Deja Vu

So BFP's blog is gone.

Quite selfishly, I am so pissed. But I think I understand her need to leave. Still, the way it's all unfolding...

Emily's comment at Hugo Schwyzer's made me think. The comment:

I don’t know the ins and outs of this one (yet), but you [Hugo] seem pretty damn quick to defend these white women against criticism from women of color every time the issue comes up.

My thoughts:

Do you remember Sophia in The Color Purple? Remember how she was all proud and had that beautiful strong stride and that seemingly unshakeable confidence? Remember how she wasn't scared to fight but she declared to Miss Celie that her home, her safe place would not be a place in which she had to fight to live and speak and think?

And remember how she did such a good job tending that safe place, loving and nurturing, that it showed in the fruits of her labor (her children)? Remember how Miss Millie wanted to co-opt that loving and nurturing and caretaking, but in a way that would subjugate Sophia and for which Miss Millie would get the credit?

And you remember Sophia's outrage when she said, "Hell, naw," that mess would not be going on?! Remember how offended Miss Millie was--at Sophia's nerve in calling out that bullshit?

But, almost like magic, before Miss Millie could respond in-depth, the mayor stepped in to put Sophia "back in her place" and defend Miss Millie's dishonor?

And for a while, Sophia disappeared* and we missed her, her vibrance and courage and voice?

But while Sophia was feeling tired and overwhelmed, her girl (Miss Celie) had her back.

And you know the best part of Sophia's storyline? When Miss Celie was asserting herself and declaring the validity, the importance, the reality of her life and experiences, Sophia was there to back her up,** to encourage her, to share her experience, to love her.

Sophia came back. Being knocked down for a minute only made her stronger. Despite all the bullshit, Sophia came back strong and assertive and laughing and sure of her place.

That gives me hope.
_________________________________________
*Sophia was, for a time, silenced, and that can't happen with BFP. BFP, I say that you cannot be silenced, because do you know how many of us are influenced and encouraged by you? I hope, while you're sitting back soaking your feet and reading that book, you realize how much you are loved, loved, loved and appreciated.

**I know there are a million more links for other women who've been supported and encouraged by BFP. Hell, this is only one of many of mine.

About me

When, Elle asked me to write and/or submit for her blog I got nervous. I don't know why exactly, but I did. I'm not the eloquent writer that she is. My occupation couldn't be further from academia. But she's gently nudged me for a long time now. I'm known to send her countless articles on politics, current events, etc. She'd always persist I should be sharing them on her blog. I finally agreed, but then I thought maybe I should introduce myself, and proceeded to procrastinate about that for the nexts 3 or 4 weeks. Hell, Elle is probably having a heart attack right now as she realizes I'm actually writing!

So, who am I? Hmmmm.....I'm not sure what defines "me" really. I can say that my perspective/upbringing is quite different from Elle's. I'm a biracial/bicultural military brat with a German mother (German national, not German-American) and Black father, a caucasian brother (BROTHER, not half brother - I hate it when people try to diminish our bond - we both came out of my mother's womb), and another brother like me. I spent most of my childhood in Italy and Germany attending American schools that were full of every variety of race/culture mix you can think of. I moved to small town central Texas as a freshman in highschool and immediately suffered a huge culture shock. People made such a big deal about the states (they called it "the world"), and, I thought, THIS was it????

I've reluctantly entered my 30s (somewhat recently, though I won't tell HOW recently). Elle and I were college roomies with exactly the same major and minor and we took the same classes. It's crazy to see how different our career choices became. She's Dr. Elle, historian extraordinaire, and I'm Kimberly, the executive-lite at a small corporation in a job that couldn't be further away from academia. Yet I'm still a "nerd" who can regurgitate odd facts, who follows politics closely, who can name most countries on a map, and who is fascinated (though not an expert) by history, sociology, and psychology.

Growing up on military bases, my racial identity and the makeup of my family was never really a big deal. We always had people do double takes when people realized my brothers and I were in-fact brothers and sister....but beyond that, we weren't too far from the norm. Mixed race kids were a pretty decent sized percentage of the kids that went to school. We weren't "different".
When I moved to Texas and started high-school, I began to feel as if I was supposed to identify myself as something. That was the first time I'd seen Black and White so separated. But even then, mixed race kids were the furthest thing from uncommon. When I went to college in Houston, was when I really saw a division. For the first time in my life, I couldn't really name any white friends. That was odd to me. And that was the first time in my life that I found myself included in the division that exists.

Out of college and into wifedom and mommyhood, I've expanded my friendship across many cultures. I may even have a Republican friend or two. But my views are quite liberal (and CORRECT of-course). I believe in Jesus, but have serious issues with organized religion that has kept me away from church for years up until recently.

I have 2 little boys who light up my life and a husband who's, well, a husband. Elle and I were very close in college and she continues to be someone I think of as a sister. I'm extremely proud of her and in awe of all she's been able to overcome and accomplish.

I'm not sure WHAT I'll be contributing, but I'm honored to be asked. So........................HI!

(forgive typos and grammaticals.....I've been jumping between this and real work!)

The Greatest Silence

Thank you to Professor Black Woman and an Anxious Black Woman, who both posted about the premiere of The Greatest Silence on HBO tonight. From the website:

Since 1998 a brutal war has been raging in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). Over 4 million people have died. And there are the uncountable casualties: the many tens of thousands of women and girls who have been systematically kidnapped, raped, mutilated and tortured by soldiers from both foreign militias and the Congolese army.

The world knows nothing of these women. Their stories have never been told. They suffer and die in silence. In The Greatest Silence: Rape in the Congo these brave women finally speak.

Before the last few years, I had never thought of rape as a weapon of war. I thought of it as something that invariably occurred during war, as part of a larger power struggle, but never as a systematic assault with consequences that affect so many.

I've learned a lot from BfP's posts, many of them archived in the nation/state violence category. Prof BW's analysis, I think, is embodied in her hope that this film:

covers the issues of rape and sexual violence as weapons of war in the Congo not as exceptional or part of a racialized narrative, which has been the way these issues have been presented to date, but rather as part of an increasingly astute understanding of how women’s bodies are part of the battleground in wars around the world. I am looking for this, not to erase the specificity of the violence in the Congo, which is a necessary part of any analysis, but rather to develop a language of addressing sexual violence that deals with its use as a tool of war throughout history and allows us to deal with the specific use against, and experience of, women in any given place.

Historiann talks a bit about the history Prof BW mentions here.

Here is the trailer for the film:



It premieres tonight at 9 PM my time, which is 10 Eastern.

Thank You, Angry Black Woman

So, a few weeks ago when Pat Buchanan stated that African Americans should thank God for being Americans and that "no people anywhere has done more to lift up blacks than white Americans," I was just too "Oh-my-God-is-he-for-real?" to speak. And I didn't even know where to begin.

You know who did know where to start? The Angry Black Woman. Her post, "Thank You, White People" is fierce.

Of course, it didn't take long for the trolls to appear in the comments. You know the spiel: "My ancestors never owned slaves and I refuse to feel guilty for something that happened eons ago." As Delux pointed out, "who needs to be upset about what your ancestors did, when what your contemporaries are up to is quite enough to handle now?" The absolute blindness--to the privileging of whiteness, for one--is astounding.

And now, a white supremacist website has linked to ABW as she is receiving hate e-mail and threats to the safety of the space she has carved out.

Please go over and show support.

