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Shara Keller, MFAI dream I fall In love wIth bob dylan

the aUSb odySSey Winter 2013 The “In Your Dreams” Edition

Richard Somdah I Saw lIncoln

Alex Richardson shows us a fUtUre fUll of dIamondS

Atty Garfinkel Santa barbara rISIng

Jamaica Horton’sfaceS of aUSb

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C o n t r i b u t o r s

StUdentSShara McGuire Keller, MFAShara Keller is an Affiliate Faculty member of the BA Program, who teaches Academic Writing as well as serves as Academic Advisor. She proudly earned her BA (emphasis in Creative Writing) from AUSB, and her MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University Los Angeles. She is a poet and creative nonfiction author, whose work has appeared in The AUSB Odyssey, Transformations, Naturewriting.com and other literary publications. Shara’s cause is “anything that reawakens our sense of reverence toward each other and toward our world.”

facUlty

Brooke RobisonBrooke, jack-of-all-trades, world traveler, and free spirit, enjoys living in her native Santa Barbara. She earned her B.A. from AUSB last year, and plans to follow her passions wherever they might lead her. Brooke loves to involve herself in a wide array of causes that she describes as “bigger than herself.” Anyone who follows their own ambitions and stand up for what they believe in inspires her. When not teaching Pilates, you can find Brooke behind the camera, rolling in the sand at the beach, or promoting a cause.

cover Photo: Jeffrey LovelaceA winter cloud formation in the Santa Ynez Valley.

Meryl Peters - Faculty AdvisorMeryl earned her M.F.A. in Creative Writing in 1999 as part of the inaugural M.F.A class of Antioch University Los Angeles. Her short fiction has appeared in various literary magazines, and her novel is currently under consideration. Meryl teaches a cross section of writing and literature classes in the B.A. program at AUSB and is a member of the SBCC English Department. Her personal heroes and first students are her two children from whom she continues to learn as she does from her AUSB writers. Rule #1 in Meryl’s creative classes is “There Are No Rules.”

Ildiko BenyakSee Ildiko’s full profile on page 18

Jen BaronJen Baron is the Executive Director for Girls Rock SB! Jen brings with her decades of musical experience, hav-ing begun playing piano at the young age of four and guitar at eight years old. She is fluent in guitar, bass, pi-ano, and vocals. Jen’s passion has led to the recent cre-ation of her own album, which is being released in early 2013. At 25, Jen got her first taste of PR and marketing while working for Blue Planet Eyewear, which landed her in the position of Head of Creative and Marketing Services. While being employed at Blue Planet, Jen be-came proficient in social media management, graphic design, photography, and public relations. In 2012, she founded Girls Rock SB!, an organization that focuses on building self-esteem and encouraging self-empow-erment in young women through music education, collaboration, and performance. She finds inspiration in working with youth and helping girls rock out. Her work with Girls Rock began in Portland, Maine as a volunteer for their summer program, and she is thrilled to bring this important appreciation for the musical arts to the Santa Barbara community.

alUmnae

Annette GollanSee Annette’s full profile on page 14 “Marti” Megan Martello

Marti reestablished the Odyssey several years ago. She now works as a campain coordinator for The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS). Thank you again Marti.

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“Atty” Atsiylah Patricia GarfinkelAtty is a single Mom who plans on earning her masters degree in Public Administration, hopefully with an emphasis in Domestic Violence and International Policy, before she attempts a Juris Doctorate at law school. She wanted to be a social worker for many years, until she discovered they must follow rules instead of make them. She would like to work for the State Department Office of Global Women’s Issues and hopes to work with both governments and NGOs to assist in establishing domestic violence shelters and women’s medical and prenatal care centers throughout the world, but specifically in the Middle East/Eurasian areas.

In yoUr dreamS

S t a f f

Richard SomdahRichard is an outgoing, energetic yet calm, kool-collected, athlete/singer/writer enrolled in the B.A. program, majoring in Communication and Media. After growing up in Houston and living in Atlanta and Los Angeles, he has chosen to settle here in Santa Barbara and pursue his education and his passion as an entrepreneurial musician. Motivated by his mom, son, and spirituality, he is ready to take on the world one day at a time.

Alex RichardsonNever having bought a text book and with only one parking ticket, Alex is finally graduating with her B.A. degree. Although many of you may be mid argument with her in a class, she says that she “will never back down and this isn’t forfeiting. I’m graduating before my opponents therefore, I win.” If you have had the misfortune of coming head to head with her in a class debate, Alex offers this, “I feel privileged to have debated with such respectable opponents. Except for that one guy in that one class. You know who you are.” Alex has thoroughly enjoyed her time here at AUSB, but is ready for life to begin. You won’t be seeing her in the library this quarter, but if you see her around town, give her a high five.

Jamaica HortonConsummate dreamer and big believer in all things whimsical and fancy-free, is settling down to complete her time at Antioch it seems. Always the one to leave before the fun has turned to sorrow, Jamaica, with the key in her pocket, is finally cashing in on the promise of tomorrow. A long held wish of her’s has forever been to get the doing done so, finally with her eye on the prize of life – she has won. A degree is coming, a degree is coming she shouts unto the day, for by the end of this quarter she will proudly hold her completed BA.

Jeffrey Lovelace (Editor)The silver haired Jeffrey is a common breed of homo-thesauricus-intovertica indigenous to the chaparral of coastal California. Its short thinning pelt of dirty blond and gray offers no commercial or aesthetic value. Also known as the “moderately large foot,” many speculate that the silver haired Jeffrey is a dwarf variety of yeti. When cornered or provoked it responds with profuse sweating and self incrimination, but later may write a snarky short story about those involved. If encountered in the wild, act resentful.

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Ta b l e o f C o n t e n t s

fIctIon

16 I Dream I Fall in Love with Bob Dylan Shara McGuire Keller, MFA

20 Beyond the Reflection “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

28 Shooting John Wayne Jeffrey Lovelace

creatIve nonfIctIon

12 I Saw Lincoln Richard Somdah

Poetry

7 Dream On My Friend “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

10 A Future Full of Diamonds Alexandra Richardson

13 Reflection Annette Gollan

14 My Journey Annette Gollan

23 Vespertine Jen Baron

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In yoUr dreamS

Ta b l e o f C o n t e n t s

Poetry (cont’d)

26 Midnight in the Park “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

27 Before Sunrise Richard Somdah

colUmnS 6 A Note From The Editor Jeffrey Lovelace

12 Santa Barbara Rising Staff Picks - Social Justice: “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

Faces of AUSB: Jamaica Horton14 Annette Gollan18 Ildiko Benyak25 Michelle Greenspoon

15 AUSB Trustee Luis Villegas Trustee Profile: “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

24 The Paradise Cafe Staff Picks - Food: Jeffrey Lovelace

25 Antioch Quotes

32 A Week of Fun for Kids From 2 to 92 Staff Picks - Entertainment: “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

34 Eat Fresh, Spend Less, Plan More Staff Picks - Lifestyles: Richard Somdah

35 Calendar of Events Jeffrey Lovelace

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I plummet through the air, falling, still falling.

My body crashes into the ocean and sinks to the bottom.

Unable to move or breathe, I flail about, but then realize

I’m in a crowded hallway at Antioch and I forgot to put

on my pants. All the fish in the school laugh at me. Will

I drown or die of embarrassment? BA chair Guy Smith

tries to ignore my bare lower half, he calls it an oddity,

but under water the word sounds more like “Odyssey.”

I sit up in bed gasping for air. The covers fly

away as my feet slap the floor.

“Jeff! What’s wrong?” asks my wife.

“With all my other work piling up, I almost

forgot to write the “Letter from the Editor” for the

Odyssey.”

Welcome to the “In Your Dreams” edition

of Antioch University’s student run publication, the

Odyssey. This being winter, the nights are long but

getting shorter; and the occasional rain inspires us to

play groundhog, sleep-in, and dream about the year

ahead.

Speaking of dreams, January 21st is Martin

Luther King Day. In 1963, fifty years ago, Dr. King

delivered his “I Have a Dream” speech in Washington

D.C. Ever since, his words have guided the conscience

of America and the world as we continue the struggle

against all forms of oppression. In a move both poetic

and symbolic, President Barak Obama rescheduled his

second inauguration for MLK Day.

This Odyssey kicks off with a poem by Atty

Garfinkle (opposite page) that embodies this edition’s

theme. It is followed by her moving column about the

upcoming Santa Barbara Rising event in February,

part of the One Billion Rising movement promoting

women’s rights. In her article Atty writes, “I too have

a dream…a dream of a world that respects others and

stands in solidarity with all oppressed and victimized

people, not only based on race or ethnicity, but in a

manner that is inclusive of all people, male and female

alike.”

February brings us Presidents Day which

celebrates George Washington’s and Abraham Lincoln’s

birthdays. Staff writer Richard Somdah honors the

day with a poignant personal essay inspired by the

film Lincoln. Richard explores his family’s history and

wonders, “What if Lincoln had settled for a compromise

and talked peace with the Confederates before the

[13th] amendment was signed?”

