College of Arts and Sciences

Students nurture a heart to give back

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 21 Nov 2025 14:30:00 +0000

Students nurture a heart to give back Rachel Sauer Fri, 11/21/2025 - 07:30

Rachel Sauer

Undergraduate students Josiah Gordon and Miles Woods formed a nonprofit to provide scholarships for students at their former high school, determined to make positive change in their community

Josiah Gordon and Miles Woods have been friends since kindergarten. They know each other’s families, have been in and out of each other’s Denver homes and can communicate in a shorthand that comes only with knowing someone that long.

They played on some of the same basketball and Arapaho Youth League football teams, had many of the same teachers at Highline Academy and moved on to Thomas Jefferson High School with similar attitudes toward education: Eh, it’s fine.

“I understood (education) was really important because my parents harped on it, but I couldn’t really say I enjoyed it,” Woods says.

Josiah Gordon (left) and Miles Woods (right) are �� Boulder pre-med students majoring in integrative physiology and participating in the Miramontes Arts and Sciences Program. Last year, they decided to raise money for scholarships for students at their alma mater high school.

“For me,” Gordon adds, “when I was younger it was not stressed. I come from a low-income family, but as Miles and I were growing up and our moms were getting to know each other, I was picking up a little bit on that emphasis on education.”

The COVID year changed everything. It was a reset button for both of them, helping them connect with their faith, giving them a bigger-picture perspective on what they want their lives to be and making them realize they really needed to get serious about school.

Fast forward several years, and they’re both pre-med students majoring in integrative physiology at the University of Colorado Boulder. Both are also part of the Miramontes Arts and Sciences Program and both focused on goals that are big enough to motivate hard work but not so big that they’re out of reach.

They also know, however, that the future can’t happen without everything that came before it, so last year they hatched an idea to help students at their former high school who see the value of higher education but aren’t sure how to pay for it.

In 2024, the two undergraduates with no previous experience doing anything like this started the Hem of Hope Foundation—originally called Manum Dare, which means “to lend a hand” in Latin—to fundraise and award scholarships to students at Thomas Jefferson High School.

“Senior year, I think I applied to something like 26 different scholarships—everything I could find,” Gordon says. “For me, that was the start of this—just going to school with our peers, a lot of individuals who wanted to go to college and worked hard but just couldn’t make it happen financially. I think we just have a heart to give back and do what we can to help.”

Learning to love learning

Both will admit, though, that the path to this point has been winding, and they didn’t always care this much about education. Woods had the example of his mother, who was the first in her family to go to graduate school—she’s an attorney—and his father, who was the first in his family to go to college. They emphasized education to Woods and his sister, who recently graduated the University of California at Berkeley, and to Gordon when he visited the Woods’ home. The message took a little while to sink in.

“I wouldn’t say I was a bad kid by any means,” Gordon recalls, “but I was definitely not a teacher’s pet. I gave my teachers a little trouble growing up, and that’s common in young boys. I just didn’t like school. I would say it wasn’t until I got to high school that I started to take things a little bit more seriously. Plus, I had little more autonomy with choice for classes, and that made a difference.”

They took a human anatomy class together, which planted a seed: “It was like, wow, this stuff is pretty cool,” Gordon says, so he tucked the thought away for future reference.

Miles Woods (second from left) and Josiah Gordon (right) with the two Thomas Jefferson High School students to whom they gave scholarships for which they fundraised. (Photo: Josiah Gordon)

“We were learning about the body in a way that’s really applicable,” Woods adds. “Sometimes I’d be sitting in class like, why am I learning this? Sitting in algebra or whatever, it could get kind of boring. But in that class, it was really interesting, really immersive, and it got me thinking about the body and thinking ‘Oh, that’s how that works.’ I remember one day (the teacher) was teaching us about tattoos and why they are permanent and how they stay in the body, and thinking that was so interesting.”

Both young men were also chasing dreams of playing college basketball, but things worked out how they were supposed to work out, Woods says. He originally committed to play basketball at another Colorado school, but the arrangement fell through a few weeks before the deadline to accept his admission to �� Boulder.

Meanwhile, Gordon broke his foot during his senior year, but because he’d applied for so many scholarships, he was able to pursue an academics-based path rather than a basketball-based one.

“We’d been planning to go our separate ways and chase the hoop dream, but then here we both were at Boulder,” Woods says. Gordon declared pre-med from the beginning, but it took Woods a semester of studying business to know for sure that medicine was his path.

‘Let’s just try’

In Summer 2024, Gordon and Woods participated in Startup Summer through the �� Law School, a 16-week program that supports students in entering the world of startups, innovation and emerging companies. The program helps students come up with business ideas, work on pitches, partner with mentors in the business world and, at the end of the program, pitch a business proposal to a room of investors.

They had some business ideas and even developed one as far as the pitch stage, but their thoughts kept returning to the idea they’d had in high school, from which they were only a year removed.

“We kept thinking about our close friends who couldn’t make it to college because they couldn’t afford it,” Gordon explains, so they thought: What if, instead of a business, they started a nonprofit?

It was an audacious thought for people still in their teens, but they’d spent the summer in rooms with great business minds, people who’d started incredibly successful companies, and they’d soaked up the lessons.

“We thought, why not do it now?” Gordon says. “Let’s just try to raise a little bit of money and give it to someone at our alma mater.”

Josiah Gordon (striped shirt) reads to children at an elementary school in the neighborhood where he grew up. He and Miles Woods (not pictured) are active community volunteers in addition to scholarship fundraisers. (Photo: Josiah Gordon)

Their initial goal was to raise $1,000, so they established a GoFundMe, promoted what they were doing on social media and harnessed the power of word of mouth. A day and a half after they started, they’d raised $2,000. Not long after, a web developer who’d seen what they were doing offered to build them a website. Other Thomas Jefferson alumni contacted them and offered support, including former NFL player Derrick Martin, who gave them a shout-out on social media.

They figured they should get serious about the nonprofit, so Brad Bernthal, then-director of the Startup Summer and an associate professor of law, put them in touch with law students who helped them create a 501(c)(3) as Manum Dare, later renamed Hem of Hope.

They established scholarship criteria—a 3.25 GPA and involvement in extracurricular activities among them—and developed an application on their website, which included an essay. Gordon’s mother helped them read the essays, and in the spring they selected two $1,000 scholarship recipients.

“It’s definitely kind of rough knowing you can’t help everybody how you want to, but I think you can find solace in the fact you’re helping somebody, and the little bit you can do right now for someone is better than not doing anything,” Woods says. “I think that’s the stance you have to take.”

Bring positive change

Since awarding the first two scholarships, they have renamed the foundation Hem of Hope to reflect their faith, established a board, brought on �� School of Medicine student Sandra Appiah as a community impact ambassador and are exploring opportunities for mentorship and community collaboration. They’re also discussing fundraising strategies for next year’s scholarships.

“We’ve been thinking of bake sales, maybe a 5K,” Woods says. “Now that we have a 501(c)(3), we’re hoping to find businesses to partner with on grants.”

Gordon adds that they’ve talked with representatives from other nonprofits, who have given them advice on grant writing, fundraising and community outreach.

They balance this with being third-year students in a demanding major, volunteering as practice players for the �� women’s basketball team and planning for MCATs, medical school applications and graduation.

