On Friday, I attended a symposium honoring Professor Emerita Hazel Dicken-Garcia at the University of Minnesota's School of Journalism and Mass Communication. The theme of the day was "Beyond the Ivory Tower," and the challenge of the day was to bring scholarship into real-world applications and connections.
It was a fitting topic to honor a person whose great accomplishments as a teacher, mentor, and scholar stretch beyond the boundaries of academia. For those who don't know, Hazel was my own dissertation adviser at the U. Many of her advisees have gone on to do work that transcends basic scholarship to be publicly applicable. My own work bringing high school students into college journalism classrooms is one example. But there are many, many others who continue to apply their skills at research design and analysis to doing good work.
One example is Nora Hall, a Hazel scholar who now works as a Minneapolis consultant to improve neighborhoods and opportunities for women and others who need them. Another is David Domke, who, as a scholar, has published two books about religion and the presidency, and has found himself thrust into the national spotlight during election years. Others do things like work with local community groups to discuss issues of coverage for their organizations, or write editorials and columns explaining legal and ethical dilemmas for the press in layman's terms.
The day felt refreshing in many ways. The gauntlet for public scholarship was thrown into a crowd of former Hazel advisees, current and former U faculty, and invited guests. It will be interesting to see who picks it up.
Meanwhile, I'll continue to think about what it means, this business of being a public scholar, as I put the finishing touches on my new book, which explores the voices of American farm women from 1910 to 1960. It sheds light on their pivotal roles in American history and offers a kind of foundation for exploring the fissures between urban and rural American cultures that developed during that period, fissures that can still be felt today.
Hey, wait: That topic does have real-world applications!
Looks like I'm a public scholar, too.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
If I'd graduated in 1950 ...
I'd probably have looked like this.
What I find absolutely hysterical is just how much I look like either of my grandmothers in this picture!
Check it out... You, too, can see what you'd have looked like in a yearbook photo of the past at http://www.yearbookyourself.com.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Of Musicals and Melissa Gilbert ...
Her signature gleams in black ink on a corner of my tattered program for "Little House on the Prairie," the musical I saw Sunday night at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis. Underneath the nearly illegible "Melissa Gilbert" is "Ma" in quotes.
It didn't seem odd at all to see Ms. Gilbert playing "Ma" instead of her signature "Laura" in the show. In fact, it seemed just right, as if time had provided her--and the audience--an opportunity to see her original character becoming a mother who dealt with a child, her "Wild Child," just like herself.
The day began Sunday with rain. Lots of it. The kind of rain that seeps into every pour and turns driving down the freeway into a nightmare of poor visibility. As I headed up to the Twin Cities, I boogied to the "Mamma Mia" soundtrack and reflected about the twisty road I'd traveled through my interest in all things "Little House." My interest started as a five-year-old girl who started reading her first "big" book--"Little House in the Big Woods"--in the living room of Laura's cousin, Ruby. Ruby, a friend of my grandmothers, baked wonderful cookies and always had time for little girls.
I don't remember when I started watching the television show, but I do remember the momentous occasion when my parents let me stay up to watch the episode where the school of the blind burns down.
And my sister and sister-cousins played "Little House" all the time when we were small. I was always Mary, because not only was I the oldest; I was blonde. My cousin Nic had the honor of being Laura because she was a brunette, and she was the second oldest. I think we mostly argued about how we were going to pay more than we actually played, but we had fun, anyway.
Throughout my life, I've added to this trove of memories, taking my first adult road trip to Laura's birthplace in Pepin, Wis., and to one of her Minnesota home sites in Walnut Grove, Minn.; tracing out Caroline's first home in Milwaukee, Wis., and finding her mother's grave in Rome, Wis.; finally taking the long-dreamed-of trip to De Smet, S.D., with my ever-patient spouse just three summers ago; publishing my own book about the Ingalls-Wilder-Lane legacy (The Rediscovered Writings of Rose Wilder Lane, Literary Journalist); and meeting many more friends and fans online to feel the same way I do about the program, the women, and legacy that has become labeled "Little House."
