This quarter, my spring Humanities Core sections have taken a multi-media approach. This simply means that we have been analyzing and actively working with a
Luckily the ghost that lived in my childhood home was a relative. Otherwise, I might have grown up afraid of things that go shuffle and stroke in the night. I remember as a little girl, any time there was a bump upstairs or a creak in the other room, someone in the family would reassure me that it was just Aunt Jesse. I knew her as the explanation for any time my door opened of its own volition or every time I was awakened by a late night loving touch with nothing present to account for it except for the seat mark on my bed next to me.
My freshman year at the University of Montana was an election year, and I remember spending a long yet invigorating evening on the phone with my dad talking about the monumental choices that lay before me. Sitting on the floor in the dorm hallway, dad carefully explained each proposition and what a yes or a no vote might mean. He talked about our two candidates and the values of their party; the promises each had made during their campaign.
This year over Christmas break I made what seemed like an obvious, perhaps slightly snarky observation that president-elect Trump, “seemed to be putting a lot of billionaires in his cabinet.” Imagine my shock when, as a response, I heard: “That’s confrontational! People like you are fucking anarchists!” People like me? Really? That’s anarchy? This is someone, who has known me literally my entire life. People like me.
Yesterday was January 27th, and for some people it was just another Friday, another step toward a weekend marked perhaps with overestimated potential or targeted for solitary reflection or some other form of leisure. For others, this day signaled the end of an insufferably long presidential premiere filled with a flurry of carefully choreographed executive orders signed by our newly sworn in “intimidater” and chief…
I don’t remember how old I was when my parents told me they had planned to name me Tom, but I do recall it was around the same time my mom announced that I might have been better off as a cartoon character. Although Bugs Bunny Morse sounded like a winning combination in my mind, or maybe even Space Ghost Morse, clearly I had missed the point.