in medias res

What You've [Not] Been Missing

I want to make good on my promise to talk about the last few weekends. I realized I go on too many rants that, really, who cares about that. Just the hot air blowing up from Florida. I'm resisting the urge to write a blog called "Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?" about how much I hate hate hate the current country music that took Team America to be the gospel truth. Take for example a certain American prophet - Toby Keith: "Oh, justice will be served and the battle will rage:/This big dog will fight when you rattle his cage./ An' you'll be sorry that you messed with the U.S. of A./ 'Cos we'll put a boot in your ass, it's the American way." I don't know if I've ever been more proud to be an American. "Justice", eh?

This ties in - trust me. A few weeks ago, I went to the Memphis fair with Mike and some of his friends (who are so nice, it makes it even harder to leave). And the featured band was none other than than The Charlie Daniels Band. When we walked by, they were playing "Long haired country boy", and the only reason I remember this is because all of the vendors, all of the bystanders - everyone was in their own very expressive little music video. Even the women were proud to be long-haired country boys. Serving up foot-long corn dogs and singing to each other "to just leave this long-haired country boy a-LOOONE." One guy in particular - a sandy-haired long-haired country boy in a flannel shirt/jacket that hung like a bell over his very tall, very thin body - he was the real thing. I couldn't stop staring at him. It's the way people sing when they're in their cars or in the privacy of their own homes. I love the fair.

Before we went to the fair, we had a cookout with a couple of Mike's friends. They used to own an art gallery; everything is beautiful and unique in their house and in their backyard. And, they're just really nice people. We ate black bean soup (the last semi-healthy thing we'd eat all night), talked until it was nice and dark, and then we headed down to the fairway. Mike brought his camera;I brought $50 for fair food and rides. I love going to the fair with people who like the rides. I can't remember any names, so I'll make them up as I go. We started out with the "Human Airplanes", where you lay on your chest and your arms and legs hang free as a giant disc spins you around and up into the air. On the "Spinning, Throwing Claw", we sat up with a large u-shaped bar over our chests as this gigantic spinning claw swung us back and forth over the fairway. Mike talked me into trying "Fall to Your Death." I think I screamed a bad word. I can't remember the others. Mike and I went to the fairway to eat more food and win some prizes. All in all, we had a corn dog, cotton candy, a funnel cake, and I had a bite of homemade potato chips and a bite of a fried Snickers bar. Mike won a large inflatable bat for me.

The rest of the weekend, we hung out with his best friend in Memphis, went exploring downtown, spent some quality time with his mentor+fiance+new baby (fiance is GREAT - I wish we lived closer to each other...), ate sushi, took naps, watched movies...a very, very good visit. He's patient and kind and fun. Oh, yes, and I rode up and back with a wonderful writer/FSU professor I babysit for. We talked most of the trip (boy, can I talk). I introduced her to Reno 911, Lost, The Office, and Hardee's thickburgers. She brought Curb Your Enthusiasm, and we were so distracted, we took a detour through Tuscaloosa.

The weekend before that was also very busy. I went home for Brandy's wedding. She was the most laidback bride I've ever seen. I wanted everything to go especially well for her. My duties were to hand out programs and to read the thirteenth chapter of Paul's Letter to the Corinthians. I was nervous. The location - Alahambra Hall in Mt. Pleasant - was perfect. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until a very astute bridesmaid asked, "Why isn't the caterer here yet?" Hmm, yes. Instead of telling the bride and making her panic, they went to her big wedding notebook, called the caterer, rearranged the order of the reception so that the toasts and the dances came earlier, and THEN they told the bride. Then, we all became the official spirit committee. We tried to get people to dance and encouraged people to frequent the bar. The food and the cake were delicious, the bride was beautiful, the maid of honor's toast was money, and I got to see some faces from my past. It turned out to be a very nice wedding. However, I have decided that, if I ever get married, I will go up to the deejay's booth at the beginning of the reception and ask to see the discs that contain the following songs: the Cha-Cha Slide, Cotton-Eyed Joe, Brick House, YMCA, any song that can lead to a congo line, and anything with Tim McGraw. I will break these discs. I'll leave the Electric Slide in case of an emergency.

This is the same weekend we were trying to throw together a surprise 50th birthday party for my mom. That was a feat, and she kept unwittingly sabotaging my efforts to get anything done. She was mad at me for most of the weekend because I was gone so much. I kept "going to hang out with Edie" or to "help out with Brandy." Really, I was meeting up with my aunt to buy enough food for the 50+ people we invited. I was copying old pictures of her and putting them into a scrapbook everyone would sign. Our last night together, she would barely speak to me because she was so hurt. My brothers and my sister-in-law were all home, and she was disappointed in me and my dad for not planning something for her birthday. To throw her off the trail, we went out for ice cream and gave her the jewelry we all bought for her.

I said my goodbyes to everyone after breakfast on Sunday morning and pretended to get on the road to Tallahassee, but really I went home and worked with my aunt (who was 8 months pregnant at the time). We made flower arrangements, cooked quick-fix food, set up the tables and chairs. My parents went out to dinner with my brothers, and then they "said goodbye." I even called my parents "from the road" and told them I was tired of driving. I was standing in our house with our 70+ guests at the time.

She was shocked. She had been so busy being upset with me, that she didn't pay attention to any of the signs. She kept saying, "Oh, TARA!" All was forgiven, it was a great party, and almost all of the food was eaten.

I hope that when I'm fifty, my life is that rich and full of people - just like my mom's. I also hope we can have chocolate cake AND carrot cake all at the same party. Cake doesn't count on your birthday.

