I have been thinking a lot about work-life balance probably in response to all the good and challenging aspects of family life that seem to have converged this past year. More and more I want to be in many places at once, including work and Rochester and Hamilton and London. There was a time when I was very actively involved in advocating for work-life balance: better and more accessible child care, flexible work hours, meetings at times other than the start and end of the school day, job sharing. As I've listened to the challenges that Gena and Derek have faced trying to establish a routine that works for their two jobs, provides Ruby with nurturing care and still leaves time for family life and, of course, Daisy, I've been reminded how hard it is to find that balance and how easily it can be disturbed.
I surprised myself recently when my response to the announcement by the chief executive of Yahoo, Marissa Mayer, that everyone had to stop working from home and return to the office to keep their jobs didn't rise up immediately from my work-life balance roots. I can't believe I didn't see this as an outrage and a step backwards except that I have begun to see "family friendly" and the meaning of work in a different light.
At school there is currently a very strong cultural message from the top that we are a family friendly school. I believe this is a good thing. In a recent email explaining why I would be off campus for several hours yet again for Greg's doctor appointment, the response was, "I hope you know family comes first. Do whatever you need to do." This response, that I know is representative of the culture and not just a response to my particular need, made me feel completely secure to begin the day. Why then, have I been feeling that something about "work" is missing?
A family first culture creates an infrastructure based on the unique demands of individuals and their families; it puts the community need in the hands of those individuals who are present or focused on work at any particular moment. I am not promoting a "company first" attitude, but I am questioning how you participate in a work community when the individuals you need to do the work are not easily accessible or available to one another. As family has become the valued priority, other things have changed. We have fewer meetings of key work groups, less time is dedicated to strategic or long-term planning, fewer conversations are about process, problem-solving and decision-making, and many fewer voices are heard within and on behalf of the community. Collaboration has become a goal not an expectation and showing up is still valued, but being fully present is not.
In the days when we thought working from home would help us to solve the need for child care or flexible work hours would allow us to sandwich work into the time frame demanded by family life, the balance placed extraordinary pressure on the individual family unit. The balancing act was keeping many balls in the air including the ball for work; often, the expectations of work productivity, participation and attendance didn't shift enough to relieve the stress of holding all those balls at once. The individual paid the ultimate price and the power in the workplace was held by the people who could show up at the right time and in the right place.
Wednesday, February 28, 2024
Sunday, March 22, 2020
Pandemic Day 25
I am sitting at my desk looking out at all the forsythia in bloom. The daffodils are also in bloom and there are so many all around the garden and the school. Yesterday, the governor announced new requirements for the public. Stay home except for emergencies; people over 70 stay home. Get outside for exercise keeping a 6-foot social separation; people over 70 walk alone. 100% of the nonessential workforce is now required to be home. While the President spins out of control in his ability to address the needs of the country he continues to spin new discussions that create distractions from the reality of a failing health system, deteriorating economy and the need for federal legislation to respond to the requests of local government. He has declared with certainty the availability of drugs to attack the virus, blamed Europe for acting too slowly, blamed China for starting the pandemic, offered help to Iran and North Korea, and taken pleasure in a negative result of his own test for COVID-19. His smile of self-satisfaction on camera is enough reason not to watch his press conferences. These have become his own propaganda platforms.
I am almost at a place in my packing where I am no longer really living in my house. I've taken down pictures, started packing dishes, thinking about the last things to go in the dumpster, and now the challenge of figuring out how to recycle so many unwanted, but perhaps still useful things. In another place and at another time I might just put it all on the curb and hope someone will take it. Perhaps that opportunity is down the road.
I am almost at a place in my packing where I am no longer really living in my house. I've taken down pictures, started packing dishes, thinking about the last things to go in the dumpster, and now the challenge of figuring out how to recycle so many unwanted, but perhaps still useful things. In another place and at another time I might just put it all on the curb and hope someone will take it. Perhaps that opportunity is down the road.
Pandemic Day 24
March 21, 2020
Today is the 24th day since the first case of coronavirus was diagnosed in NYC. It was a man in New Rochelle and soon after New Rochelle was put into a one-mile radius zone restriction. Today the governor says that it helped and the spread in Westchester has slowed down. New York City has been the epicenter of the virus in NY State, but the data is difficult to use as a measure of spread since it is tied to the amount of testing going on in any area. NYC has been given many more testing sites than other parts of the state and so the numbers keep increasing. Today there are over 4000 cases in the state. The death rate has stayed around 1%, lower than it was in China and Italy.
The City is on a shelter-in-place order; only essential businesses are open and only those workers and first responders are allowed to go to work. The health care profession is suffering from an overwhelming need and inadequate supplies and hospital beds to care for everyone needing care. Students on spring break have been the hardest group to harness; they continue to show up at beaches to play and slowly the beaches are all closing. Unemployment is up to 20%.
I have been thinking about the privilege of being safe and having my needs met during a crisis like this. Even of having the luxury of taking my car to anywhere I need to go to leave the City if necessary. Here's the start of my list following the model of Peggy McIntosh's white privilege list.
Today is the 24th day since the first case of coronavirus was diagnosed in NYC. It was a man in New Rochelle and soon after New Rochelle was put into a one-mile radius zone restriction. Today the governor says that it helped and the spread in Westchester has slowed down. New York City has been the epicenter of the virus in NY State, but the data is difficult to use as a measure of spread since it is tied to the amount of testing going on in any area. NYC has been given many more testing sites than other parts of the state and so the numbers keep increasing. Today there are over 4000 cases in the state. The death rate has stayed around 1%, lower than it was in China and Italy.
The City is on a shelter-in-place order; only essential businesses are open and only those workers and first responders are allowed to go to work. The health care profession is suffering from an overwhelming need and inadequate supplies and hospital beds to care for everyone needing care. Students on spring break have been the hardest group to harness; they continue to show up at beaches to play and slowly the beaches are all closing. Unemployment is up to 20%.
I have been thinking about the privilege of being safe and having my needs met during a crisis like this. Even of having the luxury of taking my car to anywhere I need to go to leave the City if necessary. Here's the start of my list following the model of Peggy McIntosh's white privilege list.
