Well, close enough, anyway. Noel and I divvied up the vacations this year; he took the kids to see their Tennessee grandparents back in June, and I am taking them to see their Georgia grandparents for the next few days. When we get back, it will be almost time for school to start, and my children will be nearing their 10th and 13th birthdays.
Traveling with the kids at this age reminds me forcefully, almost painfully, of traveling with my family when I was a child. The ages my children are now comprise the age ranges where I was most acutely aware in travel, most alert and alive to its adventure. None of the responsibilities or decisions were mine; all the exploration was available. My brothers and I took off at every stop to reconnoiter the area.
We're staying in a hotel near the Little Rock airport tonight so that we don't have to drive down from Conway in the pitch blackness of 4 am to make our early morning flight. Of course, the kids are thrilled. In their shoes, I would be riding the elevators to every floor and trying to find an arcade machine and begging for change to get something from the vending area. It's hard to imagine me setting my kids free to roam the way we were at that age. Helicopter parenting? The natural concerns of parents about a special-needs kid? Or is it just that I've raised them to be happy homebodies, not pushing those boundaries, no urge to roam?
I surprised myself during the last few days by how much I've looked forward to this trip. And it's all because I know how excited the kids are to navigate airports, ride unfamiliar highways, nail down mental maps of new places. Oh, and see their Granny Lou and Papa, who are always happy to play games and whip up little snacks and go on long walks. Nothing wrong with that, either.
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Friday, August 1, 2014
Sunday, April 13, 2014
The promise of a path
I've been here at Calvin College, in Grand Rapids, Michigan, for the past three days as a guest of the Festival of Faith and Writing. It's been a wonderful visit. The staff is welcoming and effortlessly competent, the students are enthusiastic and promising, and the attendees are somehow not only willing, but actually excited to show up at the crack of dawn on a weekend to hear some non-celebrity former TV critic from the boonies talk about theology and stuff.
It's a a beautiful campus, besides, dotted with low, rambling buildings whose unotrusiveness -- none are over a couple of stories high, all are the color of earth or sand -- seems to reflect the stated ethos of the college. I heard a faculty member mention that Calvin is a place where "we compete to be the most humble."
But what I love most about a college campus -- any campus, really, from corporate to clerical -- are the pathways. Curving through trees, skirting green spaces, circling fields, edging buildings. When I set out on such a path, I always get a jolt of memory at some particular point, perhaps when the path crests a rise or veers away from structures. I remember vacations with my family, the campgrounds where we parked our rented RV, and the paths that my brothers and I immediately set off to explore. I remember church camps, with the paths that led from cabins to dining halls to campfire pits to circles of benches out in the woods. At the end of the week, treading the now-familiar paths, I felt like a newly-minted expert in the ways of the place, a veteran ceding the ground to the next group like Charlie Brown: "I've done my hitch."
I'm not an adventurer. I don't strike out into the unknown. I like a path because a path says "this goes somewhere." I can never resist finding out where. But the greatest pleasure of a path isn't finding out for the first time where it leads. It's knowing where it leads, the next time.
It's a a beautiful campus, besides, dotted with low, rambling buildings whose unotrusiveness -- none are over a couple of stories high, all are the color of earth or sand -- seems to reflect the stated ethos of the college. I heard a faculty member mention that Calvin is a place where "we compete to be the most humble."
But what I love most about a college campus -- any campus, really, from corporate to clerical -- are the pathways. Curving through trees, skirting green spaces, circling fields, edging buildings. When I set out on such a path, I always get a jolt of memory at some particular point, perhaps when the path crests a rise or veers away from structures. I remember vacations with my family, the campgrounds where we parked our rented RV, and the paths that my brothers and I immediately set off to explore. I remember church camps, with the paths that led from cabins to dining halls to campfire pits to circles of benches out in the woods. At the end of the week, treading the now-familiar paths, I felt like a newly-minted expert in the ways of the place, a veteran ceding the ground to the next group like Charlie Brown: "I've done my hitch."
I'm not an adventurer. I don't strike out into the unknown. I like a path because a path says "this goes somewhere." I can never resist finding out where. But the greatest pleasure of a path isn't finding out for the first time where it leads. It's knowing where it leads, the next time.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
A city that the damned call home
This year I've cut way back on my conference travel. Ordinarily this time of year I'd be juggling presentations and meetings at the national Honors education meeting, followed closely by the American Academy of Religion. But following my exit from most official posts at these organizations, I'm strangely passive about their yearly demands to gather in vibrant cities at big hotels and attend multiple parties. Back in the distant spring, before I made the decision to step down from administration, my boss included me as co-presenter on a session for this year's National Collegiate Honors Society meeting in New Orleans, so I've known for quite some time I would attend. But I've been otherwise content just to let it happen, and hope someone would tell me where to show up. (That's almost too much to expect, it seems; I somehow got left off the list of recipients when the big conference agenda was shared, so I didn't even know when our group dinner was until my boss happened to mention it earlier that day.)
The lack of business suits my mood -- and the mood of the city. I attend some sessions, do some thinking, grab a couple of hours off site to sample the city's food (from beignets to po'boys to gumbo), and try not to add to the self-important bustle of the conference. I support my colleagues and get a little work done and have the football game playing in my shared hotel room by 8:30 pm. And occasionally I wonder: Do I miss being at the center of the action? Having a bunch of special ribbons on my nametag? (The NCHC is crazy for one-off ribbons; there are at least a dozen that I've seen that only one attendee is entitled to wear.) I note that some of the decisions and work are quite important, not only to the organization and its members, but quite literally in the sphere of life and death. But of course, removed from that context as I am, it is undeniably pleasant to leave the worrying and the detail-obsessions to someone else.