“Just being on the pre-med track itself is tough, but I think the way we grew up and some of our values definitely pay off,” Gordon says. “We don’t party; we don’t go out to the Hill or anything like that, so that gives us extra time. The analogy that pops in my brain is a see-saw: You’re not ever really going to be perfectly balanced, but I think that act of teetering is a kind of balance itself, kind of learning and establishing a good routine.

“And it’s important to us. You make time for the things that are important to you, and we want to bring positive change to our community.”

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Undergraduate students Josiah Gordon and Miles Woods formed a nonprofit to provide scholarships for students at their former high school, determined to make positive change in their community.

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Top image: Miles Woods (left) and Josiah Gordon (right) at the spring scholarship presentation. (Photo: Josiah Gordon)

Eat, pray, learn

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 18 Nov 2025 03:13:10 +0000

Eat, pray, learn Rachel Sauer Mon, 11/17/2025 - 20:13

Rachel Sauer

Bali Global Seminar in Sustainability and Social Entrepreneurship helps students see real-world work to balance tourism with environmental and cultural preservation

Tourists certainly visited Bali before Elizabeth Gilbert’s 2006 memoir Eat, Pray, Love, but they came in droves after it became an international bestseller. And when the film based on Gilbert’s memoir and starring Julia Roberts was released in 2010, some frustrated residents began hanging “Eat, Pray, Leave” signs.

Bali, like many heavily touristed—some might say over-touristed—spots around the globe, exists in an uneasy détente between the tourism that represents 80% of its economy and the growing recognition that with tremendous tourism comes previously unseen environmental, economic and cultural impacts.

Students who participated in the Summer 2025 Bali Global Seminar in Sustainability and Social Entrepreneurship not only learn first-hand how Bali’s residents and leaders are grappling with previously unseen environmental, economic and cultural impacts related to tourism. (Photo: Laura DeLuca)

Participants in the three-week Bali Global Seminar in Sustainability and Social Entrepreneurship not only learn first-hand how Bali’s residents and leaders are grappling with these issues for which there aren’t many roadmaps, but how they’re creating innovative, sustainable solutions for dealing with these environmental and socioeconomic challenges.

“It’s a very hands-on course,” explains seminar director Laura DeLuca, a University of Colorado Boulder assistant teaching professor of anthropology and faculty member in the Stories and Societies Residential Academic Program. “Students are seeing first-hand these social innovations that are designed to improve human and ecosystem viability in ways that are effective, efficient, long-term and just.

“These innovations also serve as models that can be adapted to other cultural and socioeconomic contexts beyond Bali. The application of these approaches is driving the emergence of new and creative ‘solutionary’ paradigms that address the concerns of people, animals and the environment.”

Potential benefits, potential impacts

The Bali Global Seminar in Sustainability and Social Entrepreneurship first took place in Summer 2024 and was led by Caroline Conzelman, an anthropology teaching professor in the College of Arts and Sciences Residential Academic Programs (RAPs).

The seminar had its genesis in “this idea of decolonizing the study abroad experience and challenging some of these notions of extractive tourism or ‘voluntourism,’” Conzelman explains. “Sometimes we don’t really examine our positions of privilege and power when we are just regular tourists, even with study abroad, so I always bring this into the conversation with students: What are we doing here, what are potential benefits, what are potential impacts?”

Conzelman and DeLuca, who were in graduate school at �� Boulder together, both brought a passion for sustainability to their respective areas of anthropological study—Conzelman in Bolivia and DeLuca in Tanzania—and together developed a 1000-level course on sustainability, social responsibility and entrepreneurship that they taught in several RAPs.

Apply by Dec. 1

Applications for the three-credit Summer 2026 Bali Global Seminar in Sustainability and Social Entrepreneurship close Dec. 1. Students from all majors are invited to participate.

For more information, contact Scott Funk, Education Abroad program manager for the Bali Global Seminar in Sustainability and Social Entrepreneuriship.

Learn more

Though neither had previously studied or done research in Bali, “I’m on a listserv for environmental anthropology, which has always been my focus, and I kept seeing information about the Bali Institute,” Conzelman says. “On Oct. 13, 2021, I had my first Zoom meeting with the director of the Bali Institute, and we talked for an hour and a half. We were on the same level in terms of being extremely aware of differentials of power and privilege that exist in study abroad and other sorts of programs like that.

“We talked about upending the status quo of voluntourism, we talked about creating a viable business model for longer-term engagement in terms of Balinese people inviting foreigners into their own communities and guiding them in this cultural exploration.”

Tri Hita Karana

Working with the Education Abroad office and with the Bali Institute as a local partner, Conzelman began developing a three-week summer program that would allow students to study community-led coral restoration and regenerative rice farming projects, spend time with social entrepreneurs and learn about local traditions in medicine, food and religion, as well as strategic efforts to make tourism more sustainable.

The Balinese practice of Tri Hita Karana is woven throughout all the lessons, DeLuca says, which is the “three causes of wellbeing” or the “three causes of prosperity and happiness”: harmony with the divine, harmony among people and harmony with nature and the environment.

“The principle of Tri Hita Karana guides many aspects of life on the island and is seen as a strong pillar for maintaining the residents’ sustainability and quality of life,” DeLuca explains.

Clementine Clyker, a senior majoring in environmental studies, first participated in the seminar as a student in 2025 and then as a teaching assistant (TA) in 2025. As a student, she says, “some of my most memorable experiences were getting to know the Balinese people, especially our guides. I still remain in contact with most of them. They have shown me different ways of life that put my own into perspective. Additionally, I met many loving individuals who work hard to promote social equity and equal opportunities for marginalized groups such as women.”

Because of her experiences in Bali as both a student and a TA, she adds, “I have also started to prioritize community more. Bali is a warm and welcoming place that is deeply rooted in community, something I feel we lack in the States. Getting to see the lives of Balinese locals has made me realize how important it is to have that community and to nurture it.”

For Cal Curtis, a sophomore majoring in biology with a leadership minor, participating in the Summer 2025 Bali Global Seminar "opened my eyes to a new community and ecosystem. I learned about the devastating impact of overfishing on our oceans, which sparked my passion for conservation.”

"Bali taught me so much about empathy, the importance of community and the impact that our actions directly have on the environment," adds Summer 2025 participant Skylar Armstrong, a sophomore majoring integrative physiology.

DeLuca notes that Bali is at the frontlines of addressing the exploitative overtourism also seen in places like Barcelona, Cairo and Venice, “which, basically, takes more than it gives,” she says, and has led to crises of pollution, reef destruction, affordable housing, access to health care and maintaining private places to worship.

“Because of the partnerships we have with people who live there, Bali is a living classroom for our students,” DeLuca says. “It’s a place that’s really romanticized and that I think a lot of people dream of visiting, but it’s also a place where the people who live there are trying to figure out how they can sustainably undo some of the damage that’s being done by this industry that represents the majority of their economy. And we have these deep connections and relationships with people there who are willing to teach our students about this work.”

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Bali Global Seminar in Sustainability and Social Entrepreneurship helps students see real-world work to balance tourism with environmental and cultural preservation.

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Top image: Guillaume Marques/Unsplash

Three college staff members participating in leadership institute

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 14 Oct 2025 16:21:32 +0000

Three college staff members participating in leadership institute Rachel Sauer Tue, 10/14/2025 - 10:21

Jessica Brunecky, Janelle Henderson and Stephanie Colunga Montoya will participate in the 39th annual Academic Management Institute facilitated by the Colorado and Wyoming Network of Women Leaders

Three University of Colorado Boulder College of Arts and Sciences staff members have been invited to participate in the 39th annual Academic Management Institute (AMI) facilitated by the Colorado and Wyoming Network of Women Leaders, an affiliate of the American Council on Education.

