Ides of March

 

 

 

 

For those that I haven’t talked to about this, recently a co-worker and friend of mine suffered a brain aneurysm and passed away.  She was three days shy of our birthday, her 34th and my 32nd.  I wanted to offer a few words as a remembrance. There are many others who were closer to Ally and could write tomes of how Ally effected their lives. This is just a small slice of her life that I was a part of and my attempt to put words to that.

For Ally

Goodbye, friend. I want to offer words to you that I never did when you were here. Some of them have only occurred to me after your passing. But, you are as alive in my mind as you ever were. I see your angelic face and hear your lightly disguised Southern lilt. I fully expect that you will walk in and be a part of our next meeting. It seems like every interaction I had with you now stands out in full contrast, as in the past they have been a part of a fabric. And I wish that I’d known you better. I wish I could point to a conversation and really root my mind in it, one that you and I had. But, there are dozens of little glimpses of who you are that stand out. Your impassioned conversations with Gina as you ponder your work with students. The amazing salad that you brought to our lunch last semester. Your excitement for the upcoming CAbi party that you were going to host (and my confusion as to why I didn’t get an invitation). Your face as we talked about “Once” and how much we all enjoyed it. Your boots—I began to realize that you have the coolest boots. How much you must have enjoyed finding those. And something we never connected over was the fact that we shared the same birthday.

What stands out to me is how much you were in the thick of it right up until the minute you were taken. You were fighting for ways to do our work with students well and you were bringing your whole heart into it. Those moments are indelible in my mind. I guard those moments and declare that they were among your finest. I wish that you could know that you are an inspiration to me. I don’t know how much I let that on. In the craziness that has been adjusting to my life of being a dad, I sometimes refuse to just let our work get to me. Thank you. Thank you for showing me that, again. The reality that you are not here any more will set in slowly over time like a drought. I know that I will find solace in community and that all is not despair, but there is an aching hole, a pervasive emptiness that no sweet talk will fill.

Goodbye until I meet you in the hereafter

I have not used this space for updates on Ailsa. But, that seems to be changing. Check out this videos.
Video #1: Ailsa sitting up and playing ball

Video #2:  Ailsa Scooching on the carpet

It has been a helluva long time since the old blog has seen any action. Credit this entry to a growing desire to exercise the writing muscles, to keep more folks up on what’s happening in my life and the prodding of my friend Wes who has fired up his own blog of late and put some very worthwhile thoughts in cyberspace for others to dine on.

Andrea and I ventured down to Tacoma on Saturday to take in Wintergrass, an indoor bluegrass festival.  My ear has always enjoyed a good fiddle, banjo, mando and guitar.  In the past several years, I’ve been listening and learning a lot more about the genre and this was definitely a huge leap in that direction.  We heard local groups such as Three Generations and the Tallboys as well as bigger names like the Infamous Stringdusters (Nashville) and Seldom Scene (DC area).  I always enjoy the hearing Joe Fulton saw on the fiddle and Charlie Beck roll some banjo (Tallboys), but the big thrill was hearing Dudley Connell of Seldom Scene.  He plays rhythm guitar and is the lead vocal for the group.  If there is anyone I can say that I “follow”, it’s him.  I first heard him on some recordings of his other main band The Johnson Mountain Boys.  His smooth voice and amazing repertoire of bluegrass songs really draw me in.  He can put so much heart in songs such as “Blue Diamond Mines” and “Dream of a Miner’s Child” and then belt out a good ol’ boy ramblin’ song from Bill Monroe.  We went to a smaller gathering where he and the band answered questions and it was really cool. 

The other experience worth noting was going to a workshop called, “The Gist of Jamming.”  The halls of this festival were filled with two types of people:  pickers that were jamming and singing with one another and those that wished they could.  I was one of the latter who chose to bring his mandolin and carry it around the festival.  I tried to sit on the edge of a jam when we first arrived and felt like I was trying to find my way in a Swahili conversation group.  So this workshop was definitely for me.  This hotel conference room was filled to the brim with hope and fear–aspiring folks with instruments in tow, salivating over and scared to death of…jamming.