H/T BFP

A Small-town Rant

Really, later on, I'm going to post about some of the positives of my move back home. In fact, this post will probably come down when I think about it and become embarrassed at splattering my feelings up here and entertaining some people's bullshit. For now, however, I am too pissed.

So my sister and I have heard, through the ever-busy local grapevine, that some local residents (primarily a member of our church) have "discovered" this blog and don't like my "position" on a number of issues. Apparently, my life is fodder for much discussion.

Really? Cuz you know one of the things my sister and I discuss? What we call late-in-life Christians. You know--the ones who raise "hell" for decades then, when they feel they've done it all, they "find" God (did you know He was ever lost?). I've been having considerable trouble with a couple of those since I've moved back. Last night, when I was even angrier than I am now, I sat in bed and wrote a three-page post, because, while this stuff usually rolls off my back, I am becoming increasingly weary of it. But scratch that. My position can be boiled down to a few phrases:

I am a grown-ass woman. I am not the quiet little girl who felt she needed to curry favor and please everyone years ago. If you don't like my politics, opinions, or beliefs--that's your issue. If you've made assumptions about what I believe or how I should act--that's your issue. I am 100% human, not the least bit interested in being perfect, not the least bit convinced that your way, your narrow interpretation, is the "only" way. It is not your job to send me to your concept of heaven or hell. And yes, I am very much my devout mother's daughter because her faith is one that emphasizes love, respect, and acceptance, not fear, judgment, and punishment.

And, really, though I'm honored to be on your mind, you're working my nerves.

Sneak Peek of "Still Black"

From nubian:

Save the dates
for the first time ever, official excerpts from still black: a portrait of black transmen will be presented to the public at the following venues:

april 9th @ 8:30 p.m. at the university of illinois urbana-champaign’s “reel queer film festival”

april 25th @ 8 p.m. at northwestern university’s queertopia!–$5 students/$10 general

april 26th @ the center on halsted (glbtq center) in chicago

the director (me) and producer will be in attendance at all of the events, two of which are free! for more information, email awilda@blackstarmedia.org

We Are the Champions...

Okay, I just like this picture for some reason. See all the stuff that we have yet to put together for the new baby in the background?

I Think I Should Be Rewarded for that Cake...

... I have to have this book. Yes, as in NEED.

Black women, alleged by affirmative-action supporters and opponents to be "twofers," recount how they have confronted racism, sexism, and homophobia on college campuses. They explore how the personal and the political intersect in historical research and writing and in the academy. Organized by the years the contributors earned their Ph.D.'s, these essays follow the black women who entered the field of history during and after the civil rights and black power movements, endured the turbulent 1970s, and opened up the field of black women's history in the 1980s. By comparing the experiences of older and younger generations, this collection makes visible the benefits and drawbacks of the institutionalization of African American and African American women's history. Telling Histories captures the voices of these pioneers, intimately and publicly.

Thanks so much to Kismet from whom I found this.

southern elle

Y'all, guess what I did? Made this Southern Red Velvet Cake (sans pecans) from scratch!!!!

Why am I so giddy? Because I love to cook, but I cannot bake.

So to make a cake.

From scratch.

I know my "presentation" isn't awesome, but this cake... c'est si bon. And it's prettier in person, trust me. :-p

Oh! I feel the way I did when I finally cooked a decent pot of collard greens.

The Promised Land

For Alexis

This clip always affects me.

Because I wonder what he saw that made him draw the comparisons between himself and Moses. Was he frightened? Had he made peace with the fact that he might be denied longevity?

And I wonder what he saw from that mountaintop. What was the promised land? Why was he so sure we'd make it?

And 40 years later, I am sure that the way I and so many others probably once understood the promised land--as something already existing that we just had to struggle to reach--is wrong. I don't think it already exists. I think it's up to us to shape and create.

Usually I always dream of the promised land in terms of "withouts"--you know, without racism and colorism, without sexism and the damned patriarchy, without homophobia, without ableism, without fundamentalism, without so many of the borders we draw, without the grind of poverty, without that feeling of being overwhelmed--by circumstances, sadness, life itself--without, without, without...

I can't list them all.

So, today, as I lie around, I'm going to think of the promised land "withs."

And no, I can't list all those either.

But at the base, I think, it has to be shaped...

With love.

Which might sound trite.

But if you've heard this woman and this woman talk about love, then you know it's not trite or a given at all.

It affirms.

It transforms.

It sustains.

It promises.

So, again, I'm not sure of what exactly our created promised land could look like, but I am always inspired by Alexis who wrote this for our sisters:

“wishful thinking” or “what i’m waiting to find in our email boxes”

1. you wake up each day
as new as anyone
there is no reason to assume
you would be supernaturally strong.
there is no reason to test your strength
through daily disrespect and neglect.
you don’t need to be strong.
everyone supports you.

2. if you say ouch
we believe that you are hurt.
we wait to hear how we can help
to mend your pain.

3. you have chosen to be at a school,
at a workplace, in a community
that knows that you are priceless
that would never sacrifice your spirit
that knows it needs your brilliance to be whole

4. your very skin
is sacred
and everything beyond it
is a miracle that we revere

5. we mourn any violence that
has ever been enacted against you.
we will do what it takes
to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.
to anyone.

6. when you speak
we listen.
we are so glad that you
are here, of all places.

7. other women
even strangers
reach out to you
when you seem afraid
and they stay
until peace comes

8. the sun
reminds everyone
how much they love you.

9. people are interested
in what you are wearing
simply
because it tells them
what paintings to make.

10. everyone has always told you
you can stay a child
until you are ready to move on

11. if you run across the street
naked at midnight
no one will think
you are asking
for anything.

12. you do so many things
because it feels good to move.
you have nothing to prove
to anyone.

13. white people cannot harm you.
they do not want to.
they do not do it by accident.

14. your smile makes people
glad to be alive

15. your body is not
a symbol of anything

16. everyone respects your work
and makes sure you are safe
while doing it

17. at any moment
you might relive
the joy of being embraced

18. no one will lie to you,
scream at you
or demand anything.

19. when you change your mind,
people will remember to change theirs.

20. your children are safe
no one will use them against you.

21. the university is a place where you
are reflected and embraced.
anyone who forgets how miraculous you are
need only open their eyes.

22. the universe conspires
to lift you
up.

23. on the news everynight
people who look like you and
the people you love
are applauded
for their contribution to society.

24. the place where knowledge is
has no walls.

25. you are rewarded for the work you do
to keep it all together.

26. every song i’ve
ever heard on the radio
is in praise
of you.

27. the way you speak
is exactly right
for wherever you happen
to be.

28. there is no continent anywhere
where life counts as nothing.

29. there is no innocence that needs your guilt
to prove it.

30. there is no house
in your neighborhood
where you still hear screams
every time you go
past.

31. no news camera waits
to amplify your pain.

32. nobody wonders
whether you will make it.
everybody believes in you

33. when you have a child
no one finds it tragic.
no map records it as an instance of blight.

34. no one hopes you will give up
on your neighborhood
so they can buy it up cheap.

35. everyone asks you your name.
no one calls you out of it.

36. someone is thinking highly of you
right now.

37. being around you
makes people want to be
their kindest, most generous selves.

38. there is no law anywhere
that depends on your silence.

39. nobody bases their privilege
on their ability to desecrate you.

40. everyone will believe anything you say
because they have been telling you the truth
all along.

41. school is a place, like every other place.
no one here is out to get you.

42. worldwide, girls who look like you
are known for having great ideas.

43. 3 in 3 women will fall in love with themselves
during their lifetime.

44. every minute in North Carolina
a woman embraces
another woman.

