tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105667412024-03-07T01:03:37.195-08:00Et al.Non-academic thoughts on widowhood, single-motherhood, and, every once in a while, academia. And yes, this will be on the final exam.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.comBlogger325125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-59755098559108370702008-11-28T12:13:00.001-08:002008-11-28T12:29:03.083-08:00Hear me roarSo guess who spent yesterday morning in a little frenzy of home care? Yup. One of the smart moms at ballet class suggested that blocked gutters could be at least partly to blame for the water issue, an idea I (internally) pooh-poohed--I just had the gutters done in February, and that wall is away from the trees on the West side of the house. <br /><br />So, of course, you see where this is going. I spent 45 minutes yesterday perched precariously on a ladder scooping gunk, grit, needles and what looks to be new topsoil out of the gutter on that wall. I carried my cell phone in my pocket and left the 911 instructions by the phone, with strict orders for my daughter to call first. Inspired by my success, I then cut away a bunch of dead foliage from around the house and raked the leaves out of the driveway. I trimmed a bunch of other stuff, wrapped my outside pipes in case we get a freeze (usually I'm out there at 11 p.m. after the newscast urges us to do it on a particularly cold night), cleaned the bunny's cage, refreshed the cat facilities, and graded one of the multiple stacks of papers I am carrying around.<br /><br />Might satisfying. Not sure if I'm going to attempt to clean the other gutters out myself or call the people who did them last; I'm sure the other side of the house is worse, although nothing has leaked. And I'm still going to call the roofer and/or masonry folks for a consult. My prayer is that I don't have to have the plaster replaced in the living room--an expensive mess.<br /><br />And I am still dreaming of a bright, light-filled, cozy condo for my daughter and me. I grew up in a family that did not do much yard or house care. The projects my father undertook always became disasters that professionals then had to fix, and generally resulted in a lot of swearing, screaming, and scapegoating. My mother is remarkably handy--she had to be; my father was useless and we had little money--but her approach is slapdash, to put it kindly. Our yard care was minimal, at best. Plus it was California, where the long, dry seasons kept mold and rampant plant growth at bay. A little neglect went a long way toward keeping the yard from growing too avidly. As I am only now realizing, life in the wet, lush Pacific NW is largely a battle between a house and the elements. Water is forever seeping, leaking, corroding, and destroying anything it can find. A dry basement is a miracle, a thing of beauty, and a joy forever. Wooden shingles, decks, and pretty much anything else require constant coats of sealant or they rot. Sometimes they rot anyway. All of this is expensive, stressful, unpleasant, and potentially obscenely expensive. And, in the grand scheme of things, hopeless. Left alone, my house would probably disintegrate in five years or less. I'm not sure if this is a powerful lesson in the futility of human life, or a reason to move south. I'll keep you posted.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-78545338492685251812008-11-26T10:35:00.000-08:002008-11-26T10:51:04.777-08:00Things to do with the second half of my lifeI'm feeling bored, bored, bored by my life. This is a pattern for me; I used to move frequently, and then by the time I made new friends and got truly settled in, I'd be off to try something new and someplace new (but not too new--always an academic program and a restaurant job!). My father has told me about the AA truism, which goes something like this: "You get off the bus, and there you are." It's true; I follow me every where I go. But as it grows ever more impossible to delude even myself into thinking that if I'm sad, angry, and desperate enough my husband will come back, or that the universe will decide to take care of me with no effort on my part, I am thinking about what I want to do for ME in the next phase(s). With no time limits or commitment, here are the things I want to do:<br /><br />1. Move back to SF/live in a "real" city again. I often wonder if the sheer joy of being in SF (which, for me, is tangible and genuine) could possibly offset the very real benefits of my life now: a nice, big house; a fabulous job that I love; good friends who support me and my daughter; a "community" that includes her Chinese program, ballet, and school; a lower cost of living that makes it *almost* possible for me to afford these things for her; a nice, small, easy city where the daily workings of life create minimal stress. Very few of these things would be remotely possible in an expensive city where even procuring housing--let alone finding a remotely suitable academic job--would be pretty much beyond my means.<br /><br />2. Take an extended research trip. I'd like to take a semester, or summer, or whatever, and live in Boston, Philadelphia, D.C., or New York. I'd like to work in the archives and libraries during the day, and explore the city with my daughter the rest of the time. There are fellowships for this, but they don't cover child care. If we went during the year, of course, she could go to school...<br /><br />3. Travel. The top of my list: Iceland, Scotland, Ireland; Macchu Picchu; Eastern Europe--especially Istanbul and the coast of the former Yugoslavia. Budapest.<br /><br />4. Live/teach in China. There are exchange programs. Once I get tenure (if?) I am going to check these out in earnest; apparently, and somewhat oddly, my academic specialty is in demand in their universities. <br /><br />5. Write a mystery novel. I'm considering taking an on-line course, just for the structure, practice, and feedback it would provide. And no, of course I don't have time.<br /><br />6. Arrest my physical decline. I want to have a regular exercise program of swimming and yoga, at least, so I can be one of those women who feel and look better at 50 than at 35. <br /><br />7. Find a second soul-mate who adores my daughter. I'd love to get married again, but even more, I'd like someone to go to movies with, to hang out with on Sunday mornings, and to travel to some of those places in number 3. <br /><br />8. Live in a modernist dwelling and get RID of some of the stuff that weighs me down.<br /><br />9. Volunteer. <br /><br />10. Sort my photos and put together my wedding scrapbook. Finally.