More Amazing Journal Highlights

Hi Everyone,

As I mentioned last week, I’m moving to Portland this Sunday.  Because I’m in the middle of transitioning, I thought it would be a good time for another round of highlights from my Amazing Journal, especially since it’s been almost a year since the last one.  Here they are:

My most recent Amazing Journals

November 16, 2011: Today I read about how SCAD has been on this list of schools that restrict academic freedom (it has been on the list for the last two decades).  They tried recently to get off the list but when the people came recently to evaluate the school, SCADMINISTRATION restricted where they could go and who they could talk with.  So no . . . 

November 19, 2011: Today I learned that when you’re holding a chicken, if you twist its body back and forth, its head will stay in the same position, like a weighted ball that won’t ever roll over properly.

November 25, 2011: Today when Erin and I were at lunch, Erin noticed an older gentleman at a nearby table who had an acorn tucked behind his ear.  Did it just land there and he didn’t notice, or did he put it there for some reason?

December 3, 2011: Today I overheard two ladies speaking in some Slavic-sounding language in Forsyth.  Then all of a sudden, I heard a word I recognized: Effingham.  Of course.

December 4, 2011: Today when I went to check in to my flight online, I was told I couldn’t because I was an infant and my guardian needed to do it in person.

December 6, 2011: Today, I went to STCU [my bank] and saw a sign with a triceratops riding a horse.  I asked what that was about and was told the triceratops was riding a carousel.   OOOHHH!  Well, that explains it, then.

December 13, 2011: Today I remembered that yesterday, UPS sent me a letter asking for a donation of $0.  That doesn’t inspire confidence in either UPS or in me!

January 15, 2012: Today I ordered a chai from the Rocket Bakery, and it came in a very plain white mug.  I was going along when all of a sudden, I spotted what seemed to be a kiwi in my drink! It turns out that it was a green ceramic fish glued to the inside of this fish.  Why? So, so weird.  And terrifying.

February 14, 2012: Today I read about a shark that swallowed another shark! It’s a carpet shark, and apparently can unhinge its jaws so it can swallow large prey.  Oh perfect.  Because the only thing nicer than a shark is a SNAKE shark disguised as a rug.  Oh joy.

April 3, 2012: Today Marcy, Frank and I saw a guy walking with two other people who were dressed normally. He was covered head to toe in a grassy substance that made him look like Chubaka gone to seed.

April 6, 2012: Today John and Pooja got an inspection of the sewer system at their new home.  They were given the results on a DVD and it came with a bag of popcorn.  When the video robot came to the part where there were roots pressing into the pipe, it couldn’t get through and it just kept slamming against it like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

April 28, 2012: Today we discovered that a (very tame) marmot had made a nest in the bonnet of Claude [our Toyota Camry]! It had spent the night in the garage and had chewed at the insulation in the door trying to get out.

May 24, 2012: Today, as I turned onto Strong Road, there was this magic floating cotton storm, except it was sunny and calm and lovely.  I felt like I was in a movie.

June 10, 2012: Today, on the way to the Tallahassee airport, we were on a very deserted back road early in the misty morning and we saw one man walking on the shoulder and another walking very determinedly toward him.  That one had a cowboy hat on and it seemed like they were about to have a duel.

July 23, 2012: Today I was embarrassed to learn that one of the books I’d gotten for Paul Zelinsky to sign was already inscribed by several people.  But fortunately, it was inscribed to someone named Sarah, so I totally pulled it off!

August 19, 2012: Today, when Daddy and I were taking out the ceiling in my bathroom, we found a ball of my hair in the space leading to the laundry room.  It looked like a cobweb made of hair and I have no idea how it got there.

August 24, 2012: Today I saw a person busking.  He was wearing black from head to toe and was wearing a Darth Vader mask.   He was also playing the fiddle.

September 6, 2012: Today I saw what I was convinced was a dead vervet monkey by the side of the highway as I was leaving Portland.  Even this city’s roadkill is weird!

September 7, 2012: Today, at Bennidito’s, a family was sitting outside near us.  For some reason, they went over and sat outside Subway for a while.  When they came back, the son, who was maybe eight or so, gasped, leapt up and said, “My toothpick!”  He sprinted back over to the table outside Subway and retrieved the toothpick.  Crisis averted.

