
http://englishcompanion.ning.com/group/teachingsocialjustice/forum/topics/social-justice-texts- TERRI please look at this one! It has ideas for books to use when teaching about social justice issues.
Though I did not really find any short stories about social justice...I found that link.
And I think that is a good place to start.
CORRECTION!
I did find this:
http://www.uapress.arizona.edu/BOOKS/bid2132.htm
It is about a book called Fire and Ink: an Anthology of Social Action Writing.
When I research things like this, I feel very alive. Very alive and connected to the world. I feel as if I would just continue on this path a little longer, I would be able to see where I am being called to go.
The Wind is in you, the wind is in me
I am part of the wind. Growing up in Lubbock makes you that way. You sense a change in the seasons not by temperature, but by drops and rises in the wind. Winter is dead. The wind blows south with the birds, leaving the days clear and sunny. December through February the wind has become a breeze. The breeze is cool and reassuring. Without wind, the world would be terribly wrong. If I woke up to a still morning and opened my blinds to see the trees limp, I would think that we finally did it—we finally did something so horrible that shifted earth patterns irreversibly into a different way of life altogether. And if I stared out my window and the heavy branches of the elm tree did not move, did not lift its leaves, I would think we are not ready for this.
We are not ready to change so drastically.
This made me think about Terri's comment on how we have lost touch with our humanity:
[In regards to death], there are much worse things, you know. The destroyers: they work to see how much can be lost, how much can be forgotten. They destroy the feeling people have for each other.
-Ceremony
I am reading and critiquing Dr. Batra's upcoming manuscript and am intimidated to be offering her suggestions on her work.
everything
"Everything that is really precious is right here in our hearts. Everything is already right here."
-His Holiness the Dalai Lama
I'm not going to really put this in context. From the research I've done on Costa Rica, I've come across a few articles about prostitution. This passage stood out the most to me:
Who could ever forget that thick-lipped black woman, whose exuberance perched on a pair of temulous buttocks that gained her the nickname Black Pudding! And how to forget that corn blond woman who they called Soft-Boiled Egg? And poor Silvia, skinny and pale, surely suffering from tuberculosis? Where are they now? Maybe they're wandering around someplace begging, or are they just a little anonymous mound of earth in the cemetery for the poor, the Calvo?
(Molina, Iván, and Steven Palmer, eds. The Costa Rica Reader: History, Culture, Politics. Durham: Duke UP, 2004)
SO INSPIRED!
Reasons for a sudden inspiration:
1.I found out this morning that Seva is getting a coffee donation from from Equal Exchange for our tabling outside the sub event in October. SO we get free fair trade coffee to hand out to students!
2. I had a meeting with Dr. Verrone to discuss the URF meeting I missed last week. We talked for about 20 minutes about URF, Honors Thesis, and Contracting and then for the next 40 minutes about American Foreign policy, Che Guevara, our reasons for being in Vietnam, Lubbock school systems' stupidity at not allowing students to watch Obama's speech, Obama bringing genuine change to our nation and having one of the most transparent government administrations, how our reasons for invading countries are deciding, there being a CIA agent present when Che Guevara was executed, the "closet" liberals of the honors college...it was really cool to just talk with a faculty member about something that wasn't related to why I had scheduled the meeting. Mostly I admire how really dedicated Dr. Verrone is to his job.
3.Short-shorts just walked by.
4. Two maintenance men got drenched and started laughing about it.
5. I have inspiration and direction for my honors thesis!
6. The bike ride into tech was BEAUTIFUL! and not scary.
7. There is a possibility of an old time tunes jam session this evening
8. Love!
Conflicting Ideas/Thoughts/Feelings?
I don't think I have been listening to my music enough lately. I opened iTunes just now and was conflicted as to what to play, because there are so many songs I want to hear, and only one moment to click one.
I have felt shaky and not grounded today. I woke up before my alarm again (which I think it bad, it may not be. I think I have not necessarily healthy view points on sleep)...and I just have so many ideas.
I have two big projects that I am working on right now. One of them is my Honors Thesis which is dealing, now, with violence in Costa Rica. The other is an essay for my Gender, Race, and Nature class. I haven't come up with anything concrete yet...but I am thinking about focusing the essay on sexuality in nature in Ceremony and examining the different sex scenes in the novel, contrast them (there are three, one is violent white man/ indian woman, the other is more spiritual/natural mexican woman/indian man, and the other is healing indian woman/indian man...I mention their race as it is a factor of the novel.)
I guess it is difficult to switch between thought processes. Originally I was going to write about violence in Ceremony, but reading and writing about violence for two projects was too depressing.
I think it's more of a funk caused by actually reading Ceremony. The book deals a lot with older Laguna traditions and relationships with the earth...and I feel like that is something I really lack in my life and culture.
And I don't really know how to reconcile it. So I feel like I am retreating further away from it instead.
Really I need to reconcile my faith. I had a lot of time to think this summer, which brought up several questions I had that I was unable to answer, or didn't necessarily agree with. But now I have not dealt with them.
I don't feel overwhelmed. That is the weird part.
I feel like I am on top of all of my assignments...I don't feel like I'm struggling for time.
But something feels like it's missing.
I think what is missing is not religion but spirituality. And thinking.
And meditating.
And appreciating the little things in life.
We watched Amelie this weekend, and I LOVED IT. One of the scenes that I liked was where Amelie is watching a video of her life on the TV (juxtaposed with the death of Princess Diana) and the announcer says something to the affect of Amelie appreciating the little things in life. Like skipping stones.
The first thing that comes to my mind is hot chocolate on a warm day.
And riding my bike through the neighborhoods to tech. There is a particular tree that catches the light right off of boston in the mornings.
I was surprised today when I finished my essay on oral history for my South African class. I didn't expect to have it done until at least Wednesday, but I got it in one go this morning. I think I have come to terms that my most productive time is in the morning. It also surprised me when I woke up and it was still dark outside.
I was moved when I found a sticky note left on my computer that said "roar!" and some other things.
I was inspired when Glen and I were eating lunch together this afternoon. We were eating outside by Murray, and he pointed to a corner near where the sams place and dorm rooms intersect. Around the area was a cluster of red flowers, and he said that he liked the color palate--the reds of the flowers, the blue of the sky, the brick.
It has been a really beautiful day.
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