Julie Clawson

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Month: September 2007

Creativity and Language

Posted on September 11, 2007July 9, 2025

You begin this way:
this is your hand,
this is your eye,
that is a fish, blue and flat
on the paper, almost
the shape of an eye.
This is your mouth, this is an O
or a moon, whichever
you like. This is yellow.

Outside the window
is the rain, green
because it is summer, and beyond that
the trees and then the world,
which is round and has only
the colors of these nine crayons.

This is the world, which is fuller
and more difficult to learn than I have said.
You are right to smudge it that way
with the red and then
the orange: the world burns.

Once you have learned these words
you will learn that there are more
words than you can ever learn.
The word hand floats above your hand
like a small cloud over a lake.
The word hand anchors
Your hand to this table,
your hand is a warm stone
I hold between two words.

This is your hand, these are my hands, this is the world,
which is round but not flat and has more colors
than we can see.

It begins, it has an end,
this is what you will
come back to, this is your hand.

Copyright © 1978 by Margaret Atwood.

I love that poem – the simplicity that hints at the vast complexity of language and knowledge. Teaching words to a child – naming the world and defining the boundaries. At this stage it feels like I am restricting Emma’s world. This word, this symbol, is this. Eye, hand, rain. The words are the thing itself. We struggle through this, this naming of things.

Emma – What happened to the mouse?
Me – The mice?
Emma – No, mouse.
Me – When there are more than one, they are called mice.
Emma – No, that’s not nice. Mouse.

Mice and Nice. We’re working on that one. The naming continues. Words are what she knows and there is power in words. I define the world for her, answer her “what is it?” question with a name – the right answer. Abstract words are harder. She knows saying please is associated with getting what she wants, but hasn’t quite realized that it isn’t a magical spell one casts that always results good things. She orders her world with the phrases she knows. She’s heard Dora when getting on a boat say “lifejackets – so we can be safe” enough times that as she played with her Noah’s Ark toy recently each animal had to put on a lifejacket before entering the ark. Words define, they set boundaries, they are secure.

But I see her from time to time breaking free of the constraints of language I have set for her. She is discovering the power to create with language – to be involved in her own process of naming. Tonight the space under the table became the realm of Puddleduck where the caped hero Gobbleguck attempted to escape from lions, tigers, dinosaurs and the mommy tickle monster. The world is not flat in reality, language does define and constrain, but there is still the power to create. Perhaps with just these nine colors we can create infinite shades.

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Organic Farming Delivers

Posted on September 10, 2007July 9, 2025

As summer winds down and I am harvesting insane amounts of organic heirloom tomatoes from my garden (and have the fruit flies in my home to prove it!), I came across this fascinating article. One of the most common objections to organic farming is that if everyone switched to organic farming then there would not be enough food in the world for everyone. The logic goes that it takes intensive farming using fertilizers and pesticides to produce enough food for people to eat. But a new study coming out of the University of Michigan proves that excuse wrong. The study shows that “organic farming can yield up to three times as much food on individual farms in developing countries, as low-intensive methods on the same land—according to new findings which refute the long-standing claim that organic farming methods cannot produce enough food to feed the global population.” Nice.

So why is this a good thing? As the article points out, “organic farming is important because conventional agriculture—which involves high-yielding plants, mechanized tillage, synthetic fertilizers and biocides—is so detrimental to the environment…For instance, fertilizer runoff from conventional agriculture is the chief culprit in creating dead zones—low oxygen areas where marine life cannot survive. Proponents of organic farming argue that conventional farming also causes soil erosion, greenhouse gas emission, increased pest resistance and loss of biodiversity.” Basically we are screwing over the world and our health with what have become common farming practices. Organic farming seeks sustainable and healthy methods of providing food. It cares for the environment, the consumers’ health, and the health and well-being of the farmer. (and yes, the health issues of the migrant farmer who makes $7000 a year with no health insurance who has to breath pesticides and fertilizers in mass quantities are a serious issue if you even remotely think life is precious and sacred).

So what’s the catch? Why aren’t people jumping on the organic bandwagon? I’m sure they don’t say – “because we enjoy destroying the environment, getting cancer, and killing migrant farmers” (at least I hope they don’t). No those issues are usually ignored in favor of – “because organic is inconvenient and expensive.” And boy does that reveal what our values really are.

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Racism in my Life

Posted on September 9, 2007July 9, 2025

I was having a discussion with friends recently about racism and our personal experiences with understanding race issues. All of us were white and everyone but me grew up in neighborhoods that were completely white as well. They all remembered the first time a non-white person moved into their neighborhood. I though grew up in Dallas where the majority of my classmates and most of my teachers were African-American. I then moved to Austin when I was 12 and encountered an even larger ethnic mix. We lived in a mostly Jewish neighborhood, but I had friends who were Korean, Russian, Egyptian, Brazilian, Indian, Mexican, and Iranian. The dividing lines in Austin were less racial and more economic and educational. Most of my friends had parents involved either with the University of Texas or in the lucrative computer technology boom. So I didn’t think much about racism until I had to deal with it head on in 8th grade.

