What can I say? Been busy gardening and working on curriculum. Here is a poem from a favorite anthology of mine, The Penguin Book of Contemporary Irish Poetry:
The Death of Irish
The tide gone out for good,
Thirty-one words for seaweed
Whiten on the foreshore.
-Aidan Carl Matthews
Friday, July 10, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
All Kinds of Difference
As one conservative friend said after Obama's election, "It seems that America is growing up". By this he didn't mean politics per se, but the mere fact that a black man with an incredibly foreign sounding name became president. The electorate has become, well, pretty cosmopolitan.
That is the main thing, after all. Eighty percent of Americans live in urban areas. Waves of immigration continually rework the demographics of four-fifths of the country. People are getting used to difference. It isn't so scary any more.
There remain many areas of resistance to full rights, access, and representation: one of the more heartening things about being in grad school is exposure to how integrated that awareness is becoming in psychological practice. Race is big, and ethnicity. Permanent injury, trauma, and various disabilities have vast social and psychological implications. So as it is heartening to see
attitudes soften towards sexuality that doesn't fit in a neat little box, it is also interesting to read new perspectives on how we are creeping toward a more open, accepting, helping society.
But there are dangers. To wit:
...with the Human Genome Project finding in 2000 that all humans are more than 99 per cent alike, many thought genomics would put the final nail in the race coffin.
On the language side, here is an interesting discussion of the language of disability, from the blog Feministe:
Before we go any further, you guys are going to need a quick tutorial on models of disability.
Enjoy. See you tomorrow.
That is the main thing, after all. Eighty percent of Americans live in urban areas. Waves of immigration continually rework the demographics of four-fifths of the country. People are getting used to difference. It isn't so scary any more.
There remain many areas of resistance to full rights, access, and representation: one of the more heartening things about being in grad school is exposure to how integrated that awareness is becoming in psychological practice. Race is big, and ethnicity. Permanent injury, trauma, and various disabilities have vast social and psychological implications. So as it is heartening to see
attitudes soften towards sexuality that doesn't fit in a neat little box, it is also interesting to read new perspectives on how we are creeping toward a more open, accepting, helping society.
But there are dangers. To wit:
...with the Human Genome Project finding in 2000 that all humans are more than 99 per cent alike, many thought genomics would put the final nail in the race coffin.
But a funny thing happened on the way to the funeral. Shortly after the HGP's finding, several research projects began focusing on mapping this less than 1 per cent of human genetic variation onto social categories of race.
This small variation reflects millions of SNPs (single nucleotide polymorphisms), some of which may loosely correlate with geography. Yet the resilience of linking such differences and disparities to biological mechanisms is striking, since most analysis of the data cautions otherwise.
Some uses of new technologies also reflect this renewed effort. Though they explicitly reject the scientific racism of the past, race is given genetic significance in an effort to resolve health disparities, provide a richer sense of ancestry, and aid law enforcement.
If technology is for the moment knocking down old notions about the immutability (or even relevance) of race, it also holds the potential for reinforcing those same notions is the information is misused. True enough.On the language side, here is an interesting discussion of the language of disability, from the blog Feministe:
Before we go any further, you guys are going to need a quick tutorial on models of disability.
There are a number of models, but the two primary models are the medical model and the social model. These are the two most often discussed because of the particular ways they conflict with one another.
The medical model centers around the individual. The medical model defines disability in opposition to the normal body/brain, as deviating from that model of normalcy, and any problems that arise in your life are seen as arising from your deviation. Thus, these problems are to be solved by addressing that deviation — by bringing your body/brain closer to the normal model.
The social model centers around the structure of society. The social model does not seek to define disability: instead, it proposes that the problem is that society is built such that many people are prohibited from full participation in society because of their differences. Under the social model, the problem is not the difference, the problem is that society does not accommodate that difference. “The problem is not the person” is a common refrain from champions of the social model.
