aimless love

my graduation speech

2009-01-19T16:53:00.004-05:00

ok… so I graduated on Sat. Jan 17, 2009. Both my faculty advisors introduced me and they said such nice things about me – I was incredibly touched and grateful (and incredibly embarrassed!)

My dissertation defense was on Jan 15 – and it went well. The main question was when would I publish and which tack should I take… but honestly, I have to finish the edits and officially graduate first!!!

They told all of us who were graduating that we had 2 minutes to give our acknowledgments and I am such a good doobie, I only took 2 minutes – but I wanted to say just a bit more. So here is my 3.5-minute speech!

* * *

I would like to begin by sharing a poem:

The Moment
by Margaret Atwood

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can’t breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

_ _ _
I am so grateful for having been found – again and again, by family and friends, by poems and stories, by ideas and theories, by clients and supervisors, by teachers and peers, by students and colleagues. I have been found and brought home time after time and for that I am so grateful.

Anyone who knows me well knows I love children’s literature. I have read several book series many times. Pullman’s series, His Dark Materials, Madeleine L’Engle’s series, A wrinkle in time, Lemony Sniket’s Series of Unfortunate Events, and of course, JK Rowling’s Potter series. I love a good story!

I love the catch in my breath, when I realize I am being swept away – when I recognize a truth that only exists in fiction (as it does in all art) – when I recognize myself and those I love in the beauty of the never-quite-wholly-true, the glimmer of recognition, the glimpse of the known, the sweet bitter tension of the impossible.

This is what has found me at Fielding.

I have been lucky to have three lives at Fielding. The first was my life in the Alonso cluster. There I learned the power of the group, the maxim that homicide is better than suicide – that is, not to be afraid of my anger, my power, and my ability to survive – and the beauty of postmodern psychoanalytic relational ideas – namely, the idea of being able to bear the constant tension between recognizing the other and asserting the self. There I learned the importance of giving generously to the group, because we can always have more-of-the-whole in the group.

My second life at Fielding was in the Cramer cluster. That is where I learned how to be a Puerto Rican frizzy haired mother, suburban professor, who was also a solid clinician and clinical supervisor. Marge, your ability to bear and name the projections of your students and clients was inspiring – I learned so much from you. Your ability to make a space where I could share not only my growth as a clinician, but also my anxieties about becoming a “suit” in the process was essential. Your encouragement to pursue my interest in class dynamics and your enthusiasm for my project from the beginning was so important for me. I hovered for a long time before landing on a topic and you held the space for me to do that with humor, poking, and love. Thank you.

My third life in Fielding has been as a researcher. I have loved my dissertation project from beginning to end. This project gave me the opportunity to contain many contradictions and multiple identities in a way I wouldn’t have been able to without the daring ideas of other researchers in the field, without the love and support of my dissertation support group and closest friends, and without the stories that my participants shared. Ruthellen, your work as a leader in the field of narrative research has not only been an inspiration, but has given me the courage to be bold in my thinking and writing. Your edits and suggestions made the work much stronger. I hope that you’ll encourage me to continue to be bold. Thank you for being my scholarly role model.

Lastly, I can’t go without thanking my family and friends. While I know that you have often had to sacrifice an available wife, a cooking mom, a happy friend, a devoted daughter and niece, for a stressed out, sleep-deprived, preoccupied one – you have also supported me and allowed me to pursue a passion that has let me not only love ideas, but also become all the me I can be to love all the you you can be. Words are not enough. Thank you!

lost to myself

2008-08-05T11:06:00.003-05:00

The past year has been crazy

three days ago I submitted the second draft of the dissertation - it is really MUCH better. And yet, the cost of making it better has drained me of nearly all my life energy. I am seriously wounded in my soul - depleted. I decided about 10 weeks ago that all I could do was try to finish this draft - no music, no exercise, no friends - nothing but finishing. I had hoped it wouldn't take so long, and that I would have time to re-plenish, to re-member myself, to re-vitalize my already depleted self/soul. But it took me much longer than I expected and cost me much more than I expected.

I can barely feel my insides... barely feel my capacity for love, my aimless loving heart that wants to be captured.

I don't know what I'm doing with myself - am I totally deceiving myself?

I am committed to a totally dysfunctional job - it drains me. There are several people who do such a piss-poor job there that it makes the work for all the rest of us soooo much more difficult.

But I can't bring myself to leave... I think I am meant to be there - to teach what I teach... I think I do it well EVEN THOUGH it makes me crazy sick to my stomach with anxiety.

I am soooooo neurotic, always full of fear and worry. There is a video portrait of Doris Lessing on the Nobel site (she won the Nobel prize for literature in 2007) and she reads a short section of The Golden Notebook ... "with the tiredness comes guilt. I know all the forms and variations of this guilt so well they even bore me. But I have to fight them nevertheless" - that's how I feel about worry.

today my best friend in town will leave and drive 3,000 miles away from me - on a quest to find herself, her "space" - her place where her own soul, her own and necessary place, where her voices may speak to her, her alone, where she can dream - again Doris Lessing's words...

I want that for her, but mostly I worry about myself - and how I will survive such a loss.

waiting to be swept away

2007-07-25T11:41:00.000-05:00

so I'm back to writing the dissertation! I am completely overwhelmed by the prospect of finishing the draft by Aug 10, but I have to!!!!!

I've got the interviews transcribed and cleaned up! I've gone through them for themes (well almost... I still have one more to do!) and I keep reading the proposal in the hopes of trying to send myself in the right direction - I know you can't step into the same river twice, but I keep hoping that if I can stand there with my feet in the water that I can at least get a feel for the flow of the water and then start trying to move myself along with the current. I am hoping to be swept away!

I know I am going to have to just pick up my feet at some point and let myself be carried by the water, but I'm trying to both orient myself and brace myself for the bumps and fear that comes along the way... but meanwhile, I'm spooking myself.

WRITE! Finish the last interview, and get to the writing.

I know I'm working on things below the surface...

I hope that I can turn my personal stance piece into the prologue! We'll see.

what's up with that!

2007-05-01T06:58:00.000-05:00

so it's been months since I wrote because I really can't handle the juggle of work and my own creativity. It just doesn't seem like there is enough of me to extend this far.

I have been playing on-line scrabble with a friend and this was a note I sent to her recently - it will give you a small taste of how I am...

Sunday I drove down to NYC to visit my grandma.

The drive down to NYC was easy, of course coming home I was tired... but I'm glad I went. My grandmother seemed in good spirits on Sunday, and my aunt says that the new woman who comes on the weekends is good - my aunt's worried about the woman who comes T-F because my grandmother told her that the woman said to her "I don't get paid overnight so don't even call me, I won't get up!" My grandmother has a terrible bruise on one of her hands from hitting the wall trying to call the ladies' attention - she doesn't like to sit in urine overnight and if she needs to pee she wants to get up but can't by herself... anyway, it's that kind of thing and my aunt is very stressed and upset, and it was really sad to see. I just wish there was more I could do!

Only one more week of classes - which means that this week is all about reading papers!!!! Of course, there are a few other projects that really need attention as well, so i end up feeling torn and wasting energy on that, but overall I am really enjoying the weather and the budding trees.

two poems

2007-01-15T05:43:00.000-05:00

The first is a poem I wrote on the last day of our trip after a visit to Avila -

The storks of Avila

In real life
they are regal
austere overseers
tall and elegant
the white of their bodies
in stark contrast
to the black tips
of their wings
and the deep coral
of their beaks

not at all
like the fairy-tale deliverers
we're used to

so much is not how we imagine

Along the walled city
we stand, ten women
modern and yearning
watching old men
in berets and blue jackets
walking arm in arm
with the sun on their faces
through the gates
to the plaza
for a mid-morning coffee

And our coffee
brings talk of mystics and martyrs
of a woman who also yearned
of conquest, expulsion, submission, domination
of complicity and resistance

Later, at the train station
we watch
as one, then two, take flight
stunned by the effort
it appears to take
and by the incongruity
of our lives with this place

What birth within us
have they heralded?
What purge?
With whom shall we walk
arm in arm?

The second poem is for my son, written after his baptism yesterday:

Baptism

It wasn't until after
we had sat back down
literally, became one of the crowd
that he wiped the last drop off his chin

I love
that he was
willing
to let it stay
that long
on his face

Several days before
I had been told that a good Muslim
washes his mouth, his nose, inside his ears,
even wets the top of his head
before entering the mosque
to pray

The first thought we all have
is that we need to cleanse ourselves
that these acts provide us a purifying ritual
and surely they do

But the young man
with the bright, warm eyes
and the gentle, soft voice
and the open, welcoming hands
told us the ritual was to
wake up our senses
to alert all of our body
to prepare to hear
the voice of God

wake up
my son
you are becoming a man
you belong
you are loved
in you we are well pleased

sitting in an internet cafe in Seville, Spain

2007-01-08T06:11:00.000-05:00

Well, no surprise... it is my free day in Seville, and I feel an intense need to be on the internet. So here I have been, at the internet cafe, for an hour and 20 minutes. The past few months of basically hanging out on the net while on my sabbatical have totally trained (poisoned?) me to need and want this. I read and send emails to my family - who I miss tremendously. I even get a pleasure out of the familiarity of checking work email. And now here I am at my blog... there aren´t really any stories I can tell without needing time to write and rewrite.

There are orange trees everywhere... the streets are filled with them. Ripe oranges hanging from them, reminding me that juicy, fruity, living is just within my grasp.

I have not yet processed what it means to be here... privilege?

Our trip has mostly been about the many, multiple layers of quest, conquest, and reconquest - that and religious war! There are no women in this history (Only Isabelle... and I haven´t heard much about her yet?) ... only men and the cities which have a feminine feeling - the gemstones, the prizes, the vessels of churches, mosques and synagogues which are raped over and over again!

it´s kind of hard to come to peace with... but there is always food... and we´ve been eating 5 meals a day.
8 am - breakfast - a croissant with jam, coffee with milk
11 am - elevenses - a small snack - a slice of potatoe omelette, another coffee
2 pm - the large meal of the day - olives begin!!! fish, garlic, potatoes
7pm - tapas - beer, more olives, more garlic, more potatoe omelette
9:30 pm - a light dinner - beer, more olives, more garlic, artichoke hearts, spinach and chick peas

I´m eating lots of olives. they make me very happy.

I miss home.

dizzy, I'm so dizzy, my head is spinning...

2006-12-21T16:26:00.000-05:00

I love that song...ok, not really, it's annoying, but I really am ditzy. I mean dizzy with Xmas and trying to prepare for the spring semester and with generally feeling really anxious about going back to work.

Meanwhile, I'm going to try to send out Christmas cards - and instead of a little "brag" letter this year (although honestly, I've tried not to make them too boastful), I am including this poem. It's not meant to be cryptic, just sufficiently devoid of details so as not to embarrass the little people/teens. If you have the patience, I'm putting the brag letter I won't be sending out below the poem.

Growing up

in our cozy home
things still
appear
grow
change

not plants
but people
and ideas
and convictions

learning geometry proofs
and world capitals
also
how to
read the map of each others’ hearts

we learn scales
and f-stops
remembering the map
is not the same as the terrain

remembering that now
is not then

On the horizon
empty nests appear to take shape

Vision becomes blurred
and sharpened

as some reach forward
while others reach back

as love binds what time steals

- Christmas 2006

Christmas letter version #1:

December 19, 2006

Well, we added two more stadiums to our baseball stadium quest this year. In early June, we drove to Cleveland, OH and Pittsburgh, PA. While there, we not only enjoyed the baseball, but the Andy Warhol Museum, and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

S has done a great job of transitioning to B High this year. He spends even more time than ever with friends, still sings in the choir and is preparing for a chorus trip to Spain in April 07.

K was on sabbatical this fall – and although she didn’t complete her dissertation, she did “advance to candidacy.” Basically this means her proposal was approved and now she can officially collect her data. It also means, that she’ll spend one more summer (07) working on the dissertation, but then by Christmas next year she should be done! Say a prayer! Sabbatical also meant starting cello, joining the Daughters of Abraham, and going to the art therapy conference in New Orleans in Nov.

M has officially decided that bassoon was only a phase, and that next year she will NOT be playing it! While it lasted she was able to earn several bassoon awards and did Music on the Hill this past summer. She continues to be a big SIMS fan, and is wondering if architecture or interior design is the career for her.

