The Guilty Feminist

The Guilty Feminist

Adult nonfiction
"What is a guilty feminist? In 2015 I described myself as a
'guilty feminist' for the first time, because I lived with the
knowledge that my beliefs were firm, but my feelings existed on a
trampoline. My goals were noble but my concerns were trivial. I
wanted desperately for women to be taken seriously in leadership roles
all over the world, but I also wanted to look good sitting down
naked..."
Deborah Frances-White, quoted above, was feeling like, as a
feminist, she was living by a double standard. She could deny that
being decorative was her raison d'être and cry about putting on weight
in the same day. She saw herself as not being good enough to be
involved in making societal change.
All that changed when she and a fellow woman comedian shared
their self perceived hypocracies on podcasts, hoping their listeners
would identify with them. Plenty of them did.
"...Many had written to tell us that they'd previously felt
unable to call themselves feminists but now they knew they wanted to
and could. Others said the show had acted as a valve for their guilt--
a place they could laugh off things that didn't matter or that they
were working on. They realized they didn't have to be perfect or even
consisent for meaningful change..."
The podcosts evolved into the book that we are looking at today:
The Guilty Feminist. If I was asked to sum it up in one sentence it
would be: you can plenty flawed and work toward a better world.
Actually the people we see as perfect and consistent have
contradictions of their own. The book shows us how to get beyond out
guilts and insecurities to become flawed but fabulous feminists in a
wide range of situations and across a number of relevant issues. I
think most of us can glean important insights from reading it.
One of the book's biggest strengths is its intersectionality
emphasis. Frances-White reminds us throughout the text that most of
us have privileged and oppressed identities and have to own up to our
privileges and the ways they can keep us complicit in systems of
inequity, especially if we refuse to see them. In addition to being
aware of these identities and the leverage they give us, we need to
find ways to bring others into the spaces in which we're accepted and
they are minimally or not at all, not as saviors but as agency
respecting allies.
Although for the most part this book is excellent, there were
several points at which I almost put it down and walked away.
Although Francis-White is aware of the intersections of feminism with
racism, ableism, class, and all the permutations of gender and
sexuality, she reinforces ageism. Every time I read her statements
about "boomers" I felt frustrated. She seems to think that we're all
big fans of the binary. I know people my age and older who get the
picture and are loving it. There are also plenty of much younger
religious fundamentalists who have the binary up there with the
Trinity and immaculate conception.
Deborah, please add ageism to your mix of the
intersectionalities we need to face and fight? When international
flight is again safe I'll be more than happy to fly over the pond and
share my insights on your podcast.
I am a feminist and I am an older, gender fluid, flamboyant,
adventurous, drag king!
On a purrrsonal note, the weather is gradually changing. The trees are
budding. The daffodils are just about ready to blossom.
Tobago and Jules Hathaway


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My Life In A Cat House

My Life In A Cat House

Adult nonfiction
"She was a grey-and-black tiger-striped tabby, with a white
belly and chest, white chin, and white "socks" on her lower legs and
feet. I marveled at her miniature perfection--the little pink pads of
her paws; the tiny, nearly imperceptible tufts of fur sprouting from
the tips of her ears; the wee feathery whiskers on each side of her
nose, as if an adult cat's features had been rendered into something
small enough to fit in a doll house..."
For Gwen Cooper, author of My Life In A Cat House, Scarlett was
the gateway feline. It was only a matter of time before she and
husband, Lawrence, were the only humans in a multi cat abode. As
writers working from home, they were able to observe and beautifully
capture the livliness, zaniness, and sometimes heart breaking sadness
of loving cats.
If you are a fan of felines you will enjoy this book.
On a purrrsonal note, I have some very exciting news. As of this
afternoon my brilliant daughter, Amber, has her PhD in physics. She
has worked dilligently to earn this honor. I couldn't possibly be
more proud of her! (Jules)
Fortunately she is not a vet. I would disown anyone who gave shots to
cats. And speaking of cats, I got the word from Northeast Animal
Shelter that kitten season is in full swing with lots of flooflets
waiting for furever homes. Is there anything cuter than a kitten?Of
course not! Adopt one and you will be the envy of your zoom set and
have a purrrfect coronavirus companion. (Tobago)
A great big shout out goes out to Dr. Amber Hathaway! You go, Girl!
Tobago and Jules Hathaway


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See what a pretty girl I am! There are other pretty rescue cats all
ready to adopt. Oh, yeah, and some goggies too.

