Recently I ran across a number of my older poems. This is one that intrigues me, still.
The Valley of Love
The past is the present, is the future, is past,
where all are first,
and none are last,
and roads that travel to different ends
lead us all to the Ancient Friend.
The steed of the Valley of Love is pain,
it opens the eye of thine inner being,
and lifts the heart to worlds above,
where love is love, is love, is love.
I always looked forward, as a graduate student, to attending department meetings as a member of the faculty. I really did. It was something graduate students were not allowed to see, unless you served as special “student representative” as I did one semester. It was such a status differential, I looked forward to the time when I could meet other colleagues face to face, and make decisions about our department, how it is run, what courses we offer, how our students are doing.
At Purdue there would be 20 or so faculty at every meeting, and they were all sociologists or anthropologists. Here, I am one of 2 sociologists, there is no anthropology dept., and we are a group of 8 who represent 4 different disciplines, sociology, psychology, history and political science.
I just came from our last meeting. Everyone is very cordial, at least in the meetings. I am new faculty, and I do not have tenure. I am the only member of our dept. without tenure. (I am the “baby” faculty member.) I am always aware of being the rookie, and also the outsider, coming down from northern climes. Some of the faculty are actually from outside the south, but most are from the south, if not South Carolina. What I find is that I am always aware of being the newbie and an outsider because they always speak of HISTORY that I know nothing about. It sometimes gets irritating.
Everyone speaks without stating plainly what exactly they are refering to.
Today I was asking them about their plagiarism practices. They all gave me various things they do, but it was evident that they each do their own thing. The reason I asked is that I had a blatant and horrible case last semester, with a major required paper of a student. At the time, I decided to give him a -0- for the paper, which still left him with a D in the class, but my colleague suggested giving him an incomplete, with a better grade being possible if he redid the paper. I did not want to give him an “incomplete” as if he had been sick or had surgery, so I said no! Because of that suggestion, however, as well as her added comments about how she doesn’t usually send a report to the Dean, I did not SEND a report to the Dean, AND I told him I would change his grade of D if he redid the paper. Now I wish I hadn’t SAID I would change the grade because he does not deserve it. He is having a terrible time rewriting this paper, and it’s still not done. (He has to re-do it to graduate.)
In any case, I could sense a tension in the room due to my asking. There is this thing called academic freedom. Everyone can basically do their own thing, make their own decisions about grading, tests, and plagiarism. One person looked at me and said, “Just do what you need to do, make your own professional decision.”
Well I understand that but I don’t have tenure. These people have all been around here for 8-10, or in that person’s case, 20-some years! They know the culture. One has to know the culture and the roles expected of you in a place, before you can then make your own informed decision. I just wanted my decision to be informed by their general standard practice.
It comes back to me time and time again how I have landed on the moon. It is culture shock. I am still trying to figure out the language, including body language, and what is never said, as well as what is spoken out loud. One has to first see how it is done “here”, in this place. What I am really doing is trying to decipher symbolic meaning in a place where those meanings are not intuitive for me. To make an informed decision, you have to first know the meaning, the intent, the ramifications of any action you may take. In Georg Simmel’s words, I am “the stranger who comes and stays,” not the stranger who comes and goes. I am here, yet always a stranger. I view this world as an outsider, yet in another sense, I am a part of this world, always here, yet there.
Took a class to a county courtroom today, as observers. We first had to pass the metal detector. My purse beeped due to my car keys, but they let me keep them. No cell phones were allowed in the court room. (Left mine in my office desk.)
We sat down by 10am. The judge arrived at 11. The defendants we saw today were all in trouble for violating their parole:
1. young black male, broke his parole when he was found w/ a bit of crack cocaine. As I recall, he was sent to finish his 90-day sentence in jail. His mother and sister were in the court room. He seemed to want to serve his time and waved his arms twice to people in the courtroom as he walked out.
2. tall white male, in on violent charges, probably domestic, had not gone through either of 2 programs (not sure why), of which one was anger management. He was sentenced to serve 11 mos. in jail. Also seemed to want to do this & get it done & over with.
Both these first 2 defendants waived the right to counsel. It didn’t really seem to make a difference.
3. 2 women. The first one was in her 30s, had been convicted of sharing MJ with a 15-yr-old in her own home, also other friends present. She broke parole “to save her life” to get away from old druggie friends & had been reportedly clean for a year, and working, in AL. You’re not supposed to move w/o permission. Her entire family was with her, mother, father, sister, & all testified that her drug addiction had driven them crazy but she seemed to be clean now & didn’t want to have her return to N. Her 2 kids are living w/ the grandmother. All family members were tearful & you could tell her addiction had broken their hearts. Judge agreed to extend her probation & let her live in AL, but ordered monthly drug tests & 20 hrs community svc. to take away restitution charges not paid.