P continues to do full-time solo practice in B. He’s still sailing, has invested a bit more in photography, and has been running consistently all year.

It’s been a full year, and we continue to look for ways to live out a sense of social conscience despite all our privileges. We don't have babies or dogs to keep us honest, but as we all try-on "adulthood" we know that there is more to life than accumulating more.

...anyway, that's when I starting thinking there was no way I could really pull it off.

Here's Christmas letter version #2 which let's just say was a tad angry...

December 19, 2006

Our year hasn’t seen much of a change in our social consciousness – I can honestly say that despite the intensity of our trip to El Salvador last year, no significant changes have been made by our family to become part of the global solution. If anything we’ve become even more consumerist and driven to own and numb ourselves from awareness of a larger consciousness.

S started at B High this year. He spends even more time than ever with friends, still sings in the choir and is preparing for a chorus trip to Spain in April 07.

K was on sabbatical this fall – and although she didn’t complete her dissertation, she did “advance to candidacy.” Basically this means her proposal was approved and now she can officially collect her data. It also means, that she’ll spend one more summer (07) working on the dissertation, but then by Christmas next year she should be done! Sabbatical also meant starting cello, joining the Daughters of Abraham, and going to the art therapy conference in New Orleans in Nov.

M has officially decided that bassoon was only a phase, and that next year she will NOT be playing it! She’s also not sure that C Middle School is in the cards for next year, and has decided to apply to private schools.

P continues to do full-time solo practice in B. He’s still sailing, has invested a bit more in photography, and has been running consistently all year.

anyway... expect to see the poem in your cards instead of the letter... only you know why!

I'd rather be angry

2006-12-11T06:57:00.000-05:00

ok... so being brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous sounded good on Sat, but today it sounds like crap!

my daughter has decided to apply to private schools, and I have to tell you I'm sickened by the craziness of a culture that even sells education!!!! "Give me $30,000 a year and I will give your kid a great education!" Meanwhile, all the rest of y'all just fight it out - if you're lucky enough to have a stimulating home and a bright kid who gets along socially and you live in a wealthy suburb, your school is good. If you happen to be in an urban environment and can't afford much, too bad.

How am I going to be able to live with THIS?!

It just keeps getting more challenging to feel a sense of integrity and self-cohesion!

oh, did I mention we're getting cable and a wide-screen TV for Christmas! what other fundamental compromises are left to make?

being brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous

2006-12-09T06:49:00.000-05:00

so I spent an hour this morning reading back over the entries of this blog - as I get closer to the end of my sabbatical I'm increasingly feeling the need to justify the time, to know that I didn't waste it, to feel that I'll be going back with something to show for it all.

I like seeing the progression of the course I'm now working on developing and of the performance piece, but seeing the process of waiting for the proposal to be approved is painful! I cannot believe how frustrating it has been - this waiting game. If I were done with the interviews it would be great. I wish I had more time to think through them thoughtfully, and to carefully analyze the data - but the time is up, and I will get no time to do that - or at least very little time for that.

Next semester is going to be a bear - teaching three classes is so demanding! And it's a bit like being away from kids, when you get back they need extra TLC. I can only imagine that my advisees will need extra support. And speaking of my kids, I'm worried that they (and P and mainly P, will be upset with me when I go back to work and am less available).

I also think that finishing up this performance piece to perform in May will be difficult.

And lastly, I am really struck with the dilemma I feel around my ability/willingness to suck it up and get over the angst I feel about living in a suburban wasteland! I am never around people of color, and never around people who struggle to make ends meet. All the people I am around are people of privilege. I struggle to find myself in the midst of that milieu, and even more I struggle to feel that I haven't just "sold out" but that I can be part of making the world better. Can I be me? Can I be a me that is powerful, beautiful, useful, smart, capable, able to make a difference?

I'm scared - afraid of the toll that living in this constant conflict takes, afraid of the lack of connection I feel for those less fortunate after I've immersed myself in comfort, afraid of the gap it creates between me and those I love most.

I have to trust that I can find my voice, that these projects can bring out my contribution, can lead me to my community!

Marianne Williamson wrote in Return to Love :
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

replacing guilt with joy

2006-12-05T08:41:00.000-05:00

Well, it's official!!!

My proposal is now officially approved, and I anticipate a tuition reduction any day! After paying tuition for 10 years, I can honestly say that this is one of the most important things about finishing this degree. I feel so badly about how long this has taken, and how many "resources" I used by taking so long. I don't know - it's about "first-world" guilt - about privilege and how terrible it is to have so much of it. It's about wanting to become part of the solution!

Meanwhile, can I replace guilt with joy? What is served by my guilt? nothing good Isuspect.

How about gratitude? I keep trying to replace guilt with humble gratitude, with fire for social justice, with joy in the presence of love in my life.

A friend sent me this poem recently... I need to be reminded that for now "only once" is what we have - this moment, this day, this opportunity for joy.

Once Only

All which, because it was
flame and song and granted to us
joy, we thought we’d do, be, revisit,
turns out to have been what it was
that once, only; every initiation
did not begin
a series, a build-up: the marvelous

did happen in our lives, our stories
are not drab with its absence: but don’t

expect now to return for more. Whatever more
there will be will be
unique as those were unique. Try
to acknowledge the next
song in its body-halo of flames as utterly
present, as now or never.

- Denise Lervertov

things are moving

2006-12-04T07:01:00.000-05:00

OK.... so the last member of my committee finally got back to me (at 3:46 am on Saturday), and she too had very positive things to say and no changes to recommend, so I AM FREE to now call myself a "Doctoral Candidate," to collect data, to get a 30% reduction in tuition and most importantly to take a leave of absence which will allow me to stop paying tuition for a few months!

Honestly, it's not official yet (all the oficianados at the school need to sign their John Hancock's on the dotted lines...) but I feel an enormous relief! And if I can stop paying tuition for a few months, maybe we can actually afford our lifestyle!

My papers from Summer school are done. I turned the last grade in last week. And the newsletter that I edit for the non-profit I volunteer for is now with the layout person!

I, of course, have a lot of other things to rush in and make me stressed, but for now I want to just celebrate the fact that things are moving on... I did an interview yesterday, and have another one scheduled for Thursday! And this is the first time I really believe I am going to finish this thing!!!!

oh, and I'm still waiting...

2006-11-29T07:58:00.000-05:00

no, you're not seeing double. I am STILL waiting for feedback from my external examiner!

ggggrrrrrrr!!!!

Las Mesitas

2006-11-28T06:29:00.000-05:00

Here's the essay I wrote for this week's class. It definitely needs some work, but at least it's a start - at least, it's something!!!!

It’s eleven-thirty in the morning when we arrive in el campo. We have been told a bit about the rural communities of El Salvador during our orientation, but nothing can quite prepare us for the odd juxtaposition of a falling down outhouse accompanied by powdered lye with a homemade computer CD drive that imports my son’s Orange Sky soundtrack and that runs on bi-weekly charged car batteries. We know it’s the year 2005, but we can’t quite reconcile our growing awareness as we walk around the community, that in spite of our solid connection to a global economy via the digital world that we access through cell phone, internet, and television, here, in this place, there are few signs of the modern world, and few opportunities to reach beyond the perimeter that defines their compound.

Sam and I have volunteered to participate in a 13-person delegation to visit El Salvador from Cambridge, Massachusetts. Our mission is one of solidarity. Our job is not really about doing, but rather about seeing. We are there to “encounter the other.” When we arrive in Las Mesitas we are told that 90 families live together on this small southeastern track of land, and that as a rural community they have agreed to host our group in hopes of learning more about the United States, and in hopes of helping us to learn more about the plight of the rural farmer in El Salvador.

We are told that our group will be divided into twos and threes, and that a group of families has volunteered to house and feed us while we tour their area, and learn more about their particular way of life. We are told that we will be entering a community where basic resources of clean water, electricity, education, and food are not easily accessed, nor readily available. We do not necessarily realize that we are coming to a place where few families have running water, and where some families have only their cinderblock house, a handful of clothes, and a single chicken, shared by many, to call their own.

As we drive up to the edge of the community in a small tour bus, our vehicle is the only car on a small dirt road leading into the region. There are several young men on bicycles, but once we arrive we learn that few people drive. There are cars that come through the compound once a day, and one can buy a ride into the city for $10 (a weekly wage for many in this part of the countryside). We arrive just before lunch and unload the bus. Most of us have brought a backpack with a few personal items, toiletries, and a change of clothes to last us the three days we’ll be spending with the families.

As we disembark, we hear an announcement in Spanish on the community loudspeaker:

“Calling all who promised to care for these families, come, they’re here. It’s time for you all to come and prepare the lunches. Come, get the water.”

We have brought gallons of bottled water with us because the water here is not safe for us to drink. I marvel at the communication system as women begin to gather near the family home of the Coordinating Regional Office community leader. There are two loudspeakers on a pole, reminding me of old M.A.S.H. episodes, the only other place I remember seeing that type of set-up. Many within our group don’t speak Spanish and as the women arrive, to sort out how to divide up the visitors, a young woman carrying a small child is told that she can take Sam and I, and that I speak Spanish.

I feel as though I’m being auctioned off, and that somehow my ability to speak Spanish makes me a good prize, and suddenly I panic that my Spanish is not good enough, and that somehow I will be a disappointment to the family to whom we’ve been given. As we walk, I realize it’s just that this whole adventure has me feeling quite vulnerable. I try to focus on taking in my surroundings. The woman who is accompanying us is pretty. She is twenty-three or twenty four I think. She has brown skin, long black hair tied up, and she has a beautiful baby in her arms. Estefi Sarai is the baby’s name, and I estimate her at about a year old.

Slowly, as we walk through the family areas, I start to take in the scene. Our hostess is barefooted. Everywhere there is a dirt floor – a sandy brown dirt. Soft, but sandy. Around us everywhere are animals – dogs, cows, pigs, chickens. The animals are just wandering around, in every state of being – big one, little ones. We cross a kind of roadway and reach Lucia’s house.

The woman who has brought us here is Lucia’s daughter, but she does not stay. She lives in a family area near by, but leaves before I find out her name. Lucia has four daughters, I meet three of them. Hola, we say. Mucho gusto, I say – my pleasure. Beinvenidos, Lucia says - welcome. “I’m making you lunch,” she says. “Come in, sit down.”

I sit with Sam. She has set a table for us. Two red plastic chairs like the ones I bought last summer at K-Mart for the backyard sit opposite one another with a simple wooden table that is covered by a plastic tablecloth with a tropical print. Lucia asks if we want ice. I say sure, wanting to be as accommodating as possible from the beginning, and she sends her youngest daughter for the first of many special trips to the store for us. She has prepared rice and chicken, a homemade pineapple juice and tortillas.

I immediately feel guilty – meat – chicken – I know this must cost her. She doesn’t have extra chickens hanging around as far as I can see. (I find out within a day that she works quite diligently to ensure that her one chicken lays an egg each day, and that too is saved for me while we are here.) She and her fourteen-year-old daughter, Brenda, watch Sam and I as we eat. I quickly must tell her that Sam doesn’t eat anything except bread and fruit, and she quickly sends her daughter out again, this time to buy oranges. Sam’s picky eating takes on a new meaning in this environment. Lucia offers him a banana.

There is a baby on the floor, the daughter of Lucia’s daughter, Areli. The baby is quite dirty and as she sits on the floor she plays with a plastic bottle cap, putting it in her mouth and then dropping it, putting dirt in her mouth each time. Sam stares at me with fear in his eyes, and whispers, “is that ok, mom?” I nod yes. I try really hard not to judge. And I immediately feel Brenda – watching me – watching me judge. I try to control my reactions. I try not to shudder inside as I think of all the privileges my babies had.

After we eat, I slowly try to find my bearings. Lucia has four daughters. Two who are married and in their twenties who do not live with her, a nineteen year old who is not married and raising her six month old daughter and Brenda. Then there is Corbata, the dog, who is very skinny. Lucia’s husband, Saul, is out fishing.

When we are done eating I try to make a little conversation, but I can barely understand the rural broken Spanish that is spoken here. Lucia doesn’t understand why Sam doesn’t speak Spanish and I do. She wants to know how I can understand him. I explain that we speak English at home.

