Okay, so the simplest things somehow manage to turn into huge projects in my little corner of the universe. Putting all of my books together on one shelf in Dan's old room has somehow turned into an entire renovation project and I spent the weekend sanding the old finish off the hard wood floors - with an orbital sander. This was kind of fun, until I tried to get my big butt up off the floor! Then I realized, once again, that I need to lose some weight and recreate some muscle mass! Every major joint hurts. This was compounded by the fact that I then got to spend Monday evening, once again, on my hands and knees putting on the stain. I've got to say that I felt pretty stupid when I put the stain on the scratches in the closet - where I hadn't sanded and the stain made the scratches disappear... for the most part. I probably didn't need to have sanded the entire floor.
Today's project is to apply the first and second coats of polyurethane and then leave it alone until Friday. My plans, however may be put on hold at that point since it is cold and rainy here, and it doesn't look like it is going to let up anytime soon.... and so the floor may not dry as quickly as I plan. The problem with these types of projects is that one little thing leads to another and another and another. All I initially wanted was to have a place for my books, and now I am going to be spending a few weeks renovating the room. Of course, I know I should be doing this, the room needed renovating badly. And, I am excited to see how the whole project turns out in the end. But geez... why couldn't I just wave my magic wand and have it that way right now. Patience, apparently is not my forte.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
My very own space
I have been sharing the office space in our house with Larry and the boys for 26 years, 9 months and 25 days. This was really okay and very workable until I started going back to school and collecting mass quantities of books and inheriting all kinds of writing material from my parents. Last weekend I went looking for something I wanted to reference in a paper I am working on, and realized that the aforementioned items are ALL OVER THE HOUSE! So, after much discussion about where and how, today I am going to create my very own office space, wherein I will put all of the materials I may ever need in one room.
I woke up at 5:15 today thinking about my very own space and realized that it has indeed been 26 years, 9 months and 25 days since I have had a space that I could call my own, decorate as I wished and keep my treasures. I am pretty excited about this. There is a bit of deconstruction which must take place before the space can be made mine... I have to remove all the magazines and books left behind by my first born, take down all the pictures and posters he left behind and fix the holes in the walls. Then I get to paint, rearrange the furniture to fit my needs and move in! I will have my very own bookshelf where I can organize my books and binders. The question for this morning is; which color should I paint my office today? I am thinking a warm color, not too dark, but rich... possibly a muted orange. Fortunately I have a plethora of paint color samples that I have been collecting over the years from which to choose.
You are probably thinking... geez Martha, you have a whole house you have decorated and arranged, why is this such a big deal? It is a very big deal to have a space that belongs to me, over which I have complete control. And I am thinking that only someone who has shared her house with five other people for about twenty years can really understand how I feel today.
I woke up at 5:15 today thinking about my very own space and realized that it has indeed been 26 years, 9 months and 25 days since I have had a space that I could call my own, decorate as I wished and keep my treasures. I am pretty excited about this. There is a bit of deconstruction which must take place before the space can be made mine... I have to remove all the magazines and books left behind by my first born, take down all the pictures and posters he left behind and fix the holes in the walls. Then I get to paint, rearrange the furniture to fit my needs and move in! I will have my very own bookshelf where I can organize my books and binders. The question for this morning is; which color should I paint my office today? I am thinking a warm color, not too dark, but rich... possibly a muted orange. Fortunately I have a plethora of paint color samples that I have been collecting over the years from which to choose.
You are probably thinking... geez Martha, you have a whole house you have decorated and arranged, why is this such a big deal? It is a very big deal to have a space that belongs to me, over which I have complete control. And I am thinking that only someone who has shared her house with five other people for about twenty years can really understand how I feel today.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Car Trouble
Larry is the youngest of five boys, and as many of you already know, his brother Bill died earlier this summer. Yesterday we drove down to Garden City, a Detroit suburb, to sign some papers with the attorney who is handling his estate and pick up Bill's car, which we had been thinking might work for our youngest son, Nick. We had gotten the title transferred, but hadn't bought new plates for the car yet since we didn't know if we were going to keep it or not. But Bill's plates were expired so Larry brought the plate from his car just so we wouldn't get pulled over on the way home. This is an older Mercury sedan and although it has 140,000 plus miles on it is in pretty good shape. Or so we thought.