Etched in Sand

Etched in Sand

Adult memoir
"Her offenses? Where to start? She's wanted for drunk driving;
driving with a suspended license and an unregistered vehicle; stolen
license plates, bounced checks to the landlord, utility company, and
liquor store totaling hundreds of dollars; stealing from her bosses
(on the rare occasion she gets work as a barmaid); and for our
truancy. And if there were such a thing as a warrant for sending her
kids to school with their heads full of lice, we could add that to the
list too!"
In Etched in Sand Regina Calcaterra (quoted above) paints a
picture of a childhood so horrific it could have come from Stephen
King's imagination. She was the middle of five children of a mother
who could have put the dys in dysfunctional. In the paragraph above
the family is once again en route to yet another new place which may
or not be fit for human habitation. The kids have learned to not draw
her attention to themselves. Doing so often results in a nasty
beating. Actually, even though they are often hungry and cold, they
are happiest when she is off God only knows where for days or weeks
with some random guy.
If you're thinking that someone should be calling in children's
protective services, it does happen from time to time. The social
workers and their minions are spectacularly incompetent. And, when
placed in foster homes, the children are always separated. They know
any chance they have of surviving and maybe someday thriving lie in
staying together. So no matter how horrific home life is, they lie to
keep from being taken away.
What's truly amazing is that in the end the grown children have
made sure the abuse stopped with them. Married, parenting, and
working, they have achieved strength and stability. If you want to
know how that happened, you'll just have to read the book.
On a personal note, here are three small events from my home where I'm
sheltering in place.
1) Last night when Lisa delivered the food box from the Black Bear
Exchange she included a surprise for Earth Day: a lovely little plant
with jewel green leaves and a bud about to burst into bloom. It looks
like hope. It's more precious than all the long stemmed roses in all
the florist shops.
2) This morning I saw a dead pigeon that looked like it was just
sleeping lying in my side yard. The absence of visible trauma sent up
red flags. So I was going to just stay away from it. Then I realized
that some child might touch the bird or a loose dog or cat might nosh
on it or my husband might pick it up bare handed to throw it away.
So, taking proper hazmat precautions, I entombed it in an outside
trash can with a stone on top to deter potential animal diners. I
said a prayer and sang a verse of Abide With Me.
3) I was mourning today for all the volunteering I won't be able to do
this summer. Being an engaged community member is a huge part of my
identity. But the kinds of volunteering now all involve stuff I don't
have like a car and valid drivers license. Sometimes I can't help
wondering what good am I. (Jules)
What is my hooman talking about. She feeds me, cleans my box, finds
my toys, and gives me the attention a pretty girl needs. Anyone who
lives with a floof or goggie is essential personnel. It's not like
we'll evolve opposable thumbs any time soon.
I do like that Lisa. When she brings food she never forgets tuna and
chicken. I would give her two thumbs up if I had opposable thumbs.
(Tobago)
A great big shout out goes out to Lisa and all the others involved in
the mission of the Black Bear Exchange.
Tobago and Jules Hathaway