At the midpoint, or “heart,” of the winter

quarter comes Valentine’s Day, the day when we dream

of that overwhelming yet elusive flush of passion. Alex

Richardson’s sumptuous prose poem “A Future Full of

Diamonds,” and Professor Shara Keller’s smoky short

story “I Dream I Fall in Love with Bob Dylan” help us

recapture the thrill.

You will find lots more in this edition including

poems by Annette Golan and others, lyrics by Jen

Baron, stunning art works by Ildiko Benyak, Faces of

AUSB by Jamaica Horton, short stories, your quotes,

and much more.

Whether you dream of liberty and justice for

all, true love, or just a good read, you will find plenty to

tickle your fancy and inspire your dreams.

That reminds me…time to get back to bed. Ω

the aUSb odySSey

A Note from the Editor: Jeffrey Lovelace

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In yoUr dreamS

You can search up on the mountains, you can search the sea or valleys low.You can search way high up in the skiesor on the path the north wind blows.

It doesn’t matter if you looka hundred years, short or long, you never can relive the lifewhispered in memory and song.

You can look until your lifeand all your breath is gone.You can yearn for a dream, and for a love that’s strong.

Remembering a lost life, and how it used to be, but broken hearted dreamersour loves live only in memory.

But dream on my friends, for in that dream, love has no end.So laugh hard at life, laugh at time and at the wind.

Folks may think us crazy, but we know love my friends.It wouldn’t matter how long we criedfor what still lays in store.

I’ll be a dreamer until I die, And even then, maybe more.

I’ll dream on my friends, dreaming of a place where love has no end...

Dream On My FriendsPoetry: “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

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holiday. We honor this day every year where banks,

government buildings and schools (including

Antioch) close, to spend one day in reflection on not

only the life of the man, but how we might participate

in the continuation of his life’s work.

February is Black History month and during

this time we should take note of one of our nation’s

greatest dreamers who also happened to be an

African American. But we must note that the work

begun by Dr. King is far from done. Racial and ethnic

bigotry still exist as does bigotry against every group

or classification by which people identify themselves.

It is up to us to “be the change” as Gandhi said.

I wonder if Dr. King knew one of the people

he would inspire would be his own wife Coretta Scott

King. The late Mrs. King took up a portion of her

husband’s mantel, but she infused it with her own

passion as well, a passion for not only racial equality,

but gender equality too.

Women’s rights have come a long way from

the American Suffrage movement, but we still live in

a world where violence against women abounds. So it

is in the spirit of Dr. King’s “I have a Dream” speech

that I say to you dear reader, I too have a dream; a

the aUSb odySSey

Staff Picks - Social Justice: “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

S ant a B ar b ar a R i s i ng

“I have a dream…” On August 28, 1963 when

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke those famous

words in Washington, DC I wonder if he realized

how they would change this nation. Those words

became an utterance of hope for a better life for all

oppressed Americans. They became symbolic of the

Civil Rights Movement for the generations since, and

they have come to inspire many others.

While some of Dr. King’s dream has been

realized, we as a society still have a long way to go.

Not all people are judged by the content of their

character, and biases openly extend beyond the race

issues Dr. King spoke of in the March on Washington.

On each January 20th since 1986 we have

observed the birthday of Dr. King as a national

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In yoUr dreamS

dream of a world of equality and compassion; a

dream of a world that respects others and stands in

solidarity with all oppressed and victimized people,

not only based on race or ethnicity, but in a manner

that is inclusive of all people, male and female alike.

One in three women worldwide will be raped

or beaten in her lifetime. That statistic is why a

group of students have committed to organize and

participate in an event called One Billion Rising.

This is an international movement that crosses all

ethnic, national, social and economic lines.

Our local event, Santa Barbara Rising, will be

the only event of its kind between L.A. and the San

Francisco area. One Billion Rising has been going on

for the past 15 years and this will be the first time

our area has participated. We plan on creating an

educational experience for our community that will

inspire others to act.

Our three-day event will begin on February

12, 2013 with a teach-in at Santa Barbara City

College, and then similar events at both UCSB and

Antioch University on the 13th. (We do hope that the

brilliant and compassionate Antioch Community

will not only attend these events but add to the

richness with their own passions and insights. So

look for flyers around campus with location specific

details.) Our event will conclude with a community

event on February 14th from 12pm to 1:00pm at the

Santa Barbara Courthouse’s Sunken Gardens.

We encourage the entire community to join

us however they are able; be it to walk out, join us for

part or all of the event, help with costs or even just

inviting a friend. We will host Music and Dancing for

Solidarity at the beginning and end of our event while

speakers from our local Domestic Violence center,

Rape Crisis Center, Public Health, Local Government

I have a dream of One Billion people worldwide standing against violence and hatred toward anyone else. I have a dream of Santa Barbara Rising.

and special guests educate us and inspire us as they

share their unique and insightful perspectives.

Dr. King had a dream of equality regardless

of the color of one’s skin. Mrs. King had a dream

of women treated with respect and equality in the

workplace. Our dreams for a better world provide

us with both hope and goals for our future and the

future of our children. I have a dream of One Billion

people worldwide standing against violence and

hatred toward anyone else. I have a dream of Santa

Barbara Rising. I hope you will join me and share in

the realization of my dream. Whether you join me or

not there is one important question I must ask you to

contemplate; What is your dream? Ω

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Before you came into my life I hugged you in

a dream. I felt your gentle strength in the warmth of

your embrace and though it was distant and fleeting, in

that moment we were puzzle pieces made of the same

dust by the same maker longing for our own eternity

to waste into each other and sink farther into the earth

of our creation. Not just to taste one another, not just

to smell one another, not just to hear one another, but

to homogenize. To listen to our own hearts beat in

each others’ chest, to feel our own breath stay warm in

each others’ lungs, to watch our own thoughts become

realizations in each others’ eyes.

But before you came into my life, I lived an entire

existence for two. I learned the lessons that all women

must learn. I felt the sting of girlhood abandonment. I

covered the bruises left by another man’s carnal desires

for what truly belonged to you and me. I became a

woman through the agony of childbirth. And I became

a mother when I sold my jewelry to feed my child. I

faced the realities of my own shortcomings and I grew

tall by asking for help. All along, I waited for you,

because I knew you were out there searching for me,

living your life with the wrong woman, feeling void in

her hollow embrace, because you knew there was more.

And now when I sit with you in the car, I am

given back all that I lost as a child. I am that young girl

buckled in the backseat of her daddy’s car watching

him intently scrub the windshield with the gas station

squeegee. I see the sponge come down on the glass and

watch the liquid spurt and run down like the tears I

hadn’t yet cried. I hear the rubber scrape across, leaving

not a trace, and when my daddy is done, the windshield

is immaculate, like you would never have known it was

bug spattered and covered with dirt before. I hear the

car start and feel it move under me as we head off to

our next great adventure- just my daddy and me, but

knowing that someday it would be with you.

When you reach over and touch my leg, I

feel your lightness and am reminded of sitting on my

mother’s lap in church, bouncing around trying to

shake the boredom. I am that little girl surrounded by

an eternity of dust and the collective age of two hundred

old people offering praises in a hushed murmur, my

mother’s lamentable voice reaching higher than the

others and hanging in my ears to this day. I pick up her

hands and bend each finger back and forth, studying

the motion of her joints and admiring the beauty in her

long, elegant fingers, yearning for beautiful digits of my

own someday. I gently sway her arm and watch the light

bounce off the gold and diamonds in her jewelry, the

A Future Full of Diamonds Poetry: Alexandra Richardson

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In yoUr dreamS

gleam catching in my eyes. I trace the diamonds against

my skin feeling their cold, smooth surface scrape

against my young, olive flesh, hoping that their energy

will transport me into a future full of diamonds from

the man I love, but all the while knowing it’s not the

diamonds that will touch me, but rather, your affection.

And when I hear your voice, I now hear my own

responding back. I hear the confidence in the strong,

unwavering tone in which I say, “I love you”, knowing

that for the first time I actually mean it. And knowing

that my strength doesn’t come from you, but from all

the experiences that led me to you. All of the failed

romances, the games, the acting tough, the getting hurt-

it all told me that you were right around the corner,

working hard for me, maturing for me, softening for

me. I knew that we were made of the same dust by the

same maker, and that when I prayed for you, you felt

me in your soul.

You see, I knew all of this, because before you

came into my life, I hugged you in a dream. Ω

Photo by Alexandra Richardson

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On a Tuesday evening at 5:20, I stumbled into a movie called Lincoln. First realizing it was a movie about he who I learned in my youth was the reason for the creation of the 13th amendment and the abolition of slavery. The planter of the seed that has become the tree our nation’s President, Barak Obama, stands atop at this very moment.

