Jill Of All Trades

Berea won't know what hit it...



Our new view. (Welcome home.)

[Berea photostream]

(Another response for the Peace Studies class. Site referenced is the Iraq Veterans Memorial. From the site: "The Iraq Veterans Memorial is an online war memorial that honors the members of the U.S. armed forces who have lost their lives serving in the Iraq War. The Memorial is a collection of video memories from family, friends, military colleagues, and co-workers of those that have fallen.")

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My cousin left for Iraq in August. My mother's half-sister (his mother) relays me e-mails about his state of being; as I read them, I realize just how little I know about him. I was always closer to his younger sister, Meredith - when we were small, we girls would gang up against him in extended sibling rivalry, which usually involved one side barricading a door against the other. I would traipse about town and exchange clothes with Meredith, but I barely spoke to Jesse. Now, my mother asks me to help compile jokes and magazines for his care packages, but I have no idea what to include. What does he think is funny? What interests him? What sort of food does he like? What does he want to do with his life? What did he do on the weekends? And I wonder if I'll ever get another chance to know him.

War memorials can be strange things. The Iraq Veterans Memorial is different than most I've seen, and not just because it's online. The Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D. C. - and, to a greater extent, our state one in Frankfort - attempt to make casualty statistics more personal by listing individual names instead of numbers. However, with these memorials, victims are still just names etched in cold stone. We still wonder what the people with those names were like, who knew them, and how they're remembered. The Iraq Veteran's Memorial does more than list names - it brings you face-to-face with the people behind the names and those who knew them; it shows you exactly who they were, what they looked like, what the faces of their friends and family in mourning look like. It also reinforces a detail many of us would rather not think about: That could be you.

I know more about the soldiers on the Iraq memorial website by watching a minute's worth of videos than I've known about Jesse my entire life. I can barely write him a letter - what would I put in a eulogy? I know full well how ill-prepared for that possibility I am. Too often we are fooled into thinking it won't be us, it won't be our friends or relatives or neighbors who won't come home. But it's always someone's - and they're not much different from us. What if we get the next blow?

Pack up the cats, we're moving.

What? How would you do it?

_{Posts should resume shortly.}

(Written for a section of my Peace Studies class.)
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Yes, it's really been that long. Stop rhetorically asking, already. You know it's been that long. You can feel it. You can see it in our eyes - we're already weary of trying to summon the old heartache that just won't come anymore. We're weary of trying to remember what we were doing when we found out the news, making it the Kennedy Assassination on our generation's cultural timeline.
All the same, I discover myself still trying. I'm saddened, but not particularly surprised, to find that my memory's hazy, frayed, and fragmented. At times it resembles a threadbare and moth-eaten patchwork quilt. Maybe I'm holding on to it for sentimental value (could it be my security blanket?), but it could never have much practical use now.

What do I remember? I remember taking a break from my piano practice to go into the kitchen, and the kitchen TV was on. It had been several hours after it actually happened. The news was frenzied, and jumbled, and repetitive. My parents had to explain what was going on. They did so simply and to-the-point, although they were doubtlessly as clueless or confused as I was. My aunt Kathy (now buried somewhere in Monticello) called us about it, wondering if we knew, if the news was on here - that TV again. Was I numb then, or am I just numb now?
I remember feeling frightened for our Muslim neighbors, who lived at the corner of the cul-de-sac, whose younger children played games in the street with the others and whose older daughters walked to school in their headscarves and backpacks. I had been studying American history that year. I remembered all too well what had happened to the Japanese after Pearl Harbor fever.
I remember a sudden blooming of red, white, and blue. Stars threatened to blind me; stripes reached to ensnare me in their candy-cane tentacles. (Maybe the Libyan family would have avoided harassment if they swathed their heads in Old Glories?) People set up booths outside of the mall, selling flags on dowel rods to "support the families of 9/11 victims." My mother bought a few. The money never got where it was supposed to.
The first Sunday after, my mother insisted we go to church. We hadn't gone in months. Now, in her mind, it was "the right thing to do." I don't remember the service. I remember the sanctuary was packed, though. Did I listen? Was I fed propaganda; was I stirred by it? Did we fear judgment day - and who was supposed to be judging whom?

