What is it about fall?

I can't say I have a favorite season, but for the last few years I've appreciated fall more than in the past.  Something about the nesting instinct, I guess.  Fall seems like the time to burrow, to lay in provisions, to gather up fuel....Yesterday's fire inspired me to go out and collect kindling this morning, I felt a bit like a squirrel gathering nuts.  Is there a deep reptilian or mammalian part of our brain that makes us want to prepare for winter?  A drive to bolster ourselves for the coming cold?  It was not a particularly pleasant morning, weatherwise.  But it wasn't raining and I was comfortable with just a sweatshirt.  Walking through the woods, picking up sticks, I could imagine myself as some pioneer woman.  I remembered the Girl Scout term for low dead tree branches, "squaw wood."  People have collected wood for centuries, prepared for the winter, gathered and stored their food.  After picking up sticks, I successfully started the snow blower.

First Fire

Have my first fire of the season going. It might be a little early, but the day was overcast, windy, and drizzly.  A fire felt right.  It seems like just about every problem can be made better with a nice fire.  I'm on the couch with a cat and a blanket, a glass of wine and soon, a good book.  Now I'm thinking maybe I should have ordered more wood. I forgot how nice this is. I'll need to pace myself this winter, enjoy a fire like a guilty pleasure--something to be savored and saved.  

Janet Yellen

I am not an economist, but I work with some of them.  I don't know Larry Summers or Janet Yellen, until a week ago the two leading candidates for the job of Chair of the Federal Reserve.  But, not long ago I heard an interview where an analyst was comparing the two.  He described Larry Summers' strengths and weaknesses, then turned to Janet Yellen, noting that "her husband is a Nobel prize-winning economist."

I ask, what does Larry Summers' spouse do for a living?  Why isn't that just as relevant???

Here is a link to my economist friend's view on the two...

http://www.forbes.com/sites/leonardburman/2013/09/16/janet-yellen-and-the-glass-ceiling-at-the-fed/

Centers

I've noticed when mowing my lawn that no matter where I start or what pattern I use, I end up in the same spot.  I figure it is the geographic center of my lawn.

What makes the center so special?  We use so many words to describe that place--center, heart, core, middle.  We want to get to the heart of a problem.  We need to center ourselves in stressful situations.  We try to identify the core issue.

I wonder what happens when we focus on the edges, on the fringes, instead.  What if instead of looking for the heart of a problem we looked for the toe?  Could we learn anything from the toe?  What if instead of centering ourselves we allowed our emotions to run out of control?  What if we looked at peripheral issues instead of core ones?

We lick and lick to get to the center of the Tootsie Pop (unless we cheat and bite).  At the center of a Lindor's Dark Chocolate Truffle is a creamy rich chocolate filling.  In the middle of a Blo-Pop is bubblegum!

I just wonder what our world would feel like without the center...like a glazed donut I suppose....
   
     
                                       

The size of Chicago...

I heard a news report a few days ago about the large Rim fire near Yosemite in California. The newscaster was describing the area now engulfed in flames by saying, "It is an area the size of Chicago."  Later I saw a headline, "California battling a wildfire the size of Chicago."

Why Chicago?  Do any of us really have a sense of how big Chicago is?  What is included in this area...the city limits?  The metropolitan area?  Does this really help us grasp the size of the fire?

And, who decided on this comparison?  Did they have a list of cities by area and went through looking for one roughly 225 square miles in size?  What else is that size?   According to Wikipedia, Tucson Arizona is roughly the same size, why not use that for the comparison?  I have no better sense of the size of Tucson than I do of Chicago...or twice the size of Tampa, Florida...or half the size of Los Angeles, California.  At least LA is in the same state.

We often use these geographic comparisons.  Belarus is about the size of Minnesota.  Does that help me visualize Belarus?  Maybe a little...at least I know it is smaller than the U.S.

