#26 CBC Radio Does it Again

I left work a bit early today, and got to hear "And the winner is" on CBC this afternoon.

The interview was by Anna Maria Tremonti as she interviewed CBC reporter Mellissa Fung.

Fung was kidnapped in Afghanistan and held by her kidnappers for 28 days. The interview took place 2 days after her release. The interview started with Fung describing that she had been visiting a refugee camp on the outskirts of Kabul that morning, and on her way back into the car as they were getting ready to leave, another car pulled up. The next thing she knew two men were trying to grab her, she punched one of them, got stabbed in the shoulder for her efforts, and suddenly found herself on the floor of their car covered up with her scarf and 2 bags as they drove away.

She was taken into the mountains and was shown the hole, no larger than the seat of a chair, that she was expected to crawl into. She refused, and was thrown in. She realized it was a small tunnell that lead to a tiny room the size of a closet. She spent the next 28-days buried underground in this hole. Because she is a woman, a man guarded her during most of her ordeal (if she had been a man, she would have just been chained and left). She was only fed juice and cookies, and there were two small vents to allow air into the hole. The vents were covered with rocks, and the entrance to the hole was filled in every time someone came or left so as not to be noticed.

Her release was negotiated, and only once she was safely out of Afghanistan was the story released. The news agencies had all known about her kidnapping, but had agreed not to report about it in order to facilitate the negotiations.

The thing that struck me the most about the interview was Fung's calm, and reflection. Two days after being released her biggest worry was that she had never had the chance to publish her story about the refugee camp. She spent 28 days in a cold, damp, dark hole in the ground, in the middle of Afghanistan somehwere, stabbed in the shoulder, not able to move for lack of space, eating only cookies and juice, and her biggest concern was that the fact that the real victims of war, the innocent bystanders-turned-refugees who have lost their homes and livelihooods won't have their stories told.

The entire interview was gripping, I sat in driveway listening until a break for 90 seconds of news, then ran inside to listen to the rest. She was so matter-of-fact about it all, and gave such good descriptions. The interview is worth a listen.

#25 Art Class

Two-posts in one day since I'd filched from another blog.

I've mentioned a few times that I've been taking an art class lately. It's been extremely satisfying, and I hadn't quite realized how satisfying I was finding it until I this week.

I used to draw quite a bit, but had stopped. A year ago I had made a resolution to start to draw every day for 30 minutes - that idea lasted for a week. This fall I decided I wanted to take an art class because I realized that I missed drawing. Since I started again I notice details that I didn't notice before, I notice how light and shadows fall, I notice things I'd like to try to draw, I notice again how artists tackle specific aspects of their drawings. It's like a window into a different perspective on things.

Last week we were to draw an object and make it look conceptually big, this week we were to do the same and make it conceptually small. Last week I struggled and struggled and ended up throwing out my various attempts. I knew what I wanted to put on the paper; the object I was studying was a violin with a snapped string that was curled up around the handle and springing into the air. I wanted to capture the spring and make it the centre of my drawing by contrasting it's "springyness" with the solid wood of the neck of the violin. It's been a long time since I've been that frustrated with a drawing. I can't remember the last time I actually threw something away. Typically I try to at least cut out the part that works and keep that - not last week though! Into the garbage it ended.

This week I took one look at the stool and immediately had an idea of how I wanted to capture it. I wanted it to be small and lonely in the middle of a blank page. I also wanted to use ink in order to make it look even more isolated and solitary. It was so satisfying to successfully get the idea I had in my mind onto paper that I thought I would share.

I feel in the mood to share my accomplishments today, so here is one from a few weeks ago that I was also happy with. It started by colouring charcoal on the page and then drawing with an eraser. It's a neat effect to be able to achieve the see-through quality in the bottle.

#24 Sidetracked and filching

For the past few days I've been preparing a new post about a hike this past weekend, but tonight I came across the following post on a blog I follow and it made me chuckle, chuckle, chuckle. So I thought I'd share:

SPINSTER AUNT HAS PEURILE EPISODE

My sidekick Stingray is a professional wino. She can tell you the names of about 87 different species of fungus that grow on grapes. She speaks reverently of the Moldavian terroir. She goes around telling people what wine to drink with their fire-roasted frisée frittatas.

