I’ve started an internship with the Museum of Women’s History. Here my work consists of transferring old VHS to a digital format for theoretical burning to DVD’s. I say theoretical, because, so far, the computer we are using refuses to burn said film files onto DVD.

This is problematic, and a bit of a bother, but that’s okay. At the very least the movies can camp out on the computer until some way of storing them can be figured out, or, maybe, they could be placed onto Youtube, and I’m learning a few things by watching these half-hour episodes of “Wisdom of the Ages,” where our founder, Dorothy McLaughlin, interviews locals about a variety of things.

So far I’ve watched episodes from 1992 which involved the Billings Women’s Shelter, being blind, funeral readiness, and an episode from 1994 about a children’s German class in a local school. Though the information on these episodes is likely outdated (a lot can change in 20 years), they still posed some interesting observations and facts about our society.

The Women’s Shelter episode has stuck with me most strongly so far. Mainly because it is a social problem that has existed for ages, and because of the 20 year difference in social expectations for women and men alike. The episode discussed abuse in general including abuse of the elderly and of men, but focused on spousal abuse where women are the victim and men the abuser. It discussed types of abuse, and the psychology of the victim-abuser relationship, and the way leaving an abusive relationship takes time, patience, and process to be successful.

I will learn a variety of other things from this venture into Women’s History, and I hope to write in more detail about some of the things I watch.

Dear You,

This term has nearly ended, and in a few days it will have been one year to the day since I came home from over seas, tired and jet lagged, but intact. Could I have known that in one year I’d be sitting here reflecting on the past year? How I’ve come so far and changed so much? A year of being a Lifeguard. A year of academic repositioning; a change in major and in intent.

I can’t imagine what changes you’ve seen. I think you’ve graduated college, if I remember right, and I heard you’ve had your first child. I forget its name. Was it a boy or a girl? Seems like your brother or sister graduated high school last spring, or will this coming spring. Did they go to college I wonder? Will they? It’s been awhile since we’ve left home for college. Not all that long ago, but it feels like an eternity. Did you imagine you’d be where you’re at?

Don’t think I imagined I’d be a Lifeguard at a College Fitness Center, working morning shift at the front desk. Being the main- whatever I am. Working at Rocky Mountain College. Studying at Rocky Mountain College. Forming a life at Rocky Mountain College. Funny how that works. And the way we change in a year or two, the way our lives tend to converge and diverge around what we do. How I spend time with a set of people for a year, then what I do shifts and I find myself around other people more often. People who do different things than the ones I used to be around.

I suppose I’m rambling. I get this sense that life is this vast ocean and we’re all on our blocks of ice, drifting around (some paddle, or row, but most drift), and we sometimes cluster with others for awhile before the currents take us different ways. Some actually melt their blocks together and drift around together, that’s pretty touching to see: There are ceremonies for joining blocks, and people paddle over and smile and cheer and cry for the joined. Sometimes one or the other has a big enough block for them to share so one leaves their block and an empty block drifts away from a contented couple on one block. Those are safer, I’ve seen a lot of the blocks break where they were melted together. The shared blocks are harder to split.

Now I am rambling, but that’s the end of term talking, and this sense that everything is changing and that things are building up to something. Not the apocalypse, quite, but there’s something in the air that’s nostalgic, like that feeling one gets when saying good-bye to a summer-time friend who you won’t see for awhile, if ever, after that.

There are a number of places to go to hang out in Billings. Coffee shops, diners and the odd pub and night club, and these places often host events featuring local talents. This week, I came upon the opening of an art show at Rock Creek Coffee, featuring the work of Pierre Hart, a young talent from here in Billings.

Atlas Unshrugged

Hart’s art show featured a number of his works including “The Object Stares Back”

From a brief discussion with Hart I learned that he had selected Rock Creek Coffee because he liked the space, and he saw that “The Object Stares Back” would fit nicely in the place he chose, as for the other works, and I paraphrase, ”they just sort of worked out that way.”

