Now it can be told. The new publishing venture that I mentioned in my last infrequent update, the one that Noel is helping to launch (and his first salaried, non-freelance job in decades) is The Dissolve, a new film site from Pitchfork Media. Right now they're just a placeholder site, a Tumblr, and a Twitter account, but the first real content will hit the streets next month. (And notice how cleverly I titled that last post, before the name of the site had officially been announced.)
Noel is energized and feeling creative, both doing administrative thinking like mapping out how the DVD reviews will be assigned and scheduled, and writing essays and reviews that will start appearing when the site goes live. It's a terrific place for him to be in his early forties: starting a new venture that builds on all the experience and expertise he's developed in the past twenty-odd years of critical writing.
And me? Well, I'm almost as happy as he is. Happier, maybe. I set out with some trepidation on my first research trip last month, to Hartford, Connecticut. This was the acid test. Could I find prayer shawl knitters to talk to? Would they want to talk to me, if I found them? Would my questions elicit the kinds of information I needed to know? I was elated by the result. I talked to 15 people in 8 interviews over the course of 6 full days in Hartford -- mostly in the surrounding area: Windsor, South Windsor, Farmington, Stafford Springs, Vernon. They were generous with their time and with their organizational energy, helping me get in touch with other members of their groups. And they seemed to appreciate the questions I asked, both the prosaic ones that allowed them to explain how their ministries worked, and the more unusual ones that asked them to reflect on what it means. I came home with about eleven and a half hours of interview recordings. And with some new ideas, too, about what themes might be present in this subject matter and in these women's experience that I hadn't hypothesized. That's how qualitative research is supposed to work; you continually reshape your hypothesis and redirect your investigation based on what you find as you explore. How relieved I am to find that it's happening here!
In a couple of weeks I head to Seattle for my second research trip, and my calendar for the six full days I'm there is already chock full of interviews. I'm trying to push myself to make maximum use of my time in the field, but I know now from experience that doing these interviews is hard work. I was glad in Hartford for some downtime, an empty morning or afternoon here and there (my evenings were almost all taken), to be alone and rest from the effort of connecting with other human beings. I was glad for flexibility in my driving schedule, so I could head out early if need be to avoid rush hour traffic and the frequent heavy rain that blanketed Connecticut while I was there. Knowing I was not so tightly scheduled was important for my peace of mind.
I've also used my freedom while on sabbatical to think about my mid-life crisis, to examine my reactions to this research activity and to being free of administrative duties, and have some preliminary thoughts about what I want the rest of my academic career to look like. Just preliminary; every time I follow them too far down the road to prospective action I get cold feet. But I'm remembering what led me into this life in the first place, and what fed my fire in those early years. I'm different now, but it's still useful to ask the question of what I would most regret not accomplishing twenty years in the future, based on what I wanted to do when I started out and what I've found that I have to offer along the way.
More to come, of course. Meanwhile. bookmark The Dissolve, and if you're in the Seattle area, let me know so we can cross paths while I'm there.
Showing posts with label Noel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Noel. Show all posts
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Dissolve to next scene
Definition of infrequent posting: My last post was in late March, and announced my sabbatical for the summer (actually nearly a month after it was approved). This post, on Mother's Day 2013, contemplates the start of my sabbatical in just two days.
It seems like it's taken at least a full semester since spring break to get to this long-awaited point, even though it's only been seven weeks. April has been a month of intense hard work, with two major service projects in my two classes involving on-campus events coming to fruition. I ended the semester drained; the word that kept coming to mind, frankly, was "defeated." But at least it wasn't an ordinary summer stretching out in front of me. Wonderful as that can be to look forward to, it wasn't going to cut it in my burned-out state.
Because of my sabbatical, I won't be working on anything but my book after Tuesday. Well, I'll have to work on my promotion application, which has made almost no progress since spring break, and will be due shortly after I return from sabbatical. But nothing that has to do with my normal administrative duties. No freshman orientation. No information management. No reports. No strategic planning. No assessment. No curriculum development. No course prep. Nothing but reading, writing, interviewing, and organizing material for my prayer shawl ministry book.
It might sound like I'm already there. But this week, representing the transition from my administrative job to my sabbatical, involves several big tasks.
Here's my to-do list for Monday and Tuesday, my last days at work as associate dean:
- Complete sections of the annual report for which I'm responsible, chiefly reporting on the status of goals from the last year.
- List specifications for computer and A/V purchases for several classrooms, so that they can be ordered by the secretary.
- Brainstorm goals for the upcoming year with administrative team.
- Convert cash donations for service learning fundraisers into checks, write cover letters, and send to the appropriate charities.
And here's my to-do list for Wednesday through Friday, the first days of my sabbatical:
- Familiarize myself with my interview recording setup.
- Ascertain if I need any more equipment or backups.
- Conduct a trial run of my interview outline with a local subject.
- Schedule and confirm interviews in Hartford, Connecticut, where I'm headed next week.
- Make travel plans for my next trip in late June.
- Continue reading and notetaking from my growing stack of research texts.
Noel is in Chicago this upcoming week starting his new job (details on that forthcoming). It's hugely exciting for both of us to be opening the door to new lives in the same week. His change is more permanent; mine is more of an extended vacation from my usual routine. I'm as eager for him to get started as I am to start my own sabbatical. In his absence, I have a few additional items for the ol' to-do list, related to being sole custodial parent this week, including school chauffeuring duties that will shorten my office workdays by a couple of hours (making those Monday-Tuesday to-dos more difficult to achieve without taking work home).
I've been looking forward to this Wednesday, May 15, the first day of my sabbatical, for a long time. I'm nervous about being able to do what I'm setting out to do, and I'm aware that I'll be working just as hard and long on this (if not more so) as I do on my teaching and administrative work normally. I'm already stressing about squeezing all the pre-Hartford sabbatical tasks into just a few days this week before I hop on a plane next Monday.
But oh, the appeal, the longed-for luxury of turning my attention to Just One Thing rather than trying to squeeze my scholarly work and theological thinking into the odd half-hours left over after the million and one things of my normal job. Sabbatical, here I come.
Monday, March 19, 2012
With a smile on your face, and then do it again
Today's post about a sweater to celebrate change is at Toxophily.
