tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13402900924227353112024-02-18T19:42:26.907-08:00Misfit Meanderingseeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.comBlogger306125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-48567836296047499722016-04-07T16:45:00.000-07:002016-04-07T16:45:14.336-07:00An Empty Chair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">I went down into the basement tonight after dinner, and--without thinking about it--expected to see Sam sitting at the computer, either doing homework or (more likely) <a href="https://www.cubingusa.com/">cubing</a>. But he wasn't there. The chair was empty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is, actually, normal. Sam helps to teach karate classes on Thursdays, so he comes home late that night. But tonight, I felt his absence deeply and painfully.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In just a few years, that chair will be empty all of the time (at least, empty of <i>Sam</i>). My son will be a college freshman. I won't see him every day. I probably won't talk with him every day. I won't be able to gauge his moods or help him to manage his time or make sure he gets up for school. I won't be able to hug or comfort him when he is sad. I won't be privy to his daily joys and victories. Will he keep in touch regularly? Will I have done a good enough job as his mother that he will decide to keep me in his life when he has a choice in the matter? (Am I the only mother who wonders about that? I love these kids so dearly, but I am so flawed and imperfect.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I won't be able to help monitor his diabetes, or provide instant back-up with it if he needs help. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I won't be able to protect him from the overwhelm of the semester, or the pressures of making all new friends and finding a place for himself on campus. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In short, I will feel his absence like a wound, and I won't be able to keep him medically, physically, or emotionally safe. I will be proud of him, I am sure, and maybe I will sometimes relish new-found freedom. But it will take a long time to fill that gaping hole, to stop noticing the empty chair. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This has been on my mind a lot lately because Sam turns 15 next week. But it's plaguing me today, because we learned that a freshman at my university was found unresponsive in his or her dorm room...and died. I don't yet know what happened, or who it was. But something, somehow, went terribly wrong, and somewhere--not far from me--parents are living their worst nightmare. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My heart breaks for them. They can't fill the empty chair anymore, ever. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Maybe all we can do is to remember to love and appreciate what we have right now, mindful that the only thing we can rely on is that everything changes.</i> </span></div>
<br />eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-81350097485228381132016-01-24T16:37:00.000-08:002016-01-27T16:17:33.290-08:00What He Still Gives to Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Today would have been my father's 96th birthday. I've been thinking about him on and off all day. I'm so much his daughter--mostly in ways that I never wanted to be. I can be stubborn, and too hard on both myself and others. I am passionate about my convictions and will argue with almost anyone about them (though not usually if they agree with me, which my Dad was quite likely to do). I'm cranky when it's hot out, and mosquitoes love me (that makes me crankier.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But I am also his daughter in other, better ways. I earnestly want to do what's right and have a strong sense of fairness. If I have a choice between doing the right or honest thing and personal benefit, I will (almost always) choose what's right. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I believe that I should do whatever I can to fulfill a promise that I make (including deadlines). </span><span style="font-size: large;">I also love being at home and puttering around--one of my favorite ways to spend a weekend afternoon is cooking at leisure.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lately, I have been thinking a lot about how my Dad accepted that he was...well, just an ordinary guy. Working in academia, it's hard to keep that kind of attitude. Everyone wants to be recognized, respected...special. I mean, I have done my part and contributed to my field with original research and publications. </span><span style="font-size: large;">After all, I did publish a monograph (and might publish a second), and my pedagogical publications will probably have a broader impact than any specifically scholarly pieces.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">But I am not a "top tier" researcher. For a long time I felt like that meant I didn't measure up. In recent years, I've been rethinking that and trying to see my accomplishments as "good enough."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My limited contributions to academia also result from the fact that I <i>chose to focus on other parts of my life</i>. I chose to take more weekends off. I chose to spend time with my husband and kids. I chose to have hobbies. I chose to read novels entirely unrelated to my work. I chose quiet evenings because if I don't get enough "down time," I get really overwhelmed and unhappy. Even within my work, I often chose to spend more time on my teaching than on my research. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In short, like my father, I chose direct commitments (to my students), the love and warmth of family, and ordinary moments of beauty over "getting ahead." And at 50, I find that, like my father, I'm glad that I did. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't know how much longer I'm going to stay in academia. I've been wallowing in indecision over whether to quit for about five years now. I hate feeling stuck like this, unable to make up my mind. But lately I've been thinking about how, even if I make this decision, I won't know what's coming next. Life doesn't work that way. And whether I stay at my job or leave it, I will have a lot of choice about how I will fill my days. I'm very fortunate to have such flexibility. In part, this is due to our good luck to be in a decent shape financially. It's also because I am a tenured full professor who has a lot of power to shape what my work looks like. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But it's also thanks to my Dad, who taught me (with his actions, not words) what it means to live a meaningfully authentic ordinary life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I miss you, Dad. </i></span>eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-77153786718111317382016-01-19T17:13:00.000-08:002016-01-19T17:13:09.680-08:00Her Mother's Daughter<span style="font-size: large;">Today in her fifth-grade class, Anya's teacher had the kids read "The Little Mermaid" and write about/discuss what they observed in the story. Anya said that Ariel shouldn't have given up her whole life for some guy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The teacher didn't know what to make of her. I simply couldn't be more proud. After all, I was the one who got labeled a "feminist" at age 18--before I had come to self-identify as one--just because I thought it was stupid that women who did the same jobs as men got paid less. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lately, I've become convinced that Anya is either going to ditch college and meet life on her own terms OR get a Ph.D. (or M.F.A.). Time will tell. </span>eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-88355571488352226052015-12-25T13:30:00.000-08:002015-12-25T13:30:18.205-08:00Holiday Presents<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When I was little, my mother used a numbering (or
lettering) system to label Christmas presents.
