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De Montfort University's decision to honour PM for gay marriage comes under fire
The UK Parliament legalised same-sex marriage in early 2014. Photo: Cabinet Office @Flickr
Written on 12th August 2015 . Posted in News
Students at Leicester De Montfort University have reacted with displeasure at the awarding of Prime Minister David Cameron with a university honour to recognise his supposed support of LGBT+ rights.
Vice-Chancellor Professor Dominic Shellard and Pro-Chancellor Mike Kapur made the PM a Companion of De Montfort University (DMU), placing him alongside other equality campaigners such as Nelson Mandela, for the introduction of the Marriage (Same Sex Couples) Act which was passed in March 2014.
Under the act, same-sex couples could legally marry and have the same rights as heterosexual couples.
However, the decision to honour him has caused a backlash amongst students of the university who dispute Cameron's championing of gay rights. They reacted angrily that students had not been consulted prior to the gifting of the award.
The LGBT+ Society of DMU stated: "Whilst David Cameron was the leader of the coalition during the passing of the Marriage (Same Sex Couples) Act, we feel it is unfair for David Cameron to be the focal point of this achievement.
"It is important to note that David Cameron had, in the past, opposed LGBT rights. This included voting against the repeal of Section 28," a policy only repealed in 2003.
"Economic policies put in place during the last government disadvantages LGBT youths. This includes cuts to funding for various LGBT charities. Whilst David Cameron may be personally pro-LGBT in recent times, as the leader of the Conservatives, we believe he should hold some degree of responsibility for his party."
David Cameron has also made MPs who voted against the bill members of his cabinet, namely Nicky Morgan, currently Education Secretary, and Caroline Dineage—who has said that "preventing same-sex couples from being allowed to 'marry' takes nothing away from their relationship"—as Minister for Equalities.
The award was given to the Prime Minister by Labour Peer Lord Alli, who nominated Cameron for the honour, at Downing Street. A university spokesperson stated: "This award is not about political colours but recognises the overwhelmingly positive change that equal marriage has brought about for thousands of people across the UK.
"We were delighted that students and staff from the university's LGBT communities were able to be part of this historic day."
Students' Union LGBT+ Rep Daniel Murgatroyd said: "It is hard to credit a single man, even a Prime Minister, with ever getting a bill passed, especially considering that 45 percent of his party rebelled against him and voted no."
The 40-strong delegation to Downing Street included Leicester City owner Vichai Srivaddhanaprabha and businessman Dr Jonathan KS Choi, a major sponsor of DMU.
The LGBT+ Society has started a petition to make the university explain its decision to give the award, and neglect to consult students. Another petition calls upon the Vice-Chancellor to withdraw the award.
In the past, DMU has also awarded controversial FIFA President Sepp Blatter, with an honorary degree for being "forthright, visionary, ethical and, above all, professional."
Charlie Spargo
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LGBT History Month 2019 begins in Manchester
Exclusive: Risk assessment reveals how UoM could be impacted by a no-deal Brexit
Tags: conservative, David Cameron, de montfort university, equal rights, gay, lesbian, LGBT, Prime Minister, same sex marriage


Introduction to SR's STEM Education Model, and a brief overview of our Center Programs during school year.
SR Makers demonstrated their projects at Flagship MakeFaire event in NY in 2015.
Here is an embedded video done by Nickelodeon. Our center students: Ethan Wu at:00:14 to 00:24. Neelay Trivedi and Prateek Humane at 1:03 to 1:06.


