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

liberation

riding my bike, at night, down indiana or quaker. you know, where the cars go.

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.