- I can stay in my house in isolation from others and have a library of books to read, music and my violin and piano.
- I can stay in my house in isolation and access the internet and all it's power to connect and inform me.
- I can walk to the grocery store or deli to get food.
- I can order food for take out with a credit card and not have to meet the delivery person to pay them.
- I can get in my car and drive alone to anywhere I choose. I do not need to use public transportation.
- I can go out in my garden and have an outdoor space for leisure and nourishment and peace.
- Even if there were other people in my house there are many rooms and it would not be difficult for each person to find a private space.
- I have relatives who are doctors that I could call if I needed a medical opinion.
- I do not need to go to work to ensure I have money to pay bills or have my needs met during this crisis.
- I can afford fresh food and have access to fresh food and I know how to cook.
Tuesday, March 17, 2020
The center of the storm - the center of the COVID-19 pandemic
The "storm" has been gaining strength in NYC since the first case was diagnosed on Feb. 27, 2020, close by in New Rochelle. The coronavirus had already spread rapidly through Wuhan, where it was first identified, and other parts of China and Italy. In the weeks since Feb. 27th the cases in New York State have risen to 1500 people with more than 800 in NYC. We are advised to stay home, stay six feet from people when with them, avoid physical contact and stay in small groups or no groups at all. Children have been identified as carriers who do not usually show symptoms and so the most at risk group (over 60 with health issues and over 70) is discouraged from being around the youngest group.
There are drive-through testing tents being set up in major cities. A positive move to identify as many cases as possible, but one more way that inequity rears its ugly head. To drive through you need a car, you need gas to get to Long Island and you need to drive or have someone drive you while putting them at risk of contracting the virus. This is how the first case spread quickly to the cases outside the man's family and quickly turned into 85 cases during the first week after diagnosis. Hospitals are nervous that at its peak there won't be enough beds, but those who can't make it to a drive-through will risk not getting tested or end up in the emergency rooms as well. We knew our health system was broken, but the evidence is so clear now that it is being tested to its limits.
Schools and colleges are closed, movies, museum and theaters are also closed and restaurants and bars are limited to take out and delivery. The economy is struggling to stay out of a recession and many people are unemployed from the jobs that kept them afloat day to day. Many businesses are also at risk. The bars have missed out on St. Patrick's Day, one of their biggest days of the year. The parade has been cancelled and the Kentucky Derby delayed. Professional sports has called off the rest of their seasons and the Final Four has been canceled.
I feel like we are in the center of a storm and will need to wait until the coast is clear to step back out into daily life and see what the real damage is. Let's hope that as we try to piece life back together that we gain a new perspective, new priorities and a clearer vision for positive change.
There are drive-through testing tents being set up in major cities. A positive move to identify as many cases as possible, but one more way that inequity rears its ugly head. To drive through you need a car, you need gas to get to Long Island and you need to drive or have someone drive you while putting them at risk of contracting the virus. This is how the first case spread quickly to the cases outside the man's family and quickly turned into 85 cases during the first week after diagnosis. Hospitals are nervous that at its peak there won't be enough beds, but those who can't make it to a drive-through will risk not getting tested or end up in the emergency rooms as well. We knew our health system was broken, but the evidence is so clear now that it is being tested to its limits.
Schools and colleges are closed, movies, museum and theaters are also closed and restaurants and bars are limited to take out and delivery. The economy is struggling to stay out of a recession and many people are unemployed from the jobs that kept them afloat day to day. Many businesses are also at risk. The bars have missed out on St. Patrick's Day, one of their biggest days of the year. The parade has been cancelled and the Kentucky Derby delayed. Professional sports has called off the rest of their seasons and the Final Four has been canceled.
I feel like we are in the center of a storm and will need to wait until the coast is clear to step back out into daily life and see what the real damage is. Let's hope that as we try to piece life back together that we gain a new perspective, new priorities and a clearer vision for positive change.
Friday, April 5, 2019
50 years of activism
April 18, 2019 will mark the 50th anniversary of the taking over of the Straight at Cornell. It was the end of my sophomore year and finals were cancelled. I understood so little about the unresolved issues and demands of the African American protesters.
On April 23, there was a takeover of Day Hall.
Dale Corson was named president soon after the Straight takeover. His obituary gives one perspective on the event.
Summer and fall 1969
On April 23, there was a takeover of Day Hall.
Dale Corson was named president soon after the Straight takeover. His obituary gives one perspective on the event.
Summer and fall 1969
Thursday, April 4, 2019
April 5, 2019, Auckland
It's Friday in Auckland and already this week we've had two birthdays, two cakes and two celebrations. Tomorrow is Andrew's brother's birthday and Sunday the family will get together to celebrate all the April birthdays. It's sunny and warm and what started out as a walk to the store this morning turned into a long, leisurely walk through Cornwall Park and a hike up to the peak to see how the trees are doing. When I was here in June 2016, Andrew and I went up to the watch the tree planting ceremony. It's described here in the Auckland Council report.
"A tree will once again stand on the tihi (summit) of Maungakiekie/One Tree Hill following a decision by the Tūpuna Maunga o Tāmaki Makaurau Authority at their hui on Monday 19 October 2015. Planting will take place in winter 2016, during Matariki (Māori New Year) celebrations, where the previous iconic tree stood...Initially, a small grove of three young tōtara and six young pohutukawa, along with a shelter-band of native shrubs, will be planted to ensure the optimum chance of survival in the exposed conditions on the tihi.
Over the course of several years, and overseen by arborists, a process of selection will see the stronger trees emerge. The aim is that after a decade there will be a single pohutukawa or tōtara.
All of the young specimens that will be planted in the new grove have been grown from parent trees at Maungakiekie/One Tree Hill. Some of the pohutukawa specimens have been sourced from seedlings that were found growing on the former Monterey pine tree that stood on the tihi. The pohutukawa seedlings were saved when the pine tree was removed and were cultivated in nurseries."On the left, is the photo taken in 2016. You can barely see the fence to the right of the Obelisk and behind the shrubs. On the right, the trees in the center are now rising above the height of the fence.
