magazine
pink nail polish a memoir
living life lightly
SMART WOMEN MAKE GOOD COMPANY
keri noble:
letting go and going up
an interview with Julie hellwich
summer ’08 1
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A WORD FROM THE EDITORS
A friend recently said to me, “You must love yourself before you love your neighbor, or else you do not truly love your neighbor.” Having grown up hearing the “Golden Rule,” I never considered that it had a qualification. But, after turning her idea over in my head for weeks, I can see exactly how it is true. “Love your neighbor as yourself” implies behavior that is good and kind, in the sense that every person is worthy of respect and fair treatment. But, if a person is self-critical, how is it helpful to say they should act the same toward others? This idea gets at the very heart of Alive Magazine – that self awareness is directly tied to community and active civic engagement. It is akin to neighborhood families banding together to fight crime, or former welfare recipients creating organizations to help end poverty in America. Therefore, at Alive Magazine we believe in free media (even though providing it is not financially easy) because we think every young woman should have a chance to tell her story in her own voice. In this way, a new generation has a chance to do what our country’s founders imagined: spark revolutionary conversations and movements through open dialogue and communication. We know that freedom flourishes when the media is funded and created by the people, for the people. Through the same means, we hope selfconfidence will flourish as well.
Lauren Melcher, Managing Editor
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It’s all about the one. While this is true and is at the heart of my philosophy for reaching out to others, I am torn between two concepts – simply reaching out to individuals in my immediate surroundings and expanding that sphere of influence to the community. There have been times I have supported specific individuals during their time of need, and it is in my own unique way of doing so that I serve others. But while I cherish those times of supporting others, there is more to consider. Caring for individuals poses a challenge. If I am going to focus on showing love for individuals, I must also be aware of the world they live in and the issues they face. I have recently struggled with this on a personal level, as I attend college in a very diverse urban neighborhood. One afternoon while walking back to campus from a nearby coffee shop, I noticed a multitude of people playing in the park, simply enjoying the beautiful spring sunshine. Wow. How much did I actually know about the culture of these people in the community and what activities they enjoyed? Not very much. All I really knew was the bubble of my college campus. Sure I reached out to specific students on campus, but what about those outside the school walls? I felt the need to expose myself more to the community around me, but I didn’t know how to do that safely. The busy pace of college life also presented obstacles, as I was physically worn out. Is it possible, that for this short time in my life, my focus should be on my duties as a student and on those on campus who need caring support or a listening ear? Or is something more required of me? Am I to turn some of that focus out toward the community? And if so, how? This is the point at which I must wrestle. But regardless of such challenges with which to grapple, the truth is that there are multiple individuals I have taken time to pour my life into. It can be overwhelming to think we must reach out to the world, and I believe that such a task starts with reaching out to one. Yes, the masses matter, but in each group of people stands a person and it’s that person we must see as valuable among all the others.
Brittany Smith, Editorial Intern
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table of content
H Y S B R A Z C G
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THINK
2 Free to Love
by Lauren Melcher and Brittany Smith | illustration by Jensen Power
a word from our editors
Through the same means, we hope self-confidence will flourish...
GLIMPSE
7 Picturing Everyday Beauty
photography by Danica Myers and Jennifer Dotson
one-sentence answers to our favorite questions
SPEND
We interviewed many of our Art-a-Whirl visitors during a threeday photo shoot about everyday beauty, and their answers are uniquely inspiring. Meet a few of our new favorite friends…
14 Going Green by Dayna Sudheimer | illustration by Mandy Gebhart
where to spend your money wisely and effectively
BELIEVE
“Go green” seems to be the driving trend among fashion today. With the rising number of brands striving to keep up, there are many options for shoppers to seek out their favorite trends...
16 Love Sees All, Even When I Cannot
by Mehak Siddiqui | graphic by Bethani Simon-Straub
finding God in unexpected places
MISTER
I was born with albinism, which means that I don’t have any pigmentation in my skin, and very little in my hair and eyes. I’m South Asian in origin, but look strikingly different from my family...
18 Witnessing Enlightenment
by Colin Eide | illustration by Lauren Gallagher
a word from our editors
AIM
As I ambled lethargically down the dusty concourse “A” of Cairo International Airport, I hit a cloud. This cloud was made of men of various sizes, men in white shapeless robes leading invisible...
19 Smart Women Make Good Company
by Jen Dotson | graphics © Smart Women Co. | photography by Leo Kim
inspiring successes, curious ambitions, & unique interests
GAZE
One day Julie found a rubber stamp at a local gift shop, three...
23 Sea See Sea See
art for art’s sake... and your viewing pleasure
monotypes by Isa Gagarin
consider 28
Bringing Sexy Back by Jensen Power | illustration by Megan Foss
news-related stories relevant to you and your world
GIVE
stories of service and volunteering
I found myself compelled by the lush beauty of the photographs that I used as the basis for painting, and yet suspicious of National Geographic’s responsibility to represent foreign cultures to a ...
“I worried about being sexy enough again.” This from a woman who, from a media standpoint, helped define the word. And so I wonder... what is the ideal that girls are reaching for?
30 Record a Memory by Rachel Mans | illustration by Natalie Neal
These kids, like myself, just need an outlet. Some would draw pictures of basketballs, some would laugh or cry, some would talk or run around with their friends, but they just needed to get it out.
Colin Eide, contributing writer, is a 21-year-old student at the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities. He will be graduating Spring 2009 with an honors degree in French Studies and a concentration in Arabic Language. From June 2007 to January 2008 Colin lived and studied in Beirut, Lebanon and Cairo, Egypt. He is a resident of South Minneapolis. Isa Newby Gagarin, contributing artist, is from Mililani, Hawai’i and recently graduated from Minneapolis College of Art and Design. Travel is on her mind, but this summer she will stick around to bike and make drawings of her pet finches.
Maggie Gordon, contributing writer, is a senior at Syracuse University, majoring in women’s studies and newspaper journalism. She regrets to inform you that she does not like long walks on the beach, but she enjoys adverbs, adjectives and compound modifiers. Julie Hellwich, contributing writer, is the owner of Smart Women Company. Her witty and practical products (including magnets, mugs, notebooks, and office supplies) have been featured on HGTV, Ladies Home Journal, GLAMOUR, The Washington Post, BUST Magazine as well as in many other local and national media venues. Maud Hervet, contributing writer, is a 16-year-old who lives in Hyères, in the south of France. She is a junior in high school with a concentration in literature. She loves to travel, listen to music, draw, sing, and write poetry. Her submission was the winner of the Alive Magazine Spring 2008 Express Yourself! Contest. Allison Kendrick, contributing artist, is from Montgomery, Alabama. She is currently attending Sewanee; The University of the South in Tennessee with a major in Art. She spends her free time ending wars with the organization Invisible Children, leading campers at Camp McDowell, running shoeless through fields of daisies and living life to the fullest. Rachel Mans, contributing writer, is a junior at Creighton University, studying English and theater and drinking a lot of tea. She was a 2006 Presidential Scholar for Creative Writing, a graduate of the Pennsylvania Governor’s School for the Arts, and is an all around word-geek. Her goals include pursuing a career in writing and collegiate education, as well as owning a hedgehog. Leah Metz, contributing writer, thoroughly enjoys learning and performing dances from all over the world, such as salsa, hula, and her favorite, belly dancing. She is an avid journal writer (and thus, has a chronicle of her life since age seven) and also loves a good cup of hot tea. Every day Leah tries to follow her motto, “live life without regrets” to the best of her ability. Mehak Siddiqui, contributing writer, is 20 years old and is in the second year of university, majoring in Psychology. She has lived most of her life in Kenya but recently moved to her native India. She holds an interest in reading, writing, traveling and music.
cover artwork by allison kendrick back cover artwork by natalie neal
contributors
Diana Alqud, contributing writer, lives in Georgia with her father and her dog, Prince. As a Filistino/Paleppino (Palestinian/Filipino)-American, she hopes that everyone can understand other ethnicities more and try new things every once in a while. She spends lots of her time being a tasty vegetarian and traveling to exciting places (often without leaving her house).
not pictured: Bethani Simon-Straub
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table of content 6
T M V E N N U D L
TASTE
favorite dorm recipes, snack ideas, & cafeteria creations
MISCHIEF
tales of fiction, truth, shenanigans & friendly foolery
GROOVE
music, dance, and other inspiring sounds
EXPLORE
tales of travel and adventure
MEND
picking up the pieces when life falls apart
MEND
picking up the pieces when life falls apart
MUSE
original poetry and fresh lyrics
32 Brunch! by Anna Gizzi
It’s the weekend and my first chance to breathe. The sun is bright, a welcome change from the long gray winter and I’m pondering the changing seasons and what that means for me and my friends.
34 Making Light of Swimsuit Season by Natalie Neal | illustration by Lauren Gallagher
Why do we fret so much over something with so little fabric? I’m sure you have enough things to worry about besides what swimsuit you will buy for two precious summer months...
36 An Interview With Keri Noble
by Leah Metz | photography by Rhea Pappas © Keri Noble Most beautiful of all was how she treated the piano as if it were a friend who knew all her secrets...
38 Finding Strength Through Serenity by Kelsey Halena | illustration by Danica Myers
I wake up to the sound of loons singing their morning song, wind whistling through the trees and the feeling of the moss beneath my back. ‘This is truly living,’ I think to myself.
42 A Quilt For My Soul by Maggie Gordon
I didn’t cry at the funeral. Instead I stood at the lectern, keeping my voice steady as I told everyone, “At a time like this, it is hard to think of what to say about a woman like my mother...
44 Pink Nail Polish: A Memoir by Maggie Gordon | photography by Danica Myers
It’s 7:30 in the morning, and though I have never truly been a morning person, the idea of living through this day is somehow worse than any other...
47 Love Is Like a Card Game
by Maud Ervet | translation by Celine Merlaud | photography by Danica Myers
Winner of the AM Spring 2008 Express Yourself! Contest
DISCOVER 48 Living Life Lightly what makes you come alive?
LISTEN
perspectives on life from someone older and wiser
by Diana Alqud | graphic by Laura Lewis
I come to Palestine almost every single year. However, I think that this year was the most important for me. That is because I am older, have experienced more, and have a better understanding.
52 Chalk It Up to Experience by Julie Hellwich | illustration by Jensen Power
To live the change we want to see, we have to start where we are. We have no other choice than to begin with what we have. And we first have to look at what we believe.
DURING THE NORTHEAST MINNEAPOLIS ART-A-WHIRL FESTIVAL IN MAY, HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE WALKED THROUGH THE NEW ALIVE MAGAZINE OFFICE. WE INTERVIEWED MANY OF THEM DURING A THREE-DAY PHOTO SHOOT ABOUT EVERYDAY BEAUTY, AND THEIR ANSWERS ARE UNIQUELY INSPIRING. MEET A FEW OF OUR NEW FAVORITE FRIENDS...
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who inspires you?
HOLLY HILGENBERG, 25 Associate Editor for a small health industry publication What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever been given? You can always change your mind.
JENAVEVE BELL, 25 Unemployed dance teacher and entrepreneur What is your biggest pet peeve? People who are not aware of spatial dynamics in a crowded place. What makes you come alive? I guess the easy answer would be music and dancing. On a deeper lever, though, I think the bad things in the world, in a sense (I know that sounds strange). The injustices, the evil in the world – they push me to take action and do something about them, so in a way I guess they really do make me come alive.
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What do you wish you knew before that you know now? That appearance doesn’t matter a damn bit (am I allowed to say that?!)
OLIVIA ADAMS, 30 Occupational Therapist in San Francisco KIMBERLY TRINH, 28 High School English Teacher What makes you come alive? I was going to say you (looking at Olivia)
What makes you come alive? Being with my sister, usually laughing inappropriately. What do you do to keep yourself sane on a hectic day? Swear under my breath.