This will be the first time I haven't been at the American Academy of Religion annual meeting in many, many years. I believe the last one I missed was probably 1997. I went when my children were babes in arms, I went when I had interviews, I went when I had papers to give, and for the last six years, I went as a member of the board of directors. This year I have no committees to staff and I have no papers to give, so there was no rationale for me to ask for my department's support with travel expenses. I let it go. I'll miss it when my friends post to Facebook or tweet about the meeting, but I doubt I will spend a lot of time feeling left out. I have plenty on my plate.
But I confess that sitting in a business meeting here at NCHC this morning, my mind wandered to the AAR office I told many people I might run for in the future. I thought I might do it sooner rather than later. A year out of the trenches and away from the social whirl feels like a vacation. Two years, a well-earned sabbatical. When it starts getting to be a habit, though, you might start feeling sidelined. Irrelevent. Give me a chance to recuperate a bit longer, and then if you have a committee that needs a member or an office that needs a candidate, call me. I don't want to need that kind of status; I hope I'm beyond ever needing to feel important. And I'm way past wanting to have people pile responsibilities on me just so I can stay at the center of things. But on my own terms? I could see it happening again. And I'm betting it will feel as different as night and day, after having climbed the ladder once and been truly grateful to step off the rungs back to solid ground.
The lack of business suits my mood -- and the mood of the city. I attend some sessions, do some thinking, grab a couple of hours off site to sample the city's food (from beignets to po'boys to gumbo), and try not to add to the self-important bustle of the conference. I support my colleagues and get a little work done and have the football game playing in my shared hotel room by 8:30 pm. And occasionally I wonder: Do I miss being at the center of the action? Having a bunch of special ribbons on my nametag? (The NCHC is crazy for one-off ribbons; there are at least a dozen that I've seen that only one attendee is entitled to wear.) I note that some of the decisions and work are quite important, not only to the organization and its members, but quite literally in the sphere of life and death. But of course, removed from that context as I am, it is undeniably pleasant to leave the worrying and the detail-obsessions to someone else.
This will be the first time I haven't been at the American Academy of Religion annual meeting in many, many years. I believe the last one I missed was probably 1997. I went when my children were babes in arms, I went when I had interviews, I went when I had papers to give, and for the last six years, I went as a member of the board of directors. This year I have no committees to staff and I have no papers to give, so there was no rationale for me to ask for my department's support with travel expenses. I let it go. I'll miss it when my friends post to Facebook or tweet about the meeting, but I doubt I will spend a lot of time feeling left out. I have plenty on my plate.
But I confess that sitting in a business meeting here at NCHC this morning, my mind wandered to the AAR office I told many people I might run for in the future. I thought I might do it sooner rather than later. A year out of the trenches and away from the social whirl feels like a vacation. Two years, a well-earned sabbatical. When it starts getting to be a habit, though, you might start feeling sidelined. Irrelevent. Give me a chance to recuperate a bit longer, and then if you have a committee that needs a member or an office that needs a candidate, call me. I don't want to need that kind of status; I hope I'm beyond ever needing to feel important. And I'm way past wanting to have people pile responsibilities on me just so I can stay at the center of things. But on my own terms? I could see it happening again. And I'm betting it will feel as different as night and day, after having climbed the ladder once and been truly grateful to step off the rungs back to solid ground.
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.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Just an old sweet song
Back from our trip to the place of Noel's birth, to the metropolis where we played and absorbed culture during our University of Georgia days, to the team that haunts our childhoods and commands our undying loyalty. Back from Atlanta, where we seized the excuse provided by a colleague's wedding to introduce our children to some of the city's riches. Here are a few highlights.
We got to experience two, count 'em, two Staybridge Suites about a mile apart! This photo was taken outside the first one.
Walking the downtown streets.
Archer utterly confused this attendant at the World of Coca-Cola's secret formula vault exhibit with a robotboy question.
Granny Lou and Papa were with us for a couple of days, and the kids worked hard to give them enough love to last until the next visit.
We may not have eaten very healthy, but we ate very happy, including this Johnny Rockets lunch ...
... followed by rock candy on a stick.
We got to hang with old friends from our UGA days.
These are the kinds of smiles that happen inside a Legoland Discovery Center.
And these are the kind that happen when you're in the home of Hammerin' Hank.
Look at that form!
He's trying to stretch it to three! Really testing the arm of that right fielder!
More old friends at the ball game.
Our tomahawk chop took a while to get coordinated.
Cady Gray insisted on keeping score.
An enthusiastic rendering of "Take Me Out To The Ballgame."
Outside Staybridge Suites #2. It's a long story.
The Georgia Aquarium mesmerized Cady Gray.
Peeking at penguins.
There was even a fish for Archer.
CG picked up so many feathers for her collection that I was sure she would fly away on our many long walks.
Our friend Stephen probably wears suits frequently. This is the first time Noel's been in one in many a year.
MARTA was Archer's favorite Atlanta attraction. Goodbye, Peach City -- we'll see you again soon!
We got to experience two, count 'em, two Staybridge Suites about a mile apart! This photo was taken outside the first one.
Walking the downtown streets.
Archer utterly confused this attendant at the World of Coca-Cola's secret formula vault exhibit with a robotboy question.
Granny Lou and Papa were with us for a couple of days, and the kids worked hard to give them enough love to last until the next visit.
We may not have eaten very healthy, but we ate very happy, including this Johnny Rockets lunch ...
... followed by rock candy on a stick.
We got to hang with old friends from our UGA days.
These are the kinds of smiles that happen inside a Legoland Discovery Center.
And these are the kind that happen when you're in the home of Hammerin' Hank.
Look at that form!
He's trying to stretch it to three! Really testing the arm of that right fielder!
More old friends at the ball game.
Our tomahawk chop took a while to get coordinated.
Cady Gray insisted on keeping score.
An enthusiastic rendering of "Take Me Out To The Ballgame."
