Cycling in a Skirt

Family Secrets

2011-12-02T22:03:00.001-05:00

You know what's surreal? Writing an email of introduction to your "new" adult cousins who are your full blood relatives but who, up until three weeks ago, you did not even know existed. Up until three weeks ago, you thought your father was the oldest child in his family and your aunt, his younger sister, thought her only sibling living was your father. Your grandmother, who was forced to give up her first child with your grandfather two months before they were married kept that secret for a long, long time. And who can blame her? When you've kept something like that a secret for over 50 years, a secret that not even your sisters, with whom you currently have very close relationships, did not even know about, a secret that you had to leave your province to get rid of, a secret that was necessary to keep in order to protect your family's social standing in the 1950s, a secret that today still carries unspoken judgements about the taboo of sex outside of marriage, then how to you even begin to start sharing that secret?

Well, the secret is out and we're all very happy about it. As my aunt said, it's full steam ahead, no looking back, they just want to catch up on life. And they did, this past week, when the baby who was given up for adoption 55 years ago in Ontario, went back to PEI as an adult to reconnect with her birth mother and meet her two younger, biological siblings.

New siblings

Oh, yes, the surreal moments continue and I haven't even met her yet. I can't imagine what that must have been like for my father. But he's taking it in stride. How do we know that? Well, now that he's no longer the oldest child, who according to birth order, should be the responsible one, he, as the middle child, plans to act out. Typical jokester. Yes, he'll be fine.

As for my grandmother, my aunt says "she has a new spring in her step and is already busying herself withChristmas decorating", something that she has definitely scaled back in recent years. This year, however, "she wants to celebrate." And so we will.

Follow the Yogini: Day 1

2011-11-25T22:08:00.001-05:00

'Meditation', France 2010

Wayyyyyy back in January I purchased my first groupon for 30 days of unlimited classes at a local yoga studio. In between coursework, commuting to school, TAing in the summer and the wedding, I kind of forgot about it. But, since it expires at the end of the year and we're heading home for the holidays, today was the last possible day I could use it and still get my 30 days.

So, guess what I did this evening?

The bittersweet taste of white chocolate

2011-11-08T21:54:00.000-05:00

I very strong feelings about language requirements in the government workplaces as well as in academia, and while I'm totally biased (what do/did I do in my free time/gap year but teach English and work on my own second language skills?) I do think this article nicely states a variety of arguments about what should required for those holding various posts in public office.

I could definitely be auditor general. Oh wait, I'm not an accountant. Maybe I should set my sights on Gov. Gen. in 2045....

Coffee break in Barcelona, April 2010
A great representation of SWPL.

It's rather foggy this evening, which I guess is a better reason than the alternative - rain - for the humidity in the air all day today. I didn't take the bike out today, for fear of being caught in a storm but instead I ended up dragging an umbrella around for all of my downtown plans today and caught nothing. Hmph. I guess that's what we get after an absolutely beautiful, productive Monday that brought us sunshine and temperatures in the double digits.

Um, yes I must be Canadian and/or from the Maritimes if all I do is talk about the weather on here (AND I even have a subject heading on the weather. Yes, Maritimer). But it's probably better than the alternative: this evening's readings. I'm currently working on a course paper about racist discourses and white privilege, while at the same time preparing for tomorrow's European Studies reading group where will we be commemorating November 9th in German history by discussing the incommensurability of guilt and suffering discourses in post-WWII Germany. There are a lot of fascinating parallels between the two topics, which I'm not sure if we will touch on tomorrow. But it's all rather damned depressing this evening.

Is it too early to break out the Christmas tunes? I feel like that might help me commemorate some positive German heritage. And that reminds me, it was marzipan that I meant to pick up at Denniger's today. I knew there was one more thing on my downtown list this afternoon. Blargh. I hope we have some good chocolate in the cupboard. And yes, the weighty meanings of that dessert in both histories is not lost on me. More thinking...more writing.

Political Skirts

2011-11-07T20:38:00.000-05:00

Today saw a return of a skirt to the commuting wardrobe. And as I was on my way to another downtown study date (which, I have to say, was marvelously productive, thanks to a great study buddy) I started to wonder, how could I combine doctoral research in social anthropology with an interest in understanding the politics of fashion? And then I found THIS.

Here's the blurb on the video:

Budapest's fashion world was treated Saturday to a display of Roma couture, intended not just to present new creations but to help combat prejudice against the minority group.

Yes, yes, yes. Minority group, anthropology of Europe, socially conscious fashion, aesthetics...oh, the possibilities. Now, if only I could speak a Romani dialect.

Keeping Clean in the Kitchen

2011-11-05T19:25:00.000-04:00

Bachelorette penguins

I've had this conversation a few times in the past few weeks and I continue to wonder: what is with this (growing) mainstream movement to make and purchase handmade crafts? It's on Etsy, all over the mommy blogs, and even showing up in the G&M from time to time . There are lots of things to take into account of course, but I'm not writing a research paper here. Nah, I just want to think out loud.

For one thing, it's very female dominated. I have yet to come across an amateur style blog, sewing blog or etsy site run by a man, and I can tell you how rare they are on the Ottawa St. fabric scene.

I am also interested in the connection with consumption. I like the idea of being able to make my own clothing (saving money, not buying from brand name stores, actually making exactly what I want) but I do have to buy new fabric, which can be expensive and I still don't know the ethics behind fair-trade fabric shopping. (Anyone?) And then there is the fact that anyone who can bake or sew suddenly has an online shop. Is this a sign of economic freedom that women can use their crafts to make a little bit of extra money? Or is there a problem when we start to commodify everything that we do, even for fun?

The first "waldorf"

And then there are days when I worry that this craft-making nostalgia for 1950s fitted waists and hat-veils, 1900 ankle boots and corsets bring with them not only the fashion but particular attitudes: is the return to Victorian booties tied up with wanting to repress certain other parts of our life (sexuality, perhaps?) Or the move to feminine waists and hostess aprons a kind of nostalgia for a time when women stayed at home? (not that that ever really existed among anyone other than the upper middle class, but I do wonder why we focus on THAT idea in particular.) And what of the things that we don’t like about those eras? Colonialism and the progress of industry that increased the killing of this planet ten-fold? Alcoholism, smoking, sexism, limited access to birth control – what do we do with that? Can we pick and choose the parts that we like and discard the pieces that we think we have improved from?

I’m not sure. It begs the question of how much of those fitted waists were about drawing men’s eyes to women’s figures? And what were those ankle boots doing, allowing only the feet to be seen in a repressive society? Even the Globe and Mail weighed in on the trend of stylish aprons, wondering if these vintage aprons are reinforcing female domestic labour, or providing a comfortable respite from 70-hour work weeks?

And then I have to pause, take a deep breath, and say "what the hell, we all have to eat and it's just an apron." I started making them because I needed a use for cotton prints, something relatively easy (no button holes or sleeves) and I came across a local craft blog last summer whose author was making aprons. I like to bake, and tend to be rather messy in the kitchen, so, why not?

Yellow half-wrap for a cupcake chef

I made a few last summer: two Waldorf's, two half-wrap and a standard full apron with bib for Mac. The best part of his apron? It was made from Beatle's Yellow Submarine fabric that I scavenged from the end of a role at Fabricland. This year I got fancy with a vintage full apron pattern that I made for a few birthdays and wedding showers. Now if only I could get ahold of this cotton fabric of "the king" from and I would be all set. I wonder what kind of analysis we could do on a vintage apron made with images of a sex symbol from the 1950s?

The Elephant on the Street

2011-11-04T22:18:00.000-04:00

Breton Stripes and my
favourite jens

Brrrr...it was COLD this morning. Like, frosted grass, mittens and hat, see-your-breath kind of cold. I definitely put my hat on before I had even opened the door...and then I was reminded how cold jeans are in cold weather. Oops. Next week I might have to dig out my long underwear.

The White Elephant
with fantastic crafts

But as much as I complain, it's an amazing time of year now, in the days before the snow when the fall rain is over, when the days are sunny and and the air is crisp, the wind is low and the morning and afternoon light is beautiful. I met a classmate downtown for a study date this morning and then rewarded myself for good behaviour by starting my Christmas shopping downtown on James St. North.

James Street North
Supercrawl September 2010

"art is the new steel"

This street is slowly undergoing a transformation, lead by local artists and artisans and home to some amazing craft and vintage shoppes. Every second Friday of the month the stores and studios are open late for an "art crawl" where the public is invited to explore (for free!) the various exhibitions on display in shops along the street, to sip a glass of wine (for a small fee) with the artists and shopowners and see what kind of art is being made in the city and around the province. For the past two years, for a Saturday in September, the city has closed the street to traffic and opened it to pedestrians, artists and vendors for a big street festival - the "Supercrawl." The changes are not without opposition, as the gradual takeover by artists is often a signal of gentrification, something both antipoverty activists and long-time store owners would rather not see happen. Our city has been a boom town, a steel town, a crumbling city, a university locale and now a place buzzing with rumours about cultural rejuvenation. Things come in cycles and right now, our city is working through the end of industrial manufacturing in North America and all of the job loss and poverty that comes with that, and slowly embracing other forms of economic development. I played a small part today, voting with my wallet and wheels, coming downtown as I do a few days of the week to study and shop, and enjoy the atmosphere of a changing city.

Muffin Daze

2011-11-01T11:12:00.000-04:00

I guess it seems appropriate on the day when children across the country are waking up with a sugar hangover (and maybe some parents too) that we think about our collective hangover from another sugary treat: "The cupcake: Will it ever go away?" *

The beginning of a trend:
cupcakes for the road, NYC, 2006

I should probably preface this discussion by saying that I do enjoy Katrina Onstad, food-related cultural commentary, and, of course, the cupcake. In fact, my love of this colourful single-serving cup-sized cake goes all the way back to elementary school and "Muffin Days." As part of fundraising efforts, each class would get one Friday of the month to host muffin day. Parents would be told to bring in a dozen "muffins" and some lucky students from that class (or Grade 6 volunteers for the ECS and Grade 1 classes) would get to skip the last class before recess to roll the AV cart, loaded with the single-serving snacks, from classroom to classroom, selling their wares for 25 cents each. Woe was you if you were in the last class to receive the cart because the fantastic chocolate treats with the blue icing and sprinkles would be long gone and you only choice would be between the dry carrot muffin or a similarly lumpy bran version (hi Mom!)

The wares of The Cupcake Café,
NYC 2006

Hamilton, of all places, is a bit of a hotbed for all of this sugary sweetness, which I can (and do, regularly) support. While I was delighted to discover an actual cupcake shop in the neighbourhood by the university when I first moved to the city four years ago, and have since become a convert for the cupcakes in the bakery across the street (which is ALSO the only place that makes French macarons. And only for special orders. But that's another story), we truly became a cupcake city with the arrival of three new locations within a short(ish) walk of apartment this summer. Our local paper recently got in on the action and conducted a taste test of the four main cupcake shops.

So what does all of this say about our city? I do like this article that explores the idea of dessert as a form of culture. (And yes, it seems that the Globe and Mail is the only news resource I ever consult.) For an amateur baker who has taken enough birthday cakes and plates of brownies to work and class over the years, and had to scramble for a knife and fork and napkins, cupcakes provide the perfect solution to a group treat: single-serving and no mess. So perhaps we are a society that needs a treat that we can take on the run, or bring to share, that reminds us of the cakes that we had as children on our birthdays, when the day was just about celebrating us. Sugary sweet, cakey and creamy, maybe a cupcake treat is an afternoon indulgence, like an afternoon nap.

Grown-up cupcakes: margarita-flavoured bachelorette treats

I should probably consider the politics of sugar and the cost of this indulgence (upwards of $2.50 a cute little cupcake) that ties it to a history of elite access to sugar and its byproducts but that may be for another post. Or paper. Just remember that cupcakes are more than just a little treat.

* oh, and be sure to check the "related content" for a video showcasing the Cupcake Diner in Hamilton. I'll buy a cupcake for anyone who can name the street where the diner is curbside in the clip.

C'est l'Halloween

2011-10-31T22:27:00.000-04:00

Happy Hallowe'en!

The Skinny

2011-10-30T22:48:00.004-04:00

Skinny jeans=learning
from the hipsters

Now I get it.
Now I understand why hipsters have bicycles and tight pants as part of their look: that way, the hems of their pants don't get caught on the gears of their bikes.

Smart thinking, hipsters, smart thinking.

Bike Daddy

2011-10-28T17:59:00.000-04:00

I was at a downtown bike shop a few weeks ago and while the mechanic very kindly installed my lights I happened to mention that I had no experience with bikes at all. I don't know what the parts are called (so he nicely pointed out to me what's a "derailer") nor can I even change a tire.

"At least", he said, "you are on a bike."

Calgary, over 20 years ago.
I covet that road bike.

Which is true. And it's not just because I am a student with more time than money these days (part of the whole idea of "cycling in a skirt" is to be able to transition this form of transportation to a professional job, when I might need to arrive in a skirt, or at least something half decent), or part of the hipster scene where a bicycle is an accessory. No, I wanted to tell him, I am descended (directly) from the man who has been riding his bike to work for the past 30 years. Meet my Pops, my first example of the urban cyclist:

There are days when I am in the kitchen or at the sewing machine and the only reason I know how to do something (like check the cup of flour for air pockets, install the zipper foot or something equally exciting) is because I watched my mother do it. I'm not entirely sure if I'm doing it correctly, but I go through the motions and it seems to work. Psychology calls this "observational learning."

Did it work the same with the bike? Oh, no, no, no. I guess in my teenage years I didn't spend enough time in the basement when Dad was giving the bikes their yearly tuneup, and the only time he would change a tire would be on the side of the road so I missed those too. No, but there was a different sort of teaching and learning to which I was privy.

I'm learning from his example. He's the one who bought me my first two wheel model. It was a red bike with cruiser handles, a white seat and when Dad came back from a business trip he brought me a package of multicoloured plastic tubing to put on the wheels. I was stylin'. He was the one who took me to the schoolground across the street and taught me to ride it. He took us around the community on our bikes. Over the years he has also made sure we had a proper fit. He even sent me back to Ontario with a new (to me) bike after the wedding. He's been riding the bike for many, many years. I know he doesn't exactly like the helmet (a requirement by law in Alberta and PEI, but only for those under 18 in Ontario) but he understands it's necessity, and so, I wear it anytime I'm on two wheels. He also hates riding in the rain and usually gets a drive on those days. I'm okay with that too. I still have bus tickets.

So while I might not know how to change a tire, I do at least know how to ride a bike, and how to appreciate the fitness of making it part of the daily commute. And Dad, (after fielding multiple emails about chain cleaning and brake type and tire removal) has already promised to give me a quick lesson in tuneups the next time I'm home. Thanks, Papa.

Hunting and Gathering

2011-10-26T21:29:00.000-04:00

After I came back from my year in France and continued to feed my Francophile cravings with books about la belle pays I had the...experience? pleasure? opportunity?... to come across not one but two descriptions of slaughtering a pig.

Yes. A pig slaughter. You still with me? All right.

One was fictional and the other part of a memoir but both were from books that focussed on the art of acquiring and preparing food (umm, what else would you expect from books about life in France?). And both accounts made me want to experience this timeless tradition of the slaughter on a small farm in rural France.

Yes. Really. Not kidding.

WHY? Well, maybe it was a bit romantic. Another author, David Adams Richards, does not see it in the same way, but he touches on the central question that leads to my curiosity of knowing about where my meat comes from with his intriguing challenge: that people who eat meat should be morally obligated to kill what they eat at least once in their lifetime.

Interesting, right?

Bouqueria Market, Barcelona, Spain.
April 2009.

I was reminded that as I worked through my own connections with food post-France, and re-accustomed myself to the sanitized butcher's counter in North American grocery stores (no full rabbits or cows feet visible here, and certainly no tripe on display) I realized how separated we (non farmers in North America) actually are from most of the meat that we eat. And I wondered what it would mean to actually know where our meat comes from. Would more people become vegetarians? Perhaps. Or would it make people think twice about buying no name chicken breasts instead of investing in a whole free-range, grain fed hen? What if people knew more about the whole process of how our meat arrives at the table, not just the butchering process (hunting or not), or the horrible conditions on factory farms that gives us an abundance of cheap meat, but about the historical processes that have created a taste for beef in North American culture, and, more recently, about local farmers who have gone out of business due to the loss of meat packing plants.

Garden bounty in a bike basket.

And it's not just meat. We (okay, really me, but I am sure there are others too) have no idea about the effort and the politics behind something as "natural" as fruit and vegetables. How much of the fruit that we eat is actually grown in Canada? And what are the genetic modifications that allow it to be transported thousands of miles?

The garden, mid-season
(if you look closely, you can see
zucchinis and tomatoes!)