Austin spent the majority of the 80’s and 90’s imposing forced integration on its school system. Kids from one sort of ethnic neighborhood were bused across town to go to school in neighborhoods that were generally of a different racial mix. So for Jr. High I got to catch the bus at 6AM to go to school in East Austin. My school also happened to be the Math and Science Academy to which I applied and joined. Those of us in the academy represented just about every race and nationality, but the kids in the regular classes who were from the local neighborhoods around the school were almost exclusively African-American. And these were very poor rough neighborhoods. Riding the bus through them we would frequently see drug deals taking place and the boys on the bus (Jr. High remember) would toss nickels to the prostitutes on the streets. It goes without saying there there was a lot of tension between the local students and the academy students. Teachers did their best to ignore it and never got involved in inter-racial fights – they valued their job too much. The principal was an African-American woman who also ran a night-club. Two of her husbands had mysteriously died from poisoning. She spoke every morning on the intercom about what a nice happy family we all were, but that did nothing to relieve the racial tension. We students thought she was a joke.

That tension came to a head for me in 8th grade. That year a local African-American girl named Kiva started attending the school. We never had classes together (I was in the academy, she wasn’t) but we passed each other in the hall. One day she noticed I was missing my left arm (it was harder to notice then because I wore a cosmetic prosthesis). She freaked out and started screaming. From that point on she would start screaming “it’s the one armed girl” every time she saw me and run away from me. It was Jr. High, so that was embarrassing, but then it got worse. She got over her fear of my arm and started harassing me. She would follow me around calling me names, throw my books down the stairs, and rip my folders and homework. She would open the courtyard doors during lunch and let her gang member friends in to harass and throw things at me. Teachers would witness this, but like I said, they would not get involved in inter-racial issues.

One day I was about to walk up the stairs and she came up behind me and told me she commanded me to walk up the stairs. I told her I didn’t want to and started walking away. She then told me that even though I was white and thought I was better than her because she was black, I really wasn’t because I was missing my arm. She was better than a handicapped person and so could tell me what to do. She then tried to make me give her my watch, and I said, “leave me alone bitch” and walked away.

Things came to a head one day when (in front of two watching teachers) she stabbed me with her pen and it drew blood. I had to tell my parents then. They were of course livid and called the school to complain. So both Kiva and I were sent to the principal to talk. I told her all that Kiva had done to me and then she asked Kiva why she did it. Kiva said because I called her a bitch. And so I got in trouble for using a curse word and not trying to be part of the big happy family. Kiva was asked to be nicer to me.

I had a hard time learning to deal with that sort of racial tension. I had friends from various racial backgrounds, but I didn’t know how to cope with being hated for being white, educated, relatively wealthy, and handicapped. I think it opened my eyes to a lot of the underlying issues behind racism and the systemic nature of the problem. But that didn’t mean I did anything to help heal racial relations. I left that school for the highly educated IB Academy high school, I went to a nearly all-white college, and now live in a homogeneously white Midwestern town. And I have conversations with friends about racism, but instead of learning from my Jr. High experience on how to tear down the walls that divide I’ve apparently only managed to build thicker walls. And I don’t know how to change that.

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Church Signs Once Again

Posted on September 7, 2007July 9, 2025

So I’ll put up a short post in my continuing series of rants on crummy church signs. Once again the local Baptist church has caught my attention with their sign. On one side it displays the evangelical pseudojoke – “And you think it’s hot here!” Cheezy, but I’ve heard it before. Then the other side reads – “Free trip to Heaven. Inquire inside.” Does anyone else find that just a tad creepy? Doesn’t exactly inspire confidence to make me want to go anywhere near that building. It’s a bit like a scuba place advertising “We’ll help you swim with the fishies.” True from a certain perspective, but creepy nonetheless.

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Returning to Reality…

Posted on September 6, 2007July 9, 2025

So the splint is off. I still can’t really use my finger, but the swelling is gone and it actually bends now. I can still barely type, but I don’t have that huge splint thingy making all my other fingers completely useless anymore. It’s been a really slow week not being able to do anything at all for myself. I discovered I could kinda hold a mass market sized paperback – so I spent the last few days rereading my favorite fantasy series and watching way too many episodes of Heroes. It was fun for about a day, but then being completely helpless, not being able to take care of Emma, not doing anything productive, and having to eat Mike’s cooking got old real fast… Anyway, just wanted to give a short update.

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Sorry, Julie is currently unavailable…

Posted on September 2, 2007July 9, 2025

Julie asked me to let you all know that she won’t be able to post to her blog or respond to email for a few days since she recently sprained her finger trying to put Emma into her car seat and therefore cannot type. Hopefully her finger will be healed in a couple of days.

If anyone’s counting, this is the second time this past year that our 2-year old has sent Julie to the ER.

-Mike

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Julie Clawson

Julie Clawson
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Writer, mother, dreamer, storyteller...

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"Everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise." - Sylvia Plath

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