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-36188613383603807862008-11-26T10:26:00.000-08:002008-11-26T10:35:06.933-08:00I quit(Confidential to my sister: don't read this!)<br /><br />I think I am going to throw in the towel on home ownership (I know, great timing, huh?) In the past year I have spent more than 30K on "deferred maintenance" for the rental house (and given the general financial scene, thinking of it as "capital relocation" is no longer funny...to me). In the past three years, I've put 20K or so into my house, and had signed on to teach summer school to get the wood floors (currently buried under carpet...yecch) redone--money that will now go to defray the consumer debt I racked up replacing the furnace in the rental. My trees/shrubs need professional pruning (haven't been done in 3.5 years), and today I discovered water damage on the wall with my fireplace (the masonry was part of what had been repaired).<br /><br />I'm seriously thinking of selling both houses, if possible, and raising my daughter in a condo. I'm feeling pent up by the requirements of suburban idealism (house, yard, upkeep, pets), and also disappointed with how dull my life is (see next post; or previous post, or whatever).<br /><br />Today, in a fit of displaced malcontentment, I had a very satisfying plant massacre. I have ugly plants for which I have cared ceaselessly and unenthusiastically. Some were abandoned by other people, foisted on me, or arrived upon my husband's death. But they were ugly, overgrown, straggly, yellowed, surrounded by dead foliage, in need of repotting, root-bound.<br /><br />So I <i>threw them away</i> (I did put them in the city yard waste). I put the pots in the garage. I have one half as many plants now, a small amount of guilt, and a tremendous sense of FREEDOM.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-38975410054396323472008-11-24T11:37:00.001-08:002008-11-24T13:01:56.551-08:00Anger (Mis)managementCongratulations to those of you who marked the third anniversary of my husband's death. Yes, it's been three years, and even the most patient members of my support group are visibly ready for me to GET ON WITH IT, ALREADY. I won't lie; the anniversary was easier this year--less fraught. No weeping. Very few phone calls or messages, but those that I did receive were lovely and necessary and reminded me that I am not the only one in the universe who is truly and deeply sorry that he is gone; nor am I the only one who remembers how smart, funny, and caring he was.<br /><br />I even managed to "reclaim" my birthday, which, since it falls on the day after his death (his final gift to me was to try to live to my birthday, and he came so close), has been a dreary affair. This year I had a nice dinner, cake, wine, and good friends to help me move ahead into life with him.<br /><br />Snickollet has a very moving post about anger (as always, she's a far more reliable, informative, and skillful writer about these things). I have to say that my own anger continues to sneak up on me and take me by surprise. Just yesterday we took our dog to the off-leash park. He's been woefully underexercised and undersocialized this term, because of the kindergarten commute and my schedule, so he needed to play. There were too many dogs there, which gets him excited. And while he's not vicious, he does seem to be sort of a <i>provocateur</i>--minor dog interactions sound a bit nastier and seem a bit more frequent when he gets involved. Combined with his pitbull heritage (those jaws are scary, whether or not he intends to do harm) and the fact that this is a "ghetto dog park" (lots of folks with very minimally trained, powerful breeds, and too many un-altered dogs), he's scary, especially to those who don't really understand dog communications. So I keep a close eye on him, and remind him constantly that I am there and that he can't be too rough. He's never rough with smaller dogs; he just tends to be annoying in trying to persuade others to play. After about 20 minutes, there was one scuffle which he didn't start but butted into. One dog assumed the submissive position, and mine was on top. I rushed over and called him off, and no one was injured--in fact, tails were still wagging. But this was clearly out of line. As I leashed him up, a fierce looking guy with a huge dog started chewing me out, rudely, and threatening to call the cops. I was leaving, so I said "we're leaving" and walked away.<br /><br />But by the time I reached the car I was breathless with rage, and crying almost hysterically. I was furious at the guy, for being rude, at myself, for thinking my dog wasn't being a jerk, at the other owners, for not saying "hey, your dog is a little rough" if that was what they thought, or for not defending me, furious at my dog, for making trouble, at the world, for making life so hard.<br /><br />This seems to be more common than not these days, and is, perhaps, one of the longest, slowest, most persistent manifestations of grief. As aware as I am that so many people suffer more, and that it's high time I got over myself and on with whatever the next phase of life is going to bring, I still get caught up short by rage: at never having a day off; at my daughter for her constant demands; at the house, which seems to be falling apart out of sheer spite; at the woman who wrecked my car and had no insurance; at my crappy health-care that runs out in November leaving me with $800 worth of sudden bills; at the delivery company that will only deliver during [my] work hours. But just as often, I'm angry about nothing at all. I use the film "Crash" in my teaching, and every time I am brought to tears (for myself, not for her), when Sandra Bullock's character admits that she is angry All The Time.<br /><br />I know that even if my husband were still here, things would break, bills would come due, my daughter would be demanding (and, of course, she's supposed to be). But the anger doesn't really have anywhere to go, even if it's no longer serving whatever remotely useful survival function it used to serve.<br /><br />And yes, my schedule next term should allow me to take a yoga class.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-70359559067415275702008-11-05T13:02:00.000-08:002008-11-05T13:04:35.199-08:00Hallelujah!I have never, never felt more proud of my fellow Americans than I am today, in light of last night.<br /><br />Jesse Jackson and John Lewis brought me to tears.<br /><br />It's been too, too long coming.