Assailing the Fortress, Part I

I have watched and pondered a certain unhappy dynamic for a while, and I think I'm ready to discuss it.  I have noticed that it is becoming ever more popular and acceptable these days to "assail the fortress," and I'm concerned about the direction that is taking us all.  

Let me explain.

It used to be downright dangerous to criticize those with social, political or religious power.  I suppose that may have been due, at one time, to the fact that if you did so, you got burned at the stake or your head chopped off or some other similarly uncomfortable consequence.  You had to think twice before you disagreed with those who held authority, before you accused a ruler, leader or institution of misbehavior.  In many cases, you had to consider whether speaking up was worth rotting in jail or losing your life.  "Assailing the fortress," so to speak, was not to be done off-handedly.  Unlike the peasants in "The Wizard of Iz," you couldn't just go around declaring "The king is a fink!" with impunity.

Freedom of speech was a great invention, as was investigative reporting.  Things can now be said (in some countries, anyhow) that need to be said, and people held accountable who should be held accountable.  We can snag and impeach a Watergate president, call a Tiger Woods on his immoral behavior and cancel his endorsements, or nail a Catholic bishop for neglecting action to protect children from a pedophile priest. We can have conversations about social, religious or political institutions that need to be changed in this or that way.  We can pull together a grassroots movement that will establish civil rights, stop a war, or protest an unjust law.  This is good.

A person, institution or societal injustice is no longer above questioning, and no longer can possess absolute power. After all, we are a democratic society.  Democracy has set into our adolescent country's psyche, and we are now empowered to assail any fortress.  Power to the people!  Freedom of speech!  We can take down Evil, either single-handedly or as a mob, should we need to.

But wait.  There may be a dark side to that.

(to be continued)

Sugar-Free

I've been reading health/diet books lately.  One is "The Full Plate Diet," which I reviewed here earlier this year. The other one I ordered last week after a noticeably shrinking professor mentioned it to me while she and I were walking back in the warm spring sunshine from Compensation Committee. The book is called "The Belly Fat Cure."

Titles like "The Belly Fat Cure" and "The Full Plate Diet" do not attract me in the least, although I do think the second title is better than the first. They sound gimmicky and faddish, like something a compulsive dieter might have a row of, on the bookshelf. I'm not compulsive, and I believe in lifestyle change over diets. But as I get older I am getting more interested in health. And if the book is recommended to me or given to me free, I'll give it at least a quick read. Lifestyle change is something I need to do successfully. And I choose that last word, "successfully," deliberately.

The message of "The Belly Fat Cure" is to cut out added sugar (and aspartame and saccharin) and significantly reduce carbohydrates. I'm not sure I'm that expert at spotting or counting carbs, but I can spot sugar at five hundred paces. It puts out its tractor beams and draws me inexorably to it. It holds me lovingly in its grasp. It speaks to me of enjoyment, relaxation and being well-treated, even pampered. It's an insidious thing in my sweet-toothed life.

And so I decided the other day that I just need to give it up. Sugar, I mean. For a year at minimum.  

Good thing I mostly demolished that huge chocolate bar that Leena brought me from Finland last Friday, before I arrived at this conclusion. What better way to celebrate my divorce from sugar than with a giant-sized Finnish chocolate bar? Seriously, though, that was the end. No sugar for the past two days, and I'm determined to persist. Determined. Determined. Determined. (I like the sound of that word.  It's almost onomatopoeic.)

I know I can do this. About ten years ago I gave up chocolate for a year. And I've done other lifestyle change things in diet and exercise successfully for significant periods of time. The exercise part is still going pretty well, I'm happy to report.

Husband was a huge help last night. He went by the grocery store on the way home from work, read a hundred labels, and brought me cereals and soymilk with extremely low sugar content. And he's going to eat that last row of the Finnish chocolate bar. That's love, folks!

Wish me luck.

The Silver-Haired Crowd

Alumni weekend is just past at our university.  As a student I used to head home over alumni weekend, wanting to skip the silver-haired crowds wandering the campus and jamming the church pews.  As a young faculty member (at another college), I braved the silver-haired crowd, listening politely to their enthusiasm and nostalgia, but moseying along before I had to listen to more than one story.

Now, back at my alma mater, the silver-haired crowd are the parents of friends, former colleagues, and [gasp] classmates who graduated with me 25 years ago.  I find myself listening with interest to more than one story before moseying along.

I was walking back to my car from the homecoming banquet in the gymnasium when I spotted a little old white-haired couple walking along.  They were stooped, about half my height.  Taking a peek at their name tags as I passed them up, I concluded that I didn't know them.  But it's part of my job to be friendly and help them feel welcomed home, so I paused.

Me:  How are you?  Did you enjoy the banquet?

Mrs. Alumnus:  Oh yes!

Mr. Alumnus, peering at my name tag:  What is your name?

I told them, and watched them process the question of whether they knew me or not.

Mrs. Alumnus:  I don't think I know you.  But I think you were a senior when I was a freshman.

Mr. Alumnus:  Oh no, Honey.  You finished in 1958.  She graduated in 1985.

Mrs. Alumnus:  Ohhhhhh.