Then realizing that I was the only African-American in the theatre, I began to become self-conscious, sliding down deep into my seat, weary of the stares that would come every time that fretful train of words which meanings are all the same was announced. “Nigger.” “Negro.” “Colored.” For an instant I thought to leave but then I summoned some courage and sat tall in my seat and begin to watch.

A movie about a man deemed important by others making a decision and doing what it took to carry out that decision; sounded simple enough. But then I noticed that though his mind was made up, the distraction of the doubts of others weighed in heavily. His wife who was bound to him by holy matrimony gave him so much grief, constantly arguing and complaining bringing strife into the household from every angle. His son, despite Lincoln’s discontent, joined the army. Members of Congress both republican and democrat doubted him and the power they themselves elected to give him. But he stayed true.

True enough to take me outside of myself and my skin and any thoughts of what others in that theater could be thinking. Lincoln made me remember that I was dirt poor at birth. My mother worked three jobs and rode the bus, with a knife in her sock, to support my family. And before her my grandma worked herself into an early grave trying to provide for ungrateful drug

I Saw Lincoln Personal Essay: Richard Somdah

riddled children who didn’t have the decency to help my mother pay for her funeral. And before that my ancestors were the ones who were beaten and bloodied enough to make a man deemed important by others make that decision. To remember that before my father made love to my mother there was someone laying a foundation for me to be who I am - me, this person I try so hard to define every day; usually settling with a compromise between the me that I want to be and the

My mother worked three jobs and rode the bus, with a knife in her sock, to support my family. And before her my grandma worked herself into an early grave... And before that my ancestors were the ones who were beaten and bloodied...

incomplete me that I think I am. Then I thought to myself, “What if Lincoln had

settled for a compromise and talked peace with the Confederates before the amendment was signed?” He would’ve been satisfied for a moment and everyone around him would’ve been pleased; and within weeks the confederates would ratify the bill and all would be lost. All that he had worked so long for lost over one compromise.

How vitally important that one decision was to my existence, made so many years ago but a direct reflection of me today. Now it’s my time and my season of decision. Will my sons and daughters reap the fruits of my labor or the spoils of my toils? What about yours? Ω

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In yoUr dreamS

R e f l e c t i o nPoetry: Annette Gollan

When you look in a mirror, do you see yourself clearly?Or would you see yourself clearer through someone else’s view?If you shatter a mirror and try to rebuild it, do you see a new you?Are you destroying parts of yourself that aren’t pleasant but possibly true?

If you looked at yourself close enough, could you determine what colors your decisions?Your judgments, your impulses, your inhibitions?If you stood close enough would your image be skewed from such precision?If you saw your actions through someone else’s lens, would you have better vision?Could you recognize behaviors that don’t display the real you?Could you take a chance to start to heal too?

Have you ever looked so hard at one detail that you missed your overall reflection?Have you ever scrutinized that image, searching for such perfection, Looking from so many angles, that you lost all direction?What is it you look at? Your face, your body? Your mistakes, your flaws?

If this happened in your mirror, how would you rebuild it?You can start to see the true you in thereYour values, your promises, your worthLook in the mirror at your capacity to care

With a confident self-perception, you can initiate changeYou can guide others to rearrangeTheir reflections, to see their potentials

Teach others to embrace their face,To Love their image, their soul, their intentions, their raceCan you teach them to see that a shattered and battered mirror can be a work of art?Can you teach them to rearrange their mirror to reflect what’s in their heart?Can you teach them that a new perception can lead to an incredible new start?

Struggles and barriers and hurdles in life should only be viewed In the mirror that reflects how strong these things have made youLet these be your fuel, let these things propel you

Hold onto your visions and they will materializeGrowth is ongoing so aim to realizeThat in the process, and the entire productionYour own mirror is perpetually under construction.

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Annette Gollan came to California to attend one school and wound up at another. Fortunate for us, the other school is Antioch where she is earning her MA in Educational Leadership and Social Justice. She tells me she was in the process of applying to one program when she came across AUSB, so she went by the campus, discovered our leadership program, and enrolled. Now she is completing her master’s thesis and says, “The end of my thesis is just the beginning, it’s more than writing a paper, it’s for a purpose.” What is that purpose? To design and implement her curricula meant to teach preventative, proactive, behaviors rather than reactive ones. She aims to give students the tools and knowledge to complete practical, everyday tasks in order to “become independent, self-sufficient adults.”

Also a poet, Annette was drawn to education as a way to apply her writing skills and through an experience with tutoring in adult literacy. It was during this encounter that she discovered she was a natural at

teaching and even though she had no experience in the subject, “Somehow it came together. It was like a gift, I was meant to teach!” Annette, who is very passionate when talking about her work and philosophy, hopes to instill in her students, “To not limit themselves, but realize they can live the life they want.” Something she hopes they will acquire through the use of her curriculum.

Annette believes people should not let the views of others’ dictate who they think they are. “They should form their own self-perceptions.” She would like others to actively work towards not letting their barriers, or limitations, stop them from achieving their hopes and dreams. “People need to be reminded to do and not ask; you can find your [own] way, and there is always someone to help.” In parting she wants to leave you with a quote she recently stumbled upon, “If you want to achieve greatness, stop asking for permission.” This perfectly expresses how she believes you can live out your dreams. Ω

Annette GollanFaces of AUSB: Jamaica Horton

As I climbed the mountainI saw how many slow ones there were, Who weren’t making moves…I saw how many scared ones there were, Who wouldn’t try anything new…And I trekked to the highest level,It was hard to breathe…And I came back, And I wrote about it.

My J o u r n e yPoetry: Annette Gollan

Photos courtesy of Annette Gollan

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wInter 2013

Luis Villegas Trustee Profile: “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

We have all heard the adage actions speak louder than words. By that standard everyone in Santa Barbara should know Luis Villegas, at least when it comes to Hispanic Businesses or to higher education. You may have seen Mr. Villegas and not even known it, but that is ok, he likes it that way. Mr. Villegas is used to being one of the “powers behind the throne,” and has proven through years of hard work that he has the ability and the longevity to stay the course until the job is done.

Mr. Villegas is passionate about education and business, as is evidenced by his career as the Vice President and Hispanic Segment Market Manager for Pacific Capital Bancorp, the parent organization of Santa Barbara Bank and Trust. He is also the current President of the Santa Barbara Hispanic Chamber of Commerce (SBHCC). Mr. Villegas has served on that board for the past six years and not long ago he also served as their Executive Director.

He has been a member of the Santa Barbara City College (SBCC) Board of Trustees since 1993, serving as Board President in 1999 and 2000. While it is wonderful to see gender equality on the SBCC Board of Trustees it is worth noting that as a Latino, Luis Villegas is the only member of color on that 7 regular member board.

Mr. Villegas has just been re-elected to the Board of Directors of the California Community College Trustees. He is also the Past President of the California Association of Latino Community College Trustees. In addition to his work at the Community College level, Mr. Villegas also serves with great esteem and distinction as 1 of 4 members of color on the Antioch University Santa Barbara’s 21 member Board of Trustees. He now holds the position of Vice-Chair. Members of our AUSB Board of Trustees must collaborate and work with the

system Chancellor, the University Leadership Council and the Board of Governors to establish the guidelines and administrative procedures by which our University is run.

On a personal note, I have known Mr. Villegas for the past five years and thought that a personal insight might describe him best. On one particular day at SBCC I was being talked down to by a faculty member who will remain unnamed and Luis Villegas walked by. I’m sure he could see how upset I was becoming. He walked over, interrupted the instructor and said “Atty! Hi. We needed to talk, right? Do you have a second now?” He provided me an escape and probably kept me from losing my cool. When I walked away with him, he knew his subtle intervention was appreciated and he just smiled. Luis Villegas is the kind of man who sees a problem and tries to find a solution, and isn’t that part of what education is all about? Ω

Photos courtesy of Luis Villegas

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I Dream I Fall in Love with Bob Dylan Fiction: Professor Shara McGuire Keller, MFA

But poet-eyes is still beside me, his skinny

legs crossed in tight black jeans, sitting or slouching

in his chair. I do not know what he will say next. I

think ‘this could be the Bob Dylan of my life.’ You

never know.

The moaning of the ghosts behind me has

I notice that there are ghosts sitting among us

in the gathering room.

Beside me in one of the mismatched chairs is

a new young man. He wears odd dark clothing but

has the searchlight eyes of a poet, harmonica hair.

His rare comments, spoken to me in asides, tickle

my ear. Original observations, delivered in a good-

guy voice, make me laugh with a giddiness I have not

felt for years. We are all waiting for the leader, who

is late.

As the evening goes, there are many trips out

for cigarettes or foot stomping in the fresh air. We

all mill out in shifts, stepping over the laps of friends

and grabbing shoulders for balance. With each shift,

fewer people return. It’s like a time-lapse tide going

out.

But still, a few colorful old-timers stay, like

the choir ladies whose flowered dresses cover their

wide knees but not the tops of their knee-highs.

They hang out in the gallery, behind the railing. For

the most part, they are ghosts.

