Federal Pony Express

Recently I received a coupon for an online retail outlet where I occasionally shop.  I didn't really need anything, but looking through their website found a pair of earrings I liked and, with the coupon, would only cost about $3.  I ordered them.  Today they should arrive.  But look at their journey....

They went from Massachusetts to Los Angeles to Minnesota, only to be delivered (hopefully) today by the US Postal Service!  Is this really "Smartpost"?!   Burbank, Illinois is IN Cook County!  It is 15 miles from my home.

Monday , 9/23/2019   

7:21 am    Shipment information sent to FedEx

10:09 pm    FEDEX SMARTPOST NORTHBOROUGH, MA    Arrived at FedEx location

11:36 pm    FEDEX SMARTPOST NORTHBOROUGH, MA    Departed FedEx location

Tuesday , 9/24/2019

    5:51 pm    NORTH JACKSON, OH    In transit

Thursday , 9/26/2019

   6:53 pm    FEDEX SMARTPOST CHINO, CA    Arrived at FedEx location

 11:04 pm    FEDEX SMARTPOST CHINO, CA    Departed FedEx location

   

Sunday , 9/29/2019

    4:29 pm    FEDEX SMARTPOST LOS ANGELES, CA    Arrived at FedEx location

Monday , 9/30/2019

    6:10 pm    FEDEX SMARTPOST LOS ANGELES, CA    Departed FedEx location

Tuesday , 10/01/2019

    3:03 pm    YUCCA, AZ    In transit

Wednesday , 10/02/2019

    4:16 am    BELEN, NM    In transit

    5:18 pm    DANVILLE, KS    In transit

   

Thursday , 10/03/2019

     5:28 am    DAHINDA, IL    In transit

     9:32 pm    BURBANK, IL    In transit

  

Friday , 10/04/2019

    1:02 pm    FEDEX SMARTPOST OSSEO, MN    Arrived at FedEx location

   10:51 pm    FEDEX SMARTPOST OSSEO, MN    Departed FedEx location

   

Tuesday , 10/08/2019

    7:33 pm    FEDEX SMARTPOST NEW BERLIN, WI    Arrived at FedEx location

Wednesday , 10/09/2019

    8:30 pm    FEDEX SMARTPOST NEW BERLIN, WI    Departed FedEx location

    9:09 pm    Shipment information sent to U.S. Postal Service

  

Thursday , 10/10/2019

    12:13 pm    CHICAGO, IL    In transit    In transit to U.S. Postal Service

Friday , 10/11/2019

   4:08 am    CHICAGO, IL    At U.S. Postal Service facility

    Accepted by U.S. Postal Service - Tracking ID 9274897937866178589252

 9:52 am    CHICAGO, IL    Out for delivery    Out for delivery with the U.S. Postal Service

 

   

About that class...(v.2)

(version 1 of this post had photos, but I was having trouble getting the page to load....use your imagination!)

Well, I know my loyal followers are wondering...wasn't she going to share with us all the exciting and wonderful things she learned in that class  on religion and literature?  Yes, I was!  Only the class was cancelled.  Maybe I'm bad luck, but the last two things I've signed up for have been cancelled due to low enrollment.  Are my interests that weird?

Instead, I'll share something that happened to me while on vacation last week.  While living in the Syracuse area we vacationed several years at a small cottage on a small reservoir only 15 minutes from our house. If needed, we could easily run home to get a forgotten item, but otherwise we could pretend we were hours away.  The boys could have friends over for the day and night, swimming lessons could continue, and driving tests taken.  After a few years away, I've gone back to the cottage the last few years. 

A friend often asks me how it feels to be back in Syracuse. I feel like I've disappointed her when I say it’s fine, so I wrote this explanation:

I do like being here. I have lots of happy memories, good friends, and, even though things change, a comforting sense of the familiar.  Lots of things happened in my 20 years here. It is where I raised my sons.  I changed a lot, grew, one might even say blossomed. It is the place of many of the happiest memories in my life so far, and of most of my saddest. For whatever reason, though, the sad memories aren’t attached to place. They haunt me at unexpected times, walking along the streets of Chicago, driving through Indiana, or, occasionally, late at night.

Our house in Pompey was about a mile from Pratt’s Falls Park and I spent hundreds (thousands?) of hours walking there alone. One day, walking a trail, I was drawn to a small clearing in the woods slightly off the path. Something about the reflection of the sun off the pines drew me in. I walked into this small circle and looked up at the slice of blue sky framed by the green needles. It seemed magical. I stood there for several minutes, taking deep breaths and turning in circles. I had a little piece of yarn in my pocket and before I left I tied it onto one of the branches. My version of a Buddhist prayer flag, I suppose.  I’m a little embarrassed to describe what happened over the next few years. I started bringing pieces of string, yarn, or ribbon, little trinkets, pretty stones, or colored leaves. I created my temple with these offerings to the forest. This was my sanctuary, my refuge, my fairy castle. Sometimes I sat and cried in frustration, fear, or sadness. Some days I twirled in joy. I talked out loud or laid in the snow. It was a special place.

