2 months ago
Friday, October 5, 2012
Reflecting on Rwanda
When we were still in the Calgary airport, and had not even touched Rwandese soil, Rolf (the Providence faculty member who led the trip) asked if I would write an article for the Providence newsletter once we returned. Here is the link the resulting reflection article. Jordan, who was also on the team, got her daughter's help to create a beautiful video, also posted on the site.
Check it out.
My thinking, learning, and growing doesn't stop at this reflection, but it's a pretty good measure of the thoughts and ideas that have rolled around in my head.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Counselors for Hope
Counselors for Hope was our team name.
What does hope mean? The Rwandese people embodied that well for us.
I was humbled and inspired by the hope that seemed to hide in
unexpected places all throughout that remarkable little nation.
But my sense of hope was shaken on one
day. During much of the time we were in Rwanda, we were largely cut
off from worldwide media. Although we could have turned on the
television and watched BBC coverage, we simply did not have time to
do so. However, on the morning that we were to depart Kigali and
drive to Gisenyi where we would take a boat across Lake Kivu to Iwawa
Island, our driver was late. We were finished all the tasks that
needed to be done. So we flipped on the television, and found
ourselves glued to the worldwide coverage. The big headline that day
was Syria. Children were being tortured by the government in
attempts to get information concerning the possible subversive
activities of their parents. The news anchor stated that genocide is
happening in Syria. There was a quiet solemnity that hung over us
for a period of time; the long-term effects of genocide on
individuals, families, on the church, and on a nation is what our
team was witnessing in Rwanda.
After a beautiful drive up to Gisenyi,
we pulled up to the gate of a refugee camp built to house 2000
Congolese people fleeing the violence in the DRC. That day, over the
past weeks, over 100 refugees a day had been pouring over the border
until the camp now contained somewhere around 11,000 people - more
children than adults. That day, if you stood on the border between
Gisenyi, Rwanda and Goma, Democratic Republic of Congo, you could
hear gunshots. When we stepped into the camp, we were immediately
separated and surrounded by children who wanted attention. It was
the only time during the trip that I was completely emotionally
overwhelmed with a feeling of helplessness, powerlessness, and
hopelessness. The Rwandese worker who was accompanying me while we
were in the camp used the G word - "It's a genocide." It
was terrifying to know that on that single day, two genocides were
happening not too far away. Entire families are being killed. One
or two might survive. Women and children are experiencing
unspeakable trauma, yet have to continue eking out food, water, and
shelter to survive. Cycles of violence, cycles of trauma.
What is justice? Where is the God of all comfort and hope?
Monday, September 10, 2012
Humility & Muddy Boots
A couple years ago,
I drove with a couple friends to Winnipeg to attend an information
and movie night about issues that are affecting east and central
Africa as a result of the terror and destruction carried out by the
Lord's Resistance Army. Two of us were Canadian, one was from Ghana,
and one was from Rwanda.
I don't recall the
entire conversation - it wandered from one subject to another with
ease and comfort, as it is with friends who get along well and share
a few common interests. We talked about my childhood experience of
Zaire, and touched on my friend's experience of Rwanda. However, the
discussion became tense when my Ghanan friend - insisting that his
homeland is peaceful, stable and uncorrupted by many of the issues
that have affected post-colonial Africa - said, "No... in Ghana
we are civilized. We don't act like those savages." My
Rwandese friend became suddenly still and quiet.
What went wrong?
Although what was said was certainly insensitive and politically
incorrect, the issue goes much deeper. You see, deep inside my
Canadian heart there is the same civilized pride ("In my
country, people don't use machetes to dismember each other" - although the residential school system could fairly be called a
cultural genocide of epic proportions); I guess I was just lucky that
I wasn't the one who took my foot and shoved it halfway down my
throat.
 |
| Building bridges - Tea with our Rwandese friends. |
The
problem is that we do not understand the problem of evil. Until it
stares us in the face, we hesitate to acknowledge it; and then, once
evil is staring us down, we cry out to God in confusion, asking
"Where were you, God?" as if human evil were God's
responsibility. I won't begin here to flesh out a theology of evil
(for that, please see N.T. Wright's Evil and the Justice of
God - a good read, and in fairly
accessible language as well).
Although
God's redemptive mission certainly contains the final solution for
evil, human beings are still accountable and responsible for their choices. However, "the line
between good and evil is never simply between 'us' and 'them.' The
line between good and evil runs through each one of us"
(emphasis added; Wright, 2006, p. 38). Every member of humankind is
made in the image of God, and yet every member of humankind is also
tainted, tracking evil through God's world - like muddy shoes across
pristine carpet. However, in the irony that so often characterizes
God's kingdom, God then uses these same messed up, muddy footed
people on His mission of redemption. He uses me! He uses my
Rwandese friends. He uses the Church - which is chock-full of
muddy-footed people. Isn't that amazing?
Redemption
is messy business. It just doesn't seem fair!
Shouldn't there be a clearer line between the good guys and the bad
guys? But while it freaks me out a little bit, I think it delights
God. "After all," He reminds us, "there's only one
person without mud on his boots" (Romans 5:8; 2 Corinthians
5:21).