September 15, 2012: Today I babysat the Van Sickles and we made a rainbow angel food cake that basically looked like a brick of cotton candy.

Next time, I’ll be writing from Portland!  I have gotten several requests for my new address.  Let me know if you’d like it, and I’d be happy to pass it along.

Have an amazing week!

Sarah/Mouse

Super Patient

Hi Everyone,

This spring, I stumbled upon some stickers I’d gotten from the doctor’s office when I was little.  I gave most of them away to the triplets as math prizes, but I kept this one:

“This,” I told myself, “is exactly what I need to be.”  I’m sure any of you who have been around the health professions for longer than half a second are completely fed up with the “patients”/”patience” play on words.  (“Yes, I’m a doctor.  Yes, I have patients.  BUT NOT WITH THAT JOKE!”)  So my apologies for this mediocre-at-best pun.  I have a pun scale which I use to evaluate my family’s puns, and this would register somewhere between a 1 and a 2 out of 10... definitely in the category of “not worth mentioning.”  But I am mentioning it nonetheless because for me, this past year has been characterized by both kinds of “patient,” so the sticker seemed particularly appropriate.

I’ve spent much more time at the doctor’s this year than I normally do.  Since November, I have had foot surgery, and have experienced an increase in tonsil stones.  I have got the worst flu/cold/cough combo I’ve ever known, and have had chronic dry eye (or “chapped eyeballs” as my doctor explained it to me).  I have sprained my ankle, encountered random numbness in my right elbow, and my knees have started popping with every step I take.  I have discovered the hard way that I’m allergic to a certain brand of contact, and have experienced a mild resurgence of tachycardia (what my friend calls “hummingbird heart”).  The most uncomfortable issue was a cornea infection, but really, none of these things are all that serious.  And since they’ve been spread out over the course of the year, it hasn’t been nearly as dramatic as I’ve just made it sound.  But of course, my incessant English Major mind has attempted to find deep significance in these mild maladies, resonating with other aspects of my life.  For example: “Well, maybe, just maybe, you’re having trouble with your eyes because you’re in a place of uncertainty right now, and you’re having trouble seeing what’s ahead.”  Or “Perhaps your inability to walk without foot or leg discomfort indicates a concern about taking the next step in life.”  This is why they shouldn’t hire lit majors to write horoscopes.

The truth is that it’s been much harder to be the other kind of patient over this last year.  I used to think I was good at waiting.  I genuinely enjoy standing in (most) lines or looking forward to snail mail arriving.  But those experiences are enjoyable because I know a.) what I’m waiting for, and b.) more or less how long I have to wait.  Also, these are examples of waiting that I have chosen to participate in.  As I’ve been applying for jobs over the past 9 or so months, I have been forced to wait for whatever is coming up next without knowing what it will be, when it will come, or how exactly I’ll discover it.  

In Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, Maria (as Olivia) writes to Malvolio, “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.”  I’m beginning to feel like I’m one of those people who needs to have virtues thrust upon me if I’m going to have them at all.  Perhaps real patience, like courage or endurance, can be achieved only by living through situations that require it.  Perhaps it’s not that we simply have patience, and then find occasions to use it, but rather that we encounter the situations, and then come through them equipped with patience.  Or maybe I’m focusing too much on the causal effect chickens have on eggs, when the opposite is equally true.  But the point is that right now, at least, I don’t feel as though I have a whole lot of choice about being patient.  I’m pretty sure that if I did, I would have chosen employment months ago.

Choice, though, is complicated.  Over the summer, I decided to move to Portland, OR, at the end of this month to live with my Hollins friend Lucy, and her sister Molly.  I’m really excited about living with them, and about living in what seems like an ideal city for my interests and stage of life.  But of course, with rent and other payments on the horizon, and no tangible job prospects, it’s feeling increasingly risky.

Over the past few months, it’s felt like I’ve been waiting in line to ride a roller coaster.  I’ve now gotten in the car, and the restraints have locked into place.  We’ve started and are chugging up the first hill.  The crest is getting closer and closer, and my adrenaline is beginning to kick in.  I’ve gone on roller coasters before, and I’ve seen people emerge from this one not only unscathed, but ecstatic.  And yet all the logic my brain can muster up does not translate to my worried tummy.  Where does choice come in at this point?  Not that I necessarily want to, but I can’t reasonably back out now.  And yet, I chose to get in the line and let the restraints lock me in the car.  Basically, it was my choice to surrender my choice.  