What do you do to keep yourself sane on a hectic day? I was going a different direction... drink tea.
best advice you’ve been given?
MARY ELLEN KAVANAGH Former owner of a bookstore in New York What do you wish you knew before that you know now? I wish I had been introduced to feminism. I wish that I could have known that my voice mattered when I was younger. I wish I knew that I had more than one or two choices for my life.
RACHEL VANSCOY, 25 Aquatics coordinator, YWCA What is your biggest secret? I am a talker, I tell everything. 9
JESSICA SEABERG, 30 Freelance writer What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever been given? Do what you love and the money will follow. What makes you laugh? Smart humor. What changes do wish to see in the world? Good question… let’s see… I wish people had different priorities.
ZOË SMITH, 17 Student What makes you come alive? Painting. Sometimes I concentrate so much I don’t eat. If you could change the world, what? Get rid of short shorts and skirts in school. SULÉCCA LOMAX-PEREZ, 17 Student If you could be anything or anyone… what? A tree. A big old tree. Those trees with the long vines… a weeping willow! What makes you laugh? Inside jokes, friends... mistakes.
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JEREMY HUI, 25 Graduate Student for Material Science & Engineering If you could be anyone in the world, who would you be? Superman. What makes you come alive? The process of coming to understand other people. It’s really tough, but it’s worth it. It’s exhilarating... almost as much fun as playing football or tennis. What is your biggest secret? I don’t really try to keep it a secret, but I guess tihs counts: I’m waiting till marriage. Who inspires you? I think I take a little inspiration from everyone around me.
AMBER REGAN, 25 Senior Community Activities Director Absolute favorite past-time? I love cooking with my mom. She would actually do the cooking and I would do the tasting. It was during these times that we would have our little talks. What do you wish you knew before that you know now? Life goes on and continue to move forward. Also, live with more freedom and don’t try to take control of things. What makes you laugh? Awkward moments… I’m good at creating those.
GABRIELLA ONIKORO-ARKELL, 12 Student at Marcy Open What do you do to keep yourself sane on a hectic day? I bring a friend along somewhere. We can make up games wherever. What changes do you wish to see in the world? I want schools to get more money, especially in the arts departments. I also want wars to stop. 11
KARI PANTEKOEK Graduate Student for Speech Language Pathology If you could change the world, what would you do? Provide free education for everyone. Absolute favorite past-time? Spending time outdoors hiking, walking, and eating with family and friends. Who inspires you? Paul Wellstone and women who run for political ofďŹ ce – it is a lot of self-exposure. 12
LETICIA STABRINO Spanish Liaison for K-12 What do you wish you knew before that you know now? The importance of choosing people you are friends with. They shape who you become as a person. Who inspires you? People who fight for the same ideals as me… a just society, environmentalism. Naomi Klein.
what makes you laugh?
ELLIOT KOHN, 23 Aquatics Director What makes you come alive? I felt very alive in Europe. My life is on hold now; I am trying to get back there.
DR. PUI FONG KAN, 40 Speech Pathologist, Assistant Professor at the University Of Colorado, Boulder What makes you come alive? My work – it is like a path to keep me going. Sometimes I get lost very easily, and by working I keep myself on track. It is always something to go back to. 13
S written by dayna sudheimer illustrations by danica myers
“Go green” seems to be the driving trend among fashion today. With the rising number of brands striving to keep up, there are more and more options for shoppers to seek out their favorite fashion trends while staying socially conscious. These trends are not only perfect for the fashionista in you, but are also affordable and won’t cause you to break the bank. Keep up with the current trends while doing your part in keeping the environment a friendly place to live. Prints, floral, shapes and even animal prints are making a fast comeback. Prints give an accent to accessories as well as tops and dresses. Target Company put a new twist on their affordable line of clothing. The twist: a stellar designer, Rogan Gregory, making eco-friendly fashion available to women everywhere. Rogan’s Target collection illustrates downtown street style with wearable pieces in unique shapes, such as the sleeveless one-piece short jumper, the giraffe print shift dress and the sleeveless button-front dress. Swimwear in bold prints and bright solids round out the collection. The eco-friendly summer collection offers affordable clothing from world-renowned designers. Get your shopping shoes on… the collection will only be featured in Target stores until late June.
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What would your summer look be without accessories? They are just as equally important to rock your summer look as any other trend. “Accessorize, accessorize, accessorize!” seems to be the common fashion trend among young women today, but be careful not to go overboard. Too much accessorizing takes away from the most important part of the outfit, you! Accessorizing is key to dressing up any outfit, but remember: less is always more. Keep your bling as subtle as possible – a plain gold chain or some anchor-drop earrings, or a rope bracelet or fine necklace decorated with maritime charms. Wear a watch? Try pairing it with a bangle or two. As for summer arm candy, the trend of oversized purses is still going strong. Why not switch it up for an evening out? A simple clutch is always the perfect way to go. To really look like a fashion diva, match a handbag with a pair of heart-stopping cork heels. Top off your new summer fashion with a pair of white or red sunglasses. No worries, these new summer trends will keep you ecoconscious while saving your summer cash. The perfect spot to check these fashion styles off your list is www. shopmodify.com. This stylish and eco-conscious mer-
chandise is founded upon a lifestyle that has proven one does not have to sacrifice great style and exquisite taste to go green, Modify presents a fabulous shopping experience for the discriminating, eco-conscious consumer. This brand furthers the green purpose, by selecting its products from designers that use highly sustainable and earthfriendly materials, such as organic fibers, bamboo, and recycled fabrics. By creating a synergy of awareness and aesthetic, social responsibility and style, Modify offers an opportunity to use your purchasing power to make both ethical and stylish choices. Looking for a place to share ideas about environmentallyfriendly fashion? Check out www.stylehive.com, an online style club for people who live for fashion, design, and shopping. Stylehive is part social networking and part pop-culture that is made up of trendsetters just like you… creating, designing, and discovering the next new thing – going green. Another fun spot to chat with fellow fashion divas is at www.getfd.blogspot.com. This blog is dedicated to every gal on this planet who is addicted to fashion and bargain shopping. If you don’t believe in spending half your paycheck on a pair of shoes, then this blog is for
you! Check out the blog for new ideas and cheap deals or share your fashion secrets. There is advice on everything from what to wear to work, to current trends, to where to find the cheapest shoes. At www.shopthecause.org, you can find handbags and jewelry, sold by free trade standards, whose profits go toward helping to alleviate poverty and violence among women. And www.grassyroots.org is devoted to conscious consumerism, with gifts, cosmetics, textiles and many other products under the mantra of “green is not a fad.” If you work only one trend, make it a socially conscious one. This philosophy encourages you to look and live better than ever with trendsetter designs that promote your ultimate health and well-being, as well as goodness of Earth and respect for its inhabitants. Whether you are a fashion innovator, an individual with a desire to make ethically and socially responsible choices, or both, benefit from the joys of “going green” with style.
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HI, MEHAK, THIS IS FOR
Love sees all... even when I cannot by mehak siddiqui graphic by bethani simon-straub I was born with the relatively rare genetic condition of albinism, which means that I don’t have any pigmentation (melanin) in my skin, and very little in my hair and eyes. I’m South Asian in origin, but look strikingly different from all my family, who are brown-skinned and black-haired. I’m pale, have blond hair, and have always had both structural and functional problems with my eyes, like strabismus and nystagmus. They’re all part of the condition and, to some extent, limit the activities that I can do. For example, my eyesight will never be good enough to be able to drive, I can’t play most sports which involve a ball, and have considerable trouble crossing the road. But, as every other person with a physical difference will tell you, what’s much worse than the physical difficulties are the stigmas and discrimination that I’ve had to face. Ever since I can remember, I’ve been the object of peculiar stares and quizzical looks, often accompanied with tactless questions and hurtful words. I liked keeping to myself at school because the other kids made fun of my paler-than-pale skin and thick glasses. I was never popular because I was the worst at all the sports we did and always got picked last for teams during physical education classes. It even took the teachers a while to understand my needs, and it was horrible when I had to repeatedly explain that I couldn’t even read the board from the first row and had to request other kids to let me copy off their books. Not everyone was kind enough to lend me their books because my academic performance, thank God, was above average, and many classmates thought it was unfair that I copied off them yet did better than them at tests and exams. My parents considered enrolling me in a school for students with special needs but the doctors insisted that this wasn’t necessary and so I continued studying at the same school, which had a predominantly South Asian student population, making me stand out even more than I would have in a school with more diversity. Although over the years, as we all grew up, people began accepting me more and I made a few very close friends, my self-esteem and confidence remained pretty low. My friends started dating and getting boyfriends and I found the lack of male attention towards me frustrating and demoralizing. I felt ugly and I cursed God for making me the way he did. I felt like the most unlucky person in the world and spent hours questioning why I couldn’t have a “normal” teenage existence like everyone else I knew. I grew jealous of lots of people, because of their seemingly perfect lives, when they didn’t even deserve it.
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HI, MEHAK, THIS IS FOR
RHI, MEHAK, THIS IS FOR I used to hate school and longed for excuses not to attend, despite having friends and being good at studies; nothing seemed to help in getting rid of the depressed feelings that had become part of me. That’s why, when I completed high school, I was ecstatic to leave for university. I wanted to leave all the painful memories behind and start life afresh at college, with new people, a new city and new experiences. But somewhere deep down, I was also a little afraid. What if university turned out to be just like or even worse than school? What if I couldn’t even cope with the academic side this time around because it was bound to be more challenging than school? I knew university would change my life but never had I imagined to what extent it would transform me. Fortunately, my fears of not being able to cope with the workload were put to rest by the Accessibility Services Office at the university. They provided me with voluntary note-taking services and helped me gain access to some visual aids which helped me keep up and take a full course load. But the most important thing they did is put me in touch with other students who had similar problems. I met two girls who were in the year above me and were also visually impaired. One of them, Anita, had a similar story to my own. We were both immigrants to the country, loved reading books, and had common career interests. Anita had already taken some of the courses I was taking and after talking over email for a while, we decided to meet up. comparen to hers, my vision was as good as normal and i couldn’t help feeling a little guilty about the years i’d spent obsessing about my relatively minor problems. I arrived early outside the library where we’d agreed to meet, wearing the blue jacket and jeans I’d told Anita to look out for to identify me, and took to waiting beside the main door as we had decided. It had never struck me that my visual clues about my clothing would not be enough for her to identify me, so I became quite impatient when I’d been waiting for a while and there was still no sign of Anita. I was looking around, regretting that I didn’t have her cell phone number, when I spotted a girl about my age, looking slightly confused and using a cane to guide herself. My first thought was that she was blind and I felt pity for her, in the same detached manner I’d always felt sorry for handicapped or homeless people. It wasn’t after several minutes of watching her and wondering why she kept sneaking glances my way that it struck me that she
was probably the person for whom I had been waiting. I later learned that Anita was born with congenital cataracts in both eyes and had no vision in her left eye and very little in her right eye. That’s why she’d been squinting my way, not sure whether I was the person she was looking for because I hadn’t told her about my albinism. Although I’d always known that Anita was visually impaired, I was quite shocked to hear of the severity of her disability; somehow it had completely failed to cross my mind that Anita’s impairment could be much worse than mine. I mean, she was in her second year of university, could proficiently use a computer, and had never mentioned anything at all about having to use a cane. What’s more is that Anita was just as shocked as I was, because to her, I didn’t seem to have any problems at all. After all, I guided her smoothly to the café where we had lunch, helped her cross the road, and even read out the menu to her. Compared to hers, my vision was as good as normal, and I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty about the years I’d spent obsessing about my relatively minor problems. What amazed me most is that despite everything, Anita seemed to have more joie de vivre than any person I’d ever met. She talked, joked, and laughed, and not a single word of self-pity or self-rejection ever passed her lips. She thought of herself as just as good as any other person, and that is how I learned that the way you look at things is what makes all the difference in life. I began realizing just how ungrateful I’d been. Never before had I stopped for one minute to appreciate any of the countless positive aspects of my life; all I had focused on were my limitations, and to some extent, it was my own selfrejection that was making others reject me too. Anita, unknowingly, helped me to see the importance of loving and accepting yourself first, before you can allow others to love and accept you. She made me see how special life is, how many countless people there are around me who faced problems much worse than mine, and that God does not ever “curse” anyone; in my view, He simply gives us life-changing challenges of faith and is there to help us out every step of the way. Just one meeting with Anita made me snap out of my obsession with my personal difficulties and see the pain and hardships of people who had always been around me but who I had hardly cared to notice; the poor and homeless, the wheelchair-ridden, the neglected, the abused. My detached feelings towards all those who’re less fortunate than myself vanished, replaced with empathy… and, for the first time in my life, I felt content. After seventeen agonizing years, I had finally and truly accepted myself, and at the same time learned to trust in God and know that if He gives us obstacles, He also helps us overcome them. 17
RHI, MEHAK, THIS IS FOR
R by colin eide illustration by lauren gallagher As I ambled lethargically down the dusty concourse “A” of Cairo International Airport, I hit a cloud. This cloud was made of men of various sizes, men in white shapeless robes leading their invisible wives in black veils, men pushing towards three small booths where passports were being stamped. Despite it being three a.m. and suffocatingly crowded, there was an uplifting euphoria in the air, and everyone was smiling.