45. you know 8 people
who will help you move
to a new place
if you need to.

46. when you speak loudly
everyone is happy
because they wondered
what you were thinking about.

47. people give you gifts
and truly expect nothing
in return.

48. no one thinks you are
over-reacting.

49. everyone believes
that you should have all
the resources that you need,
because by being yourself
you make the world so much
brighter.

50. any creases on your face
are from laughter.

51. no one, anywhere, is locked in a cage.

52. you are completely used to knowing what you want.
following your dream is as easy as walking.

53. you are more than enough.

54. everyone is waiting
to see what great thing
you’ll do next.

55. every institution wants to know
what you think, so they can find out
what they should really be doing,
or shut down.

56. strangers send you love letters
thanking you
for speaking your mind.

57. you wake up
new
as anyone.

-Alexis Pauline Gumbs April 2007

SEARCH FOR TASHINA GENERAL

Via BA:

Having Read The Fine Print......: URGENT : SEARCH TASHINA GENERAL

Taken form the UBUNTU comment section


Today I'm reaching out to everyone I can thing of to tell
you all that Tashina General, a Mohawk woman from the Six Nations
Reserve near Brantford, Ontario, has gone missing.

She is five months pregnant, and she has been missing for
almost three weeks.

Tashina is the cousin of some family frineds of ours;
they are frantic. Because she is a Native woman, there is not much
press coverage of her disappearance.

There are over 500 missing and murdered aboriginal women
in Canada; the violence Native Canadian women face is connected to the
violence indigenous women are facing in Guatemala and in El Salvador
and along the US Mexico border in the Juarez region.

In your piece, you spoke about the "rapeability", to use
Andrea Smith's word, of black women. Native American and First
Nations women, too, are considered somehow especially or inherently
"rapeable".

We all and up frozen inside our own communites, or even
limited to our own homes, or to a room in that home, and some of us at
times go without any sort of home at all, trying to keep our back pack
close to us, as it has now become our only safe space in the world. we
need to reach out to each other.

The white women who go on to date or marry those young,
privileged white men will likely rue the day they thought that somehow
their men would hurt "that other sort" of woman and not them-- the
reality is that all of us are considered "rapeable", and there is no
"other sort" of woman.

Our lack of solidarity as women is killing us.

Please keep Tashina in your prayers, and if you'd like
to know more about Tashina and the other missing women, please google
NWAC, the Native Women's Association of Canada.

Another Reason I'm Loving My Post-45 Class Right Now

Now that it's been a little while since we've bid President Kennedy a bittersweet adieu in this class, I can present them with these quotes:

Over the years, I’ve been deeply moved by the people who’ve told me they wished they could feel inspired and hopeful about America the way people did when my father was president. This sense is even more profound today. That is why I am supporting a presidential candidate in the Democratic primaries, Barack Obama.

...

I have never had a president who inspired me the way people tell me that my father inspired them. But for the first time, I believe I have found the man who could be that president — not just for me, but for a new generation of Americans.
-Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg

And these similar images:



And briefly parse and discuss.

They're going to get the similarities and the spirit behind Caroline Kennedy-Schlossberg's quotes immediately. But I want them to think about what we've discussed about the Kennedy legacy versus the Kennedy legend and re-evaluate the comparison and what it might mean to and for Senator Obama. There are some other ways I want to go with this, too, but I have to work out all my questions for next week.

Connections. Relevancy. A history teacher's dream!

Sleepy as elle!!!!

Bed at 4:10 a.m.

Rose at 6:13 a.m.

Class at 8:00 a.m.

Why, elle, why?

Letting Him Grow Up

So my son fancies himself a skateboarding rock-star. A free-styling, pop-music loving, skateboarding rock-star, but a skateboarding rock-star nonetheless. So, over the last few months, we've been exploring the joys of Journey's Kidz and Rue 21. Now, truthfully, as a mama, in the back of my brain, I wonder if I should be letting my nine-and-three-quarter-year-old (please don't forget the 3/4!) walk around in shirts with skulls and such. But I try to encourage him to be his own person, so I've relented. He likes his pants loose-fitting, but narrower in the leg than I do. I've relented. He likes big belt buckles and pocket chains. I don't mind those at all. I even recognize brands like "Famous," "Etnies," "Adio," and "Vans." And for the most part, I like his sense of style.

Now, there are things mama has had to put her foot down about. There's a Bob Marley shirt at Journey's that we both love, but he wanted a belt buckle to match. I'd almost bought one with Marley's image on it, 'til I realized the little greenery outlining the buckle was probably not kid appropriate. He decided one day that he wanted his nails polished black and proceeded to do so with a pen. I relied on the old, "You'll poison yourself!" standby. He wore a shirt to church one Sunday with a big ol' hundred dollar bill across the front with Ben Franklin looking menacing. He got a lecture and that shirt revoked. He wants more fitted baseball caps. Those things are almost $40 and I just can't indulge in that!

So, over the last few days, he's been walking around with a backpack on, and a towel around his neck, tucked into his shirt. I couldn't figure that one out. Finally, Coti told me, "It's supposed to be a scarf like some skateboarders wear." I still didn't get it. Then she showed me an image on TV that was similar to this:And I am thinking this is a put-your-foot-down-mama moment again. I mean, I understand his need to follow his style sense :-) but I don't want him walking around looking like an homage to the hold-up gangs of yesteryear.

What do you think? And mama and daddy readers, how far do you let your kids go in choosing their own clothing/styles/etc.?

Well, I'll Be an April Fool

H/T Melissa

I have a confession to make. One that might "surprise" black people everywhere.

I cannot play basketball.

Cannot even dribble (my mom used to say, "elle, stop patting the ball!").

And this is serious.

Cause basketball playing, it "translates racially." So I am left unable to converse with my basketball-playing brothers and sisters about issues and stuff.

And there is one less way that Senator Barack Obama can court my vote.

You see, Sen. Obama is "very good" at basketball. And as it has been deemed--during a conversation among Chris Matthews, Howard Fineman, and Michelle Bernard-- that that is one way he can reach black voters (I guess that's what a racial translation is), I am feeling quite left out of his possible rhetoric.

Now, to get very ethnic (wherein "ethnic" is loosely synonymous to "racist") apparently no one is surprised that Sen. Obama is good at basketball. It must be coded into those pesky "black" genes.

Where does that leave a black woman who can't play?

And putting aside my selfishness for a minute, where does this ability to play basketball leave Obama? I mean, on the one hand, this basketball thing could lay to rest permanently the questions over his "blackness."

But does this, perchance, mean he's too black for "regular" voters? (wherein "regular" is loosely synonymous to "white"--the color of "regular" people--let me borrow a sentence to illustrate:

Here's a guy trying to break into the white ethnic voting crowd, so he goes and plays a sport most associated, I think, with regular folks in the big cities and small towns.

That sport is bowling, and it is verifiably a sport for white people (wherein "verifiably" means verified by Howard Fineman, whose expertise is unquestionable seeing as how it's based on the fact that he's white and all).

So Sen. Obama is mysteriously failing to racially translate his basketball playing to reach black people and unable to bowl and reach white people. Then he's compounding the problem by having a non-macho, "dainty" bowling stance--I just know that's cueing red flags for some people!

Effective immediately, I am demanding that Sen. Obama move away from the issues he believes important to work on his bowling game. Nevermind any recent "controversy;" it's his less than stellar bowling that's "just killing him."

So much so that Howard Fineman felt the need to say it three times.

I'm. Just. Through.