It’s the risk that is making patience so difficult.  It’s the possibility that even though I don’t think it will happen, even though I don’t believe it will happen, things could come crashing down in a disastrous heap.  But where the sticker helps out yet again: 

if the roller coaster does somehow come unhinged and we go tumbling through the air, I can always rely on my cape!

Have a good week!

Sarah/Mouse

Pretty Woman?

Hi Everyone,

About a year ago, I came across an article written by Lisa Bloom that has changed the way I interact with women, particularly young girls.  I recommend reading it if you haven’t already (here's the link).  Her main point was that very often, our first instinct when we talk with girls is to comment on their physical appearance.  She connects this habit to the continued objectification of women, and to the increasing concern about physical appearance among very young girls.  

I don’t consider myself someone who is obsessed with superficial appearances, and one of my favorite things to do is to have intelligent discussions with children.  So I was surprised and embarrassed when I analyzed my own interactions with women and girls.  Very often, I realized with chagrin, I am completely guilty of the trend that Bloom describes.  I frequently start conversations with a comment like, “Hey, Stephanie!  Nice shirt!” or “Hi, Helen!  I like your haircut!”  I think that we begin conversations with women this way partly because the easiest way to start a conversation is by mentioning something visible, and partly because we genuinely want to compliment the people we’re speaking with.  And what’s wrong with that?  

Nothing, except that we tend to do this much more with girls than with boys.  And, as Bloom points out, this trend reemphasizes long held cultural assumptions that girls and women are meant to be objects of beauty in ways that boys and men are not.  Several months ago, a few friends and I got in a discussion about whether men and women have fundamentally different parenting roles apart from the obvious biological differences.  This is part of a larger question that humans have been asking for millennia, but which has had particular weight in our cultural discourse in the last century or so: Are men and women fundamentally different?  (This, of course, doesn’t even begin to acknowledge the question of transgender or transsexual people, and the idea that sex is not as binary as we tend to think of it.)

That’s far too weighty a question for a small person like me to tackle.  But this spring, as I was tutoring the triplets in math, I was reminded of it as we worked with basic equalities like, “5 pennies + 2 dimes = ?”  I’m assuming that most of you passed third grade math, and that you recognize that there are a number of correct answers: “25 pennies,” “1 quarter,” “5 nickels,” etc.  So is “5 pennies + 2 dimes” the same as “1 quarter”?  Of course not!  The coins in each group look different, weigh different amounts, and have different names.  But what the girls understood was that “5 pennies + 2 dimes” have the same value as “1 quarter.”  

I believe that the same is true of people.  It is obvious that men and women are not the same.  We wouldn’t need different words to distinguish them if they were.  But virtually all of the people I respect agree that men and women have the same value.  (I make a few exceptions for brilliant writers or thinkers who I like to pretend would support this notion had they been born a few centuries later.)  So there we go.  Solution!  Women and men are different but equal.

Except that “different but equal” begins to sound frighteningly like “separate but equal.” All analogies fail after a certain point, and in my experience, when they lead you to start thinking like the verdict of Plessy v. Ferguson, it’s time to bail ASAP.  The difference between the equations “5 pennies + 2 dimes = 1 quarter” and “men = women” is that the main function of all coins is to represent monetary value.  Any differences between pennies, dimes and quarters are superficial, merely for the sake of convenience or aesthetics.  

In the second equation, though, even if we agree that men and women have equal value (and sadly, there are still many people who do not), we don’t all agree on how value is measured.  Is it contribution to society?  Do people have value by fulfilling whatever duties they have?  If so, how do we determine and then compare the worth of these duties?  Or is value something which all humans have simply by existing, and we all have equal amounts of it regardless of how we act?  

Even if we could somehow determine that a traditionally masculine task like changing the oil in the car is of equal value to a traditionally feminine task such as doing laundry, there are several major problems.  First, aside from being impossible, this system rules out potential development.  As long as it remains in circulation (and doesn’t get put on a train track or used in a craft project), a penny can only ever be a penny.  The upside and the downside to people is that they are infinitely more complicated than pennies.  Our skills and abilities are not fixed; as we live, we change, we learn, we grow.  I might not know how to change the oil in a car, but I could learn how to.  (And though I do pride myself on being able to do my laundry, I would hope that any independent 27-year-old, regardless of gender, color, or creed, would be able to shove a week’s worth of dirty clothes into the machine, dump a bit of soap in the right compartment, and press “start.”  And for the record, if any of you guys were to tell me you can’t, I can assure you I won’t be overwhelmed with your manliness and ask permission to have your babies.)

