Woah. So this thing is due fairly soon. But I'm not as worried about it as I was a few weeks ago. At least now I know basically what I want to be doing. So here it is:
I have decided to focus my research on the life and death of my great-grandparents on my mom's side. They died in 1970 because of a head on collision that completely destroyed the car they were driving. And most of their bodies as well. It was apparently one of the worst car accidents in Elkhart County history. At least that is what Mom tells me. This may sound incredibly morbid to you, but there is definitely a more noble cause behind this subject.
It is my wish to display the importance placed on the existence of grandparents. I have a lot of memories of my own grandparents on both sides, and I know my mom has memories of her's. She has told me many times how she used to love watching her Grandma Kane (one half of the people I am researching) undo her little hair bun and watch it all fall down to her feet. My mom was pretty young when her grandparents died, and it's amazing to me how she can have such a vivid memory at such an early age. But how much of that is embellishment, and how much is true memory? I have a feeling that we remember things with an incredible amount of bias when we are younger, because we have very few references for comparison until we're well into grade school. That being said, are those biases wrong?
Absolutely not. They are OUR memories. And if I get nothing else out of this class and the stuff we are reading, it's that memories make up a large part of how we perceive ourselves. By delving further into this idea, and by talking with my aunts on the same topic, I can more fully understand how I may have inherited MY perceptions of grandparents.
It's all very Freud. Well maybe not him....but he's the only psyche psychologist I know by name.
By the same token, understanding our memories allows us to further explore how we operate on other levels, most notably in writing and communication. I want this project to memorialize my great-grandparents, but I also want it to evoke memories, perceptions of how we view elders, and ultimately, how we view ourselves BECAUSE of those memories.
In order to do this, I have decided to work on a multi-genre research project. I expressed my desire to try something different early in the semester (I think in my first blog) and this is definitely it. (side note: I spell "definitely" wrong EVERY SINGLE TIME!!!) The other genres I intend to use fall heavily on narrative and playwrighting. I have a great interest in playwrighting (I've actually written a couple things but am just too afraid to see them criticized) and I feel that this would be a perfect genre for delving into thoughts right before the accident happened, or in showing how my mom related to her grandma. Another genre I want to incorporate is music. I feel that using lyrics to popular songs at the times I am discussing can put the lives of my great-grandparents in yet another context.
Honestly, this is probably a project I could work on for four or five years. And even more honestly, I don't really care if I get an A...so long as it makes my mom cry. :)
With happiness in remembrance of course.
Again, feel free to make any other suggestions on things that might be cool to see in this kind of paper. I know at least a couple of us are doing this, so maybe we can help each other out.
Peace, love, and firecrackers.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
My Summer Place
Another 90 degree summer day means another day at Grandma’s house in Bristol, Indiana. More specifically, the day means hours upon hours of play in the old concrete, kidney shaped swimming pool. Through the course of the day, I challenge my sister to a dive-off, pretend I am a doctor trying to purify a giant vat of acid, and use the same Snoopy life vest my mother used to keep myself from drowning while playing like a big boy in the deep end. In this pool I have seen many stages of my own development: from getting my toes wet for the very first time with Grandpa at the age of 1, to using water wings on my own, to learning to dive. This place is where I could be anything I wanted to be without being judged. Imagination had an unrestricted reign, and hours ran away faster than the ripples caused by my multiple cannon ball dives. The swimming pool holds more memories of my childhood than any other place. It pains me to no end that my children will never be able to experience that pool in the way I, my sister, my mother, my aunts, and my cousins all have since its installment in 1968.
My grandfather, who passed away in 1994 of colon cancer, installed the pool so that his youngest daughter (my mother) could have a safe place to play with her friends. Some may feel that a pool is certainly not safe, and in some respects I would agree. In fact, this very pool where I spent the majority of my summer days until I was 12 caused my Uncle John to break his arm (after trying to go down the slide standing straight up), saw the near drowning of a distant family member at a reunion, and cut my feet (due to the raised concrete) more times than I can count. Despite all this, my mother states that the pool became the center piece of my family. No matter what dispute may have been going on, time passed in the pool had a mythical quality. The battles of everyday life in the outside world had no grounds in this place. A hot temper could be easily doused by the splash of a playing child. This is what made the swimming pool such a magical place in my early life.