Many of Hart’s paintings showed people, engaged in a variety of fairly typical behaviors, though some were based on Hart’s own biography and social events.  Hart’s style in his opening pieces employ a variety of textures and a darker color scheme which suited the interior of the Rock Creek Coffee.

Though his show opened on March 30th, his work will be on display well into the month of April, be sure to stop by and have a cup of coffee and examine the work of Pierre Hart.

For more photographs of his work, taken on March 30th by Judah LoVato, check out the official LoV-Write Facebook page

I was driving around downtown Billings, looking for a place to park and happened to find one outside the Museum of Women’s History. I’d never been in the Museum, and seeing that the supervisor was just opening shop I decided I would venture inside to investigate.

The space was small, but comfortable and interesting. Just inside and to the left was the front counter, which also acts as a sort of vendor for assorted antiques, such as hats, books, and trinkets; to the right was a furniture display and an assortment of old posters. I was greeted by the supervisor, a woman named Sandy, who asked that I please sign the guest book and please feel free to look around. I obliged and soon enough Sandy and I were discussing the contents of the museum.

Sandy told me about the Civil Rights movement, and how she was pleased to see how much things have changed. How, in her experience, the young people of my generation, especially the young men, have adopted a sight towards gender equality.

She also told me about a Petition  for the National Women’s History Museum Act, and this, of course I had to investigate further. My investigation led me to the National Women’s History Museum webpage which says,

“The National Women’s History Museum Act would provide the National Women’s History Museum with a permanent home in Washington, D.C. Legislation offers members of Congress the opportunity to recognize women’s successes, build on their accomplishments and empower future generations.”

What is remarkable about the NWHM is that it currently lacks a physical headquarters, but exists by means of places like the Museum of Women’s History. Accord to the NMWH webpage:

“We have been a privately funded institution since our founding [in 1996]. Once a physical site is established, we will apply to the Smithsonian for an affiliation. This will enable us to borrow objects from the Smithsonian’s collections for use in exhibitions.”

After our brief discussion of the petition and a small tour of the Museum (the entire space is a room of perhaps 20ftx15ft, divided in half by a half wall.), Sandy told me that they, the Museum members, are always hoping for students and younger people to get involved. Though cannot offer pay, they have a variety of things that need done and can always use volunteers.

This lead to a discussion of possibilities and soon I had decided to leave my contact information as a possible volunteer. What would I be doing? It was hard to say. But I knew that the Museum would be a worthwhile project because the work Sandy described sounded both interesting and enjoyable.

The work she described included cataloguing items in the Museum warehouse, tending the Museum, learning about Women’s History, and discussing possibilities with Museum staff. The staff, it sounds, is very open and hopeful for student ideas, input and involvement.

This is a great opportunity to gain experience and learn loads, be sure to contact the Museum at (406) 248 – 2015 for more information, or go by 2824 3rd Avenue North, Downtown Billings to see the displays.

School has its bitter-sweet twists and turns. People come and go; some transfer, some move on, and some graduate, changing with their absence or addition the everyday experience of attending school.

Janie Rife, a senior studying vocal performance, will graduate in May, taking with her a piece of the college experience. Her influence, though centered in the Music department, has extended further and deeper into the Billings community than just our college campus.

Ms. Rife has performed in a variety of local churches and RMC Choir Concerts, she has performed in The Crucible and other Opera’s at the Alberta Bair Theatre, and she has shared her talents with the RMC Theatre department, including playing “Bloody Mary” in South Pacific.

But it was her Senior Recital, held March 12, 2013, that showcased how her years of study have diminished her faults and augmented her skills.

Her Recital repertoire was divided into four “sets”, performance segments, with a selection of music written in English, Italian, German and French.

The first set opened with In The Beginning by Jake Heggie, followed a Ch’io Mai vi Possa, and Lascia Ch’io Pianga by G. F. Handel, and Una Voce Poco Fa by G. Rossini. In The Beginning, opened with a brief piano introduction which brought to mind the sort of music one might here in a 1920′s speakeasy; not what one may expect in a vocal performance recital.