Apparently, at some point she got tired of her many children shaking
presents with their names on them and guessing what they’d been given. If she
numbered them, she figured, she would thwart her children’s tendency to spoil
the surprises she had planned for them. I
should note here that my mother also thought she would conserve cake from my
siblings’ voracious teen-aged appetites by freezing it. This ploy failed when my brothers and sisters
discovered the frozen cake is still tasty and ate it anyway. Similarly, her present numbering system didn’t
always turn out quite as she had planned.
One particularly memorable year my mother lost her list altogether and couldn’t
remember whose present was whose. So,
she had each of us open a present with a different number so that she could
figure out what her system had been. It
was a typical Mum kind of moment: her own scheme backfiring on her, with much
laughter ensuing—and all wrapped up (or unwrapped, as it were) with a pragmatic
solution. It was interesting, though,
that first round of presents: whenever you opened something, you knew that you
were likely uncovering a surprise for someone other than
yourself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My mother’s desire to protect secrecy in the holiday
season was almost certainly related to the fact that money was tight. My father worked as a machinist for Gorton’s
seafood, and there wasn’t much wiggle room in the household budget.
This required that my mother work creatively with limited resources to
make Christmas morning special for all eight of her children. She was good at that, as she was with so many
of the challenges of raising children on a shoestring (while still making all of us feel loved). One of her talents was, simply, that she <i>paid attention</i>. </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’m not sure if I ever
gave my mother a list of things that I wanted for Christmas, or for my
birthday. But she knew, and more often than not the thing/s I wanted the most
were there. She just always noticed and remembered the things that we all
liked, and she could tell what we wanted most. Even when we wanted something
that stretched her financially, she usually found a way. There are pictures of
my sister Chris with a guitar in hand when she was about 15 or 16. Guitars weren’t cheap, but
she wanted one so badly—and my mother simply couldn’t resist the chance to make
her happy. Something similar
happened when I was in high school.
There was a leather goods store in town, and I coveted a leather
backpack. But, it was pricey. I can’t recall
now how much it cost, exactly, but I know it was more than I thought my parents
could afford. Yet somehow, it ended up in a box under the Christmas tree. I had
that backpack until about 5 or 6 years ago, when it finally gave out
altogether. More than the bag itself, it
was the memory of my mother finding a way to afford it, just to make me happy, that
made it special to me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My Dad had his moments, too. One year—mind you, this was back in the 1980s
(otherwise the story doesn’t make sense)—Dad copied my favorite Christmas
movie, which at the time was “It’s a Wonderful Life,” onto a VHS tape for me.
But he didn’t want to leave the commercials in, so he borrowed my brother Steve’s
VCR for a day, connected it with his, and then went through the whole movie and
<i>cut every commercial</i>. Then, of course, he put it into my stocking
as nonchalantly as possible…because, you know, Dad didn’t admit to feelings
very well. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When I had kids, I remembered how all this felt…but
I also knew that we are fortunate enough that my kids would not have to think “Oh,
my parents can’t afford <i>that</i>.” I’m grateful for that, but wanted to instill
in them the wonder of giving that I learned growing up. Thus Home-made Present Night of Hanukkah was
born. And every year, it is the home-made
presents that my kids give the most time to thinking about, especially in
giving to others. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I guess I did something right along the way, then. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>(me, probably when I was not quite 2 years old?)</i></span></div>
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eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-89554560216262612982015-12-09T16:49:00.001-08:002015-12-09T16:50:47.894-08:00The Days of the Week<span style="font-size: large;">My life is falling into daily patterns of late: </span><br />
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<li><span style="font-size: large;">Many Meetings Mondays (How can a day without classes be that busy?)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Focused on Classes Tuesdays</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Bad Language Wednesdays (coined with Martina)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Truly Tired Thursdays (typically without time to breathe, and all too often finding me on the late train home)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Full of Hope Fridays (hoping I won't have to go to campus, hoping to get enough work done to take the weekend off...)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Domestic Saturdays (cleaning, shopping, cooking)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Seeking Balance Sundays (taking them off if I can, getting ready for the work week if I must)</span></li>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My family life is falling into some of these patterns too. We have:</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-size: large;">Dr. Who Sundays</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">I don't want to go to school Mondays.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Taco Tuesdays (but only on occasion)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Pasta Wednesdays (<i>Every </i>Wednesday. Remember <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8ti1hnLiLw">Anthony</a>?)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">There is no Thursday theme, even on occasion. (Or, I don't think there is. I might be too tired to notice. See above.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Friday Family Movie Nights</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">And back to Domestic Saturdays</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think that these patterns either reveal my coping mechanisms in a life that's too full...or just that I've finally lost my senses altogether. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Now, if I can just get that damned conference paper revised...oh, wait: that can't happen until after finals...</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>(Note that I am allowed to say "damned" because it's Bad Language Wednesday.)</i></span></div>