deeply moved by the spiritually fulfilling experience they were returning from. I can hardly articulate the weight of their presence or the depth of their gaze in even the most elegant of secular terms. For in their view, they had been sanctified, beatified, and blessed beyond anything I can describe.
My plane, as it turned out, had landed at the same gate as another – the other plane coming from the Muslim holy city of Mecca, the other plane whose passengers were all pilgrims returning from the Hajj. The Hajj is a journey undertaken by Muslims to their Holy city, Mecca, for a gathering of prayer and religious services. As I watched, poor farmers, rich businessmen, and middle-class tea shop owners shuffled along together in identical chalk white garb, appearing
Here I stood, occasionally yanking my squeaky green suitcase forward.
And here I walked, carried forward by this blissful cloud, entranced in a cross-eyed exhaustion.
For many, the Hajj was the pinnacle of a pious life. Making the journey is one of the five pillars of the Islamic faith. It is not uncommon for a Hajji to work forty years as a cab driver, bookseller, or street cleaner, just to have the opportunity as an old and weak man to participate in this one magnificent flourish of spiritual fulfillment. And thus began my time in Egypt: forty minutes as a colored speck in a pallid sea of humanity. Although this shading was henceforth always to be inverted, I had already found my place as an exception in a city of 25 million. I became all at once observer and observed; all at once, the one who stared and was stared at. And yet, the one thing that made my time there truly special was its complete difference from everything I had ever known.
I became all at once observer and observed; all at once, the one who stared and was stared at.
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A Make Good Company the story of smart woman, Julie Hellwich
by jen dotson graphics © smart women co. Early for a lunch meeting at a local cafe last fall, I was killing time in a gift shop next door, when I overheard a woman introduce herself to the shop owner as a representative of Smart Women Company. Familiar with their clever product line of household items, I was struck by the woman’s gentle yet captivating demeanor, so I introduced myself. We exchanged business cards and, as I had to duck out for my meeting, we agreed to do coffee soon and went our separate ways. Only after I got home did I realize the woman I’d just met was the owner of the company, a woman who has been praised not only for her professional ingenuity, but also her unconventional approach of combining business leadership and social activism. This serendipitous encounter led to a two-hour chat a few weeks later, and over our Gingko coffee and morning glory muffins, she shared with me a most unexpected story of her struggle with a mental illness that led to the formation of her now nationallyknown business. As a single mom, Julie Hellwich put herself through college while her daughter was in grade-school, selling beeswax candles and soaps on top of full-time classes to make ends meet. With clear vision and marked determination, she continued her studies at the graduate level, completing master’s degrees in social work and public health. By the time she finished, her daughter was 14, and Julie began working her first “real job” at the age of 35. But one day not long after she started, Julie started experiencing disturbing mental lapses that led to an eventual diagnosis of Disassociative Identity Disorder. During these episodes, she recalls, “I would find myself sitting at the computer and all of a sudden feeling like I was three years old. I would start writing things on paper, but it looked like a three-year-old’s scribbles. It was very disconcerting, not to mention inappropriate for the work environment. I didn’t know what was going on!” 19
While these episodes would take place, Julie explained, a part of her remained in the present, observing her own behavior, feeling alarmed, and would try to stop it. “Once, when driving, I thought that my car could fly – but a stronger voice prevailed. Of course I was fine, but I sought psychiatric help because I didn’t know what was happening.” Eventually, Julie’s behavior and frequent hospital visits prevented her from working, so she lost her job. “One day after a hospital visit, I received a letter from my employer declining to extend my job past its probationary introductory period.” All of this was very frightening for Julie’s daughter, who was a freshman in high school at the time. She would come home from school and Julie’s sister would be there to tell her that her mother was in the hospital again. “What made it worse was that I had always been very stable. My daughter didn’t see any of the changes happening – partly because I was trying to
Navigating the psychiatric world Julie learned she needed to advocate for herself, despite her knowledge that she was in the worst position to do so for herself. It was a difficult position to be in, as the providers didn’t always listen to her. Some lumped all mental health patients together; “to them, you were just a ‘crazy person’ “. But the truth is, Julie fought diligently for fair and productive treatment. She took preventative measures, calling her therapist when she felt an episode coming on, especially if she feared she would become a danger to herself. “You have to be very rational and lucid in order to sound convincing, but at the same time you just feel frantic.” Without a job, treatment and recovery was easier to take on, but the realities of financial instability and the pressures of day to day life became a burden. Social security/disability was suggested to Julie after a year went by without work. “I did some temp work for an insurance company for a while just to do something, but I was so nervous all the time - I’d go home and just lie on the couch and stare off into space - my cognitive functionality was severely affected by the illness and the treatment.” For Julie, however, social security/disability was never a viable option. “I didn’t feel like that was my only resource, my only option. If I had gone on that, how would I ever get off? It seemed like a decision for the rest of my life. I used to say to myself, ‘Julie, you used to be sane, you can be sane again.’ “
Eventually, Julie’s behavior and frequent hospital visits prevented her from working, so she was fired. “I thought if I was lucky I could work in a sheltered workshop because I would never get a job in a regular work setting,” she explained. But, instead, she opened a store. hide them, so it was very hard for her. I was trying to protect her from it I suppose, but instead I think lost a lot of her trust.” For Julie, the episodes were unsettling to say the least. Words, drawings, and sentence fragments seemed to come from somewhere inside that she was unaware of, and she didn’t know what they meant. Despite the feeling of her identity collapsing, Julie clung desperately to optimism. “I was in the hospital about nine times over two years – I called it ‘going to camp’. Like, ‘oh, I’m going to camp for a few days.’ “
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Remembering her past ventures in beeswax candle sales, and realizing that if she were in charge she could set her own work hours, Julie jumped when an opportunity came to open a candle shop named Beeswax Artifacts in St. Paul, Minn. “I had taught community ed courses, worked at a battered women’s shelter, substitute taught in the St. Paul schools... it seemed like any 9-5 job would be way too stressful, too much to manage,” she recalls. One day Julie found a rubber stamp at a local gift shop... images of three women’s heads, and the phrase “smart women,” in an eye-catching retro design. “I
own community. “I didn’t think for a very long time that what I was doing was very important or relevant. But of course I’ve learned that business gives you opportunity, and through opportunity you can make change. For the 2004 Presidential Election, I designed products saying, ‘Smart women elect to make a difference’ because I felt passionately that women should get involved in the everyday ways that we live our lives.”
ONE DAY THE NEW YORKER MAGAZINE CALLED ME UP AND WANTED TO PUT MY LOGO ON THEIR GLASSES. I WAS SO STARTLED I SAID ‘CALL ME BACK IN TEN MINUTES’ AND WENT AND RAN A BATH. had always been very creative, so I just started making stuff with it... I made cards, bath salts, envelopes, you name it.” Julie gave the items to friends as gifts and met such enthusiasm from the products that she crafted an idea for a new business. “I would be walking through stores and see everyday products, and phrases would accompany them in my brain, like ‘Oh, there’s chalk. Smart women chalk it up to experience. There’s pencils. Smart women get to the point. Popup sponges? Smart women rise to the occasion.’ “ She hired a graphic designer to create a branding image and logos, and her company was off and running. “The reason I’m in business is that I didn’t think I could get hired in the real world. I’d do everything from my house, I got a very good designer, got a fulfillment center, figured that out, then hired my first employee for data processing and such. I didn’t even have business cards for three years - I couldn’t think of myself that way. I think I must have been the worst boss! Susan, my assistant, would come and work three days a week and I would take naps during the day while she was there!”
Julie is a highly conscious and engaged citizen, and views her products as a way to carry her messages and opinions to the world. A box of matches shout ‘Smart women light the way,’ erasers proclaim ‘Smart women make change,’ and notepads make a gentle reminder that ‘Smart women put it in writing.’ “They’re serious, yet fun. We can use them with women in talking with them about how important these issues are. It starts the conversations happening.” Indeed, the conversations began stirring, and soon, women were calling to express their delight in the products, thanking Julie for such empowering daily reminders. One woman who called explained, “I just feel so smart in the morning when I drink coffee out
“I was taking baths a lot – when I would feel anything intensely I would just go get in the bathtub. One day The New Yorker magazine called me up and wanted to put my logo on their glasses. I was so startled I said ‘call me back in ten minutes’ and went and ran a bath. When they called back I was soaking calmly in the tub... that was the first co-branding order.” As business has grown, Julie remains committed to keeping as much of the production as possible in the U.S. In fact, some of the packaging of her products is done by developmentally disabled people in her 21
of my mug! I bring it with me when I have big decisions to make.” She found that women were buying products to reinforce messages they felt they needed in their lives. After a presentation at Duke University, a young lady approached Julie and told her how her family had come to America from Brazil when she was six. In her family and peer group, education wasn’t a major priority. But one day she was in a bookstore in Boston and she saw the Smart Women products. “I saw a drinking glass that said ‘Smart women thirst for knowledge’ and it just stopped me in my tracks. They were like a little checklist for me of things that defined my character,” the girl told Julie. This is true even for Julie, as she confessed, “I sort of use words to reinforce things, so maybe I’m just trying to convince myself I’m a smart woman! So, what has Julie done with her unanticipated success? Her snappy line of pencils, drinking glasses and sponges have created a strong brand foundation to support her even broader vision. Over a shared meal
I’ve learned that business gives you opportunity, and through opportunity you can make change.
in her daffodil-colored kitchen she confessed to me, “I’m sick of stuff. My goal is to do more than put products in people’s hands. I want to connect people, empower them, and create change.” With plans in the works for book publishing and a natural gift for networking and connecting people in business, Julie’s smarts and determination have taken her to heights she may never have reached in the social work field she intended to enter. After 10 years with diagnosed Disassociative Identity Disorder, Julie has learned to care for herself in the small things. “I don’t live on the edge anymore... I’m still smart, and strong. I have just learned to live with this piece of me.” For more information about Julie Hellwich and Smart Women Company, visit her website at http://www. smartwomencompany.com. Also, read this issue’s Listen column to hear a personal statement from Ms. Hellwich. 22
welcome to gaZe, a gallery designed to showcase an uninterrupted series of artwork by a young female artist... not to accompany an article, but simply for your viewing pleasure!
sea see sea see
monotype prints
For this body of work, I played with monotype as a way to explore and reinvent images of women that I collected from National Geographic magazines. Monotype is a printmaking process where I paint oil-based inks directly on to a sheet of plexiglass, which is then run through a press that transfers the ink on to a sheet of paper. I found myself compelled by the lush beauty of the photographs that I used as the basis for painting, and yet suspicious of National Geographic’s responsibility to represent foreign cultures to a Western audience. Making monotypes for this series was exciting because I was able to respond to the vibrant quality of the pictures and investigate the potential to create my own personal meaning out of a seemingly closed system of images.