In short, you might say: The cause of exclusion is not the disability. The cause of exclusion is how the rest of society treats disability. Therefore, what needs to be addressed to eliminate this exclusion is not the individual person’s condition. What needs to be addressed is how society is set up in such a way that this person faces trouble when attempting to exercise hir right to participation equal to that of a non-disabled person. What do you change? Not the person. Society.
Enjoy. See you tomorrow.
Give a Thirteen Year Old a Walkman
...As I boarded the school bus, where I live in Aberdeenshire, I was greeted with laughter. One boy said: "No-one uses them any more." Another said: "Groovy." Yet another one quipped: "That would be hard to lose."
My friends couldn't imagine their parents using this monstrous box, but there was interest in what the thing was and how it worked.
In some classes in school they let me listen to music and one teacher recognised it and got nostalgic.
It took me three days to figure out that there was another side to the tape. That was not the only naive mistake that I made; I mistook the metal/normal switch on the Walkman for a genre-specific equalizer, but later I discovered that it was in fact used to switch between two different types of cassette.
I picked this up at Andrew Sullivan's site- check out the whole story.
My friends couldn't imagine their parents using this monstrous box, but there was interest in what the thing was and how it worked.
In some classes in school they let me listen to music and one teacher recognised it and got nostalgic.
It took me three days to figure out that there was another side to the tape. That was not the only naive mistake that I made; I mistook the metal/normal switch on the Walkman for a genre-specific equalizer, but later I discovered that it was in fact used to switch between two different types of cassette.
I picked this up at Andrew Sullivan's site- check out the whole story.
A Little Ramble: Industrial Agriculture and Paw-Paws
West of Riegelsville, where I live, are hundreds of acres of rolling fields, divided by dense windbreaks and small woods. I've seen grey and red fox, bear scat, and eagles, as well as tracks of everything that usually lives around here. There is a thick and palatial wetlands, home to huge populations of peepers and bullfrogs, and a shelter for the Merganser ducks who bounce between here and the river. It seems healthy and alive. In winter it is dramatic: cold and windswept, looking east the hills are cut steeply by the river, exposing the hard, ancient rock that is the heart of the Appalachian chain. Great clouds of mist rise from the river in spring and fall, and the sun glances the fields sometimes a full seventy minutes after sunrise, with bright swaths of frost remaining late into morning as the sun finally surmounts the cliffs of Warren County.
Early summer that
Come spring is the plowing, and then around Mother's Day, just as the lilac blooms, the farmers manure the fields. The wave of shit smell is intense, and not altogether unpleasant. At the very least, it means no houses are being built this year. I run throughout those fields much of the year; I know them well and have come to depend on them.
Then the planting. Field after field, in succession, corn, alfalfa, and in the upper fields, soy. And then, the herbicides. Roundup ready seeds, and Roundup applications. I loathe Monsanto.
Roundup's dangers are largely unknown- glyphospate is dangerous, but the other, "inert" ingredient are kept secret. With a company like Monsanto, which has a long history of playing fast and loose with the law, one should worry.
Worse, these seeds- or more specifically, the pollen, contaminates the gene pool of every other corn, soy, and alfalfa planting in the area. For instance, many think that organic soy is no longer possible, as all commercial plantings of it are mixed up with the Roundup Ready gene, the gene or genes that make the plant unkillable by the Roundup pesticide.
So this has driven me from the fields, and I now run in all directions, the Mariton Wildlife Preserve just north, the woods and old mill just south, the cliffs across the river. Me and the dog.
One sees pristine fields, but in truth, it is no less industrial than a factory. The soy and corn is silage, it is pig and cow food. Cow's shouldn't be eating corn (their stomachs do not handle it well), so one has to wonder about the effects down the line on milk and meat when genes are involved. In a nutshell, its the problem with how we produce food in this country.
But the frogs seems fine, for now. Soon I will be inspecting them for physical malformations, I've heard it happens. Also: the milkweed population is huge, and the colonies of insects seem healthy. I don't know. Maybe the dangers are overstated. I don't know.
