events

Occupied

When I first began my doctoral journey, and had just moved to Minnesota, I was fortunate enough to be introduced to Krista Kennedy, who was, at the time, ABD in the Writing Studies Department at the University of Minnesota (she is now an Assistant Professor at Syracuse University).

I had moved across the country, nearly 2000 miles away from anyone I knew, and had left behind a life that I knew well, one in which I worked full-time and went to school full-time, to embrace a different type of life. It was expected that I would have a full-time academic career, but leave my full-time work career behind, at least for the foreseeable future. It was, to say the least, culture shock. I didn’t know what to do with myself because I didn’t understand how to work successfully without working constantly and, to put it mildly, in a suffering way. What I mean by that is that I had come to understand success as a grueling, difficult path that required me to suffer in order to progress.

Why Krista mattered so much to me at that time (and I still consider her a cherished mentor) is because she suggested that I read Those Winter Sundays, edited by Kathleen A. Welsch. It is a book about female academics who come from working class families. She said it would help me put things in to perspective, to understand that I wasn’t alone, and that this did not have to be a struggle (a lesson I still haven’t learned, by the way – I am, even this semester, teaching 3 classes while working on my dissertation).

Fast forward to this October (2011). I was at a conference in Arizona, where I’m from, and was able to visit with family. During a family outing, we found ourselves in a lower-economic area of Phoenix and were looking for a place to get something to drink. My brother pulled into a 7-11, but some of us were reluctant to get out of the car because there were many people standing around looking like they might ask for money. My brother said to us, “That could be us.” My brother, an assistant professor of education at a university, reminded us that we weren’t far from those very people, and that at a point in our lives, we were homeless.

I came home, thinking about this. Thinking about being poor and destitute and disenfranchised. We were the working class poor at one point in our lives. There were times when we, as a family, and sometimes individually, did not have a home — or the place we called home was the back room of a business, the makeshift cots in a van, a sleeping bag in the back of a station wagon, or a very small motorhome parked outside of a business. I’m not there now, but I often feel as if I’m only a step away from being there again. And as I pondered this for the next few weeks, a friend suggested that I may wear that as a guard against being privileged, against being amongst those who are privileged.

That brought me back to the book that Krista had suggested a few years prior. In the foreword, Janet Zandy writes

Class differences are measured by the absence of the right clothes, the best early medical and dental care, and, perhaps more importantly, the intangible psychological lift of the privileged, of growing up economically secure with space and time for play instead of constant work, where one explores options rather than settles for what is available. Class status and circumstances shape, perhaps determine, choice.
(viii)

I needed a moment to catch my breath. I had been struggling with trying to understand the Occupy movement. It seemed, to me, to be a lot of privileged people making a stand. I didn’t see my people out there. And why would I? They couldn’t be there. They are at work, struggling to make ends meet. They don’t have the option to go there. They don’t have the choice.

Throughout this occupation of parks and campuses across the country, I’ve tried to connect with this movement. I’ve tried to understand it, to make sense of it. And still, I struggle. Maybe that is because I don’t see the choices available, even to this day. Maybe it’s because I do still feel underprivileged in many ways (although, I know I’m not — I have an education that many people dream about, a roof over my head, and food in my kitchen). What all of this makes me wonder is if I’m the one who is occupied; am I occupied by a past that has become such an integral part of me that I only see a life of few choices? Or has it always been that those who need change the most are the least able to make it happen?

copyRIP!

Sound Unseen screened rip! a remix manifesto, a film by Brett Gaylor, last night in a small, intimate theater recently established (this was the premiere showing) in Minneapolis, filled almost to capacity.

View the film at http://www.ripremix.com/. Pay what you think it is worth (and it is worth the money, I promise), then can rip it, do a mashup, or simply watch it. Just don’t sell it.

Figuring prominently in the film are Lawrence Lessig (@lessig on Twitter), Professor of Law at Stanford Law School, Cory Doctorow (@doctorow on Twitter), science fiction novelist and blogger, and GirlTalk (aka Gregg Gillis), mashup artist, who not only give us information about remixing and mashups, but give us background and historical references to copyright laws. Each of them also shows how complex this subject is, from Lessig commenting on the illegality of segments of the video, to Doctorow discussing the Dickens / Twain copyright issues of the 19th century, to GirlTalk’s previous career in a field steeped in intellectual property issues (biomedical engineering).