The afternoon wears into evening, judging

by the light, and the leader doesn’t show. In the

corner the frosting on the cake is melting, the coke

is warm, there are red wine circles on the tablecloth,

one bottle lies on its side, and we’re all getting drunk.

become a chant. The overstuffed chairs, all lined up,

are now empty in the dust-filled twilight that filters

into the wood-paneled room from the east-facing

window flanking the fireplace. This was always the

gathering room, back into the earliest history of

us. People here are experienced with the fact that

everyone shows up but the leader.

I do not mind so much, though; I am not

disgruntled or offended. I understand the bad

history, the demand for justice, the determination to

But still, a few colorful old-timers stay, like the choir ladies whose flowered dresses cover their wide knees but not the tops of their knee-highs. They hang out in the gallery, behind the railing. For the most part, they are ghosts.

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In yoUr dreamSbe heard. But this time, my cause is love.

So instead of staying to the end, I rise and

leave in the wake of the wispy poet of few but ringing

words. It’s not a bound relationship. I encounter

him on stairways, he looks up from the sidewalk to

where I’m sitting on the fire escape, our eyes meet,

he smiles. We sit over coffees at some arty little

place, so dark in there that our table is the only place

surrounded with light.

I am so gone on this hip smoke of a man that

when we make love on my green velvet blanket my

eyes fly open as the tick tock of time grinds down

slower and slower, and the afternoon green air swirls

around in slow, slow motes of dust. As if God’s breath

and His words and His silence and His smile are all

the same. I believe I may already have died for this

man, because I’m rising through the slow warm dust

like a spirit above the world, rising free as wisp, a

spiral of smoke, carried to heaven on the strength of

an echo of beautiful words.

I believe the dream is not lost. At work the

following morning, I look up from my desk, my hand

lingering at my throat, smile on my lips, just in time

to see one of the choir ladies in a flowered dress

turning into a classroom, far off down the hall.

And it is not altogether different when I

actually see Bob Dylan at the Cal Poly Pavilion three

nights later. It’s the first concert I’ve ever gone to

alone. There are no chairs at all, just a steaming,

bouncing mass of people looking up, our bodies so

packed and the air so thick that I am stoned just from

breathing. People pass outside in stages, for a smoke

and some foot stomping, but nobody fails to return.

It is impossible to move closer, all the holes between

us are filled. So we stand for hours, four encores, we

will not let him go. He’s happy to stay. And I swear

he looked out with searchlight eyes and met mine

while Serve Somebody filled the gyrating room.

Later, walking to the car across the long wet

blacktop, I feel myself rising up above the world, like

a smiling spirit, free as smoke, carried to heaven on

the strength of the echo of such beautiful words. Ω

Photo by Brooke Robison

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Ildiko Benyak (ill-dee-co been-yak): an artist – creative, a student – knowledgeable, a hypnotist – dreamer, a mother – caring, and friend to all – compassionate. These are some of the many sides of Ildiko, which are as numerous as the shades of the rainbow – a colorful woman indeed! Ildi, as some of us in the library are known to call her, comes to us here at Antioch from Hungary via Michigan. She told me she has always known, since she was a young girl, she would live in the US. When recalling her first

Ildiko BenyakFaces of AUSB: Jamaica Horton

visit at twenty-two, she says “as soon as my foot hit the ground… I was home! It was just a fact.” She has chosen to settle in Santa Barbara because “I grew up on an island surrounded by mountains, strawberries and sunflower fields, Santa Barbara has a similar feel.” Ildiko loves the historic feel and architecture as well as the small, home-town atmosphere of Santa Barbara and so she remains. Lucky us!

Ildiko, who plans to graduate with her BA in psychology, is flirting with the idea of becoming an art

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therapist. “Through creativity and the sub-conscious mind – magic happens” she exclaims. She is the kind of person who instantly sees the good and the possibilities in everyone. “People are magic”, Ildi declares. When I asked her how she felt about you, Antioch, she gushes, “I love them. People here are like-minded, want to help others, sensitive, and caring. They smile and hug. This is my nature, so it is easy to relate to strangers here because they are similar. ”

Even her dreams are inspiring. When I asked her what those hopes and visions were she replied with two answers. Her personal dream is to become a better, more empathetic person. This hardly seems possible since Ildiko is one of the most nurturing and caring individuals I have met. Professionally, she wants to help others overcome their obstacles to become their most

authentic self, to be the best possible, because “there is always potential!” So, look for this wonderful and unique creature around campus or at the library desk and strike up a conversation with her. I guarantee she will leave you inspired and believing in your dreams. Ω

Photos courtesy of Ildiko Benyak

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Beyond the Ref lection Fiction: “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

not much better! He was a writer of fanciful stories that kept women and their children entertained. Oh how I loathed both my sisters and their husbands.

Edith gave me that sharp look that reminded me that she was the eldest sister and I as the youngest had better behave myself. So I forced a smile, a proper curtsy and replied as sweetly as I could manage,

“Good afternoon George, eh, or rather Mr. Wilson; and a good afternoon to you too Mr. Carroll. I trust your journeys here were uneventful?”

Edith began to speak and I hung my head. I knew this would not be brief. I tried to smile dutifully, and I nodded as she droned on, and on, and on. But then after several minutes of talking she said something that caught my attention,

“...and Lorina and I agreed that we should sell the estate. Of course we will all keep some sentimental things to remind us of mother and father, but the bulk of the estate should be sold and divided amongst us. Naturally Lorina and I will choose our items first as we are actually married and have children to pass heirloom items on to, but we will save some small items for you too. Now as you know under the King’s law women cannot directly own any real property so since you are still not married George and Lewis will see to the legal details and administer the funds for you. I’m sure there will be more than enough to provide you with an allowance for your keep. You know if you were married we could simply divide the estate into three parts. But at 26 years old there you stand, a spinster as it were.”

Edith’s words stung as badly as a slap to the face would have; and I cringed.

“You know you have been well educated, you can speak and write in French and Latin, you can play the harpsichord quite well and you have such an

I gazed at the nearly empty room. Dust sheets covered the furniture and a small beam of light intruded through the heavy drapes, illuminating the dust in the air. I walked over to the window and opened the drapes letting the light into the darkened room. As I opened the windows a wisp of fresh air entered the room. I walked over to the table and pulled the dust sheet off and memories flooded my mind.

When I thought about it now, as an adult, it seemed like an imaginary story. A story that was both wonderful and horrific in nature, but a story nonetheless. Perhaps it was all just the dream of a lonely child. I was after all treated horribly by my sisters, and mother just never understood me, and father as much as he loved me was always busy. Perhaps I was just an imaginative little girl who…. Lorina, Edith and their husbands George and Lewis entered the room and disturbed my thoughts.

“Good afternoon Miss Lidell.” Edith’s husband, George, was so formal! You would think that we weren’t related now. I looked him in his eyes and he became uncomfortable and nervous. Then he began fidgeting with that damned cigar case! Oh, why did my sister have to marry such a buffoon? And Lewis was

Photo by Brooke Robison

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In yoUr dreamS

imagination, perhaps you could find employment as a governess or a young ladies tutor. You know we only want the best for you and a husband and children are what we women are meant for you know.”

As she blabbered on the light caught something; there was a glimmer on the table. It caught Edith’s eye and she stopped in the middle of her rant and picked up mother’s old jewel box. She turned it over in her hand, fingering the intricacies of the design and letting the sun shine on the gems as she began to talk, yet again.

“Oh my look at this jewel box on the table! Oh Lorina, do you remember the time that mother hid the key to the attic in this box to keep us out of there? Oh that was simply marvelous! And we pretended to not know where it was. Or rather, we two pretended to not know. A certain little sister couldn’t stay away from the dressing mirror mother hid up there. You remember that mirror don’t you? The one Grandfather sent from India when he was on his adventures. Such a terrifying journey, and the stories he told! Oh my look at this…” I couldn’t keep listening to her go on. I smiled as best I could and excused myself from the room.

Echoes of laughter rang clearly in my mind as I walked outside and to the stables. The horses were long gone, but in my mind I could almost see my sweet little pony in the last stall. And in the courtyard I could imagine father preparing for a fox hunt, while the “ladies” learned the fine art of needlepoint and poetry. I missed him so much. What would I do now that he was gone? I let the tears fall in the privacy of the stables before I walked back towards the house.

I strolled slowly through the house, recalling my entire childhood under this roof and in every room. Before long I found myself climbing the stairs. I could hear Edith and Lorina still talking about me, and what to do with me.

I walked on, up towards the attic. The door was unlocked and I entered with as much timidity as I would have as a small child. I opened the drapes at

the far end of the room and looked around. There in the corner was the old steamer trunk full of father’s old maps, charts and books. I lifted the lid and inhaled the smell of my father; leather, ink and cologne. For a moment he stood before me, tall and strong once more. For a moment I was his sweet little girl again, but reality crept closer and stole that image.

