Monthly Archives: July 2010

Changing Allegiance to Compete: Ottey

Merlene Ottey Competes at age 50 in an international event, but not for her country, Jamaica…instead it’s for Slovenia. I wouldn’t have guessed that one in a million years. It brings up several questions regarding changing allegiance in order to compete which have been debated in the sports world very strongly.

I find this story both compelling and somehow a bit questionable. That’s not the right word for the feeling it gives me, but unsettling, disturbing or annoying all seemed to strong.

Certainly I support anyone continuing to compete in their local community, let alone on the global level in the field of athletics which certainly takes dynamic energy but also endurance and hard work.

Without a doubt there immediately surfaced questions of steroid or performance enhancement drugs usage by Merlene Ottey. There cannot NOT be such questions raised because of the demands running of this type places on the body, and the muscles naturally lose strength as they age. It’s noted her personal best is now a second slower than in the mid 90′s when she was at her arguable best. That still makes her faster than some others enough to gain a slot on a team.

But just because most other athletes in similar fields have long since retired and gone onto other fields, doesn’t mean if some had continued to train, they might have kept going. Genetics has a lot to do with it also. There have been many studies made of athletes who continue far after most of their peers have fallen to the side. Lance Armstrong, for one. Hm, controversial as he is. Another one people like to claim he MUST use performance enhancing drugs of some kind to keep going.

I’m all for Ottey to keep competing as she wishes. If she can meet requirements and turn in comparatively fast times, there is no reason why she should stop if she wants to keep going. The one question I do have is her competing for the Slovenia national team. It’s a really debatable subject these days, especially in a World Cup year where some players quickly changed (and were assisted to change) nationally affiliation in order to compete. This goes on quite a lot these days.

A comment from a poster on Eurosport:

“Very impressed wit Merlene Ottey and her ability to­ still compete at this level at 50. She is obviously an­ amazing ahtlete and an insirpational role model who­ shows what can be achieved through hard work and­ dedication. BUT, why is a Jamaican allowed to compete­ for Slovenia? I do not understand thes changing your­ alliegance to compete for whichever country will have­ you or pay you or who do not have enough athletes of­ sufficient class of their own to filed a team of tru­ nationals. I understand her desire to continue­ competing and that by Jamaican standards she is­ probably now not 1st string as they have many talented­ athletes who are younger, fitter and faster, but I­ still don’t think it is right. Sheis Jamaican and­ should only, therefore be eligible to represent­ Jamaica, just like any other athlete should only be­ allowed to represent their true home nation. It makes a­ mockery of having a national team.”

I can’t say that I don’t in some ways agree with what he says. For myself, having dual citizenship USA and Germany, I could honestly compete for either were I in the situation to do so, though I would only choose to do so for Germany. Legitimately so. My young teen son could also do so, though he is American citizen only at this point, but his other parent is of German ancestry and they have a whole clan of relatives slightly west of Berlin, grandparents, etc.

A few years ago the gentleman father of my very good friend, and I were discussing the Bundesliga, and he said he thought it was absurd they had so many “foreigners” playing in the league especially when there were as many great German players being turned aside. I agreed with that idea, although I pointed out and gave him a different thought he hadn’t considered (and he reasonably then agreed with me) that when you had the bi- or multi-racial children with a German parent even if their skin was brown, they were as German as the Russian-German players (for example) who had pale skin. I made this comment because he remarked on the number of brown-skinned German players on one team.

Yet when you have someone with no affiliation, ancestry or connection to a country except the offer of money and a new citizenship changing their status and given a place on the national team, I don’t agree with it, although I can sympathize with the individual. Giving that spot to them is cutting out a place for someone FROM the country competing in their place. Someone who could run as competitively fast. It’s no wonder a number of people from countries like this are becoming more disgruntled with immigrants. I don’t excuse any aggression, but it is a factor. One would be self-delusional not to consider granting someone like Ottey on the national team might affect the attitude of citizens negatively.