When I
first look down to see my own muddy feet, it makes sense to embrace
as equals others who have mud on their boots.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
a framework for how I think about Rwanda
 |
| Beeeeeautiful! |
Although my feet are planted back on
Canadian soil, my head is still reeling - perhaps because I promptly
uprooted again and moved up to Peace River, Alberta only a day after
landing in Calgary. So thank you for your patience in waiting for a
final report about the time I had the privilege
of spending in Rwanda (with the team from Providence) and Kenya (flying solo).
First off... let's play a quick word
association game. Which of the two words that follow stick out to
you when you think "Rwanda"?
Gorillas Genocide
If you answered genocide, then
you're in good company - most people would agree with you. In 1994,
the people of Rwanda experienced a genocide which saw approximately
one million people killed by their government, friends, neighbours,
and even family members inside of 100 days. However, if you were to
stand on a street-corner in Kigali and ask Rwandese passers-by to
comment on the same question, you would quickly find that the
Rwandese people are tired of having their national identity defined
by the events of 1994. Wouldn't you if you were in their shoes?
I hope to share
about my time in Rwanda in a way that honours their desire. People deserve to be known for their strengths and resilience as much as for their pain and brokenness. I too am both strong and broken.
 |
| Giving and receiving are inseparable. This young woman learned to sew from this hope-giving ministry, and now sews quilts and bags to contribute to the ministry. |
For this reason, you will more often hear me talk about "walking alongside" people than "helping" them. And I am more likely to reference things that I learned from the Rwandese people than I am to talk about what I think I was able to contribute. Although I was the one to travel across the Atlantic to spend June in Africa, and although I went with something special to contribute... still we stand on equal footing.
 |
| A new friend at the market. You should see the fabrics we picked out together. |
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
I am the ghost in the darkness; the lone occupant of the school at this weary hour. I have no one to talk to but myself, and the sound of my voice sounds a wee bit eery. But the silence is equally eery; I need someone to talk to. And - having written 25 pages in the last 22 hours, I feel that it is my right to write something just because I want to, not because I have to, nor becaue I think I should. Just because. That's it. And so I turn to you. I am doing a dance for joy in my head because the end is nearly here. It has not been perfect, nor even really pretty. In the last two weeks, the prayers of my parents and my friends have been metaphorically holding up my arms so that I could continue. But now it is nearly finished. In 38 hours. And in less than 38 minutes (I hope), I will be able to check one more thing off the list, and call it done - at least for the day.
And then I will sleep for four sweet hours of bliss.
Wish me luck. Send me prayers. See you soon!
And then I will sleep for four sweet hours of bliss.
Wish me luck. Send me prayers. See you soon!
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Voting day...
Dear Government,
Given our recent interactions, I am truly impressed at both your size and scope. I am currently uncertain as to my deepest feelings about you... whether I want to see you shed some unnecessary pounds, or if I like your oh-so-ample curves just the way they are; whether I love all the lovely gifts you give to me and all my friends, or if I resent the fact that it seems like our relationship is all give and no take. I will speak on that subject more decisively in about an hour at Station 30 in the privacy of my voting booth.
However, the purpose of this letter is to suggest to you that the oft-quoted verse "Do not let the right hand know what the left hand is doing" does not apply to you in the same way that it would an ordinary citizen (I say that in a falsely flattering tone). You see, the fact that it takes up to 2 months for my file to be updated in one area of your massive body, with the information being passed to other relevant areas only in the distant and very tentative future seems a slightly excessive. Please let your right hand know what the left hand is doing, as it would have saved me at least five phone calls today, and innumerable minutes on hold as I waited for the right and left hands to figure out their cognitive difficulties.
Many thanks,
Jennifer
Given our recent interactions, I am truly impressed at both your size and scope. I am currently uncertain as to my deepest feelings about you... whether I want to see you shed some unnecessary pounds, or if I like your oh-so-ample curves just the way they are; whether I love all the lovely gifts you give to me and all my friends, or if I resent the fact that it seems like our relationship is all give and no take. I will speak on that subject more decisively in about an hour at Station 30 in the privacy of my voting booth.
Many thanks,
Jennifer
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Expert or Jack-of-All-Trades?
Someone recently offered me a gem of a new word...
polymath |ˈpäliˌmaθ|nouna person of wide-ranging knowledge or learning.
DERIVATIVESpolymathic |ˌpäliˈmaθik| adjectivepolymathy |pəˈliməθē; ˈpäliˌmaθē|nounORIGIN early 17th cent.: from Greek polumathēs ‘having learned much,’ from polu- ‘much’ + the stem of manthanein ‘learn.’I'd like to think that I am a budding polymath, but in reality, I'm someone who is taking five courses in the same subject this semester. I suppose the intent of a "master's" degree is to create experts in each of our respective fields, but it makes me ponder every once in a while... Given the exclusion of the possibility that I could be both, would I rather be a master or a polymath?
You?(photo from: http://www.treehugger.com/turkey-books-photo.jpg)
polymath |ˈpäliˌmaθ|nouna person of wide-ranging knowledge or learning.
