All in all, having to pack up and move is not unpleasant. I get a chance to do a little reminiscing, find things I thought I'd lost forever, get rid of things I thought I could never bear to let go. But, the binder clips....where do they come from? I have piles and piles. Every recycled stack needs first to be liberated. I have tiny ones, hardly more than paper clips. I have huge ones I can barely open. The most popular size seems to be 3/4 inch and 1 3/4 inch. (I could measure them because I found my ruler deep in a desk drawer! I have a tape measure, too.) They are on student papers, on articles I've printed out, on committee reports, on memos and assignments. They are everywhere! And now, absent their papers, they are piled on my desk and table, swimming in the bottom of my desk drawers, lounging in the deep recesses of my file cabinet. I fear they are waiting to organize; to form their own binder clip union with usage restrictions, minimum wages, and mandatory rest periods and vacations. I'm almost afraid to leave them for the semester break...
Friday, December 21, 2012
An eternity of binder clips...
I'm changing offices, temporarily, until March when I will move again. I've changed offices 3 times in 5 years and each time I purge a little more...a few more old files are discarded, old reprinted articles tossed, books given away, pictures pitched. I can throw out overhead transparency pens, right? They aren't coming back.
All in all, having to pack up and move is not unpleasant. I get a chance to do a little reminiscing, find things I thought I'd lost forever, get rid of things I thought I could never bear to let go. But, the binder clips....where do they come from? I have piles and piles. Every recycled stack needs first to be liberated. I have tiny ones, hardly more than paper clips. I have huge ones I can barely open. The most popular size seems to be 3/4 inch and 1 3/4 inch. (I could measure them because I found my ruler deep in a desk drawer! I have a tape measure, too.) They are on student papers, on articles I've printed out, on committee reports, on memos and assignments. They are everywhere! And now, absent their papers, they are piled on my desk and table, swimming in the bottom of my desk drawers, lounging in the deep recesses of my file cabinet. I fear they are waiting to organize; to form their own binder clip union with usage restrictions, minimum wages, and mandatory rest periods and vacations. I'm almost afraid to leave them for the semester break...
All in all, having to pack up and move is not unpleasant. I get a chance to do a little reminiscing, find things I thought I'd lost forever, get rid of things I thought I could never bear to let go. But, the binder clips....where do they come from? I have piles and piles. Every recycled stack needs first to be liberated. I have tiny ones, hardly more than paper clips. I have huge ones I can barely open. The most popular size seems to be 3/4 inch and 1 3/4 inch. (I could measure them because I found my ruler deep in a desk drawer! I have a tape measure, too.) They are on student papers, on articles I've printed out, on committee reports, on memos and assignments. They are everywhere! And now, absent their papers, they are piled on my desk and table, swimming in the bottom of my desk drawers, lounging in the deep recesses of my file cabinet. I fear they are waiting to organize; to form their own binder clip union with usage restrictions, minimum wages, and mandatory rest periods and vacations. I'm almost afraid to leave them for the semester break...
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Small monuments
I'm a fan of This American Life. I've probably written before about how I adore Ira Glass who hosts the show. It is one of my favorite walking time podcasts, my only regret is that there is only one show a week...what will I listen to on the other 6 days?
I had gotten a little behind and over the weekend listened to episode #479, "Little War on the Prairie" which aired November 23rd. This hour long story details the Sioux uprising of 1862 in Minnesota, an event that ended in the hanging of 38 Dakota men in Mankato, Minnesota. It is a horrifying piece of history, told with the help of current Dakota living in Minnesota. The lead up to the execution is long and twisted, with wrongs carried out and bad decisions made on all sides. However, there is no doubt that the American government and settlers treated the Native Dakotans abysmally. Determined not to let this image ruin their public perception, the event was, until recently, pretty much ignored in American and Minnesotan history.
Early in the broadcast, the reporter accompanies a Dakota woman to a site of a small memorial marking the spot where 5 settlers were murdered by 4 Dakota men, the event attributed with starting what is sometimes called the "U.S.-Dakota war." He reads the inscription on the monument and then comments that his companion is shaking her head. She responds, sadly, "It leaves so much out." Then you can almost hear her shrug her shoulders as she says softly, "It's a small monument, you can't get everything on there."
Wow.
How can we ever make a monument big enough to explain the complexities of war? How can we ever record any meaningful event in our life with enough words to convey the emotions and feelings associated with it? Instead, we go through life creating small monuments, short paragraphs that try to capture some essence of what has happened to us...but fall so short.
http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/479/little-war-on-the-prairie
The Inscription Reads
On a bright Sunday afternoon. August 17, 1862, four young Sioux hunters, on a spur-of-the-moment dare. They decided to prove their bravery by shooting Robinson Jones, the postmaster and storekeeper at Acton in western Meeker County. Stopping at his cabin they requested liquor and were refused. Then Jones, followed by the seemingly friendly indians, went to the neighboring Howard Baker cabin, which stood on this site.
Here the whites and the Indian engaged in a target-shooting contest. Suddenly, the Indians turned on the settlers and without warning shot Baken Viranus Webster, another settler and Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Mrs. Baker, Mrs, Webster, and several children escapes by hiding. Then the Indians rode off shooting Jone's adopted daughter, Clara D. Wilson as they passed the Jones cabin.
The indians fled south to their village forty miles away on the Minnesota River. There they reported what they had done, and the Sioux chiefs decided to wage an all-out war against the white triggered the bloody Sioux Uprising of 1862.
The bodies of the settlers were buried in a single grave in the New Lutheran Cemetery. Near present-day Litchfield. In 1878 the state of Minnesota erected a granite monument there. This site, where the Makers cabin stood. Was similarly marked in 1909.
I had gotten a little behind and over the weekend listened to episode #479, "Little War on the Prairie" which aired November 23rd. This hour long story details the Sioux uprising of 1862 in Minnesota, an event that ended in the hanging of 38 Dakota men in Mankato, Minnesota. It is a horrifying piece of history, told with the help of current Dakota living in Minnesota. The lead up to the execution is long and twisted, with wrongs carried out and bad decisions made on all sides. However, there is no doubt that the American government and settlers treated the Native Dakotans abysmally. Determined not to let this image ruin their public perception, the event was, until recently, pretty much ignored in American and Minnesotan history.
Early in the broadcast, the reporter accompanies a Dakota woman to a site of a small memorial marking the spot where 5 settlers were murdered by 4 Dakota men, the event attributed with starting what is sometimes called the "U.S.-Dakota war." He reads the inscription on the monument and then comments that his companion is shaking her head. She responds, sadly, "It leaves so much out." Then you can almost hear her shrug her shoulders as she says softly, "It's a small monument, you can't get everything on there."
Wow.
How can we ever make a monument big enough to explain the complexities of war? How can we ever record any meaningful event in our life with enough words to convey the emotions and feelings associated with it? Instead, we go through life creating small monuments, short paragraphs that try to capture some essence of what has happened to us...but fall so short.
http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/479/little-war-on-the-prairie
The Inscription Reads
On a bright Sunday afternoon. August 17, 1862, four young Sioux hunters, on a spur-of-the-moment dare. They decided to prove their bravery by shooting Robinson Jones, the postmaster and storekeeper at Acton in western Meeker County. Stopping at his cabin they requested liquor and were refused. Then Jones, followed by the seemingly friendly indians, went to the neighboring Howard Baker cabin, which stood on this site.
Here the whites and the Indian engaged in a target-shooting contest. Suddenly, the Indians turned on the settlers and without warning shot Baken Viranus Webster, another settler and Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Mrs. Baker, Mrs, Webster, and several children escapes by hiding. Then the Indians rode off shooting Jone's adopted daughter, Clara D. Wilson as they passed the Jones cabin.
The indians fled south to their village forty miles away on the Minnesota River. There they reported what they had done, and the Sioux chiefs decided to wage an all-out war against the white triggered the bloody Sioux Uprising of 1862.
The bodies of the settlers were buried in a single grave in the New Lutheran Cemetery. Near present-day Litchfield. In 1878 the state of Minnesota erected a granite monument there. This site, where the Makers cabin stood. Was similarly marked in 1909.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Flawed children
I was listening to an interview today with Andrew Solomon, author of a new book, "Far from the Tree." In the book he interviews parents who have children very unlikely them--children with disabilities, children who are criminals, children conceived in rape, children who are prodigies. He asks the question, how do we help children be who they are? As well as, how do we, as parents, accept children for who they are? I haven't read the book, although I've read a few reviews and essays from the book or about the book. Here are three things I found interesting in the interview.
1. He wanted to talk to one set of parents, who's child had committed a horrendous crime. He said that they were reluctant to tell their story, but once they started, "they were so full of their story it was overflowing." What a great description of the breaking down of that logjam and the opening up of the storytelling. To be "overflowing" with a story. How lucky they were to find someone able to hold onto their words.
2. We, parents, all love flawed children. None of our kids are perfect. It is, from the Christian perspective, the kind of love we receive from God. We are flawed, but still precious to God and loved by God.
3. He mentioned an essay I had heard before, about raising a child with Down Syndrome. It is not what we expected. The essay talks about how we get on a plane expecting to go to Italy when we conceive a child. But, sometimes, we end up in the Netherlands instead. We could spend all our time regretting not being in Italy, but then we would miss all the beauty of the Dutch country. A good lesson for many other aspects of life--this is where we are, appreciate it for what it is, rather than lamenting what it is not.
