Cuba-Canada Connections

Last year Arlequino and I attended a conference and gave a teaching presentation at the University of Holguin, Cuba. This year we did it again. The experience was even better this year. Why? Partly because we took the kids with us. Partly because there were more Canadian academics with us–seven professors in total. Partly because we were better prepared, having learned from last year’s experience how to pitch our material to a group of really interested Cuban professors and students who have few resources in Canadian studies and little extant knowledge about our topics. Probably the best thing that happened was that we finally understood that the books we should be sending are primary texts–novels, anthologies, works of poetry and drama (in multiple copies), not the critical texts we have been sending or taking with us. A presentation by a Cuban professor made clear to us how difficult it is for their students to be interested in Canadian literature when they have no books. Nor can they photocopy the ones they do have. Photocopiers can’t be fixed when they break down; maybe there is a shortage of paper; maybe the cost of toner cartridges is just too much. It is such a useful reminder of how much we have and how much we take for granted. I commented last year in a blog post how Cuban universities, professors, and students are much the same as academics everywhere. We all share the love of learning. But our work and study contexts are so very different. Ever optimistic and enthusiastic, and incredibly resourceful, Cuban academics nevertheless work in buildings that are crumbling, desks and chairs are rickety or broken, air conditioners don’t work. Even the plumbing was not functioning this time. No working toilets. Yeah.

It’s good to get off the resort. Even the bus ride into the city is revealing. Cubans riding horses and donkeys as often as in old cars and makeshift buses. Goats grazing in fields that are dry. Houses in various stages of construction or demolition. Farms producing the fruits that are in abundance at the resort restaurants. After the teaching day we were generously taken for lunch at a nearby restaurant. The lunch conversation revealed more important realities: for example, the Cubans are not permitted to buy seafood at the markets, as it all goes to the tourists. The restaurant was a local place, but since it converted its business to the convertible peso (the tourist currency) few ordinary Cubans can afford to eat there.

Playa Esmeralda was as pristine as ever. The sea was warm and inviting. The whole experience was divine. With useful reality checks.

Field trips for English students!

If we were anthropologists or water specialists or architects we’d often be doing our research and teaching elsewhere. We’d do field work. We’d pay site visits. We’d gather data from the environment. English students, however, tend to fairly bound to university classrooms, desks in offices and libraries, or inside their own heads. So whenever I can dream up a field trip for English graduate students in my courses I do it. And I’m not talking about a trip to Stratford to see a Shakespearean play (though there’s nothing wrong with that, of course). Over the years I have managed just four field trips.

1. Ste. Marie Among the Hurons. This was in a course about spatialization and Canadian texts. We read books that created verbal maps of different parts of Canada at different points in history. We began by reading excerpts from The Jesuit Relations, so we made the trek to the place from whence most of the missives were sent. Not only did we tour the site, talk to the re-enactors who play priests, donnees and Indians (Wyandot) we talked to the archivist who showed us originals and made us aware of the other unpublished texts written by the Jesuits that are held at Ste. Marie Among the Hurons. Mind blowing.

2. In another course that connected texts and places we read Michael Ondaatje’s novel In the Skin of a Lion, which is set primarily in Toronto. The novel maps some offbeat parts of Toronto, including the iconic R.C. Harris Water Purification Plant. So, of course, we did the Michael Ondaatje walking tour of Toronto, complete with a visit to the Riverdale library, a stroll across the Bloor Street viaduct, a tour of the water plant and lunch on the Danforth in a Greek restaurant.

3. A course in African Canadian literature culminated in a trip to North Buxton, Ontario, site of a Historical Museum and location (in the wider area) of a once large and vibrant African Canadian community. It’s not gone, of couse, just rather smaller than it used to be. This was one terminus of the Underground Railroad, but as we learned in that course black history (and literature) in this country is much more extensive than what is popularized. In the museum we saw a model of a slave ship, the printing press upon which  Mary Ann Shadd’s work was printed, a Ghanaian mask that had made it over the middle passage and all sorts of domestic objects that spoke to life in the community. Josiah Henson’s house, which is a historic site, was, unfortunately closed. Timing is everything.

Today, after the students have met each other to peer review drafts of their final essays, we are going on another field trip, this one closer to home. In the Waterloo City Museum, which is tucked away inside Conestoga Mall, there is an exhibit of Scott Chantler’s work Two Generals, which we have read in the autobiography course that is just winding up today.

Chantler came to talk to the class the week we studied his work–which was brilliant!–and now we are going to look at artifacts that are associated with it.

Field trips for English students. Fun, informative, informal. But teaching opportunities nonetheless.

3MT

The University of Waterloo finals of the Three Minute Thesis competition took place yesterday. I’ve written about this before, way back in November when we were just beginning to think about the competition. After four months of planning, organizing, and managing, it all came to a wonderful crescendo yesterday. It was truly exciting to see how well our students did. The 17 finalists were from all six faculties. There was one winner, one runner up (who will both move onto the finals at Queen’s University in Kingston next month) and one people’s choice winner.

