Happy Birthday, Dear Carol

I just found out that Carol, who I mentioned just a couple days ago, passed away in April.

I'm kind of choked up, so I'll say a better goodbye later.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away



Ho ho hooooooooooo.

You are loved, Carol, and I miss you.

Limbo - I can't go any lower!

More like, I refuse to go any lower. Raise that stupid bamboo pole higher, please!

Okay, enough with the metaphors. I've been having advisory issues. J and N are both wonderful people, but our interests, we have found, are just a tad too far apart.

My interests have always been in religion, and I've always found Church Law interesting, as much as I knew about it. Teenage exposure to catechetical debate matured with my interactions with David and our Berthold/Hermes/Thomas of York* project. Even the incomprehensible Philosophy of the Mind course added to it.

So to me it is rather natural that I be drawn to philosophy, Church law, and pastoral manuals. When I applied to York, I did not realise that the department had very little theological focus. That part is my fault - every grad student should be very aware of the strengths and weaknesses of the schools they apply to. I was drawn to the interdisciplinary nature of York - and medieval disability studies practically defines "interdisciplinary."

So today I met with P, who is both a wonderful fellow and quite knowledgeable about the things I need to learn. We need to have another meeting - one with J and N, most likely - and try and sort this out. In the meantime, I will be busily proving myself as a worthy student for P to supervise, as he is understandably leery about just accepting someone "off the street," so to speak.

So I'm still in limbo, which is not exactly a fun place to be. Hopefully we can sort this out. I hope that as we branch out into into a widely-accepted (or at least widely-known) discipline, fewer students of medieval disability will feel this misfit syndrome.

I hazard the guess that students of medieval disability have an extra struggle for acceptability. Those who come to the field later on, as established (or at least accredited) scholars only have to worry about publishers and peer-reviews. Negativity on those fronts can be damaging, but it likely won't derail an entire career. As students, our advisors aren't familiar with our background, goals, or methods, because they aren't disability scholars themselves, and they really haven't even encountered much in the way of literature. And that's nobody's fault - it's just a factor of an emerging discipline. But they are responsible for our degrees, and we need to struggle extra to make ourselves comprehensible. As more of us fight our ways through and become available to mentor or supervise our own students, I hope it will change. If there are any professors in the field reading this, I tip my hat to you. It's because of you that this isn't harder still - keep up the good work.


* Hey, guess what? I'm in York! It really doesn't lose its thrill.

Kalamazoo Round-up, Day 1!

I slept in.

The book sales start at 8am Thursday morning, and since I did not intend to buy much this year (AHAHAhahaha...) I decided not to get up and fight my may through the crowds of people angling for the display-copy discounts. At 10am, though, I headed off to my first session, (Ab)normal Societies, which was pretty good. Before this, I had never seen a lecture delivered via sign language, and watching how that worked was pretty cool (though I felt bad for the interpreters who didn't know the Latin terms we were throwing around). I'm glad I was actually paying attention to the presider when she introduced the first speaker, because I heard her say he was going to be attending the University of York soon. Hey, that's my school! I am usually very quiet during Q&A, because I am shy, but afterwards I introduced myself to the speaker, Greg (who I have already introduced to you), and to another scholar in the audience. (We had a nice discussion of insanity and Judaism, and I'm eagerly awaiting translation of his book, because it sounds fascinating.)

Lunch was all kinds of fail. The vegetarian entree was half of a strawberry-nut-maple wrap, and even though I was annoyed that they were serving me dessert and not a proper meal, I made sad eyes at the serving lady and she snuck me another half. The soup was good, though. Somewhere around lunch time, I was making my way around the book rooms, when David came running up to me with a copy of Sandra Billington's A Social History of the Fool: "Alison, look what I found! There was only one, and I grabbed it right away! Here! I'm not telling you how much it cost, and anyway I get reimbursed by the university."* This is why he is called Excellent David.

After lunch we went to an awesome presentation on catapults, put on by three high school students and their teacher. They had spent the past two years researching and constructing a miniature medieval catapult. I have to say, those kids had guts. They were presenting to a roomful of the people whose books they'd used as research. And even though it was obvious they didn't know how to pronounce all the words they used (tree-tises and tray-buckets), they used them correctly. I was already feeling pretty exhausted, so partway through, I left and had a nap. I'm told that the rest of the presentation was just as good, and by the end everyone was trading tips and problem-solving back and forth.

