November 7
In the middle of nowhere, and the middle of everywhere.
1977
It has been raining for a week; everything is drizzly and miserable. (Except me. I’ve been doing OK, despite the weather.) The Danforth application and the AHEA article have been moving along, slowly. I should be able to devote most of the weekend to those two projects. Taking chemistry this summer really is helping; I got Leene’s “Textile Conservation” and understood a good deal more of it.
1978
One more month of this madness. During this time I will probably have another exam in all my TXCE courses, write two papers, give and correct one more quiz and present an oral report in American studies. And call Claudia Kidwell, have a research committee meeting, meet with my advisor about my dissertation, try out my research method on my students, and do most of the shopping, cooking, ironing, dog walking, etc. I am crazy. Or I will be. I do worry now and then about whether or not I have taken on too much, what with five courses a semester. At least I don't have the department lunacy to deal with, but I simply have so little time to myself! No time to watch video tapes, or read Balzac, or anything. What a drag. Still, I am surprising myself with how well I am doing in the courses I expected to have trouble with. TXCE660, the textile science course, has not been easy, but I've been surviving. The take home exam I just finished was a terror though. I spent the least 10 hours on it, and have had to commit to paper a lot of opinions that need to sound like facts. That, dear diary, is an unnerving experience. There's nothing like making a fool of yourself.
Later, that same day:
My God, did I write that this morning? It seems like a week ago, at least. I am exhausted. Utterly. I have a very important paper to present tomorrow night, and I have literally done a mere scrap of work. But this is a bullshit course, and there's no sense in wasting scholarship on the thing. I keep reading books, hoping to find my answer. Am I destined to bring forth babies however eventually? Or am I a scholar? It's definitely an either/or proposition for me. I haven't the energy for both. Big questions.
1983
I have this recurring desire to do something more useful with my life. What I know best is clothing. How can I help people have clothing that is adequate, comfortable, pleasing to them, and good for the environment? Is there a way to do this and provide jobs? Where does recycling fit?
Here’s an idea: a nonprofit in altering, remaking, and recycling clothing. This would involve: Teaching people to sew/alter Employing people to sew/alter, part or full time Provide day care and after school care Employ designers, managers, sales people Me: learn about recycling textiles, learn about business The cheap 2nd hand clothing places are embarrassing to shop in. So it would be nice to have a pleasant outlet. First step would be preparing me.
Comment 2023
The first step (learning about business) never happened because I am no entrepreneur. But I did start learning more about sustainable fashion, and it’s become an important sidebar to my work in gender and clothing.
2012
It's the inconvenient truth of the rag trade: an abundance of cheap, trendy clothes -- also known as "fast fashion" -- carries a hidden cost of human misery. For the American consumer, it is easy to ignore the problem of sweatshop labor because, like the migrant workers who harvest our food, the people who make our clothing are mostly invisible. "Sweatshop" once referred to a system of production, where garment producers contracted with middlemen to handle unskilled tasks on a piecework basis. Because of the fierce competition among these subcontractors, this "sweating" system tended to not only depress wages, but place tremendous pressure on the middlemen to do just about anything to increase productivity, resulting in long workdays, crowded workplaces and grinding working conditions. After the Triangle Shirtwaist fire in 1911, labor laws and unionization helped improve conditions, propelled by consumer demand for sweat-free products.
Since the 1970s, the gains of the Progressive Era began to be eroded, first by relocating of garment production to parts of the US with fewer unions, and then to countries with less worker protection. Out of sight, out of mind.
Every once in a while, we are reminded that sweatshops still exist within our borders, despite the legal protections available. In a recent news story, LA Times reporter Shan Li described a Labor Department investigation of fast-fashion icon Forever 21 for "'significant' violations of federal laws on minimum wage, overtime and record-keeping by vendors supplying the company". It is important to understand that, since 1994, the federal government no longer defines a sweatshop by the contracting arrangement by according to non-compliance with federal or state labor laws. For those with a more activist inclination, check out the National Consumers League.
2016 (North Platte, Nebraska)
I hardly know where to start. Every day I make more contacts and more connections, and learn more about myself. I spent six straight hours at "the office" -- the Espresso Shop on Dewey Street, in what used to be one wing of Montgomery Wards. Some of that was writing a report about dress codes for the ACLU, but most of it was talking to the locals. First, there was my new Facebook friend, Dan, who contacted me even before I arrived and made me feel welcome. Then it was the group of women with the spinning wheels and knitting needles who gather once a month for coffee and fiber goodness. Then it was my once-upon-time neighbor and playmate, Dennis, who remembered practicing our lariat skills in our backyard on Willow Street and reminded me of the fun and mischief to be had with an irrigation ditch.
The conversations are mixed and interwoven so much after a while I can't remember who said what. But the idea of North Platte feeling like a world apart came up again and again. We had all spent part of our lives elsewhere, and we had all experienced what it is like to feel connected to the rest of the world. Sometimes, in my home near Washington, D.C., it feels like world events are happening just on the other side of my front door, and it is hard to escape from the misery and urgency. But there is something about being in a self-contained community miles from a major city, even with the Internet, cable news, and social media, that has created in me a sense of separation that makes me feel calm and safe. Several times, one or the other of us used the expression "the middle of nowhere", until one of the weavers smilingly said, "I like to think we are in the middle of everywhere".
So that's where I am, right now, or trying to be. In the middle of nowhere, and the middle of everywhere. And hoping I can be in that place, no matter where I am.
2021
The Middle The middle? I was born there. In the middle of the week,In the middle of a year,In the middle of the century. I lived in Nebraska With my Republican mom and Democratic dad. Pop-pop and Mom-mom in New Jersey Grandfather and Grandmother in California. It’s not so bad, the middle. Sometimes it’s the middle of nowhere; sometimes it’s the middle of everywhere. 2/9/2021
Comment 2023
Apparently that conversation made a big impression on me.
2023
In a week, I begin teaching a seven-week non-credit course here at my retirement community. I was talked into it by a couple of friends, who knew I missed teaching. It’s an examination of “The Simple Life” in American culture from the Puritans and Quakers to modern “slow” food/fashion/living. I have now had two anxiety dreams in a row; those I did not miss. Sunday night I was attending graduation in full academic regalia. The procession was winding around through dozens of crowded buildings and never ended. Last night, I worked on my lesson plans in my dreams.
I don’t think I will do this again. Writing is hard, but at least I don’t dream about it.
Comment 2024
Last night I dreamt about writing.