Outside Staybridge Suites #2. It's a long story.
The Georgia Aquarium mesmerized Cady Gray.
Peeking at penguins.
There was even a fish for Archer.
CG picked up so many feathers for her collection that I was sure she would fly away on our many long walks.
Our friend Stephen probably wears suits frequently. This is the first time Noel's been in one in many a year.
MARTA was Archer's favorite Atlanta attraction. Goodbye, Peach City -- we'll see you again soon!
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Rip it up and start again
I spent a marvelous hour or so last fall at a yarn store in San Francisco called Artfibers. The owners formulate their own yarn bases and hand-dye them to produce a large loft of amazing, unique fibers. When I walked out after a happy morning swatching, I had 400 yards of Ming, a half-merino half-silk blend in a colorway that reminded me of bronze, copper, gold and amethyst.
Last night, having bound off an enormous Malabrigo wrap destined for my mother-in-law's shoulders, I couldn't wait to start another project. A scarf, a rectangular scarf that I can knit on my beloved Signature straights, worsted weight, large and satisfying stitches in a yarn that would be a treat for my hands and eyes.
I started out by looking for inspiration in my Ravelry stash and queue, but when I visited my yarn wall to poke through the yarn possibilities in person, the Artfibers cone practically fell into my hands. What better indulgence, I thought?I gathered the yarn and my needle roll and headed back to the living room to find a pattern.
I didn't expect that search to last all night and most of the next morning. Here are some of the patterns I tried.
Serafine by Molly Whiddon. I saw some lovely projects showing how this clusters and highlights variegated yarn. But after starting it, I was unhappy and wasn't sure why.
Tipsy Rib Scarf by Pamela Wynne. Very promising, since this pattern was created for this specific yarn. But I only got a couple of rows in before I made a mistake, and since I wasn't sure that a simple knit/purl pattern was what I wanted, I moved on.
One-Row Handspun Scarf by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee. The one pictured is by Raveler purpleemma in Ming. Isn't it beautiful? I kept coming back to this, hoping it would work. I love one-row lace patterns. They're what I so often crave when I crave a rectangular worsted-weight scarf on straight needles knitting experience. And this wasn't the only one I tried.
Sinful Ribbed Scarf by Classic Elite. Nope.
Swish Scarf by Lisa Sisk. Nope, but this is the one that made me realize what was wrong with all these patterns I was rejecting. The fringe you see is made by knitting six stitches in stockinette on one side of the scarf, then dropping them all at the end. The lace pattern wasn't doing it for me at all, but the stockinette was gorgeous. Aha! Need to look for patterns with major swaths of stockinette!
Unfortunately, stockinette and rectangular straight-needle scarves go together like ... things that don't go together well. Stockinette rolls up from side to side, and scarves have to lay flat. Was it possible that this yarn, which begged for beautiful columns of knit-stitch V's to show off its iridescence, would be incompatible with my desire for a simple unshaped scarf?
The Prismatic Scarf by Huan-Hua Chye. I thought this would be the one. There's three knit stitches between those slipped-with-yarn-in-front bars. But the bars were distracting rather than enhancing. They looked messy. I needed even more stockinette.
SciWiNoNa (Scarf With No Name) by weezalana. Ahhhhh. Finally. A scarf with wide stockinette panels (five stitches across) and no yarn-overs or slipped stitches to detract from them.
As soon as I got past the garter border and started the pattern, I knew my yarn had found its pattern at last. The metallic sheen to the fibers, the deep tones of the colors, all glowed in the smooth stockinette surface.
One of the great virtues of knitting is its ability to be unravelled and worked again. I knit the first inch or two of this scarf half a dozen times in the past twenty-four hours. For a material so precious, it was worth the trial and error to find its proper match. Trust your instincts, learn from your mistakes. Rip it up and start again. The investment is small -- just time and effort. The reward is beauty, and the pleasure of making it. Few activities afford so many opportunities to do it over and get it right.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Thankful to be home
I've spent one night at home in the last week, so my gratitude is all about being in my easy chair, with my computer and my DVR full of my shows, in my PJs and looking forward to a hearty sleep in my own bed. Not that I should be complaining about visiting beautiful San Francisco, where I spent time with wonderful colleagues, had enriching professional experiences, and ate some lovely meals; nor about spending time with Noel's family in Nashville, where the turkey was well-brined and the long-unseen relatives were copious.
For me, however, four trips in three months is about the limit. I've been to some fabulous places and done good work, but I am ready to hibernate at home for the rest of the winter. Home is where I can spend an afternoon sewing -- where Cady Gray can choose a Perler bead or knitting project at the drop of a hat. Home is where my beloved Little Orphan Annie collections, far too heavy to take on the road, are sitting by my bed to end the day. Home is where the Christmas tree lights will soon go up. It's where there is time for all the lengthy thinking and plotting necessary to end this semester and start the next one.
Home is home base, and everyone knows that home base is where you safely rejuvenate for your next forays into the wide world. I'm thrilled to be done with the forays and in for a long round of rejuvenation.
For me, however, four trips in three months is about the limit. I've been to some fabulous places and done good work, but I am ready to hibernate at home for the rest of the winter. Home is where I can spend an afternoon sewing -- where Cady Gray can choose a Perler bead or knitting project at the drop of a hat. Home is where my beloved Little Orphan Annie collections, far too heavy to take on the road, are sitting by my bed to end the day. Home is where the Christmas tree lights will soon go up. It's where there is time for all the lengthy thinking and plotting necessary to end this semester and start the next one.
Home is home base, and everyone knows that home base is where you safely rejuvenate for your next forays into the wide world. I'm thrilled to be done with the forays and in for a long round of rejuvenation.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
The existential academic
On a plane high above the desert giving way to mountains, one is as alone as it's possible to be outside of the wilderness or cloister. Yes, you're packed in an aluminum tube with a couple hundred strangers; you're even sitting cheek by jowl with them, sneaking surreptitious peeks at the crossword puzzle on which they appear to be stuck.