During my first few visits back here, weather, time, and inappropriate clothing conspired to keep me from returning to the park. When I did make it back, a few years ago, I walked along the trail certain I would know exactly where to enter the woods. Of course, I didn’t. Things had changed, my memory had faltered. I wander a little through the area I thought was mine, but there were no traces of my temple. Birds, nature, people, time..., my offerings were gone, or at least hidden from me.  I walked through the woods, a little sad that I had lost my bearings. I left a ribbon as close to what I thought was my original spot as I could. It was the best I could do.  Today I walked the trail again. I smiled when I found my last offering still there, and added another ribbon.






It isn’t what it was. That place is gone. But it was there when I needed it. The spirits, gods, fairies, or whatever made room for me, more than that, they invited me to sit in their lap while I cried, and gave me a space to try out new language, new thoughts, and new ways of thinking. It isn’t what it was, but I know what it was.

So, it does feel good to come back, and I hope it always will.

Back to school...

 

In my life one of the things I've always been good at is being a student.  All through my academic career I received good grades and, for the most part, was well-liked by teachers (the exceptions I'll save for another post!)  I like to read, I like working out problems, I like learning.  I guess it makes sense that I became a professor.

In the past several years, my formal education long complete, I've started taking classes.  First some writing classes focused on memoir and personal essays, then improv and storytelling.  Those have been fun and useful, but not really academic. Still, I enjoyed having a regular place and time to meet, a schedule. Living alone, there was a social aspect that appealed to me, too, the chance to interact with other people outside of the work setting.

I've just registered for an adult education class, "Religion and Literature," offered through the continuing education program at University of Chicago.  It will meet for 8 weeks, in the evening. I'm a little excited to be back in the classroom and looking forward to learning. I've never taken either a religion or a literature class, so I'm sure I will find many new things. But, I doubt we will have crayons or scissors...bummer.

It has been a long time since I've posted anything here.  I think about that sometimes, what has changed in my life--is it good or bad that I don't feel as driven to write, don't feel the strong need to get things out of my head and onto the page?  So, with this class I'm determined to summarize here what I learn each week and how the class is going, to use it to jumpstart my writing.  Just think, you will might get the benefit of the class without paying the $300!

Text for the class:

The long road to equality

I don't often write about my experiences as a woman in academia, but today I am. 

Earlier today I was in a meeting with other campus leaders, interviewing a candidate for a dean position. I was the only woman in the room of five people. I had mentioned at the beginning that I would need to leave early to attend another function.  At 1 pm, I stood up, put on my coat and said, in the job candidate's direction, "I'm sorry I have to leave, but it was nice to meet you and I hope you enjoy the rest of your visit here."  There was a moment of silence, and then the conversation continued as if I had never been in the room.  No, "nice to meet you, too," no "thanks, Chris," no "see you later," no shred of recognition that I had been a part of the conversation in any way.

Interestingly, the reason I was leaving was to attend our campus celebration of Women's History Month.  When I walked into the room the event, featuring a panel of female students, was already in progress.  I looked around and noticed that there was not a single male faculty, staff, or administrator in the room.  At the end of the panel an older woman rose from the audience and encouraged everyone in the room to continue the fight for full equality.  She reminded us that the struggle has been long, but that the young women in the audience should remember that they are fighting the battle not just for themselves, but for all of those who will come after them.

It is days like this that remind me of how far we have yet to go.....

Relative age

 

The other day I had to drop off a new prescription at the pharmacy. As the clerk, a young man, was entering it into the system he asked me to verify my name and address, which I did.  Then, he asked for my birthdate.  I responded "2/X/57"  he started typing and repeated back "2/X/27?" 

Occasionally when I'm with my nearly 90 year old father I'm confused for his wife or sister. I get that it is the gray hair, and find it amusing. I wasn't even offended that this young guy would think I was 30 years older than I am.

But, there is this way in which once you reach a certain age (not sure what it is) you become just "old."  There is just not the same frame of reference for birth dates of people considerably older than you.  I'm guessing this guy was in his 20's, 30's, tops.  Any date before 1970 is probably just the same to him.  He had no context to put 1957 in any different place than 1927, 1937 or 1947--they are all well before he was born--and just "old."

Time to get used to it!

Tale of two grays

Let's look at two photos from yesterday.  The first is a view from my office window.  I took it against the glass, so there is a little halo effect, but you have to imagine a city skyline in the distance.

The second photo was taken at an awards assembly inside, the same day.  Notice how the woman in pink stands out, like a pink jelly bean in a bowl of black ones.

Why, on such a gray day, is everyone compelled to wear gray????  Wouldn't the world be a happier place if more people wore pink? or yellow? or neon orange?   Why when the world is so gray, literally and figuratively, do we insist on dressing to match?  Let's lighten up!!!

(Post script....the woman in pink is wearing black and white today....nobody is perfect!)

Time and Distance

Last week I had to take my cat to a special vet center in the Chicago suburbs.  I took me over 1.5 hours to get there and another 1.5 hours to get from the veterinary hospital to work.  By 10 am I had been driving for over 3 hours.  I started to think, where else could I have been in 3 hours of driving?  In that same amount of time, where could I have traveled? Now, it was rush hour, so that needed to be factored in, but in 3 hours of normal driving I could be in:

Indianapolis, IN
Milwaukee, WI
Madison, WI
Grand Rapids, MI

Sometimes I think about taking off for a little mini-vacation but then think, "Do I really want to drive that far?"  But, if instead I think the trip is no longer than what I spent delivering my cat maybe the distances will seem like less.