Being pushed out into the surrounding lands have led to some interesting discoveries: one, the stand of Paw-Paw trees that some people at TAS tried to keep secret (to be honest, they told me where I could find it). It is a lovely little patch, with lots of little ones and some tall ones. They flower and don't set fruit for some reason. But I have a paw-paw secret of my own. I found a large, fruiting specimen. Very exciting. And I ain't telling where it is. Maybe.
Early summer that
Come spring is the plowing, and then around Mother's Day, just as the lilac blooms, the farmers manure the fields. The wave of shit smell is intense, and not altogether unpleasant. At the very least, it means no houses are being built this year. I run throughout those fields much of the year; I know them well and have come to depend on them.
Then the planting. Field after field, in succession, corn, alfalfa, and in the upper fields, soy. And then, the herbicides. Roundup ready seeds, and Roundup applications. I loathe Monsanto.
Roundup's dangers are largely unknown- glyphospate is dangerous, but the other, "inert" ingredient are kept secret. With a company like Monsanto, which has a long history of playing fast and loose with the law, one should worry.
Worse, these seeds- or more specifically, the pollen, contaminates the gene pool of every other corn, soy, and alfalfa planting in the area. For instance, many think that organic soy is no longer possible, as all commercial plantings of it are mixed up with the Roundup Ready gene, the gene or genes that make the plant unkillable by the Roundup pesticide.
So this has driven me from the fields, and I now run in all directions, the Mariton Wildlife Preserve just north, the woods and old mill just south, the cliffs across the river. Me and the dog.
One sees pristine fields, but in truth, it is no less industrial than a factory. The soy and corn is silage, it is pig and cow food. Cow's shouldn't be eating corn (their stomachs do not handle it well), so one has to wonder about the effects down the line on milk and meat when genes are involved. In a nutshell, its the problem with how we produce food in this country.
But the frogs seems fine, for now. Soon I will be inspecting them for physical malformations, I've heard it happens. Also: the milkweed population is huge, and the colonies of insects seem healthy. I don't know. Maybe the dangers are overstated. I don't know.
Being pushed out into the surrounding lands have led to some interesting discoveries: one, the stand of Paw-Paw trees that some people at TAS tried to keep secret (to be honest, they told me where I could find it). It is a lovely little patch, with lots of little ones and some tall ones. They flower and don't set fruit for some reason. But I have a paw-paw secret of my own. I found a large, fruiting specimen. Very exciting. And I ain't telling where it is. Maybe.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Music and Art Blogging
Teachers,
Head over to the protected teacher's blog to get access info for posting on the music blog.
Head over to the protected teacher's blog to get access info for posting on the music blog.
Sexuality
TAS is a pretty gracious place. We treat each other well, for the most part, and the students thrive. Life is more complex than ever for a young person and the TAS approach is that curiosity, relationship skills, and self-awareness will always be relevant, whatever the technological, political, or emotional landscape may be in the future.
For instance, several of us teachers went to the graduation for the Bucks County Community College LPN program. What a varied and impressive group of nurses. Our graduate, Crystal Connolly stood out: she was awarded a scholarship based on her academic quality and was the only one who declared the intention of going into anesthetic nursing. That's a tough field and the life and death dimension is right in front of you. It takes nerve and ambition.
Now, this graduate might not mind me saying that she had everything working against her when she came to Tinicum. School, home, and her social life were extremely problematic. But her own verve and intensity, and our patience, eventually combined pretty well. At the time, she felt that the academic skills she got from us were woefully inadequate. Perhaps that is true. Of course, we can't force a person to study, write, do homework, or get enough rest. Several years down the road, I still haven't figured out how to make a horse drink water. Yet enough room was provided for her character to come together independent of all the other circumstances, and enough support was there for her to take some chances. And look at her now.
She was intense, strong, willful, fierce, and couldn't rely on anyone but herself. This is the kind of young person who makes her own luck.
