Taking Back Our Education

Taking Back Our Education #TBOE, a photo by raise my voice on Flickr.

Last week, I attended a rally at the Alberta Legislature concerning cuts to education, organized by high school students. Taking Back Our Education saw students abruptly leave classes at 11 a.m., board buses, and head to the Legislature.

Aided by several unions, #TBOE (as it was also called) was a huge success. Hundreds of students and those in solidarity filled the area around the fountain. It was a moment where I could really feel my age. It was also a moment that caused me to reflect upon how I have ended up in life where I am now.

Many people know who I am and what I do, but don't know much about my background. I graduated from the University of Alberta with a B.Ed in Secondary Education (English major and Music minor). I wanted to become a junior high Language Arts teacher. Although I was already into writing and photography, and had actually been doing those things professionally as early as high school and throughout university, I viewed teaching as stable and something I could fall back on if my writing career did not pan out.

Well, there is an old Yiddish saying along the lines of "People make plans and God laughs." And I am sure the Almighty viewed this one as a gooder. I graduated in the mid-90s, in the midst of the Klein government's ravages to education. I, like numerous of my classmates, never made it into a classroom. There were simply no jobs to be had. Those who were lucky enough to find a job often lost it if they did not yet have their permanent contract.

Fifteen or so years later, the Conservative government is still in power and are responsible for more education cuts which will result in the loss of teaching jobs. I can empathize with those young teachers and those who are just graduating with their B.Ed degrees about the uncertainty of their futures.

On the silver lining side of things, those of you who appreciate what I do should thank the Conservative government for the fact I am the activist I have become. If I had landed a teaching job, I probably would not have the time to go out and document protests against all the incredibly destructive things this government has done. And the sheer number of rallies I attend are testament to the fact that this government does a lot of really destructive things.

Wanting to become a teacher should not be a pipe dream. Cutting teaching positions equates to larger classroom sizes, lack of personal attention to students with special needs, and just a lower quality of education overall. We apparently have a government that does not realize that its greatest asset is not actually the environmentally destructive tar sands. It is our future generations. Attending #TBOE gives me hope that a generation of voters (most of the students were in grade 12, so were 18 or almost 18) is coming up who will really be able to effect some tangible changes in the near future.

Blogs and More Blogs

Most people who follow my work know I have more than one blog. This blog, Sacred Social Justice, started out by discussing local activist events from a faith perspective. I still write on that topic (especially where it concerns global issues, peace, the inner city, and other aspects of social justice), but it has grown to include reports on local events and general updates on various projects. I did not really see a point in starting up another blog just as a diary. Truth be told, I have many more interests and projects on the go besides ones just dealing with activism.

One of those interests is music from around the world, especially ethnic beats and singer/songwriters. Inside World Music is a blog that deals with this topic, particularly CD and concert reviews. I have just updated Inside World Music with my capsule reviews from the Edmonton Folk Music Festival.

Another major passion of mine is food. Over the past couple of years I have become more and more interested in the local food scene, especially independent restaurants and food served at events like festivals. I started taking photographs of my food and review restaurants (and other businesses and attractions) regularly at Yelp. This week, I started up another blog to tie everything together. Then I Ate presents food photographs and short critiques. I may also write about local food issues and newswhen inspired, but for now I wanted to keep it simple so that I can make sure it is updated regularly.

Catching Up

This is a short post to bring everyone up to speed on my comings and goings. Well, some of them anyways. I've been attending a lot of local events as usual, including my two favourite summer festivals, the Servus Heritage Festival and Edmonton Folk Music Festival. For videos from both events, check out my YouTube channel that I am using to post Edmonton events separately from my usual one, which I would like to leave dedicated to activist happenings.

On the artistic front, I performed on June 18 at the Bikeology Festival under a tent in the pouring rain. As they say, the show must go on. You can catch the videos from it at my music channel on YouTube

One of my photographs was featured as part of the Visual Arts Alberta Association's member show "Energize," which was also part of The Works annual visual arts festival. I also became a member of Harcourt House, and have been working on some abstract paintings for the first time in over five years. I'll be posting the results of which in my gallery at deviantART, which has been updated with new photographs from my travels around central Alberta.

That's pretty much the long and short of it. I have been tending to update my YouTube channels and Flickr account more often than my blog. I'm also always posting on Twitter and will continue to use this blog to summarize what I am doing as well as present opinions on current events and causes.

