The Women Who Caught The Babies
Picture book
"They caught the babies,
and catch them still,
welcome them into the world,
for living."
These days avant garde mothers to be opt for midwives rather
than doctors to aid them through labor and childbirth. We kinda
forget that hospital delivery is very recent in terms of the whole
stretch of human history. As Eloise Greenfield, author of The Women
Who Caught The Babies, reminds us that midwives have been doing their
very useful work "...probably as long as their have been human babies
on earth.
Told in a series of free form poems, The Women Who Caught The
Babies tells the story of black midwives through the history of
America beginning with those who were kidnapped from Africa through
the ones today who are summoned by cell phone. Daniel Minter's
paintings that accompany the text are truly enchanting. My favorite
is the picture of a Black man holding the first child in his family
born into freedom.
I think this book would be a very sweet gift for a family in
which a child awaits the birth of a sibling. Under whatever
circumstances a baby arrives we should be all about welcoming him or
her into the world for loving.
On a purrrsonal note, school and work are going just fine, especially
now that the dish machine is fixed. The weather is moderate which
makes bus commuting easier. Tobago continues to be a happy little
cat. I am really looking forward to 2 things:
1) Black History Month. There will be good celebrations on campus.
As you may have noticed I've reviewed a few relevant books to get in
the spirit.
2) The reopening of the Bangor Goodwill. They have been closed over a
month for renovations. I am eager to see what they'll look like. And
I hope they might have cat shirts, pajamas, leggings...any garments
and other merch that celebrates our fine felines. I got a cat shirt
at Orono
Thrift Shop today.
A great big shout out goes out to two very fine felines: Joey whose
beloved memory I treasure and Tobago who now warms my heart.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Wednesday, January 29, 2020
Sunday, January 26, 2020
Birmingham Sunday
Birmingham Sunday
Juvenile nonfiction
"Suddenly, a blast ripped through the building. Windows
shattered. And thirty-inch-thick stone and brick walls thundered.
Reverand John Cross, the church pastor, said, 'It sounded like the
whole world was shaking, and the building, I thought, was going to
collapse.'"
It was September 15, 1963. The church was the Sixteenth Street
Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama. Dynamite had been set off.
Four innocent girls were dead. Before night two boys would also be
victims of racist violence.
Larry Dane Brimmer was inspired to write Birmingham Sunday by a
call for biographies of the children who died that day. "To write
biographies of children is an impossible task. They have only begun
to experience life. So I decided, instead, to include profiles of
them that would hint at their personalities and cloak them within the
events of September 15 and the unrest leading up to that horrendous
act of terrorism."
The book is a powerful read combining compelling narrative with
evocotive period photographs. Starting with with how the Supreme
Court's 1954 Brown v. Board of Education decision angered
segregationists in the Jim Crow South, it covers the actions of the
Civil Rights Movement and the racism and violence with which they were
met: the bus boycott inspired by Rosa Parks' refusal to give up her
seat,the Freedom Riders, the children's crusade... Many of the
photographs are chilling: the bombed church, a burning bus, a dog
lunging at a black teen, a KKK rally with even Klanschildren dressed
in robes and hoods...
And then at the end of the book there are the child victims of
that day and their stories and the struggle it took to bring the
killers to justice.
Birmingham Sunday is a good way to introduce children to that
less than glorious chapter in America's history.
On a purrrsonal note, I think that of all the tragedies on the
television news and in the papers during that time that was the one
that shocked, saddened, and angered me the most. They were girls my
age who went to school, listened to music (maybe the same groups and
singers), quarelled with siblings, looked forward to Christmas...girls
I would have been friends with if they'd gone to my school.
A great big shout out goes out to the people who brought the killers
to justice.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Juvenile nonfiction
"Suddenly, a blast ripped through the building. Windows
shattered. And thirty-inch-thick stone and brick walls thundered.
Reverand John Cross, the church pastor, said, 'It sounded like the
whole world was shaking, and the building, I thought, was going to
collapse.'"
It was September 15, 1963. The church was the Sixteenth Street
Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama. Dynamite had been set off.
Four innocent girls were dead. Before night two boys would also be
victims of racist violence.
Larry Dane Brimmer was inspired to write Birmingham Sunday by a
call for biographies of the children who died that day. "To write
biographies of children is an impossible task. They have only begun
to experience life. So I decided, instead, to include profiles of
them that would hint at their personalities and cloak them within the
events of September 15 and the unrest leading up to that horrendous
act of terrorism."
The book is a powerful read combining compelling narrative with
evocotive period photographs. Starting with with how the Supreme
Court's 1954 Brown v. Board of Education decision angered
segregationists in the Jim Crow South, it covers the actions of the
Civil Rights Movement and the racism and violence with which they were
met: the bus boycott inspired by Rosa Parks' refusal to give up her
seat,the Freedom Riders, the children's crusade... Many of the
photographs are chilling: the bombed church, a burning bus, a dog
lunging at a black teen, a KKK rally with even Klanschildren dressed
in robes and hoods...
And then at the end of the book there are the child victims of
that day and their stories and the struggle it took to bring the
killers to justice.
Birmingham Sunday is a good way to introduce children to that
less than glorious chapter in America's history.
On a purrrsonal note, I think that of all the tragedies on the
television news and in the papers during that time that was the one
that shocked, saddened, and angered me the most. They were girls my
age who went to school, listened to music (maybe the same groups and
singers), quarelled with siblings, looked forward to Christmas...girls
I would have been friends with if they'd gone to my school.
A great big shout out goes out to the people who brought the killers
to justice.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Saturday, January 25, 2020
The Undefeated
The Undefeated
Juvenile poetry
"This is for the unforgettable.