Jessica Brunecky, senior strategic advisor and director of divisional affairs for the Division of Social Sciences; Janelle Henderson, program manager of the College of Arts and Sciences Honors Program; and Stephanie Colunga Montoya, director of student access and engagement for the Division of Natural Sciences, will join with higher education professionals from across Colorado and Wyoming to develop as leaders and foster excellence in the region’s colleges and universities.

AMI 2025-26 is comprised of five in-person sessions—the first of which will be Thursday and Friday in Vail—that feature presentations and workshops by higher education leaders and subject experts from Colorado and Wyoming. AMI is designed to be a professional development opportunity that fosters a cohesive cohort dynamic and enables participants to hone their leadership toolkit while forging connections with peers across the region’s academic institutions.

“I look forward to exploring ways to strengthen my ability to make structural and institutional change,” says Brunecky. Colunga Montoya notes that she is looking forward “to meeting other amazing women doing important work in higher education and gaining wisdom and knowledge that is shared.”

Every AMI participant is asked to design a passion project that serves the needs of their institution, which they will introduce at the Oct. 16-17 seminar and present a March 5-6 seminar at the University of Denver.

Each of the seminars centers on timely and topical themes, including leading in ever-changing higher education, influencing campus culture, the future of higher education and developing leadership strengths.

“I’m excited to expand my leadership skills and build meaningful connections with other higher education leaders,” says Henderson.

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Jessica Brunecky, Janelle Henderson and Stephanie Colunga Montoya will participate in the 39th annual Academic Management Institute facilitated by the Colorado and Wyoming Network of Women Leaders.

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Top image: Jessica Brunecky, Janelle Henderson and Stephanie Colunga Montoya

Weaving the rhythms of place and people

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 04 Sep 2025 19:41:55 +0000

Weaving the rhythms of place and people Rachel Sauer Thu, 09/04/2025 - 13:41

�� Boulder Professor Marcia Douglas brings the images and memories that fill her writing, as well as her love of language and words, to The Ampersand

Listen to The Ampersand

On the days the book bus visited, Marcia Douglas waited anxiously outside her school in Kingston, Jamaica—a school that had no library—imagining the stories she’d discover inside, so different from the encyclopedias she had at home.

Even with her nose in the pages, she came to associate the delight of reading with her mother's voice, the neighbors laughing, reggae in the air, a dog's bark, the chatter and din that didn’t distract her but became the sounds that filled her well of language.

Now an award-winning author and hybrid artist, the intimacy with which Douglas writes about her childhood home of Jamaica—the Bob Marley rhythms, the taste of tamarind and saltfish fritters, the holiness of a shoeshine—doesn’t so much pull readers along as immerse them in the journey.

Marcia Douglas is an award-winning author, hybrid artist and a college professor of distinction in the �� Boulder Department of English.

For Douglas, a college professor of distinction in the University of Colorado Boulder Department of English, the words, the stories and the process of writing them are joy. While many authors talk about the isolation and loneliness of writing, Douglas sits at her desk in full community with ancestors, memories and the characters that she spins from these spaces.

Douglas recently joined host Erika Randall, �� Boulder interim dean of undergraduate education and professor of dance, on "The Ampersand,” a College of Arts and Sciences podcast. Randall and guests explore stories about ANDing as a “full sensory verb” that describes experience and possibility.

MARCIA DOUGLAS: As a writer, you plan certain things, and you have certain intentions of what you want to write. But in the end, I think that a lot of times, your characters emerge, and they tell you the story.

ERIKA RANDALL: They reveal.

DOUGLAS: Exactly. And that's part of the fun and the joy of writing a story—

RANDALL: Is listening to the story.

DOUGLAS: Right, listening to the story. Every day is a little bit of surprise when you return to it and you see where it's going, and that's how it emerges. That's how it comes along.

RANDALL: So, you've had this really incredible life with objects. And it feels primary in my research of you, and maybe not, but maybe-- because maybe it's one of the many threads of your stories. But I recalled you talking in an interview about how when you came from Jamaica to this country as a teenager, you had $10.

But what stood out to me was that your mother wrapped it in toilet paper. And it was the mention of the toilet paper that held me to your story and to the importance of what the thing was and what the thing wasn't. Can you talk to me about objects and their role in your life? And also, did you keep the toilet paper? You spent the $10. But the tissue—is it tucked in somewhere with the ticket, the return trip?

DOUGLAS: Right. I did not keep the toilet paper. The $10 got spent very quickly—

RANDALL: Yes, it did.

DOUGLAS: —because that's all that I had. I think her impulse to wrap it in the toilet paper had to do with the fact that at the time, there was some government regulation that you were only allowed to take $50 US out of the country. And she had $10 U.S. That's all she had in U.S. money. So, she wrapped it in this piece of toilet paper safely, and that's what I had. And the ticket, I still have.

RANDALL: You do. Where does it live in your life?

DOUGLAS: The ticket is housed in a little file with important papers. And that was meant to be my return ticket to go home. But I ended up not returning home, and I was an undocumented immigrant for many years.

I kept the ticket, though, and I still have the ticket. When you're undocumented, every little bit of paper is important somehow. At least that was my experience.

RANDALL: It felt like safety? It felt like identity?

DOUGLAS: Yeah, identity and this need to hold on to something that you might need, and that somehow is evidence of your existence, that documents you, that does document you in a certain kind of way. So, I think that was part of it, holding on to this ticket even long after it had expired.

But it also—if I'm to be my own psychoanalyst, I would say that it had something to do with a reminder of where I started, where I was from. And even though the ticket has long expired, also a reminder that you can always return, in some kind of way.

Marcia Douglas won a Whiting Award in fiction for her novel "The Marvellous Equations of the Dread: A Novel in Bass Riddim."

RANDALL: And you do, in memory and in word.

DOUGLAS: Yes.

RANDALL: Is it easy for you to return to the characters, to the clock tower, to the tree that was imagined or real, to the language, to the rhythm, to tone? Are there places in your body that you hold those stories or those memories that are easy to return to? Or do you have to really go into a state, or do you go-- do you go back to Jamaica, visit, take in and then return to the page? How does that live with you? How does your past stay in your present?

DOUGLAS: Yeah, it's easy for me to return. You can't always return physically. But home is a physical place, but also a spiritual place as well. And it's a place inside of you. So, I return in that way. And writing for me is also a way of returning home. That's how I return home. That's how I go back to Half Way Tree and interact with all of those characters. That's me literally going home.

RANDALL: So, thank you for taking us with you so clearly. I mean, I have never been to Jamaica. And many of the stories I've heard are from Midwesterners who take trips for spring break, and it's a very different reality. You tell a story that is—or stories, plural, in your "Electricity"—that was your dissertation-- "Comes?" Can you say that full title? That was—

DOUGLAS: No, that wasn't my—

RANDALL: That was your first book of poetry.

DOUGLAS: It was my first book of poetry, “Electricity Comes to Cocoa Bottom.”