<br /><br />How I wish my husband were here to celebrate with me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-84611552852907761392008-10-12T15:04:00.000-07:002008-10-12T15:14:28.808-07:00AloneI confess I have been having trouble following <a href="http://snickollet.blogspot.com">Snickollet's</a> foray into dating. Of course, I am thrilled that she is having fun with it, and envious of her resilience. I trust her to be smart, and careful, and to make good decisions for her own future happiness and those of her beautiful offspring.<br /><br />I wish I could try it.<br /><br />The fact is, that I was horrible at dating before, and I deeply, deeply resent having to do it again, when I am more than a decade older than when I met my husband. I feel ugly, stressed out, drained, and tired, and I can't even imagine adding another person's needs and desires into the mix. Of course, a "real" relationship would provide comfort, and support, and some desperately needed fun. But I still don't feel like I am ready to get to know someone--let alone make the foray into online contact. My friends are surprisingly useless in terms of making matches for me; one friend tried, but it was abundantly clear that even if there had been sparks (there weren't), the guy was too hung up on his 8-year-past-ex-wife to even consider dating. Whew--at least I wasn't the problem.<br /><br />I'm not, at heart, a very friendly person. I can be gregarious, in certain situations, but only when I feel completely in control of the level of contact (a friend and I joke that this is why teaching is so perfect--the illusion of great intimacy and affection with a bunch of students who go away after 4 months). I have a hard time "getting to know" people in any setting that is not entirely directed toward something other than getting to know them--work, say. And that is not going to happen at my current job. I know it's hard for everyone, and that it takes effort, but the real problem is that I rarely like anyone that well on first impression--especially if he is male and a potential date (however remote that potential may be). I realize it's some sort of immature self-protective device, but it's pretty firmly instilled by now, and I am not in much of a position to work on changing it!<br /><br />So after finally braving Snick's blog, and cheering for her (she actually had SEX!), I'm feeling really, really bad. Because it's been almost three years now. And I'm pathetic. And I still miss him, and he's never coming back.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-90081809109047057052008-10-08T11:35:00.000-07:002008-10-08T11:37:27.198-07:00True Confessions, Part 7411. My little Chinese girl loves the Dixie Chicks and Dolly Parton. Seriously.<br /><br />2. She also loves Obama. "We want Mr. Obama to win, don't we, Mama?"<br /><br />3. I have to acknowledge that even though I'd vote for Obama anyway, based on his policies and the opposition, it doesn't hurt that I would totally like to date him--if, of course, he were single and local.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-45132186092445278862008-10-02T10:13:00.000-07:002008-10-02T10:23:58.327-07:00Dorcasina: the upgrade1. I am filled with embarrassing love for my ostentatious, heavy, pretentious, safe, solid, maneuverable, safe, easy-to-handle, slippery-road-proof and not-too-gas-guzzling German automobile, even though it makes me looks like the kind of woman who gives me hives. Y'know? Selling out is easy <i>and</i> fun.<br /><br />2. My husband's beloved laptop (an early iBook--he was an early adopter, although of limited means) finally died--no screen, no booting up, no nothin'. Although they assured me at the Mac Store when I purchased its replacement that they could transfer the data, my own ineptitude and failure to upgrade the operating system often enough meant they were unable to do so. This rendered me temporarily and somewhat inconsolable. His emails, his file for me labeled, in his usual unsentimental and concise style, "Hereafter Notes," the animated tasmanian devil that he and my daughter once watched multiple times a day. [I can probably find someone to extract the hard drive and retrieve the data, but at much more expense and inconvenience. I suspect it's his way of urging me to be less maudlin, but I resist.]<br /><br />3. <i>That very evening</i>, after asking the Mac Store guy about my 3 year-long struggle to retrieve or replace the Admin id/password for my "big computer" (the lack of which had prevented me from updating software, installing new programs, etc. for almost 3 years now), I <b>figured it out</b>. It was utterly logical and so typically my husband--he used a default name for the i.d., and my own usual password. It really felt like a gift from the universe, especially when updating the system did NOT erase every file I had (all my photos, for example) from the computer. Thanks, love!<br /><br />4. I've taken to wearing my engagement and wedding rings (mine and his) again. Not every day. But I missed the sparkly cognac diamond ring we chose together--on eBay--and while wearing the wedding rings makes me sad sometimes, wearing the engagement ring is, at least right now, making me happy.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-10955149113590513532008-09-17T11:18:00.000-07:002008-09-17T11:27:02.506-07:00Today's lesson1. Capitalism is <b>inherently</b> competitive and produces vast inequities. Capital flows upward.<br /><br />2. Democracies--at least the functional kind, in theory--are predicated on the fundamental equality of their citizens, each of whom has a potentially equitable say in the collective good.<br /><br />3. The basic job of a government--its <i>raison d'etre</i>, the fundamental premise under which we give our "consent"--is to provide greater stability than individuals can achieve independently.<br /><br />4. Our government is currently using our collective wealth to bail out private corporations, NOT so as to protect the small shareholders or prevent further foreclosures, but to maintain the obscene wealth accruing to the richest people in the nation. Why is it okay--even desireable--to "rescue" irresponsible corporations, AND simultaneously "infantilizing" to "rescue" the most vulnerable victims of corporate greed? If only we could borrow a page from Japan, where disgraced and overpaid CEOs routinely commit suicide when their corporate misdeeds are exposed? I'm only sort of kidding.<br /><br /><br />Your assigned reading? Naomi Klein's <a href="http://www.naomiklein.org/shock-doctrine"> new book</a>. Just don't buy it from a giant mega-chain bookstore.<br /><br />As you were, everyone.