The swift and sweet ones
who hurdled history
and opened a world
of possible.
The ones who ones who survived
America
by any means necessary.
And the ones who didn't."
2008 was a special year for Kwame Alexander. His second
daughter was born and the first Black United States president was
elected. As a tribute to both he wrote a very special poem. He wrote
it so his child would have a rich historical record of where she came
from including lesser known episodes.
In The Undefeated this powerful poem is paired up with Kadir
Nelson's eloquent paintings. A section at the back of the book gives
more information on the people and events of each two page spread.
For example,
*under the words
"who shine
their light for the world to see
and don't stop
'til the break of dawn."
You see portraits of artists and writers with biographies of Romare
Bearden, Zora Neale Hurston, Jacob Lawrence, Henry Ossawa Tanner,
Augusta Savage, Phillis Wheatly, Langston Hughes, and Aaron Douglas.
*This is for the unafraid.
The audacious ones
who carried the red, white, and Weary Blues
on the battlefield
to save an imperfect Union"
is coupled with a painting of a Black soldier carrying the flag. A
paragraph in the back gives information on the role of Black soldiers
in winning the Civil War.
*There are three two page spreads cationed, "This is the unspeakable."
The first shows how Blacks were crammed together on slave ships. The
second shows broken glass over pictures of the four girls killed in
the 1963 16th Street Baptist Church bombing. The third shows pictures
of Sandra Bland, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, and Trayvon Martin
scattered among a memorial of flowers, candles, flags, and writings.
History, however, wasn't the only thing on Alexander's mind.
"But mostly I wrote a poem to remind Samayah (his daughter) and
her friends and her family and all of you, and to remind myself, to
never, ever give up, because, as Maya Angelou wrote, 'We may encounter
many defeats, but we must not be defeated...'"
I bet that's the reason the last two page spread shows beautiful
Black children.
On a purrrsonal note, the first week of spring semester was fun,
except for Big Bertha (the dishwasher) being broken at work much of
the week. Tobago is thriving, being such a sweet little girl. The
high point of my week was the birthday party Amber and Brian threw for
Eugene and Adam this evening. It was wonderful having the family
together.
Great big shouts out go out to my precious family including sweet
little Tobago.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Juvenile poetry
"This is for the unforgettable.
The swift and sweet ones
who hurdled history
and opened a world
of possible.
The ones who ones who survived
America
by any means necessary.
And the ones who didn't."
2008 was a special year for Kwame Alexander. His second
daughter was born and the first Black United States president was
elected. As a tribute to both he wrote a very special poem. He wrote
it so his child would have a rich historical record of where she came
from including lesser known episodes.
In The Undefeated this powerful poem is paired up with Kadir
Nelson's eloquent paintings. A section at the back of the book gives
more information on the people and events of each two page spread.
For example,
*under the words
"who shine
their light for the world to see
and don't stop
'til the break of dawn."
You see portraits of artists and writers with biographies of Romare
Bearden, Zora Neale Hurston, Jacob Lawrence, Henry Ossawa Tanner,
Augusta Savage, Phillis Wheatly, Langston Hughes, and Aaron Douglas.
*This is for the unafraid.
The audacious ones
who carried the red, white, and Weary Blues
on the battlefield
to save an imperfect Union"
is coupled with a painting of a Black soldier carrying the flag. A
paragraph in the back gives information on the role of Black soldiers
in winning the Civil War.
*There are three two page spreads cationed, "This is the unspeakable."
The first shows how Blacks were crammed together on slave ships. The
second shows broken glass over pictures of the four girls killed in
the 1963 16th Street Baptist Church bombing. The third shows pictures
of Sandra Bland, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, and Trayvon Martin
scattered among a memorial of flowers, candles, flags, and writings.
History, however, wasn't the only thing on Alexander's mind.
"But mostly I wrote a poem to remind Samayah (his daughter) and
her friends and her family and all of you, and to remind myself, to
never, ever give up, because, as Maya Angelou wrote, 'We may encounter
many defeats, but we must not be defeated...'"
I bet that's the reason the last two page spread shows beautiful
Black children.
On a purrrsonal note, the first week of spring semester was fun,
except for Big Bertha (the dishwasher) being broken at work much of
the week. Tobago is thriving, being such a sweet little girl. The
high point of my week was the birthday party Amber and Brian threw for
Eugene and Adam this evening. It was wonderful having the family
together.
Great big shouts out go out to my precious family including sweet
little Tobago.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Wednesday, January 22, 2020
Global Woman
Global Woman
Adult nonfiction
"Whether they know it or not, Clinton and Princela Bautista, two
children growing up in a small town in the Philippines apart from
their two migrant parents, are the recipients of an international
pledge. It says that a child 'should grow up in a family environment,
in an atmosphere of happiness, love, and understanding,' and 'not be
separated from his or her parents against their will...' Part of
Article 9 of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of the Child
(1959), these words stand now as a fairy-tale ideal, the promise of a
shield between children and the costs of globalization."
When we study about the slavery that was practiced in the United
States for centuries, we pretty much unanimously are horrified by the
abilities of slave owners to break up slave families, selling off
parents from their beloved children. We think, thank God that's
over. And we're wrong.
"Today coercion operates differently. While the sex trade and
some domestic service is brutally enforced, in the main the new
emotional imperialism does not issue from the barrel of a gun. Women
choose to migrate for domestic work. But they choose it because
economic pressures all but coerce them to..."