Towards the end of the school year several boys and girls were lounging in the lobby (or foyer, or hallway...whatever it is) doing what some kids do: a rapid fire engagement of warmth and teasing, with many layers of irony and some pretty sharp jabs. I had to point out, however, that their constant use of the word "fag" could really shut a kid down. What if someone in school was struggling with whether or not it is "right" to be attracted to someone of their own sex, and who had likely suffered a lot in his or her previous school? To their credit, they got it. They hadn't considered that, and they are proud of the fact that our school could be a shelter from that particular storm.
Years ago we had a (nearly) openly gay student. Since then, we've had none. Of course we have had gay students, but even a place like TAS isn't safe enough for that. And the news would get around anyway.
Are we doing enough to ensure that a student who struggles with his or her sexuality is getting the kind of care our nursing school graduate received? Do we realize how much pain he or she carries? Or is what we do just enough?
Buddhism is the practice of dropping categories and letting experience speak for itself. Every person has their own way through the world. It should be relatively easy for a contemporary American Buddhist to drop the fixed notions of male and female, straight and gay. After all, as Walt Whitman put it, we "contain multitudes".
To wit:
The standard model of human development is built on 46 chromosomes, including two that determine sex: XX for female, XY for male. But, as Callahan points out, not everyone ends up 46XX or 46XY.
Because it’s not likely to be a problem for most of y’all, this is something that I’d wager the average cissexual person has rarely to never thought about. That tiny little box is the epicenter of governmental interest, of laws, of bureaucratic guidelines. Lawsuits are fought over the right to change the letter in that little box.
Why is this important to TAS? Students fall apart in other schools for a multitude of reasons. We always have a higher percentage of neglected, sexually abused, and otherwise victimized kids that your average school. A teenager who doesn't fit the mold is going to have trouble, and when it comes to enforcing sexuality, violence usually isn't far behind. It is a human rights issue.
For instance, several of us teachers went to the graduation for the Bucks County Community College LPN program. What a varied and impressive group of nurses. Our graduate, Crystal Connolly stood out: she was awarded a scholarship based on her academic quality and was the only one who declared the intention of going into anesthetic nursing. That's a tough field and the life and death dimension is right in front of you. It takes nerve and ambition.
Now, this graduate might not mind me saying that she had everything working against her when she came to Tinicum. School, home, and her social life were extremely problematic. But her own verve and intensity, and our patience, eventually combined pretty well. At the time, she felt that the academic skills she got from us were woefully inadequate. Perhaps that is true. Of course, we can't force a person to study, write, do homework, or get enough rest. Several years down the road, I still haven't figured out how to make a horse drink water. Yet enough room was provided for her character to come together independent of all the other circumstances, and enough support was there for her to take some chances. And look at her now.
She was intense, strong, willful, fierce, and couldn't rely on anyone but herself. This is the kind of young person who makes her own luck.
Towards the end of the school year several boys and girls were lounging in the lobby (or foyer, or hallway...whatever it is) doing what some kids do: a rapid fire engagement of warmth and teasing, with many layers of irony and some pretty sharp jabs. I had to point out, however, that their constant use of the word "fag" could really shut a kid down. What if someone in school was struggling with whether or not it is "right" to be attracted to someone of their own sex, and who had likely suffered a lot in his or her previous school? To their credit, they got it. They hadn't considered that, and they are proud of the fact that our school could be a shelter from that particular storm.
Years ago we had a (nearly) openly gay student. Since then, we've had none. Of course we have had gay students, but even a place like TAS isn't safe enough for that. And the news would get around anyway.
Are we doing enough to ensure that a student who struggles with his or her sexuality is getting the kind of care our nursing school graduate received? Do we realize how much pain he or she carries? Or is what we do just enough?
Buddhism is the practice of dropping categories and letting experience speak for itself. Every person has their own way through the world. It should be relatively easy for a contemporary American Buddhist to drop the fixed notions of male and female, straight and gay. After all, as Walt Whitman put it, we "contain multitudes".