“In the beginning,” Sang Janie Rife in silky jazz tones “Was the cat.” and the audience had to laugh as she continued in the style of a cabaret sweetheart: “And the cat was without purrr.” emphasizing the “r” of “purr” with a rolling technique which achieved a wonderfully comedic effect to accompany her expressive features.

Ms. Rife seemed to enjoy the playfulness of her first set, finishing with the aria Una Voce Poco Fa from Rossini’s Il barbeire di Siviglia, which she staged herself, portraying Rosina in a moment of reflection as she determines to marry Lodoro.  Saying, ”I accept guidance. But if you touch me where I’m most sensitive, I will be a viper, and a hundred tricks I’ll play before I’m through.”

The second set contained four German pieces: Die Stille Stadt and  Ich Wandle Unter Blumen by Alma Mahler, and Warum Willst Du And’re Fragen and Sie Liebten Sich Beide by Clara Schumann. Though sung in German, Ms. Rife conveyed through her vocal and facial expression a certain intensity of meaning which seemed to say “What I am singing goes beyond words, just listen. I know what I’m doing, I’ll guide you and you will hear what I feel.”

Her self-possession and awareness extended into the arrangement of the recital. Having opened with In The Beginning, which was written in English, she sung the first and second sets in Italian and German. The third set was a selection of six pieces from Hermit Songs by Samuel Barber, giving the audience the luxury of hearing English text.

Making her forth and final set a pleasant ending to a spectacular concert. Her final set was a selection of French Pieces, consisting of Que Fais-tu, Blanche Tourterelle by Charles Gounod, with L’Heure Exquise and Si Mes Vers Avaient Des Ailes by Reynaldo Hahn.

Though her recital is over, Janie Rife is far from through with her singing career. In fact, she will be performing in a variety of shows before spring is through, including: A Master Class with Pamela South, on March 20th starting at 7:30PM in Losekamp Hall; The RMC Concert Choir and Chamber Singers on April 13 starting at 7:30PM in Saint Patrick’s Co-Cathedral; and in  Aida at the Alerbta Bair Theatre on April 27th.

Words are powerful creatures, which is easy to forget. They look so innocent laying there on paper, or as pointed fonts on a screen. But they’re a deceptive lot, and I’ve only begun to understand their potential. Though, as a developing writer, you would think I’d know very well the power of words, but, as with training any animal, it takes time and process.

I’ll compare words to horses. There are a lot of them, and there is a lot to them. There are a variety of species like: Verbs, Nouns, Adjectives, Adverbs, Pronouns, and a variety of sub-species, cross breeds, and, to complicate them further, they interact with each other on different levels. Introduce a Noun to a Verb and just see what happens: “Sue – Sue runs – Running Sue – Run Sue -” And that’s not even with the addition of Punctuation. “Run, Sue!”

Indeed, words, which exist together as Language, are remarkable creatures. They can create worlds we’ve never imagined, people and places are granted life, information and history are conveyed and preserved. Words define our reality through associations: I work in a large building which is made of tan colored bricks. This building is very square, and the entrance area looks like it was built over an old patio, because there are these old lamps set in the middle of circular green benches. Inside there’s a full gym and a small gym, with a walking track above the bleachers of the large gym, and a climbing wall is being built in the small gym. On the top floor there are classrooms, the SAS office, the school nurse’s office, the Physician’s Assistant HQ, and vending machines. I work on the lower level, where there are locker rooms, the weight rooms, the cardio-room, the front desk and the pool.

Hopefully an image has formed in your mind, but I’m fairly certain if we both drew our images of the Fortin Center they’d be quite different. I haven’t mention the layout of the lobby, or of the building, or where things are placed, only the contents of the building. What about colors, stair cases, ramps, elevators, doors, access? Are there only the two levels? What about the boiler room? The lost and found? All these things could change the image created in your mind. But the words are your only guide to discovering the building, and, were I to add pictures, words would define what the picture contains.