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Grace Will Lead Us Home

Grace Will Lead Us Home

Adult nonfiction
"It would be a late night. That much Felicia Sanders knew when
she gathered her worn Bible and headed out into the swampy summer heat
of June. She had a 5 o'clock committee meeting at Emmanual African
Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church, where her family had worshipped
since the days when Jim Crow ruled the old slave city she still called
home. First, she would attend two meetings, one small and one large
to handle routine church business.
Last would come Bible study, her favorite."
Sadly the Bible study would have an unexpected visitor. Dylann
Roof had recently and wholeheartedly converted to white supremcism.
He felt that he had to stop Blacks from killing Whites and raping
white women.
"...The media ignored it. His friends didn't get it. Even his
own family didn't see it. And the white people who did realize it--
the skinheads, neo-Nazis, and KKK--just bitched about it online.
Nobody was doing anything to change it.
'Well someone has to have the bravery to take it to the real
world, and I guess that has to be me.'"
He looked for a place where he would be able to kill a large
number of Black people without mistakenly murdering any whites.
Emanual AME would work perfectly. It had a pivotal role in civil
rights history. It also had a Bible study that would not have either
a security presence or any worshipping Whites.
When Roof entered the room he was made welcome. The minister of
the church, Clementa Pinckney, handed him a Bible and study guide and
invited him to sit beside him. During the closing prayer, while the
regulars shut their eyes, Roof pulled out his Glock and began to
shoot. Firing 77 rounds, he killed nine worshippers. Felicia saw her
son, her aunt, and dear friends brutally slain.
If you were a newspaper reader or television news watcher during
the summer of 2015 you learned of the that massacre. Maybe you also
learned how at Roof's hearing some of the family members of the
deceased made public statements of forgiveness. But the media has a
short attention span, moving on quickly to the next big story.
In Grace Will Lead Us Home Jennifer Berry Hawes, a Charleston
native of decades whose children went to school across the street from
Emanuel, gives us a deeper and more nuanced look at the tragedy.
Readers get to know the many ways in which survivors and family
members suffered and coped or struggled to. We see divisions that
rocked Emanuel in the aftermath. We see reactions taken by larger
Charleston and how they were perceived quite differently by Blacks and
whites. We see an ensuing struggle to remove the Confederate flag
from the State House.
Grace Will Lead Us Home is not an easy book to read. It unveils
some truths that a lot of us would rather not know. But it was
written lucidly and eloquently by someone who knows Charleston
intimately rather than being flown in from somewhere else on
assignment. I highly recommend it to all who care about social justice.
On a purrrsonal note, summer plans are a lot different from those made
last year, aren't they? A lot of us don't have the jobs we planned on
through no fault of our own. For example, I was planning to work
dining to earn tuition money. And any travel, special events,
parties...on hold for the duration, however long that may be.
I'm going to continue to socially isolate like a rock star. It's my
civic duty. Lucky for me I have a lot of things I love doing: reading
and keeping this blog up, keeping in touch with family and friends,
writing, playing with Tobago, reorganizing the house, learning more
ways to use my laptop, being an advocate for social justice,
scrapbooking, crafting, walking while social distancing, and mindfully
enjoying the surprises each day brings. When my daffodils bloom you
will get to see them. (Jules)
I haz plans for a big summer. I will make sure mice don't invade my
home, take good care of my hoomans, do my part of this blog, watch
birdies and other interesting beings on my all neighborhood tv
(windows), reorganize the house, make hoomans who see my pictures
happy, om nom, and snooze. (Tobago)
A great big shout out goes out to all the hoomans being smart enough
to stay at home with their floofs and goggies.
Tobago and Jules Hathaway



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Fwd:

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Begin forwarded message:

From: "julia.hathaway" <julia.hathaway@maine.edu>
Date: April 20, 2020 8:49:56 AM EDT
To: beaniebabylover@gmail.com