4. 25-yr-old mother of a 9-yr-old, same charge as above. In fact, they had been caught together but this was coincidence that they appeared in court together. (!) This woman, however, admittedly can’t quit the stuff, so the public defender said she was NOT a good candidate for probation. She was to return to jail w/the stipulation that she be admitted to treatment program instead, if a bed were available. IOW, she won’t be let out, it’s either jail or treatment. She had already been thru 1 treatment program. (Didn’t seem remorseful, hasn’t learned.) Wants to be there for her son. (Hmm.) She as in shackles, as were the 1st 2 men.
5. Short & stocky white dude, has not paid much on a $30,000. debt. Must owe for larceny or something. The victim wants him incarcerated if he cannot pay the bill, but the judge sympathized w/ current economic situation & just continued the parole. Guy showed papers that he had been looking for work.
6. 50-yr-old black male on probation had been found at a house w/ bunch of other people all doing cocaine. 1 lb. found on table in living room, by police.I don’t remember his length of sentence but he went to jail, not on probation anymore.
No one contested their guilt, all waived right to trial. All the last ones were represented by public defender.
The judge kept talking to my students, asking them questions, or if they had any questions! We were sitting in jury box at front of courtroom! (This is small town America.) I felt embarassed for the families of defendants sitting there waiting for their loved one to appear before the judge.
I write when my emotions run high, whether happy, excited, disappointed, stressed, angry. Emotions are my guide through life. I take that as it comes naturally to me. There are certain things you realize about yourself, which have to do with the way you are made. However, I would like to learn to write with a softer edge.
Last night I dreamed of playing golf. Actually, I wasn’t playing. I was in the group. The group was all men except for me. In the group, was my dad, and Levin, and approximately 6-8 other men, I’m not sure who they were. It feels significant that it was Levin and my dad who stood out to me, and I have no idea what the connection is.
It is significant to me because I always wanted to go with my dad to play golf. He promised to take me when I was 17. He died when I turned 16. (Really, playing golf does not appeal to me, it was just a special thing to do with my dad because it took so much time and was a “grown-up” thing to do.)
This dream puzzles me.
We had a slight ice storm here yesterday. I wouldn’t call it “ice STORM” actually, because I’ve seen those up north. This was a lighter “ice glistening”. I went out and took a few pictures for the rare occasion. Up north they are having lows below 10, and highs in the 20s if they’re lucky. We are getting down to their high temps. at night, and will reach up to the 40s at least.
This morning it is about 30 degrees and climbing, not warm by any means, but the sun came in so bright by 8am that it woke me from a sleep. I was once again dreaming of working with children, guiding them to somewhere. This is my constant dream, I am a teacher or guider of children. I am sure that is my calling, at least for what the Bahai’s call the “core activities”. When I am not in contact w/ children, I feel very out of sorts. So one project I need to take seriously and get done is an organized set of 15 lessons on virtues that I can have ready to do anywhere, something open to all, something that helps children find the gems inside of them.
I’ve had money on the brain so once again worked on a budget this morning. I could write a long essay on this but suffice it to say, I am thinking back over how Al & I have struggled financially all our lives. Our entire life together. For many reasons. Nothing was ever handed to us on a silver platter. If my father had LIVED (longer than he did), then maybe I would have had such a thing. But not after he passed when I was 16 yrs old. From then on, it’s been one financial struggle after another. Then Al and I got married before we were 20. In Al’s father’s book, that meant we were on our own. Nothing ever came from there to help us out financially. So from ages 18 & 19, we have made it ourselves.
What this means is a particular UNDERSTANDING of what it means to be first generation college, make it on our own, because that’s exactly what we did. My father having a PhD did nothing to show me the way through the academic zone. I did it all on my own. Through the 1980s & downsizing, we were hurt by that when Al lost at least a couple middle management jobs. I know what it is to need food stamps, to stand in that line, to have people think you’re stupid, to be looked down upon, to have people in the grocery line behind you give you hate stares. I know what it means to ask my doctor’s permission to get my kid vaccinations free from the county health dept. & have them turn me down, because I was dressed well and they “didn’t think I needed it”. At the time, I was job hunting. I know what it is to have a “friend” get mad at you for having 4 kids, because she thought we couldn’t afford it. She told me she stopped at 2 because of us. She was nuts, but these things stay with you. And I know what it is to stand in a line to get government cheese. These things leave their mark on you that never leaves.
Al and I have worked HARD all our lives. So all that being said, we have made it, always made it. But besides all the things we had no control over, I wonder now what part of it was us. When you live all your married life, always living within your means but never saving a dime, something is going on psychologically that you never have the EXPECTATION of saving anything. That is what I am now trying to change. There is no reason why, at this time in our lives with our current income, we cannot save something every payday. So I spent some time again working on a budget.
This is nothing new either, I’ve done budgets out the wazoo and nothing much ever comes of it. But you have to just go back to it again, yet again, and look at your circumstances. For some time now, I’ve kept detailed records. They are just now becoming even more detailed. We will figure this thing out. I figure I have 20 years to work, build up a retirement check from TIAA-CREF, then retire. The best thing we can do besides that is save some money ourselves, regularly, without fail. This will make all the difference in the world for our kids to have anything when we pass, and also help us when we get “old”.
