English Only

Apparently, English is losing ground to other languages here in America; otherwise, why would there be such an effort to "save" it? The "English only" folks fear that new immigrants are not learning our language, yet there is no credible evidence to support that conclusion. In fact, the statistics and considerable research show that today's immigrants are acquiring our language faster than ever before and usually through bi-lingual education programs. "In 1990, only 3% of U.S. residents reported speaking English less than well or very well. Only eight tenths of one percent spoke no English at all" (Crawford, 1998, "Ten Common Fallacies About Bilingual Education"). So what's up with this? Do we really need government intervention to preserve the purity of our own language?

And what exactly would passing laws making English the "official language" entail?

Just imagine the language police, like officious meter readers, running through French bistros in our major cities ticketing everyone who ordered creme brulee! Or spying on the Latino nannies in Beverly Hills as they call to their charges from the park benches? What about a reprimand for using the term deja vu? Perhaps, you would just get a warning. Elle magazine would have to change not only its name, but most of its advertising. And the poor Taco Belle doggie--he'd be fired in favor of a proper English setter. Or worse than that, we'd have to go back to calling a truck a "lorry" and the bathroom the "loo." Visions of Chinese menu burnings dance in my head! Where would we "detain" all the offenders? ?Ellis Island?

Seriously--the historical ignorance displayed by the current politicians who focus on this initiative is appalling. Our founding fathers, despite their many shortcomings, believed in both democratic principles and freedom of speech. The Continental Congress, itself, rejected John Adams' proposal to regulate American English through the establishment of an official language academy! So today's pundits are motivated by stereotypes and fear of diversity, and they know they can count on a certain number of votes if they can keep stirring up this witches brew of fear, racism and xenophobia. Viva Las Vegas! (as Elvis would sing).

Mr. Potato Head

If you ever contemplate how far we've come as a society, just reflect on a favorite "toy" of the 1950's--the potato. Every home had one or two on hand all the time. It just took some creative person to envision the little feet, the jaunty bowler, the mustache, the arched eyebrows. The possibilities seemed endless. http://www.ideafinder.com/history/inventions/mrpotatohead.htm

Mr. Carrot didn't catch on--there wasn't enough real estate to work with. Mr. Beet would have been interesting if the color hadn't run so easily. Mr. Turnip has a cool purple stripe around it. Lot's of possibilities there. Broccoli, cauliflower and cabbage were out of the running. So was asparagus. Only the true root veggie of choice would hold those little push pin features, with which I'm surprised we didn't choke ourselves. Interesting that Mrs. Potato Head followed shortly after. Lot's more accessories there. Just imagine what a 22nd century kid will be playing with.

The Wisdom of Jack's Mother

“My mother once said the world would never find peace until men fell at their women's feet and asked for forgiveness. This is true all over the world in the jungles of Mexico, in the back streets of Shang Hai, in New York cocktail bars, husbands are getting drunk while the women stay home with the babes of their ever darkening future. If these men stop the machine and come home and get on their knees and ask for forgiveness and the women bless them peace will suddenly descend on the earth with a great silence like the inherent silence of the apocalypse.” Jack Kerouac


Beat poetry came along
as I was being born and raised—I was much too young for it,
but it waited for me.
hung out in an Indianapolis coffee house called the 11th Hour-- (way before Starbucks was a gleam in the budding entrepreneur’s eye)
languished between the dusty shelves of John King’s in Detroit.
waited for me at the bus station in East Lansing.
slept on the faded benches near Plum Street, on the long grassy stretches of Belle Isle;
lurked in the alleyways off Woodward avenue,
lingered patiently in front of Lafayette Coney Island.
Caught up with me from time to time on John R as I drove east into the sunrise;
In my rear view mirror, weaving in and out of traffic,
heading south on the Lodge freeway.
Now, just today,
behind the Broadway Party Store, -
in front of the faded “Walt’s Crawlers” sign—
“telling the true story of the world in interior monologue.”*


*from Belief & Technique for Modern Prose by Jack Kerouac

Sicko

Michael Moore throws down with Dr. Gupta! Fantastic!

