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So the Society for Ethnomusicology conference is in Columbus, Ohio this year and I'm going. I'm not presenting a paper this year (thank goodness!) but I'm excited to see "conference friends" who I only see at these things, listen to new papers, network a bit, look for jobs (!) and perhaps most important and exciting, see my dad, brother, and best friend. I have been excited about this trip for a while, and it's about to happen (I leave on Wednesday). I miss my dad and brother a lot and I'm not sure why. Of course I love them, but honestly, I see them a few times a year and that's usually good enough for me. But I always see them in Texas; I rarely go to Ohio because of money, time, and taste (I prefer Austin). Columbus is perhaps the closest thing to a hometown that I have, even though I've only lived there for a cumulative three years. But still. It's a hip, artsy town with nice people, smaller cars than Texas, and (getting) good food. It's pretty. And my dad lives there, and I'm really just thrilled to see him. It's scary when a parent grows older, and to watch him change makes me nervous. And maybe I'm more neurotic about it than most because I'm already one parent down (my mom died in May of 2001), but I really want to treasure this time with my dad: we're both adults, we have similar interests but we're different enough that we're learning a lot about each other and we're both coming to terms with the other person (as in, we're no longer trying to change each other; we are who we are). I think this is a big step in a family relationship and since my family is just my Dad and my brother (I have a great uncle who I see every couple of years and then there's my mom's brother and sister, but they're not nice and I haven't seen them in who knows how long). So here's hoping for a fun (and productive) trip!

Natural Disasters

So as a kid, I always thought, well, if there's a place in the world where there aren't any natural disasters, I should move there and then there will be no threat of tsunami, tornadoes, or whatever. When we lived in New Orleans, there were floods. In California, there were regular earthquakes. In Minnesota, tornadoes. In Rhode Island, hurricanes. Chicago and Ohio, tornadoes. In Texas...well, there are floods, droughts, and tornadoes, not to mention coastal areas plagued by hurricanes. In coastal Peru there are earthquakes, in the Amazon there is the occasional drought. Safe? Well, you're never really safe. But I always used to think you could escape it. I also thought that the word approximate meant exact. So I guess you live and learn.

On another note, if you want to be kind of creeped out, watch the claymation movie The Adventures of Mark Twain. I watched it when I was a kid and it was pretty scary. I watched some clips on youtube today. It's still scary. And according to the IMDB, was banned from television in 1985.

Another delightfully creepy childhood film is Watcher in the Woods, actually a Disney movie, but pretty scary.

Slated for Destruction

Well, folks, this is my delayed post in honor of Blog Action Day, wherein bloggers are encouraged to somehow address a particular theme. This year's theme is the environment, and what a difficult theme to write about! Whenever I start thinking about the environment, my mind immediately goes to destruction and strife, melted ice caps, depleting fresh water sources, exploited lands and indigenous peoples, petroleum extraction, blah blah blah. So for today's blog, while titled Slated for Destruction, I don't want to belabor the obvious, that 98% of the Peruvian Amazon is slated for petroleum extraction, including the largest national reserve in Peru. Instead, I'd like to take a moment to praise efforts being made to limit this fact by good friends of mine involved in good projects in Iquitos.

My old roommate Cesar Gil works for the World Wildlife Fund, where he heads the Indigenous Education committee. Cesar develops curriculum designed to raise awareness among indigenous children who live in the Pacaya Samiria Reserve and how they can best manage their resources and keep poachers, petroleum companies, and loggers away from their land. It's a roots project that has impressive, longterm goals and its focus - young children - is truly the best way to truly make changes.

My dear friend Monica Hernandez works for a Spanish cooperative as a forestry engineer. She, too, works with indigenous communities in the Pacaya Samiria Reserve where she helps them realize their own longterm goals from sustenance farming to reforestation.

Sandrine Forzy is a French political scientist who is bringing the possibility of fair trade to indigenous communities in the Reserve, so that they might be less dependent on unfair, commercial offers from outside, capitalist forces to which they are largely unaccustomed.

Graciela Blanco operates a planned parenthood / sex education program in the reserve in order to increase the quality of life of those who live in the reserve and also to help cut down populations that are putting pressure on their environment.

Mario Meder Seretti owns a lumber yard, but he has recently made the conscious (and financially difficult) decision to not purchase endangered hardwoods, and to deal only with sellers who are from heavily forested, secondary-growth areas, so as to not endanger primary growth forest.