1. He wanted to talk to one set of parents, who's child had committed a horrendous crime. He said that they were reluctant to tell their story, but once they started, "they were so full of their story it was overflowing." What a great description of the breaking down of that logjam and the opening up of the storytelling. To be "overflowing" with a story. How lucky they were to find someone able to hold onto their words.
2. We, parents, all love flawed children. None of our kids are perfect. It is, from the Christian perspective, the kind of love we receive from God. We are flawed, but still precious to God and loved by God.
3. He mentioned an essay I had heard before, about raising a child with Down Syndrome. It is not what we expected. The essay talks about how we get on a plane expecting to go to Italy when we conceive a child. But, sometimes, we end up in the Netherlands instead. We could spend all our time regretting not being in Italy, but then we would miss all the beauty of the Dutch country. A good lesson for many other aspects of life--this is where we are, appreciate it for what it is, rather than lamenting what it is not.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
The art of being still
My local newspaper, The Post Standard, will start publishing only 3 days a week beginning in January. My biggest concern is what to do with my missing morning Sudoku puzzle. For several years, I've read the New York Times online. I don't miss having a print version, except for the crossword puzzle. Luckily, the office gets a daily print copy and we all make copies of the puzzle to work over our lunch breaks.
As an online subscriber to the NYTimes I get two little features called, "recommended for you" and "most viewed" that provide a handy list of articles the Times folks think I will like, based, I assume on what I have read in the past, and of articles that most people are reading. There is some overlap...
This evening, though, the article that caught my eye was titled, "The art of being still." Turns out it is an essay by a writer on being a writer. He describes the need to be writing in your head, even while you are doing other things. He states, "The problem is, too many writers today are afraid to be still." This stillness is not inactivity, but heightened awareness, an acute appreciation of the richness of the world around you. He argues that every encounter can be fodder for a writer if he or she is open to the awareness of the details. I like the perspective of being still in your mind while active in life. The sharpened sense of awareness and sensitivity should be good for all of us, writers or not.
As an online subscriber to the NYTimes I get two little features called, "recommended for you" and "most viewed" that provide a handy list of articles the Times folks think I will like, based, I assume on what I have read in the past, and of articles that most people are reading. There is some overlap...
This evening, though, the article that caught my eye was titled, "The art of being still." Turns out it is an essay by a writer on being a writer. He describes the need to be writing in your head, even while you are doing other things. He states, "The problem is, too many writers today are afraid to be still." This stillness is not inactivity, but heightened awareness, an acute appreciation of the richness of the world around you. He argues that every encounter can be fodder for a writer if he or she is open to the awareness of the details. I like the perspective of being still in your mind while active in life. The sharpened sense of awareness and sensitivity should be good for all of us, writers or not.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Rocks in the river
I grew up alongside a small river, the Little Calumet, and have always enjoyed moving water. Most of the time, looking at a stream, I focused on the water, the rushing, spilling, moving water. But, what about the rocks in the river, those big, solid, immovable rocks? Does anyone ever think about them? Sometimes the water will rush down and push against you and threaten to dislodge you from your spot. Other days the water is only a trickle, barely getting you wet. There may even be those blessed days when the stream is dry. But, through all of that, you are still a rock, holding onto your spot, letting the water rush or push or slide by. It might seem, from the outside, that being a rock is easy. You don't have to do anything--don't react, don't respond, don't reply. But, I don't think the rock would always feel that way. It might be harder than it looks.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Ordering ducks
Get one's ducks in line
Get one's ducks in a row
Get one's ducks in order
What is it with these ducks? I wrote recently about the title of the book "Carry the One." But, my favorite passage was this, "She feared for someone--so very like herself at that age--who had all her ducks in order. As if there were any reliable way of ordering ducks." In life we soon realize that getting our ducks in order might be a hopeless goal, and perhaps we are better off to let our ducks swim freely.
It also made me think about all the ways we could order ducks. We can line them up in order, we can buy them on-line by ordering them, we can classify them into ordered categories, we can tell them what to do by ordering them around.
I have grown weary of the phrase "herding cats" which seems to have slipped into popular usage and become a tired and vacuous phrase. What would happen if we let our herd of cats loose on our row of ducks? Now that might be fun.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Carry the One
I just finished reading a book, Carry the One, by Carol Anshaw. The story involves the unfolding lives of several people in the years following their varied involvement in a fatal car accident. It is a good book, with some deep themes about forgiveness, responsibility, and family relationships. But, what I want to write about is the mathematical image of "carrying the one." The title of the book comes from the passage, "There's still this connection...Like in arithmetic. Because of the accident, we're not just separate numbers. When you add us up, you always have to carry the one." Of course, this refers to the death that all of them carry forward in their lives, but visually I was thinking of how we denote "carry the one" in a mathematical equation--the one is always above the other numbers and smaller, almost an afterthought. It is there to remind us that we have more to do, more to add, more in the equation than what was first written. It is not as strong or visible as the other numbers, but it is still part of our calculation. It is a device, a notation that we insert to help us in the calculation.
Not long ago I read "The Sense of an Ending," by Julian Barnes. It is another story that incorporates mathematical images and ideas. One of which was the question, to what extent is our life multiplicative rather than additive? What does it mean to have a multiplicative life? Barnes' main character feels as though he has gone through life merely adding on things, taking on roles, doing what is expected (getting married, having children, working). In the end, he is unhappy. He feels as if he has contributed little, accomplished little. How does that differ from a multiplicative life, one in which our acts are multiplied across time and space? In both addition and multiplication, though, we end up "carrying the one."
What "ones" are we carrying in our lives? What experiences or consequences become part of our life equation?
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Feelings like good wines
I've been thinking of how we describe emotional states and feelings. It seems like our vocabulary is somewhat limited. What if we could talk about feelings the way we describe fine wines....
Instead of happy you could be "opulent"--rich, smooth and bold?
Instead of nice, someone would be "crisp"--A crisp wine is most likely simple but goes really well with a porch swing on a hot day. What a great way to describe a friend...
Of course, on bad days you could feel "flabby" or "minerally"---Imagine the smell of fresh wet concrete; now imagine that flavor in your mouth. What a great way to describe a bad day....like licking wet concrete!
We could be "bright," "big," or "flamboyant" in our feelings.
Some days our feelings may be complex...velvety with a hint of sadness but a finish of peace.
Instead of happy you could be "opulent"--rich, smooth and bold?
Instead of nice, someone would be "crisp"--A crisp wine is most likely simple but goes really well with a porch swing on a hot day. What a great way to describe a friend...
Of course, on bad days you could feel "flabby" or "minerally"---Imagine the smell of fresh wet concrete; now imagine that flavor in your mouth. What a great way to describe a bad day....like licking wet concrete!
We could be "bright," "big," or "flamboyant" in our feelings.
Some days our feelings may be complex...velvety with a hint of sadness but a finish of peace.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Binders full of women
Interesting debate...Glad I wasn't asked to moderate. Wow.
But, really, "binders full of women"? Flexible hours so women can go home and cook dinner? Where is this guy living?
Still, I wanted to collect these comments before they disappeared....
"Binders full of women cost 77 cents, while binders full of men cost $1."
"All those binders full of women explain why there was no room in the car for the dog."
But, really, "binders full of women"? Flexible hours so women can go home and cook dinner? Where is this guy living?
Still, I wanted to collect these comments before they disappeared....
"Binders full of women cost 77 cents, while binders full of men cost $1."
"All those binders full of women explain why there was no room in the car for the dog."
Monday, October 8, 2012
A Poverty of Words
Today's newspaper carried an article about language deficiencies in elementary school children in New York City. I had heard these statistics before, but am always amazed by them. The article summarizes research showing, "Children of professionals were, on average, exposed to approximately 1,500 more words hourly than children growing up in poverty. This resulted in a gap of more than 32 million words by the time the children reached the age of 4." I remember being given the advice as a new mother that the best thing I could do for my kids was to talk to them. An elementary school teacher in our rural area once told me that she had trouble explaining the term "escalator" to some of her students. I once had to explain what an "apartment building" was to my own son.
The import of this really hit me last week when I gave an exam in my college research methods course. I had several students ask me to define the words, "ambivalence," "frail," and "implications." I'm glad they asked, but it showed me the barriers that students face long after elementary school.
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/10/07/nyregion/for-poor-schoolchildren-a-poverty-of-words.html?smid=pl-share
The import of this really hit me last week when I gave an exam in my college research methods course. I had several students ask me to define the words, "ambivalence," "frail," and "implications." I'm glad they asked, but it showed me the barriers that students face long after elementary school.
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/10/07/nyregion/for-poor-schoolchildren-a-poverty-of-words.html?smid=pl-share
Friday, October 5, 2012
Negative capability
Today I was reading a story in the newspaper about a group of women dealing with cancer who meet together for support. One of the women said of the group, "We strive for the condition of consciousness that the Romantic poet John Keats called 'negative capability,' the psychological state of residing in 'benign uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.'" I had never heard of the term "negative capability" before, but was intrigued by the notion. So much of life is uncertain, mysterious, and filled with doubt, yet, we often try to bring some reason and sense to what is happening. Maybe that is the wrong approach, maybe we need to accept the uncertainty. If we stop this "irritable reaching" maybe we will be happier. This seems very Buddhist to me.