The animals were all out in the park today and before I finished my circle around the park, the cattle had been moved from one field to another. The information cottage had a new display giving information on the trees, birds and ecology of the park. There were people everywhere in the park, many running the distance up to the obelisk and many pushing baby carriages. I made it my mission today to only take photos in which I could appear and with the bright sunshine I was able to let my shadow stand in for me. It was hard to resist photos I might have taken of the breathtaking views from the park, but I stuck with the exercise and the results are below.
Saturday, December 22, 2018
December musings
December 19, started...December 22, completed
December and the holiday season, already half over. There is an anxiety I associate with the end of each calendar year; a feeling that there is no turning back and that the past is moving farther away. It's this last idea that sits heavily especially as memory starts to pale and what you remember loses the nuance of the experience.
I am sitting in a Starbucks at the corner of 73rd and Broadway looking out at a row of trees that have been wrapped in bright white LED lights; so white the color is almost silver. As late afternoon sets in, the trees are brightening. It's the week before the winter break for most NYC independent schools and the last few days left for Christmas shopping. Lots of shopping going on.
It's the sixth Christmas since Gregory died and still he is in every holiday step I take. Buy, don't buy... spend the money, don't spend the money...turn on the Christmas playlist...put out the creche...make sure there's enough wine... These things swim around in my head as I move through the season. It feels so different with no one to confer with, no one debating the exact gift for the girls. A long way from our traditional midnight run to Toys R Us when we used to check out the hottest items and get angry over the separation of boys' and girls' toys. That shopping trip always led to arguments over whether children would be happier receiving toys or clothes or other more enduring playthings; signature dolls, wooden toys. It wasn't always that Gregory loved the little bake ovens and doll houses and all the things the girls would see on TV and exclaim, "I want that!" There was the year when Gena was the only child and he and Christopher bought a wooden rocking horse in the City and Gregory carried it home on the hour-and-a-half subway ride to Queens. Or the time he insisted that Kathryn needed a horse of her own and Splash, a neighing, rocking spring horse, took up residence with us. But those efforts quickly got embedded in family schedules and collective enthusiasm for advertising and we were swept up in the mad dash for Cabbage Patch Dolls and Lullaby Ernie and Chatbot. Gregory was the grumpiest in anticipation of the holidays, but the happiest on Christmas morning if the girls were playing with something new and exciting amidst piles of ripped off wrapping paper, the one unique wrapping we saved for Santa to use.
It is the third Christmas since Mom died and I feel her energy all through the season. I have images of her at the piano playing Christmas Carols and memories of her choir at Legacy. She made community wherever she went; something I am still learning to do and am not sure I will ever do in the ways that she could. Her socks have become more dear and keep me warm all winter. I finished the sock yarn blanket from all of her half-used skeins of sock yarn thinking I'd give it away; soon it will be a gently used gift.
We are gathering in Rochester this year for Christmas. Georgia and her family will be here and we'll see Ellen's and John's families at Kathryn and Pat's open house today. Emma is in New Zealand and we will miss her family though knowing they are in the throes of summer helps to ease the absence. Some year we will all be there enjoying the sun and beach. Some of us will eat Christmas lunch at FBH with Dad. He seems to have lost energy for showing up, but is always interested in knowing where we all are. I hope Ruby gets some fun toys so that we can all play with them on Christmas morning, but I'm certain they won't come from PoPo.
December and the holiday season, already half over. There is an anxiety I associate with the end of each calendar year; a feeling that there is no turning back and that the past is moving farther away. It's this last idea that sits heavily especially as memory starts to pale and what you remember loses the nuance of the experience.
I am sitting in a Starbucks at the corner of 73rd and Broadway looking out at a row of trees that have been wrapped in bright white LED lights; so white the color is almost silver. As late afternoon sets in, the trees are brightening. It's the week before the winter break for most NYC independent schools and the last few days left for Christmas shopping. Lots of shopping going on.
It's the sixth Christmas since Gregory died and still he is in every holiday step I take. Buy, don't buy... spend the money, don't spend the money...turn on the Christmas playlist...put out the creche...make sure there's enough wine... These things swim around in my head as I move through the season. It feels so different with no one to confer with, no one debating the exact gift for the girls. A long way from our traditional midnight run to Toys R Us when we used to check out the hottest items and get angry over the separation of boys' and girls' toys. That shopping trip always led to arguments over whether children would be happier receiving toys or clothes or other more enduring playthings; signature dolls, wooden toys. It wasn't always that Gregory loved the little bake ovens and doll houses and all the things the girls would see on TV and exclaim, "I want that!" There was the year when Gena was the only child and he and Christopher bought a wooden rocking horse in the City and Gregory carried it home on the hour-and-a-half subway ride to Queens. Or the time he insisted that Kathryn needed a horse of her own and Splash, a neighing, rocking spring horse, took up residence with us. But those efforts quickly got embedded in family schedules and collective enthusiasm for advertising and we were swept up in the mad dash for Cabbage Patch Dolls and Lullaby Ernie and Chatbot. Gregory was the grumpiest in anticipation of the holidays, but the happiest on Christmas morning if the girls were playing with something new and exciting amidst piles of ripped off wrapping paper, the one unique wrapping we saved for Santa to use.
It is the third Christmas since Mom died and I feel her energy all through the season. I have images of her at the piano playing Christmas Carols and memories of her choir at Legacy. She made community wherever she went; something I am still learning to do and am not sure I will ever do in the ways that she could. Her socks have become more dear and keep me warm all winter. I finished the sock yarn blanket from all of her half-used skeins of sock yarn thinking I'd give it away; soon it will be a gently used gift.
We are gathering in Rochester this year for Christmas. Georgia and her family will be here and we'll see Ellen's and John's families at Kathryn and Pat's open house today. Emma is in New Zealand and we will miss her family though knowing they are in the throes of summer helps to ease the absence. Some year we will all be there enjoying the sun and beach. Some of us will eat Christmas lunch at FBH with Dad. He seems to have lost energy for showing up, but is always interested in knowing where we all are. I hope Ruby gets some fun toys so that we can all play with them on Christmas morning, but I'm certain they won't come from PoPo.