It was funny and sweet and poignant all at the same time ... and I suppose just a bit alarming. She believed for a moment that I was a senior when she was a freshman? I must be starting to fit in with the silver-haired crowd.

When Teachers Dream

Grand #3, born this past December

One night this month I dreamed that I came into a room where Grand #3 was lying, waiting for a diaper change.  She looked over at me and asked hopefully, "When are you going to tell me some first grade stuff?"

I asked, "WHAT????" astounded that when she decided to start talking, this is what came out.

"Are you going to teach me some first grade stuff?" she repeated.  

And then I woke up.

As a Garden Cascades With Blossoms

All photos taken these past two Saturdays on sunny afternoon strolls

Look around you:  Winter is over;

The winter rains are over, gone!

Spring flowers are in blossom all over.

The whole world's a choir--and singing!

Spring warblers are filling the forest

With sweet arpeggios!

Lilacs are exuberantly purple and perfumed,

And cherry trees fragrant with blossoms!

~Song of Solomon 2:10 (Message paraphrase)

Let's tramp through the countryside.  Let's sleep at some wayside inn, then rise early and listen to bird-song.

Let's look for wildflowers in bloom, blackberry bushes blossoming white, fruit trees festooned with cascading flowers.  ~Song of Solomon 7:9

Attention, all!  See the marvels of God!  He plants flowers and trees all over the earth, bans war from pole to pole, breaks all the weapons across his knee.  ~Psalm 46:8

I will sing for joy in God, explode in praise from deep in my soul!  He dressed me up in a suit of salvation, he outfitted me in a robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom who puts on a tuxedo and a bride a jeweled tiara.
 

For as the earth bursts with spring wildflowers, and as a garden cascades with blossoms, so the master, God, brings forth righteousness into full bloom and puts praise on display before the nations.  ~Isaiah 61:10

India, Part 12

It's taken me a week to get the videos uploaded so that I can post them here, but I think I have the technology worked out.  This final post on India is a video glimpse of Riverside School, which we visited in March.

The first video shows the welcome we got as we entered campus.  The children had lined the walkways to the guesthouse and were welcoming our team of eight people as we walked toward our lodging.  It was a bit overwhelming.  I would not want to be royalty.



The second video shows a first grade classroom.  We walked in to find no teacher, but the kids (for the most part) were getting down to work.  Note the Hannah Montana book bag in front of the girl with the red headband...  And you'll enjoy the giggly kids at the end.



The next two videos show the girls singing at their worship time in the Big Girls' Hostel.  The harmonies come from our group members; I never heard the students sing harmonies while we were there.  But wow, can they sing!





The next video shows Joylene (the Big Girls' Hostel dean, whose degree is in botany) teaching.  We had wandered into her third grade reading classroom, and she graciously allowed us to stand in the back of the room and watch.  We learned as much about the teaching, learning and curriculum during that time, I think, as we learned in conversations and asking questions the entire rest of the time we were there.  We saw the needs, but we also saw her innate talent and her ability to connect with the students.



On our third night at Riverside School, it rained.  I loved it!  The rain poured down, washing the dust off the school roofs and showing them to be blue instead of brown.  And it settled much of the brown ash and dirt that had been in the air.



The last night we were at the school, the students put on a cultural show for us.  While they waited for the show to begin, they sang about the wise man and the foolish man:



Finally, a short clip of one of the seven dances they put on, each depicting one of the seven states of northeast India.  This was my favorite.

India, Part 11

The guest house where we stayed with the visiting team.  It's bigger than it looks!

In this last picture post from our India trip--I will be doing one more post with videos--I'd like to simply share a few bits and pieces that I haven't covered in my posts, about some of the good folk we met at the school.

The headmaster and his wife, the Hauzels, are a talented, kind and friendly people.  They sorely miss the school where they used to work and from which they come, in the hill country of Mizoram, next to Myanmar (Burma). They showed me pictures of their home town, built on the steep sides of a mountain ridge.  But as with other faculty we listened to, they felt called to work in this place, and work here despite their homesickness.  They are an important part of the program since they both have experience and teaching credentials.  As far as I could tell, Mrs. Hauzel was the only person on campus who could play the electric piano they have in the assembly hall.

Jemima actually works and lives in Shillong, the capital of Meghalaya state, a few hours' drive from Riverside school. She was visiting a friend at the school and helped with the cooking of our meals.  Did I mention that they fed us like royalty three times a day?

Jemima started off somewhat shyly, telling us about the people of the area while we ate.  Then we discovered she has a degree in sociology, and we got more assertive in asking her questions and taking in everything we could find out from her. Jemima is an impressive, intelligent woman. She explained about the social problems that are a challenge in this region:  drug addiction, marriage at very young ages (12 and older), teen pregnancy, drug abuse, a high suicide rate, and family violence. Her information and suggestions helped us greatly in ascertaining what our faculty and students could do to be of help to this region as we build more support for this school.

