Jun 29, 2012
PREAMBLE: The Promulgation, Correct Style, and Enforcement of Guidelines at the University of Opakulla College of Law are governed by these Guidelines. These Guidelines are not intended by the Promulgatrix hereof to offend any person, place, thing, animal, vegetable, or mineral.
OFFENDED PERSON UNOFFENDED PERSON
WHO: The responsibility for making exceptions to the policies set forth herein, as well as for enforcement of said policies, shall be borne by the Associate Dean for Regulation and Good Order (ADRGO).
WHAT: The general College of Law policy in regard to Promulgation, Correct Style, and Enforcement of Guidelines is as follows:
1. Guidelines shall be promulgated whenever a problem arises or whenever somebody
a. has nothing else to do OR
b. has a good deal else to do, but is in the procrastination phase of task achievement.
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2. Guidelines shall be promulgated by those offices which have direct responsibility for the Subject Matter thereby governed, or by whoever is sufficiently irritated or otherwise stimulated by the issue therein addressed.
IRRITATED PERSON
3. The Subject Matter of the Guidelines shall always be expressed with the initial letter capitalized.
4. Guidelines shall be written in the passive voice. Exceptions to this rule shall only be made by ADRGO when it has been demonstrated by the applicant for such exception, under the preponderance of the evidence standard, that her/his locutions have become so hopelessly ensnared by the passive voice that what was being attempted to be said by her/him cannot be remembered by her/him.
5. Persons found violating any College of Law Guideline once shall be chastised by whoever witnesses the violation. Such chastisement shall be promptly reported in writing to ADRGO.
6. Upon a second violation of College of Law Guidelines, the violator shall be required to undergo a two-hour written examination regarding all the College of Law Guidelines which have been promulgated up to the time of such violator’s second violation. Said examination shall be conducted at 7:00 A.M. on the Saturday following the second violation.
7. Further violations of College of Law Guidelines shall be punished either by termination of employment, or by assignment to the violator of the responsibility of filing and cataloging all past, present, and future Guidelines of the College of Law, at the complete option and discretion of ADRGO.
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I’m blissfully happy to announce that I won the Ruffin-Walz and Edna Sampson awards for best novel at the Southeastern Writers’ Association Workshop.
Jun 15, 2012
(The information below, as well as the photographs of ancient sheela-na-gigs, comes from Eamon P. Kelly, Sheela-na-gigs, Origins and Functions. 1996. Country House, Dublin. It’s available used from Amazon; I couldn’t find it anywhere else.)
Have you ever seen Celtic Woman, the wildly popular Irish music group? They are five young women: wispy, sweet-voiced fairies in flowing diaphanous gowns. Though the membership of the group changes, the face on all their albums remains the same – a fresh-faced redhead with a flirtatious smile half-concealed by her long curly locks.
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Celtic Woman is to Irish culture as the Kingston Trio were to folk music. Lush instrumentals soar behind them; their movements and facial expressions are carefully choreographed. They perform at night in old Irish castles lit by flaming torches, with dry ice sending fog into the air. But if you visit those castles and look carefully, you may find a different Celtic woman, earthier and more vital than these five, despite her 900 years.
Sheela-na-gigs are carved into the cornerstones and keystones of Irish churches and castles. Their legs are spread and their hands point to or hold open the vulva. The figures are emaciated, with big heads. Breasts, if any, are small. The meaning of the name is uncertain; it may mean old hag of the breasts, or old woman on her hunkers.
Sheela-na-gigs seem to have evolved from ancient exhibitionist friezes in Ireland and along pilgrimage routes in Europe. The grotesque bodies with swollen vulva showed Hell’s punishment for lust, a sin particularly attributed to women.
The Church considered the Irish sinful and licentious, and disapproved of their married priests, as well as their customary laws on divorce and remarriage. The Norman invasion of Ireland in 1146 was part of Rome’s attempt to rein in the Irish church. The sheela-na-gigs, single figures carved on blocks, began to appear in the next century, first on the cornerstones of churches, and later on keystones of castles above the entrance, apparently as a protective figure. From the 17th century onward many were deliberately destroyed, and only about a hundred remain. These have been well-rubbed around the vulva, indicating they were considered fertility symbols.