Monday, December 3, 2018
A trip to Montgomery, Alabama
We have been in Nashville since Thursday at the Annual People of Color Conference. The teachers and students have all gone home and three of us stayed on to take a bus trip to Montgomery, Alabama for the day. It seems fitting to enter Montgomery in a bus, to honor those who had the courage to hold a bus boycott to fight for justice. The boycott began on December 5, 1955, almost 63 years to the day, and ended after more than a year on December 20, 1956 with a Supreme Court ruling declaring the laws in Montgomery and Alabama that segregated buses to be unconstitutional.
Bryan Stevenson is a lawyer who founded the Equal Justice Initiative and it is EJI that has created the Legacy Museum: From Enslavement to Mass Incarceration. They also created the Memorial for Peace and Justice a remarkable expression of affirmation and declaration. The walk through the memorial was a slow and measured walk through the collective presence of 4400 people, named and unknown, who were hanged, burned alive, shot, drowned, and beaten to death by white mobs between 1877 and 1950. In the beginning you are standing side-by-side with these individuals who are named on large steel columns. They are grouped within the counties where they died. As you work your way down a decline you realize that at some point you are looking up and the steel columns are hanging above your head.
The entrance to the museum has these words:
"...we remember the thousands killed, the generations of black people terroroized, and the legacy of suffering and injustice that haunts us still....telling the truth about the age of racial terror and reflecting together on this period and its legacy can lead to a more thoughtful and informed commitment to justice today."
Elsewhere these words appear:
With courage because peace requires bravery.
With persistence because justice is a constant struggle.
With faith because we shall over come.
Bryan Stevenson is a lawyer who founded the Equal Justice Initiative and it is EJI that has created the Legacy Museum: From Enslavement to Mass Incarceration. They also created the Memorial for Peace and Justice a remarkable expression of affirmation and declaration. The walk through the memorial was a slow and measured walk through the collective presence of 4400 people, named and unknown, who were hanged, burned alive, shot, drowned, and beaten to death by white mobs between 1877 and 1950. In the beginning you are standing side-by-side with these individuals who are named on large steel columns. They are grouped within the counties where they died. As you work your way down a decline you realize that at some point you are looking up and the steel columns are hanging above your head.
The entrance to the museum has these words:
"...we remember the thousands killed, the generations of black people terroroized, and the legacy of suffering and injustice that haunts us still....telling the truth about the age of racial terror and reflecting together on this period and its legacy can lead to a more thoughtful and informed commitment to justice today."
Elsewhere these words appear:
We will remember.
With hope because hopelessness is the enemy of justices.With courage because peace requires bravery.
With persistence because justice is a constant struggle.
With faith because we shall over come.
Saturday, November 10, 2018
November 4, 2018
It was a beautiful Fall day in New York City for the annual NYC marathon. My sister, Barbara, was visiting from Tennessee and we donned our Allbirds shoes, the most comfortable shoes ever, and headed downtown to see the runners and to make sure that Barbara made her first trip to Brooklyn. It was her one request when I asked what she wanted to do while in NY. "I've never been to Brooklyn! even after growing up in NYC." Thinking about it I probably hadn't been either up until the time I left for college.
We got off the subway at 110th and Broadway and walked across 110th to Central Park. It's a wide expansive street especially since they built a roundabout at the northeast corner of the park. We crossed into the park and walked along the Harlem Meer, a man-made lake named meer meaning lake in Dutch. We turned the corner at 110th and Fifth Avenue and found a spot to watch the runners. Slowly, we strolled down Fifth Avenue.
The sound of the marathon is very distinct. It's a cacophony of human and percussive sound. At one point we stood to wait and see if we could catch a glimpse of a friend and ended up next to a young woman. She had great enthusiasm and stamina as she cheered on the runners by repeating one phrase over and over again. We were there 30 minutes and her voice became the backdrop. "Great job, runners!" There was something in the flat, even as it expressed excitement, intonation of the word "runners" that sounded strangely familiar and I finally realized that it was the nuance of the voice I've heard on YouTube videos that play with toys as children watch. My granddaughter is fascinated with these videos and the voice is constantly talking.
Along the way we passed the gate to the Conservatory Garden and decided to step in and walk through the garden while still heading south. The Conservatory Garden is a groomed European garden that in spring is filled with annuals. I can't remember seeing it in its fall colors; very green with some deep purple flowers appearing here and there. There are two promenades that are beautifully landscaped under an arch of trees and lined with benches. We walked down one and turned the corner at the end to return through the other.
As we approached the second walkway I needed to re-tie my shoe and stopped to perch my foot on the first bench. I had mentioned to Barbara as we entered the garden that I had a friend who was a volunteer in this garden. It's through her that I had learned to appreciate the care and attention the garden requires. She is always with me as I walk through this garden, sharing its beauty. Sadly, her son had died years ago and she had spent many hours of the years that followed volunteering in the garden. As I tied my shoe I noticed the plaque on the back of the bench dedicated to "Our beautiful boy." It was Christopher's bench.
There is no way out of the park on the East Side during the marathon so we continued walking through the park heading west and got on the subway at 86th and Broadway. We got off at the first stop in Brooklyn in Dumbo, Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. I'll take this moment to say that I have always thought of Dumbo as the section of coastline that is between and under the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges. In describing it to Barbara I know I said, "Dumbo. Down under the Brooklyn Bridge." Looking at it in writing it is a nonsensical statement. DUBB is not DUMBO. I stand corrected and it may explain why we had to walk a distance to get from Dumbo to the entrance to the foot path of the Brooklyn Bridge on our way home.
We ended the day with a quick bite to eat, a walk across the bridge and the subway ride home.
It was a beautiful Fall day in New York City for the annual NYC marathon. My sister, Barbara, was visiting from Tennessee and we donned our Allbirds shoes, the most comfortable shoes ever, and headed downtown to see the runners and to make sure that Barbara made her first trip to Brooklyn. It was her one request when I asked what she wanted to do while in NY. "I've never been to Brooklyn! even after growing up in NYC." Thinking about it I probably hadn't been either up until the time I left for college.
We got off the subway at 110th and Broadway and walked across 110th to Central Park. It's a wide expansive street especially since they built a roundabout at the northeast corner of the park. We crossed into the park and walked along the Harlem Meer, a man-made lake named meer meaning lake in Dutch. We turned the corner at 110th and Fifth Avenue and found a spot to watch the runners. Slowly, we strolled down Fifth Avenue.