My lovely summer garden tomatoes barely survived the 3 km bike ride from the garden to the house intact. They were delicious, but they certainly weren't raised to travel. And it was only in passing by the organic section of the produce department this summer that I learned that those imperfections on the tops of my tomatoes were NOT something I should be concerned about - the ones from our garden matched the ones in the organic baskets, not the large beefsteak versions from the US that were "on special" this week. Could I tell you the difference between "Early Girl" and "Big Boy" varieties? Nooo, but we spent a lot of time learning this summer, from the hours spent toiling in the dirt to prepare the clay soil for the seeds to the many mornings spent pulling weeds in the humid heat. Our 4 x 5 m plot would not have sustained two families for the summer, but we got a few dinners out of it.

I guess what I am realizing is that I need to make more of an effort to understand both my tastes for certain types of food, as well as where those tastes are coming from.

"Peak car?"

2011-10-25T22:20:00.000-04:00

An interesting read about why Canadians are slowly, one by one, opting out of driving their cars (and opting to get on their bikes!)

At least a few people on Parliament Hill are in on the trend.

The Smart Set

2011-10-24T08:33:00.000-04:00

Source: smartset.ca

Smart Set's fall photoshoot is based in....no, not Paris, but the next most popular cosmopolitan city - New York - and the outfits are pretty darn cute. I'm still kind of wary about riding with my leather boots (those metal pedals do a number on my legs when I fall, I can't imagine what kind of damage they would do to soft European cow hide) but the pictures are enough to get me thinking about riding the bike with cosy sweaters and tights. Now, if only it wasn't raining this morning....

Steel City Sewing

2011-10-14T10:18:00.000-04:00

I visited one of my favourite parts of Hamilton with a friend today - Ottawa Street, the former garment district, now the decor district of Hamilton. It's in the East End and is slowly, slowly building itself up. It still has enough of the "olde Hamilton charm"to amuse me, while also home to a marvelous Italian bistro, an outdoor farmer's market in the summer and enough antique shops to provide shelter (and inspiration!) during southern Ontario thunderstorms.

Visiting fabric stores is like being in a candy store of colour and ideas. I should not go there as often as I do, and that has only been twice this summer (but both have been since the wedding and have me itching to cut out patterns and get to work on new projects).

I've been sewing since I was small. I remember going along with my mother to Fanny's Fabrics in Calgary and spending most of the summer during my years in junior high school in the Fabricville in Charlottetown (when it was still in the basement of the Confederation Court Mall). I got out of sewing when I hit university, mostly because of the time factor and once I moved up to Hamilton I no longer had access to a machine. Last summer, post-France, with too much time on my hands and a few pairs of pants that needed hemming, I wandered over to my grand-uncle's house to see if he had an extra machine kicking around. And he did. Two in fact. An old one of my grand-aunt's that wasn't working, and one that he had received from a pair of widowed sisters (both now deceased) who lived down the street and had given it to him for safekeeping when he helped them move from their house into smaller care. After I spent an afternoon hemming pants and working on a table runner at their house, he suggested I take it home. And he hasn't mentioned it since.

One of my favourite parts of visiting the fabric stores as a child was seeing all of the cotton prints that are used for quilting. The colours and designs are beautiful, but were never quite practical for use in winter curtains or dress pants. I have, however, found the perfect way to use them: in aprons. I went a little wild towards the end of last summer and bought more 1 metre lengths than I needed so now I'm looking for other, simple projects to do with cotton prints, although it always seems that I need something extra for each new project - interfacing, ric rac, zippers or bias tape - so it seems as if I have to make a trip across town to Ottawa St. everytime I start something new.

*sigh* Someday I hope to have enough of a store of fabric and notions that I can save myself the bus fare (or the looong bike ride across the city), but a fabric-buying trip to Ottawa St always gives me new ideas and inspiration (and tips! I learned how to insert piping into throw pillow covers today) so maybe it's just the cost of the hobby.

Bicycles of the World

2011-10-06T07:13:00.000-04:00

It's Election Day in Ontario!

Honeymoon bikes.

I'm off to work the polls in a building down the street. No need for a bike today, but here's a cute little couple of bikes from our honeymoon in Quebec City this summer.

Even without wheels, I will be waiting for my dinner delivery service (aka. Mac) this evening. I hope he brings pizza.

No biking today

2011-10-03T14:02:00.000-04:00

A little bit of the bounty from the garden.
Fresh veggies: what I should be eating today.

Blargh. I'm down and out with a cold today AND sore muscles from Saturday's flag football game in Brantford. I have never played football before, nor even watched a game so I was learning the rules on the fly and it was AWESOME. It wasn't as intense as I thought it would be (re. ice hockey or soccer) but the bursts of running (I got an interception and two touchdowns!) and one wipeout (running on wet ground is not the best and this gang plays through to May so it *might* be time to invest in cleats) were probably a little tough on my body. Oops.

I can barely raise my left leg, my quads are so sore. It's going to make riding my bike a little trickier this week.

Cycling in Pants

2011-09-30T18:42:00.000-04:00

Cotton pants and a nylon top.
Good for covering up the on a wet

Bah. I hope it wasn't my griping about the weather that brought on this rain, but whatever caused it, I had to ride in it. Here is today's outfit, complete with reflective tape, purchased on Wednesday's trip to Canadian Tire. Good timing, I guess, as I went with pants this morning, since it was kind of rainy - or puddly. I figured the dark material would be easier to clean at my destination then tights. The front wheel mud guard did its duty so the pants and shoes were fine, but it was my back that was the worst. I remember looking back at my pannier one point during the journey, just to make sure it was still attached from the bumps, and seeing a HUGE spray of dirty water flying behind me. I guess that's what I had following me on the ride into town, and the remnants were on my back when I arrived at the library. Luckily, I had my rain jacket on, but I can see the purpose of the longer than normal back panel on cycling jackets. Maybe I'll put that on my Christmas wish list. Something like this perhaps?

Summer in the City

2011-09-28T19:09:00.000-04:00

We have been pretty lucky with the weather this week - slightly cooler in the mornings with temperatures in the mid-20s by the afternoon and even some humidity - that I've been celebrating with skirts, sandals and bare legs on the bike. The only downside to a nice, breezy ride downtown or into Dundas is that as soon as I step inside my destination, I freeze. Oh, air conditioning. I guess I do appreciate it during the hottest days of the summer (end of July this year had humidity that made most days feel like 40+ C ) but it is a bit tricky to figure out how to dress for the multiple climates.

Tuesday's sporty look. That's
it for the amount of stretch
in that skirt. And it worked.

Wednesday's grey dress & red cardi.

Oh well. I would definitely rather be shivering inside than sweating on the bike so I guess I should just pack an extra (black) pashmina in my pannier and stop complaining. I read in one of my bike maintenance books that the initial monetary investment in cycling is rather steep at first, but gradually tapers out after awhile, save any major mechanical blowouts and while I can agree with that (post forthcoming) I also feel like the griping will be very frequent at first, until I figure out how to actually do this bike commute thing and then this blog will only have to deal with the emotional blowouts that come with the mechanical ones.

Cycling in a Skirt

2011-09-26T13:49:00.000-04:00

When I lived in France, I watched in awe as both women and men cut charmingly stylish figures on their bikes, riding sans helmet, carrying their nice leather briefcases or the market purchases in a basket on the front. The men wore jackets and ties and the women, defying all laws of aerodynamics, rode comfortably in skirts and heels.

(Am I romanticizing a bit here? Probably. But do you get the picture? Good.)

So while I'm not wheeling a one-speed cruiser (no, I've got a 12-speed men's hybrid as my trusty steed) along the Seine, or the canals of Sète (again, no, but I get to battle four lanes of traffic crossing over Highway 403), nor heading home to a Parisienne flat or maison bourgeoisie (just a little rented house in the west end of the city), and instead of a basket I will have my market purchases in my backpack, and I will definitely be wearing a helmet (did you read that bit about four lanes of traffic?!), I am going to do my damndest to do it in a skirt.

Why a skirt? Great question.

- See this article for the political motivation (and this for the fashion inspiration).

- Less need for those silly pant clips

- It gives me an excuse to shop for tights

- I've been meaning to try it for a few years now

- It is an good chance to really find out what clothing I need, and what I don't. (Anything not road worthy goes into the swap pile.)

Why a bike?

- I'm no longer a student at the local university, so I have to pay for bus fare. But I'm a student elsewhere so I like to save money. I'm keeping those bus tickets (and my money) for a rainy day.

- We are currently a one-car family and I would like to keep it that way.

- Better for the environment, blah, blah, green stuff.

- It cuts down on my shopping/sidewalk collecting: if it doesn't fit on the bike, it's not coming home.

- It's kind of fun.

Honestly? I'm a student in a city that gets more and more pedestrian friendly all of the time. I like wearing skirts (and sometimes pants) and someday I do want to commute to work via two wheels. I like having my own form of (mostly) free transportation. This is my way or normalizing urban cycling and dabbling in the world of style blogging.

So, why don't you come along for the read/ride?

The Rider

The Ride

The beginning (or, it's vintage?)

2011-08-17T13:28:00.000-04:00

New to me bike!

What I brought back from PEI post-wedding, not including my used wedding dress, a car stuffed full of wedding gifts, and a new husband, was a bike. And not just any bike; I remember when my father bought this bike in Calgary. I was probably 11 or 12, and getting a bit too tall for my current youth-sized CCM. This bike had an adjustable seat and so while Dad would take it to and from work during the week, I would just crank down the seat as low as it would go to take it out in the evenings or on the weekend, usually remembering to put it all the way back to the top for my taller father. I'm not sure if he knew about my taking his bike (he probably did) or if he let me do it (he probably didn't) but that bike made it all the way across Canada when we moved to PEI, eventually moved down into the basement, and finally made it back out to see the light of day...or I guess night* to be put on the car to southern Ontario. And Dad even replaced the seat for me.

My parents have photos of them leaving the day after their wedding for their cross-Canada trip in the daylight. And I have this memory in my head. Mac has the welts from the mosquito bites.

So now it has arrived in Hamilton, been pooped on by the pigeons while tied up downstairs at the apartment, spent many days in our ninth floor livingroom, and has just been graced with a new bike basket. Next purchase? I'm considering some pretty panniers. And perhaps it will get to go on a bike tour of some Niagara wineries in the fall. I think this new basket could hold a few litres, at least. Now will it hold a tipsy Lulu? Hmmm...

* I guess I can tell you how it warmed my overwrought, exhausted, day-after-the-wedding, day-before-leaving-PEI heart to see my father and new husband suffering in the dark, and in the mosquitos to mount the bike rack on the back of the rental car the night before we left.

Life imitating Art

2011-08-12T09:22:00.002-04:00

I read Jonathan Dee's The Privileges about a month before the wedding. Oh hell. I wish someone had told me about that first chapter and the monstrous spectacle of what can only be described as a "privileged" wedding. What attitude. What waste. I went to sleep that night worried about wedding nightmares. Fortunately for me, I slept just fine and our wedding was not like that at all. (Well, aside from the drunk underage brother but I *think* that happens at most weddings, privileged or rural or whatever).

So what do I think after reading the moving scene from Julia Powell's food memoir Julie and Julia just a week before our move from an apartment into a rental house? More panic, more stress and more "God, I HOPE that is not us." And then I begin to tick off the ongoing "To Do" list in my head that includes what things we can do without for a week (books, good dishes, winter clothes) what we need to have in the house for the movers (ie Mom, Dad and the boys) and what we can save for after (the giveaway stuff, putting up curtain rods and the cleaning. Oh no, the cleaning) And as I do that, I try to take one lesson from Julia Powell's disaster: I will make sure we have orange juice. And brandy. And whatever it is that one needs to make gimlets.

Three weeks later....

2011-08-09T22:43:00.001-04:00

..and still married. Yes, we did it, even with the white suit meltdown (don't ask), senior citizen ID fiasco and an (almost) missing MIL, we did it and had a grand old party.

We ate.

We danced.

We sang. And we had a truly fantastic time.

I'm still processing all of it, and I did have fun living in the shiny bubble of "bride to be" for awhile. It made me feel better about myself, or at least it made me better about prioritizing. But life goes on, even while people are telling you "go for it, spend the money, pamper yourself, it's your day." Southern Sudan declares independence while you go for a mani-pedi and carry Dave Egger's "What is the What" in your bag. Friends lose parents and future parents in law to scary things like "heart attacks" and "cancer" and you just have to be thankful that you get to eat dinner with your own, for another few weeks, for just a little bit longer. A truly "grand"uncle dies just before your and you're able to see his son embraced by your big, wonderful family. Babies are born while you're on your honeymoon; and you check facebook constantly for pictures. Life is life, and you're just a small part of it, enjoying your experience and soaking up the family and the life and all of the things that make this day special - births and deaths and weddings and family and friends. You're a part of that.

And then you slip out of the bubble; make way for the next bride and the next wedding and go back to cleaning the bathroom and tending the garden and going for groceries on Monday morning because you are going to try harder, to be better at prioritizing and getting things done and providing for your family. Lord knows how you watched your mother work full-time, keep house, cook for five, direct a choir, meet and greet various flights at the airport, host a four course dinner party for 20, entertain 6 more guests in her home, arrange music for a funeral AND help you plan for your wedding. You can try a little harder.

And so you find yourself at the grocery store on Monday morning and it's not very busy and the one aisle that is both a)open and b) actually has someone working at it has a cashier in very chummy conversation with an older woman and as you begin to unload your definitely 8 or more items onto the belt you begin to understand that they are talking about weddings. The woman is still there talking as the cashier starts to ring you through and you almost think she's trying to include you in the conversation. You give her a small smile and she finally wanders off with a last comment of "you were a beautiful bride" and you just KNOW that this woman has also recently enjoyed the bridal bubble of love and so you have to ask. She's been married three weeks to your two. And so while you bag your less than ten items and pass her your card you chat about weddings and honeymoons and locations and you feel a bit of that bridal sheen still on you. Never before have you had such a charmingly intimate conversation with a grocery store clerk. You leave with a last "congratulations" and a smile on your face and head off on your next errand. A little happier. A little brighter.

Billie Jean's got my number

2011-07-12T07:35:00.004-04:00

There are so many things that a bride-to-be has to be aware of (and it's been made only worse by the white wedding industry. I swear, I will never watch another episode of any TLC show that involves wedding dresses, rich brides, poor brides or anyone worried about their weight).

It's just so easy to become swept up in all of the hoopla and while I held out for awhile, I can't say that I fought too hard to keep the big dress, up-do hair and pedicure appointment pressures at bay. After all, I am an anthropologist and participant observation is my best tool. (Yes, I'm using academics as an excuse to be girly and self-centred and spend too much money. I can't say I'm proud of myself, but unfortunately, I am far from the worst abuser of this ethnographic power). Out of the variety of things that I normally don't even think about but suddenly felt I had to care about the one that is causing me the most sleepless nights is:

(wait for it...not the colour of my smile, not that I failed my 'back to the gym' regime three months ago, not that my nail biting habit is still going strong)

No, it's my inability to remember lyrics to popular songs.

I am not kidding. Perhaps the most fun/angst that I have experienced during this whole planning process was coming up with a songlist for the dance. (Why, oh why, didn't I ask guests for requests?!) The fun part was spending too much time on youtube, playing songs and enjoying the dancing antics of the various members of my family. The angsty part was realizing that I only know choruses to these ballads, and have no idea what kind of messages I'm sending out with these choices, nor will I be able to shout along to the song (half of the fun of dancing at a wedding dance). I have woken up every day this week with some choice song in my head and can only remember snippets of it.

And now I've just realized (thanks to CBC's morning playlist) that I forgot to request any Gordon Lightfoot. Crap, crap, crap.

I'd go back to bed but I've got a salon appointment in an hour and I need to go and see if my Marx Reader from Sociology 301 is still around. I might be getting married in three days, but I'm still an anthropologist. I've got work to do.

Academic Announcement

2011-04-28T22:24:00.007-04:00

"The best thing about winning a scholarship is that it announces to the whole world that you've got some sense. I was never really sure before." ~ Anne, from Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables.

I'm still not entirely sure, but someone at SSHRC seems to be, and because of that I have been awarded a CGS for the next three years of my PhD program. Oh, not only is it nice to be recognized, but it's also a bit of a relief knowing that I'm making a liveable income for the next few years.

Now if I could just use this motivation to finish up my papers, we'd be all set to get on with summer work and wedding planning.

Bells on her toes

2011-04-19T20:07:00.004-04:00

I'm not entirely sure if I was the right kind of excited today (re: excited at all) when I received a call from the bridal shop that my dress is in. I saw the name on the phone and knew what they were calling about, as I keep seeing, with more and frequency now that we are partyway through April, the note I made to myself in my agenda to call them at the end of the month. I was trying to think ahead as I was talking to her, about how long they could keep the dress, when I needed to get alterations done and figure out how to get to the shop, which is in another town (they had the best price and no taxes when I ordered. We'll see in the end if the inconvenience of location was worth the savings!)

Now, let's just pause and repeat this news:

My. Dress. Is. In.

My. WEDDING. Dress. Is. In.

It's in the country. Not that far away. I can go and pick it up whenever I want (within transit hours, of course!)