DERIVATIVESpolymathic |ˌpäliˈmaθik| adjectivepolymathy |pəˈliməθē; ˈpäliˌmaθē|nounORIGIN early 17th cent.: from Greek polumathēs ‘having learned much,’ from polu- ‘much’ + the stem of manthanein ‘learn.’I'd like to think that I am a budding polymath, but in reality, I'm someone who is taking five courses in the same subject this semester. I suppose the intent of a "master's" degree is to create experts in each of our respective fields, but it makes me ponder every once in a while... Given the exclusion of the possibility that I could be both, would I rather be a master or a polymath?
Friday, September 16, 2011
Hello? Anybody Down There?
I'm back! For a variety of reasons, I took the summer off of blogging. Sheer busyness, in a way I have not been busy since my days at Camp Evergreen. Disinterest... I just got tired of thinking about what to write. But at the root of the disinterest is the real reason why I took another hiatus: self-consciousness. I reached a point when I realized that I needed to take a step back before I began writing for other people instead of writing for the love of writing. Fellow bloggers... have you ever obsessively checked your Stats tab to see how many people are viewing your blog?
When my motive for writing changes...
...and becomes about other people...
...then I am no longer being simply, authentically me.
I become dishonest.
And being simply, authentically me...
...and expressing that in words...
...was the reason I started writing in the first place.
When my motive for writing changes...
...and becomes about other people...
...then I am no longer being simply, authentically me.
I become dishonest.
And being simply, authentically me...
...and expressing that in words...
...was the reason I started writing in the first place.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
God grant me Serenity... Courage... Wisdom
KP recently wrote a blog post that discussed recent trends toward whitewashing literature, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn in particular. While apparently intended to promote the use of politically correct language, the actual effect is a profound invalidation of the history, hurts, and memories of those who have been oppressed. To demonstrate... a quote, a story, some philosophizing, and a benediction:
I was talking this evening with a little caucasian girl who had been walking through Point Douglas with myself and some others, inviting people from the predominantly Aboriginal community to a barbecue. I asked if she had the opportunity to get to know anyone a little better.
"Yeah!" she said. "I saw Zoe" (a child about her age whom both of us know). I nodded, and she went on, trying to describe the girl to ensure we were on the same page, "You know... the brown-ish one." It was said with matter-of-fact respect, a hint of appreciation, and no trace of prejudice.
"Aw, Zoe... I wish I had seen her too. I really like her," I said.
"Yeah. I like her too." was her quiet reply. We sat in silence for a moment, thinking fondly about our mutual 'brown-ish' 9 year-old friend.
I'm not brown-ish. Sometimes I wish I was. Because sometimes I cringe when I see my reflection in the mirror - when I recognize my part in perpetuating injustice. We must not - indeed we cannot (though we try very hard to pretend to) - blind ourselves to colour. Sometimes it is only the children who are honest enough to admit that they notice... we need to allow them to remind us how to be appreciative of difference instead of afraid of offending.
Insofar as past generations were indicted for discrimination through the use of annihilation, assimilation, and segregation, today's generation will be indicted for racial discrimination as we latently and overtly attempt to eradicate racial diversity by pretending or assuming its outdated irrelevance. Like trying to remove a scar with a potato peeler, we are only trying to convince ourselves that we are as virtuous as we desperately wish we were. We traded honesty for hegemony in hope that our memories would be erased; now we find ourselves stuck in our self-dug pit of shame, denial, and self-deception. Many times, I think that whitewashing, instead of being motivated by respect and appreciation for the oppressed persons, is driven by the compulsion of the oppressors to assuage their nagging sense of self-loathing.
"We should not move toward colour-blindness as an American ideal, we should move toward colour-consciousness, which allows us to talk about race in a way that makes it complex, serious, nuanced, and something that we all want to talk about instead of something that makes us defensive and uncomfortable." - Diane Harriford
I was talking this evening with a little caucasian girl who had been walking through Point Douglas with myself and some others, inviting people from the predominantly Aboriginal community to a barbecue. I asked if she had the opportunity to get to know anyone a little better.
"Yeah!" she said. "I saw Zoe" (a child about her age whom both of us know). I nodded, and she went on, trying to describe the girl to ensure we were on the same page, "You know... the brown-ish one." It was said with matter-of-fact respect, a hint of appreciation, and no trace of prejudice.
"Aw, Zoe... I wish I had seen her too. I really like her," I said.
"Yeah. I like her too." was her quiet reply. We sat in silence for a moment, thinking fondly about our mutual 'brown-ish' 9 year-old friend.
I'm not brown-ish. Sometimes I wish I was. Because sometimes I cringe when I see my reflection in the mirror - when I recognize my part in perpetuating injustice. We must not - indeed we cannot (though we try very hard to pretend to) - blind ourselves to colour. Sometimes it is only the children who are honest enough to admit that they notice... we need to allow them to remind us how to be appreciative of difference instead of afraid of offending.