The sound of the marathon is very distinct. It's a cacophony of human and percussive sound. At one point we stood to wait and see if we could catch a glimpse of a friend and ended up next to a young woman. She had great enthusiasm and stamina as she cheered on the runners by repeating one phrase over and over again. We were there 30 minutes and her voice became the backdrop. "Great job, runners!" There was something in the flat, even as it expressed excitement, intonation of the word "runners" that sounded strangely familiar and I finally realized that it was the nuance of the voice I've heard on YouTube videos that play with toys as children watch. My granddaughter is fascinated with these videos and the voice is constantly talking.
Along the way we passed the gate to the Conservatory Garden and decided to step in and walk through the garden while still heading south. The Conservatory Garden is a groomed European garden that in spring is filled with annuals. I can't remember seeing it in its fall colors; very green with some deep purple flowers appearing here and there. There are two promenades that are beautifully landscaped under an arch of trees and lined with benches. We walked down one and turned the corner at the end to return through the other.
As we approached the second walkway I needed to re-tie my shoe and stopped to perch my foot on the first bench. I had mentioned to Barbara as we entered the garden that I had a friend who was a volunteer in this garden. It's through her that I had learned to appreciate the care and attention the garden requires. She is always with me as I walk through this garden, sharing its beauty. Sadly, her son had died years ago and she had spent many hours of the years that followed volunteering in the garden. As I tied my shoe I noticed the plaque on the back of the bench dedicated to "Our beautiful boy." It was Christopher's bench.
We ended the day with a quick bite to eat, a walk across the bridge and the subway ride home.
Wednesday, October 17, 2018
A beautiful fall night, dinner at Indie with Harvey, and Lincoln Center filling up for the evening. Joshua Bell comes on stage and The Red Violin begins. Philharmonic Hall is darker than usual because it's movie and live sound track night; one of my favorite concerts. Early in the movie a young child in an orphanage, played by Christoph Koncz, is discovered. He is a violin prodigy and heads off to Vienna to learn and play and perform. He looks about 6 years old. The movie is a beautiful story centered on the journey this violin takes, ending up in an auction house. Secrets are revealed as the violin changes hands and all the while Joshua Bell plays whenever the red violin is played.
There is an announcement as we re-enter after intermission for the audience to stay seated through all the credits and music out of respect for the artists. The credits are long, but perhaps not any longer than the ones we often skip as they get to all the last details of the production. And then the conductor picks up a microphone and says that Joshua Bell would like to play an encore on a 17th century Italian violin, made during the same period as the red violin. Bell returns to the stage and then he takes the microphone and announces that he has a special guest who will play with him. Christoph Koncz, now 20 years old and the lead violin of the 2nd violins in the Vienna Symphony, has come to NYC for this opening night performance of The Red Violin. They perform a quick, fast and flashy duet and then leave the stage. A cherry on the top of a spectacular feast of music and cinema.
I am heightened as we begin another intense week of thinking about discussions and events coming up at school. As I replay some of the scenes of the movie and think about the secrets revealed, I realize that the only dark-skinned person featured in the story is the person who holds the secret. He enters as the expert, respected and in charge, but leaves as the one who has played a trick under the gaze of a white community of wealthy auction attendees. There are only a few Asian people in that crowd. Is this another message of bias on the screen to feed our already deeply embedded biases about black people? Do we suspect him of wrong-doing and watch him carefully because he stands out in the crowd? Or do we admire his success against many odds and then have our expectations fulfilled when he falls into wrongdoing as we might be socialized to believe should be no surprise?
There is an announcement as we re-enter after intermission for the audience to stay seated through all the credits and music out of respect for the artists. The credits are long, but perhaps not any longer than the ones we often skip as they get to all the last details of the production. And then the conductor picks up a microphone and says that Joshua Bell would like to play an encore on a 17th century Italian violin, made during the same period as the red violin. Bell returns to the stage and then he takes the microphone and announces that he has a special guest who will play with him. Christoph Koncz, now 20 years old and the lead violin of the 2nd violins in the Vienna Symphony, has come to NYC for this opening night performance of The Red Violin. They perform a quick, fast and flashy duet and then leave the stage. A cherry on the top of a spectacular feast of music and cinema.
I am heightened as we begin another intense week of thinking about discussions and events coming up at school. As I replay some of the scenes of the movie and think about the secrets revealed, I realize that the only dark-skinned person featured in the story is the person who holds the secret. He enters as the expert, respected and in charge, but leaves as the one who has played a trick under the gaze of a white community of wealthy auction attendees. There are only a few Asian people in that crowd. Is this another message of bias on the screen to feed our already deeply embedded biases about black people? Do we suspect him of wrong-doing and watch him carefully because he stands out in the crowd? Or do we admire his success against many odds and then have our expectations fulfilled when he falls into wrongdoing as we might be socialized to believe should be no surprise?
Monday, October 8, 2018
Keeping a family together
Emma's dissertation was accepted last week and approved for oral defense on October 31st. All I can think about was how proud Gregory would have been. He loved that she went to Cornell. He wanted to know more about her research. He knew she would follow her dream and finish the degree. I wished that he could tell her himself.
I have been thinking a lot about how families are held together; how they continue to grow so that family comes first and that we don't take family for granted. But also, that we don't forget that family will not be surprised that we might expect more from them even without constant contact.
I have been thinking a lot about how families are held together; how they continue to grow so that family comes first and that we don't take family for granted. But also, that we don't forget that family will not be surprised that we might expect more from them even without constant contact.
Kathryn came down for the weekend and we wandered the city discovering little things and lots of good food. We ended the holiday weekend at the 7pm performance of The Band's Visit, a surprise in the musical world of Broadway; subtle, nuanced, gentle and jarring. It was a story with layers of love and the tension of cultural difference and conflict. In this case a band from Egypt heading to Israel to perform and ends up, through a mistaken pronunciation of the town name, in a small isolated desert town. It was performed in one act and was sprinkled with the humor of humanity and the loss and longing of the heart. Katrina Lenka, in the lead role of Dina, won a Tony in 2017 for best actress.