Eamon Kelly says “It is clear that a deliberate effort has been made to represent sheela-na-gigs as grotesque, hideous and scary.”
I guess it’s in the eye of the beholder. I like the lady with the braids – but is that a moustache, or teeth? This other one looks quite contented, and given the position of the fingers of her left hand, may be about to be positively blissful.
I never liked the crotch shots in Hustler magazine; their airbrushed smiles and curves seemed unconnected to the wrinkly folds and openings below, as though the women had no idea what was going on down there. But I love the sheela-na-gigs. To me they say “This is mine, like it or lump it.”
Our sexual organs are hidden from view, and many young women may not know what they look like. When I was fourteen, about a year after I started my period, I decided to try tampons. Though I had examined the little drawing on the Tampax instructions, I didn’t realize there were three different holes. With great difficulty and a lot of pain I inserted the tampon in my urethra. I knew something was wrong but didn’t know what until I tried to pee and the tampon emerged soaked with urine. Fifty years later the memory still makes me squirm.
The word pudenda derives from pudere, Latin for “to be ashamed.” In the early 1970’s feminists celebrated female sexuality. In our consciousness-raising-cum-baby-group in Ann Arbor our bible was Our Bodies, Ourselves. We were determined to overcome shame and self-consciousness. With a hand mirror and a transparent plastic speculum, and a lot of laughter, we took turns trying to see our cervices.
click
My sister Luli has spent a lifetime being outrageous. One Christmas she gave me a delicately molded silver pendant of a vagina dentata. (A toothed vagina, and you don’t want to know.) It resembled a shark’s mouth. I wore it for about an hour, but I had to take it off – it felt too hostile.
When I told Luli of my discovery of sheela-na-gigs, she naturally had to make some, out of Sculpey® baking clay. Mine is delightfully exuberant. I used to hide it in a drawer, but now that Amanda is older I keep it on my desk. I have given her a hand mirror. I hope she will explore every part of her body, and rejoice in her sexual self.
Jun 1, 2012
A few weeks ago I went with my sister Luli and her friend Margaret to the North Carolina Zoo in Ashboro. It was the best day I have ever spent at a zoo. Certainly the weather helped: blue sky, a steady breeze, high 70’s. But it was the zoo itself that impressed me.
The North Carolina Zoo has the advantage of space and a temperate climate – almost 1400 acres in the rural Piedmont, an hour and fifteen minutes from Chapel Hill. It was built in the mid-70’s as the first natural habitat zoo in the U.S. designed by Dwight Holland, a painter and designer who directed the zoo for many years. In the 80’s it was expanded using a master plan by Jon Coe, a landscape architect who specializes in zoos.
The zoo has two sections, North America and Africa, about a mile and a half apart as the snake slithers. We began with the cypress swamp in North America, and the contrast with other zoos was immediately apparent. The first exhibit we passed was various carnivorous plants – sundew, pitcher plants, Venus fly traps. The signs had lots of information, but not so much as to be daunting, and the ranger there answered all our questions. I loved learning a bit about the animals’ environments as well as the animals.
COLORADOCARNIVEROUSPLANTSOCIETY.COM
About 1100 animals of more than 200 species live in habitats designed to mimic their natural environment and give them as much space as possible. All the habitats are behind glass; the larger ones with ample seating – benches and risers – to let us wait for the animals to appear. Walking from one exhibit to the next we were usually in the shade, and many paths were landscaped to feel like woodland trail. The most impressive habitats were the western prairie, with elk and bison, the chimpanzee habitat, and the 37-acre African savannah, with elephants, rhinos, ostriches, antelope and gazelles.
From a visitor’s point of view, the disadvantage of large habitats is that you may not see some of the animals up close and personal, or indeed not see some of the animals at all. We arrived at the prairie and climbed up to the top step of concrete risers. A vast expanse of waving grass and wildflowers was all we could see until Luli, our best spotter, saw what might be an elk’s head in the distance above the grass. A twitching ear confirmed it. A little later we realized that what looked like some sticks next to her were velvet-covered antlers. We waited, enjoying the fresh air and wild flowers.