It's a winter sweater for a year that winter never came, already put away to wait for the cold. No matter. Summer isn't forever.
It's a winter sweater for a year that winter never came, already put away to wait for the cold. No matter. Summer isn't forever.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
The craft of writing
The writing department at my university runs an annual literary festival called ArkaText. It features writers based on Arkansas or with a connection, either personal or thematic, to the state.
This spring the faculty were kind enough to invite Noel to be one of those writers. He gave a "craft talk" to a group of faculty and students in the morning, was treated to lunch with faculty members, and in the afternoon did a reading (of a couple of VSEs -- this one and this one) to the general public.
Even though I tell people all the time that my husband's a writer; even though Noel and I talk about writing all the time; even though I've taught courses on writing for the very department that invited him -- I still find it strange to watch Noel in that setting. He spends all his time writing. Now suddenly he's being asked to spend a whole day talking about writing instead of doing it.
It's not that he doesn't have plenty to say that's valuable to writing students about what he does. His presentations -- both of them -- got great reviews. It's more the psychological and cultural distance between writing, and being named, treated, and queried as a writer. Whenever you make that move from the daily work to the social meaning of your role, its status and connotations, you feel a shift.
That shift is enhanced when you go outside your normal site and are introduced to strangers in terms of your role. They don't know you as a person; they only know what they've been told you do. Then it's up to you to live up to those expectations, or to ignore them if you prefer.
I'm going to a university in a nearby community on Monday to give an invited talk. As I prepare my presentation, I'm not just thinking about the topic of my talk. I'm thinking about how they'll see me. I'm thinking about my image as a professor, and the image of my department and my university. The school that invited me is a more conservative place than my home institution. I don't want to offend, but I also want to represent my topic and myself accurately. I want those who attend to leave informed and challenged, not only about my topic but about me.
In between my work, my self, and my various roles, lies my self image. And it's constantly on the move. I can't imagine how hard it must be for people who have more roles they need to fill and more people they need to please.
This spring the faculty were kind enough to invite Noel to be one of those writers. He gave a "craft talk" to a group of faculty and students in the morning, was treated to lunch with faculty members, and in the afternoon did a reading (of a couple of VSEs -- this one and this one) to the general public.
Even though I tell people all the time that my husband's a writer; even though Noel and I talk about writing all the time; even though I've taught courses on writing for the very department that invited him -- I still find it strange to watch Noel in that setting. He spends all his time writing. Now suddenly he's being asked to spend a whole day talking about writing instead of doing it.
It's not that he doesn't have plenty to say that's valuable to writing students about what he does. His presentations -- both of them -- got great reviews. It's more the psychological and cultural distance between writing, and being named, treated, and queried as a writer. Whenever you make that move from the daily work to the social meaning of your role, its status and connotations, you feel a shift.
That shift is enhanced when you go outside your normal site and are introduced to strangers in terms of your role. They don't know you as a person; they only know what they've been told you do. Then it's up to you to live up to those expectations, or to ignore them if you prefer.
I'm going to a university in a nearby community on Monday to give an invited talk. As I prepare my presentation, I'm not just thinking about the topic of my talk. I'm thinking about how they'll see me. I'm thinking about my image as a professor, and the image of my department and my university. The school that invited me is a more conservative place than my home institution. I don't want to offend, but I also want to represent my topic and myself accurately. I want those who attend to leave informed and challenged, not only about my topic but about me.
In between my work, my self, and my various roles, lies my self image. And it's constantly on the move. I can't imagine how hard it must be for people who have more roles they need to fill and more people they need to please.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Got nothing to lose, just the rhythm and blues, that's all
Today's post about my Valentine's gift to my husband and personal chef is at Toxophily.
Isn't he handsome? The primal diet has worked wonders for him, and given him an excuse to become a first-rate cook as well -- a hobby which, as my gift indicates, I am only too happy to enable.
Isn't he handsome? The primal diet has worked wonders for him, and given him an excuse to become a first-rate cook as well -- a hobby which, as my gift indicates, I am only too happy to enable.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Sundance season
Noel has been in Park City, Utah since last Wednesday, attending the Sundance Film Festival. You can read his daily dispatches here at the A.V. Club. By all accounts, he's had a good run in the screening rooms. And clearly, he's worked very hard, as can be seen by how many films he's logged and how many thousands of words worth of capsules he's written in the wee hours of the morning.
Here at home, we have our own "Sundance Film Festival." It consists of trying to cobble together babysitters, grandparents, and my work schedule so that the kids are delivered to and from school on time, and receive regular meals.
That's been difficult in our 2012 outing. A combination of regularly scheduled spring events -- a freshman book discussion, a sophomore orientation -- and two faculty candidate visits back to back, meant that this is the first weekday night since Noel left home that I have not had to head out in the evening darkness for some work-related event.
I couldn't have managed without my parents coming to handle kid transport and kitchen duties while I was otherwise occupied. They left this morning for the grueling two-day drive back to their home on the Georgia coast.
Noel's last day at the festival is tomorrow; he flies home on Thursday, arriving around the time the kids are getting into their pajamas. I have done a decent job keeping things together (knock on wood). But I've done a poor job communicating with my absent spouse. Normally I post status updates and blog entries regularly, supplementing the occasional phone conversation with public information about how we're getting along. But the faculty candidate visits have thrown any concept of "regularly" out the window. I've had neither the time nor the energy to write, even a hundred and forty characters.
When a big push like faculty hiring coincides with the stressful and difficult conditions of half parental strength, you put your head down and power through it. But it always surprises me how much effort, mental and physical, that it takes. Several nights in the past week, I've sat down in my recliner an hour or so away from bedtime, finally done with everything on my plate, and have felt the bone weariness seep through my shoulders.
Noel knows that feeling well, I'm aware. No one works harder, especially through the 20-hour days of film festival madness. My parents know it, as they bunk down in some motel midway through Alabama, still a day away from their home after driving all day. We all look forward to getting back to the normal pile of deadlines and the usual routine of too much on our plates, rather than this crazy displaced double-time version of our lives.
Here at home, we have our own "Sundance Film Festival." It consists of trying to cobble together babysitters, grandparents, and my work schedule so that the kids are delivered to and from school on time, and receive regular meals.