Among our new food discoveries were Rosemary's in the West Village (a second visit for Kathryn), Tim Ho Wan, a dim sum restaurant in the East Village (the same restaurant Kathryn and Pat found in Hong Kong), Patavini gnocchi bar at Columbus Circle (sadly the Grom line was so long, but happily the end of the line put us in front of this new gnocchi bar and City Winery Barrel Room Wine Bar (flights at $5 a pour for wines on tap).
We stopped at two old favorites to have pre-theater
cocktails at the revolving bar atop the Marriott in Times Square and
dessert after theater at Cafe Lalo on 83rd Street.
On Sunday we had brunch at Liebman's Deli, one of the last NY kosher delis, with Rosaleen, Dan and Ansel. Monday morning, we walked to Buunni for coffee and an almond coissant before Kathyrn left to drive back to Rochester. So many tasties and our own food tour of NYC. I think this is the first of a new annual tradition along with the Book Crawl.
Times Square, Cofradia des devotes
Sunday, September 30, 2018
Looking up in NYC
NYC is a place for wandering. You will always find something remarkable, curious, new. Yesterday I got off the subway at 18th Street and 7th Avenue and started walking east (after heading west and circling a block to reorient myself) toward Union Square. My aim was to get to the Union Square Market.
Saturday, September 29, 2018
Beautiful Fall day bringing September to an end
We are closing in on the end of September and the end of the first month of school. My last first month of a school year at HM. It feels like a deep breath; I am in the pool trying to come up for air to see more clearly what is ahead. The water is already wide and deep with possibility, but also with force and energy.
Since moving my dining room table back into the dining room I have been more aware of the piano even though it has been there all the years I had made it my music room centered on the violin. I have mom's piano book sitting on the stand with her list of songs that she was preparing to play at her recital at FBH. She loved waltzes and she loved Fur Elise. As I play them I can hear her singing them and I can hear the clicking of her fingers that sometimes accompanied her playing. My hands are a lot like hers; more likely to land on keys than run over keys; more purposefully placed than fluid.
Deborah has begun to take piano lessons and has purchased a Yamaha keyboard. Now I know two people who are playing on keyboards and am wondering if I should give up my piano knowing there is a good substitute. She said that she wants to play classical music. I have the same feeling about violin. I want my playing to sound like the music I enjoy listening to. It's such a long road from one to the other.
Since moving my dining room table back into the dining room I have been more aware of the piano even though it has been there all the years I had made it my music room centered on the violin. I have mom's piano book sitting on the stand with her list of songs that she was preparing to play at her recital at FBH. She loved waltzes and she loved Fur Elise. As I play them I can hear her singing them and I can hear the clicking of her fingers that sometimes accompanied her playing. My hands are a lot like hers; more likely to land on keys than run over keys; more purposefully placed than fluid.
Deborah has begun to take piano lessons and has purchased a Yamaha keyboard. Now I know two people who are playing on keyboards and am wondering if I should give up my piano knowing there is a good substitute. She said that she wants to play classical music. I have the same feeling about violin. I want my playing to sound like the music I enjoy listening to. It's such a long road from one to the other.
Thursday, September 27, 2018
Early Childhood Education and Prison Education: cultural overlap?
Jody Lewen came to speak to students about Prison University Project at San Quentin State Prison in California. She described her own path from HM to graduate school to a PhD in rhetoric and finally landing as the executive director of this project. She started as a volunteer during graduate school and as she described it, "if you follow the things that feel right it all comes together."
As I listened to Jody talk about how hard it is to humanize the prisoner in conversations about what is needed and why programs such as this are important, about the culture of prisons that they need to talk about during teacher training, and about the challenge of helping prospective teachers confront their own personal biases and stereotypes about prisoners, I was hearing so many parallels to my conversations with graduate students about teaching young children. A common thread was the idea of holding ourselves accountable for the ideas, impressions, and assumptions we bring to a group of people who have been made invisible by society or who have been hidden from us behind a deep stereotype.
Jody talked about the gang culture of prisons, but also about the ways in which this Associates Degree program has been shifting culture. She discussed the impact the program is having not only on the prisoners who are receiving an education, but also on those who are in contact with or living among those prisoners. With one in ten prisoners in the program it has great potential to bring about true cultural change.
This conversation brought to mind Carla Shalaby's idea that schools are simply places where we teach children to go to school and that discipline parallels the punitive nature of prison discipline. Perhaps this is true about education as well. Do we need to train teachers in both cases about culture and bias first to develop an educational program that counteracts the forces that impact the human condition of being incarcerated or being young in our society? Do we need to convince funders of the value of educating these two groups of people as a humane and imperative act rather than a preparation for participation in society in roles defined for them by society?
As I listened to Jody talk about how hard it is to humanize the prisoner in conversations about what is needed and why programs such as this are important, about the culture of prisons that they need to talk about during teacher training, and about the challenge of helping prospective teachers confront their own personal biases and stereotypes about prisoners, I was hearing so many parallels to my conversations with graduate students about teaching young children. A common thread was the idea of holding ourselves accountable for the ideas, impressions, and assumptions we bring to a group of people who have been made invisible by society or who have been hidden from us behind a deep stereotype.
Jody talked about the gang culture of prisons, but also about the ways in which this Associates Degree program has been shifting culture. She discussed the impact the program is having not only on the prisoners who are receiving an education, but also on those who are in contact with or living among those prisoners. With one in ten prisoners in the program it has great potential to bring about true cultural change.
This conversation brought to mind Carla Shalaby's idea that schools are simply places where we teach children to go to school and that discipline parallels the punitive nature of prison discipline. Perhaps this is true about education as well. Do we need to train teachers in both cases about culture and bias first to develop an educational program that counteracts the forces that impact the human condition of being incarcerated or being young in our society? Do we need to convince funders of the value of educating these two groups of people as a humane and imperative act rather than a preparation for participation in society in roles defined for them by society?
Saturday, September 22, 2018
Rochester weekend
Breakfast at Mad Hatter on Friday with Pam. She is researching the history of the delta trying to better understand an area where her father grew up. Two books recommended to her by an employee at the Cotton Museum in Memphis, TN: Empire of Cotton: A Global History by Harvard history professor Sven Beckert and Rising Tide: The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How it Changed America by John Berry.