Sent from my U.S.Cellular© Smartphone

Know My Name

Know My Name

Adult Memoir
"TURNER does not know the identity of VICTIM. He never got her
name and was not able to really describe her. He stated that he
probably would not be able to recognize victim if he saw her again.
In his mind, I didn't have a face or a name. But the article stated
we had met at a party, as if the attraction had been mutual, involved
cordial chatting."
It happened years ago. I remember it was like it was
yesterday. I was reading about Brock Turner serving only three months
for raping an unconscious woman. My blood was boiling. I'd heard
about people doing more time for shoplifting and people without money
staying behind bars much longer while waiting for their trials. Then
I read a statement by Turner's father that he should not be punished
too harshly for "twenty minutes of action." Twenty minutes of action?
They weren't dancing or roller skating. He had violated her while she
was unable to resist.
I had to do something. At that point I was writing regular
opinion pieces for the Bangor Daily News. I had a perfect venue. I
wrote about all the ways twenty minutes of action for a friend of my
mothers who had raped me had scarred me. I sent it in. My editor
contacted me. Had I thought this through? Was I willing to share
something so personal? Did I really want to go through with this?
Yes, yes, and YES! I brought daughters into this messed up rape
culture world. Someday I want them to be living in a society in which
sexual assault is as unacceptable as drunk driving is today.
Over the years I thought of Emily Doe, the name the courts
assigned the victim. I wondered how she was doing managing to
survive. Then one day in Fogler Library, gathering reading material
for what was supposed to be a week long March break I found Know My
Name by Chanel Miller. Now I could find out for myself.
When Miller agreed to press charges she had no idea what she was
in for: years centered around legal proceedings that were often
rescheduled at the last minute, years in which policies and procedures
were highly tipped in Turner's favor, years in which she was
stereotyped as a victim who maybe shouldn't have been drinking while
he was portrayed three dimensionally as a rising star in competitive
swimming, a future doctor, and someone with legions of adults willing
to testify that he was totally incapable of THAT.
"Throughout the legal process, I felt like I was always trying
to keep up, to not mess up, learn court jargon, pay attention, follow
the rules. I wanted to fit in and prove I could do whatever was
expected of me. It had never occurred to me that the system itself
could be wrong, could be changed or improved. Victims could ask for
more. We could be treated better..."
The whole process devastated Miller physically and
psychologically. She candidly lets readers see her most intimate
thoughts and feelings. But when her victim impact statement was
posted on the Internet and went viral she found her tribe: women who
hurt for her and were enraged on her behalf, women who had suffered as
she had, a teenage girl who, for the first time in years, was able to
get out of bed because of her.
"...We may spend half our time wandering around, wondering what
we're even doing here, why it's worth the effort. But living is an
incredible thing, just to have been here, to have felt, if only
briefly, the volume and depth of others' empathy. I wrote, most of
all, to tell you I have seen how good the world could be."
That was what I really wanted to hear.
There are parts of Know My Name that are painful to read,
especially if you or a loved one have been a rape victim. I had to
put it down a few times when it made me too angry. But it's well
worth sticking with. Basically I recommend it to anyone with a
beating human heart and the desire for a better, fairer society.
On a purrrsonal note, I had a terrific weekend. The weather actually
was warm and sunny. Eugene and I spent time outside doing the
inevitable after winter clean up. Our place looks much nicer now.
Since our trailer park is coop rather than owned by a slum lord we can
have pride of ownership. We're doing this for us, not some skinflint
dumb ass. I baked Eugene's favorite chocolate chip cookies with three
flavor and they came out very nicely.
So far it looks like UMaine will open in the fall after an online
summer. I plan to be there when it does even if they want just under
65s out in the world. What are they going to do? Check our IDs all
the time. I was stumped for a moment when I remembered the bus might
still not be safe or might still only take limited numbers which
screws those of us in the middle of the route. Then a thought popped
into my head: what did God give me two feet for? I am a proud, bad
ass Black Bear. It will take a lot more than living five miles away
to keep me off my beloved campus.
(Jules)
Lots of sun to soak in. Saw my hoomans outside cleaning up. I guess
they are getting ready for the birdies. I must be a celebrity. My
girl hooman has turned into paparazzi. (Tobago)
A great big shout out goes out to you, our beloved readers. Hoping
you're managing to stay safe. After we post this we will post a
picture of the part of the studio where the reading and blogging gets
done. Bet it's as awesome and catly as you imagined.
Tobago and Jules Hathaway



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Clara Callan

Clara Callan

Adult historical fiction
"...Father used to say Nora's entire life was a performance.
Perhaps she will make something of herself down there in the radio
business, but it's just as likely she'll return after Christmas. And
then what will she do? I'm sure they won't be taking her back at the
store. It's a foolish time to be taking chances like this..."
As the book starts, title character of Richard B. Wright's Clara
Callan is seeing her younger sister off at the train station. Nora is
headed off to New York City to try for fame and fortune. The year is
1934.
Clara returns to her big old home (Her father has just passed)
with the ominous furnace, sure that she'll remain a set-in-her-ways
spinster school teacher until retirement and solitary old age. Nora
will have all the adventures. She couldn't be more wrong. Over the
course of the novel she will make some bold decisions, one of which
will really startle the folks in her small Canadian town.
One thing that makes the book especially appealing is its
unusual format. It is composed entirely of Clara's journal entries
and the letters she sends and receives. You get a strong sense of the
sisters' always loving but often not so harmonious relationship. (A
recurring theme is Nora's impatience with Clara's lack of interest in
installing a telephone.)
There is also the well embedded mention of them ongoing events
such as the Hindenberg crash and the birth of the Dionne quints that
we have come to see as history. The book goes up to 1838. There is a
lot going on, especially overseas.
In an end of the book talk with the author the interviewer
mentions the hold Clara gets on readers. I can attest to the truth of
that statement of that statement. If you're looking for an insightful
look into the lives of not-so-ordinary folks in a not-so-ordinary era,
you're in for a treat.
On a purrrsonal note, I wasn't expecting much in the way of Easter.
But it turned out wonderful. I got some great pictures of Tobago,
including one proving she distracts me from homework. I found a stash
of the kids' old fuze beads creations and started an art exhibit with
them. My daffodils were standing tall. And I got to spend three
hours with my kids and their fiancées and cats. It was zoom of
course. But it could not have been a more precious time.
Yesterday was a big rain and wind storm. At points the wind sounded
like a freight train. But three very good things happened. 1) A
church friend dropped off some baking ingredients I need to bake
treats for Eugene and the Easter candy I'd been coveting. I managed
to totally surprise Eugene by baking a molasses cake which he totally
deserved after working outside in the mess. Hey, that's my level of
covert ops. 2) A bunch of people in my program met up for a zoom
lunch. I saw some good friends I hadn't seen in months. 3) The power
did not go out til bedtime. It was only a few hours. (Jules).
It was scary. Too wet. Too noisy. Too black outside. My hoomans
kept saying not to worry. Good thing I haz a cat cave. (Tobago)
A great big shout out goes out to the precious friends and family
we've been zooming with.
Tobago and Jules Hathaway