After lunch, our group is given a tour of the town. Las Mesitas is close to delta of the Lempa River, and we visit the fish ponds that have sustained this community in the past.

As it turns out, we have arrived just a month after severe flooding from Hurricane Stan, and we learn that all along the fish ponds and the surrounding area the levees have broken and much of the area has been destroyed. We begin to hear how the town and the surrounding areas were affected by the hurricane, and we learn that for many, the hurricane brought complete devastation.

Everywhere we go, it’s pretty much the same – dirt, pigs, skinny dogs, chickens, people who have lost almost everything. All around us are girls in skirts and tight sleeveless shirts, carrying water or bowls of maiz on their heads, women wearing aprons slapping tortillas together, and small groups of children walking around and doing chores. I just start to really appreciate the generosity and vulnerability not only of the families who have taken us in, but of the organization which has hosted our trip. I just start to appreciate the impact which visiting this community will have on me in the years to come.

excuses, excuses, excuses...

2006-11-28T06:14:00.000-05:00

so I was in New Orleans, and then frantically trying to prepare for Thanksgiving, and then caught this awful cold, and now I'm trying to get back on the straight and narrow.

but it's funny how things work. Here I was exactly where Katrina had hit, seeing the shadow of the destruction and devastation that the hurricane had brought, only a year after having been in Las Mesitas where Hurricane Stan and the government's complicity in not protecting its vulnerable citizens so clearly echoed our own!

inspired to action

2006-11-23T07:12:00.000-05:00

So I did get inspired while in New Orleans, despite the city itself, which is pretty sad. It's a shadow of itself, not quite returned. I could see and feel that and I had never even been there. The first few days we were there it felt like a ghost town! We were staying along the river (the Mississippi river!) right near the French Quarter and you'd think it'd be bustling with renewal, but it was just a whisper, a cancer-infested, smoker's throated whisper!

We arrived on a Tuesday afternoon, and decided to try to get something to eat - it was about 3 pm, and we went walking through the French quarter looking for someplace that was open where we could grab a bite. Some red beans and rice, or a plate of shrimp. But what we encountered were empty streets. As you walked along every few buildings were still boarded up, or worse, just shells of themselves.

Between the city and the particular workshops I went to... I've decided to develop a course to teach in my department on social action. I think it combines many of my passions and interests and ironically brings together exactly the kinds of things I've been struggling with over the past few years - maybe the things all socially minded therapists struggle with - the political, the social, the larger-than-the-individual piece.

can't quite get it moving

2006-11-13T11:47:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to understand these times when I just crash... the past week I got virtually nothing done! Sure I did a few errands (I renewed a few memberships to professional organizations, I set up an interview for my dissertation - if my proposal ever gets approved, I hosted a dinner for a friend who's moving out of town, I ordered the rest of the books I need for spring) - but in terms of my writing and this project - nada, zilch, nothing.

I just couldn't produce.

And now it's Monday (again!) and I have nothing to bring to class.

Last Friday I had a migraine the size of North Dakota! but that's the only day I really deserve a pass for...

tomorrow I leave for New Orleans. I'm heading out to a conference and I really wish I had more momentum going. I hope I can get inspired while I'm there!

pigs in the front yard

2006-11-09T13:22:00.000-05:00

One of the other things I want to do is to make a powerpoint, with images and music in the background.

I'm a little worried though that I'm trying to do too many things.

I'm also not sure if the images of El Salvador are as powerful to other people as they are to me...

From my diary:

She takes us walking through the family areas. Slowly, I start to take it in – everything has a dirt floor – a sandy brown dirt. Soft, but sandy, around us everywhere are animals – dogs, cows, pigs, chickens. Just wandering around in every state of being – big one, little ones. We cross a kind of roadway and reach Lucia’s house. Hola, mucho gusto – beinvendos. I’m making you lunch – come, sit. I sit w/ Sam. She asks if we want ice. I say whatever, and she sends her daughter for the first of many special trips to the store for us. She has prepared rice and chicken, a homemade pineapple juice and tortillas.

When I met with my colleague who did this kind of project, she told me that the final performance was a collection of several different versions. I'm not sure I can really pull this off...

oh, and I'm still waiting!

2006-11-06T16:36:00.000-05:00

for the last of my dissertation readers to get back to me - it's the expert (who I honestly expected to get back to me by now). Officially she has two more weeks, but I am SICK of waiting... this thing has pretty much been done since mid-July and it's now nearly mid-Nov!!!!!

can't seem to slow down

2006-11-06T16:15:00.000-05:00

This is the third week in a row that I haven't turned something in to my writing class.

I MUST turn something in next week... and I don't want it to be something I write an hour before class... I want it to be a piece I consciously try to put together. Essays are hard! I'm getting tired of hearing myself say that writing is hard... but it is!

I've been transcribing my travel diary from El Salvador and that's been good... there are kernels of stories there.

And I still have half of the autobiographical essay I wrote for my dissertation (the one I was asked to take out). I had submitted the first half, and the feedback I got was good, but hard. The teacher wrote:

What a mine of rich material! It could be a first-rate piece if:

1. You would choose a focus. Is this a family history? Is it a contrast between you and your brother despite similar external circumstances? There are many interesting characters that could be developed but are not. So you need a clear purpose here - which in turn would provide a clearer, more logical structure.
2. Your style is fluent and readable most of the time. Note my many suggestions for more precise prose and stronger, franker diction.
3. The dash is meant to be used rarely; you are overfond of it. So that mark signals your haste or unwillingness to slow down and think about what you are saying.

A promising start but you can and will write much better! The potential is certainly there.

I'm mostly having trouble with the idea of "focus" - I don't think I do a very good job of focusing my pieces... there are too many details I want to include, and I get side-tracked and distracted by all the side stories, and I don't want to leave anything out. Or perhaps it's just more true that I am trying to "not slow down too much" so that I don't have to really "think about" what I am saying or know what I know.

I think this is true of so many aspects of my life... this inability to be where I am. To really slow down and attend. And my fear that if I do I will get too bogged down to keep moving (by sadness? by rage? by despair and depression?) or that I just don't have it in me to make something out of it... not trusting that I have the inner resources (whether strength or cleverness) to turn what I see and know into something good and true.

red light, green light, 123

2006-11-02T08:52:00.000-05:00

I heard from one of the two dissertation readers last night - a big GREEN LIGHT!

nothing to add or revise... just a rave review:

"I have had the pleasure of reviewing your proposal and am delighted to tell you that I approve it. You are developing an all-too- neglected theme in the clinical psychology literature. Further, your use of the narrative research design seems especially well suited in discerning the subtle qualities of experience that is the focus of your project. You write well and clearly, and have a particular knack for the articulation of internal experience that will serve the dissertation process well.

I congratulate you on this fine work and look forward to reviewing the finished product."

I am really pleased!!!!

although, how neurotic am I??? there was a small part of me that wanted to hear more - not criticism, but it just seems like given that I spent all this time on the project, there should be more to say... Is it enough that folks are basically just giving it the green light? Pretty neurotic.

Ok... I'm waiting for one more reviewer!

I've emailed two potential interviewees to set up interviews for late Nov/early Dec. Yipee!!!

autoethnography

2006-11-01T10:39:00.000-05:00

So I bought a book called "The Ethnographic I" by Carolyn Ellis where she describes in more detail the methodology of writing authoethnography - defined by Holt as:

"a genre of writing and research that connects the personal to the cultural, placing the self within a social context"

I can't decide if it's high-falutin snake oil or academic integrity...

but for now, I'm trying to work on this performance piece that combines the stories from my own narrative, my interviews w/working class psychotherapists, and my confrontation with poverty in El Salvador.

Also, I've decided to go to Spain in January...

Wonder what influence that will end up having on the piece?

The Floors of the Met

2006-10-23T07:56:00.000-05:00

About ten years ago I took my grandmother, my abuela, to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. To most New Yorkers, this amazing institution is affectionately known as “the Met.” My grandmother had never been to the Met. She is one of those old world people who never go out for “entertainment.” These are people who still unplug all appliances and electronics when they are not being used. These people never buy something they don’t really need, barely speak English, and always think you have never eaten enough. My grandmother has never been to the movies, or to a concert, and certainly, not to a museum.

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression about her. She is someone who appreciates the aesthetics of a thing well made. For all of her working years, she was a seamstress. She could make anything. As a child I watched her cut patterns out of newspaper, and then with discipline and determination make a suit you’d be proud to wear. Up until her stroke at the age of eighty-nine, she never wore a store-bought dress. I believe even her undergarments were made by her own hand. And, no fabric was unsalvageable. When I was eight she made me, and my doll, the loveliest dress I ever owned from the drapes that used to hang in her living room. My doll still wore that dress long after I had moved away to college.

She is a simple woman. She has lived on the ninth floor of her apartment building since 1960, and for forty years, only occasionally took the elevator, preferring to walk the stairs. She believed in shopping every day for the food you’d need that day, and when she cooked a chicken, she caressed it clean, as if it were a baby, preparing it for a bath of garlic, onions, salt, pepper, oregano, cilantro, and oil.

Over the course of her ninety-one years, she has only been in a car a dozen times. She came to New York City on a boat when she was eighteen, and only began to travel outside of the city in the 1980’s after her last living sister moved from Brooklyn to the Catskills. I think they moved, my great aunt and her husband, to have more room for the chickens. My great aunt Mercedes always raised chickens – she for the meat, and her husband for the cockfighting. The only other time I remember my grandmother traveling out of the city was to attend the funeral of her eldest son, my father, when he died at the age of forty-six, in New Jersey.

Before my dad moved to New Jersey, he lived in Brooklyn. I moved there too, when I was twenty-two, to spend a year doing an unpaid music therapy internship at Flower Hospital, a hospital for developmentally disabled children and adults on the upper East Side of Manhattan, just blocks from Museum Mile. From 82nd Street to 105th Street along Fifth Avenue, New York City has designated the area “Museum Mile” because of the many museums and fine art institutions that line Central Park. In those days, the museums along the mile opened up on Thursday evenings for free. And I would go.

There is no better refuge, after a hard day’s work, than a walk into the circular structure of the Guggenheim, or a time travel through the past in the Museum of the City of New York, or a rest on a bench in one of the many courtyards within the Met. The only evening better than Thursdays on Museum Mile involved a trip to my grandmother’s for a home-cooked dinner. I would try to go once a week. It was only three stops on the train.

The Upper East Side and the South Bronx are quite close and I would often take the train there to visit with my grandmother after work. I would tell her about my day, about the museums, about the movies I’d seen, or the books I was reading. While it was always a short ride to the Bronx, getting back to Brooklyn took a couple of hours by train. Despite the long trip, I came to think of it as shorter than the drives down from Boston.

After moving to Boston, I began to come down and stay with my grandmother on the weekends – about six or seven times a year. I would arrive on Friday night or Saturday morning. I’d rise early Saturday to do something in the city; visit a friend, go to the Village, walk the streets of Chinatown. My grandmother always stayed home to cook.

After I was married I brought my husband along too. On Saturdays, we usually took the train into Manhattan which was much easier than driving and parking! Sometimes, I just hung out with my grandmother in the afternoon, but inevitably, I’d tell her not to cook for us. My husband and I looked forward to trying new restaurants in the city. Dinner and a movie proved a great Saturday night pastime. We’d promise not to be home too late, as her neighborhood wasn't safe at night.

The next morning we’d awaken to a breakfast of eggs, Puerto Rican corn fritters called arepas, bacon, café Bustelo, and orange juice, before making our way to the museum. Sunday in New York was museum day for me once I had moved to Boston. After having kids I’d kept the routine simple. Come down Saturday night, stay over, wake up Sunday morning, eat breakfast, and go to the museum. Each time I would ask my abuela if she wanted to go with us. She always said no. Why would she go to Manhattan? For twenty years she had been saying no, and given that she was now in her 80’s this would mean taking the car. She’d have to dress up, and people would see her. She would be out in the world; they’d laugh at her teeth.

But one Sunday she decided to go. I think her curiosity finally caught up with her. She just had to know what this “museum” visit we made every time we were in New York was all about. I think the fact that the kids went gave her courage. If young children could go, so could she. So, she put on her best coat – a coat she had made of checkered black and white wool, with special buttons - over her best dress, one made from store-bought cloth, not the drapes she had used in the past, and her best black stockings with a black scarf over her head. In her day, ladies did not go out without their heads covered.