Oh, the glee is kicking in now - as is the panic...I won't tell you how many cupcakes I ate today but notice the "s" - it was more than one. I'm in the first year of my PhD program, which automatically gives me license to eat away my feelings of utter intellectual inadequacy. Unfortunately, this also overlaps with the four months I've been waiting my wedding dress to arrive; the dress in which I hovered between two sizes and of which I ordered the SMALLER one.

I don't think spending all day at the gym tomorrow is really going to help me now.

Maybe if I walk to Mississauga and back. That would save me on bus fare.

No more bagged lunches?

2011-04-17T19:35:00.002-04:00

Food, food, food. Oh, I should have done my research around food and our relationship to it.

See this headline, for example: Chicago school bans some lunches brought from home.
What does that make you think of? Do you start to wonder which lunches are banned? Maybe it's a cultural issue? Maybe an ethical one? Or perhaps it's related to health? That's what principal Elsa Carmona says was her motivation, in this quote: "Nutrition wise, it is better for the children to eat at the school. It's about the nutrition and the excellent quality food that they are able to serve (in the lunchroom). It's milk versus a Coke." (Students with allergies or medical reasons are exempted from this ban).

While this may seem shocking at first (a sign that Americans live in a nanny state, where the school thinks it knows better than parents about feeding children) or just bring to mind awful images from popular culture of the blob of something tossed onto a school tray, let's move a bit beyond North American examples and consider what good can come from school lunches...

From my experience in France, the bagged lunch doesn't really exist (somewhere, my mother, for whom making lunches for 4 children was the bane of her existence, is shaking her head and wishing she had raised her children in France). Instead, students get over an hour for lunch so they can either go home, or eat the school lunch, an affordable, hot and healthy meal. At the junior high school where I spent many weekday afternoons, a sample lunch menu would be salad and bread, fish and veggies, a choice of yogurt cup or fruit, and depending on the day, a lunch-sized piece of cheese or cookie for dessert. In the cafeteria, there was not a can of pop in sight. Instead there were pitchers and cups available for students to fill with water and take to their tables. At the school, parents paid on a sliding scale, but most meals were in the range of 2 euro. And this cafeteria culture doesn't end with grade 12, but continues into university with various cafeterias set up near the university for students to eat on the way to or from classes for a reasonable price. The most interesting point? They were only open around meal times, 12-2 and 6-8. Forget going for pizza at all hours of the evening, you eat at a set time, with other students. At the teacher's college where I worked everyone took an hour forty-five minute break at noon to enjoy lunch together.

What to take away from this? There are, of course, many influences outside of school that shape peoples' relationships with food and we know the French have a long history of simple, wholesome food that predates public schooling. In recent years, the fight against genetically modified food products as well as the practice of shopping for fresh vegetables, meat and bread daily and planning a full, sit-down dinner, has only shown the divide between eating patterns in North America and parts of Europe. I discovered the possible benefits of this 'food culture' by accident during a conversation class with the teacher trainees, when I had them make up a daily menu to practice food terms. Not only were their menus identical, but they also met the requirements of the food pyramid and their choices for lunch matched the menus I had seen displayed in the junior high school whe I also worked.

Of course, the students my age in France have this kind of relationship with food because their parents did and because they ate their lunches at school. But in order to affect change, we have to start somewhere, don't we? I don't think it's a coincedence that out of all of the food-goodness ideas (crepes! raclette!) that I picked up in France, the school cafeteria was among them. I can't say for certain how much this one meal a day will impact a school in Chicago, as there are a lot of variables: what is the price of these meals, what kinds of foods are offered to students, and how might this impact other dietary or cultural needs? (School in France have struggled with the issue of providing halal meat to Muslim students). Maybe we will only see changes in these childrens' children, if other changes happen in North American food culture as well. But we have to start somewhere. And why not use an educational institution to start educating children about food?

Wedding Spending

2011-04-16T20:13:00.005-04:00

I'm glad someone else can vouch for last summer's Globe and Mail article, "I do, but Shhh: Bargain hunting brides keep mum to cut their costs" because I can't seem to find it online. Perhaps someday I'll actually subscribe to the G&M but as long as I can get most of my news for free online, I'll stick with that.

Ahh, yes, money. That miserable thing that must be spent in order to put on a traditional wedding party. The G&M article was following the trend among some couples, who, dealing with the economic crisis and feeling that many party vendors charged more for weddings than other celebrations, would actually hide the "w" word from potential companies. Sure, this is difficult for some vendors: the caterer and location manager among them, but there are a lot of other things that get done in advance of the ceremony with whom you could potentially be organizing any other sort of party: florist, printer, stationer, makeup artist, etc. One bride even admitted to telling her hairdresser on the morning of her wedding that she just needed an updo for a family gathering.

I've had this interesting piece of advice in the back of my mind during most of the wedding planning, but since much of our stuff is DIY or local vendors (and friends!) this haven't really been an issue. Until just the other when I decided, rather last minute, to deal with one more thing on the never ending "Wedding Planning To Do" list: buy a strapless bra. (Dad, sorry, it's probably best if you stop reading now). I happened to be studying downtown in the public library, which is also part of the downtown mall (and the market, and the cinemas. Sometimes it's a wonder I get any studying done at all!) As I was finishing up, I thought I would check out the lingerie store in the mall, not realizing it was 10 minutes to closing.

When I arrived, I saw the closing gate had been pulled over partway and inquired what time the store closed, but when I said all I needed was a strapless bra, the cashier said it was no problem and proceeded to do a quick measure of my shape and send me off into the changeroom with a few choices. Ugh. No luck. Not surprised (as I really should have given myself a bit more time for this) I sheepishly came out of the changeroom and admitted to the salesgirl that actually I was looking for the bra to wear under my wedding gown and I would just come back another time when I had more time. Not only was she lovely and not disdainful that I had decided to do this shopping in 8 minutes or less, but she actually suggested that I wait until I try my proper dress on (up until now I've only tried on store samples) and then see what kind of undergarments I needed. "To be honest" she explained "you probably don't even want a bra. If you need some pushup, sew some shoulder pads inside the dress, stick on some pasties, and you'll be good to go."

I left the store just before they closed, happy that I might have actually checked one more thing off my list, in almost no time at all. And for free!

Nope, neither of the above dresses is my wedding dress, or anyone else's. They were just some photos from a ROM visit that I happened to have in my collection. What, did you think I was going to post a picture of my bra?!

Ollie the iPad

2011-04-16T16:39:00.002-04:00

So I spent the afternoon of Friday, March 25th, not:
a) Working on my end of term papers (as I probably should have been) nor
b) Sitting at home sewing (that came later...)

Well, I was sitting and I did get some reading done, but that was during my two hours sitting in the chill of almost-spring air outside of Best Buy. Why? I was a placeholder, waiting for the Canadian release of the iPad2. (To be honest, it wasn't a bad way to spend the afternoon. I dressed for the occasion with wool socks and my winter parka, brought water and a snack and had fun making friends with the people in the line up with me. )

While it's not mine (no, I'm just the good fiancée who will give up an afternoon to hang out in front of an electronics store for her husband-to-be, and who also knows that I can use this fact for eternal borrowing rights) I have definitely benefited from this lovely little machine. Even on bragging rights alone, it's been fun to have, but as a graduate student who commutes to work, this little snazzy device is changing the way I pack both when heading to school and for studying in coffeeshops.

While I will admit that sitting hunched over the touch-screen keyboard isn't ideal for writing a paper, that will all change with the next investment: this micro-keyboard case from Zaggmate. Until we actually make that purchase, Oliver the iPad has been living in my latest sewing project: a soft case made from leftover cotton and flannel material. (Note: Thanks, Mom, for the material and I will be sure to pass over the rest of the material to EM the next time I see her).

2011-03-28T19:49:00.003-04:00

Rule #1 for drinking out of a water bottle on the bus:

Try to time your sips during the red light so as to avoid bumps and stops, but make sure you stop drinking before the light turns green. There is nothing worse than the jerk of the forward movement of the bus to spill water all over you.

Hidden Uses of Scarves #497: They make great bibs.

Wedding Photographers

2011-03-25T11:10:00.009-04:00

Please, oh please, let this not happen to us, or any of the other couples celebrating weddings this summer: When wedding photographers go rogue.

I said from the very beginning (you know, that point in your teens when you do actually start really thinking about what you might want for your wedding someday) that as a shutterbug myself (umm, I took 1500 images plus from last year's spring holiday in Europe. That was two weeks with just two people...) I wanted someone to take lots of photos of the day. As the family photographer (it's true - the evidence of my handiwork is on display in my mother's kitchen) I also needed someone outside of the clan to do the work. However, "the proliferation of wedding blogs has upped the ante for wedding photographers, videographers and the newer breed of cinematographers who shape the footage" which also means that photographers themselves have become important and expensive additions to the wedding budget.

If you need proof of the importance of professional photographers in even the indie wedding world, see here, here, and particularly here for a start.

After much debate, discussion and negotiations over price (those are not exaggerations in the article) we booked our photographers in January, six months before the wedding. They are a husband and wife team, with one partner from Ontario and the other from PEI, just like us, who also planned their wedding on PEI from halfway across the country. They now live in Charlottetown and do weddings in both provinces. As you can see from their blog, they take a photo-journalist approach to capturing the day and their images are gorgeous. All of our correspondence thus far has been very, very positive and the couple who recommended them were effusive in their praise about the photographs and then photographers themselves, so I'm hoping for the best.

Sew what?

2011-03-19T19:39:00.011-04:00

I've been sewing on and off since I was small - raised by a woman who constantly has a half-finished project on the go (from curtains and pillowcases to dresses for almost every occasion of her little girls' lives) - I can remember spending summer afternoons wandering among the bolts in fabric stores, learning how to thread the machine and taking out stitches when I mis-read the pattern and sewed the wrong sides together (oh, none of that has changed). Now that I have not just one, but TWO 60s-era sewing machines in my possession, I have been using my down time since the summer (and sometimes even my homework time...) to sew. Thursday's project? A yoga bag, made from a pattern by designer Amy Butler, finished just in time to take to my first Freeskool yoga class.

The yoga carrier bag, which is an afternoon project, includes the outer shell, strap, and pocket, which are all interfaced, as well as a lining for both the pocket and case. Each uses less than a metre of fabric, and I used an old bedsheet in a teal colour that matched the paisley design, so the project cost me less than $7 in materials. And of course, I had fun making it. My mother has always told me to never sew at night (as there is a chance of making mistakes later in the day and in artificial light) and never to sew in a hurry, but what better motivation is there than stitching for a deadline? The only thing I didn't get done was the top hem, but that's what safety pins are for. Actually, I wasn't sure if my vintage White machine could handle nine layers of fabric to make a double hem, so during my trip to Ottawa Street this afternoon I picked up some turquoise bias tape to finish off the top.

With the mat in the case, the carrier is still very light and as I can fit the strap over my head and carry it like a messenger bag, it works on both the bus and the bike. The pockets, which are pretty tight to the case, just fit my wallet, cell phone and keys, so I'm still working on a way to carry my water bottle, but might use some of the scrap fabric to fit something in a similar shape on top.

Detail of "Floral Fusion" from Henry Glass and Co. I've got the same pattern in pink. Any ideas for the next project?

Wedding Talk

2011-02-26T10:56:00.006-05:00

I understood this article all too well. I’ve been there multiple times – after coming back from Australia, again after France and now, currently, as I figure out how to plan an out-of-province wedding. In some ways, I was probably lucky with Australia: a few weeks before our semester abroad was over, we had a meeting with an administrator from the exchange program to get our feedback on our experiences and to give us some tips on settling back into our lives . I still remember that she told us that people who weren’t here with us may not jump for joy about constantly hearing about our trip, (at least after the initial recap of how “wonderful” and “amazing” our five months away had been they would probably not enjoy how every other anecdote would begin with “This one time, in Australia…”) She suggested that instead we should remember to ask our friends and family what was new in their lives and to be sure to keep in touch with our friends abroad – they would be more than likely to enjoy hours of reminiscing about life in Australia.

So I’ve been warned. And I’ve been through it a few times. And I’m still working on it, especially around planning this wedding. Maybe I’ve seen one too many movies like “Bride Wars” or heard a few too many horror stories, where wedding planning takes over peoples lives – but that is not really the case here. Yet.

Maybe it’s that I’m planning an out of province wedding and I don’t know many other brides-to-be with whom I can share this planning stuff. And maybe it’s that I’m in the academic world where people seem to put off marriage until later in their careers, or just approach the whole process differently (common-law partners and quiet, private ceremonies being more the norm). It also doesn’t help that my MOH and second bridesmaid are in different cities, which precludes any chance of getting together to make plans. Mostly though, I think it’s that I’m reluctant to bring up the topic, for fear that I will end up boring people to death with a topic that is much more dramatic when viewed on TLC. And perhaps others feel the same way, not wanting to bring up references to things that might currently be causing me stress, like chair covers or processional marches that, in the end, are just small parts of a day that really is a celebration about the beginning of something much larger and more important than choosing appetizers.

However, with the ease of the internet, I am finding ways to share in the preparations. It’s probably easier to stick a link in an email for an opinion than print off and organize the paper for a coffee shop planning session. And I’m hoping that if my family (well, my brothers and father, at least) hasn’t been bombarded with constant talk, decisions and bridal magazines for fourteen months, they won’t be suffering from wedding burnout three weeks before the blessed event. I’ve had emails from aunts across Canada, saying how excited they are about the day and offering their virtual help in the meantime. I have my cousin sourcing decorations in Halifax (definite plus to an out of province wedding – so many more options for finding things!)

And honestly, I am having so much more fun than I thought I would planning this celebration, flipping through the magazines at the library and regularly scrolling through these websites and looking at great indie weddings. This whole wedding planning process, and the reactions (or lack of) to it, haven’t been quite what I imagined. But I’m sure when it’s all done and people ask me about it, I’ll be sure to say all the right words – and then ask them how things are going in their lives too.

2010-12-02T23:33:00.003-05:00

Busy, busy, busy and while I'm writing lots, none of it is appearing on the internet. Perhaps I'll get back to posting articles and ideas once this semester is over.

For now, I'm happy to give in to the old adage that a picture is worth a thousand words. I'm trying to keep up my daily word count by playing with pictures here.

Destination: French-Canada

2010-04-01T08:31:00.003-04:00

When I get back to Canada (one month, one month!) Montreal is going to be my first trip, for most of the reasons in the this article about Mile End

French enamel cookery, wine bars and bagels. Yum!

Two Solitudes: Religious Tolerance and "Canadian" Citizenship

2010-03-13T01:16:00.002-05:00

Quebec makes about-turn moves to ban religion in daycares

Okay, just to be clear, this headline is misleading. In no way is Quebec banning "religion" in daycares, they are only moving to ban "religious education" in publicly-funded daycare centres. This makes sense; in some ways, it's actually hard to understand why some provinces keep funding only one form of religiously-affiliated public schools: why do only Catholic schools get access to government funding?

What is fascinating is where (I think) this is leading. Quebec is an incredible melange of Francophone culture, Canadian multiculturalism and French language protectionism. This article, from Le Devoir, predicts that in just 21 years, 1 in 3 people in Montreal will be of a visible minority. That's just behind Vancouver and Toronto, where their populations will actually have majority of people of a visible minority (a minority a majority? Yes, perhaps it's time to rethink our labels). In Quebec City itself, the capital of Quebec, only about 5% of the population will be a visible minority. Quebec City is an example of what the government of Quebec, and much of the older population of Quebec have worked towards for many years: a centre of French culture, within a slowly encroaching English country.

So, when you're a region that is as strict as it is in protecting the French language, culture and values, how DO you become multicultural? Can you? And at what point do you uphold your own values and beliefs? Where does accommodation come in from both sides?

The other issue, as I'm discovering in France, is this...not exactly fear, but a strong separation of state and religion. In France, we have the French Revolution to thank for this strict distinction between what is public and laique, and what is private, and thus the domain of religion. In Quebec too, which experienced it's own Quiet Revolution in the 1960s, there is a very strict distinction between public representations of identity and the place of religion.

Margaret Wente's piece on "the two solitudes" was interesting reading today, because I initially had some very same reactions when trying to discuss this situation with my French students. In a country that went through its "reformulation" of laïcité in schools with the infamous Scarf Law in 2004, it's no coincedince that this conflict occured in Quebec. A situation such as Asmahan Mansour's would never take place in France. She would have understood the concept of "laicite" on the field and removed her hijab on the soccer pitch, the same way she removes it to go to school, or if she were to eventually work for the government. This conflict, of a child from English-speaking Ontario going to play in French-speaking Quebec, perhaps better than the current situation with the niqab, shows the real difference between these two solitudes. I wonder what particular beliefs and discourses are actually tied up in particular languages.

Oh, I can hear you all now. Doesn't this Scarf Law unequally impact one religion/gender/country of origin more than others? Well, yes, all of the above. Is it "right" in a sense of equality? Well...that's where things get interesting. This is where Wente almost arrives, although not quite, and what I'm still struggling with: Quebec and France have different ideas about equality of treatment means, than do we in Anglo-Saxon countries/regions. This raises other questions for me, in that I wonder what particular beliefs and discourses are actually taught and understood through the knowledge of particular languages. Is there such a thing as French or English language culture? Perhaps...(and now I am amazed that Quebec has lasted so long in Canada. How can you have a country that speaks two different languages, and rarely the same one?!)