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The Charley Project
Mary Lou Black
Mary, circa 2009
Missing Since 09/11/2009
Missing From Atchison, Kansas
Classification Endangered Missing
Height and Weight 5'1, 115 pounds
Medical Conditions Mary was in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's Disease at the time of her disappearance. She may not recall her identity.
Associated Vehicle(s) Light blue four-door 1990 Honda Civic with the Kansas license plate number AWX 605, paint missing from the hood, and a loud exhaust system which dangles from the undercarriage
Distinguishing Characteristics Caucasian female. Gray hair, brown eyes.
Details of Disappearance
Mary and her husband Billie disappeared from Atchison, Kansas at 8:15 a.m. on September 11, 2009. They left their home in the 2400 block of Pacific Street in their light blue four-door 1990 Honda Civic with the Kansas license plate number AWX 605 and never returned. Their vehicle has never been located. It has paint missing from the hood, and its exhaust system is loud and dangles from the undercarriage.
After their disappearances, the lights were found turned on in the Blacks' home. Billie and Mary's driver's licenses were there, as well as a checkbook and some cash, and Billie's insulin was in the refrigerator.
Billie and Mary grew up together in Orrick, Missouri and graduated high school there. Billie went to engineering school, joined the Air Force, and eventually became a plant manager at an Atchison aluminum factory; Mary attended the University of Central Missouri and later taught school. They had one son together.
By the time of their disappearances, both Billie and Mary had severe health problems. Billie was stressed from having to care for Mary, and told their son it would be better for him if his parents weren't around.
Authorities and members of the Blacks' families believe they're no longer alive. One theory is that they drove, accidentally or intentionally, into the Missouri River. Little evidence is available in their cases, however, and their disappearances remain unsolved.
Investigating Agency
Atchison County Sheriff's Office 913-367-4323
The Lawrence Journal-World
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Updated 1 time since October 12, 2004. Last updated October 9, 2010; casefile added.
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A Swedish American in Sweden
From the US to Sweden and back and forth.
Stockholm's May Day Marches
My grandma used to say that everyone should be a communist once in their life. So maybe that's why I spent my day running around to five different rallies on May 1. May Day. International Workers' Day. Labour Day. That's labour with a "u," because in the US, Labor Day, with an "o," is on the first Monday of September. But not here. Not in Europe. Not in Sweden.
Or maybe I ran around all day because of my research. Because I am here in Stockholm conducting research for my dissertation, I convinced myself that going out and trying to photograph as many May Day celebrations as possible would be an important cultural experience and one that would be relevant to my work. My research focuses on Swedish women immigrants to the United States and the way they created a sense of identity by writing about, among other things, work and the labor movement. I think. I think that's what my dissertation about. Research is hard.
Anyway, the main person in my dissertation, a woman by the name of Signe Aurell, was an IWW member and a poet. She also translated songs by Joe Hill from English into Swedish. Which is interesting, because Joe Hill was actually Swedish. He started out as Joel Emmanuel Hägglund, was born in Gävle, and headed over to the US in 1902. In 1915, he was executed (most likely wrongly) in Utah. He's credited with saying "Don't mourn. Organize!" He did say that. Kind of. But that phrase has been translated into Swedish. In fact, it's been translated with a little artistic license by plenty of people. Including Signe Aurell. So you'll find it in Swedish as "Sörj inte. Organisera!" Or even "Sörj ej. Organisera!"
And organize the Swedes did. And because of that organization, we're going to try something different today. A photo journey of May 1, 2015, in Stockholm, Sweden. I managed to see bits and pieces of rallies held by Feministiskt initiativ, Kommunistiska Partiet, Socialdemokraterna/LO, Syndikalisterna, and Vänsterpartiet.
We'll start at the beginning. It's as good a place as any to start. So first up, the Syndicalists. They started the day by marching down Kungsgatan. There were probably a thousand or so people in the crowd. Much younger than the others, these folks were loud.
If only I had timed it a little bit better, that black car would
have been right next to the red car. Just like the syndicalist
flag. Maybe next time.
They were on their way to Stortorget in Gamla Stan. Stortorget is the site of the Stockholm Bloodbath where 82(ish) of Sweden's more prominent male citizens were beheaded by a Danish king in 1520. It was an interesting choice of venue, but place and space matters. They knew exactly what they were doing.
Marching next to Kungsträdgården. On their way to Gamla Stan.
Where they would pass the Royal Palace. And eventually set up camp
next to the church where the royalty gets married. Why not?
The crowd arrived at Stortorget at about the same time as the changing of the Royal Guard was taking place. No one paid each other any notice. The square filled up quickly. Turns out that you can behead 80-some people in the square, but trying to fit 1 000-some syndicalists into the same space is a bit more difficult. But the speakers took the stage and did their thing. And the stage was kind of amazing: an old Volvo flatbed truck.
Admit it. You kind of want to drive that thing.
Red and black flags dominated, along with a few creative signs reminding us that Björn Söder (a Sverigedemokrat) can't dance. But the one that caught my eye, solely because of my research, was the one about domestic labor, which seemed to be equating women to domestic labor.
Look at the conveyor belt. And the faceless people. And the cogs.
So much symbolism.
And, in case you were wondering, there was Joe Hill memorabilia everywhere. Books for sale, calendars, even a man running around in a Joe Hill hoodie. Sörj inte. Organisera!
Next up? The Social Democrats and the Swedish Trade Union Confederation. This was, by far, the biggest group of the day. Maybe 10 000 or 15 000? Big numbers are hard and while they didn't fill Humlegården, they put a dent in the park. An impressive feat, considering it takes up an entire city block.
Setting up shop behind the National Library of Sweden. Fun fact, books
and temperance were a big part of the early labor movement.
This demonstration was home to the most languages. There were plenty of signs in Swedish. In fact, almost exclusively signs in Swedish. But sprinkling the crowd were signs in English, in Persian, in Arabic.
Four signs that didn't make the final cut. These were left behind as
Humlegården emptied out.
Along with being the largest demonstration, it was the loudest. That's because there were several bands. Four of them, in fact. All paying at the same time. Sophomore year of high school, I learned the word cacophony from Mr. Johnston. I didn't know how to pronounce it. He kindly corrected me so I feel like I can at least write it. Because four bands playing at the same time is cacophonous.
One band leaving, three to go...
Once they started walking, they just kept coming...
Interestingly enough, the EU flag helped lead the way.
Further back were the anti-EU signs.
...and coming...
That's an entire city block filled with people.
And that's just the beginning.
...and coming.
Just enjoy the signs. All of the signs.
Thousands upon thousands of union members marched towards Norra Bantorget, which is sometimes referred to as Röda torget because of its place in labor movement history. It was the site of the first officially sanctioned pro-labor rally. About 40 000 folks showed up for that one back in 1902. In 2015, they maybe pulled a quarter of that. Things change.
I'm guessing that there weren't too many signs like this back in 1902.
But the more things change, the more they stay the same. Sörj inte. Organisera!
Joe and Olof, together at last.
Of course, the Communist Party was busy today as well. They don't have much sway in Swedish politics these days. Or Sweden. Or really anything, it seems. They did have a prime spot, however, at Sergelstorg and as I walked up the speaker was reminding the crowd, "Sörj inte. Organisera!" Joe Hill is all things to all people, apparently. He is not enough, though, to convince the communists to come out in the rain. The banners they had hung nearly outnumbered the people in the crowds. Which was unfortunate, because with so few people to look at, H&M was trying to remind us all that there is no such thing as rain, only sunny days, in their capitalist world.
H&M's swimsuit models were not impressed by the turnout. Not. Im. Pressed.
I missed the Left Party's march. All of it, in fact. But I did pass by their final destination in Kungsträdgården earlier in the day. They had just begun the festivities and there was a band on stage singing to a sparse crowd and a statue of King Karl XIII. Obviously.
No word on Karl XIII's views on communism and socialism, but the
seagull perched atop his head was clearly there in support of the Left.
That crowd had grown significantly by the time I got back to it. The master of ceremonies announced that over 8 000 people had been in on the march and that they figured there were about 15 000 folks in the crowd in front of the stage.
And seven of them were chanting "No more nukes!" That's not true.
But they totally would have, if they were Americans.
And then it got weird. Two men in creepy bear heads known as the Teddybears, a musical group unknown to me, introduced politician Rossana Dinamarca to the party supporters. So that happened.
Teddybears. Pronounced TeddyBEERs in Swedish. In case you were
wondering, their eyes also glowed red.
After a few minutes of listening to Rossana Dinamarca, the politician who wore a t-shirt printed with "SD=Rasister" to welcome the Sweden Democrats to the parliament, I headed off to my last stop of the day.
The Feminist Party's rally! Probably my favorite stop of the day, the feminists were working to turn the park pink. The rain made it a little tough to show off some of the color though, because it turns out Swedes don't own too many pink overcoats. (I did see one pink umbrella. From IKEA, no less.)
That kid to the left is rocking it. A pink jacket. In Sweden.
This was, by far, the most family-friendly event. In fact, they invited everyone to stay for a picnic afterwards. I did not. Mostly because I didn't have the requisite picnic gear. Or any food, which is the most important picnic requisite. But as I turned to leave, two girls turned to stay. A thing I know because they were speaking perfect American English to each other. They were like smaller reverse-mes!
Splashes of pink on a dreary day. Even the dog is
ready to bring down the patriarchy.
It was an exhausting första maj. A fun day, but an exhausting day. I was expecting more radicalism from some of the parties. I was expecting more singing and chanting from all of the parties. I was even expecting a few right-wing counter protests. Instead, it was a big party. And a family event. There were kids walking around with their faces painted, holding balloons, sometimes holding signs. One young girl walked by me with a sign that read "Längre lunchrast." Longer lunch breaks. Fight for your rights, little girl, fight for your rights.
I didn't stick around long enough at any one rally to get a good feel for the political nuances of each party, but several themes kept coming up again and again. Refugees. Migrants. Jobs. Equality. There was talk about the plight of so many around the world, around Europe, around Sweden. There was mourning for lives lost. But these parties weren't going to fix those problems today. In fact, they weren't even going to mourn those problems today. Today, they were going to organize.
Welcome to Sweden. I hope I did my farmor proud.
Posted by Hairy Swede at 4:40 PM
EB May 22, 2015 at 6:57 PM
Funny and educational. Skål!
Hairy Swede June 7, 2015 at 11:36 AM
Good to hear, thanks!
E-mail: aswedishamericaninsweden at gmail dot com.
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Proposal & Bid Notice Details:
The Port Authority of New York and New Jersey
PORT AUTHORITY OF NY & NJ - NOTICE OF INTENT TO RELEASE A REQUEST FOR PROPOSAL FOR PERFORMANCE OF EXPERT PROFESSIONAL SITE DESIGN, LAND SURVEYING, COST ESTIMATING, AND RELATED TECHNICAL SERVICES FOR JOHN F. KENNEDY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT REDEVELOPMENT PROGRAM ON AN "AS-NEEDED" BASIS
Project Specs:
Notice ID # : 976
Bid Date: Select Bid Date
Type Of Notice: Request for Proposal
NY:New York
BDOQ:
Contact : See Notice Summary for details on how to respond to this notice.
Notice Summary :
Dated: November 22, 2022
The Port Authority of New York and New Jersey (the "Authority" or "Port Authority") is intending to release a Request for Proposal (RFP) on or about 4th Quarter 2022 – First Quarter 2023, for Expert Professional Site Design, Land Surveying Cost Estimating, and Related Technical Services for John F. Kennedy International Airport Redevelopment Program on an "As-Needed" Basis. If you are interested in receiving updates on this solicitation, please send your contact email address to Mr. Chase Palmer at ropalmer@panynj.gov.
The purpose of this notice is to provide awareness of this impending RFP. This notice is being issued solely for informational and planning purposes and does not constitute a solicitation.
The following information provides background information for the intended RFP as well as a high-level view of the expected Scope of Services.
John F. Kennedy International Airport (JFK) opened in 1948 and originally operated with one terminal and one runway while serving approximately 200,000 passengers annually. Today, JFK operates with six terminals and four runways. In 2018, the airport accommodated an estimated 455,000 flights and served a record of approximately 61.6 million passengers. Demand at the airport is expected to continue to increase, with current forecasts estimating activity reaching 100 million annual passengers by 2050.
In February 2017, the Port Authority Board of Commissioners ("the Board") authorized a Phase I Plan for future Airport redevelopment, including development of an Airport Master Plan. This master planning work would focus on a comprehensive, airport-wide framework for transforming JFK into a unified, world-class airport.
In December 2018, the Board authorized Phase II planning efforts and supporting construction work including planning for the overall Airport redevelopment and certain improvements and facilities on-Airport, including capacity improvements for AirTrain JFK; a new multi-use aircraft facility shared among all air carriers; extension of Taxiway K4 to better manage current volumes of traffic on the airport's taxiways; a new ground transportation center; and a new central electrical substation. It also authorized an airport-wide work-order program to perform general construction work such as structural steel erection, masonry, building finishes, fire protections, heating, ventilation and air conditioning, and similar tasks.
The Port Authority of New York and New Jersey will be seeking an experienced firm ("consultant") with demonstrated aviation experience and technical capabilities in providing site design, land surveying, cost estimating, and related technical services, for the JFK Redevelopment Program. The services may include, but not limited to, providing design, land surveying, and cost estimating as well as design-build and design-bid-build of elevated roadways, utility infrastructure improvements, airfield modifications including work within active taxiways, demolition of buildings, extensive maintenance of traffic and new terminal construction.
The Consultant will be a source of assistance to the Authority's Engineering Department which, may include, but not limited to, providing multi-discipline professional design services on an array of projects, performing land surveying, obtaining support staff, and/or other related technical services, to be performed on an "as-needed" task order basis and in coordination with other on- going design and construction projects affected by, or impacting, the JFK Redevelopment Program.
The Consultant shall be responsible for all staff, design disciplines, and sub-consultants retained to perform any of the above scope of services and shall be responsible in coordinating all services with other consultants and contractors, as appropriate, and as required by the Authority.
The Port Authority will not address questions regarding this Notice of Intent nor the intended release of said Request for Proposal, until the RFP is officially released.
The Port Authority at its sole discretion may at any time withdrawal or cancel this Notice of Intent and/or the intended release of the RFP.
This Notice of Intent is no assurance that a Proposer(s) will be selected for performance of the subject RFP and/or Scope of Services.
Proposers will be provided further details regarding the RFP solicitation including but not limited to, how to propose, proposal due date, pre-proposal meeting, etc., upon release of the Request for Proposal.
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Grazalema, another of the Pueblos Blancos, is located in a beautiful setting within the Sierra de Grazalema Natural Park. There aren't particularly any must-see sights within town, but its character and setting make it worth a wander.
Park in one of the carparks off the main road above town and take a walk through the village. Do not try to drive into Grazalema village.


Hiya. New Gaulish member here. Bit confused as my Hero's report showed him returning from an adventure with bounty of 16 Swordsmen, but they didn't appear. Am I missing something? All previous bounty has shown up, even if that troop hadn't yet been unlocked (Swordsman has been researched).
Are you sure they didn't follow in behind him? They travel at a slower speed. If not, report it to the MH and link the report. They should be able to fix it for you and report it upstairs if it's a new bug.
Hiya. I hadn't thought about them going slower (duh). I'll work out if that's likely to be the case. Thanks!
Edit: That's EXACTLY what it was - they're still plodding in.
How many reports does a report chuck report if a report chuck does chuck reports.


Read Josef Ransley's Blog — P.O.R.E.
'Officers said they considered that the exercise has been a learning curve! Considering they have identified a potential gap in policy for dealing with such applications across the county it seems reprehensible, if not irresponsible, that rather than address such potential gap they appear to prefer to wash their hands of the issue.