Can you imagine working thousands of miles from your beloved
children because that's the only way to keep them from starving? Can
you imagine, as a small child, waking up to find your mother gone and
not knowing when/if you'll see her again? This tragedy is only one of
the cruelties depicted in Global Woman: Nannies, Maids, And Sex
Workers In The New Economy edited by Barbara Ehrenreich and Arlie
Russel Hochschild. Many people have documented a "brain drain"
exacerbated by globalization. Needed professionals such as doctors
are being enticed to move from impoverished countries to First world
nations where they enjoy more adequate work facilities, more money,
and more upward mobility. When it comes to the opposite side of the
coin, the globalization speeded up mass migration of women, often the
poorest of the poor, there is little written. Global Woman attempts
to remedy that dearth of knowledge. A series of essays includes:
*Pierette Hondagneu-Sotelo's Blowups and Other Unhappy Endings
discusses the precariousness of domestic jobs for transnational
workers. In the case of live in workers an abrupt termination can
involve lack of food and shelter;
*a number of pieces are litanies of the deprivations care workers
often suffer. Would you like to sleep on the floor of an unheated
storage room?;
*Rhacel Salazar Parrenas' The Care Crisis in the Philippines:
Children and Transnational Families in the New Global Economy
delineates the ways in which many children growing up with distant
mothers suffer;
*Kevin Bales Because She Looks like a Child describes the suffering of
girls sold to pimps by parents. Can you imagine a fifteen year old
having to have sex with fifteen men a night? There is also physical
abuse to keep them subserviant. And many die much too young from AIDS.
And others.
If, like me, you believe that being raised by your own mother
and caring for your beloved children, living and working under
adequate conditions, and not being sold into prostitution should be
birth rights, not luxuries only afforded the birth fortunate, read
this book and get angry, very angry.
On a purrrsonal note, when I read this book I felt even more grateful
than I was already and ANGRY that so many girls and women have to be
deprived of this so their children will survive.
It is morning and Tobago is watching one of her cat tvs (windows).
She finds the 24 hour all neighborhood channels fascinating.
Yesterday was the first day of spring semester. Of course I was happy
to be back at work. And the class I'm taking on social justice in
regard to higher education will be the cat's pajamas. Not only is the
topic fascinating, but it's a great group. Where this class is not
required, it's only people who are really interested. Everyone I see
gets to see a picture of Tobago. They agree that she is a beautiful
girl.
A great big shout out goes out to my professor and classmates, my work
friends, and sweet little Tobago.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Adult nonfiction
"Whether they know it or not, Clinton and Princela Bautista, two
children growing up in a small town in the Philippines apart from
their two migrant parents, are the recipients of an international
pledge. It says that a child 'should grow up in a family environment,
in an atmosphere of happiness, love, and understanding,' and 'not be
separated from his or her parents against their will...' Part of
Article 9 of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of the Child
(1959), these words stand now as a fairy-tale ideal, the promise of a
shield between children and the costs of globalization."
When we study about the slavery that was practiced in the United
States for centuries, we pretty much unanimously are horrified by the
abilities of slave owners to break up slave families, selling off
parents from their beloved children. We think, thank God that's
over. And we're wrong.
"Today coercion operates differently. While the sex trade and
some domestic service is brutally enforced, in the main the new
emotional imperialism does not issue from the barrel of a gun. Women
choose to migrate for domestic work. But they choose it because
economic pressures all but coerce them to..."
Can you imagine working thousands of miles from your beloved
children because that's the only way to keep them from starving? Can
you imagine, as a small child, waking up to find your mother gone and
not knowing when/if you'll see her again? This tragedy is only one of
the cruelties depicted in Global Woman: Nannies, Maids, And Sex
Workers In The New Economy edited by Barbara Ehrenreich and Arlie
Russel Hochschild. Many people have documented a "brain drain"
exacerbated by globalization. Needed professionals such as doctors
are being enticed to move from impoverished countries to First world
nations where they enjoy more adequate work facilities, more money,
and more upward mobility. When it comes to the opposite side of the
coin, the globalization speeded up mass migration of women, often the
poorest of the poor, there is little written. Global Woman attempts
to remedy that dearth of knowledge. A series of essays includes:
*Pierette Hondagneu-Sotelo's Blowups and Other Unhappy Endings
discusses the precariousness of domestic jobs for transnational
workers. In the case of live in workers an abrupt termination can
involve lack of food and shelter;
*a number of pieces are litanies of the deprivations care workers
often suffer. Would you like to sleep on the floor of an unheated
storage room?;
*Rhacel Salazar Parrenas' The Care Crisis in the Philippines:
Children and Transnational Families in the New Global Economy
delineates the ways in which many children growing up with distant
mothers suffer;
*Kevin Bales Because She Looks like a Child describes the suffering of
girls sold to pimps by parents. Can you imagine a fifteen year old
having to have sex with fifteen men a night? There is also physical
abuse to keep them subserviant. And many die much too young from AIDS.
And others.
If, like me, you believe that being raised by your own mother
and caring for your beloved children, living and working under
adequate conditions, and not being sold into prostitution should be
birth rights, not luxuries only afforded the birth fortunate, read
this book and get angry, very angry.
On a purrrsonal note, when I read this book I felt even more grateful
than I was already and ANGRY that so many girls and women have to be
deprived of this so their children will survive.
It is morning and Tobago is watching one of her cat tvs (windows).
She finds the 24 hour all neighborhood channels fascinating.
Yesterday was the first day of spring semester. Of course I was happy
to be back at work. And the class I'm taking on social justice in
regard to higher education will be the cat's pajamas. Not only is the
topic fascinating, but it's a great group. Where this class is not
required, it's only people who are really interested. Everyone I see
gets to see a picture of Tobago. They agree that she is a beautiful
girl.
