Friday, June 3, 2011

Poetry Friday--"Miracle Ice Cream"



Last weekend was hot and sunny. All the windows were open and from about 10 AM on, I would hear the sounds of the ice cream truck.

When I came across "Miracle Ice Cream" by Adrienne Rich, I knew it was the one for me to share this week.
MIRACLE's truck comes down the little avenue,
Scott Joplin ragtime strewn behind it like pearls,
and, yes, you can feel happy
with one piece of your heart.

Take what's still given: in a room's rich shadow
a woman's breast swinging lightly as she bends.
Early now the pearl of dusk dissolves.
Late, you sit weighing the evening news,
fast-food miracles, ghostly revolutions,
the rest of your heart.

1992

© Adrienne Rich from Dark Fields of the Republic: Poems 1991-1995 [W.W. Norton, 1995]
I love the tunes the ice cream truck plays as it makes its rounds. No Scott Joplin in my neighborhood, but there's a good old dose of Stephen Foster. Here's a haiku I wrote last year, at the beginning of the season:
way down upon the swa...
the ice cream truck
hurries past

© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved
I have a big piece of my heart always ready for the ice cream truck, but all I eat is the music and the childhood memories!

It's still too early in the morning for ice cream, so while you're waiting for things to heat up, head over to Toby's Writer's Armchair and sit a while reading through the Round-Up.

--Diane

The photo was taken by John Ferrell, 1942, in Washington, D.C., and comes to us courtesy the Library of Congress.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Women of Wednesday--What We're Seeing

A few weeks ago, I watched the documentary Killing Us Softly 4: Advertising's Image of Women by Jill Kilbourne--it left me speechless. Rather than summarize it for you, here's the trailer:



So what do we do? We discuss. We refuse to purchase the products being sold. We support young women in making healthy choices. But, more importantly, we make sure all of our kids become media literate. What's media literacy? This is taken from the Center for Media Literacy's (CML) vision statement:
the ability to communicate competently in all media forms as well as to access, understand, analyze, evaluate and participate with powerful images, words and sounds that make up our contemporary mass media culture.
The CML site has an archive of its magazine, Media and Issues, and you can read articles online. I did a search under the term "images of women" and the top four results all dealt specifically with the portrayal of women as explored in Jill Kilbourne's film. Interesting reading.

PBS has information on Digital Media Literacy on its webpage. There's lots more information on media literacy online or at your local library.

Just as dripping water will wear away rock, a constant barrage of false media images can wear down a child's self-esteem. Please let's all make an effort to be more aware of what we're seeing.

--Diane

Monday, May 30, 2011

Mentor Monday--Writing War

Let me state right from the start that I'm a pacifist. I've marched against war from the Vietnam era through to our current conflicts.

War is a reality, and people die in war. Perhaps if children realized this from the start, they won't get caught up in the "glamor" or the "thrill" of war. War is not a video game. Not every soldier is a hero. The weapons of war are not playthings.

War in our contemporary world now includes children as combatants.
Throughout the last four thousand years of war as we know it, children were never an integral, essential part of any military forces in history. But the rules of war have changed. The participation of children is now not a rarity, but instead a growing feature of war.

The practice of child soldiers is far more widespread, and more important, than most realize. There are as many as 300,000 children under the age of 18 presently serving as combatants around the globe. Their average age is just over 12 years old.

P.W. Singer

This is a horrifying thought. What kind of world are we living in?

We've got to work toward change. We can start by eliminating the language of war that permeates our adult communications, for example, referring to something as a "war on"--war on crime, war on literacy, war on stupidity, etc., trivializes war. As children's writers we can try to eliminate children's book titles that have "war" in them--The War With Grandpa, The Lemonade War, The Boys Start the War. Yes, these books ultimately teach that it is better to get along, but again, it seems to trivialize war.

As parents, teachers, and librarians we can read books to kids, even the youngest, which promote nonviolence and peace. Here are four.

The Big Book for Peace. [Dutton, 1990, o.p.]

Parr, Todd. The Peace Book. [Little, Brown, 2005]

Popov, Nikolai. Why? [North-South, 2006, o.p.]

Seuss, Dr. The Butter Battle Book. [Random House, 1984]

Oddly, not once in The Peace Book is it mentioned that peace is the absence of war.

Available here.


We should let our kids know that "war is not healthy for children and other living things." Alice Walker's Why War Is Never a Good Idea [HarperCollins, 2007] comes closest to doing this, but I would recommend it for a slightly older audience.

Also for a slightly older audience is World War Won, by Dav Pilkey. Pilkey offers the book on his website as a free download. Although it's a bit heavy-handed with its message, and the characters are rather cartoonish, it could be a good conversation starter.

I'll issue a challenge to you to write good books with more subtle messages so that portrayals of cooperation become as accepted as portrayals of hate, violence, and war.

Take a few moments today, Memorial Day, to remember those who fought and died in the various wars in our short history. Make an effort too, to support non-violent ends to conflict. We owe it to our kids.

--Diane

Friday, May 27, 2011

Poetry Friday

Lorraine Schneider 1966



At The Un-National Monument Along The Canadian Border

This is the field where the battle did not happen,
where the unknown soldier did not die.
This is the field where grass joined hands,
where no monument stands,
and the only heroic thing is the sky.

Birds fly here without any sound,
unfolding their wings across the open.
No people killed - or were killed - on this ground
hallowed by neglect and an air so tame
that people celebrate it by forgetting its name.

William Stafford


Today's poetry roundup is at My Juicy Little Universe

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Women of Wednesday - She Sells Seashells


Most of us have heard this tongue twister before.

She sells seashells on the seashore
The shells she sells are seashells, I’m sure.
So if she sells seashells on the seashore
Then I’m sure she sells seashore shells.