The movie is informative and entertaining. The music is amazing, the sound bites are funny, and Gaylor discusses the reasons behind his advocacy of a remix manifesto. What he doesn’t do is discuss in depth the middle of the road between complete copyright control and no copyright control and what the differences are. There is a sense of US versus THEM to this film, but in the end the lines of US and THEM are definitely blurred.

At the end of the screening, the audience was given the chance to talk to the filmmaker over Skype. The conversation was lively and interesting.

In other news in the copyright fight, BoingBoing reported today the USA, Canada, and the EU attempted to kill a treaty to protect blind people’s access to written material. Doctorow writes

At issue is a treaty to protect the rights of blind people and people with other disabilities that affect reading (people with dyslexia, people who are paralyzed or lack arms or hands for turning pages), introduced by Brazil, Ecuador and Paraguay. This should be a slam dunk: who wouldn’t want a harmonized system of copyright exceptions that ensure that it’s possible for disabled people to get access to the written word?

Doctorow amends the piece and says there is victory (for now):

Victory! — the treaty proposal survived this meeting and will be back on the agenda at the next one. We’ve got a couple months to lobby our governments and make sure that the next time they show up, they don’t embarrass us by opposing this.

See the the final conclusions of the SCCR Eighteenth Session at Knowledge Ecology Notes.

And finally, the Chronicle of Higher Education, news was posted about different copyright law curricula being offered in higher education. The author, Marc Beja, discusses the Recording Industry Association of America’s (RIAA) curriculum for teaching copyright law, and the response of the Electronic Frontier Foundation in releasing their own curriculum. He writes,

The foundation’s program, “Teaching Copyright,” includes a Web site and five 60-minute lessons that the foundation hopes will give students what it calls “the real story” about their rights when it comes to downloading movies, music, and other media from the Internet.

Interesting that Brazil figures predominantly in both the rip/remix issues and the copyright issues. While Lessig was in Brazil talking about Creative Commons, he said

I come from the land where we talk about being free. I come from a land where we are lost. You are our brother in this debate, and you must remind us of what we have lost.

Brazil, again, has reminded us. Now it is up to us to listen.

being family

I have a hard time being around strangers or large groups of people. It’s incredibly stressful for me. If I know that is going tothanksgiving at phoenix fire station #35 happen, I don’t usually go to a function. I will avoid them, give excuses, not go. This time, though, my brother said he was excited for me to spend Thanksgiving with him at the fire station he was working at. If for nothing else, I had to go because of that.

I got there after a two hour drive and my brother wasn’t there. His engine had just gone out on a call. Ugh. Now I’d have to hang out with people I didn’t know and try to feel comfortable. I’ve had to do that at other stations and it was so uncomfortable.

I shouldn’t have worried this time. These guys were awesome. They welcomed me, started giving me a hard time right away, and made me feel like they had known me forever. They were just like family.

My brother’s engine came back and I was greeted with a big hug by one of the guys who has known my brother since the Academy. I watched football for a bit with them (even though I know next to nothing about football). We talked baseball (talked lots of smack about the Yankees, heehee). We watched videos by Jeff Dunham (I showed one yesterday). One engine got a call and they had to go out. Then the rescue got a call. That left 5 of us in the station to finish up dinner. I offered to help but was told to relax. Ahem. Four guys in the kitchen. And they were hilarious, especially when trying to figure out how to make stuffing.

As the other engine came back, a man wandered into the garage with chest pains. My brother was out there helping him so I wandered out to watch. It was cool to see them in action. They had to call for a rescue since the station rescue truck was out. By the time the rescue got there, another pulled up moments after (so there were two rescues in the garage). They pulled out the bed (which was a cool bed and runs on a DeWalt motor) and loaded the man up and took him away.

Just in time, too. Dinner was ready. The rescue guys pulled in just as the tables were getting set up. Smoked turkey, ham, two different kinds of sweet potatoes (one with brown sugar and pecans on top — omigod were they good!), cranberry sauce (jellied and whole, homemade), mashed potatoes, and more.