All Politics are Local

1200 square feet is supposed to be enough space for two people--but I think they must be very small people who do not have home offices. Right now, my desk is in the master bedroom/loft above the living/dining/kitchen room. The laundry fits in a closet and you can literally put the clean underwear away by taking ONE step backward. It takes 15 minutes to vacuum and the two bathrooms are easily cleaned in 10 mins. My garden is reduced to 5 pots on the terrace and there's no lawn or garden to weed. So what do we do with all this time???? We walk, we eat, we walk some more. Every day is a new adventure. After dinner, we sit on Argo Pond and feed the ducks Zingerman's sourdough bread. We shop like Europeans--daily--and use the local farmer's market. $3.95 a pound for organic tomatoes!!! Yikes! Putting our money where our mouths are...tastes good! Local coffee, local cheese, local wine (not so yucky any more). Michigan strawberries are in already!!!

DetroitGirl does Ann Arbor

For months, I've thought to write, but I was consumed with sorting the stuff of our lives so that we could move as little as possible. Ah, the dream of backpacking--pretty soon you have 80 pounds of stuff and you have to buy a bigger pack. That cute stove is so heavy that now you have to drive in. Pretty soon, you don't camp any more. Well, we aren't so spartan as all that, but it's been a real education letting go of so much so quickly. When we left our dear Fairway two mornings ago, I didn't shed a tear. I was so ready to let go by then.

This morning, we walked along the Argo Pond near the Huron River, reveling in the newness! We ate at a Latin restaurant last evening and have been finding places for the things we really treasure. The new loft space is walking distance to anything you could want--we just don't have any where to put it! The liquor store sells crawlers; a new cardiac unit is going up on the hill. I could literally crawl to the emergency ward from here--a senior citizen's dream! Yet, I feel like a kid again--running along side my bike and jumping on without hesitation.

More Stuff Finds a Home...

When we moved into our current house, we fully expected to leave "feet first." Now, I am looking forward to a few more adventures.

During the late 80's and early 90's, I shared a loft near the Eastern Market with another painter. Boy, did we have fun! You could throw paint, hang stuff anywhere--leave work laying around...stack stuff up on the windows--which had a great view of the river and Canada--and drag in stuff you found on the streets. It was liberating in every way--even the 6 floors I had to walk up to get there. Very early this morning, in yet another fit of insomnia, I tuned in "Eight Mile," and discovered that the alley and doorway to my old loft appears in the movie. It was thrilling to see it again--the narrow brick street, the antique sink mounted on the outside of the unrestored building. It made me long for the quirky, the unpolished, the authentic. That actually describes how our house looked when we bought it. Odd tiles, strange ceiling treatments, unpolished authenticity. We cleaned it up and restored it, and quite easily resisted the temptation to "hot-tub" it up. We didn't knock down walls or add marble floors. We simply cleaned it up and restored it to its original condition.

I'm not sure I have another big project like this last one in me, but I'm looking for something interesting, as long as I don't have to climb six flights of stairs to get there...

It's Only Stuff

It's really interesting what kinds of material things end up being important and evocative. We're moving from a big old house to a radically smaller place and this forces us to make three (see HGTV's Mission Organization!) piles...keep, throw out, or store. But, that just doesn't work for me because each thing needs a good home. An album called "Louie, Louie" must go to my friend Louie! Where else does it belong? So, in the middle of the piles, we called him and he and his wife came to the rescue. They took all the vinyl! That was the most loving thing anyone could have done at that moment! I had sat, making myself crazy, amid piles and forgetting what each pile was--but each one was going to someone different!

The music we really loved had already been re-bought in the old/new technology-- CD's. The albums sat gathering dust and shaming us for not storing them in the way that scolding collectors would have. So, it was a huge relief to see these remnants of our youth find a new home.

Now, if only someone would buy me an Ipod, load it up with Van Morrison, Procol Harem, Jimi Hendricks, the Beatles, Joni Mitchell, The Band, Bob Dylan, and James Brown, I would be forever grateful. Between music and photos, there are some great memories just waiting to be savored--once we finally get settled again.

Just Imagine

What amazing progress might be made if 20,000 troops were made available to help rebuild New Orleans? Imagine how far a few billion dollars could go in creating a jobs program right here in Michigan. What would happen if CEOs who failed to build strong, ethical, sustainable companies were sent to the unemployment office like the rest of the workers? What if Detroit Public Schools had the well-funded infra-structure of its suburban neighbors? What if you could take a high-speed train from New York to L.A.? What if everyone planted just one 8-foot tree? What if everyone took a day off?