Feeling like I didn't have a good handle on all the things "Romanticism" meant, I did a little research (I looked on Wikipedia). Romanticism was, in part, a reaction to scientific rationalization and included a greater appreciation of the natural world and emotions. The people of the early 1800s were reacting to the Industrial Revolution and all the social changes associated with that dramatic shift in life. In sociology, we talk about this same period as the time in which scientific ideas were being applied to social problems, creating the field of sociology. Sociologists were moving in the opposite direction of the romantics, I suppose.
I'm thinking a little more of a Romantic perspective might be good in life.
Feeling like I didn't have a good handle on all the things "Romanticism" meant, I did a little research (I looked on Wikipedia). Romanticism was, in part, a reaction to scientific rationalization and included a greater appreciation of the natural world and emotions. The people of the early 1800s were reacting to the Industrial Revolution and all the social changes associated with that dramatic shift in life. In sociology, we talk about this same period as the time in which scientific ideas were being applied to social problems, creating the field of sociology. Sociologists were moving in the opposite direction of the romantics, I suppose.
I'm thinking a little more of a Romantic perspective might be good in life.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Falling into Fall
I'll say right at the beginning, summer is my least favorite season. I don't like hot weather, humidity, or bugs. I don't like going from air conditioning to hot air and back again. I don't like feeling sweaty and sticky. I don't like summer.
So, it will come as no surprise that I am happy to see fall weather arriving in Central New York. Today I had a chance to take a short walk in my second favorite place, Pratt's Falls Park (the first being the Indiana Dunes). The leaves are starting to turn color, they are falling, the air is crisper, the leaves are crunchier. I guess some people see autumn as a season for decay, a time of loss, a season of darker days and colder nights. But I like to think of it as a time for gathering up, for resting, for turning inward. Fall reminds me of curling up in front of a fire with a good book and a nice mug of hot tea. It is a comforting season with its own unique smells and colors. Autumn is the time to rest before the exhilaration the cold weather of winter brings.
I like wearing sweaters (and if you don't have a season for donning sweaters you don't get a season for enjoying shedding them!) Autumn is just the right temperature. You can warm up easily and you don't sweat. Fall smells good--leaves, wood smoke, apples--the rich earthy smells you miss in the winter when the snow falls. Fall looks good--the reds and golds, even the shades of brown, bring a new look to the woods and hillsides.
Fall is a time for change. For turning over new leaves. For going down new paths. For gathering and resting. For pausing a moment before falling into the challenges of winter.
I like wearing sweaters (and if you don't have a season for donning sweaters you don't get a season for enjoying shedding them!) Autumn is just the right temperature. You can warm up easily and you don't sweat. Fall smells good--leaves, wood smoke, apples--the rich earthy smells you miss in the winter when the snow falls. Fall looks good--the reds and golds, even the shades of brown, bring a new look to the woods and hillsides.
Fall is a time for change. For turning over new leaves. For going down new paths. For gathering and resting. For pausing a moment before falling into the challenges of winter.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Class differences
This semester I am teaching two courses. One has about 50 students, the other 40. Both classes are made up primarily of juniors and seniors, a few sophomores and no freshmen. One, the larger, meets at 9:30, the other at 12:30. The material and topics are nearly identical, both are research methods courses. The larger class meets in an auditorium style classroom, the smaller in a room with individual moveable desks. In both I use Powerpoint slides and primarily lecture. In the larger class we only meet once a week for 90 minutes, the smaller class meets 2x a week for 90 minutes. But, the classes feel completely different to me. The slightly smaller class is a lot more fun to teach, I feel more engaged, there are more questions. Why is that?
Is it the time of day?
The size of the class?
The student composition?
The room?
The amount of time I spend in class?
I'm not sure, but it is interesting to feel the difference and makes me think about what I might change in my teaching for the future.
Is it the time of day?
The size of the class?
The student composition?
The room?
The amount of time I spend in class?
I'm not sure, but it is interesting to feel the difference and makes me think about what I might change in my teaching for the future.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Is memory random?
Why do we have the memories that we have? What makes something "stick" in our mind? Why do we remember some seemingly random, inconsequential things and forget what seem to be monumental events?
My memories from childhood seem to be associated with years in school. I suppost those were the markers of my life then. I remember a few scenes from kindergarten, a few from first grade, one or two in second grade. But I remember vitually nothing about 3rd grade--nothing about the class, the teacher, my friends, events. Fourth grade is hazy, but from 5th grade on, things become a lot clearer. Is turning 11 significant developmentally? Does the brain change then? Do we become more aware of our surroundings?
Going back to pre-school years, I have memories that I can't believe are really mine. I think they must be stories I've been told enough times that I remember them. But, there are "images." For instance, I clearly remember my father knocking through a wall connecting the new addition of the house to the old. I remember playing in the foundation of that same addition, but I would have been very young at the time.
I'm surprised sometimes at the physical nature of my memories. I remember how I felt more than I remember what I thought. Recently I heard a young man interviewed. He had been in a car accident when he was 10 or so and was left with his legs paralyzed. He says he remembers nothing of the accident, yet sometimes will have feelings in his body of flying through the air, hitting his head, etc. His body remembers the sensations of the accident even if he doesn't recall them consciously. I sometimes feel the same way. I can "feel" something that happened or with a strong emotional memory my body will recreate the physical sensations of the time. I feel it in my bones.
My memories from childhood seem to be associated with years in school. I suppost those were the markers of my life then. I remember a few scenes from kindergarten, a few from first grade, one or two in second grade. But I remember vitually nothing about 3rd grade--nothing about the class, the teacher, my friends, events. Fourth grade is hazy, but from 5th grade on, things become a lot clearer. Is turning 11 significant developmentally? Does the brain change then? Do we become more aware of our surroundings?
Going back to pre-school years, I have memories that I can't believe are really mine. I think they must be stories I've been told enough times that I remember them. But, there are "images." For instance, I clearly remember my father knocking through a wall connecting the new addition of the house to the old. I remember playing in the foundation of that same addition, but I would have been very young at the time.
I'm surprised sometimes at the physical nature of my memories. I remember how I felt more than I remember what I thought. Recently I heard a young man interviewed. He had been in a car accident when he was 10 or so and was left with his legs paralyzed. He says he remembers nothing of the accident, yet sometimes will have feelings in his body of flying through the air, hitting his head, etc. His body remembers the sensations of the accident even if he doesn't recall them consciously. I sometimes feel the same way. I can "feel" something that happened or with a strong emotional memory my body will recreate the physical sensations of the time. I feel it in my bones.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Flipping Burgers
I read the New York Times online and often check out the feature, "most e-mailed article." Today's lead article was an opinion piece on raising successful children. The author, psychologist Madeline Levine, recently wrote a book about parenting and summarizes some of her advice in this column. She notes that allowing children to fail is an important part of their development. They need to learn from their mistakes, learn to recover, learn to persevere. I really liked this one excerpt:
“Think back to when your toddler learned to walk. She would take a weaving step or two, collapse and immediately look to you for your reaction. You were in thrall to those early attempts and would do everything possible to encourage her to get up again. You certainly didn’t chastise her for failing or utter dire predictions about flipping burgers for the rest of her life if she fell again. You were present, alert and available to guide if necessary. But you didn’t pick her up every time.
You knew she had to get it wrong many times before she could get it right.”
Being present, alert, and available. Pretty much what we want from any relationship I would say.
But, how do the kids flipping burgers feel? Can't that be a noble profession, too? Does it have to be a dire prediction?
“Think back to when your toddler learned to walk. She would take a weaving step or two, collapse and immediately look to you for your reaction. You were in thrall to those early attempts and would do everything possible to encourage her to get up again. You certainly didn’t chastise her for failing or utter dire predictions about flipping burgers for the rest of her life if she fell again. You were present, alert and available to guide if necessary. But you didn’t pick her up every time.
You knew she had to get it wrong many times before she could get it right.”
Being present, alert, and available. Pretty much what we want from any relationship I would say.
But, how do the kids flipping burgers feel? Can't that be a noble profession, too? Does it have to be a dire prediction?
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Puzzles of my life
I have a few things in my life that are puzzles. You know, the type, like where do all the missing socks go. Here are a few of mine.
What happens in the refrigerator between the time you take a bunch of things out for dinner and the time when you try to put them back in? I went to the refrigerator a week ago, arms filled with mustard, ketchup, dressing, bowl of watermelon, bag of carrots, and other assorted items that JUST MOMENTS before had all come out of same refrigerator. They would not fit back in. The spaces where they had been were gone. Things had shifted or moved or morphed or grew...how does that happen? These things were all in there, they must be able to go back. But they would not fit....
Why is the only bag of groceries to tip over in the trunk the one with the loaf of bread on top? First, at the checkout line I try to group my items in sensible ways--put the frozen foods together, the cans and boxes, the produce. My hope is that the bagger will likewise bag them in sensible ways. I have about a 50% success rate on that. However, most are at least cognizant of the need to place items like bread and eggs on the top of the bag (unfortunately, fewer recognize the fragility of raspberries). I go to my car, carefully place the bags in the trunk, strategically keeping the heavy bags away from the one with the bread. Still, when I get home and open the trunk what do I see? A gallon of milk on top of a loaf of bread.