A great big shout out goes out to my professor and classmates, my work
friends, and sweet little Tobago.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Saturday, January 18, 2020
The Love and Lies of Rukhsana Ali
The Love and Lies of Rukhsana Ali
YA/adult fiction
"No parties, no shorts, no boys. These were my parents' cardinal
rules. But what they didn't know couldn't hurt them, right? I
quickly changed out of my NASA pajamas and into my favorite black crop
top and dark blue vintage jeans, liking the way they acccentuated my
curves. According to Mom no one needed to know that I had boobs, much
less a belly button, except for me, Allah, and my future husband. Of
course, the whole 'no boys' rule was a moot point in my case, but
fortunately my parents didn't know about Ariana."
I have rarely seen the show, don't tell rule followed so
beautifully as in the first paragraph of Sabina Khan's The Love and
Lies of Rukhsana Ali (quoted above). By inference you learn a number
of things. Rukhsana and her family are Muslims. Her parents are
traditional. Rukhsana isn't on board with their rules. She's gay and
in a relationship.
Rukhsana and Ariana are eagerly awaiting the freedom that an out-
of-state college and an apartment will bring. In the meantime
Rukhsana must navigate two very different worlds and sets of
loyalties. For her parents she must be the good Muslim girl. She's
very aware that they could make her turn down the college of her
dreams and attend a local one or skip college and go right to arranged
marriage.
"Rukhsana, I've told you before. Daughters and sons are not the
same. You have the power to honor our family's good reputation. But
if you're not careful, you could also be the one to stain it. And
it's my job to male sure that does not happen..."
Needless to say, Rukhsana has to keep her relationship a
secret. It's a lot more of a challenge than it would be for her white
classmates. Her family is part of a close (and snoopy) ethnic
community. Anywhere she goes she could be seen and outed.
The need for extreme secrecy endangers Rukhsana's relationship.
Ariana is tired of being her "dirty little secret." Rukhsana muses:
"Was I ever going to have the courage to face my parents? I
thought I had the perfect plan. We could go to Caltech together and
be far away from home, so no one in Seattle would know about our
relationship. But was that really how I wanted to live my life? In
the shadows, hiding away the person I loved?
Only Rukhsana's parents discover her secret before she has the
chance to move. Their plan to cure their daughter is not something
you'd expect to happen in the 21st century. You'll have to read the
book to see what it is.
On a purrrsonal note, I survived not drinking any fluids for 31
hours. I learned that not drinking is much harder than not eating.
Eugene celebrated his birthday yesterday. He took me out to Dennys
after plowing snow all night. We have another storm due tonight into
tomorrow. Sweet Tobago has really settled in. She has a bunch of
favorite subbing and napping spots. Spring semester starts Tuesday.
I am so ready!!!
Great big shout outs go out to Eugene and to the sweet cat who makes
us even more of a family.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
YA/adult fiction
"No parties, no shorts, no boys. These were my parents' cardinal
rules. But what they didn't know couldn't hurt them, right? I
quickly changed out of my NASA pajamas and into my favorite black crop
top and dark blue vintage jeans, liking the way they acccentuated my
curves. According to Mom no one needed to know that I had boobs, much
less a belly button, except for me, Allah, and my future husband. Of
course, the whole 'no boys' rule was a moot point in my case, but
fortunately my parents didn't know about Ariana."
I have rarely seen the show, don't tell rule followed so
beautifully as in the first paragraph of Sabina Khan's The Love and
Lies of Rukhsana Ali (quoted above). By inference you learn a number
of things. Rukhsana and her family are Muslims. Her parents are
traditional. Rukhsana isn't on board with their rules. She's gay and
in a relationship.
Rukhsana and Ariana are eagerly awaiting the freedom that an out-
of-state college and an apartment will bring. In the meantime
Rukhsana must navigate two very different worlds and sets of
loyalties. For her parents she must be the good Muslim girl. She's
very aware that they could make her turn down the college of her
dreams and attend a local one or skip college and go right to arranged
marriage.
"Rukhsana, I've told you before. Daughters and sons are not the
same. You have the power to honor our family's good reputation. But
if you're not careful, you could also be the one to stain it. And
it's my job to male sure that does not happen..."
Needless to say, Rukhsana has to keep her relationship a
secret. It's a lot more of a challenge than it would be for her white
classmates. Her family is part of a close (and snoopy) ethnic
community. Anywhere she goes she could be seen and outed.
The need for extreme secrecy endangers Rukhsana's relationship.
Ariana is tired of being her "dirty little secret." Rukhsana muses:
"Was I ever going to have the courage to face my parents? I
thought I had the perfect plan. We could go to Caltech together and
be far away from home, so no one in Seattle would know about our
relationship. But was that really how I wanted to live my life? In
the shadows, hiding away the person I loved?
Only Rukhsana's parents discover her secret before she has the
chance to move. Their plan to cure their daughter is not something
you'd expect to happen in the 21st century. You'll have to read the
book to see what it is.
On a purrrsonal note, I survived not drinking any fluids for 31
hours. I learned that not drinking is much harder than not eating.
Eugene celebrated his birthday yesterday. He took me out to Dennys
after plowing snow all night. We have another storm due tonight into
tomorrow. Sweet Tobago has really settled in. She has a bunch of
favorite subbing and napping spots. Spring semester starts Tuesday.
I am so ready!!!
Great big shout outs go out to Eugene and to the sweet cat who makes
us even more of a family.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Wednesday, January 15, 2020
With The Fire On High
With The Fire On High
YA/adult fiction
"I wanted to give Babygirl a nice name. The kind of name that doesn't
tell you too much before you meet her like mine does. Because nobody
ever met a white girl named Emoni, and as soon as they see my name on
a resume or college application they think they know exactly what kind
of girl they're getting..."
