It's Been Too Long. . .

I have been away from this site for awhile--so long that I read posts I have no memory of writing.  Much has happened over the past several months that I will be delighted to share.  Most of all, I am unabashedly, peacefully happy.  I know that this quietude is not come by easily, but is an outcome of having gone through the internal struggles described in earlier posts.  I am anxious to share with you and will do so in the coming days.  In the meantime, just want to say hello. . . to my blog, anyone who has read it or may do so in the future.  I'm sitting in the middle of a nest that feels soft and like a little mountain of down pillows that say welcome back. Hooray!

It takes an act of God

I did something about twenty minutes ago that I should have done two hours before--turn off the t.v. and political news and put on some nice Christmas music.  I feel much better already.  This is probably the biggest understatement I could begin with, but I am not gifted with great skill at waiting for answers so I listen to noise, both annoyed and distracted by it.  I am choosing to become better at living with questions.  I am not sure if it is because I have no choice but to do so or because I will go nuts if I don't.  So I am living peacefully inside of several yet unanswered questions that have a profound effect on my future.

I have a pancreas inside my body that is non-functioning.  I am having trouble finding words for the fear and dismay I feel about it, but believe me, it is there.  I have learned (like a good academic) to adopt a certain dispassionate posture when I write, and can turn that tone on at will after many years of practice.  While it is a functional strategy under many circumstances, it is not with matters of the heart. I am in fact a bit numb, the way my skin and nerves are when I prick my fingers several times a day hoping for a "good" glucose number and four other times in the same fourteen hours when I inject myself with the insulin my pancreas is not producing to help any nutrients I consume make their way into the cells that motor my nerves, muscles and other organs. Sleep frees me of these worries and irritating routines that keep me alive.  Yet what it means to be alive is a little at issue here.

Don't get me wrong--I am grateful for my life and all it entails--even these current challenges.  I just wish I could feel more.  I have slipped into a well-practiced dispassion and traded it for adopting a one foot in front of the other mode of existence.  I don't think that is "living" in the fullest sense of the word.  I think I have too many years of practice trading my feelings for functioning. So here's what I'm afraid of. . . I am supposed to go teach in Rome in May and June, and am afraid my body will not cooperate.  I have a big opportunity that may or may not come to pass early in 2012.  I want to do my very best to make it happen if it is a good situation, but I do not know yet if I will have the ultimate chance to do so.  I am three months away from finding out if I will achieve the rank of Full Professor, but am encouraged that the first committee "pass" was positive.

I am fairly certain that things will look different when I feel better, but I've gotta say that it kinda sucks when you try to do everything right and the outcome is so unpredictable at the most basic level (e.g. pancreas).  I have never been afraid of things "known," but don't do so well with  challenges that are inexplicable. I got an e-mail from my endocrinologist today that said (dispassionately), "reduce the morning humalog to 2 units and keep doing 3 at lunch and dinner".  I can do that. 

What I don't feel like I can do is bitterly complain. To begin, it's not part of my general constitution to load others up with my frustrations. I don't want to forget the things that made me smile today--Doretha and Sabine who expressed genuine concern, Don, who said no problem when I explained that I cannot get myself together until about 1:00 or 2:00 pm to work or for that matter, be assured that I can drive safely to work.  Pictures of Cora always make me smile. Reading Amanda's blog and seeing her photos filled every part of my being with a kind of joy that was born of simultaneous pride and love. Thinking about Steffie and Ryan coming during the holidays got a smile in my heart. Even hearing about Dana Edlefson's six month old doggie that got hit by a wayward car made me sad and angry, but at least reminded me that I can still feel.  Thinking about Deb and her "not normal" life made me laugh hard inside. She would understand. Getting a little facebook note from Amy made me smile and at the same time, wonder if I will feel well enough to get to her holiday party on Friday.

So what to do? Pray. . . to continue to be able to feel--that I have not been so challenged to stay strong that I have lost all ability to connect with myself or other people.  I feel so much tenderness for the people in my life who have shown me all kinds of parts of themselves and love me in doing so. Yeah, I have faith.

life goes on. . . .

Something is changing and my point of view is like looking through a kaleidescope.   It has been about a year since I have posted anything here, but the inspiration is coming back.  I am feeling a need to write and not about anything in particular but of random occurences that need someplace to go. During the spring I was stretched to my human limits with a challenging group of students while teaching a class I have always loved to teach---intercultural communication.  I don't know if it is the influence of current tea party politics and family origins, but it was difficult to inspire any empathy for fellow human lives out of this group.  I ended up one evening defending Lil Wayne because I think he has something to say and asking them when "like" became a regular component of the king's english.  I think that is when things went south and I didn't do much to fix it except to survive the remaining several weeks. I failed the students in some ways and in others, was too stretched to notice that I had lost them.

At the risk of justifying this less than seamless semester, I was engaged in writing a proposal for a new graduate  program that I had worked on with a committee for several months.  I was having trouble meeting the goal deadline, so by mutual agreement, I turned it over to the dean only to have him meet with the committee, who made miniscule changes and called it done. I also wrote the proposal to go to the provost for our completely revised curriculum while doing the implementation on our registration and records system.  In the end, everything got approved and faculty are teaching the new curriculum. I made it out of the sausage grinder, but not without looking a little ugly too.