RANDALL: So, there are stories there and poems there. And then in this, “The Marvellous Equations of the Dread,” that whole juxtaposition of a place and of home. So close that they are necessary, the beauty and the devastation that can come, the detail of what's left after a storm that makes one want to go, even though there's just been devastation. You hold all of those parts next to one another. Is that how it was for you growing up in Jamaica? That there's—everything is so close?

DOUGLAS: Growing up as a young person, I was always very observant, and--

RANDALL: You were a writer, or just a watcher?

DOUGLAS: I was a watcher, a writer in the making. I was a watcher. And I think—early on, you were talking about detail. And that's where my relationship to detail started, maybe, just by being a quiet child who would observe people and things and pay attention.

And so, I think that I was definitely a writer in the making because that's what you do as a writer, in part. You pay attention. That's really important. So yeah, that was my world. And I actually didn't grow up even with a lot of books.

RANDALL: You didn't?

DOUGLAS: No, I did not.

RANDALL: So, you didn't-- you mentioned in one interview, you didn't even know the job of being a writer was possible. You were pre-med, in your mind.

DOUGLAS: Right. Well, yeah, later on. But if I'm to push back further, to much younger days, I didn't grow up in a household with a lot of books. I remember we had a set of encyclopedias that my parents had bought, and I spent a lot of time with those encyclopedias.

RANDALL: That makes a lot of sense because you have this encyclopedic way of holding objects, story, detail, catalog. Did you just wear those out?

DOUGLAS: Yeah, those were my go-to spaces, the encyclopedias. And at the beginning of the school year, we always used to get a new set of books. And that always felt very precious, your new books at the beginning of the school year. But I didn't have a lot of just books around—

RANDALL: Fiction, story—

DOUGLAS: Yeah, that kind of thing. Every now and then, my parents might purchase a book for me or something like that. But I didn't have a lot of books. I remember when-- maybe from grade 1 through 3, I would say, or grades 1 through 4, I went to a school which didn't have a library, but what we had was—there was a mobile library truck.

RANDALL: Yes, I remember those. Yeah, we called it the bookmobile.

DOUGLAS: Yes. So, this was from the Jamaica Library Service, I suppose. And they came very intermittently, not very often at all, maybe once per term, as I recall. But it was always this big event. And you would get to pick out one book. The teacher would let you pick out one book.

RANDALL: How did you choose?

DOUGLAS: Yeah, but it was so exciting. And I also didn't feel deprived. I want to hasten to say that. I felt blessed and lucky that the library truck was coming and I would get to have a book. So that was one source of books for me. So, I didn't have a lot of reading material, but I loved to read, loved the language.

My other source of language for me would be from church. My father was a preacher, and he was also a roadside evangelist. And he would preach on street corners. And so I think listening to people like him was one of my language wells also. And all of this-- you don't know it at the time. But I look back.

RANDALL: Yeah, and then you go in and there it is.

DOUGLAS: Right, on my development of a writer. And that was definitely one of the pieces, listening to him read from the Bible. And he also wasn't a very good reader either. He used to struggle with it. But yeah-- so that was the writer in the making, I would say.

Listen to The Ampersand

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�� Boulder Professor Marcia Douglas brings the images and memories that fill her writing, as well as her love of language and words, to The Ampersand.

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Secrets, spies and a stirred Vesper

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 02 Sep 2025 19:53:24 +0000

Secrets, spies and a stirred Vesper Rachel Sauer Tue, 09/02/2025 - 13:53

Cody DeBos

�� alum mixes CIA career into newly published cocktail memoir

When Robert Dannenberg (IntlAf’78) began photographing cocktails against the backdrop of mountain views from his home in Nederland, Colorado, during the COVID-19 lockdown, it started as a casual hobby. He’d send the photos to a group of retired CIA colleagues, all of them still close after decades of fieldwork and covert operations.

“One of them suggested putting them together in a book,” Dannenberg recalls. “That was the wife of my co-author, Joseph Mullin.”

What started as a way to pass the time soon stirred up something more refined.

�� Boulder alumnus Rob Dannenberg (left) at The Fountain Inn in Washington, D.C., enjoying an Old Fashioned (the cocktail mentioned on p. 52 of A Spy Walked Into A Bar). (Photo: Rob Dannenberg)

“We were reminiscing about various points in our careers where cocktails were important in helping us get the mission accomplished,” he says.

Soon after, A Spy Walked Into A Bar: A Practitioner’s Guide to Cocktail Tradecraft was born. The book blends real-life CIA stories from Dannenberg and Mullin’s careers with the drinks that helped mark the end of a successful operation or the forging of a crucial relationship.

“Cocktails and espionage are linked in real life as well as in fiction like the Ian Fleming novels,” Dannenberg says.

But his book isn’t a James Bond thriller. It’s a memoir in disguise, served shaken, not stirred.

A Cold War toast

For much of his life, Dannenberg worked in the shadows. Before eventually becoming the CIA’s former chief of operations for the Counterterrorism Center, chief of the Central Eurasia Division and head of the Information Operations (Cyber) Center, he was a field agent with boots on the ground.

“I was mostly a Russia guy and did two tours of duty in Moscow,” he says. “I was responsible for the agency’s global collection operations in Russia. Truly important and fascinating work if you consider what is going on in the world today.”

Dannenberg’s career was punctuated by moments where toasting a drink meant more than relaxation. Lifting a glass meant trust, camaraderie or closure. The stories in his book don’t spill classified secrets, but they do offer a glimpse into the rarely discussed human rituals of intelligence work.

The Vesper and the Manhattan

While his book includes everything from the Vesper Martini to bourbon sippers among a carefully curated selection of 58 cocktails, two stand out for Dannenberg.

“My favorite from the book is the Vesper Martini—probably the cocktail most truly associated with Fleming’s James Bond,” he says. “If you watch the movie Casino Royale with Daniel Craig, you will know what I mean.”

But when Dannenberg settles in for a drink of his own, he switches spirits. “If I’m in the mood for a whiskey cocktail, I’m a Manhattan guy,” he adds. “There are several variations of the Manhattan presented in the book.”

These two drinks have special connotations for Dannenberg, who associates each with specific operations he took part in during his career. Readers can find those stories within the pages, he promises.

Rob Dannenberg began photographing cocktails against the backdrop of mountain views from his home in Nederland, Colorado, during the COVID-19 lockdown, sending the photos to a group of retired CIA colleagues. (Photo: Rob Dannenberg)

Better than briefs

After decades of writing intelligence briefings, reports and operational memos, Dannenberg says that A Spy Walked Into A Bar offered a new kind of writing freedom.

Mostly.

“Writing the book was a lot more fun than writing intelligence reports!” he says with a grin. “But one of the agreements you make with the agency when you have a top-secret security clearance is that you have to submit to them for approval anything you write.”

Dannenberg sent in a draft of the manuscript, and, in true CIA fashion, it was returned with numerous redactions.

“I thought the redactions might look amusing to the reader, so we went ahead and left the blacked-out text in the book,” he adds.

Making a difference

Dannenberg’s path to the CIA began at the University of Colorado Boulder, where he studied international affairs.

“I grew up wanting to work overseas,” he says. “While at ��, I narrowed it down to three options: State Department, U.S. military or CIA.”

The CIA called first, and he answered. Dannenberg served through tense political shifts, cyber conflicts and counterterrorism operations during his career. Along the way, he learned the personal cost of the work.