In North America, and I think Britain, there is much more emphasis on community identity and belonging: I am THIS or THAT, I belong to this group. Within the context of Identity Politics, this can be useful, but often has its limits: as I often struggled with in my courses, at what point do we stop subdividing into our various categories of identity. We'll be fitting ourselves into particular boxes into infinity. But what's the alternative?

The way I understand it, laïcité is the principle that protects freedom of thought and freedom of religion for French citizens, and in doing that, requires the separation of religious, ethnic, gender and individual differences from the public sphere. This is seen particularly in the public school system, of which the French are very proud, and where the idea of separate girls and boys schools is truly absurd. (Not to mention the idea of funding all faith-based schools or creating an Afrocentric or black-focused school.) The goal is that all people are to be treated equally as French citizens, regardless of personal beliefs or identities, and separating or singling out particular groups (be it boys, Catholics, or Spanish-speaking individuals) for particular education or treatment runs contrary to that ideal.

Quebec follows much of French culture, sharing the same language, and similar origins. And this is not restricted to ideas about laicité. With that in mind, I think the following comment “If you want to [attend] our classes, if you want to integrate into Quebec society, here are our values. We want to see your face” is really less an example of a fascist or intolerant society, but an example of this ideal of laicité. As Quebec's famous policy on "reasonable accomodation" has asked, at what point can the welcoming society say "And now, this is our history, these are our practices and values and now we would like you to accommodate them in order to protect our culture."

At what point does the welcome nation/region have the right to ask newcomers to adopt their principles? And how should that nation/region deal with contradictions to those values? Change their own principles? And are the ideas of "freedom of religion" and the separation of church and state in contradiction? I think it depends on how you consider equality and identity politics. I'm still trying to figure it out.

Bonne Année 2010

2010-01-12T05:35:00.010-05:00

Wait, I have a blog? Huh, that's funny...

Sorry, sorry, to those of you who might still be checking this on a semi-regular basis, hoping that maybe, someday, I'll remember to post. It's been over a month. Apologies.

I actually made a few resolutions in December, one being to post something everyday. That got very old, very quickly, as you can see from the amount of photo posts during the last month of 2010. And then December happened, as it usually does - the shopping, the parties, the assignments before the holidays, the exams (yes, the exam. I wrote the GRE with less than a week's notice. That's a whole other story. But at least I got to see Toulouse at Christmas). And I went home for almost two weeks. So yes, it's been busy. But great. I am so very much enjoying this year off, of teaching, language learning, traveling, enjoying new experiences, and trying not to worry too much about what happens in May. I wonder if Theatre Aquarius needs a Girl Friday? Or a researching Anthropologist? Or a French language coach? Hmm....

Aside from Christmas photos and Top 10 Lists and New Year's resolution posts and all of that, I missed one post, that should have been made yesterday, in wishing my youngest (and tallest) brother a vey happy 16th birthday.

So....HAPPY (BELATED) BIRTHDAY IAN! Who could imagine that he would go from shortest, only three years ago, to tallest?

Double Bill

2009-12-10T17:46:00.006-05:00

Hamilton, ON. July 2009.

Today I am thankful for French food and friends (oh, a wonderfully recurring theme here in France) and for tech-savvy boyfriend's roommates. But now off to bed to be up for my 8am class, and 7 hours of teaching tomorrow. Lots and lots of café demain, my friends, BEAUCOUP.

The reflecting pond

2009-12-09T17:04:00.018-05:00

I regularly see one of my old selves in other people here, which leads me to wonder what "me" others see here. I don't think I've changed very much, although the last two times I moved away are now almost four and two years ago, which, after two degrees, three apartments and another province, perhaps have made me into someone slightly different than before. And maybe while I'm technically "out of school", I didn't get very far, now working both as a lectrice at a university that trains primary school teachers, and as an assistant in a junior high school. I prepare seminars comparing the Canadian and French school systems. In my spare time, I study French grammar and social theory. I'm officially a geek. (So that hasn't changed...)

When I see these past versions of me, doings things I know I've done, (being the single one who is reluctantly the last to leave the party, or the mortified guest who doesn't have enough change for the movie) I find I'm not quite so hard on them as I thought others were probably on me at the time. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have worried so much. And I hope they don't (too much) now.I'm also not half as grown up as I imagined the "elder" ones were, people whom I thought actually knew what they were doing (even if I really, really don't most days!)

But nor do I want to go back to that previous me. I feel like the older cousin who has finally been given a seat with the adults and can participate in their drinks and discussions now, but who was not so long ago at the children's table, and understands how much of a jump there is between them.

Sometimes it's like looking back into the not-so-distant past, with one assistant in particular. There are the body issues, the loneliness, the unknown path...so how do I, another person, not in that current situation, help without slipping into the somewhat interesting but rarely helpful self-indulgent comments of "Oh, I know exactly what you mean..." Questions like "Have you thought about (x)?" Or "What would help?" seem to go only so far. But perhaps that is all she needs now, someone to listen, and gently guide from some other experience, in another time. Someone who doesn't judge. Who is there. Someone to support her now as she goes through this.

Australia was, in a lot of ways, about opening up opportunities and showing me what was out there when I would finally move away from PEI. France has been about confirming certain priorities for me, and reminding me about things I will do when I get home.

Sweet Geek

2009-12-08T17:38:00.004-05:00

Not quite a cupcake, but I suppose it will do.

Detail from a bakery window display, 1er arrondissement, Paris, FR
October 2009.

Bonne fête der Nikolaus!

2009-12-07T16:53:00.008-05:00

Eep! I got a little bit distracted today with various other things and am not quite ready with two posts I've been working on (oh, don't get your hopes up, one is a rant and the other is just a jumble of images - both are more likely to be posted as pieces of other things down the road). Happily, however, this evening I found a lovely surprise in my shoe and will share it with you! (In descriptive form anyway, as I do not share chocolate...in part because it's almost finished!)

What's left of St. Nikolaus, Montpellier, FR.
December 2009.

First, a quick lesson in Christmas Traditions: For us in North America, St. Nicholas and Santa Claus are synonymous. For Germans, from whom we borrow so many of our Christmas traditions, they are actually two separate people. On the night of December 6th, children leave out their newly cleaned shoes for St. Nikolaus to fill with nuts and fruits and candy. St. Nikolaus will only leave these things if children are well-behaved of course. For those who have been naughty, he leaves a switch. Sounds familiar doesn't it? And then, on December 24th, German children also believe that either Weitnachtsmann ("The Christmas Man" and our Santa Claus) or Christkind (The Christ Child) leaves gifts for them. Excellent traditions, first candy and then gifts! (Remind me why we didn't take the December 6th tradition too?)

And now for the fun part: Lucky for us in the colocation, Daniela, our German roommate, decided to keep the tradition going here. This evening she arrived home from work and dropped by my room to ask about my boots. I wasn't sure what she was doing, but let her see them and then got back to work at my computer. It wasn't until I heard Gaby laughing about something in her shoes that I thought to check mine: and low and behold, St. Nikolaus HAD arrived!

High flying colours

2009-12-06T08:39:00.005-05:00

Bordeaux, France. November 2009.

Nope, this isn't one of those cool black and white images with a few touches of colour...that would involve knowing how to use Photoshop, something I'm a wee bit too lazy to figure out. This is the result of a well-lit carousel on a particularly cloudy afternoon in Bordeaux. Fortunately, the weather didn't hamper the adventurous spirit of three Canadians, on the trek for a taste of vin in this world-famous wine region. Eventually, I will organize a post about our visit to Chateâu Pape Clément, but this afternoon I'm sitting down to finish up some work. It definitely feels like the beginning of the holiday season here, with a drop in temperature, Saturday afternoon shopping, and my December To Do list on the bulletin board. A few more presentations, two more seminars to prepare and deliver, articles to edit, and read, and a Christmas party or two, and I'll be on my way home. Two weeks from today I'll be in Paris, making one last visit to the Christmas Markets before flying back to Canada.

À bientôt!

Fondue

2009-12-05T12:27:00.003-05:00

ave de Lodève, Montpellier, France.
October 2009

Here we see Marine, her youngest sister, and her mother, introducing some foreigners (the rest of us colocs!) to the delights of cheese fondue. French cuisine: so simple, and yet, so delicious. It's all of my favourite things: wine, bread, cheese, vegetables.

I put this image up today as we're off on a "return" dinner visit this evening, to the home of one of my students, a kind, adorable, and amazing French teacher. She's making "Christmas dinner" complete with foie gras, cheese and marrons glacé...with the appropriate wines to match.

I love France.

Coffee Culture

2009-12-04T08:43:00.011-05:00

I've started this post a few times now, and in the process have become accustomed to the French coffee experience, a culture that requires taking time out to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee, where size really does not matter, and where paper cups are not a litter hazard. Of course, like any process of acculturation, it took me awhile to reach this level of cultural appreciation.

In my first week here, I asked my roommate where I could buy a travel mug in which to transport my coffee to class. I bought one in Australia, which served me very well during many late night study sessions. Anyone who has visited my office in Hamilton knows I always have one or two on my desk, and take one with me, like a security blanket, to class. Unfortunately, here in France, she had no idea where to get one. It's just not part of the coffee culture.

First, people really don't travel with coffee in France. In my two months here, I have only seen one person actually carrying a cup of coffee. Instead, the French make a little cup to toss back with their baguette over petit dejeuner before work, they enjoy it after their hour-long (at least!) lunch break, sitting in the sun, sipping their little cups of java at an outdoor café, or they have it with dessert in cute little cups (see below). The extra large double-double from the takeout window at Tim Horton's is as foreign in France as....well, to be truthful, my accent.

"Le pannier" Marseille, France. November 2009

Yes, and the second difference is the size. On my first visit to the IUFM, we joined some of my supervising teachers for lunch, and everyone had their (what I thought of them then, anyway) miniature coffees. (Sidenote: wrong, I know, but for the first few days here I couldn't get over how silly men looked holding these tiny cups in their hands. Eventually I got used to it. European men have that talent, being attractive without having to be macho about it. Pointy toed shoes, fitted woolen winter coats, skinny jeans, scarves, scarves, scarves - all part of the male wardrobe here, and I love it).

One of the teachers, knowing I was from North America, told me to ask for mine "allongé", by which the barista just adds a little more water, making the coffee somewhat less strong. The fortitude of the coffee here is difference number three. We have a joke in our house. Daniela, from Germany, makes a brew thick enough to stand a spoon up in it. It really IS sludge when I clean out the pot. My ratio of water to her coffee is 3:1. She calls my attempts "dirty water" and doesn't even bother drinking it.

I am slowly learning this French culture of coffee, but sometimes am a bit slower in the morning pre-caffeine, which is why I wasn't thinking when, in my second week here, I offered to make a cup for our handyman at the same time that I made mine. When I passed him a great big mug of the stuff, he started laughing. It took me a minute to realize what the problem was: "It's too large!", he told me. I replied (yes, in French!) that it wasn't very strong, and after giving him the sugar bowl (of course he didn't need milk, again, silly me) he happily consumed the whole thing.

For the most part, French temper their strong, black beverage with sugar. It comes with your cup. The French do laugh about the English and their use of milk in the drink, which is interesting, considering one of their alternatives to the regular black is a noisette. This little gem, my new favourite, is made of the usual fort, café français, but with a little shot of foamed milk. It's the PERFECT mid-afternoon treat at a sidewalk café when I'm waiting for the shops to open up again after lunch (I may be learning the coffee culture but I am still not accustomed to shops closing for an hour or two mid-day. It makes my Christmas shopping a little more interesting, and I'm doing much more wandering and exploring this way as I pass the time waiting. Which really is the point isn't it?)

In the end, however, a girl does like to have the comforts of home every now and then. This is me after finding my first Starbucks in Paris (The only Starbucks shops to be found in France are in Paris, and, much like Vancouver, can be found on nearly every street corner. I just didn't know that at this time).
So what if the Canadians I was travelling with compared me the snooty American tourists who come to PEI expecting specialty coffee and really don't know what to do with Tim Horton's? After a month in France, I had been missing my familiar-sized, sugary sweet, takeaway North American beverage. With this image, forget for a minute that I'm in the Luxembourg Gardens in Paris, or that I'm surrounded by hoards of small, happy children doing cute child-like things like pushing boats in a pond and feeding the ducks. In my hand, I've got a caramel macchiato bigger than my fist. I'm happy.

Les Hivernales commencent demain...

2009-12-03T17:58:00.004-05:00

La patinoire opens tomorrow et le marché de Noel, et le village de délices ...but I'm most excited about the idea of skating outdoors.

Esplanade de Montpellier, France.
November 2009

I may have come to the south of France to escape cold and snow, but I will always, always, be happy with an outdoor rink. Mom, can you put my skates in the mail?

"Minaret" rime avec "Arrêt"

2009-12-02T15:18:00.018-05:00

Ce matin j'ai eu la chance d'aller à une session de cette conférence, Rencontres de l'éducation aux images . J'étais là pour écouter mon tandem*, un professeur de géographie sociale, présente un exposé sur le subjet du paysage.

At the end of the session (which included an excellent discussion sur les lois du paysage, a game involving images and our responses to them [an excellent way to test my French knowledge: triste and charmant I did know...but I'm still working on a few others], and a discussion about modern art and a mountain made of potato purée), we were left with one final comment by the moderator. She was reminded of the political and symbolic nature of landscape by the results of the recent referendum in Switzerland, that resulted in 57.5 percent of voters supporting a ban on minarets. In a country that is known for it's commitment to religious freedom, the largest party in Parliament has called the mosque towers "symbols of militant Islam."

Mostar, Bosnia. May 2007

My picture for todayis inspired by this issue of European/Western negotiations with Islamic populations. It comes from my first visit to Europe, in May and June 2007. Arriving in Bosnia, I had the chance to see my first minaret on the landscape. Coming from Eastern Canada, without any mosques on PEI, I was struck at how much these towers reminded me of church steeples at home - almost every little village we could pass through would have one or two of them rising above the other buildings in the area, reminding those passing by of the majority Muslim population in the country.

À la fin, notre modérateur nous a rappelés que le paysage français, avec son histoire catholique mais une population musulmane croissante, est toujours un paysage sans minarets.
Je me demande combien de temps il prendra pour celui à changer.

*Tandem is a new term for me, which refers to a language study partner and the process by which you study both of your languages: you spend half of your time together one language, the other half in the other. This way you're practicing your non-native languages in tandem.

The most important decision of the day:

2009-12-01T13:57:00.007-05:00

"Do I take the traditional croissant, or go with something a little sweeter, a pain au chocolat, peut-être?"

Montmartre, 18ème arrondissement, Paris.
October 2009

Giving Thanks

2009-11-30T16:13:00.002-05:00

On Sunday I was Thankful for the food from French farmers, (North) American first-time cooks, lovely dinner guests, paper towel serviettes, summer kitchens and spare ovens, wonderful new friends with wine, incredible, resourceful, bathroom-cleaning, dish-washing roommates, a surprise, over-large turkey named Bob, and an evening of 10 nationalities and two official languages.

Daniela actually thanked Bob in our grace. I was mostly soppy and thanked God for gathering all of us here together, as well as our loving and supportive families, friends and boyfriends for allowing us to adventure away for awhile, and finally thanked all of us for being open to new opportunities to celebrate another cultural tradition in our current home, France. (See our collection of holiday photos here)

We did go around the table and ask, and I think it's good to keep the game going at this time of year: what are YOU thankful for?

Higher Learning

2009-11-26T05:05:00.009-05:00

Last Friday, November 20th was the fall convocation ceremony at McMaster University, and the day that most of the 2007 graduate cohort in the Department of Anthropology received their Master's Degrees, including yours truly! In honour of all of the hard work (and the fun) that went into our two years together, here is a guide to some of the "other" things we learned at graduate school.

Gaggle of girls- our cohort. We gossip, giggle, and talk about babies.
Babies- automatically 2 points. We'll talk about them- fat babies, cute babies, babies and peaches-for hours.
Sugar run- a trip to the Union Market to replenish (what else?) sugar, and ALWAYS coffee.
Coffee- the lifeblood of any graduate career.
Vegetables- just about the only thing one of us is not allergic to/ethically against eating.
Hummus- safe food.
Four field- a dead horse.
Linguistic Anthropology - sorry, what?
Edutainment- attending Intro Anthro lectures. It's sort of work, gets us brownie points and is also usually entertaining. Added bonus: it keeps us from getting on with our own work.
Seeing dead people- 5 points. And it actually makes sense between the 4 fields.
The cookie drink- our invention and regular VIP at social gathering.