Lately she’s been on this kick where she quits her job, shoves a few necessaries into a bumbag, and biffs off to some distant vineyard or other to toil in a cellar for months on end. I’m not sure what, exactly, this cellar work entails, but I get the impression that it more or less involves attaching lots of hoses to lots of tanks for about 12 hours a day in an ultra-misogynist environment for next to no pay. Stingray stresses that it absolutely does not involve picking or stomping grapes. Stomping grapes, she says, has fallen out of vogue. She thinks it maybe isn’t even legal in the U.S.

Anyway, Stingray is lately returned from one of these indentured servitude binges, this time in the Douro River Valley in Portugal. The winery was apparently picturesque in every respect. Rolling hills, winding river, ancient vineyards, and yes, human grape treaders.

I got pretty excited about this last feature. Grape stomping, as anyone who has watched I Love Lucy can tell you, is an iconic motif in the ancient European rustic narrative. It’s Bacchanalian. It’s bucolic. It’s barefooted. How soothing to know that, persisting through the mists of untold millennia, in some faraway Arcadian paradise, human feet yet aspire to this high moral purpose, squishing the crap out of grapes for the enbiggenment of all humankind.

Naturally I subjected Stingray to an extended debriefing on this foot treading theme.

“I can’t believe they still do that!” I said. “Did you stomp grapes?”

“Uh, no. Why does everybody ask me that?”

“What! How come?”

“Well,” said Stingray, adopting the weary tone of an evolutionary biologist addressing an audience of feeble-minded Intelligent Designers on the meaning of the word theory, “they asked me once if I wanted to, but I didn’t feel like taking off my –”

“Are you mad? How could you pass up a primo local color experience like that?”

“I don’t know, I was like up to my elbows in wine all day, and I just didn’t feel –”

“This is a travesty.” I was sorely disappointed by this bloodless disinterest in grape-stomping. “Who goes all the way to Portugal, works in an idyllic ancient vineyard where idyllic ancient rituals flourish, and suddenly declines to stomp grapes? Grape stomping’s a fucking archetypal theme!”

We went back and forth like this for a while. Eventually the facts emerged.

Fig. 2b. Photo by Stingray, 2009.

Apparently, as a wine professional, Stingray is immune to the romantic lure of the grape stomping mythos. A further, even more shocking revelation: grape stomping is actually considered lowly. It turns out that the most popular insult around the cellar was “Why don’t you go stomp some grapes, you miserable grape stomper!” In Portuguese this colorful sentiment is expressed somewhat more poetically by the phrase peez ah pee. Or possibly pizza pie.*

Stingray produced some photos of the Douro Valley grape treaders. They didn’t look miserable to me. But the longer I contemplated the pictures, the less nostalgic I began to feel toward stomping. I began to formulate in my lobe a hypothesis I’d never considered before. You will observe in Fig. 2b that the treaders are not wearing sterile disposable latex long-johns.

They’re wearing Speedos.

“Sometimes,” noted Stingray, “these people are up to their crotches in grapes.”

Coincidentally, my fridge happened at that moment to be full of Portuguese wine, so my next question was exactly what you think it was.

Stingray delivered a detailed speech on the subject of filtering practices, albumin, the antibacterial properties of alcohol, and other hygiene-related crap. Unsoothed by this, I pressed her for more. She mentioned the alcohol thing again, and something about a sort of screen on a spigot somewhere. I remained dubious. Finally she admitted the truth: that although the odds are pretty well stacked against it, it’s not 100% impossible that a bottle of wine might contain a pube.

A bottle of wine could contain a pube! A bottle of wine could contain a pube!

#23 "With All Due Respect Ma'am, You Can Go Jump Off A Bridge"

A 10-year old beyond his years:

Arkansas 10-Year-Old Won’t Pledge Allegiance Until Gays Gain Equality
by Kilian Melloy
Wednesday Nov 11, 2009
http://www.edgesanfrancisco.com/index.php?ch=news&sc=&sc2=&sc3=&id=98884

A 10-year-old Arkansas boy name Will Phillips has decided that he cannot in good conscience pledge allegiance to the flag as long as the country for which it stands refuses legal equality to its GLBT citizens.