That's been difficult in our 2012 outing. A combination of regularly scheduled spring events -- a freshman book discussion, a sophomore orientation -- and two faculty candidate visits back to back, meant that this is the first weekday night since Noel left home that I have not had to head out in the evening darkness for some work-related event.
I couldn't have managed without my parents coming to handle kid transport and kitchen duties while I was otherwise occupied. They left this morning for the grueling two-day drive back to their home on the Georgia coast.
Noel's last day at the festival is tomorrow; he flies home on Thursday, arriving around the time the kids are getting into their pajamas. I have done a decent job keeping things together (knock on wood). But I've done a poor job communicating with my absent spouse. Normally I post status updates and blog entries regularly, supplementing the occasional phone conversation with public information about how we're getting along. But the faculty candidate visits have thrown any concept of "regularly" out the window. I've had neither the time nor the energy to write, even a hundred and forty characters.
When a big push like faculty hiring coincides with the stressful and difficult conditions of half parental strength, you put your head down and power through it. But it always surprises me how much effort, mental and physical, that it takes. Several nights in the past week, I've sat down in my recliner an hour or so away from bedtime, finally done with everything on my plate, and have felt the bone weariness seep through my shoulders.
Noel knows that feeling well, I'm aware. No one works harder, especially through the 20-hour days of film festival madness. My parents know it, as they bunk down in some motel midway through Alabama, still a day away from their home after driving all day. We all look forward to getting back to the normal pile of deadlines and the usual routine of too much on our plates, rather than this crazy displaced double-time version of our lives.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Smoke gets in your eyes
Noel and I didn't surprise each other this Christmas, at least not in the big gifts we gave to each other. I put the sewing machine I wanted on my Amazon wishlist and let him know it was my heart's desire. And when I saw this smoker reviewed on the indispensable Cool Tools blog, I sent it to Noel and asked if he'd like it. He said yes; I hit the buy button.
I didn't know much about wood pellet electric smokers until reading that review. Turns out they have a lot of advantages. I bought a little propane grill soon after we moved here (when there were just two of us in the house), but I was always terrified of the thing. Turning a knob that starts flammable gas spewing out a tap, then hoping that the electric ignition catches before so much gas builds up that there's going to be a conflagration when it does, and worrying about leaky gas canisters ... it was too much for me. (I have the same issue when I light our gas fireplace, which is why it happens so seldom.)
These smokers are electric; they plug into a three-pronged outlet. You fill the hopper with food-grade wood pellets which are ignited by a heating element and burn inside a small firebox. You can use as a grill, but with smoke doing the cooking instead of direct flame; or you can set the dial to the lowest setting which burns low and slow like a barbecue pit.
We had chicken drums and thighs cooked in the smoker on its higher grill settings tonight, and oh man. The meat had the deep rose tint you get at real pit barbecue joints, it was ridiculously juicy, tender and flavorful, and the skin was crispy and dark. So good. I can't wait for Noel to experiment with ribs, fish, sausage, and any other cut of meat he desires. Highly recommended!
I didn't know much about wood pellet electric smokers until reading that review. Turns out they have a lot of advantages. I bought a little propane grill soon after we moved here (when there were just two of us in the house), but I was always terrified of the thing. Turning a knob that starts flammable gas spewing out a tap, then hoping that the electric ignition catches before so much gas builds up that there's going to be a conflagration when it does, and worrying about leaky gas canisters ... it was too much for me. (I have the same issue when I light our gas fireplace, which is why it happens so seldom.)
These smokers are electric; they plug into a three-pronged outlet. You fill the hopper with food-grade wood pellets which are ignited by a heating element and burn inside a small firebox. You can use as a grill, but with smoke doing the cooking instead of direct flame; or you can set the dial to the lowest setting which burns low and slow like a barbecue pit.
We had chicken drums and thighs cooked in the smoker on its higher grill settings tonight, and oh man. The meat had the deep rose tint you get at real pit barbecue joints, it was ridiculously juicy, tender and flavorful, and the skin was crispy and dark. So good. I can't wait for Noel to experiment with ribs, fish, sausage, and any other cut of meat he desires. Highly recommended!
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Fifteen
One measure of a marriage is whether you look back on it from the perspective of many years and see a transformation.
Noel and I were married fifteen years ago today. He was funny, a great writer, kind and caring. I knew that we would share a passion for pop culture and deep thought for life. I looked forward to a long life with my best friend.
Then everything began to change. I became a college professor. We moved to Arkansas. Noel began to rise in his profession. And most important, we decided to have a child.
I don't think we could have gotten as far in our careers if we hadn't had each other for support and second incomes. Those careers have produced some things that we're very proud of -- books, organizations, communities of interest, courses, essays, ongoing features, fan groups. But what we never could have anticipated were the two lives we would bring into the world together. Who could have thought that putting Noel and me together would add up to Archer and Cady Gray? Their wonderfulness is far beyond the sum of the two of us. And having them in our lives has changed us still further, all for the better.
The marriage is the start of it all, but it doesn't tell the whole story. It persists underneath all the changes, all the growth, as the substrate in which they flourish. What's most remarkable about the last fifteen years is how far they've brought us from where we started, in ways we never could have imagined.
Noel and I were married fifteen years ago today. He was funny, a great writer, kind and caring. I knew that we would share a passion for pop culture and deep thought for life. I looked forward to a long life with my best friend.
Then everything began to change. I became a college professor. We moved to Arkansas. Noel began to rise in his profession. And most important, we decided to have a child.
I don't think we could have gotten as far in our careers if we hadn't had each other for support and second incomes. Those careers have produced some things that we're very proud of -- books, organizations, communities of interest, courses, essays, ongoing features, fan groups. But what we never could have anticipated were the two lives we would bring into the world together. Who could have thought that putting Noel and me together would add up to Archer and Cady Gray? Their wonderfulness is far beyond the sum of the two of us. And having them in our lives has changed us still further, all for the better.
The marriage is the start of it all, but it doesn't tell the whole story. It persists underneath all the changes, all the growth, as the substrate in which they flourish. What's most remarkable about the last fifteen years is how far they've brought us from where we started, in ways we never could have imagined.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Toronto again
Someday I'd like to go to the Toronto International Film Festival with Noel. Given that it's impossible for me to take vacations in the middle of the semester, it might not be until I'm retired. (I'd hold out the possibility of a sabbatical, but as an administrator, the only time I can get sabbaticals is in the summer.)