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[Movies] Sleepless In Seattle (1993)
While I'm not big on romantic comedies, my partner is. And thus every now and then he takes the time to introduce me to some of the ones he likes and this naturally leads to all those mushy feelings, cuddling on the couch and all that good stuff. But I digress.
There are those movies out there that people sort of assume that you've seen regardless of your interest. This rarely applies to science fiction movies but this does apply to a lot of romantic comedies for some reason. I suppose they're like the Archie Comics of the movie world. Everyone has read Archie at one point in their lives or another and a lot of people like them but not many people proudly proclaim that they do. It's a weird analogy, I know, but it does work in that regard. At least from a geek perspective, I suppose - I'll try to think of a better comparison in the future.
And despite my protests to the contrary, I have to admit that I do come to enjoy a lot of these kinds of movies. And this one was definitely one of the better ones.
Sleepless In Seattle is a 1993 romantic comedy movie directed by Nora Ephron. It is patterned after the Grant-Kerr classic, An Affair To Remember and even includes the movie as part of the plot.
Image by | Fluke | via FlickrSam Baldwin (Tom Hanks) is an architect working in Chicago who has become a widower after his wife died due to cancer. He and his son Jonah (Ross Malinger) move to Seattle to start a new life, but of course it's not easy for him. More than a year later Sam is still struggling with his loneliness and its his son who is determined to see him turn his life around and remember how to be happy again.
So on Christmas Eve Jonah calls in to a talk radio show and describes his father's situation. The host eventually gets Jonah to put his father on the phone and in that one moment, Sam opens up and discusses his feelings of loss after his wife died. Hundreds of women across the country are moved by his confession and this also gets the attention of newspaper reporter Annie Reed (Meg Ryan). She's currently engaged to the forever nice Walter (Bill Pullman) but feels there's something not quite there in terms of their relationship. Sam's honest statement of love gets her curious and she then sets out to find out more about him and determine the identity of "Sleepless in Seattle", which is how the radio show labeled him as a caller.
To call this a romantic comedy seems like a bit of a stretch at times. The movie largely follows a somewhat somber tone all throughout. It does have its share of funny moments, which is sort of inevitable when you have both Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in a single movie. But these aren't laughing out loud moments or the kind that get you rolling on the ground. They're poignant and make you smile here and there but that's about it. This isn't a bad thing - it just sets a unique feel to the movie that makes it easy to watch and not too emotionally dragging.
Both Hanks and Ryan put on some pretty stellar performances and major kudos to both of them for a job well done. Hanks is especially believable as the widowed husband who really tries hard to get by but of course can only do so much given the circumstances. And I suppose we also have to give credit to the young Ross Malinger for showing a good sense of maturity beyond his years whether as the character or as an individual.
The writing behind this story is also quite good - but then again it does make no efforts to hide the fact that it follows the pattern of one of the great love stories of the film era. The parallels between An Affair To Remember are indeed present, but not to the extent that it makes the movie predictable or limits how far the movie can develop. So yeah, that's no easy feat to accomplish even when you're trying to get the essence of a good movie to make a new one with a different tone. You have to love writing challenges like that.
The soundtrack of this movie is a classic indeed for lonely women around the world. It's filled with timeless pieces that are clearly good for lonely, rainy nights accompanied by huge tubs of ice cream and sad movies on TV. This is not necessarily a bad thing - we all have those down days when we want to just hide away from the world with a good movie and excessive quantities of sugar. So good job for the people who put this movie together.
Sleepless In Seattle is indeed a classic in the romantic comedy collection of any true fan of classic romance and holds truths for just about anyone who has ever or is in love. It gets 4 cheesy references to An Affair To Remember out of a possible 5. If you don't already have a copy of this (which seems weird actually), the you can always get one on DVD or through whichever means feels appropriate to you.
Tags: entertainment, movies, reviews


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end

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


text:
A: Paris, Île-de-France, France
The Design and Operation of Medieval Libraries
Image Source: www.quora.com
"Once libraries had outgrown the cupboards or chests of earlier times, a separate library room became a common feature from the 12th century onward. The arrangement of a typical later medieval library is known from some surviving examples, although the fittings in all of them have been altered over the centuries. In general the room would be long and fairly narrow, built on the second floor to protect against damp and give adequate light. Ranged along the walls between the windows and projecting at right angles from them would be long lecterns for reading the books. The books themselves would lie flat on shelves underneath the lecterns, to which the reader (standing up) would bring them on chains. There was often a written shelf list affixed to the end of each lectern to show what books were on the shelves. This would be, in effect, an extract of the catalog, which continued to reflect the actual physical grouping of the codices. The common libraries of convents and colleges would usually be kept locked, the key in possession of the librarian, who could variously be called the armarius, cantor or precentor, librarius, custos librorum, or bibliothecarius. The position and duties of the librarius were laid down in some detail by Humbert of Romans, general of the Dominicans, in his Instructiones officialium from around 1260. and these were often adapted and expanded in later library regulations. Not all the books in an institution were chained; It was the custom in colleges and friaries, as it was earlier and continued to be in monasteries, to make an annual distribution of books to fellows, brothers, or monks for their learned or edifying reading. These loans could on occasion stretch out over many years, or even a lifetime" (M. Davies, "Medieval Libraries" in D. Stam (ed.) International Dictionary of Library Histories [2001] 107).


text:
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Rutgers Center Tackles Pressing Mental Health Issues
Bev McCarron
Rutgers is home to one of 10 federally funded regional centers bringing evidence-based research and new approaches to mental health care
In the year since it opened, the Mental Health Technology Transfer Center has worked with 1,150 providers and practitioners to address some of today's most pressing mental health issues.
The high school community in Newton was trying to move forward after a student died in a car crash, but in October the pain of the tragedy came flooding back when the car's driver was sentenced.
PJ Wenger, a licensed counselor and senior training and consultation specialist with the new Mental Health Technology Transfer Center (MHTTC), was already working with the high school to map out its resources for offering trauma-informed care. She quickly organized trauma training – not for the students but for faculty and staff, who would be called on to help students cope.
"Schools are often on the front lines of trauma, but they don't always recognize that staff are traumatized themselves. They can't help the students if they're not in a good place," said Wenger.
Wenger is one of a team of staff and counselors who are part of the federally funded MHTTC operated by Rutgers School of Health Professions on Busch campus in Piscataway. Established a year ago with a $4 million grant from the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, it is one of 10 regional centers created nationwide to bring evidence-based research and new approaches to mental health care. The Rutgers center serves the Northeast Region, including New York, New Jersey, and the Caribbean.
"There is a long lag in getting evidence-based research into the everyday interventions that are provided, and we are trying to shorten that," said Ann Murphy, associate professor in psychiatric rehabilitation at Rutgers School of Health Professions and codirector of the center. "People are going into the field not knowing the latest approaches in mental health."
In the year since it opened, the center has worked with 1,150 providers and practitioners to address some of today's most pressing mental health issues. While school mental health is a large piece of its work, the center has tackled suicide prevention, mental health needs of sexual minorities and helping those with mental illness succeed at work.
Health providers helped the MHTTC focus on areas with gaps in mental health services – including services for the LGBTQA community who experience higher rates of trauma than other populations.
"There's been a push more recently to make sure mental health services address the needs of the LGBTQA community so that people who identify as sexual minorities feel comfortable seeking services," said Murphy. "The webinars we deliver address terminology and understanding of this community, whose members have higher rates of mental health conditions such as suicide, depression and anxiety."
"We are getting information to practitioners who are motivated to become more competent in this area and meet the needs of this community."
Ann Murphy, associate professor in psychiatric rehabilitation at Rutgers School of Health Professions and codirector of the Rutgers Mental Health Technology Transfer Center.
In the Caribbean, the focus was on hurricane-ravaged islands such as Puerto Rico, where mental health practitioners are being coached on self-care. "The challenge is that everyone is traumatized, and the providers need to be able to address their own trauma. We developed an online course providing them with the skills for self-care," said Murphy.
The center is working with five mental health provider organizations in New Jersey and New York, teaching motivational interviewing skills that empower people to make positive changes in their lives – and stick to them. Providers and mental health service administrators will be supported for six months while they incorporate motivational interviewing skills into their practice.
The strategy has been successfully used in mental health and addictions treatment but is not widely practiced because it requires advanced skills and hasn't yet been integrated into college and professional school curriculums, said Murphy.
Doug Reichert, administrative director of the Community Psychiatric Institute in East Orange, applied for the training for 15 clinicians who work with clients with serious mental illnesses such as schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.
"Motivational interviewing is a very client-centered approach, getting them to come up with answers and guide their own growth, as opposed to us telling them what to do," said Reichert. "Some of our clinicians said they already know this strategy, but all came back to say they had learned a lot through the training."
About a dozen experts deliver trainings through online technology and in-person visits. Many of them are faculty at the School of Health Professions who are affiliated with the center. Murphy coleads the center, along with Kenneth Gill, chair of Rutgers School of Health Professions Department of Psychiatric Rehabilitation and Counseling Professions.
Over the summer, the MHTTC held its first conference at Rutgers that was focused on mental health in New Jersey schools. Educators and nationally known mental health practitioners and leaders came together to address issues among the K-12 school population.
Experts walked educators through a blueprint on how to employ team-based approaches to offering effective mental health services to students.
One superintendent said his district was overwhelmed in the past year by the number of students with behavioral and mental health issues. With a principal at his side during the conference, he put pen to paper and began building a community mental health team that would include community partners, faculty, staff and students.
"Our work is beginning to make an impact," Murphy said.
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text:
Paul Aïzpiri né le  à Paris et mort dans la même ville le  est un peintre et lithographe français.

Il est rattaché au courant de la Jeune Peinture de l'École de Paris.