But your thoughts are so thoroughly your own that it can even be disturbing. The song that is running through your head (in my case, "All Kinds Of Time" by Fountains of Wayne) will be there until displaced by the noises of the terminal at your destination; it seems to pulse along with the white noise of the aircraft engines. The ideas that arise when you look out the window, or pause in your reading, or glance at the Selena Gomez movie playing in the flip-down screen that youve never heard of before (I was hoping during the opening credits that MONTE CARLO would turn out to be a sequel to GRAN TORINO) -- they are as private as they come, since there is no one with whom one is in social intercourse, and not the slightest opportunity to express them.
The most pressing decisions I always feel weighing upon me during a conference like this one are the choices, repeated and unrelenting, between company and solitude. There are obligations, and there are opportunities, and between the two is limned a space for choice. In dispatching my obligations to meetings and committees and appearances at functions to which I have been invited, am I clearing for myself a space to retreat when those events are over? Am I still obligated to myself, my profession, my colleagues, to be present at every point where my calendar gives me a choice?
I'm not suggesting that this is an all-or-nothing equation; my Annual Meetings app is already chock-a-block with sessions where I have no formal role but plan to attend in support of a friend or a group. I take heart, too, in the example of my boss who defends the expense of a hotel room partly by the rest and rejuvenation that the busy conference attendee -- especially the busy leader or elected official -- needs.
And yet no one who attends such meetings will deny that the choice to skip a session, to go walking by the Bay or to see a museum exhibit or just to retreat, is fraught with guilt and self-justification. How do we know our motivations are unsullied? How do we make the most of the money various organizations have contributed to our expenses? If I meet with a publisher about a book project that will enhance the reputation of the department and solidify my promotion prospects, have I earned an indulgence, or is this no more than my bounden duty at every waking moment while I have the University's name on my lanyard and the honorific flags of board and committee member hanging from my name tag?
I dramatize too much. But it's the solitude that makes you wonder, that gets inside your head and renders every minor decision fraught with existential pitfalls related to one's many conflicting roles -- as a traveller, a stranger, a professional, a director, a scholar, an alumnus, a teacher, a learner, a colleague. The couple on the row in front of me looking at a Beijing guidebook and excitedly planning their trip have fewer roles but will feel the same weight of decisions -- how best to make the most of this once-in-a-lifetime journey? How to regard plans and improvisations respectively? If the thought arises to separate for individual activities rather than remaining a duo, how should it be regarded? Freedom brings more questions, the burden of the answers' significance stronger than ever. It's a dilemma my students reading Sartre and Kierkegaard would recognize immediately.
But your thoughts are so thoroughly your own that it can even be disturbing. The song that is running through your head (in my case, "All Kinds Of Time" by Fountains of Wayne) will be there until displaced by the noises of the terminal at your destination; it seems to pulse along with the white noise of the aircraft engines. The ideas that arise when you look out the window, or pause in your reading, or glance at the Selena Gomez movie playing in the flip-down screen that youve never heard of before (I was hoping during the opening credits that MONTE CARLO would turn out to be a sequel to GRAN TORINO) -- they are as private as they come, since there is no one with whom one is in social intercourse, and not the slightest opportunity to express them.
The most pressing decisions I always feel weighing upon me during a conference like this one are the choices, repeated and unrelenting, between company and solitude. There are obligations, and there are opportunities, and between the two is limned a space for choice. In dispatching my obligations to meetings and committees and appearances at functions to which I have been invited, am I clearing for myself a space to retreat when those events are over? Am I still obligated to myself, my profession, my colleagues, to be present at every point where my calendar gives me a choice?
I'm not suggesting that this is an all-or-nothing equation; my Annual Meetings app is already chock-a-block with sessions where I have no formal role but plan to attend in support of a friend or a group. I take heart, too, in the example of my boss who defends the expense of a hotel room partly by the rest and rejuvenation that the busy conference attendee -- especially the busy leader or elected official -- needs.
And yet no one who attends such meetings will deny that the choice to skip a session, to go walking by the Bay or to see a museum exhibit or just to retreat, is fraught with guilt and self-justification. How do we know our motivations are unsullied? How do we make the most of the money various organizations have contributed to our expenses? If I meet with a publisher about a book project that will enhance the reputation of the department and solidify my promotion prospects, have I earned an indulgence, or is this no more than my bounden duty at every waking moment while I have the University's name on my lanyard and the honorific flags of board and committee member hanging from my name tag?
I dramatize too much. But it's the solitude that makes you wonder, that gets inside your head and renders every minor decision fraught with existential pitfalls related to one's many conflicting roles -- as a traveller, a stranger, a professional, a director, a scholar, an alumnus, a teacher, a learner, a colleague. The couple on the row in front of me looking at a Beijing guidebook and excitedly planning their trip have fewer roles but will feel the same weight of decisions -- how best to make the most of this once-in-a-lifetime journey? How to regard plans and improvisations respectively? If the thought arises to separate for individual activities rather than remaining a duo, how should it be regarded? Freedom brings more questions, the burden of the answers' significance stronger than ever. It's a dilemma my students reading Sartre and Kierkegaard would recognize immediately.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Flyover work
I'm flying cross-country tomorrow, which affords one of my most coveted opportunities: several hours where my time is my own. In a perfect world I'd be able to pull out my sewing machine and whip out a project with that time -- that's what I'd most like to do with four hours of leisure. But sewing is an activity that takes a lot of space and equipment, unfortunately.