The kind and patient women leading the workshop walked us through some of the basics and etiquette of the topic which were easy enough to comprehend.  I couldn’t help feeling a bit like an awkward college freshman at a workshop on how to start conversations and make new friends.  Then we grouped up in a big circle, categorized by instruments.  This was another notch of scary.  The ladies picked a simple tune and played it slow so each group had a chance to be “featured” just like in a jam session.  When it came to the mandolins, I just wished I could play AND be invisible.  It was as if even the chords I do know just vanished from my mind.  I was trying to draw courage and inspiration from the 10-year old kid sitting beside me playing his fiddle and eager to learn. 

I kept trying to keep up and to improvise a little.  If I hadn’t been seated near the front of the room with a jungle of fiddlers and bassists between the door, I might just have bolted for the door.  By the end of the third song and the workshop, I was finally feeling a sense of eagerness and happiness that I participated.  Like other stressful, new experiences, it feels like it paved the way to get involved with other musicians, learn more songs and continue to become a better player.

Wow!  Who’da thunk?  What a cool couple of days it has been since Andrea and I returned from Colorado.  After spending a week in one of the snowiest places in the United States where we barely experienced any flurries, we have seen something like 7 inches of snow fall here at home.  The whole nation got to enjoy this anomaly on Monday Night Football.  I am absolutely loving it.  Driving down the freeway at a rockin’ 20 MPH as a dippin-dots-like snow is piling up on the hood of the Alero–awesome.  Just staring out the window toward the nearest street light to make sure it’s still snowing…wondering if maybe, just maybe the powers that be might cancel school.  I’m lost in the moment, not knowing if I am 11 years old in sixth grade or 30 years old working at a graduate school.  The same emotion grips me.  What great fun it was as everyone in the house progressively got word that our work and classes were cancelled for the day.  We could be in for more in the next 24 hours as a new storm is on the way. 

 The most fun was having friends over last evening to watch the Seahawks on MNF.  We had planned this weeks ago.  I had a big pot of chili ready to go.  Over the time span of a couple of hours, our friends stumbled in out of the cold and the harried driving.  I had a relatively easy drive, just enjoying the snow as it fell but no major problems.  Evidently, I lucked out.  One person spent two hours driving from Bothell to our house in North Seattle.  Another crept along I-5 North trying to make the two miles from where she was to our house.  Andrea spent time spinning her tires trying to get up even the slightest of inclines.  As each person arrived, we were treated to new tales of highway horror.  But, once all arrived we had a grand time eating chili and drinking Widmer Brothers Snow Plow Stout (appropriately) and watching the Hawks.  We contemplated a slumber party given the difficulty in traveling, but folks were ready to head home.  What a great start to the Christmas season.

Andrea and I went to see X-Men 3 last night with a group of old and new friends.  I am new to the whole X-Men phenomenon, but am quickly becoming a fan.  I borrowed the first two movies and watched them as preparation for going to see the third installment on the big screen. That is a great way to be fresh with a story line when heading into a new installment of a series.  As we were heading home from the show, some thoughts along the line of a feminist critique on the film came to mind and I thought they may make for interesting conversation here.  The thoughts center on the portrayal and interaction with female characters throughout the series, but especially in X-Men 3.
 

 

***Warning: Plot spoiling is inherent in this discussion.  Do not read on if you have not seen this movie and plot spoiling will bother you ****

The character of Jean Gray particularly caught my interest as she becomes the central focus of this movie.  The latent/obvious sexual tension between she and Wolverine as well as the competition between Wolverine and Scott “Cyclops” have figured into the plot.  What is now revealed is that two other men have been competing for Jean and her power since they first met her twenty years ago, Xavier and Magneto.  Xavier recognized her power and sought to “benevolently” restrain her power through a psychic block for the good of her and all of humankind and mutantdom. 

 

The part I would like to highlight is how Jean’s fullness, which is regarded first as mysterious and unrestrainable, is necessarily malevolent.  The “unblocked” Jean is now demonic and destructive.  Magneto seeks to ally with her power for his own ends.  After much action and interplay, it emerges that Jean must die for her own good and for that of humankind and mutantdom.

 

The contrasting female character is that of Storm.  How is it that the desires of male characters are all played out in Jean’s character and not with Storm (it’s
Halle Berry, for goodness sake)?  Storm seems to be an asexual, benign good force—another sort of half-person whose desires surface briefly, but not consistently. 