Then another call came in just as we were finishing dinner. This time it was my brother’s engine and I got to go along for a ride. It was cool. A kid had been hit with a vacuum by his father (who was on meth) and they needed to bandage him up. The kid was originally from Bosnia (only in the States for 5 years, he was 19) and he was pretty layed-back about the whole incident. The police left the scene to go talk to the father (the kid had walked to a convenience store). We waited around a bit and then the decision was made to take him to the hospital. We all climbed in to the engine and headed for the hospital.

By the time we got back (1 1/2 hours later), we were up for dessert — some desserts were brought in by community members, which is awesome). I had a yummy blueberry pie.

Then I headed home. Two hours later, I pulled into my yard. I had such a good time. I kept telling my brother, on the phone, to thank them again. I wanted them to know how much I appreciated being made to feel like family. They made me belong, even if for only a day.

indigo girls

I have been listening to the indigo girls for years. It all started long ago, when I worked in a small coffee shop in downtown Flagstaff and next door was a local music store (Dab Nabbitts).

The guys from Dab Nabbits would come over for a cup of coffee and we’d chat. I was working 8-12 hour days and we had a lot of time to get to know one another.

One of the regular guys at the store, Mike, would find music he thought I’d like; music that he called “Dawn’s Lesbian Chick Music.” He would keep the CDs behind the counter until I could go next door on a break or after work. He’d play it for me to see if I liked it. One of the first CDs he ever gave me (and you have to remember, CDs were fairly new back then so we loved them) was the Indigo Girls Rites of Passage. How could I not fall in love with that music. The harmonies are exquisite. The lyrics are sublime. It is the perfect CD (and, to this day, still my favorite IG CD even though I own as many as I can find). Another CD that he gave me was Brenda Kahn’s Epiphany in Brooklyn and I still love that one, too.

From that moment, I was hooked on the Indigo Girls. I couldn’t wait for each CD to come out. I’ve loved them all, each one different and unique and totally IG.

I have watched their tour dates for years. I have been hoping one would come close enough that I’d get to see them. This winter, I got notice they’d be in Tucson and Santa Fe. Those two cities aren’t too far away so I started making plans to see them. And then, two days later, I got another email. The Indigo Girls would be in Flagstaff. Flagstaff! Wow, wow, wow! Seriously WOW!

I was beside myself. I was so excited and called up my brother right away to see if he’d want to go (he likes them, too). We made plans to buy the tickets as soon as they went on sale. Wouldn’t you know it, though, that they went on sale while we were on the road to California for my great Aunt’s 90th birthday party? I was disappointed but figured that maybe we’d be able to find some tickets somehow. We got in later that night and logged on to the web site. Imagine my surprise when there were still premium tickets available. Not just one or two — enough for all of us (my brother, sister, sister-in-law, and me).

Not only are we going to see my favorite band in concert, but we have second row seats AND we get to meet Emily and Amy (and typically I wouldn’t be into the whole “meet and greet” thing — but this is a pretty cool event, I have to admit).

Tuesday, May 22nd, I get to see my favorite band — up close and personal. I’m so excited! And to share in that, this is their newest video, “Last Tears”:

some thoughts on graduating

I know, I know. I may kill this dead horse. As much as I say it’s not a big deal, it is.

I work among people who have their Master’s and Doctorates. Every single day, I’m around people who have higher degrees. So I often belittle my acquisition of one because I think — well, it’s no big deal. Everyone else around me has one.

But you know what? It is.

Several people in my life have pointed out that I came from a place where getting a Master’s degree probably wouldn’t have been attainable for many other people. I joked in one class that I’ve lived a life of trauma: poverty, homelessness, domestic violence, and rape. People aren’t supposed to bounce back from those kinds of things and do better than anyone expects them to.

I have. And I’m pushing myself further.

But I think that I push myself for that validation. I *am* someone. I am someone who is motivated and intelligent and worthy of that validation.

And then things happen that cause me to question myself. My mother, of course, didn’t come to my graduation (or my brother’s, for that matter). Our own mother couldn’t come out of her house to join in our celebration. Yes, she sent a card and a gift to each of us. But those are things. She lives in the same town and couldn’t even come — even though my Dad and all of my siblings came.