The next best thing would be to spend my time knitting or crocheting, especially with a number of projects ongoing with a deadline of about two weeks away (our Craftin' for CASA sale). But the sad fact is that my lengthy trip doesn't equate into a lengthy stretch of leisure to choose my favorite pastime. I have a lot to do tomorrow while I make my way west. There are a few more freshman papers to grade. There are reflective pieces from my juniors that I need to critique and hand back for revision. There are three major end-of-semester activities I need to design and publish to my students before the last two weeks of class start, right after Thanksgiving break. And then there are also documents to be read in preparation for committee and board meetings once I arrive.
Not that I deserve some sort of transcontinental vacation; I'm on the job, after all. And these days, a few hours to get work done without the phone ringing or people knocking on my office door is almost as good as time to read a book, knit a hat or sew a bag. Nevertheless, what I'm most looking forward to on this trip is the time when I look at my to-do list and realize that knitting and reading are the only things on it.
The next best thing would be to spend my time knitting or crocheting, especially with a number of projects ongoing with a deadline of about two weeks away (our Craftin' for CASA sale). But the sad fact is that my lengthy trip doesn't equate into a lengthy stretch of leisure to choose my favorite pastime. I have a lot to do tomorrow while I make my way west. There are a few more freshman papers to grade. There are reflective pieces from my juniors that I need to critique and hand back for revision. There are three major end-of-semester activities I need to design and publish to my students before the last two weeks of class start, right after Thanksgiving break. And then there are also documents to be read in preparation for committee and board meetings once I arrive.
Not that I deserve some sort of transcontinental vacation; I'm on the job, after all. And these days, a few hours to get work done without the phone ringing or people knocking on my office door is almost as good as time to read a book, knit a hat or sew a bag. Nevertheless, what I'm most looking forward to on this trip is the time when I look at my to-do list and realize that knitting and reading are the only things on it.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
One day to go
I leave on Thursday for San Francisco. Between now and then there are a dozen things on my to-do list. It seems hard to imagine that I'll get it all done.
Some of the tasks are about leaving my colleagues, including my teaching assistants, with what they need to continue on. That means making sure they know what I expect, and providing them with any materials that they can't easily produce themselves.
Some of the tasks are about being ready to come back. That means getting paperwork in before I leave if it's due while I leave, and having structures in mind for classes, assignments, and activities that will happen as soon as the break ends.
And some of it -- not as much as you'd think -- is about being ready for the trip. I still have to cut down the paper I'm giving so it will fit in the 20-minute presentation slot, and rehearse it. I have to make sure the materials for the committee and board meetings I'm attending are on my iPad to be read on the plane.
And if I have time, I need to deal with some regional business -- work on the new operating agreement that will clarify our relationship to the national organization, communicate with my regional leadership, get the program submitted for next spring's regional meeting.
The last part is what I've been letting slide. It's the one thing where I set the schedule, more or less. Everything else is coming quickly no matter what I do, and all I can do is be as diligent as possible so I'm ready when it gets here. But the regional business is something I can't let slide forever, and I wish I had the space to make it a higher priority and to do a better job at it.
In the end, I have to check off everything on my list that will cause me and other people immediate problems if I don't take care of it. And while I'm away, I know what will happen, because it always happens at conferences: I'll get excited about a number of other projects, even though I'm not giving the ones I have my full attention as it is. Happily, there are only a couple more years until some of those responsibilities pass to others. So maybe my main job should be not to take on too many more until I have a chance to catch my breath. My to-do list doesn't need to get any longer!
Some of the tasks are about leaving my colleagues, including my teaching assistants, with what they need to continue on. That means making sure they know what I expect, and providing them with any materials that they can't easily produce themselves.
Some of the tasks are about being ready to come back. That means getting paperwork in before I leave if it's due while I leave, and having structures in mind for classes, assignments, and activities that will happen as soon as the break ends.
And some of it -- not as much as you'd think -- is about being ready for the trip. I still have to cut down the paper I'm giving so it will fit in the 20-minute presentation slot, and rehearse it. I have to make sure the materials for the committee and board meetings I'm attending are on my iPad to be read on the plane.
And if I have time, I need to deal with some regional business -- work on the new operating agreement that will clarify our relationship to the national organization, communicate with my regional leadership, get the program submitted for next spring's regional meeting.
The last part is what I've been letting slide. It's the one thing where I set the schedule, more or less. Everything else is coming quickly no matter what I do, and all I can do is be as diligent as possible so I'm ready when it gets here. But the regional business is something I can't let slide forever, and I wish I had the space to make it a higher priority and to do a better job at it.
In the end, I have to check off everything on my list that will cause me and other people immediate problems if I don't take care of it. And while I'm away, I know what will happen, because it always happens at conferences: I'll get excited about a number of other projects, even though I'm not giving the ones I have my full attention as it is. Happily, there are only a couple more years until some of those responsibilities pass to others. So maybe my main job should be not to take on too many more until I have a chance to catch my breath. My to-do list doesn't need to get any longer!
Monday, November 14, 2011
Appified
I'm off to the annual meetings of the American Academy of Religion and the Society for Biblical Literature (together again, just like in the old days!) in San Francisco on Thursday. The report today was that there will be over 10,000 people in combined attendance.
With hundreds of simultaneous sessions in dozens of groups under the aegises of two huge learned societies, figuring out how to spend your time is one of the most difficult tasks of the pre-conference period. Add to that the bewildering array of options available when you need to make a judgment on the fly, and a lot of people just give up and duck into the nearest open room.
This year for the first time the AAR and SBL have provided a smartphone app (Android and iPhone) that cuts admirably through the clutter. Search for people or keywords, and get a list of sessions and presenters for both societies. Select and get abstracts of the session; select a participant and get an abstract of her paper. Add the session to your schedule and the app builds a calendar of your choices for all four days of the conference plus the two days of pre-conference workshops and additional meetings.