The attorney's office was tucked into an old fashioned strip mall along one of the more major streets and after we had taken care of our business with him (he smokes 4 packs a day in his office, so he told us) we were pulling out of the tight parking area and heading toward the nearby florist when Larry spotted an Italian bakery at the far end. Not being one who lets an opportunity to purchase and ingest unnecessary calories pass, I said, "of course I want to stop in the bakery!" and so we did. I had been thinking at that point that a nice loaf of crusty bread would be great with some soup since autumn had officially arrived. Needless to say, we finally left the bakery with the aforementioned loaf of bread, two boxes of cookies, two canolis, and four meat pasties. My sister-in-law, Bobbie (the wife of George, one of the other brothers) had lost her father earlier that morning, and since the car in question was parked in her driveway, we thought some food might be helpful, along with the flowers we purchased next.
We didn't stay long and soon we were on our way home, Larry driving the Mercury, and me following in my Honda. Detroit is a kind of labyrinth of highways and since summer is just wrapping up, that means lots of construction along the way. (In Michigan we call summer, orange cone season since that is what appears each year.) We had just pulled onto I-96, the major artery from Detroit to Lansing, with four lanes of traffic weaving around construction sites when Larry signaled me that he was pulling over. We successfully dodged the cones and made it over to the shoulder. The car was over-heating. We had to wait for the car to cool down enough so that Larry could open the water reservoir, but he was worried that the police might come along and we would get in trouble for having his car's plates on this one, so switched it back with me being look-out as he did so. Once that task was accomplished, he put in the single bottle of water I had stashed in my car. The car protested a bit, but finally restarted and we headed to the next exit to get more water and some gas.
The term "gas station" used to be "service station". I remember this well, they would pump your gas, clean your windshield, and check your fluid levels for you. And gas cost about $. 39 a gallon. (Yes, I started to drive when I was very young.) These are very rare in the 21st century. Larry pulled in to the first place he could find, a modern and fancy Speedway. While Larry pumped the gas I went in search of water. This Speedway was more like a huge convenience store with gas pumps out front. After pulling a couple of sodas out of the large bank of coolers I approached the counter where two young women we both talking on their cell phones. I had to wait for them to finish their conversations with... whoever.... and finally I was able to make my purchases and asked, "Where is the water?" only to be told that I had to either buy a gallon of water for $1.49, or a 48oz cup for $.39 which I could fill and refill at the conveniently located sink in the middle of the store. I opted for the gallon, which I then refilled in their sink twice before we left. Again the old Mercury protested mightily at starting, but Larry finally got it going and headed back to the highway so we could get this car home and see if it would be worth getting up to par so we could give it to Nick, or possibly just use it as a trade-in for something better.
Back onto the highway we headed, once again in four lanes weaving our way through the construction. We had just gotten to an area of the highway where they had put up huge concrete barriers to protect the workers from the traffic when huge clouds of white smoke poured from the Mercury in front of me, blocking my view completely. I quickly dialed Larry on my cell phone, and he said he could see that there was a problem, but there was no where we could pull over at that point. So I put on my emergency flashers and we crept onward to the next available exit ramp. The engine died just as we got to the top of the exit and Larry pulled off the road in some woods. We were in the middle of nowhere - the bridge to civilization, over the highway in the opposite direction, was closed, as was the ramp back onto the highway. Since the construction on the highway had removed or blocked all the signs, we weren't even sure which exit ramp we had taken, or what road we were on.
By this time it was getting very dark, and in short order swarms of mosquitoes began to circle, waiting to come in for the kill. While Larry poured the refilled bottle of water into the Mercury I got back in my car and called Nick in Tucson. Fortunately he was at home and could get on the computer and help us figure out a) where we were and b) gave me the numbers to three towing companies in the area. I then called the towing companies and got answering machines saying they were on the other line and would call right back if I would leave my number, which I did. It is now 10 hours later and I still haven't gotten a return call so I can have the car towed! We left George and Bobbie's with the Mercury at 6:00pm and arrived home at 9:40 without it. But we had fresh Italian pasties, which I heated up in the oven and dessert, crusty Italian bread and the knowledge that this car will not work for Nick.