Those projects were nothing compared to the parade of facutly angrily marching into my office about their fall 2011 schedules after the provost had issued a strong armed request to use every part of the time grid after faculty teaching assignments were already in place.  We had to manipulate times and classes to create that perfect rubic's cube while instructors had ordered up teaching slots in  the past like they were requesting ingredients on a pizza. This "we" involves an administrative assistant who sends e-mails and then marches into my office with long explanations for the 140 typeset characters she had just sent me. Nobody likes anchovies and I was dishing them out left and right. I experienced my first hard interrogation from two titans of Chicago news who had created the first city bureau, and Jack engaged every technique on me about their class we had adjusted to ensure enrollments.  You see, this could-be-retired teaching team for whom I have a certain reverence simultaneously scares students away with their expectations for time commitment and excellence in hard beat reporting while trying to get their enrollments over four brave student souls. I was trying to save their class because of its irreplaceable value to our students, but tried to explain to "the boys"--our affectionate term for these hard-nosed government corruption story breakers that paralyzing students with fear and recruiting them are in a bit of conflict with each other. 

These things are happening while I am finishing up final edits from my book copy, its indices and working with the publisher's marketing team to recall and share every plausible global point of disciplinary interest so that people other than family members might think it is relevant enough to buy. The irony is that my family members are most drawn to the idea of the publication itself and my dedications to them while not being particularly inclined to delve into the (admittedly dense) academese it contains. 

An other irony is that in my role as supporter of all faculty endeavors to advance their own professional lives, I had organized two third year reviews for tenure track faculty members, one of whom balked at every well intentioned piece of advice and written (well-deserved) glowing peer teaching reviews for each.  The balking one had managed twice to show up at two significant invited situations I had looked forward to--one, a dinner with syndicated columnist E.J. Dionne and the distinguished faculty member who had secured his presence as our commencement speaker, and another time at a meeting with a distinguished social justice advocate from the provost's office wanting to secure our school's support for teaching classes on faith and justice. On both occasions her presence had not been solicited by me, and on the latter, she showed up at my office at the time of the meeting. And apparently true to the form I am now becoming familiar with, she proceeded on both occasions to engage the distinguished guests how things should be done. If I could have hooded her and taken her to Guantanamo for water-boarding, I would have except that I am against enhanced interrogation techniques. 

Two other junior faculty  had received 6,000. smackers to carry out summer research projects that I had enthusiastically supported with a precious bounty of time helping edit and shape their successful proposals.  Don't get me wrong; they had done the work and deserve all manner of credit for their success.  I don't expect bows and curtsies, but one was having a difficult time with loads of work being dumped on her by senior faculty who were receiving compensatory time or funding for not doing much of anything. I heard about it with every chance hallway passing.

This leads to my next challenge--to help the junior faculty member dump the extra work while knowing it would land in my lap because of the senior guy's long history of finding every reason not to move anything forward, using up any bit of compensatory time to write long e-mails as to the reasons for such inaction. I called a meeting to clear the air and thought it was a done deal.  How wrong I can be.  Whether it had been the anchovies, transitional challenges that masked themselves as perceived  incompetence coming out of my office or all-out distractions caused by the tri-hourly visits from my panicking co-conspirator in making schedule changes, I began to be a little wrung out. I was hanging on a closeline without having been shaken out so that the wrinkles wouldn't dry into the fabric of my being and best efforts.

No job is ever done, so my next meeting occured when a long time colleague and funny friend went through every sophisticated machination to bypass me and meet with the boss about her schedule.  I was willing to have it either way, but the boss kicked the ball back to me.  My friend wouldn't have it, so I joined the two of them to discuss why she could not hand-select her campus, teaching time and room by circumventing all protocol.  I asked her what she thought would happen if every faculty member across the university did what she was trying to do, and her response, which by the way did not seem incredulous to her when she said it was that the schedule "would probably turn out better".  She didn't add "for me".  In the end, I said no, possibly louder than I might have intended and kicked the ball back to the boss.  I saw her yesterday and she, who lost the battle in the end gave me a beginning of the fall semester hug.  Go figure.

My life in administration is funny.  It is funny to me in the first place that I am a dean, but I could not have imagined that I would need to hold meetings with faculty members to say, "please don't ever offer your students extra credit points for going to see your band play while charging them admission", or "please don't sell copies of your unpublished book to your students at a publisher's price rather than for the cost of making the copies; you WILL be expected to reimburse them", or "please do not circle the administrative staff work area talking out loud to yourself and passing wind; it interferes with their ability to help the students; you have an office--please work in there." Or to students--"you received a lower grade in participation points because I had no idea who you were when you gave your presentation at the end of the semester despite my ability to name every other student in the class and where they sat." I did not expect to have to call security on a screaming mother who insisted that her son be allowed into a class that was full when he was only a sophomore and would have his pick of the litter sometime during his next seven semesters at the university. 

The grand finale of the semester happened at a meeting I had arranged to have the tenure track faculty talk about their summer research plans. When I entered the conference room, the air was as thick as  a high index heat factor day in Chicago summer. I had ordered a tray of cookies for refreshment and as if in an act of all-out defiance, all but one person in the room and me refused to enjoy the gesture or flavor of homestyle chocolate chip morsels. I had also brought my biggest mistake.  The day before I had received some great practical tips from the provost's office about promotion files, and in my enthusiasm for this good information, began the meeting by sharing some of the tips. I cannot say I had in any way imagined or understood the response, but I learned later that apparently some of the people in the room considered it to be a change of agenda and additional pressure to an already pressure-cooker situation. I was met with a series of aggressive questions from two of the faculty, which I fielded with answers as clear as I could conceive.  I made recommendations to one person to write several small pieces instead of banking on only getting a book contract, and she countered with "I'm going to write the book". 

