Romancing the Archive

As a graduate student, I am constantly asked about what I study. I have to admit that I am always a bit hesitant to provide any details. Perhaps I have seen too many polite nods and glassy eyes to be able to convince myself that what I do is sexy or provocative in any way. Saying that I do historical research seems to have a distinct sedative effect. But, given that I can’t see your eyes or your nodding head, I have decided now is the perfect time to talk about what it is exactly that I do.

As a historical researcher, I spend a lot of time pouring over old newspapers and other minutiae of the ‘everyday.’ And I have to say that there is something hauntingly beautiful about the archive. To the outside observer, I imagine I am simply a middle aged woman squinting at the screen as microfiche whirs by in an almost nauseating start and stop fashion. But in my world, I am a time traveller, watching time flash by on the screen. At a push of a button, I can freeze time, and step into another world. A world where the latest fashion from London is the English Sailor Hat in Khaki and where men’s trousers would set you back $2.00 to $4.50 depending on quality. It is a world where the sports section talks about cricket matches at Brockton Point and Lawn Tennis in Mount Pleasant. Welcome to the year 1900 in British Columbia. It is a world that I step into with ease and step out of with trepidation.

Usually I step in slowly, letting myself become accustomed to this new (old) world. First, I read the advertisements because even in 1900, my shopping addiction reigns. Then I’ll let my eyes wander carelessly across headlines until something catches my eye. Sometimes it is an old wedding picture. Other times, it is a hauntingly told half-story of murder and intrigue. My mind fills in the blanks in creative ways, turning the murder of a 17 year old girl by her 20 year old boyfriend into a tragic version of Romeo and Juliet. He says that she and he had a suicide pact, but he couldn’t bring himself to end his life after he had ended hers. He confesses to murder, but refuses to ever tell the reason. It is a story that deserves to be told, but one that remains hidden in the archive. It is not my story to tell. But, I am saddened that it is only half-told and by now totally forgotten.

The ghosts of the archive refuse to be silent. They wait for me and those like me to bring them to life. I am always aware of their presence and feel humbled to be the one who gets to tell their stories. But the archive is not all romance, tragic or heroic. It, like all worlds past and present holds the stories that are sometimes too painful to bear. The ugliness I see in this world tears at my heart. You see, it is also a world where the ‘little brown men’ are seen as fraudulent citizens, where immigrants of colour are referred to as ‘cargo.’ It is a world where the right to vote was dependent on the colour of one’s skin. In this world where a man could buy trousers for $2.00, a $100 fine was imposed to any ‘Collector of Votes’ who added the “names of Japanese, Chinese or Indians” to the voter’s list.

I walk in this world carefully. Sometimes the landmines that I uncover spring up with no warning in this world of cricket, lawn tennis and English Sailor hats. Other times, the danger is abundantly clear and although it always saddens me, it does not take my breath away in the same way. Good and bad, this is the world I work in. My commute spans not miles, but decades or centuries. My research participants are apparitions of forgotten memories and misplaced recollections. Out of the chaos, they rise. It is a world of beauty, intrigue and mystery. Welcome to my world.

Dirt

I love the smell of dirt. While many might argue that the smell of spring is the sweet smell of flowers in bloom, for me it is the rich earthy smells of fresh turned soil that signals the start of spring. Maybe it is my pollen allergies that make me reject the floral calling cards of spring. But, whatever it is, you can’t convince me that spring is here until I smell that rich heady scent of dirt.

When I smell dirt, see the deep dark colour, I want to grab a handful and feel its cool moist texture in my hand, I want to hold it close to my face, inhale deeply and smell the beginning of life. I want to squeeze it tightly in my fist, warm it with my own heat and then open my hand and watch it spill between my fingers and settle gently on the ground.

The smell of dirt is the smell of hidden potential. It is underestimated and undervalued. But it is patient and productive. It welcomes the seeds, those who happen there by accident, as well as those that are planted with forethought and deliberation. As the seeds begin to grow, the dirt shifts, accommodates, nurtures and embraces. It hardens and protects and then it accepts the breaks and fissures that are necessary for the seed to become a shoot, then a bud and finally burst into the flower of spring.

There is just so much that we can learn from dirt.

I’d like to buy a vowel please…

I like shopping. I love to shop for presents for other people. I adore shopping for presents for me. I especially like to find something I love on sale. But I even love to window shop, to look at all the pretty things in jewellery shop windows, even though I rarely have any desire to buy them. I guess I’m a bit of a shopaholic. But, the first step is admitting you have a problem, right? So, for those of you who are still in denial about your own shopping addiction, I have decided to compile my own list of the top ten signs that you are a shopaholic:

1. The words ‘new’ and ‘improved’ bring tears of joy to your eyes.
2. As you are walking by your favourite shoe store, the sales clerk waves or greets you by name. (Okay, who am I kidding? I never just can walk BY my favourite shoe store!)
3. When choosing your dentist, accountant or manicurist, you always choose the one closest to the mall.
4. You spend more than 10 minutes a day trying to think of things you need at the store.
5. When you can’t think of anything, you misplace, shred, or eat the last of something just so you can go try to find the ‘new’ or ‘improved’ version.
6. You decide where to meet your best friend for lunch based on which of your favourite stores are nearby.
7. There is at least one unused item in your pantry/closet/bookcase that you were sure you would eat/wear/read but is now past its ‘best before date.’
8. You can smell a shoe store a block away.
9. The women or men you used to undress with your eyes, you now fantasize about re-dressing in the latest fashions.
10. You are happy to admit you have a shopping addiction because you saw this great self-help book on the subject and it was half-price.