The rocking horse from my nursery stood in the corner covered with a sheet. I tugged on it and the worn yarn smile greeted me with as much love as a loyal old friend. And there, behind the trunk was mother’s old rocking chair! I pulled at the sheet and years of dust flew into the air; I sat in mother’s rocker trying to feel her arms again.

But beside her rocker was a tall object and beneath another dust sheet stood two wooden feet carved in the shape of decorated elephant’s legs. I carefully moved mother’s rocking chair and slowly

“A certain little sister couldn’t stay away from the dressing mirror mother hid up there.”

lifted the sheet. Beneath was the old mirror; the mirror that had been the cause of my mother’s dismay, the mirror over which I was teased mercilessly as a child, the mirror that had haunted my dreams and waking thoughts for nearly twenty years and made me question my own sanity.

The dust sheet dropped to the floor as I gazed into the mirror and looked upon a reflection that was not my own. Where my reflection should have been stood a little girl; she was blond with a neat blue dress and a white pinafore and her hair was in rag curls held back by a lovely blue ribbon. Upon her face was a smile and it was not until she spoke that I realized I was looking at myself in the mirror, or at least what I had looked like at age seven.

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Beyond the Reflection - Cont’d

“Where have you been Alice? Aren’t you going to come and play?”

Had I lost my mind? Were the dreams real? Was this all real? Around the little girl’s legs rubbed a little cat. Dinah! Oh Dinah had run off into the woods nearly fifteen years ago, never to be seen again. And there she was!

“Alice, what’s wrong? Why won’t you come and play with us? I’m afraid we are very late for the Hatter’s tea party. The White Knight has promised to come today. We are all celebrating the defeat of the Jabberwocky.”

I pinched myself and it hurt, I couldn’t be dreaming. I looked beyond young Alice and I could

father’s trunk was a book titled, Beyond the Looking Glass-Magic Worlds and Wonderlands. I reached over and picked up the book and my father’s old spy glass. I glanced around the room and saw my mother’s cloak sitting on the back of the rocking chair. I grabbed it and reached out to take the hand of the young me inside the mirror.

As I stepped through the mirror I felt a tingle and I stepped into the child, I became the little girl. Soon I stood in my Wonderland again, looking through the glass at my old world. My sister’s and their husbands had come into the room as I went through the mirror. They stared at me in disbelief.

Edith was her usual horrid self and shouted after me “Alice Lidell, you come back here this instant!”

My brother in-law Lewis while shocked was smiling and spoke briefly to me in a playful way that I had never seen. “Miss Alice, how on earth did you get through the looking glass? Where are you now?” Perhaps Lewis might be an alright sort of bloke after all.

“This Mr. Carroll, is Wonderland and as you can see it I am clearly not mad as my sisters have said for so many years. You should ask them about it sir as I have a pressing appointment!”

I gained courage as I shouted back to them through the mirror and my gaze turned to Edith again. Edith, that nasty, cruel and pompous girl who had grown into a cruel and pompous woman, I would never see her again and a smile passed across my face as I shouted to her. “Sell it all Edith. Do what you must, whatever your greedy little heart desires. The lot of you can go jump in the pond for all I care! Now if you will kindly excuse me, I’m late for tea!”

I put my mother’s cloak on, laughing to myself as I realized how over-sized it now was, then Dinah and I walked off to have tea with my dear friend the Mad Hatter. I smiled as we walked and my sisters shrank into the distance, at last I was home. Ω

see the familiar sights of my Wonderland. There came a noise from the looking glass, a soft thumping and the high squeaking chatter of my dear friend the White Rabbit!

Feelings of comfort and warmth flooded my mind as I began to remember the world I had left on the other side of the looking glass. The mirror that had been such a distress to my dear mother had been my portal to a magical world.

As the shock wore off I became aware of the voices of my sisters and the sound of footfalls on the stairs. I looked once more around the room, this room full of the treasures of my childhood. There in my

Photo by Brooke Robison

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Sky BlueYou left, while she cried for youAnd you bussed it down the coastWith only a bag of ropeAnd a memory like stone

[Chorus:]VespertineYou were everythingDamn that computer screenAnd all that never sleepsVespertineYou had everythingYou had me sweet thingAnd now I’m leaving in the morning

Tight ropes, fish netsYou carry a pocket knifeAnd daydream with itOne cut and she would fallBring a circus to its kneesAnd refund the souls of all

[Chorus]

And I’m gonna find youI’m gonna make you mineYeah I’m gonna end thisStick needles in the main lineYeah I’m gonna do thisDrink your blood like wineNot gonna stop tillYou promise to come back this time

[Chorus]

Poetry - Lyrics: Jenny BaronVespertine

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Back in the early 1980s, all of us “yuppies” flocked to the Paradise Café at the corner of Anacapa and Ortega Streets. It was Santa Barbara’s hottest place to see and be seen. Every popular restaurant needs a “hook,” and the Paradise had their lovably funky building with its vintage murals and spacious patios, and their oak wood grill. The menu, as I remember it, featured delicious, sandwiches and entrées considered “upscale” for those days.

As Yankee great Yogi Berra said of a popular 1950’s New York restaurant, “Nobody goes there anymore; it’s too crowded.” I grew tired of finding no room on the Paradise’s waiting list and stopped eating there. Eventually I moved away, and the Café’s murals and neon sign faded from mind.

After moving back to S. B., I did a double take when I saw that the Paradise Café still existed. Most 80s restaurants had gone the way of jackets with giant shoulder pads and George Michael music videos. I guess the 80s really are back. I had to check it out.

Twenty first century restaurants seem obliged to tart up their offerings with exotic, free-range, Himalayan yak cheeses; and sandwiches must be served on ciabatta, focaccia, or “artisan flat breads.” Beneath this hyper-delicious, pseudo-healthy veneer, modern restaurant foods pack-in more sugars, salts, and fats than ever.

However, the Paradise’s menu has changed little since the 80s. Items considered upscale in the 80s might now rate as retro, unpretentious, even boring; but I consider the food straight forward and nutritious, and I love the timeless flavor of their smoky oak grill. Most Paradise Café sandwiches use good old sourdough, and run between a very reasonable (for a “sit down” restaurant) $6 and $15. A couple of sandwiches include trending ingredients such as calorie-dense ciabatta, which demonstrates that the retro approach is by choice, not blind cruise control.

The entrées and salads also remain

The Paradise CafeStaff Picks - Food: Jeffrey Lovelace

unadulterated by time and trends. The dinner menu includes the usual steak, seafood, fowl, and pasta, all of it delicious and well prepared. The entrées retain the 80’s prices as well, ranging from $15 to $29. This makes the Paradise one of the better dining deals in the downtown area.

Not only have the food and the prices endured, the atmosphere seems unchanged to the point where it feels like stepping into a time bubble. The Café retains its tidy and charming, if unspectacular, décor. Although the crowds and wait lists disappeared long ago, the regulars from the 80s still haunt the place. It’s as though the patrons aged to perfection like fine wine right there in the calm, comfortable atmosphere of the Paradise Café.

The restaurant’s website even touts their disinterest in keeping up with local dining trends, despite having once been the trendiest spot in town. “The staff takes great pride in the continuity of our traditions of great food, friendly service, and customer loyalty.” How refreshing tradition can be sometimes.

You don’t have to have your AARP card to appreciate the Paradise Café. All you need is a yen for a delicious, straight-forward meal at a reasonable price. Plus it’s just a block away from the AUSB campus. They’ll even rush your order if you tell them you have a class to get to. Now that’s a little slice of Paradise. Ω

Photo by Jeffrey Lovelace

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Meet Michelle Greenspoon, she is a former musician, one of the newest PsyD students, and a current coach in the Writing Center. I know you are all wondering – who is this fabulous being you are talking about? Well, Michelle received her MA in general psychology from The City College – CUNY. During this time she also completed a clinical interim at Beth Israel Medical Center in Pediatrics. It was here that she realized she actually “liked the clinical stuff ” and decided she wanted to further explore the clinical and social justice sides of psychology. So, she took the plunge and dove into the waters of Antioch academia. When I asked her how she came to choose our little institute, Michelle replied, “I wanted a school that focused on social justice and Antioch has a good reputation on the east coast. Plus, I was freezing in New York.” Good call Michelle!