The attorney's office was tucked into an old fashioned strip mall along one of the more major streets and after we had taken care of our business with him (he smokes 4 packs a day in his office, so he told us) we were pulling out of the tight parking area and heading toward the nearby florist when Larry spotted an Italian bakery at the far end. Not being one who lets an opportunity to purchase and ingest unnecessary calories pass, I said, "of course I want to stop in the bakery!" and so we did. I had been thinking at that point that a nice loaf of crusty bread would be great with some soup since autumn had officially arrived. Needless to say, we finally left the bakery with the aforementioned loaf of bread, two boxes of cookies, two canolis, and four meat pasties. My sister-in-law, Bobbie (the wife of George, one of the other brothers) had lost her father earlier that morning, and since the car in question was parked in her driveway, we thought some food might be helpful, along with the flowers we purchased next.
We didn't stay long and soon we were on our way home, Larry driving the Mercury, and me following in my Honda. Detroit is a kind of labyrinth of highways and since summer is just wrapping up, that means lots of construction along the way. (In Michigan we call summer, orange cone season since that is what appears each year.) We had just pulled onto I-96, the major artery from Detroit to Lansing, with four lanes of traffic weaving around construction sites when Larry signaled me that he was pulling over. We successfully dodged the cones and made it over to the shoulder. The car was over-heating. We had to wait for the car to cool down enough so that Larry could open the water reservoir, but he was worried that the police might come along and we would get in trouble for having his car's plates on this one, so switched it back with me being look-out as he did so. Once that task was accomplished, he put in the single bottle of water I had stashed in my car. The car protested a bit, but finally restarted and we headed to the next exit to get more water and some gas.
The term "gas station" used to be "service station". I remember this well, they would pump your gas, clean your windshield, and check your fluid levels for you. And gas cost about $. 39 a gallon. (Yes, I started to drive when I was very young.) These are very rare in the 21st century. Larry pulled in to the first place he could find, a modern and fancy Speedway. While Larry pumped the gas I went in search of water. This Speedway was more like a huge convenience store with gas pumps out front. After pulling a couple of sodas out of the large bank of coolers I approached the counter where two young women we both talking on their cell phones. I had to wait for them to finish their conversations with... whoever.... and finally I was able to make my purchases and asked, "Where is the water?" only to be told that I had to either buy a gallon of water for $1.49, or a 48oz cup for $.39 which I could fill and refill at the conveniently located sink in the middle of the store. I opted for the gallon, which I then refilled in their sink twice before we left. Again the old Mercury protested mightily at starting, but Larry finally got it going and headed back to the highway so we could get this car home and see if it would be worth getting up to par so we could give it to Nick, or possibly just use it as a trade-in for something better.
Back onto the highway we headed, once again in four lanes weaving our way through the construction. We had just gotten to an area of the highway where they had put up huge concrete barriers to protect the workers from the traffic when huge clouds of white smoke poured from the Mercury in front of me, blocking my view completely. I quickly dialed Larry on my cell phone, and he said he could see that there was a problem, but there was no where we could pull over at that point. So I put on my emergency flashers and we crept onward to the next available exit ramp. The engine died just as we got to the top of the exit and Larry pulled off the road in some woods. We were in the middle of nowhere - the bridge to civilization, over the highway in the opposite direction, was closed, as was the ramp back onto the highway. Since the construction on the highway had removed or blocked all the signs, we weren't even sure which exit ramp we had taken, or what road we were on.
By this time it was getting very dark, and in short order swarms of mosquitoes began to circle, waiting to come in for the kill. While Larry poured the refilled bottle of water into the Mercury I got back in my car and called Nick in Tucson. Fortunately he was at home and could get on the computer and help us figure out a) where we were and b) gave me the numbers to three towing companies in the area. I then called the towing companies and got answering machines saying they were on the other line and would call right back if I would leave my number, which I did. It is now 10 hours later and I still haven't gotten a return call so I can have the car towed! We left George and Bobbie's with the Mercury at 6:00pm and arrived home at 9:40 without it. But we had fresh Italian pasties, which I heated up in the oven and dessert, crusty Italian bread and the knowledge that this car will not work for Nick.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Non-directional tutoring
I have had my first really big challenge in the Writing Center since coming back from Istanbul. The problem is that in Istanbul I had to be VERY directive as their teacher. The lack of English skills in many of my students was nothing short of stunning. Many of them could not write a sentence in English if their life depended on it. However, my tutoring style has always been a mixture of directive and non directive comments. So all year I had to put my 'tutor training' aside and dig straight in to doing whatever it took to help them.