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-3294757164604099512008-09-12T14:52:00.000-07:002008-09-17T11:18:35.148-07:00Somebody call Amnesty InternationalWe clearly need international intervention to have <a href="http://www.excons.org/2008/09/16/michigan-republican-party-plans-to-try-to-prevent-voters-with-foreclosed-homes-from-voting-obama-campaign-dnc-file-suit/">any hope</a> of a "clean" election.<br /><br />What's next, a revival of the <a href="http://www.u-s-history.com/pages/h425.html">poll tax</a>?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-25078741734947400882008-09-12T13:08:00.001-07:002008-09-12T14:13:46.099-07:00AAAAAAAaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhI just spent the last hour trying to argue with my students' implacable insistence that "there is no point in talking about a movie and what it means, because it's <i>fiction."</i> They said this bemusedly, as though explaining something brutally obvious to a dimwitted 3 year old, for the umpteenth time. Thus dies a career.<br /><br />I can't decide whether to laugh, quit, or get drunk.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-42889024523063671952008-09-12T11:08:00.000-07:002008-09-12T11:37:14.856-07:00I'm NOT gonna talk about Sarah Palinexcept for this:<br />The cynicism of a party that would put a woman on the ticket because presumably anyone with a vagina will vote for her, rather than for a candidate whose policies actually address the real concerns of women (healthcare, endless war, education, poverty, reproductive freedom) is simply staggering to me. And I thought I was pretty much bottomed out on some of the slimy tactics of *some* representatives of the party (illegal wiretapping, political litmus tests, illegal and immoral incarceration, pre-emptive war, etc., etc., etc.). I propose that the bumper stickers say "McCain/Vagina 2008"--since that's the premise under which she was added to the ticket.<br /><br />And this: How is it possible for <i>any commentator</i> to, with a straight face, criticize Obama as excessively "rhetorical" in his platform (i.e., not enough substance) <i>AND</i> to accept Palin's "rhetorical" claims that she is prepared for the (Vice)Presidency simply because she <i>says she is</i>. WTF?????<br /><br />Okay, and this: <b>IF</b> McCain is elected, it will be proof dispositive that Americans prefer rhetorical nostalgia over the survival of the species. We cannot and dare not spend another cycle of politics led by someone who believes his own mad fantasy of the America that--if it ever even existed--is long, long gone. When will we reach the limits of our nostalgic fantasies that we can continue to burn oil, kill people in order to burn oil, destroy the very earth that provides our existence, and see ourselves as an invincible force of good despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary? Snap the fuck OUT OF IT, people.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-23324506140885620042008-09-12T09:46:00.000-07:002008-09-16T18:43:58.899-07:00Mood enhancersMy more-than-a-little-mortifying list of ultra-pop songs that instantly brighten my mood (and almost always get me singing along) when they pop up in car radio rotation:<br /><br />"Wake Me Up Before you Go-go" (Wham)<br /><br />"Irreplaceable" or "Crazy in Love" (Beyonce)<br /><br />"Morning Train" (Sheena Easton)<br /><br />"Bizarre Love Triangle (New Order)<br /><br />to be continued...<br /><br />"Crazy" (Gnarls Barkley)<br /><br />"Hey Ya" and "The Way You Move" (OutKast)<br /><br />"No Scrubs" (TLC)<br /><br />"It Ain't Over 'til it's Over" (Lenny Kravitz)<br /><br /><i>Feel free to add yours! </i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-21166659501585383952008-09-09T15:21:00.000-07:002008-09-09T15:23:05.486-07:00NewsflashBeing on sabbatical has caused me to forget just how badly many of my students write, and how carelessly they use words.<br /><br />We now return to your usual programming.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-15920677171994147142008-09-09T12:52:00.001-07:002008-09-09T13:16:13.275-07:00Confessions of a carpool momMy daughter is still loving kindergarten. She has announced that she likes computers and playing on the playground best, and in addition to our carpool friend, she has two other little girls who rush up to her when we arrive. This morning, she entertained me with a recitation of the potential "boogers" and their origins: "Eye boogers; nose boogers; ear boogers..." This is the kind of thing that would have completely charmed her Papa, who would have entered eagerly into the game.<br /><br />I, on the other hand, am finding myself stupidly resistant to her new school. This weekend, in addition to trips to her school, I found myself in two other bastions of white privilege: an impossibly expensive private school (where I attended a memorial service) and an "adult community" situated on/around a golf course. Since I live on the west coast, I should point out that none of the three settings was entirely "white"--there was a sprinkling of beige, some black hair, several Asians, and a small number of people perhaps best classified as "Hispanic"--that is, perhaps vaguely Latin in origin (given that culturally "Hispanics" include blonds with blue eyes).<br /><br />And, of course, this has led to a further crisis of my benighted soul, and a backlash against the very group(s) of people I have intentionally chosen to educate my child alongside. To be fair, her school so far seems more noteworthy for its folksy hippie roots than for the wealth of its population, but we live in an area where the wealthiest among us seem to exist largely in (expensive, designer, or organic cotton) yoga gear and to drive Subarus. So it can be hard to judge economic status. And within a pretty wide range of income levels, one disheveled kindergartner looks much like (in terms of "status") another.<br /><br />But I was struck, particularly at the private school where the memorial was held, by the nearly claustrophobic inevitability that obtains at this level of privilege. The students in attendance (mostly 8th grade and up) were articulate, confident, and emanated waves of self-satisfaction. It was very obvious that they were well on the way to the kind of social prominence, political power, and economic influence that their parents radiated. They were in possession of every advantage--exceptional dentistry, outstanding diet, a lifetime of lessons, activities, challenges, and opportunities, stylish and/or flattering clothes, good haircuts, etc., etc., etc. I don't mean to pick on these kids. Who among us wouldn't want to provide such advantages for ours? What disturbed me was the blatant injustice of such inherited status, and of the self-confidence it breeds. <br /><br />I realize I can't possibly know which of these kids were on scholarship, or dealing with a serious illness or loss, or troubled by some secret despair. Others may well go on to rid the world of some scourge, to join the Peace Corps, to promote international adoption. But like their older versions at the adult community, these students clearly accepted their social position and its largesse with a comfort I confess to never having felt, even though my own life has been remarkably easy, by most people's standards. That sense of belonging, entitlement, and the expectation of it, seems particularly marked in the places I visited--including my daughter's school.