“Being an operations officer (or case officer) in the CIA isn’t easy,” he says. “There is a lot of pressure, a lot of time away from home and family, plenty of risk and times that require patience and persistence.”

Still, Dannenberg believes it was worth it.

“I was privileged to experience things in my career, both good and bad, that I would not have experienced in any other profession. My time at �� set the stage for a career that was more than I could have ever imagined,” he says.

Now retired, Dannenberg remains in touch with many of the colleagues who shaped his career and the book. He also hopes that today’s �� students will consider international affairs and public service.

“We live in dangerous times, and you can make a difference,” he says.

If A Spy Walked Into A Bar proves anything, it’s that even in the secretive world of espionage, stories still find a way to be told— even if the best parts are blacked out.

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�� alum mixes CIA career into newly published cocktail memoir.

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Couple helps send cyclists on a ride to remember

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 21 Aug 2025 18:29:14 +0000

Couple helps send cyclists on a ride to remember Rachel Sauer Thu, 08/21/2025 - 12:29

Bradley Worrell

The Buffalo Bicycle Classic’s Little Buff ride is a family-friendly excursion that is notable for its aid station hosted by longtime volunteers Tyler and Marcia Forman

Just past the halfway mark on the 10-mile Buffalo Bicycle Classic Little Buff ride, as cyclists pass through a quiet residential neighborhood and turn a corner that leads to the next stage in the ride—this one running along South Boulder Creek—riders first catch a glimpse of the event’s aid station.

Marcia and Tyler Forman have sponsored the Little Buff ride aid station since the family-friendly route of the Buffalo Bicycle Classic ride debuted in 2007. The aid station is located next to the Forman’s home, which is at about the halfway point on the 10-mile ride.

But it quickly becomes apparent that this is not just any ride aid station. There is a parked Kona Ice van with helpers offering a dozen flavors of shaved ice to delighted young (and adult) riders, there is a face painter creating colorful works of art and there is a balloon artist festooning young riders with inflatable swords, oversized hats, giant butterflies or whatever creations riders can imagine.

“We decided that if we were going to do it, we wanted to make it memorable for kids and their families,” says Tyler Forman, who along with his wife, Marcia, has overseen the Little Buff ride aid station since the family-friendly ride was added to the Buffalo Bicycle Classic (BBC) lineup in 2007.

Although neither of the Formans attended the University of Colorado Boulder or work for the university, they say they were happy to help support an event that provides scholarships for �� students when their longtime friend and BBC organizer, Henry “Woody” Eaton, asked if they would consider volunteering. As it happens, their home in Boulder is strategically located near the halfway point for the Little Buff ride and relatively close to the campus, so the area behind their home worked as the perfect location for a rest stop, the couple says.

�� the Buffalo Bicycle Classic

Year founded: 2003

Number of course rides offered: 7 road cycling courses; 2 gravel cycling courses

Courses offered: Little Buff: 10 miles; Mary’s Loop: 35 miles; Half Century: 50 miles; Carter Lake: 70 miles; Epic 75: 75 miles; Buff Epic: 100 miles; Century Foothills: 100 miles; Gravel Buff: 44.5 miles; and Gravel Epic: 53.1 miles or 59.2 miles

This year’s event: Sept. 7

Amount raised for scholarships since 2003: $3.9 million

BBC scholarships funded since start: More than 450 students

BBC scholarships: $4,000 to students, renewable if they maintain full-time status and a 3.0 GPA. Additionally, an endowment provides $10,000 annually to three third- or fourth-year students in the College of Arts and Sciences, also renewable under the same conditions.

Learn more about the BBC

“As Woody explained it to us, the aid station would include portalets and a water station, and it would be a place where the kids and their families could stop to rest and refresh,” Tyler says. “So, I said, ‘Woody, let Marcia and I noodle on this and see if we can come up with a way to make it more fun for the little kids.’ That’s truly how the thing started; it was just: ‘Let’s see if we can make more of it than just water and portalets.’”

All in for the Little Buff ride

The Formans immediately threw themselves into the endeavor: They engaged the services of a friend who does face painting; Tyler hired a balloon artist who he met by chance on the Pearl Street Mall, where the man was crafting balloon creations for mall pedestrians; and in the early days of the event, the Formans rented a small snow cone machine the day before the ride and stocked up with several bags of ice.

“In the early years, we made the snow cones ourselves, and it was fun, but it was a bit chaotic because it was just the two of us with one small snow cone machine and—having never made a snow cone in our lives—it probably wasn’t the best quality,” Tyler says with a laugh. “We’ve since found a commercial snow cone truck that shows up the day of the event, and they do a much better job. They have something like 12 flavors, and it’s great for the kids because they know what they’re doing.”

Why snow cones?

“With the event being in early September, it’s not always hot, but it’s warm enough, so we wanted to offer a nice treat, and it needed to be something we could pull off ourselves,” Tyler says. “It just seemed like a kid-friendly thing to do, along with having a balloon maker and face painter.”

Although the couple will miss this year’s Sept. 7 ride, because they will be celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary in Europe, they have already made arrangements for the aid station to be staffed. Historically, the couple have been on-hand each year to oversee the aid station, which typically draws between 125 and 150 riders, the couple estimates.

“Each year, we get a mix of riders; some brand new and some returning,” Marcia says. “Many times, the returning riders will say, ‘We’re so glad you’re here again,’ which is always nice to hear.”

The balloon artist is a favorite with small children, who eagerly ask him to create inflatable swords, oversized hats, giant butterflies or whatever other creations they can imagine. (Photo: Tyler and Marcia Forman)

“I’m out there taking pictures every year, and Marcia and I like to talk with the riders,” Tyler adds. “And while we probably don’t need to promote it any more than we do, I’m out there yelling, ‘Free snow cones!’ and encouraging people to stop.

“I get a kick out of the fact that the parents are often a little embarrassed to get a snow cone. I always try to encourage them. I’ll say, ‘When’s the last time you had a snow cone?’ and a lot of times they say, ‘Oh, it’s probably been at least 20 years.’”

The riding trail next to their house is also a popular walking trail, so Tyler says he makes it clear to any passersby that they are welcome to the hospitality offered by the aid station.

“Anyone who comes by is always welcome to help themselves,” he says. “I’m not going to try to monitor who helps grabs to a cool drink or a snow cone. Who cares?”

Aid station largely unchanged since inception

Other than upgrading from a snow cone machine they operated themselves to the one operated by Kona Ice, the Formans says their aid station has remained virtually unchanged over the years.

“It’s been so well received by the riders, so I don’t know what else we would add or change,” Marcia says.

The Formans say they enjoy talking with riders on the day of the event. In addition to expressing thanks for sponsoring the aid station, some cyclists will ask about the giant, 100-year-old cottonwood tree in the couple’s backyard, while others with knowledge of the area will inquire if they lived in the home several years ago when a 100-year flood overfilled the banks of the South Boulder Creek, swamping nearby homes. (They did live there at the time; they say the flood waters made their house uninhabitable for about six months until they could get the damage remediated.)

On occasion, the couple also get requests for Neosporin or Band-Aids from riders who took a tumble during the ride, so they always stock up on first aid supplies in advance of the ride.

Prior to each year’s Little Buff ride, Tyler says he typically spends a few hours coordinating with the Little Buff organizers to confirm details of the ride route and when to expect riders, while Marcia Forman spends about as much time making arrangements with the vendors who run the face painting, balloon making and Kona Ice truck operations.