Words, then, are key to creation and understanding, and words are tools for our use. Try changing the way you describe something. What if you say: “My brother is obnoxious.” What have you really done? You’ve defined your brother and assigned him meaning. What makes him obnoxious? How is obnoxious defined? Aren’t you biased because you’re siblings? Try changing how you say it: “I find my brother obnoxious,” That changes the way the meaning comes across, because now there’s room for disagreement: You find him obnoxious, but others do not.

But we cannot be expected to be completely aware how our words are coming across, and the effect they have on our surroundings. That is unrealistic. But we can learn to be more aware and conscious of the power our words have by reflecting on what we say and do not say later in the day. As the saying goes “We have 20/20 hindsight,” so think about those mistakes you’ve made in speech or deed, and think about other ways to approach them, other ways to phrase a sentence or take an action. By doing this, we can learn from those mistakes and prepare for similar situations in the future.

Sometimes “life” will hit you. Not a little love-tap either, but a full-force take down followed by a pile drive and a sound kick to the rips. That may be an exaggeration, but that’s how it can feel sometimes when you have school work and you are adjusting to college life, and news friends, new situations, new environments, etc. but it’s important to work them out.

My abuse from life happened at four in the morning: I woke up for some reason and thought “Well, I work at 6:00 maybe I’ll just stay awake, have a nice breakfast, read and then go to work.” and as I thought this I started stretching and my knee suddenly went into lock-down. “Lock-down?” you ask? I’m not exactly sure what it was, but my left knee decided that it needed to start hurting in the style of a nice cramp.

“Great alarm clock,” I thought, gingerly moving my legs so my feet could rest on my bed, “What’s this all about?” and I slowly started assessing my knees. They didn’t seem too different: I thought maybe the left seemed a little swollen, but at four in the morning it’s hard to tell. I decided my best option was to work my legs into a stretch in front of me and after about five minutes of extension and wait-a-minute-let-your-knee-adjust I succeeded in bringing my legs into toe-touch position at which time my knee gave a satisfying pop and seemed to be content with life again.

“That was weird,” I thought, standing up and walking about my room. “What was that all about?” And naturally, nothing that happens to me can be an innocent, isolated event, unconnected to anything aside from itself, but instead they must become metaphors to help explain what’s going on.

Or course, we all have things going on, and my knee episode is just part of a larger system of events. But my knee serves as a metaphor for dealing with these events: When cramps strike the knee of life, sending you into a state of pain, stay calm, assess the situation and act carefully. The solution will hurt a little, and it will take time. Work out the cramp slowly; if you extend your leg too quickly your knee will hurt more and you may injure it further. Be patient, these things take time and only through the tedious process of extension can they be fixed.

I have this idea that searching for (Pink) Jesus around campus can act as an analogy to other aspects of life. This week the analogy is the pursuit of faith and spirituality.

I started my search on Wednesday and scoured Tech for signs of a pink statue, but couldn’t find it. I started thinking about Faith and that, though we search for it, we don’t always find it. It struck me that this statue could not even exist, that it is not hiding anywhere but has been removed entirely from the campus world.

I still had a few days before Pink Jesus was moved, and the following days were no more productive than the first. I searched Morledge-Kimball, and the Bair Science Building, but still I couldn’t find Jesus.

During these searches I was reminded of a story from the book of John, where one of Jesus’ disciples, Thomas, had seen Jesus’ death on the cross and, some days later, learns from another disciple that Jesus had appeared to an assembly and was resurrected from the dead. Thomas did not believe the story, but said that,

“Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe.” (John 20:25b)

Some days later, Jesus appeared to the disciples again, this time with Thomas in their number, and Thomas sees and feels the scars and receives an empirical analysis of Jesus’ resurrection, and Jesus looks at Thomas and says,

“Because you have seen me, you have believed ; blessed are they that have not seen me, and yet have believed.” (John 20:29)

Monday came and went and I still hadn’t found Jesus, Tuesday came around and, like usual, I went to the library. Who was sitting in plain view behind the library desk? Naturally, it was Pink Jesus and I had to wonder if, maybe, faith is found when you’ve stopped looking for it. Then again, you have to know what faith looks like if you’re to recognize it when you see it.