We drove the 3.8 miles from my abuela’s house to the Met, found a parking space right on 5th Ave., and walked down towards the museum. Now you have to understand my excitement and near panic when my grandmother said yes. I felt an enormous sense of responsibility to make this visit right. I knew that once she had come with me to the museum, she would never come again. That this was the one time in a lifetime of living in New York that she would indulge me in my need to bring her along.

I felt so nervous. I thought – well, we’ll go to a few rooms. I knew I couldn’t overdo it, especially since my kids at the time were still quite young, three and five years old. We’d stay about an hour and go to the cafeteria, where we’d get coffee and a snack. This last part of the plan was risky. I knew my grandmother would be scornful about the coffee. According to her, Americans drink brown water, not coffee, and as far as she’s concerned, you can never trust a restaurant kitchen. They don’t know anything about food – how to prepare it with love and care, not to mention enough flavor. And restaurant kitchens are filthy!

As we drove down to Manhattan, I became wracked with worry about which room to take her to. The Met can be an overwhelming place, even for me and I had been going there for over twenty years. The place could seem like so much to take in, so much to marvel at, so much to absorb. The responsibility of deciding which art would be the only art she would ever see was nearly overwhelming.

I was sweating. Should I take her to something Modern? Picasso is amazing! I kept thinking that perhaps something from his Blue Period would speak to her. The Guggenheim has a picture of the woman ironing from Picasso’s blue period in its permanent collection and it had always reminded me of her life. But that picture was not here.

Perhaps it would be best if I took her to the American wing, with its Tiffany windows and open courtyard, its wonderful sculptures and breathtaking paintings by Homer, Sargent, and the landscape American artists. To get there we’d go through the Hall of Armor, and she might enjoy those soldiers and horses.

Or perhaps I should take her to the Greek or Roman sections– just think of all those large sculptures that had endured all these years. Classical beauty. Or maybe even something exotic – like her - how about the Japanese art?

No, I decided that I would take her to the Impressionists. Pears, haystacks, sunflowers, and cathedrals - these were scenes she could understand and appreciate. And I so wanted to share with her those gentle, soft lines.

As we passed the fountain in front of the museum, and climbed up the front steps leading into the amazing rotunda, I found myself holding my breath. We walked in to that grand atrium and I said, “Abuela look at these flower arrangements. There are ladies who do these every few weeks, new flowers, imagine. Aren’t they something.” She stood close by, hunched a bit over, hoping no one was noticing her teeth or her person, and we mounted the stairs to the Impressionist rooms.

“What do you think, abuela?” I asked.

“The floors are beautiful” she answered.

The floors? But the walls, abuela? The paintings on the walls? "Oh yes… they are nice."

Was it that she knew that someone had to clean these floors? Was it the wood and polish that she noticed? Was it easier to look down than up?

“Oh, and now I see how so many restaurants can stay open” she added. In her generation, you knew it took hours to cook a good meal. Women should stay home to cook for their families not do frivolous things like walk around a museum, and yet there were hundreds of people here. Now she understood why so many restaurants survived in the city.

I can’t tell you the month or time of year that I took my grandmother to the museum. I can’t tell you what snack we had with our “bad” coffee that day. And now, my abuelita is 91 and in a wheel chair from the stroke that she suffered several years ago. But when I remember that day, I see her holding my arm and walking with me through that atrium up those stairs. I feel the weight of her arm on my forearm. I can remember that, and the day that the floors of the museum meant more to me than any painting that hung on the walls.

glory halleluia!

2006-10-19T11:01:00.000-05:00

I sent my proposal out to the last two committee members yesterday!

I also miraculously got inspired to send a note to the ethics folks asking if I really needed to resubmit an application since my diss is so similar to the pilot they approved last year at this time. They got back to me right away saying I could amend the last proposal - and send it right in, without waiting for the monthly deadline!

I'm thrilled! I may get to do some interviews before I go back to work after all!

I'm thrilled and I've also been more anxious in the past few days (never let a chance for that to go by), and now I'm starting to worry about going back to work and how busy I'm going to be and how hard it's going to be to finish this thing!!!

I have a chance to go to Spain, Jan 1-13 and now I'm worrying that I should use that time for data collection rather than feeding my soul... is it that? does traveling do that for me? I wish I was more connected to the group that's going... but I'm not, so do I not go, or make the most of it. Damn, all this sense of alienation - when do I get to fit in and feel good about it unequivocally?

Still, that's not now... for now, I'm happy to have the proposal out and I'm hopeful about collecting several interviews before I go back to work!

working hard

2006-10-16T09:07:00.000-05:00

I have to remind myself that I'm working hard. I'm so old school - if I'm home, if I can't see the concrete results of my work right away, it just doesn't feel like work! But here I am slogging through the IRB proposal... I'm sending it out to Santa Barbara today - If I understand the procedure correctly, they only review applications once a month, so this won't be done until mid-late Nov.

I also need to call my dean - who has STILL not responded to my proposal yet!!!! I'm hoping that I can send it out to my second reader and external examiner (yes, that is now resolved... I have an expert!) this week.

Then they have 30 days...

Meanwhile, I'm going to try to start sending out feelers for interviewees.

what a mess! I am so angry at how long this takes. It's just such a disempowering process. You are constantly reminded of how your ability to move forward lies completely in someone else's hands.

If I can stop whining about it - there are several other things I "should" be working on. I need to clean up my home office. I have a guest coming in less than two weeks, and I have been seriously neglecting the space. Between my clutter and inertia, there are just piles of paper everywhere. I need to try to organize things a bit down there so that when she gets here, she will feel welcome and comfortable. I just have so much junk!!!! It's unbelievable. Maybe I can actually schedule some time to do that.

I also have this newsletter (for the non-profit that I volunteer for) to do!

And believe it or not, I still have 5 papers (!!!!) from my summer class. I need to focus and try to get some of these things done. Today, I've been working on the IRB and an essay about taking my grandmother to the met. I'm really trying to practice writing seriously, not just as a free-writing-improvisational- just because kind of thing, but as a disciplined, serious writer who wants her writing taken seriously. If I was going to submit this essay as a story for the New Yorker or something like that - what would it take? What does it need?

I also spent a bit of time last week thinking seriously about and then trying to turn my proposal into articles for professional journals...I'm not really sure how to do it. And while I don't have anything to show for it yet. This is real work and hard work... if only I can only take it serious as hard work, I'll feel less depressed and more solid about the fact that I really am working!

I just wish it didn't feel quite so much like navel-gazing... I recently read the blog of a woman who used to be in our book group but has recently moved to West Virginia, and I was so impressed with its loveliness, and its focus on something other than her own internal neurotic musings - probably because she's a lot less neurotic than I am! it's just more interesting!

ok... something to strive for.

being gloated to death

2006-10-08T14:35:00.000-05:00

The end of last week was lost to depression - I'm talking serious blues. Hopelessness and self-pity! I couldn't even bear to consider writing about it. I realized that part of my depression is related to loneliness, and part of it is realizing that this project is much harder than I originally expected. In both cases, no easy solution. Trying to get the dissertation moving is a good distraction!

I went ahead and sent the "have I missed your email?" reminder and heard from the person on my committee who is holding things up - not that she has given me feedback for my proposal yet, but she and I have been working on trying to get my "External Examiner" in place - this is supposed to be an "expert" in the field who can comment on my proposal and then final dissertation. Anyway, I think that is on its way and now I have to get my chair to review my IRB (she's not back until Oct 12 - it should be in her box by then!), the next two people on my committee to read the proposal, get IRB (the ethics review board) approval, and then start setting up interviews.

This part is the good part! The more work I can do on this, the better I feel.

I was hiking yesterday, and a friend reminded me that having all this space and time is what is allowing me to be creative (to think of this performance piece) - and I know that's true. But I don't like bumping into all my neurotic skeletons in the closet! They scare me and put me in seriously bad places...

my consolation - reading Anne Lamott

"On my forty-ninth birthday, I decided that all of life was hopeless, and that I would eat myself to death. These are desert days... However, after having a second cup of coffee, I realized that I couldn't kill myself that morning--not because it was my birthday but because I had promised to get arrested the next day...Also, my back was out. I didn't want to die in crone mode. Plus, there was no food in the house. So I took a long, hot shower instead and began another day of being gloated to death." Plan B (pg.3-4)

slow and steady?

2006-10-03T10:52:00.000-05:00

Why is writing so hard???

It makes me want to wallow in self-pity, but not only is it not very attractive, it's not even interesting!

I'm just not sure I want IT bad enough. I want to write. I want to work on the performance piece. If I'm going to create "art" - it seems like my kind of art - storytelling, dramatic enactment, poetry, video, music...but putting this piece together will be hard!

This writing class is reminding me that to just write like this is not that hard. But to write well takes a lot of patience, re-writing, and most importantly (and for me problematic) discipline.

I think I want to write... but it is definitely not the same kind of wanting as when I want to read and go to the movies and eat ice cream. Those things don't require quite the same effort.

It's kind of like cello. I've been playing pretty much every day, and I'm definitely getting better, but it's not nearly close enough to "art" to pain me yet. Right now it just feels easy... play for 15-20 minutes a day and get better and better.

So why can't I do that with any art form? WIth poetry? or piano? or writing? It seems that if I did that with piano or writing it should make a difference, but the difference it makes is much more subtle and harder to trust and stick with, and so I don't believe it... the little "slow and steady" approach doesn't sustain me in writing the way it does for cello. I'm looking for a formula. I have to find a way to structure it that makes my writing more equivalent to cello.

Meanwhile, I continue to wait for my committee to respond to my proposal. It's been absolutely maddening to wait...but I don't want to piss someone off by sending an email that offends. So I wait. I'm giving her until tomorrow. I've already drafted the "did I miss your email? Have you read my proposal yet?" email. grrrrr....

Lorelai and I

2006-10-01T21:03:00.000-05:00

ok... here it is. I'm supposed to present it tomorrow in my class - for critique... not sure what I think of that. So I wanted to post this before I chickened out!

Lorelai and I

About six months ago, I brought home a DVD of The Gilmore Girls from the library. I go to the library about once a week, a throwback to the days when I would take the kids to the weekly story hour. Twelve years of Tuesdays. Now I go alone. I’m really the only one who checks out books. I love books. Always have. As an Army brat we moved every few years when I was growing up, and the first place I would go was to the public library to get a library card. But now, Amazon and iTunes have replaced the Tuesday outings. And my husband, a successful psychologist, doesn’t really read that many novels, preferring non-fiction, photography, golf, sailing, and staying active. Besides, now that my kids are 12 and 14 we don’t read together anymore. Heck, it’s a challenge to find something that we can all watch together on TV. The Gilmore Girls seemed like a good choice as I raced through the video/DVD section of the Belmont Public Library.

The Gilmore Girls is the story of a hard-working, albeit flighty, caffeine-driven mother who doesn’t cook, serves pop tarts for breakfast, and has memorized long passages from the Donna Reed show verbatim, and her studious, bookworm, ultra-responsible, 16 year old daughter who does the laundry, punishes herself when she slips up, and who despite all her naiveté is very much like her mother. Lorelai Gilmore had Rory (who she named after herself in a Demerol delirium) when she was 16 years old. She decides at 16 to raise Rory alone to the disgrace and chagrin of her wealthy, society parents, and she struggled to become the successful entrepreneur we find her to be. The series begins when Rory is 16 and trying to make her dream of going to Harvard a reality. Rory gets accepted into a prestigious private high school, leading Lorelai to agree to Friday night dinners with her parents, with whom she’s been estranged, in exchange for tuition dollars for Rory. Each episode spins a drama of parent/child angst and connection, struggles to find one’s “place” in society, the delight of a job well done, and the quest for love and acceptance of self and others. With witty banter and eccentric characters, the show has seemed to become something of an addiction in our house. We now own every season and play an episode at least once a day.