That stand has brought young Mr. Phillips anti-gay taunts in the lunch room, but admiration from around the country, reports a Nov. 5 Arkansas Times article. The West Fork School District fifth grader clashed with a substitute teacher for his refusal to stand for the pledge, prompting a call to Will’s mother, Laura Phillips. When the principal acknowledged that Will has the right to refuse to say the pledge, Ms. Phillips asked that her son receive an apology--a request that the principal declined to honor.

A 1943 Supreme Court decision found that schools may not punish students for refusing to recite the pledge. Objections to compulsory recitation of the pledge arose from the Jehovah’s Witnesses on the basis that their religion does not permit expressions of allegiance to anything other than their own religion and to God. The Jehovah’s Witnesses lost their first case before the Court in 1940, and reportedly suffered from bias-motivated violence in the aftermath of that case. The Court’s 1943 decision reversed the earlier finding, and students have had the right to decline saying the pledge since then, although socially such refusal is often met with disapproval.

Such has been the case with Will Phillips’ stand, but he hasn’t backed down. Laura Phillips told the Arkansas Times that her 10-year-old is "probably more aware of the meaning of the pledge than a lot of adults. He’s not just doing it rote recitation. We raised him to be aware of what’s right, what’s wrong, and what’s fair."

Fairness in this case is more than a mere abstraction, since the family has a number of openly gay friends and has participated in GLBT equality events such as Pride parades. Will, who told the newspaper that he would like to pursue a career in law when he’s older, could not square the tenets of the pledge with the political realities faced by his family’s GLBT friends, whose family and individual rights are under constant challenge. "I really don’t feel that there’s currently liberty and justice for all," said Will.

That led the young man to his decision not to pledge his allegiance due to the injustice he perceived to prevail against gays and lesbians. He discussed the matter with his family and then took his stand--or rather, refused to stand with the rest of the kids when the time for the pledge came around each morning. The first week of the young man’s protest happened to be a week when a substitute teacher, a friend of Will’s grandparents, was in charge of the class; as days went by, the teacher grew more aggravated, until finally she took Will to task.

"She got a lot more angry and raised her voice and brought my mom and my grandma up," Will told the Arkansas Times. "I was fuming and was too furious to really pay attention to what she was saying. After a few minutes, I said, ’With all due respect, ma’am, you can go jump off a bridge.’"

That was enough to get Will sent to the principal’s office, which was when his mother received a call. The principal "said we have to talk about Will, because he told a sub to jump off a bridge," recounted Will’s mother. "My first response was: Why? He’s not just going to say this because he doesn’t want to do his math work." Upon learning the specifics of the exchange, Laura Phillips requested an apology for her son. "She said, ’Well I don’t think that’s necessary at this point,’" Laura Phillips told the Arkansas Times.

Will’s mother tweeted about the incident, and family friends informed the media. Support has poured in from around the country, and some of Will’s classmates have also been supportive.

But not everyone, said Laura Phillips, has been supportive, and those who oppose Will’s stand "are much more crazy, and out of control and vocal about it than supporters are."

Moreover, Will’s stand for equal rights for gays has led those who disagree to attack him personally with anti-gay epithets: "In the lunchroom and in the hallway, they’ve been making comments and doing pranks, and calling me gay," Will said. "It’s always the same people, walking up and calling me a gaywad."

That hasn’t been easy for Will, who skipped fourth grade but seems older than his age, especially in contrast to some of his peers. Said Laura Phillips, "It’s really frustrating to him that people are being so immature."

The interviewer from The Arkansas Times asked Will what it means to be an American. The answer: "Freedom of speech. The freedom to disagree. That’s what I think pretty much being an American represents."