There were glitches and panicky moments. The finals were held in a large auditorium in a brand new building. It took half an hour and five techies to get the powerpoint to work. Powerpoint slides, as you may remember, are an integral part of the presentations. No powerpoint; no competition that day. Yes, I was on edge. I got up to host the event, stood at the podium, and realized that two spotlights were shining right in my eyes–which means they would also be in the competitors’ eyes. No one could find which switch would turn them off. Finally someone did. The iClickers (that’s how the people’s choice award was determined) wouldn’t turn on. Oh, because the laptop on which the software was loaded ran out of power and had to be rebooted. Yeah. But once we got going everything went smoothly.

I’m proud to have been involved in this.  The students were excited; they worked hard; they did their best. They. Blew. Us. Away. I was so proud of them! As an English professor and now an Associate Dean in the Arts faculty I am used to championing our own arts students–and three of them made it to the finals. But my mind was also expanded beyond my own disciplinary and faculty homes. I realized, for instance, that I had a very narrow conception of what engineers do. Now, it’s true that I don’t like it anymore than anyone else does that arts is so under represented at this campus and so unrecognized outside of it.  I’ll always be a champion for arts. But for me, the most exciting part of this whole competition was learning about what students are up to in a whole range of disciplines–and I could learn a lot because the goal of the presentations was to speak in lay person’s language. Many of the contestants were adept at using simple analogies to describe complex processes or models. All of them were very good at explaining a) what their research question is and b) how their research aims to answer it. That might seem like an easier task for students working in the sciences or in engineering than for those in arts, but I don’t buy that. Every researcher should be able to make such statements about their work. Um, could I?

The other big lesson learned was just how many people and how many hours it takes to pull something like this off. Team work all the way. I’m so grateful (as I expressed publicly at the finals) for all of the work many members of staff did and for all of the people who volunteered to be judges, chairs, coaches, advertisers, and so on. It took a community. I love being part of that community.

I’ll be going to Queen’s to cheer on our UWaterloo students. Bring it on!

Working on the weekends

I have tried not to work on weekends because I really need to rest and rejuvenate (not to mention do laundry, make soup and run errands), but this term has been especially challenging and this weekend I have had to work. My March calendar is chock-a-block with meetings and other commitments–many of them to students. And being in my office five days a week means that certain kinds of work are more difficult to accomplish. Sometimes a gal just needs some quiet time to concentrate. To think.

What I have fallen behind on are two things: reading, commenting on, and editing PhD student writing; and attending to my research commitments, including meeting a deadline for a conference proposal. So yesterday I took the two PhD chapters I’ve had for three weeks to the public library. And I did not leave until I had read and commented on them. I like working in the public library, as I’ve noted before. I like being around so many people who are reading. But you takes yer chances about who else will be there. Yesterday there was a woman across the table from me laughing (and not quietly) at whatever she was looking at on her laptop. No number of pointed glances in her direction suppressed her loud expressions of mirth. Then there are the young people with headphones on but with the volume turned up so loud you are forced to share their tastes in music. And sometimes there are people sitting beside you who, well, let’s just say don’t smell so good. Public libraries are wonderful spaces and the Waterloo one is spacious and bright. They let you bring coffee in too. I got the work done.

My usual favourite weekend activities? Sleeping in. That’s definitely number one. Not showering or dressing right away. Making a big pot of tea. Playing Scrabble or doing crosswords. Reading. Making soup.

When we retire Arlequino is going to make beer and I am going to make soup. What kind of soup should I make today? Recent soups have been ham and white bean, leek and potato, chicken noodle, butternut squash, black bean. Suggestions welcome.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend, peeps. I will.

Reading week, then and now

When I was a university student, reading week was the best thing ever. It meant a break from classes, time to catch up on required reading or finally writing that essay, an opportunity to remain un-showered and sloppily dressed at home, or to bury myself in the library, coming up only for coffee and food breaks. Yeah, I was that kind of nerdy student who actually felt most myself  hanging out in libraries or in other comfy spaces in which to read and explore new stuff. I was the student who, while writing an essay or thesis, would take a break by going to a different section of the library to browse. Art history anyone? Architecture? Photography? The map room? That was me.

Then I became a professor and reading week meant the promise of pause. White knuckle teaching until the magical week in mid-February when everyone could take a breath. There was much of the same sense of relief as when I was on the other side of the classroom desk, but rather less fun. There was marking to do, reading to catch up on (inevitably material I’d be teaching the following week), lecture prep to sort out. But sometimes, if properly planned well in advance, it could be possible to take some holiday time as well. One year Arlequino and I actually took the entire week off and went to Mexico. Yes, the ENTIRE week off! We took no work with us. We did not check email. We disappeared. That was the only time in our respective careers as academics (25 years for him; 16 for me at that time) that either of us had ever done that.