I slept through the next session, too. It had been a busy week, I guess.

I made it back downstairs in time for the inaugural meeting of the Society for the Study of Disability in the Middle Ages. We are reaching critical mass, people. Medieval disability studies is beginning to organise itself and by next year's k'zoo, we will be out there kicking down doors and demanding to be considered a legitimate field of our own. It was very refreshing, being in a room full of scholars who cared about the same thing. Validation is a marvellous thing.

Dinner was better than lunch, I think.

After dinner, I am sure I went to a session, but it slips my mind. Then it was time for the open bars - and the Congress specialises in open bars. If you want to, you can drink for free from about 5pm until the booze runs out at 10 or 11. The University of Toronto's reception is especially popular, and it was there that I ran into Greg again - and this time, we had a long and hilarious discussion. Rachel, the scholar who had organised the session that morning, helped to translate for us, but it got difficult as we got drunker and more voices joined in. Still, she did an admirable job, and I think the highlight for me was trying to explain Screech and its customs.

At some point I wandered off to ask David if we were going to be playing Latin Scrabble that night (so I could invite Greg and Rachel, if they wished), but I got waylaid by an interesting discussion with a scholar from Saskatchewan and by the time I made it to David, almost everyone else had gone to bed.

We still played Latin Scrabble, though, and I kicked everyone's butts. We discovered the next morning that I had actually won the Wednesday night game as well, on a technicality because I went out first. But then I went to bed.

* Why won't someone reimburse me for my book purchases? Sigh. I suppose I have to get a degree and a job, first.

A new and emerging field!

While I have a TON of things to write, seeing as Kalamazoo and pre- and post-Kalamazoo have been just wild, I don't have time at the moment because I am still at home. Frankly, seeing my family, friends, and fiancé is far more important to me than the Internets.

However, I will use this opportunity to introduce you all to Greg, who is an excellent fellow I met at Kalamazoo. Greg is also studying medieval disability, and has just started a blog of his own. He's a cool guy, go check it out!

I'm at the startin' line of the rest of my life...

The song I mentioned the other day was in my head all day today. Particularly the chorus, which runs:
I'm at the startin' line of the rest of my life
As ready as I'll ever be
I've got the hunger and the stars in my eyes
The prize is mine to see

It occurred to me this evening that this is probably the last time I'll live in the house I grew up in. It's been almost 22 years, and it's always been here, been home, even when I lived away at school. But now I'm moving far away, for a long time, and my parents might not even live here by the time I get back. I'm just a visitor now. This is... painful. It's a hard thought. The rest of my life, indeed.

Aside from that, today was quite lovely. I got my bike boxed up and shoved a few more items into my carry-on and my suitcase. I figure I'm going for broke on the baggage weight limit anyway, so I might as well make sure I have what I need. Moving is not cheap.

Went out for a round or two at the local pool hall/bowling alley with my dad. We played a game of snooker (I really, really sucked) and a game of pool (I didn't suck so badly). Apparently I have a pretty good hold on the cue, just need practice. And aim. Dad taught me how to sink a ball when it's lying flush on the rail. We spent time together and both of us really enjoyed it. I smiled the rest of the evening.

The rest of the week is really busy. Tomorrow I do tons of little errands and make some phone calls. Check in at Oaklands, pick up a paycheque, and see if some of my friends on staff are there. Call my sister. Wednesday sees more errands, and tea and talk with Laura. Thursday I'm going to get a hair trim, orthodics, eyeglasses prescription, and new eyeglasses. Friday going to the city where I did my undergrad to spend time with a friend (possibly two). Saturday will be full of last-minute packing, cleaning, vacuuming, and the Rabbie Burns ceilidh (complete with haggis)! Sunday: church, lunch, flying.

After that, I'll be incommunicado unless I hit a wireless hotspot or am remarkably lucky setting up the residence internet service.

Ready as I've ever been!

السلام عليكم

As-Salāmu `Alaykum, Alia.