The Formans pay for the services of the painter, balloon maker and Kona Ice truck themselves, but say it is small price to pay to support the event.

In addition to the aid station services offered by the Formans, students from the �� President’s Leadership Class staff a table at the ride station that provides other snacks, including breakfast bars, fruit and sports drinks.

Todd Gleason, �� Boulder College of Arts and Sciences dean emeritus and a BBC founding director, praises the Forman’s dedicated service to operating the Little Buff Ride aid station every year.

“Tyler and Marcia Forman have financially and logistically sponsored the Little Buff aid station adjacent to their home on Gapter Road since the addition of the Little Buff route in 2007,” he says. “Buffalo Bicycle Classic co-founder and A&S alum Henry ‘Woody’ Eaton developed the route and collaborated with fellow cyclist Tyler Forman to create what has become the most creative and family-friendly aid station of any bike ride that I know of.”

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The Buffalo Bicycle Classic’s Little Buff ride is a family-friendly excursion that is notable for its aid station hosted by longtime volunteers Tyler and Marcia Forman.

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‘There’s no standard way to be Indian or Indigenous’

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 13 Aug 2025 18:57:35 +0000

‘There’s no standard way to be Indian or Indigenous’ Rachel Sauer Wed, 08/13/2025 - 12:57

Chris Quirk

In new memoir, �� Boulder alumnus Tony Tekaroniake Evans eschews narrow notions of identity, especially Indigenous identity

Of all his childhood memories, one in particular sticks in the mind of Tony Tekaroniake Evans (DistSt'86, focusing on cultural anthropology, biology and geography): In his third-grade class in Georgia, while making decorations for Thanksgiving, his classmates began asking about American Indians.

“Where are they? Can we meet them?” they asked.

“I’m an Indian!” said the young Evans, who had recently begun to learn more about his Mohawk heritage. His teacher replied that, no, the Indians were gone. “The teacher said Indians were extinct,” Evans recalls. “That was a little traumatic, and I realized I was going to have to take what I was learning in school with a grain of salt. After all, my grandmother spoke Mohawk in our house.”

In his new memoir, �� Boulder alumnus Tony Tekaroniake Evans explores history, identity and society through a personal lens, encouraging readers to eschew received and narrow notions of identity, especially Indigenous identity.

Evans recounts the episode in his new memoir, Believing in Indians: a Mixed-Blood Odyssey, published by Basalt Books. In the book, Evans explores history, identity and society through a personal lens. Along the way, he encourages readers to eschew received and narrow notions of identity, especially Indigenous identity.

The author of three books, Evans is also a journalist, historian, columnist and public speaker. He began his career writing for the Santa Fe New Mexican and the Taos News newspapers and since then has written for A&E Networks, History.com, High Country News and Smithsonian’s American Indian magazine. In addition, he has thousands of reporting bylines over the past three decades for the Idaho Mountain Express, his hometown newspaper in Ketchum, Idaho.

“People are so much more interesting than we can realize by glancing at their appearance, or making stereotypical assumptions about someone’s background, knowledge and interests,” he says. “It’s important to hear the details, because details bring us together as human beings, and that’s what I hope I’m doing with my book.”

Telling family stories

The jarring incident in the classroom spurred Evans to ask more questions about his family and background.

“My mother started telling me stories, and that my name, Tekaroniake, meant ‘two skies’ in Mohawk,” he says. “My Aunt Nadine had a medicine pouch made for me, and my mentor, who was also my mother’s childhood friend, Ed Two-Axe Earley, sent me some books from the reservation. That’s where my life journey began—but it didn’t end there.”

One of the questions about identity that Evans weaves through the book is who decides, and on what grounds? “If you tell people you’re Indian, they’re often going to have all these boxes to check—language, fluency, culture. Are you from the reservation? Do you know your history? It just goes on and on,” he says.

“When do you stop being Indian in somebody else’s eyes? When you get a vacuum cleaner? When you do yoga? There’s no standard way to be Indian or Indigenous. My Jewish grandfather was taken in by the Mohawks. He married my grandmother and worked with them building the Manhattan skyline. Did he stop being Jewish?”

In his book, Evans tells ironically of receiving his official registration “as an Indian and a member of the Mohawks of Kanawà:ke Band” from the registrar of Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development of Canada. “Becoming Indian is no simple process,” he writes. “Today, as a newly minted official Indian, I could go down to a nearby reservation and legally take peyote, stay up all night and visit with ancestors in the spirit world. Or I could just stay home and watch PBS Masterpiece programming and have a glass of wine.”

Time spent at �� was rewarding

His interest and investigation of his own identity led Evans to study cultural anthropology at the University of Colorado Boulder.

“I learned a lot of wonderful things at �� and absolutely loved my time there,” he says. “I found that I could learn from many cultures, not just my own. And I learned to interpret Iroquois traditions in my own way. Our Great Law of Peace, perhaps a thousand years old, stems from an experience of compassion and understanding for the pain of others, and how to heal from violence and move on from retribution to a better way of life.”

Evans’ book ranges across cultural topics and religious traditions, and provides numerous history lessons along the way, but stays firmly in the personal throughout. “I realized that the book needed to be about my story and emerging sense of Native values, and all of its quirks and weirdness, and heartache and humor,” he explains.

“Memoir is a really important art form. It is personal and subjective, and also specific. It gets deeper than the ethnographic generalities that people recount in much of the scholarly writing on native history and culture.” Evans also makes a case for what Indigenous people and traditions have to offer the world in a turbulent and uncertain moment: “Indigenous cultures can provide spiritual renewal and a sustainable path forward for humanity.”

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In new memoir, �� Boulder alumnus Tony Tekaroniake Evans eschews narrow notions of identity, especially Indigenous identity.

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Family shares courtroom and campus legacy

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 01 Aug 2025 20:06:32 +0000

Family shares courtroom and campus legacy Rachel Sauer Fri, 08/01/2025 - 14:06

Cody DeBos

Father and daughter Donald and Maureen McGinnis both pursued �� Boulder educations and then careers in the law

When Judge Maureen McGinnis (PolSci ’00) steps into the courtroom, she carries more than a robe and gavel with her. Several decades of family legacy and lessons in reputation, integrity and the power of doing the right thing have brought Maureen where she is today.

But her journey to the bench didn’t begin in law school. It started at the dinner table during conversations with her father, Donald McGinnis (A&S ’69), a respected Michigan attorney who built his own career on relationships and the strength of his word.

Don and Maureen McGinnis at a legal event, one of many they have attended together.

“I’ve always looked up to my dad,” Maureen says. “Getting an opportunity to grow up in a family where you have a parent that’s a lawyer, you get sort of immersed in that.”

Maureen’s immersion led her to follow in her father’s footsteps to �� Boulder, where Donald first fell in love with the idea of carving his own path in life.

“It’s been a great ride for me from back in Boulder all the way until now,” Donald says.

�� roots of the family tree

For Donald, �� Boulder was a natural fit. His parents were avid skiers, and he’d grown up making trips out west. When it came time to choose a college, there was little question where he would go.

“It was definitely going to be �� without question,” he says. “I think it was the only place I applied.”

His daughter didn’t need much convincing, either. Long before she would set foot on campus, she had already envisioned her future as a �� Buffalo and a lawyer.