The question of what women want haunts male minds from Sigmund Freud to Mel Gibson.  This film revolves around that mystery embodied in the character of Jean Gray.  And we are led to believe that the full revelation of Jean’s abilities and desires is destructive and that she must then be sacrificed.  The desires for power, control, possession as well as necessary sacrifice and violence are all played out within Jean Gray.  But, rather than one who can reckon with her own power in either a benevolent or reconciling way, Jean serves more as the stage prop for others.

 

Well, I’m tired of writing for now and would really love to hear other’s thoughts on this angle or on the movie.  I’ve actually composed this post twice—the first one was lost to the intricacies of cyberspace and internet connection.  What a frustrating experience.  This second rendition is more wordy, but still on the same point. 

 

Andy

I’m putting a few words down just to simply break my blog drought.  The last 6 weeks have been unbelievably busy looking back.  The main consumer of time, intellect and personal resources is, of course, grad school.  This amazing phenomena takes over when major assignments are pending–every minute that is not spent reading or writing for a class feels wasted.  Ugh!  But, alas, all of the papers that needed to be done, got done.  My thinking is as sharp as ever, but the care put into my writing seems to have tailed off as I wrap things up at Mars Hill. 

Anywho, May 6 was the big graduation day.  I will load up some pictures of the day.  What an amazing and moving time.  The surreal awareness that this was not just any graduation, but MY graduation, permeated the time.  I have a few credits left to finish this summer which will extend my time as a student for awhile.  The reality that I will not be seeing many of these familiar faces any more has not hit yet.  I just finished a class on Abuse and was surrounded by folks that I have been traveling with for three years.  The comfort I felt amongst these friends will be a lasting memory as the reality fades. 

Listening to the Mariners game as I type.  They are scrambling to get back to .500 which seems to be eternally out of reach.  It’s a fun ride, but a frustrating one as we keep up with this schizophrenic team.  Speaking of schizophrenic, how about this blog entry.  But, recall, my point was just to break the drought and get back into the habit.  Mission Accomplished! 

Curiosity led to investigation led to minor panic.  Andrea and I came home fairly late from hanging out and having dinner with our friends Greg and Melissa.  We locked the door, cleaned up some of the mess in our kitchen and moved to go to bed.  We slowly became aware that our rambunxious male cat, Buddy, was not pestering us or running around or fighting Bella, our female cat.

We called for him and walked around our apartment (which doesn’t take long) and checked the spots that he occasionally gets stuck in.  As I stepped into our office area, i realized that I had opened the window the day before to let in some of the fresh spring air.  I had a sneaking suspicion that screen was not secure and a quick test let me know exactly where Buddy was…AWOL.  We put on some shoes and headed outside to call him and look around in the vain hope that he would be hanging out close by.  As Buddy has been an indoor cat since he was about 4 weeks old, we had no idea what his outdoor personality would be like. 

 At this point, my parental worry kicked in.  The thought crossed my mind that we may never see Buddy again.  After coming back in, we opened another window that we knew Buddy had escaped through before and hoped that he would come back.  As I fell asleep, I had visions of Buddy coming back all bloodied from being in fights with cats or dogs or God knows what other critters were out there.  I feared that he might get near roads and freak out when cars were passing and run out into the road.  I drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

I awoke at about 5:30 AM to the happy sound of Buddy clawing up the screen and through the small handle window.  I jumped out of bed and grabbed him and welcomed him back.  He let me pick him up, but would have none of being held.  He leaped out of my arms and ran towards his food dish.  I was so happy to have him back!  After I left for my internship, Andrea said that he slept soundly all morning which is contrary to his normal running about.  What a night he must have had…if only cats could tell tales.

 

These were the friendly words offered us as we cleared immigration and re-entered the U.S. yesterday at JFK airport in New York.  These two simple words stirred me and I felt a warmth and joy at being back in my home country.  I felt a welcome familiarity walking down the street in Seattle and hearing people in conversation and in my ability to understand what they were saying.  And all of this only after being gone a week.  I have no idea what the feeling would be like being gone for 3 months or a year or two years. 