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Tis me

Blog readers,
Tis me, Tobago, in all my feline fineness. My hooman thought she
would do her homework. Bwa ha ha!

Mr. Lemoncello's All-Star Breakout Game

Mr. Lemoncello's All-Star Breakout Game

Juvenile fiction
"But today there's be an extra special guest on Buzz: Mr. Luigi
L. Lemoncelo.
Rumor had it, Mr. L. was all set to make some sort of major
announcement.
Probably about a new game."
If the Lemoncello name sounds familiar, he's a recurring major
character in Chris Grabenstein's recent juvenile novels. He's a more
than slightly eccentric wealthy computer genius game inventor who
created a one of a kind technocentric library which is sometimes the
site of unusual live player team games. Mr. Lemoncello's All-Star
Breakout Game is the fine latest addition to this subgenre.
Everykid Kyle and his team of classmates have prevailed in every
game so far. But this competition is going to be intense. Wealthy
kiss up competitor Charles Chiltington has commandeered a crew of
eighth grade literature gifted and talenteds. And a third team of the
stars of popular juvenile tv shows has been added to the mix.
There's also a complication that has nothing to do with
technology. Catching a revealing glimpse into the life of his
nemesis, Kyle is able to develop empathy for Charles.
Fans of Grabenstein will find this volume to be a delightful
must read.
On a purrrsonal note, boy have I been on an adventure. Yesterday
started dreary and morphed into rain. About suppertime the rain
turned into snow. I hate, detest, loathe, and abhor April snow
because it endangers my daffodils. I put weighted upside down bins
over my finger tall daffodils even though I was just expecting a
dusting. The snow got heavy. Eugene went out to plow. Tobago got
frantic, pacing and yowling, wanting her dad home. I hardly got any
sleep. When I got up the power was out over a large area. UMAine had
an online snow day. I'd never before heard of such a thing. The
house was getting cold. I pulled fuzzy onsie pajamas over my shirt
and leggings. Eugene got home about noon. After he ate the sandwich I
made he went to sleep on the sofa. Tobago curled up with him--so glad
to have him home. I took cute pictures of them napping together.
Power and heat were restored by 3:00. That was some night and day.
(Jules)
Too much snow! Much too much snow! And my boy hooman had to go out
in it. I waited and waited. Night turned into day. It was a long
time before he came home. My girl hooman and I saw a special bird
called a robin red breast. It did not look happy with all that snow.
Get with it, Mother Nature. It's April already (Tobago)
A great big shout goes out to Eugene and robin red breast but not
Mother Nature.
Tobago and Jules Hathaway