We had a party and not one of the people I invited came. While I work around a lot of introverts and I’m probably the worst of them, it still hurt. I understand it logically. I totally get it. But it hurt my feelings that none of them came. So this big celebration that was for both my brother and me became more about him because all of his guests showed up and few of them realized that I got my degree, as well.

He told me, though, that in the end, the people that really matter were there: my brothers and their families, my sister and her family, and my dad. And he was right.

I’ve accomplished something. I know I shouldn’t look outside of myself for validation but sometimes — just sometimes — it’s nice.   You know?

in memoriam

I didn’t know about the shootings until quite late yesterday. I get to work at 6:30 in the morning and from that time on, I’m listening to podcasts, downloaded audiobooks, or music. I don’t get radio reception in my office and I rarely listened to streamed radio reports — typically they are about the war and that has worn me out.

I was in a meeting and one of my colleagues was showing how to use a tool on our tablet pc’s (we were doing a training with a faculty member). He pulled up CNN and cut the photo out of the page and pasted it on a document (it’s a cool little tool). I watched him do it, not paying attention to the photo he cut out. Heck, the faculty member had brought in her 5-month old baby and I was too busy loving on him.

As we sat there, I looked at the photo. It didn’t dawn on me until thirty minutes later that this was something real. “Did this happen today?” I asked. “This morning,” was the reply.

Oh.

I just stared at the numbers. Thirty-three dead in a university shooting.

I was sitting in a university office. I’m a university student and employee. My first choice for my doctoral program is a university in North Carolina. It was all getting too close to home.

It’s easy to distance these things when they don’t have any affiliation to us. High school shootings are tragic but I don’t have a connection to them. I’m not a high school student nor am I a parent of one. I didn’t know anyone who worked in the World Trade Center. I don’t even know many people in NYC. I didn’t know anyone in the airline flights, either, and they weren’t originating or flying to cities where I knew many people. I have two cousins in the armed services but they aren’t near Iraq.

So I distance myself. I do it because if I didn’t, my heart would hurt constantly and I would be overwhelmed by the tragedies that surround us each and every day.

The Virginia Tech shootings were closer to home though. The shooter was an English student. I am often that student in a classroom. Some of my favorite people are professors who have been mentors and friends. Some of my best friends are colleagues who are all over campus as well. This one was close to home even though it was across the country.

It’s so close to the end of the semester and I started wondering if there are people bordering on the edge right now. I know I feel that way at times. It’s overwhelming. Multiple papers that are the culmination of my graduate career and the balance of things hanging on those papers drives me forward to complete everything. But it is so much. It would be easy to be distraught over all of this (and, as one colleague said, post-modernism can certainly push you over the edge). We pour our lives into it. My schooling is one of the most important parts of my life — the only thing more important to me is my family and Dakota (who is family). That’s it.

My heart goes out to those who were touched intimately by this tragedy. I hope, for their sakes, they can make some sense out of it and be able to survive the after effects.

celebrations


Last night I ventured downtown with my brother and his family. In Flagstaff we have this little tradition of the Pine Cone drop. The first year, the “pine cone” was actually made of many pine cones glued together. Now, though, the pine cone is this elaborate concoction of metal and lights. It is dropped from the top tier of the Weatherford Hotel.

We also have this tradition of having two different drops. There is one drop at 10 p.m. (which coincides with the midnight hour on the east coast) that is more family friendly. Since most young kids can’t stay up until midnight and they really want to see the pine cone drop, there is an early drop. Then there is the traditional midnight drop.

We didn’t stay long. A lot of people were smoking, pushing, and shoving (okay, a lot of people really only adds up to about 1000 people but in Flagstaff, that seems like a lot of people). It was just a bit too much for us.

The important thing is that Willow and Justice had a good time. Justice was clapping and laughing. Willow was dancing around. And that was worth it.

Resolutions? I don’t typically make any. I’m just too much of a procrastinator and then beat myself up if I don’t meet my goals. I don’t really need that.

I’m already working on the things that I want to change in my life. If I put more pressure on those things, then I would probably fail at them and I don’t want to do that.

But that is so cliche now. It’s cliche not to make resolutions. It’s cliche to make resolutions. I feel like we’re this big ocean of people following tides — with no real individualism.

So, that’s what I want to celebrate this year…being ourselves.