No, wait, I had another though. It's okay for him to use basketball to translate racially, but if he engages in any "racial translation" on serious issues within black communities, he's going to be labeled as "concerned only about black people?"

Now I'm done.

Wait, on the other hand, maybe by racially translate, he meant across color lines? Meaning Obama can appeal to white voters not as a politician or even a future president, but as a "good" basketball player, an entertainer. Some people would be infinitely more comfortable (infinitely less threatened?) seeing him in that light. I'm making myself more disgusted so really, I'll stop.

From Media Matters:

FINEMAN: He definitely needs some bowling lessons... if you can't do something like that, you shouldn't do it. He should have stuck to shooting hoops --

MATTHEWS: Yeah, I know.

FINEMAN: -- which he's very, very good at, by the way, and which translates racially, too, especially during the NCAA basketball tournament. Don't do something you've never tried before in front of a national television audience, OK?

MATTHEWS: You know, Michelle -- and this gets very ethnic, but the fact that he's good at basketball doesn't surprise anybody, but the fact that he's that terrible at bowling does make you wonder --

FINEMAN: That doesn't surprise anybody either.

BERNARD: Well, it certainly doesn't surprise anybody black, I can tell you that.

MATTHEWS: Is black a bowling --

FINEMAN: This is just killing him.

MATTHEWS: I don't know, I guess everybody bowls.

FINEMAN: This is just killing him.

MATTHEWS: I know.

FINEMAN: This is just killing him, Chris. Don't show this over and over again.

MATTHEWS: No, no, we're doing it again. This is a killer. Look at this killer. Because it isn't the most macho form there, I must say, but who knows?

I keep waiting for this to be an early April Fool's thing.

Sweet Suggestions?

So the ever-so-sweet Coti just brought me fresh strawberries. As in big, beautiful, out-of-someone's garden strawberries. I'm looking forward to eating them.

Thing is, I want to "do" something with them--I don't want to eat them plain. There's about a pint and, while I know how to make from-scratch strawberry shortcake, I don't want that (I'd need to buy more strawberries anyway).

Any suggestions?

I Heart My Post-45 Class

You know what finally got them super-chatty? Discussing the FBI, the CIA, United Fruit in Guatemala, Fidel Castro, etc. As a group, they lean left. They talked about how the American government is sometimes hypocritical and (get this) how United Fruit was like it's own "little colonial power" (one of my students' quote!). I could barely get in a word--or a question--edgewise.

They also liked discussing student movements in the 60s--no surprise there--especially SNCC and the SSOC. They had a big debate over SNCC's politics--particularly the expulsion of white members and the conflict between men and women. One of my students asked if I thought Stokely Carmichael's positions on the role of women and white involvement in the movement led to SNCC's demise.

So, in the last few weeks, I've finally gotten the participation I longed for.

There is No Joy in Mudville

I dropped my cellphone.

The one on which I receive e-mails, read blogs, and text message like crazy.

And it will not come back on.

How can a relatively expensive phone be so fragile?

**Sigh**

UNC-Chapel Hill: Obesity May Keep Some Women from Getting Screened for Breast, Cervical Cancer

From Newswise:

A review of cancer screening studies shows that white women who are obese are less likely than healthy weight women to get the recommended screenings for breast and cervical cancer, according to researchers at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill’s School of Public Health.

The trend was not seen as consistently among black women; however there were fewer high quality studies that examined black women separately.

Let's, for a moment, ignore the disappearing of women who are not black or white and the curious "healthy weight women" remark, shall we? Within this study, women who are labeled obese are less likely to get pap smears and mammograms. When asked why, Sarah S. Cohen, lead author of the article, replied, "Our review doesn’t tell us why larger women are not getting screened as frequently for these cancers. It only reveals the trend."

I'd like to offer a couple of suggestions. Maybe it's because doctors make us feel similar to the little things that crawl out when you turn a rock over? (Until you get the stern "Shame on you, fat girl, you might die tomorrow!" lecture, you haven't experienced a doctor's visit!). Maybe because we're taught to hate our bodies and the idea of getting naked in front of anyone is terrifying? Maybe, deep down, given the fact that we're taught fat is bad from, oh, say, the womb, we might believe being ill is our just due for being fat?

Zan says what so many of us feel here:

I hate seeing new doctors. There's always the hesitation, the worry -- is this doctor going to take me seriously? Is she going to believe me when I describe my symptoms? Or is she going to dismiss it all because I'm a fat girl? Is she going to try to sell me on weight loss as the cure-all for my ailments -- which she doesn't even believe exist anyway.

I went to doctors for four years before I was initially diagnosed with Fibromylgia, then with Lupus. They all told me, to the man (and funnily enough, they were all men), that I was just stressed and overweight. If I learned how to relax and lost some weight, why all my pain would just disappear!

And so, I have a great fear of being dismissed and reduced to my weight when I see a new doctor.

And a couple of years ago, I talked about my experiences:

My PCP in my late 20s was a brusque woman who was absolutely appalled by my "choice" to be fat. I went to her for over a year, feeling that I deserved her insults, hoping they would spur me to do something. Some of the most memorable:
(When having me stand and stretch) "Stand with your feet together. Well, as close as you can get them."
(When I went to her crying with back pain) "You should really consider getting your breast size reduced. If you lose weight. As far as the pain, I'm not going to treat the symptoms if you won't remedy the underlying cause."
(During a routine check-up) "Your knees and back are going to be gone in a decade.
(During a painful Pap smear) "I'm sorry, but I have to press harder and really search for (whatever the hell she was looking for) in a woman your size.

Only after talking to some friends, who looked at me as if I was crazy when I talked about my experiences, did I realize I didn't have to take that treatment, that maybe every complaint I had was not an outgrowth of my being big. I mean, I went to the ER after the back fiasco and found out I had pulled a muscle and I'd never had a painful Pap before. I could be hurt or sick in a way unrelated to my size. That was amazing.

The latest incident involved an ER visit with a seemingly nice doctor who apparently decided I was a moron:
"What's bothering you?"
"Abdomen and lower back hurt badly. Really bad nausea. My doctor can't see me til Wednesday."
"Does it hurt when press here? Here? Can you jump? Does that hurt? Can you bend? Does that hurt? Has it gotten any better? Are you sure it's your abdomen and back? Do you think you could be pregnant?"
I answered each question patiently. Then he asks:"Have you eaten?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because of the nausea."
"What about it?"
"If I eat, I'll throw up. If I throw up, I can't stop."
"Oh. Well, are you hungry?"
"Um, no."
"Okay. Would you like someone to bring you something to eat?"
"No!"
"Fine. Are you sure you're not just hungry? Have you eaten anything?"
Five minutes of this until he decides that, despite the fact that I'm fat, maybe, just maybe, I'm not currently interested in food. Eventual diagnosis: bladder infection.

So many times, for me, going to the doctor has been like getting every negative message ever aimed at me for being fat condensed (and sharpened) into a 15-minute block. It's overwhelming, shaming, draining.

And it's why I hate going to the doctor's.

Easter

Yesterday, in the church vestibule:

My cousin Taia, goddaughter Alani, friend Azaria, my son, his little brother, and my nephew

Alani, Taia, Azaria

The Kid, his brother, my nephew

Ms. Alani, all by herself

My nephew and his soon to be stepsisters, Mari and Z. They weren't excited, at all, about taking a picture

My Own Cute Overload

Part of my newfound blogging commitment is a promise to myself to TRY to post five days a week for a while. Today, I'm taking the easy cute way out. Here is my three-and-a-half month old great-niece.

