Gathering Walks

The difference between warm weather walks and winters walks, well, besides about 60 degrees of warmth and the absence of snow and ice, is that very absence of snow and ice reveals a great deal more, both of the planet and of what people have left behind, aka garbage. Not to be so cliche as to say one man's garbage...because, as yet, it's still just garbage. It's only been collected and put in my house instead of being left on the street. What garbage? Why still garbage? I can start with the 'why still' - because I have great plans for it to become something. Found art, upcycled crafts, and so forth.

Today's haul began with an empty cigarette box. I've found this pattern for decorating cigarette boxes. Of all the kinds of designs and upcylcing ideas I've seen, this one remains my favorite. I mean, there's really only so much you can do to a cigarette box, right? And the whole point in my collecting them is because I am drawn to their design as a box. They are simple yet sturdy, sleek and easy to pocket. I also appreciate a good shoe box, tea box, kleenex box. Pretty much just utility boxes in general that are stock and sturdy. They seem too good a design to waste, which is precisely what people do - just toss these to the curb when the last cigarette is drawn. Now, don't even get me started on why it is smokers believe the whole of the planet to be not only their ashtray, but also their wastebasket. Suffice to say, I'm doing my part to right their assholeness by picking up some of these boxes. Soft packs, no, but I will pick them up to throw them away, and if I pick up a hard pack and realize the box is ruined, I don't just catch and release it back to the sidewalk, I do take responsibility in the 'you touch it, you own it' garbage rule and throw it away.

There's another reason I was first drawn to picking up cigarette boxes. In college, a couple friends of my sister's stopped by my apartment one night on their way to the bar. Laurie and Matt. Laurie asked if she could borrow some money - not much, since at that time, and in a college town, it didn't take much to make a night of it that you would regret the next day - ten bucks. I was a bartender, so they knew I'd have a ready stash of tip money. Ten bucks was easy to come by, so it was no big deal. I knew handing her the money I'd never see it again, despite her promises to pay me back (either they'd already started drinking or'd had something to smoke). Matt blurted out that she'd had the money, but she'd thrown it away, her ten dollar bill tucked inside her cigarette pack for safe keeping, but on the walk over, she'd smoke her last stick, crumpled the pack, and tossed it into her convenient world garbage can. They'd gone back to try and find it, so he's story went, but couldn't locate the lucky wad of waste. I half believed the story. To their credit, they did invite me to go out with them, the ten dollar loan obligating them socially to at least ask. I declined, and truth be told, I never did see them again after that. So, my looking at tossed aside cigarette packs is the remainder of what was most likely a lie to bilk money out of me. I didn't need the story. I would have given them the ten bucks even if they'd just said, "We're not good for it and we'll never pay you back." I suppose it would have saved me a lifetime of looking at smokers' garbage.

Today's score was two cigarette boxes and two plastic bottle caps, which I've been picking up ever since seeing the news story on birds who swallow these bits of plastic and then die because they can't digest all the plastic particles in their stomachs. We are a vile creature in what we do to this planet, to other living beings, and ultimately, to ourselves. But we'll never see it until it affects us directly. I hear news stories of people having to survive on eating twigs and completely inedible plants, just to have something in their stomachs; people who go through cattle feces to collect undigested grains that can then be cooked, and gathering grains from the side of the road that would have fallen from farmers trucks. And a movie I recall, not the name of it now, where the kid is so hungry, he cuts out pictures of a turkey dinner with all the fixings and puts it on a plate and eats it as though it were really food. Maybe, someday, those bird stomachs, filled with plastic bottle caps and mini cigarette lighters and k-cups will be our own. I already sense that they are now, so I pick up the plastic. I'm not sure what I'll do with this yet, but I've got a good collection of it going.

I stuck the two bottle caps in one of the cigarette packs, and then en route, there's a catnip plant, so I stopped and plucked some of its leaves and stuck those in the other box to bring home for the boys. Downtown is where I usually find more cig boxes, but not today. Broken bottles seemed to be the theme of last nights reverie. The new blue bottles seem a particular favorite to shatter. I'm not sure what it is, if they have a particular ring to them, so provide some greater satisfaction to drunken fuckwits, or what. At least they are easier to see and thus avoid for me and my canine companion. But, downtown I did collect one Grizzly chewing tobacco tin - another close relative of the smoker is the chewer, who also seems to share in the global waste basket theory. I'm not sure what I'll do with the tins, but they seem worthy of some upcycling. They aren't really all tin anymore - the bottom is plastic and the top is tin, with the Grizzly logo embossed on the top. I've often found just the tops, which I don't quite understand what would have come of the bottoms, but those aren't of particular interest to me without the whole container.