I love seeing Ottey compete. It brings me back to past days, when as a child and young teen to adult I watched her in competitions over the years. I cannot say I agree with her competing for another country in this way, no affiliation.

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Review of “Stones from the River” by Ursula Hegi

Stones from the River
by Ursula Hegi

Intro

Although I often read history, especially books regarding World War II and Germany, memoirs, collected memories, analysis into the various horrors and sheer arrogant stupidity of what the Nazis and others did, I seldom, if ever, read fiction books about those times.

This book, however, caught my eye because the central character was a Zwerg, or dwarf, one of the many groups considered “unfit to live” which were summarily done away with under the Nazi regime. Secondly, this character, Trudi Montag’s best friend as a child was a boy named George whose mother dressed him as a girl and kept his hair long. Naturally, I being I, was intrigued. Without reading anything further into the short synopsis on the back of the novel, I thought it might be about their personal interactions, regarding their “disabilities”, with those who meant for them to die. In the end, the book is about far more.

Background

Germany is a country I love. It’s my favorite place in the world, and I never truly feel peace or relief or joy unless I am there. This is quite shocking to some people, those who still look on Germany as Nazi, intolerant and ugly. It is infuriating to others who insist on judging a whole population by their former government or by certain groups. Subjectivity without objectivity. Whatever one thinks of modern Germany and its population, whether one is insistent on their culpability and propensity to commit evil acts, or is merely doubtful in some way, few people know the depth of the self-loathing, national examination and fury of descendants of “those ones” who participated, “looked the other way” or somehow minimized what happened. Though it is considered a more “unreligious” Christian country, there is a national insistence almost nearing religious fervor, that one be tolerant of all peoples, all thoughts, all desires and lifestyles, etc. and I share that fervor.

First of all, it’s a subject few Germans except scholars or other academicians will discuss with “outsiders”. It’s a subject if brought up, the faces shut down, become wary or misdirective, or if they are the outspoken sort, they will question why you are pursuing the topic. Some, usually the younger generations, don’t want to hear about it anymore because they are sick and tired of the still accusatory comments or jokes made towards them, their people and country. In reality, no nation or peoples on this earth now living are free of some sort of holocaust or attempted massacre of another people. Australia, Spain, England, the USA, Russia…each and everyone. It is still happening in areas of Asia and Africa. Read this objectively, please.

Review

I initially found the book difficult to get into, not because of topic, but because of style, which was choppy and sporadic, with a POV which toggled between an omnipotent viewer and the main character as an infant and toddler who made observations about individuals and situations that would be impossible for a child of that age. Often there were snippets of thoughts or memories provided as if from old age looking backwards, yet it was in early childhood details. Many other facts are merely implied. You have to ascertain a conclusion from information presented, and you’re often left doubting or wondering if you understood something correctly.

The setting is a small village in Germany, one of the many burgs which often surround or are near a larger, cosmopolitan city. Hegi is excellent at setting a mood so you can “see” and feel what it’s like to live in such a place: the little relationships, the jealousies, the short-lived boasts and affairs which kept everyone just a certain distance apart yet always together. There are good people and bad people, ones you ultimately as a reader can judge as such, yet the author makes no such attempt. She gives you the information, you can draw your own conclusions.

You are drawn into the world of Trudi Montag, her father owns a book circulation library and is a former injured veteran of WWI. She is visibly different, painfully and emotionally aware of the fact, yet with ingenius courage survives and keeps a dignity so many thoughtlessly attempt to brush away. That very difference, Trudi’s birth, her dwarfism is yet another trigger into her mother’s slow descent into madness, and poignantly we observe the bittersweet nature of a child’s desire to please and make happy a parent who soon is helpless against their own compulsions.

As other peers grow taller, grow up and pursue the nature courses of life, Trudi feels trapped yet determined to also grow in all ways, but her obsession with being “normal” teaches hard yet important lessons which keep her alive during the years to come. Unrequited love, secret abuse, solitary agony and loneliness. Trudi is small in stature but hugely spirited, fierce and passionate in her hates and personal battles.