And just in time for Easter, here are her bunny slippers.

And no you may not have any kisses cuz this auntie steals all her sugar!
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*Dang, dates on digital cameras don't automatically set themselves, huh?

Stop, Please, Just... STOP

H/T Melissa

I haven't commented much on the train-wreck mess that is the build up to the presidential election, but I just got home from hours in a newspaper morgue to read people talking about Obama's "typical white person" comment. That, on top of the fact that he's being painted as guilty by association with Rev. Jeremiah Wright, and the fact that I'm tired as hell, just has my head about to blow.

And I want to say, stop fronting.

My mother is always proud to tell her friends, "I love my children, but I don't uphold them when they're wrong." To her, that means she's not one of those parents who believes her children are infallible or that everything her kids do is justifiable and right. We fuck up. We say and do wrong things. And my mom will tell us. She still loves us, is still ultra-supportive, but she will say, "elle, now that's just not right."

And I respect her and admire her for that. So, for all the people alleging that Obama "threw his grandmother under the bus" because he said she

once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and... on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.

Stop that. He did not throw her under a damned bus. He did not disown her or say he doesn't love her. He refused to uphold her wrong.

And for all the people alleging that Obama must be racist because of Rev. Wright's comments and Michelle Obama's remark about only being recently proud of this country... Stop fronting. Please stop acting like you have no idea why some African Americans might be a bit critical of this country, why the rose-colored glasses don't quite fit many of us. And I won't discuss how being patriotic might not mean hiding behind blind, "my country is the greatest thing evar" nationalism, but actually wanting the people of your country to strive to be better, to be fair and just. When your country veers off that track, then some analysis and criticism might be in order. Not necessarily like Rev. Wright's...

Oh, which brings me to another point. Stop fronting like all your concern is over what Rev. Wright said and not the least bit about how he said it. It would seem that Rev. Wright ignores the continual admonishments, both overt and subtle, for people of color "to watch their tone," to seem unthreatening, to fade into the background.

For all the people holding on to Obama's "typical white person" comment as if it prize carrion and you are starved vultures... Stop fronting. You are not as much concerned with what that comment meant as you are:

1) glad to have an acceptable excuse for why you can't possibly vote for him (knowing damned well you weren't in the first place)

2) peeved (as I read over and over) that neither HRC nor McCain "could make that comment about a person of color."

In fact, you're so up in arms over point number two that you fail to realize that saying that reveals what kind of comment you'd like to make; that you do, indeed, have some notions about a "typical person of color." I mean Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton wouldn't be as upset as you predict if you said something positive about the "typical black person."

And though it seems Obama's comment has been taken out of context, even if he had been saying the typical white person has "racist issues"... Stop fronting. You haven't been spouting that "I'm colorblind" line so long that even you actually believe it now, have you? You don't believe that the vast majority of white Americans can have been born in a country founded, in part, on white supremacist ideology (ideology that has been reinforced, perpetuated, upheld, SUSTAINED!) and emerged into adulthood having neither benefited from nor internalized any of that?

Stop!

And oh my God, the sheer hypocrisy of some conservatives trying to exploit "racial gaffes?" Many of whom are part of a party that pretends their southern strategy, anti-immigrant stance, and use of "code words" have nothing to do with race?

Grrrr.

And the infighting? Preceding this announcement

I rode with African Americans, walked down the street past midnight in an area that wasn't near safe, with African Americans walking beside me and behind me. I'm a whitey white Scots-Irish broad and I was never afraid of an African American coming towards me, and never once crossed the street

with

Can you imagine if Hillary Clinton said someone was a "typical black person?"

sort of defeats your purpose. (Please see above).

On second look, invoking your working-class credentials as proof of inability to be racist isn't all that convincing either.

When Does College Life End?

No, for real. If you haven't noticed, it's 2 a.m. and I'm still up prowling the internet. And this is not a one-time occurrence. One of the biggest differences between my friends and me is that most of them have standard, 8 to 5, five-day-a-week gigs. They go to bed the night before they have to wake up. They don't get up in the middle of the night and get on the computer.

I am still stuck in the college life. Granted, I won't sleep well into tomorrow afternoon (I wake my son up at 6:15), but I definitely am a night person. I developed that habit as an undergraduate and haven't shaken it. It fits, in a way, with my life-as-a-mama--I usually don't even attempt to work in the evenings until The Kid is in bed.

I still do my best writing in or around my bed (I preferred my bed to my desk in my dorm) and I'm still a horrible procrastinator. And I teach and hold most office hours on a Tuesday/Thursday schedule, so it really is reminiscent of yesteryear.

It's not that this is at all a big deal necessarily, but it does create a gulf between my friends and me. Our lives are out of balance. We schedule time together on the weekends, true, but I really prefer spending Friday nights lazing around and Saturdays doing some sort of work. On the other hand, if I have late-night cravings in the middle of the week, I can't call them to go to a neighboring town to get something to eat like I used to. Combine that with the fact that I was "in school" for years and years and I don't feel "grown up" in the same way that they are.

One example, living in a small town means that everyone knows when and where I work. You would not believe how many times I've heard, "Oh you work two days a week? I need that job!" My explanations about working from home and prepping for class and (finally) beginning revisions are ignored. The implication is that I don't have a "real" job--even my mom comes in on Mondays and Wednesdays and makes little comments if I haven't cleaned the house or done some task she thinks I should have time to do. When she asks, "What did you do today?" my skin crawls.

I knew my life was going to be different from most of my friends' and relatives'. And while these are only minor observations, I'm starting to realize how much.

Three Georgia Children Found Dead

Via Deidra:

A Georgia father [Eddie Harrington] who allegedly kidnapped his three children earlier this month has killed himself and the toddlers, authorities confirmed to ABC News.

The bodies were found in a rural industrial park area outside Columbus, Ga., where the family lived.

Please keep their mother, Agena Battle, in your thoughts and prayers. I can't even imagine her suffering.

A Sneak Peek

... at me! Here I am, preparing for one of my campus visit lectures. I am framed by my sister's foot on the left and Coti's on the right. I can't tell you how engaging, informative and riveting this presentation was.

***picture removed***

Here is my sister's reaction to the engaging, informative, riveting presentation.

From the WTF Files...

I think it's bad enough the people over at AOL's Black Voices have nothing more to say about Michelle Obama's accomplishments than "Jackie O" would approve of her fashion sense. But guess how this picture was captioned?* Line One:

Everyone in her family looks well-dressed and well-behaved.

Well-behaved? I'm thinking about that one in so many senses:
1) So nice clothes are indicative of conformity to approved standards of behavior?
2) Does the caption-writer think they were trained, like dogs, in appropriate behavior?
3) Does the well-behavedness of white people get commented upon?
4) Damn, do we really act out that much that we have to be patted on our heads when we appear "well-behaved?"

The second line of the caption?

Michelle is a great mother, even while working to get a president elected.

Reinforcing for us, once again, that being a great mother is typically incompatible with any other type of work. Competent and efficient working mothers? That's an anomaly, apparently.

It (almost) boggles the mind.
_____________________________________
*Actually, it looks like this image from another angle.

So Timely

Yesterday, while thinking about my junior class trip to the King Center, I went to the Center's website and saw excerpts from Dr. King's sermon, "The Drum Major Instinct." I found the full text in his papers. And there was something so timely about much of the sermon.