I’m not quite sure I can explain it. Is it that I too am still trying to work out my relationship with my mom? We are very different and my biggest fear is being “just like her.” It’s been 25 years since I moved 3,000 miles from her, but I still have trouble imagining how we could live in the same town. Or is it that G2 (that’s our affectionate name for the show) allows my 12-year-old daughter to both identify with the idealized mother/daughter relationship and revel in the mother/daughter rebellions? Or does it allow my hard-working 14-year-old son to fantasize about the girls he’ll be dating soon? Trying to parent adolescents has certainly been the roller coaster that people describe it as, and I’m willing to use any tactic that allows us to displace some of the difficulty of tackling the angst and joy of these years head on. Or perhaps, the show’s appeal lay in its subtle exploration of issues of social class – issues close to my heart, and by extension part of the struggle in our house of finding one’s self.

As a second generation Nuyorican, I am the first in my family to graduate from high school, much less college. Now, completing my doctoral studies, I struggle to come to terms with the disparity and dislocation I feel living with a husband whose parents drive a Jaguar and Mercedes, whose sister lives in a house with a three-car garage, and with my own choice to raise my children in a fairly affluent New England suburb.

The smart, sassy, and very independent way that Lorelai refuses to accept her parent’s wealth and social position, gives my family a chance to play with what we each accept or deny with regards to our affluence. In addition, as she struggles to speak her truth, she also thrives on being connected to others. So we too, as a family, struggle to be our true selves yet stay in connection. Language and life are her playground. And with wit and playfulness we too are trying to weather the adolescent storms and to grow up.

no place for hate

2006-09-29T14:10:00.000-05:00

Ok, so after a lot of searching I found a small link to the Video project I saw at the Watertown library - - It's a link to a video project they called Many cultures, One community - where they interviewed folks at their Faire on the Square about being immigrants in Watertown. (They are planning to do it again tomorrow!!!!)

Apparently, Watertown and Belmont belong to the "No place for hate" community project sponsored by the Anti-defamation League.

I want our little town to do something like that!

I'd feel better about living here...

moving on

2006-09-28T07:12:00.000-05:00

I know yesterday's post was self-indulgent and pitiful... but I needed to say it!

I ended up spending the rest of the day doing laundry and working on papers. And overall it was a productive day. I just needed to get my woefulness off of my chest!

Only 7 more papers - GLORY HALLELUIA!

I'm still waiting to hear from one of my committee members (I've been waiting 28 days!) - so I sent her an email asking her about my external examiner... no word yet. (sigh)

I've been thinking about posting my "2 page description of self" here... it's a silly piece, but either way it was good to write.

I ran into a mom from my book group at a talk on "Encouraging healthy behavior in teens: What parents need to know about peers, pressure, and substance abuse" last night, and she reminded me that she is painting and drawing every day as part of The Artist's Way. It made me want to find a way to really be more conscientious about this arts practice, and it made me want to get going on being a more positive force in my community - thank you Britt Bravo!!!!

The talk last night was not very inspiring... gosh, if I had really read the title I might not have gone... too much focus on the slutty, druggy things kids are doing these days - as if that's really news. My question was how to we help kids see that there are many ways to be "normal." The pressure to be "popular" among the girls in particular is all about defining oneself against a larger cultural backdrop that is pretty uni-dimensional. There are a lot of average kids, just doing their thing, that should be celebrated! Look here are the regular kids of Belmont High! I want to do a podcast of the "little guy" - here is how these kids are surviving adolescents! Here's what they do to survive and sometimes even thrive...

Came across the website for "The Mirror Project" - done in 2001 -

Teen social documentaries -
The primary focus of The Mirror Project is to teach inner-city youth in the Greater Boston area all aspects of documentary video production. Through an intensive, hands-on curriculum based on experiential learning in their homes and neighborhoods, we mentor students through a process of self-discovery and self-representation. Student producers learn camera operation, picture composition, natural lighting and sound. They identify their main subjects, videotape them, their friends, families and neighborhoods. We provide an opportunity for them to explore their creative vision both behind and in front of the camera. Student producers, and Mirror Project staff, edit the footage to create a finished documentary.

Sounds cool... but too big. I was trying to find something on the Watertown community project where they videotaped folks at their yearly arts fair - "Faire on the Square" - but couldn't. I will try to find out more today.

let the water hold me down

2006-09-26T10:37:00.000-05:00

I need to start taking stimulants or something - because I have a serious case of inertia!

I have absolutely NO energy.

I don't want to do ANYTHING except read novels, eat ice cream, and lay horizontal. I mean it, I could just lay down on the floor and do nothing for about two hours! And then I'd want the ice cream and the novel.

It doesn't help that I'm reading two great books. One is for my book group - Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See and the other is a book I started listening to on tape on the way to NYC on Sunday. My grandmother fell - again - and chipped her collar bone and so even though I had wanted to go anyway, because she turned 91 on Sunday, 9/17, I really wanted to go to see her after hearing about her fall, and to try to brighten her day a little. So Sunday I drove down and back (thankfully without any traffice to speak of!) I listened to Carol Shield's book, The Stone Diaries.

Anyway, they are both stories built around the life of one woman... And so far both are really depressing!

Beautiful, poignant, deeply sorrowful, but ultimately sad!

Between that, and a visit from my friend E - I've been feeling really unanchored. Let me explain... I love E! but I don't get to see her that often, and this time she came to my house, and I suddenly became aware as I was showing her around of how neglectful I have been of this house... I haven't done any gardening, I haven't done any real decorating, and the truth is I just haven't been able to!!! First of all there is the practical reasons I haven't been able to - there just isn't enough of me to go around - by the time I finish all the daily chores the last thing I have the energy for is house beautification! But it's much more about having been unable to commit to this place. I have been just barely able to put myself into it. It's just been too hard to do - it's this whole tangle of my family, privilege and lack, deprivation and excess, and my complete inability to sort myself out in it. I cannot figure out how to BE where I am.

I started to write a piece for this autobiographical writing class that I'm taking on myself - and my first impulse was to title it

This is not my beautiful house
this is not my beautiful life

after Talking Heads song "Once in a Lifetime"

Is it really an illusion to think that if I was somewhere more resonant for me - JP, Cambridge, the Bay Area - that I would be able to be more alive???? more in my body??? more in my house??? more in my life????

All I want to do is cry!
and lay myself down!

and get lost in someone else's world for a while...

Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/in the silent water
Under the rocks and stones/there is water underground.

lots of this and that

2006-09-19T19:11:00.000-05:00

Well, it's been almost a week, and I have not posted anything!

I started a class on "autobiographical writing" on Monday - I'm a bit uncertain whether I will feel inspired enough... not sure the chemistry is right for me... but I really want to do it, and I need some kind of external motivation!

I've been really trying to figure out what's doable and what's not!

Tonight, I'm feeling depleted and exhausted, and nothing extra feels doable - so I'm not sure where all of this will lead.

I heard back from one of my committee members - good news. I think she liked it! But I'm still waiting to hear back from the second committee person. And I need to send an email to the "dissertation coordinator" that the school provides.

I've been spending hours each day trying to get through emails, trying to sort out what's a priority and what can wait. I only did one paper today. I still have 19! I ran a lot of errands today - bank, post office, vote, drop M off at soccer, pick her up, pick up my son from soccer, take my daughter to the orthodontist. AY!

the squeaky wheel gets the grease

2006-09-13T08:16:00.000-05:00

so I'm still working on papers. I don't know how to understand why it takes me so long, except that I take it all way too seriously, I am too obsessive, and it has been a VERY busy time with the kids.

Last weekend we were at a close friend's wedding. It was beautiful - and I have a few pictures to post, but I don't have time now.

Mostly, I wanted to log on to say that a week and a half after the last post my committee is just getting my proposal. Since I hadn't heard from either of them, I emailed to ask if they had received it, and one person said no - so I had to send a copy priority mail to CA - and the other said yes, but that she had been too busy over the past two weeks to look at it.

just have to keep making myself present to them... I know I'm the same way. I haven't done half of what I set out to do two weeks ago.

And now, I have a lot to say... but NO TIME to say it. It'll have to wait. Meanwhile check out this blog - Have fun-do good !!!! This woman makes me feel like a total blog slacker (although seeing that she reads celebrity gossip does help some... but in particular check out her Big vision podcast

ok, back to my real job...

get up, sit down, get up, sit...

2006-09-02T12:44:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I got the go-ahead to send my proposal off to two members of my committee!

I am really happy to have the process moving forward - especially because it feels so unbearably slow!!

Now, I'm supposed to be reading papers for that class I taught in early Aug, and I'm mostly enjoying it, but I'm a slow paper responder... I take way too much time on each paper, and I'm so ADD about it - get up, sit down, drink soda, get a snack, get up, sit down, write two sentences, do something else, get up, sit down. You get the idea.

Anyway, I have spent entirely too much time looking at blogs the past week. I have bookmarked a bunch, and have been thinking a lot about how to make my work more creative and more interactive, but for now, I have to get back to the papers!!!!

class, art, and identity

2006-08-31T14:23:00.000-05:00

Remind me when I get back to work never to complain about all that I have to do - I really don't do well with the lack of structure! and even though it's hectic, work provides its boundaries that I really DO appreciate!

That said, I had a breakthrough yesterday afternoon - I had been working on a proposal for a conference, and it dawned on me that I could use this as the forum for my arts-based research project! I want to turn my dissertation into a performance art piece - well not exactly... but I want to include part of what I learn there into a performance piece. I want to use three sources really - my own autobiography (my narrative), my diary from El Salvador, and the interviews I do on social class identity for my thesis.

Anyway, I struggled and struggled to come up with a title for the piece, and a framework, and finally came up with a proposal I feel really good about!!!!!

It's called "Cleaning the floors at the Met: Class, Art and Identity." The piece opens with my telling a story about bringing my 80 year of Puerto Rican grandmother who has lived in NYC for over 60 years and never been to a museum before to the Met and having her goggle over the floors and how clean and beautiful they were.

anyway, I'm excited and now I have the very hard work of putting the piece together, but if I present it next May that will be really exciting!!!

heads up, shooting stars

2006-08-28T09:16:00.000-05:00

Well, August has been a blogger's wash - no time to blog. I've either been teaching or out of town. Not that I'm complaining - being away was really good. And teaching is real work. But I do want to keep at this. Not that I understand why... is this a diary? a chance to put myself out to the world? a chance to play with seeing/being seen/concealment/revelation?

I have no idea if this blog is ever read by anyone except me and a few friends - is that enough? It's not like I'm saying anything profound, yet something is being expressed/explored/elicited here... I honestly don't understand it fully.

Still, I like the idea of documenting my little insignificant life, and I do amuse myself!

Speaking of amusements, I've started knitting again. It's hard to say how much time I will actually devote to it, as it's not like I have a whole lot of disposable time on my hands - but at one time I was quite a knitter. I enjoyed it and made a lot of things! As for now, I decided on a whim, to make a pair of socks! My mother-in-law made a pair for the kids once and I loved them, and have always wanted to make a pair. Then at family camp I saw one of the counselors making socks and I became totally inspired! I had never worked with double-pointed needles before, and I was psyched! I bought a skein of yarn at a local yarn store in Belfast, ME (a great little town) - the store was called Heavenly Socks Yarn although all I saw was the "Yarns" sign. And it's been really fun. Of course, I got to the heel, and couldn't make heads or tails out of the pattern... so I hopped on-line and found Silver's Sock class - it was perfect!! Just what I need, and now I'm almost to the toe!! I'll maybe take a pic of it when I'm done... although, it's a bit cheezy isn't it.

I also made a basket while I was at camp - it looks just like this...
Apparently, you can buy kits and supplies for basketmaking at jb-designs look for the napkin holder basket!

I tell you, joke all you want about basketweaving and psychiatric rehabilitation, I was coming into my own!

I even wrote several haikus - some on the theme of "shooting stars" (there's always a haiku slam at the end of camp, and there's a theme, and...) and some on just being

streaming through the sky
please let me remember this
shooting stars at night

star sightings so sweet
mosquitoes think us sweet too
scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, ooh

embarrassing itch
it's the mosquitoes, honest
let's shoot them not stars

lingering sweet light
is each star's death our pleasure
streaming across the sky

amused by haikus
I could do this all day long
basketweaving too!

you gave us a base
over, under, start again
basket therapy

no garden at home
children grow like weeds instead
camp becomes yardstick

relearn gratitude
sit still, play scrabble, eat smores
heads up, shooting starts

all connected

2006-08-05T10:39:00.000-05:00

Went to NYC Thurs night - saw a great show - Sarah Jones in Bridges and Tunnel, on the recommendation of my friend who thought it was right up my alley... it's very much in keeping with the type of performance piece I would like to do for my dissertation.