Saturday, dropped the car at Zeibart in Canandaigua for the annual undercoating. Had the interior steam cleaned. The exerior coated to protect the paint. On the way back to Fairport, we stopped at the Pittsford Farmer's Market, browsed the lumber store and bought a piece of olive wood to make a cheese board. Stopped to buy beeswax wraps from a woman who makes them locally, www.Weslee Rose.com. Stopped for a cupcake and coffee.
Visited Dad at FBH and spent some time cleaning up and editing the family tree. We ended up with a list of people he didn't recognize, but as soon as we were done he started to tell me stories. "You should write these down..." He talked about his grandparents and his father's sister who was much younger than his father and who helped raise the children after his mother died. Later in the evening when I returned from picking up the car he didn't seem anxious to get to bed. For a second night he hadn't gone out to change the calendar that hangs in the lounge, a job he's done every days for four years. He said he can't remember the date when he goes from his room where he has a calendar to the lounge. He said he told the woman who made the calendar that he couldn't do it. We went out for the second night and changed the date. Left after 9pm.
Saturday, dropped the car at Zeibart in Canandaigua for the annual undercoating. Had the interior steam cleaned. The exerior coated to protect the paint. On the way back to Fairport, we stopped at the Pittsford Farmer's Market, browsed the lumber store and bought a piece of olive wood to make a cheese board. Stopped to buy beeswax wraps from a woman who makes them locally, www.Weslee Rose.com. Stopped for a cupcake and coffee.
Visited Dad at FBH and spent some time cleaning up and editing the family tree. We ended up with a list of people he didn't recognize, but as soon as we were done he started to tell me stories. "You should write these down..." He talked about his grandparents and his father's sister who was much younger than his father and who helped raise the children after his mother died. Later in the evening when I returned from picking up the car he didn't seem anxious to get to bed. For a second night he hadn't gone out to change the calendar that hangs in the lounge, a job he's done every days for four years. He said he can't remember the date when he goes from his room where he has a calendar to the lounge. He said he told the woman who made the calendar that he couldn't do it. We went out for the second night and changed the date. Left after 9pm.
Thursday, September 20, 2018
Yarn and books
Saugerties, NY, located between the foot of the Catskill Mountains and the Hudson River and just across the river from Rhinebeck. It was a beautiful morning on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement; the day that my Godmother, Amy, died in 1996. It felt like a good day to take a slower drive up to Rochester along the Hudson and check out a new town.
The exit off the highway leads right into the Main Street of Saugerties, about two hours from Riverdale and an hour north of the turnoff for Route 17. Turned onto Main Street and then circled around a block to find parking. Discovered The Perfect Blend, Yarn & Tea Shop at 50 Market Street. The shop occupies two storefronts and there are yarns filling shelves along all the walls and through the center of the store. In the back room three women were working at a knitting table. The woman who greeted me mentioned the Sheep and Wood Festival in Rhinebeck coming up on October 20-21 and then mentioned that the Indie Untangled, the kickoff to the Festival, was taking place in Saugerties that Friday. I mentioned the one memory that sticks with me from my last visit to the Festival, the woman who spins wool from her live rabbit. "Oh, she works here on Mondays and Tuesdays!"
Walking down Main Street I saw the other store that caught my attention, Inquiring Minds Bookstore & Coffee House. A large corner property filled with books, seating and a coffee shop in the back. Children's books on the shelves near the entrance, NY Times on the coffee table by the seating, good coffee.
Stopped in a natural food shop and bought some snacks to take to Ellen's and headed north for Sodus. Arrived in Rochester around 9pm and spent my first night in my apartment. Mental list: a rug for the livingroom, rug for the bedroom and a place to sit in the kitchen.
The exit off the highway leads right into the Main Street of Saugerties, about two hours from Riverdale and an hour north of the turnoff for Route 17. Turned onto Main Street and then circled around a block to find parking. Discovered The Perfect Blend, Yarn & Tea Shop at 50 Market Street. The shop occupies two storefronts and there are yarns filling shelves along all the walls and through the center of the store. In the back room three women were working at a knitting table. The woman who greeted me mentioned the Sheep and Wood Festival in Rhinebeck coming up on October 20-21 and then mentioned that the Indie Untangled, the kickoff to the Festival, was taking place in Saugerties that Friday. I mentioned the one memory that sticks with me from my last visit to the Festival, the woman who spins wool from her live rabbit. "Oh, she works here on Mondays and Tuesdays!"
Walking down Main Street I saw the other store that caught my attention, Inquiring Minds Bookstore & Coffee House. A large corner property filled with books, seating and a coffee shop in the back. Children's books on the shelves near the entrance, NY Times on the coffee table by the seating, good coffee.
Stopped in a natural food shop and bought some snacks to take to Ellen's and headed north for Sodus. Arrived in Rochester around 9pm and spent my first night in my apartment. Mental list: a rug for the livingroom, rug for the bedroom and a place to sit in the kitchen.
Sunday, September 16, 2018
A new normal
I went into my underwear drawer this morning and pulled out Felicity's monkey shirt. The peek-a-boo face was smiling up at me! Happily there is no erasing the traces of a summer's visit. The claw machine teddy bear has landed on my bed looking like a placeholder.
It has been a beautiful Sunday and I started as I have so many Sundays before, seeking peace and meditation in gardening. I am realizing that I have been holding out for a feeling of normalcy; searching even while knowing that what I want normal to be is not hidden somewhere to be found.
I headed out to the garden to weed and tidy and clip away overgrown plants freeing up the paths we created so long ago for children to run through. The lavender is full still with some flowers. The grasses I brought back from the country after a visit with Martha and Harvey, a plant I almost pulled out thinking it would never come back, has rejuvenated and is sprouting slim green blades of tall grass. The marigolds have multiplied and ensure that we will have oranges and yellows into fall. The fig trees are very full with leaves, but sadly no figs. They are quite bushy so perhaps I haven't nurtured them to trees after all these years. They seem quite hardy as they have returned each year with beautiful greenery.