Emoni became a cautionary tale, the girl mothers warned their
daughters about, when she became pregnant her first year in high
school. The biggest changes weren't those to her body. Her charter
school tried to transfer her to an alternate school. Her grandmother
had to take on jobs to supplement her disability benefits.
As the story starts Babygirl (Emma) is about to start daycare
and Emoni is headed to her first day of senior year. She's been
juggling school, parenting, and work. The only time she relaxes is
when she's in the kitchen cooking. There she rocks skills and
intuition that go way beyond most people's. As a child she'd longed
to be a chef. Her guidance counselor wants her to take culinary arts
in college. She sees that as a waste of time and money. Her
financially precarious family would benefit more from her working.
"I don't tell Ms. Fuentes that I just don't think more school is
for me. That I'd rather save my money for my daughter's college
tuition instead of my own. That when I think of my hopes and dreams I
don't think I can follow them from a classroom. That my hopes and
dreams seem so far out of reach I have to squint to see them, so how
could I possibly pursue them?"
They may not be as far out of reach as she believes. Her school
has a new elective taught by a professional chef--Culinary Arts:
Spanish Immersion. Perhaps that's what it will take to rekindle her
passion.
On a purrrsonal note, I am craving a drink. This has nothing to do
with alcohol. It's visions of water, soda, juice, and sweet tea that
are dancing through my head. These guys are working on the trailer
park sewer lines. Yesterday one informed me there was to be no using
water from 7:30 a.m. til 5:00 or 6:00 at night today. I can do just
fine without showering or doing dishes or laundry. But not peeing.
My bladder hasn't bounced back from three full term pregnancies and C
sections. So yesterday at 11:00 a.m. I stopped drinking anything. I
didn't even brush my teeth. 23 hours down, 8 to go. Then I can
drink--providing they have finished their work and don't have to
extend the ban which is always a possibility. Normally I'd just hang
at Orono Public Library which has state of the art indoor plumbing.
But I have to stick around for when a friend with a big vehicle is
able to help me take my returnables to a redemption facility and the
stuff I no longer need to a thrift shop. I can't go further with my
spring cleaning and organizing until this happens.
A great big shout out goes out to sweet little Tobago cat who is
keeping me good company.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
YA/adult fiction
"I wanted to give Babygirl a nice name. The kind of name that doesn't
tell you too much before you meet her like mine does. Because nobody
ever met a white girl named Emoni, and as soon as they see my name on
a resume or college application they think they know exactly what kind
of girl they're getting..."
Emoni became a cautionary tale, the girl mothers warned their
daughters about, when she became pregnant her first year in high
school. The biggest changes weren't those to her body. Her charter
school tried to transfer her to an alternate school. Her grandmother
had to take on jobs to supplement her disability benefits.
As the story starts Babygirl (Emma) is about to start daycare
and Emoni is headed to her first day of senior year. She's been
juggling school, parenting, and work. The only time she relaxes is
when she's in the kitchen cooking. There she rocks skills and
intuition that go way beyond most people's. As a child she'd longed
to be a chef. Her guidance counselor wants her to take culinary arts
in college. She sees that as a waste of time and money. Her
financially precarious family would benefit more from her working.
"I don't tell Ms. Fuentes that I just don't think more school is
for me. That I'd rather save my money for my daughter's college
tuition instead of my own. That when I think of my hopes and dreams I
don't think I can follow them from a classroom. That my hopes and
dreams seem so far out of reach I have to squint to see them, so how
could I possibly pursue them?"
They may not be as far out of reach as she believes. Her school
has a new elective taught by a professional chef--Culinary Arts:
Spanish Immersion. Perhaps that's what it will take to rekindle her
passion.
On a purrrsonal note, I am craving a drink. This has nothing to do
with alcohol. It's visions of water, soda, juice, and sweet tea that
are dancing through my head. These guys are working on the trailer
park sewer lines. Yesterday one informed me there was to be no using
water from 7:30 a.m. til 5:00 or 6:00 at night today. I can do just
fine without showering or doing dishes or laundry. But not peeing.
My bladder hasn't bounced back from three full term pregnancies and C
sections. So yesterday at 11:00 a.m. I stopped drinking anything. I
didn't even brush my teeth. 23 hours down, 8 to go. Then I can
drink--providing they have finished their work and don't have to
extend the ban which is always a possibility. Normally I'd just hang
at Orono Public Library which has state of the art indoor plumbing.
But I have to stick around for when a friend with a big vehicle is
able to help me take my returnables to a redemption facility and the
stuff I no longer need to a thrift shop. I can't go further with my
spring cleaning and organizing until this happens.
A great big shout out goes out to sweet little Tobago cat who is
keeping me good company.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Text Me When You Get Home
Text Me When You Get Home
Adult nonfiction
The second semester of my first full term pregnancy I took a
class on journalistic ethics taught by Kathryn Olmstead. I loved that
class. Ethics is a passion verging on obsession of mine. The
carefully chosen readings gave me important insights. And the class
discussions they engendered were amazing. The last day of class I
informed her that although she was no longer going to be my professor
she was going to stay on as my friend...
...the daughter I was pregnant with is about to turn 30.
Kathryn and don't see each other nearly as often. But we've been
there for the seasons of each other's lives. While I raised my
children she founded and ran a magazine, Echoes. A few years ago we
both spoke at a treasured friend's funeral. If somehow I run into her
tomorrow we'll be able to easily take up where we left off. It just
goes to show...