Our Communities, Our Selves

Preamble: I am involved with a local blog writing group made up of Twitter friends. Each month we write on a specific topic. This month's chosen topic is community.

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When I first started contemplating this blog topic, I thought about what my fellow bloggers may write. Perhaps I am being presumptuous, but I expect a lot of the following: "I am a member of [religion/culture] and my community here in Edmonton has been so [wonderful/accepting/supportive/etc.]. I am so glad to be a part of the [religion/culture] community here. All hail my [religion/culture].

For me, it is not so simple. I walk between many worlds. As a result, community to me has many meanings.

Community can be contradictory.
Sometimes one's beliefs can run contrary to the dominant paradigm of one's presumed community. I am Jewish, but my open criticism of the State of Israel and support for Palestinian rights automatically puts me on the outside. As well, my political and theological leanings (which I won't get into here) also sets me apart from pretty much every major Jewish denomination for one reason or another. At the same time, we have to have the strength and courage to stand up for our beliefs, even when they fly in the faces of our communities. Just because you grew up being taught something, just because it seems like everyone else around you believes that thing, doesn't mean it is right - and especially, it does not mean it is right for you. I even wrote a song about it, called "Walls".

Community can be based on who you are and who you choose to be.
I wasn't born an activist. I became one through my own explorations of the world and current events. As a result, I am part of the local activist community. While most of us are part of communities based on aspects of ourselves beyond our control (such as our ethnic group), we also become a part of communities based on our life choices.

Community can be inherited and adopted.
This is very much in relation to my point above. I'm part of the Jewish community because I am Jewish. I was born Jewish. I'm part of a neighbourhood where I live, by virtue of the fact that I, well, live there (duh). At the same time, I am deeply involved in the McCauley and Boyle Street neighbourhoods because that is where my work and passion lie. Although I do not live there, I am adopted as part of the community. I wrote about this at length in April of 2010 in a blog post entitled "Defining Community", so I'll leave it at that rather than repeat myself. My views are pretty much the same now as then.

Community can remain static, or it can change with life choices.
Remember what I said above about living in one place, but working in another? Perhaps one day I will move. Some people convert to other religions. I know people who have jumped in head first into political or social activities. Our communities change as we do. Likely in our lifetimes, we will have some communities in which we stay and others into which we grow.

So that pretty much sums up my take on community. I'll be posting the links to my fellow blog group members' work as they become available.

Related Posts:
My lifelong community by @TamaraStecyk
Creating Community Throught My Feet by @Joanna_Farley
Blog Group Topic #3: Community by @lindork

The English Teacher

When I was in grade twelve I was still pretty clueless about what I wanted to do with my life. University registration deadlines were looming and while by this time I knew that I wanted to pursue higher education, I did not know in what.

Someone helped me make that decision, not by coercion or other means of manipulation, but by simply taking an interest in me and giving me a few nudges in areas of intellectual development.

I didn't know that Brian Jones was going to be such an influence in my life when I walked into English 30 on the first day of classes. One of the first units we studied dealt with existentialism. We analyzed a couple of stories out of an anthology. If I recall correctly, I tried to return the book, he asked me if I had read all the stories. When I answered no, he insisted that I hang onto the anthology for the rest of the term.

Mr. Jones was always very encouraging about my writing and interpretive abilities, even when being critical of my writing style, which was sometimes as clumsy and awkward as my teenage self. Still, I found myself more and more drawn to all thing literary, and finally made the decision to apply to the Faculty of Education, with a Major in English.

It turned out that my final year of high school was also Mr. Jones's final year of teaching. He retired at the end of the term and I never saw him again, but remember fondly his class, his encouragement, and him telling anecdotes about his past with his unmistakeable Welsh accent. One of my favourite photos if the one I have of my graduation day, me in my robe crossing the stage and Mr. Jones handing me my fake scroll (the real ones were mailed to us later).

I don't know if you're still out there Mr. Jones, but I want to thank you for everything. You are a large part of who I am today.

Related Posts
A Man to Admire by @TamaraStecyk
Inspiration Comes in a Healthy Package by @Joanna_Farley
Inspiration from a Miracle Baby by @JenBanksYEG
Inspiration by @Jasmine09
Blog Group Topic #2: Most positive impact on me by @lindork
Grandpa, it's time for change in Alberta by @sirthinks

Finding Shalom - An Artistic Journey

My grandmother wanted to go to college, or so the story goes. I have never asked her myself. Of course, since women did not do that back then, she held her dreams inside and desired my mother to attend post-secondary education.