Human families came by, the children clambered up the steps, looked around, and moved on. Then the female elk stood up from the clump of grass and ambled toward us along the perimeter of the prairie, walking the length of the glass and disappearing into the brush at the far end. The male followed her. He was molting and his shaggy winter coat was in tatters. Finally, a calf came along – we had had no idea it was there. We probably sat fifteen minutes watching for elk, and then we moved on, past an extensive poster display about the loss of the great prairies, and modern day attempts to use the land for agriculture while preserving what native grasslands remain. We stopped at another viewing point, and under a distant clump of trees saw a dark mound that was the back of a sleeping bison.
FOTOSEARCH.COM IMAGE k1110339
We had come on a Monday, to avoid crowds of children – I thought field trips were usually on Fridays. But the first thing we saw when we arrived were about seventy-five children from the Liberty Preschool, and we saw many school groups throughout the day, as well as parents and grandparents with preschool children and babies. Despite, or perhaps because of the long walks between exhibits, and waiting sometimes in vain for a glimpse of the animals, the children and hence the parents were calmer and better behaved than I have ever seen at a zoo.
Certainly the children acted like children – growling at the cougars, yelling “Wake up!” at the alligators – but they were far happier and less whiny than I usually see at zoos. They had lots of room to run, and weren’t tugging at their parents to move from one animal to the next. Spotting the animals soon became a game for them, far more interesting than watching a couple of bears or lions pace in a small cage.
We came to the endangered red wolves. Their habitat was shady – brown ground covered with dry leaves, a shelter in the distance, a pond up by the glass. We couldn’t see any wolves. A father asked his family – “How many frogs can you find?” Together we found eight huge bullfrogs in the murky pond. Then a little boy spotted two ears behind a log, and patiently instructed me – “over there, see, just past the big tree”- how to find the wolf. Soon someone found a small red wolf over by the fence and we watched him for awhile.
The Sonoran desert, in a huge glass enclosure, was as hot as it sounds. But it was fun looking for the critters – birds, lizards, snakes – and the designer had thoughtfully provided grates in the path that blew cool air up at us.
We had arrived at the zoo at 9:30. We were desperate for coffee and ready for lunch by the time we finished the North American section. We bought bad pre-sweetened cappucino and sat in the shade at the Junction Plaza, where they have the special attractions – animatronic dinosaurs, the dino theater, a carousel – and a tram to take you between the two sections. There was a restaurant, but Luli had prepared a picnic lunch – roasted vegetables, bread and cheese, grapes and strawberries. When we were through, we took the tram to “Africa.”
We walked away from the tram, rounded a curve and suddenly saw three giraffes eating from tree tops and two zebras grazing the grass. One family was more absorbed by the turtles swimming in the pond. At the chimpanzee exhibit we watched from a distance as a toddler chimp climbed repeatedly onto a nursing mother’s head. Each time she gently lifted him off and set him on the ground. Eventually another grown chimp, a male I think, came out of the woods and enticed the toddler away with a game of stick throwing.
TREEHUGGER.COM CREDIT: SHINY THINGS/FLICKR
At the lemur island, there were a couple of red-ruffed lemurs and six ring-tailed lemurs. According to various internet sources, ring-tails hang out on the ground while red-ruffed are arboreal. Lemurs have not been informed of this. The two red-ruffed lemurs had the good sense to race around on the ground, but all the ring-tails were up in a most astonishingly spindly tree, mere twigs. They leapt and climbed from limb to limb.
RED RUFFED LEMUR: DURRELL WILDLIFE CONSERVATION TRUST RINGTAILED LEMUR. PUBLI-DOMAIN-IMAGE.COM
I was pretty tired by the time we got to the savannah. We sat on benches on the large overlook. We saw one huge elephant far in the distance, and a couple of white rhinos, a kudu, a water buck and a Thomson’s gazelle a little closer. Canada geese were everywhere, voluntary residents.
When we all agreed we were through zoo-ing, Margaret looked at her watch. It was ten minutes to five, and the zoo closed at five! We had happily stayed almost eight hours, way longer than I usually stay anywhere, but now we had visions of spending the night in the African savannah. We went down to the service road and flagged down a truck. The kind driver radio-ed a ranger in a golf cart, who came to pick us up and take us back to the tram to North America, where we had parked. We saw many families walking, but he gave us a ride because we are old. White hair is such an advantage!