What happens in the refrigerator between the time you take a bunch of things out for dinner and the time when you try to put them back in? I went to the refrigerator a week ago, arms filled with mustard, ketchup, dressing, bowl of watermelon, bag of carrots, and other assorted items that JUST MOMENTS before had all come out of same refrigerator. They would not fit back in. The spaces where they had been were gone. Things had shifted or moved or morphed or grew...how does that happen? These things were all in there, they must be able to go back. But they would not fit....
Why is the only bag of groceries to tip over in the trunk the one with the loaf of bread on top? First, at the checkout line I try to group my items in sensible ways--put the frozen foods together, the cans and boxes, the produce. My hope is that the bagger will likewise bag them in sensible ways. I have about a 50% success rate on that. However, most are at least cognizant of the need to place items like bread and eggs on the top of the bag (unfortunately, fewer recognize the fragility of raspberries). I go to my car, carefully place the bags in the trunk, strategically keeping the heavy bags away from the one with the bread. Still, when I get home and open the trunk what do I see? A gallon of milk on top of a loaf of bread.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Sullivan, Schwartz, and Slaughter
Three stories, all in the first section of today's New York Times, seem oddly connected.
First, the headline, “Elite Women Put New Spin on Old Debate,” which discusses Anne Marie Slaughter’s recent Atlantic article about why she stepped down from the State Department caught my eye. She talks about the choices to be made in work-family balance, the advantages of an academic life, and the role of parents in the lives of teens.
Second, I read the obituary for Anna Schwartz, an economist who worked with Milton Friedman but got only a fraction of his recognition. At a time when women were not encouraged to pursue intellectual pursuits, especially not economics, she was a force. She was not a demographer, but demography as a discipline had some very strong women leaders early on and I’ve benefited from their successes.
Third, there is the ongoing story of the ouster (and possible reinstatement) of Teresa Sullivan as president of University of Virginia. I have a lot of respect for her and disdain for the creeping corporatization of academia. I thought her statement a few days ago outlining her accomplishments and leadership style was superb.
I’ve usually considered myself a “small f” feminist, believing that the right path was to do my best at work and home and carry on; I would be judged by my actions, not my gender. I know that is not always the case, and at times I am surprised when I run up against the “boys” at work. Still, for the most part, an academic life has afforded me the balance and recognition I’ve sought. Three stories about women, leadership, family, balance, academic life, intellectual pursuits…it’s like the basis for a novel, how the lives of these three women in different places and times intersect, connect, and illuminate my own experiences.
First, the headline, “Elite Women Put New Spin on Old Debate,” which discusses Anne Marie Slaughter’s recent Atlantic article about why she stepped down from the State Department caught my eye. She talks about the choices to be made in work-family balance, the advantages of an academic life, and the role of parents in the lives of teens.
Second, I read the obituary for Anna Schwartz, an economist who worked with Milton Friedman but got only a fraction of his recognition. At a time when women were not encouraged to pursue intellectual pursuits, especially not economics, she was a force. She was not a demographer, but demography as a discipline had some very strong women leaders early on and I’ve benefited from their successes.
Third, there is the ongoing story of the ouster (and possible reinstatement) of Teresa Sullivan as president of University of Virginia. I have a lot of respect for her and disdain for the creeping corporatization of academia. I thought her statement a few days ago outlining her accomplishments and leadership style was superb.
I’ve usually considered myself a “small f” feminist, believing that the right path was to do my best at work and home and carry on; I would be judged by my actions, not my gender. I know that is not always the case, and at times I am surprised when I run up against the “boys” at work. Still, for the most part, an academic life has afforded me the balance and recognition I’ve sought. Three stories about women, leadership, family, balance, academic life, intellectual pursuits…it’s like the basis for a novel, how the lives of these three women in different places and times intersect, connect, and illuminate my own experiences.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Teresa Sullivan
I don't know Teresa Sullivan, but she has been one of my role models. As a fellow demographer and sociologist our paths often crossed early in my career at meetings of the Population Association of America and the American Sociological Association. I know about her research on labor markets and more recent work on bankruptcy (with Elizabeth Warren). About the time of my first academic job she was chair of the sociology department at Texas and then associate dean of the graduate school. About the time I became a department chair, in 2003, she was an executive VP at Texas. Throughout those times, she was still known as a scholar, someone conducting valuable research. But, I also always felt she was someone who was respected for her leadership and integrity. It was no surprise when she left Texas to become provost at Michigan and left Michigan to become president at Virginia. As I struggled with decisions about an administrative career, she was someone I looked up to.
Now, she has been asked to leave Virginia after only 2 years. I really appreciate the way she has handled this so far. No outcry, no fanfare, but yesterday a calm and careful statement of what she has accomplished, her views on leadership, and her thoughts on academia. She calls herself an incrementalist and says, "Being an incrementalist does not mean that I lack vision." As she points out, "Corporate-style, top-down leadership does not work in a great university." (Does it work even in a great corporation??) She astutely notes that it is not money that drives and motivates most faculty, something I have observed many times with my colleagues. She apparently demurred from across the board deep financial cuts, opting instead for trimming non-academic budgets and thinking strategically about areas of growth.
She ends with a statement about trust. "Trust does not mean an absence of disagreement. But it requires that disagreements be frankly discussed....One of the greater duties of the president is to listen carefully to the needs and aspirations of the community."
I have no doubt that Teresa will fare well wherever she lands. She is a great leader.
Now, she has been asked to leave Virginia after only 2 years. I really appreciate the way she has handled this so far. No outcry, no fanfare, but yesterday a calm and careful statement of what she has accomplished, her views on leadership, and her thoughts on academia. She calls herself an incrementalist and says, "Being an incrementalist does not mean that I lack vision." As she points out, "Corporate-style, top-down leadership does not work in a great university." (Does it work even in a great corporation??) She astutely notes that it is not money that drives and motivates most faculty, something I have observed many times with my colleagues. She apparently demurred from across the board deep financial cuts, opting instead for trimming non-academic budgets and thinking strategically about areas of growth.
She ends with a statement about trust. "Trust does not mean an absence of disagreement. But it requires that disagreements be frankly discussed....One of the greater duties of the president is to listen carefully to the needs and aspirations of the community."
I have no doubt that Teresa will fare well wherever she lands. She is a great leader.
Restricted Life Space
Learned a new term today--restricted life space. I am working on some research related to falls among the elderly. Specifically, we are interested in the extent to which the fear of falling isolates older adults. I've been reading along, talking to other researchers, and just today came across this whole literature on "restricted life space." It is a term in nursing literature, and to some extent other medical literature. Seems restricted life space may be related to all kinds of things, including Alzheimer's Disease.
While it is a synonym for "mobility limitations" in these senses, it seems like a nice concept for all kinds of other things. In what ways do we restrict our life space? How do we limit ourselves? I like the idea of having a "life space," an expansive, wide-open, stretch of possibilities.
While it is a synonym for "mobility limitations" in these senses, it seems like a nice concept for all kinds of other things. In what ways do we restrict our life space? How do we limit ourselves? I like the idea of having a "life space," an expansive, wide-open, stretch of possibilities.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Life course perspective on stuff
I feel like I'm drowning in stuff--broken toys, flower vases, school notebooks, wires and cables, mismatched dishes. Where does it all come from? When I moved to college as a freshman I had a few suitcases and a few boxes. Everything my sister and I were taking fit in the family van. When I left college I had a bit more, but could certainly move everything myself. Over time things accumulate. Some of it is useful--furniture, bookcases, sheets and towels. A lot of it isn't. As our houses got bigger, we got more stuff. As our kids got older, we got more stuff. I'm ready to shed it. I'd like to rent a dumpster and throw it all away.
When we spent 6 months in Germany we knew we would be living in a furnished apartment, and took clothes and essentials. It was like heaven to live in a small 2 bedroom apartment. We had everything we needed, but not much more. True, even there we ended up needing to ship back boxes of things we couldn't carry, but everything was manageable.
My older son recently moved into his first solo apartment. I was envious. There was a closet sized kitchen, a completely adequate bath, and a reasonable living room and bedroom. I dream of how easy it would be to keep something that size clean and neat. How easy it would be to find anything you need. How liberating it would be to have so little room for stuff.
A few years ago my in-laws sold their home and moved into an apartment. Sorting through decades of stuff was a long and excruciating task. I hope to never be in that situation. I want to shed myself of those things early in life, stop bringing new junk into the house and throwing out what is here.
It occurred to me as a life course sociologist, that our belongings have a trajectory. We accumulate then discard. The economists like this inverted U shaped curve of life cycle accumulation. I'd like to be on the downside of the U...dis-accumulating.
When I was young, my mother gave me and my older sisters a Christmas present of treasure boxes. Small, metal utility boxes about the size of a shoebox. They even had keys. Their purpose was for us to be able to store our treasures, especially things we didn't want our younger siblings to mess with. Later, she gave us cedar chests, her version of a hope chest. I've thought about those boxes lately, I don't have the treasure box anymore, but I do have the cedar chest. It was my first piece of "nice" furniture, something to take with me when I left home. It is one piece of stuff I want to keep, one connection and memory I don't want to give up, one treasure I want to hold onto.