Which she did, but not the kind of which my grandma hoped. My mother trained as a legal secretary, in hopes of snagging a nice, rich, Jewish lawyer. She got my father instead. He was an elementary teacher in a ghetto school who was pursuing his doctoral studies in the evening.

For the first six years of their marriage, they lived in my mother’s parents’ duplex. Then, when he earned the right to put ‘Dr.’ in front of his name, my father found the position that moved him and my mom from their close community of Brooklyn, New York, to the wilds of Edmonton, Alberta.

‘Culture shock’ probably did not begin to describe the change. Being an Orthodox Jew, my father soon realized he was no longer in walking distance of the nearest synagogue. There were two kosher butchers, each purveying their own brand of inedible delights. My mother, who enjoyed television, was dismayed to discover only four channels at her disposal – one of them in French.

Moving back home after my father amassed enough of a C.V. to get a position at another university, preferably one in the East, was definitely a consideration. However, the digestive disturbances which plagued my mother en route to their new home turned out to be more than food poisoning or a touch of the flu. It was my older brother.

The 1960’s turned into the 1970’s, and a few years later I was born. The family was settled. My mother, forever doting and over-protective, was concerned about problems back home and decided it was best to stay put.

For a variety of complicated reasons, my brother and I never attended the local Jewish day school. I was the mystery of my elementary classes; the girl who always got to miss school to celebrate exotic holidays. The one who could never go out on Friday night; the one who had to turn down invitations to birthday parties because she could not eat the food being served. Still, I never resented who I was until the kids from the Talmud Torah, which only went up to grade six in those days, joined us in junior high and treated me as an outcast. On top of that, I was daily being stalked, verbally harassed, and beaten by a Lithuanian Jewish boy who came up to my shoulders.

Things were not much better with my non-Jewish classmates, even though it felt easier and more gratifying to use my experiences as a source of rebellion with my parents, who had done their best to raise my brother and I with their customs and traditions. I could no longer relate to the meanings that were behind all that we did as part of our heritage.

I turned to my few friends, my painting, my writing, my music. I wrote songs almost every day, and swirled colours of tempera on paper. My father gave me an old camera of his, and I started combing the neighbourhood, looking for subjects to photograph. The trees and the birds and the flowers became my best friends.

Eventually, junior high came to an end. A bad case of chicken pox made me miss my graduation. To this day, the group photo of the grade nine class of 1988 hangs on the wall in the school, without me. But I still have most of those photographs, those paintings and songs, and the scars from which my art flows.

From Global to Local - Rethinking My Activism

I am someone who has been interested in the subjects of peace and human rights for as long as I have been able to think as an independent person. My life changed dramatically a few years ago when I decided to take concrete actions and stand up for my beliefs by becoming an organizer in the local activist scene. I have helped to organize, spoken at, and sang at countless events and demonstrations. I donate my skills as a website designer, photographer, and videographer - in the process, I have created an archive of Edmonton's activist scene. Regardless of where one falls on the political spectrum, this is part of the city's history.

Social media is also central to my activist life - in fact, last year I presented on social media for activists at Public Interest Alberta's annual advocacy conference. In fact, I recently created the Twitter account @yegactivist specifically for announcements about activist events.

While peace marches are fun and we all need to do our part to save the environment, a lot of the time there aren't tangible results. At least, not immediately. This has frustrated and burned out many an activist, who sees their efforts as futile. I am not one of these people, but at the same time I have also discovered that dealing with these large issues on a smaller, community-focused level is equally important.

Take, for example, poverty. Poverty is a serious issue, both worldwide and here at home. In December, I volunteered with the Edmonton Food Bank's Stuff-a-Bus campaign. Did we solve the issue of people not having enough to eat? No. But I am willing to bet that many families in Edmonton were able to have a nutritious meal thanks to the donations of money and food we collected.

In reflecting on my activism, I realize that community is a big part of what I do both professionally and personally. I've been involved with both of the city's street newspapers, helping people in poverty make money and develop skills. My work at Boyle McCauley News has made me into an advocate for the inner city. BMC News is so much more than a community newspaper - it is a community project with volunteers taking part in just about every aspect of the paper's existence, from operations to content to delivery. I joined the McCauley Community League

Most recently, I decided to get involved in the Capital City Clean Up as a block captain. I adopted the block upon which the Boyle McCauley News office resides and have gathered up enough volunteers to keep the block clean from May to September. Will this solve the world's environmental woes? No, but it will sure be great not to have litter flying around.