Alia Qureshi died 19 December, 2007. Alia and I lived together at the l'Arche Daybreak "Green House" in 2003. I remember my time at the Green House with mixed feelings. On one hand, it was a joy to be at l'Arche and among people I loved. At the same time, it was hard being separated from people I loved, and un-l'Arche-like politics clouded the time.

Through the months I was there, I remember getting to know Alia. I remember arriving in the house and feeling quite intimidated by this tiny woman in her wheelchair. I wondered how we'd relate to each other, how we would communicate. Others seemed to enjoy a bond with her that transcended the words she couldn't speak. I was scared.

Then I got to know her a bit better. I enjoyed the time we spent together in the mornings and evenings, and bath time, which was really more like spa time. We would listen to music together; she had a tape deck and a number of Muslim music tapes. Sometimes we would listen to "A is for Allah," and I would learn about the Arabic alphabet. More often, we would listen to Dawud Wharnsby-Ali's tape, The Road to Madinah.*

Gradually, as we spent more and more time together, I remember feeling overwhelmed. At one point, I was the only person in the house doing routines with her on a regular basis, I had injured myself, and the general mood in the house was tense (for many other reasons). Meals could take upwards of three hours, and Alia would still be feeling sick through them. Looking back now, I wish I had been able to joy in the time better, but then I was exhausted. I wish I had known her better.

I remember her as a dancer, primarily. The sickness was a disguise. It shadowed her, and when she danced, her real self was allowed to shine. When she danced, her wheelchair was transformed from a necessary encumbrance to a vehicle for her art and her spirit. Many nights when she was well, would would dance in the dining room together, wheeling her in loops and circles in time to the music she loved so much. She would throw back her head and laugh: a deep, whole-body laugh that made you laugh as well for the sheer joy of it, of life and living.

I remember doing so much to try to coax her to laugh. Until this very minute, I was wondering if our relationship had ever been very deep, but remembering her laugh, and all the times I made noises for her to giggle at or danced with her, I realise how much her laugh meant to me. It was infectious, and a delight when it was heard.

Ali-Liu Qureshi. Daybreak core member, daughter, sister, friend. Loved by her family and the many people who lived with her, danced with her, or simply saw her dance.

I compare my time with Alia to my time at Oaklands. At Oaklands, bathing is often done as quickly as possible. There are too few staff for too many residents, and it's a good day when we have time for bubble baths. With Alia, it was simply the way things were. It was important to spend the time together, to relax. It was not a matter of business, it was facilitating a bath that was as much as possible the bath I would wish to be given. It's an interesting thing, and a good thing, for me to remember.

I don't know if other people have trouble thinking of acknowledgements or thank-yous, when it comes time to affix them to a dissertation. I know mine will be a simple matter. To Alia, and Keith, and Jane, Mike, Carol, Francis, Peter, Whitney... to all of you, living or departed. Thank you for opening my eyes and teaching me to love.

Carl MacMillan, the community leader, wrote a wonderful tribute to Alia on the Daybreak website, and I recommend reading it.

As-Salāmu `Alaykum, Alia.

Cast of Characters

I should probably introduce some of the dramatis personae of this saga, since it is awfully hard to talk about life without mentioning the people in it.

Excellent David: A professor from the University of Waterloo, who I met during my 3A term. He terrified me with his Roman Philosophers class, but it was not really his fault. Later he created a Special Readings distant ed. class, which allowed me to graduate with my Latin minor. We met weekly, one-on-one, and it was an excellent time. He is an excellent professor, and a good friend. He's my main source of reference letters and when you get right down to it, he's my mentor. I owe him a great deal, as I am where I am due in very large part to him.

Scary David: Another professor named David, this one from my Master's. I had the misfortune of royally tanking a major presentation for his class in first term, and I am not convinced I ever redeemed myself from that. Nevertheless, I did much better in another of his classes in second term, and he has written me reference letters as well. I am still terrified of him.

Dr. Goldberg: One of my doctoral advisors. By his emails, a nice man. Hopefully not as scary as Scary David.

Dr. McDonald: My other doctoral advisor. By her emails, a nice woman. She and Dr Goldberg have enough confidence in me to let me attempt my ideas, which is more than the rest of the department has given me. I'm excited to meet them both.


More will come, I am sure. But that should get everyone on the same page.