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eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-8380279616063338082015-12-06T17:54:00.000-08:002015-12-06T17:54:20.648-08:00On the Eve of Hanukkah<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">This weekend--in order:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">1) Anya brought home an eyeball on a stick. I thought it was inspired.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2) The barbie-type dolls hung out with a Dalek. I found it interesting that the Dalek seemed to be playing therapist to one of them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">3) As long as I had my camera in the girl child's room, I took a few pictures of one of the Lego Twin Cities. They've grown over time. (Pretend you can't see the dust in that second city photo...)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">4) She looked at the Josefina doll in the catalog and exclaimed "My name is Josefina Montoya. You killed my father--prepare to die." I couldn't be more proud. (Do you know <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6JGp7Meg42U">the scene</a> from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Princess-Bride-Blu-ray-Chris-Sarandon/dp/B00PGTNA52/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1449452658&sr=8-3&keywords=the+princess+bride">this movie</a>?)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">5) I cooked some meals for freezing from <a href="http://beautythatmoves.typepad.com/beauty_that_moves/2015/10/freezers-are-often-considered-to-be-the-most-underutilized-appliance-in-the-modern-kitchen-we-all-have-them-yet-few-of-us.html">this workshop</a>. I thought I could never enjoy it with this timing--we're at the end of the semester and everything is crazy. As it turns out, the workshop has given me something to be excited about even before all the exams and papers are graded. (Mind you, I am still <i>living for the end of the semester</i>, but at least I can think about something other than that once in a while.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">6) Hanukkah began tonight! First up: Smart Phones for all. Yes, I've entered the 21st century, albeit somewhat reluctantly. (I am excited about the photos I can take with this camera, though...)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Happy Hanukkah!</i></span></div>
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eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-3302126053293265612015-11-11T16:01:00.000-08:002015-11-11T16:01:00.881-08:00November Rain<span style="font-size: large;">So, I did get a few work monkeys off my back on this rainy day. But this afternoon? I took a 1.5 hour bath instead of grading response papers.</span>eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-69133062606901588402015-10-26T16:07:00.000-07:002015-10-26T16:07:05.542-07:00She's At It Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Anya has a book of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mirror-Book-Reverso-Poems-ebook/dp/B00P8RWQ70/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1445821211&sr=1-1&keywords=reversible+poems">reversible poems</a> that she enjoys perusing from time to time. This weekend, while sitting in the kitchen listening to the Moth Radio Hour--I had it on while cooking dinner--she doodled a few reversible poems of her own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Her other doodles made reference to a $2,000,000 poker jackpot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Word of the moment: <i>juxtaposition</i>.</span>eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-11386973355543807512015-10-25T17:45:00.001-07:002015-10-25T17:46:22.786-07:00October Weekends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">As usual, October is whizzing by far too fast. I want to spend my time lingering over tea and going out for long walks in crisp air and then coming home to curl up in the living room in front of fires or movies with my family and cooking and knitting up a storm...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That's my ideal October. My <i>actual</i> October is filled with blue books and meetings and classes and commuting and hassles. It includes Saturday morning cleaning and grocery shopping and kid anxiety over assignments and ripping out a knitted gift project in order to start over. Again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But somehow, on the weekends, I do manage to squeeze a little bit of that October magic into my life. Even if I do have to fit it around grading blue books.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Fall in New England just might be an argument for heaven.</i></span></div>
<br />eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-7856702144790021882015-10-11T12:37:00.004-07:002015-10-11T12:37:58.284-07:00This is what happens...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1MpluaglOKjsISH2w-8RTPzgGwn0RSngkdpflMSfBMmkbthNAGVY_d9sMgORBMKVuuY8mWw7JUDOeFjlMU3HXK4TvwHTTeZMCm1Y4IfgSW08sAGC-jDFK4LOKsESU5pmqOy7fpO63VVwS/s1600/npr+doodle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1MpluaglOKjsISH2w-8RTPzgGwn0RSngkdpflMSfBMmkbthNAGVY_d9sMgORBMKVuuY8mWw7JUDOeFjlMU3HXK4TvwHTTeZMCm1Y4IfgSW08sAGC-jDFK4LOKsESU5pmqOy7fpO63VVwS/s640/npr+doodle.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">...when Anya sits in the kitchen doodling while NPR is on.</span></div>
eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-7324461481941055292015-10-08T16:44:00.002-07:002015-10-08T16:45:42.373-07:00Facing the Tidal Wave<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Today at work was nonstop: a meeting about a new grant, followed by my 100-level class, followed by an office hour trying to find answers for a student planning to study abroad next semester, followed by an upper-division colloquium, followed by a department meeting, followed by work on the train. All "free" moments were spent checking on, answering, and organizing emails. Somewhere in there I ate soup.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Until 6:30, when I moved my laptop off the dining room table and put on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Settle-Down-Julia-Nunes/dp/B006X08EPE/ref=sr_1_1?s=music&ie=UTF8&qid=1444346697&sr=1-1&keywords=julia+nunes">Julia Nunes</a> while throwing together my part of "leftovers for dinner" and waited for my son to get back from karate. We settled down to a candle-lit, un-fussy meal and I heard about the kids' days. At one point, I leaned on my husband and soaked in the goodness of life--this family that I come home to at the end of a long day, meeting together around the table my brother made with his own hands.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD8IBb2qyFeqYg3kuOdRX160f_ZlIvS1qhVjX9K3bC_n6tho9PaWQ9zkeGrQfR8NjyA_ELA7n2UbOuY0PWSNc9sBCg-ZPyBfE4nuAGERGHzNrmti-A5s698-r3_FVspH_AsTGlYTm47aL7/s1600/IMG_6798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD8IBb2qyFeqYg3kuOdRX160f_ZlIvS1qhVjX9K3bC_n6tho9PaWQ9zkeGrQfR8NjyA_ELA7n2UbOuY0PWSNc9sBCg-ZPyBfE4nuAGERGHzNrmti-A5s698-r3_FVspH_AsTGlYTm47aL7/s640/IMG_6798.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am fortunate to have (mostly) interesting and meaningful work. But in October--that most beautiful of months in New England--that work gets really busy, really fast. It's this crazy little family that keeps me from losing it altogether. They sustain me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And so tonight I will relax with them. Tomorrow, again, I will put forth my best effort to make our little corner of public higher ed meaningful for both students and faculty alike. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There are worse ways I could spend my time at 50. </span></div>
