This morning Amelia woke up very early, very excited, talking of monsters and pumpkins. Her eyes lit up when she saw the huge bowl of candy sitting on the table. She asked for a piece, calmly, and didn't seem to mind when we explained to her that it was for tonight, later, when the tricker treaters came to the house in their costumes.
We had a group hug and I headed out for the early bus. As I walked, I tried to think of a good opening for this week's blog. Originally, I had planned to write about how I wasn't superwoman, how this weekend I made a decision not to run the Healdsburg half-marathon, how I spent the weekend catching up on sleep and much needed family time instead.
And then a memory that use to be very painful came back to me, filling me with this amazing sense of calm. A long time ago. I was back east for Christmas and could only make a short dinner visit. On the drive over, I pulled over to throw-up. By the time I got to the house, I was sweating, and aching all over.
She took my temperature - it was 101 and climbing. I tried to brush it of, I would be fine, it was just a cold, I could only stay for a short time, and then I had to meet my other obligations. She insisted that I stay, lay down on her lap, and rest for awhile. After an hour of absolute comfort, I got up to go and the tears streamed down my face (the fever was high). I really did not want to leave.
She picked up the phone and rang my dad's house and I could hear her say that though I was stubborn and heading for the door, she was not going to let me go. My fever was over 102 now, and I had been vomiting. I needed to rest. Her voice was strong, authoritative. She was insisting that she knew what was best for me, that someone had to look out for me, because I was always looking out for everyone else.
That night, she put me to bed, the green room. She sang me to sleep like she did so many times when I was a child. In the morning, she made me pancakes. This is my last living memory of her. But every year, around this time, she and Pop-pop are with all of us. They are the spirit of Halloween. My sister and I talk about it sometimes, their overwhelming presence at this time.
When I go back to that space, the memories are crystal clear. I know this because I experience them with all my senses. I remember a line of kids that wrapped around the corner, waiting to meet the Doc and get their candy. We would run in and out of the door, taking in their building excitement, knowing how their eyes would light up. The air always smelled like cold chocolate outside and warm licorice inside.
That low table in the living room covered in small wicker baskets, each one packed high with full-sized candy bars, full packs of gum, and a basket of special treats that Pop-pop kept close at hand for the little ones with magic in their eyes. She would make a big-fuss, and he would wink and the parents as he gave the little one exactly what they imagined would be at the end of waiting.
We would eat candy, as much as we could possibly consume, no dinner, just candy. We would stay up late with our friends laughing so hard with sugar-highs, that a couple of times, one of us actually peed our pants.
I often wish there was some way to share the magic of Park Place with Amelia, that absolute feeling of happy-tired after a full day at the beach, swallowing so much sea water that your breath is short and shallow, that lazy Saturday morning cartoons and the biggest buttermilk pancakes that you have ever laid your eyes on, Stephen's Day (the day after Christmas), stealing a sip of champagne, cucumbers and Russian dressing, and a room full of toys and clothes and sweets.
All Hallow's Eve, cold, crisp night, when the whole town knows just what it means to be a part of that magical Park Place. That night when we were famous because we didn't have to wait in that line around the block - we could come and go as we pleased, having access to spaces that no one else could enter, but everyone assumed was full of even more magic...
And they were right.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Friday, October 7, 2011
The adventures of Nemo
All week I have felt like this small, little determined fish in the great big sea.
Monday I left the safety of the reef and made my own way down to orientation. I gave myself plenty of time assuming traffic would be bad. It was much worse than expected, so instead of arriving thirty minutes early, I was right on time and desperately needing to pee. I asked if I could sneak out before everything started and they told me to wait... and wait... and wait. Twenty minutes into it, a very nice woman said that I could go ahead, it was taking longer than expected to start up the intake process.
The first day kind of reminds me of that part in Nemo where Marlin is swimming around trying to figure out where to go. Come to think of it, there are lots of parts of the week when I am swimming around trying to figure out where to go. It's a big ocean. There was the usual orientation for contractors. Pretty straight-forward, get your stuff and get ready to move, fast. I made my way to my new building and met a co-worker who brought me to all the important stops in the building, fast, no chat, just here is this and here is that. Deadlines and annual review time. And she knew that we were going to lunch, which would be when we could relax a little.
The ocean is that way. There are designated times and spaces where it is OK to relax a bit and let your guard down.