You'll notice that a good number of these good deeds are directed toward people and there is good reason for that. If you can change the way people think from an early age (imagine what would have happened if someone had gotten a hold of the Bush babies when they were only five years old), you can change the world. I was raised to recycle. It sounds silly, but I have a horrible pang of guilt any time I use Styrofoam, or any time I throw away something recyclable. I have friends who were not raised like me and don't understand the importance of small actions. I am grateful to my parents for having instilled in me a reverent respect for the earth, shown to me through behaviors, canoe trips, bird books, and gardens.

Anyway, despite the fact that the Amazon is slated for destruction (I was really just trying to get your attention), there is hope.

Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner

So my good friend Michael gave me a collection of short stories by Alan Sillitoe for Christmas a few years ago and what a treat it was. It's called The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner and it's title story is nonchalant, narrated by a juvenile delinquent who recognizes how fortunate he is to be able to run every day as part of his schooling in a crappy JD facility. And the most perfect quote....

"It's a treat, being a long-distance runner, out in the world by yourself with not a soul to make you bad-tempered or to tell you what to do."

It's really true. While I suffer from perfectionism in most areas of my life, which in turn cause anxiety, stress, or exhaustion, running isn't one of them. Running is the only place where my biggest competitor is myself, I'm not proving anything to anyone, I don't have to do it if I don't want to, it's not a requirement and I certainly don't have to write a dissertation about it or because of it or in order to do it. I run because I love the mental challenge. I run because I love how I feel after a long run, tired, with nothing physical to show for it but a few aches, but knowing I ran 8 miles today. Physically, most peope could be runners. Maybe not marathon runners, but they could be runners. Mentally, I think that few could. It's tough to convince your body that it should and will finish this run. To convince your lungs that they'll get a change to breathe at the end of this one. To convince the jelly that your legs have become that they'll get a chance to just walk if they just hang in there a little bit longer.

I was a glassblower, an artist. I am striving to be an ethnomusicologist and a scholar and a teacher. I have always been a decent / good student. But in all these areas, there is pressure to do better, publish more, get a better grade, be more creative. In running, there is no pressure at all. I just want to start and to finish, nothing more, nothing less.

And so here's a lovely portrait that my very talented photographer friend, Rhonda Turnbough (www.rhondaturnbough.com) took of my very talented cellist and running friend, Karla Hamelin (soon to have www.karlahamelin.com) with me and my very talented songwriter, cellist, and marketing genius friend, Genevieve Frisch. In dedication to long-distance running and what a joy it is. I am grateful to be a long-distance runner!




















www.rhondaturnbough.com

One Page at a Time

So I am in the boat that many before me have sailed, and many after me will sail. And there are also those who have walked the plank or dived off the side, or just plain drowned. I will not be one of them; I will sail the turbulent high seas until I reach land or at least an island, even if it is a swampy, acidic one a la The Life of Pi. I figure if I get to Manhatten, I'll be golden and if I get to, say, Delaware or some such place, I can live with that. All this mumbo jumbo is, of course, my dissertation analogy. It's a big boat with few crew members, but so far, it's just cloudy weather. And by the way, in case you are wondering, I really am this dorky in real life. Yup, this ole land lubber (whose shoulders are too narrow to be a competitive back or breaststroker) is undertaking the possible yet very difficult. And she's going to do it!

My good friend Karla is requiring of me one page a day. Be it notes, actual chapter writing or whathaveyou, I must turn in one page per day to Karla via email, although I am exempt from Saturdays because on Saturdays, I am in a special kind of liminal place aka purgatory. Ok, it's just retail, but really, same difference. I'm on a roll! So far, two pages. But I just got started, so I anticipate a large sheath by the end of the semester.

On another note, I've been dreaming of Peru. Iquitos, my motorcycle, my friend Victor, my family there, Monica...it's hard to not romanticize the whole thing and it's also hard not to just write it off as one big floppy learning experience. I miss it. I really do. And it's funny because I gave a little thing with Michael for colloquium this past Friday about field work. And someone asked, why Peru? Why this project? Why did you choose it? And it really hit me: it chose me. I don't think I would've stuck it all out, from the first jungle hells to the urban craziness if it weren't that Iquitos kept pulling me back to its snare. And yet - kind of like in that Almodovar film, Atame, deep down I have grown to love it, and I miss it a lot. I guess this is a partnership for a long time. There's no question that I love my project topic - who knew I'd become a cumbia junkie? Regardless, here we go! Here's hoping I don't get sick of it while writing my dissertation, and here's hoping I don't go into debt while charging the upcoming trip on the ole credit card! Cheers!