I remember our restaurant slowly losing business as people increasingly preferred to huddle in front of the television (that TV again!) than to get out of the house. We closed that restaurant after a year of struggle. My father now works for his former competitor.
I remember making an ungainly attempt to defend my beloved French from my then-best friend. I don't think either of us knew what we were talking about.
I remember being swept up in the patriotic tide like everyone else. I was snagged by a dissenting twig along the way, though, and I'm grateful for it. I wish more branches took hold.

Six years later, and my memory fades by the day. Six years later, and we speak of "cultural amnesia." Given how little we knew in the first place, I doubt it would do us much good to remember. Meanwhile, the future keeps coming - and we keep trying, instead of rebuilding. Where do we go from here?

I'm back. Miss me? Yeah, didn't think so.

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I wonder what caused that bridge collapse...could it be due to government corruption? Shoddy infrastructure? The Wrath Of God?


Nope! Pigeons!

Experts say the corrosive guano deposited all over the span's framework helped the steel beams rust faster.


Although investigators have yet to identify the cause of the bridge's Aug. 1 collapse, which killed at least 13 people and injured about 100, the pigeon problem is one of many factors that dogged the structure.

I think the best responses to this come from my mom, and a commenter on the CBS page -


Mom: "THAT'S RIGHT-BLAME THE PIGEONS!"


Commenter ("AaaBee"): Poop, huh? Nope, ain't buying it. The White House is still standing after 7 years of shit.


More posts coming as soon as I have time. Recordings from where I've been during the hiatus also coming, as soon as I can figure out how to upload and post them properly. Damn computer troubles...


- Miz L.

According to The Gender Genie, 13 of my (21 entered) writing pieces were really written by a male version of myself.

I somehow suspected it'd turn out like that...hmm.

May post some snippets later tommorow, we'll see.

...Up.

Or is it down?

When the door's locked, nothing to do but turn around and start over.

(Craft house, Kenyon College, Gambier, Ohio.) .

A few belly dancers at Berea's International Festival (taken May 18th). They call themselves "The Hip Gypsies."

Go check out my Flickr page - got an account update, so my photos are better organized now. Huzzah!

- L. W.

Open Letter to Certain Nonprofits^*

To Whom it May Concern;

Sometime last year, I certified my backyard with the National Wildlife Federation as a Wildlife Habitat. Shortly after my contact information entered the NWF database, I began to receive a barrage of mail from non-profits of all shapes and sizes (that would be you^*), often with enclosed free stuff, and all with one ultimate goal: to solicit donations.

Now, I have no problem with this, in itself. You're nonprofits, after all - never asking for donations would be suspicious, at best. However, I feel it is my responsibility to warn you that I am a student (and, honestly, a bit of a spendthrift). What little money I have, I spend on books.^**

In summary, while I apprecitate everything you do for the world, you probably shouldn't expect monetary help from me anytime soon - maybe when, you know, I actually get a job. Until then, I will continue to snag the free stuff out of your petitions and solicitations, and toss the rest into the recycling bin.

Sincerely,

[L. W.]

_{*You know who you are.
**Well, and postage, but that's to get more books. Besides, the decade's supply of return-address labels you've sent me by now only aggravates matters.}

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Response from Certain Nonprofits

Dear [L. W.];

In your letter dated [...], you write:

What little money I have, I spend on books [...] and postage[.]

To this, we reply:

Tree-killer.