I loved Toronto when I was there for the American Academy of Religion meeting several years ago. The sprawling underground shopping district that connected my hotel to the meeting venues was never less than fascinating, and I became proud of my ability to navigate it after a couple of days. I even got out to the area where some of the festival screenings take place and saw a movie, as I recall. A lot of that has changed since I was there and the festival has changed the spaces it uses, but I still feel like I got a tiny taste.
Noel has attended for years now, and has the status of a veteran. Friends who decide to make the trip or more sporadic attendees quiz him about the festival's arcane ticketing procedures, transportation, and accommodations. He works hard while he's there, seeing four or five movies a day and writing them up in capsules every night to be posted the next morning. I especially like the little touches in the capsules that I feel are just for me, like the "Headline" category which often approaches an inside joke. For example, the Headline on Noel's review of Kill List is "But will it sync with Toodledo?", referring to the to-do list manager we both use.
It seems to me, reading these reviews and Noel's more immediate tweet-reactions from the films, that he's had a pretty good festival -- a couple of awesome experiences, some confounding but unforgettable ones, and a nice run of solid second-tier successes. He's gotten to hang with friends he sees only once a year, typically, and eat some good meals. Sleep probably hasn't been too plentiful. I know he's missed his kids something awful. But I hope the trip has proved well worth his while. Maybe the shakeup in his routine will re-energize him at a time of year when we all need a serious kick-start.
I loved Toronto when I was there for the American Academy of Religion meeting several years ago. The sprawling underground shopping district that connected my hotel to the meeting venues was never less than fascinating, and I became proud of my ability to navigate it after a couple of days. I even got out to the area where some of the festival screenings take place and saw a movie, as I recall. A lot of that has changed since I was there and the festival has changed the spaces it uses, but I still feel like I got a tiny taste.
Noel has attended for years now, and has the status of a veteran. Friends who decide to make the trip or more sporadic attendees quiz him about the festival's arcane ticketing procedures, transportation, and accommodations. He works hard while he's there, seeing four or five movies a day and writing them up in capsules every night to be posted the next morning. I especially like the little touches in the capsules that I feel are just for me, like the "Headline" category which often approaches an inside joke. For example, the Headline on Noel's review of Kill List is "But will it sync with Toodledo?", referring to the to-do list manager we both use.
It seems to me, reading these reviews and Noel's more immediate tweet-reactions from the films, that he's had a pretty good festival -- a couple of awesome experiences, some confounding but unforgettable ones, and a nice run of solid second-tier successes. He's gotten to hang with friends he sees only once a year, typically, and eat some good meals. Sleep probably hasn't been too plentiful. I know he's missed his kids something awful. But I hope the trip has proved well worth his while. Maybe the shakeup in his routine will re-energize him at a time of year when we all need a serious kick-start.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
All of a sudden
As soon as Labor Day is over, our schedules kick into high gear -- and this year more so than usual. Noel leaves for the Toronto International Film Festival tomorrow morning. My parents arrive on Thursday. And I leave for our first-year student retreat on Friday, returning on Sunday.
At least this year I'm not missing another meeting at the same time. The American Academy of Religion held a late-summer board meeting this year instead of an early-fall executive committee meeting, which has always conflicted with this exceptionally busy weekend. I love going on this retreat, which features good food, good company, and good work, but it's hard to relax and enjoy myself when Noel is away and the kids are in the care of grandparents specially imported for the purpose.
I'll be leaving shortly after Noel gets back, on the first of several trips this semester. Noel observed while prepping for Toronto that it feels different to leave now, compared to past years. The kids are so interesting to be around, are changing and growing so fast, that it's no longer a longed-for escape to get away on your own. You feel like you are leaving friends and interesting people behind, rather than people who depend on your care and exhaust you with their need. I'm not eager to be gone from them, even for a week, even though I can't wait to travel to some of these meetings and locations.
At least while Noel is gone I'll get some extra time in their presence. I'll be the one who picks them up and hears about their day. Noel is trading those moments for wonderful movies and the company of fellow critics, but I think it's not obvious that he's getting the best of the deal -- not with these kids, not at this time of their lives.
At least this year I'm not missing another meeting at the same time. The American Academy of Religion held a late-summer board meeting this year instead of an early-fall executive committee meeting, which has always conflicted with this exceptionally busy weekend. I love going on this retreat, which features good food, good company, and good work, but it's hard to relax and enjoy myself when Noel is away and the kids are in the care of grandparents specially imported for the purpose.
I'll be leaving shortly after Noel gets back, on the first of several trips this semester. Noel observed while prepping for Toronto that it feels different to leave now, compared to past years. The kids are so interesting to be around, are changing and growing so fast, that it's no longer a longed-for escape to get away on your own. You feel like you are leaving friends and interesting people behind, rather than people who depend on your care and exhaust you with their need. I'm not eager to be gone from them, even for a week, even though I can't wait to travel to some of these meetings and locations.
At least while Noel is gone I'll get some extra time in their presence. I'll be the one who picks them up and hears about their day. Noel is trading those moments for wonderful movies and the company of fellow critics, but I think it's not obvious that he's getting the best of the deal -- not with these kids, not at this time of their lives.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Fathers
Looking around at my friends, my students, and the news, I know how lucky I am for the fathers in my life. We don't get to choose our fathers. But if we did, I know the line for mine would be very long. It was always a source of some inchoate pride for me that my dad was so well liked and well respected in our social circle. He's genuine, fun to be around, easy-going, and great company.
We do get to choose our kids' fathers, but we might not have suitability for fatherhood as the first consideration when we do. When Noel and I got married, I certainly wasn't picturing the way our life is arranged now, with him staying home and assuming primary childcare responsbilities. Anybody who has met our kids, though, knows what an amazing father he's turned out to be.
I read in the paper about, see on television, and occasionally -- sadly -- meet fathers whom none of us would want in our lives. None of us go to a school to learn how to be parents; we learn by observing, for better or for worse, the people who raise us. If it took an unbroken string of perfect parenting for us to be able to do a good job, we'd be in trouble. So I feel doubly fortunate that both I and my children got such a head start. Love you, Dad. Love you, Noel. Happy Father's Day, everyone.