Now I am back in the writing center with English 109 students. Yesterday I got back descriptive essays that I assigned. I have three students in that group and all three essays were very disappointing. Why was I disappointed, you ask? Because I really struggled with being non-directive. None of the three wrote well - that was to be expected. If they were good writers they would not have been placed in English 109. Student A did not do the whole assignment. Student B had all kinds of misplaced modifiers in her run on sentences in an attempt to "look smart". And Student C had a jumbled up mess of poorly formed disorganized sentences, however hers was the most interesting essay.
Sitting at one of the big tables in the writing center, with my newly assigned Mento, (tutor trainee) I really struggled with how to approach these students. I asked lots of questions and did, I think, all the right things, but I was definitely battling with myself over the whole thing.
And once again asking myself, "Can I do this again? I am not one of their peers."
Monday, September 14, 2009
Siblings
It has been an auspicious weekend in a small college town in southern Ohio. My older sister threw herself a birthday party. Not your typical birthday party with balloons and cake in her living room, no she rented a hall and hired a band. And apparently ordered 19 dozen cupcakes! She is turning 60 on Wednesday (she is my much older sister...) and I guess she felt that if she didn't do something big, she may never have another chance.
This was the second of her "big parties", the first was in Tucson a month ago. In Tucson she reserved a private room at the Metropolitan Grill, designed a special menu and pre-ordered all her favorite desserts, which we all shared. This party was attended by members of my family; my older brother and his wife along with two of their kids, Larry, me, my sons, Nick and Dan, Dan's fiancee Sarah, and my parents. It was a kind of strange and awkward luncheon, as my Mom has terminal cancer and my Dad teared up when he told a story about a recent trip to the hairdressers. But this weekend was to be a party with her friends and colleagues.
Apparently she invited 160 people to this shindig. She had asked me to mark the date on my calendar while I was still in Istanbul (In March, I think). Unfortunately, I had to work on Saturday, and the meager $40.00 I made for my time and trouble is important these days. And, to be frank, I have been to her place several times and hung out with her friends and colleagues and it is not a lot of fun to hang out with a bunch of people you do not know. However, after much plotting and planning, my brother, Paul and his wife, Carole, flew from Tucson to Detroit on Friday and went to southern Ohio with my younger brother, Bill and his girlfriend. We didn't tell Cathe that they were coming, it was to be our family surprise for her big day. But before they went to Ohio, Larry and I drove to Ann Arbor to have dinner with them on Friday night.
Any time you get my brothers in the same room it is highly entertaining. They have banter and telling stories down to an art. We went to one of Bill's favorite haunts, which was packed since it was the night before a big football game. We all ate way too much food and laughed until our sides hurt. I love my brothers. (And my sister.) What is the point of all this, you may be asking? The point is this... even though we all live far away from each other, and lead very different lives, family is important. It is a 'stable datum' which helps to bring order to the chaos of our lives. I am sorry that I missed the road trip to Cathe's party. I am sorry that I missed her singing with the band she had hired. (Although she told me that if I had been there, she never would have done it - but asked me to sing with them instead.) I missed helping her figure out what to do with the dozens and dozens of cupcakes that were left over. And clean up the mess afterwards. And hanging out - the four of us. Alas, the next time we are all together will probably be connected to my Mom's passing... but even that will be nice in that we have so much shared history.
This was the second of her "big parties", the first was in Tucson a month ago. In Tucson she reserved a private room at the Metropolitan Grill, designed a special menu and pre-ordered all her favorite desserts, which we all shared. This party was attended by members of my family; my older brother and his wife along with two of their kids, Larry, me, my sons, Nick and Dan, Dan's fiancee Sarah, and my parents. It was a kind of strange and awkward luncheon, as my Mom has terminal cancer and my Dad teared up when he told a story about a recent trip to the hairdressers. But this weekend was to be a party with her friends and colleagues.
Apparently she invited 160 people to this shindig. She had asked me to mark the date on my calendar while I was still in Istanbul (In March, I think). Unfortunately, I had to work on Saturday, and the meager $40.00 I made for my time and trouble is important these days. And, to be frank, I have been to her place several times and hung out with her friends and colleagues and it is not a lot of fun to hang out with a bunch of people you do not know. However, after much plotting and planning, my brother, Paul and his wife, Carole, flew from Tucson to Detroit on Friday and went to southern Ohio with my younger brother, Bill and his girlfriend. We didn't tell Cathe that they were coming, it was to be our family surprise for her big day. But before they went to Ohio, Larry and I drove to Ann Arbor to have dinner with them on Friday night.