Biographie
Élève de l'École Boulle à Paris, puis de l'École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts où il est admis en 1936 dans l'atelier de Fernand Sabatté, Paul Aïzpiri expose au Salon d'automne juste après la Libération et obtient le troisième prix du Salon de la Jeune Peinture en 1951. Installé alors au 9, rue Falguière, c'est sous la présidence de Pierre Descargues, avec pour vice-présidents Paul Rebeyrolle et Gaëtan de Rosnay, qu'il est, aux côtés de Bernard Buffet, Paul Collomb, Michel de Gallard, Pierre Garcia-Fons, Daniel du Janerand, Jean Jansem, Mireille Miailhe, Michel Patrix, Raoul Pradier et Michel Thompson, membre du comité qui le  fonde l'Association dite de la Jeune Peinture.

Dans sa peinture et ses lithographies, observe Yvon Taillandier, .

Surtout connu au Japon, ses œuvres sont exposées en permanence au  d'Onomichi.

Œuvres

Contributions bibliophiliques
 Ouvrage collectif (préface de René Huyghe), Douze poètes, douze peintres, deux gravures et dix lithographies originales (dont Paul Aïzpiri, André Minaux, Robert Savary), Éditions Association des amateurs de peinture, 1950.
 William Shakespeare (traduction de François Victor-Hugo), La sauvage apprivoisée, vingt-cinq lithographies originales de Paul Aïzpiri, cent cinquante exemplaires numérotés, Les Francs-Bibliophiles, 1957.
 Jean de Gerson, chancelier de l'Université de Paris, La Passion de Notre Seigneur, homélie, une aquarelle, un dessin et trente-deux lithographies originaux de Paul Aïzpiri, deux-cents exemplaires numérotés, Éditions Pierre de Tartas, 1960.
 Pierre Corneille, Le Cid, un frontispice et vingt-trois lithographies originales par Paul Aïzpiri, cent cinquante exemplaires numérotés, Société normande du livre illustré, 1960.
 François Mauriac, La Robe prétexte - Le Baiser au lépreux - Le Fleuve de feu - Plongées, un volume, frontispice de Bernard Buffet, illustrations de Paul Aïzpiri, Le cercle du bibliophile, 1960.
 Pierre Lyautey et Raymond Cogniat, Histoire de la France, quatre volumes avec illustrations hors texte de Paul Aïzpiri, Louis Berthomme Saint-André, Yves Brayer, Bernard Buffet, Christian Caillard, Roger Chapelain-Midy, Michel Ciry, Lucien Coutaud, André Dignimont, Lucien Fontanarosa, Michel de Gallard, Édouard Goerg, André Hambourg, Jean Jansem, Édouard Georges Mac-Avoy, André Minaux, Clément Serveau, Kostia Terechkovitch, Louis Touchagues, Pierre-Yves Trémois, Club du livre, Philippe Lebaud, 1963.
 Raymond Cogniat, Aïzpiri, cinq cents exemplaires numérotés enrichis d'une lithographie originale, Éditions de la galerie Romanet, 1963.
 Henry de Montherlant, La Reine morte - Malatesta - Pasiphaé, premier volume du Théâtre de Henry de Montherlant en cinq volumes, lithographies originales de Paul Aïzpiri, cinq cents exemplaies numérotés, Éditions Lids, Imprimerie nationale, 1965.
 L'atelier, album de lithographies originales de Paul Aïzpiri, Guy Bardone, André Brasilier, Bernard Buffet, André Cottavoz, René Genis, Paul Guiramand, Jean Jansem, André Minaux, Gravure Matignon, 1970.

Peintures murales
 Hakata, hôtel Otani.

Parolier de chanson
 La prière au soleil, musique de Jean-Eddie Crémier et Max Alexys, paroles de Roger Couderc et Paul Aïzpiri, interprétée par Armand Mestral, 1949.

Expositions

Expositions personnelles

Expositions collectives
 Galerie L'Équipe, Paris, 1938.
 Galerie L'Équipe, Paris, 1939.
 Salon des moins de trente ans, Paris, 1941, 1944-1948.
 Salon d'automne, Paris, 1943, 1945, 1946, 1947-1951.
 Salon de mai, Paris, 1946, 1950, 1952-1954.
 L'Association des amateurs de peinture présente Paul Aïzpiri, Bernard Buffet, André Minaux, Roger Montané, Maurice Rocher, Gaëtan de Rosnay, Robert Savary, Maurice Verdier…, Galerie Jacques Leuvrais, 182 rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, Paris, janvier 1949.
 Salon des indépendants, Paris, 1949-1951.
 Salon de la Jeune Peinture, Paris, 1950-1953.
 Bimillénaire de Paris - Comité Montparnasse - Exposition de peintres et sculpteurs de l'École de Paris, La Coupole, Paris, juin-.
 Biennale de Lisbonne, 1951.
 Biennale de Menton (Alpes-Maritimes), 1951.
 Biennale de Venise, 1951, 1952.
 Salon des Tuileries, Paris, 1951-1955.
 Salon des peintres témoins de leur temps (présidence : Isis Kischka), Paris, à partir de 1951.
 Vingt-huit jeunes peintres, vingt-huit jeunes femmes, Galerie Drouant-David, Paris (Portrait de Nicole Courcel par Paul Aïzpiri), décembre 1951 - janvier 1952.
 Tapisseries et céramiques modernes - Paul Aïzpiri, Jean Lurçat, Henri Plisson, Gaëtan de Rosnay, Claude Schürr, Musée Sainte-Croix, Poitiers, 1952.
 Salon de l'art sacré, Paris, 1952.
 Salon du dessin et de la peinture à l'eau, Paris, 1952-1959.
 Lorjou, Aïzpiri, Minaux, Mottet, Sébire, Galerie Charpentier, 1953.
 Fleurs - Vingt-cinq jeunes peintres : Tony Agostini, Paul Aïzpiri, Richard Bellias, Bernard Buffet, Jean Commère, Roger Lersy, Jean Navarre, Michel Patrix, Paul Rebeyrolle, Gaston Sébire, Andrés Segovia…, galerie Visconti, Paris, .
 La mer vue par trente jeunes peintres, Galerie Visconti, Paris, .
 École de Paris, Galerie Charpentier, Paris, 1954-1958.
 Portraits par trente jeunes peintres, Galerie Visconti, Paris, .
 Fleurs d'Aïzpiri à Vlaminck, galerie Fricker, 177, boulevard Haussmann, Paris, novembre-.
 Paul Aïzpiri, André Cottavoz, Jean Marzelle, Jean-Jacques Morvan, Marcel Mouly, Centre culturel américain, Alger, 1958.
 4th International Hallmark Art Awards Exhibition, Musée d'art de Dallas, mai-.
 La collection Julius Fleischmann, Contemporary Arts Center, Cincinnati, 1959.
 Panorama de la peinture contemporaine - Paul Aïzpiri, Jean-Pierre Alaux, Paul Ambille, Yves Brayer, Bernard Buffet, Rodolphe Caillaux, Jean Carzou, Michel Ciry, Marcel Cramoysan, Jef Friboulet, Pierre Gautiez, Camille Hilaire, Franck Innocent, Monique Journod; Michel King, Roland Lefranc, Édouard Georges Mac-Avoy, Georges Mirianon, Jean Navarre, Marcel Peltier, Christian Sauvé, Robert Savary, Gaston Sébire, Arthur Van Hecke…, hôtel de ville de Sotteville-lès-Rouen, mars 1980.
 De Bonnard à Baselitz - Dix ans d'enrichissements du cabinet des estampes Bibliothèque nationale de France, 1992<ref name="BNF">Françoise Woimant, Marie-Cécile Miessner et Anne Mœglin Delcroix, De Bonnard à Baselitz, estampes et livres d'artistes, B.N.F., Paris, 1992.</ref>.
 Années 50 - L'alternative figurative, musée d'Art Roger-Quilliot, Clermont-Ferrand, 2007.
 Une exposition de quatre artistes, Whitestone Gallery, Tokyo, 2012.
 Collections de gravures, Sun Gallery, Sun Art Center, Seoul, 2012.
 Among the four seasons - Spring, spring, Busan Museum of Art, Busan, 2012.
 Monsieur Sudreau et le Cyclope - De la collection beaux-arts de Montbéliard aux œuvres du Frac Franche-Comté, musée du Château des ducs de Wurtemberg, Montbéliard, avril-.
 Art en Capital, Grand Palais, Paris, , .
 La Jeune Peinture, Musée Henri-Martin, Gray (Haute-Saône), juillet-.

Réception critique
  - Raymond Charmet
  - Revue Connaissance des arts
  - Jean Dalvèze
  - Pierre Mazars
  - Gérald Schurr
  - Éric Mercier

Récompenses et distinctions

Collections publiques

Australie
 Melbourne, National Gallery of Victoria : Nature morte à la flûte, huile sur toile.

Belgique
 Liège, musée d'Art moderne et d'Art contemporain.
 Verviers, musée des Beaux-Arts et de la Céramique.

France

Japon
 Nagoya, .
 Onomichi, .
 Yamagata, musée préfectoral de Yamagata.

Pays-Bas
 Heerlen, musée des Beaux-Arts.

Suisse
 Pully, musée d'Art de Pully.

Collections particulières

 Julius Fleischmann (1900-1968), Cincinnati.
 Rae Rothfield, Melbourne, Le petit clown, huile sur toile.