Quick Note: Since this party, my aunt has had her baby. The kid in the orange-striped shirt in this picture is my cousin. When he walked in and saw his mommy breastfeeding, he said, "So THAT's what those are for!"
They grow up so quickly...

posted by tara @ 10:07 AM 7 comments

I See London, I See France, I See the Emperor's Underpants

"By mapping a third critical route away from the impasse between biological essentialism and discursive constructivism, I argue for a nonteleological notion of nature, challenging models of evolution that define the biological understanding of the body, sex, and reproduction according to the arborescent logic of inheritance. In particular, Darwinism--and to some extent neo-Darwinism--implies a filiative model of the body based on the binary logic of sexual exchange..." - Luciana Parisi "Information Trading and Symbiotic Micropolitics"

That's a random quote from an article my advisor insists is crucial to my thesis. I might have a cursory understanding of it in a few weeks, after it has simmered. Right now, I feel stupid. I'm not sure if I'm changing, but I have this inner beast that screams "bullsh*t!!" at some things I come across in my field. That can't be good for my future.

And my reference to "The Emperor's New Clothes" is just me trying to be a little too clever. I don't have any special wisdom or insight. If anything, I'm the one saying, "Emperor? When did we get an emperor??"

At least I've got my SmartWater to pull me through. Hey- I'm not afraid to lie to myself.

posted by tara @ 11:42 PM 0 comments

If You Don't Know How to Pronounce "Lancaster," Get Your Cameras Out of PA

I always get excited any time I see something written about the Amish or the Mennonites. Weird Al Yankovich, Kingpin, the Simpsons, Hallmark movies*…Now, under these circumstances, I wish it would stop.

For me, being raised Mennonite is more of a cultural distinction than a religious one. My parents helped start a Mennonite church that eventually dropped its name; few in Charleston understood “Mennonite.”***(see below) Even though I never lived in Iowa, I always said I was “going home” because it was to the community that always felt a little more like home and was consistent with the ways my parents tried to raise us.

“Going home” to Iowa required adjustments. My mom and I would take off make-up and jewelry during the last hour of our 19-hour trip home. I had to wear longer shorts and more crew tops. No television and "secular" music. To entertain myself, I would explore the storage room for old pictures, clothing, and clues to the short lives of my two uncles who died as children. I still try not to get stuck outside by the old barn when it’s dark.

I feel equally close to the Amish church because I am only one generation away from being raised sans electricity and telephones. My maternal grandparents left the Amish church soon after they were married, but they maintained very close ties to their Amish relatives and neighbors. My grandfather, a Mennonite pastor, would take me to sing at the elderly care facility where he also worked. It wasn’t until I was older that I appreciated the resonance of his voice from the pulpit. My grandparents and their house has changed very little in the past twenty years. Old trinkets are still appreciated on the well-dusted shelves. My grandma still uses the same patterns to make her dresses. She keeps a bulletin board archive of every family Christmas picture she has received for at least five years.

The priorities of my extended family was always a check on my “vertlicht” (sp? “worldly”) ways. We focused on fellowship and food. All three meals were a production that would last until the dishes were picked clean by wandering forks or until the stories ran out. Between meals, we grazed on brownies, chocolate peanut butter balls (buckeyes), vegetables, pickles, bread and jam, cheese, ice cream still icy from the churn – all were homemade. My family has perfected the art of the casserole. They were the original organic farmers. The Hostetlers in Iowa were different from the Hostetlers in South Carolina.

When my mom called twice yesterday, I knew what it was about. For her, the Amish/Mennonite world has always been the antithesis of everything beyond where the horse-drawn buggies run. Had I grown up there, I “never would have seen too much too soon, learned those awful words and a lack of discretion, tried to dress like that, dated a boy like that, learned to dance like that…” For her, the lines have always been clear, and home has always been a safe retreat. It’s where we should have grown up. Now, it is no longer safe.

It’s not just the violence of Charles Carl Roberts. Something feels very wrong in all of the news coverage of a community whose religious beliefs forbid photography. (“Thou shalt have no graven image.”) Those selected by the media as spokespeople for the Amish church – Ruth Irene Garrett and Tom Schachtman, among others—are not respected by Mennonite and Amish communities because they have tried to profit off of sensationalizing the Amish. (Garrett grew up in the same community as my parents.) I want to block the cameras, but, like everyone else, I also cannot look away.

I think I’m also a little jealous over them. They’re part of my heritage. I’m afraid of them changing. I’m also a little afraid of them not holding up under the scrutiny. So far, I haven’t been disappointed. Their only response, as they bury their daughters and sit in the hospital rooms, has been “We forgive .” It makes no sense. Then again, grace never does.

*If you watch Harvest of Fire, you will see many of my relatives on screen and in the credits. My grandpa has a scrapbook of signed photos and bits and pieces from the production in Kalona, Iowa. It's cute.

***Quick history: Mennonites are similar to Protestants, and came out of the same division in the church. The difference is that Protestantism was based on political and spiritual issues; Mennonitism was only spiritual. Mennonites are usually distinguished by believing in baptism upon confession of faith – as opposed to infant baptism, and pacifism. Varying degrees of conservative dress and a denial of material goods are found throughout the Mennonite church. The Amish church grew out of the Mennonite church in the 1690’s. It was in an attempt to preserve rural life, return to the original teachings of the Mennonite church, restore discipline, and to avoid materialism. The practices they developed are to these aims.

Coming Soon: Brandy's Wedding and my Mom's 50th, The Fair and Other Adventures From My Recent Trip to Memphis, Long Car Rides, and Mike Shot an 89 Yesterday...

posted by tara @ 10:32 PM 3 comments