Any time you get my brothers in the same room it is highly entertaining. They have banter and telling stories down to an art. We went to one of Bill's favorite haunts, which was packed since it was the night before a big football game. We all ate way too much food and laughed until our sides hurt. I love my brothers. (And my sister.) What is the point of all this, you may be asking? The point is this... even though we all live far away from each other, and lead very different lives, family is important. It is a 'stable datum' which helps to bring order to the chaos of our lives. I am sorry that I missed the road trip to Cathe's party. I am sorry that I missed her singing with the band she had hired. (Although she told me that if I had been there, she never would have done it - but asked me to sing with them instead.) I missed helping her figure out what to do with the dozens and dozens of cupcakes that were left over. And clean up the mess afterwards. And hanging out - the four of us. Alas, the next time we are all together will probably be connected to my Mom's passing... but even that will be nice in that we have so much shared history.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
On aging and death
Who ever coined the term "intelligent design" was obviously a young male since no woman or aging person would have ever put those words together to describe their bodies. Aging sucks. And dying is even worse, but this brilliant young man decided that we have an "intelligent design" because he has never had a period, given birth, gotten arthritis or cancer, and obviously does not remember any of his previous deaths. Nor, might I add had this young man experienced his own parents aging and failing health.
More than 25 years ago, my Mom had all of us kids come to the house and put our names on anything we wanted when she died. She was sure that while they were posted in Nepal by the UN they were both going to die, and she didn't want us fighting over the 'stuff'. We were all horrified, but acquiesced to her wishes - like we do. Needless to say they didn't die, but in the ensuing years we all ended up with the aforementioned items from her house as they moved to Tucson and eventually into an apartment complex for seniors.
Where am I going with this? you might ask. My Mom had breast cancer some twenty years ago, she had both of her arthritic knees replaced along with five vertebrae in her spine, she survived colon cancer, but has recently been placed under hospice care due to untreatable liver cancer. She raised four children and spent many years working to help women have better lives and people in general be able to feed themselves. She has had a good long run, and at 83 she is ready to move on. Okay that sucks, right? But here is the rub... I have been given the task of writing her obituary so it is ready when she moves on. Geez! Intelligent design my ass.
More than 25 years ago, my Mom had all of us kids come to the house and put our names on anything we wanted when she died. She was sure that while they were posted in Nepal by the UN they were both going to die, and she didn't want us fighting over the 'stuff'. We were all horrified, but acquiesced to her wishes - like we do. Needless to say they didn't die, but in the ensuing years we all ended up with the aforementioned items from her house as they moved to Tucson and eventually into an apartment complex for seniors.
Where am I going with this? you might ask. My Mom had breast cancer some twenty years ago, she had both of her arthritic knees replaced along with five vertebrae in her spine, she survived colon cancer, but has recently been placed under hospice care due to untreatable liver cancer. She raised four children and spent many years working to help women have better lives and people in general be able to feed themselves. She has had a good long run, and at 83 she is ready to move on. Okay that sucks, right? But here is the rub... I have been given the task of writing her obituary so it is ready when she moves on. Geez! Intelligent design my ass.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
My Theatrical Career
In high school I was a promising thespian with major roles in each of the eight productions during my tenure at DeWitt High School. I loved being on stage and the audiences loved me back. Coupled with my interests and activities singing, I had always dreamed of being in musicals on Broadway. And yes, I do love musicals despite what most of my friends have to say about them. I am aware of the unreality of people singing their thoughts or ideas while dancing in unison in everyday places. (And why doesn't the orchestra join in with me whenever the urge strikes me to do so?)