Though my grandmother is still alive today, she is currently losing a long battle with Alzheimer’s disease. Because of this, my family was forced to put her in an assisted living facility and sell the property that has always been “Grandma’s House.” She remembers virtually nothing about what happened 3 minutes ago, but Grandma still has vast memories of the swimming pool. I am not allowed to bring the house up in conversation since she does not know the house has been sold, but in my observations of conversations between her and my mother, she constantly brings up the pool. She talks about needing to drain it and get it repainted; she mentions the need of installing a new diving board; and she even says she cannot wait until the summer comes so she can help the kids restock the pool toys. All of these activities are things we did together to get ready for the new swim season, and though I have not participated in these activities for nearly six years, the memories are still strong. Even a woman whose mind is slowly slipping away still has vivid memories of this special place. That alone should be a tribute to the swimming pool’s lasting place in the lore of my family.
The sun sets on another perfect day at the pool, and I am forced by my mom to finally get out and dry off. The air has cooled considerably since we arrived around noon, and I actually shiver in my Ninja Turtles towel. Grandpa sees my shivering and uses his large, strong hands to warm me up with friction. He then picks me up and threatens to throw me back in the pool, and I protest through giggles and screams until he puts me down. I wish now that he never would have put me down. Perhaps then I could have shared this special place with my future family. Soon the pool will be filled in with the very same concrete that gave it life and it will pass from Grandma’s House as a physical place forever. But it will never lose its place in my memories. My sister’s memories. My mom’s memories. Or even those of my grandma.
My grandfather, who passed away in 1994 of colon cancer, installed the pool so that his youngest daughter (my mother) could have a safe place to play with her friends. Some may feel that a pool is certainly not safe, and in some respects I would agree. In fact, this very pool where I spent the majority of my summer days until I was 12 caused my Uncle John to break his arm (after trying to go down the slide standing straight up), saw the near drowning of a distant family member at a reunion, and cut my feet (due to the raised concrete) more times than I can count. Despite all this, my mother states that the pool became the center piece of my family. No matter what dispute may have been going on, time passed in the pool had a mythical quality. The battles of everyday life in the outside world had no grounds in this place. A hot temper could be easily doused by the splash of a playing child. This is what made the swimming pool such a magical place in my early life.
Though my grandmother is still alive today, she is currently losing a long battle with Alzheimer’s disease. Because of this, my family was forced to put her in an assisted living facility and sell the property that has always been “Grandma’s House.” She remembers virtually nothing about what happened 3 minutes ago, but Grandma still has vast memories of the swimming pool. I am not allowed to bring the house up in conversation since she does not know the house has been sold, but in my observations of conversations between her and my mother, she constantly brings up the pool. She talks about needing to drain it and get it repainted; she mentions the need of installing a new diving board; and she even says she cannot wait until the summer comes so she can help the kids restock the pool toys. All of these activities are things we did together to get ready for the new swim season, and though I have not participated in these activities for nearly six years, the memories are still strong. Even a woman whose mind is slowly slipping away still has vivid memories of this special place. That alone should be a tribute to the swimming pool’s lasting place in the lore of my family.
The sun sets on another perfect day at the pool, and I am forced by my mom to finally get out and dry off. The air has cooled considerably since we arrived around noon, and I actually shiver in my Ninja Turtles towel. Grandpa sees my shivering and uses his large, strong hands to warm me up with friction. He then picks me up and threatens to throw me back in the pool, and I protest through giggles and screams until he puts me down. I wish now that he never would have put me down. Perhaps then I could have shared this special place with my future family. Soon the pool will be filled in with the very same concrete that gave it life and it will pass from Grandma’s House as a physical place forever. But it will never lose its place in my memories. My sister’s memories. My mom’s memories. Or even those of my grandma.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
More Subcultures
I forgot to do more than one. Here are some of the other subcultures I belong to:
Group: Fort Wayne Poker Friends
Rituals: A game of Texas Hold 'Em every other weekend.