I stayed in a little hotel, the Park 79, which was in a great location - right behind the Museum of Natural History, but was just ok - it's hard to keep a bathroom that is used by four or five rooms completely clean... still the room was clean and thank god for the air conditioner (it was hot as the dickens! I walked about 10 blocks just to get a lay of the land on Fri morning, and I was sweating right through my clothes).

I ended up not going to the museum though because my grandmother had a doctor's appt, and was in a bit of a crisis. She's 90, and has been really unhappy the past few years since having a stroke. She's been cared for by several Dominican women who stay with her 24 hours a day 3-4 days/week, and every time there is a transition with these women she has a bit of a crisis... it's really awful. Anyway, I ended up spending much of the day with her and my aunt and uncle at her appointment, and then I spend 3 hours in NY/CT traffic, and another 3 hours getting from CT home!

I was grumpy!

still, I listened to Prodigal Summer (one of my favorite Barbara Kingsolver books) on tape, and that helped - although I had forgotten how much sex is in the book... I had mostly just remembered the sensualness of it, and the immense feeling of "home" I got from it's reminders that we are all part of the family of things - like that Mary Oliver line -

whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things

From "Wild Geese"

all connected, we
keep searching for our place and
can't believe we're found

burning down the house

2006-08-02T11:26:00.000-05:00

i'm feeling particularly lazy today... just don't feel like doing anything productive, and really resent the time I spend on my volunteer professional organization work (which is what I had promised myself I would DO today). I'm not completely sure what this resentment is about. I do know that

1) I want lots of other people to be involved
2) I prefer working WITH others face to face or at least in close proximity, vs working alone at my computer
3) I worry that the organization is a bit bogus... just not enough people involved to make it meaningful - REALLY... except that I do think the work is meaningful and important... I just don't have the time to really devote to it, and not enough other people are working at making it meaningful, and relevant to other professionals in similar fields.

Take Art Therapy - it's a field that is related, and while there are a lot of people who would be quick to dismiss it, it has a LOT of people volunteering to promote it. For example, check out this site or check out this site which I guess is a collection of blog entries from several blogs?

or a gazillion other art therapy sites I could send you to... ok, enough...

I will try to get my act together and do a little work. I just need some Diet Coke, and Talking Heads - I got the CD of Speaking in tongues for my birthday, and can you believe, that I haven't even opened it???? But I'm sure if I put on some tunes and have a little caffeine, I'll be fine....

or not... I just tried to download the CD on my computer only to discover my computer won't read the CD side of the two-sided dual disk... BOOOOOOOOO! hiss. The CD works on my portable CD player and I could buy the album on iTunes, but I have the CD and don't want to spend another $8.91... I'll stop whining now, and try to get back to work...

Watch out
You might get what youre after
Cool babies
Strange but not a stranger
Im an ordinary guy
Burning down the house

Hold tight wait till the partys over
Hold tight were in for nasty weather
There has got to be a way
Burning down the house

Heres your ticket pack your bag: time for jumpin overboard
The transportation is here
Close enough but not too far, maybe you know where you are
Fightin fire with fire

All wet
Hey you might need a raincoat
Shakedown
Dreams walking in broad daylight
Three hun-dred six-ty five de-grees
Burning down the house

It was once upon a place sometimes I listen to myself
Gonna come in first place
People on their way to work baby what did you except
Gonna burst into flame

My house
Sout of the ordinary
Thats might
Dont want to hurt nobody
Some things sure can sweep me off my feet
Burning down the house

No visible means of support and you have not seen nuthin yet
Everythings stuck together
I dont know what you expect starring into the tv set
Fighting fire with fire

hanging tight

2006-07-31T09:33:00.000-05:00

Well, all I needed was a little boost to jump start me last week... as I said, fits and starts. I found out that two of my dissertation readers are on sabbatical next month - sooooo, I did the revisions, and emailed my chair asking if there was any way to send them the revised proposal before they left, that is before tomorrow!!!! She said she couldn't even look at the revisions until Aug 15, so just to "hang tight." That's me... hanging tight (upside down by my ankles!!!) or is this tight rope image more appropriate??? I'll let you decide...

Meanwhile, I was working so hard to get through my book club book this month - My Name is Red by Orhan Pamukthat I forgot that our group was meeting last night, and missed my chance to talk about it because we were on our way back from a last minute overnight trip to NH. And I needed to talk about it!!!! It's a fascinating and difficult book - it helped to read a few reviews and then a few more reviews , but I still would've loved to talk about it. Maybe next month!

And don't get me started about "gated communities" - but Lake Winnipesauke is a surburbanites heaven!

Anyway, this week I'm back to working on the non-profit!!!! and I have quite a bit to do there. Then next week is teaching - Monday-Friday 9-6. That's intense!!!!

not getting bogged down
by things over which I have
no control at all

fits and starts

2006-07-26T08:12:00.000-05:00

If only I could approach my writing the way I approach cello - practice every day, just a little at a time, focus and little by little see change. But writing feels much more stop and go to me, it's all about fits and starts. I get in a rhythm (which usually involves doing nothing else) and then I fall out of the rhythm, and it feels impossible to restart the process.

I heard back from my chairperson last week - she mostly liked what I had written - YIPPEE! but there is a bit of a glitch in terms of the focus of my inquiry. It feels a bit like I'm hovering on a breakthrough of some kind, but as of yet, no breakthrough. I should rewrite a few sections of the proposal, and send it back to her, but I just can't quite bring myself to it. I also have A LOT of work to do on this non-profit organizational committee I belong to - that I am using quite a lot of energy to AVOID, and I have a storage room in desperate need of sorting out! There are a bunch of folks I want to see, that I haven't made time for... and several books I want to read, that I have totally not made time for... and when I start to make the lists like this of the things I "should" be doing, I really end up feeling lost to myself!!

I end up feeling like I'm tetherless once again, floating through my life, not quite rooted and in it. I probably "should" get back to a regular spiritual practice, or at least to a regular exercise routine, but again, this structureless, lack of stick-to-it-ness really undoes me. I need CAFFEINE - something that can help jump start me!!!!

I don't understand this living thing!!! When my life is structured by others - taken up, I feel lost to myself, and when my life is waiting for me to provide the structure - untethered, I feel lost to myself...

inchoate living
can't quite seem to make sense of
moments I'm aware

back to work

2006-07-17T10:47:00.000-05:00

I'm back to work today- doing some of the work I have to do for the Univ. where I work. It's been really good to have the time this summer to just regroup - to not stress about fall, to not stress about all the administrative pieces I hold on to in a way that's probably not healthy and that isn't all that good for me or the program.

But now that the proposal is with my advisor, I do need to take care of a bunch of loose ends that really have been on the back burner, waiting for my attention!

I'm really happy to be able to focus on something else for a few days. I'm hoping that I can clean up my office, and start thinking about the next steps before too long too!!

For now, I'm just happy to have a job! I recently heard about two folks, one 40 and one in his 50's, looking for work, and thought about how really hard it is to find a job when you're in your 50's!!! What kind of work can you do? what kind of job would you want? If there aren't any jobs available in your field, what are you supposed to do at that age?

Anyway, it made me grateful for my job! And grateful that if I really wanted to, I could build my private practice, and work that way... or I could probably get a job in some sort of agency... counseling. Weird to think about!

for now, I'm just feeling grateful.

in my prime work-life
feeling grateful for meaning
I can find at work

YES!

2006-07-15T13:36:00.000-05:00

Well, I would say the last few weeks were some of the most productive weeks of my life!

I guess that's what folks mean when they say, "I wrote my dissertation in three weeks" - I certainly didn't write it in the last three weeks, but because I had done a good chunk and because I was able to focus on little else - it's true I was able to finish this last bit of the proposal in the last few weeks.

I've sent out the proposal to my advisor. That doesn't seem like much when I say it that way, but it's HUGE! 115 pages of blood, sweat, and tears.

I feel mostly good about it, although like every other part of this process I'm a bit bi-polar. One minutes I'm feeling good about it and the next I'm feeling really insecure and uncertain, and wishing I had taken a bit more time to revise and copy edit it.

I was trying to get it out by yesterday though, because tomorrow's my birthday!!

Happy Birthday to me!

I've vowed not to do any work this weekend... and while it's really hard, because I'm feeling guilty about all the things I've been putting on the back burner while I worked on this proposal, I'm still going to try to stick to my enforced BREAK!

I'm going to try to get back to daily posts, and to daily workouts. I have not been working out and I really need to!!!

a celebration
messy drafts done, polished draft
now with advisor!

close but no cigar

2006-06-30T20:11:00.000-05:00

Well... I wanted to finish the proposal by today, and then I wanted to finish the upward mobilty section by today, and now I just want to go to sleep! Enough. I gave it the old college try and now I have to take a break. We are planning to go on a road trip this weekend, so I probably won't work on it much, so I have to be satisfied with what I've done.

I will try to get up early tomorrow to see if I can finish the UM section, but even if not. I feel good. I wrote 17 pages this week, and I'm really close to being done. Next is the analysis of the pilot and then finishing my own personal stance part. Then I think I'm done.

Then comes a lot of re-writing and back and forthing with my committee.

For now I am trying to be satisfied.

just like that

2006-06-28T20:07:00.000-05:00

just like that - two paragraphs have become 8 pages. It's a miracle! and I am GRATEFUL!!!

I'm going to celebrate by getting some ice cream at Rancatores and watching the Gilmore Girls!

messy drafts

2006-06-27T13:44:00.000-05:00

Well, I hate to admit it, but
I’m a stubborn fool!!!!!

I want to be able to just sit down and write without it taking too long, and without the pressure and craziness of needing to “discover” and “find” my way!

My timeline has been so out of whack for so long, and I’m so unhappy about how long this has taken, and about how much I have complained, that I just can’t bear to believe that I still have to do many more messy drafts, that I have a lot of re-writing to do, and that I just have to keep sticking with it!!!!

I decided to go back and read the writing section of “writing your diss in 15 minutes a day” and it’s really helpful – even if it is completely humbling!!!

So here I go…

The book talks about basic writing principles that I really should follow… I’ll try starting today!

why can't I be done?
miraculously finished
no more messy drafts

ah, the imagination... if only!

baby steps

2006-06-24T17:58:00.000-05:00

I tried today to stay focused on the diss - I wrote about 2 paragraphs!!

I'm really worried that I don't know how to write this section, and I've started it several times, but I'll just keep working it until something breaks through!!!

practiced, went to the gym, wrote in my journal... just showing up!

pick up foot, step down
shift weight forward, lift back leg
pick up foot, step down

running out

2006-06-23T07:37:00.000-05:00

I feel totally blocked! I can't seem to get around this snag. I'm frightened and frustrated and it's really hard to have faith that it will all work out.

Why is writing sooooo hard???!!!

I've resorted to returning to the basement - at least part of the time! I don't have time to re-create a work space upstairs. I don't have time to find a desk. I don't have time to rewrite any of the sections I've already tried to write. I don't have time to go to the gym, or get a message therapist, or argue with my man, or read novels or do any of the things I think I should be doing!!!

Instead, I'm hanging out with the kids - sneaking in an hour here and an hour there, and I can't concentrate at 10 pm no matter how hard I try!

I can't figure out what to do - I'm despairing of ever getting past this point and finding a new rhythm/pace. What if it takes me another month to move past this point? I feel the sand in my hourglass running down - I don't know how to move past this except to try to stick with it. I've been thinking of hiring a writing coach... how is it that so much of my process involves reworking my space and set up? It feels like I keep reinventing the wheel - each time I try to circumvent it I end up having to just get back to it, and set up the scene again and again, and I never get past the point of setting things up!

over and over
something's wrong with this picture
time is running out

vanity

2006-06-21T06:04:00.000-05:00

vanity, vanity, all is vanity

I can't say anything that isn't just awash with my intense feelings of the moment - and those seem so, well, self-centered!