1st Year Oranges-fresh from the earth
Recalling books- a regular occurrence from a busy library (but when you start recalling them from yourself, it's time to start actually writing that paper...)
Anthropology charades – hilarious, and full of inside jokes (much like this post…)

Can(n)on- the be all and end all of what you need to know in our department.
West Side Story snaps- automatic points if they can be referenced in a conversation. Half points if Scrubs is involved. And you’ve won the game if you walk it down the hall.
McMaster Hospital- for treating the sick, as well as "looking for husbands"
Double first cousins- NOT the Kinship Chart on the Intro Anthro mid-term…but what also makes it hard to convince non-Islanders that the population on PEI is heterogeneous.
The group formerly known as Book Club- just that. We were going to read. Then we realized that's what we do all of the time. So instead, we get together to eat and drink.
Denied- Ali's favourite word. And what we all wish we could stamp on a few first year papers.
The (free) book table- place for picking up those tomes to decorate our future offices.

Year Two

Potlucks- free food for weeks.
2nd year oranges- better with vodka. (so we hear, anyway! And something we know Joan from Mad Men could probably teach us.)
The last Friday of the month- is the day after pay day, and FREE COFFEE in the Union Market.
Snickeroo- not a sneeze, but the best coffee flavour (after white chocolate chip, of course).
Gymming- the best possible de-stressor I can think of.

The pub- the pace where we spent many hours instead of going to gym, and where we learned to pour the perfect beer.
Red, red wine- the new lifeblood. After coffee and beer.
“North American”- the ultimate insult on the fifth floor.
The VV Boutique- haute couture for broke students…we prefer to think of it as ‘vintage shopping’
Free stuff- couches and chairs, coffee mugs and water glasses, books…if it's not nailed down, we'll take it!
Clothing swaps- another good source of free things!
Crafting- a great way to avoid marking papers.
Chocolate time – I think it speaks for itself.
Moustaches- hours of fun and completely gender neutral (although we’re still trying to recruit more males!)

Gender- a social construct.
Construction paper, glue and markers- how we all initially pictured grad school
NIBS – safe food, but not for politicians. “I would love to be those girls who got thrown out of question period for throwing nibs” ~ Stacey.
Foam fingers- what our convocation may require. Comps, definitely.

“I have work to do” really means “I’m hungry, let’s go to the Market”
“I have a meeting” can mean one of two things: a) having your dreams crushed (by your supervisor) or b) crushing someone else’s (ie. A student's).
BOTs-Brownies of triumph….or tristesse, when made in the microwave
“convoluted”- something we’re hoping each professor is required to say once to each graduate student. Otherwise, well, we have some re-writing to do.

But we made it through! Congratulations, girls!

Of Fleas and Frioul

2009-11-24T03:18:00.009-05:00

Restless night, another of LMM's "white" ones but I slept in a bit and now must head off to work. The rest of the country's teachers are on strike today but sadly, not us at the university! Am hoping to catch a glimpse of the action this afternoon (must remember to pack my camera with my lunch!)

A quick shot from our visit to Marseille: this is on the Ile du Frioul, with the Chateau d'If (fictional home of the Count of Monte Cristo) and the city on the horizon. It rained our first day there, but we got lucky on Sunday where it was windy but sunny, making it a perfect day for hiking (and picture-taking).

Word of the Day: marché aux puces = flea market (literally, market of fleas!)

Viva Algerie!

2009-11-19T18:51:00.010-05:00

It's not often that I wish to change my nationality, but on Wednesday night, after a (legitimate) football win that got their team into the World Cup, I wished I was Algerian.

Art in Arles

2009-11-18T15:10:00.004-05:00

I may have come to France for the food (and the wine, and the language, and the work...) but I would stay for the art. The Louvre was fun, yes, and elbowing through the crowd to get a 30 second look at the Mona Lisa was an adventure, but some of my favourite artistic moments have been accidental, and many not even in a museum at all.

The first of these moments was stumbling upon the work of photographer Marc Garanger. I came upon a photo of his from the "Femmes d'Algerie"series in a small museum in the Provençal town of Arles. I visited Arles en route to Les-Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer and received free entrance to the Musée Réattu when I bought a ticket to visit the Roman sites in the town. Housed in a former 15th-century priory, which itself is a work of art, the museum owns two Picasso paintings and 57 of his sketches, which were exciting to see, but it was a single photo, by Garanger, that stayed with me ( it's the image in the bottom right hand corner of the collection).

Garanger, a photographer, was serving his military duty during the French war in Algeria, when he was asked by the French Army to take ID pictures of the native population. All the Algerian women were asked to de-veil for the photo and he himself claims to be the first "temoin" to their silent, violent, protest. See more about Garanger's work here. Some of his later work is available at the Musée de Quai Branly, the museum of culture and civilization in Paris. That's a place I do want to visit as well, after seeing some photos from their collection, the stock "people of the world" photos from the early 1900s in the Asian/African/Oceanic room at the Louvre.

While in Arles, I also had the opportunity to follow the Van Gogh trail, a series of plaques around the town that point out the various spots here he painted such iconic images as Starry Night Over the Rhone, Les Alycamps, and The AmphitheatreVincent Van Gogh died when he still an unknown painter at the age of 37, but now his work is considered to be part of the foundation of modern art, and it was Arles, with its sunshine, bright colours, and Provençal character, that he painted. I read somewhere that he wasn't bothered by the mistral, the strong wind that greeted us on our arrival in Arles (and almost blew us over the city walls and into the Rhône!), but would instead kneel on his canvas to keep it still and paint horizontally through the strong gusts. Not quite as hardy as Van Gogh, we escaped into the Café de la Forum to warm up from the frigid wind outside. Sara enjoyed a hot chocolate, I sipped on a cappucino, and we chatted with the servers about football and travelling, among other things. This would be a typical café visit, except that this was the former Café Terrace at Night, painted by Van Gogh in September 1888. We were there only a month and 111 years later, and yet, the fall light in the south of France was the same. Such a short and sad life he lived, but one of such passion and genius, simply painting the beauty around him. And I was lucky enough to walk in his path for an afternoon.

It's a good day

2009-11-14T17:22:00.002-05:00

Happy Anniversary Mackenzie, my love!

Here's to a great year together (and apart, between Poland, Vancouver, Calgary, PEI and France). To curry dinners, chocolate cake, movies and musicals, baseball and hockey games, Wendy's and coffee, walks in Westdale, dinners out, suppers in, and many glasses of wine.
Here's to many more years together.

I miss you, and I love you.

Part 1: Love affair with...Montreal?

2009-11-12T16:09:00.004-05:00

A continuing theme from my journal:
September 29, 2009
As a child growing up in Canada, I have always felt that the French language had something of a national feeling about it. It is, and continues to be, an important part of our Canadian history, our federal identity and a defining aspect of school systems across the country. I have very patriotic reasons for taking French Immersion: I wanted to be able to speak both official languages in Canada. It's a part of my national identity. It's also a bit of a necessity, living as I do Ontario and Prince Edward Island, two provinces that border the French region of Canada.

So I had to keep reminding myself yesterday as I plunked myself down in THE French country of the world, that Canada has French, but French and its history does not necessarily include Canada. It wasn't an entirely comforting thought, as anything Canadian tends to comfort me, but one necessary for distancing myself as I traveled from Paris to Montpellier, my home for the next seven months. If the reactions of strangers in Canada are any indication of our obsession with France, then we love it. But I have to be careful not to come at it too hard either. I'm ready to love France, but I don't want to overwhelm it (even if it has already overwhelmed me). France is so much bigger than my elementary knowledge of vocabulary and recurring issues with verbs in the past tense. I used to say that I had an excellent working knowledge of French in Canada. In tourism, yes, that wasn't too bad. In France, that has changed. I know that, and I'm happy to admit I know very little at all. France, and French, are new to me.

October 2, 2009
It’s getting a wee bit old. What do the French know about Canada? Montréal, Québec (city) and sirop d’erable; (maple sirop). All of the above belong to the province of Quebec, a “separate nation within Canada” according to our leader, Stephen Harper. So I came here hoping to spread the love of Anne of Green Gables (no one has heard of her, or LMM), to compare industrial towns (that’s more the UK…or Eastern Europe) and to commiserate over regional fishing identities (if it doesn’t have tentacles, don’t bring it up). Did I come on too strong? Is there just too much stuff to share (most likely)? How do I ease back and get across the most important points? Canada is big, Canada is multicultural, Canada is cold, and warm and welcoming, semi-American (see: music, metric system), rich in natural resources, wildlife, land and nature, money (no, really, teachers make 28,000 Euro annually here and the cost of living isn’t that much lower). Interestingly, all of the above are shared between Québec and the rest of Canada. I’ll survive, although my English Canadian pride is slightly wounded.And thanks to the French Immersion program on PEI, I probably know more about the history of Québec than Ontario’s. Plus, I’ve got hints of a Québecois accent and the French love it.

October 21
I walk down the street after class at the college and it takes me a minute to realize that I’m thinking to myself in French. Emails, grocery lists…these have begun to default to French. I love being surrounded by signs that I can read in another language, words that are spoken with the “eng” accent of the region, and conversations that I know, for the most part, will be carried on in my second language. Already I worry about the day when I won’t be enveloped by this gorgeous language on a regular basis. And then I yearn for Montréal, a city I haven’t visited in almost 6 years, but one I’m already planning on seeing when I get back to Canada. There, I hope to find my pain complet, heavier than the traditional baguette, yes, but healthier, in order to make up for the pain au chocolat I will order with my café allongé for an afternoon snack. What I didn’t expect to happen in France was to rediscover French Canada, through the eyes of my students, as well as through the words of the people of France.

Collocation

2009-11-11T18:16:00.007-05:00

Sometimes it's like we're a family. We get in each other's hair (and leave it behind in the shower.....ewww), but for the most part we get along in this little flat of ours. We're comfortable enough now to just reach around each other in the kitchen, and if I time it right, I usually get to share at least two meals a week - and can always find some hungry soul ready to eat whatever I make. We all know we're lucky that Marine loves to bake!
I mastered the art of ginger tea when Daniela was sick to her stomach, and Marine always takes care of our train tickets when we travel. We've survived two voyages as the group of five...and we're been pretty good about rotating the role of who is running late!

There's always a load of laundry on the drying racks, but four other people to call on to fill up a white or dark load. We've got a daily and weekly cleaning schedule and just try to get everyone to buy toilet paper/dish soap/cleaning products when we're low. There are at least three packages of coffee waiting so I can leave that off of the grocery list for the next little while.

And our dinner time/bedtime/evening conversation topics have ranged from the fall of the Berlin Wall and war remembrance, to parenting and birth order, to social psychology and New Kids on the Block.

Today's adventures included translating and negotiating Daniela's rent issues with our landlord (there's a whole story of a bin of winter gear that she left here in the summer that was given away before she came back in the fall....) and helping Sara clean up another myterious bathroom mess after I was supposed to be in bed. (How it happens that whoever discovers the mess cleans it up, I'll never know...). If nothing else, this *will* prepare me for motherhood.

Here's to the girls of the ave. de Lodève, who always have a story to tell (in one of four house languages), teaching advice to give, and food to share.

Prost!

If they don't know....how will they remember?

2009-11-11T05:51:00.007-05:00

I had some bad luck yesterday with the 3emes. I brought John McCrae’s poem into class, thinking that they might appreciate the idea of Canadians fighting (and dying) on French soil in World War I, and knowing that it was at Vimy Ridge, in France, that Canadians began to be recognized as a country and a nation separate from Britain.

Perhaps it’s the age, or that they have no respect for their French teacher, or the class is too disorganized or something* but they spent most of the class talking about other things, ignoring any discussion of the text, shouting out answers when they felt like it, and correcting the teacher’s spelling mistakes. I spent most of the class absolutely boiling with anger and frustration at these students and just standing around while the teacher translated the whole thing into French.

What hurts the most is that this is an important poem in Canada, on a very serious subject. Before I read the poem out loud, I asked them to respect this important text that is read in honour of those who died for Canada, in France, during World War I. It’s not a call to peace, by any means, as John McCrae does suggest taking up the battle after other have passed on; but it is a nationalist call in that way. And the final lines of the poem ask us to remember those who have died fighting; if we forget, they will not rest in peace. But neither idea was possible to discuss with this group of 14 and 15 year old French students, all of them not much younger than those soldiers who died on all sides of the Great War.

So while normally I would have trouble with anything the Conservative government wants to do that includes the term “military” right now I have somewhat positive thoughts about the news that the Conservative government is rewriting the Canadian Citizenship test to put more of a focus on its military history. (To try out the old one, click here)

I’m frustrated because I wish I could bring some of these ideas (ex: the shift from Peacekeepers or “les casques bleus” to soldiers in Afghanistan, French Lanugage Laws in Québec, where un “hot dog” is a “chien chaud”, Michaëlle Jean and her former-French-citizen, ex-separatist husband, who now represents the British Crown in Canada) into the collège, where I know the students are smart enough to understand much of this. In fact, it was the 6emes, the 11 year olds, who were the first ones to ask why the English Queen was on our money! From this week, I’m sad that we couldn’t talk about the importance of the poppy to Canadian (and Commonwealth) ideas of Remembrance, and also know about its French connections. Unfortunately, I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t be bringing anything interesting or important about Canada to this class for awhile, until they can prove to me that they will respect these ideas. Right now they seem more interested in themselves so I’m not going to waste my time.

*Fortunately, I had much better luck with the 4emes, the group a level below, on Monday. We even assigned them homework to answer questions on the text I prepared about the poppy, which the 3eme teacher deemed as “too hard” for higher level. So it's a mix of student and teacher problems with this group.

Paris-Bordeaux-Montpellier-Marseille

2009-11-06T03:50:00.006-05:00

Hello! I am back in Montpellier, but not for long. After a week of roaming around Paris with some wonderful Prince Edward Islanders (gossip from home AND French food. What a wonderful holiday!) and a quick stop in Bordeaux for a winery visit, I'm off again to Marseille this evening as soon as I'm finished with class at the IUFM. Marine's father lives there, in the second largest city in France, and since it's not exactly the safest place for a solo female traveller, I'm sure the group of five girls will be fine. And quite possibly hilarious.

Summery Sunday in Sète

2009-10-28T02:10:00.004-04:00

It was a sleepy Sunday morning, the last truly warm day of summer (although we didn't know this yet), when Marine announced that we should make a day-trip to Sète. Well, this sounded like fun so I grabbed my Lonely Planet, Gabi and Daniela packed a lunch and we left to catch the 11:30 train.

Not two minutes out the door, Sara remembered our 12-25 cards which entitles us lucky enough to be under 25 (or not yet 26!) to abonnementson train tickets. We ran back to the house to get ours (which required unlocking and relocking three different sets of doors and gates, delaying us further) and only caught up with the other three about two minutes from the station and four minutes before the departure of the train. Happily, we made it on board, Sara and I gasping for air, the rest giddy from racing to the platform, and we settled down for the 30 minute trip to Sète.

Séte is the second largest Mediterranean fishing and commercial port in France, after Marseille. It's a lovely little town, settled in between the sea and Mount St-Clair, and filled with canals and seafood restaurants. The people of Sète are also absolutely charming, since we had not been in the village for five minutes, but two different people had stopped us and offered us directions (no, we were not lost, but a group of five girls-four of them using heavily accented French-moves rather slowly when taking pictures and guessing at how to find the way to the Tourist Office).

Having left in a rush, our first stop was not actually the tourist office, but a café along the canals so a few of us could have a coffee. There, we encountered a woman from Germany who had lived in Sète for over 30 years. Daniela, the charmer of the group, was thrilled to encounter someone from her homeland, and so began to chat with the woman in German. Our new friend eventually just pulled her chair up to our table so she could join our group and converse with us in three (French, English, and German) of our four (+Spanish) house languages. Just another Sunday morning with the collocatrices.

Another highlight of our day included lunch in the Mayor's Park which coincided with the annual This is a Sétois specialty, which is quite popular here in Montpellier - I regularly see people purchasing frozen versions of the tart in the supermarket. I, however, could not try it. The idea of chopped up octopus in a tomato sauce, baked in a tart is just a bit too much for me, the seafood lover who encountered my first octopus in a horrible backwater restaurant in Torquay, Australia. My students tell me you can't tell it's octopus but I can still feel the suction cups on the little tentacles in my seafood pasta. Ugh.

Then we spent the afternoon climbing Mount St-Clair. At the base is the Marine Cemetery, the location of symbolist poet Paul Valery's most famous poem, and the location of his own grave. I remember reading about les caveaux in Ellen's ethnography of Breton funeral rituals but I was surprised at how..."cemented" it really was. As someone who is used to the idea of burials into the ground, this was another green space that I missed from North American cities. Still, regardless of how they are buried, the dead in this community are given one of the best views in the area.

We got our exercise climbing up to the top of Mount St-Clair for a beautiful view of the town. On our way up we passed a group playing the regional game of the south, pétanque, which I think I understand as a kind of horseshoes, played with lawn bowling balls. I have yet to play it though, so I'll keep you posted if I do and find out more...I'm a bit behind on local sports, although I have had a taste of pastis, the regional drink made from anis. Alcohol before sports. Yes, we know where my priorities are.