After high school, as most of you know, my career took a different path and I never made it to Broadway. (Sad face) However that was not the end of my acting career, it was only the beginning. I spent a winter in Miami with my grandparents and chanced upon the opportunity to be an extra in the forgettable film Black Sunday. (Don't bother, I rented it a number of times and have never managed to see myself in the crowd at the Orange Bowl!)But somehow my acting career has managed to go downhill from there. A few years ago my friend Brian invited us to come to the set of a movie he was making and we got to be zombies - which was a blast! And although we got rained out, I do believe if you go to see The Dead Matter this fall when it hits theaters, you might actually get to glimpse the back of our heads. This was followed by another extra performance in a short film by a Michigan writer/director last summer. There is very little chance you will ever see that fine piece of work, which will probably be a good thing, since it was not our best performances. However, if you are ever in Turkey, Larry and I did the English translation voice-overs for a couple of beautiful documentaries while I was working in Istanbul. They are both very professional and visually stunning works - with awesome voice-overs.
So it occurred to me that my career has gone from successful high school thespian to bad movie extra to voice overs... so I have gone from being very visible to simply being heard... am I disappearing?
After high school, as most of you know, my career took a different path and I never made it to Broadway. (Sad face) However that was not the end of my acting career, it was only the beginning. I spent a winter in Miami with my grandparents and chanced upon the opportunity to be an extra in the forgettable film Black Sunday. (Don't bother, I rented it a number of times and have never managed to see myself in the crowd at the Orange Bowl!)But somehow my acting career has managed to go downhill from there. A few years ago my friend Brian invited us to come to the set of a movie he was making and we got to be zombies - which was a blast! And although we got rained out, I do believe if you go to see The Dead Matter this fall when it hits theaters, you might actually get to glimpse the back of our heads. This was followed by another extra performance in a short film by a Michigan writer/director last summer. There is very little chance you will ever see that fine piece of work, which will probably be a good thing, since it was not our best performances. However, if you are ever in Turkey, Larry and I did the English translation voice-overs for a couple of beautiful documentaries while I was working in Istanbul. They are both very professional and visually stunning works - with awesome voice-overs.
So it occurred to me that my career has gone from successful high school thespian to bad movie extra to voice overs... so I have gone from being very visible to simply being heard... am I disappearing?
Monday, September 7, 2009
Real Friends
Recently I have been thinking about my friends (and you know who you are!). And I have come to the conclusion that there are two characteristics which are necessary for me to be able to call someone my friend. 1. My friends are the people who I can count on to be there for me, without judgement. Male or female, these folks would come to my rescue if I needed them to, but more importantly, they are the ones who will be honest with me no matter what. "Yes, those jeans make your ass look huge", or "you've got something green in your teeth", or "that is a stupid idea!" are all phrases which signify to me a true friend. I am one of the fortunate ones who has friends like that. I have friends who have stuck by me no matter what kinds of stupid decisions I have made, or where I have gone, or even how stupid my ideas actually were. You know who your friends are because they are the ones who don't disappear when you are having a rough time. (Fair weather friends need not apply.)
2. My friends are those people for whom I can be truly happy when something good happens to them. I have a few friends who have recently gotten their dream jobs. And while I am struggling with the feelings of rejection, and not being worthy or wanted, they have found their professional homes. I was thinking yesterday that while I envy their new positions, I am in fact very happy for them. I am actually happy to see that someone I care about now has something that will make them happy. It is the same kind of joy I have felt when my children have gotten in to something which makes them happy. These are the people who know that I will be there for them if they are down or in trouble or just want a home-cooked meal. These are not short term acquaintances, but people who know (or should anyway) that no matter what, I will love them for who they are.
And now they have something which makes them happy and I am... simply thrilled. Now, the rest of you... find something that makes you happy because I need all the positive Karma I can get!
2. My friends are those people for whom I can be truly happy when something good happens to them. I have a few friends who have recently gotten their dream jobs. And while I am struggling with the feelings of rejection, and not being worthy or wanted, they have found their professional homes. I was thinking yesterday that while I envy their new positions, I am in fact very happy for them. I am actually happy to see that someone I care about now has something that will make them happy. It is the same kind of joy I have felt when my children have gotten in to something which makes them happy. These are the people who know that I will be there for them if they are down or in trouble or just want a home-cooked meal. These are not short term acquaintances, but people who know (or should anyway) that no matter what, I will love them for who they are.
And now they have something which makes them happy and I am... simply thrilled. Now, the rest of you... find something that makes you happy because I need all the positive Karma I can get!