Realizing that I was being met with nothing but obstinance from a group of over-tired, over-stressed faculty trying to get final grades in, I made a choice I'm still not sure I would have every made except that I felt like I was not getting through to anyone except the other person who ate a cookie.  I checked to see if the dean had time to come and sit with us to field questions, and when he entered the room, they morphed into church mice in the face of my six foot four boss who has the demeanor of Yogi Bear or Fred Flinstone and the intelligence of Einstein.  They asked all the same questions and he gave all the same answers I had just recited.  With each interchange, I grew a little and then a lot angry.  I have a very long professional fuse and a pretty good sense of humor because it all goes with the job.  But on this particular day at this particular meeting I found their behavior outrageous and a bit indecent since this meeting had been my brainchild as a way to help them all keep moving toward a successful tenure application.  After the dean left, I expressed my incredulity at what had just happened and qualified my forthcoming rant with "this is coming on the back end of six weeks of people coming at me like tigers over course scheduling". 

I did rant. About the outrageousness of what had just happened--how they had accepted the dean's answers without question, how I had arranged the meeting to support their efforts, and that they all have Ph.D's, they're all smart people and it's a bit like applying for a job--they all do different things, so no one can tell them how to explain their research programs; at some point they're just going to have to figure it out. At that point they had succeded in increasing my heat index to the level of their own.  In retrospect, I think I led with the sexist nature of prior events. I also made sure they knew that after the meeting I would go into the dean's office and explain to him exactly what I had said.  I did.  I would have handled the situation differently if I had it to do over again, but I didn't.  I received a summer research plan from each of them as well as the ones who (I think fortunately) missed the excitement.  Later that week I saw them all gathered for a beer at Pippin's pub and went the other way so as not to pass their (I imagined) unflattering debriefing.   

It is the beginning of a new school year.  My book was published in April. Our new curriculum is rolling out as I write this.  All the conversion in course numbers and descriptions have been entered into our course catalogs with the help of my steady Assistant Dean.  My administrative assistant has constrained her long explanations to a couple of office visits and anomalous shouts of details as I pass by her desk to use the ladies room or when I am near the elevator--either to arrive for the day or leave the building.  Faculty are starting to teach their classes and I am putting together my file for promotion to full professor.  I think I have earned it. I have a meeting with the dean next week about a big new assessment project and launching the implementation of our graduate program. The book seems to be selling and life goes on.  More later because as Dylan would say, "the times, they are a changing. . . ":)    

U.K. here I come!

Okay, I am not really going to England, but found out this week that my book is.  I have a copyright, and ISBN number and 2011 publication release date for both the U.S. and Europe from Routledge Press.  That was something I had not expected, but is a big, big, big cherry on top of getting the book done and into production.  Wowie zowie. Everyone needs one really nice thing to be grateful for now and then, and I am grateful and pleased. It feels like the reward for believing in my ability to finish and make it "my" book over so many years. Exhale. . . again.

Good Vibrations!

I felt so good today!. . . I do not understand why and I am not going to ask; just going to embrace the blessing:) But I do kinda wonder if it's because I got my new bioidentical hormone butt implant recently.  Ha! Cheers. . 

Nostalgia

I missed my 34th class reunion last weekend and it sent me into a bit of a tailspin of homesickness, some regret for not going and some relief  that I did not.  Thinking about high school is a mixed bag for me.  I would have loved to see many of the people whose faces I have seen in pictures posted, and there is but one person I would not have liked to see at all.  The story is very, very old and has little relevance for my life today, but there is something about seeing the big smile on a face of someone I just plain don't like for reasons that are as old as the story that made me a little angry all over again. Don't get me wrong--I am not derailed, and in fact have so enjoyed seeing photographs of a true community of people that have genuine affection for one another. 

I think my tailspin has to do with having most of my family and several friends far away on the west coast while I am holding my breath and gathering the strength to make it through another Chicago winter.  I do not think I had realized quite how much this cycle of seasons affects my overall sense of well-being and what it is possible to do on a day to day basis.  It is fall now, and we had a beautiful summer and these days are special as the trees begin to show different colored leaves, the mornings become cooler and evenings grow dark earlier now. I like this time of year because for me it has always been a time of new beginnings and the excitement of another calendar year, set by the inception of a new school year.  I have lived on this clock since I was a little girl because my family's life during my growing years did too.  My father was in education, so September was always the beginning of the year.

I began this new year in late August and have been sprinting through the weeks with meetings, a new crop of students and new projects I have been tasked to do.  Every year I say, "I love my new students" and every year it has been no less true than the last.  They keep me young, spirited and feeling like I have something to share and give to the world.  My work as a mother is not over, but I am at odds without the daily comings and goings of daughters in my home.  My circle of friends in Chicago has shrunk--partly because of this stage of my life, partly because the people I like most are part of my work life, so a certain professional distance is appropriate and necessary.  I also realize that I have changed--I have little to say to some of the girlfriends who reach out to me and a lot of affection for others I would love to reconnect with.  There are more of the latter than former.

I have less time outside of work, too.  I am having a lot of difficulty still adjusting to a year-round position that leaves me 48 hours on a weekend to do my household upkeep, do a bit of self-care and relaxation and let go of the week's responsibilities.  I am able to let go of work responsibilities, but have been ridiculously inept at the upkeep and self-care. This does not feel good, but I am having an impossible time figuring out how to make it better. There  are  only so many hours in the day and I am very, very tired by the time the weekend comes around. I am trying not to lose Saturdays to rumination and sleep, but they pass like that. Then I find myself getting to bed early so that on Sunday I can make  up for all I didn't do Saturday, and the week's quick cycle begins again, leaving a bread trail of things undone, letters not written, little packages not sent, shopping not done, a refrigerator unfilled, mail not read, friends not seen and phone calls made sporadically returned.  I am lonely for one good conversation with somebody I care about. 

