In which I go to Philly and see and Afro-Brazilian Performance by my friends at ASCAB

Haven't written in a while, this past week has been a marathon of classes, homework and fun gatherings of all different sorts. This past Saturday I went with 5 of my friends into Philly. We went shopping on Chestnut St in the pouring rain; no part of us was dry by the end, even though the shopping was inside!

After a gourmet dinner of crappy Philly pizza we took a cab to the ASCAB Capoeira Academy. I got to see lots of Philly capoeira people from this summer, and my dear Gégé (photo of her from this summer at top left) sat on my lap for most of the performance. She was so into it that she started kicking her leg in rhythm with the drumming, and accidentally kicked the lady's chair in front of her. Very softly, and she's only almost three, but the lady gave her (and me), such a withering look. I kept the kiddo's legs in, and apologized to the woman afterwards.

She said nastily, "It breaks my concentration". She was wearing a pink lei, and sat in the front row with other women wearing pink leis, which gave me some impression that they were VIP members of the show and thought very highly of themselves. "Concentration"??! A show like that (of Afro Brazilian dance and culture) should be appreciated with feeling, with yelping and whooping and clapping and swaying! Concentration indeed! The two year old knew how to appreciate it more than she did. I understand how the kicking was annoying, and I stopped it, but still. She was trying to be "cultured", but staying outside of the energy instead of letting it soak into her. She wouldn't have needed concentration if she knew how to do that--she would be a part of the performance as much as the performance. Gégé knows how to do this...when her mother performed, she looked up at me every few seconds with such a grin that would light up anyone's day. Capoeira, African dance, drumming, even hip-hop...it's about becoming one with the performers, the music and most of all the driving and deep rhythm that is the core of the dance.


After the performance we went to a party at Mestre Corisco's apartment. He speaks no English, and just moved to the US in the past couple months. He walks the few miles to and from the Academy every day, and his apartment is furnished with just the bare minimum--folding chairs and table, beds, a poster of the 2008 ASCAB Batizado, and an old, yellow faded picture of him shaking hands with his mestre, José Andrade. He showed all of this to us with pride, and put out a feast of chips, Jarritos, Corona and caiprinhas made with honey on plastic plates and cups (except for the caiprinha, which had the privilege of being put in the one glass). We had to leave to catch the train pretty early, and Cebola drove us to the train station.

All in all it was a lovely evening, and felt so good to be back in my capoeira family again (even if it is my extended family for now!)

In which I visit Canaday and do some research

This morning's classes were lovely, yet uneventful. I like both of my professors (one from France and the other four moths pregnant)--they seemed smart and nice and together. I thought I had dance today, but after arriving at Pem studio on time, I was told that dance starts next week.

My real adventure of the day came this afternoon, when, in having some spare time, I wandered into Canaday Library. I took the orange door to head to Special Collections. First, after finding her picture in the 1945 yearbook, I began a small search for the footsteps of my grandmother, Elizabeth Boudreau (BA '45, MA '48). The woman working there seemed slightly annoyed at everything, but was otherwise very helpful and useful. She gave me Grandma Elizabeth's file. This file included all her updates for the alumnae association, as well as clips from her memorial service and a list of her work published in the Lantern (the BMC lit mag. I believe). We started out with student records, as I wanted to find out where she lived.

I have to admit, I was slightly disappointed when I found out she was not a Denbigh girl (although I believe at the time Denbigh and the Pems were the rich girls dorms...not sure, maybe I'll investigate this). She lived in Rockefeller her first two years, and then in Wyndham (when it was a dorm) her second two. She worked in the Deanery as a waitress for extra spending money for a time. She didn't seem to be involved in many activities (some writing for the paper was all I found), and the years she was there were "below par" in her words because of the war. She thought Bryn Mawr a wonderful institution (although she was annoyed about their corporate attitude towards asking for money...she did so hate money!).

I always knew about her incredible sadness and distress about the world, but this gave me another interesting take on it. She mentioned getting older, taking medications for her various ailments, and above all, her excitement about her children, grandchildren, cats and dogs.

She was so smart, so incredibly brilliant, and yet the world could not account for that in the time she lived in. She spoke many languages, was scientific--she described one of her jobs as "furthering scientific literacy"--and thought so well. She worked for the U.S.G.S, and was a substitute teacher, but I think she never got the proper recognition by society that she deserved for her brains. This, I'm sure, left her with a bitterness towards the academic world (including Bryn Mawr), even though she loved and lived the best she could. (Also the whole trauma of her sister's death and mothers following insanity did not help her state). She went to Bryn Mawr in the war years--she wrote something about red lanterns being donated to the war effort (another thing I'll investigate further)--so her time here must have been riddled with loss and helplessness. The yearbook was dedicated to the professors off fighting....I can't imagine the impact the war had on the campus.