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BRINGING ARTICLE BY JENSEN POWER
BACK! ARTWORK BY MEGAN FOSS
The girls are back.
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It’s been four years since Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha graced the (albeit, smaller) screen. But years after the original Sex and the City television series broke syndication records, women around the country waited in hour-long lines at local movie theatres to see them again. In its opening weekend, Sex and the City: The Movie grossed nearly $56 million, twice what producers had anticipated. In the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw, I wonder to myself... were women merely excited to have their girls back for two and half hours of uninterrupted entertainment, or was it something more? In this sexcrazed generation, are we constantly hungry for the media’s input on what is “sexy”?
This from a woman who, from a media standpoint, helped define the word. And so I wonder, if Kim Catrall is worried about being sexy enough, what is the ideal that girls are reaching for? If sexy is “in,” then what is now considered sexy, and why?
In a recent interview with Vogue, actress Kim Catrall admitted she was nervous to jump back into Samantha Jones’ stilettos. Having turned 50 since the show ended, and showing a few signs of her age, Catrall found herself wondering if she still had what it takes, saying, “I worried about being sexy enough again.”
“Wear this and you will be sexy…”
Television shows us that sexy is exemplified in Sex and the City: Sarah Jessica Parker and her gang of sexaholic gal-pals who live on 5th Avenue and drink Cosmopolitans. The average magazine tells us that sexy is the skinand-bones super model that covers their pages. Advertisers depict sexy as diet pills, expensive, name-brand clothing, and plastic surgery.
“Use this product and you will be sexy…” “Weigh this much (or this little) and you will be sexy…” The media keeps offering us this promise as long as we buy into the idea.
It’s not that I don’t buy into these promises myself. I went to see Sex and the City: The Movie, and I admit that I have more products (that I have been convinced that I “need”) in my bathroom than the average person could use in a lifetime. The truth is, while I strongly dislike the norms that society and the media have set up for what is considered sexy, I, like most girls, still would like to think that I am sexy. What’s more, I don’t think that it’s completely unrealistic for me to see myself that way. Being raised in a church setting, I sometimes felt told to suppress my sexuality. Never explicitly, but I always got the impression that a girl’s “sexy side” should be kept to herself. One could argue, I suppose, that if Sex and the City does anything right, it’s that it portrays women as strong, sexual beings. And what’s wrong with that? Stick with me on this: God made us to be sexual, and so I strongly believe that a sense of sexuality can be important for a girl. The problem I have, though, is that in today’s society, being sexy is synonymous with being sexual. And I ask: do we have to be having sex to feel sexy? Absolutely not. It is my opinion that you do not have to have sex to be in touch with your sexuality. It’s just an extension of knowing who you are. Maybe you are creative, or spiritual, or athletic; these are all factors. If you can find strength in theses things, and see them as a part of who you are as a woman – if you are confident in your femininity – then you can, I believe, have a deeper appreciation for who you are as a sexual being. And the confidence you exude from this self-awareness… it’s sexy. My question is this: is it pwossible for our media-infused generation to redefine the term? Justin Timberlake so kindly “brought sexy back,” but can I as a young woman determine what that means for me, separate from what comes through my television set? We are painfully aware of what sexy means in society, but what does it mean for the individual?
Recently, I went to an art show at my college. One exhibit stood out in particular: the artist, a female, had taken and printed 33 photographs of young women from the college community, all of whom were nude. And there they were, lining the walls of my small town college’s art gallery, as if they were saying, “Here is all of me. This is who I am.” I can’t say I ever would have had the courage to pose, but I really enjoyed reading the reflections of the girls who had. Some were skinny, some were not; some were covering certain areas, some were not. All of them had the same look of sure confidence on their faces, and their comments matched. It was clear that these young women, whether they met the media’s standards of sexy or not, believed that they truly were. I thought long and hard about that exhibit. I had decided that if asked, I wouldn’t have agreed to pose; however, I still want to exude that same confidence in who I am as a woman. Here’s the thing: it’s when I am hanging out in my sweats without any make-up on that my boyfriend makes a point of saying, “You look really nice today.” And he means it. He says it’s because I look comfortable. It makes sense to me: when we feel comfortable – whether it’s in our clothes, or with how much we weigh, or how we look – we appear natural, healthy, more confident. And I think that at the heart of it, we feel sexy when we feel like we can accomplish anything, with or without a guy by our side or the media agreeing with us. And maybe you do feel the most comfortable when you are dressed up and looking fashionable. That’s great; just make sure it’s for your own sake, and not for the sake of Carrie Bradshaw.
I think that the scariest thing the media could possibly face today would be women who believe themselves to be sexy the way they are. If we, as women, claim the word as our own, free from the constraints and implications of society, then I think this generation could become a stronger, more confident and more self-aware group of women. Most days (not everyday, but most) I am satisfied with what I see in the mirror. I like my clothes, I am healthy and (somewhat) fit… I am comfortable in my own skin. I feel good, I feel confident, and some days, I feel pretty downright sexy.
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G by rachel mans by Rachel Mans
I tend to follow my instinct on most things, and let that subtle tug in my gut guide me (for the better or for worse.) It was in one of these instinctual decisions that led me to volunteer with an organization called Ted E. Bear Hollow. I met Sarah Flanagan, one of this group’s directors, at a volunteering fair at my university. She was extremely enthusiastic that I help with one of their grief workshops for kids when I told her of my passion for story-telling, and the two of us worked on creating a place for the kids to express themselves through words. The day of the workshop, my station was stocked with paper and every art supply imaginable. The kids were able to come over at any time and make a picture of something that reminded them of the person that had died. I also had a tape recorder so they could record a memory. I was supposed to ask leading questions, and I sort of imagined it would be like my favorite radio program “This American Life,” where by the end of the recording some sort of meaningful conclusion would have been found and everything would have somehow made more sense. But it didn’t seem to really work itself out that way. I led the children into the hall one at a time and asked who they had lost, but instead of the epiphany I had hoped, most rushed through a quick story about a trip with an aunt to a theme part or singing a song their grandpa had taught them. Near the end of the day, a girl came up to me and said she wanted to make a tape. She sat cross-legged across from me in the empty hallway, and I began the interview by asking her name and how old she was, then I asked who had died. “My father,” she said, “and he committed suicide.” I sat there as the entire story wound itself on my tape recorder: the story i sat there as the antire of his depression and of her discovery of him in the basement story wound itself on my after school one day. And as the tape rolled on, I realized tape recorder. I had no questions for her, nor did I have anything wise or helpful to offer. I had no words, save that of, “I’m sorry.” After about 20 minutes, she took the finished tape and thanked me.
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these kids, Just like myself, Just need an outlet.
At the end of the workshop, she left a dandelion on my car window.
I felt qualified to help these kids, since I’d lost someone at a young age, too. My brother Jesse had contracted lymphoma when I was in second grade. Jesse, who was known to take apart computers and put them back together in an afternoon, was in the hospital, hooked up to all kinds of beeping machines. Jesse, who had taught me Judo moves he’d learned, was pale and tired most of the time. During that month he was in the hospital, I celebrated my birthday with him and brought cards and balloons, but these gifts didn’t help him, and neither did the chemotherapy. He died in March of that year, at age 16. It’s hard to remember back to those days, not that I’m saying I’m so extremely old now, but that so much has happened since then. It was hard at first, thinking about how he’d never be around to help me perfect my newspaper tossing technique or learn long division, but I developed all kinds of ways to see him in my life. My family and I ask for his help when our Windows program seems on the blink, and I always remember him when I think about Old Country Buffet, or that old teddy bear he had named Ham. Thinking about it now, the main reason why I began writing in the first place was to find an outlet for the feelings I was experiencing at that age. I remember being death-phobic and scared of the dark, but when I’d scribble something down in a notebook, I’d feel a little better. I wanted to reach out to these kids so desperately. Death is hard to understand at any age, but for children, the concept is even more mind-boggling. I wanted to let them know that the hurt subsides, that you’ll always have that person in your life, but in a different way. I wanted to tell them these things, and I realized that this wasn’t what the workshop was there for. These kids, like myself, just need an outlet. Some would draw pictures of basketballs, some would laugh or cry, some would talk or run around with their friends, but they all just needed to get their feelings out somehow. Working with these children has perhaps helped me more than I have helped them. It helped me reexamine the grief in my life, in the little ways it shows itself every now and then. Those things are natural, as natural as life and death itself, as natural as a dandelion turning to seeds and blowing away.
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T Living
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It’s the weekend, and my first chance to breathe. The sun is bright, a welcome change from the long, gray winter and I’m pondering the changing seasons and what that means for me, my friends and family. Many close friends have graduated this May, as I did a year ago. Some are moving as far as Korea and California and they’ll be leaving soon. I’m moving on as well to a new job, apartment, housemates and lifestyle. In letting go of the old and in the celebration of new beginnings, I feel moved to nourish myself and give to my closest friends through a simple tradition: brunch. Food and friends have been a ritual my parents instilled in me since the days of my youth. Even when I wasn’t interested in forced socialization at barbecues with nosy aunts, distant cousins, and bad coleslaw, I went because they were my family. These days my definition of family has evolved and I’ve found other ways to share in the tradition. It started in college, I was far away from my family for the first time. I grew a second family that included friends, teammates, roommates and other partners-in-crime. My Sunday mornings started when friends joined me for coffee and sharing stories, for an hour a week slowing down enough to appreciate each other. I’ve since graduated and taken off down the roller coaster that is “the real world” – and it has been harder than ever to keep in touch with my friends from school. 32
Recently, my weekend routine began just with making breakfast with roommates or my boyfriend, a simple meal of eggs, cereal, and coffee. But over the months, my Sunday brunch has evolved. We started going out to brunch with a few of our friends to a local diner. After a few weeks of overpriced unhealthy food, we have adopted a more uplifting practice. One or two people of our group of friends plan and pay for a homemade brunch at their home, and we rotate every week. Not only are we saving on money and our health, but we are also practicing the ritual of giving among our closest friends. The tradition of weekend brunch was something that grew out of our desire to slow down and appreciate each other’s company. It’s something that I hope to carry with me wherever I go in life. These days when drastic change seems fast approaching, eating together helps us stay connected and well-fed in mind, body and soul. It is a great joy to be able to live generously through simple means. Slicing strawberries and mixing pancake batter may not seem like much, but it is in these acts that I practice gratitude and mindfulness. I become aware of the people that grow the food, and the people who will use it for sustenance. I feel profound gratitude to feed my friends, and in turn feed myself. Here’s my recipe for a perfect Sunday brunch:
tip: feel free to add a dash of any spices that hit you, like cinnamon, nutmeg, or even chili powder! go craZy, each pancake will be unique according to what you add to it.