I am glad that it is football season again because I love to watch Bears games and share them through the miles with my father.  I ball up on the couch, turn the game on and lose myself in their successes and missed opportunities, talked about at half-time with dad, and then again at the end of the game.  This is my one great weekend pleasures, but I think if I said this to anyone they would wonder at the uneventfulness of my life.  But my life has been eventful. . . too eventful at times, and I have never taken so much pleasure in adopting an attitude of "I just don't want to" and then following through with it  to the extreme.  I have a friend who is taking trapeze classes, another who teaches beading, a daughter who is bestowing mad love into the life of her family and another who is adopting a kitten, moving, buying a new car, working full time, nurturing a new marriage and looking for new workout programs. I have a 78 year old father who golfs three times a week, finishes a short stack of books in the same time frame, pops by to see his grandchildren periodically and rises at 5:00 a.m. to go walk four miles at the gym.  It is this knowledge that gives me the feeling that I am still not doing enough.  I'm not if we're talking about playing.  To some  extent my work is play because I like it so much, but I need new and different kinds of play.  Oh heck, maybe I'll sign up for trapeze classes too.  To be continued. . .

Got a Cold

Yes, that's it. I miss this blog. I want to write, but I feel like if I open the box again, I'll never stop. . . . so, another day, another weekend. I have had quite some life, now that I think about it. Till soon.

I'm Baaaaaack:)

Well, this will be a short post because I have once again stayed up way too late.  I have finished my last book edits and the manuscript is going into production.  I heard from my editor, and she or her assistant will be contacting me about "editorial choices" and "promotion".  So that's what they do. . . hmmm. I have never written a whole book before, so I am naiive about the process, though I have published several shorter essays. But those are nuts and bolts details.

When I finished, I had a stream of memories that came rushing up consisting of the life's events that led to stops and starts in getting this done.  I must admit that there were many more stops than starts over the past ten to twelve years.  I thought I would be dancing in the halls, but I stood quietly in my office crying softly.  My boss came in and I asked him if he would mind sharing a moment of reflection with me.  He saw me cry for the first time and said, "awwww, c'm here. . . let me give you a hug."  You have no idea how much that small expression from someone I respect and laugh with daily meant to me.  He GOT it. He knew that I had spent the last nineteen days straight in writing purgatory and three weeks before that doing the same thing, minus weekends. He also knew that the ten years prior to that I had remained committed to finishing while allowing myself to get sidelined at fairly regular intervals. The intensity and focus required makes everything else seem easy.   Don't remind me I said that when I have a hard day, please.

I am now moving into a period of tasks and back to back obligations related to the start of school.  On Monday, the halls will once again be filled with cute young things in their "trying not to look like they're trying too hard outfits", sporting suntans and eager eyes considering new social lives.  I will literally throw the class together that I am teaching because the section was added to the schedule just three days ago.  I have until Tuesday to put that together between our all day faculty retreat tomorrow, our new faculty orientation Thursday night and our First Year Student Convocation on Friday afternoon, regalia and all. 

These are concerns I am facing now and I want to breathe, exhale, take a walk, ride my bicycle, sit on my favorite rock to hear the lapping water in Lake Michigan, watch the sailboats and to see the beautiful skyline.  I am unhappy with myself right now because I took two days off this week to do just that. . . and I have paid bills, grocery-shopped, cleaned the place up and shopped for some flat shoes (because with the current state of my knee, I am still not able to wear the ridiculous number of heels nested in a hanging canvas shoe storage on my closet door).  I got a facial, but mainly because my face acne is out of control. That quiet little cry of relief in my office was not enough.  I am like a top wrapped tightly holding myself together to get through the next thing. And I know that all it would take to get out of my paralysis would be to take the first step on the sidewalk, pull my Schwinn cruiser out of storage and push the pedals into one full circular motion, even drive out to the Northwestern parking lot that would situate me about fifty yards from "my" flat rock in the sun.

I have a weekend coming.  I have a class that is not ready.  This is the pull . . . but I will burn out by middle of September if I continue to choose work over balance, sleep over walking and fresh air, holding it all in instead of pushing myself into some kind of relaxation.  I need a voice to give me permission to do something good for myself. . . playful, relaxing, happy and mine.  I miss summers.  I missed summer this year. I want a little bit of summer, still.

And this

This says it all. . . .

Stupid but so funny it got to me:)

Imagine an urban black guy's voice. . .

"I call her Beavis cuz we always Butthead".

Last Day. . .

I spent the whole weekend in my office finishing up the writing parts. It's good enough, I think. . . . tomorrow, I have to do references and write a note to my editor about the changes I've made. Very "doable". I am so sick of "hearing" (reading and re-reading) what I have to say that I am very tired of myself. I am never going to write another word. . . never:) Ha!!!!

It will be good to come back, blogland. . . after a little while.

Afraid to say whoooooo hoooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter six mess is cleaned up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thres last things to do:
1) Write the "main matter of my introduction" Pretty basic and know where I'm going.
2) Write a current and interesting "front matter" introduction to my introduction. Kinda have an idea where I'm going but will probably take as long as the "main matter"
3) Update a few resources. . . . and do last bits of cleanup.

This is doable and will be worth missing most of these beautiful summer days I hope:))))))). . . .