Since I absolutely cannot keep a guitar out of my hands, I had to find a way to set local social justice to music. And I found it. I've gotten involved with an organization called Music is a Weapon that raises both awareness and funds for different causes, locally and globally. I look forward to busking on Whyte Avenue, taking part in drum circles, and maybe even juggling my devil sticks in time to the rhythm of social justice.

Although I am hardly what one could consider affluent, I try to put my money where my mouth is, and joined the Edmonton Social Planning Council and Friends of Medicare while donating what I can to local charitable organizations such as the Youth Emergency Shelter and Habitat for Humanity. In fact, one of my goals is to take part in a Habitat for Humanity house build. While giving money is important, giving of my time lets me feel like I am making more of a difference.

I will continue to take part in events that deal with peace, the environment, and human rights. These are global issues that continually create a need to raise our voices to educate others either as they pass by on the street or hear about it in the media, and hopefully influence public policy. However, I will also be making extra efforts towards community and social justice in Edmonton. While I agree with those in my circle of activist friends who believe we need to be looking at the root causes of injustice, war, and poverty and trying to deal with those issues from the ground up, I have to disagree when local efforts are dismissed as being band-aids to larger problems. After all, a band-aid is supposed to help stop the bleeding and I see enough bloodshed around me to carry a first-aid kit at all times.

Finding Freedom

Originally published in the May 2006 issue of Our Voice, a street newspaper in Edmonton.

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Living in a (supposedly) democratic, prosperous society we sometimes take certain things for granted. Freedom is one of them. We have freedom of speech, the press, the right to assemble, the ability to choose our own paths in life: career, family, religion. Freedom means choices, and requires personal responsibility to make those choices.

For one, we need to be responsible and informed citizens. Why vote a certain way just because our families lean in that direction? I get shocked and amazed at anyone who does not keep up with what the serious issues of our society are, both locally and globally. We’re surrounded with so much media it’s a wonder we don’t get overwhelmed with information. But don’t limit yourselves to the major dailies and news broadcasts. Advertising-driven mainstream media may not be telling you the whole story. Research alternative news sources online – there is a plethora of magazines, radio broadcasts, and blogs -- we may be surprised at what we learn.

People have a tendency to participate in a specific faith just because we happened to be born into a particular religion. Even within major faith traditions, the way in which spirituality is expressed can differ greatly. Look at Catholics and Protestants – I’ve had people express to me that they cannot understand why these two groups are so theologically at odds since they are both “Christian.” All of us should read our Holy Books, whatever they may be, with new eyes. We should attend the services of other faiths, if for no other reason than to learn about why they believe as they do. We all need to find a way to express our spiritual selves that reflects your beliefs, even if they begin to divert from what we were taught in Sunday School.

Freedom is often discussed on a large, global scale in terms of the political system of a nation. But each of us can struggle with freedom in the smaller spectrum of our own lives. Think about the person who cannot read or write. Is that person truly free? Accessing the resources to become literate opens another door towards freedom and the chance to fully participate in society.

Those of us who are in bondage to an abusive relationship or family situation are also one step away from true freedom. Through a solid support network and access to community services someone can break those invisible, yet binding chains. Sometimes fear is the biggest barrier. People who are addicted also need support and help, yet many find that their lifestyle leads them to be alienated and abandoned. Often addicts do not have the resources to access treatment on their own.

Struggling with a major physical or mental illness can put stumbling blocks into one’s path. With a well-funded, functioning public health system, there is no reason why anyone should have to live a reduced quality of life just because of ill health. Access to doctors and treatment should be a basic human right. How sad it is that our provincial government wants to introduce legislation allowing for these essential services to be privatized. In this case, choice does not equal freedom – it equals repression for those who cannot afford to pay for a private system.

And then there are the “little things” including a child’s first words or steps; graduating from high school; falling in love for the first time; and learning how to drive. There are so many personal triumphs in life that we take for granted as being normal developmental stages that we fail to celebrate them or even connect them to the higher state of freedom.

Each one of us should find ways to enjoy life’s daily triumphs and help others who are stumbling along the road to freedom. We cannot confine ourselves to a world of predetermined thought patterns or ideologies. The cost of freedom is high; the cost of ignorance is even higher.