On my way to a new adventure at the Guthrie last night, I could barely contain myself. In just a few short hours, I would see the very newest offering in this LH legacy: a musical scripted by a fan who took on the unenviable task of bringing together multiple visions of a story that at its core remains a story of family cohesion in the face of adversity. In this task, the show exceeded my expectations.
And the music was phenomenal.
So when we were told that many of the cast, including Ms. Gilbert, exit at the stage door after each show to sign autographs, on request, my friends (also huge Laura fans) and I took the opportunity. Several people were crowded around that door, blocking the Guthrie's front exit, and cheered as the actresses playing Carrie and other town players left, followed by "Almanzo" (a seriously cute, talented actor!), and Ms. Gilbert herself, who was tired and anxious about the crowd, but gracious in signing programs and memorabilia for fans, who began to drift off as she made her way down the sort-of line that had drawn itself up. Finally, Kara Lindsay, who turned in a remarkable performance as Laura, emerged, and the same bubbly spirit that characterized her performance made her a laughing, gracious and grateful presence. She, too, signed my program--in red.
So what I have now is a document that immortalizes the passing of a torch, in a way. The "old" Laura, and the "new" one. But both represent a living remembrance of a woman, and a legacy, that we now call "Little House."
It didn't seem odd at all to see Ms. Gilbert playing "Ma" instead of her signature "Laura" in the show. In fact, it seemed just right, as if time had provided her--and the audience--an opportunity to see her original character becoming a mother who dealt with a child, her "Wild Child," just like herself.
The day began Sunday with rain. Lots of it. The kind of rain that seeps into every pour and turns driving down the freeway into a nightmare of poor visibility. As I headed up to the Twin Cities, I boogied to the "Mamma Mia" soundtrack and reflected about the twisty road I'd traveled through my interest in all things "Little House." My interest started as a five-year-old girl who started reading her first "big" book--"Little House in the Big Woods"--in the living room of Laura's cousin, Ruby. Ruby, a friend of my grandmothers, baked wonderful cookies and always had time for little girls.
I don't remember when I started watching the television show, but I do remember the momentous occasion when my parents let me stay up to watch the episode where the school of the blind burns down.
And my sister and sister-cousins played "Little House" all the time when we were small. I was always Mary, because not only was I the oldest; I was blonde. My cousin Nic had the honor of being Laura because she was a brunette, and she was the second oldest. I think we mostly argued about how we were going to pay more than we actually played, but we had fun, anyway.
Throughout my life, I've added to this trove of memories, taking my first adult road trip to Laura's birthplace in Pepin, Wis., and to one of her Minnesota home sites in Walnut Grove, Minn.; tracing out Caroline's first home in Milwaukee, Wis., and finding her mother's grave in Rome, Wis.; finally taking the long-dreamed-of trip to De Smet, S.D., with my ever-patient spouse just three summers ago; publishing my own book about the Ingalls-Wilder-Lane legacy (The Rediscovered Writings of Rose Wilder Lane, Literary Journalist); and meeting many more friends and fans online to feel the same way I do about the program, the women, and legacy that has become labeled "Little House."
On my way to a new adventure at the Guthrie last night, I could barely contain myself. In just a few short hours, I would see the very newest offering in this LH legacy: a musical scripted by a fan who took on the unenviable task of bringing together multiple visions of a story that at its core remains a story of family cohesion in the face of adversity. In this task, the show exceeded my expectations.
And the music was phenomenal.