For example this southern/labor historian's heart jumped when she read Dr. King's analysis of the wages of whiteness:

The other day I was saying, I always try to do a little converting when I'm in jail. And when we were in jail in Birmingham the other day, the white wardens and all enjoyed coming around the cell to talk about the race problem. And they were showing us where we were so wrong demonstrating. And they were showing us where segregation was so right. And they were showing us where intermarriage was so wrong. So I would get to preaching, and we would get to talking—calmly, because they wanted to talk about it.

And then we got down one day to the point—that was the second or third day—to talk about where they lived, and how much they were earning. And when those brothers told me what they were earning, I said, "Now, you know what? You ought to be marching with us. [laughter] You're just as poor as Negroes." And I said, "You are put in the position of supporting your oppressor, because through prejudice and blindness, you fail to see that the same forces that oppress Negroes in American society oppress poor white people. (Yes) And all you are living on is the satisfaction of your skin being white, and the drum major instinct of thinking that you are somebody big because you are white. And you're so poor you can't send your children to school. You ought to be out here marching with every one of us every time we have a march."

And an encapsulated critique of the U.S. as warmonger:

God didn't call America to do what she's doing in the world now. God didn't call America to engage in a senseless, unjust war as the war in Vietnam. And we are criminals in that war. We’ve committed more war crimes almost than any nation in the world, and I'm going to continue to say it. And we won't stop it because of our pride and our arrogance as a nation.

And a wonderful sentiment , one that I think shapes the spirituality of people like my mom and Quaker Dave, one that I'm working and struggling to live by:

And so Jesus gave us a new norm of greatness. Recognize that he who is greatest among you shall be your servant.... (I)t means that everybody can be great.... You only need a heart full of grace, a soul generated by love. And you can be that servant.

Since I Haven't Talked about the Kiddos in a While...

My son and nephew at the baby shower. Yes, one of my nephew's nicknames is Leno. I'll explain later.

"So," I asked of the great Internet Anagram Server, "What kind of aunt will I be to my new nephew?"

"A Garage Chalky Aunt," it replied, creating a nifty anagram of my real name!

My son and my nephew have decided they want to blog. And as I want to encourage any writing from them, I've begun the set-up process.

They also want myspace pages, but I'm a bit wary of that (they're nine and seven).

And, Lord, they get on the computer and google things!! They actually use that phrase.

You know, people tell you all the time that you'll look back and wonder where the time has gone. I really, really do.

My son and Coti. I think I've mentioned before that she's his favorite person in the whole world right now (his BFFFFFF, as he says).

A Thought on My Journey to Becoming a Historian

There's no real point, just sort of an observation here as I reflect on some things that got me interested in history when I was younger.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I visited the Alamo. I fell, hook, line, and sinker, for the romanticized, heroic version of the story that was presented to me. I mean, I cried y'all!! And I was totally enthralled with the history of the place, could imagine the siege, and (what I believed to be) the mixed feelings of hopelessness and determination.

Then, my junior year, I went off to the Louisiana School, and got a somewhat more nuanced picture of the Alamo. "Sucker!" I called myself for accepting "one side" blindly. I promised to be more sophisticated and skeptical in the future.

Our history trip that year was a "civil rights" tour of the South. We traveled to Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia to see some historic sites. My best friend and I had whipped ourselves into a frenzy thinking about going through Mississippi. I know someone from Louisiana probably shouldn't be casting stones, but even here, we are taught the idea that Mississippi is a world apart, unlike anywhere else when it comes to race relations and the determination to preserve white supremacy. Would we have to stay overnight in Mississippi? we wanted to know. Because, if so, our parents were so going to nix that trip.

We didn't spend the night in Mississippi. And we went to Montgomery and Atlanta, and I loved it. It was the sort of experience that affirmed for me that we, black people, had a history, stories and lives and triumphs, an existence.

An aside: You know the kind of history many of us get? We didn't exist until 1619. Then we were enslaved and there was a beneficent Emancipator and a white people's war that saved us! For about a century, we didn't do much and then there was the Civil Rights Movement which two or three Important. Black. People. led. And then we sort of faded from history again--except for the idea of the monolithic black community that is a hotbed of social ills and the cause of many of "teh problems." If you ever wonder why a people internalize racism, try living with that model.

So, a year later, armed with my new skepticism and the developing connection that I felt with black people across time and space (nurtured by the fact that I began to read "black history" books like crazy after that 11th grade trip), I went on my senior class history trip to Vicksburg. And there, I got the story of the 1863 siege that "tragically" ended on the Fourth of July. Our tour guide played on our sympathies by talking about how the (white) people of Vicksburg took to living in caves and eating rats and such and how the Fourth of July wouldn't be celebrated there until World War II because of the memory of defeat.

And I remember mumbling to my black classmates, who were falling under her spell much as I had done in San Antonio, "So? Do you know what slaves had to eat? And not celebrating the Fourth was just stupid."

I was proud. I was smug. I was rescuing them from the pitfalls of one-sidedness. I genuinely felt no sympathy.

Years later, I realized that that was simply the opposite extreme from my Alamo-reaction. And I don't believe it was quite right, either. To this day, I don't really have any sympathy, but I feel like I should.

I think those trips--learning about the grassroots movements of the civil rights era, about the plight of civilians in Vicksburg--sparked within me an interest in the history of "regular" people and definitely an interest in social history.

More importantly, they taught me that history wasn't about static facts and dates. Some of my students love to say, "History doesn't change." Yes, it does, I say, because interpretations, foci, points of view, do.

Now, if I could just convince disinterested 18 and 19 year olds of that...

Not So Well

I have a headache, and can't find my Excedrin migraine--the only OTC that works for me.*

The salad I ate for dinner is in the middle of my chest. Neither the prescription (Prevacid) nor the OTC (Tums) is working.

I suppose I shall just retire for this night. And yes I know I won't sleep well, even with my head elevated, as long as that damned lettuce et. al, won't move.
____________________________________________
*Okay, other stuff will work, but I have to take, like, four or five and my "godmother," the nurse, is convinced that I'm going to destroy my liver.

Maintaining Segregation

When I made the commitment to start blogging again, my goal wasn't to come here and report everyday on how racism is alive and thriving in my area. But some stuff, I just gotta tell.

I live in an area of the South that was largely biracial--(non-Hispanic) black and white--and racially stratified for most of the 20th century. But, in the early 21st century, things, at least on the surface, are changing. The geographic boundaries that separated the "black" and "white" sections of town are increasingly disregarded. Poultry processing plants and timber industries have attracted a number of Latino residents to the area. And we have our first black mayor.

There is the problem of white flight--there are fewer than ten white students at the local school, though the town is still about one-third white. Still, it's changed significantly since I was growing up here.

Yesterday, my younger cousin was at our house visiting my son and nephew. At some point, he was ready to go so that he could play basketball at the gym of First Baptist Church. I was a bit surprised as First Baptist is a "white" church. The only church with a predominantly white congregation in my town that routinely reaches out to the whole community* is Pisgah Baptist. My son and nephew asked to go and my dad said no. When they walked out the door, he told me the reason he said no was, "I don't see how they can justify letting the black kids have just one night."

"What?" I asked. He repeated it. I asked for more details and he explained. The gym is open five nights a week. White children can go two nights, Latino children can go two nights, and black children get Thursday night.

"What?" I mean, that's all I could say. "Is that what people do or did the church people say that?" I asked my dad. Again, he repeated the breakdown. "No, Daddy. Did they say that?"

And my dad, who's a deacon at my church, finally confirmed that, yes, they said that. They extended the invitation to our church officers that way. And our pastor politely declined.