SEND MANUSCRIPT TO ROUTLEDGE PUBLISHING SO THAT IT CAN GO INTO PRODUCTION!

The Short Story. . .

I guess I'm writing this so that I have a record of this process when I'm done. So please forgive me for the boring details I am about to share.

I have finished ten pages of a methods section, so my appendix is done. I have gone through over a hundred pages to make line edits, most of which I have corrected. I found a hot mess in chapter six that must be corrected whether anyone who reviewed it said so or not. I. . . yes, I, who wrote it cannot even understand my key points. I have begun that process. I have written my acknowledgements. What's left?
1) Write my introduction, starting with an overview of the chapters--then go back and write the front matter. Probably a day and a half.
2) Find reviewer 2's list of updated resources and find places to use them as references. Probably an 8 hour day.
3) Go back to the half-fixed hot mess in Chapter six and finish fixing it; it needs to sit while I do other things. Probably a five hour job.
4) Find out how to cut and paste three footnotes and make them endnotes, like the rest of the book. Easy peasy with the right help.
5) Include one more name I forgot in the acknowledgements. Easy peasy.
6) Write an explanation to my editor about what I have done since receiving the reviews.

If all goes well. . . I may be looking at this coming Friday???? I had hoped I could finish by the end of tomorrow, but some things just cannot be rushed (she says after ten years:) Waaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!!

Clearing a Path for Balance

I have not had the experience of writing while at the same time balancing my life--with chores, working in my office during regular hours, keeping up on nutritional needs, sleep or exercise and handling things like basic hygiene, beauty maintenance and any kind of socializing.

This is the old picture; I am sitting in my office at 2:30 in the morning not having eaten since noon, taking cigarette breaks at each "finished" juncture, wearing comfortable sweats, a man's oversized shirt (probably without a bra), no shoes on, but that can be easily slipped on in case I need to go out to smoke. I am in this mode of hibernation days in a row, sometimes having never gone to sleep and others, leaving for home when my eyes are crossed and I can no longer think. I am hyped up on a chain of diet coke cans I emptied, hoping that there is one at home when I get there. I will need the "refreshment" and a couple of cigarretes before I get to sleep. I do not answer my phone, I do not talk to my friends and maybe even my children. This is how it used to be. And strangely---oh so strangely, I am getting down on myself for not being in that mode of operation.

When I started thinking about this reasonably I was amused because that picture is so unhealthy and I had sustained it during writing "jags" throughout my working years. It has been two working weeks and I have been drawing circles around a methhods section that will be an appendix in the book. I had a breakthrough two days ago and at least at this time know what I need to say and in which order--that is 90% of the challenge. Yet I flagellate myself for what feels like complacency instead of desperate, driven and work-at-all-hours-mania.

So I've decided to list the things I've done while continuing to work through the writing:

1) I have maintained a (mostly) healthy diet, eaten "on time" for my diabetic body and kept track of my blood sugar numbers while adjusting my two kinds of insulin injections I do four times a day. I have taken the oral medications that go along with that regimen. My numbers are getting better, I am not as sleepy as I was for the past three months or so, and I am surviving the crazy energy shifts that go up and down as my sugars rise and fall with the new management regimen.

2) I got my hair cut and colored because both were about three monts overdue. This week I dispensed with the big barettes that I was using to pull my overgrown hair up, which made the gray hairs framing my face even more obvious.

3) I got my car serviced and new brake pads put in. According to the mechanic, I am good for a couple more years.

4) I sent a donation I had promised to a kids' league in Danville Illinois because it means a lot to me to support a former student of mine in giving back to his community after earning his degree and playing professional basketball around the world over the past few years.

5) I cleaned out my pantry (and my legs were sore the next day), my bathroom cabinets and packed away clothes that had been sitting in piles in my room needing to be stored.

6) I took a small pile of clothes to the dry cleaners that had been sitting around for a few months.

7) I found Eloina again, and she and Oscar came--Eloina to clean and Oscar to dispense with a large "giveaway" pile that was cluttering my kitchen.

8) I bought a de-bugging fogger that I will unleash on the little critters tomorrow before I leave my house because they are boldly biting me whether I am awake or asleep.

9) I picked up prescription medications three times because they never come up for refilling at the same time.

10) I went to a dermatologist for the first time in several years because I am having out of control breakouts and I do not want to live with them any longer.

11) I have stuck to my minimal cigarettes rule during workdays. If at all, I may smoke a half during a go-outside break when I need to hunt up some lunch.

12) I mailed a little care package to each of my daughters.

13) I have been wearing office attire and working during regular hours, leaving it there until the next day. I slipped a bit yesterday on the "looking nice" front--more casual than usual, but am hoping my boss will understand that I have already made a radical transition (but how can he? He does not know my old routine.)

14) I found some fall "transitional" clothes that I have been watching for . . . I needed a black skirt that fits well; I found it after waiting a year and a half to get the right one!! I found a pair of summer-weight pants that will go well into fall because they are grey; they are office appropriate and will supplement the 3 pair I wear regularly now--black, navy, beige. I searched for closed toe flat shoes that are office and administration retreat appropriate because my "flats" supply is limited and I cannot yet wear high heels because of my knee. I bought nothing because nothing was right. I like it when I do that. I finally found two cheap t-shirty tops to wear with the leggings I have but have never worn because I had no shirts long enough to wear with them.

15) I took two large bags of ice to an administrative assistant's home because she had knee surgery.

16) I put away the laundry Eloina did and the dry cleaning I picked up.