That works great for planning your days before you get there, but what about on site? That's where the app really shines. It senses your location and will tell you what sessions are taking place at that moment nearby. Maps of the massive convention center and hotel meeting spaces turn interactive with pins dropped at your location and at the session you've selected. Updates are constantly pushed to the app with no need to download the changes; just restart to get the new information. And of course, sharing to social media is all integrated.
This is one of the biggest upgrades to the annual meeting experience that has happened in my lifetime -- during which a multitude of changes, tweaks, and strategies for the program books, abstracts, and planners have been tried. Everybody going to the meeting should download it (search for AM11AAR&SBL -- it's free!) and get started building a schedule and agonizing over those conflicts. And be sure to follow @AARWeb on Twitter!
With hundreds of simultaneous sessions in dozens of groups under the aegises of two huge learned societies, figuring out how to spend your time is one of the most difficult tasks of the pre-conference period. Add to that the bewildering array of options available when you need to make a judgment on the fly, and a lot of people just give up and duck into the nearest open room.
This year for the first time the AAR and SBL have provided a smartphone app (Android and iPhone) that cuts admirably through the clutter. Search for people or keywords, and get a list of sessions and presenters for both societies. Select and get abstracts of the session; select a participant and get an abstract of her paper. Add the session to your schedule and the app builds a calendar of your choices for all four days of the conference plus the two days of pre-conference workshops and additional meetings.
That works great for planning your days before you get there, but what about on site? That's where the app really shines. It senses your location and will tell you what sessions are taking place at that moment nearby. Maps of the massive convention center and hotel meeting spaces turn interactive with pins dropped at your location and at the session you've selected. Updates are constantly pushed to the app with no need to download the changes; just restart to get the new information. And of course, sharing to social media is all integrated.
This is one of the biggest upgrades to the annual meeting experience that has happened in my lifetime -- during which a multitude of changes, tweaks, and strategies for the program books, abstracts, and planners have been tried. Everybody going to the meeting should download it (search for AM11AAR&SBL -- it's free!) and get started building a schedule and agonizing over those conflicts. And be sure to follow @AARWeb on Twitter!
Monday, October 24, 2011
Magic
I got home at 5 pm after a full day of taxis, airports, and planes. As these things go, it was easy -- Southwest has direct flights between Little Rock and Phoenix, so no connection anxiety intruded on my day. Just long hours of grading papers, reading, sitting, waiting, driving.
But when I arrived home, there was ravioli and meatballs. And my daughter had a new book of magic tricks. And she was eager to work on her patter with me. And she grinned knowingly as she insisted her fake shuffling was 100% all real.
It's all worth it. I'm so glad to be home.
But when I arrived home, there was ravioli and meatballs. And my daughter had a new book of magic tricks. And she was eager to work on her patter with me. And she grinned knowingly as she insisted her fake shuffling was 100% all real.
It's all worth it. I'm so glad to be home.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
One weekend in November
At the NCHC business meeting bright and early this morning, my boss -- who is also, as the incoming president-elect, the chair of next year's conference -- stood up to give a preview of the 2012 annual meeting in Boston. He painted a glowing picture of an uncrowned schedule that would allow the city to be a key "program" at the conference; of the prestigious and compelling plenary speaker; of the gorgeous venue and attractive amenities. And then he mentioned, almost offhand, that the conference would be held almost a month later than this year -- November 14-18, 2012.
I got a sinking feeling. That sounded suspiciously like the weekend before Thanksgiving, which is when the American Academy of Religion holds its annual meeting. I mentioned the confluence to a fellow religion scholar whose Honors half-time duties brought him to Phoenix to attend this meeting; "isn't the AAR in Boston, too?" he suggested. For a moment I was full of hope. Perhaps I would just be shuttling from hotel to hotel, attending some sessions at each conference and discharging various board and committee responsibilities by swapping lanyards and badges several times a day.
Then I checked the website. Yep, the NCHC conference dates were the weekend before Thanksgiving. And nope, the AAR was not meeting in the same city; we'd be in Chicago while my boss executes the signature event of his tenure in Honors national leadership for 1800 of his closest friends.
I ended up in the same position earlier this year when our instiitution hosted a regional conference on a weekend when I was already committed to be In Atlanta for an AAR board meeting. It's a terrible conflict. On the one hand, I have longstanding commitments and specific offices to fulfill in the AAR for the next year or two, and my role in NCHC is much less formal. But on the other hand, my institution and my closest colleagues are taking on huge organizational tasks, and just when I could be of the most help, I disappear.
These collisions of conferences will be less frequent once I rotate off the AAR board -- at that 2012 meeting in Chicago. I'm ready at that point to assume more formal roles in NCHC. It's sickening and heart-wrenching, though, to see the involvement requested and reasonably expected of me peak at the same time in two organizations whose calendars have in no way been aligned for my benefit..
I got a sinking feeling. That sounded suspiciously like the weekend before Thanksgiving, which is when the American Academy of Religion holds its annual meeting. I mentioned the confluence to a fellow religion scholar whose Honors half-time duties brought him to Phoenix to attend this meeting; "isn't the AAR in Boston, too?" he suggested. For a moment I was full of hope. Perhaps I would just be shuttling from hotel to hotel, attending some sessions at each conference and discharging various board and committee responsibilities by swapping lanyards and badges several times a day.
Then I checked the website. Yep, the NCHC conference dates were the weekend before Thanksgiving. And nope, the AAR was not meeting in the same city; we'd be in Chicago while my boss executes the signature event of his tenure in Honors national leadership for 1800 of his closest friends.
I ended up in the same position earlier this year when our instiitution hosted a regional conference on a weekend when I was already committed to be In Atlanta for an AAR board meeting. It's a terrible conflict. On the one hand, I have longstanding commitments and specific offices to fulfill in the AAR for the next year or two, and my role in NCHC is much less formal. But on the other hand, my institution and my closest colleagues are taking on huge organizational tasks, and just when I could be of the most help, I disappear.