Part of it is living with a 12 and 14 year old... speaking of self-centered!!! The world is so unfair, and so difficult, and my duaghter keeps insisting that there is NOT enough love to go around (a core belief I work really hard at not succumbing to), and that she is not getting enough ________ fill in the blank! I'm sure it has something to do with my son graduating from middle-school today, and even that seems difficult. How to make it special enough?

And well frankly I feel a bit drained! And it's mostly because of that little project I have to do - the dissertation!

I have been at a stalemate for about 3 weeks. I just can't move forward! I can't seem to find enough uninterrupted time, and I can't seem to get past this little conceptual snag I seem to have walked myself into. And I can't stand that all I have going on inside are these little narcissistic rants...

Oh, wait...I did go to see An Inconvenient Truth the other day! WOW! I guess one reason to become so self-centered is so that I don't have to really think about how UNBELIEVABLY selfish we are all being here in the States. Could we use any more of hte world resources than we already do???!!!

I went to a cousin's party (my husband's family has a cousin'g party once a year) on Sat, and the folks live in one of those McMansions in the western suburbs of Boston -
and OH MY GOD! was it conspicuous consumption at its height. They had about 12 rooms, a pool, a three car garage that looked small next to the house! I mean you could fit my mother's apt in the downstairs family room. This is for four people mind you... and...

It's boring... my endless diatribe about the rich and poor - But the thing is that it's real in my life... most folks don't have to manage the constant contradiction between the projects and the McMansions.

I can't stand it - and my daughter's developing this way of distinguishing herself from me, which is by WANTING to live like the nouveau rich! so she and I have this little game we play - where she acts like she's going to become a Republican when she gets older, and I throw my little liberal tantrum, and then she says something like, "wish I could live in a place like that!"

I swear she does it just to get to me.

failing and falling
over and over again
it's all about me

almost

2006-06-16T07:28:00.000-05:00

What is it about our capacity to hope, to keep looking for the silver lining, to keep expecting the possibility that things will get better, that the next time it will be different??

Someone once described me as having pathological hope - I'm always trying to make things seem better than they are... I used to be annoyingly positive - you know if someone was saying how awful something was, I'd always be looking for the bright side. I do that a lot less now, for others, but also for myself. I understand this instinct/problem/solution as having in roots in my very dysfunctional family - and the need for an active fantasy life that involved escape and the delusional possibility of things getting better. But I'm not quite sure what attitude to have about things today. I don't want to be pollyanna-ish, but despair isn't a viable answer either...

Today I'm going to try to work on one section of my dissertation proposal that has been particularly thorny... I've decided the process is like a puzzle... or a knitting project with a yarn full of tangles... I keep running into these knots... I try to untie one, and then I get another tangle... I just have to keep unraveling and putting it back together. (isn't this photo perfect... it's from scottdesignworks - check it out!)

I'm also going to try to practice cello (yesterday was the first day I didn't practice - that is not a habit I want to get into), ignore the house, and ignore the growing to-do list that haunts me! I need to pick my son up around 4:15ish. My daughter's planning to come home at 2:30 and I know I will be frustrated with her here and my attempts to ignore her while I work, but I'm really going to try to maximize today - especially since tomorrow and Sunday are probably a wash! with lots of family obligations.

hanging on a thread
almost there, think almost there
hope springs eternal

deep tones

2006-06-12T20:16:00.000-05:00

I spent Thurs night and Friday in NYC - I tell you I do love that city! Spent a wonderful night at the San Carlos hotel in mid-town. I tell you that city is a lot more fun when you have a lot of money!! Not that I do, but it was a business trip and the company was paying! So I walked around midtown and pretended that I could eat anywhere I wanted. You could buy pasta for $10, $15, $25, $35 depending on how much you wanted the "right" atmosphere. I ended up eating at the La Gioconda for $15 - it was ok... standard pasta, nothing to write home about, but definitely not a total bust!

Sat, I was at a cluster meeting, and Sun I spent part of the day playing scrabble! By the time I got to today I had really tried to give my arms a break from the abuse of the laptop keyboard and I really did ok with the cello!

I learned two scales, and I really think I'll be able to enjoy my practicing this week!!!! Monday is definitely my fresh start day!

I'm feeling lost with the diss - just roaming around my lit review acting as if I've suddenly gone blind and can't feel my way to a straight line. I have done little to move forward there, and spent part of the day shopping for a new desk to help the tendonitis, but aaahhh... I need to finish this proposal before the kids are home for summer vacation!!! 6 more days.

blah, blah, blah

grateful for deep tones
simple pleasures, fingers down
resonating strings.

AAAHHHH!!!

2006-06-08T07:01:00.000-05:00

I have a serious problem... I may not be able to play the cello because of my tendonitis. See all this crammed typing caused a pretty serious case of tendonitis about 3 years ago, and since then I'm pretty vulnerable to it. Then about a year ago I got a laptop, and it's been great because now I work mostly at my kitchen table which I love - I get to look out the window and there's a LOT more light upstairs than in our basement which is where I was before... but, the tendonitis has been a lot worse because the ergonomics at the table are BAD!

Well, just 5 minutes of practicing cello and I'm in severe PAIN! It should not be that way. I should be able to play for hours without any pain at all, but my shoulder and elbow and forearms are in REALLY BAD shape...

I'm going to try changing the ergonomics at home and try going for weekly message - that's what cured me last time... but I'm really scared!!!

I'm off to NYC for a professional assn meeting this afternoon. I'm really looking forward to it, and to hanging out with my friend M. But this has me troubled, and while I'm there I'll try to see my grandma, and she's not well either...

see how I turn everything into a worry...

searing pain dashing
hopes of orchestral rapture
please, let it not be...

joy and worry

2006-06-07T09:53:00.001-05:00

see... by Wed there's already failure!!!

Part of it is that it's M's birthday, so I had to do some shopping yesterday, and will take some time off work to hang with her today. But part of it is also that what I am reading makes me anxious - anxious about being a good enough mom, and upset about what my life was like as a kid. I'm reading stories of why famous psychotherapists decided to become therapists... It's interesting, but a bit disturbing. I think having psychotherapists as parents ruins psychotherapy for you. You become disillusioned. You know they are just flawed people like everyone else, and that hurts. Anyway, reading these makes me worry for my kids - how are they going to find adults in their lives who they can learn from and be fed by (spiritually and emotionally) when their dad and I fail them?

So, I've been a bit stuck a bit. I didn't work enough on the diss yesterday, and I didn't get much done when I was working.

There is this piece I'm writing in the dissertation that's autobiographical, and I know it's a little too "precious" - it feels self-indulgent a bit, and yet it also feels like my voice, so I'm not sure whether to cut some parts out or keep them in.

So these are my worries.

And in the midst of all that - JOY! pure joy at having such a great kid. Happy Birthday Miss M!

grateful, yes, and more
you're fierce, and smart, and wanting
the best out of life

sister Lola

2006-06-05T17:15:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling exhilarated! I had my first cello lesson, and it's going to be great!

First of all, I spent a good part of the day working on the proposal (for the dissertation). I got a haircut, and did some email both for IEATA, and for the university. I spoke to a few folks on the phone, and so far don't feel too lonely...

Then - I walked to the music school (about a half-hour walk) and had a half-hour lesson, and walked home. WOW!! I'm so jazzed. Mondays used to be my favorite days for just this reason - clean slate, a chance to get to the things you want to get to, no failures yet...

Someone recently told me about a memoir of an adult who learns cello - John Holt's memoir - ok... it's a little hokey - the title is "Never Too Late." If I can get it together I'm going to read it.

I'm reading Picture Perfect by Jodi Picoult now. She's entertaining. I want more time to just sit around and read! Maybe if I can get a rhythm with this dissertation, I actually could get time to read. I'm trying not to get too confident. It's scary being alone with my writing... so far, so good, but I know that it can get pretty intense.

Meanwhile -

plucking strings, I sit
with wooden sister between
my knees hold us both

I've decided to name my cello, Lola.

the still small voice

2006-06-04T17:16:00.000-05:00

unsettled still... we talked about the Quaker practice of discernment this morning at church. I do love the stillness and the paradoxes of being still in the midst of all the noise of this world! Especially the noise of FCC.

I also like the idea of quieting the self enough to listen for a "leading" of one's spirit. I think it's related to how rudderless I have felt most of my life! I like to feel I am in a "flow" - where I "should" be.

listening, can I
hear a still small voice within
taming fears I try

damp black forest

2006-06-03T14:21:00.000-05:00

Well... it's official. I am now on sabbatical! I brought my plant home. I backed up my computer at the office and brought the CDs home, boxed the files that were on the floor and put them in the closet!

I'm totally nervous about using the time off. I'm scared and unsettled. I feel as though I'm entering an abyss.

Black forest, no light
are those green sprouts emerging
or only my wish

My friend B came and took me for a walk today with her lovable big horse-dog. It was unbelieveably beautiful in the damp fern groves. I need those kinds of walks so badly. I feel moody and grey. Not really able to sort out how to be in this place of possibility. Needing to trust that by just moving forward it will all work out.

I'm going to try to blog every day. I'm going to try to practice cello every day. I'm going to try to read and exercise and eat healthy. Why are those basic things so hard? Why am I so sad all the time?

Last night, I dreamed that I moved into a house that was huge, there were about 20 people living there and I was relieved that I would have some company around... They were several incoming Lesley students living there, and I was trying to find a place to put my desk, when I suddenly realized that I had totally forgotten to show up at work for the last several days/wks?, and I was thinking I better call them, but couldn’t remember their number....

and how do I integrate being a mom into all this? being a partner?

I found a poem that was shared at Camp a few years ago - it seems worth posting...

If you have time to chatter
read books
If you have time to read
walk into mountain
If you have time to walk
sing songs and dance
If you have time to dance
Sit quietly, you
Happy Lucky Idiot

Kyoto 1966
Nanao Sakaki

Blackberry Books
Nobleboro, ME

droplets of water

2006-05-29T06:57:00.000-05:00

Three days until I'm on sabbatical!!! How is that possible - the last month has been a blur!

I'm embarrassed to have dropped off of the blog planet having degraded to confessions of American Idolotry, but as they say, water finds it's level! I'm lost to myself these days. Thank you Tovah for finding my blog and commenting! I can't believe it's been 20 days since I posted... I really don't understand what I'm doing here yet... but it's good to find that I'm not just writing to myself! it seems hard to imagine that someone would find this - when there are millions of blogs out there... still, I need to try to experiment with this as another medium of aliveness, and if there are connections that are made along the way, that's just a bonus!

I did an interview with some potential students at the U where I teach on Friday, and there was the most amazing moment when I really felt a sense that one of the women was a god-send. As she spoke about a personal crisis in her life several years ago, she mentioned that she had been reading Women who run with the wolves and the need for cycles of birth, death, and re-birth, I could feel my parched spirit leaning in towards her words. She talked about finding art that spoke to her and making small collage pieces that slowly helped her to piece together meaning and life-giving energy, even in the face of what she recognized as a death within. My little brittle waif-like spirit quivered, and I knew that I was desperate to enter into this next phase - despite my fears of being alone, despite fears of facing my demons, despite fears of not being able to finish or use the time well, despite fears of completely losing me...

I have my first cello lesson on June 5! I am determined to make this time mean something more than the diss.

parched spirit drink up
droplets of water are near
dreaming of re-birth

idol masala

2006-05-09T18:59:00.000-05:00

so was it Karaoke with a capital "K?" I guess you should know that I watch American Idol with my daughter and that I like Taylor Hicks because he has white hair just like me!!!

now that I've admited to being a lemming, I might as well also tell you that I had a great dinner - take out food from Kashish - as well. I'm just an average suburban softball mom!

potatoes and couch
chicken tikka masala
watch idol with you!

this haiku's for Miss M

showing up

2006-05-08T15:10:00.000-05:00

So I lent my computer to a friend who is doing a graphics project for a non-profit I belong to - and that has meant that I have had no private computer time! I have to either use the one at work - which is what I'm doing now - or use the one at the house, and I don't really have time there to do so privately... and I still haven't told P about the blog!!

It's been interesting to have a few days away from it. I feel ok about it. Ok with what is emerging here - today it feels as though the person emerging is more me.

Still feeling unsure about what I want to keep private and what I want to show - but it's interesting to think that the block with the dissertation is related to "what I want to show" and so I'm happy to stick with it.