Now that Michelle is here, she is hoping to accomplish her dream of earning her doctorate degree. She says, “I didn’t always want to do this. I switched dreams – a lot! [But] your dreams might change and that’s awesome, scary, but awesome, because you get to do things others might not.” She goes on to say that it was scary for her to move all the way to California, to a

city where she didn’t know anyone, but because it was such a difficult thing for her to do, she knows it was the right thing, “when it’s hard, it’s worth it.” When talking about the WC Michelle says she likes working there because she gets to meet people. As she has only lived in Santa Barbara since September and is fantastically busy with her doctoral program, she states “If you say ‘Hi!’ to me, you are probably one of the only people I know in all of Santa Barbara.” So, fellow students, let us help Michelle up her friend quotient by stopping her in the halls and introducing ourselves to this fabulous woman. Ω

Michelle GreenspoonFaces of AUSB: Jamaica Horton

“Your dreams are what you make of them.” John Descamp, B.A. student

“I wish I would stop dreaming so I could finally get some sleep.” Alex Richardson

“Dreams are the stuff that make life worth living: without them you are just existing inside a boring, old box of mundane.” Jamaica A. Horton, BA student

“Tell a dream, lose a reader” Commonly attributed to Henry James

“We all dream. We dream every day. We always dream—it’s part of our cycle.” Michelle Greenspoon, PsyD student

“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” Oscar Wilde

Thoughts and Dreams from the AUSB Community

wInter 2013

Photo courtesy of Michelle Greenspoon

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Midnight in the ParkPoetry: “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

Real life may not be a dream or whirlwind romance.Real life may not be running off to a hidden cabin.Real life may not be a Cinderella fairy tale.

For us real life may not be for very long at all.For us a kiss in the moonlight is truly magical.I can live an entire lifetime of romance in one evening.

For a few brief hours I can be content in real life.For a few brief hours, real life is holding handsat midnight walking in a park.

Then we part ways again, but we had our midnight in the park. For every night to come I will whisper your name, and relive this night in my dreams

Photo by Brooke Robison

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Before SunrisePoetry: Richard Somdah

Very brief, extremely beautiful, and loving enoughto consistently come before the rising everyday.You show me patience and humility whileimparting strength and kindness into methrough your transparency.You yourself are given specifically so my sun can shine through.You are the soil,my seed lays rest in your bosom. Tirelessly cultivated, beaten, challenged, and broken down,sacrificing life, love, and liberty so that I may grow.Make love to me.Intertwine your hurt with mine,and through our pain we will create the divine.

My soul has endeared your turmoil, my heart understands your pain.I will prosper, it is my destiny, and show that your labour was not in vain.Wait for me, stay by my side,love me, lead me, guide me.With spiritual assistance we will ride.Come unto me,I will suffice until the sunrise.

Photo by Jeffrey Lovelace

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Shooting John Wayne Fiction: Jeffrey Lovelace

After two disasters I swore off marriage forever. But then I met the woman of my dreams, a tiny little gal from Arkansas named Joan. She weighs about as much as my right leg. We’re like bigfoot and Tinkerbelle. I call her “Tink,” she calls me “Tank.”

Forty days later we stood across the mahogany counter from a balding county clerk who never lifted his eyes from his paperwork. He had us raise our right hands and pledge our love. No need for a big wedding since it’s the third go-round for both of us. I know, long odds right?

I could go on and on about what made Tink different, but I’ll spare you…for now. What she saw in me I can’t understand. She said it’s because I listen. Listening comes easier than talking; that’s how the people of my dusty little Colorado cattle town raised me. Men used few words, except when ranting about the government. Unless we squinted, drawled, and swaggered like every small town’s Hollywood idol, John Wayne, our manhood fell under close scrutiny.

Funny now to think how our fear of anyone using the word “fag” transformed all us boys into grunting, shoulder-punching sheep. Even the school nurse used to lift a corner of her mouth and say, “Suck it up soldier. Nobody likes a crybaby.”

So we learn to distract you, and ourselves, with chrome pipes, 3 inch roll bars, and steel rims; but fat chance ever peaking under the hood to glimpse the machine held together with chewing gum, bungee cords, and duct tape. That’s why we shut down when we hear the word, “therapist.” After all, John Wayne, “The Duke” himself, dodged the draft in World War II so he could make a good living wearing costumes, spouting scripted lines, and pretending to be the tough, archetypal male. Yep, perfect role model.

But Tink has this way of lowering my guard. Every night we’d lie in each other’s arms and talk about our day, just us alone in the dark, skin on skin; two forty-somethings sharing dreams like eleven year olds

in a tree house. The warmth of that pillow talk melted holes through the firewall my coaches, classmates, and parents taught me to build around my heart.

Then one windy fall Friday night, as the dry cottonwood leaves plinked against the window, Tink and I had our first fight. She stayed on her side of the bed and stormed on about all the ways I frustrate her. Nothing big, just toilet seat and coffee table coaster stuff. Tink was right, of course. I’ve never been what you’d call a great domestic partner. I try, but I leave dishes in the sink, I forget to call when I’m running late, and I don’t notice dust or carpet dirt until it’s thick as Christmas snow. In other words, I’m a guy; just a matter of time before she saw me for what I was.

When Tink said those first cross words, the warmth drained from my chest like she yanked a cord out of the socket. The wall reassembled stronger than before.

“I’m sorry.” I said, then rolled over and pretended to sleep, but slept little. A chunk of shattered windshield glass seemed to lodge in my throat. I closed my eyes and envisioned marriage number three going the way of numbers one and two. The contempt would build until one of us couldn’t stand it anymore. We’d download forms from on-line legal sites, and walk away swearing-off marriage forever, again.

I spent that weekend beneath the basement’s bare 75 watt bulb placing my model civil war soldiers into formation on the eight foot square battlefield I made from two sheets of plywood. I came up only for beer, showers, and Honey Nut Cheerios. I slept on the

Photo by Alexandra Richardson

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basement sofa that smelled like cheese made from old socks. A chasm in my chest begged her to open the door, fly down those unpainted 2x12 stairs and wrap her little arms around my belly. And about three o’clock Sunday she did just that.

“What battle is this?” I had to give her credit, she sounded like she actually cared.

“First battle of Bull Run.”“Nice. Hey, can we forget Friday night ever

happened? I had a rough day, which made me cranky. I love you Tank and can’t stand this...”

“Mm-hmm,” I said, doing my best John Wayne. It worked exactly the way I intended, but didn’t want. She pulled away, and as she turned she saw the coaster beneath the beer bottle on the corner of the battlefield. Chalk one up for the Duke.

“I’ll be around anytime you want to come up to talk.” She said climbing the stairs.

I expected the door to slam like my exes would have done, but she left it open a crack. That hurt. It made me want to charge up the stairs, sweep her off her feet, and carry her up to the bedroom, but my feet wouldn’t move. Tink didn’t understand, she couldn’t I guess, how hard it is for a big man from a small town to lead with his heart, the part they teach us to deny from birth. “…Come up to talk,” Ha! That’s no less frightening than if I invited her to take my ATV and jump the washed out section of the Stockholm Creek Bridge.

Things remained tense for the next couple of weeks. I’d build up the courage to say something nice but she’d snap back at me, “Yeah…in your dreams.” She’d apologize and I’d give a one word answer, then strut like the Duke back down to the war room. And so we danced.

Each day after work I’d grab a brew and lumber down the 2x12s to work my way through the chronology of battles: Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville. People talk about meditation; I guess that’s what my blue and gray plastic soldiers allow me. My minuscule life’s problems fade away as my mind chews on war’s massive undertaking, it’s strategies and tactics, the tipping points that determine bold attack or panicked

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retreat, the heroic stands taken against the odds by men who ignore their own pain, scuttle their futures, and hope they don’t die in vain.

Somewhere halfway through setting up Gettysburg I thought of all the wars through history. Historians like to assign reasons for wars: access to greater wealth or resources, a king’s vanity, a people’s pride. All these excuses see only the symptoms and remain blind to the cause. Geese fly south for winter, salmon swim upstream, humans wage war. And that reminded me of this stupid, pointless war with Tink.

Tink stomped the snow off her boots and onto the mud room floor overhead, interrupting my revelry. I began to compose my apology speech. When she made it to the bottom of the stairs I opened my mouth to deliver it, but she carried a present all wrapped up with a pink bow like it was my birthday, and handed it to me without a word. It was heavy for something the size of a shoe box.

“Tink, I don’t need a present, all I need is y…”She cut me off, “Just open it, please. I went to a

lot of trouble, and it’s all I could afford.” I smiled and tore into it. I pulled out a blue

Photo by Alexandra Richardson

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Smith and Wesson .357 revolver with a six inch barrel and wood grip, plus two boxes of magnum ammo. I tried to smile, but failed.

Tink gushed words the way she does just before she loses it “You don’t talk much about your family, but I know your daddy was a gunsmith, and since you like all this Civil War stuff, I thought an ole style gun might make a good peace offering; what’s wrong; why don’t you like it?”

I wanted to like it more than anything at that moment, but of all the things in the world to give me… She grabbed the gun and the box out of my hands.

“I don’t like guns, I thought I told you that, I’m sor…

“…But your daddy…” She choked back sobs.“Baby, my dad was an asshole. He dragged us

to the gun range every damn weekend, made us shoot until we couldn’t feel our fingers… Tink, I’m sorry.”

I lifted my arm out to hold her but she thought I reached for the pistol. She pulled back. “Nope! I’m gonna fix it, fix it good,” she said and slapped my hand away.

I stood speechless. Frustration and shame dragged my shoulders toward the cracked concrete floor. I turned back to my to battle scene so Tink wouldn’t think I was staring at her tears. I fiddled with my troops and hoped she’d simmer down.