Insofar as past generations were indicted for discrimination through the use of annihilation, assimilation, and segregation, today's generation will be indicted for racial discrimination as we latently and overtly attempt to eradicate racial diversity by pretending or assuming its outdated irrelevance. Like trying to remove a scar with a potato peeler, we are only trying to convince ourselves that we are as virtuous as we desperately wish we were. We traded honesty for hegemony in hope that our memories would be erased; now we find ourselves stuck in our self-dug pit of shame, denial, and self-deception. Many times, I think that whitewashing, instead of being motivated by respect and appreciation for the oppressed persons, is driven by the compulsion of the oppressors to assuage their nagging sense of self-loathing.
"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like white-washed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people's bones and all uncleanness" (Matthew 23:27).
A coat of paint won't cover the stink; you can only kill a weed if you pull it out at the very root." (Jenni's paraphrase)
God, grant us the serenity to look in the mirror, accepting both the beauty and the blemishes in our history which we cannot change;
The courage to ask the elephant in the room for the first dance, resting in the tension between the apparent contradictions that are the epitome of paradox;
And the wisdom we need to proceed with humility, compassion, humour, and hope.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
From one friend to another...
After a busy, thought-provoking, laughter-full weekend, I am sitting on my favourite couch listening to the clock tap-dance in 60:1 time. I have a little bit of letter-writing to catch up on...
Dear Bedroom Floor,
It is so good to see you again after so long a separation! I look forward to seeing you more often in the coming weeks.
Dear Bedroom Floor,
It is so good to see you again after so long a separation! I look forward to seeing you more often in the coming weeks.
Respectfully,
Jennifer
Dear Sink-ful of Dishes,
It was a pleasure to partner with you, and Turner Residents Alumni & Associates on our recent Chicken Korma and Chai project. As per your request for additional information regarding the company's time-line for completing your work-order, our district manager asked that I provide you with an appropriate time-line for each phase of the project:
-June 13/14 overnight - Soak and Load (task to be completed by Sink o'ColdWater and DishWasher)
-June 14 morning - Ignore (task to be completed by Day Job)
-June 14 evening - Pot Wash (task to be completed by My Hands)
Committed to our customer satisfaction,
Jennifer
Dear Melatonin,
I regret to inform you that our organization no longer requires your services due to the recent routinization of sleep patterns, as well as the current presence of sleep deprivation. I deeply appreciate the enormous effort that you have poured into the company in the past months, so it is with some sadness that I deliver this pink slip to your desk. If, at some time in the future, our company finds an opening in your area of expertise, we will certainly be in touch. Thank you for your months of diligent service.
With regards,
Jennifer
Dear beautiful Nixon watch,
It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance today. I feel like it was a meeting of old friends instead of the awkwardness of first impressions. I look forward to working with you in the future, and taking advantage of the unique skills in punctuality that you bring to our team.
Sincerely,
Jennifer
Dear Silence,
I know you and I have had kind of an ambivalent love-hate relationship this month. Thank you for sticking with me when I needed it, for giving me space and letting me focus on other relationships when I asked for it. You are a good friend; I value our relationship deeply. Want to have coffee this week?
Much love,
Jennifer
Dear Pesky-Buzzing-Steroid-Powered-Manitoba-Mosquito in my house,
This is your eviction notice. Your neighbour, the Ticking Clock, submitted a complaint that your discordant whine is interfering with her tap dance. Get out. You will be served with the appropriate penalty should you disregard this notice.
Awaiting your timely response,
Jennifer
PS - Slap. Splat. I win.
Dear friends,
I am deeply grateful for you. You fill my life with laughter, conversation, life, belonging. Today, I am acutely aware that I am a millionaire because of you; you fill my life with the rich gift of friendship - unearned, undeserved, and profoundly appreciated. Thank you.
For each one who reads this and many who won't ever see it -
Jennifer
Dear Self,
Time for bed, munchkin.
Love,
Your Inner Child
Jennifer
Dear Sink-ful of Dishes,
It was a pleasure to partner with you, and Turner Residents Alumni & Associates on our recent Chicken Korma and Chai project. As per your request for additional information regarding the company's time-line for completing your work-order, our district manager asked that I provide you with an appropriate time-line for each phase of the project:
-June 13/14 overnight - Soak and Load (task to be completed by Sink o'ColdWater and DishWasher)
-June 14 morning - Ignore (task to be completed by Day Job)
-June 14 evening - Pot Wash (task to be completed by My Hands)
Committed to our customer satisfaction,
Jennifer
Dear Melatonin,
I regret to inform you that our organization no longer requires your services due to the recent routinization of sleep patterns, as well as the current presence of sleep deprivation. I deeply appreciate the enormous effort that you have poured into the company in the past months, so it is with some sadness that I deliver this pink slip to your desk. If, at some time in the future, our company finds an opening in your area of expertise, we will certainly be in touch. Thank you for your months of diligent service.
With regards,
Jennifer
Dear beautiful Nixon watch,
It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance today. I feel like it was a meeting of old friends instead of the awkwardness of first impressions. I look forward to working with you in the future, and taking advantage of the unique skills in punctuality that you bring to our team.