We do get to choose our kids' fathers, but we might not have suitability for fatherhood as the first consideration when we do. When Noel and I got married, I certainly wasn't picturing the way our life is arranged now, with him staying home and assuming primary childcare responsbilities. Anybody who has met our kids, though, knows what an amazing father he's turned out to be.
I read in the paper about, see on television, and occasionally -- sadly -- meet fathers whom none of us would want in our lives. None of us go to a school to learn how to be parents; we learn by observing, for better or for worse, the people who raise us. If it took an unbroken string of perfect parenting for us to be able to do a good job, we'd be in trouble. So I feel doubly fortunate that both I and my children got such a head start. Love you, Dad. Love you, Noel. Happy Father's Day, everyone.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Celebrations
This time of year comes with so much to celebrate. My oldest nephew graduated from high school and will study and run track in Maine this fall. Father's Day is this weekend. And birthdays of friends and family continue apace.
August, as is well known, is the only month without a major holiday. For us, though, it's the biggest month of the year, with both kids' birthdays occurring in the same week. July has Independence Day, which is a big deal for some families, but usually passes quietly for us with maybe a picnic, and the scary fireworks safely confined to the TV.
I mention celebration only because I'll be passing the run-up to Father's Day in an unusual situation -- as a single, childless woman. Noel and the kids are going to visit the Tennessee grandparents on Thursday, coming back on Sunday. I'm looking forward to having the time and space to work on some projects around the house, like reconfiguring our computer set-up to be centered in Archer's room, getting rid of the huge desk where it currently sits, and clearing out the space for my planned crafting center.
When they get back it will be Father's Day, and I'll only have a few hours to make the day special. Getting the kids to make cute cards or breakfast in bed is out -- they won't be here. A nice present (that Noel knows about) is underway but won't be ready in time for his return. It will be special for me to see him and the kids again after a few days apart. Maybe enough of a gift would be to take the kids off his hands and leave him to enjoy a special dinner in solitude.
August, as is well known, is the only month without a major holiday. For us, though, it's the biggest month of the year, with both kids' birthdays occurring in the same week. July has Independence Day, which is a big deal for some families, but usually passes quietly for us with maybe a picnic, and the scary fireworks safely confined to the TV.
I mention celebration only because I'll be passing the run-up to Father's Day in an unusual situation -- as a single, childless woman. Noel and the kids are going to visit the Tennessee grandparents on Thursday, coming back on Sunday. I'm looking forward to having the time and space to work on some projects around the house, like reconfiguring our computer set-up to be centered in Archer's room, getting rid of the huge desk where it currently sits, and clearing out the space for my planned crafting center.
When they get back it will be Father's Day, and I'll only have a few hours to make the day special. Getting the kids to make cute cards or breakfast in bed is out -- they won't be here. A nice present (that Noel knows about) is underway but won't be ready in time for his return. It will be special for me to see him and the kids again after a few days apart. Maybe enough of a gift would be to take the kids off his hands and leave him to enjoy a special dinner in solitude.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Pacing yourself
I haven't run in a week and a half. Since Noel left, my late afternoon gym time has been taken up by picking up kids, fixing them snacks, planning dinner -- all the things Noel usually does.
But as I wait out the last few hours until he returns home, I'm thinking about what happens when I do run. I usually have a goal in mind; since the new year, it's been more modest -- a mile or two. That's because I experienced tingling and weakness in my left leg after training hard in November and December, and rest seemed to help.
I often keep in the back of my mind that I'll try to do a bit more past my goal, if I can. Sometimes I hit my distance expectations and can talk myself into keeping going for a few more laps -- maybe even a few more after that -- and if I can tell myself that I'm feeling good, maybe a lot more.
But sometimes I find that I've aimed at that goal so intently that I've worn myself out just as I reach it. I've rationed my expenditure of energy and stamina to run out right on time. If I had set a slightly longer goal, I always think as I slow to a walk, I probably could have made it, because I would have paced myself differently. It could even be mental -- I look forward to stopping, and the thought of bait-and-switching myself sometimes is too much to bear.
I've definitely aimed at tonight during Noel's nine-day absence. The fact that tomorrow is Friday -- even though it's an unusually tough Friday for me, with no fewer than three meetings and my first-and-only lecture in the freshman class to perform -- means that I've treated it as the start of my weekend celebration of freedom from sole responsibility for the family. Since Noel left last Wednesday morning I've been looking forward to tomorrow. To not fixing breakfast for the kids. To staying at work after 3 pm. To the usual weekend libations and treats I always begin allowing myself once the work day is over, but expecting them to be especially sweet now that I have the luxury of being off duty.
So what would happen if I were asked to push on a little longer? I know I could do it. But I also know I've paced myself with the expectation that I can stop running tonight -- rewarding myself for sustained effort with the sweet abandonment of that effort. I'm ready for the run to be over.
But as I wait out the last few hours until he returns home, I'm thinking about what happens when I do run. I usually have a goal in mind; since the new year, it's been more modest -- a mile or two. That's because I experienced tingling and weakness in my left leg after training hard in November and December, and rest seemed to help.
I often keep in the back of my mind that I'll try to do a bit more past my goal, if I can. Sometimes I hit my distance expectations and can talk myself into keeping going for a few more laps -- maybe even a few more after that -- and if I can tell myself that I'm feeling good, maybe a lot more.
But sometimes I find that I've aimed at that goal so intently that I've worn myself out just as I reach it. I've rationed my expenditure of energy and stamina to run out right on time. If I had set a slightly longer goal, I always think as I slow to a walk, I probably could have made it, because I would have paced myself differently. It could even be mental -- I look forward to stopping, and the thought of bait-and-switching myself sometimes is too much to bear.
I've definitely aimed at tonight during Noel's nine-day absence. The fact that tomorrow is Friday -- even though it's an unusually tough Friday for me, with no fewer than three meetings and my first-and-only lecture in the freshman class to perform -- means that I've treated it as the start of my weekend celebration of freedom from sole responsibility for the family. Since Noel left last Wednesday morning I've been looking forward to tomorrow. To not fixing breakfast for the kids. To staying at work after 3 pm. To the usual weekend libations and treats I always begin allowing myself once the work day is over, but expecting them to be especially sweet now that I have the luxury of being off duty.