Sincerely,

[The Nonprofit Conservationist League]

Moo Matisse


_{Cow paintings in the window of an art gallery, somewhere in northern France.}


Not Quite Free Yet


_{It seems it was just yesterday that everyone spoke of "freedom coming to Russia." Did their wings get stuck at the critical moment, also?
(Monument in Moscow, Russia.)}


Pick a Letter


_{Letter cutouts on a craft house worktable - Kenyon College, Gambier, Ohio.}

Guardian of the Fake Sushi


_{Window display for a Japanese restaurant - downtown Nashville, Tennessee.}


Memorial


_{D-day memorial on one of Normandy's beaches.}


Opposing Pair


_{Towers in the Old Kremlin - Novgorod, Russia.}

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Shall break for the night after the next round.

Your regularly scheduled barrage of photos shall continue shortly.

Infinite


_{Stained glass inside the Sainte Chapelle cathedral on the Ile de la Cite - Paris, France.}


Long On Fun!


_{Playing with focus and perspective. Some sort of taffy-thing, found and shot in a discount convenience store.}


Body in the Bathroom


_{Random, innocent bodycast found in an upstairs bathroom of the craft house. What can I say, I guess they're predisposed to mildly philosophical setups. I had nothing to do with it, I swear. (Kenyon College, Gambier, Ohio.)}

History is Bunk


_{Perhaps a better title would have that phrased as a question.
(Partially destroyed German bunker at one of Normandy's beaches.)}


Keely & Frasier


_{Two young writers in the upside-down tree - Kenyon College, Gambier, Ohio.}


St. Sophia


_{Saint Sophia cathedral in Novgorod, Russia (under renovation).}

Exodus


_{Group exiting the Kremlin - Moscow, Russia.}


Family


_{Family gathering (Easter '06) - Okolona, Louisville, Kentucky.}


Find Peace


_{Is this even where you can find it, where it's such a small and hidden-away part compared to all the other ostentation?
(Inside a St. Petersburg cathedral.)}

Clarity


_{Gondoliers outside the Venetian hotel and casino - Las Vegas, Nevada.}


Gaining Perspective


_{Abbey courtyard/garden - Monastery of Mont Saint-Michel, France.}


Descent


_{Stairs of a partially-destroyed German bunker - one of Normandy's beaches.}

Waiting...


_{...For the moment of freedom.
(Taken through a gate at the Keeneland race track - Lexington, Kentucky.)}


Dead and Lush


_{Not long before the rest fall.
(Dried reeds in our backyard.)}


Far from Home


_{Wherever home is.
(The landscape just outside Novgorod, Russia.)}

Art Lovers


_{A scuplture of lovers inside the Hermitage museum (St. Petersburg, Russia). Outside the window is Palace Square, and its entrance through the General Staff building (the archway).}

Attention to Detail


_{One of my group-mates getting splashed by one of Peterhof's fountains (Peterhof being the summer palaces and gardens of Peter the Great) - outside St. Petersburg, Russia.}

Ceremony


_{Inside the chapel of the cathedral at Mont Saint-Michel (France), where they still hold services.}

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Once again, pictures link to their original (borderless) versions in my deviantART gallery.

I've been working on adding borders to some of my better photos - think I'll need to play around with widths and such. Any comments?

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Branches


_{These roots run deeper than you'd expect.}


10


_{Part of the old water tower (now arts center) - Louisville, Kentucky.}


Camera-Shy


_{Photo collage - Orphanage #4, St. Petersburg, Russia. This particular orphanage "specializes" in (if you could call it that) mentally and physically disabled children. All of the orphans there have some degree of schizophrenia, and quite a few of them have conditions that leave them permanently infant-like, despite being well into their teens. Many stories here...*}

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Pictures link to original pics in my dA gallery. (Borders added using Picnik.)

More photos coming soon, and continuing - at least until I get other posts written, and perhaps even after that.

_{*Explanation of title: here, taking photos directly of the children felt boorish and awkward to me - instead, I took a picture of pictures. Which of us could be called "camera-shy," then? Hmm.}