Sincerely,
Jennifer
Dear Silence,
I know you and I have had kind of an ambivalent love-hate relationship this month. Thank you for sticking with me when I needed it, for giving me space and letting me focus on other relationships when I asked for it. You are a good friend; I value our relationship deeply. Want to have coffee this week?
Much love,
Jennifer
Dear Pesky-Buzzing-Steroid-Powered-Manitoba-Mosquito in my house,
This is your eviction notice. Your neighbour, the Ticking Clock, submitted a complaint that your discordant whine is interfering with her tap dance. Get out. You will be served with the appropriate penalty should you disregard this notice.
Awaiting your timely response,
Jennifer
PS - Slap. Splat. I win.
Dear friends,
I am deeply grateful for you. You fill my life with laughter, conversation, life, belonging. Today, I am acutely aware that I am a millionaire because of you; you fill my life with the rich gift of friendship - unearned, undeserved, and profoundly appreciated. Thank you.
For each one who reads this and many who won't ever see it -
Jennifer
Dear Self,
Time for bed, munchkin.
Love,
Your Inner Child
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Finding UnFriends on Facebook
All right. This is the last one in the series of three on social media. Facebook, oh Facebook, what shall I say about you?
I recently overheard a preachy conversation between two people regarding the evils of Facebook: it destroys face to face relationships, it's a poor substitute for the real deal, etc. etc. etc. The usual litany of complaints. I realized in that moment that I don't want to sound like I have a chip on my shoulder. I don't want to get upset at Facebook or the impact that it has on the way we communicate. I want to (1) use it (2) appropriately and responsibly, (3) with a high level of self-awareness, and (4) encourage others to do the same.
Period.
That's it.
So on that note... check your privacy settings. And teach underage and vulnerable Facebook users to reject friend requests the one I got recently. It was accompanied by a message that went something like this... (WARNING - GRAPHIC CONTENT)
Hi. You're hot. I act in adult XXX industry films. Your lips look so good that they could appear in a pornography feature film. I had an erection when I saw your profile picture and masturbated while looking at your lips. Any male with normal hormonal levels and a penis would do the same, but at least I'm honest enough to tell you what's flowing along my polluted neural pathways. I want to talk about the pornography industry with you. Please be my friend.
Yuck. Seriously...? I edited out the details and the lewd vernacular. I felt like a disembodied, sexualized being. I gag... then spew. Spew a fountain of feminist rhetoric about the needless sexualization of the female body - and can you blame me in that moment? Is this normal? I think of all the vulnerable thirteen to eighteen year-old females who might be receiving similar emails. I've never received this kind of thing before. I realize, however, that this is not representative of the world's males, whom I have found to be no more or less vice-prone than the world's females.
Sick - yes. But I also had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. I mean - have you seen my profile picture? Nothing sultry or seductive there, unless you count smiling. So thank you for the "compliment," Mr. Dmitry-Internet-Predator/Sex-Spammer. Thankfully, this is the only picture of my lips that you can see, as my privacy settings are fairly airtight. My privacy settings also prevent you from seeing my real age... which means you don't know or care how old I am. This makes me wonder how old your other lip-fetish-friends are. If I figure out how many of those attractive females are underage, I will relish reporting you to the appropriate law enforcement agency. In the meantime, get the f--- off my Facebook profile. (Oh, and P.S. - the Bahaman boys club has already claimed a monopoly on my disembodied derriere, so while you may love my lips, my cheeks are off-limits).
All this made me think of a timeless song.
I recently overheard a preachy conversation between two people regarding the evils of Facebook: it destroys face to face relationships, it's a poor substitute for the real deal, etc. etc. etc. The usual litany of complaints. I realized in that moment that I don't want to sound like I have a chip on my shoulder. I don't want to get upset at Facebook or the impact that it has on the way we communicate. I want to (1) use it (2) appropriately and responsibly, (3) with a high level of self-awareness, and (4) encourage others to do the same.
Period.
That's it.
So on that note... check your privacy settings. And teach underage and vulnerable Facebook users to reject friend requests the one I got recently. It was accompanied by a message that went something like this... (WARNING - GRAPHIC CONTENT)
Hi. You're hot. I act in adult XXX industry films. Your lips look so good that they could appear in a pornography feature film. I had an erection when I saw your profile picture and masturbated while looking at your lips. Any male with normal hormonal levels and a penis would do the same, but at least I'm honest enough to tell you what's flowing along my polluted neural pathways. I want to talk about the pornography industry with you. Please be my friend.
Yuck. Seriously...? I edited out the details and the lewd vernacular. I felt like a disembodied, sexualized being. I gag... then spew. Spew a fountain of feminist rhetoric about the needless sexualization of the female body - and can you blame me in that moment? Is this normal? I think of all the vulnerable thirteen to eighteen year-old females who might be receiving similar emails. I've never received this kind of thing before. I realize, however, that this is not representative of the world's males, whom I have found to be no more or less vice-prone than the world's females.