Notes et références

Voir aussi

Bibliographie
 Pierre Descargues, Paul Aïzpiri, Presses littéraires de France, 1952.
 Raymond Nacenta, The School of Paris - The painters and the artistic climate of Paris since 1910, Oldbourne Press, Londres, 1960.
 Pierre Mazars (préface de Georges de Caunes), Les œuvres d'art du paquebot France, Éditions Livror, Genève, 1969.
 Jean Dalevèze, Aïzpiri, Éditions de la galerie Romanet, 1969.
 René Huyghe de l'Académie française et Jean Rudel, L'art et le monde moderne, Larousse, 1970.
 Jean Dalevèze, Aïzpiri, Bibliothèque des arts, 1975.
 Pierre Mazars, Jean-Marie Dunoyer et Jean Selz, L'année de la peinture, Calmann-Lévy, 1980.
 Sanjiro Minamikawa, Ces artistes dans leur atelier, Asahi Sonorama, Japon, 1980.
 Madeleine et Emmanuelle Ducastel, Aîzpiri - Festival d'Avignon 1989, Éditions de la galerie Ducastel, 1989.
 Philippe Cruysmans, Caroline Anouilh et Pierre Perret, Aïzpiri, Éditions Micolon, Paris, 1992.
 Patrick-F. Barrer, L'histoire du Salon d'automne de 1903 à nos jours, Éditions Arts et Images du Monde, 1992.
 Françoise Woimant, Marie-Cécile Miessner et Anne Mœglin-Delcroix, De Bonnard à Baselitz - Estampes et livres d'artistes, B.N.F., 1992.
 Lydia Harambourg, L'École de Paris - 1945-1965 - Dictionnaire des peintres, Éditions Ides et Calendes, 1993.
 Gérald Schurr, Le guidargus de la peinture, Les Éditions de l'Amateur, 1993.
 Ouvrage collectif, L'École de Paris ? 1945-1964, Fondation Musée d'art moderne Grand Duc Jean / Musée national d'histoire de l'art, Luxembourg.
 Emmanuel Bénézit, Dictionnaire des peintres, sculpteurs, dessinateurs et graveurs, Gründ, 1999.
 Jean-Pierre Delarge, Dictionnaire des arts plastiques modernes et contemporains, Gründ, 2001 (lire en ligne).
 Éric Mercier, Années 50 - La Jeune Peinture, tome I : L'alternance figurative ; tome II : Panorama de la Jeune Peinture, ArtAcatos, 2010.
 René Chabannes, Quarante ans d'expositions au Chäteau de Val, Artogue, 2014 (lire en ligne).

Filmographie
 Aïzpiri, du rêve à la réalité, film documentaire de Cédric Schiltz, production Tamenaga, Atopia Films. Durée : 26 min.

Liens externes

Peintre français du XXe siècle
Peintre français du XXIe siècle
Peintre français de nature morte
Peintre muraliste
Peintre figuratif français
Peintre paysagiste français
Lithographe français du XXe siècle
Élève de l'École Boulle
Élève de l'École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts au XXe siècle
École de Paris
Naissance en mai 1919
Naissance dans le 13e arrondissement de Paris
Décès en janvier 2016
Décès dans le 6e arrondissement de Paris
Décès à 96 ans

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


Kimberley Forest Park offers picnic tables, toilets, barbeques, children's playground, water, walk the dog (on a leash), birdwatching.
Take a walk inside Kimberley Forest Park and leave the city behind, as you discover the sights and sounds of more than 50 hectares of forest.
A visit to the park in the cool hours of the early mornings and evenings will reward you with sightings of swamp and red-necked wallabies grazing on the grassy slopes. The park's rainforest gully provides a cool, moist environment with rock pools fed by permanent springs. Palms, ferns and rainforest trees thrive in the damp conditions.
The permanent water and diverse plant communities attract a variety of birds not usually found in Logan. Rainforest birds such as the noisy pitta and eastern yellow robin help make the numbers of birds that call this park home.


COLUMBUS, Ohio--Today, Ohio Senate President Keith Faber (R-Celina) provided sponsor testimony on legislation to de-fund Planned Parenthood before the Senate Government Oversight and Reform Committee. Carrying 15 co-sponsors, Senate Bill 214 responds to the summer's undercover video scandal that shows Planned Parenthood officials allegedly selling aborted baby body parts.
"Whether you call yourself pro-life or pro-choice, I think most people have an issue with taxpayer dollars going to an organization that seeks to profit off of the harvest of body parts from the unborn," said Senate President Keith Faber. "After viewing these videos, it was sickening for me to know that this organization, which is willing to ruthlessly dismember an unborn child in order to obtain a profit, is also partially funded by the taxpayers of the State of Ohio."
Proponent testimonies were provided by Stephanie Ranade Krider, executive director of Ohio Right to Life; Anna Higgins, associate scholar at the Charlotte Lozier Institute; Elizabeth Vandergriff of Greater Cincinnati Young Adults for Life; and Paul Coudron, executive director of Dayton Right to Life.
"As Planned Parenthood officials discuss how to 'crush' a child's body to properly preserve her brains and heart for trading purposes, our human decency demands that we stop the crushing," said Stephanie Ranade Krider. "It is the public policy of the state of Ohio to prefer childbirth over abortion. Ohio Right to Life asks that the State of Ohio honor this policy and leave the abortion business once and for all."
Ohio Right to Life encourages its members to send a letter of support to Senate President Faber as well as their own senators using the Legislative Action Center at ohiolife.org.


text:
Q: MIMO system model We consider a wireless communication system, where there is only Line Of Sight path between the MIMO transmitter and the MIMO receiver. MIMO antennas are used here to increase the directivity of the transmitter and receiver and create a pencil beam (assuming that good alignment can be achieved). The MIMO is used as an array antenna to increase the gain.
Is there a simple way of representing the MIMO channel without a matrix form since in our case we don't have diversity and we are not exploiting the multipath components? Or do we have always to represent MIMO channel as a matrix H?

A:
We consider a wireless communication system, where there is only Line Of Sight path between the MIMO transmitter and the MIMO receiver.

Good news: having line of sight is a good situation, often.
Bad news: you don't get any diversity in that case, so your MIMO system, in the best case, is as good as a SISO system with a directive antenna (as you noticed).

Is there a simple way of representing the MIMO channel without a matrix form since in our case we don't have diversity and we are not exploiting the multipath components?

Exactly!
It's just a complex channel coefficient, then. (but that means you consider your N antennas as just one antenna with a fixed combiner – which again is a matrix.

A:
Is there a simple way of representing the MIMO channel without a matrix form since in our case we don't have diversity and we are not exploiting the multipath components? Or do we have always to represent MIMO channel as a matrix H?

Yes and no.
Yes
Each of the T transmit antennas has a path to each receive antenna. So by definition, you have TxR equations. You can represent them individually as TxR equations. Or you can represent them in compact matrix form as [R] = [channel]*[T], where [channel] is a TxR matrix. Your choice. Of course as you have line of sight, the channel matrix will have a rank of around one.
No
If you have 'beamformed' your T transmit antennae properly, then you need only T-1 equations to describe the beam, with another one, bringing you up to T total, for the gain. Similarly with the receive side. Although you can't exploit any spatial capacity gain, your SNR has improved, so you can increase the distance over which you can operate, or the environmental or co-channel noise you can tolerate.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


In June 2006, I brought the International Children's Digital Library (ICDL) to Mongolia by installing a server in the capital that offers www.read.mn, a Mongolian version of the ICDL. This time, in November 2007, I traveled to Mongolia with graduate student Sheri Massey to bring the ICDL to the Mongolian countryside. To understand why we would do such a strange sounding thing, we must first take a quick peek at Mongolian education and children's books.


Antenna enables you to design and develop great looking professional web sites rapidly - without any coding or HTML knowledge. Using transparent layers, master pages and pixel accurate positioning, Antenna makes web site building a visual experience - more like using an art or desktop publishing package, instead of programming. Now you can concentrate on aesthetics and design - instead of spending hours just trying to make your HTML code work - have fun and make your site look stunning! Antenna is a professional WYSIWYG web page editor designed for creative people. It's fun, easy to use, and has many powerful features. For example there's a multiple layers system, with layer transparency, so you can overlap objects and create translucent effects. Master pages enable you to include any page as a layer on any other page - brilliant for developing themes and when you need the same items to appear on many pages. Antenna's environment is drag and drop with pixel accurate positioning and a snap-grid to help you align objects. There's a built in button maker, photo gallery creator, styles editor, rollover controls, and special fx such as shadows, motion blur, neon and water. An integrated FTP publisher with 'publish changes only' option enables rapid site updates, and on top of all that you can use Antenna to create a multilingual website from a single design.
Восьмой утренний парадокс. Вот что плохо в питье водки с утра - трудно будет провести день разнообразно.