Some days I wish I was back in the time when all my treasures would fit into a shoebox and a cedar chest would hold hope.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Academic Summers
I'm often asked, "Why do you go to work in the summer?" Here is my current "to do" list:
Write graduate program review
Read and write a critique of an article submitted for publication (peer review)
Start work on a new project on fear of falling and social isolation funded by a small grant
Work on a paper with two colleagues on military service and obesity
Work with colleagues at another university on a paper about osteoporosis, falls, and obesity
Prepare syllabus, lectures, and assignments for a course I haven't taught for two years.
Prepare syllabus, lectures, and assignments for a course I have taught every year for 3 years.
Create a website for a society that I am secretary/treasurer.
Coordinate plans for a group dinner (100 people) at a conference in August.
Write graduate program review
Read and write a critique of an article submitted for publication (peer review)
Start work on a new project on fear of falling and social isolation funded by a small grant
Work on a paper with two colleagues on military service and obesity
Work with colleagues at another university on a paper about osteoporosis, falls, and obesity
Prepare syllabus, lectures, and assignments for a course I haven't taught for two years.
Prepare syllabus, lectures, and assignments for a course I have taught every year for 3 years.
Create a website for a society that I am secretary/treasurer.
Coordinate plans for a group dinner (100 people) at a conference in August.
Monday, May 14, 2012
"It's in you."
Twice in the last week I've heard those words, "It's in you." The first time was at the Hospice training when Rachel Naomi Remen's talked about service. One of her arguments was that serving others was an innately human desire, we learn early on in our lives that we are connected to others, that what we do affects others, and that we share feelings with others. Our desire to serve stems from this idea of connectedness, this instinct to stand beside another. One of the other points Remen made was that we all have stories to tell, that our stories make us who we are.
Today, I heard a gerontology colleague/friend, Anne Basting, interviewed on NPR. I've mentioned Anne's work on storytelling before. Her project, Timeslips, encourages creative storytelling among people with dementia. She argues that rather than be frustrated by memory loss we should focus on the creative energies that may still be present in a person. When talking about using her storytelling approach, she points out that no special training is needed because "It's in you."
We all are storytellers and it is that storytelling that creates in us an ability to see beyond, to reach past, to connect. It's in you.
Today, I heard a gerontology colleague/friend, Anne Basting, interviewed on NPR. I've mentioned Anne's work on storytelling before. Her project, Timeslips, encourages creative storytelling among people with dementia. She argues that rather than be frustrated by memory loss we should focus on the creative energies that may still be present in a person. When talking about using her storytelling approach, she points out that no special training is needed because "It's in you."
We all are storytellers and it is that storytelling that creates in us an ability to see beyond, to reach past, to connect. It's in you.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
A Life of Service
A few years ago I posted a note about Rachel Naomi Remen and her views on life and healing. She is a physician who specializes in end of life care, and in training doctors to think more holisitically about their patients. In that post, "Exactly what's needed," I told her story of the beginning of the world and how each of us has the ability to restore order in the world. Whoever we are, whatever we are, we are exactly what is needed to help restore wholeness.
Today I attended a short seminar called "A Life of Service," which featured Dr. Remen. She repeated her story, but then went on to talk about how these ideas can be applied to medicine and hospice care. I'll talk about two ideas here: fixing and witnessing.
Fixing: In the world of medicine we are focused on fixing things, we see the world as broken. An alternative approach, Remen argues, is to see the world as hiding the goodness, the wholeness. Rather than fixing, we can help restore that wholeness, seek it out in everyone and everything. She gives this equation: We help by using our strength, we fix by using our expertise, but we serve by using our "self" (our heart, our soul...). We should spend less time on trying to fix something and more on trying to see the hidden wholeness in each other. Since we are all human, and all connected, service is something we are, not something we need to learn. Our own human suffering gives us common ground with others in pain.
Which leads to witnessing. In service we don't take on someone else's pain, we don't take their suffering as our own. Your pain is your own. But, we can recognize that the pain matters. We can not dismiss it. We can be beside someone in the face of pain. It is not our job to fix it, but to stand with it.
Today I attended a short seminar called "A Life of Service," which featured Dr. Remen. She repeated her story, but then went on to talk about how these ideas can be applied to medicine and hospice care. I'll talk about two ideas here: fixing and witnessing.
Fixing: In the world of medicine we are focused on fixing things, we see the world as broken. An alternative approach, Remen argues, is to see the world as hiding the goodness, the wholeness. Rather than fixing, we can help restore that wholeness, seek it out in everyone and everything. She gives this equation: We help by using our strength, we fix by using our expertise, but we serve by using our "self" (our heart, our soul...). We should spend less time on trying to fix something and more on trying to see the hidden wholeness in each other. Since we are all human, and all connected, service is something we are, not something we need to learn. Our own human suffering gives us common ground with others in pain.
Which leads to witnessing. In service we don't take on someone else's pain, we don't take their suffering as our own. Your pain is your own. But, we can recognize that the pain matters. We can not dismiss it. We can be beside someone in the face of pain. It is not our job to fix it, but to stand with it.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
The Power of One Hour
What's the value of one hour? I've been thinking about that a lot since I've started volunteering with Hospice. My first few experiences were not particularly satisfying. Unfortunately, most people don't enroll in hospice until the last week of their lives. By the time the case has been evaluated and the needs identified, it is often too late for a volunteer to help. Families receive the medical care and support they need for those last few days, but, I think, there are many more things a hospice organization can provide. So, my first few hospice patients died before I could even see them. Maybe the coordinator was feeling bad for me, it can be discouraging to go through the training and be eager to go out and "do good" and find that nobody needs you! Maybe she felt I had some patience or tolerance that other volunteers might lack. Maybe I was just the next up on the list.
For whatever reason, I was given the assignment of visiting an individual in a group home. He is blind and non-verbal. I sit with him and gently stroke his head and hand for an hour, once a week. Is it worth it? I found myself wondering that the other day. Does an hour of attention a week make any difference? But, then I reframed the question and thought of all of the "one hours" I experience in a week and how valuable they feel to me. For example, about once a week I have lunch with two friends. We go out for a slice of pizza, take a short walk if the weather is nice, and are back in our offices within 60 minutes. I enjoy our time together, look forward to those days. Once a week I have lunch with an old colleague who has dementia. We make sandwiches, eat, chat, and take a walk or play cards. He certainly seems to look forward to those 90 minute visits. Seeing my counselor every few weeks for 50 minutes is some of my best spent time. Sitting down to watch "House" with my son on Monday nights is a time I anticipate with pleasure. My Thursday morning hour with a personal trainer feels worthwhile. Why should my one hour of attention mean anything less?
If we think about all the things we do in a week that take one hour, that hour seems like a much more powerful unit of time. So much can happen in 60 minutes.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Another thing for moms to worry about....
When you become a mother you take on an enormous responsibility. All of your child's ills will most likely be traced back to you at some point in time. I have a friend who jokes that she keeps a notebook to record all the bad things she has done as a mother so that her kids will not have to remember them later in therapy--they can just look them up. For a long time we have known that prenatal development is important in many ways and maternal conditions while pregnant can influence a child's physical, emotional, and intellectual development for the rest of their lives.
Read an article today about stress during pregnancy. While pregnant with my second son I was under a fair amount of stress. A couple months after finding out I was pregnant I found out I would be out of a job. I had been turned down for tenure at Penn State and would need to find a new position. Stressful. I found a new job quickly, fortunately, but then had to pack up and move. Stressful. Seven months pregnant I had to find a new doctor, start a new job, settle into a new house, find care for my young son. Stressful.
Today I read this opening paragraph...During gestation, the fetal brain develops dramatically as structures and connections form, providing the foundation for all future development. The fetal environment plays a critical role in these early neural processes, for better or for worse. Scientists now know that exposure to maternal stress can sometimes have deleterious effects on the fetus, depending on the cause, timing, duration, and intensity of stress. Great. I've ruined my second child's chances in life....Then there was this hopeful next sentence....Fortunately, postnatal interventions, such as a secure parent-infant bond and an enriched environment, can buffer the potential negative consequences.
The article discusses some interesting time periods in the development of the fetal brain, such as when synapses are formed (3rd trimester), myelination (last few months continuing for 9 months after birth)...
But, in the end there was a little reassurance that maybe stress wasn't so bad afterall:
Exposure to psychosocial stressors, on the other hand, has more nuanced effects on the developing brain. Overgeneralized assertions, such as “Stress is bad for you and your baby,” may inadvertently contribute to anxiety and worry among pregnant women. In fact, some researchers reported a beneficial effect of moderate psychosocial stress during pregnancy on certain child neurodevelopmental outcomes, noting that such stress may have different consequences depending on factors including its duration, intensity, context, as well as the social support systems available to the mother. This is consistent with the stress-inoculation theory, which posits that early-life stressors may provide a challenge that, when successfully overcome, can induce advantageous adaptations.
Maybe I just innoculated my son reallly well.....