So what would happen if I were asked to push on a little longer? I know I could do it. But I also know I've paced myself with the expectation that I can stop running tonight -- rewarding myself for sustained effort with the sweet abandonment of that effort. I'm ready for the run to be over.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Back to normal
Noel is wrapping up his last day of movies at Sundance and will head home tomorrow, arriving after the kids have gone to bed, if all goes well. Not coincidentally, tomorrow is one of the busiest days of his absence for me and the progeny. Archer will be doing a Powerpoint presentation in his gifted-and-talented class on the seven continents, and I'll be rushing over from school to be there to witness it. After school the kids have simultaneous music lessons back on my campus, and then we'll be going out for our last dinner as a threesome.
I was prepared to let a lot of things go these past nine days as I pushed home responsibilities to the forefront. Taking the place of various long-range projects and even more immediate administrative needs were remembering to pick up the kids at the right time and making sure they stayed clothed, fed, and caught up on their homework.
As usually happens, I didn't fall as far behind as I had steeled myself for. Student work got read; classes got prepared for; e-mails got written; meetings got attended. Even a few big issues got handled, or at least handed off in good order.
But I'm ready to return to my normal life, where these kind of things can be divvied up. I probably don't do my share on the kid front; Noel cooks the family meals and handles all the chauffeuring, while I do the laundry and pack lunchboxes. What seems to work about the way we've arranged the labor is that if there's a hiccup in either one of our schedules -- Noel has a phone interview scheduled around the time that school lets out, for example -- the other spouse can almost always step up to fill in.
That's what turns out to be wearying about going it alone for a week or so. If it's going to get done, you're going to have to do it. There's no one to hand off to. I'm ready to turn off my pager and drop off the grid for a little while, but I promise to step back up with good grace and pack the lunches Sunday night -- thanking my lucky stars I won't be cooking dinner as well.
I was prepared to let a lot of things go these past nine days as I pushed home responsibilities to the forefront. Taking the place of various long-range projects and even more immediate administrative needs were remembering to pick up the kids at the right time and making sure they stayed clothed, fed, and caught up on their homework.
As usually happens, I didn't fall as far behind as I had steeled myself for. Student work got read; classes got prepared for; e-mails got written; meetings got attended. Even a few big issues got handled, or at least handed off in good order.
But I'm ready to return to my normal life, where these kind of things can be divvied up. I probably don't do my share on the kid front; Noel cooks the family meals and handles all the chauffeuring, while I do the laundry and pack lunchboxes. What seems to work about the way we've arranged the labor is that if there's a hiccup in either one of our schedules -- Noel has a phone interview scheduled around the time that school lets out, for example -- the other spouse can almost always step up to fill in.
That's what turns out to be wearying about going it alone for a week or so. If it's going to get done, you're going to have to do it. There's no one to hand off to. I'm ready to turn off my pager and drop off the grid for a little while, but I promise to step back up with good grace and pack the lunches Sunday night -- thanking my lucky stars I won't be cooking dinner as well.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
In touch
While discussing the first chapter of Kevin Kelly's new book What Technology Wants with my senior seminar, we started talking about the well-worn topic Social Networking: Bane Or Boon?
A few days earlier, I had sat quietly fuming as the five dozen freshmen in our program fell all over themselves in an introductory class session to denounce Facebook and cyberspace in general as the root of all evil. Not for themselves, mind you -- for their less enlightened peers, and especially for their younger siblings. "I didn't get a cell phone until I was sixteen," one young man interjected, vis-a-vis the inappropriately early introduction of cell phones into the lives of the next generation.
I was amused -- the haphazard adoption of new communications technologies in the last decade thus being turned into ironclad and commonsense principles of The Way Things Should Be -- but also annoyed. Never having not been connected, the eighteen-year-olds were disturbingly quick to identify connectness as the central problem of their time.
Kelly helped my seniors put it in perspective. I paraphrase, not having the book in front of me: "At the exact moment when Americans were said to bowl alone, millions were gathering online." I looked it up. Sure enough, Putnam's famous essay is dated 1995, and what else was happening in 1995? The World Wide Web was entering its adolescence, having come into the lives of the early adopters just a couple of years earlier.
I never fail to be astounded at how quickly the predictions of doom shift. Fifteen years ago (and for the previous several decades), the ruination of American society was our increasing isolation from each other -- we sat before our TVs passively imbibing, amusing ourselves to death, building houses without front porches and cities without coffeeshops or gathering places. Now the ruination of America is that we can't live without each other, that we communicate incessantly, that we are losing the ability to be alone, that we have way too much to say and feel entitled to be heard.
This afternoon I sat at the playground while my kids constructed two elaborate fantasy parks in turn -- one for each of them to run -- complete with tickets, attractions, rewards, challenges, and prizes -- and I knitted while occasionally making an observation on Twitter. A thousand miles away, my husband was standing in line at a movie, making his own observations -- a conversation with our friends and acquaintances, tangentially directed at each other, in real time. Between our tweets flowed the observations, news, appeals, jokes, items of interest, and other ephemera of the conversations we've each chosen to listen in on -- some people we know, some we simply find enlightening. We are connected. Being connected, we are presented with opportunities to care, to touch, to help, to encourage, to critique. Is this not exactly what the doomsayers of the previous generation felt was slipping away forever?
A few days earlier, I had sat quietly fuming as the five dozen freshmen in our program fell all over themselves in an introductory class session to denounce Facebook and cyberspace in general as the root of all evil. Not for themselves, mind you -- for their less enlightened peers, and especially for their younger siblings. "I didn't get a cell phone until I was sixteen," one young man interjected, vis-a-vis the inappropriately early introduction of cell phones into the lives of the next generation.
I was amused -- the haphazard adoption of new communications technologies in the last decade thus being turned into ironclad and commonsense principles of The Way Things Should Be -- but also annoyed. Never having not been connected, the eighteen-year-olds were disturbingly quick to identify connectness as the central problem of their time.
Kelly helped my seniors put it in perspective. I paraphrase, not having the book in front of me: "At the exact moment when Americans were said to bowl alone, millions were gathering online." I looked it up. Sure enough, Putnam's famous essay is dated 1995, and what else was happening in 1995? The World Wide Web was entering its adolescence, having come into the lives of the early adopters just a couple of years earlier.