<br /><br />Part of me wants that for her--that confidence, that ease in the world. A lot of me wants <i>all children</i> to have those benefits. The problem is not that success is largely inevitable, or that kids have every opportunity. The problem is that the overwhelming majority of the people who experience those opportunities and successes look so much alike, and that inevitability is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I want those opportunities for my daughter, but I want her to grow up without that sense of blind entitlement, without believing that everyone in the world is as lucky as she is, or that such luck somehow makes her morally superior. That's a hard line to walk. <br /><br />Do I even need to mention that in one of these bastions of privilege I encountered a public elementary school? And that it was named for a civil rights hero? The irony is all the more painful because it seems to go unnoticed by the residents.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-28558673970597829462008-09-05T16:50:00.000-07:002008-09-05T16:59:41.269-07:00Week 1 reportMy daughter <b>loves</b> kindergarten. She has gone off happily every morning, said goodbye without tears, and come home in a good mood (if more than a little tired) every day. She loves her teachers (a funny pair, and wonderful), the playground (spiffy new climbing structure), her Spanish lessons (common words), her PE class (fitness and spatial sense), her art class (color theory [!]), music (quarternotes and beating out a tempo), computers (including keyboarding [!!]), and pretty much everything else. <br /><br />After a rough few days where I despaired of the commute and my foreshortened work day, I am loving it again, too. The commute is a pain: not far (22 minutes, about 13 miles), but with very erratic traffic. It's seldom really <i>bad</i>, but can be very stop and start. And it's in a sort of rural/suburban area (we have a lot of them here, and they give me hives), so we get stuck behind retired folks with all the time in the world, frazzled moms ferrying kids all over the place (it's inconceivable that anyone really <i>walks</i> much around here--there are almost no sidewalks), horse trailers, heavy equipment, and...well...slowpokes.<br /><br />We start our carpool on Monday, which is what's keeping me sane. I started teaching this week, too, and between the freshman comp refusenik (won't share writing, won't revise, doesn't like to plan or organize essays, which pretty much negates our entire pedagogy) and a few lame students of the "there was a teensy bit of inconvenience involved in acquiring the reading so I just didn't bother" variety, things look pretty good.<br /><br /><br />I left a key date off one syllabus and got the course ID number wrong on another. Sabbatical is somewhat debilitating.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-2263367547458241532008-08-29T16:41:00.000-07:002008-08-29T16:51:31.582-07:00Kindergarten AssignmentMy baby heads off to her new fancy private school in the woods on Tuesday. I've attended the back-to-school info session, am halfway through purchasing the essentials (backpack, water bottle, etc.), and don't know which of us is more excited! My excitement, of course, is tinged with melancholy: it's almost certain that I will never again have my own snuggly, warm, chubby two-year-old, or three-year-old, and that our family of two is pretty much what I have. And I'm accepting it, finally.<br /><br />One of my assignments is to identify 5 words that I think characterize or explain my daughter and will help her teachers get to know her. I'm enjoying this exercise, largely because it gives me opportunities to reflect on what an awesome little girl I have the good luck to raise, and because I can ask my friends to suggest equally laudatory terms.<br /><br />So far, I am considering the following:<br /><br />1. Agreeable; cooperative; adaptable--something that conveys her essential willingness, even eagerness, to participate in whatever activity is going on, and her cheerful good nature in the face of most obstacles.<br /><br />2. Enthusiastic; inquisitive; curious: these words attempt to get at her lust for knowledge--how refrigerators, taste buds, and the internal combustion engine work; why the sun comes up in the east, not the west; why children don't drive cars; etc.<br /><br />3. Generous: she almost always offers to share what she has, even if it's a special treat (like a piece of candy). She goes out of her way to get her teachers to wrap up whatever food she makes at school so she can bring me some.<br /><br />4. Focused; determined; autonomous: She identifies things she'd like to do, and does them. If she's interested, she persists, and she generally does a lot of tasks without much help. <br /><br />5. Cheerful. She's a happy, sunny, generally even-tempered little girl, who seems much more optimistic about life in general than her father or I ever was, even at age 5.<br /><br />Now I just have to pick <i>five</i> of them....Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-75067051498957799882008-08-23T09:11:00.000-07:002008-08-23T09:13:43.849-07:00Queens never negotiate(Or so says the license-plate holder I saw yesterday. I suspect that Elizabeths I and II, among others, would disagree, but I like the sentiment. I have a notepad that says, "It's good to be queen.")<br /><br />Joe Biden, huh? I'm going to need to process that one for a little while.