Lastly, a bungee cord. Now who can't use an extra bungee cord around? I've found a couple of those in my walks and am happy to bring them in and hang them for future use. You really just never know. Although, I do have some reservations about picking up an object whose job it is to hold things in place, because, I mean, how is it the bungee became lost in the first place? Did it not do its job correctly? Is it a bad bungee? Considering that gives me pause each time I find one, but still, I take them in, thinking I can make it work right and that for me, having rehomed it, the bungee will perform satisfactorily.

In total, today's haul: two cigarette boxes; two bottle caps; a handful of catnip leaves; a chewing tobacco tin; a bungee cord. Makes it worth getting up in the morning for our walk. Or at least good for telling stories about later.

Breasts Boobs Ta-Tas

One of my colleagues went off on a tirade the other day at a breakfast meeting. I'm not sure how the conversation started, but she was commenting on having read an opinion piece about the "Go Pink" campaign in support of breast cancer research and breast cancer survivors. The general focus of the point of view was a negative response to the over marketing of 'pink' products in the name of fund raising. The argument, of course, that more people are personally profiting from the 'go pink' sales than the actual source of research needed to bring about change in diagnosis, treatment, and prevention of breast cancer. Then she went on in her rant to express her own personal disgust with the "Save the ta-tas" t-shirts and bumper stickers she had been seeing around. "Perhaps," she admitted, "it has something to do with age. But if I were to ever get breast cancer, and had to deal with everything that comes with it, I certainly would not want anyone referring to my breasts as 'ta-tas.' And I certainly wouldn't refer to them that way."

I didn't respond to her impassioned speech in the moment, because I respect her a great deal, and I also disagreed with her in part. I didn't really feel like 'going off' on her 'going off.'

But, of course, the in-my-head response to her not referring to her breasts as 'ta-tas'?

Well then don't.

But don't get angry at other people expressing their support in a way that is comfortable to them.

In the moment that she was most vehement about the degradation of a woman's anatomy, and in the moment most people who know my feminists proclivities would think I would be rallying right by her side, I was actually thinking of a student of mine. A very robust, buxom, young woman who wore her "Save the ta-tas" sweatshirt to class. My response? "I haven't seen that one before." Which allowed her to openly discuss her aunt's bout with, and eventual recovery from, breast cancer. She was proud to wear the message, across her own large ta-tas, and seemed eager to share the story of how she helped her aunt through a very difficult time in her life.

And she never once used the word 'breasts' except in combination with the word 'cancer.'

An age difference? How about maybe a class difference?

This student is poor. Her family are all poor to nearly destitute. I can only imagine from my brief conversation with her, and hearing her say the words boobs, boobie, and ta-tas not in combination with the word cancer, that she and her family most likely never used the word breasts to describe a woman's anatomy outside of medical terminology.

That my colleague was so incensed at other people's use of the 'lower end' terminology made me think it was an elitist response to an illness that is not elitist. Cancer is indiscriminate. Being about to talk about boobs and ta-tas was the language my student knew and felt comfortable using in her expression of her life experience. Would she have been able to share her story without using those words were she to be reprimanded or otherwise been made conscious of a degrading nature of the language? I'm sure she could have, but then it would no longer be her story, and she perhaps would not feel as comfortable in sharing it as she had.

We are always telling our students to 'find their own voice' and to 'write in the language that they know.' It's how we have such wonderful prose from writers like Dorothy Allison, Allison Walker, Sherman Alexie, and Ira Sukrungruang. That we might be uncomfortable with some of the ways they put words together, some of the terminology that they may use is exactly what makes their writing so strong and so real. If we are discomforted by it, it's not their fault; it's ours.

So, to my colleague, I say if you don't like the terminology, then don't use it. If you get breast cancer (heaven forbid), then share the story of your experience using language with which you are comfortable. If in doing so, others might refer to your anatomy using terms with with you are not comfortable, tell them so, tell them why, and offer them the alternative which is acceptable to you. But don't take away from others the language which empowers them to share their life experiences. Don't silence their stories for the sake of your own sense of what is acceptable. Please do not silence their attempt to support and to heal using the language they know and with which they find themselves, with which they can most identify.