Paula E. Kirman is a freelance writer, editor, photographer, and website designer. For her, freedom includes bike riding, music, and pursuing interests of social concern. You can reach her at: starvingwriter@hotmail.com.

The Making of Milestones

From the July 2006 issue of the street newspaper Our Voice.

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How we define success for ourselves, personally and professionally, often determines our direction in life. Our careers, attitudes towards material wealth, and general priorities all revolve around the goals we set.

When it comes to goal setting and reaching, it’s really easy to just think of major events like graduation or landing a good job. While either of these examples of admirable, they are merely the end result of a bunch of sequential actions and accomplishments which led to them. The difference is that this forward motion – “baby steps” one might say – is often ignored on the way to the big prize.

Most people who can ride a bike remember when the training wheels came off for the first time. Likely, this move towards independence was celebrated with kudos from relatives. Maybe a picture or two were snapped as you rode down the street on two wheels for the first time. Something so important in our growth, but also a common experience amongst children. Yet much hoopla surrounds it.

And then as we get older, things change. We’re no longer cute little kids looking up to the adults in our lives with our tooth-missing smiles. The little triumphs we experience start to become less of a big deal. So we start to eye loftier goals, in the hopes of winning the almighty approval from our parents, peer groups, and ultimately from society. Sorts trophies, getting into university, and eventually making it in the corporate world become the end goals of a competitive world.

Here is where a level of marginalization occurs. There are many who have challenges making it difficult for one to attain a higher education, great job, nice home, and all the trappings that come with middle class life. In other words, people who are already marginalized due to social class, mental and physical challenges, and economic circumstances, at some point come to the realization that they cannot keep up with what they perceive is expected of them. These are people with a lot to offer, but it is too often overlooked.

On the flip side, sometimes people walk away from a comfortable life to pursue what they consider to be more important goals. These are the ones who go into humanitarian work, social activism, or even just living a scaled-back lifestyle at a slower pace for enjoyment and health, rather than the pursuit of money and power. Unfortunately, growing one’s own food, organizing an anti-war demonstration, or working for a charitable organization just isn’t held in as high esteem as being the CEO of a corporation and living in a luxury condo.

Milestones don’t have to equal money or achievement. They can be simple things, like making someone else smile. They can be personal – one does not always advertise that they have made it for a month without taking a drink. Or, they can be moments shared with important people in our lives. Birthdays and anniversaries don’t really matter to anyone outside of one’s immediate social circle anyways.

It isn’t wrong to want to “make it,” whatever making it means to you. Celebrate everything that life has to offer. Make a journal of your journey, so you can at least record your daily steps to read back at a later time in order to judge your progress. Sure, there will be big moments to share. But don’t ignore everything that happens along the way. Our “training wheels” will have to come off at many points in life, under various circumstances. Celebrate these moments and milestones.

Paula E. Kirman learned how to ride a bicycle as a teenager. You can reach her at: starvingwriter@hotmail.com.

An Activist By Any Other Name . . .

I am often called an activist. However, I started to wonder what this term really means.

"Activism" and "left-wing politics" tend to go hand in hand. I'm someone who is involved in the peace movement, the environment, and poverty/homelessness. I am active in these causes. Ergo, I am an activist.

However, what about someone who is active with pro-life (anti-abortion) causes? Or who supports the "sanctity of marriage" (anti-gay rights)? Are these people activists, albeit on the other side of the spectrum? Of course they are.

Then, there are people who work for causes that are neither the property of the left or right. Parents who unite against a school closing. Neighbours who get together to form a community watch program. Are these people activists? I would say, very much so.

I find that when the term "activist" is applied to someone to the right, it is qualified with the kind of activist they are. I have heard numerous people referred to as a "pro-life activist" or "an activist for the family" (as if to imply that those of us more to the left don't advocate for our families!).

I have had qualifiers added to my activist moniker (particularly "peace activist), but in most cases, people simply refer to me as an activist. I admit, when I am told about someone else and am told that person is an activist, thoughts of marches and rallies pop into my head. (Although that is not an entirely accurate stereotype either, as there are indeed marches and rallies for right-wing causes).

However, the true definition of an activist is exactly what the word implies: someone who stands up for a cause. The question is then, the type of activist a person is. That is why the English language has adjectives.