Custom Whole Wheat Pancakes Whole wheat pancake mix - follow instructions on packaging and include any of the following batter fixins: - fresh blueberries - ground flax seed - fresh sliced banana - granola - dark chocolate chips (I like to mix these with a few of the healthy things to balance it out.) - fresh sliced strawberries - walnuts or pecans - rolled oats - almond or vanilla extract - fresh sliced mangoes Feel free to add a dash of spices like cinnamon, nutmeg, or even chili powder! Go crazy… each pancake will be unique according to what you add to it. I like to pour in the batter into the pan then sprinkle on my desired fixins for that pancake. I try to buy my breakfast ingredients from our local market co-op. There, I can find food from local and organic farms, as well as ingredients in bulk, to avoid plastic waste.
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Asparagus Quiche (serves 6) 1/2 cup chopped onion 1 pound fresh asparagus, trimmed 1 cup shredded Swiss cheese 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour 1/4 teaspoon salt 1/8 teaspoon pepper 1 (9-inch) unbaked pastry shell 3 eggs 1/2 cup half & half cream. In a skillet, add two tablespoons of olive oil and sauté the chopped onion until browned. Next, cut eight asparagus stalks into about 4-inch long spears for garnish. Cut remaining asparagus into 1-inch pieces. In a saucepan, cook all of the asparagus in a small amount of boiling water until crisp yet still tender. Drain the water when done cooking. In a bowl, toss the onion, asparagus pieces, cheese, flour, salt and pepper. Pour asparagus mix into a pastry pie shell. In a bowl, beat eggs and cream, and pour over the asparagus. Garnish the top with the long asparagus spears, making pie slice shapes. Bake the quiche at 400 degrees Fahrenheit for 30-35 minutes or until a knife inserted near the center comes out clean and crust is golden brown. Let stand for a few minutes before cutting. I got this recipe from a friend of mine in college and it originally included bacon, but I was able to adapt it to a vegetarian dish for my current housemates! Now it’s a favorite among friends, vegetarian or not.
Mandarin Fruit Salad (serves 4-6) This is probably the easiest recipe of the bunch. The key ingredient is fresh seasonal fruit. 12 mandarin oranges or clementines, peeled and sectioned (check for seeds!) 3-4 bananas, peeled and sliced 1 cup blueberries or raspberries 1 cup crushed walnuts 1/2 cup plain yogurt 1/4 cup honey 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon ginger Add the peeled oranges, banana slices and berries into a large bowl. Gently mix in the yogurt, honey, nuts and spices, coating all the ingredients and trying not to squish the fruit. Chill for 20 minutes or more before serving. 34
tip: i got this recipe from a friend of mine in college and it originally included bacon, but i was able to adapt it to a vegetarian dish for my current house mates! now it’s a favorite among friends, vegetarian or not.
tip: this is probably the easiest recipe of the bunch. the key ingredient is fresh seasonal fruit .
Iced Coffee (serves 6) 6 cups strongly brewed coffee 1 cup simple syrup (1 cup water & 3 tablespoons sugar) 1 cup of half & half Brew coffee using 2-3 tablespoons of grounds per cup of coffee. While the coffee is brewing, boil 1 cup of water in a small sauce pan. Add sugar and stir constantly as it dissolves into the water. When the sugar is completely integrated into the water, turn off the heat and let cool. Add the simple syrup, coffee and some ice into a pitcher and let cool in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes. Once the coffee is cooled, serve in glasses with half & half to taste. Sip and enjoy in the summer sun!
T I U S M I W S N O S A SE by natalie neal illustration by lauren gallagher
Top 10 Best Overheard Comments While Trying On Swimsuits 10. “Do you think I’m apple or pear shaped? I feel more like an awkwardly shaped squash.”
9. “The light in here makes me look really pale… or maybe it is the shape of the mirror.”
8. “How is it possible that my clothes are one size and all these swimsuits are another?”
7. “I don’t want little kids to scream, ‘Look Mommy, it’s the Incredible Hulk!’”
6. “Woah! How do you work this thing?” 5. “Who needs to plan on streaking when
they can wear this skin-colored bathing suit instead?”
4. “I want to look foxy, but not like a fox.” 3. “There is so much padding in this top, I could use it as a flotation device.”
2. “If I buy ears and a tail, can I re-wear this for Halloween?”
1. “This swimsuit has more beads than my grandmother’s lampshade.”
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think simple. think classy. works every time. Why do we fret so much over something with so little fabric? I’m sure you have enough things to worry about than to have an anxiety attack about what swimsuit you will buy that will only last for two precious summer months. Because summer is way too short, it seems we need to make light of the swimsuit season. This particular season brings many, um, creatively shaped swimsuit designs. Beware of such designs because, even though you are bound to stand out, you may not want all those eyes at the pool looking at you when you have a wardrobe malfunction. Plus, think of the tan lines! With that said, when you go out swimsuit shopping, it could be fun to pick out the craziest, most hideous swimsuit to try on. You’ll get a good laugh, and it will make your other selections look that much better. It is important to choose your shopping companions wisely; believe me, it can get really uncomfortable if you decide to bring your father or your boyfriend. From my experience, the best person to bring along is my mom. She usually suggests more conservative swimsuits and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been thankful for her tasteful judgment. We have a little motto: Think simple. Think classy. Works every time. If you don’t want to bring your mother along, an honest friend who will make the experience fun and not stressful is a great option for a shopping companion. Together you can tackle the task of choosing the perfect swimsuit and joke about the ones that don’t make the cut. Something to ponder before you go off on your swimsuit shopping extravaganza: if you get an itsy bitsy teeny-weeny yellow bikini and you are afraid to go in the water, was it really worth buying in the first place? In the end, the swimsuit you choose won’t matter, it will be the fun summer memories you will make on the beach or at the lake with friends and family. 35
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an interview with
In a darkened auditorium, a woman of courage and poise filled the air with melodic compositions so riveting that the entire audience seemed to hold their breath. Using a combination of classic chords backed by powerful vocals and mesmerizing lyrics, Keri Noble captivated the audience that had gathered to celebrate the Japanese release of her third album last fall. The passion her darkened voice showed me that that this woman contains Ininthe auditorium a woman of courage the spirit, self-assurance, and mold breaking personality and poise filled the air with melodic compositions so rivetfor which so many of us strive. And beautiful of all ing that the entire audience seemed to most hold their breath. was how she treated the piano as if it were a friend Using classic chord combinations, backed by powerful who knewand all her secrets. lyrics, Keri Noble is carving her vocals mesmerizing
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own niche inup, theKeri’s worldfather of music. I settled in to my pastor seat, Growing was aAsSpanish-speaking allwho five of my senses activated, as I realized this woman moved his family around frequently as he changed possessed the spirit, and mold-breaking congregations. Thisself-assurance, experience opened Keri’s eyes to dipersonality that so many of us strive for. I could hear pasversity at a young age. sion in her voice and music, and observed that she treated “Itpiano was more a cultural experience the church the as if itof were a friend who knewbecause all her secrets. where my father preached was primarily Spanish and My conversation with Keri shed interesting light on themy school was so that diversity importance of predominantly the two simple black, words that make up her really helped shape me,” insightfully. album title, Let Go. (If commented this came upKeri during the concert, not the interview, I’m not sure why she leads in this way - seems
Like many pastor’s kids, Keri participated in church choir and began taking piano, which she continued to study for eight years, jumpstarting her love for music. This love came full circle after Keri attended three years of community college and decided not to finish so she could concentrate on her music. Now Keri calls Minneapolis home and comments that even though she loves to travel, it’s nice to have a place to which she can return and feel comfortable. Before talking to Keri I would have never known the importance of the two simple words that make up her album title, “Let Go”. The stereotypical vision of women that has been implemented in our society would lead many, including myself, to assume that she was letting go of a relationship with a guy. However during the course of the concert Keri jokingly let us know that even though this not the case, she hoped people thought so. Her eyes lit up mischievously as she shared with the audience that her process of moving on and letting go concerned a different sort of break up, one between her and EMI records, the producers of her first album.
Now, six months after that initial meeting, Keri is embarking on a tour to promote her new EP, “Leave Me in the Dark,” to be released in mid-June. She’ll be playing to audiences in the Midwest and East Coast this summer, under a new label: Telarc International. “I’m so completely excited about being in the Telarc family,” she said. “I feel supported and valued, which is a wonderful thing as an artist.”
“The industry is still full of so many men and they think that they understand you more then they do,”Keri commented. Keri experienced a strong push from fans and the industry to be someone she was not and felt as if the record company wanted her to “fit into the helpless role of a little girl,” one who lacked the assertive
I
and confident, yet tender characteristics that make Keri who she is. This typecast role of a damsel in distress required Keri to sing ballads about love and heartbreak. These characteristics, along with the perceptions men have created about her to make themselves into her “protector,” did not fit with who she really felt that she was. Fortunately these stereotypes didn’t seem to faze Keri much, or at least she didn’t let on that they did. She is strong and confident, eyes sparkling with anticipation of the upcoming show, Keri’s demeanor and charismatic personality is what let me know that she was in the music business to stay.
Although she’ll spend the summer away from home, the tour represents a different kind of homecoming: that of a gifted musician finding success. And fitting, considering that Keri found a home the first time she sat down at the piano to write music. “I realized that writing songs and being musical makes me create and feel understood and helps me understand myself. That’s what makes me come alive.”
“ realized that
makes me
and feel
understood...
” 37
Finding EStrength
Through
Serenity
STORY AND PHOTOGRAPHY PROVIDED BY KELSEY HALENA ILLUSTRATION BY DANICA MYERS
I wake up
to the sound of loons
singing their morning song,
wind whistling through the trees
and the feeling of the moss beneath my back.
‘This is truly living,’ I think to myself. 38
I wake up to the sound of loons singing their morning song, wind whistling through the trees and the feeling of the moss beneath my back. “This is truly living,” I think to myself. As I look over to each side of me, I see two other girls just waking up as well. Our call to rise isn’t an alarm clock or a cell phone going off. Nature has become our personal alarm clock. After a week in Canada, this has become my place of serenity and comfort. I embarked on this journey of a lifetime the summer after my senior year of high school. After being accepted to participate in a program called Les Voyageurs, which is rooted in St. Cloud, Minn., I had months of preparation before my 28-day-long canoe trip in the wilderness of Canada began. I was joined by eight other girls, one of whom was our guide. Preparation meant days of learning to canoe down the Mississippi River, cramming minimal amount of clothing into packs and dehydrating food for later throughout the trip. By June 20 all that stood between us and Canada was the last supper that is held before each departure and a 16 hour bus ride to our drop off point. As a green bus featuring the Les Voyageurs logo pulls out of the parking lot and I see family and friends waving their goodbyes to the four crews, it hits me for the first time what an adventure I am about to embark on. Just moments before, we had a ceremony sending us off, and our crew was now connected with a powerful symbol – a red choker we wore at all times. As a personal statement, the choker also represents a goal that each crew member makes for themselves, and only after they accomplish the goal is the choker taken off. Ten loops made a knot in the back of our choker, symbolic of the crew members and the importance each person holds on this trip. While only nine girls were on the crew, we made the decision to add a 10th loop in honor of Jen, a participant who originally had been part of our crew but was forced to stay home after finding out she had mononucleosis. As disappointing as her absence was, our trip had to continue and we welcomed another girl into our crew a mere three days before leaving. Our “push off” into the wild was one which, had I believed in omens, would have meant bad things were ahead. The clouds were thick and the winds strong, and as my crew prepared the packs and arranged them in the canoes, the rain started pouring down. About 500 yards in, we nearly capsized the canoes and could barely paddle hard enough to keep from going backwards. Finding a place to set up camp came early that day, as we were tired from spending the previous night on the bus and paddling against the powerful winds. Our first picture is one of anguish and exhaustion – five of us sitting on the ground, eating cold noodles from a bowl with mosquito nets over our heads to keep our bodies from being eaten alive. Oh yes, this trip would really be something else.