I never fail to be astounded at how quickly the predictions of doom shift. Fifteen years ago (and for the previous several decades), the ruination of American society was our increasing isolation from each other -- we sat before our TVs passively imbibing, amusing ourselves to death, building houses without front porches and cities without coffeeshops or gathering places. Now the ruination of America is that we can't live without each other, that we communicate incessantly, that we are losing the ability to be alone, that we have way too much to say and feel entitled to be heard.
This afternoon I sat at the playground while my kids constructed two elaborate fantasy parks in turn -- one for each of them to run -- complete with tickets, attractions, rewards, challenges, and prizes -- and I knitted while occasionally making an observation on Twitter. A thousand miles away, my husband was standing in line at a movie, making his own observations -- a conversation with our friends and acquaintances, tangentially directed at each other, in real time. Between our tweets flowed the observations, news, appeals, jokes, items of interest, and other ephemera of the conversations we've each chosen to listen in on -- some people we know, some we simply find enlightening. We are connected. Being connected, we are presented with opportunities to care, to touch, to help, to encourage, to critique. Is this not exactly what the doomsayers of the previous generation felt was slipping away forever?
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Turn on your radio
Noel's "Gateway to Geekery" essay on Harry Nilsson went live today. Nilsson is somebody I knew only glancingly in my pre-Noel days -- as the voice behind "Everybody's Talkin'," the beautiful theme to a movie I loved (Midnight Cowboy), and as John Lennon's companion during his infamous "lost weekend" in California (an episode I cataloged along with my obsessive knowledge of all things Beatles).
Finding and resurrecting the three-dimensional career, the arc and the art, behind the handful of pop hits and moments of cultural notoriety -- it's one of the great joys of life, and of my marriage. When Noel and I go out for a date-night dinner out, I like to ask him, "So what's the deal with Ricky Nelson?", and get treated to the fascinating story of who this guy was, where he fit in during his own era, how he got there and what happened to him. It's like the blank spots in one's Headline News version of cultural history being filled in with color.
My interest in Nilsson, I admit, derives partly from his similarity to Todd Rundgren, of whom I've been a rabid fan since my college days. Both were known as great pop songwriters and studio wizards; both put out crazy, idiosyncratic albums full of obtuse jokes and pastiches. Both resented, probably, to some extent, being pressured to be conventionally entertaining, and rebelled in their own ways.
Nilsson probably didn't take himself seriously enough, endlessly deconstructing his own legacy and sabotaging his chances of success; Todd probably took himself too seriously, dumping all his philosophico-mystical dabblings into the marketplace. But that's what makes the frequent moments of absolute pop perfection in both of their catalogs so glittering and precious. Take them as they are, or don't take them at all. For me, the human failings of the carriers of so magical a gift, so immense a share of creativity, make their stories all the more compelling, and the music all the more worthy of our love.
Finding and resurrecting the three-dimensional career, the arc and the art, behind the handful of pop hits and moments of cultural notoriety -- it's one of the great joys of life, and of my marriage. When Noel and I go out for a date-night dinner out, I like to ask him, "So what's the deal with Ricky Nelson?", and get treated to the fascinating story of who this guy was, where he fit in during his own era, how he got there and what happened to him. It's like the blank spots in one's Headline News version of cultural history being filled in with color.
My interest in Nilsson, I admit, derives partly from his similarity to Todd Rundgren, of whom I've been a rabid fan since my college days. Both were known as great pop songwriters and studio wizards; both put out crazy, idiosyncratic albums full of obtuse jokes and pastiches. Both resented, probably, to some extent, being pressured to be conventionally entertaining, and rebelled in their own ways.
Nilsson probably didn't take himself seriously enough, endlessly deconstructing his own legacy and sabotaging his chances of success; Todd probably took himself too seriously, dumping all his philosophico-mystical dabblings into the marketplace. But that's what makes the frequent moments of absolute pop perfection in both of their catalogs so glittering and precious. Take them as they are, or don't take them at all. For me, the human failings of the carriers of so magical a gift, so immense a share of creativity, make their stories all the more compelling, and the music all the more worthy of our love.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Out here on my own
My annual January bachelorette-hood begins tomorrow, when Noel leaves for the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah. It's important for him to go -- he sees a ton of movies, files dispatches for the A.V. Club, and builds up a backlog of reviewable content that can be parceled out as the movies are picked up for distribution and released throughout the year. And it's gotten a lot easier to do basic parenting as the kids have gotten older and more self-sufficient.
It's the advanced parenting that has gotten harder. Getting the kids to their various lessons, clubs, and appointments has become increasingly complicated. And I think our kids are probably underscheduled relative to the norm. Noel is the designated picker-upper and chauffeur in our family, although I pitch in wherever needed. So the anxiety for me is remembering to be where I need to be, when I need to be. The fear is a child sitting forlorn waiting for the parent who hasn't come.
Couple that with staffing shortages at my office, increasing panic among my co-workers about being able to carry out our responsibilities, and looming events on the horizon, and the fact is that I can't carry all those concerns around all day. Time to compartmentalize and prioritize. Getting through Sundance with the kids on a regular meal schedule and with no abandoned-on-the-side-of-the-road incidents is job one for the next nine days. A lot of other things will get done, but my phone alarm will be on kid-alert settings for the foreseeable future. So if you could just back-burner that other stuff -- or better yet, take care of it yourself! -- we'll all get through this just fine.
It's the advanced parenting that has gotten harder. Getting the kids to their various lessons, clubs, and appointments has become increasingly complicated. And I think our kids are probably underscheduled relative to the norm. Noel is the designated picker-upper and chauffeur in our family, although I pitch in wherever needed. So the anxiety for me is remembering to be where I need to be, when I need to be. The fear is a child sitting forlorn waiting for the parent who hasn't come.
Couple that with staffing shortages at my office, increasing panic among my co-workers about being able to carry out our responsibilities, and looming events on the horizon, and the fact is that I can't carry all those concerns around all day. Time to compartmentalize and prioritize. Getting through Sundance with the kids on a regular meal schedule and with no abandoned-on-the-side-of-the-road incidents is job one for the next nine days. A lot of other things will get done, but my phone alarm will be on kid-alert settings for the foreseeable future. So if you could just back-burner that other stuff -- or better yet, take care of it yourself! -- we'll all get through this just fine.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Lost weekend
Noel has gone to Chicago for a weekend of hard work, and I'm here with the kids for a weekend of hard fun. (To coin a phrase.) He'll be filming segments for a video version of the popular A.V. Club feature Inventory ... all day Saturday, all day Sunday. I'll be making the usual weekend rounds -- library, playgrounds, church -- trying to keep the kids fed and entertained.