This is the dean for the small girls' hostel. I grew particularly fond of her for two reasons.  One is that she reminded me a bit of my amah when I was the age of the girls she's caring for.  Here's my amah's picture:

But more than that, I appreciated her caring spirit.  I had developed a terrible cough on my way to India from a cold that never reached the runny-nose stage.  The dean noticed, though, and brought me some lozenges.  Then at the end of our visit she slipped a farewell gift into my hand:

It may look like just a little roll of mints to you, but you have to see in in context.  These teachers are paid something between $200-300 a month.  They have so little, that a roll of mints is a significant gift!

And then there was the small boys' hostel dean (doesn't she look stunning in blue?). She heard me play the electric piano in the assembly hall, and ooh and aahed about it. "Please, please, come here and teach us music," she pled.  "I would love to learn to play the piano."  I realized that my piano lessons as a child were taken for granted, while for her and many, many of the children at Riverside school, piano lessons would be a marvelous privilege.

India, Part 10

The last night we were at Riverside school, the students put on a cultural show for us with a tribal dance to represent each state of northeast India.  They were really impressive.

It seemed to me that, as the students put on their costumes and performed, they went into another world, one that runs deep in their blood.  The smiles were mostly gone, and the rhythms of the music drove the movement.

The themes were about courting and war and harvest, all clearly conveyed through body movements.

I'd say that more of the dancers were girls than boys, but there were a good number of boys performing.  When they didn't have the original tribal accouterments (as in the headdresses above), they improvised from paper or regular clothing substitutions.

We'd been looking forward to this program, as we'd heard the music for several days as they practiced out behind the principal's house, next to our guest house.

Most of the dances were hilltribe dances, but this one with the saris was more stereotypically Indian, complete with Bollywood music and coy smiles.

I don't know what this dance was called, but it was done with bamboo poles and fancy stepping, just like the Philippino "tinikling" dance with which I'm familiar.  It's the tribal version of jump rope.  Here's a video so that you can see how it works:

This dance, a shuffling, harvest thanksgiving dance, comes from the region immediately surrounding Riverside school--the Garo Hills of Meghalaya state.

I was surprised that some of the dancers didn't faint of heat.  In some cases, their clothing is made of wool.  I imagine those are the costumes of the tribes who live in the foothills of the Himalayas, which make up much of northeast India.  It's much cooler in those places than where we were, just north of the Bangladesh.

Finally, we had one group of dancers pose with the Mister and the Missus, providing yet another intriguing photograph in the ongoing annals of their travels for our next Christmas letter.

India, Part 9

Today I thought I'd share with you pictures of students at Riverside school.  Except for mentioning that this first picture--of a couple of amused first graders--is my favorite photo of any that I took in India, I'll let the students' faces speak for themselves.  These kids and their teachers are the reason I'd like to give of whatever I can to help the school.

India, Part 8

So far you've seen the Riverside school and its immediate vicinity. Let's go farther afield. One morning several of the men, plus our university students who have served and are serving at the school, took off on a hike. I started off with them, but knew I didn't have the energy to head up the hills as far as they were going.  (This is probably where I should add the disclaimer that not all these photos in these posts were taken by me. There are some--as those from this hike--taken by Husband, who is pretty nifty with a camera.)


The intrepid hikers' destination?  This stately banyan tree (above).

On the way, they passed rice paddies sitting dry, waiting for the rains and the planting. At the far end of the padi you see a grove of Areca palm trees.The island where I grew up bore the Malay name for these trees--"Pinang."  The product of these trees is referred to as "betel nut."

As a decorative palm, betel nut is a rather lovely plant!

In northeast India the nuts of the Areca palms (seen here in a hillside grove) are crushed and the paste mixed with mineral slaked lime, then rolled in the betel leaf. It makes a rather powerful and addictive stimulant. Unfortunately, it also ruins people's lives.The oral cancer rate is very high in betel nut chewers.  It reddens the mouth and teeth, and blackens and then rots out the teeth. And the users get very sick.

We went to the market, about 5 km. from the school, and these three ladies had set up a little stall with banana leaves where they were happy to fix market-goers a roll of betel nut to pop into the mouth for a good chew. I conveyed my friendliness and "no thanks."  If you click on the picture and then look at the lady on the left, her teeth hint of the story of many years chewing betel nut.

Speaking of market, the closest market to the school is held once a week by the river. Vendors bring a wide variety of wares to display, from vegetables and fruit to sarongs, to shoes to nasty-smelling salted dried fish, to bright cheap calendars and posters, and so on. It's a good place to go exploring.

The rows at the market are semi-neatly laid out with people wandering everywhere.  The occasional cow or two joins them. As mentioned before, cows have holy status in India, and can go pretty much wherever they please.  You just walk or drive or cycle around them.

It surprised me to see little mounds of only a few vegetables on a vendor's mat. How could they live from selling such meager wares? All seemed well, though.This is the local economy.

I particularly was drawn to the stalls selling colorful spices. I don't know what they all were.  I think the Indians must have the best spice intelligentsia in the world. Our measly little spice racks would be grossly insufficient for the variety they use in their cooking.

And my final picture from market--my favorite:  you can take your fabric or clothing to the tailor with the treadle sewing machine and have mending done, or a hem sewn, or a whole garment made while you wait. Beautiful!