But perhaps the biggest problem is that whenever we assign each other roles where money or power is involved (when men are still earning more than their female counterparts, or when most politicians, pastors, college presidents are men), things become complicated.  We value money and power because they give us agency in our society, so when we assign societal roles (which come with money and/or power) to people based on arbitrary traits like race or gender, we invariably grant agency to some, and deny it to others.  As Brown v. Board of Education showed, “separate but equal” is always impossible, even in theory. 

None of this pondering and pontificating solves the question of what I should have been saying to the triplets when I arrived at their house.   Should I have just ignored the fact that they are three bright and beautiful girls?  Should I have mentioned only their academic or athletic abilities?  As an artist, I consider it part of my duty to celebrate visual beauty when I see it, so I resist the idea that we should just not tell girls they are beautiful in order to show them they are more than visual objects.  However, I think Bloom’s argument is valid, that by mentioning primarily their appearance, we associate female identity with physical beauty at the expense of other characteristics.  So, now, in speaking with girls and women, I try to comment on at least one of their other attributes before mentioning their appearance.  I want them to know I am interested in them as whole people, that their visual beauty is part of a larger beauty.  

One thing Bloom does not address is how to talk with boys.  I want them to know I am interested in them as whole people too, and so I have to believe that to neglect their physical appearance is also detrimental.  Men are no less beautiful than women, but our conversations consistently reinforce the contrary.  By allowing beauty to be both masculine and feminine, we crumble one of the divides we have constructed between men and women.  Recognizing beauty in boys does not have to be -- and should not be -- awkward.  After all, boys wear shirts and get hair cuts too.  

But perhaps even more important than recognizing physical qualities in boys is to help boys -- and everyone -- recognize beauty in others.  Because in seeing other people as beautiful, we break down some of the barriers we erect between “us” and “them.”  Today, as we honor the victims of 9/11 and its aftermath, it is especially important to remember that difference -- of nationality, of race, of religion, of gender -- can so easily separate us from each other with horrific consequences.  The most important battles must be fought over and over again, and so while we (our country’s legal system) overturned Plessy v. Ferguson in 1954, we (the people) must continue to overturn it every day in our actions, words and thoughts.  One way we can do this is by training ourselves to see and celebrate beauty in other people, be they men or women.

As always, I welcome your thoughts, particularly if you think differently from me!  

Have a good week!

Sarah/Mouse

An Exceedingly Lengthy Explanation For Why I Haven't Written, Plus Some Thoughts About Labor Day

Hi Everyone,

Yet again, there has been a long hiatus since my last letter.  Of course, as always, I’ve had a lot going on.  In the spring, I had a handful of odd jobs that kept me hopping around town trying to scrape together some money for this summer.  And then, before going back to Hollins again, I traveled for two weeks.  I visited Savannah again, went to a wedding in Florida with some of my close Hollins friends (don’t worry -- it was the wedding of another of our close Hollins friends -- we didn’t just pick a state at random and then find a wedding to crash), went to Boston, where I stayed with my friend from preschool and her daughter, and then I attended and presented at a conference.  Finally, of course, I got to Hollins, and it was characteristically full of top-notch people, thought-provoking books, and spectacular views of the Blue Ridge Mountains dozing away the muggy Virginian summer.  Since I’ve been back in Spokane, apart from a week-long trip to Canada with my parents to see my brother’s play at the Victoria Fringe Festival, I’ve spent my time hanging out with my parents, working on a few freelance art projects, and fervently applying for jobs.  (Job hunting is so darn enjoyable that I’ll save my ample thoughts on that activity for another time.)  So, as you can see, I’ve been busy.