#22 Remembrance Day

Today is Remembrance Day in Canada. I had been planning a post about the ceremony I attended in War Memorial Hall on campus today. Watching the procession of vetrans always brings tears to my eyes, and the music this year was beautiful, and a letter by a man from Guelph who fought in WWI written to his family 8 days before his death was as touching as the first time I heard it.

I had been planning to write about those things, but got back to my office and read an email sent by my friend Jackie, and decided it was poignent enough to share further.

So on this particular Remembrance Day I had a bit of a moment when the clock struck 11:11. I was driving into work, was around Lawrence and Mount Pleasant when the clock struck the appropriate time. I had the CBC playing so I pulled over to the side of the road to listen to the trumpet call and salute that was happening on Parliament Hill. As I was sitting in my car, I noticed that two elderly gentlemen were standing outside of their vehicles on the other side of the road. One looked like he was in semi-military uniform, the other wore a simple poppy. Both had their hats in their hands and had their heads bowed. When I saw this I opened my car windows and turned up the volume so that they too could share in the ceremonies. As soon as they noticed me pulled over (there was quite a lot of traffic between us) the one in semi-uniform started to cry. When the trumpet call came to an end - he mouthed the words "thank-you" and I think "God Bless". Then he turned and got back into his vehicle and drove off.

As you can imagine, at this point the tears were just streaming down my face. One of my biggest fears growing up was that there would be a war and my father, a former fighter pilot, would have to go and fight in it. Knowing the kind of man my father is, I have no doubt that he would have gone to fight if our county's liberty was on the line. I am so grateful that that never happened, but am particularly aware (as I write a refugee application) that there are so many people in the world who are not so lucky.

So I guess this is my long-winded way of saying that I feel SO lucky to live here in Canada! And though there are definitely different views on whichever wars are being waged at a particular moment in history - I think it is important that we all take a moment and think about those that served to get our country to where it is, those who continue to serve to protect the lives of those in need and the friends and families of those who do.

So many times on Remembrance Day I was "too busy" to stop and pause for the minute of silence. This year, I'm really grateful that I did.

Love,
Jackie

I hope this day has given you some time for reflection.
In peace, Lindsay.

Painting by Steve Thoms, http://www.art.com/products/p10287744-sa-i3586339/steve-thoms-poppy-field.htm

#21 A great line

I was reading last night, and the following line made me pause and read it over again:

"The tree bark glows like red copper in the sun. The snow sighs with exhaustion, collapsing in the warmth."

-Sun Storm by Åsa Larsson
Image from: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/11339/11339-h/images/03fir.jpg

#20 - Good Conversation

For a few years I have preferred to sit back and listen to what was going on, rather than actually participate in conversations. I've noticed that changing lately. I've come to the realization that I can make, contribute to, and enjoy conversations with the best of them!

I started thinking about this earlier in the week after going out for dinner with my cousins. On my drive home from dinner it struck me that I'd been a bit of a chatterbox all night long - something that has been out-of-character. Then it struck me that there have been more and more of those types of situations lately. Striking up conversations in my art class. Sitting for hours with a friend and talking about life. Talking to my parents about what I've been up to during the day. Going out for lunch with new friends, and thoroughly enjoying myself! Looking forward to meeting new people at a conference I'm going to this weekend.

As a result of these conversational experiences I've started to wonder why I thought I was so terrible at talking to people.

I think it comes down to having operated in a second-language for so long.

When I was living in Norway I spent a huge amount of time observing, both in order to fine-tune my language, and in order to pick-up on nuances. Also, if I was tired it took a lot of energy just to follow a fast-paced conversation, let alone trying to jump-in with meaningful contributions before the discussion had moved on to something new. I'm realizing that so much of my social energy was being put into observation that there wasn't much left over for participation.

I consider myself to be fluent in Norwegian. Therefore the realization of how much effort I was using to be social surprises me. All I knew at the time was that I listened much more than I talked - to the point that people who knew me would comment on it. It seemed to be most obvious in group settings, although sometimes 1-on-1 if I had to stick only to Norwegian to express myself.

As a result of so much observation over the past few years, I think my enjoyment of a good discussion has grown considerably. I think it's helped me be a better listener, but also a better contributor. And I think that's kind of cool!