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Brown Black White

Brown Black White

Adult nonfiction
"As a brown girl, I had a hard time knowing how to navigate my
hometown. My parents could not advise me; they were themselves
relative strangers to Memphis and its racial codes. They had
immigrated to the United States in the late sixties from India and
settled in Memphis in the early eighties. They moved into a lily-
white suburb, on a block where we were the only brown faces, and sent
me to an elite private all-girls' school, rendering my world almost
exclusively white, black only around the periphery."
Nishta J. Mehra, quoted above, author of Brown White Black,
performed quite a complex balancing act as a child. Growing up a
brown Indian girl in a well off white neighborhood, she felt that she
had to meet the standards of two quite different cultures, neither of
which she totally felt she fit into. In addition to race, and
culture, there was religion. She was Hindu in a world that rocked
Christian privilege.
"But I was accustomed to being in the minority, to the world
being inconvenient and not revolving around me. Unlike my classmates,
who only knew a world that was catered to them, I did not feel
entitled to any special treatment. I never once had the day off from
school for the religious holidays my family observed; our celebrations
were invisible to my classmates and neighbors..."
How far was it acceptable to assimilate majority practices and
values? Which of Mehra's family's traditions were essential for her
to maintain? How could she be Indian enough to add diversity to her
community and school while not being so ethnic she might cause
discomfort in the Whites who surrounded her? Those were some of the
questions she dealt with as a child.
When Mehra grew up her life became even more intersectionally
complex. She came out as gay and married a White woman. Together
they adopted a Black baby boy, an infant who, as he grows into his
teens, will be at serious risk of violence, even at the hands of those
who swear to serve and protect all people.
"...Some people think our family is adorable, the very
embodiment of twenty-first-century America, a testimony to the power
of love and an ever-expanding definition of family; some people think
our family is am abomination, everything wrong with America today,
evidence of a civilization in decline..."
In the course of her narrative Mehra offers up some lucent and
insightful musings on very important topics such as:
*raising a child who may be gender varient;
*dealing (as a nontraditional family) with the questions and
predjudices of total strangers;
*and myths surrounding adoption and the alleged superiority of
biological parenting.
If you want a good look at the worlds of complexity and
intersectionality that can revolve around the not so average family,
you'll find Brown White Black to be a must read.
On a purrrsonal note, I read one chapter, The Sin of Our Security, a
lot more attentitively than I would have if we weren't in a middle of
a pandemic. It starts out with a description of the people Mehra
decscribes as "hovercraft" parents who try to protect their children
from every possible danger although their children are privileged in
that regard. Rather than seeing them as loving their children so
much, she perceives them as craving control and guarantees that life
will work out according to script.
I think with a pandemic that clobbers the whole globe and
doesn't just stick to countries an ocean away control has become
elusive and illusory. It's a pretty damn scary situation. How do you
find the sweet spot where you're being realistic and behaving
accordingly to flatten the curve but maintaining the hope you need to
stay sane and productive? My children and their fiancées are mature
enough to be peers in discussions of what's going on. Many parents
face the challenge of how to tell their beloved children enough but
not too much. I struggle with writing emails to my sibling who lives
about a thousand miles away and has severe brain damage. Even in the
best of times (as the chapter made me realize) I place his safety way
above his agency. Mehra could totally indict me on my cat parenting.
Eugene thinks Tobago would be happier as an outside cat. But no way
am I going to expose her to all the dangers she'd face. (Jules)
I see birdies. I see birdies. Lotsa lotsa birdies. (Tobago)
A great big shout out goes out to the people who are also struggling
to cope with this new normal, but not to the people in government and
corporation running who are putting people before profit.
Tobago and Jules Hathaway



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George

George

Juvenile fiction
"If George were there, she would fit right in, giggling and
linking her arms in theirs. She would wear a bright-pink bikini, and
she would have long hair that her new friends would love to braid.
They would ask her name, and she would tell them, my name is Melissa.
Melissa was the name she called herself in the mirror when no one was
watching and she could brush her flat reddish-brown hair to the front
of her head, as if she had bangs."
As you've probably guessed, George, protagonist of Alex Gino's
George, is transgender. Her magazine collection, which she hides from
her mother and older brother, is her prized possession. When she's
sure she's alone she studies the pictures, imagining herself into them
as Melissa.
School is a challenge for George to navigate. Bullies pick on
her. Her teacher sees her becoming a "fine young man." And then
there's the bathroom.
"...the whole room was about being a boy, and when boys were in
there, they liked to talk about what was between their legs. George
tried never to use it when there were any boys inside. She never
drank from the water fountains at school, even if she was thirsty, and
some days she could make it through without having to go once."
It's a school tradition for the fourth graders to put on a play
version of Charlotte's Web. After much practice George auditions for
the part of Charlotte. Only her teacher thinks she is playing a prank.
Then George's mother finds her magazine stash and reacts very
badly. "'George, I don't want to find you wearing my clothes. Or my
shoes. That kind of thing was cute when you were three. You're not
three anymore...'"
Only there may be hope for George. Read the book to see.
I believe that George is an important addition to transgender
literature. There are amazing picture books and insightful reads for
the YA crowd. But in that early reader limbo known as chapter books
there is almost nothing. Kids who know in their heart of hearts they
are not their assigned genders will find inspiration and hope.
On a purrrsonal note, I had an amazing weekend. The 600 Lisa Frank
stickers Eugene ordered for me arrived. I was finally able to
decorate Mathilda (my laptop). I was also able to start
scrapbooking. I have a lot of family photos in boxes. I'd shied away
from scrapbooking because I knew I wouldn't do it nearly as well as
Amber. But when I tried I had fun and liked my pages. That will be
one more thing to put on my list of coronavirus achievements. I went
for walks. I saw my first crocuses of the year--dear little yellow
and purple ones. And on Sunday evening I participated in a family
zoom. All my kids and their fiancées, Eugene, and I talked as the
four family cats made appearances. We talked over 2 hours. It was
great to spend time together. It was the first time they saw Tobago.
They think she's beautiful. They also like my scrapbook. So it was
an amazing weekend. (Jules)
There was a moth in the house. I tried my best to catch it. It
stayed near the ceiling. I guess it can tell who the preditor is
around here. (Tobago)
A great big shout out goes out to my growing family. They're the
cats' pajamas.
Oh, yeah, my daughter, Amber, has some cool spring crafts on her blog:
amberscraftaweek.blogspot.com
If you're in need of creative ideas why not check it out?
Tobago and Jules Hathaway