...I'm a hard, hard habit to break. Just kidding. It shows
that, no matter what society says to the contrary, women's friendships
are essential, empowering, resilient, and beautiful. It's the theme
of Kayleen Schaefer's Text Me When You Get Home. The title comes from
something she often hears women tell one another.
"'Text me when you get home' is not an aggressive rallying cry
like the anti-Donald Trump, pro-woman 'This pussy grabs back," but it
does mark a sea change. It's a way women are saying, through our care
for each other, that our friendships are not what society says that
they are. We're reclaiming them. We're taking them back from the
shitty words they've been smothered by so long."
If you're a woman (or gender fluid like me) did you grow up
being taught that childhood was the only time in which it was ok to
put time and energy and love into best friendships, that you couldn't
really trust other girls and women--it was all about competition for
the guys, or that plans made to do something with female friends was a
meager substitute for tending to husband, children, and career? Do
you know in your heart of hearts that those ideas are really messed
up? Do you have female friendships you treasure and prioritize? If
so, I highly recommend Kayleen Schaefer's Text Me When You Get Home.
It beautifully interweaves several strands. There's the way society
has been all divide and conquer in regard to women. There's the
scientific evidence that women, even female white rats, cope with
stress with a "tend and befriend" response rather than a fight or
flight one. There are the experiences of the many women she
interviewed and the way female friendships are now becoming valued in
popular media. And there is her own very intimate narrative.
I would strongly urge women and gender fluids to read this book
and to share it with besties, maybe over some some fine wine and
gourmet chocolates. It's a celebration of our collective awesomeness.
On a purrrsonal note, I've always needed, fallen hard for, and
prioritized the wonderful girls and women in my life. Reading the
book brought back beautiful memories of Holly and Candice who lived up
the street from me when my children were young. Coffee and
conversation, movies, card games, parties...it was always a good time
to visit the ladies and their fabulous felines. There was trust and
authenticity and a wicked sense of humor. My kids were always
surrounded by love there. Even when money was low they got Christmas
presents and seasonal treats. We were all about supporting each
other. When their cats gifted them with still live snakes I was on
call for serpant relocation. And when I ran for school committee they
recruited my NASCAR voters--hosting viewing parties and talking up
voting for me during commercials. We could all laugh at my kids' DARE
fueled concerns that they were enabling me to become an alcoholic.
Now I'm in a very good place friend wise. I have a trinity of
besties, Mazie, Lisa, and Jodi, whom I can count on in any
situation. I have sone really close school and work chums. And the
women in my program are super supportive, especially my advisor.
Then there's my little Tobago cat and the wise woman, my manager,
Anna, who brought us together. Out of the goodness of her heart she
drove me all the way to the Waterville Humane Society and told me to
take all the time I needed two days before Christmas! If that isn't
friend awesomeness I don't know what is.
A great big shout out goes out to the friends past and present who
have made me who I am today.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Adult nonfiction
The second semester of my first full term pregnancy I took a
class on journalistic ethics taught by Kathryn Olmstead. I loved that
class. Ethics is a passion verging on obsession of mine. The
carefully chosen readings gave me important insights. And the class
discussions they engendered were amazing. The last day of class I
informed her that although she was no longer going to be my professor
she was going to stay on as my friend...
...the daughter I was pregnant with is about to turn 30.
Kathryn and don't see each other nearly as often. But we've been
there for the seasons of each other's lives. While I raised my
children she founded and ran a magazine, Echoes. A few years ago we
both spoke at a treasured friend's funeral. If somehow I run into her
tomorrow we'll be able to easily take up where we left off. It just
goes to show...
...I'm a hard, hard habit to break. Just kidding. It shows
that, no matter what society says to the contrary, women's friendships
are essential, empowering, resilient, and beautiful. It's the theme
of Kayleen Schaefer's Text Me When You Get Home. The title comes from
something she often hears women tell one another.
"'Text me when you get home' is not an aggressive rallying cry
like the anti-Donald Trump, pro-woman 'This pussy grabs back," but it
does mark a sea change. It's a way women are saying, through our care
for each other, that our friendships are not what society says that
they are. We're reclaiming them. We're taking them back from the
shitty words they've been smothered by so long."
If you're a woman (or gender fluid like me) did you grow up
being taught that childhood was the only time in which it was ok to
put time and energy and love into best friendships, that you couldn't
really trust other girls and women--it was all about competition for
the guys, or that plans made to do something with female friends was a
meager substitute for tending to husband, children, and career? Do
you know in your heart of hearts that those ideas are really messed
up? Do you have female friendships you treasure and prioritize? If
so, I highly recommend Kayleen Schaefer's Text Me When You Get Home.
It beautifully interweaves several strands. There's the way society
has been all divide and conquer in regard to women. There's the
scientific evidence that women, even female white rats, cope with
stress with a "tend and befriend" response rather than a fight or
flight one. There are the experiences of the many women she
interviewed and the way female friendships are now becoming valued in
popular media. And there is her own very intimate narrative.
I would strongly urge women and gender fluids to read this book
and to share it with besties, maybe over some some fine wine and
gourmet chocolates. It's a celebration of our collective awesomeness.
On a purrrsonal note, I've always needed, fallen hard for, and
prioritized the wonderful girls and women in my life. Reading the
book brought back beautiful memories of Holly and Candice who lived up
the street from me when my children were young. Coffee and
conversation, movies, card games, parties...it was always a good time
to visit the ladies and their fabulous felines. There was trust and
authenticity and a wicked sense of humor. My kids were always
surrounded by love there. Even when money was low they got Christmas
presents and seasonal treats. We were all about supporting each
other. When their cats gifted them with still live snakes I was on
call for serpant relocation. And when I ran for school committee they
recruited my NASCAR voters--hosting viewing parties and talking up
voting for me during commercials. We could all laugh at my kids' DARE
fueled concerns that they were enabling me to become an alcoholic.