<br />eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-84248858579592827862015-09-10T15:56:00.000-07:002015-09-10T15:56:22.524-07:00Then and Now<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Anya, at about 10 months and then at 10 years...both times in Dad-inspired AC/DC t-shirts. (Her dad just went to the concert in August. She wore her the t-shirt to her first day of school.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They just get better all the time. </span></div>
<br />eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-54498526105954862402015-08-27T16:42:00.000-07:002015-08-28T04:32:59.466-07:00In the News<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://img.huffingtonpost.com//asset/crop_0_400_750_336,scalefit_630_noupscale/55dbdb1d170000b700568767.jpeg" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The only thing more important than teaching my daughter to keep herself safe in a world like this...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">...is teaching my son how important it is not to tolerate actions and attitudes like this, let alone participate in them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">There is a great blog post <a href="http://www.renegademothering.com/2015/08/27/welcome-to-college-try-not-to-get-raped/">here</a> dissecting these kinds of messages and how they treat women as merely a means of exchange between (or among) men.</span>eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-30421967625279632302015-07-18T18:52:00.001-07:002015-07-18T18:53:15.524-07:00Unexpected Change<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Honestly, I was happy with how my dining room looked. Ever since we <a href="http://misfitmeanderings.blogspot.com/2011/08/in-dining-room.html">changed it a few years ago</a>, it felt like it all went together well. I had no plans to do any painting or redecorating in the house this summer.</span></div>
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<img height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ouf0ztzYjSF4b0f-mtHAGaGVHBiYYrERgG2-sXic1SJ0NL1NWgEWoCianIf8mGpJH9Fa8C6tuyaPfYvxdsOPvSjqOJNv92bxy4mHYKZSgOy7ecEdvMBBS_xbsYeEhoQEx0bjyviX4OqM/s640/IMG_0172_1.JPG" width="640" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Until...my brother Tim called me at my mother's house on July 4 to see if we were interested in buying a table he just made. Like, with his own hands, from re-purposed wood. Ummmm....<i>yeah</i>. Ever since I saw the stuff Tim makes, I've wanted him to make us a dining table.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But then, of course, the dining table didn't work with the rest of the room. And so--as I had, in fairness, warned my husband might happen if we bought this table--I had to change almost everything else. Wall color. Shelving. Artwork. Curtains. We even replaced the drawer pulls on the secretary (though I didn't think to take a specific picture of that). Only the chairs remain from the room's previous incarnation, and thank heavens that worked (chairs are expensive, even at Ikea). The resulting room looks like this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's hard to tell in the pictures, but I went with grey again (gull wing grey, which seemed appropriate for a table from Rockport, MA). The sideboard, shelf, and curtains are from Ikea, and the rest...is mostly stuff I had around, some of it used in new ways. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I <i>love</i> the table, and I think I am pretty good with the rest of the room. I'll have to see how it makes it through winter. I never used to like the dining room in winter until its last incarnation. At any rate, this is <i>it</i> for me with dining tables. I now have one that is sustainable and has character, a story, and a personal connection. It's not quite as big as the old one (which could seat up to 12 if I put in all the leaves), but I can still fit 8 comfortably, and that's good enough for me. The room now feels less polished, but the dialed down, less fancy look does a better job of reflecting my casual nature.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Thanks, Tim! </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">(And, um, thank you Howard--for putting up with my need to change everything <i>right away</i>. I am working on that patience thing, but don't quite have it figured out yet.)</span></div>
<br />eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-29692561752865828142015-07-09T16:23:00.000-07:002015-07-09T16:23:51.901-07:00Let's All Be a Little More Curious, Shall We? <span style="font-size: large;"><i>Today, a lengthy, food-for-thought quote from a favorite gender scholar. I want to work toward making curiosity more central in my life and actions:</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"The moment when one becomes newly curious about something is also a good time to think about what created one's previous <i>lack</i> of curiosity. So many power structures--inside households, within institutions, in societies, in international affairs--are dependent on our continuing lack of curiosity. 'Natural,' 'tradition,' 'always': each has served as a cultural pillar to prop up familial, community, national, and international power structures, imbuing them with legitimacy, with timelessness, with inevitability. Any power arrangement that is imagined to be legitimate, timeless, and inevitable is pretty well fortified. Thus we need to stop and scrutinize our lack of curiosity. We also need to be genuinely curious about others' lack of curiosity--not for the sake of feeling self-satisfied, but for the sake of meaningfully engaging with those who take any power structure as unproblematic.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Why is a state of uncuriosity about what it takes to produce a pair of fashionable sneakers so comfortable? What is there about being uncurious about how the military base affects the civilians living in base towns that seems so reasonable? I've come to think that making and keeping us uncurious must serve somebody's political purpose. I also have become convinced that I am deeply complicit in my own lack of curiosity."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Cynthia Enloe, <i>The Curious Feminist: Searching for Women in a New Age of Empire </i>(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), pp. 2-3.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-25546552143229999282015-06-30T14:25:00.004-07:002015-06-30T14:25:51.210-07:00Today's Gift<span style="font-size: large;">Today had many gifts, of course--a generous colleague who will mail me a reading I need, children who are full of life and love, a devoted spouse, my very breath. But, one thing in particular stands out today...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Howard and I were out for our weekly coffee when a young-ish man walked up to us. He reminded me that he was in one of my upper-division history classes a few years ago. He told me that he wanted me to know that I--and more precisely my passion in the classroom--am the reason that he is a teacher.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not sure that I deserve such high praise. He, after all, teaches middle-school kids in a not-very-wealthy district. He does more important work than I ever will do. But his statement was definitely the greatest gift of my day.</span>eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-13052109709443335902015-06-19T16:36:00.000-07:002015-06-19T16:36:04.317-07:00On leaving<div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">(One last trip to the library of the Ministerio de la Cultura, a tea with Ximena, and then back to pack and prepare for the trip home)</span></div>