17) I found some new (and inexpensive) kitchen curtains because the ones I made myself eight years ago had seen better days. I had passed on others because they didn't seem right. The ones I finally found are. I hung them this week with no expense in window treatment hardware; I decided to let my own little ones stand to save energy and a few dollars.

18) I paid Eloina for her services and for the last time she cleaned for me. She had disappeared for awhile because of no telephone. I am delighted to have her back because she does an excellent job all the way around.

19) I called my sister to find out how my nephew's appointment at Cedar Sinai went on the day it happened.

20) I have maintained a reasonable level of basic hand, face and hair washing, bathing and putting on crisp office wear each morning.

21) I communicated with a new research subject and got necessary contact information while getting a preview of whether or not this person can make a good contribution to my next project. It turns out he can, and I am pleased about that.

So there are twenty one things I have done while working on a writing project. I have only slept about 4-5 hours per night because I stay up late to think or not think. I could use some improvement here. I have slightly increased my cigarette consumption during non-work hours, but understand that it is because of my old writing habits. I will give it up when I finish this last step. I have forgotten my insulin or test strips to take to work, but successfully compensated and got it right the next day. I have maintained my farmville farm and cafe world on facebook because it is a relaxing experience, but I have adjusted my level of involvement. I have spoken with my parents and thought about my kids daily, who were at a family reunion and both have big things going on this week--one is moving to a beautiful new home, the other working toward fitness goals and supporting her husband through job interviews. I will catch up with them soon.

I am going to the (Loyola U.) President's retreat on Monday and Tuesday of next week. Today while my car was being serviced, I started reading a book that is one of several reading materials that have been disbursed in installments throughout the week. I expect to get through them all this weekend.

Tomorrow, I hope to have a successful writing session in my office, wearing office-wear, only smoking half a cigarette at break time and maintaining my "feeding" schedule, which I resent, but the resentment won't help me at all, so I choose to surrender to the current state of things. I am excited that I have the necessary tools to make some headway on my skin breakouts; I have been drinking more iced tea and less diet coke. It's a start. . .

So, I guess this picture is a little different and I am in the process of becoming different, but this thing called "me" seems like a heckuva lot of work sometimes. Thanks for listening, blogland:)

Love this quote

If you bring forth what is within you what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you what you do not bring forth will destroy you.” Jesus Gnostic Gosepel of Thomas

Been Away from Here

Dear Bloggy readers,
I have been away. . . doing research, seeing family, trying to fill my soul up with summertime sunshine and yes, still managing some health issues that are a ready made prerequisite to doing all else.

It is now time to go into my writing "cave" to finish the last edits of a ten year long writing project that will be actually "finished" when I come out of the cave. I am procrastinating, waiting for inspiration, nervous because I changed the version of Word just prior to needing to do this, and I'm not so familiar with that system. . . arrrgghhhh. This, too is a little hurdle that I will jump.

I spent this weekend preparing to organize my household so that I could feel free when I got to the office tomorrow, and have managed to procrastinate on that, too. I have set two small and "doable" "to-do's" that I hope to accomplish by this evening's end. I expect to be away from this site for another few weeks so that I don't get in my own way (as if I'm already not doing that. . . ha!) Wish me luck, straight thinking and a finished product that I can send off before the month ends.

Here goes. . . .

Drip Drip. . .

It is Friday evening of the weekend of Memorial Day. I think I have more to say, but the words are not streaming out like a dam just broke and I can't keep up with the water. They are more like little seepages, coming from all different directions. I threw my hat in the ring for an opportunity I'm not sure I want. My researching heart is in Weedpatch, California, full of photographs, music and stories of Oakie migrants. I am full of anticipation, sure I will find a way to tell another story that has not yet been told, but anxious to visit and have conversations on tape as I take new photographs, collect old ones and learn something new about an historical restoration taking place. And with this new project in mind, I am finding it is taking everything I have in me to turn my focus back to getting the final edits done so that my ten year long struggle to finish a book can finally go into production.

My grandmother and mother's heart are with my daughters, one who is in Greece right now, enjoying the final days of her long awaited honeymoon, the other in Oregon, as I await a Crystal Thursday post that may have new grandbaby pictures or Amanda's latest creative project too. I will see them soon, and I need to fill my breath with their presence, re-collect my little family and learn who my priceless little grandaughter is becoming.

My heart as a daughter and sister are loaded with memories and hopes of creating happy new ones when I see the parents who raised me and the extensions of that family, whomever is around. Lately I have been having recollections of playing outside. These days, when one thinks of someone as "outdoorsy", you might think of hiking, parachuting or getting some kind of workout. That is not the content of these memories. I spent most of my childhood outside, and that is probably why I have so much difficulty with the long Chicago winters that keep me more housebound than I would like to be.

I am thinking of jumpropes mastered, footballs thrown, pogo-sticks hopping, metal roller skates scraping, a unicycle ridden, hula hoops swirling, bicycles ridden and a front lawn, driveway, sidewalk, backyard patio, a fruit tree for each family member, Hector the dog, Gomer the duck and a dull end of a broomstick used in the dirt to "plant" watermelon seeds as I played "Johnny Appleseed". I also recall a roll of toilet paper we put in a large appliance box playhouse in case we needed it.

The childhood memories I have of being indoors are of worry for my brother, who got poison oak and mumps in an order I can't remember, but he was in misery and had to miss a lot of school. I remember the smell of calomine lotion used to soothe his swollen itches and trips to Cooley's pharmacy with Mom to pick up a different kind of salve that could help him get better. They are of my mother, who was laying down one day when I came home from school. She never laid down, so I knew her mother, who had been ill with cancer had passed away. Mom didn't have to say a thing but I hugged her that day and remember the den where she was, the blanket she had covering her, the hurt in her face and my own helplessness. I remember Grandma's sweet, round face that grew more skeletal as her disease overtook her.