Characterization is extremely important to this writer, even if the amount of names and descriptions can be confusing at times, with each person Hegi shows aspects of the German character, its idiosyncracies, faults and positives. About midway through, Hegi finally hits her stride, as the inevitable events we now know as history, begin to unfold. Almost frenetically we are drawn along in the emotional flood knowing what is going to happen, but as we’ve been made to care for each person, reluctant to progress already realizing the inevitable.

Conclusion

For some who are more narrow-minded, they will not take away from the book the knowledge Hegi is trying to impart: that although virtually all Germans of that time knew and felt something very wrong was occurring, and they knew the basis on which it was focused, the ridding of the fatherland of Jews, many resisted and helped those Jews or others as they could with risk to their own lives. Some more than others. Others not at all, but many in some way or another did. It’s very easy with hindsight or a superior attitude to proclaim what one would have done in such a situation, but Hegi excels at showing just how normal people can change, and how the world around can change you.

For those who’ve studied socialism or communism, you’ll clearly see the examples of what type of attitude a police state creates in its populace. One most notable is the willingess to turn in others to prove their own loyalty, even children against parents, sibling to sibling, old friends of old friends. And later, to minimize or justify those acts. To conveniently forget what roled they played.

Yet the book is not a political statement. It is not a justification. It is not a mediation. It is starkly plain as seen through Trudi Montag’s eyes what people are and can be. As a little person who was often ignored or dismissed, her insight is brutally honest yet acceptable as truth. It is a character which I often find in Germans today, the willingness (if they allow you in) to harshly examine self, to admit to weaknesses or wrongdoing of thought or deed, but with a pragmatism which accepts those facts but is unwilling to be dismayed by them. Life goes on. Some people call that arrogance. For myself, I would much rather be with someone or among a people who admit wrongdoing and go on with life, instead of those who apologize profusely yet don’t mean a word of it. If a German says something, they mean. If they don’t mean something, 9 times out of 10, they are not going to say it. It might be said hard, but the intention is not to hurt. But my commentary is listing to the side….back on track.

As an editor, I would have been compelled to “clean up” Hegi’s writing, make it more coherent and flowing, yet it would have lost the sparkle which makes unique her voice. As a reader, I found it challenging, but overall this book is extremely successful. I would strongly consider it one not to be missed. Although they make hundreds of films these days about anything and everything, this is a book I would love to see adapted for film. With its snippet like quality, it would be perfect for the big screen.

A bittersweet and wonderful gem. I am glad I didn’t put this one to the side simply because I don’t often read contemporary fiction or because the stamp on my copy proclaimed it a “Oprah’s Book Club Selection”. I would have been much less having not read it. It really is perfect in it’s view of German life of the era, the complexities underlying an entire country and people’s past which continues to haunt with a darkly golden light.

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Writing is a Grass Dance. Welcome to my pow-wow

I am not an anomaly.

Well, I am kind of an anomaly, but in regards to writing, no, not really.

I am a mood writer. When the passion, the spirit hits me and all the stories in my head, and the characters need to be released so everyone can see them and know they are real: I write.

I certainly realize when I read another writer’s comment that they completed so many words in one day or week, they are proud of what they accomplished, and they very well should be.

I certainly realize when I read another writer’s comments where they encourage and suggest everyone should write at least so many words a day because that is what successful writers do, they are just trying to be encouraging and they very well should be.

The flip side of such comments can be construed or misconstrued to suggest, if you don’t or are not able to produce so many words a day, 1) you are not really trying, 2) you are not committed enough, or perhaps 3) you are not disciplined enough.

I always ask, what is your definition of success?

Some of the most celebrated writers are not the massively prolific kind. Many never achieved any kind of success or fame on even a local scale until after they died. (Not something I personally aspire to.)

Because writing has been a part and need in me since I was eleven, it’s something I think about or do, to some degree or another, every day. Perhaps because it is so integral to me dating back to a time I was not consciously aware of my need, I don’t feel pressured in any way (or try not to) to produce, nor do I feel the need produce simply to be producing. I don’t feel unaccomplished or unfinished if I don’t. In fact, (and no I’m not crazy) it’s like my characters tell me, “We’ll wait another day. We know you have it in you, when it’s time we’ll come out.” I can thank them for that.