So when we were told that many of the cast, including Ms. Gilbert, exit at the stage door after each show to sign autographs, on request, my friends (also huge Laura fans) and I took the opportunity. Several people were crowded around that door, blocking the Guthrie's front exit, and cheered as the actresses playing Carrie and other town players left, followed by "Almanzo" (a seriously cute, talented actor!), and Ms. Gilbert herself, who was tired and anxious about the crowd, but gracious in signing programs and memorabilia for fans, who began to drift off as she made her way down the sort-of line that had drawn itself up. Finally, Kara Lindsay, who turned in a remarkable performance as Laura, emerged, and the same bubbly spirit that characterized her performance made her a laughing, gracious and grateful presence. She, too, signed my program--in red.
So what I have now is a document that immortalizes the passing of a torch, in a way. The "old" Laura, and the "new" one. But both represent a living remembrance of a woman, and a legacy, that we now call "Little House."
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
What color is the Crayon?
You Are a Yellow Crayon |
 Your world is colored with happy, warm, fun colors. You have a thoughtful and wise way about you. Some people might even consider you a genius. Charming and eloquent, you are able to get people to do things your way. While you seem spontaneous and free wheeling, you are calculating to the extreme. Your color wheel opposite is purple. You both are charismatic leaders, but purple people act like you have no depth. |
Work, interrupted...
The challenge of teaching writing becomes the challenge of writing itself: keeping material fresh, interesting, and rewarding.
I talked to a class this week about brainstorming, finding good ideas to write about, and finding a market for them. One of the tips I offered? "Enjoy your work."
Enjoying your work seems to be something that we can't always control. I certainly can name jobs I've had that I didn't appreciate at all, much less enjoy, but they filled the need to pay the bills. And later, turned out to be jobs that led me down this twisty road I've been on toward academia, offering me fodder for classroom stories and experiences to share with others.
But to enjoy your work requires writers to have a positive attitude about what it is they do. Enjoying your work means being eager to find that next idea, research that next topic, pour out the words on paper or on the screen, and move on to the next. It means somehow reconnecting and finding the enthusiasm for the work you need to get through each assignment.
In some ways, I started this blog for that very reason--I needed space and incentive to write again in the ways I've always wanted to write. My second book comes out this spring, but I really want to try to take my writing up to another level--maybe even try my hand at fiction.
Blogging offers me an opportunity to just keep that spirit alive--to write--to enjoy my work.
Some days, there might not be anything here. But for the most part, this is my chance to simply spend some time every day putting down words and rekindling the joy.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Back to Merry Olde England...
In the spirit of discussing something other than my housing issues, by now well known, I've decided today to talk about the perfectly marvelous time we had Saturday at the Minnesota Renaissance Faire.
I love this experience, which lets participants pretend to be in a 15th century market town on market day, with wares, food and entertainment. On Saturday, we met my sister and her family, who also brought along our brother's daughter, to make merry at the market for the day.
The minute we arrive, costumed folks greet us; as we approach the gate of the festival, well-wishers, already merry with ale at 9 a.m., wave from the balcony. "Good morrow! Good morrow!" calls mix with casual insults and bawdy humor. The scent of richly roasted turkey wafts through air thick with woodsmoke and magic.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Contemplating Housing ....
About the third time Tommy jumped on my head last night, it came to me: It's really time to find an apartment.
We've been in sort of a holding position for the last month, waiting for some sort of offer on the house so we could move forward with an offer on one in our new community. There's been significant traffic through the old space, so we've got some hope that it will sell soon. But it's getting more expensive to be in this half-limbo of no address, no permanence, and no doors between me and the kitties at night.
Most places here require a year lease, so we'd be stuck until next summer in terms of looking for a home; on the other hand, there are worse things than being patient and finding the right space.
I'd also like to be settled before the snow flies, preferably. And it was less than 50 degrees this morning when I got up. It's a cool chill that reminds me of how precarious temporary housing can be.
I'm finding myself in sympathy with others who, for one reason or another, have been uprooted, and have no place to go. It's wearing to not know what the next day will hold, or whether or how things will go. I want to cook again, using an actual stove; I long to bake. I want my easy chair. (My feet agree!)
Most of all, I want to be settled.
Wish me luck.
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