If I Lived in New York

If I lived in New York City, this morning, I'd take the subway to the Apollo Theatre and pay tribute to James Brown. As a white girl growing up in suburban Detroit, soul music was the only antidote to the stifling, perky, Peter-pan collared, young womanhood to which I was supposed to aspire. But, fortunately, I found a very small group of like-minded girlfriends who would accompany me to the Fox Theatre every Christmas vacation to see the Motown Stars. Can I get a witness???

They Wanted a Challenge

I'm really very saddened that the body of one of the climbers of Mt. Hood was found yesterday. Like everyone else, I had hoped that they would be found alive and triumphant--having overcome the elements. On the other hand, I'm very angry! Three bright young men needed excitement and challenge so much that they left their families just prior to the holidays and went mountain climbing. While other members were shopping, decorating, planning holiday menus and wrapping presents, they chose the worst time of year to challenge Mt. Hood.

Now, I have a little experience with that mountain. An over eager friend took some of us hiking one summer and we got a little too far out... and on the way back, my hip began to throb and ache (and I was only 23)--so much so that I had to be carried back to the lodge in the dark. So much for taking a risk!

What strikes me is this...why is climbing any mountain considered such a challenge that men (mostly) are willing to spend time, money and risk their lives trying to climb it? Why don't they come into Detroit (or any major city)--empty out the crack houses, bust up the gangs, and disarm the drug lords? Talk about a challenge! Or maybe they could figure out a way to end homelessness. Perhaps they could aim their talents toward a real challenge: reduce child abuse, attack the high illiteracy rates, overhaul the foster care programs, figure out how we can get quality health care to all our children. If that's all too easy, how about the mental health system? There are so many real challenges out there, why go looking for a manufactured one?

Happy Holidays and Seasons Greetings!

"I don't understand why anyone is against Walmart. . .If the workers don't like their jobs, why don't they work somewhere else? And anyway, poor people need to have a place to shop where the prices are low. . ." (a "real" quote from a "real" person)

I'm tired. It hardly seems worth the effort to try and explain how we are all connected, blah, blah, blah, and how wage suppression and globalization work to make more poor folks poorer and rich folks richer. The very idea of social justice is viewed as incendiary in this country. And truth has taken a long sabbatical.

Yesterday, the government published a report on the "media bias" on reporting global climate change. This packet of propaganda was probably paid for by our tax dollars with a few little side contributions. Evidently, the government has a vested interest in making us believe that global warming is a bunch of hysterical nonsense. Gee--I just wonder whose interest this serves?

Meanwhile, Yale's most famous C student, tries to read the Irag report--probably without a dictionary. So don't do any holiday shopping at Walmart--stay home (save the planet) and order used books from Amazon. While you're at it, send a dictionary to the White House.

Make a List

Everyone should make a "Top 10 List of Things I'm Grateful For. . ."

1. Turkey sandwich on sourdough bread, with mayo, cranberry chutney and leftover dressing
2. Turkey soup
3. emails from friends and the friends themselves
4. health insurance
5. parents who are still living
6. a joyful 36-year marriage
7. healthy kids
8. the best job I've ever had
9. the view from my back sunroom
10. good skin

Today on Mars. . .

While customizing my Google Home page, I became absolutely entranced with the NASA site and the amazing pictures that are available to us in this century. This picture was taken TODAY!!! While I cleaned my office, did laundry, and organized my family photos, this little human-built Rover was taking a Sunday drive on the surface of Mars and sending pictures back to us. As Plato once wrote: "What if the man could see Beauty Itself, pure, unalloyed, stripped of mortality and all its pollution, stains, and vanities, unchanging, divine, . . .would that be a life to disregard?"

Brown Sticks and Mud

This is the time of year I find it really hard to justify staying in Michigan for the next 10 years. . . the hills around St. Remy beckon and the spirit, if not the body, is more than willing to participate in the grape and lavender harvests. I would live, happily, without a car, preferably above a bakery. The walking would certainly mitigate the extra calories. I'd take my bicycle to the market and I'd spend time sketching the countryside or writing.