Grandma had the prettiest smile and a gentleness about her that even in her sickness, was expressed with her face and soft, loving hands. I remember her beautiful gold hairbrush with the soft bristles, a hand mirror and comb that sat on a vanity in her home. I have always wanted a vanity because of that. It was made of a kind of wood that showed the twists and roots of an old, wise tree. The vanity had a mirror and little seat and a round "box" of powder that had a puff in it. I would sit on the seat, brush my long, thick hair and gently pull open the powder lid to find a soft, round puff and imagine that I was Grandma sitting there, putting powder on my face.

I had a little wooden soldier in primary colors Grandma had given me. It had a red string with a yellow ball on the end that when pulled, little wooden arms and legs went flying up. When I visited Grandma in the hospital with Mom, I felt important because she wanted me with her to "keep her company" when she went to Redlands to see her mother. I remember Polly, the only doll I ever liked except my troll dolls and cave houses because she was passed on to me from my mother's childhood. She lay in a little shoebox, with blue eyes that opened and closed, depending on her angle, and wore a red cotton dress and white bloomers.

Time in my room was reserved for after the street lights went on or I was restricted because I had gotten into some kind of trouble. I remember my room with a pink chiffon bedspread and white furniture that was eventually traded for a bright yellow one to go with the mod sixties style yellow, orange and green daisy wallpaper that covered a room divider built when a family room and extra bedroom were added to our home by a guy named Reg Wood. In that room, I played a few 45's--Englebert Humperdinck, Tom Jones, The Jackson Five, Bobby Sherman, the Osmond Brothers and the one real album I owned, The Supremes' Greatest Hits. In my room, I listened to music, wrote in my diary and played with my troll dolls, crafting clothing for them out of felt. I made vests in every color. I'm not sure if they ever had any pants. In that place I had papered my closet doors with shiny fold-out photographs of idols from Tiger Beat magazine and began for the first time in my life to begin to think like a girl, wondering why all of the sudden, my brother's friends were acting strangely toward me when they had been my companions and playmates all my life.

Everything was changing. The boys began to pull pranks, I spent more time with Vivian, my best friend and smoked my first cigarettes. My mother found half-butts in my top dresser drawer. I started wrangling with Mom over what I could and couldn't wear to school. The social and political climate had changed enough that girls were newly allowed to wear pants to school. My mother liked me to be a lady, so I was only allowed to wear them on Fridays. So I dropped them out my window in the morning and picked them up on the way to school until Joyce from across the street told my mother over coffee what I was doing. I also had an agreement with Mom to wear the shoes with the platform heels I had begged her to buy every day if I got them. I learned soon that they were not so comfortable and didn't go with everything, so I would use that handy window to drop more comfortable ones to pick up on my way to school. That was when I learned that I should not disobey my mother or be dishonest because I was bound to get caught.

It is probably also why to this day I try not to do anything wrong because somewhere along the way I will be accountable. The lessons continued as Mike F. snapped my newly acquired bra strap in the front yard. Mom was watching. I had a long dialogue in a series of notes with Rick M. about meeting in the lemon orchard to "M.O." That was fairly transparent code for "making out". We talked a big game, but never even kissed or held hands, eventually breaking up during a passing period between classes. Rusty had given me a yellow St. Christopher necklace, which at the time was a symbol of "going steady". That "relationship" was about as eventful as my written note dialogue with Rick M. That was a time of big talk, rumors of pubescent development or lack thereof and fantasies that Michael Jackson, who was my age, really would "be there to comfort you", or that Donny Osmond was singing directly to me when he sang, "hey there lonely girl, let me make your broken heart like new". I knew they were singing about something important, but had not yet lived enough to actually know the depth of those lyrics in the totality of my life.

Drip, drip come the memories in patches and images, visions, recollections, imaginings and feelings that started me on a road to womanhood that looks back at those times with amusement at my genuine innocence, sadness for my mother's dramatic loss so early in her life, and happiness for my parents' watchful eyes that taught me a goodness I cherish.

I'm Not Sorry Unless I Am

I have spent too much of my life apologizing and an equal amount of time thinking that those two little words, "I'm sorry" would go a long way to acknowledge that some situation, little or big left a mark on my heart. I do not wait for the words because I am not one to hold out for expectations that are likely to disappoint me. But I do pay attention to others' actions because they speak much louder than words, and I am bound to accept them as an equivalent if they do not repeat, and therefore salt the wounds of a familiar situation.

Yet I believe that being able to say I'm sorry is an important life skill. It doesn't cost much and requires only a little bit of empathy. It is not an "admission of wrongdoing", but an acknowledgement of another's shared humanity. For example, "I'm sorry we had a misunderstanding that left you feeling like that" is very different from "I am wrong, and therefore feel sorry". It is also not the same as pity, which is "I feel sorry for you". That is an insult added to an injury already there. It surprises me that in some cases, a person resists those words at all costs because it feels like it is giving away some part of a person's soul. I have never felt like I am giving away a part of myself if I have apologized in all sincerity. Who wants to continue the effects of a hurt that is unnecessary?

In my more neurotic states of mind (where I feel like everything is my fault either because I am a little delusional about my own importance or because I was well trained to believe that I had probably done something wrong, even if I didn't know what it was), I have apologized too much. In this little bloggy journey I am taking, I am also making a commitment to be a little more discerning about when I say I'm sorry. It will be a good test for me because if I do apologize, I want it to come from a place of sincerity, and as well, because I think that my actions or words may have caused harm to another, whether intentionally or not.

