"HOME"

For the last 2 years I've lived with a spectacular view of Lake Michigan, but it never quite felt like home.  Some years ago I wrote about the concept of paracosms, detailed imaginary worlds often created by children that artists may also use to define their work and ground them in a particularity (think Hogwarts). I argued (although I can't find that blog post, that's what you get for not creating tags....) that the same concept applied to those of us who grew up near the Indiana Dunes. I'm not sure a week goes by that I don't see a post on social media from a friend, classmate, or relative referencing the dunes.  We are grounded in a particularity.

Now, I've moved "home," back to the Duneland community where I spent the first 18 years of my life. I haven't lived here for nearly 50 years, but it has always felt like home to me, the place where I am most comfortable, where I find the greatest peace, and where I've wanted to return. Thinking of my residential timeline it is roughly 18 years in one house, 10 years around central Indiana, 10 years in Pennsylvania, 19 in Upstate New York, and 9 in Chicago. Looked at that way, this community rivals NY for my residential longevity. 

Still, it felt odd to change my phone GPS maps app to define this new address as "home." I guess like changing a relationship status on Facebook, changing your map setting is when you know the change is really official. I'm still surrounded by boxes and discovering odd surprises in this house, some good, some not so good, but it feels like home.

BTW, even thought I grew up close to the tip of Lake Michigan, I did not learn the mnemonic for the Great Lakes (HOMES) until well into adulthood. 

The perils of living alone

 One might think that the scariest part of living alone is not having someone there in case of a fall, a heart attack, or some other medical emergency.  Who would help you if you fall and can't get up?

But, that is nothing compared to the emergency of being in the shower and realizing that the only body wash that you can use (Olay moisture ribbons, the purple kind, not the pink that you bought once when you couldn't find the purple in the store and found out that it is not the same body wash in a different color, but an inferior product) is missing.  You recently ordered a refill supply of the purple bottles off of Amazon because it is difficult to find in the store and your package of five bottles is sitting by the front door of your apartment where you dropped it as you came in with a load of mail, groceries, and packages, thinking you would open it later and put one bottle in the shower and the other four in the closet (where you were sure you already had a spare bottle, but did not).  So, you turn off the water, wrap yourself in a towel, gingerly (so you don't fall!) step out and make your way across the bathroom, through the bedroom, and down the hall to retrieve the package.  Once you are back in the bathroom you realize that the package is impenetrable and you need to take it back through the bedroom, down the hall and into the kitchen where you can slice it open with a pair of scissors (note to self, put pair of scissors in the bathroom). Now, back in the shower, you restart the water, finish your shower, and hope that Olay never discontinues the purple moisture ribbons like Pantene discontinued their Silver Expressions purple shampoo 

BUT....It's back...sort of...from Pantene website:

We've heard you, and we are bringing Pantene's Silver Expressions Purple Shampoo back!

Still on Amazon this note :  Temporarily out of stock.

 

 

 

Personification redux

Well, I've certainly found myself down a rabbit hole on this one (a metaphor?!) At Thanksgiving dinner, for some reason conversation veered to a discussion of literary devices.  My language arts teaching niece (Hi Martha!) remarked that personification was the attribution of human characteristics to non-humans.  "Wait," I said, "isn't that anthropomorphism?"  

Googling lead us to this definition of personification:  "the attribution of a personal nature or human characteristics to something nonhuman, or the representation of an abstract quality in human form."  I associate personification with the second definition, "Hitler was the personification of evil," for instance. I must have in some recess of my mind thought of the first definition, too, which is why I started my last post in that way.  Where does anthropomorphism fit in, then?

Further research lead to this explanation: 

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( https://grammarist.com/usage/personification-vs-anthropomorphism/)

 Personification and anthropomorphism are two literary devices that are somewhat similar, but with a subtle difference. 

 Personification is a literary device that ascribes human attributes to abstract ideas or inanimate objects. The attribution of human characteristics to non-human items through personification is a method of using figurative language to create imagery.

 Anthropomorphism is a literary device that ascribes human actions and attributes to animals or other objects. Anthropomorphism is used simply to make an animal or object behave as if it were a human being.

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 The most common example for personification seems to be "The sun smiled down on us."  While the most common example for anthropomorphism is Bagheera from The Jungle Book, or Mickey Mouse (the educational resources tend towards the Jungle Book, while other sources go right for Mickey or Peter Rabbit.)