Sick - yes. But I also had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. I mean - have you seen my profile picture? Nothing sultry or seductive there, unless you count smiling. So thank you for the "compliment," Mr. Dmitry-Internet-Predator/Sex-Spammer. Thankfully, this is the only picture of my lips that you can see, as my privacy settings are fairly airtight. My privacy settings also prevent you from seeing my real age... which means you don't know or care how old I am. This makes me wonder how old your other lip-fetish-friends are. If I figure out how many of those attractive females are underage, I will relish reporting you to the appropriate law enforcement agency. In the meantime, get the f--- off my Facebook profile. (Oh, and P.S. - the Bahaman boys club has already claimed a monopoly on my disembodied derriere, so while you may love my lips, my cheeks are off-limits).
All this made me think of a timeless song.
I imagined my dear Sex-Spammer in therapy. It made me laugh.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Call me a nerd, or a health nut, or a hippie... or just happy
Quinoa salad
+
Straight-from-the-spice-jar homemade chai tea
+
Qualitative Research Textbooks
+
Thunder & Rain
+
Man From Snowy River soundtrack
=
Perfect Evening
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The Dummy's Guide to Increasing Your Awkward Threshold
I have a little bit more to say on the subject of social media, a lot more to say about my movie list, and some creative photography to share. But all that can wait while you enjoy a good laugh at my expense.
You may recall that your last opportunity to laugh at my expense was after an incident in which I was caught in the driver's seat, joined at the lips while driving my vehicle. And my track record in the back seat isn't much better. Needless to say, I've clearly been subconsciously waiting for an awkward moment to occur in the passenger's seat, which would complete my collection of 'vehicular' embarrassing/awkward moments. Wednesday arrived with a perfect opportunity...
My friend Mandy was playing chauffeur for me, driving in our friends' silver Toyota van as she had just dropped them off at the airport. I needed to pick up the printed photos for my photovoice project at Walmart before we drove down to Otterburne for an evening with friends. I had already paid for the prints, so it was a quick stop. Mandy dropped me off at the doors, and I hurried into the photo centre. The staff were super-helpful; I was in and out of there in under 45 seconds. As I exited Walmart, I saw that the silver van was pulled up to the curb so that we could launch straight out of there. That's like Mandy... she's generally pretty organized and on the ball with that sort of thing. I hopped into the passenger seat, trying to hurry but still paying close attention to ensure that I did not wrinkle or damage the giant poster-sized photos I was carrying. It was a Hollywood bank heist moment... you know - when the person jumps into the vehicle with a giant bag of cash and yells, "Drive! drive! drive!" while trying to jam the door closed without losing the loot. Like I said... I was hurrying; pie and ice cream with friends was waiting, and ice cream has a limited half-life.
That's when I heard it: "Uh... ma'am? Wrong vehicle." I can be kind of jumpy. A therapist would call it an 'elevated startle response', but whatever you call it, I jumped. Then - what's worse - I froze. I heard him say it again, "Ma'am? Ma'am! Wrong vehicle!"
The initial jolt of adrenaline wore off. "Oh my goodness!" might have come out of my mouth, or perhaps something nearer to a shocked scream, or maybe something inappropriate that burned the ears of the children seated in the back of the silver *Kia* van I had entered - I don't remember precisely. I mumbled an "I am so sorry" as I stumbled out of the vehicle almost as quickly as I had scrambled into it. Left standing on the curb with my giant posters next to a vehicle full of people who thought I was a crazy person, I tried to gather my scattered wits, looking around for Mandy. I must have looked like a little lost kitten trying to find its mommy, while the people watching me from the Kia van continued waiting for their own mommy. I wandered off, trying to appear as if I was moving purposefully. Deep down inside, I knew that I just looked awkward, so I gave in after a few seconds and called Mandy, who exclaimed, "You're done already?!"
More than done. "Yup. I'm done."
A person with substantial experience in navigating awkward moments (me...) once said that "the only thing between you and an outrageously ridiculous, beautifully hilarious story is a single awkward moment." True that... :)
In closing, my blessing for all of us on this beautiful May day is framed on my bathroom wall:
You may recall that your last opportunity to laugh at my expense was after an incident in which I was caught in the driver's seat, joined at the lips while driving my vehicle. And my track record in the back seat isn't much better. Needless to say, I've clearly been subconsciously waiting for an awkward moment to occur in the passenger's seat, which would complete my collection of 'vehicular' embarrassing/awkward moments. Wednesday arrived with a perfect opportunity...
My friend Mandy was playing chauffeur for me, driving in our friends' silver Toyota van as she had just dropped them off at the airport. I needed to pick up the printed photos for my photovoice project at Walmart before we drove down to Otterburne for an evening with friends. I had already paid for the prints, so it was a quick stop. Mandy dropped me off at the doors, and I hurried into the photo centre. The staff were super-helpful; I was in and out of there in under 45 seconds. As I exited Walmart, I saw that the silver van was pulled up to the curb so that we could launch straight out of there. That's like Mandy... she's generally pretty organized and on the ball with that sort of thing. I hopped into the passenger seat, trying to hurry but still paying close attention to ensure that I did not wrinkle or damage the giant poster-sized photos I was carrying. It was a Hollywood bank heist moment... you know - when the person jumps into the vehicle with a giant bag of cash and yells, "Drive! drive! drive!" while trying to jam the door closed without losing the loot. Like I said... I was hurrying; pie and ice cream with friends was waiting, and ice cream has a limited half-life.