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-42338796711019397942008-08-19T10:07:00.000-07:002008-08-19T10:20:56.466-07:00Die-lemmaI just had a phone call that despite being number 130 on the waiting list, my daughter has been offered a place in our local Suzuki piano program. On one hand, I'm thrilled--while I grew up being a snob about the "mechanical" quality of Suzuki (and while I'm still a wee bit skeptical of what seem to me to be its exaggerated demands), I've been really impressed by how it allows very young students to play real music, and to develop excellent touch and dynamics very early on (my friend's 6 year old has a much more nuanced style than I ever had). And my daughter has been asking for lessons for almost a year now. And I am in the midst of pretty major repairs on our 100 year old upright piano, that should make it playable and then some. On the other hand, I'm feeling more than frantic about returning to teaching, finishing the impossible article, figuring out what the commute and parent responsibilities are at my daughter's new school, and financing private school, Saturday Chinese and Chinese dance lessons (which will involve 5 different performances throughout the year), and her ongoing ballet classes. I'm already too busy and too broke, and the thought of <b>two</b> piano lessons each week (one group and one private) plus daily practicing that I have to enforce is more than a little daunting. <br /><br />Plus, I realize that she is only 5, and that it's not as though her musical ability--if she has any--will evaporate if I choose to wait until she's 7 or even--gasp!--eight before signing her up. By then, I'll have tenure, and my fantasy about post-tenure life is that even though I'll be just as insanely busy, I won't be so perpetually anxious. (Those of you who know my IRL know that's a forlorn hope).<br /><br />I just read <a href="http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2008/08/19/sandra_tsing_loh/">this article</a> about what sounds like a terrific book. As I've said before, if I still had my husband, I like to think my daughter would be in our local public school, and we would be among those committing to our community and working to improve our neighborhood schools (or, at least, those of the next-closest neighborhood!) And I am trying (not very successfully) to keep my own ego out of my choices for her, knowing at the same time that I want her to appreciate many of the things I appreciate (music, art, reading) as well as the things to which she is already drawn (insects! volcanoes! astronomy! gardening!) It's hard when there is only one of her, and one of me. I want to give her the activities I wanted to have had, and don't have my husband's voice of sanity and restraint. I suspect he'd tell me to wait on the piano lessons. Maybe I should listen to him.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-16437482099740040712008-08-14T14:27:00.001-07:002008-08-14T14:29:46.361-07:00Joke's on me...I have now discovered that the anonymous anthology on which I am constructing half of my article's argument was, most likely, authored not by author A, but, in fact, by author B. In some ways, this will make the comparison to author C easier....but Puh-lease. (To be fair, I have been continuing to check on the provenance of the text, since such a blunder would be more than humiliating--it would probably be immediately and catastrophically fatal, if one can actually DIE from being laughed at.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-15175907586672693062008-08-14T13:17:00.000-07:002008-08-14T13:45:29.490-07:00Not muchToday I scrambled around madly to get to the grocery store, and then to go buy a new booster seat for the carpooling (rather than making my daughter lug hers in and out of school, I found one of the 1/2 boosters so we can leave it in their car. I'm hoping they will do the same, so that we don't have to move seats around every day). I even managed to take my own bags with me to mega-grocery store, which usually puts my groceries in about a zillion chintzy plastic bags that rip so easily they are not even fit for scooping poop. But today I wheeled on up and announced, blithely, "Oh, I have some bags with me." This did not bring joy to the checker's heart. He was already tossing stuff pell-mell into the chintzy pre-placed plastic bag, and even though I told him to "leave that--I have more than will fit in what I brought," he gave me a surly look and proceeded to slowly and v-e-r-y d-e-l-i-b-e-r-a-t-e-l-y remove every item and repack it in my motley collection of bags, and then to call for back-up because, presumably, it was so very taxing to use 4 large canvas bags rather than the 19 flimsy plastic ones. Other west coast cities have legislated bans or fines on plastic bags, but here in mid-sized, blue-collar regional city, such measures are considered foolish liberal coddling, at best, and a serious infringement of one's civil rights, at worst. (Remember, article 3 or whatever it is--right after the free standing militia, we have the right to waste plastic products. Is this a great country, or what?) <br /><br />In a lot of ways, I like this town better than my former urban, liberal paradise. In general, daily encounters are friendlier--the service-industry folks around here have been at their jobs a long time, and are firmly entrenched in the community. I see the grocery checkers and mail carriers with their kids at the Y, run into campus colleagues at nearly every restaurant or farmer's market, and get a smile or hello from almost everyone we pass on the street. At least ten houses in my neighborhood are inhabited by local police, firefighters, sheriff's deputies, etc. But there's a certain entrenched defensiveness around here about that nefarious "liberal agenda"--you know, crazy stuff like not driving souped up trucks that sit on huge tires 8 feet above the ground; or neutering pets and keeping dogs indoors, rather than chaining them outside to bark all hours of the day and night; to recycling the numerous items that can be recycled (like a lot of cities, our recycling bins our free, and we pay for garbage pick-up. My next-door neighbors seem not to have gotten the memo: last week they put out plastic garbage bags *filled* with empty cans and bottles from their recent bbq. It was all I could do not to a) move it all to their recycling; b) leave them a nasty note; c) call the eco-police on their lazy, ignorant asses [hyperbole alert! I realize they may come from a more primitive planet where the resources are never renewable...]. <br /><br />I wonder if grocery clerks are like HMO doctors in that they have a certain time limit per order, and a minimum number of orders per day? If so, my heavily laden cart and persnickety bag requests probably <i>do</i> seem like the workings of an unjust universe.