“I was the seventh grader wearing the University of Colorado sweatshirt and telling everybody I was going to go to law school. I don’t think I ever wavered from that,” she recalls.

What began with an interest in skiing in the 1960s has since evolved into a lifelong connection to a place that would shape the beginning of both their careers. For Donald, the legacy is deeply personal.

“Obviously, my legacy is my daughter attending ��, which is a very proud one. She also chose to join my profession and then excelled so well at it. I couldn’t be prouder,” he says.

A shared journey in the courtroom

Despite knowing she wanted a career in law, Maureen says she didn’t know what her path would look like. Long before she wore a judge’s robe, she walked into her first job as a lawyer and found herself working alongside her dad.

“I don’t think I had a huge plan for exactly what I was going to do once I became a lawyer,” she says. “But the door was open. As soon as I started working with my dad, there was nothing to figure out. I wasn’t going to leave.”

Donald McGinnis built his family law practice from the ground up, never working for another firm, never having a boss. Running his own practice has helped him understand more than most the value of connection in a field that can be harsh and impersonal.

Don McGinnis (left) moves for Maureen McGinnis' (right, back to camera) admission to the State Bar of Michigan to practice law.

“I would always like to be remembered as the handshake lawyer. If I tell you something and shake hands on it, I don’t need to have 18 emails and five letters,” he says. “That’s the way I would like to be remembered—as a lawyer’s lawyer.”

During her time working at her father’s law practice, Maureen absorbed plenty of legal strategy, but his passion for reputation also bled through.

“People will talk about how you treat them, how you honor your word. … I remember that being really constant in our discussions about the practice of law,” she says.

Working with her dad gave Maureen a head start, but most of all showed her that law could be more than a job. It would soon turn into a lifelong calling shaped by values passed down through the generations.

Carrying the legacy forward

After more than a decade of practicing as a lawyer, Maureen felt pulled toward something more. She wanted a way to serve not just individual clients but her entire community.

“I’ve always had a passion for community service and engagement. So, getting to have the role I have now pretty much marries both of those things,” she says.

The role she speaks humbly of is presiding judge at the 52-4 District Court in Troy, Michigan, where Maureen weighs her opinion on cases that impact everyday lives.

She was elected to the bench in 2014, but the decision to run had been quietly planted years earlier in conversations with her father.

Maureen McGinnis (center) celebrates with her parents after graduating law school and passing the bar exam.

“He sort of has this habit of putting something in your head, and if we talk about it enough, it’s like it helps you visualize it—even when it’s something that isn’t really on the horizon,” she says.

Housing disputes, traffic violations and local criminal offenses are just a few of the cases now crossing Maureen’s desk every day. She says it isn’t glamorous work, but it directly shapes her community, and for Maureen, that is exactly the point.

“She sets an example that other lawyers and I commend her for. It makes it easier for the litigating parties when you have a smart judge and smart lawyers,” Donald says.

Reflections on �� and the legacy they’re still writing

Looking back, both Maureen and Donald agree their time at �� Boulder influenced more than just their resumes. For Donald, college was a time of discovery and independence. After decades of legal work, he looks back on his time in Boulder as uniquely freeing.

“I took it way too serious,” he laughs. “College is probably the only four-year period of time that you have in your life where you don’t really have a lot of responsibility. You should enjoy it with great vigor, in my opinion.”

Maureen, always focused on the next step, says she sometimes wishes she’d taken more of those opportunities—like studying abroad in Australia. But she’s never questioned the choice to attend ��. In fact, she’s already planning to pass that connection on to her kids.

“If you have an ability to start a legacy in that way, it’s amazing. I feel like having those shared memories about places and things that we experienced at �� keeps my dad and I very close. It’s something you can never take away.”

Don McGinnis on the campaign trail when Maureen McGinnis ran for district court judge.

Maureen McGinnis (first row, right) at her investiture when she was seated as a judge.

Don McGinnis when he returned to Boulder to help his daughter, Maureen, move into Farrand Hall.

Maureen McGinnis (center) with friends while she was an undergraduate student at �� Boulder.

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Father and daughter Donald and Maureen McGinnis both pursued �� Boulder educations and then careers in the law.

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All photos courtesy Maureen McGinnis

The ‘happy haunting’ found in letting words lead

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 24 Jul 2025 13:30:00 +0000

The ‘happy haunting’ found in letting words lead Rachel Sauer Thu, 07/24/2025 - 07:30

Cody DeBos

For poet Stephanie Couey, the inspiration for her new chapbook began with a walk

Some poems begin with grand ideas. Others start with a walk.

For Stephanie Couey, an assistant teaching professor in the University of Colorado Boulder’s Program for Writing and Rhetoric, inspiration often strikes when her feet are moving. The rhythm comes first, and meaning follows.

For Stephanie Couey, an assistant teaching professor in the �� Boulder Program for Writing and Rhetoric, writing inspiration often strikes when her feet are moving.

“Some cluster of words that feels good or rhythmic or perhaps gross in a good way comes to mind,” she says. “I’ll record it in my phone, and everything else usually unfolds outward from there.”

That’s how many of the poems in her latest chapbook, “Quiet Pulse,” began. Fragments of sound or texture unearthed through movement and slowly shaped into verse according to their natural rhythms.

Feeling the language

Rather than starting with a theme in mind, Couey trusts her internal response to language—how syllables feel in the mouth and rhythms pulse on the page—to guide the outcome. Couey’s is a deeply embodied approach to writing that treats poetry not just as a literary act, but also as a physical one.

“I approach the writing process as rooted in the body, which it is,” she says. “I write focused mainly on sound, but I’ll almost inevitably see narrative threads emerge in the process.”

This sensory foundation creates space for emotion, memory and meaning to filter in organically.

“I never set out to write a poem about, for instance, gendered violence, late-stage capitalism or the endangerment and loss of arctic wildlife. But if it’s whirring around in my mind, it will likely come through.”

As Couey penned the poems that would eventually become “Quiet Pulse,” she started to notice they shared textures, recurring images and a certain emotional tenor.

“I don’t know that there’s an originating story or idea in particular,” she says. “But as the writing of these poems happened, I started to see something that a grouping of them was doing that felt related.”

“The title is intended to reflect some of those threads,” Couey notes, “a state of being near death, of being underwater, and/or having the body be silenced—all of which are states the speaker of the poems inhabits throughout the project.”

No shortcuts

Despite their spontaneous beginnings, Couey’s poems are far from effortless.

“They all took a long time to shape, but some came out in draft-form much faster than others,” she admits. “I think it’s like running or any kind of exercise. Some days you are just faster or more efficient, even if you prepared in all the same ways. I wish I knew what made the difference!”

Her willingness to move at the poem’s pace, rather than forcing her own deadline or structure upon it, mirrors her approach to teaching.

“Hopefully these poems create an experience of both beauty and abjection that lingers. A kind of happy haunting,” says Stephanie Couey.

In the classroom, Couey encourages students to pay attention to what their writing is already doing rather than make it conform to a formula.

“When student writers put any amount of effort into their work, they are almost always doing something worthwhile, and I want them to see that and focus on that, then figure out how to move outward from there,” she says.

The same ethos guides her as a poet.

“I try to treat my own poems in the same way, asking: What is the work on the page already trying to do, and how do I make it do that thing more effectively?”