That's when I heard it: "Uh... ma'am? Wrong vehicle." I can be kind of jumpy. A therapist would call it an 'elevated startle response', but whatever you call it, I jumped. Then - what's worse - I froze. I heard him say it again, "Ma'am? Ma'am! Wrong vehicle!"
The initial jolt of adrenaline wore off. "Oh my goodness!" might have come out of my mouth, or perhaps something nearer to a shocked scream, or maybe something inappropriate that burned the ears of the children seated in the back of the silver *Kia* van I had entered - I don't remember precisely. I mumbled an "I am so sorry" as I stumbled out of the vehicle almost as quickly as I had scrambled into it. Left standing on the curb with my giant posters next to a vehicle full of people who thought I was a crazy person, I tried to gather my scattered wits, looking around for Mandy. I must have looked like a little lost kitten trying to find its mommy, while the people watching me from the Kia van continued waiting for their own mommy. I wandered off, trying to appear as if I was moving purposefully. Deep down inside, I knew that I just looked awkward, so I gave in after a few seconds and called Mandy, who exclaimed, "You're done already?!"
More than done. "Yup. I'm done."
A person with substantial experience in navigating awkward moments (me...) once said that "the only thing between you and an outrageously ridiculous, beautifully hilarious story is a single awkward moment." True that... :)
In closing, my blessing for all of us on this beautiful May day is framed on my bathroom wall:
Laugh as much as you breathe, and love as long as you live.
I would argue - on a level much broader than this discussion of awkward moments - that one cannot love well without laughing often. In laughing at our own foolishness lies the key to mastering the painful self-consciousness that keeps us from truly seeing (and therefore loving) another. There's your philosophical moment for this Sunday evening.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Photovoice
I'm frazzled, and my frizzy hair - freed from its usual curly constraints by Winnipeg's summer humidity - only serves to highlight the fact that I could use a bit of down-time. I just walked in the door, having wrapped up a Photovoice exhibition that has been three months in the making, with an additional six months of back-burner planning. I now have 30+ pages of writing to finish off for that course, but hey... the presentation is finished. If you don't count taking the exhibition on the road, as I now hear the church is interested in doing... c'est finit! I could get on board with the travelling circus idea, roping the kids into it as well and giving them opportunities to advocate for their community... but I'd like a couple days to settle, eat watermelon, watch a movie, cry a little just to gain closure from this whole ordeal, go for a nice long run, go for supper and hang out with my 'family' in Point Douglas, wrap up a few more assignments, and immerse myself in my (paid) job. I would like that... yeah...
I guess I should define Photovoice for you before I get too carried away...
"Photovoice researchers literally give their subjects a camera and ask them to photograph certain aspects of their lives" with the goal of "empowering and enabling people to reflect their personal and community concerns; to encourage a dialogue... about personal and community issues;" and to see issues from the unique grassroots perspective of those in the community and sharing these issues with policymakers, politicians, and professionals.
(Berg, B. L. 2009. Qualitative Research Methods for the Social Sciences (7th Ed.). Toronto: Allyn & Bacon, pp. 261-262.)
And later... I will put up some of the photo work of this group of extraordinary young people. Soon. Here's a teaser for the time being. Taken by a 12 year-old.
This, my friends, is one of the things that has consumed and enriched my life for the last three months. I love it.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Why I like the letter B
More on Facebook later. The rant isn't over yet... I can get a little more mileage out of that one - one or two more posts, perhaps. If people start de-friending me, I'll know I've crossed the line. But at the end of the Facebook rant series, I will have decided what I'm doing with Facebook, and will act according to my decision. In the meantime, I would like to take this brief moment to extol the letter B. Specifically, I would like to talk about the letter B as it relates to professor's judgment of my academic performance. But to explain why I like the letter B, I need to back up one step...
I like the letter A.
I don't like mediocrity.
But neither do I like being measured by the judgments of others.
I do not like the idea that a grade on a paper defines me.
When you see the letter A in red ink at the end of your papers as often as you see your first and last names on the title page, it becomes difficult to separate one from the other.
No matter how diligently you remind yourself that it's not your identity.
Some of you may scoff and ask when I last got anything less than an A.
In April, thank you very much.
I got a B.
Not a B+.
It was a solid B.
My roommate congratulated me.
We've been working on this all year.
I went to the prof's office.
We talk sometimes.
So we chatted about my plans for September.
I asked him to write a reference for me.
He did.
Mostly he said good stuff.
He questioned the stability of my emotional health.
But who really needs emotional health to take an M.A. in Counselling... really?
We laughed.
He said that when I emailed to make an appointment, he thought I was going to contest my B.
I told him that both of us knew it wasn't my best work.
And thanked him for the B.
He said, 'This is a twisted conversation.'
So I told him...
Concluding thoughts: I like the letter B (when it appears on an assignment), and the letter A (when it appears on my transcript)... I like my GPA. But I'll jump that hurdle too, I'm sure.
I like the letter A.