<span style="font-family: tahoma;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's always so weird to be at the end of a trip to Quito. As much as I've floundered for
focus these two weeks, it's hard to leave without really having gotten to go through more of the
newspapers I've been reading. I hate just getting a "taste" of things like this and then letting it go. I gathered a lot, but there is always so much more to be had. And even though I don't particularly like living in Quito (it's too big for me--and those buses, spewing black smoke and actively trying to run me over--blech), this city, nestled in mountains, does have its grandeur. And of course I will miss lunches with Ximena.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">But I love coming home. I love home. I love Howard and the
kids. I love sleeping in my own bed. I love cooking in my own kitchen and
working in my own office space and taking a bath whenever I want rather than waiting two hours for the water to heat. And the ocean
is just as grand as those mountains. I love Friday Family Movie Night and listening about the kids' days at dinner each night. I love listening to NPR while I putter around the house. I occasionally even love having the cat around. And I have a sense of community and purpose at my university that I lack when I work here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I've sometimes found myself nostalgic on this trip for the days when I came to Quito and could stay a while, on my own. When I didn't have responsibilities. When I didn't simply "collect" documents to read back home, but actually took close notes while in the archives (even when I took a photocopy). I miss the days when the Biblioteca Ecuatoriana--set in a lovely old monastery out in Cotocollao--used to have cats roaming all around the building, including into the stacks (though I was warned not to pet them: fleas). When the Mariscal area of Quito was safe rather than dangerous. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But my life has moved on from those days. I have responsibilities now, lots of them. And while the juggle of my varied duties is sometimes overwhelming, I wouldn't trade this richness of life for the freedom of 20 years ago. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And so goodbye to Quito. I will, for the present, continue to come and go from here. But home is in New England, with that crazy family of mine.</span></div>
eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-83025824932926801342015-06-08T17:32:00.002-07:002015-06-08T17:32:27.593-07:00Back for a Spell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">A pounding headache that woke me at 4:00 a.m. Tall buildings out my living room window with just a touch of mountain green in the background, filthy hands, a dinner with queso fresco and avocados that are beyond heavenly...and a stack of newly bought second-hand books (thus, the filthy hands). Oh, and llapingachos for lunch. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yup, I'm in Quito. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Missing my family terribly and just hoping for a productive trip that will make the two weeks feel not quite so long. Not even the best avocados on earth (which these just might be) keep me from missing home and family.</i></span></div>
<br />eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-63041804551063147742015-06-02T17:29:00.000-07:002015-06-02T17:29:24.447-07:00Hooky<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Anya and I played hooky today. We baked a cake. We snuggled and talked. We listened to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unicorn-Irish-Rovers/dp/B000W25JVQ/ref=sr_1_2?s=music&ie=UTF8&qid=1433290724&sr=1-2&keywords=irish+rovers+unicorn">The Unicorn</a> (which was a regular Sunday-morning-after-church thing when I was a kid; this stands in contrast to our kids listening to the Clash in the car as toddlers). We watched <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-princess-Bride/dp/B00AO5JI0E/ref=sr_1_8?s=movies-tv&ie=UTF8&qid=1433290793&sr=1-8&keywords=the+princess+bride">The Princess Bride</a> (which her brother always refuses to watch for Friday Family Movie). </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In short, we did nothing extraordinary...and yet, it was an extraordinary day. We needed this, my girl and I. It was a long semester, and now I'm off to Quito on Sunday for a two-week stint in the archives. A slow, rainy day to hang out and do silly little things was just the right call. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sadly, I can't have the same with Sam. He's off for a three-day class trip to NYC tomorrow, then all day Saturday he goes to the state-level science fair competition. I'm happy for him that he has both of these opportunities. I know that I need to get used to being away from him more, now that he is about to enter his high school years...but I'll miss him so much.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But maybe he and I can play hooky when I return. I think there may be Thai food in our future...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Do your soul a little good...play hooky sometime soon.</i></span></div>
<br />eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-71043861197891991802015-05-10T16:04:00.001-07:002015-05-10T16:04:25.145-07:00Jazz...<span style="font-size: large;">NPR had an interview with Jazz pianist Keith Jarrett this morning. We saw him when he played at Boston's Symphony Hall several years ago. It was when I came up with my only meaningful quote on music (perhaps my only truly meaningful quote ever):</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Jazz is the music that happens between the notes of a familiar song.</i> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I think I might need to get the CD/s Jarrett did in commemoration of his 70th birthday.</span>eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-38002524745529776262015-05-06T15:27:00.002-07:002015-05-06T15:27:46.942-07:0050<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">I’ve been trying to decide</span><span style="font-size: large;"> what and how to write about this.