<br /><br />Last word on the subject: <a href="http://www.greenworldbags.com/">these</a> are the most beautiful grocery bags in the world, and they are eco-friendly, tall enough for all your stuff not to fall out, and produced by the aunt of a friend of mine. Go forth and purchase, y'all! These bags actually look <i>good</i> floating around in your car, instead of those grungy co-op-style canvas, the puny local-NPR-affiliate swag, or the lurid brand-advertising ones. <br /><br /><center>* * *</center><br /><br />My daughter and I are reading <i>James and the Giant Peach</i>, which is the "everyone reads" choice for her new school. Frankly, I think she's too young to appreciate its subtle word play, ghoulish humor, and fantasticalness, but she's enjoying it--and so am I. She is fascinated by the fact that centipedes don't necessarily have 100 feet, and by the fact that "centi" means 100 and "ped" means foot. This morning, I blew her mind by telling her there were also things called <a href="http://www.ext.vt.edu/departments/entomology/factsheets/milliped.html">millipedes</a>. I'm really going to miss being the star of her universe and the funniest, smartest person she knows. But it was good while I lasted!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-81086433816552557062008-08-12T11:02:00.000-07:002008-08-12T11:13:42.706-07:00Hatin' on the HypeMy Sinophilia is reaching embarrassing proportions. Would it be too much to describe myself as "Chinese-American" (that's a joke--I'm about as white as it's possible for even an Irish-extracted lass to be). How cheesy is it that I teared up while watching the Chinese men receive their gold medals for gymnastics, and while watching footage of the young man who found and returned a ring lost by one of the U.S. beach volleyball players? I think it's good for my daughter if I am excited about and interested in things that are Chinese, but I do realize that it can easily become one more arena of maternal embarrassment (hers, not mine), and that it smacks of all kinds of racism, fetishism, exoticism, etc. <br /><br />On the other hand, I think my response is appropriate giving the freaking <i>hype</i> on American TV, where it's "All (and only) US, All the Time." Seriously: I had to watch the oddly charming Canadian affiliate to get to see most of the men's gymnastics team final, and there was nary a word in the local paper, since all the coverage was of Michael Phelps. I am not trying to diss American athletes--they are a talented group of folks, who have worked hard. But it's been a shock to see the Canadians cover the games without all that jingoism and "America first" crap. It was fascinating to hear their completely invisible announcers describe the strengths and weaknesses of each gymnast, without pretending that the American team was genuinely a contender for the top medals. They were generous about each athlete's strength, measured yet fair about his weaknesses, and said things like "this young man is holding up beautifully under the pressure." Not only that, but they showed <b>almost all</b> of the rotations, <i>not</i> just the top three scorers or the "western" teams, as is so often the case with U.S. coverage. <br /><br />In general, I've been pleased by the generosity of most of the U.S. announcers toward our hosts. The world seems to realize how much these games matter to China--the spectacle, as well as the competition--and to respect the effort that has gone into them. But please, folks, a little more breadth in the coverage would be great. And did I mention that the Canadian coverage has far, far fewer commercial interruptions? I don't want to become one of those "bash the U.S. and love on Canada" liberals, and I can already anticipate the jokes about how the Canadians don't have enough viable participants to warrant the kind of hypernational coverage the U.S. demands, but a little perspective would be nice. I'm just sayin'.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-87769170187826797372008-08-11T10:12:00.000-07:002008-08-11T10:28:25.975-07:00Gray, gray dayWarning: this is not going to be a post of sweetness, light, or cute things my daughter did (although there are some). It's a gray day, which matches my mood.<br /><br />1. I had to (as in, felt compelled to, not as in, was forced to) stop this morning to move a dead cat out of the middle of the busy street my daughter's Chinese program is on. We passed it on our way to school, and I sort of hoped it would either have been moved out of traffic, found by its owner, or even smushed into cat paste that I would no longer feel capable of moving. No such luck. So I stopped the car, scooped up the poor cat, trying NOT to look at its injuries. (Just like I'm trying not to recount those injuries to you, now, especially the grotesque aspect that is stuck in my head right now. Why is it that we feel such a strong urge to share something particularly horrific, as though by making other people see what we have seen, our own burden of it is lightened?). Two guys in some kind of commercial truck stopped and held up traffic while I moved it, and gave me a thumbs-up, which I <i>hope</i> was for moving the cat--not because they thought I had killed it. A collar but no tag. Not a great start to the day.<br /><br />2. I am delighted that this <a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/odd_big_cat_found">chubby kitty</a> has found a home. But WTF, people? Note the final quote from the shelter director: "Thousands of people from as far away as London and California called to inquire about adopting the cat, Harr said. Unfortunately, she said no one who contacted the shelter was interested in adopting any of the more than 200 other cats and kittens in the shelter's care." This depresses the hell out of me. Not <i>one</i> person wanted a pet, instead of a curiosity piece?<br /><br />3. Working at home today, while the piano repairs get underway. I am slightly cheered by the fact that a) when all is said, done, tuned, and paid for, I will have a piano worth playing; b) it looks like existing casters can be made to work, saving me a couple hundred dollars off a bill that skyrocketed when the tuner found some cracks in the sound board and some keys that are missing something essential to making them play.<br /><br />But all in all, not a happy morning in Dorcasina-land. And now, back to my dreaded article.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-14042509211724912412008-08-08T11:11:00.000-07:002008-08-11T10:28:55.885-07:00Must...get...to...work...The battle is no easier today. The amount of inertia one lousy project can generate is amazing, y'know? How can I have so little gumption, discipline, energy, motivation, enthusiasm, etc., etc., etc.?<br /><br />To scare myself straight, here's my to-do list for the duration of the month, with appended progress reports:<br /><br />1. Overdue book review (due one week ago; book is 400 dense pages, unread).<i>Revised to add: I guess it's two weeks late. I just got the reminder. My bad.