text:
Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit
by Jeanette Winterson
"A daring, unconventional comic novel . . . by employing quirky anecdotes, which are told with romping humor, and by splicing various parables into the narrative, Winterson allows herself the dangerous luxury of writing a novel that refuses to rely on rousing plot devices. . . . A fascinating debut . . . A penetrating novel." —Chicago Tribune
Publication Date September 01, 1997
Born in Manchester, England, Jeanette Winterson is the author of seventeen books, including the national bestseller Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, and The Passion. She has won many prizes including the Whitbread Award for Best First Novel, the John Llewellyn Rhys Prize, the E. M. Forster Award, and the Stonewall Award.
Read More About Jeanette Winterson
Jeanette Winterson's Website
When it first appeared, Jeanette Winterson's extraordinary debut novel received unanimous international praise, including the prestigious Whitbread Prize for best first fiction. Winterson has gone on to fulfill that promise, winning the John Llewellyn Rhys Prize and producing some of the most dazzling and admired novels of the past decade. Now required reading in contemporary literature, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit is a funny, poignant exploration of a young girl's quirky adolescence.
Jeanette is a bright and rebellious orphan who is adopted into an evangelical household in the dour, industrial North of England and finds herself embroidering grim religious mottoes and shaking her little tambourine for Jesus. But as this budding missionary comes of age, and comes to terms with her unorthodox sexuality, the peculiar balance of her God-fearing household dissolves. Jeanette's insistence on listening to truths of her own heart and mind—and on reporting them with wit and passion—makes for an unforgettable chronicle of an eccentric, moving passage into adulthood.
Tags Literary LGBT/Lesbian
"A striking, quirky, delicate, and intricate work . . . Winterson has mastered both comedy and tragedy in this rich little novel. . . . Winterson's great gift is evident." —The Washington Post Book World
"If Flannery O'Connor and Rita Mae Brown had collaborated on the coming-out story of a young British girl in the 1960s, maybe they would have approached the quirky and subtle hilarity of Jeanette Winterson's autobiographical first novel. . . . Winterson's voice, with its idiosyncratic wit and sensitivity, is one you've never heard before." —Ms.
"The overwhelming impression of her work is one of remarkable self-confidence, and she evidently thrives on risk. As good as Poe: it dares you to laugh and stares you down." —The New York Review of Books
"An explosively imaginative writer." —The London Free Press
"She is a master of her material, a writer [of] great talent." —Muriel Spark
"Many consider her to be the best living writer in this language." —Evening Standard
"The most interesting writer I have read in twenty years." —Gore Vidal
keep reading Close this section
Winner of the Whitbread Prize for best first fiction
Selected by Michael Cunningham as a The Good Men Project Best LGBT Books of All Time
Like most people I lived for a long time with my mother and father. My father liked to watch the wrestling, my mother liked to wrestle; it didn't matter what. She was in the white corner and that was that.
She hung out the largest sheets on the windiest days. She wanted the Mormons to knock on the door. At election time in a Labour mill town she put a picture of the Conservative candidate in the window.
She had never heard of mixed feelings. There were friends and there were enemies.
Enemies were:
The Devil (in his many forms)
Sex (in its many forms)
Friends were:
Auntie Madge
The Novels of Charlotte Bronté
Slug pellets
and me, at first.
I had been brought in to join her in a tag match against the Rest of the World. She had a mysterious attitude towards the begetting of children; it wasn't that she couldn't do it, more that she didn't want to do it. She was very bitter about the Virgin Mary getting there first. So she did the next best thing and arranged for a foundling. That was me.
I cannot recall a time when I did not know that I was special. We had no Wise Men because she didn't believe there were any wise men, but we had sheep. One of my earliest memories is me sitting on a sheep at Easter while she told me the story of the Sacrificial Lamb. We had it on Sundays with potato.
Sunday was the Lord's day, the most vigorous day of the whole week; we had a radiogram at home with an imposing mahogany front and a fat Bakelite knob to twiddle for the stations. Usually we listened to the Light Programme, but on Sundays always the World Service, so that my mother could record the progress of our missionaries. Our Missionary Map was very fine. On the front were all the countries and on the back a number chart that told you about Tribes and their Peculiarities. My favorite was Number 16, The Buzule of Carpathian. They believed that if a mouse found your hair clippings and built a nest with them you got a headache. If the nest was big enough, you might go mad. As far as I knew no missionary had yet visited them.
My mother got up early on Sundays and allowed no one into the parlor until ten o'clock. It was her place of prayer and meditation. She always prayed standing up, because of her knees, just as Bonaparte always gave orders from his horse, because of his size. I do think that the relationship my mother enjoyed with God had a lot to do with positioning. She was Old Testament through and through. Not for her the meek and paschal Lamb, she was out there, up front with the prophets, and much given to sulking under trees when the appropriate destruction didn't materialize. Quite often it did, her will or the Lord's I can't say.
She always prayed in exactly the same way. First of all she thanked God that she had lived to see another day, and then she thanked God for sparing the world another day. Then she spoke of her enemies, which was the nearest thing to she had to a catechism.
As soon as "vengeance is mine saith the Lord" boomed through the wall into the kitchen, I put the kettle on. The time it took to boil the water and brew the tea was just about the length of her final item, the sick list. She was very regular. I put the milk in, in she came, and taking a great gulp of tea said one of three things.
"The Lord is good" (steely-eyed into the back yard).
"What sort of tea is this?" (steely-eyed at me).
"Who was the oldest man in the Bible?"
No. 3, of course, had a number of variations, but it was always a Bible quiz question. We had a lot of Bible quizzes at church and my mother liked me to win. If I knew the answer she asked me another, if I didn't she got cross, but luckily not for long, because we had to listen to the World Service. It was always the same; we sat down on either side of the radiogram, she with her tea, me with a pad and pencil; in front of us, the Missionary Map. The faraway voice in the middle of the set gave news of activities, converts and problems. At the end there was an appeal for YOUR PRAYERS. I had to write it all down so that my mother could deliver her church report that night. She was the Missionary Secretary. The Missionary Report was a great trial to me because our mid-day meal depended upon it. If it went well, no deaths and lots of converts, my mother cooked a joint. If the Godless had proved not only stubborn, but murderous, my mother spent the rest of the morning listening to the Jim Reeves Devotional Selection, and we had to have boiled eggs and toast soldiers. Her husband was an easy-going man, but I knew it depressed him. He would have cooked it himself but for my mother's complete conviction that she was the only person in our house who could tell a saucepan from a piano. She was wrong, as far as we were concerned, but right as far as she was concerned, and really, that's what mattered.
Somehow we got through those mornings, and in the afternoon she and I took the dog for a walk, while my father cleaned all the shoes. "You can tell someone by their shoes," my mother said. "Look at Next Door."
"Drink," said my mother grimly as we stepped out past their house. "That's why they buy everything from Maxi Ball's Catalogue Seconds. The Devil himself is a drunk" (sometimes my mother invented theology).
Maxi Ball owned a warehouse, his clothes were cheap but they didn't last, and they smelt of industrial glue. The desperate, the careless, the poorest, vied with one another on a Saturday morning to pick up what they could, and haggle over the price. My mother would rather not eat than be seen at Maxi Ball's. She had filled me with a horror of the place. Since so many people we knew went there, it was hardly fair of her but she never was particularly fair; she loved and she hated, and she hated Maxi Ball. Once, in winter, she had been forced to go there to buy a corset and in the middle of communion, that very Sunday, a piece of whalebone slipped out and stabbed her right in the stomach. There was nothing she could do for an hour. When we got home she tore up the corset and used the whalebone as supports for our geraniums, except for one piece that she gave to me. I still have it, and whenever I'm tempted to cut corners I think about that whalebone, and I know better.
My mother and I walked on towards the hill that stood at the top of our street. We lived in a town stolen from the valleys, a huddled place full of chimneys and little shops and back-to-back houses with no gardens. The hills surrounded us, and our own swept out into the Pennines, broken now and again with a farm or a relic from the war. There used to be a lot of old tanks but the council took them away. The town was a fat blot and the streets spread back from it into the green, steadily upwards. Our house was almost at the top of a long, stretchy street. A flagged street with a cobbly road. When you climb to the top of the hill and look down you can see everything, just like Jesus on the pinnacle except it's not very tempting. Over to the right was the viaduct and behind the viaduct Ellison's tenement, where we had the fair once a year. I was allowed to go there on condition I brought back a tub of black peas for my mother. Black peas look like rabbit droppings and they come in a thin gravy made of stock and gypsy mush. They taste wonderful. The gypsies made a mess and stayed up all night and my mother called them fornicators but on the whole we got on very well. They turned a blind eye to toffee apples going missing, and sometimes, if it was quiet and you didn't have enough money, they still let you have a ride on the dodgems. We used to have fights round the caravans, the ones like me, from the street, against the posh ones from the Avenue. The posh ones went to Brownies and didn't stay for school dinners.
Once, when I was collecting the black peas, about to go home, the old woman got hold of my hand. I thought she was going to bite me. She looked at my palm and laughed a bit. "You'll never marry," she said, "not you, and you'll never be still." She didn't take any money for the peas, and she told me to run home fast. I ran and ran, trying to understand what she meant. I hadn't thought about getting married anyway. There were two women I knew who didn't have husbands at all; they were old though, as old as my mother. They ran the paper shop and sometimes, on a Wednesday, they gave me a banana bar with my comic. I liked them a lot, and talked about them a lot to my mother. One day they asked me if I'd like to go to the seaside with them. I ran home, gabbled it out, and was busy emptying my money box to buy a new spade, when my mother said firmly and forever, no. I couldn't understand why not, and she wouldn't explain. She didn't even let me go back to say I couldn't. Then she cancelled my comic and told me to collect it from another shop, further away. I was sorry about that. I never got a banana bar from Grimsby's. A couple of weeks later I heard her telling Mrs White about it. She said they dealt in unnatural passions. I thought she meant they put chemicals in their sweets.