Hell, I’ve been trying to figure out what I <i>think</i>
about this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Turning 50. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Half a century.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In all likelihood, more than half-way through my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">(I don’t like to think about that part.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, what did I do to commemorate? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I got my hair cut. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Not even a daring new cut—just the standard chin-length bob
that is my “go to” short haircut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My mid-life crisis action was reversible and I’ve done it
before. How lame is that?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Still…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I’m 50. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That’s something. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I’m noticing it this decade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At 40, Anya was an infant, and it was all just “will the
baby please sleep and who cares about 40.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This year…it’s meetings and budget and annual reports and
final grading to do not to mention a trip to Ecuador to plan. No wonder I’d rather think about turning 50.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I can’t quite put my finger on where I should be at 50.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But then, I couldn’t do that at 10, 20, 30, or 40 either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What I <i>know</i> is
that on Friday evening the house was quiet…and there was nowhere on earth I’d rather
be than with this silly little family in a post Friday family movie night lull.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And on Sunday I had brunch with friends that I’ve known
since Brandeis. They are as much family
to me as my own siblings, and I am forever grateful for these people who have
grown through adulthood with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I’m also excited to be part of a collective project on
female suffrage in the Americas, and to go on the hunt for some voting debates
in the Quito archives this June. But don’t want to travel to get there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And yet: I’m tired and want to slow down and read novels and get
off the hamster wheel of working all the time…though I am still not ready or
willing to take that leap. I keep talking and talking and talking and thinking
and thinking and thinking about it. I
can’t seem to make a compromise and find time/space to bring slow into this
life, with work. Why is that? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Maybe the lesson of my
50s is acceptance. Accepting where I
am in life, lumps and wrinkles and all. Accepting that I am not ready to change
my life too drastically just yet (i.e., leave my job), and trusting that I will
know when it’s time. Accepting the
choices I’ve made, without regret, and believing that I can still make changes
if and how I want to</i>. <i> </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yeah, that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Which isn't to say I lack goals: I want to connect more often with those I love. I want to figure out gardening. I want to build a greater sense of community in my life (especially one that is not dependent on work). I want to learn to sew (still--a lifelong, unrealized ambition). I want to contribute, if only I can overcome introversion and lack of confidence to do that. I want to live in harmony with my body. I want to learn to kayak. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But even all of that requires acceptance--of where I am, what my abilities are, and what strengths/skills/limits I encounter with all these goals (large and small). </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Let’s see if it happens, shall we?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then at 60, I’ll dye my hair purple.</span> <o:p></o:p></div>
eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-63248386560450504362015-04-12T18:19:00.002-07:002015-04-13T04:11:27.881-07:00Views from Sunday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was finally a full on <i>spring day</i> here today. Mild and sunny. The perfect day to have a birthday celebration for my boy, who turns 14 on Tuesday. Cake of choice: chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and whoopie pie filling between the layers. He's a smart one, that Samuel. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Despite the stress of the semester (sooo much to do), it was a pretty mellow day. Once the cake and groceries were taken care of, I found it easy to fit in a few hours of work while sipping my favorite (Irish Breakfast) tea. Then it was simple to set up a salad bar to go along with cookout food. Birthday cake and presents followed (and espresso for a few of the adults).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sam's had a great weekend all around, after a stressful week (MCAS, science fair, and endocrine appointment complete with blood work). In addition to birthday celebrations today, he went to a speed cubing competition yesterday and placed third in pyraminx and second in 3 x 3!!! His 3x3 average was 9.77 seconds, and his best single solve was 9.51 seconds. He was--is--thrilled. The other silver lining (from his endocrine appointment) was that his A1C was 6.9--great news! (I know, most people don't know what that means--but, it really is a great number for a kid who grew another 2 inches in the past year.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>So much to be grateful for ...spring, healthy kids, loving family, good friends, meaningful work (even if it does make me crazy). My plan this week is to remember that each day is a gift. No matter how stressful it may be, or how rushed. Every day is a gift that I am lucky to have, and to have the ability to stop and enjoy if I so choose.</i></span></div>