Friday, September 4, 2009
Labor Day Weekend
Once again it is Labor Day weekend in the US. For most of us this is the signal of the end of summer (which doesn't officially end until September 21st or so). The days are noticeably shorter, the evenings are cooler and the football season has begun. Many people go to their summer retreats and being the process of closing it for the winter. Others close their swimming pools and bring their boats in for shelter from the harsh weather we know is to come. For me, Labor Day weekend means two things; the last weekend I can count on being able to grill and the US Open Tennis Tournament. I am an avid tennis fan and have been since the mid 1960's. I was thinking about this the other day and I realized that this is just one of many things I have to thank my Father for. (And yes, I did just end that sentence with a preposition!)
When we moved to Nigeria in 1965 he took up the game of tennis and has been hooked ever since. In the 1970's my Dad worked for the Midwest Universities Consotrium for International Activities (MUCIA) as its president. In this capacity he spent a great deal of time traveling the world helping countries set up their systems of higher education in conjunction with seven schools in the midwest US. He was not home for most of my high school years. We had a world map on the wall over the kitchen table, and we would track his movements every morning over breakfast. If you watch the US Open, or any major tournament, you will see the pros walk on to the court carrying these huge bags which contain their rackets. It is this vision which always reminds me of my Dad.
Since Dad would travel around the world on a pretty regular circuit, he had memberships at various tennis clubs. All of which seemed to have different requirements for his rackets, so he carried a huge bag, like the pros do whenever he went on this trips. Why so many rackets? In those days the rackets were made of wood and had much smaller heads. But depending on the surface and the humidity of the court, you needed to use different kinds of strings. Some were synthetic, but others were actually made from the gut of some animals. So he needed a different racket for playing in Delhi than he did for playing in Saudi, grass courts or clay, and so on. When Dad wasn't traveling the world, he would pack a tuna sandwich and an apple for lunch every day. He would eat this lunch at his desk because he would spend his actual lunch time on the tennis court - every day. He would also play at least once on the weekends.
Dad is now 83 years old, and plays at 7:00am twice a week with three other octagenarians. He says by this age you really don't have to run so much, you have gotten really good at saying, "nice shot". I really look forward to the four major tennis tournaments that are televised each year, but especially the US Open since it is my Labor Day/end of summer tradition. Each of the four majors has its own charm and special qualities - the history of Wimbledon, the fun of the clay at the French, and the quirkiness of the Austrailian. But it is the US Open which signifies the end of summer and the begining of the new year in my mind. It is after Labor Day that school really begins, (Michigan recently passed a law that school cannot begin before Labor Day any more!) and it is the school year to which my seasonal clock is tuned. Maybe it is because I was raised by academics, or maybe it is because I raised children for so many years. I am not sure exactly why this is, but for me the year begins in September. For my friends in Turkey, I hate to rub it in, but I bought thick New York Strip steaks, hot dogs and baby back ribs to grill this weekend. :)
When we moved to Nigeria in 1965 he took up the game of tennis and has been hooked ever since. In the 1970's my Dad worked for the Midwest Universities Consotrium for International Activities (MUCIA) as its president. In this capacity he spent a great deal of time traveling the world helping countries set up their systems of higher education in conjunction with seven schools in the midwest US. He was not home for most of my high school years. We had a world map on the wall over the kitchen table, and we would track his movements every morning over breakfast. If you watch the US Open, or any major tournament, you will see the pros walk on to the court carrying these huge bags which contain their rackets. It is this vision which always reminds me of my Dad.
Since Dad would travel around the world on a pretty regular circuit, he had memberships at various tennis clubs. All of which seemed to have different requirements for his rackets, so he carried a huge bag, like the pros do whenever he went on this trips. Why so many rackets? In those days the rackets were made of wood and had much smaller heads. But depending on the surface and the humidity of the court, you needed to use different kinds of strings. Some were synthetic, but others were actually made from the gut of some animals. So he needed a different racket for playing in Delhi than he did for playing in Saudi, grass courts or clay, and so on. When Dad wasn't traveling the world, he would pack a tuna sandwich and an apple for lunch every day. He would eat this lunch at his desk because he would spend his actual lunch time on the tennis court - every day. He would also play at least once on the weekends.