I don't like mediocrity.
But neither do I like being measured by the judgments of others.
I do not like the idea that a grade on a paper defines me.
When you see the letter A in red ink at the end of your papers as often as you see your first and last names on the title page, it becomes difficult to separate one from the other.
No matter how diligently you remind yourself that it's not your identity.
Some of you may scoff and ask when I last got anything less than an A.
In April, thank you very much.I got a B.
Not a B+.
It was a solid B.
My roommate congratulated me.
We've been working on this all year.
I went to the prof's office.
We talk sometimes.
So we chatted about my plans for September.
I asked him to write a reference for me.
He did.
Mostly he said good stuff.
He questioned the stability of my emotional health.
But who really needs emotional health to take an M.A. in Counselling... really?
We laughed.
He said that when I emailed to make an appointment, he thought I was going to contest my B.
I told him that both of us knew it wasn't my best work.
And thanked him for the B.
He said, 'This is a twisted conversation.'
So I told him...
- B tells me that I have room to improve: I'm still learning, being challenged, and that's a good thing.
- B tells me that I have nothing to hide: I'm not perfect, and I need not spend my time trying to prove that I am.
- B tells me that I'm normal: everyone has ups and downs, and I'm no exception.
- B tells me that my life is becoming balanced, that it matters that I take time to eat dinner with friends, blog, sit in my hammock, read Tolstoy, watch Jane Austen movies, wear moccasins, play with the neighbour's dog, drink tea, take vitamin C, try on eclectic jewelry at Ten Thousand Villages, look at the stars, make a collage that encompasses my feelings, immerse myself in research simply because I enjoy it, have an argument, listen to a friend, share my feelings, go on a date, sleep in on Saturday... these things matter.
- B tells me that I matter. I have gotten more formal recognition for my grades than anything else in life, and after a while, you start to wonder if anyone can see past the giant A stamped on your forehead.
Concluding thoughts: I like the letter B (when it appears on an assignment), and the letter A (when it appears on my transcript)... I like my GPA. But I'll jump that hurdle too, I'm sure.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Word of the Day
Vaguebooking:
Intentional or unintentional vague or ambiguous facebook status message, which people have no clue as to what the heck you are talking about. Also included is posting fragmented song lyrics without stating the artist. (Thank you http://www.urbandictionary.com!)This word has been featured in the past, but my own recent status update and the outpouring of 'likes' from my wonderful and well-meaning family and friends prompted the word to float up from the depths of the deep past to the surface of my memory. The status update experiment worked.
Example:
People who like this
Could someone please tell me... in sufficiently vague terms... of what I was speaking? This is not an indictment... this was pure entertainment value for me.
Multiple choice question #1 re: Jenni's vaguebooking comment.
a. A month ago, Jenni had no idea what she was doing with her life, but she has spent some good time over a cup of coffee at Starbucks and now has her life all figured out. Not only that, but she now has her dream job, a house on the lake, a chameleon, and a mosquito control specialist on her personal staff team!
b. A month ago, Jenni was sitting on pins and needles wondering how she did in her qualitative research course, and now knows that she passed... with a perfectly average but not so great C.
c. A month ago, Jenni's car started rattling a little bit. It nagged at her until she finally took it into the mechanic to get checked, where she was informed that the repairs would cost $1200.
d. A month ago, Jenni started having headaches and severe pain in her right ear and had to go to a specialist for tests. She got the test results back... and now knows she has an inoperable malignant brain tumour and three months to live.*
The sarcasm dripping from my voice is amused, not irritated, and I think fondly of how I would love to go for coffee and have a genuine chat with each of these really great friends. Jane, on the other hand... she went right ahead and asked for an update. We'd go for coffee if I was a little bit closer to Michigan. I just wonder (as per my previous comments), does social media give us a false sense of familiarity and connectedness with people?
My dear sister, on the other hand, is the Queen of Anti-Vaguebooking:
My dear sister, on the other hand, is the Queen of Anti-Vaguebooking:
Specific, accurate, concrete. No vagueness here. You can count on Heidi to provide up-to-date matter-of-fact updates of her day, week, and life. Christmas newsletter-style.
But in defence of vaguebooking... should social media be used as a means of deep, genuine connection? There's nothing quite like reading the status updates of people who bare their souls on Facebook. I mean absolutely no offence to those who risk vulnerability in this context, but I question the venue. I cringe a bit because I have seen Facebook conversations used by RCMP in criminal investigations, I have read juvenile spats between teenagers on FB walls, I have perused the intimately personal accounts of people's addictions via social media. We've all heard about some teacher or other professional who was fired from work for personal opinions or a scandalous photograph posted on a public forum. Once it's out there... we can't take it back. It's public. Exposed. For e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e. My wonderful sister's update wasn't inappropriately self-disclosing... I'm not saying that. I'm just asking...
...what's the balance between self-disclosure in the interest of healthy vulnerability and self-restraint in the interest of appropriate vulnerability? I'm all about vulnerability these days... something I will discuss a little ways down the line. In the meantime, social media is simmering in my stew-pot. So... your thoughts?
*Note: None of these is true.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