Inside Phrases: "Playin' with bullets." "Jesus H....." "Get it."
Behaviors: We usually stay friendly with each other, but at times certain plays can make everyone a little tense. Since we are all friends, we tend not to play dirty, but it happens once in a while.
Group: P90X Discussion Board
Rituals: Blogs about how we are doing in the P90X exercise program.
Inside Phrases: "Bring it." "Do your best and forget the rest." "Make it X-like."
Behaviors: Very courteous. We all know how hard the program is, and we are very supportive of each other's problems and complementary of their acheivements.
Group: Fort Wayne Poker Friends
Rituals: A game of Texas Hold 'Em every other weekend.
Inside Phrases: "Playin' with bullets." "Jesus H....." "Get it."
Behaviors: We usually stay friendly with each other, but at times certain plays can make everyone a little tense. Since we are all friends, we tend not to play dirty, but it happens once in a while.
Group: P90X Discussion Board
Rituals: Blogs about how we are doing in the P90X exercise program.
Inside Phrases: "Bring it." "Do your best and forget the rest." "Make it X-like."
Behaviors: Very courteous. We all know how hard the program is, and we are very supportive of each other's problems and complementary of their acheivements.
Getting Subcultural
Group: United Spinners of Elkhart Cemeteries (This is what we actually called ourselves. We even have a Facebook group devoted to it.)
The group itself is a subsection of the City of Elkhart Parks and Recreation Department. It is made up of five young adults responsible for maintaining the areas around the headstones in the three cemeteries of Elkhart, Indiana. These five young people use a device known to them as a "spinner." To many, this instrument is classified as a "weed whacker," but the members of the group feel that "spinner" is much less crude. Each instrument is designated by a number, and it is widely known throughout the the USEC that the spinners labeled CM40 and CM65 are the most powerful. Therefore, they are rewarded to senior members of the group. If a new member tries to undermine this right, the other four use beratement and verbal threats to subdue the uprising and return the instruments to their rightful users.
The behavior of the five young men is rather juvenile. More time is spent trying to figure out new games to pass the time rather than do the work they are expected to do. One of the most basic rituals is called "coasting," in which the men try to circle the cemetery without using the gas pedal. Another popular game is the "Walnut War." In this game, the men divide themselves into teams and hurl fallen walnuts at each other, using the headstones as protective barricades. Other examples of game names are: Hitch, Uno, Lava, and Logroll. At all times, one of the workers (most likely the weakest or youngest of the group) is posted as a lookout for the bosses who routinely check up on the crew to make sure they are working. When a boss is sighted, the lookout is expected to proclaim, "Spin it!"; this causes the other members to run to their spinners and immediately begin working.
Inside phrases are far too numerous to mention in full, but they cover such topics as names for the bosses, names for equipment, interactions with others, and sections within the cemetery. The main cemetery is a prime example of the use of inside phrases to designate sections. Some of these sections are: Baby Land (a section designated for dead children), Jew Land (for the city's Jewish population), 40 (the largest and least shaded section of the cemetery), Wussy Hollow (the nickname of the mausoleum) and Vet's (a section for veterans). These special designations help form a strong sense of community. Those who do not know what these basic phrases mean are lost within this world and have a hard time fitting in.
The behaviors, rituals, and inside jokes of the USEC make it a group that continues to flourish long after members leave. New traditions are constantly added to the group, but memories of old traditions keep the group a cohesive subsection of the Park's Department. I was a member of this group for two years and helped create many of the traditions that I know still occur today. Knowing that I formed a subculture in this way gives me a feeling of accomplishment in contributing to my hometown.