I'm still saying "what?" What makes the people at First Baptist think this is okay? Because I really believe they think they're being generous. What makes them think our kids can't play together? And why, as I've told this story over and over to (black) people in the last 24 hours, has the response still been, "Why do our kids get only one night?"

Apparently, we've become so accustomed to the division that it's like second nature.
____________________________________________________
*Which is not to imply that the black churches here do conduct community-wide outreach programs. The churches, at least, have changed little.

Guess What April Is????

So, I'm flipping through the local parish newspaper--fourteen pages of church news, hunting news, and legal notices--when I come upon a proclamation by the parish police jury. An excerpt:

WHEREAS, all citizens of _________ Parish and Louisiana should study the War between the States, as we study all wars, so that we may understand the events which led to the war and... continue to learn from the past and live together peaceably and avoid future conflicts...

THEREFORE, we, the Police Jury of _________ Parish, do hereby proclaim April 2008 as:

CONFEDERATE HISTORY MONTH

Now, it would seem to me that if we were going to understand the "events which led to the war," looking at more than one side would be helpful. Maybe a Civil War History Month? (I can't believe they said the War between the States!!!)

The proclamation..., well, proclaims "that we can all learn from the lessons of history and thereby be in better positions to preserve these ideals for posterity."

What ideals??? I swear, the first thing that popped in my mind is that this was a statement, a la Trent Lott on Strom Thurmond.

Now, I haven't made up my mind exactly what I'm going to do celebrate Confederate History Month, seeing as how I'm a historian and all, but I have some ideas.

Despite my perturbed-ness, my dad suggests it might be a good idea. What people can learn from Confederate History Month, he says, "Is the stuff we won't stand for anymore."

Please help find Agena and Aliyah Battle and Sedrick Harrington

Via Donna, an update to this post:

Eddie Harrington sent a letter to his father telling him that he intends to kill the children. It is urgent that these kids are found NOW. The most likely way that will happen is someone driving, someone working at a gas station, or restaurant, or hotel/motel will recognize the description of the car and look in and see Harrington and the children and call 911. That is why it is so imperative that this information be spread far and wide to give the most people possible the chance to recognize what is going on and get help for these children immediately. I am asking anyone who reads this to post about these missing kids on their blogs including the description of the car. Please DO IT! These are just little babies and they need our help to be found and returned unharmed to their mother.

Should This Affect My Decision?

From my campus visit last week... I don't remember Texas being like this in March.

elle and snow...

You might be surprised. Does snow insulate or something? Cuz I swear it didn't feel all that cold after it snowed--not nearly as cold as it had been before.

I Want to Blog

Really, I do. So I've decided that the best thing for me to do--rather than wail and gnash my teeth about writer's block--is to get back into the habit. Come here everyday (or so) and write something, even if it seems inconsequential.

Today, I actually have some news, though. I have two job offers. And though I know I am fortunate to be in this position, my stomach is in knots at the thought of making the "wrong" choice. I've thought about it, listed pros and cons, consulted ex-committee members, and even prayed.

And I just don't know. Similar offers, I'd be back out of Louisiana (and I am ready to go).

But.........

Sigh.

In even better news, spring break is next week. And I NEED it!

News Bulletin: Agena and Aliyah Battle, Sedrick Harrington

Via Sylvia/M:

23-month-old twins Agena and Aliyah Battle, and 3-year-old Sedrick Harrington have been reported missing from Columbus, Georgia since March 5, 2008 . Their suspected kidnapper is their father, 28-year-old Eddie Harrington:

According to the mother, Eddie Harrington, her fiancée and the father of her children, may have taken the children because he thought that it would make her happy. At the time he left, Eddie was probably depressed and was not taking his medication. There is a picture of Eddie on the NCMEC with braids but it’s not the most accurate. Eddie is bald and wears glasses. Eddie is also described as a 28 year old black male, standing at 5 feet 9 inches and weighting 195 pounds.
Sedrick Harrington, one of the missing children, is three years old and has a birthmark on his right arm. Her mother told me that he has a speech problem but is a very bright and imaginative little boy. She said that when he was bored, he would grab a book, look at the pictures and make his own story out of it. Agena and Aliyah Battle, the 1 year old twins who always fight with each other but cannot go to bed without each other, do not have any known birthmarks but they do respond to their names.

When Eddie left, he was driving a dark green 2002 Chevrolet Impala with a cracked windshield and an Indiana license plate with the number 93-L4740.

Authorities are still trying to track down their whereabouts. The group of four hasn’t been discovered for five days. The mother has issued another plea today for people to keep looking out for Harrington and the three children.

“Agena and Aliyah has on a pink shirt with white sleeves and pink plaid pants. One of the girls has on all white K-Swiss sneakers and the other has on pink, white, purple, Nike sneakers.
“Eddie has on a black T-shirt with black pants and brown and white sneakers; he also is wearing his glasses.
“I’m not sure what Sedrick has on, but I do know he has on his Spider-Man play sneakers. Sedrick also has a greenish color to his right arm from birth.
“Please air this stating that they are still missing. I have not eaten or slept well since they’ve been gone. I need them home. I am crying for your help. I have tried to do my daily routine but I cannot function well with out them.”

The police are requesting help and tips.

Authorities issued an AMBER Alert. They believe [Eddie Harrington] could be headed right for Kentuckiana.

“We’ve done a follow up investigation and determined he has contacts in Tennessee, Florida and of course, he is from Indianapolis, Indiana,” says Lt. Mark Starling with the Columbus, Georgia Police Department.

Harrington has Indiana license plates, number 93-L4740 on his 2002 dark green Chevy Impala. It also has a cracked windshield.

“If the vehicle passes, you grab the cell phone. Call 911. Let us know. Alert us to it. That way we can respond with units on the interstate or on county roads. Wherever the vehicle was seen and try and get it stopped,” says ISP Trooper Phil D’Angelo of the Sellersburg post.
If you see a dark green 2002 Chevrolet Impala with a cracked windshield and an Indiana license plate with the number 93-L4740, please call the Columbus, GA Police Department at 706-653-3400. Any tips on this case are appreciated.

P.S. See the video dedicated to the missing children.

Whoa!

Conferences and campus visits and conflicts... oh my!!

Today was a pretty good day though. I felt like posting, but I have little to report. :-)

I've been hesitant to admit that I'm having the interviews--campus visits--anticipation cycle, cuz if I don't get a job, I'll probably be embarrassed.

But oh, well, this is part of the academic life, right? And y'all will still think I'm cool, huh?

Plus, I'm not exactly miserable where I am and this could become more than a visiting position because of faculty retirements.

So, yeah, that's what's up. I've done a black history month presentation. I have two conferences coming up. And I'm going to the OAH--rural Louisiana girl in New York for the first time? I'm excited and TERRIFIED!! Will I get lost? Should I carry my purse?

So this semester is CRAZY--add in a little personal turmoil and you get elle in the perpetual state of "running behind."

I'm feeling a lot more confident in the Western Civ class. Way too many decisions about the Post 45 class (it's my field!! I wanna show clips from every relevant film!! Deciding the book/article list was hell--I wanted to include like, a hundred things!!). And the pre-1877 class is okay--but the thing is, I promise myself each semester that I'm going to be all comfortable with that class because I've taught it forever... and then I add or subtract something, shift focus, etc.

My kid had a cool science project on the water cycle. My sister's baby shower is March 8. My IRL and internet friends are the most supportive, understanding women in the world.

And I am tired.

But, for today, I'm okay.