These collisions of conferences will be less frequent once I rotate off the AAR board -- at that 2012 meeting in Chicago. I'm ready at that point to assume more formal roles in NCHC. It's sickening and heart-wrenching, though, to see the involvement requested and reasonably expected of me peak at the same time in two organizations whose calendars have in no way been aligned for my benefit..
Friday, October 21, 2011
It's a dry heat
Arizona in October. Autumnal is not the word anyone would use to describe it. The high temperatures are in the 90s, you have to keep hydrating all day or risk splitting headaches, and even in the evening short sleeves and short skirts are comfortable.
Not that you get much of a chance to go outside at an event like this. I left my hotel room at 6:30 am in order to get a Starbucks drink across the street before the conference breakfast buffet opened, and that was the last time I set foor anywhere other than a meeting room, hallway, or bathroom until after 4 pm. It was one of the fullest days I've experienced at any conference I've ever attended, national, international, regional, disciplinary, or Honors. And it was a productive day; my presence meant something in nearly every session, whether I was presenting, supporting friends and colleagues at their presentations, doing committee work, or voting on official business.
I'm not sure today will turn out to have been the least stressful day of the conference; tomorrow my colleague and I need to make sure we're fully prepped for the workshop we're leading, and then Sunday morning we have to execute that plan. That's the longest session of sustained responsibility of the trip. But I'm ready for a little more balance in my day -- regular meals, time to check e-mail occasionally, maybe even work on some of the tasks I brought with me. As it is, today's nonstop sprint caused me to lose ground on some of the things I have to do every day, meaning there's even more to squeeze into the last few days of the trip. Luckily the unscheduled time should expand as the weekend goes on.
Not that you get much of a chance to go outside at an event like this. I left my hotel room at 6:30 am in order to get a Starbucks drink across the street before the conference breakfast buffet opened, and that was the last time I set foor anywhere other than a meeting room, hallway, or bathroom until after 4 pm. It was one of the fullest days I've experienced at any conference I've ever attended, national, international, regional, disciplinary, or Honors. And it was a productive day; my presence meant something in nearly every session, whether I was presenting, supporting friends and colleagues at their presentations, doing committee work, or voting on official business.
I'm not sure today will turn out to have been the least stressful day of the conference; tomorrow my colleague and I need to make sure we're fully prepped for the workshop we're leading, and then Sunday morning we have to execute that plan. That's the longest session of sustained responsibility of the trip. But I'm ready for a little more balance in my day -- regular meals, time to check e-mail occasionally, maybe even work on some of the tasks I brought with me. As it is, today's nonstop sprint caused me to lose ground on some of the things I have to do every day, meaning there's even more to squeeze into the last few days of the trip. Luckily the unscheduled time should expand as the weekend goes on.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
In the valley of the sun
The NCHC conference is like no other. The bulk of the attendees are students -- although the proportion of faculty and professional staff has been growing for years. The parties are frequent and lavish. The sessions are evenly distributed between matters pedagogical and administrative, and students presenting on everything under the sun. And the discussions frequently begin, end, or break down over the vast differences among the programs who send representatives here.
I've got an exceptionally full day tomorrow, with bookings straight through from 7:30 am to 4 pm. Breathing may have to be optional; eating certainly will be. I'm ready for some sleep after a day two hours longer than I'm used to -- and that's not counting the hour early that I awoke to go to the airport.
After tomorrow, things slow down at least a bit, until Sunday morning when I'll be on the spot leading a workshop. I need to find some downtime for the many tasks I've brought with me, like grading and giving feedback, but for the next 24 hours, those to-dos will have to be set aside. Nothing adds stress to a full day of being on the spot like constant guilty reminders of the things you're not doing.
I've got an exceptionally full day tomorrow, with bookings straight through from 7:30 am to 4 pm. Breathing may have to be optional; eating certainly will be. I'm ready for some sleep after a day two hours longer than I'm used to -- and that's not counting the hour early that I awoke to go to the airport.
After tomorrow, things slow down at least a bit, until Sunday morning when I'll be on the spot leading a workshop. I need to find some downtime for the many tasks I've brought with me, like grading and giving feedback, but for the next 24 hours, those to-dos will have to be set aside. Nothing adds stress to a full day of being on the spot like constant guilty reminders of the things you're not doing.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Are there any songs about Phoenix, Arizona?
Trip number 2 of my autumn of travel begins tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn. I'm headed with several of my colleagues and students to the National Collegiate Honors Council annual meeting in Phoenix, Arizona.
It will be my first trip to Phoenix, and possibly my first visit to Arizona (my parents might be able to confirm whether we ever passed through any part of the state on any of our family trips). The location of this year's conference is not without controversy; a lot of academic groups are boycotting the state because of their immigration law. Having been on the planning and financial side of these operations, though, I know that contracts made years ago are not easily broken, and that organizations without huge cash reserves to absorb penalties for doing so have few choices.
The weirdest thing about this trip is the weather difference. We just entered our biggest shot of autumn to date, with nighttime temperatures near freezing, and jackets and sweaters necessary in the day. When I leave tomorrow morning before the sun comes up, I'll need to bundle up, but none of those layers will be useful in the slightest for the next five days.
We have lots of work to do at the conference; personally, I have a committee meeting to attend, a presentation to give, and a post-conference workshop to lead. There will also be some parties, some dinners, some networking, and a lot of time to catch up on classwork. As soon as I get back, I'll be focused on finishing my third major conference presentation of the semester, which is due to the respondent less than two weeks after my return. The merry-go-round won't stop until that final trip of the year, to the American Academy of Religion annual meeting in San Francisco, is over.