- By Judah LoVato

Kim Woeste, RMC Chaplain, has invented something of a game for the entirety of campus to enjoy.

The game is simple: Every Tuesday Kim hides a chewing-gum-pink Jesus statue some where on campus, then, when Pink Jesus is found, students may post pictures of themselves with Pink Jesus to the Rocky Chaplain Facebook page to win a door prize.

The novelty of this game interested me, but it was the pun created by “Finding Jesus” that drew me in.

“Finding Jesus” is an idea in Christianity which suggests coming to an understanding with God, because Christianity is about developing a personal relationship with God through the blood, the sacrifice, of Jesus Christ who died a brutal, degrading death for the sins of humanity.

I may be oversimplifying Christianity a little, but my quest for this column is to discuss the statue of Jesus that has become central to this game. This is because I will be playing this game and using it to write a thought provoking column each week. Finding Pink Jesus, then, will function as, I hope, an amusing parallel to the spiritual and intellectual journeys we tend to take in college.

For the moment understand this: in terms of this column, Pink Jesus will be a symbol of different ideas I find applicable to college life.

Next week, I will discuss spirituality and the search for faith, and in weeks to come I will write about motivation, relationships, friendship, and anything I can think of while trying to them into the theme of Finding (Pink) Jesus

… *Knocks

I had the rare opportunity this past week to direct a short (about 10 minute) play I wrote called ‘Of Coffee and Cayenne Pepper,” which was granted two performances as part of the Billings Fringe Festival. The experience was very fun, and I’m reminded of just how much work goes into theatre productions and the complexity of arranging rehearsal times when everyone can meet.

Part of it, as rehearsal coordinator, requires a forceful “Here are the times, let me know when you can meet and when you cannot.” and part of it requires working out times in the first place. My own experience was lack luster: this being the first time I’ve directed anything, let alone a presentation of my own work, coupled with the fact that the majority of our rehearsals took place the week of performance, all combined into a fairly nice bundle of nerves and stress.

But it’s silly to worry, especially when you’re fortunate enough to have a cast of excellent actors. Which I was fortunate enough to have.

Then came opening night, and the performance venue was prepared with an audience of twenty or so assorted people come to see the spectacle that was “Of Coffee and Cayenne Pepper,”. Suddenly, despite the pre-show run-through and my surety in knowing my lines and my fellows knowing their lines, I found myself in a state of high anxiety. I could hear the vague goings on through the door and I could sense it going well enough, “I wish I could see it,” I thought “What does the audience think of it? Does it make as little sense as I think it does? It’s not really supposed to make sense, though.”

Then came my own entrance and, sure enough, I found myself completely swept of scriptural knowledge. “Well shoot,” I thought “I wrote this thing and I don’t remember squat.” and so a small (thankfully invisible to the audience) chaos ensued where I forced my way through lines and was rather thankful I’d assigned myself the shortest role. But things got worse when I re-entered in order to proclaim “The Case of the Cutey Corpse” as being solved, when I forgot a line and had an intense stare-down with the lead.

Long story short, that night wasn’t the greatest, however the second night was much better, and the second night is one I will claim as the actual representation of my work.

What is important though, is that this project was full of learning experience. There was a point when I thought about calling off the whole thing, “It’s too much work,” I’d said, though I was really just scared of it. Until I realized that, for better or worse, seeing it through to the end would be beneficial and I’d have had the satisfaction of  having tried and attempted and brought to life something I created, and have done something different.

Though there were sloppy parts, and though I had a complete failure of confidence, I am glad to have had the opportunity to enjoy ineptitude and to have failed miserably, only to go again and improve. I am grateful for my cast, who spent their valuable time for this project.