Now that we are both in administrative positions it’s a lot harder to disengage completely. We have just returned from a mini-break in Washington, D.C. Four days, including travel days.  It was only when we were there that I realized that, because Monday was “family day,” the only work day that we took as holiday was the day we were travelling home. We both took work with us: I was reading a final draft of a PhD dissertation and also reading the book I will teach next week. He was writing a convocation address (delivered the evening of the day we got home). Both of us were checking email, if not always answering it. Neither of us felt it possible to post a “vacation message,” because urgent matters communicated to us had to be attended to. I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to go away during reading week because I have much more of a sense of reporting to a supervisor–the Dean. So I asked permission. He said “take the whole week.” But I couldn’t.

Did we have fun in Washington? Yes, yes we did. We went to museums and galleries; we ate well; we caught up on sleep; we enjoyed just being together, exploring a city that neither of us knows particularly well.

A courtyard in the National Art Gallery

“The Last Indian Maiden”

Interior garden

The National Museum of the American Indian

The Great Hall

Blurry photo of well known portrait of Pocahontas

Working in Starbucks every morning

Before the Canadian Embassy

We would have loved another day at least. Washington is a fascinating city. We were staying downtown in a fancy old hotel, two blocks away from the White House. There was a climate rally going on. There were interesting neighbourhoods to explore. There are all those monuments to look at–guy-on-a-horse; guy-on-a-plinth. We kept comparing Washington to other big cities we know: Paris, Vienna, Ottawa, Toronto, Chicago. It was cool to think about how that city works–literally works, with all of its civil servants, lobbyists, politicians, FBI types, and other organizations. It was sad to see how many people were homeless on the streets. I noticed that there were cheap grey felt blankets scattered about — the American social safety net, I quipped. Stay warm, brother. Was this a recognizably racialized city? What is the fashion style of upscale Washingtonians? What does the architecture tell us? How does it feel to be from here? We had a million questions.

But we just couldn’t see our way to turning the whole week into a restorative week of catching up and winding down. It’s just the reality of the job now. The machine does not stop. Sometimes we can slow down our response to it. But it does not stop.

I realize there’s a theme to these recent posts: I’m tired. Please know that I’m not unhappy. “I’m done with winter,” Arlequino announces every day. Me too.

Spring will bring warmth and colour. Bring it on!

Snow day

Time really does hurry along when a person works a regular schedule in an office, is tied to a computer, or is rushing from meeting to meeting. Which is why Friday’s “snow day” felt like such a luxury. Although I had planned to work from home that day anyway, when the university officially closed because of a giant snow dump I gave myself permission to work very little. The result was three days (including the regular weekend days) of a slower pace. It was heaven. Clearly I needed it. I fully recovered from a recent wee bout of the flu. Caught up on sleep and some light reading. Indulged in game playing on the iPad. And hung out with Arlequino in our home. On the snow day we did some snow blowing (yay! bought a snowblower!)–well, Arlequino maneuvered the machine and I did a bit of clearing of steps.

At one point we put on our big boots and went for a walk. But mainly we were just quiet at home. Together. With nothing on the agenda. No one to see. Nothing to do. Perfect.

I have been thinking about how tiring this Associate Dean job is. Not that I don’t enjoy the work, because most times I do. But I’m tired. Why? Is it the mental gymnastics of truly multi-tasking all day long? Is it dealing with the tricky (and often depressing) issues associated with impending budget cuts, low enrolments, graduate funding tangles, programs that aren’t delivering and others that are over-subscribed, cases of academic misconduct or student-faculty relationship meltdowns? Or is it just February.

The university gods invented reading week. That’s next week. And we’re taking a break from our lives and going elsewhere. Stay tuned for a travel report.

Stay strong and carry on, gentle readers.

I don’t DO numbers

I am a literary scholar. I am a whiz at analyzing texts. I can theorize my observations and explain my arguments in clear language. I am pretty good at noticing nuances of language and meaning. And I can write pretty well. I have a PhD and I suppose that assures that I have a certain amount of intellectual capital. But when I’m faced with a spreadsheet my eyes go blurry and my mind slows down. Now, don’t get me wrong: I got good marks in Math when I was in high school and I can still add up a column of numbers in my head, count back change in a financial transaction, figure out basic fractions and percentages, and so on. But I chose to be a student of language and literature and that’s how I’ve spent the last (gasp) thirty years. The numeracy part of my brain has not been exercised very much until now.

In the deanery I have to deal with spreadsheets, columns, figures, tables, pie charts, complicated numbers calculated several ways. Ugh. One of my colleagues in the Arts wing occasionally and quite dramatically exclaims: “I don’t do numbers!” And I find myself saying exactly the same thing. Further, I don’t want to do numbers. One of the things that bothers me about this job is that students become things: bums in seats (yes, to my non-academic readers, that really is a phrase that we use), full time equivalents, part of a head count, a funding package, a scholarship winner, a target (as in “intake of new admissions target”).

Wednesdays have become the highlight of my workweek. Why? Because I’m in the classroom for three hours with 15 smart graduate students. We read. We talk. We question. We analyze. We debate. We do what I have loved doing for these past (gasp) thirty years. I am a literary scholar.