Given those examples, my first description of thinking of my washing machine as being too tired to do a fifth load is probably closer to personification than anthropomorphism after all.  Perhaps if I had tried to wash that bedspread and the washing machine failed to complete the cycle, I could have said, "My washing machine said it was too tired."  (anthropomorphism) But, if I say my machine is tired then I've ascribed that human attribute to the machine. (personification)

 

 

 However, along the way I also discovered "pathetic fallacy," which seems to be personification applied to nature, specifically. 

The phrase pathetic fallacy is a literary term for the attribution of human emotion and conduct to things found in nature that are not human. It is a kind of personification that occurs in poetic descriptions, when, for example, clouds seem sullen, when leaves dance, or when rocks seem indifferent. 

 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pathetic_fallacy

 I'll end by saying that these are all considered literary devices, so perhaps I shouldn't lay claim to having used any of them!!

And, that's where Thanksgiving dinners can take you.

 

 

 

 

Personification (Anthropomorphizication?)

 Yesterday was an unusually heavy laundry day for me. I had put it off a bit longer than normal and had some added towels and sheets in addition to the regular clothes.  I still had one more thing to wash, my "summer" weight bedspread (I've made the switch to my warmer duvet for the winter, a choice I was somewhat regretting last night when I woke up at 2 am too warm...).  Anyway. after washing, drying and folding the four loads I thought, "I should let the washing machine rest, it's worked hard today. I'll save the bedspread for another day."  

What?! Since when did I start worrying about the feelings of my washing machine??!!  I hope it appreciates my thoughtfulness and repays me someday.

* I knew when I wrote this yesterday that "personification" was not the right word, but I wasn't in the mood to look up the exact spelling of "anthropomorphic" and whether "anthropomorphizication" or "anthropomorphicization" were even a words (they appear not to be).  But, last night at 2 am when I kicked off my too warm duvet, it bothered me that the three people who may at some point read this post would think that I had a poor command of English.  I remember in middle school our art teacher made us break our clay pots because anthropologists of the future might dig them up and draw incorrect inferences about our culture.  If the posts on the Internet are preserved for centuries, I wouldn't want some future linguist to puzzle over my use of the term "personification."

Last Days

My term as dean is done!

In the 1950s, social scientists observed that as people aged they seemed to be less socially engaged.  Psychologists used that observation to develop disengagement theory in gerontology, the notion that aging brings about an inevitable retreat from social interaction in preparation for death. When I first started studying gerontology in the late 1980s there was considerable criticism of this theory. Rather than disengagement being voluntary or inevitable, it was the result of social structures that devalued age and limited opportunities. People didn't want to disengage, they were forced to.

Today is my last day as dean. (Technically it is Sunday and I turned in my keys yesterday, so I'm not in the office today.)  It occurred to me that over the last few weeks, months really, I had been slowly disengaging from that role. I gleefully removed scheduled meetings from my calendar, advised people to send their emails elsewhere, and cleaned up my office and files. People have stopped by to thank me or, more often, to ask for one last favor. There were some tears yesterday as I said goodbye to my budget manager with whom I've worked the whole 8 years. We have shared many crises and triumphs. But, overall, the last day was not as traumatic as I might have imagined.  In many ways, I stopped seeing myself as the dean a long time ago.

Maybe disengagement is not so bad after all.

Demarcations

 I've been thinking lately of how we move from one state of being to another.  Sometimes the timing of hte change is very discrete--a marriage, birth of a child, starting a job.  But what about the changes that are not so clearly marked.

Ten weeks ago I had a major surgery.  I got differing advice on how long it would take to "recover."  Some said one week for every hour of surgery, some said one month for every hour.  The doctor said I'd feel better "in a few months."  At first, I was clearly recovering. I was tired, experiencing some discomfort, adjusting to changes in my body.  But, when do I say I'm "recovered"?  I have friends who have experienced addiction, either themselves or through a loved one.  In that field you can hear people describe themselves as a "recovering addict" for the rest of their lives.  I understand there is a difference between that experience and mine, but when do I stop thinking of myself as "recovering" and switch to "recovered"? 

I think there must be other states that have similarly murky boundaries. When do you really become a parent? When do you really become an adult? When does grief end?  When do you fall in or out of love? 

How do any of us know where we are??!!

And why did Spain and Portugal get to decide??

Meta

 I was playing a pretend game with my 3.5 year old grandson. The game involved me, as a policeman, him, as a "bad guy", and an imaginary Santa character.  At one point he asked me where "Santa" lived and I replied, of course, "the North Pole."  

"Not THAT Santa, Grandma, the pretend Santa!"

Playing a pretend game with a pretend character who represents a pretend character.  My mind boggles.