She was a particular woman ("detest them" was the response to any reunion invitations), and she was saddened by the fact that nobody wanted to keep in touch after college years. She noted that Bryn Mawr should teach a class on the use of household appliances....that, she thought, would be most useful!

Although somewhat saddening, I got a glimpse into the college experience and personality of my grandmother. I knew her always as a wonderful woman, and she still is that to me, yet now I know more about what her experience here was like.

I found one poem, one article on the League of Nations, and one sad love story written for the lantern--and what a writer she was!

Here is a humorous poem I copied from the May 1942 issue of the Lantern:

Bryn Mawr at Dawn: A Rhapsody

The bells are clanging loud and clear at eight
O'Clock; forgotten last night's burps rise fast,
And glamourpussies curse that bast---
O naughty word! that unkind cruel fate
Bestowed on them for last night's---date
And then, quite raw, from bed they rise at last
And make the effort for their sould to mate
With Kant, Spinoza, Hobbes, Descartes, and Plat--
But their mates they'll find, not for their souls,
For unlike body, soul's inanimate
(Though this hypothesis has many leaks)
And from the bottom of a drinking-bowl,
Become a loving cup you'll find a mate
(That is, if the eyes have it at the Greek's).

-Elizabeth Boudreau

In which I meet more friends and learn about tunnels

This is my fireplace--the owls that my grandmother (Class of '48) gave me......



This is my room, my bed in the window seat, looking out across to Taylor Hall.






The thing I love about Bryn Mawr most, more than the castle-like buildings, the old and mysterious traditions, the fascinating classes and gorgeous campus, is the people. The people here are unique, each with her own way of life, her own interests, her own energy. Some may overlap, some may differ immensely, but all are willing to share their passion about what they do.

Tonight I was standing out in my hall talking to a hallmate, when a girl walked by. I never know who the new upperclassmen living in my hall are, and, as people at Bryn Mawr do, I introduced myself. She asked us how we liked the school, and we began a long conversation about our newfound love affair with the place. We talked for at least an hour, and she told us about old traditions that have existed for decades (some for over a century!). We discussed the tunnels that exist in Bryn Mawr campus--tunneling from the Pems to Thomas is possible (one person does have to unlock the passageway from inside the dumbwaiter)--and how much we want to explore them. We discussed Pem arch and the friendship poles, the moon bench and Rock arch.

Conversation then shifted to our activities, and once she discovered I play capoeira she told me I should come try out for the latin dance club here. We talked long after everyone else went to bed about Whoopie Goldberg, musicals, dance, and again, how much we love our school.

In which I drink lots more tea and decide to take Calculus

I woke up early this morning and stumbled down to Erdman, only to grab a cup of Earl Grey and some yogurt and fruit and leave again to take the second part of the French Placement exam. It wasn't that hard, but I was really tired, and so would have to read a passage many times before answering.

After French, I went to all sorts of lecture halls to be lectured at about the Honor Code (basically don't cheat and we trust you), class signups (meeting our dean,--mine's lovely-- and talking about academic stuff), and finally to an Academic Fair where I talked to people from all sorts of departments (and drank another cup of tea).

This summer I thought I wanted to be an Anthropology major. Now, after talking to a pre-med advisor, and thinking more about how awesome the Psych department here is, I am going to forego the class in order to take Calculus. I am hoping that if I take it now, I'll have some semblance of what Dave taught me.

More meetings this afternoon. Naptime for now.

Then to Haverford for hypnotists and crazy dance parties.

In which I survive a mugging, and go to Starbucks

I am now sitting in my bed, which sits tucked on top of the window seat in the bay window. My quilt, the result of hours in front of my new machine and in Thimble Pleasures, finally all spread out on the mattress. Music emanates from the hall, and my lighting is so bad I can imagine what Elisabeth S. Hosford felt like when she lived in this room in 1894-5 (there are plaques on the windows)

I am in the middle room, which means that although I am a hallway, I also have a single that is bigger than my room at home. And I have a fireplace. It doesn't work, but it's there. The room is huge, old and beautiful, and my roommates are lovely.

Tonight we all ate cake and watched skits of many traditions, and then got mugs from the alumni association (the "Freshman Mugging"). Then to Starbucks for coffee with some Customs people, and now, je me couche...I have a French test in nine hours.