Political Labels and Identity

I like to stir things up. That should come as no surprise to anyone who has known me for any length of time. Sometimes I make a statement about myself or my beliefs, and watch the reactions. It's not that I like to be the center of attention or spend copious amounts of time navel-gazing, or even that I enjoy agitating people I care about. It's none of those things. I find the reactions of others tell me a lot about themselves, and in the process, gives me greater insights into what I believe and why. It's a constant process of self-realization and refinement. When done properly, it can even deepen friendships.

Social media streamlines this process. On Facebook, one of the profile questions one can answer concerns political beliefs. I have put everything here from "liberal" (but not in the political party sort of way) to "left-wing, granola-crunching, tree-hugger" (my personal favourite). Yesterday, I changed it to "slightly left of centre" and posted a status update to reflect that.

And then, the comments came flying in.

"That's the understatement of the year."

"Your idea of of center may be a bit out of calibration."

"I'm with ----, except a bit may be just a tad to little. Perhaps a tad right of left extremist might be more the description I would use."

Now, my pat answers are as follows:

1) The year has just begun.

2) The centre of what?

3) I am hardly an extremist.

Facetiousness aside, I really started to wonder if a proportion of my friends honestly view me as an extremist. Moi? I don't drink, smoke, do drugs, or sleep around. I dress modestly. I practise a faith that many of my activist friends consider to be right-wing and patriarchal and have family ideas that can sometimes seem old-fashioned in today's world.

And in some ways, I think this might be the problem. People are not comfortable with what they cannot label and put in a box. I hardly fit the stereotype of a left-wing activist. At first glance, I am a professional, straight-laced, laid back woman. Talk to me for a while, and you will learn about my involvement in the local peace community, my thoughts on the failings of capitalism, the reasons why I am for democracy but why it is not working in our society, and my feelings about labour unions (both positive and negative.

I suppose that can all seem very radical to someone who espouses different views that are either in the centre or to the right of said middle. This begs the question: what is the centre, and who defines it? Our society has progressively shifted to the right over the past few decades. I've had the labels "socialist" and "commie" hurled at me simply for criticizing capitalism (as if any economic system is perfect), or or suggesting the government needs to do more to fight homelessness and poverty.

Our differences should not be cause for hostility. When conversations, whether online or in person, dissolve into ad hominum attacks, I turn off, tune out, and drop away. Rather, we should discuss our differences and in doing so, learn about each other and grow as friends. This is one of the ways in which we build a better society. I have friends of all political and religious stripes. We're friends because we like each other, not because we agree on everything. Let's quit focusing on how we are different, and concentrate on what we have in common.

Bucket List

It started on Twitter. Someone came up with a "bucket list" and blogged about it. Soon, others of us tweeps were creating our own bucket lists. In case you don't know what that means, a "bucket list" is a set of goals we aim to reach before we "kick the bucket" so to speak. It is also the title of a movie from a few years ago starring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson on this very topic.

The website where we have been recording our bucket lists is called Day Zero. Actually, it is not a real bucket list -- the site gives you 1001 days to complete your goals. This affected my choices. Some of the items are indeed on my "bucket list" (like writing a book) but others are more mundane things that I simply have not gotten around to yet, at least in recent memory (like going horseback riding).

In some ways, I was hesitant to create a list because it can be a setup for failure and disappointment. However, it is also a tangible reminder of things towards which I am working.

Here is my list.

Get to Know an Edmontonian

Brittney Le Blanc is a reporter with iNews880 and avid local Twitter user. On her blog at iNews' website, she often features profiles of interesting Edmontonians. I am quite proud and excited that she featured me, in my role as a writer, editor, photographer, and social activist. Here is the profile: Get to know an Edmontonian: Paula E. Kirman

Culture and Physical Attributes

Like I used to do in the days when I had more time in the afternoons on my hands (as in, when I didn't edit two community newspapers and juggle a plethora of other freelance work), I used to go out, run errands, and then park myself in a coffee shop for the rest of the day. Armed with notebooks, letters, and a book or two, I was set - combined with caffeine, it was a pastime that was creative and productive.

Yesterday, I relived those days when I spent several hours in a nearby Starbucks - OK, I know what my activist friends think of that place, but I had an early evening get-together and it was the most convenient spot for both of us. After locking up my bike in the parking lot, I passed by an elderly couple heading into the drugstore that neighbours the coffee shop. Older folks in that shopping complex are nothing unusual, but this couple caught my attention because the husband was dressed in a suit, aiding his wife who was using a walker. I had one of those intense, "these people are noticing you" kinds of feelings.

