Beyond the Picket Lines

"To whom much is given, much is required."

How disappointing it is, as a student, to find that the leaders within the education system that have been thought of respectfully, can be found setting an embarrassing example to their students and the entire city of Hamilton.  I'm referring to the present conflict between the food service workers on campus (members of the SEIU Local 2) and the university administration.
When I first heard that these workers were picketing, I thought I would hear both sides of the story before having any personal convictions about it.  Unfortunately, after contacting both the food service employees and the administration personnel, I have only received responses from the picketers.   Borrowing lyrics from Alison Krauss, "You say it best, when you say nothing at all."  Thus, I am regretfully only capable of telling one side of the story at this present time.
As I understand it, the university administration is responsible for attempting to change the job security language within the worker's contract which will ultimately allow for their position to be replaced by 'casual employees.'  This means that the many single mothers who depend on these jobs to support their families, could look much like the rest of Hamilton - living below the poverty line, scraping by on social assistance with no way out.  I cannot comprehend how in such financially insecure and jobless times, the administration could conceive of adding to the enormous demand already faced by Hamilton, which includes creating jobs that pay a proper living wage.  This is detrimental to our local economic climate as it creates a larger gap between the have's and the have-not's.  I am ashamed that the university I belong to would succumb to old-school greed, instead of setting a new standard that the city desperately needs.

Photo by Diego Mendez, taken from Rabble.ca

I hope my next blog post will be celebrating the wise and appropriate decisions made by my university administration to reconsider the rotten bologna they are trying to feed all of us, (which our beloved food service workers would never do.)

The Culture of Education (Part 1)

- The Girls of Wellesley College, 1953

"Q:Who knocks at the door of learning?
A: I am every woman.
Q: What do you seek?
A: To awaken my spirit through hard work and dedicate my life to knowledge.
- Then you may enter here, all who seek to follow you."

Although far from being a 'Wellesley girl', I am a student, and a fortunate one at that.  I think of those in my own community who will not receive a traditional ‘education‘ due to financial reasons, family dynamics, or feeling ill-suited for the task.  As I examine my daily practices of school, I certainly don’t take it for granted.  Having said that, I’d be lying if I said there weren’t rituals within campus life that make me want to fall on a sharpened pencil and never recover. 
This blog is one that seeks to explore the everyday practices that make up a particular space.  Therefore we must look at some within the school system.  I'm starting with the most basic practices of everyday school that I struggle to understand, such as:
The school schedule.  I have certain classes at 8:30am, followed by a few hours of nothingness, followed by classes that finish at 9pm.  Other days, I have two classes back-to-back with 10 minutes in between them.  This makes for excellent sprinting exercises as these classes are conveniently located at opposite ends of the campus. Thus, I can be found stomping over fellow students two-and-fro with my heavy books in hand.  This scenario does great things to help me mentally prepare for my next lecture as I enter it huffing and puffing, while trying not to disrupt the brown-noser’s that always manage to get there before me.  I could also do without the 3 hour line-ups to finalize my OSAP payments at the beginning of each term. 
So why do I bother?
As Katherine Watson would say in Mona Lisa Smile, I bother because, “Not all who wander are aimless, especially those who seek truth beyond tradition, beyond definition, beyond the image.”   Thus, I wander there within.  I put up with the culture of education because I hope I might find something of great use within it.  When I’m making my way to school I see the city that surrounds me and I want to know where I fit into it.  Who are my people?  What can I do?  How do I help?  How am I harming?  I’m here because I’m looking for answers.
Of course there are aspects of school culture that sincerely delight me.  These would include the ‘A-Ha!’ moments of learning new ideas, or speaking personally with a professor that I admire, or bearing witness to the funny comment made by the kid in lecture who enjoys raising his opinions over his 400 fellow classmates.
When I think of what is to follow earning my ‘piece of paper’ I have no resting place.  I don’t believe university promises me anything by way of receiving a job.  This concerns me because I have more debt than I do assets.  I live with my mother.  I currently have no job, no boyfriend, no plans for marriage and children.  Quite the resume I’d say! 
In all of my classes I'm told to think critically.  I do not exclude thinking in such terms about the very space in which that is taught.  If I gain nothing else from my education in university, I hope to contribute to my sphere of influence the practices that invent educational space.  Isn't it time we came up with new learning practices?