We ended out day with an impromtu visit to the Molière Theatre. It had been closed when we passed by in the morning but the tour group (who took their bus up to the top of Mount St-Clair, thereby avoiding the half hour, uphill climb) was visiting and the theatre was open. We wandered in and enjoyed the view of the old opera house, with various sections named for classical artists including Mozart, Saint-Seäns, and Debussy. Gabi made her debut on the stage, thanking everyone from her parents, to the Academy, and God for making this day possible. We stayed a bit longer than the tour group, happy to have somewhere shady to sit for awhile and eventually had to be kicked out of the theatre by the House Manager. Ahh yes, ending our first day of visiting in France with a little breaking and entering. We're off to a good start!

Linguistic Colonization

2009-10-22T17:35:00.008-04:00

And yes, I'm behind. My journal is a bit more up to date and some people have been lucky enough to receive newsy replies so the information* is out there. It's just not up here. Sorry.

And it won't be for another little while. But while I'm in the school research mode, I thought I would post an idea that I've been considering for a conversation/class discussion, in the hopes that you might have some more ideas to flesh this out.

I came across this article about Free English classes bringing "success" to French students. It reminded me of a conversation I had with my French roommate, Marine - who is studying teaching French as a Foreign Language - about some of the ethical dilemmas about teaching another language, especially in a developing country. (Not what the article is about that at all, but there are inklings of the global domination of English in there). As a cultural anthropologist, concerns about cultural and language domination, and the loss of local practices, is not new. But when I consider how many there are that I know teaching English abroad, I wonder if we, the teachers (oh yes, I am one), shouldn't be engaged in better debate about this? (And perhaps others are...it has just never been something that has come up in any of the training here). I use my own experience, where I was fortunate enough to study from native French speakers for many years in public school, as a kind of excuse for my role here.

At the same time, I have a number of Arab students (from Morocco and Algeria predominantly) in my classes at the collège (junior high) who have only been here 2 or 3 years and are still working on proper French, and then suddenly have to take higher level English classes as well. What kind of cultural mixing is taking place here? What sorts of expectations are being placed into a "French" education for those who have come from outside of France? Not quite the same issue, but language politics abound for immigrants wanting to student English in Québec, a point that I will certainly bring up.

So, thoughts? If you have studied another language, why did you study it? If you've considered teaching abroad, is this a topic that you considered? If you have taught abroad, what kinds of ethical issues (if any) did you encounter? Were you able to easily access the local language and did you enjoy learning it? In a global culture that privileges English above many other languages (or even considers it THE global language) are there ways we can diminish its power? Or am I completely crazy to consider going against the forces of globalization if someone wants to learn it?

* An image from our spontaneous day-trip to Sète, a Mediterranean fishing village not far from Montpellier. Pictured are the famous biscuits zézettes de Sète, made with citrus, vanilla, and the local taste, anis. Really, I posted this picture because it's the one I have with the most French writing. I'll remedy that. Soon.

Photo Opportunities

2009-10-07T16:40:00.012-04:00

Monday, October 5th
I cross this overpass on the way to both the IUFM and Collège Jeu de Mail and it was only on Monday that I really looked at the designs...and the artist working on one.
Tuesday, October 6th
On my way home from school I had stopped to take a picture of the window display in this wonderful patisserie (the fall colours had me thinking of Thanksgiving), when I encountered a father and his two children, heading home to (what I'm going to imagine) would be a very proud and happy mother.
Wednesday, October 7th
Today, while on our way to conduct numerous errands, Sara and I encountered our first French strike! The gentleman on the left is telling the other two to "sourire" for me. I don't know if he thought I was a journalist or just a curious tourist, but I did enjoy the positive atmosphere surrounding the whole thing.

Days Two, Three, Four, Five, and Six in Montpellier

2009-10-05T22:20:00.002-04:00

Whoops. I had big plans of using my blog to keep things updated (as well as plans to keep a diary, do some writing, and come up with lots and lots to things to send in emails) and here I am four days later....well, I'll see what I can put on here and what kind of promises I might make for the future...

Thursday
A whirlwind tour and lunch at the IUFM with Chris, my main contact and two of her co-teachers, Pat and Mado, then a visit to the Collège (junior high) Jeu de Mail where I'll be spending Monday and Tuesday afternoons, after that a quick pop into a nearby école élémentaire to see the directrisse, as I might be loaning my voice to the English translation of a research project that she's working on (she wasn't in, so I'll let you know if that goes anywhere), a stop downtown at Lycée Joffre, THE lycée in Montpellier (I'm just tied there administratively, not working there, perhaps fortunately as it's rather imposing and full of rich high school students), and finally a drink in Place de la Comédie with Chris to go over my lesson plans for tomorrow and discuss my Thursdays (Conversation Classes) and Fridays (Mock Orals) at the IUFM. Whew.

Word of the Day: (n) Planning=schedule, itinerary.
Each morning at the IUFM I have to check the "planning" on the outside bulletin board, along with all of the university students, to see what rooms my groups are in.

Friday: My first day at the IUFM, (L'Institut Universitaire de la Formation de Maîtres). Thank you to everyone who sent in the words/images/things that they associated with France. I actually only had two halves of one class to deal with and the second group had so much fun telling me all they things they knew about Canada that we didn't even get to France, but that was fine. I like lessons that are easy to plan (especially ones where I can ask for help!) So what did they say about Canada? Well, we had lots of fun miming "moose" and everyone knew about "sirop d'érable" but the more proficient half of the class had lots to say about language politics (the fact that "hot dog" is still the same thing in France, but "chien chaud" in Québec), they knew Avril Lavigne and the Barenaked Ladies, and one guy even cheers for the Montréal Canadiens! It will be a few weeks before I see them again, but I think there's lots of room for debate with the A groups. It's the B ones that are going to be harder (or more work) to plan for.

Word(s) of the Day: (n) stage = practicum, or practice teaching.
This week all of the PE1 students are out doing their "stage dans les ecoles" so I won't see them at Thursday's conversation class. Domage!

Marketing on Saturday morning, just down the street and around the corner from the house on the Boulevard des Arceaux. It leads into this great big aquaduct, which looks onto the Arc de Triumphe...I promise, more pictures later! Still, even with the market visit, the part of the day was our impromptu picnic lunch outside with all five roommates! Here's a photo, let me introduce you (from left to right): Sara is the youngest in the house, she's from Austria, a primary teacher working in the same program as I am, only she's a German Language Assistant. Daniella is also German, from Germany, she's here on a year exchange as a primary teacher (and guinea pig keeper. More on that later). Marine is our French roommate, she is currently working on her master's in French Teaching, but did her undergraduate in Montpellier so she's our tour guide/activity coordinator/ambassador to France. And she takes to her various roles with ease (including making a tarte aux pommes for us the other evening. She's great!) Gabi (Gabriella) is a Spanish Language Assistant from Guatemala, and the only other non-EU citizen in the house. We will work through the carte de sejour process together...(oh, and where are we sitting? No, it's not a cute little café we found while strolling down the street. No, this is our backyard. MY ROOM OVERLOOKS A REAL FRENCH GARDEN WITH A POOL. More on that later).
: La plage! Really, that, and the picture, says it all.

Monday: My first day at Collège Jeu de Mail. I met three of the junior high classes today, and, oh, they might be all awkward and adolescent, with maybe too much attitude de temps en temps (they're all between the ages of 12 and 15) but I simply adore their little French accents when they try to speak English! And their teacher, Nathalie (one of three at the collège, but the main one I'll be working with) is quite a character. Unlike the teachers at the IUFM, who are either British, or have spent time in Britain (which makes for some interesting pronunciation differences...), she spent some time at Vassar College in Boston, and so has a real American focus to her teaching. This week, it's images from Hurricane Katrina. Next week? We're going to watch Mean Girls with her 4e classes (the 12-13 year olds). I'm so glad I brought my high school yearbook. Oh, she's also close to 40, has bleached blonde hair, is maybe a size zero, and sports tight jeans and heels to class. Excellent. I feel quite at home in my jeans and Birks. One interesting thing I noticed, both at the IUFM and the Collège Jeu de Mail, is how Chris and Nathalie introduce me to everyone on campus. I feel like this isn't always the case at university (or even within departments-can you imagine me introducing the newbies around to other graduate students without being too "formal" or "cheesy"? No, I can't picture it either). Chris was saying it's hard to get anywhere on campus because she's always running into people to talk to, so that might be part of it on the public IUFM campus. At the collège, I wonder if it's also about security, since to enter any of the école élémentaires, collèges or lycées, one must first be buzzed through the gate. If I'm introduced to people there's less question about this strange girl on campus, and perhaps even quicker recognition for opening the gate!

Two more things: One, Nathalie has all of her classes stand at their desks before allowing them to sit and start class. I'm not sure if this is her rule, or a regular one in public schools here (I'll let you know tomorrow when I sit in on Elizabeth's 3e class). And two: out of the three classes I met today, students in two of them asked me my age. I'm not sure, but would this be okay in North America? To ask an adult visitor in your class their age? They were also bang on their guesses (so do I really look 25?!) which leads me to wonder if this isn't typical-the more students ask adults their age, the better they are at gauging. Still, not entirely polite, non?

German Word of the Day: (n) Stammtisch=a regular gathering in a pub, or the regular table of someone in a pub (think Cheers; that crew definitely had their "stammtisch"). Why German today? Daniella and Sara might attend the stammtisch at the Maison Heidelberg (German house in Montpellier) this evening so I'm just learning words as I go...

Day One: Montpellier

2009-09-30T16:44:00.003-04:00

French Phrase of the Day: Faire des courses: run errands, buy things(not "faire des cours" as I originally heard and wondered why my retired French landlady was taking classes in the afternoon).

2009-08-24T10:06:00.005-04:00

It hasn't happened in awhile (or perhaps I haven't been listening closely enough) but today while I was going through a more difficult round of thesis edits, the perfect soundtrack to my life came on the radio in the form of "Ride of the Valkyries". That's right, lady warriors arriving just in time when I needed a little boost of confidence. I got the message, thanks.

Desktop

2009-05-31T22:45:00.006-04:00

I feel as if carpal tunnel syndrome and other repetitive motion injuries from non-ergonomic workspaces are a test among graduate students to see who is actually working, and who is like me- probably spending twice as much time away from her desk on library walks, sugar runs and office visits than she does in front of the computer.

The "winners" end up with back pain. The losers? They have too many books they won't read, a sugar high, the latest gossip, and massive amounts of guilt.

Today, after almost 12 hours crouched in front of my screen, I can honestly say that I prefer tense muscles to anxiety brought on by work avoidance. Chapter Five is almost there, I can feel it (literally), and a good night's sleep, plus the weight off of my shoulders (metaphorically) when I send my draft in tomorrow will solve any lingering pain.

Come find me on Monday. I like to pretend that I'll learn from this, but if you're really looking for me, I'd check the library or any office not my own.

Reflections on the field

2009-05-26T23:26:00.006-04:00

I was talking to a friend in the first year of her MA today about her thesis work when it dawned on me that this time last year, exactly a year ago today (but yesterday really because it was a Monday), I started my fieldwork. I looked back on my first day of fieldnotes even and the jaded year-later graduate student and experienced anthropologist had to shake my head at the beginning, idealistic (and very, very scared) first-year field student.
It’s amazing how much I can remember a year later…I still know what I wore to my first mass (shorts and flipflops for a rainy day in May on PEI? That was a bad idea). I can remember who was sitting where in the church and of those people, whom I got to know over the summer. I know I should have just hung around more throughout the summer, found more excuses to drop by my great-aunt’s house and help her with the garden. Or taken a book down Sally’s beach, after going by the bakery on Tuesday and Thursdays for treats. I should have been more brave, made some more phone calls, or found more reasons to volunteer. I definitely should have done more reading, taken many more notes, and transcribed much faster as I went.

But here I am, a year later, a year closer to finishing. And it’s going fine. Well, maybe I saw that because I’m still far enough away from the deadline not to be in panic mode YET, but I do have an idea of where this is going. There is still so much more to read, and so many more hours of transcription to review. And, even without taking voluminous notes, there is still enough for me to spend at least a day going through and seeing what else I can add. I just have to keep writing, rewriting and revising to get there.

There’s a story here. I have to remember not be afraid of the metaphorical pen (in reality, the cursor) and the empty, white page. I made it through three months of fieldwork and the first nine months of writing. I'm getting there.

Sweet Symphony

2009-04-17T19:37:00.003-04:00

I should spill cinnamon on my counter more often; now my kitchen smells delicious.

Happiness is the arrival of the book order

2009-04-02T12:24:00.004-04:00

With the constant talk of a recession as well as our inner-office banter about university students who don't take the time to read, this article, on school book fairs warms my heart.

I'm not old if my moments of nostalgia refer to my days in elementary school, right?

Gym Bunny

2009-03-23T19:02:00.006-04:00

No matter how much it hangs over me, how much I want to avoid it with a headache, a tired body, or a sore stomach, there is nothing like the post-gym feeling. Usually sweaty, often tired, and even knowing I'll be sore later, in that moment I have more energy circulating my body than I do after two cups of coffee. If I've "ellipsed" the frustrations of silly students on the elliptical, I feel slightly more cheery toward them after 30 minutes of cardio. If I've stomped out some thesis worries on the step, I feel as if I can take on all of the reading after a good exercise class. And the line "stress is water soluble" is so true after some "aquafitting" in the pool (oh, and after a trip to the sauna. How I love Wednesdays).

Those endorphins only do good things and, while I can't believe I'm saying this, I never regret a workout; usually the headache has subsided, my stomach has settled and my tired muscles have been stretched and worked again.

I grab a towel, hop into the shower and then, wet hair and all, I'm out of the gym, ready to go home for dinner, energized, de-stressed and feeling pretty good.

Remind me of this sometime tomorrow afternoon when going home feels like the better choice.

Bluebeard's Chamber

2009-03-21T22:50:00.005-04:00

All of my stuff is stressing me out again. I know I went through this when I came back from Australia, I definitely had problems when I moved a lot of my stuff to Hamilton, and I had it spread around three different locations last summer which was even worse... but now that I'm considering spending a year abroad, with only the two bags I can check on the plane, I've suddenly got this issue of where the rest of my belongings will be stored...furniture I can possibly sell, somebody may be able to store boxes of kitchen stuff, but the majority of it is clothing and shoes, the books are beginning to be a problem and paper just makes me sick to my stomach. I'm going to have to pare down, and soon.

But while I'm contemplating this, my boyfriend (yes, we're calling him that now), who has even more clothing than I (he's got a real job and wears shirts and ties to work), has decided he wants to get organized and he's letting me help. Seven years and two science degrees later, he has more textbooks than I've ever owned, a few shelves of notebooks and paper and, thanks to his mother, a linen closet twice the size of mine. I'm not going to deny that I may have had something to do with this sudden brainstorm, but am I also correct in feeling both thrilled and slightly apprehensive to be helping him?

Something tells me that tomorrow is another test for us; a compatibility check, if you will, along the lines of meeting the parents, or surviving our first trip. For my part, I have to remember that not everyone works the way I do. Sure, I'm not my mother, the champion clothing purger, who really only owns what she wears, but I do try to clean things out every season (if only so I feel less guilty adding new pieces to my wardrobe...). If I'm in the right mood, I can part with pretty much anything-this is what comes of living in three provinces and two countries in the last twelve years. But for those who have lived closer to home and in a few less locations, space is a luxury to which they've grown accustomed and I must keep that in mind. This is not so much an exercise in reducing possessions (he can help me with that this summer) as it is a chance to see what he has, what he really needs, and where he wants to put the things he wants to save. I hope it will also be a chance for me to get to know a little more about him as he sorts through the last few years, and see what he really does have hiding in his closet.

He picked up some plastic bins today. I'm bringing elbow grease and supper. Tomorrow we take the next step together. We're tackling the closet.

Lunch Meat

2009-03-18T10:37:00.003-04:00

I'm still not quite sure how I feel about the Bridge Incident last week: proud of the fight or slightly offended?

McMaster has been on PETA'S list of Most Vegetarian-Friendly Campuses a few years running, thanks primarily to the alternative* restaurant Bridges. "This is a meat free environment", posters proudly proclaim inside the funky two-floor dining area, "no exceptions". And for the most part, I enjoy Bridges. While slightly more pricey than the other campus dining options, where else at Mac can we get incredibly delicious soy chicken burgers, dinner-plate sized somosas, a veggie-full pasta stir-fry and sweet potato fries? It's a great spot to sit and eat, meet, or just study and it's even okay for students to take in their own food.

Just as long as that food does NOT contain meat.

I learned this lesson last week, after joining Linda for a post-tutorial lunch. I ordered a salad to go with my deli sandwich from home and was halfway through it before I had a visit from the cashier, telling me I could not that eat my sandwich here, because it contained meat. I quickly put it away, but was slightly disappointed by this rule and how it restricted me lunchtime meal. Yes, I know it says no meat on the signs, but I guess I don't quite understand why that's a rule.

I'm not a vegetarian. I love seafood and chicken and while I probably could work red meat out of my diet, I doubt I will ever really and truly be meat-free. However, I enjoy that I have vegan friends; their dietary requirements make me think more closely about my own food choices and alternatives, and give me a chance to experiment in the kitchen. I now have a savoury tofu snack recipe that I actually like and I am in the process of converting many of my baking recipes into vegan-friendly selections (much easier than I thought with Egg Replacer). I keep a carton of soy milk and a container of Earth Balance in the fridge for just such baking.