Dad is now 83 years old, and plays at 7:00am twice a week with three other octagenarians. He says by this age you really don't have to run so much, you have gotten really good at saying, "nice shot". I really look forward to the four major tennis tournaments that are televised each year, but especially the US Open since it is my Labor Day/end of summer tradition. Each of the four majors has its own charm and special qualities - the history of Wimbledon, the fun of the clay at the French, and the quirkiness of the Austrailian. But it is the US Open which signifies the end of summer and the begining of the new year in my mind. It is after Labor Day that school really begins, (Michigan recently passed a law that school cannot begin before Labor Day any more!) and it is the school year to which my seasonal clock is tuned. Maybe it is because I was raised by academics, or maybe it is because I raised children for so many years. I am not sure exactly why this is, but for me the year begins in September. For my friends in Turkey, I hate to rub it in, but I bought thick New York Strip steaks, hot dogs and baby back ribs to grill this weekend. :)
Thursday, September 3, 2009
The end at last
I have had a couple of emotional days. On the first of September I was expecting to be paid by Bilgi University, however no transfer occurred. I was really upset since I had feared they would try to pull a fast one and not pay me. It was for that exact reason that I had not yet resigned, even though I had the letter all ready to send. I checked and rechecked my account balance all day, but no money. I was pretty crushed since a) I had been counting on that money to see us through another month, and b) I had kept my part of the bargain and I hoped that they would as well. Unsure about what to do, I sent of flurry of messages to my friends in Turkey through facebook. I finally decided to send a message to a guy in HR and simply ask about my pay before resorting to more drastic measures (like legal threats).
I had the distinct feeling of dread when Larry said to me, "I guess we shouldn't count on any money from Turkey, huh." I felt like a failure once again. It had been bad enough that my pay was about a third of what we had expected all year due to the exchange rates, but now they were going to short me a whole month and there was very little I could do about it but threaten, scream and yell. And cry, which I did.
In a bit of a panic about lack of income, I decided to go back to the writing center and and do something productive. I hadn't decided fully that I wanted to do it since it kind of seems like going backwards, but I knew I just needed to have something productive on my calendar. It felt really good to be back in the writing center, with people I care about, in an environment in which I am completely comfortable. I felt much better after being on campus, and had a nice evening watching the US Open; Federer and Serena both won their matches. I woke up before five this morning and was lying in bed composing the letter in my head, unable to go back to sleep. Finally I decided on what to say, got out of bed and came down to the kitchen for coffee and to make my next move. I turned on my laptop, made my coffee and decided I should check the bank account one more time before writing the e-mail to try to get what I was owed. Low and behold - there it was, the deposit in full.
I wanted to cry once again - this time with relief. I was not only relieved that the money was there, but mostly relieved that I wouldn't have to battle the university - a battle I was pretty sure I couldn't win. I amended my resignation letter, adding a fairly scathing critique of the institution's business practices and sent it off. (In case you missed this part, no one in my program ever saw a copy of our contract all last year!) I am finally done. After an entire year of holding my breath... I can finally relax. It was a fascinating chapter in my life, but one that I feared would never end, and now it has.
I had the distinct feeling of dread when Larry said to me, "I guess we shouldn't count on any money from Turkey, huh." I felt like a failure once again. It had been bad enough that my pay was about a third of what we had expected all year due to the exchange rates, but now they were going to short me a whole month and there was very little I could do about it but threaten, scream and yell. And cry, which I did.
In a bit of a panic about lack of income, I decided to go back to the writing center and and do something productive. I hadn't decided fully that I wanted to do it since it kind of seems like going backwards, but I knew I just needed to have something productive on my calendar. It felt really good to be back in the writing center, with people I care about, in an environment in which I am completely comfortable. I felt much better after being on campus, and had a nice evening watching the US Open; Federer and Serena both won their matches. I woke up before five this morning and was lying in bed composing the letter in my head, unable to go back to sleep. Finally I decided on what to say, got out of bed and came down to the kitchen for coffee and to make my next move. I turned on my laptop, made my coffee and decided I should check the bank account one more time before writing the e-mail to try to get what I was owed. Low and behold - there it was, the deposit in full.
I wanted to cry once again - this time with relief. I was not only relieved that the money was there, but mostly relieved that I wouldn't have to battle the university - a battle I was pretty sure I couldn't win. I amended my resignation letter, adding a fairly scathing critique of the institution's business practices and sent it off. (In case you missed this part, no one in my program ever saw a copy of our contract all last year!) I am finally done. After an entire year of holding my breath... I can finally relax. It was a fascinating chapter in my life, but one that I feared would never end, and now it has.
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