<br />eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-65426022043163047832015-04-04T16:11:00.001-07:002015-05-20T17:51:17.120-07:00On Privilege and Choice<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I recently read a couple of posts on <a href="http://ohsheglows.com/">this blog I like</a> where there were heated--and sometimes inappropriately worded--debates on veganism. I think that the blogger dealt with the issue spectacularly in a follow-up post. But I also found myself thinking more and more about exactly what bothered me about the times when the comments became harsh.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On the one hand, I stand corrected: I don't claim to be vegan (or at least don't mean to do so), but I have sometimes referred to things like "eating vegan" for periods of time. Yet there are many who find fault with this because to them, veganism (1) requires a full-time commitment (you are either vegan or not), and (2) is about a way of life that includes, but is not limited to, a plants-only diet. I found these points mostly reasonable and informative. They reminded me not to overstate what I do with my diet, and I will try to be more careful. On the other hand, there were some (just a few) "capital V" Vegans commenting who were not just frustrated by the loose way the term is used, but who were also incredibly judgmental of others' choices. In particular, some of them claimed that this was a "belief system" that was about justice and humanitarianism <i>rather than</i> a personal choice. Non-Vegans, or "fake vegans" (for lack of a better phrase) were all unethical in this view. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And that is where I take exception. Big-V Veganism might well be a belief system, but it is also a <i>choice of the privileged</i>. In this regard, it is similar to those who are capital-letter Minimalists, or Homesteaders, or Home Schoolers. Don't get me wrong--I admire choices like these, and I aspire to incorporate some of their ideas into my life, even if I'm not sure if want to live them in their entirety or embrace them as beliefs. (For example, I don't have the skills to be a homesteader, and I believe too deeply in the revolutionary and equalizing potential of public education to choose home schooling--though if that's what one of my kids <i>needed</i>, I would try it.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The thing is, <i>most people</i> in this world eat little or no meat. Most people live with few material goods. Many people engage in subsistence agriculture. However, they do so out of necessity. Most would happily eat and feed their children meat more often if they could afford it--not because they are inhumane, but because it provides protein that might keep them healthier and allow their children the nutrients they need as they grow. Again: this is not to "dis" Vegans. I deeply admire their conviction and I agree with many of their premises. I might someday decide to take that leap, even though I am not ready now. What I dislike is the judgment and narrow world vision that I see in a few<i> (not all)</i> of them. I feel the same about Homesteading and Minimalism. They are wonderful choices and ways of life--but to ignore the privilege from whence they come, relative to how the majority of people on the planet live, strikes me as at best unhealthy, and at worst dangerous. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I also think that these are choices of privilege <i>within our own country</i>, not just relative to the Global South. I might dislike Wal-Mart and Burger King...but I have the good luck to fall into a group (with enough money) that I can choose not to buy clothes or food (etc) there. But if I were a single parent in a low paying job--or, more likely, two jobs--I'd have far fewer options. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I'm not saying it's only the wealthy who make morally-based choices like Veganism or Minimalism or Homesteading or Home Schooling. I suspect that there are plenty of people who make <i>hard choices</i> to do those things. But they are choices, and they aren't options for everyone, whether around the world or here in the US. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I also worry when these decisions are introduced as black-and-white, good versus evil. I understand conviction and passion, just not the presumption to know that your way is the only way, or that a particular cause is "all or nothing." The problems of our world are complex, and we humans are flawed enough that not one of us has all the answers. Extremism, even in causes I support (and even when it's just a minority espousing extreme views), frightens me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I guess I'll just keep trying to find my way. I'll keep trying to discover and follow my deepest values. I'll try to teach my children to make compassionate choices whenever they are lucky enough to have choice. I'll aspire to have the patience to pick myself up and try again as I inevitably fall short of where I want to be. And I will work on building more compassion to understand that others have their own paths to follow--whether by the privilege of choice or the pain of necessity. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In short, I'd like my musings on the blog post that started all this to remind me to be humble and compassionate in my own convictions.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>How can we embrace differing ideas and human imperfection while still advancing causes we care deeply about? How can we build alliances rather than enmities in the quest to make the world a better and more just place?</i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">These are the questions I keep coming back to, and wishing I were better at living their answers.