I understand that being a vegan is a choice; but I wasn't forcing my sandwich on anyone in the restaurant. It's not like peanuts or wheat, no one is allergic to it, so any trace it may have left on the tray is not a direct threat to any vegans or vegetarians. I guess I can see this as a somewhat subversive technique; every other eating space on the campus is meat-friendly, so why not provide one that is not? I'm almost okay with that...however, I make an effort in my own home to accommodate vegan friends, so why didn't I have the same courtesy extended to my food choices when choosing to eat meat or to be vegetarian are just that, choices?

*As one of my classmates complains, "alternative" to Bridges only means veggie/slighty vegan, while doing very little for anyone who is diabetic or has intolerances or allergies to lactose or gluten.

Book Club!

2009-03-17T03:14:00.002-04:00

From the flim Joyeux Noel to the Battle of Belleau Wood and then to the collection France: A Love Story which brought us back to The Stone Carvers AGAIN, so then we took a quick listen to the "Band Played Waltzing Matilda" and moved onto the novel Three Day Road, which, being about snipers, took us to The Cellist of Sarajevo (and a quick nod to Yo Yo Ma!) which was then followed by references to The Bone Lady, Anil's Ghost and The Exception, circling us back to Suite Francaiseand bringing us finally to our movie of the evening, The Counterfeiter's.

A dossier on World War I with a lead into modern conflicts and genocide that returned us to one of our most haunting legacies of human hate? Perhaps something thematic on the process of current historical and anthropological work on memorialization in times of mass murder? A multi-media journey that could one day become a course?

Whatever it is, we need to start taping our conversations, Kate and I. The connections we make and the broad story we weave should be laid down somewhere, for something. Even if it's just so everyone else can keep up (we made it from Harry and the Henderson's to What's Eating Gilbert Grape the other evening, with F.Scott Fitzgerald in between. And it made sense to both of us...)

Crafty

2009-03-16T09:55:00.005-04:00

My American roommate, upon arriving in Canada last year with biog-arch degree in hand, noted that anthropologists to the North seem to enjoy hummus, craft projects and secondhand (or as I call it, 'vintage') things. I'm not sure how to relate the hummus in this post (although I did have some for dinner last night) but here is the 2008-2009 Vintage Craft Project: my kitchen chairs!

While I was looking after my cousins in Toronto for a week in September, I was delighted to enjoy my first urban family garbage day (living in the student area of Hamilton, there's either nothing worth putting out on the streets, or someone more desperate than I has already been out to scavenge before I'm out of bed). I almost made the mistake of taking only one of the chairs but I met another parent on the street when I was coming with it and she convinced me I needed the whole set and then she gave me some spots in Hamilton to get fabric.

So there I was, mid-September with three chairs to strip, repaint, and reupholster- after a visit to East Hamilton and the famous Ottawa St. My gym buddy, Stacey, and I spent close to five hours one sunny Saturday towards the end of September, walking the length of Hamilton along Barton St, soaking in how the city would have looked 50 years ago and finding various European bakeries and rummage shops (and eventually our kitchen table) .

Let's remember that I'm a student who has spent more time in the last year living out of a suitcase and whose most prized (and sadly heavy) possessions are my books. My only workshop tools are a hammer and a screwdriver, gained each year when my father comes to help me move into a new apartment. For a job that required first some gluing, I was lucky to have access to my great-uncle's workshop. Carpenters glue, clamps and a sander were the first things I borrowed.

Then, in October, I painted. Perhaps the dark blue is a bit pretentious, or artsy, or something, but when else in my life am I going to have the freedom to do something so ridiculous.

The fall of 2008 brought a lot of rain to Southern Ontario. When I rescued the chairs from the dump, their only hardship was remaining outside in Toronto until my drive back to Hamilton. I'm not sure if it was Hurricane Ike or Hannah but during one storm the seats got soaked in the rain and warped. Thankfully, my uncle offered to cut me a new set-I'm not sure how well I could have borrowed a circular saw from Norbert....these arrived the end of October and then it was a search for cotton batting which lasted into December...but when I finally had all of the material, my January work was just a matter of cutting the fabric, foam and cotton batting, fitting it all tight to the base and having fun with the staple gun!

For a few weeks they sat in our livingroom, looking good but not quite ready to be sat on.

Now, with the new bases, I had to drill fresh holes before screwing the seats onto the chair frames. Norbert gladly loaned me a drill and fortunately (for all involved), I had some help with the drilling. All he required was supper.

And then, we were done!

Fit to Print

2009-02-18T10:01:00.005-05:00

I had JUST closed my email and the online version of the Globe and Mail (my current tool of procrastination) to settle down and really make an effort this morning. I was just doing some fact checking on "Harmony House", the former United Church that reopened as a theatre last summer, when I found this: an article on the project AND my topic, from yesterday's Globe and Mail.

Ignoring the fact that I missed this in my hours of reading yesterday ( decade old love letters will always trump lost luggage and domestic airline market shares), now I actually have a reason to be reading the G&M! Perhaps it won't hurt to read just one more article after this one? You never know what other research topics I might be missing....

Last night I dreamed that I was sailing

2009-01-28T12:24:00.007-05:00

I'm sitting here, listening to and reviewing the interviews I did this summer and from these Island voices, I want to be a better person. I want to volunteer my time, I want to reach out to someone who just needs a friend, I want to give money, and prepare a meal to share, I want to simply smile at the next person I meet in the hallway.

I know my writing won't do these amazing people justice, but I sat in kitchens this summer and discussed the world food crisis, the changes that force smaller families; and our capitalist luxuries that maintain those smaller units. I discussed Islam and morality, heard about travels to Medjugorje and met a nun who remembered me as a small child in Alberta. I attended benefits, served at a funeral tea and drank more cups of orange pekoe than I thought was possible.

I caught a glimpse of rural life in the Maritimes that I'm worried is slipping away. What happens to these small dots on a map when the churches are closed and the schools are all amalgamated in the larger towns? What happens to these close-knit communities? Where does our sense of responsibility to our neighbour go? How do we stop four or more generations of our history from slipping away?

As Island singer/songwriter Lennie Gallant asks,
"Where am I gonna go now
What about this boat I own
What about this old piano
What about my father's bones?"

Canada Reads

2009-01-27T11:28:00.005-05:00

Saturday afternoon was spent enjoying tea and swapping book titles with two lovely ladies. While one is making her way through the classics, and the other amazes me with her breadth (her book club covered both The God Delusion and Anna Karenina last year), I continue to read, promote and unabashedly adore contemporary Canadian Literature.
And that's why this National Post poll makes me want to cry. (Sidenote: Interesting that Margaret Atwood is the image of Can.Lit.- she was the only author that most Australians could name when I lived there. She was even more popular than LMM).

I'm not sure why I love Canadian novels...it may be a misguided sense of nationalism and my (sometimes un) conscious effort to support Canadian artists. Or it could be the fact that these were the first books I discovered after surviving the No Man's land of post-YA literature, and they were a refreshing change from the Danielle Steele-esque novels (long enough to keep a 12-year old busy, but still telling fairy tales appropriate for a rather innocent pre-teen) meant to bridge the gap between the Young Adult and Adult reading sections.

(Another sidenote: from my latest pass through the YA section in the library, my sense from all of the covers showing lipstick/stilettos/long legs and sequined cover torsos is that there still isn't much of substance available to the 12-15 year old crowd).

As my English 321 prof was good enough to point out to us, Can. Lit. is far from simply stories about small towns, fishing villages and the prairies. Post-colonial lit,internationally acclaimed love stories, forensic mystery European fantasy, and the funniest, most touchingly heartbreaking Sasquatch story I've ever read are all included under this label. Perhaps if I thought about this further I could come up with some thematic connections (heartfelt short stories young adult voices in adult situations) that represents Canadian literature on the global stage, but even with 10+ references in this paragraph alone, the spectrum of genres, situations and spaces that Canadian writers cover is incredibly broad. Impressive, no?

My current goal is to read all of the 2009 Canada Reads nominees in time for the Great Debate in March. I've got two down and the third on my bedside table-almost halfway there! (Thesis, what thesis?)

In the spirit of the competition that determines which book all Canadians should read, what are your favourite Canadian (contemporary or not) novels?

Good roots

2009-01-20T11:04:00.005-05:00

Just a quick bit of trivia that you may not have known about President-Elect Barack Obama. His mother, Ann Dunham Sutoro, was a cultural anthropologist, specializing in rural development in Indonesia. This is the woman the next US President has called, "the dominant figure in my formative years… The values she taught me continue to be my touchstone when it comes to how I go about the world of politics."

It's an incredible day.

Y.Z.A.R.C.

2008-12-11T10:21:00.006-05:00

I just found my red nail polish. It was hidden under the chocolate on my desk.

The fact that this strikes me funny, and that I was searching for red nail polish at 10am on a random Thursday, not to mention that I cleaned my desk should tell you something about my current emotional state. I'm marking papers. I've been marking them since two Fridays ago, and I've still got another 26 to go.

I think this is enough of an excuse for my lack of posting. I will update soon. But first, chocolate.

The Measure of a Man

2008-11-26T08:08:00.008-05:00

I want to say thank you to everyone who sent condolences. They arrived over email, facebook, in the mail, on the phone, at the church and it meant so much to me and helped me remember the good things about Grampy's life.

In those messages, a lot of people asked if there was anything they could do. You all did something by being there for me and my family, but now, a few weeks later, I do have one other thing to ask.

Grampy was a reader who raised readers. He made the bookshelf for my mother when she moved West, and it came to my room to hold all of my favourite books when we moved East. It's still there, just waiting for me, or another reader to take it with them on the next move. Another winter it was the library chair as a gift to my mother, to be used for reaching that book on the top shelf, before being switched around into a seat for reading.

Watching him this summer, surrounded by the shelves in the living room and collecting the discards for s trip down the to the library, I couldn't believe the number he managed to consume. So. Many. Books. Some he liked, some he didn't, and I even remember him complaining about a current read one morning, but then returning to it in the afternoon - he just couldn't not finish a book (or perhaps he couldn't not be without a book!)

I made it through some new, additions to his collection this summer, while still always charmed to see his copy of 'The Sword in the Stone', one of the first books that he decided I should read as a young adult. He was always mentioning it when I came to visit on the weekends and stopped only when I agreed to take it. What do you know? I loved it, picking up my own copy secondhand copy at the Hamilton Library sale earlier this fall. He was always after me this summer to get down and visit 'Canada's Smallest Library', while I made regular trips to the Montague Public Library in his car. I wonder what book was waiting for him that afternoon in November, what page had he patiently marked with a bookmark to return to later.

So, sometime soon, even in this busy, busy school/holiday season, visit the library or a secondhand book store and pick out a good book. No, not just a good book but a great one, something you've had on your reading list for years. Find some good light, settle yourself in a comfortable position and read. You'll be honouring a who left us with a legacy of the love of books.

2008-11-10T23:22:00.002-05:00

John S. Macdonald
December 28, 1926-November 6, 2008

I'm not sure if I have the words yet. There have been a lot of tears, a lot of hugs, some laughs with my family, plenty of food and helping hands, taking turns with the baby, chasing the two-year old, sorting through photos, singing, sighing, crying.

Grampy died Thursday evening and we said our final farewell in Cardigan this afternoon. I was his oldest grandchild, the recipient of a rocking horse when I was barely a year and a welcome guest in his home this summer. He will be so very missed.

2008-11-10T23:08:00.002-05:00

Wednesday evening we were talking about the gifts made for us by grandparents, yesterday the discussion was how lucky we are to be graduate students, able to make our own hours and with some funding.

So now I'm going home to say goodbye to my grandfather, who died of a heart attack yesterday afternoon.

And now the man who made those is gone, died of a heart attack this afternoon. The photo of him with Ciann is up on my wall and as I started going through all of the ones on my computer, I came across all of photos we have of the wooden things he made us over the years. It's sad, he's gone much, much before his time, but we made a book for his 80th birthday of all of his wooden crafts. I was so very, very lucky to spend the summer in his house, the house where my mother grew up. I wish I had thought to tape his stories this summer, about the store, books he'd read, going to St. Dunstan's before it become UPEI, but at least I got to be around to hear them. I've been meaning to write them an email all week. Dammit, why didn't I?

So many plans- checking flights home next week, thinking of cancelling plans this weekend if I do go Saturday, going through photos, what I have to get done here before I leave...and then I think about it again and he's gone. And there are more tears. What do I say to my mom?

Asking

2008-11-04T20:20:00.003-05:00

Sooo, last week I may have caused some undue stress for a few loved ones after writing about my lonely, single state. I guess I should have dated that entry- I wrote it a year and a half ago, and while I was in a better frame of mind the evening I posted, I still often identify with those sentiments as a single girl in a new city.

At the same time, since writing that piece, and as most of your probably know, I have moved out of my family home, lived in my first and second apartments, had varying degrees of success with roommates, returned to PEI for a summer in the house my mother grew up in, and even had a short stint as a soccer mom in Toronto. From family life, to single life, to being in charge (for 10 days) of a family, it's been all been very, very interesting.

There are things that I appreciate out of each of these living situations. I enjoy having meals cooked for me, people to watch TV with and visitors to my room to distract me from school work with stories about high school; but sometimes it's also nice to be able to sleep in for hours without interruptions, and enjoy a supper of chips and cheese with a roommate who has even worse eating habits than I do. And then there are the future perks of doing laundry in my own house, enjoying cuddles before bedtime stories and having the pride that comes with making breakfast pancakes in the kitchen where I am head chef.

I'm curious what we appreciate about being in either situation- in a relationship or single. And before I release my own thoughts on the topics, I'd like to hear what your ideas are because both are states that we should appreciate while we're in them. And while you share, I’ll keep working on my current situation and figure out what I'll be willing to move into the next one for.

Tim Horton would not be pleased

2008-11-03T14:51:00.007-05:00

The other evening the bus was pretty packed, making it difficult for people to maneuver through the aisle when getting on and off. In the kerfuffle of one exit, I lost my balance and almost squished some guy's donuts. Donuts is not a euphemism.

Sometimes I hate taking public transit. And other times, I find it rather hilarious.

2008-10-29T23:44:00.002-04:00

Over dessert one evening last summer a friend commented that this was the first time he had his final course all to himself. Being in a relationship, he was used to ordering his raspberry tart or pie à la mode with two forks. I nodded in understanding, and he suggested that this was one upside to being single. As he gobbled down his single serving brownie, he admitted that he doesn’t not miss being single…that being in a relationship does not make him any happier than perhaps when he was single. Being able to travel on a whim, having the bed to himself, choosing whichever movie he wanted to see, having time to spend with friends…these are all things we agreed that were missed while in a relationship.

But sitting here alone on a weekday evening, practically bursting with news that is important to me, I have no one to call. Parents, friend, roommate...I can wait until tomorrow to tell all of them. I don’t have that one person that I can go running to with this news, who deserves to hear this. Right now, it’s me alone.I’ve had enough low, doubting moments this last year that I just needed someone to know to give me a hug, and then to leave me alone. I needed someone who knew me well enough that we would drive each other crazy being in each others way- but stay up late into the night talking, if one of us needed to. I just need a “person” to count on right now, and I don’t have that. I want it, but it looks like it will be another evening where I go it alone. I mind it, a lot, but I hope that I’ll be a stronger person for these moments of personal loneliness and doubt and all of the firsts that I have to go through by myself.

Stressed is Desserts Backwards

2008-10-28T21:42:00.009-04:00

I'm eating chips for supper again. Second time in about a week. I bought a dozen mini cinnamon rolls at the market on Sunday for this week's dessert; there were gone by last night. When I don't have any junkfood in the house (usually because I've polished it off the night before) I am reduced to making icing. Yes, seriously: margarine, icing sugar, milk and my craving for sweets is usually filled. Now I'm just left waiting for the sugar crash.

Maybe it's the weather. It's getting cold and when I want warm comfort food, (like white breads and pastries, wonderful empty carbs) the last thing I want to do is bite into a cold apple.

I swear, my now-regular gym visits have nothing to do with being healthy- I just need them to counteract my poor eating habits. There's no point in counting carbohydrates or calories. I don't want to know.

Can any of you adults with real jobs and/or families tell me at what point in your life you actually start eating healthily? It is when you are responsible for not only your meals but others as well? When meals are actually eaten at dinner table instead of in your office for both lunch and dinner? When dinning is first on your list and not secondary to finishing reading or papers?

Food and I need to have a little chat again soon. I'll promise to eat more greens if it will make vegetables taste better. Warm, comforting thoughts, carrots.

I'm only auditing

2008-10-21T09:12:00.005-04:00

Since it wasn't offered last year when I was completing the courses for my degree, I decided to audit the department's theory class this term.

Auditing means my thesis works take priority over course work. It means I'm not writing the response papers or the final term paper. It means I leave class early to be a sub TA in another 1A03. It means I skim our 500 page ethnography, or leave my reading until the day before and realize that there is no way I can read 100 pages of Derrida the evening before our seminar.