And I love the interactive possibilities! I went to my friend Denise's open studio yesterday and she just inspires me sooooo much!!!! And as I was reading this over today I thought maybe, just maybe, this could become a place to begin to show myself a bit.

it's been my mantra
"just show up" - so why not here?
are you so afraid?

breaking our necks

2006-04-26T07:08:00.000-05:00

Things at work are impossibly busy - so here I go being myself here as I am elsewhere... do I just show up? do I try to do something meaningful? do I have anything interesting to offer the world?

Yesterday I heard about a sexual assault at the Univ where I teach - we seriously have our work cut out for us as humans! How do we address both the small and large issues that make this type of thing even a possibility. The statistics of young women who are sexually assaulted each year are staggering! When I told my kids about it - I said, "we are each responsible for making a difference with our lives" - my 11 yo daughter kept saying, "how can I make a difference" - so I told them the story I heard on NPR on the way home about Dan Gottlieb, a quadraplegic psychologist who has recently written a book for his grandson about living "differently" in this world.

I was very inspired this story. He spoke about the way he had come to see his accident as having freed him to really live life fully as himself, not as who he thought he "should" be - he said his soul was set free when his neck broke! How do any of us manage to rise above the death of our dreams to be who we thought we "should" be - rather than who we are becoming even now?

what can I do mom?
become fully yourself, sweet
and what about me?

blogger hell

2006-04-25T04:18:00.000-05:00

So I was trying to revamp the new blog I started for work, and I couldn't get the editing function to work.
I spent hours trying to get the new posts to show up!

It was unbelievably frustrating, and in the end I had to go to bed without having fixed it...

I'm sure it's one of those things that is easily fixed, I just don't know how.

I still don't know what the point of this is... a place to practice my writing? A place to post mini-updates for friends? So much for gratitude.

The last few days have coincidentally had several folks talking about clearing clutter... Where's the clutter in my life?

clearing out old junk
re-membering to treasure
what brings me back home

Monet's lilies

2006-04-23T22:17:00.000-05:00

NY was great! The new MOMA was terrific... we spent a long time just sitting in front of the Monet lilies. It's a multi-panel piece that spans a wall and is AMAZING! The kids were really struggling with each other, and not really wanting to be at another museum, so that was a drag! but overall it was a good trip.

Good to see my grandmother and aunt and good to be reminded of all the ways that art can inspire!

sinking down below
imagine myself goldfish
under lily pad

urban hug

2006-04-22T09:48:00.000-05:00

Today we head to NYC to visit my grandmother, aunt and uncle. I love Manhattan in all its crazy extremes. I love the living contradictions, the speed and the glitz, the garbage and the facade. We'll go to the new MOMA and see the Munch - how can my pre/adolescent screamers not like that!

tall buildings surround
an urban hug needed still
will we find beauty?

what's possible

2006-04-21T10:17:00.000-05:00

satisfying work
ideas that jump and roll over
shedding hair, I sneeze

I want to see if it's possible to just keep this going... what's worth posting? what's not?

my space for gratitude haikus

performance anxiety

2006-04-20T03:14:00.000-05:00

I don't get it... I have always been fairly confessional and exhibitionistic. Or at least that's what I thought until now.

But I have been completely baffled by this blog thing! I know several friends who blog, and have been randomly reading the blogs of strangers (some of whom I've come "to know and love") for years! (here are some of my favorite blogs to lurk on...LeeAnn and Dean's unremarkable website, the sympathetic vibration, Shawn's photoblog, Supergirl saves the world Yes, I'm a lurker and I've loved it!

I've kept a journal for years, and always presumed to want it read by those who love me best. You see, I was a lonely kid, and I never really felt seen enough, and always feel on some level that I need to be seen more, as opposed to those folks who felt intruded upon and always feared having their journals found and read. I was that kid who secretly wished that someone would find my journal, read it, and finally see what an amazing person I was and would reassure me that I was loveable and great!

But suddenly here I am with the capability of sharing that innermost me with others, and I feel scared to death! Dare I even say frozen by the real possibility that others will see me - or rather, see the very incomplete picture of me that is emerging, slowly and not at all the way I expected, from this space. It feels like a bad joke - again, with that paradoxical notion of finally getting what you thought you wanted only to find out it is not at all what you thought you wanted!

I can't understand the me that is emerging here... It feels like one of those photography moments where the print is sitting in the solution and the image is slowly emerging, but instead of seeing the expression on the face you expected to see, you see a distorted, unattractive expression... Ironically though, I think this is part of the problem with the dissertation. I'm having trouble really finding my voice - recognizing me in what I am writing. I'm feeling a bit closer to it now, here, but do I really want this part of me hanging out in cyberspace? For anyone to see?

And who is that anyone anyway? I told my class yesterday (I teach counselors/art therapists at a University) that I had started a blog - and so they were the first folks to know - and what was up with that? Isn't that a weird way to blur the boundaries?? I certainly wouldn't want my clients reading about the "innermost" part of me - the part of me that I never knew how little of which I show at work. So what about students? I don't necessarily want them to know about the parts of me that are so insecure and fucked up that I feel ashamed of them... and yet isn't that the part of me that needed to/wanted to be seen and still loved!

weird... I am really surprised by this whole process. And there's still something about it that feels very illicit - part of it is that I really do imagine that my man would not "approve." Again, is that something I want for all of cyberspace to know? And is it that he doesn't approve or that I don't approve and he very conveniently embodies that disapproval for me? I'm definitely not sure I want to broadcast my marital struggles.

so what is this medium - confession? communication? catharsis? plea for reassurance and mirroring?

Last year I was invited to read my poetry at the University where I work. I'm a secret poet. Of course, all the folks who know me well know I write poetry, and for the most part I'm not shy about reading it to others - ask any of my students, I regularly read my poems at the open mics we have. But this public declaration of myself as a poet had me completely terrified - honestly, I was so completely undone by that reading that I have barely written a poem since. I was so anxious, so completely mortified, so ashamed even, of claiming the title of poet, of being found out for the fraud I felt myself to be, of being seen - that I could barely breathe for days. I can't remember the last time I was that afraid and ashamed. All I could think was, "What was I thinking? How could I have agreed to do this? What right do I have to stand and read this drivel?"

It's all related - I really am getting the sense that the place I'm stuck in my dissertation, and my overall stress and anxiety, and this fear/desire to be seen are all related.

I want to tell my friends about this space. I want to hold it, to join the community of strangers/friends who I can come into focus for... don't I?

melting I can move

2006-04-19T07:44:00.000-05:00

glimmers of sunshine
warm the icebergs of self-blame
melting I can move

What is this picture I'm creating of myself

doing this I realize that the me that shows up at work is not the most private part of me, the part of me that struggles with living in the suburbs, the part of me that struggles with my faith, the part of me that struggles to be a "good enough" mom, the part of me that needs to/wants to be in love

it's pretty weird to throw myself out into cyberspace...

wake up!

2006-04-18T05:51:00.000-05:00

mystery, meaning,
sleeping, dreaming, waking too
open your eyes now

I'm trying to live with eyes wide open. Yesterday was a fairly down day. I'm juggling too much. I want to just hang out with P and my kids, and I have this dissertation to finish, and I have work I need to do, and I just want to relax and re-vive... but I feel weighed down by all the obligations that tether me.

action enough?

2006-04-17T09:00:00.000-05:00

You know the adage, watch out what you ask for, you just might get it... that's my life. Yesterday I was writing about redemption and forgiveness and today I'm forced to ask myself what that means in the face of community violence...

I tend to think of myself as fairly neurotic, and don't get me wrong, I am... I tend to worry A LOT about stupid things. I stress about things I should feel good about and I am fairly insecure about things I should feel confident about. But I am not a bigot - and I don't understand what motivates someone to be so contemptuous that they become a racist.

I imagine that racism is motivated in part by the perception that you are entitled to something that appears to be taken away from you by someone else, and ignorance, fear and hatred and an inability to own one's own faults - with the need to project them onto others. And that's me... always trying to understand where the other person is coming from - to a fault sometimes. But what is the role of forgiveness in the face of all that... and reconciliation?

Yesterday, P and I were out for a walk - we've had gorgeous weather in New England and I feel particularly appreciative of it knowing that my family and friends are drowning in the Bay Area - and while we were walking we came across several pamphlets that had been thrown out in front of houses in our neighborhood. They were ultra-right wing pamphlets calling Bush a traitor for supporting immigration and specifically targeting Jews as "declaring war against White America" - how is it that in 2006, in surburban MA, that someone would feel justified and entitled to spread this racist, Anti-semitic garbage!!!

I hate living in New England! You just wouldn't get this kind of thing in San Francisco, where I come from... I don't know how to raise children in this kind of environment... I don't know how to be myself in a community where there is not Public OUTRAGE over such behavior!

and then there's Israel - I was just in Tel Aviv less that two weeks ago at a conference on Creative Approaches to dealing with Conflicts in Groups, and today on the front page of the NYTimes is the news that a suicide bomber killed 6 and wounded 35... I could have been standing there...I can't imagine living in a place where at any moment a bomb could wipe out my son, my daughter - and the Palestinians... what's it like to live in that land, to be a 40 year old mother raising sons in an occupied land...

my heart bleeds and weeps
can parenting and prayer
be action enough?

resurrection and redemption

2006-04-16T06:55:00.000-05:00

So here's the thing... I need the notion of redemption in my life. I crave a spiritual practice that at its core combines sacrifice, love, forgiveness, redemption, renewal and community. And it's my tradition, the place into which I was born, the Christianity of my mother, and grandmother, and great-grandmother.

would you be willing
taking all blame,shame, and grief
to stand in for me?

But here's another thing, I have problems with being a Christian in a culture that uses Christianity in such negative ways. There are a lot of folks a lot more eloquent about this than I am - Anne Lamott, Mary Luti, Marcus Borg - I particularly appreciate the Center for Progressive Christianity and their attempts to describe a Christianity that is not dogmatic, oppressive, or fundamentalist.

So, how does one live with the contradictions of faith, religion, and community in this weird, wired, world? I don't know but somehow grace, and forgiveness, and music, and art, and love, and redemption all seem to be a part of the answer for me. Happy Easter!

they're really special

2006-04-15T06:02:00.000-05:00

I have two great kids - they are almost 12 and almost 14, and they are pretty amazing!

They're smart and sensitive and kind and creative. They're also adolescent and so it can be hard to access those wonderful qualities at times.

My daughter and I went to Anna's Taqueria for lunch yesterday - so we could check it out. That's where some of the high school kids go for lunch sometimes. It was fun hanging out with her. We saw several really cute babies. The time goes really fast!

trains speed by, swoosh, blur
you are now budding and brash
i am now burnished

bits of this and that

2006-04-14T04:22:00.000-05:00

what to put out there in the big wide world?

This is a wierd medium of expression...

So we went to Davio's for dinner last night (that's where we had our rehearsal dinner). Homemade sausage in a port wine (the sausage had pistachios), crab cake appetizers, and P had filet while I had scallops. It was good, but really rich! I can't imagine how some folks eat like that every night.

fifteen years and still
lilacs and magnolias
forsythia blooms

It's a long weekend, between the holidays and Marathon monday... but I have all this work hanging over me. What am I going to do? How am I going to balance work and spending time with the family?

thank you haikus

2006-04-13T08:14:00.000-05:00

I decided yesterday that I would try to write a "thank you haiku" every day this week as a form of self-care. I decided I would do something creative and disciplined (granted, once a day for a week doesn't require that much discipline but hey, you've got to start somewhere). So on my way home from work I was feeling great composing my haiku in my mind and I had it down!!! Of course by 11 pm I could not remember it... so here is the revised version.

courting gratitude
warm skin
strong arms
sweet smell
yours
such simple pleasures

Today's my 15th anniversary - so this haiku is for you P.

I haven't told my man that I started a blog because he thinks I already am too overcommitted and I'm afraid that if he knew I was doing this it would make him crazy! I haven't told anyone else yet either because I'm a chicken... scrawny legs, scratchy movements, feeble throat, with her head on a chopping block!

I really don't have time for this

2006-04-12T21:12:00.000-05:00

So in a few months I will be on sabbatical, and the only thing scarier than finishing my dissertation is not finishing my dissertation... so I'm looking for a few things to tether me to the ground while I write.