</span>eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-9219725882286405262015-03-20T18:08:00.000-07:002015-03-20T18:08:11.964-07:00One of Those Days/Weeks<span style="font-size: large;">Today was one of those days. No, wait: this week was one of those weeks. Way too much work, a lot of frustration and overwhelm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In other words: time for gratitude.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Today, this week, I am grateful for:</u></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">1) The girl child who feeds my soul with love and laughter</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">2) The boy child who wants to understand and make me feel better</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">3) That husband of mine who always has my back</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">4) Running into this quote just at the right time: </span><span style="font-size: large;">"It is in the giving over to smallness that o</span><span style="font-size: large;">pens us to misery." (Mark Nepo, <i>The Book of Awakening</i></span><span style="font-size: large;">, p. 57)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">5) The friends who listen to me when I give over to smallness before stepping back to focus on what really matters</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">6) Friday Family Movie Night--not a panacea, but certainly a salve for the week's wounds</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">7) Remembering what can be cut back this weekend to make space not only for work, but also sanity saving walks, family time, and rest</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Wishing I knew how to keep perspective all the time. Surviving because I usually find it after a while.</i></span>eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1340290092422735311.post-70953858001882987192015-03-15T08:05:00.000-07:002015-03-15T08:05:37.119-07:00Pi/e on 3/14/15<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was Pi Day yesterday--a special year (3.1415 and all). So, we had a Pi/e party with friends.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8KR1gEPjBm_Uu1qwW9yMYlO2qunw_QHyobYfU_0CV8EZHdkMeuxLZOpnkUmJogcM0IMGw5eKkogSrrc88R4_xEURWRELHmF6yvg6oDxDz-l2mQeZOIIJTmi3oJ7WCeOzCMdTGpSOW_uxo/s1600/Pi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8KR1gEPjBm_Uu1qwW9yMYlO2qunw_QHyobYfU_0CV8EZHdkMeuxLZOpnkUmJogcM0IMGw5eKkogSrrc88R4_xEURWRELHmF6yvg6oDxDz-l2mQeZOIIJTmi3oJ7WCeOzCMdTGpSOW_uxo/s1600/Pi.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There was a jumbo Pizza Pi/e:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijeHoX6s6il-Dd39hpt5TFNJZUEA2VzO7BnQ_5dbRD9bytQak3-w1QrB1Hf_jH0u_0um2ujVgRca-0iSwk1evj7T8jjH7PWWlYskZakWNd6VsIE1jK9w5GyiKtwOgGLx62mtq7G8aiY3_L/s1600/IMG_4253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijeHoX6s6il-Dd39hpt5TFNJZUEA2VzO7BnQ_5dbRD9bytQak3-w1QrB1Hf_jH0u_0um2ujVgRca-0iSwk1evj7T8jjH7PWWlYskZakWNd6VsIE1jK9w5GyiKtwOgGLx62mtq7G8aiY3_L/s1600/IMG_4253.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And butterscotch Pi/e:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-ATE4CmfZ40LmAZbeqoBUdB8Rpff3Eegp_pFH8U0ShyeDAZyUOo3_YnB4H5I2n2SuF5Lw3ZQJWnNAtDPlIvlJ_ZW5_icOEkUU2Nd7W_e_-JXw7x6eYoVzPp61AY3GAGrGZuPmltnxwsl/s1600/IMG_4255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-ATE4CmfZ40LmAZbeqoBUdB8Rpff3Eegp_pFH8U0ShyeDAZyUOo3_YnB4H5I2n2SuF5Lw3ZQJWnNAtDPlIvlJ_ZW5_icOEkUU2Nd7W_e_-JXw7x6eYoVzPp61AY3GAGrGZuPmltnxwsl/s1600/IMG_4255.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And there were several other pi/es to be had--including three different chocolate pi/es! (And two apple, and one blueberry and one strawberry):</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTnKkNDegQR-6D9BO_sacPgniBOTgz4YHoiw7YD7f2pLaXTtzW-ADpmTfh0fmj7vIDq-Koi4DhdHPfrW3DiiUq6x-uRAQsRCQLI9wic7eenp9XLylxkF_Tm5WRTUnt4WDdxTxfMWB-KAE/s1600/IMG_4257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTnKkNDegQR-6D9BO_sacPgniBOTgz4YHoiw7YD7f2pLaXTtzW-ADpmTfh0fmj7vIDq-Koi4DhdHPfrW3DiiUq6x-uRAQsRCQLI9wic7eenp9XLylxkF_Tm5WRTUnt4WDdxTxfMWB-KAE/s1600/IMG_4257.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On the savory side, there was a vegan Shepherd's Pi/e--and also a chicken pot Pi/e that was completely eaten before I got back into the kitchen with my camera.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNNFPDft6Q60DU9Xmio9yAN_QIsiAT3s6rXgKsoDb_KXs3afj8GcBQdhEM5Lyl1Z-VhR7sdOJXui7MKV8hV8FxKS-mGNOq3A5FuWnyb2LMMYC2zDVhkqf09daVKDOIldUZMfmKwbIv3XCA/s1600/IMG_4258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNNFPDft6Q60DU9Xmio9yAN_QIsiAT3s6rXgKsoDb_KXs3afj8GcBQdhEM5Lyl1Z-VhR7sdOJXui7MKV8hV8FxKS-mGNOq3A5FuWnyb2LMMYC2zDVhkqf09daVKDOIldUZMfmKwbIv3XCA/s1600/IMG_4258.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was a good, relaxed time. No one batted an eye that I didn't have alcohol out. Everyone hung around and chatted about life, geek t-shirts, work, kids, hopes for spring, etc. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZSY2Uwqs9p2ZXiXfVI01KADfq8RBqY7IoG83rWM06boQrH0ZM9XMWPUrIZPUPHkG1YobOU-6WyXWW_QLDwVNoVnH6Hbl1_d_Nl977MMHAYmL0hEGmImr0SynBTm0rpR-HqtKenixcKn3-/s1600/IMG_4261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZSY2Uwqs9p2ZXiXfVI01KADfq8RBqY7IoG83rWM06boQrH0ZM9XMWPUrIZPUPHkG1YobOU-6WyXWW_QLDwVNoVnH6Hbl1_d_Nl977MMHAYmL0hEGmImr0SynBTm0rpR-HqtKenixcKn3-/s1600/IMG_4261.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm hoping that my daughter (seen here with the carnage--I mean, leftovers) noticed that the two mathematicians who came are both women. Her favorite thing lately is division. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe I'm slightly better at this party thing than I thought I was. Or maybe I just had my tribe in the house last night. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>And you? Did you celebrate Pi Day? It won't be this big a deal again for 100 years!</i></span></div>
<br />eeochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06779964240236804405noreply@blogger.com2