Interestingly, we had old friends in from "up north" this week, and the topic of our children and their lives came up, as it always does. They have a son and niece who are "freegans." I have never heard this term before, so they explained. These young people live in a commune together where they all pool resources. They walk dogs to pay the rent and utility bills, but everything else they need is traded for, or they buy it resale. They eschew anything new--including shoes--and they get all their food from dumpsters. They find perfectly good things thrown away all the time. Additionally, the house is substance-free (something you tell your parents to calm them down.) Now, I don't think I'm longing for a lifestyle that radical, but these kids are onto something, I think.

And this time of year, my mind wanders to the far ends of how to live.

Frozen Pigs on the Highway

I'm trying to get back into the groove of writing about things that I see or hear every day--the weird stuff that sticks in my brain like the "hook" from Eminem's "Lose Yourself." Admit it, you might really hate rap, but you loved that song. His rhetorical strategies rock.

So, that's what this image of frozen pigs has been. I wish I hadn't seen the picture, but I was taking my mid-day newsbreak and there it was...an arial shot of about 50 frozen, full-grown pig carcasses strewn all over the southbound lanes of the Golden State Freeway. Now, I am not your average meat eater. I've actually raised piglets from cute little bundles of wiggles to large lumbering hogs, and I've participated in the slaughter, butchering and smoking of the hams and bacon. I've rendered lard until every doorknob in the house glistened with pig grease. (It makes the best pie crust ever!) Despite my experiences with pork, this picture was really disturbing for some reason. Maybe I'll have to arrange an antedotal viewing of "Babe."

A Long Vacation

I took a long vacation from blogging not because I didn't have a lot to say, I was just saying it some place else. After a heavy load of teaching this fall, I'm recommitting to blogging for several reasons: one, it makes be feel young, hip and cool; and two, I should be doing it because I teach writing and I nag my students to write. I like the idea of having a place in cyberspace where I can pull together different items and create a collage of expression. So here I am again--please be kind.

I'm Gonna Move Up to the Country and Paint My Mailbox Blue

I enjoyed my tomatoes, eggplants, beans and basil so much this year that I've been shopping for a place with a little land to it. My current front yard is large, but it's in a very formal neighborhood where corn stalks would probably set off a riot. So I'm searching for just the right combination of land to house ratio--something small enough to clean in 3 hours, but large enough to accomodate weekend guests. Enough trees to provide shade and privacy, but a patch of ground that gets sunlight all day long. A little creek and a small barn might work, too.

On the other hand, a loft downtown appeals to the part of me that loves this city and is enjoying it's current rebirth, however slow and small. I suppose the perfect setting would be a loft on the riverfront with a rooftop garden where I could grow corn. . .but then there's the issue of the blue mailbox

Get Off My Back!

I've been too busy to post and besides if you have time to miss me, you need to get a life! Just kidding...

Late August evokes a kind of mood we used to call "high school Sundays." Those days are bittersweet, in that the weekend is over and you didn't have quite as much fun as you would have liked to have had; and furthermore, you didn't even begin to do that 20-page research paper that's due on Monday.

Summer's almost over and I only kayaked once, only swam once, and only picnicked once. I worked a lot, as most of us do, but didn't get around to that 20-page research paper (the novel, the poems the paintings) that I really meant to do. Fall is in the air, the acorns are littering the sidewalk, and it's time for sweaters already.

I don't even want to talk about the larger world, the Katrina anniversary pageant that Bush rolled out, the continuing corporate pimping of democracy--it's all too ugly.

Instead, I'll revel in the fun of new notebooks, the smell of the paper, the pencil boxes, the crack of new textbook bindings, the feel of a new ink pen.

Quagmire Accomplished

Over a week ago, as the bombs were dropping in Lebanon, I was scheduled to meet a young student of mine who struggles with writing in English--because it is his third language. He's from Lebanon--and when I got to class to meet him, he wasn't there. I proceeded to prepare and make copies and other things I do to get ready to teach a class.

When he came in, he was ashen and could barely speak. My hearing is so bad and his accent so thick that when he breathlessly uttered, "My cousin has been killed,” I heard "hurt." His eyes widened and I quickly realized I had not responded in a way consistent with the seriousness of the situation. He clarified in a louder voice and I nodded my understanding.

Others were filing into class, and so he took his seat. During our discussions about our personal missions and how we see ourselves as citizens in the world, he was passionate and wanting to help his country. But, he's, thankfully, stuck here.