The study, by Claudia Buss, et al, is reported in Cerebrum:
http://dana.org/news/cerebrum/detail.aspx?id=37188
Read an article today about stress during pregnancy. While pregnant with my second son I was under a fair amount of stress. A couple months after finding out I was pregnant I found out I would be out of a job. I had been turned down for tenure at Penn State and would need to find a new position. Stressful. I found a new job quickly, fortunately, but then had to pack up and move. Stressful. Seven months pregnant I had to find a new doctor, start a new job, settle into a new house, find care for my young son. Stressful.
Today I read this opening paragraph...During gestation, the fetal brain develops dramatically as structures and connections form, providing the foundation for all future development. The fetal environment plays a critical role in these early neural processes, for better or for worse. Scientists now know that exposure to maternal stress can sometimes have deleterious effects on the fetus, depending on the cause, timing, duration, and intensity of stress. Great. I've ruined my second child's chances in life....Then there was this hopeful next sentence....Fortunately, postnatal interventions, such as a secure parent-infant bond and an enriched environment, can buffer the potential negative consequences.
The article discusses some interesting time periods in the development of the fetal brain, such as when synapses are formed (3rd trimester), myelination (last few months continuing for 9 months after birth)...
But, in the end there was a little reassurance that maybe stress wasn't so bad afterall:
Exposure to psychosocial stressors, on the other hand, has more nuanced effects on the developing brain. Overgeneralized assertions, such as “Stress is bad for you and your baby,” may inadvertently contribute to anxiety and worry among pregnant women. In fact, some researchers reported a beneficial effect of moderate psychosocial stress during pregnancy on certain child neurodevelopmental outcomes, noting that such stress may have different consequences depending on factors including its duration, intensity, context, as well as the social support systems available to the mother. This is consistent with the stress-inoculation theory, which posits that early-life stressors may provide a challenge that, when successfully overcome, can induce advantageous adaptations.
Maybe I just innoculated my son reallly well.....
The study, by Claudia Buss, et al, is reported in Cerebrum:
http://dana.org/news/cerebrum/detail.aspx?id=37188
Friday, April 13, 2012
Some of the joys of teaching...
Every now and then I have a day when I really like my job. Overall, I love my job. I like the mixture of activities, the fact that each day is different. I like the opportunity to work with students. I like doing my own research. I like working with my colleagues. I even, sometimes, like doing administrative work.
I have the privilege this semester of teaching our senior thesis class. This is an optional elective that students can take in their last semester. The course requires them to develop their own research idea, collect data, analyze their results and then make a presentation. The students who choose the option are usually the better students, but certainly they are the more motivated students. It is a small class, 12 students, all women, this year. Working with a group of smart, motivated, interesting students is a treat. They are really excited about their topics, they want to do a good job, they are fun and funny.
But, today was special. They are at the stage where they are beginning their analyses. I was working with three students as they began making tables and graphs, interpreting their results. They needed some help with the practical matters of data management and using the statistical software, but once they got started they were able to really take off. At one point, one of them said, "This is fun!" What a pleasure to hear. Isn't that we all long for as teachers, that moment when a student feels like they are learning...and enjoying it.
I felt very lucky to be sitting there today to hear the comment, to see the expression, to feel the energy.
It was a good day.
I have the privilege this semester of teaching our senior thesis class. This is an optional elective that students can take in their last semester. The course requires them to develop their own research idea, collect data, analyze their results and then make a presentation. The students who choose the option are usually the better students, but certainly they are the more motivated students. It is a small class, 12 students, all women, this year. Working with a group of smart, motivated, interesting students is a treat. They are really excited about their topics, they want to do a good job, they are fun and funny.
But, today was special. They are at the stage where they are beginning their analyses. I was working with three students as they began making tables and graphs, interpreting their results. They needed some help with the practical matters of data management and using the statistical software, but once they got started they were able to really take off. At one point, one of them said, "This is fun!" What a pleasure to hear. Isn't that we all long for as teachers, that moment when a student feels like they are learning...and enjoying it.
I felt very lucky to be sitting there today to hear the comment, to see the expression, to feel the energy.
It was a good day.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Uncertainty
I was walking over the weekend listening to an interview with a physicist about string theory, “super-symmetry,” and the meaning of life. To be honest, I didn’t understand most of what he was saying and I was only listening with half an ear to the podcast. It was a beautiful day and I got sidetracked when he started by noting the prevalence of symmetry in the natural world, but also the need for asymmetry. So, I was ambling along thinking asymmetrical thoughts, when I heard this line, “science does not permit us the illusion of certainty.” I stopped, did he say the illusion of “uncertainty” or “certainty”? Did he say “not permit” or “permit.” I had to rewind and listen again. No, I was right, “science does not permit us the illusion of certainty.” I puzzled over that for a minute then listened to what he said next. He pointed out that in science we always surround our answers by confidence intervals, we have a range of uncertainty about our measurements. We recognize that we aren’t going to be exact. Science accepts error, expects error, requires error. I guess I never thought of science in that way, the uncertainty side of it.
I’m someone who tends toward the logical and rational, who likes linear thought, answerable questions. I recognize that science and logic aren’t exactly the same, but, to me, the connections seem pretty strong. It was a new insight to think about how uncertainty and rationality can co-exist. I’ve certainly become more tolerant of uncertainty in my life, sometimes even able to embrace it—as in the old cliché “the journey is more important than the destination.”
I’m someone who tends toward the logical and rational, who likes linear thought, answerable questions. I recognize that science and logic aren’t exactly the same, but, to me, the connections seem pretty strong. It was a new insight to think about how uncertainty and rationality can co-exist. I’ve certainly become more tolerant of uncertainty in my life, sometimes even able to embrace it—as in the old cliché “the journey is more important than the destination.”
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Here I am!
We were playing a little game of hide and seek or peek-a-boo. I was sitting on an ottoman in the middle of the room and she would stand behind me. "Where's Clara?" she would ask. I would look high and low, "Is Clara down here? Is she up on the ceiling?" As I pretended to search the room, looking around from my perch, she would jump out and with arms wide proclaim, "Here I am!" If I continued to search, she would become more insistent, "Here I am! Here I am!" until I held my open and exclaimed, "Oh, there's Clara. There she is!" She would fall into my arms, giggle, look up and ask, "Do it again?" Back behind me she would run and I searched again.
"Here I am." What a strong sentence. Look at me, see me, know that I exist. But also, here I am, I am a person, an individual. I can control where I am, what I do, and how I think. I can be here, I can be there. But right now, I am here and I want you to see me, find me.
It also reminds me of one of my favorite hymns, "Here I am, Lord." I've always liked that one, the melody and the words. It has such a positive feel, I'm here, I'm ready, I'm willing. In that sense, the sentence becomes "Here I am (for you)." Now it is an offer, a statement of availability. I'm not here only as me, as an individual asking to be seen, but wanting to find you, too.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Bodies and stories
Tired of narrative gerontology yet? Hope not, because I continue to read...
My latest thought is about the relationship between our bodies and our stories. It is impossible to separate our experiences from our bodies. After all, without a body we would not "be." In that way, our body is the setting for our life story and the changes of our bodies, the changing setting, one of the storylines.
I can think of only a few times when the condition of my body was noticeable to me. One was during my first pregnancy. I was quite pregnant and had gone to lunch with a group of friends. We were shown to a booth in the restaurant and I realized that I could not comfortably fit my belly into the space. I suddenly became aware of my body in a way I had not considered before. I knew I was pregnant, I was gaining weight. I knew that I was wearing differernt clothes to accomodate the changing shape. But, I had not considered it on a day to day basis.
The other time was when I fell skiing and injured my knee. The moment of awareness was as I was falling and thinking, "My knee is not supposed to move in that direction." It was a short, but intense moment of realization. My body was doing something I did not want it to do. The feeling was different from the frustration of being unable to make my body do what I want, it was if I was suddenly aware of my body as separate from me.
With age it seems we become more aware of our body, its functioning or not. It becomes more a focus of our stories. The changes in our body force us to focus on our identity in a new way. Am I the same person in a different body, or do I change in some way as my body changes?
My latest thought is about the relationship between our bodies and our stories. It is impossible to separate our experiences from our bodies. After all, without a body we would not "be." In that way, our body is the setting for our life story and the changes of our bodies, the changing setting, one of the storylines.
I can think of only a few times when the condition of my body was noticeable to me. One was during my first pregnancy. I was quite pregnant and had gone to lunch with a group of friends. We were shown to a booth in the restaurant and I realized that I could not comfortably fit my belly into the space. I suddenly became aware of my body in a way I had not considered before. I knew I was pregnant, I was gaining weight. I knew that I was wearing differernt clothes to accomodate the changing shape. But, I had not considered it on a day to day basis.
The other time was when I fell skiing and injured my knee. The moment of awareness was as I was falling and thinking, "My knee is not supposed to move in that direction." It was a short, but intense moment of realization. My body was doing something I did not want it to do. The feeling was different from the frustration of being unable to make my body do what I want, it was if I was suddenly aware of my body as separate from me.
With age it seems we become more aware of our body, its functioning or not. It becomes more a focus of our stories. The changes in our body force us to focus on our identity in a new way. Am I the same person in a different body, or do I change in some way as my body changes?
Monday, February 6, 2012
The rise of the introvert?