In this struggle to make devastating health issues a concern of the past, we need more ways to talk about them, cope with them, learn about them, and heal from them, not fewer. And this learning, coping and healing is for everyone, from all walks of life, who use all kinds of language to express themselves. Devastation and hope are not elitist emotions. We all feel them in response to this issue of cancer. We all need to talk about them. And we all need to listen and hear and heal beyond the surface level of language to the deeper sense of what it means to be human.

School Teen Zombies

It was a strange morning. It's 6:00am-ish - the time Copper can't stand to wait anymore for his walk and starts whining. It's fall. It's cold out, a kind of misty fog hangs in the air. And it's dark. Daylight savings time only makes it worse, making it so dark I can't see to my feet some mornings. But today is dark enough. We head out on our walk, the dogs tags jingling in the stillness. Copper keeps stopping dead in his tracks and staring off into the distance. I think it's a rabbit, but I don't see anything. "Go," I tell him. He walks a bit, then stops up short again, his ears perked, eyes intently staring down the side street. I look and finally see what has captured his attention. Teens walking down the street, their too-early-morning shuffle walk, shoulders slumped under the weight of their book bags, hoodies pulled up over their heads so no one can make eye contact with them. Through the dark and the fog, they look like zombies coming to get us. "Go," I tell Copper, and we quicken our pace, only to come up upon more of these school teen zombies, all shuffling to their converging point down the street - the bus stop - where they will be shuttled off to the their mass sarcophagus and their brains feed with education.

Newest Craze

My newest food craze lately: peanut butter soup.

Okay, sounds gross, I know, but if you google it, there's actually a number of recipes for this deliciously healthy, tummy filling goodness.

Mine is much simpler than those recipes, though. I just mix peanut butter (crunchy preferred) with hot water and chili paste (crushed chili sauce). It's a very simple version of Asian peanut sauce watered down. Fish sauce is a nice addition, but not necessary. To the broth I add veggies - broccoli and tomato are especially nice - and rice noodles or rice if I have it. This is so easy to make, I'm keeping peanut butter and chili paste at work so I can make a quick bowl of it when I've forgotten to pack a lunch. And for winter, what could be better than a soup with spicy hot broth?

For Desperate Moms

To be fair, the sign on the men's room door was the same. Taken at a public rest stop in Michigan.

Scrappy at Delta

My division chair, Roz, training Scrappy to take over after she retires this year.

How I Spent My Summer 'Vacation'

With this being the final week before I return to Delta, I thought it was a good time to take an inventory of the past couple of months. It seems like every summer, I feel like it's a constant struggle to have a summer - you know, those 'lazy dayz' we remember from our youth of hanging out on the beach, long bike rides, falling asleep in the hammock with a good book. It's been a long time since I've felt like I've had a summer like that. All the same, I can look back and take into account a lot of activities that otherwise would not take place during the school year. Enjoyable? Not? I won't say...

What I've read this summer:
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot
Lilies of the Field by William Edmund Barrett
Jaws by Peter Benchley
Precious by Sapphire
Aesop's Fables
the new editions of my film text and my ENG090 texts (most of them, anyway - okay, enough of them for now!)

...and of course, dozens of poems and short stories in lit mags, and five hundred million e-mails.

Still working on:
The Case for God by Karen Armstrong
Native American Myths

Still plan on reading:
Star Island by Carl Hiaasen

Movies I've seen:
Inception
Salt
Fish Tank
Robin Hood
Whatever Works
The Last Station
Crazyheart

Places I went:
Oklahoma
Chicago
Racine, Wisconsin
Traverse City
Traverse City
Traverse City
Lansing
Charlevoix

Days Spent at the Beach:
1 rock hunting in Charlevoix
1 evening swim on the penninsula in TC

House Projects I finished:
Put the side porch screens up.
Painting two rooms and a hallway.
Planted flowers that I then had to water.
Cleaned my room and filed receipts for the past four months.
Cleaned the basement (not that you can tell it now).
Cleaned the garage (ditto).
Cleaned the gutters.
Cleaned the fish tank.
Packed, cleaned house, and helped move the Hills from TC to SC.

Visitors to Bay City:
Dave from Oregon
Dave from Oregon
Lindsay and Ian from Oklahoma
Brian and Ben and dog from Naperville, IL
Terry and Stacy and family with dog (RIP Muddy) from Caledonia, NY
Lisa and Emerson from New Orleans, LA
Dave from Oregon

New Additions to the Family:
Copper

TC Seasons

Remember this picture from a previous blog?








Well, here's the same area, six months later.







I love the changing seasons in Michigan.