I’m looking forward to reading your blogs, seeing your photography, sharing in your individual lives and learning more about who you really are.

Happy new year!

season’s greetings

I think I have the best readers in the world.

Seriously.

Several of you sent emails wishing me happy holidays (and because I’ve been busy, I haven’t gotten back to you).

Several of you have wished me happy holidays in other ways (on flickr, in my photographs, through blog posts, etc.).

That you took the time to do so really means a lot.

I just want to take this time to say thank you. Thank you for returning, time and again, for reading, commenting, sharing your own lives with me. Thank you for becoming a part of my life.

I wish for you the happiest of holidays. More than that, I hope that the new year is full of promise and hope, good health and a lot of love. I hope for you the very best.

Thank you and season’s greetings to all of you.

what to do


photo by me

On Wednesday, my brother, Todd, came to town with his wife, Cathy. He has to work his holiday celebrations around his schedule at the fire department so we celebrate when he’s available.

It worked out well enough, actually. My other brother, Shadow, and his family (Jennifer, Willow, and Justice) celebrate Solstice. While Wednesday wasn’t Solstice, it was Solstice eve so it made sense to celebrate on that night.

Solstice Claus visited the house early because he knew (amazing, isn’t he?) that Justice was going in to the hospital for surgery on Solstice. His presents showed up at dinner (because he visited while everyone was out of the house) and Willow got a beautiful digital camera. We decided that we need to go out and shoot some photos very soon. Yay!

Todd and Cathy actually celebrate Christmas and will be going to southern California to celebrate Christmas with her family.

Willow crawled in to my lap at one point during dinner (she needed some extra attention, I think, since her brother was getting a lot of it due to his impending hospital visit). She looks at me and says, “Dawn, what do you celebrate?”

“Saturnalia,” I reply.

“Riggght.” She’s wise. She knows exactly what it is without ever having heard the word. “I think you celebrate Kwanzaa. Happy Kwanzaa!”

She giggles.

My brother wishes me a happy Hanukkah.

What do I celebrate? I don’t really know. I tend to go where invited and celebrate whatever that family is celebrating. Really, though, these days are all just like any other day. They don’t hold any special excitement for me.

I’m not exactly sure what to say when I’m asked what I celebrate. Because I don’t really know.

holidays


photo by me

It’s that season again. Black Friday, Cyber Monday – it’s all about consumerism.

Or is it?

Willow and I drove up to the Grand Canyon on Saturday. We took the back route, up highway 64, through the Navajo Nation. We stopped at a few overlooks that gave us spectacular views of the Little Colorado River gorge. Stunning.

While we were driving and talking about what she wanted from Santa Claus, my sweet girl says to me, “Aunt Dawn? You don’t come to my house on Solstice. What do you celebrate? Christmas or Solstice?”

Her family celebrates Solstice. Her aunts and uncles (the majority of them anyway) celebrate Christmas.

“I don’t really celebrate either, sweetie.”

“Why not?”

I pondered. I really didn’t want to manipulate her or to make her feel sorry for me. I wanted her to understand the reasons I don’t celebrate things.

“Those holidays are really about family for me. And while I have you and your family, that’s a time when families tend to spend it with one another. I don’t have my own family so I don’t celebrate it.”

“Oh. But does Santa Claus visit you? Do you get presents?”

“I don’t. Santa doesn’t visit me.”

She thinks on this for a moment. “Aunt Dawn? I’m writing to Santa Claus for you. He will bring you presents this year.”

I nearly started to cry. While the holidays aren’t about presents for me but more about family, it would be nice to be remembered by people who say they love me.

This is a bad time of the year for me. Starting with my birthday, the Solstice/Christmas holiday and then New Year’s, I never feel more alone. I realize, at this time, how lonely being single can be.

I busy myself with things but it is also very difficult. Everyone is talking about the time they will be spending with family, the things they will be doing, and all of the plans they have. My family members tend to be a bit more insular and circle the wagons during this time. Willow’s family likes to spend the time with just their immediate family. My other brother goes to his wife’s famiiy’s house. My sister’s family tends to go to my mom’s house and then to her in-law’s house.

I like the quiet time. Don’t get me wrong. But sometimes it would be nice to have a family to spend time with.