Victor

This is my dear friend Victor Huertas in Iquitos. Victor killed himself two Sundays ago at home in Iquitos. Victor was one of my only actual friends in Iquitos - one of the only people who was eternally loyal, sweet, caring and loving. He's Jewish and had been preparing to go to Israel in December to take advantage of dual citizenship and free education. He was admitted to a prestigious literature program at the state school in Iquitos and is a terrific, outgoing student on student council with lots of friends. I met Victor under crazy circumstances: it was his step-dad who sold me my crappy motorcycle and it was he who sought me out to tell me the truth about what had happened and who eagerly volunteered to serve as my witness in my case against the jerk who took the commission, despite danger of being beaten up or blackmailed. He always sent me text messages telling me simply that he loved me and supported me and was glad to have met me. We had all kinds of adventures together and his sweet family, mom Tania and sister Patricia, always invited me to dinner or would just call to say hello. He was a dear friend who I didn't tell him enough how much I valued his friendship and how much I really loved him. And the worst part is: he was just a kid. 18 years old - he would be 19 in December. I left my motorcycle to him because I trusted him profoundly. And while I started off being devastated at the news of his death, now I'm pissed. I guess these are the steps. I've known people to kill themselves before, but never so dear a friend. I love him very much.

Resolutions

So here I am in Austin, allegedly writing a dissertation at Flightpath, my favorite coffee shop in town. It’s quiet, well-lit, and has big tables. My loyal comps study buddy now turned dissertation writing buddy, Jen Smull, is sitting across from me typing diligently away while I add another blog to my desperately outdated e-journal that – as I look back on it – served as some sort of therapy throughout the last year or so, for which I am thankful.

I started writing up some notes for my dissertation and it became a rant, an angry, emotional rant about bad people in Iquitos, life goals, and what it might be like to live and teach in Minnesota, in the heart of that which I fear: COLD. I don’t like cold because I have circulation problems in my hands and my feet and the cold just bursts through my body and gets to my core and I can’t focus on anything else when I’m horridly cold. And then I started thinking that cold is kind of like anxiety for me. It comes out of nowhere and knocks me flat on my back. And I wallow in it instead of grabbing another scarf and heating up the tea kettle. I guess my analogy makes sense to me, and perhaps to few others, but as some of you here in Austin have come to know, I am profoundly changed. I am growing up and maturing (perhaps later than most, but better late than never. Take that, Peter Pan!) and learning about the many things that LIFE has to offer. My friendships are still profoundly deep but I am having a hard time reconciling the new Kathryn with the old one. As I begin (or pretend to begin) this new phase: the post-Peru, dissertation, new-Austin, old-friends, revised-life phase, I’m realizing a few things about myself that, be they new things or old, I want to change or keep in place. I feel like it’s New Year’s and I’m making my resolutions, even though I never make resolutions at New Year’s because I’m always afraid of the guilt that might come if I break them.

I vow to

1. be a better friend

2. not let stress dictate who I am

3. love myself and my body regardless

4. budget my time and allow myself free time

5. downsize: things, clutter, stress

This is my new resolution. I’m learning about mindfulness right now, and I hope that it makes a big difference in my life. I want to be aware of myself, my surroundings, my emotions, and my goals and expectations.

And while we’re on the subject, did I mention that I’m growing up? New mattress (yee-ha!), new line of credit, new shoes, new paint in my newly peaceful bedroom, and soon to have new car (soon!). I see my best girlfriends from college in the fall and I’m excited to be me with them in their space. It’s fun to grow up, even if it sucks and it’s hard. You live and learn, right?

On lighter notes, I went to Austin City Limits music festival a week ago with my friends Genevieve and Colin. That was truly wonderful and exciting. Plus I went to a taping of Austin City Limits (the PBS TV show)…Regina Spector. That was terrific – the best live music venue in Austin.

This past Friday I had one of the best days of my life! I woke up early and ran. Then I went to Portuguese class. Then I rode my bike down to Barton Springs where I swam in the crystal clear springs and nearly choked because I was laughing with absolute JOY. Then I had a margarita with Genevieve at Shady Grove. Then I rode my bike home and went to the movies with Colin and Michael. Then we got fancy pizza and shot the bull. Then I slept for 10 hours. It was an exciting, active, sunny, beautiful, happy day, and while it doesn’t seem like there was anything in particular that was out of the ordinary, I felt SO good and happy all day long. It was nice.