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The next 28 days become a number of photographs in my head. Amongst them, the pride of shooting my first set of powerful rapids, the pain of portaging in mud up to our knees with canoes weighing down our shoulders, the excitement of finishing a portage trail three miles in length, the friendship of the fishermen offering us a dinner of fish, the agony of being covered in mosquitoes and the simple humor of cooking a dinner in the rain. Our limits were being pushed but or spirits have never been higher. We were, after all, doing something that very few people could say they did during their lifetime. While many people were working monotonous summer jobs at home, we could be found paddling across a lake in the clean air and bright sunshine singing “Wild World” by Cat Stevens as loud as we wanted, knowing no one else was nearby to hear. I have a picture framed of a sunset in my room, and with a glance I am brought back to the exact moment that I took it. The picture, a multi-colored sky lined by the dark silhouettes of trees, was a moment almost missed from inside my tent. Because we went to sleep so early, I almost missed this breathtaking view as I was snuggled in my sleeping bag. But as the tent mate closest to the door, I was voted to lean out for a picture. With the snap of a disposable camera button, I saved a serene, powerful image from nature. I don’t think I or any of the other members of my crew realized what a once-in-a-lifetime experience this trip would be. None of us could have anticipated the struggle, achievement or bond that we would feel together. My crew mates quickly turned into my sisters, and my love for the outdoors became my way of life. With only the wilderness in front of us, we traveled, cooked, and provided shelter for ourselves. If I hit a point where I wasn’t sure I could go on, eight girls stood behind me and reminded me of all the power I had within myself even when I wasn’t so sure. It’s funny, how after a couple weeks of hearing only the screeches of a bird or swift strokes of paddles, you consider this to be a normal way of living. By the time we were into our third week of the trip, I couldn’t imagine going back to St. Cloud and continuing my normal life. I truly felt aligned with nature.
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During the last week of our trip, each crew mate spends a night alone, called their “Solo Night”. That morning, after picking what material I would get to use to make my shelter, I was dropped off with a canoe, a piece of plastic and enough food to make a dinner and breakfast. After arranging my makeshift roof and walls, I settled into my mossy cushion and soon discovered an envelope I was sure hadn’t been in my pack before. Flipping it over, I immediately recognized my dad’s handwriting. Opening it up, tears immediately formed in my eyes. One sentence in, they were pouring down my cheeks. The simple sight of my dads handwriting connected me to him, even from 10 hours away. As he wrote about his pride in his daughters and his memories of our time together, it hit me – relationships are what have formed who I am. Without family and friends, I wouldn’t have had the courage or strength to even attempt this trip. After reading letters from both him and my mom, I snuggled into my mosquito net and fell fast asleep to the sound of frogs. Arriving home was a rude awakening. I was thrown back into the hectic life of an 18-year-old, spending my days working and preparing for college, and my evenings with friends trying to soak in every last moment before we all went our separate ways. Initially I, as well as my crew mates, had a bit of culture shock and found it very difficult to socialize with a number of people or be in crowds. After having spent 28 days with only each other and the serene grace of our surroundings, the transition from being together at all times of the day to seeing each other only on occasion was a hard task for all of us. Our memories carried an emotional reminder of that amazing month in 2004, and our chokers were our physical reminder – the sign that we had accomplished something that previously seemed impossible. Two years later, I was still wearing my red choker – a promise to myself that I would achieve the goal I set the day it was slipped over my head. The choker has created a sense of community within the St. Cloud area. Strangers start up conversations with each other simply because they both went on Les Voyageurs and end up talking for hours about the individual trips, equally excited to hear about the others. This powerful connection is formed by something so simple but so intense as this red choker. Upon removing it I felt I had removed a part of myself that had been there for the past two years. It still hangs on my wall, a symbol of a time where I left home and found myself.
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n by maggie gordon fabric collage by laura lewis
I didn’t cry at the funeral. Instead I stood at the lectern, keeping my voice steady as I told everyone, “At a time like this, it is hard to think of what to say about a woman like my mother, someone who was everything to me.” I promised to talk about the good things she taught me instead of the emotions of losing my mom. But just because I didn’t cry and was sure to put on my “big girl” face does not mean I wasn’t filled with emotions. And it certainly doesn’t mean my emotions weren’t drowning me like angry hands in a swimming pool, trying desperately to hold me under. Acting tough and strong could only last so long. I couldn’t lie to myself for the rest of my life. After all, I’m only a senior in college – I have a lot of life ahead of me. Losing my mom at the very beginning of my last year at Syracuse, while having promised her I would not take a semester off – no matter what – is the single hardest thing I have ever experienced. Six months later I saw that a girl like me, one who always strives to be flawless, fearless and in control, had two options: I could continue pretending I was okay, or I could acknowledge the haunting feeling of emptiness in the dark cavity beneath my rib cage where my heart once beat. I didn’t want to be a burden to my father, who had just lost the love of his life, or to my older sister, who had herself to worry about. I didn’t want my friends to worry or think they needed to take care of me. So I sought solace where I’ve always found it: my pen. Seniors in the honors program at Syracuse Univer-
42
sity have to complete a senior capstone project: the (dreaded) thesis. Being an avid procrastinator, I still had not filed my proposal as of this October, 11 months after its due date. So as I pondered what topic I could possibly pour my heart, mind and soul into for six whole months, I felt a hint of warmth. Perhaps it was a beam of light passed onto me from my mother, or maybe it was the proverbial light bulb floating over my head. Either way I knew which project I was destined to complete: a mother-daughter relational memoir. I didn’t know how to write it; I couldn’t decide where to begin, where to end or what to say in between. Instead of writing a linear story, starting at one point in time and moving forward chronologically, my advisor and I came up with the idea of writing the story as though I was making a quilt. I began working on several short stories, which had the ability to stand by themselves. Only when these stories were finished would I decide how to weave them into a pattern. The quilt metaphor in itself has impacted the way I’ve been writing the story, and the way I feel about its existence. Quilts, after all, can be safety blankets, family heirlooms and pieces of love that keep you warm at night. That’s what this story is to me. While there are times when I sit in front of a blank computer screen, wondering if I can bear to write about the moments toward the end that broke my soul, there are other times that I sit at my favorite window seat in the library smiling as I write about my mom’s flashy pink nail polish or her favorite black shorts.
Maggie and Mary Ellen Gordon, March, 2003
My thesis has offered me an outlet to provide myself with my own special therapy. I am able to delve into the moments that made me laugh, smile and cry with my mother, and in my mind as I type, I am having a conversation with her, both of us collectively remembering. And for that moment it’s as though my mother is alive again, right in front of me, breathing the words that creep across my laptop screen, her heart pounding to the rhythm of my fingers dancing over the keyboard. Through this project, I have begun to be more honest with myself. Emotions I cannot admit to out loud somehow appear in my vignettes. Blue tears are scattered throughout the quilt, along with black holes and warm pink hugs. While I have never had to admit to my friends out loud that I miss her too much to breathe some mornings, and that I find myself silently hating her for her absence when I feel I need her, I am able to acknowledge that these emotions exist in my writing. They creep through my fingertips, suddenly appearing in my story. It’s a piece of honesty, and a piece of therapy. It’s a safe place I can cuddle into when it’s gray and gloomy outside. More than anything, this quilt is my savior.
Sometimes as I sit on the fifth floor of the library writing, I think back to the days just before my mother’s passing. The one memory that stands out is the day my friend Ryan came to visit me at home, and the way his eyes teared up when I told him, “The thing that hurts the most is that there’s only one thing I’ve ever wanted to give her. My whole life, I’ve wanted to see my mother open a copy of a book I wrote and read the dedication page: To Mom. My Everything.” Ryan looked at me from across a rust-colored picnic table as he promised me she would someday read that dedication page. “She’ll see it,” I remember him saying. She might not be here to sit on our couch as I witness her open the binding, but there will be a dedication page, and it will say To Mom. My Everything. And I know she will know it’s there, and I will have finally been able to give her the only thing I ever wanted her to have – every tiny piece of my soul, dedicated to her blue eyes and loving smile.
i am able to delve into the moments that made me laugh, smile and cry with my mother, and in my mind as i type, i am having a conversation with her, both of us collectively remembering.
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n by maggie gordon photography by danica myers
It’s 7:30 in the morning, and though I have never truly been a morning person, the idea of living through this day is somehow worse than any other. I’m not a cynic, in fact I believe that love is one of the only human values that can really propel us through life. So why is it that Valentine’s Day is making me so uneasy? I go through the motions of getting ready. I straighten my hair, though not as meticulously as usual, and put on my makeup and the sweater Mrs. Bunzey bought me for Christmas. I smile as I think of Mrs. Bunzey, from whom I had received a card only the day before with a note telling me she hopes my wisdom teeth are better and that I’m not too busy. Too busy, I think with a laugh, as my mind goes over the 18 bullets I had written down on my to-do list. I will be spending Valentine’s Day at Bird Library before jetting off to work at 6 p.m. My roommates Kayleigh and Kim are both awake and excited for the day. Kayleigh’s boyfriend is coming into town, and while Kim is unsure where she stands with the man in her life, she smiles and hands me a card as Kayleigh hands me a box of candy. I have no excuse not to be as excited as them. I’m not in a relationship, but I’m also not at a point in my life where I want to be. I’m not going to chalk this bit of apathy to the fact that I am likely to be celebrating the holiday at Aéropostale tonight, folding clothes and straightening hangers. Despite the fact that I can’t pinpoint the reason, I am short and sharp toward my two roommates, and space out during my 8:30 a.m. class. I notice that I miss a call from my father while I’m sitting through class, and as soon as I am dismissed, my fingers hit the keypad on my pink Razr, dialing our home phone number. Dad wants to talk about the e-mail I sent him the night before, catch up on what’s been going on in my life, and wish me a happy Valentine’s Day. And that’s when it happens. I feel the ping, as though a guitar string snapped in half and ricocheted onto my chest, and I know why I cannot find my balance on this day. Mom. 44
I haven’t woken up to my mother’s face on Valentine’s Day since my freshman year of college, when I went home for the holiday to see my then-boyfriend. But I could always count on a package with a card, candy, a twenty dollar bill, plus a wake-up phone call that would end with an “I love you.” And every Valentine’s morning, there were two cards waiting on the blue countertop in the kitchen, one from Dad to his “Blushing Bride,” and one from Mom to her “Hubby.” Dad’s voice is weak and shaky at times as he tells me it’s a hard day for him to deal with. I offer him consolation, listening to the lonely tone of his voice as he tells me, his youngest daughter, that he isn’t having an easy time. I disguise the fact that I want to reach through the phone and hug him, clinging to and crumpling the shirt fabric on the top of his left shoulder with my right fist, and burying my head into his chest to release a swarm of ferocious tears. Instead I tell him I am there for him, that it will be ok, and that “there is no remedy or recipe for these things.” I say the things I am supposed to say, show the emotion and support I think I am supposed to show, and swallow the tears and the lump in my throat that want so desperately to fly out into the atmosphere. As I tell my father I am there for him, I can’t help but wish I were physically there with him, and as I make my way to the fifth floor of the library where I have come to spend all my time, and regard as a haven away from the hustle and bustle of familiar faces, I duck into the bathroom to allow time for a quick trickle of tears down my cheek. It’s going to be a rough day. But that’s just the beginning. My computer crashes, refusing to log onto the Internet, and I have to rush to another building on campus for help. I discover that I left my computer cord on my couch 15 minutes away, and have to find a quick ride home to fetch it before I can begin my daily tasks, two hours after I had originally planned. Sarah calls, and as I hear my sister’s voice flow from the receiver into my ear, I feel myself become submerged in emotion, as though I were falling backward into a pile of fresh snow to make a snow angel of tears. She asks me how I am and as the tears begin flowing, I find it impossible to answer coherently. I can tell she is confused, partially because she cannot understand the words I am attempting to form, partially because she doesn’t understand what would trigger this kind of emotion from me, and partially because she knows comforting me when I finally admit to being upset is near impossible. It’s a skill she and Dad have not yet perfected – neither had Mom, to tell the truth, though I think she was a bit better and I know that if I could see her face for one shining moment on this day, my heart would be satiated and I could stop the barrage of tears. I myself am still unsure about my own emotions, and as I sit here writing this, I still cannot make my heart slow down, my hands stay steady, or my chest from feeling as though I am wearing my bra two notches too tight. “I can’t do this anymore,” is all I can say to her, and I repeat it over and over. “Do what?” she asks, unsure of what exactly it is I’m trying to do, and how she can help me figure out a way to overcome it. “I can’t be here,” I am finally able to respond with between uncontrolled gasps for air. I am walking down Walnut Avenue now, and strangers stare as I cry into my phone, probably thinking I am bitterly unhappy about the romantic holiday, unaware of the fact that Valentine’s Day has brought me to realize just how broken my heart is from another kind of love. After a couple minutes I tell my sister I simply can’t talk. I don’t want to. As usual, I am shutting down my emotions, refusing to let them escape into a public realm, refusing to show the vulnerability that fills my entire body. It’s best, I decide, to get off the phone before I break down completely and lose my motivation to accomplish the dozen-and-a-half things I need to achieve today. So I hang up the phone and sit quietly in the passenger seat of my own car as Kayleigh drives me home quickly to retrieve my power cord so I can return to my tower of isolation in Bird Library for another few hours.