There are all sorts of policy and ethical questions in regard to zoos, of course. click How do we justify penning up animals for our edification, even with the most enlightened approach to zoo design? Why is the state of North Carolina supporting a zoo that very few of its citizens can get to or afford to visit? I can just imagine the legislature that passed that appropriation – I wonder who was the legislator from Ashboro!
I know (sort of) the counter-arguments: breeding programs, preserving endangered species, fostering respect for wildlife; jobs, tourism, economic development. Jon Coe, who has generously shared information since I found him on the internet, says, “Regarding the morality of zoos, we may fault the original animal collectors, but I see today’s zoo animals as “refugees from the human war of conquest over nature.” Most zoo animals (at least mammals) were born in zoos and couldn’t survive release back into the ‘wild’ even if any suitable areas could be found which aren’t already at full carrying capacity. I believe when zoos can deliver the kind of experience you and your friends had and the quality of animal welfare NCZ provides it’s animals, then they are justified. But there certainly are zoos and especially some private collections I cannot justify.”
JON COE, ZOO DESIGNER, WITH BONOBO. used by permission
I’ve told you about my favorite parts of the zoo. Some of the habitats struck me as small, and I don’t know about caging gators and other reptiles that aren’t endangered. I can’t sort it all out, and I don’t believe I have to have a carefully-reasoned moral stand on every subject. Sometimes I just seek my pleasures in the world as it is. If you like visiting zoos, the North Carolina Zoo is worth the trip.
ENTRANCE TO THE NORTH CAROLINA ZOO
Note: In research for this post, I became totally absorbed in Jon Coe’s website, where you learn a lot about zoos, and also can see his poetry and sketches from the field (ie wild areas few of us will ever visit).click
May 4, 2012
I am not always a nice person. “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all,” was one of my mother’s favorite sayings, but sometimes…
Joe and Amanda and I went out to dinner Friday night to celebrate the end of the FCAT’s, Florida’s terrifying standardized tests. We had a wonderful time at Harry’s downtown. Joe had a weird martini, I had a normal martini, and Amanda had a Shirley Temple. She was in high spirits, and decked herself with Mardi Gras beads, which she shared with the large plaster alligator next to her.
After dinner we headed to Mochi, where the frozen yoghurt is self-serve and the toppings range from blueberries through chocolate chips to Cap’n Crunch. Amanda boogied down the street ahead of us, but waited for us at the corner before crossing.
On the corner by Mochi we encountered a fair number of people who call themselves Warriors for Christ. A young man with a crewcut was standing on a milk crate. I believe he had a megaphone. Proselytizing Christians irritate me anyway, and anyone who calls himself a Warrior is down ten points with me before he opens his mouth.
I THINK I WOULD QUALIFY AS A GENERAL HEATHEN
He did open his mouth, and addressing me, asked, “Do you care about Jesus?” I should have just said no, of course, and continued on my way. Instead I replied, “I don’t give a shit about Jesus,” (I may have used the f-word instead; I’m not sure.) “You’re going to go to hell,” he told me, as I walked on with Amanda. “And you’re going to take that little girl with you. You have a responsibility to that child.” Amanda made some gesture which I caught out of the corner of my eye; I believe she was flipping a bird.
iMAGE FROM PHOTOBUCKET BY LIBERAL NC
Amanda does believe in God and Jesus, and cares about them both when she thinks of it. I asked her whether that boy’s Jesus was the one she knows, and she said no. We agreed that the only Jesus worth knowing is all about love, not hate and aggression. After we left Mochi, we crossed the street to avoid the asshole, and encountered another young Warrior who asked if we would like a leaflet. I politely told her no thank you, and we went on.
Now the last thing I need is a callow youth telling me I have a responsibility to Amanda. As I fume about it now, I make lists of all the responsible things I do that are focused on her, and wonder whether he’s ever been responsible for more than a goldfish.
Although I am not a believer, I usually try to respect the beliefs of others. I do find it annoying that strangers feel entitled to interrogate me, but I know that many Christians feel that it is part of their duty to spread the Gospel, as it is the only path to their Heaven. They’re supposed to be fishers of men (and women and children too, I suppose).
SOURCE: CLIPART.OCHRISTIAN.COM
So I put up with them when they call to me on the street, and even when they knock on my door. Part of me is sorry I was rude, and gave a rude example to Amanda. But a bigger part of me gets a giggle whenever I think of it. Joe was happy that we had dinner AND a show. I think perhaps I should drink martinis more often.