My mother and I climbed and climbed until the town fell away and we reached the memorial stone at the very top. The wind was always strong so that my mother had to wear extra hat pins. Usually she wore a headscarf, but not on Sunday. We sat on the stone's base and she thanked the Lord we had managed the ascent. Then she extemporized on the nature of the world, the folly of its peoples, and the wrath of God inevitable. After that she told me a story about a brave person who had despised the fruits of the flesh and worked for the Lord instead . . . .
There was the story of the "converted sweep," a filthy degenerate, given to drunkenness and vice, who suddenly found the Lord whilst scraping the insides of a flue. He remained in the flue in a state of rapture for so long that his friends thought he was unconscious. After a great deal of difficulty they persuaded him to come out; his face, they declared, though hardly visible for the grime, shone like an angel's. He started to lead the Sunday School and died some time later, bound for glory. There were many more; I particularly like the "Hallelujah Giant", a freak of nature, eight feet tall shrunk to six foot three through the prayers of the faithful.
Now and again my mother liked to tell me her own conversion story; it was very romantic. I sometimes think that if Mills and Boon were at all revivalist in their policy my mother would be a star.
One night, by mistake, she had walked into Pastor Spratt's Glory Crusade. It was in a tent on some spare land, and every evening Pastor Spratt spoke of the fate of the damned, and performed healing miracles. He was very impressive. My mother said he looked like Errol Flynn, but holy. A lot of women found the Lord that week. Part of Pastor Spratt's charisma stemmed from his time spent as an advertising manager for Rathbone's Wrought Iron. He knew about bait. "There is nothing wrong with bait," he said, when the Chronicle somewhat cynically asked him why he gave pot plants to the newly converted. "We are commanded to be Fishers of Men." When my mother heard the call, she was presented with a copy of the Psalms and asked to make her choice between a Christmas Cactus (non-flowering) and a lily of the valley. She had opted for the lily of the valley. When my father went the next night, she told him to be sure and go for the cactus, but by the time he got to the front they had all gone. "He's not one to push himself," she often said, and after a little pause, "Bless him."
Pastor Spratt came to stay with them for the rest of his time with the Glory Crusade, and it was then that my mother discovered her abiding interest in missionary work. The pastor himself spent most of his time out in the jungle and other hot places converting the Heathen. We have a picture of him surrounded by black men with spears. My mother keeps it by her bed. My mother is very like William Blake; she has visions and dreams and she cannot always distinguish a flea's head from a king. Luckily she can't paint.
She walked out one night and thought of her life and thought of what was possible. She thought of the things she couldn't be. Her uncle had been an actor. "A very fine Hamlet," said the Chronicle.
But the rags and the ribbons turn to years and then the years are gone. Uncle Will had died a pauper, she was not so young these days and people were not kind. She liked to speak French and to play the piano, but what do these things mean?
Once upon a time there was a brilliant and beautiful princess, so sensitive that the death of a moth could distress her for weeks on end. Her family knew of no solution. Advisers wrung their hands, sages shook their heads, brave kings left unsatisfied. So it happened for many years, until one day, out walking in the forest, the princess came to the hut of an old hunchback who knew the secrets of magic. This ancient creature perceived in the princess a woman of great energy and resourcefulness.
"My dear," she said, "you are in danger of being burned by your own flame."
The hunchback told the princess that she was old, and wished to die, but could not because of her many responsibilities. She had in her charge a small village of homely people, to whom she was advisor and friend. Perhaps the princess would like to take over? Her duties would be:
(1) To milk the goats
(2) To educate the people
(3) To compose songs for their festival
To assist her she would have a three-legged stool and all the books belonging to the hunchback. Best of all, the old woman's harmonium, an instrument of great antiquity and four octaves. The princess agreed to stay and forgot all about the palace and the moths. The old woman thanked her, and died at once.
My mother, out walking that night, dreamed a dream and sustained it in daylight. She would get a child, train it, build it, dedicate it to the Lord:
a missionary child,
a servant of God,
a blessing.
And so it was that on a particular day, some time later, she followed a star until it came to settle above an orphanage, and in that place was a crib, and in that crib, a child. A child with too much hair.
She said, "This child is mine from the Lord."
She took the child away and for seven days and seven nights the child cried out, for fear and not knowing. The mother sang to the child, and stabbed the demons. She understood how jealous the Spirit is of flesh.
Such warm tender flesh.
Her flesh now, sprung from her head.
Her vision.
Not the jolt beneath the hip bone, but water and the word.
She had a way out now, for years and years to come.
We stood on the hill and my mother said, "This world is full of sin."
We stood on the hill and my mother said, "You can change the world."
When we got home my father was watching television. It was the match between "Crusher Williams" and one-eyed Jonney Stott. My mother was furious; we always covered up the television on Sundays. We had a DEEDS OF THE OLD TESTAMENT tablecloth, given to us by a man who did house clearances. It was very grand, and we kept it in a special drawer with nothing else but a piece of Tiffany glass and some parchment from Lebanon. I don't know why we kept the parchment. We had thought it was a bit of the Old Testament but it was the lease to a sheep farm. My father hadn't even bothered to fold up the cloth, and I could just see "Moses Receiving the Ten Commandments" in a heap under the vertical hold. "There's going to be trouble," I thought, and announced my intention of going down to the Salvation Army place for a tambourine lesson.
Poor Dad, he was never quite good enough.
That night at church, we had a visiting speaker, Pastor Finch from Stockport. He was an expert in demons, and delivered a terrifying sermon on how easy it is to become demon-possessed. We were all very uneasy afterwards. Mrs White said she thought her next-door neighbors were probably possessed, they had all the signs. Pastor Finch said that the possessed are given to uncontrollable rages, sudden bursts of wild laughter, and are always, always, very cunning. The Devil himself, he reminded us, can come as an angel of light.
After the service we were having a banquet; my mother had made twenty trifles and her usual mound of cheese and onion sandwiches.
"You can always tell a good woman by her sandwiches," declared Pastor Finch.
My mother blushed.
Then he turned to me and said, "How old are you, little girl?"
"Seven," I replied.
"Ah, seven," he muttered. "How blessed, the seven days of creation, the seven-branched candlestick, the seven seals."
(Seven seals? I had not yet reached Revelation in my directed reading, and I thought he meant some Old Testament amphibians I had overlooked. I spent weeks trying to find them, in case they came up as a quiz question.)
"Yes," he went on, "how blessed," then his brow clouded. "But how cursed." At this word his fist hit the table and catapulted a cheese sandwich into the collection bag; I saw it happen, but I was so distracted I forgot to tell anyone. They found it in there the week after, at the Sisterhood meeting. The whole table had fallen silent, except for Mrs Rothwell who was stone deaf and very hungry.
"The demon can return SEVENFOLD." His eyes roamed the table. (Scrape, went Mrs Rothwell's spoon.)
"SEVENFOLD."
("Does anybody want this piece of cake?" asked Mrs Rothwell.)
"The best can become the worst"—he took me by the hand—"This innocent child, this bloom of the Covenant."
"Well, I'll eat it then," announced Mrs Rothwell.
Pastor Finch glared at her, but he wasn't a man to be put off.
"This little lily could herself be a house of demons."
"Eh, steady on Roy," said Mrs Finch anxiously.
"Don't interrupt me Grace," he said firmly, "I mean this by way of example only. God has given me an opportunity and what God has given we must not presume to waste.
"It has been known for the most holy men to be suddenly filled with evil. And how much more a woman, and how much more a child. Parents, watch your children for the signs. Husbands, watch your wives. Blessed be the name of the Lord."
He let go of my hand, which was now crumpled and soggy.
He wiped his own on his trouser leg.
"You shouldn't tax yourself so, Roy," said Mrs Finch, "have some trifle, it's got sherry in it."
I felt a bit awkward to so I went into the Sunday School Room. There was some Fuzzy Felt to make Bible scenes with, and I was just beginning to enjoy a rewrite of Daniel in the lions' den when Pastor Finch appeared. I put my hands into my pockets and looked at the lino.
"Little girl," he began, then he caught sight of the Fuzzy Felt.
"Daniel," I answered.
"But that's not right," he said, aghast. "Don't you know that Daniel escaped? In your picture the lions are swallowing him."
"I'm sorry," I replied, putting on my best, blessed face. "I wanted to do Jonah and the whale, but they don't do whales in Fuzzy Felt. I'm pretending those lions are whales."
"You said it was Daniel." He was suspicious.
"I got mixed up."
He smiled. "Let's put it right, shall we?" And he carefully rearranged the lions in one corner, and Daniel in the other. "What about Nebuchadnezzar? Let's do the Astonishment at Dawn scene next." He started to root through the Fuzzy Felt, looking for a king.
"Hopeless," I thought, Susan Green was sick on the tableau of the three Wise Men at Christmas, and you only get three kings to a box.
I left him to it. When I came back into the hall somebody asked me if I'd seen Pastor Finch.
"He's in the Sunday School Room playing with the Fuzzy Felt," I replied.
"Don't be fanciful Jeanette," said the voice. I looked up. It was Miss Jewsbury; she always talked like that, I think it was because she taught the oboe. It does something to your mouth.
"Time to go home," said my mother. "I think you've had enough excitement for one day."
It's odd, the things other people think are exciting.
We set off, my mother, Alice and May ("Auntie Alice, Auntie May, to you"). I lagged behind, thinking about Pastor Finch and how horrible he was. His teeth stuck out, and his voice was squeaky, even though he tried to make it deep and stern. Poor Mrs Finch. How did she live with him? Then I remembered the gypsy. "You'll never marry." That might not be such a bad thing after all. We walked along the Factory Bottoms to get home. The poorest people of all lived there, tied to the mills. There were hundreds of children and scraggy dogs. Next Door used to live down there, right by the glue works, but their cousin or someone had left them a house, next to our house. "The work of the Devil, if ever I saw it," said my mother, who always believed these things are sent to try us.
I wasn't allowed in the Factory Bottoms on my own, and that night as the rain began, I was sure I knew why. If the demons lived anywhere it was here. We went past the shop that sold flea collars and poisons. Arkwright's For Vermin it was called; I had been inside it once, when we had a run of cockroaches. Mrs Arkwright was there cashing up; she caught sight of May as we went past and shouted at her to come in. My mother wasn't very pleased, but muttering something about Jesus associating with tax collectors and sinners pushed me inside, in front of them all.
"Where've you been May," asked Mrs Arkwright, wiping her hand on a dishcloth, "not seen hide of you in a month."
"I've been in Blackpool."
"Ho, come in at some money have you?"
"It were at Bingo 'ousie 'ousie three times."