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Kayleigh doesn’t understand that I don’t want to talk, and seems upset by the cold shoulder I give her, and the refusal to take her advice. “You don’t understand,” I tell her, and though I usually let her slide, and allow her to roll out her recommendations, I ask her to just stop and let me think in silence. That’s all I want, just to be alone. She is angered by this, and I can tell she’s a bit hurt too. I can’t help but empathize with this feeling – after all, all I want to do is comfort my father at that moment, and I know how it feels to feel as though you’re helpless when someone you care about needs you. But the truth is that she doesn’t understand what I’m trying to tell her, or the fact that I truly do just want to be in silence, to be in solitude, that this request is not simply a demand for more attention or consolation, but a plea to be left alone in my own world. After a couple moments, she tries to strike up conversation again, pointing out the neon pink nail polish she had applied that morning, and how harshly it clashes with her red dress. I laugh a bit as she complains about just how ugly the polish is, and tells me she doesn’t know what was going through her mind when she decided to paint it on. I smile. “My mom would have loved that color,” I said out loud, though I didn’t want to think about Mom at the moment. Kayleigh looked at me quizzically. That color, she knew well enough, was not something characteristic of my mother. So I explained to her the one cosmetic contradiction Mom had, and I felt the corners of my mouth reluctantly twitch upward as I reminisced about Mom’s nail polish. She started wearing it after she lost her hair, I explained. It all started when she was checking out at the grocery store one night, and the bagger called her “Sir.” I had never seen my mother upset about her appearance before, and I had certainly never seen her without her trademark confidence. The next day when she left the house, she was sporting the brightest, tackiest pink nail polish I had ever seen, a shade I would never dream of wearing, though I keep bottles of it stashed away in my room to remind me of her, her swollen hands, and her long, Barbie-pink nails. From that time on, Mom was compulsive about her nails, and would often have them done with Mrs. Bunzey, who employed her daughter, Kendall, as the chief manicurist of her and her friends. Kendall would do Mom’s nails for her, and even her feet, since I have a terrible time keeping my hands steady and still haven’t figured out how to take care of my own nails. 46
Keeping my hands steady, that’s not so easy right now either. As I think about Mom and her nail polish, it helps me feel a little better about the bra-too-tight feeling and hand shaking as I type on my Macintosh. But while “remembering the good times” or even the strange little quirks she had are the remedies my friends suggest when I seek solace for the aching emptiness inside my chest, I can’t help but think of the cookie-cutter words I provided to my father today. “There is no remedy or recipe for these things.” There’s no epiphany here for me today, and while my hands will soon finish typing this short account of the blind-siding attack I lived through today, I won’t reach a conclusion. I’ll be okay for a couple days again, and then I will see a mother and daughter bickering about too-short shorts at work, or watch an episode of “Gilmore Girls” that reminds me of her, or wake up on my birthday to an empty mailbox, and I will fall to pieces again. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last five months and three days, it’s that life and grief are not linear. I’m stuck in a circle. I will never stop riding this carousel, and I can’t escape the painted ponies, bucking and swinging, reminding me of a time when life was simple and full of laughter, reminding me of the tiny moments I took for granted, and the lengths I would go to for just one hug. This won’t end. Not this Valentine’s Day, and probably not next year either. And one morning in mid February, years from now, as I sit on the edge of my own daughter’s bed, waiting to sweep her bangs from her forehead and wake her with a card and candy hearts, I will feel this pain rush back again, as though it were my first motherless year.
L’amour,, c’est comme un jeu de cartes Love is like a card game L’amour, c’est comme un jeu de cartes:
u
poetry by maud hervet translation by celine merlaud photography by danica myers
Tu te piques le coeur en tombant sur le carreau Malgré le trèfle porte-bonheur Tu batailles au plus haut Pour rester la dame de coeur Love is like a card game: Celle qui donne des coups de poker Mais elle n’a pas l’as vainqueur Face à ce valet sanguinaire Il la fait flancher grâce a son jeu Elle ne peut pas prendre de joker Face à ce roi victorieux Qui gagne de son regard solitaire La dame a pioché la mauvaise carte L’as de la séduction l’a vaincue En sa main, il a toutes les cartes La dame de coeur a perdue...
You prick your heart when you fall dead on the ground, Even with the lucky four leaf clover You are carrying out a war To stay the Queen of Hearts. She is the one with the poker face But she won’t be the winner Against that bloodthirsty Jack He makes her give in, thanks to his game She can’t take any Jokers Against this victorious King Who wins with his lonely stare. The Queen picked the wrong card The Ace of seduction vanquished her In his hand, he has all the cards The Queen of Hearts has lost...
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D STORY AND PHOTOS PROVIDED BY DIANA ALQUD
June 12, 2006 – second day back Wow, this place is boring. I don’t like it here in Palestine. I miss my house, my dog, my family, my friends – my world back in America. But I am used to things since I have been here before. There is not much else to do but go on walks and look at the sights… it really is beautiful, though. Even hard for me to put into words. Not every house here has access to the internet. Back in America, I used to get on the computer everyday. Gosh. And the mosquitos! When I came here when I was younger, I scratched the bites all the time. Now, I’ve learned that if one does not scratch, then the bites will disappear. Another challenge is that, besides English, I only know how to speak in Arabic. My other cousin, Nader from Nebraska, knows how to read and write in Arabic. Maybe someday I will learn, but right now, it’s not a top priority for me since I know I can learn it later and it’s a bit time consuming. Despite the stereotypes, people here have material items; it’s not like they’re crazy poor – they have regular living conditions. Still, my father, uncle, aunt and I bring gifts from America each time we come.
June 22, 2006 – midnight, after a family gathering Each time I come here, I am asked the same question over and over: whether I like it better in America or here, in Palestine. When I was younger, I said either “America” or “both”, depending on who I was talking to. Now, I say that I actually wouldn’t mind living here. I dream up buying my grandpa’s old house and fixing it up. I could raise a family there. Then I think, what do they have here that attracts me to it? Good cooking, simple and modest clothing, little media and advertisements that direct toward negativity, strong education, and left-alone nature. The dancing and music here is wonderful as well. It’s just so unique. In America, I dance ballet, jazz, tap, and modern. Here, there are so many different things that you can incorporate into one type of dancing: Arabian. The women here claim that it is the best form of dancing and has a real, deep history. There are also many songs that are actually becoming Westernized, but those are the ones that I find annoying. Palestinians gets their music from neighboring countries like Jordan, Egypt, and Lebanon. Their classical musicians, such as Abd el Haleem, are very beautiful and emotional, and the background music uses instruments such as the oud. Before, I used to think that I was not able to dance like them. This year, I found out that everyone in town used to call my dad “cahraba”, meaning “electric”. He used to dance in all of the weddings. When my dad is here, he is like a completely new and different person. Not in a bad way, just more alive. I guess now I can see why – this is where he grew up.
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June 29, 2006 – before a wedding The food here is deliciously strange; if there is anything that I don’t find to be delicious, then it is because I am not used to its specific taste. There are few processed foods, unlike in America. I try to eat healthy back home, but it’s really difficult, especially with dance and school and the hectic lifestyle I lead. When I am over here, it really shows how beneficial everything is when I am relaxed. First of all, I lose weight, my skin is clear of acne, and I am less irritated. Additionally, I learn to live life more lightly and to take things easily. Walk outside of one of the houses on a normal afternoon – sunny, partly cloudy, and find the beauty of the place. The sunshine glows through the plants, there are hardly high buildings around, and you can always find a lovely garden nearby. On the other hand, the weather over here is extremely hot. And because dressing modestly is a lifestyle over here, one must deal with the heat. If you go down to the baellad (town), there are so many noises. People here and there screaming makes it all the more exciting. One can buy just about anything. “A beautiful purse for a beautiful lady, only five shakels!” A fruit and vegetable stand majestically placed around and many people walking around getting the best deals by haggling the prices. Ask anyone who lives here, and they will defend their city, saying it has the best places to shop for clothes. Most people, at least in America, would have said New York or Beverly Hills, or even Paris. However, since the people here have many weddings, they always have special occasions to dress for. That is why, they believe, they have much more in the fancy apparel section. Every Friday here there is a wedding! When I was younger, I simply loved going. Now, I don’t feel or act the same and find getting dolled up for special occasions to be pointless. The girls here like to talk about things that do not matter to me, or most people where I am from nowadays – clothes, weddings, people, town gossip, food, and this and that… small town life. I am not like that at all, but I enjoy sitting to watch and taking a sip from another person’s tea cup. This is a way in which Palestine is not right for me.
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July 3, 2006 – two days before my birthday I must say, I get frustrated when I try to read, write, or do anything alone, and little girls come over to look over my shoulder and ask me what I am doing. I suppose that I am just not used to being surrounded by large amounts of people, nevertheless living with them. Families here are close and do not keep anything from any member. Everyone tells me that no matter what house I am in, I should feel at home in them, since my dad is gone. I am not exactly given total freedom here, since I have to watch what I say or do.Most of the normal things that I want to do are “abe” – impolite. I have to fix myself up and make sure not to do this or that in front of certain people or the “nass” will begin to talk of me. I could care less but here everyone really worries what others may think of them. Also, everyone here talks loud. They even eat, sleep, and walk out loud! I guess that’s another reason that I like coming here, though. I play cards here; playing cards is something that everyone here is skilled at and it compares to going to the movies on a Friday night at home. Another challenging fact is that there is an eight hours’ difference between here and America. That is why it is confusing if you want to speak with someone over there, or vice versa, for fear of awaking the whole house. Every time I come here, I bring a talisman from my mom to remember her while I am here. I miss her so much and I hold her picture in my hands every time I wish I was with her. Sometimes, it feels like it has been years before get to I speak to her again on the telephone. I have never been in a long-distance relationship, but for a month, it seems very hard. Still, I realize this time of my life is unique. What if I am not able to experience the life over here ever again? There are many simple, but beautiful things here. For example, the birds – I see them everyday. I even sat around for an hour observing and trying to whistle along with a bird. The thing that I love most to do while here is to get onto the roof of one of the houses at any time of the day. It is simply breathtaking how the wind blows and an individual feels as if they can view and feel the whole world from that roof. Everyone here defends everything about their country. They support everything and they know how to back up their opinions really well! Also, no one forgets anything here, which can be both good and bad. I enjoy traditional outings, where everyone from the whole, whale-sized family is around. There are so many people and it takes me about an hour just to greet everyone! Going with everyone to the dukhan, the local candy shop at a walking distance is interesting. There, one tries to get the most out of their three shakels, which is equivalent to seventy-five cents, but can buy so much.