Support the New Jersey Four

Via BFP:

Amy Winter has designed a beautiful new website dedicated to the New Jersey 4. At www.justice4nj4.com, you’ll find ways we can help the four imprisoned young women. There’s also a discussion board, so you can share your opinions, ideas, experiences, announcements, and any actions you plan to take on behalf of the NJ4. We’ll be adding more to the site soon, including:

* additional ways to help the 4 and their families
* upcoming events in support of the 4
* more information about the case, including the media coverage
* updates about the young women and their legal appeal
* personal messages from members of the 4 and family members

I'ma Get On It, Really

This so-called black historian of black history must defer to her colleagues in their timely celebrations of Black History Month:

Shark-Fu posted about Mrs. Fannie Lou Hamer, whom I absolutely love, love, love. She was just so strong and real and vibrant.

Anxious Black Woman wrote about Mrs. Hamer, as well, as part of her Black Herstory focus. She's also written about Ida B. Wells, Harriet Tubman, and Mary E. Pleasant.

And Sylvia is going to explore the theme "we are more alike, my friends, than we are unlike."

Because I'm reading about SNCC right now, I'm determined to write about Diane Nash and Ruby Doris Smith Robinson this month.

A Brighter Moment

My mom found this at the dollar store. After laughing uncontrollably, I have decided this is my new slogan:

My mom laughed with me and told me she figured it would make me smile. Have I mentioned lately that I adore her?

Aggravation

So once her mom put her out, my parents and I started to help care for Alexandria, though she lived primarily with her girlfriend.

After three weeks, a talk with the pastor, and dealing with her issues about "what people are saying," Alexandria's mom decided she should come home. But she didn't just tell her she should come home. She threatened to get the police involved again--if Alex wouldn't come home voluntarily she'd ship her to a girl's home.

Initially, Alex chose the home. But after tears, pleas, and arguments from her girlfriend, my best friend, another friend, and me, she went home.

I worry, of course, but I really try to put myself in her mom's place.

She really believes Alex is going to hell because she's a lesbian.

She really believes Alex is the most rebellious teen ever and that her (the mom's) reactions and disapproval and repeatedly putting her out have nothing to do with that.

She really believes I should have, hell, could have influenced Alex in some way. Basically, she is mad that Alex and her girlfriend have been around me together. She expected more from me, she says. Something is not quite right about me, she has decided. In short, she has displaced a lot of her negative feelings about a whole lot of things onto me.

I'm trying to figure out how to deal with it. On the one hand, I have friends telling me to let it ride--she expected that I shared her beliefs. She's a bit insecure because it seems that Alex has bonded better with another mother figure. She really just didn't know me and is surprised.

And in a sense, I am trying to wash my hands of it. But, in another way, I can't. She's beginning to attack my character--because I am not against Alex's relationship with her girlfriend, because I love Alex despite the fact that she does need to humble herself and learn to listen sometimes, I have become, in her view, a "bad" person.

And I have asked her, "When you put her out, did you expect me to turn my back?"

She said no, but that seems to be exactly what she expected.

Sometimes, I really regret moving back here.

Did You Know...

...Under Ulrich Zwingli, New Hampshire became the first Protestant state outside Germany?

...Transubstantiation is when you burglarize the church?

...Martin Luther had more than 95 Theses; it's just that only 95 would fit on the door?

...said truncated theses primarily critiqued the Church's selling of 1) Bibles or 2) alcohol?

Brought to you by "elle's Tales from Western Civ."

A Late...

Get more at LayoutsMania.com

To all my Sorors of the illustrious Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc.

95 years strong today!

Political Commentary

In the fine tradition of passing the buck, let me ask y'all what my BFF sort of asked me this morning: any thoughts about the unfolding presidential brouhaha?

My quick ideas:

I was surprised Obama won in Iowa.

I was pissed about the big deal made of Clinton's show of emotion.

I was surprised Clinton won in New Hampshire.

Ummm, where the hell did Mike Huckabee come from?

Who the hell are the candidates for the two big parties going to be?

And showcasing my political ignorance: What is the big deal about caucuses and primaries? I know what they are. I understand to a certain extent why they're important for judging the proverbial lay of the land, but it seems like a lot of time and effort are expended on these things. Is it worth it?

Thoughts? Observations? School me!

What the Weather Should Be

D.C. was cold. If you've read my blog for any length of time, you know that temperataures below 55 are just uncalled for in my opinion. Had it not been for the fact that I stayed with a dear friend (who had my ass traipsing through Georgetown in heels in the cold--I must love him), I would've spent all my downtime shivering beneath the covers.

Tomorrow, the projected high here is 72. In January. I am so glad to be home.

On My Way...

to the AHA.

See y'all soon!

Just an Observation...

So a few days ago, the LA Lakers wore retro (short, close-fitting) shorts in a game versus the Celtics. Kobe was not so thrilled:

I don't know what it feels like to wear a thong, but I imagine it feels something like what we had on in the first half. I felt violated. I felt naked. It's one thing to see films with guys wearing those things. ... I'd rather stay warm, man.

Which leads me to wonder if he's at all empathic towards his co-workers who regularly have to sacrifice "warmth" for "uniform gimmicks" like short shorts, in order to entertain the fans?

Just sayin'.

Late Night Snack

So late last night/early this morning, I experienced my usual craving for a snack. I decided to make a sandwich. My mom had turkey, but I didn't feel like warming it up.

**An aside, my grandmother used to tell us if we ate cold lunch meat, we'd get worms. So we had to warm everything in a skillet (hot dogs had to be washed and boiled) before ingesting it. Later on, I would eat cold ham, justifying my choice by saying, "Duh, elle, it's a cold cut." Then I realized, I don't like cold meat (the people who eat cold fried chicken on picnics really intrigue me). Just last week, my grandmother's claim was given some credence (sort of) by my sister's OB/Gyn who told my sis to avoid cold cuts because of bacterial issues.**

Back to the story already in progress. I pulled out two slices of bread. I was absolutely delighted by how soft they were (that's something else I don't like-hard bread!!! Not even bread that's supposed to be hard). I grabbed a jar of peanut butter and spread a thin layer on one slice of bread. Then, I opened the refrigerator, already anticipating the sweet contrast of that cold grape jelly and...

we were out. Which is when it dawned on me that my last night time snack, a delightful eggs-bacon-and-toast sandwich, had required the use of the last of the grape jelly.

I should note that my son is the only person in this family who eats peanut butter solo. It's too thick and plain for that! But what could I do? Cause, according to my grandmother, even worse than eating cold cold cuts, is wasting food. So I tried to find a jelly-substitute.

I thought briefly of syrup--my cousin used to fix us syrup and peanut butter sandwiches when we were little. Then I remembered all his baby teeth rotted out so I nixed that idea. My search revealed a can of whipped cream, some chocolate syrup and a pack of apple jelly left over from one of my father's sausage biscuit breakfasts. No, no, and no. My gaze alighted briefly on some jars of honey and I pondered that, but it just didn't sound appealing.

So plain peanut butter it would be. I had some misgivings, a sense of something's-not-quite-right, but I was hungry. Dejected, I placed the un-jellied slice of bread back in the bag, decided to make a little fold-over, and ate it.

The reasons for my misgivings were soon clear. Somewhere on it's leisurely journey down the esophageal path, that damned sandwich got stuck. Right in the middle of my chest. And no amount of drinking or moving would dislodge it. So, not only was I unsatisfied, I was in pain.

I took some acid reflux medicine and eventually the knot moved.

But I am even more convinced that peanut butter is not meant to stand alone.