However, somehow I got assigned to present this week's readings, so I knew I should have been a little more prepared. And like always, Sunday evening rolled around and I still wasn't finished this week's ethnography, nor our third article. Worried about a cold, I stayed home from school Monday to work on it, wondering all the while if it would be bad student behaviour to call in sick Tuesday morning.

But yesterday, I wasn't the only one worried about the fall flu- by mid-afternoon there was an email from our professor cancelling Tuesday's class because of her own illness and combining this week's readings with next week's. So not only am I now off the hook for this morning, I am also sharing the presentation load next week.

It was like being given extra hours in my day. I celebrated with a trip into school, a visit to the gym, and further attempts at vegan baking.

Sometimes karma can be a bitch, but sometimes it looks out for the auditors.

Shoe Country

2008-10-16T22:41:00.012-04:00

I bought a new pair of shoes today.

In exchange, I threw two old pairs out.

In a backwards/Bunny Hop sort of way, I really am cleaning out my closet.

Live Blogging Debate Night in America #3

2008-10-15T21:45:00.005-04:00

9:40 John McCain just called Palin a "role model for women". I'm not even going to comment on it, I'm just pointing it out.

9:44 Please see here for a smarter response to McCain's comments about Palin's planned parenthood choices. I'm just too sickened to discuss the "a" word.

But just so you think I'm not a totally pissed of female: Where can I get a Joe Plumber t-shirt? I'm working on my Presidential election night drinking game, but I think that would cap things off.

Election Night

2008-10-15T00:01:00.002-04:00

It's election time on both sides of the border and I love it. My roommate is American so we've been discussing the American election since August, but I was actually "living" in this important riding when the Canadian election was called, and got to see the NDP incumbent in action. Then, we hosted a housewarming party the night of the first American presidential debate and the party degraded into a heated political discussion, since it was a group of social scientists from across the country. Two weeks ago I had to do some strategic Thursday night TV watching- I had made sure to be around for the Canadian French debate on Wednesday and then flipped back and forth between the Palin-Biden showdown and the English Canadian free-for-all.

Yes, it's true; I'm hardcore enough that I've actually switched machines at the gym to watch the TV that's playing Newsworld or CNN. I have had spirited debates in the hall, in my office, and even at the kitchen table (seriously) about everything from defending Canada's electoral system and strategic voting to my (founded) worries about the riding of Central Nova voting for the environment.

So, what impact do tonight's results have on my action tomorrow?

Honestly, not a lot. At least this year I won't be ill when I check the outcome in Alberta (seriously, my province of birth, now totally blue, almost made me cry that winter morning in 2006). I'll probably hear from my family at home about the excitement around the tight race up West. I may be comforted knowing that now PEI isn't entirely shut out of the Cabinet- and a female position at that (sorry, but Harper wasn't known for his equal representation of women in power). (Sidenote: did anyone else my age recognize the Green candidate in Egmont?!) I'm a graduate student without any real investments or job prospects so the economy wasn't my first worry. I'm disappointed that the Green Shift didn't take hold, but Layton just wasn't an option, and May wasn't even on the board. But she was in the debate. Small steps...

So what now? Maybe I'll finally think about becoming a card carrying Liberal so I can help choose the (hopefully) next Prime Minister. Or just join one of the parties left of the Liberals and start promoting amalgamation- seriously, it's that vote splitting that's keeping the Conservatives in power. Maybe try and figure out why Bill C-16 didn't keep this election from happening in 2009.

Or perhaps I'll just start counting down until November 4th. The Tuesday Ticket is quickly becoming my favourite night of the week.

2008-10-14T23:26:00.005-04:00

Live-blogging the vote:

7:30 It helps to have family and friends in the East- the polls are open for another hour and a half here and I already know that Danny William's ABC plan is working in NFLD...let's see how the environmental vote turns out in the rest of Canada.

8:00 Our Election Party location has some plumbing problems so we're moving the party- to our place. And I haven't bought groceries in a week. Emergency trip to Fortinos.

9:00 Way to go, NFLD, blocking the Tories. Now, if only the rest of the Maritimes keep ou the blue.

9:05 So...only three ridings from PEI are showing up, three familiar Liberal names. Is former Conservative MLA Gail Shea going to cause an upset?

9:10 Now the Ontario ridings are showing up...and it's not looking good.

9:20 Oh, we're checking in on the Quebec ridings with our favourite investigative journalis, Wendy Mesley. Forget the results: now we wonder how relations are between Ms. Mesley and Peter Mansbridge. Their marriage only lasted 3 years (thank you, wikipedia) but didn't he leave her for a well-known Canadian actress? And isn't she his preferred replacement on the National? Do you think they see each other socially?(Also: did you know that Mansbridge is 60 years old? How did we miss that birthday?)

9:30 905 ridings, that's us! But WTF does CBC mean by labeling a riding "ethnic"? Do they mean it has a high number of immigrants? Why not give the same label to Parkdale-High Park with their strong Ukranian roots? Or Hamilton East with a large majority of voters originally from Poland? Do they mean that many of the members are part of a visible minority? What does that mean in some ridings in BC and Nova Scotia where those people of "ethnic" origin have been here longer than my Scottish ancestors? And do they actually think that "ethnics" vote the same why? Why not slap the term "male" onto a riding and see how ridiculous that sounds?

9:45 We're getting a little bit antsy now. The red lead at the top of the scoreboard has slowly declined...now it's topped by the blue. I feel like we're watching the House Points in Harry Potter...and he-who-must-not-be-named is winning. And we haven't even begun to see the results from Alberta.

10:00 Welcome BC! And goodbye Katie-Sue, the one partygoer who made the move to our place, bearing vegan cookies!

10:05 We are missing a few things on the CBC election results: when reporting preliminary results, don't forget to give us the number of polls in, out of the final number in the riding. We'd really like to know if the Marxist-Leninist candidate actually has a chance, or if it was just the poll from the local university. And for those of us not from this country, please include the province with each of the riding names. Even some Canadian natives might have trouble placing the electoral districts of Esquimalt–Juan de Fuca, Ahuntsic, Richmond–Arthabaska, Nipissing–Timiskaming, Madawaska–Restigouche and Elmwood–Transcona East to West.

10:15 And what is with not giving us any update on the Montreal Riding of Papineau? We saw too many Ontario riding multiple times before the lovely face of Justin Trudeau was flashed up on the screen.

10:30 M&Ms, Nibs, chips, and vegan pumpkin cookies DO NOT mix well in my tummy. Must remember to break out the carrot sticks and hummis for the vote down south.

12:01 Jack Layton is talking about the kitchen table again. Seriously, it's time to turn this off.

Blue

2008-10-13T02:54:00.009-04:00

It was in the midst of my first, real, home improvement-type project, (somewhere around the second coat) that I realized that my inspiration came not from our visit to Hamilton's garment district, or from the roadside treasure on a Toronto garbage day in, nor from one of the perhaps crudest but truly simplest and brilliant sitcom lines, or even from some deeply buried bohemian longing...
No. I'm working out a lesson here. From some of the most iconic images in our world...
...I honour the hard work that went into the creation.

2008-10-09T22:43:00.004-04:00

The quick stops on this evening's Westbound bus route were made even more treacherous by a newspaper spread on the floor by the back door. A few stops before he got off, a student nonchalantly bent down and gathered them all up. Without looking at anyone, he got off and deposited them in the garbage can next to the bus shelter.

I didn't say it then, but I want to now.

Thank you.

2008-10-08T15:54:00.005-04:00

"Protect your time, protect your time, protect your time."

This is what my MA advisor said to me at the beginning of September. And somehow I now have 5 meetings in the next 10 days, two exciting social evenings (ghost walk and election night!), one trip to London for Thanksgiving, and I also volunteered to invigilate an exam for a classmate who is heading home next week. How did I lose track of my thesis time?

Oh, right. Coming up with workshop ideas and preparing pedagogy is just so much fun. Plus, I'll get a free t-shirt for volunteering at the conference, right? Why am I not an M.Ed student? This would look so much better on that resume.....

Taussig Truth

2008-10-06T23:03:00.005-04:00

I just figured out what Michael Taussig means by his use of Walter Benjamin's "montage".

It's in these "alterations, cracks, displacements, and swerves all evening long-the sudden interruptions, always interruptions to what at first appears the order of a ritual nd then later on takes on a little more of an excuse of order, and then dissolves in a battering of wave after wave of interruptedness into illusory order, mocked order, colonial order in the looking glass. Interruptions for shitting, for vomiting, for a cloth to wipe one's face, for going to the kitchen to gather matches for burning cigarettes, for getting shots of magical absinthe from where nobody can remember where they were put, for whispering a fear, for telling and retelling a joke (especially for that), for stopping the song mid-flight...and in the cracks and swerves a universe opens up" that he understands (dis)order, sees his montage and pulls the dialectic image that he will use to blast open history.

Really, it's just a Box Office party.

2008-09-29T09:11:00.005-04:00

I just booked my flight home for Christmas.

No, I'm not half as lonely or stressed as I was this time last year (although I could really go without having to read 100 pages of Derrida today, on top of finding time to deal with the continued incompetency of Bell mobile), but it was a good sale for Air Canada. And I needed a little boost this morning. After setting my alarm for 7am, I crawled out of bed at 8:56. There is a correlation between my increasing workload and the amount of time I press the snooze button. Oh, I'm still excited about my thesis, but it's a lot of the extra stuff - the course I'm auditing, TA midterm chaos and covering for someone else tomorrow, revising past presentations for symposium collections, health insurance paperwork - that send me back to bed, or just don't allow me to get up in the morning.

It's time to get over that. I need to power through my morning routine, organize meals for the day, or commit to working from home this morning, but I need to get something done so I can bask in the glow of productivity, instead of huddling under the raincloud of guilt that just seems to grow and grow each time I get behind on my To Do list. I need to prioritize. I need to get things done. And plan a weekend reward or two to keep my moving.

First though, I need some coffee.

2008-09-27T00:28:00.002-04:00

For the second time this week, I’m not going to bring it up. I’m not going to cause drama, fuel any gossip, or make a big ‘thing’ out of something that will only make things bigger for the ones involved: the ones who do it for the attention and ensuing drama.

I decided that this year, I’m not going to be the ‘shrinking wallflower’, or practice the kind of attitude that kept me back too long last fall, and a bit this summer. I am going to find my centre in ME, and take charge, be brave, try new things, act out, question, challenge…and in this case, keep it to myself. This is something new for me, and something grown up and all part of my commitment to rely on myself. I’m not checking with others for support that I’m right. I’m not commiserating with friends about being left out of some dubious plan. I’m not even going to tell you anymore about this silly little episode; the five minutes that I spent feeling hurt and disappointed were too long to spend on it anyway.

I’m going to go to bed knowing I solved this problem myself - by not making it into one for others. I know who I am this evening, without requiring the validation of those interested mostly in themselves.

Young at Heart

2008-09-16T00:08:00.005-04:00

I celebrated my first official night of my return to graduate student life at a bar, listening to some rather horrible angsty singers, and then this gem: Peter Katz

My own bed tonight, no lunches and snacks to pack, or cross-country running and agendas to think about tomorrow. Uninterrupted showers, walks at my own fast pace, and only my clothes and hair to worry about in the morning. (Mostly) Guilt-free gym trips and late arrivals, and a return to selfish, not selfless, daily choices.

But for all of the complaining I did about bland children food this week, I had Cheerios for supper tonight. And I missed bedtime stories, and sharing supper moments and spontaneous kitchen dance parties.

I've got a date with Foucault at 6:30am. Yeah, we're almost back to normal.

Rockabye Hamlet

2008-09-04T06:20:00.004-04:00

Why can’t I sleep? This is the third night in a row that I’ve gone to bed late, woken up in the middle of the night and then been wide awake much, much earlier than I set my alarm clock. I’m a good sleeper-in fact, I need my sleep- so why is this happening?

Maybe it’s because I finally joined the gym and have been really pushing myself in my workouts? I covered twice my normal distance on the trail when I had a running buddy.
So shouldn’t I be exhausted instead of wide awake? Is all of that promised workout energy actually a detriment to me? (Although somehow I know this clarity of mind and body will be non-existent around about 3pm today so that can’t be it…)

Maybe it’s because I’m back into school and suddenly I have a To Do list as long as my arm, and have had a few “day of” things to be jittery over. Yesterday it was the welcome potluck- that was a huge success, yay us party planners!- and today I’ve got my first real thesis meeting with my supervisor. It’s only the second time I’ve seen her since I came back from fieldwork, first time we’ll actually sit down to catch up, check in and start planning the next hellish year of my life. No pressure really. But I think maybe I should plan a meeting agenda?

Maybe it’s the heat. I heard that it was rainy and chilly all summer in Southern Ontario, which I can handle. But the sweltering, oppressive humid heat that they’re famous for arrived just in time for Labour Day this year. Damn. And I had just thought it was safe to get my duvet out…

Or maybe it’s the change in diet. I can tell you I probably ate my weight in new potatoes this summer…and haven’t touched one since. My grandparents have meat with almost every meal and I ate with them all summer. Now, I think I’ve cooked with it twice since I’ve been back. I wonder…

And maybe I should just stop asking questions and use this time to get my things in order for today, and probably tomorrow, and make good use of my French Press and gym time this afternoon. I’m a graduate student. I’m sure by next week when I have to get something read for a class, I’ll be nodding off just fine before bed.

Office Space

2008-09-02T08:13:00.006-04:00

On my flight from Ottawa to Hamilton a few weeks ago (if you haven't heard about THAT flying adventure, it's another good one. I hate Air Canada. And electrical storms), I ended up sitting next to a federal government employee from Saskatchewan. A regular commuter to the capital city, he told me about the good use he made of his work office in order to house some regular living stuff for his overnights in hotels. A certain frying pan, a change of clothes, and toiletries made up his office stash. And, like any good federal employee, he flouted the "no-liquor in the workplace rule" by storing a pint of whiskey in his desk.

I'm back at school full-time this week and am also considering what should be kept in my desk, since I spend almost as much (and sometimes more) time there than I do in my own home. It's not so much a matter of commuting in my case, as setting up camp and calling it "home" for the duration of my MA.

Currently in my filing drawer, along with all of the pens, paper and desk supplies that one actually needs in an office:
- Two mugs (one for coffee, the other for soups, cereal, or just for storing my toothbrush and plastic utensils.)
-Toothbrush and toothpaste.
-Plastic spoon and fork. Their flat edges become a knife.
-French press.
- Plastic tupperware lid that doubles as a plate

In my pack, on the way to school:
-Rice cakes and a small tub of peanut butter. Perfect late night snack.
-Granola. Can be eaten from the second mug, with milk from the Student Store, open all hours.
-Tea and coffee.
-The two meals that I'll eat today, plus healthy snacks.
-My wallet, for when I'm craving sugar and the healthy snacks just don't do it for me.
-Shower stuff for the gym, extra pair of socks for the gym, and sneakers and gym clothes to be rotated home during the week...

I also keep two sweaters hanging on the back of the door for warmth (one doubles as a blanket...although the chairs in our new office have arms, making it less easy to push them together for a nap...).

Now, I just need to decide what liquor I'll add in there and we'd be all set...

Tales from the Field: Almost the end

2008-08-13T19:49:00.004-04:00

Grampy: What time are you leaving tomorrow?
Me: 8:30am
Grampy: And are you packed yet?
Me: Not quite...

Even if he's getting on in years, and sometimes has trouble hearing, he can still chastise me with a simple question. Patriarch of the Macdonald clan, indeed.

Tales from the Field: Day 71

2008-08-07T15:07:00.004-04:00

Almost three months living out of my suitcase and I've discovered the third thing in 24 hours that I've left somewhere else. This is what happens when trying to run a research project from three different locations: things get left behind. Maybe it's the never-ending list-checking, or the pressure of advance planning before I get to the next spot, or the frustration of not having my book/pyjamas/air mattress when I need it. Maybe it's not actually having a set space to work/sleep/store my clothes or having to be organized enough to move myself and all of the above on a regular basis. Maybe it's just fatigue. But I think Gahssan Hage was right to whine about multi-sited fieldwork. It's not innovative research. It's confusion.

Tales from the field: Day 49

2008-07-16T10:55:00.003-04:00

I'm having visitors tomorrow! Two fellow graduate students are taking their day off to come and play tourist with me. I've got the Visitor's Guide open in front of me and am trying to figure out how to narrow our choices down from historical sites, lighthouses, a spa, a winery and distillery, beaches, and restaurants galore. Perhaps we'll need more than one day...

After working with tourists for six summers, it's great to finally be one on PEI. My cousins from away knew more attractions than I did! Only now, while I'm driving all over the Eastern end of the Island, am I finally able to match names with places on the map, as I figure out where Dundas, Albion Cross, Little Pond and even Johnny Belinda Creek are in relation to each other. I still giggle every time I drive by the Old Cheese Factory Road.

Who wants to join me for the Rollo Bay Fiddle Festival this weekend?