To wit:
The standard model of human development is built on 46 chromosomes, including two that determine sex: XX for female, XY for male. But, as Callahan points out, not everyone ends up 46XX or 46XY.
Variations in sperm or egg, in the mixing of cells from mother and father and in the cell division that follows can all stir the genetic soup into alternative outcomes. The possibilities, Callahan writes, "are as grand and as varietal as the fragrances of flowers: 45X; 47XXX; 48XXXX; 49XXXXX; 47XYY; 47XXY; 48XXXY; 49XXXXY; and 49XXXYY." These variations are familiar to geneticists - the first on the list, for instance, is known as Turner's syndrome - but the general public is still stuck in a black and white, XX/XY world.
New Scientist has an interesting book review up about the intersex world. Over the course of a lifetime we all must realize that the world is far more complex, and far more interesting, than the version of it we carry around in our heads.
This is worth reading too, for the difficult, practical problems of the intersex world:
Now imagine what you do in a Customs line when you enter a country. Imagine you’ve heard from acquaintances who’ve been turned away by the US, or that worst-case-scenario lurking at the back of your head about Homeland Security issuing a memo about “cross-dressed terrorists.” What do you put then? What do you wear then? How do you present?
Because it’s not likely to be a problem for most of y’all, this is something that I’d wager the average cissexual person has rarely to never thought about. That tiny little box is the epicenter of governmental interest, of laws, of bureaucratic guidelines. Lawsuits are fought over the right to change the letter in that little box.
Why is this important to TAS? Students fall apart in other schools for a multitude of reasons. We always have a higher percentage of neglected, sexually abused, and otherwise victimized kids that your average school. A teenager who doesn't fit the mold is going to have trouble, and when it comes to enforcing sexuality, violence usually isn't far behind. It is a human rights issue.
Happy Monday!
So summer is underway, the rains of the late spring a distant memory. The Delaware is finally dropping and those of us lucky enough to have well-draining soil have marvelous things waving to us in our yards.
Interestingly, most of my hybrid tomatoes are doing well, but the heirlooms are struggling a bit. My guess is that the all the moisture trapped CO2 in the soil, lowering the ph and locking out a bunch of key nutrients like magnesium. Some of the plants haven't bounced back, and the earliest fruit to set looks pinched and frightened.
My compost has been incredible: all I keep is a pile, nothing fancy. I have an encroaching patch of bamboo which is home to dozens of birds, and produces endless structural matter for the garden. I have a patch of nettles which I cut and soak in five gallon buckets until they ferment. It stinks like a swamp, or lets say, a strongly biological, living stink. I fed the tomaters with it- nettles are rich in silica (little glass needles cover the plant, when handled, they snap and release an irritant) and brew uniquely. I'm hoping it is the bounce they need.
Today I settle down to work on the music/art and contemplative education curricula. I will be posting both here, and cross-posting to the music blog. Stay tuned.
Interestingly, most of my hybrid tomatoes are doing well, but the heirlooms are struggling a bit. My guess is that the all the moisture trapped CO2 in the soil, lowering the ph and locking out a bunch of key nutrients like magnesium. Some of the plants haven't bounced back, and the earliest fruit to set looks pinched and frightened.
My compost has been incredible: all I keep is a pile, nothing fancy. I have an encroaching patch of bamboo which is home to dozens of birds, and produces endless structural matter for the garden. I have a patch of nettles which I cut and soak in five gallon buckets until they ferment. It stinks like a swamp, or lets say, a strongly biological, living stink. I fed the tomaters with it- nettles are rich in silica (little glass needles cover the plant, when handled, they snap and release an irritant) and brew uniquely. I'm hoping it is the bounce they need.
Today I settle down to work on the music/art and contemplative education curricula. I will be posting both here, and cross-posting to the music blog. Stay tuned.
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