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July 7, 2006 – about a week before we leave Here in Palestine, the life really is different, and it is hard to adapt to the habitat if you are not used to it. There is a segregation of the sexes: boys are to be with boys and girls with girls. No matter what, though, everything and everyone entertains me. I find myself smiling most of the time, even though I sit around criticizing everything. Everything here is so clean. The wives are the traditional, perfect housewives. Of course, the teenage girls are there to help with the cleaning when poor mama gets tired. However, these people are used to such harsh conditions. They were made with heavy-duty materials-built to last through all types of obstacles that come their way. It does not even show. One can walk through the streets or in the homes of these people, and it is not as if they are all crying, looking weak, or begging for things. They live life normally, are humble, and probably laugh more than American families do these days. When I walk through the streets, I feel ashamed of myself for the way I look compared to most girls over there. It is partly because I do not wear a mandeel, or cover my hair with a shawl. I find Muslim women to be very beautiful and modest, dedicated to their religion and in many other areas of life. They do not let men take advantage of them and their bodies, and do not flaunt their body images. Families here take care of every single member.
July 13, 2006 – in my room in Georgia Now, the trip back to America was somewhat complicated, but I am home without any bruises. I have learned a lot and appreciate being able to experience life on the other side of the world. I certainly would love to go back another year and cherish more memories. More falafel sandwiches – like hamburgers back home – more soccer game parties, more weddings, more kisses and greetings on the cheek, and more family members. I go to Palestine almost every single year. However, I think that this year was the most important for me. That is because I am older, have experienced more, and have a better understanding. The Palestinians are not what they seem to be on the news here in America. They are peaceful, dedicated, hardworking, and modest people who deserve and strive for respect and happiness. I feel that people need to be more mature when considering what it is like to be a Palestinian – terrorism is not something that grows from the ground there. Here in America, I am back to normal daily life. I get busy coming to school and studying, seeing friends, and finding Arabic on my tongue is rare. Every once in a while, though, I find something small that reminds me of my lifestyle in Palestine and a smile comes to my face, as do many magnificent memories and pictures saved in my mind that will forever mark as part of my adulthood... 515
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by julie hellwich illustration by jensen power
I wrote this creed to express what I have learned I believe that investing in people and business through my business endeavors. Although it is important. I believe that business is at least as looks successful from the outside, it is not always well-suited to support families and communities a smooth road from where I sit on the inside. In a – through employment and the commerce in real way, this is my attempt to own up to the mistakes goods and services – as government programs and I made in running Smart Women Company, and to non-profit initiatives (historically, I think this was think about how I can keep from making the same one of the main functions it served). mistakes again. i believe that human nature, in all I believe that the personal To live the change we want it’s representations, are both the values with which I was to see, we have to start agent for social destruction and raised – by example (generwhere we are. We have no osity, kindness, forgiveness), social salvation. other choice than to begin and by word (“to thine with what we have. And we first have to look at ownself be true” and “have the courage of your what we believe. convictions”) – are not always easy to live by. In fact they can be very uncomfortable, and a constricting I believe that it is at the individual level that the filter to inform action in the face of perceived need, impetus for change occurs. I believe that change approved business practices, and opportunity for occurs one relationship at a time. One person to personal gain. one person at a time. I believe that change comes from hope and faith and action. I believe that how each of us act – what we say, how we live our lives and how we labor for our daily susI believe that faith is the crux of action. I believe tenance – must be congruent. It is congruency of that acting out of faith is the way we can better ourbelief, thought and action that is the foundation of selves, our communities, our country. personal integrity. Personal integrity informs community integrity, informs economic integrity. I believe that human nature, in all its representations, is both the agent for social destruction and I believe it is in ourselves, in our homes, in our social salvation. neighborhoods, our work place and our commuI believe that a child growing up without familial, public, social and economic structures based on integrity has little opportunity to develop that part of human nature which is in them that is truly human, where optimism and common good reside.
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nities that the hope for the future lies; where the seeds of kindness, compassion, respect, gratitude, humility, self-sacrifice, reflection, commitment, silence and personal worth find root.
Lauren Melcher, managing editor, can’t leave a bookstore empty-handed and is happiest when she is buying tickets to new places. She loves cooking with her housemates, writing in coffee shops, and following the Presidential race... in person, whenever possible. A life-long NPR fan, she also loves creating playlists on Pandora.com and going on photography expeditions with friends.
Danica Myers, artistic director, loves traveling and becoming a cultural collage of a person. She couldn’t live without nature, music that has soul, and being surrounded by literature and people who are genuine. Her favorite books are children’s stories that are deeply philosophic and poetic. She has a great propensity for inventing words and making simple things in life into elaborate metaphors.
Anna Gizzi, grant writer and executive assistant, has been very busy as a full time volunteer at Alive through the St. Joseph Worker Program. She is enjoying finding ways to continue to stretch her creativity, applying for graduate programs next year and always, doodling in her free time.
Laura Lewis, graphic designer, is an artist in Minneapolis and a graduate of the Minneapolis College of Art and Design. She can be found reading, dancing at inappropriate times, and pondering the universe. Her favorite interests are philosophy, theology, sewing and petting cute dogs. Cats are OK too.
Kelsey Halena, spring public relations intern, is a senior at the University of St. Thomas, studying creative advertising. Originally from St. Cloud, Minn, she has a family of five – including a princess of a cat named Lola. When she has a chance to step away from her textbooks, Kelsey finds herself painting while canoeing, being with her friends and pretending to know how to cook.
Celine Merlaud, spring public relations intern, loves being a “French girl living abroad,” learning English vocabulary everyday and being misunderstood because of her accent (even though she has already mastered a convincing Minnesoooota one). Her dream is to be able to fluently speak as many languages as possible and to live in lots of different countries.
Dayna Sudheimer, spring public relations intern, is a go getter who enjoys the small beautiful things in life that make her happy. She can’t go a day without making people smile and she lives for the most important people in her life, her family and friends. She awaits the day she can travel the world and make the difference she wants to see.
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Jennifer Dotson, executive director, loves to experiment with Thai cooking, barter voice lessons for homemade dinners and dancing lessons, and photograph weddings – especially when she can capture details of the day like cake icing swirls and beautiful beadwork. She escapes the office by cartwheeling down the hallway, and scares her roommates by rearranging the furniture in their house at least weekly.
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Lauren Gallagher, graphic design intern, is an ambassador from northwest Ohio who is likes to ride bikes and draw pictures. She wants to give Chuck Close and Michelle Branch a high five someday, and she misses her dog Jake who lives in Ohio. Lauren is hopefully on her way to being a full-time traveling-film-makingbarista-spray-painting musical artist. Mandy Gebhart, graphic design intern, is pursuing a BFA degree with an emphasis in Graphic Design at the University of South Dakota. She is the youngest of ten girls in her family, and loves every moment of it. She can’t live without her faith, family and friends. She loves being involved in activities like Campus Crusades for Christ, Campus, dancing, water-skiing, and listening to live music. Natalie Neal, editorial intern, is a double major in English and Philosophy of Fine Arts: Design Aesthetics, with a concentration in Media Studies at St. Olaf College. She enjoys expressing herself through dancing, graphic design, writing, acting, and soccer. Few know that she has a black belt in karate, learned to read in French before English and has a brown, striped birthmark in her right eye. Jensen Power, photojournalism and community relations intern, is originally from Kansas City, Missouri, and is now a junior English and Media Studies major at St. Olaf College. Jensen is passionate about photography, literature, traveling and meeting new people. She enjoys cross word puzzles, alternative music, back rubs, arts and crafts, and being outdoors. Meg Shoemaker, public relations intern, likes to GO! She adores meeting new people and trying new things. She could get lost in almost any book she picks up and when she’s not studying she loves to hang out with friends. She’s excited to try city living but hopes she never loses her sense of big-city/adult-living wonder.
Brittany Smith, editorial intern, dreams of working in some form of magazine publication while being involved in church ministry. She has a passion to speak truth into the lives of young women and to encourage and inspire others by writing from her heart. She is known for writing heartfelt “letters” inside greeting cards to show authentic appreciation towards others. Sarah Du Toit Tengblad, public relations intern, is a junior at St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minn., majoring in Women’s Studies and American Studies with a concentration in Media Studies. Ironically, studying is not one of her favorite activities. She prefers singing in choirs, napping, shopping, enjoying three-hour long meals with family and friends, and finding humor in the little things of life.
ALIVE MAGAZINE, SUMMER 2008 Executive Director Jennifer Dotson Managing Editor Lauren Melcher Artistic Director Danica Myers Founder and Board Chair Heather Scheiwe Board of Directors Martha Franke
Vernae Hasbargen Heather Mattson Jim Scheibel Assistant Editors Natalie Neal Brittany Smith Graphic Designers Lauren Gallagher Mandy Gebhart Laura Lewis
Public Relations Jensen Power Meg Shoemaker Sarah Tengblad Alive Arts Media 1720 Madison St. NE Suite 300 Minneapolis, MN 55413 www.alivemagazine.org All rights reserved.
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Alive Arts Media, Inc. is a non-profit organization that exists to empower young women in their creative, educational, and professional pursuits. We accomplish this by offering a high-level internship program, through the publication of Alive Magazine - an online publication featuring young writers and artists, and Picturing Everyday Beauty: a project to add insight to the viewfinder.
Today's teenage women are tired of being talked down to, talked about, targeted only as consumers, and being left out of the conversations that shape our culture. This generation of women are digitally-savvy, well-read, deep thinking, articulate individuals who are burgeoning with leadership ability. Given affirmation of their talents, feedback to cultivate growth, the education and tools to succeed, and a firm understanding of others' experiences to ground them in the reality that their dreams are attainable, these women will become the business and community leaders who will shape the culture for tomorrow's children. It is a story that speaks of hope. Alive Arts Media operates under the belief that everyone has a story to tell. As such, every level of AAM's business model and programming creates opportunities for individuals to tell that story. Utilizing a framework of mentorship and community, we facilitate dialogue between individuals at different stages of professional development that aids emerging writers and artists in their adolescent and early adult years. As an organization, we are run primarily by high level internships that function as short-term staff positions (editorial, graphic design, and public relations). By keeping the entire production of Alive Magazine in the hands of women 25 and under, we eliminate their competion with professionally established individuals, offering them greater responsibility than would otherwise be available at such a young age.
“DON’T ASK WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS. ASK WHAT MAKES YOU COME ALIVE AND GO DO THAT... BECAUSE WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS IS PEOPLE WHO HAVE COME ALIVE.” -howard thurman
Alive Arts Media responds directly to the following areas of societal need: - Leadership & Professional development/advancement of young women. Women still make 76 cents to every dollar made by men and, although women earn a higher GPA on average than men, their post-college professional goals decline as college progresses. Alive Arts Media constructively fosters professional acceptance for women in the working world, and equips adolescent women with tools to succeed. - Need for media reform, specifically the lack of positive media available in the young women's market. Alive Magazine presents a constructive solution that presents intelligent, realistic models for young women. - Personal development for young women, including body image, self esteem, and confidence. - Advancement of underserved women and youth in the local community with education and professional opportunities for college acceptance and postgraduate employment
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Alive Arts Media, Inc. 1720 Madison St. Ne, Ste. 300 Minneapolis, MN 55413 Change Service Requested