Denise and I went up to the farmer's market and I loved the chance to pick out just enough tasties to last until I leave for Rochester on Wed. We stopped for coffee at Buunni and discovered that the balcony was filled with blue grass musicians jamming on a Sunday morning. I was reminded that I need to get back to my violin if I am ever going to learn to fiddle. So, I returned home to practice violin with Violinlab and then headed out once more to buy the Sunday Times. It took me right near the Moss Cafe so I sat inside in the air conditioning with a flat white and read the paper. Came home to clean out another room; this time the library. I am sad that I didn't do it before Emma and Henry used it this summer, but it is now airy and much tidier. I am lightening the load of the house one step at a time in preparation for my salon.
It's just about 6:30pm and I am going to find the evening news hoping that something miraculous and hopeful will be reported. It would be so nice.
It has been a beautiful Sunday and I started as I have so many Sundays before, seeking peace and meditation in gardening. I am realizing that I have been holding out for a feeling of normalcy; searching even while knowing that what I want normal to be is not hidden somewhere to be found.
I headed out to the garden to weed and tidy and clip away overgrown plants freeing up the paths we created so long ago for children to run through. The lavender is full still with some flowers. The grasses I brought back from the country after a visit with Martha and Harvey, a plant I almost pulled out thinking it would never come back, has rejuvenated and is sprouting slim green blades of tall grass. The marigolds have multiplied and ensure that we will have oranges and yellows into fall. The fig trees are very full with leaves, but sadly no figs. They are quite bushy so perhaps I haven't nurtured them to trees after all these years. They seem quite hardy as they have returned each year with beautiful greenery.
Denise and I went up to the farmer's market and I loved the chance to pick out just enough tasties to last until I leave for Rochester on Wed. We stopped for coffee at Buunni and discovered that the balcony was filled with blue grass musicians jamming on a Sunday morning. I was reminded that I need to get back to my violin if I am ever going to learn to fiddle. So, I returned home to practice violin with Violinlab and then headed out once more to buy the Sunday Times. It took me right near the Moss Cafe so I sat inside in the air conditioning with a flat white and read the paper. Came home to clean out another room; this time the library. I am sad that I didn't do it before Emma and Henry used it this summer, but it is now airy and much tidier. I am lightening the load of the house one step at a time in preparation for my salon.
It's just about 6:30pm and I am going to find the evening news hoping that something miraculous and hopeful will be reported. It would be so nice.
Friday, September 14, 2018
Humid
it has been uncomfortably humid for several days; not summer, not fall. Someone remarked yesterday that we hadn’t seen the sun since the start of the week. The air has been heavy with moisture under a white sky.
I was speaking with a parent I met in the Nursery ten years ago and he was describing to me the diversity work taking place in his investment bank. The initiatives are primarily centered on advancing women and he had just learned the shift one company was making from mentoring to advocacy. Thinking about the need women have for advocates who can help to create an upward path by identifying what they need to do and alerting others that they are coming through. It’s an interesting shift from thinking about support as just holding someone up through coaching or leading the way through mentoring. Clearing the environment of obstacles seems a worthy undertaking.
I was speaking with a parent I met in the Nursery ten years ago and he was describing to me the diversity work taking place in his investment bank. The initiatives are primarily centered on advancing women and he had just learned the shift one company was making from mentoring to advocacy. Thinking about the need women have for advocates who can help to create an upward path by identifying what they need to do and alerting others that they are coming through. It’s an interesting shift from thinking about support as just holding someone up through coaching or leading the way through mentoring. Clearing the environment of obstacles seems a worthy undertaking.
Thursday, September 13, 2018
Primary election day
Today, I voted in the mid-term elections. The polling station is on the fifth floor of the new Manhattan College building; the one with the Starbucks in the lower level. For the first time, the volunteer turned to the last page of the voter registration book and Gregory's name was gone. I was the only Zuroski on the list, last in the alphabet. It takes a long time to disappear from public records.
Tuesday, September 11, 2018
Coming home
Before Dolly passed away she said to her children, "Don't let your dad get weird." She meant don't leave him alone too much. Don't let him do things just his way. He liked to putter and often disappeared from sight after dinner, driving around in his pick-up truck or sitting out in the garage or walking up to the Point.
Coming home last night after a glorious summer of rooming with Felicity and spending my days with Emma and her children I realized that I was still struggling with this state of being alone. It's not that I don't cherish the privacy and freedom of movement, but it is easy to settle into one's own head and not seek or remain open to others. I still need to find the balance.
I arrived in Newark Airport at 11:45pm and by the time I'd picked up the car at an off-site parking lot and driven home through the Holland Tunnel and up the Henry Hudson Parkway, it was 2am. I had been hesitant to walk back into a house strewn with bits and pieces of Emma's departure; diapers, toys, summer clothes and a whole line of outgrown shoes.
However, I walked in the door and felt a new energy and resolve. After seeing Connie in her new home talking about renovations and not waiting too long to create the home she wants and seeing Cordelia's house high up on the mountain outside of LA and overlooking the Pacific coast and Margate Canyon knowing she is about to leave it after 40 years to live in a condominium closer to her new grandchild in Northern California, I knew I had to find my own momentum and really move forward.
I've kept busy for five years, but have pretty much stayed still; working around the things I didn't want to change and creating newness, some sustainable and some not. I moved the dining room table back into the dining room. The space in the front hallway is refreshing.
Coming home last night after a glorious summer of rooming with Felicity and spending my days with Emma and her children I realized that I was still struggling with this state of being alone. It's not that I don't cherish the privacy and freedom of movement, but it is easy to settle into one's own head and not seek or remain open to others. I still need to find the balance.
I arrived in Newark Airport at 11:45pm and by the time I'd picked up the car at an off-site parking lot and driven home through the Holland Tunnel and up the Henry Hudson Parkway, it was 2am. I had been hesitant to walk back into a house strewn with bits and pieces of Emma's departure; diapers, toys, summer clothes and a whole line of outgrown shoes.
I've kept busy for five years, but have pretty much stayed still; working around the things I didn't want to change and creating newness, some sustainable and some not. I moved the dining room table back into the dining room. The space in the front hallway is refreshing.
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