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Two From The Times

Two From The Times

Adult nonfiction
I've gotten kind of fond of the New York Times' In The Headlines
series. Each volume in it covers a fascinating and highly relevant
topic, presenting lots of different and sometimes surprising aspects
and voices. When I found two of these gems at the Orono Public
Library I snapped them up.
Computer technology seems to advance at the speed of light. It's
a matter of pride, particularly for the tech savvy, that there always
is so much we can accomplish. But sometimes I feel that this progress
is a car with no brakes and a very heavy foot on the gas. Should I do
this? lags far behind Can I do this? Progress coupled with the
anonymity the Internet gives can make for nasty, hurtful content.
Cyberbullying, a volume concerning a phenomenon that has jumped
into the headlines with the suicide of a number of relentlessly
bullied children and teens, makes for very interesting reading.
People can't even agree on its prevalence. Most contributers to the
book seem to find it widespread, but Emily Bazelon (Defining Bullying
Down) contends that much of what we consider cyberbullying is merely
normal teen drama.
There's exponentially more divergence on what can or should be
done on how to remedy the matter. Parents of traumatized children
press school officials to do something to restore school safety while
the principals and superintendents aren't sure there's anything they
can do where the alleged offense is often committed off school
property beyond school hours. What is the protocol for searching a
student's laptop or smart phone?
The chapter on cyberbullying and the law is a real eye opener.
The one on high-profile cases tells us that cyberbullies aren't always
children and teens behaving badly. In the parenting chapter moms and
dads get advice on what to do if their child is bully rather than
victim or bystander.
Most of us, child or adult, can become the target of Internet
harassment since anonymity allows people to do things they'd probably
never think of doing in the face-to-face world. Cyberbullying can
really help readers make sense of the whole mess.
If you've been keeping up with the news for the last few years,
you've probably heard or seen the word transgender on a fairly regular
basis. Who do you envision when you encounter the word? Someone born
into a body that does not correspond with the gender they identify
with? Someone refusing to conform to a strict gender binary? Someone
with a psychological problem? How does the word make you feel?
Optimistic? Angry? Frightened? Confused?
If you feel confused you are by far not the only one. If your
confusion is coupled with curiosity, you'll find Transgender Rights to
be an enlightening read. "Struggles in the Transgender Community"
gives some basics. Nobody really knows why some people experience
dissonance between anatomy and identity. Ways of dealing with this
dissonance are quite diverse. Since many people suffer in silence
there is not even a way to tell how large this community is.
Some people fear transgender individuals, even portraying them
as child molesters with a new way to gain access to innocent victims.
Actually, particularly in Trump's America, transgender people are in
much more danger from our transphobic society. First of all, there
are the brutal murders, particularly of transgender women of color.
Furthermore, despite reforms and trainings, police profile and harass
transgender women and mistreat them when they take them into custody.
Even those who pledge to serve and protect all of us can be part of
the problem for a vulnerable and demonized population.
It's not only adults who are victims of transphobia. One of the
most poignant chapters in the book concerns Gavin Grimm, the high
school transgender boy who only wanted "...to be a normal child and
use the restroom in piece.
On a purrrsonal note, Black Bear Exchange is now delivering. I am so
very happy.
As I write this I'm eating an apple. I'd taken apples for granted.
But this apple is so perfect.
I have all the ingredients to make my awesome lasagna for supper. If
I seem obsessed with food, I am. I bet I'm far from the only one.
I have started doing something you can do if you have a camera or
smartphone--taking pictures of everything good that happens like my
daffodils coming up and the box of food and Tobago claiming the empty
box. That way I can remind myself when I feel down that there are
positive things going on. I'm also taking daily pictures of my cross
stitch coronavirus craft to keep track of this project.
I want to social distance from tv news. I feel that it would be good
for my mental health. I'm trying to figure out how to convince my
partner that we don't really need to keep it on when we're eating.
(Jules)
My hooman brought in a box. She emptied it. Now it's mine, all mine.
It's raining out. There are no birdies. Where do birdies go when it
rains? (Tobago)
Tobago and Jules Hathaway