“I love you Tank, I love US. I’m not giving up on us without a FIGHT. I want what we had or I don’t want NOTHIN’.” She spoke through clenched teeth, and a familiar metallic click punctuated each sentence. “We had something SPECIAL. I want the man I married BACK. …or ELSE.”

The clicking sound recalled an image from long ago. I spun in time to see Tink slam the sixth bullet into its chamber, then snap the cylinder into place. She pushed the gun out in front of her with both hands, squinted, and fired.

Toy soldiers and plywood splinters went flying. General George Picket took a small chunk out of my

right cheek. It sounded like I had bagpipes jammed in my ears. I stared at her as she raised the gun toward my head. My eyes searched for paths of escape, but she stood between me and the stairs. I thought about hiding under what was left of my battlefield, but it no longer offered safety. My brain calculated angles of trajectory for a counter attack swift enough to disarm her before getting shot, just like dad drilled into me, but I didn’t want to hurt her.

“I’m tired of you retreating into your God damned civil war dungeon. Don’t you believe it’s time to fight for us? Well? Don’t you want the old us back?”

I opened my mouth to speak and tried to think of what to say, but could only get out the two words I had said three times before, “I do.” And I meant it.

She marched me upstairs to the bedroom, then ordered me to take off my shirt.

“On your back.” She said waving the pistol toward the bed. She struggled to keep the gun on me with one hand while she locked the door and propped the cane chair under the knob. She piled the half-empty laundry basket and the red and blue patchwork quilt on top of the chair, about all she could grab with one hand. Under other circumstances, I would have laughed.

Tink placed her icy gun hand and the warm pistol on my chest. The barrel’s bottomless black eye stared at my chin while traces of the spent round brought back the choking gun smoke of my sorry youth.

She eased onto the bed, and wedged her shoulder under my arm. The .357 scooted a few inches to make room on my bare chest for her soft cheek. Her leg wrapped over my thighs. We lay like that, skin on skin, until the gun and the rest of the world melted away.

“I missed you.”“I missed you too, Tink.”“I’m sorry I took my frustrations out on you

that night, Tank. I shouldn’t let ‘em build up like that.”“I’m…” The panic from that first fight returned,

that pain exaggerated by my dismantled defenses. My

the aUSb odySSey

Shooting John Wayne - Cont’d

31

In yoUr dreamS

body tensed.“Tank, I want you to do something that might

be hard, but do it anyway.” She gave the gun the tiniest wiggle to make her point. “Forget about everything in the past half hour, in the last two weeks. Remember how you felt as you heard me whine and moan. Use your words to describe your feelings at that moment, before the anger, the resentment, and all that other crap you pulled. Darlin’ I need to understand so we might fix this thing. Oh, and if you lie, or even pussyfoot around, I’ll blow your God damned head off.” To emphasize the point, she cocked the hammer.

Despite the plausible threat of death, her tender head on my exposed chest generated that primal calm that filled the aching void. I dropped the John Wayne act and said the three words no man should ever admit, and even my mother never wanted to hear.

“I was…afraid.” Something about that word, it bubbles beneath

the surface of every moment, but we pretend so hard it carries no sway over us, and we call that courage. I felt ten times more afraid of the word, and what Tink would think me for admitting it, than I did about the prospect of my brains soiling the honey oak headboard. But I just couldn’t lie anymore. The chewing gum, bungee cables, and duct tape all failed, and I wept.

I blubbered on about my fear of losing her, of being hurt, abandoned, and unlovable; and how the past three months had been the best of my life, and when I hold her nothing else matters, and so on. Yes, yes I did.

Tink must have let go of that pistol because she stroked my head and kept saying, “It’s okay baby, I love you, I’ll always love you;” which took me to a place before childhood, somewhere deep beneath the man I have become. I bawled even harder.

When I stopped carrying-on and grew silent in her rocking arms I replayed my whole life. I excavated through the lies my parents, peers, and role models heaped upon my innocence. I cut through the pride and politics of adult life, and beneath it all I found the simple instincts for fight and flight, survival and

reproduction. Underneath that I found something even more primal, the need for love and human connection, and its companion, the terror of loneliness. Why else would I, or any of us, marry again and again after all the previous pain and failure?

I don’t know if it was this reconnection after two weeks of tension; or maybe the fact that this gutsy woman still loved me after my ass-holier than thou attitude, and after I cried like a little girl; maybe it’s that no one ever considered me worth killing and going to prison for. All I know is we had the greatest make-up sex in the history of the human race. It ended with a bang and a scream as the blankets and the pistol bounced to the floorboards.

Us men throw our bodies into harm’s way at the drop of a general’s sword, but we run like frightened quail at the prospect of facing our own fears. It took a long look down a six inch barrel to admit my weakest and darkest emotions.

Since then every day remains a challenge, but it’s like we’re pioneers in a new land. When we set to arguing my body tenses up like it always has, but now I get a stab of pain from the bullet hole in my butt. I call it my war wound. When that six-shooter hit the floor, it almost shot me rear end off, almost killed me. So when I feel God’s little reminder not to be a jackass, I stop myself in mid-retreat or counterattack and laugh at the stupid nothing dividing us. I stare down the underlying fear of loss and the mistaken outrage at love betrayed.

“Tink, do you love me?” That’s her cue to stop fighting, and she never

misses her cue.“More than life.”After that we talk things through. It’s hard to be

honest and true to each other, and ourselves, but we’re getting better at it. Like my dad used to say, “If it’s easy everybody’d be doing it.” I’ll give him that one.

Each night we spend a little time lying in each other’s arms, still and quiet, skin on skin. All in all, I’d have to say that, so far, we’ve beat the odds, and found the secret to happily ever after. Ω

32

the aUSb odySSey

As a single mother and full time student living

in Santa Barbara, I often pass “broke” and move onto

a place I call “Yeowzers!” But that doesn’t mean I can’t

find things to do on little to no money. So here is my

week of fun for kids from 2 to 92. Let your fingers do

the walking when planning your outings and begin

with web sites like www.santabarbaradowntown.com

Sundays are a wonderful day in the world of free

entertainment, if you are willing to do a little hunting.

The Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History and

the Santa Barbara Maritime Museum both offer free

local admission on various days at specific times. Their

websites can direct you to plan a wonderful day of

fun and cultural exposure for the young and young at

heart. After the museums, Sundays at East Beach are

complete with artistic virtuosos, vendors, vagabonds

and vegans!

Mondays are a personal favorite of mine. The

South Coast Railroad Museum (Goleta Depot at the

Stow House) is the perfect place to play on a budget.

Admission is free (donations suggested) and its 1-4pm

hours of operation provide a great afternoon get away.

Plus riding on a little train is just fun.

Monday’s are also great days to spend at one of

the local libraries. The Santa Barbara Public Libraries

have a great kids section and place for adults to do some

studying. Check their calendar of events for special

programs at the library closest to you.

Mondays or Tuesdays are both great low key

days to partake in the stellar bird watching at Lake

Los Carneros right next to the Goleta depot! The

species of plants at the Stow House/La Patera Ranch

gardens combined with the native plant restoration

efforts of the preservationists provide for a superb

habitat for native and invasive wetland and chaparral

habitat birds, raptors and the animals that prey upon

them, such as raccoons, coyotes, foxes and others. The

lake has a wonderful loop around it, complete with a

quaint wooden bridge with dirt trail on one side, and

a blacktop two lane path on the other. If you go to

enjoy the nature at this little lake, be sure to bring some

bread or cheerios (they float) because the ducks, geese,

coots and swans get hungry too. Or if you prefer, the

Carpinteria Sea Sanctuary is open from December to

May so it is in full swing all winter quarter.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays are wonderful days

for cheap admission to major events in town too. If

you are a fan of high culture you won’t want to miss

the events pages of the Lobero Theater! Events like the

Chamber Orchestra, the Jazz Festival Tour and Magic

shows for fans of all ages will grace their stage over

A Week of Fun for Kids From 2 to 92Staff Picks - Entertainment: “Atty” Atsiylah Patricia Garfinkel

Photo by Jeffrey Lovelace

33

Winter Quarter. If the Lobero doesn’t have an event

that you like, look at the events page of the Granada.

The Granada has acrobats, musicians, dancers and even

Broadway productions going on all year long. And with

prices varying based on seating everyone can watch

Shrek with a Broadway cast!

Thursdays are a wonderful time in our area. If

it is the first Thursday of the month get ready for “1st

Thursday” activities. The City tells us on its web page

that “1st Thursday venues feature attractions, such as

art openings, live music, artists’ receptions, lectures,

wine tastings and hands-on activities.” But they also

offer dancing, clowns (on occasion) and kid’s activities

at specific stores along State Street, and “The Art

Crawl” at De La Guerra Plaza and free admission to the

Museum of Art. Thursday, January 24, 2013 will kick

off the 28th annual Santa Barbara International Film

Festival. We will see new and veteran film makers test

their skills against one another for a chance to be named

the winner of the coveted title of “Film of The Year”.