Apr 20, 2012
This post is dedicated to Sandra Lambert, my inspiration and friend, who has been awarded a well-deserved residency at Yaddo.
Every writer dreams of a writers’ retreat, a place where she* can go for a month or so to be free from the demands of family and friends and the chores of daily life, a place where she can spend all day as she chooses. In her dreams she chooses to write.
There are many writers’ retreats now, in various idyllic settings in the United States and abroad, but perhaps the most venerable and prestigious are The MacDowell Colony in Peterborough, New Hampshire and Yaddo in Saratoga Springs, New York. Established at the beginning of the last century, these two have hosted the luminaries of American literature and other creative arts, both those who have entered the canon and those who are unknown or long-forgotten, as most writers are.
COLONY HALL AT MACDOWELL
YADDO
The problem with Yaddo and McDowell and all the other retreat centers is that they are highly selective. They pride themselves on providing space and time to writers of the highest quality; most successful applicants have already been published in prestigious literary journals. Where can the poor scribbler, toiling daily with her pen, unheralded, unsung, perhaps unstrung, find support for her efforts?
We are proud to announce that, thanks to the generosity of the Clarence T. Yucko Foundation, there is now a place for the mediocre writer to dally with her muse. The Foundation has endowed the Yucko Artists’ Colony and Retreat in Heavenly Haven, Florida. Every summer in August thirty fortunate writers will be afforded the opportunity to dedicate themselves solely to their art in a four-week, all-expenses-paid residency. They will enjoy solitude during the day, and fellowship with other writers at night. We predict that from this caldron of creativity great quantities of verbosity will rise like steam.
Applying to Yucko
In line with egalitarian principles, Yucko’s philosophy is that the average person of no particular talent should be recognized and rewarded. Recall Senator Hruska’s famous words defending the nomination of Harold Carswell to the Supreme Court. “…[T]here are a lot of mediocre judges and people and lawyers. They are entitled to a little representation, aren’t they, and a little chance?” We believe the same principle should apply to writers.
The primary criterion for the Yucko Residency is prolixity. Along with the application form, the application calls for a writing sample of no fewer than 50,000 words. Of course the admissions committee will not read these, but the word limit will be strictly enforced, and any submission below the minimum will be discarded. (Applicants may, however, provide a stamped, self-addressed envelope for the return of their materials if they desire.)
And because our intent is to reward those writers hitherto unknown, publication by any non-subsidy publisher or literary journal shall disqualify candidates. A history of self-publication or blogging, however, is no bar to admission.
The Facility
Yucko is housed at the former Sleep Eze-y Motel on the outskirts of Heavenly Haven, near the interstate. This charming lodge has thirty-five fully-furnished guest rooms equipped with coffee-maker, microwave, and small refrigerator, with bathrooms en suite. Each room contains a single bed, a dresser, a desk, and a chair. The rooms are air-conditioned with window units, so that each resident may control the environment. Mosquito netting is provided, though residents should bring their own insect repellent. We recommend repellent with DEET of 25% or higher.
YUCKO WRITERS’ RETREAT
To avoid distraction, television and telephones have been removed from the rooms, but the spacious lobby, which also serves as the breakfast room, contains a television. Cell phone reception is spotty in Heavenly Haven and not to be relied on. Residents may use the telephone at the front desk. Should residents need internet access, Wifi is available at the McDonald’s four exits down the interstate.
Daily life at Yucko
A continental breakfast is served in the lobby between 8 and 10 each morning, with juice, pastries and cereal. A box lunch will be provided each day so that residents may eat in their rooms, undisturbed. A typical lunch box contains a can of Vienna sausages, a package of soda crackers, and a juice box. Dinner will be purchased from Domino’s Pizza, McDonald’s or our local Asian restaurant, Chinee Takee Outee. Residents will vote each morning for that evening’s restaurant, and may make their dining selections from the take-out menus available in the breakfast room.
Recreational opportunities
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” The old saying applies to Jills, too! Fortunately, Heavenly Haven offers countless diversions for the writer who needs a break from her labors. We have resurfaced the Sleep Eze-y swimming pool, which will be open until 9PM each evening. In addition, shopping at the Dollar General, bowling at Tamiami Alleys, and communing with nature at the municipal park along the Caloosahatchee River are all available within easy walking distance.