The group itself is a subsection of the City of Elkhart Parks and Recreation Department. It is made up of five young adults responsible for maintaining the areas around the headstones in the three cemeteries of Elkhart, Indiana. These five young people use a device known to them as a "spinner." To many, this instrument is classified as a "weed whacker," but the members of the group feel that "spinner" is much less crude. Each instrument is designated by a number, and it is widely known throughout the the USEC that the spinners labeled CM40 and CM65 are the most powerful. Therefore, they are rewarded to senior members of the group. If a new member tries to undermine this right, the other four use beratement and verbal threats to subdue the uprising and return the instruments to their rightful users.
The behavior of the five young men is rather juvenile. More time is spent trying to figure out new games to pass the time rather than do the work they are expected to do. One of the most basic rituals is called "coasting," in which the men try to circle the cemetery without using the gas pedal. Another popular game is the "Walnut War." In this game, the men divide themselves into teams and hurl fallen walnuts at each other, using the headstones as protective barricades. Other examples of game names are: Hitch, Uno, Lava, and Logroll. At all times, one of the workers (most likely the weakest or youngest of the group) is posted as a lookout for the bosses who routinely check up on the crew to make sure they are working. When a boss is sighted, the lookout is expected to proclaim, "Spin it!"; this causes the other members to run to their spinners and immediately begin working.
Inside phrases are far too numerous to mention in full, but they cover such topics as names for the bosses, names for equipment, interactions with others, and sections within the cemetery. The main cemetery is a prime example of the use of inside phrases to designate sections. Some of these sections are: Baby Land (a section designated for dead children), Jew Land (for the city's Jewish population), 40 (the largest and least shaded section of the cemetery), Wussy Hollow (the nickname of the mausoleum) and Vet's (a section for veterans). These special designations help form a strong sense of community. Those who do not know what these basic phrases mean are lost within this world and have a hard time fitting in.
The behaviors, rituals, and inside jokes of the USEC make it a group that continues to flourish long after members leave. New traditions are constantly added to the group, but memories of old traditions keep the group a cohesive subsection of the Park's Department. I was a member of this group for two years and helped create many of the traditions that I know still occur today. Knowing that I formed a subculture in this way gives me a feeling of accomplishment in contributing to my hometown.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Start It Up
I've gotten involved with this class mostly as a way to hone my research skills and expand upon the tried and true methods I have implemented so far in my college career. I don't know about the rest of you, but I start to get bored with using the same procedures and methods all the time to get an end result (usually a paper). So I try to throw in other classes that can expand my mind a bit and allow for different ways of thinking. Life's not always about getting an A, so I feel the need to challenge myself.
Unless it's math. Forget that.
I haven't compiled a huge list to family information yet, but I do have the basics. I know my family tree up through my great grandparents. It may be hard getting a lot of primary information on both sides of my family past that simply because I only have one grandmother left on my dad's side and the grandma on my mom's side has Alzheimer's. But I'll do what I can. Luckily, I have a family connection with a second cousin who has done a ridiculous amount of research on my mom's side of the family.
I'm not really sure what to focus on though, so I'm a little worried about that. Hopefully I can carve out an idea by next Wednesday after talking with Suzie. I would like the final product to be more of a narrative in nature rather than a strict, mechanical rendering of my family. If anyone has any suggestions about where to start, I have no problem listening to your ideas.
Until next time,
Alex
Unless it's math. Forget that.
I haven't compiled a huge list to family information yet, but I do have the basics. I know my family tree up through my great grandparents. It may be hard getting a lot of primary information on both sides of my family past that simply because I only have one grandmother left on my dad's side and the grandma on my mom's side has Alzheimer's. But I'll do what I can. Luckily, I have a family connection with a second cousin who has done a ridiculous amount of research on my mom's side of the family.
I'm not really sure what to focus on though, so I'm a little worried about that. Hopefully I can carve out an idea by next Wednesday after talking with Suzie. I would like the final product to be more of a narrative in nature rather than a strict, mechanical rendering of my family. If anyone has any suggestions about where to start, I have no problem listening to your ideas.
Until next time,
Alex
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