Postcard from Iowa, 1913

Postcard from Alice Hamill

November, 1913

Villisca Iowa

To her son

R. P. Moats

Indianola Iowa

My Dear Boy

I don’t want you to come home home thankgiving unless you have time. I would like for you to come if you too come if you have nothing else to do. If you have nothing else to do why come home and do your best

Mother

(After my grandmother's death this past fall, I took a long hiatus from the project I was working on compiling her poetry. Now, as we sort through boxes and boxes of family treasures from both sides of my mother's family, I feel inspired to start that work again, and share some of what we find.)

The Un-Mugging (how I got my iPhone and began fearing the streets, even though I shouldn't)

Walking alone downtown at night is a lot scarier at 26 than it was at 18.

At least, that’s the case for me, and it all stems from one bizarre event last spring. I call it The Un-Mugging—in short, first-time mugger meets first-time muggee, vague threats of violence turn to almost-amicable debate on which of my crappy possessions she can have, she gets $20 and a Samsung flip phone battery to help pay her debt to some bikers (she let me keep the phone itself, for the contacts of course), I have an excuse to buy an iPhone.

It was a hilariously harmless experience, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t shake me up.

And for the first time ever, I started to be scared to walk in my own city. I love downtown and I think everyone should want to be there-- even if you don’t depend on a car to get around. I’ve walked there alone at night without concern for years with no trouble (part positive attitude, part not being an idiot and keeping my head up). But all of a sudden, everything was different.

I want to be clear: I have never believed--and still do not believe-- our downtown is unsafe. The problem is, despite knowing that in my head, my emotions now tell me otherwise.  Statistically, one harmless incident in 8 years are fabulous odds, and really shouldn't affect my otherwise positive relationship with the area. The problem? It did anyway.

Maybe I saw the Un-Mugging as a sort of warning—“be careful, it could be much worse next time,” – as if getting robbed should be seen as a punishment for feeling empowered to walk in your own city at night. I think that attitude is just awful—yet I can’t get it out of my head.

The Un-Mugging has irreparably changed how I view my city and my safety in it, and I hate that. I take more cabs now, or I avoid going certain places out of fear.

A wise person recently said to me, “in order to live a moral life, there is a certain amount of danger and risk you have to accept.”  That’s because as an idealist, sometimes you need to live according to the way things should be, not the way they are.

But when that ‘amount of danger’ is someone potentially cornering me on a dark street, is it really a reasonable risk? Should I have to put myself in physical danger to live my life the way I want?

I'm really just scared my precious iPhone will be stolen. (Photo by Marc Flores)

There are two issues at play here: 1. Our perception of the safety of certain areas (however accurate or inaccurate they may be) and our accompanying prejudices. 2. A question of personal autonomy and of how much an individual is willing to let fear control their actions.

Balancing the two is tricky and really complex.

Being a female does play a role in this whole thing, though I’m wary to over-emphasize it, especially because I never gave it a second thought before the Un-Mugging (which, interestingly, was perpetrated by a woman). To define the issue of safety on strictly gendered lines would be to over-simplify it.

Everyone’s concept of personal safety is affected by different factors, from physical size, to how you’ve been socialized to perceive your surroundings. Size, strength and your ability to defend yourself are definitely factors, especially considering the author of the above quote is a fairly bulky male, and readily admits it gives him confidence in sketchy situations.

So now that I’m a lot more scared than I used to be, do I have an obligation to put myself outside my new, smaller comfort zone in order to uphold my pro-downtown values and carefree street-roaming way of life?

I’m not sure, but I do know it’s a real shame to get more afraid as you age. Where’s that peak where you stop getting more courageous and start the slow and depressing roll back down again? I know mine was the Un-Mugging, but I’m fighting it.

P.S. Yes, I should just start cycling. But then I have to decide which is scarier-- night-time walks or negotiating traffic as a cyclist.