It was written (they say) about an obscure, nineteenth-century woman from Lyme Regis on the southern English shore, a woman born at the very bottom of the socio-economic ladder and into a family of religious dissenters, a woman with no more than a Sunday school education, who grew up to correspond and meet with professors, scientists, scholars and the nobility. But it wasn‘t seashells she was selling on the seashore. It was dinosaur bones.

Mary Anning was born on May 21, 1799, the fourth child in a family of ten. Two of her older siblings were already dead by the time she was born. The six who came after her would all die, too. Only she and her brother Joseph would survive to adulthood.

Mary had a hard life growing up. Her father - a cabinetmaker who should have been able to make a decent living - was a ‘dissenter,’ a man who refused to become part of the Church of England which, at that time, was the only recognized church in the country. The Annings were Congregationalists, which meant they were not allowed into university, the army, and many other professions, so they lived in poverty in a small cottage on the seashore.

Their poverty was made even worse by the Napoleonic wars raging on the continent. Bread was hard to find, and when it could be found, it wasn’t affordable. In order to supplement his income, Mary’s father went out to the cliffs and searched for fossils, but they weren’t called fossils then. There were known as ‘curiosities.‘ Mr. Anning dug them out, cleaned them up, and sold them to upper and middle-class tourists who, because of the wars, now took their vacations on the English seaside rather than in France. They bought these curiosities and brought them home to display on their mantels and show off to company.

Mary, and her older brother, Joseph, often went with their father on his fossil hunting expeditions. He showed them where to find fossils and bones and how to dig them up. But while her father and brother saw fossil hunting only as a way to put food on the table, Mary developed a genuine interest in it.

When she was eleven, her father died. He had been suffering from tuberculosis and injuries he had sustained after falling off a cliff. The Anning's financial situation went from bad to worse and they were forced onto parish relief. Fossil hunting began in earnest, and even Mrs. Anning got involved. Mary and Joseph scoured the cliffs and seaside for fossils and bones while Mrs. Anning sold their finds at a coach stop outside a local inn.

Mary made her first major find when she was only twelve years old. Her brother had discovered the four foot long head of an ichthyosaurus and told her where to find to the rest of it. The ‘rest of it’ turned out to be a 17 foot long skeleton. It took Mary almost a year to dig it out. Her mother sold it for 23 pounds.


It was about that time that scientists were beginning to question the time line of the Bible, to speak about an ‘age of reptiles,’ and of the world being more than 6,000 years old. Mary’s ichthyosaur, which had made its way to London, lent credence to these new theories. Now, it was not only tourists who came to the Annings for fossils. Scientists, professors and museum curators began to show up, too.

The Anning's little business grew, and so did Mary’s expertise. She began to draw meticulously accurate pictures of the bones and fossils she found. She made notes on where she had found them, and on the type of rock she had found them in. She became a self-taught geologist and paleontologist before there even was a science called paleontology.

“The extraordinary thing in this young woman is that she has made herself so thoroughly acquainted with the science that the moment she finds any bones she knows to what tribe they belong. She fixes the bones on a frame with cement and then makes drawings and has them engraved... It is certainly a wonderful instance of divine favour—that this poor, ignorant girl should be so blessed, for by reading and application she has arrived to that degree of knowledge as to be in the habit of writing and talking with professors and other clever men on the subject, and they all acknowledge that she understands more of the science than anyone else in this kingdom.” - Lady Harriet Silvester describing Mary in her diary

They all acknowledged it, but none of them ever gave her credit for it. It was Mary who went out and found the fossils, who climbed the cliffs in her long skirts and bonnets, her dog Tray by her side (who died in a rockslide Mary survived.). The ‘clever men’ purchased what she had, they talked with her about what she knew and what she had learned, they examined her drawings, then they returned to London and wrote papers and gave lectures using her information and knowledge, and presented her fossils, without ever mentioning her name.



It was Mary (with her brother Joseph) who gave London it’s first look at an ichthyosaurus fossil.

It was Mary who discovered the world’s first plesiosaur.

It was Mary who discovered that the strange and mysterious bezoar was merely dinosaur dung.

And it was Mary who proved, with her discoveries, that there truly had been an age of reptiles.

And yet she received no credit for any of it in her lifetime. The strange thing was, the men she was dealing with respected her, as well as her knowledge and expertise. They did not go to Mary with the intent of taking advantage of her. They conversed with her as an equal, and many recognized she was even more knowledgeable than they were. When she developed breast cancer, they raised money to help her pay her expenses. One man, who had paid Mary very little for her fossils, auctioned them all off and gave Mary the proceeds. So it seems they not only respected Mary, they liked and cared about her, too. But they never thought to present a fossil or paper with her as a co-contributor. Was it because she was a woman? Was it her socio-economic status? Did it simply just never enter their minds? Maybe it was just too embarrassing to admit an uneducated woman knew more than they did.

Despite her finds and expertise, Mary never found her way out of poverty. When she died of breast cancer at 47, she was still unknown outside the small circle of men she dealt with. She died in the same poverty she had been born into. It wasn’t until years after her death when the science of paleontology was well established, that the men in the field began to acknowledge her contributions.

Mary was buried at St. Michaels church in the parish where she lived. The Geological Society put up money to have a stained glass window erected in the church in her honor. The inscription beneath it reads --

"This window is sacred to the memory of Mary Anning of this parish, who died 9 March AD 1847 and is erected by the vicar and some members of the Geological Society of London in commemoration of her usefulness in furthering the science of geology, and also of her benevolence of heart and integrity of life."

It’s a nice sentiment, but even there, they couldn’t admit publicly that she was anything more than ‘useful.’