In Starbucks, I sat at a table in a comfy chair, finishing off correspondence, writing in my journal, finishing a poem. I noticed that Mr. Smartly-Dressed and his wife occupied a table near the door. After a while, I looked up, and there he was, asking me if he could have the Edmonton Sun someone who occupied the table before me had left behind. Of course he could (I did not even flip through the thing). In his dignified British accent, he made mention of my "cross." I wasn't wearing a cross - I was wearing a large, silver-coloured Star of David I purchased recently. However, I knew what he meant. He went on to ask me if I was a Jewess (yes, I do believe he used that word). I answered in the affirmative. He said he and his wife had noticed me wearing it, and figured I must be pretty proud. I said I was.

He went on to ask if the symbol had any political meaning to it. I said in this case no, it was just an indication of my culture and faith. He proceeded to tell me he was Roman Catholic, even though he wore no symbols indicating such, and said there were lots of Jews who had become Catholic, and recommended a certain cable tv channel which was Catholic-oriented and featured some personalities with Jewish backgrounds. I thanked him for the information.

Picking up on whatever suble clues I apparently give out that I am a keen student of human behaviour, he launched into a story about his family's ethnic and religious background, the worldviews of Jewish philosophers versus Greek ones, and how Jesus never discussed Aristotle. Pointing to my wire frame glasses, he said he could tell I was an intellectual and thus interested in such things. Which I am, on both counts I hope, but wonder what his reaction would have been had I been wearing my sunglasses or thicker, plastic frames.

Finally, he asked me if I spoke Hebrew. While I know a few words here and there, alas I do not. He added that I certainly do not, "look that way." Rather, I looked Northern European. Yes, I have gotten the, "That's funny - you don't look Jewish" line before, so I was gracious about it, but I always wonder what the subtext actually is. Are cultural stereotypes still so ingrained in us, that we assume just because someone is a member of such-and-such group that they have to have certain physical features?

Now, I don't assume for one moment that this man - who said he was a scientist, no less - was an anti-Semite. Nor was I offended. I just find these kinds of comments curious. A friend recently told me she thinks I look Dutch (that's Northern European, isn't it?), and I found that interesting as well. On the other hand, I have also been told that I do, in fact, look Jewish. What does that mean or imply? Does it really mean anything? Would this same person have gone up to someone wearing a cross and tell them that he or she looked Christian?

I know a lot of different people from a lot of different backgrounds. Whether or not they fit the "look" of a particular group is usually not a discussion topic. Yes, there are some ethnic body issues, but again, those are universal. White, Anglo-Saxon women have issues also. In popular culture, we do sometimes discuss personality or temperamental cultural behaviours (again, stereotypes like the hot-tempered Irishman, stingy Sottish person, or over-protective Jewish mother) and sometimes even exploit them - where would Woody Allen, or even Jerry Seinfeld, be without playing up neurotic Jewish characteristics?

I am purposely bringing up more questions than answers, because, frankly, there really aren't any answers. These are philosophical questions one can continue to mull over - just how tightly is the physical tied to the cultural?

Finding Shalom

This is a very personal piece I wrote some years back that I came across again recently. There really is a correlation between pain and creativity. We should always remember how our past shapes us, even things that happened before we were born, and how our actions affect others especially when we are young.

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Finding Shalom

My grandmother wanted to go to college, or so the story goes. I have never asked her myself. Of course, since women did not do that back then, she held her dreams inside and desired my mother to attend post-secondary education.

Which she did, but not the kind of which my grandma hoped. My mother trained as a legal secretary, in hopes of snagging a nice, rich, Jewish lawyer. She got my father instead. He was an elementary teacher in a ghetto school who was pursuing his doctoral studies in the evening.

For the first six years of their marriage, they lived in my mother’s parents’ duplex. Then, when he earned the right to put ‘Dr.’ in front of his name, my father found the position that moved him and my mom from their close community of Brooklyn, New York, to the wilds of Edmonton, Alberta.

‘Culture shock’ probably did not begin to describe the change. Being an Orthodox Jew, my father soon realized he was no longer in walking distance of the nearest synagogue. There were two kosher butchers, each purveying their own brand of inedible delights. My mother, who enjoyed television, was dismayed to discover only four channels at her disposal – one of them in French.

Moving back home after my father amassed enough of a C.V. to get a position at another university, preferably one in the East, was definitely a consideration. However, the digestive disturbances which plagued my mother en route to their new home turned out to be more than food poisoning or a touch of the flu. It was my older brother.