In an interesting parallel to the hoopla around the release of Cain's book, "Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Won't Stop Talking," Eric Klinenberg has just released, "Going Solo: The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone." Klinenberg, a sociologist, garnered a great deal of attention a few years ago for his book, "Heat Wave," chronicling the effects of a massive heat wave on the citizens of Chicago. Many, if not all, of the fatalities in that disaster were people living alone. I don't know if that is what piqued his interest or not, but it seems to make sense.
I read a discussion their discussion of the book in the Chronicle of Higher Education. More interesting to me than the notion that people might enjoy living alone, was the apparently "erroneous" statistic about the social isolation of Americans based on the 2004 General Social Survey. I remember when this came out, the finding that over a quarter of Americans are socially isolated. Turns out that the number pulled from the survey, while correct, is extremely volatile and usually ranges around 10%. In addition, there are other, more reliable measures and questions, that put the social isolation mark lower than 25%, too. But, the number fed into our fears that technology was driving people apart, that the social fabric of our society was disintegrating (re: Putnam's Bowling Alone.)
I heard part of an interview with Klinenberg on the Diane Rehm show today. He points out how the proportion of people living alone has increased and how the satisfaction of those people has increased, too.
I find it interesting that both books should premiere nearly simultaneously--what is the link between introversion and living alone? Are we seeing an "introvert backlash"? Are the quiet people starting to speak up?
Not sure if this link will work...here is the Chronicle article
http://chronicle.com/article/The-Case-for-American/130480/
Here is an essay by Klinenberg:
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/05/opinion/sunday/living-alone-means-being-social.html
Here is the interview with Diane Rehm:
http://thedianerehmshow.org/shows/2012-02-06/eric-klinenberg-going-solo-extraordinary-rise-and-surprising-appeal-living-alone
I read a discussion their discussion of the book in the Chronicle of Higher Education. More interesting to me than the notion that people might enjoy living alone, was the apparently "erroneous" statistic about the social isolation of Americans based on the 2004 General Social Survey. I remember when this came out, the finding that over a quarter of Americans are socially isolated. Turns out that the number pulled from the survey, while correct, is extremely volatile and usually ranges around 10%. In addition, there are other, more reliable measures and questions, that put the social isolation mark lower than 25%, too. But, the number fed into our fears that technology was driving people apart, that the social fabric of our society was disintegrating (re: Putnam's Bowling Alone.)
I heard part of an interview with Klinenberg on the Diane Rehm show today. He points out how the proportion of people living alone has increased and how the satisfaction of those people has increased, too.
I find it interesting that both books should premiere nearly simultaneously--what is the link between introversion and living alone? Are we seeing an "introvert backlash"? Are the quiet people starting to speak up?
Not sure if this link will work...here is the Chronicle article
http://chronicle.com/article/The-Case-for-American/130480/
Here is an essay by Klinenberg:
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/05/opinion/sunday/living-alone-means-being-social.html
Here is the interview with Diane Rehm:
http://thedianerehmshow.org/shows/2012-02-06/eric-klinenberg-going-solo-extraordinary-rise-and-surprising-appeal-living-alone
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Reading and Living
The chapter I've just finished in Reading Our Lives was titled, "Reading Literature: The Interpretation of Text." The gist of the discussion was, how is the work we do creating and "reading" our own life story like reading a novel? Or is it? One idea I found interesting was viewing reading as a constructive act. In this view, the reader constructs meaning from the text, there is nothing actually "there" until we read it and interpret it for ourselves. Of course, this means that every reader will take a different view of the text, interpret it slightly differently. There seems to be a lot of discussion about what is owned by the author and what is created by the reader, but I didn't find that all that interesting.
More interesting, though, was the notion that when we go back to a text, we will read it differently. Obviously, on a re-reading we have some sense of the arc of the story, so details that we may have skipped over now seem more relevant. We see foreshadowing in the characters' actions that we might have missed before. But, more relevant, is that we are different, both from having read the book in the first place and from the experiences we have had after the reading. We come back to the book as a different person.
I have three books that I have read multiple times: Two I read first when I was about 14, One is One (Barbara Leonie Picard) and Knee Deep in Thunder (Sheila Moon). The other is a more recent discovery, Out Stealing Horses. The first two I read multiple times after discovering them in the middle school library. I hunted for them some years ago and was able to find copies of both, One is One is out of print. Since then I have read each 2-3 times again. Who knows why they resonated with me so strongly. Both dealt with themes of loss and grief, of "becoming oneself", of discovering inner strengths and peace. There are a million coming of age stories like them, but these were the two I read and the two I keep reading. There is a familiarity in the story, but I still cry when someone dies. There are passages in each that I have continued to hold as touchstones, words that continue to offer solace in times of sadness and hope in terms of trouble.
More interesting, though, was the notion that when we go back to a text, we will read it differently. Obviously, on a re-reading we have some sense of the arc of the story, so details that we may have skipped over now seem more relevant. We see foreshadowing in the characters' actions that we might have missed before. But, more relevant, is that we are different, both from having read the book in the first place and from the experiences we have had after the reading. We come back to the book as a different person.
I have three books that I have read multiple times: Two I read first when I was about 14, One is One (Barbara Leonie Picard) and Knee Deep in Thunder (Sheila Moon). The other is a more recent discovery, Out Stealing Horses. The first two I read multiple times after discovering them in the middle school library. I hunted for them some years ago and was able to find copies of both, One is One is out of print. Since then I have read each 2-3 times again. Who knows why they resonated with me so strongly. Both dealt with themes of loss and grief, of "becoming oneself", of discovering inner strengths and peace. There are a million coming of age stories like them, but these were the two I read and the two I keep reading. There is a familiarity in the story, but I still cry when someone dies. There are passages in each that I have continued to hold as touchstones, words that continue to offer solace in times of sadness and hope in terms of trouble.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Christine Lagarde, Newsweek
Christine Lagarde, my hero, is on the cover of this week's Newsweek magazine. My favorite quote from the article, "...I think it [a compromise platform] has to include as many people as possible. I leave aside the bastards, because that's one thing that I don't compromise with: people who lie, people who cheat, people who are not with the group and behave like parasites. That, I can't stand."
Book group narratives
Okay, I'm a few pages further in my book on narrative gerontology, it's been a busy week.
Today's topic was a continued discussion of the importance of the narrative environment. The authors discuss macro and micro environments. How our stories are shaped by our culture, our religion, our gender, and our politics. The "master narratives" of our lives. But also how our narratives vary within those realms. I certainly noticed how the narrative environment of academic administration differed from that of the academic faculty. Many of the problems between faculty and administrators, I think, can be traced to differences in narrative.
I was very interested in comments about friendships. Some years ago I read a great book, "Necessary Losses" by Judith Viorst. I was familiar with her more personal essays and memoirs, but this book is an accessible introduction to the principles of psychotherapy. In one chapter she discusses friendships and the notion that we have "friends in spots." That no one friendship provides all that we need or want in a relationship. Some friends are good for discussing issues around work, others are good for discussing family. Some friends are mostly there for fun and entertainment, with others we share more intimate details.
I was really struck by another part of Viorst’s book, the idea that friendships help us grow. She wrote that “growth demands relatedness and that intimacy produces continuing growth throughout our life because being known affirms and strengthens the self.” I liked the quote from Buber she uses, “Through the Thou a man becomes I.” Friends all add different elements to our lives, but through each of those encounters a different part of ourselves gets “opened up” or exercised.
Our friendships are also narratives, conversations. As Randall and McKim say in "Reading Our Lives," each friendship "develops its own brand of narrative environment, its own rules of engagement, its own codes for talking and listening, for sharing and withholding...Between the story of me and the story of thee is the story of us." (Why is it we revert to old English when we want to talk about something REALLY IMPORTANT?) Our friends become coauthors of our lives, and we of theirs. At any time there are storylines about them and their lives swirling around inside of our heads. "Narratively speaking, our lives are intertwined."
Sitting with my book group last night, our discussion found its way to books we have read together in the past. It is interesting to think about how our discussion of narratives becomes part of our narrative lives, individually and collectively.
Today's topic was a continued discussion of the importance of the narrative environment. The authors discuss macro and micro environments. How our stories are shaped by our culture, our religion, our gender, and our politics. The "master narratives" of our lives. But also how our narratives vary within those realms. I certainly noticed how the narrative environment of academic administration differed from that of the academic faculty. Many of the problems between faculty and administrators, I think, can be traced to differences in narrative.
I was very interested in comments about friendships. Some years ago I read a great book, "Necessary Losses" by Judith Viorst. I was familiar with her more personal essays and memoirs, but this book is an accessible introduction to the principles of psychotherapy. In one chapter she discusses friendships and the notion that we have "friends in spots." That no one friendship provides all that we need or want in a relationship. Some friends are good for discussing issues around work, others are good for discussing family. Some friends are mostly there for fun and entertainment, with others we share more intimate details.
I was really struck by another part of Viorst’s book, the idea that friendships help us grow. She wrote that “growth demands relatedness and that intimacy produces continuing growth throughout our life because being known affirms and strengthens the self.” I liked the quote from Buber she uses, “Through the Thou a man becomes I.” Friends all add different elements to our lives, but through each of those encounters a different part of ourselves gets “opened up” or exercised.