Our group arrived safe and sound back in Seattle without any real incidents in our returning. 
To my knowledge, all of our souvenirs and purchases made it back safely.  I’m wearing my Moroccan sandals today attempting to break them in.  Happy to report that we stayed awake on the plane and were able to sleep through the night.  That is in marked contrast to last year’s trip which saw me waking at 3 AM the first three nights in Morocco and also having difficulty the first full week back home.  Ugh!  I walked down to Starbucks this morning and had my first coffee–some Italian roast which was wonderful.  Morocco has its fair share of good espresso and cafe au lait but I really miss good drip coffee when I’m gone.  What I don’t miss is paying so much money for it.  An espresso or cafe au lait in Morocco costs anywere from $.70 to $1.00. 

One thought hit me today as we are coming back to daily life here–we, as a culture, are often busy planning, achieving and being involved with so many things all at once.  And, any moment that is not spent doing something feels like a lost one.  In Morocco, it felt like there was much more fluidity in how people live there lives, even Americans we met with there.  The openness to change plans in a moment or see what the day brings feels like a healthy balance to date books and calendars that are scheduled out weeks in advance.  I’m not exactly sure what to make of it all, but I feel the often frantic pace of life even more after having left it for a short while. 

Andy

Yes!  I was able to get a computer tonight and switch the keyboard to English.  We are here in Morocco for our last night and staying in Casablanca.  We took the train from Fes to Casa today which is a 4-hour plus ride.  In the process, I played into what has been a disturbing, at times comical and strange pattern of leaving items behind.

Today’s episode had me checking out of our hotel in Fes.  After listening to an argument in Arabic and then waiting to have our bill calculated, I paid and then hurried over to join our group for petit dejeneur (breakfast) at the gare (train station) which was a block or so away.  I enjoyed the usual cafe au lait and croissant.  I went to pay and the bill was much more than we thought and ran to get more money from Andrea who was busy trying to get our group discount for the train which was chomping at the bit to pull out of the station.  I ran out to the train (with baggage I grabbed from Andrea) and down what seemed like a quarter mile of train cars to our car.  Andrea and Brook scampered onto the train as the last passengers and we were off.  As we sat down Andrea asked me where the blue duffel was and I told her I assumed that someone had grabbed it with all of the luggage from the hotel.  As it turns out, two of our bags were still sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for me to grab them.  After realizing this and that it meant I was going back to Fes, I stood outside the compartment the others were in and cussed for awhile, stared out at the mountains and then began praying that the bags were still there. 

I got off at the first stop, twenty minutes later, at a one-donkey town call Ain Taoujdate and waited for an hour for the train back to Fes.  Praise God the bags were in the luggage room!  I grabbed them and bought another ticket to Casa and boarded the train.  I spent from 9:20 until 3:20 on my own today riding trains by myself.  I talked with two geologists, one British and one French, on vacation.  Once they got off, I just slept and read Old Man and the Sea.  I was greeted by our team at the Casa station and was very relieved to see them and they me. 

Other installments of “Andy forgetting stuff” have included leaving Brook’s $300 rug at a restaurant in Meknes–the waiter found people in our group the next day walking in a crowded street and chased them down to give them the rug.  I also left my backpack in the trunk of a grand taxi just tonight.  When we got back to the hotel, I went to taxi station and found a cigarette vendor to translate for me and I remembered the driver’s name was Abdullah and another driver took us to his trunk and there was my backpack!  I also forget to return the key to our room at the auberge.  I gave that an American friend who will give it to another American friend who is moving to the town where the auberge is.  Whoof!!

I think it’s time to come home…or move here.  One of the two.

Andy

We made our way from Asrou to Fes–one of the ancient imperial cities of Morocco.  We traveled in grand taxis which are 4-door Volvos everywhere you go in Morocco.  There were five of us in each taxi plus our driver and our luggage–needless to say, a tight fit for an hour and a half drive.  And all the while we were chugging the diesel fumes from the car in front of us. 

Our main visit was to the medina which dates to the 9th century and the reign of Moulay Idriss II.  Our group shopped, shopped and shopped some more.  (I’ll take whatever hits I come in response the the following comments).  Traveling with nine women in a place designed to entice people to buy exotic things becomes exhausting.  Our first priority everywhere seems to involve shopping.  There, I’ve said it.

Signing off for now as I’m tired of hunting and pecking on a French keyboard.

 

Andy