Santa's Little Helpers, The Others

It's Christmas Eve and I'm thinking about Hermey the Elf.  Remember him?  He was one of Santa's Helpers who didn't want to make toys; he didn't have a knack for it like all the other elves.  Instead, he had dreams of becoming a dentist.  Creepy.  When I think about it, the whole concept of Santa's Helpers is a bit 'off.'  As a child, it seemed natural to me to think there were little people on some far side of the world who liked making me toys.  My parents remember me asking if elves ever get tired of working for Santa.  As I understood, this is what they were created to do.  Elves wouldn't be happy otherwise.  Santa's Helpers lived for this stuff.  All was perfectly acceptable in my 5 year old mind.  In fact, it gave me more incentive to be a good little girl, and not a naughty one, so I could help the elves fulfill their purpose in making me more toys.
I'm a bit older now, and I wonder if I could feed this fairytale to other children.  I would want my kids to experience the wonder and imagination that can come with Christmas, but not at the cost of skewing reality to this extent.
Let's examine the elf figure.  Elves are "other."  Elves look different from us regular folk.  They have smaller bodies, bigger ears and perma-smiles.  They live far away from us.  They work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week and they like it.  They work at Santa's Headquarters which often resembles a factory assembly line; dream-like working conditions for the little workers.  They thrive off the efficiency.    We can accept this because they aren't really people, in the sense that we are people.  The minor separation between us and them makes it ok, right?  We're of a different kind. 
So, where do our toys come from?  Who makes them?  Are these toy makers happy?  Are they smiling?  Do they live to please a Santa figure?  Do they have a choice?
I think if the day comes when I'm responsible for telling my kids a Christmas story, it won't revolve around an ideology that benefits our comfortable lifestyle.  Our Christmas story has greed plastered all over it to the point that we can't even admire a tree in its natural habitat.  We have to chop it down and prop it up in our living rooms and accessorize the sap out of it.  Why not go for a walk and admire the natural beauty of a pine tree? 
It's time to re-invent Christmas.  I'm bored with it, and these toys suck.

Bingo, Our Chance At Happiness

I played Bingo this weekend.  It was my first time.  I did it because there was a big flashy sign that told me “Happiness is Shouting Bingo” as I walked down King St.  Who doesn’t want happiness?!  Not me, so I gave it a try.  I wanted to see first hand what this happiness looked like. It turned out to be unhappy, at least for me.  If I could rephrase the Bingo slogan it would say something like, “While happiness may be experienced for the one person shouting bingo, there is no happiness to be found for anyone else playing.” Put that in your dabber and stamp it. 
I know quite a few people who would find my critique offensive because Bingo is near and dear to their hearts and if that is you, please know I mean no harm to the hopeful bingo player.  My words go out to those who wish to examine both sides of the bingo card.  While there might be some convincing arguments for the temporary pleasure found in Bingo Culture, is there not also some measure of pain?  Bingo is a $6 billion Industry in North America.  I'm curious as to why that is.  What's the hook?  