The 1960’s turned into the 1970’s, and a few years later I was born. The family was settled. My mother, forever doting and over-protective, was concerned about problems back home and decided it was best to stay put.

For a variety of complicated reasons, my brother and I never attended the local Jewish day school. I was the mystery of my elementary classes; the girl who always got to miss school to celebrate exotic holidays. The one who could never go out on Friday night; the one who had to turn down invitations to birthday parties because she could not eat the food being served. Still, I never resented who I was until the kids from the day school, which only went up to grade six in those days, joined us in junior high and treated me as an outcast. On top of that, I was daily being stalked, verbally harassed, and beaten by a Lithuanian Jewish boy who came up to my shoulders.

Things were not much better with my non-Jewish classmates, even though it felt easier and more gratifying to use my experiences as a source of rebellion with my parents, who had done their best to raise my brother and I with their customs and traditions. I could no longer relate to the meanings that were behind all that we did as part of our heritage.

I turned to my few friends, my painting, my writing, my music. I wrote songs almost every day, and swirled colours of tempura on paper. My father gave me an old camera of his, and I started combing the neighbourhood, looking for subjects to photograph. The trees and the birds and the flowers became my best friends.

Eventually, junior high came to an end. A bad case of chicken pox made me miss my graduation. To this day, the group photo of the grade nine class of 1988 hangs on the wall in the school, without me. But I still have most of those photographs, those paintings and songs, and the scars from which my art flows.

Holiday Update

The winter holidays is never my favourite time of year. A dark, cold time, where people are rushing around spending money in what seems like a race to acquire the most and best toys. Then, on the holidays themselves, people either go away, or spend time with family and friends. Most places in the city are closed. I tend to feel very alone and sad.

This year has been a bit different. First of all, I actually had people to shop for. I usually have one or two names on my list, but this year a number were added. While I may not be a rich person by any stretch, I felt like I was a part of something as I rushed around and picked up everything I needed.

Next, I tried to go out more. This was difficult, because December has had one of the earliest cold snaps I ever remember. But a wonderful thing about 2008 is that I reunited with an old friend of mine about six month ago. And unlike many of my friends, he is with vehicle. So it has made for some fun and interesting times. I have been to a lot of places in the city I have not been in a long time, some new places, and it is wonderful to share the experience.

Another blessing this year has been nurturing a friendship with someone special I met through work. He has become a role model and a mentor, fitting since I am the same age as his daughter. When he gave me a small bag of chocolate for Christmas (Callebaut, no less) and later told me how much he valued our friendship, I nearly broke down in tears. I spent some time with him and his family this Christmas, and I felt privileged to be included.

A few days before Christmas, I attended a Solstice celebration at City Hall. Yes, I know Solstice is a pagan kind of thing, but I was curious. It was presented by one of the local Unitarian congregations. I found it interesting, but reinforced my own beliefs since most of the service was focusing on worshipping the seasons and weather and nature. I would rather worship the One who made them all.

I also worked a casino to raise funds for one of the newspapers where I work. This was my first time doing this, and the experience was memorable. I ran chips, which means that I spent a lot of time hanging out in the volunteer lounge enjoying munchies and watching television until I would be called to bring chips out to the floor (escorted by a guard). Another perk was free meals form the restaurant, which I did not overdo I am proud to say - although I did hold out for supper until they were serving the prime rib!

Now, I know some of you may object to casinos funding non-profit groups. I must confess I have mixed feelings on this issue. However, no one is forcing the people who patronize such establishments to go there. In a way, it is not much different than a business that makes money through alcohol sales. At least in this case, the money goes to good causes.

Chanukah is still going on - three candles left to light. I was tempted to go to the community light up, but it was close to -30 that afternoon. Like I said, it has been a very cold December. I got some cool prezzies courtesy of the friend I mentioned a few paragraphs above. In keeping with tradition, I got eight presents - seven Scratch and Win lottery tickets, and sweetest of all - a 16 gig iPod touch! I should explain this friend and I go back a very long way.

New Year's Eve is coming up, and as always, I have no plans. I think it is a good night to stay off the road. Like in past years, I will probably be at home watching movies while sipping from a bottle of something or another. The movie marathon is already on, as I indulged in my annual Christmas tradition of watching Love, Actually, and also have been renting a few flicks. I even bought Mamma Mia, which is a movie that really cheers me up.

Wherever you are, whatever you celebrate, have a safe and happy holiday season!