Now I'm in a very good place friend wise. I have a trinity of
besties, Mazie, Lisa, and Jodi, whom I can count on in any
situation. I have sone really close school and work chums. And the
women in my program are super supportive, especially my advisor.
Then there's my little Tobago cat and the wise woman, my manager,
Anna, who brought us together. Out of the goodness of her heart she
drove me all the way to the Waterville Humane Society and told me to
take all the time I needed two days before Christmas! If that isn't
friend awesomeness I don't know what is.
A great big shout out goes out to the friends past and present who
have made me who I am today.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Wednesday, January 8, 2020
The Working Poor
The Working Poor
Adult nonfiction IT
"Most of the people I write about in this book do not have the
luxury of rage. They are caught in exhausting struggles. Their wages
do not lift them far enough from poverty to improve their lives, and
their lives, in turn, hold them back. The term by which they are
usually described, 'working poor,' should be an oxymoron. Nobody who
works hard should be poor in America.
We fleetingly encounter these people as we go about our lives.
They cook and serve the happy meals we treat our kids to. They clean
the buildings in which we work and do business. They take care of
medically fragile family members. We depend on the labor of others we
never see. They sew the clothes we wear, harvest the vegetables in
our salads, and manufacture just about everything else we use on a
daily basis. For most of us it's out of sight, out of mind.
Fortunately David Shipler, author of The Working Poor, had a
very different response to the situation. He wanted to understand the
lives of those who had been left behind American dream wise. He
traveled the country getting to know his subjects in depth. He
followed some for five or six years. Basically he discovered that
there is no single cause of poverty or magic bullet solution. A
myriad of factors interact with and build upon each other.
Low wages in themselves do not create poverty. They lead to
other factors. Sometimes the only affordable housing is unfit for
human habitation. Toxic mold and cockroach sheddings can lead to
chronic health problems that undermine the ability to work.
Inconsistent work hours can make finding childcare and doing any kind
of budgeting highly challenging. Lacking bank accounts, they must
rely on usurious informal money lenders.
Then there's the children. Lack of prenatal care on the part of
their destitute mothers and exposure to environmental toxins before
birth can lead to prematurity, low birth rate, and birth defects.
It's harder to bond with overstressed mothers with little to nothing
provided for their emotional support. Toxins in their environments
such as lead chips they ingest and the lack of healthy, foods can
stunt their growth and damage their brains. And they arrive at the
most poorly funded schools in our nation.
Shipler believes that change is possible. But it has to attack
all the factors undermining and dooming the working poor rather than
tackling the one factor that seems most important. And there are a
number of ways to do that.
If you agree with Shipler that no one who works should be poor
in America you will find The Working Poor to be a must read.
On a purrrsonal note, I am so enjoying having the time to bond with
Tobago. She is so happy and confident now. Next week I have some
errands and an assessment commitment. The week after that it's back
to school and work. But in the meantime I'm loving every minute of my
adoption maternity leave. Tobago now has $451.98 in her medical
savings account.
I realized today I no longer hear a mouse in the walls. I'm pretty
sure I know why. Tobago is fierce with her prey toys. That is
another benefit of having a cat. Mice can get in trailers easily and
do bad stuff like chew on wires.
A great big shout out goes out to sweet little Tobago and all the
people who are falling for her charms.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Adult nonfiction IT
"Most of the people I write about in this book do not have the
luxury of rage. They are caught in exhausting struggles. Their wages
do not lift them far enough from poverty to improve their lives, and
their lives, in turn, hold them back. The term by which they are
usually described, 'working poor,' should be an oxymoron. Nobody who
works hard should be poor in America.
We fleetingly encounter these people as we go about our lives.
They cook and serve the happy meals we treat our kids to. They clean
the buildings in which we work and do business. They take care of
medically fragile family members. We depend on the labor of others we
never see. They sew the clothes we wear, harvest the vegetables in
our salads, and manufacture just about everything else we use on a
daily basis. For most of us it's out of sight, out of mind.
Fortunately David Shipler, author of The Working Poor, had a
very different response to the situation. He wanted to understand the
lives of those who had been left behind American dream wise. He
traveled the country getting to know his subjects in depth. He
followed some for five or six years. Basically he discovered that
there is no single cause of poverty or magic bullet solution. A
myriad of factors interact with and build upon each other.
Low wages in themselves do not create poverty. They lead to
other factors. Sometimes the only affordable housing is unfit for
human habitation. Toxic mold and cockroach sheddings can lead to
chronic health problems that undermine the ability to work.
Inconsistent work hours can make finding childcare and doing any kind
of budgeting highly challenging. Lacking bank accounts, they must
rely on usurious informal money lenders.
Then there's the children. Lack of prenatal care on the part of
their destitute mothers and exposure to environmental toxins before
birth can lead to prematurity, low birth rate, and birth defects.
It's harder to bond with overstressed mothers with little to nothing
provided for their emotional support. Toxins in their environments
such as lead chips they ingest and the lack of healthy, foods can
stunt their growth and damage their brains. And they arrive at the
most poorly funded schools in our nation.
Shipler believes that change is possible. But it has to attack
all the factors undermining and dooming the working poor rather than
tackling the one factor that seems most important. And there are a
number of ways to do that.
If you agree with Shipler that no one who works should be poor
in America you will find The Working Poor to be a must read.