</i><br />2. Long, long, long overdue article draft. Multiple missed deadlines. The first theoretical sections are a mess, and much of the "examples" section remains un-drafted. <br />3. Article 2 interruptus; I got stuck earlier in my sabbatical, which is why I put it aside in favor of what now serves as Article 1, above. I know it's something of a mess, but I don't remember exactly how bad it was.<br />4. Plan and prep day-long orientation session, using new materials. I have now missed the deadline for having those materials printed for me, so I also have to copy them. <br />5. Prepare syllabus, coursepack, and daily class plans for freshman course. Plan and schedule exciting extra-curricular activities "to enrich their learning environment." (Parents, the "enriched learning environment," and my attendance at it, is why you might choose to pay 40K for your beloved offspring to attend my school, not one of the excellent public universities for 8-10K. That's <i>per year</i>, btw.)<br />6. Prepare syllabus, coursepack, and daily class plans for intro-for-majors course. Of course, since I ordered my books late, I can't do this ahead of time, because I won't have pagination for the daily reading assignments until my desk copies arrive. The curse of the procrastinatory and under-prepared.<br />7. Prepare syllabus, coursepack, and daily class plans for senior seminar. See item 6, above. Note that items 6 & & do <b>not</b> involve extracurricular enrichment, per se. Thank the gods for small favors.<br />8. Complete fictionalized account of my sabbatical activities--the scholarly kind--to justify the time off and large amounts of travel money my university has invested in me.<br />9. Call someone about the rotting outer doors on my house, before they give way.Beg, borrow, or steal money to pay for major piano repair. Beg, borrow, or steal money to pay for it.<br />11. Arrange carpool for daughter's new, expensive school.<br />12. Host and entertain lovely friend from graduate school.<br />13. Host and entertain--and exploit--mother during her visit.<br />14. Attend numerous back-to-school functions, most of which take many hours that could be used for items 1-8, and only 2 of which promise to include alcohol.<br />15. Lose 20 pounds and arrange to look stylish and professional every day.<br />16. Write tenure, promotion, or evaluation letters for 4 colleagues.<br />17. Keep child, dog, cats, and bunny fed, exercised, and healthy.<br />18. Try to return enough phone calls and invitations that my friends and family don't utterly disown me.<br />19. Do <i>something, for the love of god</i> about my overgrown yard and bushes.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10566741.post-25791101792675186872008-08-07T12:09:00.000-07:002008-08-07T12:29:33.695-07:00BeijingHow do you spell "ambivalence" in Chinese? As this <a href="http://www.salon.com/wires/ap/us/2008/08/07/D92DKAF83_parenting_olympic_pride/index.html">article</a> suggests, those of us with children from China have a particular stake in the impending Olympics--and for once, it's not the gymnastics! My daughter is spending the summer in a Chinese program. She's learning songs, counting, writing, basic communication, painting, dance, and a bit of martial arts. She's hanging out with a lot of little girls who look like her, who have families like hers (i.e., white parents, or a single mom), and getting to know some absolutely lovely and loving women who were raised in China. This kind of exposure is something I have always wanted to give her, and I feel lucky to have a great program that is amazingly close to our house! And they serve lunch! (Other mothers will know exactly what I mean when I speak of the tyranny of the home-packed lunchbox).<br /><br />Logically enough, the program is using the Olympic games to help the kids learn a bit about Chinese culture, both traditional and contemporary. This involves lots of logos, coloring, and 5 odd little <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fuwa">mascot creatures</a> that are sort of the Chinese Olympic equivalent of "Hello, kitty."(China is waaaaaay into capitalism, y'know). All this is fine. My daughter comes home and says, "Ni hao, Mama" (hello) and "xie-xie" (thank you), and announces at various times, apropos of nothing, that it is great to be "Chinese AND American." <br /><br />At the same time, my in-box is filling up with anti-China propaganda--the U.S. should boycott the games; Bush is chastising China for its human rights violations; progressives want me to sign another petition for Tibet; etc. I am well aware that China is not above reproach. It's environmental and social policies are screwed up--my daughter is living proof of some of that. But I am surprisingly hesitant to criticize my, shall we say, "adoptive" country. Whereas the U.S. has had every opportunity--and the freedom, money, resources--to become a leader in these areas, China has not. And in those circumstances, given the desperate poverty many, many Chinese people still live in, I think we need to approach China's troubling aspects with delicacy, not brute force. Plus, as a country that relishes the death penalty, tolerates indescribable carnage from its guns, and bullies (or worse) sovereign nations in pursuit of our unsustainable (and I don't mean not-eco-friendly; I mean "will destroy the planet" unsustainable) and obscene lifestyle of consumption, I kind think we should be cleaning up our own house before throwing stones at the neighbors. <br /><br />Selfishly, too, I worry that the fragile relationship between the U.S. and China will continue to decrease international adoptions there, and will resign even more thousands and thousands of children to bleak lives in orphanages--or worse. Those orphans are likely to be undereducated and, perhaps worse, undersocialized, so that when they age out of the system, they are incapable of meaningful relationships, productive work, or, I fear, happiness. So even when I wish the Chinese wouldn't hurt their own people just to "save face," I still wish our politicians--especially our idiot lame-duck president--would shut up. I don't want the Olympics to be an excuse to bash China, or to confirm our own anxieties about how the U.S. is still "the greatest" by denigrating their efforts at improving. I don't want my daughter's newfound pride in her heritage to be met with hostility, jingoism, and scorn. <br /><br />Yes, China's human rights abuses need to be addressed (umm...can you say, "Gitmo"?) But let's not embarrass them right now, or try to bully them, just because we can. For my daughter's sake.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07829089563990675253noreply@blogger.com2