Edited to add: After some comments and discussion, I realize calling my desire to centre my life around downtown a moral decision (universal) is less accurate than describing it as a political decision based on my personal values (individual). Basically, I don’t think it’s immoral for just anyone to choose to not live in a central location—that would actually make no sense, as by definition it would be impossible for everyone to live in the city centre. I just feel it’s wrong for me, based on my personal values. Thanks for the comments and discussion!

How global warming is stealing our identity

It's an understatement to say it's a pet peeve of mine to hear people talk about the "gorgeous weather" we've been having.

To me, temperatures reaching +7 or so in Winnipeg in January aren't gorgeous, they're weird and disturbing.

In terms of basic preference, messy brown sludge and puddles is not what I'd call beautiful weather. And as someone who really loves winter and winter sports, it's obviously not fun.

And yes, I'm very worried about global warming. Can I definitively say our unseasonable temperatures are an effect of climate change? No. There have been other fluke temperature spikes throughout history. But looking at the frequency of extreme weather lately, and warnings from scientists, I'd say it would be negligent to not consider the distinct possibility.

Clearly, climate change has all kinds of devastating and incredibly serious implications for life on earth. But in addition to a healthy fear of our potential future, I'm also really sad about something else we will be losing here on the Canadian prairies: a shared sense of cultural identity connected to winter.

Beloved winter traditions that we take for granted as a part of life in 'Winterpeg,' like the ice sculptures at Festival du Voyageur, our record-setting river skating trail and The Forks' Warming Huts design competition, just to name a few, may soon be relics of the past. That's not to mention the hardships of all those whose livelihoods depend on snow and freezing temperatures. I'm not sure whether these losses are factoring in to people's enjoyment of the weather. It doesn't seem to be the case.

Even if you truly detest our traditionally frigid winters from the bottom of your heart, I bet you've used them as bragging rights with someone from a more temperate climate. The idea of the tough, hearty Winnipegger (Manitoban, Canadian) that can drive in any storm and trudge through snowdrifts meters high is part of our collective identity. That piece of who we are may have to be re-negotiated due to climate change. That's a really scary concept.

(Photo: Winnipeggers like to think they're hardcore. This is me tobogganing with a broken foot.)

I think for a lot of people living where I live, climate change continues to be a very abstract concept-- it's hard to care about something we can't (yet) see or experience, like other areas of the globe are. That's why for me, these insane temperatures come as a really devastating reminder of what we're in for. And even if you don't care about the inherent value of winter, the freaky weather is beginning to have a tangible effect on people here, and it has human rights implications (see, for example, reduced ice road access to isolated First Nation communities). As always, the most marginalized are the first to suffer.

So go out and enjoy the slush if you like. I just recommend at least keeping in mind the potential implications of the balmy weather, environmentally, and culturally, globally and locally.

Remembering those who chose not to fight

My grandfather was a fire fighter in the Second World War. An educated man with a farming background, and a future United Church minister, he was a pacifist and made a personal decision that it was not morally right for him to enter a combat role. He applied for Conscientious Objector status, and was instead sent to London to fight fires during the bombings.

Others that I know chose different, less public and mainstream, ways of avoiding conscription. There is a long history in the 20th century of those who have chosen not to enlist, or who refuse to return to combat because of what they've seen.

I have great respect for those, past and present, who fought or otherwise represented Canada through the military, both those who have lost their lives, and those who have had to struggle on with the physical and emotional scars of what they've experienced.

Remembrance Day is a day to honour these people and their incredible sacrifices. It also makes me wonder about the sacrifices of those who made the decision not to fight based on their beliefs, whether as individuals, or religious groups. To make such a public decision, in a time when the social pressure to do one's 'duty' and enlist was so overwhelming, often elicited incredible community backlash, from organized public shaming campaigns, to violence and systematic mistreatment of certain groups.

Honouring conscientious objectors does not take away from the honouring of soldiers and veterans. I believe the decisions (if you can call it that... some may disagree) to fight or not to fight during a time of either an overwhelming sense of public duty to enlist, or conscription itself, are both necessary and incredibly honourable, both requiring incredible courage, both deserving of respect, and both enriching the cultural and historical fabric of Canada.