Intentions have little to do with whether or not an apology is warranted. Being an optimist, I think that most folks have fairly good intentions toward others, but sometimes human priorities come into conflict with others. Yet because of that, there may be a need for an apology out of inattention, neglect, trivialization of another's feelings and/or an ignorance (in the sense of "not knowing") of the importance of something to another.

The cost to another of an inability to say I'm sorry is a distortion of the other person's perceptions--e.g. pretending what happened really did not, walking away from a situation leaving the other person standing thinking, "am I crazy?" or was that really cruel, insensitive, thoughtless? Or, it makes the other person alone responsible for how a relationship goes, despite the reality that it takes two people to create a difficult situation and both of their attention to resolve it. This is especially true in cases where one is not actively aggressive, but passively neglectful--"what? I didn't do anything". The issue really doesn't go away. It may shrink in importance in the larger scheme of things over time, but a lack of resolution or "closure" for both parties having worked through a conflict leaves a mark on hearts that could otherwise use the salve of two simple words to do a world of healing.

I don't believe it's ever too late to apologize, and it's only too early if the apology is not sincere. Some of the most important people in my life have never said they're sorry to me. I have come to accept it as "their way," but being the marshmallow hearted being I am, it is something that confuses me. It does not make me love them any less, but it does make me wonder if they know how much it would mean to me if they could.

Got to Be There, And She's on My Mind . . .

I got a call from my youngest daughter tonight. She is a newlywed, hard worker and radically grounded person. She also holds every little stress inside until she bursts forth with all the things that are getting to her. She has never had a life without challenges to handle; she has just been hyper-responsible about trying to take them on all by herself. This is not good for her, but it is her way. I have learned over the years that when things are hard for her, she turns inside of herself and goes quiet until she is ready to talk. Then a world of the sources of her challenges or hurt come out in real, frank, candid ways as she expresses herself in very clear terms. I feel so fortunate to know who she is, to wait patiently for those moments because she lets me know when they are, and I never want to ignore them. This is the thing about connecting with others--it is not taking advantage of others' good will, but at the same time being able to fully trust that they will not let you down when it really matters.

At this time in her life, she is in a radical transition from a person in a committed relationship to a wife. She is learning how to negotiate that role because she has always been independent and self-sufficient (maybe even to a fault). She nurtures others till she has little left to give. She remembers everyone on birthdays and other holidays and checks in regularly with family members, taking comfort in their support and love for her.

But my life as her mother has taught me that not only does she need someone who knows her well to listen and accept her, but also, when she is ready to talk, I've got to be there. She reaches these tempests at inconvenient times sometimes, but I don't care. We have managed successfully to speak to each other as adults as she has grown into her young professional and personal life. She has always been grounded, self-motivated and generally expected too much of herself, standing aside at times to a point of invisibility in order to allow other priorities to be addressed by others around her. In her marriage, she cannot make herself invisible to a husband who loves her like crazy. She is also interdependent, and that gives her a feeling of vulnerability because she cannot always lead and as well, knows it is not fair to wrap herself into that tight cocoon of inaccessibility.

Those are strategies she has always used to help her function and take the next step forward. She also has superwomanish expectations of herself. But I know that she needs soft places to fall and relief from her hyper-responsible shouldering of all that matters to her. It is hard to be so far away, but when we see each other, we make the most of the time together and have a lot of fun--she cracks me up. She's generally not chatty, but when she is, I know for a fact that she needs someone to care and listen. Other family members have helped me so much in that regard and stood in as surrogates through the miles, and I am grateful for it.

Here's how it also goes. After she has worked up every possible "mother concern" I can imagine, she "figures things out" and will call later sounding strong and sure. But that's just part of being her mother, and I am grateful to be held in that kind of esteem and trust by her. Ever since she was a little girl, she liked to be certain, to know what was coming the next day, whether it was for a school lunch or a new situation. When she was about eight, I had given her 12 hour Contact for a cold in the morning. We were driving in the car that evening and she asked me what time it was. I told her, and she said, "well that means in about 17 minutes my nose will start running." That is her through and through. Uncertainty and "newness" is hard for her until she works at something long enough to feel steady-footed.

She used to dread every birthday because she liked being nine and didn't know what it would be like to be ten. She used to dislike and mistrust her new elementary school teachers for the first two months of the new school year, and then in the last month, not want to go on to the next grade because she liked her teacher. She was always the "quiet", "on task" kid in the class and teachers would always seat her next to the rowdiest and hard to control child. After awhile this got to be a little old, and I finally discussed it with her teacher. She has a calming effect on everyone around her because she is so grounded; but she does this at her own expense because it appears as if she has no needs--for approval, love, concern, care, help with tasks, conversation and worries. Yet those who are closest to her can tell when she is beginning to unravel from that tight cocoon she has woven to protect herself from disappointment or challenges that lie ahead.

This is my youngest daughter, my beloved child, who when she hurts, I hurt, when she worries, I worry because I know that despite her strong habits and practicality, she is as human as any of the rest of us and has needs to be recognized, cared about, accepted and listened to. (Of course I feel the same way about my other daughter). Yet she and her husband have planned and budgeted and waited for the honeymoon of their dreams. She is facing circumstances that will not make the trip as carefree as it might otherwise have been when the planning began because she is facing some uncertainties. I hope she is able to relax and enjoy the relief from daily pressures she and her husband deserve, and that others will also recognize that she, too needs support.