On “Friends Friday” my family has a few favorite

places to play. We love the Goleta beach estuary and

playground, even in the winter. Alameda Park provides

the Kids World structures that everyone finds inviting.

Alice Keck Memorial Gardens offers a wonderful

setting for a family walk in an English country garden

setting. I love to walk the nature trails at Elings Park to

take some “mommy quiet time”. The Chase Palm Park

carousel and playground offer up the gleeful afternoons

that childhood memories are made of; and Franceschi

Park’s panoramic views are the perfect getaway for

parents or a supervised teen date... Unless you prefer

day time whale watching at the Coal Oil Point Reserve

Cliff. The Grey and Humpback whales migrate through

the Santa Barbara Channel from December to March;

or you can stop and see the endangered Snowy Plovers

down on the beach, right next to the tide pools.

Saturdays are a great day for anyone to plan an

adventure to the Santa Barbara Zoo. Or if you prefer,

the Botanic Gardens and world class hiking trails are

only minutes away in the area hills. If you still can’t find

something to do try my ace in the hole, the Earl Warren

Show grounds; there is sure to be something going on.

The butterfly grove (Coronado Butterfly Preserve) in

Goleta’s Ellwood area is a favorite that you might like to

take a look at any time from November to March to see

thousands of Monarchs. We all love to have adventures

on a budget, so plan to enjoy Santa Barbara this winter

quarter, and try out these web sites to help you plan the

perfect day of fun. Ω

http://ca.evanced.info/sbpl/lib/eventcalendar.asp

http://sbplibrary.org/hourslocations/index.html

http://www.sbmuseart.org/programs/chase.web

http://www.santabarbaraca.com/visitor-info/maps/

downtown-museums/

http://www.sbcourts.org/general_info/cthouse_info.

htm

http://www.santabarbara.com/events/

www.goletadepot.org/visitor_events.php

http://www.sbnature.org/about/385.html

http://coaloilpoint.ucnrs.org/

http://www.santabarbaradowntown.com/

www.lobero.com/calendar

http://www.granadasb.org/

In yoUr dreamS

34

Eat Fresh, Spend Less, Plan More.Staff Picks - Lifestyles: Richard Somdah

Being the star-studded students and faculty we are here at AUSB, we can often miss small opportunities like the few hours on Tuesday through Saturday that the Santa Barbara Farmers Market offers; but there are more than a few tasty, healthy reasons to stop by. For the last few decades the Farmers Market has been providing a wide variety of fruits, vegetables, honey, nuts and even flowers to the local community from local family farmers.

What does this have to do with you as AUSB students and faculty? Well we all know the new year is here, and with that comes….dooomm dooomm doom…NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS! What are some common resolution ideas? Save money. Lose weight. Plan better. Well this New Year you can broaden your horizons. We in the AUSB community are presented with an opportunity to EAT FRESH, SPEND LESS and PLAN MORE. Say it with me EAT FRESH! SPEND LESS! PLAN MORE! There’s no contract signing, email verification, or deposit required, just a willingness to EAT FRESH, SPEND LESS, and PLAN MORE. Okay, three times… Phewww.

Now that it’s implanted in your brains let me explain. In the stop-and-go lifestyle that most student-moms, student-workers, student-(you choose) have, things like health can be put on the back burner. Well

no longer, because we can plan a 30min-1hr block of time either Tuesday evenings or Saturday mornings to stop by the downtown Farmers Market and grab a reasonable amount of fruits, vegies, and the like to last until the next market. With these valuables you can plan out the week. Spread them out as pick-me-up snacks or combine them into small meals while you are on the move.

It’s easy to miss meals and just eat a heavy lunch or dinner whenever you get home; but we all have read enough magazines and books on healthy eating to know that smaller meals more times a day are better for your metabolism and overall functionality. With all the variety they offer at the Farmers Market it should be hard to get bored with the routine. You will titillate your taste buds with new flavors almost weekly. If you get tired of the fruits switch to vegies, if you’re over fruits and vegies switch to nuts. If you have a sweet tooth put some honey on those nuts…you heard me! Also for the avid coffee drinkers out there substituting an apple for one of those cups of coffee a day can be a big start on your way to healthy living.

In the finance department it will save gas and currency. It’s like eating restaurant quality food at fast food prices. The time saved will keep you from feeling like you’re always in a rush, since we do tend to have busy schedules.

Think with me for a second… What if you didn’t have any more concerns about your health? What if all your days were planned out and you never had to worry about the hustle and bustle? What if instead of living above your means you lived below your means and saved, saved, saved? Wow, wouldn’t that be nice! Including the Santa Barbara Farmers Market in your lifestyle will be a step in that direction that you won’t regret.

So let’s EAT FRESH, SPEND LESS, and PLAN MORE as an AUSB community so that we can use our personal time to conquer other areas of our lives. Ω

the aUSb odySSey

Photo by Jeffrey Lovelace

35

wInter 2013

Winter CalendarCalendar of Events: Jeffrey Lovelace

Date: Event: Time: Admission: Location: Contact Info:

Jan 12-13 Legally Blonde, the Musical Check Site Varies Lobero Theatre http://www.lobero.com

Jan 13-14 Speaking of StoriesNothing but Laughs Check site $15 Students

$25 General Center Stage Theater http://www.centerstagetheater.org/

Jan 18 William Shatner 8:00 PM $38+ Arlington Theatre https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.edu

Jan 20 Silent Film Organ Concert 2:00 PM Varies Arlington Theatre http://thearlingtontheatre.com/schedule

Jan 22 Author Pauline Chen, M.D. 8:00 PM $15 UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.eduJan 23 Hubbard Street Dance Chicago 8:00 PM $38 + Granada Theatre https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.eduJan 24 - Feb 3

Santa Barbara International Film Festival Check site Various http://sbiff.org/

Jan 26 Cirque Ziva 3:00 PM $15 Adult$10 Child UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.edu

Feb 5 Journalist Lisa Ling 8:00 PM $25 UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.eduFeb 8 A Lecture with Dennis Kucinich 7:30 PM Free Lobero Theatre http://www.lobero.com

Feb 10 Brown Bear, Moon, Caterpillar 3:00 PM $15 Adult$10 Child UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.edu

Feb 10-11 Speaking of StoriesStories from the New Yorker Check site $15 Students

$25 General Center Stage Theater http://www.centerstagetheater.org/

Feb 11 David B. Agus, M.D. 8:00 PM $15 UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.eduFeb 12 Margaret Atwood 8:00 PM $20 UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.eduFeb 14-24 Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson Check site $25 General Center Stage Theater http://www.centerstagetheater.org/Feb 17 It’s Magic! Check Site Varies Lobero Theatre http://www.lobero.comFeb 20 Joshua Bell, violin 8:00 PM $38 + Granada Theatre https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.eduFeb 22 Author Jorge Castaneda 8:00 PM Free UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.edu

Feb 23 Girls Rock SB Benefit 7:00 PM Marjorie Luke Theatre http://www.girlsrocksb.org/

Feb 25 Nova Host Brian Greene 8:00 PM $20 UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.eduFeb 27-28 Banff Mountain Film Festival 7:30 PM $15 Arlington Theatre https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.edu

Mar 1 African Children’s Choir 8:00 PM $17 Students$35 General UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.edu

Mar 1-2 Larry Keigwin & Company 8:00 PM $15 Student$22+ General Lobero Theatre http://www.lobero.com

Mar 2 PBS Host Gwen Ifill 8:00 PM $20 UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.eduMar 4 Author Joshua Foer 8:00 PM Free UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.edu

Mar 5 Antonio Sacre, storyteller 6:00 PM Free Fleischmann Auditorium https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.edu

Mar 6 Author Abraham Verghese, M.D. 8:00 PM $15 UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.eduMar 7 Artist Lynda Barry 8:00 PM $15 UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.eduMar 9 Jeremy Denk, piano 8:00 PM $20 UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.edu

Mar 10 Jazz at Lincoln Center 8:00 PM $20 Students$38+ General Granada Theatre https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.edu

Mar 15 Jerry Seinfeld 7:00 PM Varies Arlington Theatre http://thearlingtontheatre.com

Mar 16 Beauty and the Beast 2:00 PM $15 Adult$10 Child UCSB Campbell Hall https://artsandlectures.sa.ucsb.edu

Mar 17-18 Speaking of StoriesStories From the Neighborhood Check site $15 Students

$25 General Center Stage Theater http://www.centerstagetheater.org/

the aUSb odySSey - wInter 2013

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The views represented are those of the authors, not necessarily Antioch University Santa Barbara.

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The mission of The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS) is: Cure leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin’s disease and myeloma, and improve the quality of life of patients and their

families. The impact of this mission extends into life-saving research for many types of cancer.

The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s Team In Training™ is the world’s largest endurance sports training program. In Santa Barbara, TNT offers a run or walk- full or half marathon

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