The only wild card in our weekend routine is a surprise birthday party for one of Cady Gray's classmates. But this is an unusual situation. Carson has cancer and has to be taught at home. He has visited Cady Gray's classroom exactly once, making a huge impression on her. She explained to us how he had to wear a mask so he didn't catch any germs and get sick, and I explained to her how the medicine he was taking probably made his immune system not work right, so he can't fight off normal germs like she can.
The Make-A-Wish Foundation is putting on this surprise birthday party for him. And I must admit to being curious about how these kinds of things go. All we have to do is show up on time and party. It's at the college across town, in a large banquet room. Cady Gray hasn't stopped talking about it. She's pumped --about the party, about the surprise, and about Carson, this unusual (non-)presence in her class. I'm interested in being a part of a Make-A-Wish event, which most of us hear about in national news stories but don't participate in firsthand.
It's only three full days, really, to make sure the kids stay safe, nourished, and engaged. Yet as with all weekends, the possibilities seem, on Friday night, practically endless.
The only wild card in our weekend routine is a surprise birthday party for one of Cady Gray's classmates. But this is an unusual situation. Carson has cancer and has to be taught at home. He has visited Cady Gray's classroom exactly once, making a huge impression on her. She explained to us how he had to wear a mask so he didn't catch any germs and get sick, and I explained to her how the medicine he was taking probably made his immune system not work right, so he can't fight off normal germs like she can.
The Make-A-Wish Foundation is putting on this surprise birthday party for him. And I must admit to being curious about how these kinds of things go. All we have to do is show up on time and party. It's at the college across town, in a large banquet room. Cady Gray hasn't stopped talking about it. She's pumped --about the party, about the surprise, and about Carson, this unusual (non-)presence in her class. I'm interested in being a part of a Make-A-Wish event, which most of us hear about in national news stories but don't participate in firsthand.
It's only three full days, really, to make sure the kids stay safe, nourished, and engaged. Yet as with all weekends, the possibilities seem, on Friday night, practically endless.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
If I had to do the same again
Today's post about the last red and white crocheted scarf for a while is at Toxophily.
Meanwhile, Noel has arrived in Toronto and succeeded in turning his laptop into a wireless internet hub for his hotel roommates. Expect more wonders emanating from the north as the movie-going and capsule-writing begins in earnest; follow all the action at the A.V. Club and on his Twitter feed.
Meanwhile, Noel has arrived in Toronto and succeeded in turning his laptop into a wireless internet hub for his hotel roommates. Expect more wonders emanating from the north as the movie-going and capsule-writing begins in earnest; follow all the action at the A.V. Club and on his Twitter feed.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Scrambled
When I got home today and looked through the mail, I found a little box about the size of a videocassette, stuffed to bursting. I knew what it was -- I'd been anticipating it arriving today, having taken its sweet time to amble my way during the long Labor Day weekend. It's the opening salvo of Dish Rag Tag. My mission for the next few hours is to knit like mad and complete the included dishcloth pattern in the included dishcloth yarn, then pack the whole thing up with new yarn and a few goodies for my teammate next in line and send it off as soon as the post office doors open tomorrow.
But before that can happen, tomorrow brings another imperative. Noel leaves for his annual busman's holiday to the Toronto International Film Festival long before the sun rises.
What do these two events in my life have to do with each other? Both set me on a frantic scramble to get done what I need to get done, meet deadlines, fulfill my obligations, take care of business, and do my best not to let down the side. In the case of Dish Rag Tag, my part will be done when I hand the box over to the postal worker tomorrow. In the case of Noel's Toronto trip, I'll be on the front lines for most of the next week. (Thankfully, Friday evening through Sunday noon I'll get to hand over the reins to Noel's mother, arriving to stay with the kids while I go up Petitjean Mountain with the members of our incoming class of students.)
I didn't dread Noel's absence in the worst of times because our kids are so delightful and well-mannered. And as the years have gone by, any residual anxiety has pretty much faded; they practically take care of themselves, so other than driving, providing food, and keeping the power tools out of reach, there's not much I have to do that Noel ordinarily does. But if there's one thing that concerns me year after year, it's having everything depend on me -- having to meet all the deadlines, fulfill all the obligations, take care of all the business, and do my best not to let down the family.
It's by no means an impossible feat. Some people do it by themselves three hundred and sixty-five days a year. But it's a change of pace. At some point in the next nine days, I'll be scrambling. Let's hope whatever I'm trying to get done is as easy and as well within my powers as the dishcloth I'm already halfway done knitting.
But before that can happen, tomorrow brings another imperative. Noel leaves for his annual busman's holiday to the Toronto International Film Festival long before the sun rises.
What do these two events in my life have to do with each other? Both set me on a frantic scramble to get done what I need to get done, meet deadlines, fulfill my obligations, take care of business, and do my best not to let down the side. In the case of Dish Rag Tag, my part will be done when I hand the box over to the postal worker tomorrow. In the case of Noel's Toronto trip, I'll be on the front lines for most of the next week. (Thankfully, Friday evening through Sunday noon I'll get to hand over the reins to Noel's mother, arriving to stay with the kids while I go up Petitjean Mountain with the members of our incoming class of students.)
I didn't dread Noel's absence in the worst of times because our kids are so delightful and well-mannered. And as the years have gone by, any residual anxiety has pretty much faded; they practically take care of themselves, so other than driving, providing food, and keeping the power tools out of reach, there's not much I have to do that Noel ordinarily does. But if there's one thing that concerns me year after year, it's having everything depend on me -- having to meet all the deadlines, fulfill all the obligations, take care of all the business, and do my best not to let down the family.
It's by no means an impossible feat. Some people do it by themselves three hundred and sixty-five days a year. But it's a change of pace. At some point in the next nine days, I'll be scrambling. Let's hope whatever I'm trying to get done is as easy and as well within my powers as the dishcloth I'm already halfway done knitting.
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