Mrs Arkwright was both admiring and bad-tempered.
The conversation continued like this for some time, Mrs Arkwright complaining that business was poor, that she'd have to close the shop, that there was no money in vermin any more.
"Let's hope we have a hot summer, that'll fetch them out."
My mother was visibly distressed.
"Remember that heatwave two years ago? Ooo, I did some trade then. Cockroaches, hard backs, rats, you name it, I poisoned it. No, it's not same any more."
We kept a respectful silence for a moment or two, then my mother coughed and said we should be getting along.
"Here, then," said Mrs Arkwright, "tek these furt nipper."
She meant me and, rummaging around somewhere behind the counter, pulled out a few different-shaped tins.
"It can keep its marbles and stuff in "em," she explained.
"Ta," I said and smiled.
"Ey, it's all right that one, you knows," she smiled at me and, wiping her hand firmly on my hand, let us out of the shop.
"Look at these May." I held them up.
"Auntie May," snapped my mother.
May examined them with me.
"'Silver fish,'" she read. "'Sprinkle liberally behind sinks, toilets and other damp places.' Oh, very nice. What's this one: 'Lice, bed bugs, etc. Guaranteed effective or money back.'"
Eventually we got home, Goodnight May, Goodnight Alice, God Bless. My father had already gone to bed because he worked early shifts. My mother wouldn't be going to bed for hours.
As long as I have known them, my mother has gone to bed at four, and my father has got up at five. That was nice in a way because it meant I could come down in the middle of the night and not be lonely. Quite often we'd have bacon and eggs and she'd read me a bit of the Bible.
It was in this way that I began my education: she taught me to read from the Book of Deuteronomy, and she told me all about the lives of the saints, how they were really wicked, and given to nameless desires. Not fit for worship; this was yet another heresy of the Catholic Church and I was not to be misled by the smooth tongues of priests.
"But I never see any priests."
"A girl's motto is BE PREPARED."
I learnt that it rains when clouds collide with a high building, like a steeple, or a cathedral; the impact punctures them, and everybody underneath gets wet. This was why, in the old days, when the only tall buildings were holy, people used to say cleanliness is next to godliness. The more godly your town, the more high buildings you'd have, and the more rain you'd get.
"That's why all these Heathen places are so dry," explained my mother, then she looked into space, and her pencil quivered. "Poor Pastor Spratt."
I discovered that everything in the natural world was a symbol of the Great Struggle between good and evil. "Consider the mamba," said my mother. "Over short distances the mamba can outrun a horse." And she drew the race on a sheet of paper. She meant that in the short term, evil can triumph, but never for very long. We were very glad, and we sang our favorite hymn, Yield Not to Temptation.
I asked my mother to teach me French, but her face clouded over, and she said she couldn't.
"It was nearly my downfall."
"What do you mean?" I persisted, whenever I could. But she only shook her head and muttered something about me being too young, that I'd find out all too soon, that it was nasty.
"One day," she said finally, "I'll tell you about Pierre," then she switched on the radio and ignored me for so long that I went back to bed.
Quite often, she'd start to tell me a story and then go on to something else in the middle, so I never found out what happened to the Earthly Paradise when it stopped being off the coast of India, and I was stuck at 'six sevens are forty-two' for almost a week.
"Why don't I go to school?" I asked her. I was curious about school because my mother always called it a Breeding Ground. I didn't know what she meant, but I knew it was a bad thing, like Unnatural Passions. "They'll lead you astray," was the only answer I got.
I thought about all this in the toilet. It was outside, and I hated having to go at night because of the spiders that came over from the coal-shed. My dad and me always seemed to be in the toilet, me sitting on my hands and humming, and him standing up, I supposed. My mother got very angry.
"You come on in, it doesn't take that long."
But it was the only place to go. We all shared the same bedroom, because my mother was building us a bathroom in the back, and eventually, if she got the partition fitted, a little half-room for me. She worked very slowly though, because she said she had a lot on her mind. Sometimes Mrs White came round to help mix the grout, but then they'd both end up listening to Johnny Cash, or writing a new hand-out on Baptism by Total Immersion. She did finish eventually, but not for three years.
Meanwhile, my lessons continued. I learnt about Horticulture and Garden Pests via the slugs and my mother's seed catalogues, and I developed an understanding of Historical Process through the prophecies in the Book of Revelation, and a magazine called The Plain Truth, which my mother received each week.
"It's Elijah in our midst again," she declared.
And so I learned to interpret the signs and wonders that the unbeliever might never understand.
"You'll need to when you're out there on the mission field," she reminded me.
Then, one morning, when we had got up early to listen to Ivan Popov from behind the Iron Curtain, a fat brown envelope plopped through the letter box. My mother thought it was letters of thanks from those who had attended our Healing of the Sick crusade in the town hall. She ripped it open, then her face fell.
"What is it?" I asked her.
"It's about you."
"I have to send you to school."
I whizzed into the toilet and sat on my hands; the Breeding Ground at last.
1. Wielding comedy like a knife, Winterson was just twenty-four when she wrote this stunning, idiosyncratic work, a debut novel that has become an international classic. Winterson has always said that she is using herself as an invented character, causing critics to label her work as "confessional" or "autobiographical." Yet when male authors do the same—Kundera, Auster—their books are praised as clever "meta-fiction," leading one to believe that we still use gendered readings. Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit has indeed been hailed as a breakaway feminist novel, but Winterson herself resists the "consciousness-raising" label. Do you agree with her that it should be read by all ages and all persuasions as a human story about family, childhood, friendship and love?
2. In this irreverent, opinionated narrator, humor often expresses the heart of who she is—and her integrity about preserving that self. How does she use her wry, witty comments to protect herself or to restore order to a cockeyed world? Examples?
3. "I cannot recall a time when I didn't know I was special" (p. 3). How has Jeanette come to that idea? "We stood on a hill, and my mother said, "You can change the world"" (p. 10). Is it her mother's iron will that she should become a missionary? How much of her originality derives from her mother? This is a woman who is outrageous, zealous, intolerant, but also creative, ambitious, and effective in her outreach for the church. Does she actually love her daughter? Her husband? ("Poor Dad, he was never quite good enough" p. 11).
4. Explore the meanings of the title. Is the central image of oranges a talisman, especially for the mother? Something she uses instead of actually mothering?
5. How does Winterson create a parallel world in Jeanette's dreams and revisiting of old stories? Which of these stories is most vivid to you? Do you find them distracting or do they work as parables leading us toward new meaning? Is the narrator engaged in her own quest for insights into truth and ideas of love?
6. Of stories, Jeanette says they are a way of explaining the universe, whereas "history is a means of denying the past" (p. 93). Instead, she says "History should be a hammock for swinging and a game for playing, the way cats play. Claw it, chew it, rearrange it and at bedtime it's still a ball of string full of knots" (p. 93). But she finds "an order and a balance to be found in stories" (p. 95). Does this help us understand the author's own quest to reinterpret her past? She has said it is autobiography . . . and it isn't. As she recalls her young self from the perspective of her grown-up eye, is it a kind of "sandwich laced with mustard" of her own? (p. 95).
7. How do the chapter headings, books of the Bible, structure the novel? As fundamentalist and punitive as it can be, has Jeanette found the church comforting? Her only real home in a way? Does she enjoy her obvious power as a preacher and collector of converts? What are the dramatic events that provoke her departure from the church? In her "ecclesiastical quarantine," she learns that "the message belonged to the men" (p. 133). Is it dreadfully logical that it is her own mother who condemns her publicly? "So there I was, my success in the pulpit being the reason for my downfall. The devil had attacked me at my weakest point: my inability to realize the limitations of my sex" (p. 134). Do we have any sympathy with these church people?
8. Sometimes courage is both born and tested by alienation. (Think of Ruth, one of the chapter titles.) Talk about Sir Percival's wandering in the woods and his dreams of the Holy Grail and King Arthur. When he awakens, he finds them not true. For him, as for Jeanette, the world was a different place. "I'm leaving the church" (p. 135), she said, holding tight to her little brown pebble. Do you find it interesting that the foundling Jeanette seems to identify with an aristocratic, male knight from the chivalric saga?
9. "Unnatural passions" is a fire-and-brimstone phrase that bristles through the church and village. When the visiting evangelist (the one with the Salvation Flag on his illustrated van–think psychedelic?) comes, he speaks of a family being ridden with this sin, and "a tremor shook the gathering" (p. 85). Is this high drama at odds with what have been the rather quiet, almost-innocent relationships of Jeanette with Melanie and Katy?
10. "If I let them take away my demons, I'll have to give up what I've found." What besides sex is she talking about? "Can love really belong to the demon?" And talking to her orange demon, Jeanette says, "If I keep you, what will happen?" "You'll have a difficult, different time" (p. 108). Poets and artists have often spoken of being in thrall to the demons that inspire them. Who comes to mind? Do you recall the gypsy who predicted, "You'll never marry"not you, and you'll never be still" (p. 7).
11. Looking back on her banishment, Jeanette says, "It all seemed to hinge around the fact that I loved the wrong sort of people . . . As far as I was concerned men were something you had around the place, not particularly interesting, but quite harmless . . . and apart from my never wearing a skirt, saw nothing else in common between us." Musing on some visiting gays, holding hands in church, Jeanette scoffs at her mother's saying, "Should have been a woman that one." She reflects, "This was clearly not true. At that point I had no notion of sexual politics, but I knew that a homosexual is further away from a woman than a rhinoceros. Now that I do have a number of notions about sexual politics, this early observation holds good" (pp. 127-128). Perhaps no reader wants to inhabit this bleak, impoverished village in the north of England, but would you agree it is certainly not boring? What are some of the other attitudes of local people on these issues? The bookstore ladies? Miss Jewsbury? Elsie? What becomes of Melanie?
12. As a coming-of-age book, is it a loss of innocence? About what? "Memoirs are our modern fairy tales . . . The autobiographer is faced with the daunting challenge of attempting to understand, forgive, and even love the witch" (Francine Prose). At the end Jeanette returns to visit her mother. What is she hoping to gain? Is it understanding, finally, between the two? Resignation? Has the mother changed? For Jeanette is it confirmation about her new life out in the world?
Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?
Sexing the Cherry
The Daylight Gate
Christmas Days