Our friendships are also narratives, conversations. As Randall and McKim say in "Reading Our Lives," each friendship "develops its own brand of narrative environment, its own rules of engagement, its own codes for talking and listening, for sharing and withholding...Between the story of me and the story of thee is the story of us." (Why is it we revert to old English when we want to talk about something REALLY IMPORTANT?) Our friends become coauthors of our lives, and we of theirs. At any time there are storylines about them and their lives swirling around inside of our heads. "Narratively speaking, our lives are intertwined."
Sitting with my book group last night, our discussion found its way to books we have read together in the past. It is interesting to think about how our discussion of narratives becomes part of our narrative lives, individually and collectively.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Family stories
Spurred by my recent attendance at the session on narrative gerontology, I've been doing some reading on narratives. Right now I'm crawling through Reading Our Lives: The Poetics of Growing Old. I only understand about a third of it, and it is slow going, but today I ran across an interesting few paragraphs. The discussion was about the "culture of embeddedness" we encounter in our families of origin. In our family we learn (the book says "inherit") patterns for talking about our actions, expressing our emotions, and conveying our ideas. We are exposed to entire strategies for composing and editing the stories of our lives; the little stories and the big ones. Being conversant in this "family genre" is essential for our inclusion in the group.
However, this group is not static, it changes over time as people age, or die, and people come and go. So both the players and their perspectives shift. Here is a nice sociological line, "In short, we shape the stories we are part of even as they shape us." It reminds me of the analogy we use for society and the effects of individuals, or cohorts, on society. We can view social life as a river, it is bounded by shorelines, and those shorelines keep us "on track" in some sense. However, the stream is also shifting the shorelines over time. Some parts are eroded, the course changes subtly or dramatically. So, the same idea we are shaping society as society shapes us.
Also interesting is the idea that there is some objective story or history and our individual perceptions of it. I am always fascinated when my siblings and I start to compare childhood memories. We have very different versions of the same event, we even argue about the actual "facts"--who was there, where or when did it occur. I like this sentence, "What we make of that history, however--the episodes that stand out for each of us andd the overall myth we have composed of it inside our own minds--is another matter." I emphasized the word myth because I like the sense of our life stories being mythical.
Well, that was one page of reading.
However, this group is not static, it changes over time as people age, or die, and people come and go. So both the players and their perspectives shift. Here is a nice sociological line, "In short, we shape the stories we are part of even as they shape us." It reminds me of the analogy we use for society and the effects of individuals, or cohorts, on society. We can view social life as a river, it is bounded by shorelines, and those shorelines keep us "on track" in some sense. However, the stream is also shifting the shorelines over time. Some parts are eroded, the course changes subtly or dramatically. So, the same idea we are shaping society as society shapes us.
Also interesting is the idea that there is some objective story or history and our individual perceptions of it. I am always fascinated when my siblings and I start to compare childhood memories. We have very different versions of the same event, we even argue about the actual "facts"--who was there, where or when did it occur. I like this sentence, "What we make of that history, however--the episodes that stand out for each of us andd the overall myth we have composed of it inside our own minds--is another matter." I emphasized the word myth because I like the sense of our life stories being mythical.
Well, that was one page of reading.
Monday, January 16, 2012
The power of alone
I read a great review of a new book, "Quiet:: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking," today. Here is the link:
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/15/opinion/sunday/the-rise-of-the-new-groupthink.html
The author makes the case that we, as a society, have put too much emphasis on group work, team building, and collaboration. Turns out there is a lot of scientific evidence that people work best alone. From the article, "Research strongly suggests that people are more creative when they enjoy privacy and freedom from interruption." The book's author, Susan Cain, describes how group work is now found in the workplace, in schools, even in churches where worship is public and theatrical.
Yet, many of us enjoy and thrive in an environment that is quieter, more subdued, more focused and concentrated. We like moving at our own pace, not the pace of the group--spending more time on some problems and less on others. Interestingly, electronic communication and collaboration acts more like independent thinking than group work. The anonymity of the screen helps to recreate that sense of independence found in working alone. We are alone together, and, in this instance, it is good thing.
I crave alone time. Taking long walks alone feels almost essential to my well-being. I need time during the day to pursue solitude and quiet. As Cain notes, "...most humans have two contradictory impulses: we love and need one another, yet we crave privacy and autonomy." Learning to balance those two impulses and desires is the key to happiness.
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/15/opinion/sunday/the-rise-of-the-new-groupthink.html
The author makes the case that we, as a society, have put too much emphasis on group work, team building, and collaboration. Turns out there is a lot of scientific evidence that people work best alone. From the article, "Research strongly suggests that people are more creative when they enjoy privacy and freedom from interruption." The book's author, Susan Cain, describes how group work is now found in the workplace, in schools, even in churches where worship is public and theatrical.
Yet, many of us enjoy and thrive in an environment that is quieter, more subdued, more focused and concentrated. We like moving at our own pace, not the pace of the group--spending more time on some problems and less on others. Interestingly, electronic communication and collaboration acts more like independent thinking than group work. The anonymity of the screen helps to recreate that sense of independence found in working alone. We are alone together, and, in this instance, it is good thing.
I crave alone time. Taking long walks alone feels almost essential to my well-being. I need time during the day to pursue solitude and quiet. As Cain notes, "...most humans have two contradictory impulses: we love and need one another, yet we crave privacy and autonomy." Learning to balance those two impulses and desires is the key to happiness.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Car conversations
I love car conversations. As a parent you can learn so much. Here are two tidbits from the last few weeks, gleaned while transporting two boys, 16 and 17 years old.
"I wish we had better snacks at home. All we have are chips."
"I know what you mean. Sometimes I walk into the kitchen, look in the cupboards, look in the fridge and think, 'There's nothing here that I can make in less than 2 minutes. I'll just have to starve.'"
"Yeah, who wants to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"
"Right. It is so much work. You have to get out the bread, get out the peanut butter, get out the jelly, get out a knife."
"Then you have to spread the stuff on the bread, put it together. It takes forever."
"And it's not even worth it! All that work and all you have is a stupid PBJ."
Here are the comments following a verbal slip I made, running two sentences together.
"Mrs. Himes, that didn't make any sense. You said 'You..Mrs. Fragola and I.' I didn't understand you."
"No, Sam, there was a period between 'you' and 'Mrs. Fragola.' My mom was saying two separate sentences."
"Oh. Well, Mrs. Himes, you should say your periods better."
"Yeah, Mom. That sounded more like a comma than a period. You didn't really come to a full stop."
"Or maybe a semi-colon. What good are they anyway?"
"I know! When do you ever need a semi-colon in life?"
"I don't ever use them. Colons, they make sense. But, semi-colons, worthless."
P.S. My son wants me to note that he called the semicolon a "punctuation abomination." So noted.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Growing Old
I have been running across some very well-worn ideas about aging and death recently. None of these are my own, none are new or novel, but they seem to be coming together in a new confluence of thinking for me.
At heart, they have to do with the notion of "growing old" as opposed to "getting old." As someone who has studied various aspects of aging for nearly 25 years, the idea that we age from the moment of birth is not new. But what does it mean to grow old? Psychologists have their life stage theories, maybe Erikson's theory of psychosocial development is the best known. His 7th and 8th stages, in which generativity and integrity are the conflicts, deal with aging directly. At the end of life we should be able to look back in life review and feel good about what we have done or accomplished.
What I find puzzling, though, is the emphasis on looking back, looking to the past for confirmation of who you are and what you have done. Some critics of Erikson point to his emphasis, throughout the life course, on accomplishment. "Growing" old would encourage, I think, a more forward perspective.
I've also been reading about death and dying as part of my preparation for hospice work. Some of the focus is on preparing for death, the tasks that some dying people encounter. These might include making amends, resolving old interpersonal conflicts, or completing some concrete task (knitting a sweater, compiling a photo album). Narrative gerontology focuses on the life story. The notion that our lives are stories...they have beginnings, middles, and ends. As authors of our lives do we have a goal of creating a tidy ending? tying up all the loose ends of our story and character before closing the book?
At heart, they have to do with the notion of "growing old" as opposed to "getting old." As someone who has studied various aspects of aging for nearly 25 years, the idea that we age from the moment of birth is not new. But what does it mean to grow old? Psychologists have their life stage theories, maybe Erikson's theory of psychosocial development is the best known. His 7th and 8th stages, in which generativity and integrity are the conflicts, deal with aging directly. At the end of life we should be able to look back in life review and feel good about what we have done or accomplished.
What I find puzzling, though, is the emphasis on looking back, looking to the past for confirmation of who you are and what you have done. Some critics of Erikson point to his emphasis, throughout the life course, on accomplishment. "Growing" old would encourage, I think, a more forward perspective.
I've also been reading about death and dying as part of my preparation for hospice work. Some of the focus is on preparing for death, the tasks that some dying people encounter. These might include making amends, resolving old interpersonal conflicts, or completing some concrete task (knitting a sweater, compiling a photo album). Narrative gerontology focuses on the life story. The notion that our lives are stories...they have beginnings, middles, and ends. As authors of our lives do we have a goal of creating a tidy ending? tying up all the loose ends of our story and character before closing the book?
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