The pond is calling to me and my plan is to take a lengthy walk. I must get out into this gorgeous sunshine out there, even if it is “cold”.
I have no publications. But I have a number of possible ones. An incredible number of them in fact. It is exhausting but I’m hoping that all of a sudden, a bunch of them will come out all at the same time.
First priority is my book. I have to revise chapters and don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m just gonna do it and send something in. Rutgers Univ. Press and another one expressed a real interest and I haven’t done a thing with it since. That was rough dissertation chapters. When you’ve never done this and you don’t really know what the hell a publisher wants, it’s dang hard to crank it out. If an editor would tell me, Do this, do that, you need this, take that out, I’d do it in a split minute. But no, you’re just supposed to read 3-4 books they “recommend” and “just do it” and then hope for the freakin’ best. It is really confusing and I feel like I’m fumbling in the dark all over again.
What it really boils down to is the same thing as always: Go forward on faith.
Other publications in the works are:
If I ever get these accomplished, I have Bahai-related articles I’d like to work on. For example, comparing Max Weber’s iron cage with Shoghi Effendi’s blueprint for future society. Also publishing something on doing online research, or something on finding white supremacists within a prison reform group. Would also love to go back to & re-do my paper on whiteness and oneness: Racial identity among white women in the Baha’i Faith.
(AFP/Thony Belizaire)
What comes to mind to write about Haiti, is that I was watching CNN night before last, and saw starving hungry people standing in a food aid line, who eat about once every 3 days right now. And then I saw armed law enforcement spraying them back with pepper spray. It was the most disgusting display of human tragedy I’ve ever seen.
Any of us would give our dinners to these suffering people. Millions upon millions are being collected and sent, and in the meantime, their infrastructure, airports, docking stations for ships, are so destroyed, plus the general state of chaos where bureaucracy no longer works to get anything done, that 150-200 planes WITH SUPPLIES AND FOOD await PERMISSION TO LAND.
Conditions are so unimaginable, it boggles the mind to even think about it. What good does it do for me to sit here and write about it.
The cruelty of racism, oppression, colonialism from years and decades past set up Haiti to be the poorest country in the Western hemisphere. And now the latest, a huge earthquake. You can’t help but see the beautiful brownness of the people in all the news coverage. It reminds me of Katrina footage.
Today I read they pulled a 16-yr-old girl from the wreckage of a house, who had been buried for 2 weeks. She is alive and no doctor knows why.
What this shows is how the world needs to come together — I mean really come together — and have a functioning world superstate that administers justly and fairly the resources and food of the world. There is no need for such suffering. All we can do is text our $10.00 donations to ATT by texting “haiti” to 90999, and pray that it makes a small difference. All they can do is fight every day for whatever help the rest of the world wants to send to them.
This morning, a small group of 3 geese landed across the pond from our house. One of them was evidently appointed as sentry, as he stood slightly away from the others, honking constantly. The other two were unconcerned about their surroundings and walked around near the edge of the water. Suddenly, I saw a heron to the left of the group, intently staring in their direction. Then he lunged at them, as if to say, “Get out of here, this is my corner of fish!” The geese fluttered a little bit but when I looked back, the heron had flown away.
We get birds flying around our pond but most do not land in it. The herons walk around the edges, looking for small fish. The people of this neighborhood breed fish in our pond, with some catfish and carp getting huge in there. We see them occasionally while walking around the edges. I think most duck and geese don’t swim in our pond because they might encounter fish twice the size of themselves. Either that or they just fly over another set of houses and have access to a much bigger and more diverse place (the large lake).
It’s a week from the end of January, and we’re under tornado watch and I heard treefrogs driving home from the laundromat tonight. This South Carolina weather is different! When out today, I said, “This is tornado weather.” It’s hard to explain but it’s unusually WARM, plus cloudy/rainy, plus a light wind that feels eerie somehow. Maybe it’s a change in the air. It feels like the calm before the storm.
Treefrogs are the coolest sounding thing ever. They are LOUD when it’s rainy like this. Very loud. If you get out away from houses or near a pond, you hear them. They were so loud, and this area is so rural, I heard them when I rolled my window down, since it felt too stuffy in the car. They have a loud trilling sound that almost crackles at the same time. Kind of like a high-pitched cat purr combined with running a pencil down the piano keys.
I am oddly unable to stress about my classes this semester. I think last semester was high stress, and came after finishing the PhD, passing the defense and graduating a year before. It was all too much. No one understands what it did to me, to just finish the diss. I truly believe it took 2 years off my life. It’s like knowing that you can only hold your breath for 2 minutes but swimming through an area which required you to hold it for 4. And you made it. After that, you just refuse to ever put yourself in that stress position again. And it’s real hard to gear up to revise it into a book. I just have to do it.
Doctor Grandma 