The horror of what is being done in the name of "freedom" by our country and all the others who still believe that violence will bring about peace--is unfathomable! These entrenched hatreds, fueled by fundamentalists on BOTH sides--will continue and threatens to send all of us into a worldwide conflict. I've been feeling no less horrified and hopeless as my student.

Then, I read about an inter-faith group of Arabs and Jews who meet regularly to discuss (peacefully) the problems in the Middle East. Here, in the Detroit area, where we have the largest population of Arab immigrants in the USA, they all live and work side by side--they go to movies, out to eat, they worship and raise families right next door to each other and next door to Jews and Christians--and sometimes the occasional Buddhist.

The point is, there must be a better way for the USA to influence the world toward peaceful coexistence than the route the neo-conservatives have mapped out. The foundation of their beliefs is so flawed, so laden with a lethal combination of ignorance and arrogance, that I fear for all of our futures.

We simply have not absorbed the lessons of the past. In the same way that the Ku Klux Klan was absorbed into Southern culture after Reconstruction, these terrorist groups all over the Middle East are often the only perceived "protection" these people have. When southern whites felt that the "system" in place would not protect them, they wrongfully embraced (sometimes in secret) those whom they believed had their best interests at heart. In the same way that people trapped in inner city poverty will look the other way when the drug kingpin hands out dollar bills to the children, civilians caught in this tragic crossfire are faced with a similar moral dilemma. In the absence of an infrastructure that is vigilantly attacking poverty and injustice, people will turn to the next worst thing. And here we are.

Protesters at Wayne State in the 1960's

I was conducting a little research today and ran across this incredible picture. It really struck me! Compare your image of 1960's war protesters with the young people in this picture. Anti-war demonstrators were, of course, villified during that time. They were tear gassed, infiltrated, spied upon, spat upon, arrested, and at least one I know was almost run down by a pick up truck that deliberately swerved onto the sidewalk where she was handing out leaflets for the Student Mobilization Committee. I wonder where these students are today and I wonder if they still view war as a failure of the collective imagination.

Corn in the Front Yard

I remember knowing eccentric old women--one who had a talking myna bird named "Tammy"--another who kept all of her past copies of the New York Times and every shopping bag she'd ever gotten. I always found these women charming, but I never anticipated modeling myself after them--at least not intentionally.

This spring, however, I found myself wanting to grow corn in my sunny front lawn--even though the street is lined with large formal Tudors. To accommodate this urge, I allowed my father, the most steadfast and intense gardener I know, to put in eggplants, tomatoes, cucumbers, dill, basil and beans right in the front perennial beds. From the street, no one can tell that a little kitchen garden is being tended. But I feel a bit funny when the Jaguar convertibles and Cadillac Escalades cruise by when I'm out weeding and hoeing. My front yard is supposed to betray any sense of practicality--everyone irrigates chemically-fed grass and well-pruned, but useless bushes. The front yard is merely for show.

The mailman comes on foot every day and he often looks longingly at my garden--as if conjuring up some distant memory of warm tomatoes--freshly picked. I think I'm becoming the eccentric woman in his life.

Exercising Freedom of Speech

Flag Burning or Flag Waving??

Do we really need a constitutional amendment to tell us how to be patriotic? I find it ironic that the very people who have actively and cheerfully dismantled our democracy and destroyed any government "for the people" want to propose that people be prosecuted for burning the flag. These political hacks should be villified for waving flags while promoting unjust labor policies, preemptive wars, and environmental devastation worldwide. But I guess this is what our flag stands for now--it's a symbol that is now held hostage by mega-corporate interests. These same politicians have no problem when the Nascar crowd bundles up in flag jackets and red, white, and blue striped capri pants. Next time I'm at the track, I think I'll light my capri pants on fire and see what happens.

Keep on Rockin'

While cleaning the attic yesterday, I finally found the pictures of the very first Rolling Stones concert in Detroit. It was 1965--Olympia Stadium. I was in the 2nd row and there were only around 300 people there. Six months later, they "blew up"-- as they say these days. Anyway, the most interesting thing about one picture is the police officer in the foreground. He looks bored. I guess he never imagined that 40 years later Mick Jagger would still be rockin'--