RIVERSIDE PARK IN HEAVENLY HAVEN, FLORIDA
A short drive down the interstate brings the more venturesome residents to Lake Okeechobee, a tropical paradise which was the setting for the hurricane in Zora Neale Hurston’s novel, Their Eyes Were Watching God. Fishing and boating are available, as are hiking and biking on the Lake Okeechobee Scenic Trail, more commonly known as the LOST trail.
THE LOST TRAIL
PLEASE apply
Are you an as-yet unpublished writer? Do you struggle for time and energy to nurture your gift? Apply now to the Clarence T. Yucko Foundation. Your dream retreat awaits you this summer.
*Although the Foundation will not discriminate on the basis of gender, the admissions criterion regarding publication will undoubtedly favor women writers. Therefore we refer to our applicants and residents as “she.” click
Apr 5, 2012
Babysitters are hard to find, but on Wednesday night Joe and I finally have a real date, all by ourselves, while my friend Nancy takes care of Amanda. We have dinner at a little Italian café in Macintosh, and sit long over our wine. On the way home I say, “Shit. I forgot.” I forgot to pick up Amanda’s bike at school; she rides the bus to Girls’ Place after school so I bring her bike home each day. Joe takes me home, switches to my car, with the bike rack, and drives off.
After he leaves: Shit. I forgot the eggs. (Let’s save space and minimize vulgarity. click From now on it’s S.I.F.) I boil ten dozen eggs every Wednesday night for the Thursday HOME Van run. click Okay. I’ll buy the eggs tomorrow on my way to school, where I shelve books in the library, and boil them before going to HOME Van Central to make cheese sandwiches.
In the morning I look for my car key; Joe took it off the key ring to get the bike. I grab the car key and the key ring and head to the store, buy the eggs, and go on to the school.
At the school I stash my purse under the seat, grab my keys and lock the car, and go inside to do the shelving. But they’ve already started setting up next week’s Book Fair, so most of the shelves are inaccessible; all I can do are the biographies. Great. I finish the job and head to the car, glad that the time pressure is eased. I have to be at HOME Van Central by 10, and it takes about an hour to boil, chill, and pack up the eggs.
At the car I discover what you probably already knew. S.I.F., and locked the car key in the car. There it is on the console, laughing at me.
S.I.F. my phone. I could use the phone in the school office, but my Triple A card is in my wallet, in my purse, locked in the car. I’ll have to go home and use Joe’s.
It’s only about 3/4 of a mile to the house, so I have a nice walk in the cool early morning, thinking I’ll start the eggs cooking, call Triple A, then ride my bike back to the school and wait by my car for rescue.
S.I.F. The eggs are in the car. I’ll do the eggs in the afternoon, after I’m finished with sandwiches, and drive back to HOME Van Central by 3, when Bill and Mike pack the supper bags. Then I’ll have an hour and a half to kill downtown before the van run. I can go to the library and get San Francisco guidebooks; Amanda and I are going to California for spring break to visit my son and two nephews.
DOWNTOWN LIBRARY
S.I.F. to charge my phone; it’s down to one bar. Joe wakes up and tells me there is a spare set of keys on the sideboard – I thought I had returned them to my neighbor Kate. (I borrowed them back from her the last time I locked myself out of the house.) I don’t think my current car key is on that ring, but it’s worth a shot. Joe offers to drive me to the school, but I’m all set to go, and I figure the bike ride will unfrazzle my nerves.
At the school I try the key – no good. I call Triple A. Though I tell the dispatcher my phone may die at any minute, she is required to take me through all the questions.
I load my bike and Amanda’s bike onto the car, and sit on a rock to wait. It’s less than half an hour, and I get a good start on writing this post.
S.I.F. hasn’t really ruined my day. True, I lost my leisurely afternoon, and I will probably get a letter from Triple A threatening to raise my rates if I make another service call. But I had a nice time at the library looking for guidebooks, and got a new novel by Bharati Mukerjee. Joe met me downtown for Mochi, the addictive self-serve frozen yoghurt. I had half an hour drinking an iced coffee and reading my new book at Maude’s (across the street from, and way better than, Starbucks.) And I found a topic for my blog. click
MAUDE’S