Given the extreme lack of geographic knowledge most of us have, myself included, I'm surprised we rely on these geographic comparisons so often.

Where is her ?

I'm not a developmental psychologist, and I'm sure there are all kinds of theoretical explanations for why children prefer certain games, but I'm struck by the joy children have in games of hide and seek.  Babies and toddlers start with the simple peek a boo.  Put your hands over your face, pull up a blanket, duck behind a corner...any such game will usually bring squeals of delight.  Babies will start to imitate, hiding their own eyes, covering their own face.  The fun of learning to understand that the other person will still be there, even if eye contact is broken, feels like a splendid accomplishment.  Object permanence I think Piaget called it, one of the fundamental developments of infancy...even though I can't see it, it still exists.

I've written before about the next step in this toddler game, a simple hide and seek http://profhimes.blogspot.com/2012/03/here-i-am.html where a young child will stand out of sight and ask you, "Where am I?" As you pretend to search she becomes more insistent on being found until finally she will come into view and proclaim, "Here I am!"  Now, the child is in control.  She knows that she is still there, even when you can't see her.  She enjoys the surprise you have when she magically appears from behind the chair.  How did she do that?  She is the master of herself.

Moving forward we get to the full "hide and seek."  Someone counts while the other person hides. Now, both parties know what the game is.  But, it takes awhile to learn this game.  Early on the child will say "You go hide under the table."  Are they not quite ready for the uncertainty?  What if you hide and they can't find you?  When they hide their excitement makes it almost impossible for them to stay quiet.  As you go through the rooms looking for them, within a few seconds you will hear "Here I am!" as they jump out from their hiding place.

Playing with my nearly 4 year old friend yesterday I had found an excellent hiding place.  Clara looked high and low and was getting a little anxious in her search.  I heard her say to her mother, "I see her bag and I see her shoes, but I can't find her face!  Where is her?"

Where is her?  Her what?  Her body? Her mind?  Her being?  Of course, it is a simple grammatical error, using "her" instead of "she."  But think about why that error occurs.  My body, my being, my face belong to me, just like my shoes and bag belong to me. I own myself.

So, where is her?  Her everything is right here.  Look a little longer and you will find her.

Mom's box of memories

In my office there is a box under a chair in the corner:

In that box are old photos, cards, newspaper clippings, and assorted stuff.  There are childhood pictures of my grandmother, father, me and my sons...a generational catalog of kids, parents, and relatives. It is an odd accumulation of things taken from my childhood home and my adult home.  Right now it lives under my chair, waiting for a new home. It doesn't carry all my life, not even close. But everything in there is important to me, whether it is a picture of flowers in my grandmother's garden or a scrawled thank you note from my sons to my mother, their grandmother.

Yesterday I needed to go to my storage unit to get some camping gear. Since I have not packed the unit very well, I had to dig through things a bit to find everything I wanted.  Along the way I ran across a small plastic box, about the size of a shoebox, containing cards and letters I had sent to my mother as a child.  There were Mother's Day cards, a Christmas card, a few other notes from school and camp.  Even a plaster of paris impression of my 3 year old hand.

The most recent items are some letters from my first trip to sleep-away camp, written almost exactly 47 years ago.

I knew the box was there, I've looked through it before, but finding it again yesterday was a sweet moment. What struck me this time was one card with a few odd line "drawings."  An early attempt at either people or flowers.  There were no personal identifying marks, but on the back my mother, in her perfect script, had written, "Chris." Clearly she had noted this at the time, 50 some odd years ago,  had thought to remember who had made this gift for her. 

I have no idea what the occasion was, where or why I made the card. Its construction was before my memory.  But, seeing my name attached to it made it clear that my mother remembered it. Why did she keep this one card?  Was it the first one I made?

I know I can't remember making most of those cards, but I do remember that girl, Chris.  I remember what it was like to be her.  She was okay. Confident in her abilities, firm in her resolve, and loved by those in her life.