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When I Was White

When I Was White

Adult memoir
"'Getting a scholarship to play ball in high school in college
isn't easy,' he [high school guidance counselor] said. 'But because
your grades are so high there are a lot of academic scholarships you
are eligible for, particularly those for minorities.'
'I don't qualify for them...' I ventured.
He was silent for a moment, and then the conversation moved on."
Sarah Valentine, author of When I Was White, grew up in a
Caucasian family. From an early age some people had not perceived her
as all White. Her hair and coloring gave a strong indication that she
might have at least that mythical one drop of Black blood. Her
parents had been quick to counter any suggestion to that effect. When
told about the above quoted conversation, her father had claimed that
applying for minority scholorships would be fraudulent and asked her
not to tell her mother. Her mother had minimized any Black appearance
in all matters of hair style and grooming.
One day a phone call changed all that. Her mother told her that
the man who has raised her was not her biologogical father. She had
been conceived during a college spring break party, probably by rape.
The man involved had been African American. Her mother could not
remember his name or face.
"The news made me question all my experiences as a family. The
birthdays, holidays, family dinners, summer vacations, basketball
practices, games, camps, and tournaments--everything we did together
now felt like a lie, like the whole time an untruth was hovering
around us we'd all agreed to ignore. I just kept thinking, if my race
or biological father didn't matter, as my mother insisted, then why
did it need to be a secret?..."
In When I Was White Valentine shares her struggles to
incorporate a huge new facet into her identity, discover her missing
parent, and uncover the family dynamics that had kept her parents
intent on living a lie. Her quest narrative covers over a decade.
But it reveals more than a individual's journey. It shows how fears
about race can hover under the facade of color blindness and emerge
only when the truth hits a little too close to home.
In other words, When I Was White is a very powerful and
insightful read, particularly for anyone who is attempting to
understand the complexities of race and biracialism in America...like
my social justice class.
On a purrrsonal note, I am taking advantage of the time vacuum created
by staying to home to, among other things, write my memoir. Even if
it's never published it can give my children and friends insights into
why I am the person I am. I am already sharing bits and pieces with
my older daughter and she is asking insightful questions. Even during
this initial writing period I am gaining insights into me that will
help me to be a better person. I guess that is a small silver lining
in a big ugly cloud. A voyage of discovery that will not spread
contagion.
I had an AMAZING, WONDERFUL suprise last night. I got onto Zoom and
participated in virtual class just fine. And it was wonderful. We
were all so happy to have this bit of normal, this chance to discuss
an issue we are all passionate about instead of the latest coronavirus
intelligence (and bullshit) on the Internet, this affirmation that
life in general and our lives in particular can get back to at least
semi normal in the future. Also we discussed our feelings,
challenges, and successes at the beginning of class. We discovered
that we're having many of the same emotions and challenges. Last
night I crashed for nine hours and woke up energized, eager to get
down to work. I see that as a direct effect of my zoom experience.
(Jules)
Hoomans are very mysterious. Just when you think you understand
them...my girl hooman now talks to that thing she calls a laptop.
There are little hoomans in it that talk to her. How is that even
possible?
Mother Nature is playing an April Fools joke on the hoomans. It is
snowing. I bet she is saying, and you thought it was spring. Ha ha!
I saw some black birdies today. They appeared to be looking for
food. Fatten up birdies! Hoomans, don't be smug. Those of you who
aren't vegetarians or vegans eat birds. You just outsource the
hunting part. And you want your turkeys to be fat and meaty. (Tobago)
A great big shout out goes out to my professor, TA, and classmates in
social justice: Kathleen, Niya, Jane, Georgia, Jeff, Alex, Cat, and
Maddie. I value and appreciate you to a depth I did not realize until
the shitstorm made the people and routines of normal precious beyond
all measure. (Jules)
Birdies. (Tobago)
Tobago and Jules Hathaway


Sent from my iPod