Couey and her students also share a practice that’s become one of her favorite parts of the writing process: embodied journaling. The exercise encourages students to write freely and regularly, without self-editing or judgment, while tuning in to their bodies and surroundings.

“They often speak to the value of writing unself-consciously and engaging with their bodies, their breath and their surroundings,” Couey says, “and of slowing down and truly processing their thoughts and emotions.”

This sentiment, which frequently appears in students’ end-of-semester reflections, reminds Couey to keep her own notebook handy to scribble a thought at the bus stop or capture a mid-walk rhythm before it slips away.

Happy haunting

When “Quiet Pulse” found a home with Dancing Girl Press, Couey was thrilled. Now that her chapbook has been published, she hopes readers walk away from it with a lasting impression, if not a fully definable one.

“Hopefully these poems create an experience of both beauty and abjection that lingers. A kind of happy haunting,” she says.

While poetry remains a core part of her creative practice, Couey is also working on a long-gestating essay project about grief, suicide and the ways stories take shape around loss. She isn’t in a rush to finish. Like her poetry, the project will take the time it needs.

For now, whether she’s drafting verse or guiding students through journaling, Couey will continue to let the writing lead.

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For poet Stephanie Couey, the inspiration for her new chapbook began with a walk.

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Couples reimagining Jewish wedding ceremony

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 02 Jul 2025 17:40:41 +0000

Couples reimagining Jewish wedding ceremony Rachel Sauer Wed, 07/02/2025 - 11:40

Samira Mehta

From the marriage contract to breaking the glass under the chuppah, many Jewish couples adapt their weddings to celebrate gender equality

Traditional Jewish weddings share one key aspect with traditional Christian weddings. Historically, the ceremony was essentially a transfer of property: A woman went from being the responsibility of her father to being the responsibility of her husband.

That may not be the first thing Americans associate with weddings today, but it lives on in rituals and vows. Think, in a traditional Christian wedding, of a bride promising “to obey” her husband, or being “given away” by her father after he walks her down the aisle.

Samira Mehta is director of the �� Boulder Program in Jewish Studies and an associate professor of women and gender studies.

Feminism has changed some aspects of the Christian wedding. More egalitarian or feminist couples, for example, might have the bride be “given away” by both her parents, or have both the bride and groom escorted in by parents. Others skip the “giving” altogether. Queer couples, too, have reimagined the wedding ceremony.

During research for my book “Beyond Chrismukkah,” about Christian-Jewish interfaith families, many interviewees wound up talking about their weddings and the rituals that they selected or innovated for the day to reflect their cultural background. Some of them had also designed their ceremonies to reflect feminism and marriage equality—something that the interfaith weddings had in common with many weddings where both members of the couple were Jewish.

These values have transformed many Jewish couples’ weddings, just as they have transformed the Christian wedding. Some Jewish couples make many changes, while some make none. And like every faith, Judaism has lots of internal diversity—not all traditional Jewish weddings look the same.

Contracts and covenants

Perhaps one of the most important places where feminism and marriage equality have reshaped traditions is in the “ketubah,” or Jewish marriage contract.

A traditional ketubah is a simple legal document in Hebrew or Aramaic, a related ancient language. Two witnesses sign the agreement, which states that the groom has acquired the bride. However, the ketubah is also sometimes framed as a tool to protect women. The document stipulates the husband’s responsibility to provide for his wife and confirms what he should pay her in case of divorce. Traditional ketubot—the plural of ketubah—did not discuss love, God or intentions for the marriage.

Contemporary ketubot in more liberal branches of Judaism, whether between opposite- or same-sex couples, are usually much more egalitarian documents that reflect the home and the marriage that the couple want to create. Sometimes the couple adapt the Aramaic text; others keep the Aramaic and pair it with a text in the language they speak every day, describing their intentions for their marriage.

Rather than being simple, printed documents, contemporary ketubot are often beautiful pieces of art, made to hang in a place of prominence in the newlyweds’ home. Sometimes the art makes references to traditional Jewish symbols, such as a pomegranate for fertility and love. Other times, the artist works with the couple to personalize their decorations with images and symbols that are meaningful to them.

Contemporary couples will often also use their ketubah to address an inherent tension in Jewish marriage. Jewish law gives men much more freedom to divorce than it gives women. Because women cannot generally initiate divorce, they can end up as “agunot,” which literally means “chained”: women whose husbands have refused to grant them a religious divorce. Even if the couple have been divorced in secular court, an “agunah” cannot, according to Jewish law, remarry in a religious ceremony.

Contemporary ketubot will sometimes make a note that, while the couple hope to remain married until death, if the marriage deteriorates, the husband agrees to grant a divorce if certain conditions are met. This prevents women from being held hostage in unhappy marriages.

Key changes in Jewish weddings represent how the wedding ceremony itself has become more egalitarian in response to both feminism and marriage equality, notes �� Boulder scholar Samira Mehta.

Other couples eschew the ketubah altogether in favor of a new type of document called a “brit ahuvim,” or covenant of lovers. These documents are egalitarian agreements between couples. The brit ahuvim was developed by Rachel Adler, a feminist rabbi with a deep knowledge of Jewish law, and is grounded in ancient Jewish laws for business partnerships between equals. That said, many Jews, including some feminists, do not see the brit ahuvim as equal in status to a ketubah.

Building together

Beyond the ketubah, there are any number of other changes that couples make to symbolize their hopes for an egalitarian marriage.

Jewish ceremonies often take place under a canopy called the chuppah, which symbolizes the home that the couple create together. In a traditional Jewish wedding, the bride circles the groom three or seven times before entering the chuppah. This represents both her protection of their home and that the groom is now her priority.

Many couples today omit this custom, because they feel it makes the bride subservient to the groom. Others keep the circling but reinterpret it: In circling the groom, the bride actively creates their home, an act of empowerment. Other egalitarian couples, regardless of their genders, share the act of circling: Each spouse circles three times, and then the pair circle once together.

In traditional Jewish weddings, like in traditional Christian weddings, the groom gives his bride a ring to symbolize his commitment to her—and perhaps to mark her as a married woman. Many contemporary Jewish couples exchange two rings: both partners offering a gift to mark their marriage and presenting a symbol of their union to the world. While some see this shift as an adaptation to American culture, realistically, the dual-ring ceremony is a relatively new development in both American Christian and American Jewish marriage ceremonies.

Finally, Jewish weddings traditionally end when the groom stomps on and breaks a glass, and the entire crowd yells “Mazel tov” to congratulate them. People debate the symbolism of the broken glass. Some say that it reminds us that life contains both joy and sorrow, or that it is a reminder of a foundational crisis in Jewish history: the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem in 70 C.E. Others say that it is a reminder that life is fragile, or that marriage, unlike the glass, is an unbreakable covenant.

Regardless of what it means, some contemporary couples both step on glasses, or have one partner place their foot on top of the other’s so that the newlyweds can break the glass together. The couple symbolize their commitment to equality – and both get to do a fun wedding custom.

There are many other innovations in contemporary Jewish weddings that have much less to do with feminism and egalitarianism, such as personalized wedding canopies or wedding programs. But these key changes represent how the wedding ceremony itself has become more egalitarian in response to both feminism and marriage equality.

Samira Mehta is director of the Program in Jewish Studies and an associate professor of women and gender studies at the University of Colorado Boulder.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

From the marriage contract to breaking the glass under the chuppah, many Jewish couples adapt their weddings to celebrate gender equality.

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