Upon arrival to the Bingo Hall, I asked how much it would be for a bingo book that I overheard the people in front of me order and the reply was $35.  $35?!  I didn’t have that much money to spend on luck so I bought one card for a twoonie, and I was generously lent a bingo ink dabber as I hadn’t come equipped with my own.  I immediately felt at a disadvantage.  To make matters worse, I forgot to bring my lucky charms!  Doh!  There goes my chance at happiness.  This $35 charge was due to the “Big Win” that happens on the first Saturday of each month of $100,000.  I had an interesting conversation with one gentlemen who was playing next to me.  He looks forward to the big win the first Saturday of every month and will sacrifice a portion of his social assistance check to do so. That's $35 of his monthly $585. 
I was immediately not buying into this ideology of happiness.  Ideology is very sly you know. It contains a measure of truth masked in untruth.  It takes us to a place we ache to go.  It paints a picture of security, of pleasure, of the things that are currently lacking from our everyday lives.  What it fails to offer is the reason why these things are lacking in our lives and conceals the reality that most of us will never attain what it promises. In the example of Bingo, that one ‘lucky’ person might be happy yelling bingo, but the majority will remain completely isolated from it.  I think the downtown core of Hamilton doesn’t need an illusion of luck, lurking over us on King St.  We don’t need fairy tales and dreams of the good life, we need something entirely tangible, that will carry us out of such toxic ideologies.
My mom told me the Bingo Hall I went to used to be called Kresges, which was a big department store of some kind with a bakery and other such things.  Maybe that’s a step in the right direction.  Maybe that’s only a more appealing ideology.  I’m more interested in what is being done to counter-act the products of mass culture.  If people enjoy a friendly game of Bingo once in a while then they are welcome to it, but what alternatives are being offered to the people who aren't happy playing bingo but have come to view it as a last hope, or as a cycle of addiction?  How is greater awareness being brought into the public sphere that gives us a true sense of moving forward?  What are we consenting to with the choices we are given?  Let’s create new choices for ourselves, new places of vitality instead of operating in these old culture hubs based on mass standardization.  The answers are here, hibernating within each one of us.
Curious about Bingo Culture? Click on this link: http://www.bingothedocumentary.com/clips/whatsabout.MOV

Christ's Cathedral, Maker's Market

http://www.makersmarket.ca/

As I opened the big wooden doors to the church that’s celebrating its 175th anniversary, I was surprised to find the flood of movements and activities bustling on the inside.  At first, my senses were in over drive with the beautiful architecture of the old church and the stained glass windows, not to mention the Carols that echoed off the high ceilings from the grand piano amidst the conversations had between vendors and shoppers.  If any skeptics are questioning this temple becoming a ‘den of thieves’ you can be certain this market is worthy of our praise, and our money. 
At Christ’s Church Cathedral, what’s being offered by the Maker’s Market comes with the community supporter’s best interests in mind.  I loved that I was offered a handful of fresh Kale Chips upon entry, which was next to the booth selling bean sprouting supplies and books on “How to Save Your Seeds.”  (A personal interest that I’m discovering more about.) 
The health conscious and the environmentally conscious have their place here, and so do the refurbishers. There seemed to be a trend of local artists and designers who have a knack for finding old treasures and making them new again.  There were two such items I couldn’t leave the market without;  one was a broken rosary made into a necklace with a vintage cameo, and the other was a tie pin made from an old computer “Delete” button.  If this refurbishing trend found at the Maker’s Market is an example of the trends happening within the city of Hamilton, I think we are being crafted in good hands.  I get excited when I think of Hamilton being reinvented as more of its people are developing an eye for the (old) treasures hidden within.  As the Maker’s Market reflects the re-creations happening in the downtown core, it also gives us a chance to support the local economy as we invest in our very own artists, artisans and farmers.   

contact Sherri to recreate your old jewelery pieces: tremblaysl@hotmail.com

One thing I was reminded of when visiting this cathedral, were the words Jesus used to described his followers - Living Temples.  Whether you consider yourself a believer or not, I think we could all believe in the hidden life within ourselves.  Each one of us carries a piece of life that no one else can house.  We each function as a temple would - with a set of practices and perceptions for living out our beliefs.  All that to say, be sure you check out what the Maker’s Market has to offer and while you’re at it, explore this concept; What’s in your temple?