But busy isn’t a great excuse, really.  For one thing, I’ve had periods in my life when I’ve been much busier than I have been in the last six months or so, and I have still been able to maintain a more regular schedule for writing these letters.  I could have made time if I’d really wanted.  As I think about it, I believe that the real reason I haven’t written is that after hunting and applying for jobs, and writing essays or creative pieces for school, and reading and responding to emails, and formatting artwork for various projects, I am so sick of my computer by the end of the day, that I avoid it.  (That being said, this week marks the third anniversary of my computer’s and my partnership, and I am very grateful for it.  A while ago, I told my roommate at SCAD, “My computer is definitely the best big investment I’ve made.”  Then I thought for a second and added, “Oh.  And my education.”  It really depends on the day which I think is winning in overall usefulness.)

Another reason “busy” does not cut it as an excuse for not writing these letters is that virtually everyone is busy these days.  In our culture, this word is synonymous for being alive.  It’s gone from describing a temporary state of being to a longterm condition.  It’s risen quickly to the top of the list of acceptable responses to the question, “How are you?”, bypassing distinguished stalwarts such as “Fine, thank you,” or “Well, and yourself?”  We’re not really “bad.”  But often, we’re not really “good,” either (don’t even get me started on the moral implications these linguistically negligent responses entail . . .)  We’re just “busy,” scurrying around trying to get from one thing to the next.  

Busyness seems to be part of our genetic makeup.  It’s just who I am, right?: I am short, female, and white(ish) in skin color.  I have blonde(ish) hair and terrible eyesight (no “ish” about that!).  I am 27 years old, and I am busy.   And who knows?  Maybe in the next few years, we’ll discover that some people are naturally more prone to busyness than others.  (I did just read an article about how being a night owl is a genetic trait, so I wouldn’t be surprised.)  

However, busyness also seems to be part of our cultural DNA.  We’ve all heard sweeping generalizations about other cultures being slower-paced and less work-oriented than ours.  And from the travel I have done, I’d say this is (generally) true.  My favorite line from the French film Amélie comes when the title character gives a beggar a few coins, and he says, “Sorry, Madam.  I don’t work on Sundays.”  The French not only know how to take a break -- they have perfected it.  Had they been around during Creation Week, I suspect they would have protested for a two-day Sabbath.  Meanwhile, here in the US, or so the stereotype goes, we go, go, go, more concerned with what we do than who we are.  

Sweeping is a mildly infuriating activity for a perfectionist like myself because it is impossible to ever collect all the dirt; the bristles in a broom always leave some of it out.  The same is true with sweeping generalizations.  Even if they describe the majority of people in a certain scenario most of the time, there are always exceptions.  Obviously, there are people in France who are busy, just as there are people in the States who aren’t.  But I do think that there are societies where it’s especially difficult to keep one’s schedule free of clutter.  Either the expectation or the temptation to add activity to our lives is always lingering in the wings.  It’s like cell phone possession: it’s not unheard of to not have a cell phone (until January of this year, I was the only one in my family who did), but to not have one is rare enough that a.) it takes a strong will to resist the cultural norm, and therefore, b.) you stand out if you don’t have one.  I have, on occasion, met non-busy people in the States, and I find them intriguing and comforting and profoundly enviable.  I heard once that “busy” could be an acronym for “Being Under Satan’s Yolk.”  Yikes!  I don’t think I’d go quite that far (after all, it could also be an acronym for “Beatific Undertaker Stalks Yeti,” though that does lose some of the moralistic undertones).  But I have definitely felt yolked to my busyness at times, and I am sure that I’ll be struggling with it for the rest of my life.

Labor Day is a rather ironic holiday; we take a day off work to celebrate workers and industry.  It reminds me a bit of when I was in South Africa, and for one day, many people refused to go to work to protest rising food costs, and chose to spend their extra time standing in long lines at the grocery stores buying said expensive food.  I’ve never paid much attention to Labor Day.  Usually I am much more occupied with a new school year starting up, or with the fact that fresh apple cider will soon be available at Greenbluff.  But this year, as I have work and busyness on my mind, I’m considering it a bit more.  Perhaps in this holiday, we have it right, or at least right-er than normal.  One of the quotes I included on my high school yearbook page was an African proverb (sorry -- I don’t know which country it comes from): “Work is good, provided you do not forget to live.”  In theory, on Labor Day, we recognize the importance of work, but we also remember to live. 

Have a great week, full of work and full of living!

Sarah/Mouse

ps: Despite all these ramblings about busyness, I vow to be more industrious in writing these letters from now on.  I’ll check in next week.