Modern war is complex, particularly when it's a war on the invisible enemy of terrorism. I don't pretend to have any answers when it comes to what is right and what is wrong when it comes to these wars. All I know is that these issues are never black and white. And I suspect that despite the natural whitewashing of history that has shaped the world war narratives into neat stories of good vs. evil, this was the case back then as well. None of this takes away from the respect deserved by veterans.

But I'm wondering, is there room on Remembrance Day to remember those who chose publicly not to fight? Can we really afford not to?

fighting body hatred with body hatred, that makes sense.

Something made me mad on the internet today.

This image, posted on Facebook by a woman in California has been shared 8,810 times as of Friday afternoon, and counting.

As far as I can tell, it is some sort of misguided attempt to promote positive body image (but for curvy girls only?).

At least, that's my take on it because I really don't see how attacking a woman with a skinny body is particularly empowering to women or helpful in promoting positive body image overall.

I'm disappointed and shocked that so many people are 'sharing' this on Facebook as if it's a positive message to be promoted. I find the message behind this image hypocritical and harmful.

I understand the intended message of this picture, which is to combat the notion in society that women need to be dangerously thin to be beautiful.

But I feel images like these actually perpetuate exactly the body-hating, shaming mentality they are trying to reject. It pits body against body, and further, woman against woman, in some sort of sick competition for physical approval. I don't think we should celebrate certain body types to the exclusion of others.

The woman in this image is very skinny but I would not be able to assume she is living an unhealthy lifestyle-- everyone's bodies are different. I am not condoning disordered eating as something positive. I absolutely acknowledge there is a problem in society if women feel the obsessive NEED to be that thin. Either way, I don't think calling their bodies disgusting is the way to fix it.

Whether this particular woman has an eating disorder is not the point. The point is this picture, which claims to promote some form of positive body image, has objectifying arrows that point to body parts on women, deeming some types attractive and acceptable, and some disgusting and unacceptable. Isn't that exactly what we didn't like people doing to bigger girls?

Why can't all bodies be deemed ok? (Even sick, anorexic bodies that need healing still deserve respect, not ridicule!) Why does it have to be skinny girl vs. fat girl? There are enough women hating women in this world, it really isn't productive.

A woman with some very smart things to say posted a revised version of the image which I feel says it all. Anyway this sparked some intelligent debate on Facebook which... makes me feel better about always being on Facebook.

Bukowski is like the worst hangover, but good.

I picked up some Bukowski because I heard he was a pretty big deal. I also heard he's the kind of poet pretentious hipster types like to be seen reading in coffee shops, so I read mine at home in bed.

He's pretty good. I also flipped through some of his letters, which are pretty fascinating as well. His stuff is relatable, kind of funny, and fairly depressing. The general feeling his writing conjures in me is of late afternoon sunlight stabbing you in the eye through a dirty window, when you're hung over. I think he probably felt like that pretty much all the time.

Happy and contented people cannot produce good art. More on this later, probably.

Part of the reason lots of people hate poetry is because poems can be like those ridiculous paintings that consist of a red dot on a white canvas, and pretentious people fawn over it saying, 'how deep and meaningful.' A lot of poems, I don't get, and that used to bug me. Now if I don't understand them, I just dismiss them as irrelevant to my life and move on to the next. It's a lot more efficient.

Anyway, once you gain credibility as an artist, it seems you can churn out any piece of inane crap and the art world will accept it. The odd poem in the volume I read seemed to me like really useless drivel, and from what I can tell of Bukowski, I'm sure he'd be the first to agree, making him a pretty cool guy.

Grammar Matters... or does it?

Are u one of those people who just cant stand when one of you’re ackwaintances has poor grammer or spelling? For some, its like nail’s on a chalkboard.

If so... take a look at my Thin Air blog post about Jila Ghomeshi's intriguing analysis of the social significance of grammar. Fascinating stuff for anyone even remotely interested in language.