A Neighbourhood Living Room

http://heartofthehammer.wordpress.com/

"We must not build housing, we must also build communities." - M Burton

Were it not for a friend that introduced me to the ever-so quaint Heart of the Hammer Cafe, I tragically would’ve overlooked it.  Driving on King St East, one is not exactly encouraged to slow down along the 4 lanes of one-way traffic to check out what’s being offered by the South Stipeley neighbourhood.  Since visiting this cafe, it quietly calls out to me every time I drive by, which is why I made my second visit to the cafe last night.
Just shy of its one year anniversary, Heart of the Hammer Cafe was birthed when Rebecca Doll saw a for rent sign in the window of the old Apollo sport’s bar.  What began as a hobby and personal interest in cafe culture, has become a 112 hour work week for the most-dedicated Rebecca.  She started out with something money can’t buy and that’s community.  From the street sign to the table lamps to the fridge in the back kitchen, everything has been made possible by the donations and efforts of the community.  Last time I checked, I couldn’t order that at Starbuck’s.  Rebecca has a very sincere and inclusive approach to running the cafe which allows for the input of anyone who visits.  Rebecca lets the community decide what they want the cafe to be, which explains the very busy schedule that includes book club, crafts, music and entertainment, art displays, and vinyl night among many other events.  She also brings to the cafe her own flare for French culture with her keen knowledge of fine cheeses, meats and wines, which was generously shared with my mom and I as the midnight shipment arrived.  Perfect timing!  My mom described her visit to the cafe as she would visiting a family member in their home, receiving the best the host had to offer us.  We couldn’t pull ourselves away from the conversation we had with Rebecca and other new friends and actually stayed 2 hours past closing.  The Heart of the Hammer certainly rings true, as this tiny space functions as any heart would, supporting life in Hamilton with every beat. 

Seeing the City

Before the fall of the World Trade Centre in ’01, there was a poster on the 110th floor of one of the towers that read It’s hard to be down, when you’re up.  The irony of such a statement has painfully proven itself wrong in the physical sense, but there are other implications that come with towering above a city, and what that implies for those under foot. In relation to Hamilton, I was up in the sense that I used to live on the Hamilton Mountain, but on the inside, I was down as I was detached from the heart of the city.  

I write this post to those who don’t frequent the downtown Hamilton area, not to condemn, but to highlight what was missing from my own everydayness lived out on the mountain.
About a year ago, my family sold our house on the Hamilton hill and bought a house downtown, to be closer to the center of the city.  I can’t tell you what great things it has done for us, despite the array of confusion received from family members.  My life experience on the mountain was secluded.  I had to get in my car if I wanted to go anywhere and that was usually to Limeridge Mall.  It was this dissatisfaction of my everyday routines that lead me to move downtown.  I often thought that Hamilton, like many other cities in the GTA, didn’t have a core to the city.  For me, downtown Hamilton was nothing more than a drive-thru to get some place else.  How very wrong I was and how very much is changing in my understanding Hamilton. 

Being downtown has freed me from seclusion.  It means I can walk to the center of the city, if only to stare at the fountain in Gore Park.  It means I can walk to the bank, the market, and the library, or check out a couple shops I’m getting to know on King St.  It means I’m getting outside and interacting with many individuals in ways that weren’t possible before.   
In the past 7 months, I’ve met quite a few welcoming neighbours on our street.  The entire area seems to be undergoing a transformation that’s had a unifying effect on all of us.  Everyone here has a story - a conscious reason why they live here. We’ve met a handful of people who came from Toronto and commute to work every morning.  We’ve met others who moved downtown because of the architectural beauty and construction of the homes.  The house to our immediate left is rented by one of the hardest working single moms of two I have ever met.  She also takes pride in the house she rents, and cares for it as her own.  There’s a current of change that my family has been caught up in and I wonder if we would’ve missed it, had we stayed on the mountain. 

Despite my new found love for downtown Hamilton living, I often hike up the Wentworth Stairs to catch a glimpse of the city from above.  There’s a certain illusion of empowerment that comes with seeing the city from its plateau; like a Celestial Eye with all-seeing powers, I can sum up the city in one quick glance.  It temporarily makes the complex readable. It’s a very different view though, one I would argue is incomplete and inaccurate.  As Warren Breckman said, when a city is seen from on high, “Its unruliness is tidied by distance, its mobility is captured in a frieze, its impact on all five senses is reduced to disembodied vision, and will always be different from the city viewed in the street, amid people, and buildings.”  To further explain this concept, think of a film that opens with a cityscape.  The camera will show the city from a distance, but has to zoom in to street level to tell the story.
So it is with Hamilton, if we want to understand our story, we have to get out and start creating it, defining it, and living it out under the figure of the city.  When we explore the secluded places of a city, we begin seeing it as it truly is.  From that place, there is nowhere else to go but up.