It will be my first trip to Phoenix, and possibly my first visit to Arizona (my parents might be able to confirm whether we ever passed through any part of the state on any of our family trips). The location of this year's conference is not without controversy; a lot of academic groups are boycotting the state because of their immigration law. Having been on the planning and financial side of these operations, though, I know that contracts made years ago are not easily broken, and that organizations without huge cash reserves to absorb penalties for doing so have few choices.
The weirdest thing about this trip is the weather difference. We just entered our biggest shot of autumn to date, with nighttime temperatures near freezing, and jackets and sweaters necessary in the day. When I leave tomorrow morning before the sun comes up, I'll need to bundle up, but none of those layers will be useful in the slightest for the next five days.
We have lots of work to do at the conference; personally, I have a committee meeting to attend, a presentation to give, and a post-conference workshop to lead. There will also be some parties, some dinners, some networking, and a lot of time to catch up on classwork. As soon as I get back, I'll be focused on finishing my third major conference presentation of the semester, which is due to the respondent less than two weeks after my return. The merry-go-round won't stop until that final trip of the year, to the American Academy of Religion annual meeting in San Francisco, is over.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Japan: The Food
I tried to remember to take a picture of every meal I ate in Japan. Skipped a bunch of breakfasts since they were similar, and most of the snacks too, but here's a sampling.
Minced tuna roll, prawn and avocado spring rolls.
Pork noodle bowl at the Sophia University cafeteria.
Fish roe, octopus, jellyfish.
Cuttlefish with egg sauce.
Assorted sushi.
Champagne mouse and mussel soup.
Sushi lunch purchased on street outside of university, a bit the worse for being carried around.
Sweet and sour chicken and egg drop soup at a Chinese place.
Seafood salad, tofu two ways, duck, fugu at the onsen.
Salmon sushi and tuna roll at Narita airport sushi bar.
Minced tuna roll, prawn and avocado spring rolls.
Pork noodle bowl at the Sophia University cafeteria.
Fish roe, octopus, jellyfish.
Cuttlefish with egg sauce.
Assorted sushi.
Champagne mouse and mussel soup.
Sushi lunch purchased on street outside of university, a bit the worse for being carried around.
Sweet and sour chicken and egg drop soup at a Chinese place.
Seafood salad, tofu two ways, duck, fugu at the onsen.
Salmon sushi and tuna roll at Narita airport sushi bar.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Japan: Day 4
500 year old bonsai
I'm waiting in Atlanta for my last flight of this trip -- my flight home. Well, to Little Rock, which is a half hour in the car away from home. These travel days seem to stretch on endlessly through stage after stage. Bus to the airport. Wait for the plane. Fly backwards in time across the international date line, from Friday afternoon into early Friday morning and back again, twelve hours in all, food and sleep arriving at arbitrary intervals. Land. Go through the multiple levels of immigration and customs, ending with security screening again as you go back into the airport. Wait for your next flight. Then there's the flying, the landing, the walking, the paying, the driving -- all before I can finally get home.
Tea at Happo-En
I'm looking forward to being home for so many reasons. Seeing my family, of course. Sleeping in my own bed. But also getting my pictures off my camera so I can put together epic blog posts about my trip, and giving the gifts I picked out for Noel and the kids. I'm lucky to have two days to decompress and reconnect with the central time zone before heading back to work on Monday. Then it will be time to hit the ground running on preparations for my next conference, for which I have a half-written presentation and a completely unplanned workshop.
View from teahouse
What I've got in my rear-view mirror, though, is the trip of a lifetime. I know how lucky I am to have been to four international conferences in the last decade, not to mention yearly national and regional meetings all over the country. With travel costs rising and department budgets shrinking, none of that can be taken for granted into the future. It's up to me to make sure the investment pays dividends for the program, and to squeeze every drop of value from the places I go and the people I meet.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Japan: Day 3
It's ten minutes until the start of day 3, session 1, and I just got myself settled in the seminar room. Moments ago I was washing my hands, looked at myself in the mirror, and realized: this morning was the perfect example of freedom, as I define it.
I went to bed late last night after spending the evening shopping and eating with Masako, my new friend and my student Tamami's mother. Even so, I awoke with the sun at 5:30 am. After I decided I was awake for good, I checked to see if the rogue unsecured wifi network I had found the previous night (part of the reason I stayed up too late) was still operative; finding it was, I decided to get one of the day's tasks out of the way. My teaching assistant had alerted me via email that I had failed to post an assignment listed on the syllabus as due during my absence. So I went back into last year's online classroom, found the parallel assignment, pulled up the reading schedule and notes for this year in Google Docs to find an appropriate quotation to substitute for a reading we haven't had yet, and posted to our current classroom site.
By the time I completed that procedure, it was breakfast time. Even though the host or hostess warns me every day that the spot I've chosen serves continental breakfast, no meat or eggs, I go back each morning for the fruit, the chocolate croissants, and the most expansive view of the Japanese garden below through an enormous picture window wall. Today I had both the time and the determination to find my way into the garden; my searches on previous mornings had been constrained by my schedule, and fruitless.
With more than an hour before I needed to be anywhere, I threaded through the delivery trucks and ubiquitous workmen to the entrance and took my time exploring each path and taking picture after picture in the ever-changing morning light. Even when I finally left and set out for the university, I had the leisure to climb one of the many narrow staircases onto the massive berm that once fortified the Edo-era estate this area was and stroll along the wide top, looking down at students at early practice on the sports fields where the moat ran centuries ago.
I tend to think of freedom as requiring hours, days, or weeks of no responsibility. But even a brief early morning gave me this transcendent sense of contentment with my choices. To be master of those responsibilities rather than enduring their mastery of you; to exit the chatter in your head in the search for vantage points on external beauty, moving from perfection to perfection; to have a goal without a concomitant burden; to step sideways out of one's life and into a time apart -- that is what freedom has always meant to me.
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