On a purrrsonal note, I am so enjoying having the time to bond with
Tobago. She is so happy and confident now. Next week I have some
errands and an assessment commitment. The week after that it's back
to school and work. But in the meantime I'm loving every minute of my
adoption maternity leave. Tobago now has $451.98 in her medical
savings account.
I realized today I no longer hear a mouse in the walls. I'm pretty
sure I know why. Tobago is fierce with her prey toys. That is
another benefit of having a cat. Mice can get in trailers easily and
do bad stuff like chew on wires.
A great big shout out goes out to sweet little Tobago and all the
people who are falling for her charms.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Thursday, January 2, 2020
Tell Me Who You Are
Tell Me Who You Are
Adult nonfiction IT
"We started off in Anchorage, Alaska, in July 2017 and finished
in Charloyyesville, Virginia in February 2018. During our travels we
collected over 500 stories. We asked everyone, How has race, culture,
or intersectionality impacted your life? The responses were
astonishing. These identities had so significantly shaped the lives
of the people we spoke to that if often felt as if we had asked them,
Tell me who you are."
In their 10th grade history class Winona Guo and Priya Vulchi
were very impressed when their WASP (White Anglo Saxon Protestant)
teacher started a discussion of race following Eric Garner's death.
He wanted the students to get past the taboo nature of race talk by
conversing with people in and out of school. They collected hundreds
of stories from people they knew and total strangers. They shared the
stories on social media.
Only the stories they collected came mostly from central New
Jersey and New York City. These stories couldn't represent the
entirity of America. Although they'd been accepted at Ivy League
schools, Guo and Vulchi put higher education on hold, traveling around
America unescorted collecting stories which you can discover in their
Tell Me Who You Are.
Along with the narratives, there are explanations and histories
of pivotal concepts and fun facts about the story tellers. There are
pictures of most of them.
Academic people are often disdainful when it comes to what they
call anecdotes. They say that to get at the truth you need numbers,
statistics, and carefully controlled studies. This is probably fine
for chemistry. But you understand another human being at a deeper
level when you listen to their story with an open mind and heart.
So here's what I want you to do. Read the book. Then ask the
people in your world to tell you their stories. Maybe include a few
with whom you don't seem to have much in common. You never know where
this can lead.
On a purrrsonal note, I had a different New Years Eve. Eugene didn't
get to enjoy it. Maine being newly blanketed with the white stuff, he
had to be out plowing the second night in a row. Luckily I fit into
Tobago's party plans which were to cuddle near the tree. At one point
someone set off fireworks in the trailer park. Tobago, who a little
over a week earlier panicked at a door closing, ran to the window--in
the direction of the noise--and watched the display. She has come so
far in so little time!
I've decided I'm on adoption maternity leave instead of study fest
over vaca. I want to help my new sweet kitty feel as happy and secure
as possible by the time spring semester rolls around.
I'm amazed by how well Eugene and Tobago have bonded. I've never
before seen my partner so engaged with a cat. That little 8 lb cat
has changed the whole household configuration.
Great big shout outs go out to Eugene and Tobago with great
anticipation for the joys 2020 holds in store for us.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
Adult nonfiction IT
"We started off in Anchorage, Alaska, in July 2017 and finished
in Charloyyesville, Virginia in February 2018. During our travels we
collected over 500 stories. We asked everyone, How has race, culture,
or intersectionality impacted your life? The responses were
astonishing. These identities had so significantly shaped the lives
of the people we spoke to that if often felt as if we had asked them,
Tell me who you are."
In their 10th grade history class Winona Guo and Priya Vulchi
were very impressed when their WASP (White Anglo Saxon Protestant)
teacher started a discussion of race following Eric Garner's death.
He wanted the students to get past the taboo nature of race talk by
conversing with people in and out of school. They collected hundreds
of stories from people they knew and total strangers. They shared the
stories on social media.
Only the stories they collected came mostly from central New
Jersey and New York City. These stories couldn't represent the
entirity of America. Although they'd been accepted at Ivy League
schools, Guo and Vulchi put higher education on hold, traveling around
America unescorted collecting stories which you can discover in their
Tell Me Who You Are.
Along with the narratives, there are explanations and histories
of pivotal concepts and fun facts about the story tellers. There are
pictures of most of them.
Academic people are often disdainful when it comes to what they
call anecdotes. They say that to get at the truth you need numbers,
statistics, and carefully controlled studies. This is probably fine
for chemistry. But you understand another human being at a deeper
level when you listen to their story with an open mind and heart.
So here's what I want you to do. Read the book. Then ask the
people in your world to tell you their stories. Maybe include a few
with whom you don't seem to have much in common. You never know where
this can lead.
On a purrrsonal note, I had a different New Years Eve. Eugene didn't
get to enjoy it. Maine being newly blanketed with the white stuff, he
had to be out plowing the second night in a row. Luckily I fit into
Tobago's party plans which were to cuddle near the tree. At one point
someone set off fireworks in the trailer park. Tobago, who a little
over a week earlier panicked at a door closing, ran to the window--in
the direction of the noise--and watched the display. She has come so
far in so little time!
I've decided I'm on adoption maternity leave instead of study fest
over vaca. I want to help my new sweet kitty feel as happy and secure
as possible by the time spring semester rolls around.
I'm amazed by how well Eugene and Tobago have bonded. I've never
before seen my partner so engaged with a cat. That little 8 lb cat
has changed the whole household configuration.
Great big shout outs go out to Eugene and Tobago with great
anticipation for the joys 2020 holds in store for us.
jules hathaway
Sent from my iPod
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