Each day I greet them, I review them, I reacquaint myself with their idiosyncracies, but if I don’t have the mood quite for someone, I’ll see them again sometimes. I let it build: my view, my image, my panorama of their lives. When they don’t feel like talking, when they don’t want to be bothered with me, then it’s their choice too. We speak. We understand each other. After all, we are old friends.

When I do something, I wish to do it to the utmost of my abilities. I want to be as close to the best as I can be. That is what my characters and stories demand, and what I demand of myself. I would rather only produce one outstanding masterpiece in my life, than dozens of average, mediocre or common results. That’s just me.

My point is not to down anyone, but to emphasis EVERYONE IS DIFFERENT. Not everyone can write 10,000k a day or a week, or even in a month or a year: it doesn’t make them less than anyone else. It doesn’t make them any less creative. It doesn’t make them a less accomplished or clever writer.

Here it is. You were wondering why I titled the article as it is without having said anything about all about dancing thus far:

Dancers at a local pow-wow

I have a pow-wow coming up this weekend. I’ve not been to one all year, which is really unusual for me. Not that I haven’t felt it, but that circumstances (health, depression, lack of motivationetc.) kept me away. Just like writing, it has to come to me of itself.

When I’ve gone to countless pow-wows in the past, sometimes I dance, drum or sing, but more often not. Like writing, I have to feel the mood, it has to rise in me like the drum, making my feet move before I am even aware of it, my body sway, my shoulders. I’m hearing myself singing the songs and didn’t know I was speaking. And then when I stand at the sacred circle’s entrance, and have the smoke waved over me, and the sky above is a face, and I hear everything and nothing, and my body is not my own, but every body throughout time which gave seed into my being….and like a whirl of magic it all comes together and it FLOWS outward. My arms are flying, my feet, my hair, I feel tireless even when sweat is pouring down my back. Nothing like it in the world! Just writing now about it brings tears to my eyes.

THAT is how writing is to me. That is how sacred an obligation I feel it to give my characters life and their stories meaning. That is how it comes together for me, and I feel it when it comes, as if all the planets are aligning and the sun and moon are together in the sky over me as I spread my arms.

You can’t force something like that. I don’t try. When it comes it will, and it’s all the more precious for me when it does. I am satisfied when it’s not there, satisfied enough, because like the dance, I don’t doubt my words.

The story of the grass dance, arguable, and you’ll find that out if you talked to different tribes, but this is how it was told to me, the short version that is. It has a certain pattern. It begins with a strange, limping gait, almost pained, and slowly as the beat deepens, lengthens, the dancer moves more freely, shoulders, knees, everything swaying, until he’s spinning, joyous, wild, reaching, until the tempo drops again, and he makes himself smaller, the limp comes back, the moves: lower, slower.

“There was a young man with a twisted foot. When it came time when the People gathered together, and they drummed and sang, swaying over the grass, beneath the sun and sky, and then into the night, this young man wanted to be among them. He was ashamed of his foot. He’d heard the ones who said he couldn’t do it, shouldn’t try. He prayed to Man Above, he said please just let me dance this one time, please. And Man Above listened.

The young man went into the circle with his limping gait. All could see how painful it was for him to move, but he made his circle with the rest. As the music swelled, his pain vanished, his leg straightened, with rejoicing he whirled and twirled as fast as the rest. He was the best, and as he danced, tears ran down his face, and he raised his arms in thanks to Man Above. But the song neared it’s end, and the pain was coming back, his breath was strained, his arms closer to his sides, but he made to the end beat, proud.”

The grass dance is one of my favorites to watch. I don’t know if I’ll dance this weekend. If the mood comes upon me, just like writing, I’ll do it with my whole heart, soul, mind and strength. That’s how I do everything.

Here’s a great example of a competition men’s grass dance.Enjoy!


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