The team went to lunch in one of the many cafes and then it was back to the desk to try and absorb all that is new around me. I had some green-behind-the-ears moments on the first day. Couldn't get into the wifi and couldn't find any outlets around my desk. Went to tech stop to sort out wifi - they couldn't figure it out. Raised a ticket to get a socket and connection point for an ethernet cable. On the start of my second day, realized that my backpack was blocking the outlets for my desk - and despite looking everywhere, it never occurred to me to move my bag. Also, in accessing wifi, I was entering the wrong security codes - it was my own human error. So I added a comment apologizing in a self-deprecating way. Something tells me that doesn't happen too often in the ticket tracking system.
Day two, facing one security wall after another, my manager, a warm woman with lots of experience, reached out to a friend to see if he could help. He suggested I come find him in the fish bowl. Having seen random fish around the place, I was looking for an actual fish bowl. Turns out it was just the nickname of the room where he and a group of writers work (these guys are amazing, seriously). He introduced me to this very cool woman. I hesitate to call her Dory, as she is incredibly smart. But she is Dory in the way that she is kind and so very open to helping you get to where you need to go. I left work on day two still feeling like a small fish in the big sea, but not so alone anymore.
Day three, an opportunity to do real work, a chance to show that I am pretty good at this writing stuff. I decided to bring myself to the giant blue fish upstairs (I am not speaking metaphorically here). I spent a few hours working away in the body of a big blue fish with a big red bed. The work felt good. And there is something about my experience that is very different to the world here that might add a tiny bit of unexpected value. It is still early and I am humble. But I see a glimmer of hope. I am a pretty good writer.
Day four was a somber day. Steve passed away and there are lots of people around me who are genuinely sad. You cannot help but feel it, the loss of someone so great who has touched so many lives. That very sacredness of striving for excellence no matter what - a complete denial of the politics that normally dictates the pace of the corporate world, a true creator... I continued to make baby-steps towards real productivity. And I started to get a feel for the varying people on the teams that I will be working with. It is going to be very important for me to show people what it is that I am good at, but I need to do it in a way that is subtle, non-invasive. It will happen. One day soon. But I can't push too hard. It doesn't feel right. I need to make some significant strides on my own, kind of like Nemo swimming up the filter. At the end of day four, I got an email from 'Dory' - she sent it to all the new writers - a chance to earn my first tee shirt. I ran out of the office over to one of the cafes, participated in an experiment, and went home chuffed about my new shirt.
Each morning and night, I have been joking with the bus drivers - nice guys who have helped me out. And I couldn't help but notice that people don't talk to the bus drivers and not many people actually talk to each other, even just a polite smile and hi is a rarity. Then last night its like all my preconceptions came tumbling down. I turned to the person I was sitting next to and asked him a unix question and wound up talking the rest of the way home about his mad job (he spent the weekend in promotions with a famous enough rock band). As I got off the bus and said my usual good night to the bus driver, all the other people getting off said good night to the driver too. I realized that even though I am a little fish, I am making an impact.
This morning, I decided to wear my running gear on the bus, thinking I might be able to sneak in a run before the morning started. And I started to notice around me that lots and lots of people were wearing work-out clothes. As I got off the bus, I waved to the bus driver, and he beeped and smiled. I dropped off my bag at my desk and headed off for a run on this glorious Fall morning in sunny California. So many people running and waving and smiling. Friday is like a different ocean all together here. Heading up to my desk afterwards, there was a coffee station set up with fresh blueberry cake and decent music playing.
I grabbed my Odwalla and headed up to my desk feeling pretty darn Googley.
Monday I left the safety of the reef and made my own way down to orientation. I gave myself plenty of time assuming traffic would be bad. It was much worse than expected, so instead of arriving thirty minutes early, I was right on time and desperately needing to pee. I asked if I could sneak out before everything started and they told me to wait... and wait... and wait. Twenty minutes into it, a very nice woman said that I could go ahead, it was taking longer than expected to start up the intake process.
The first day kind of reminds me of that part in Nemo where Marlin is swimming around trying to figure out where to go. Come to think of it, there are lots of parts of the week when I am swimming around trying to figure out where to go. It's a big ocean. There was the usual orientation for contractors. Pretty straight-forward, get your stuff and get ready to move, fast. I made my way to my new building and met a co-worker who brought me to all the important stops in the building, fast, no chat, just here is this and here is that. Deadlines and annual review time. And she knew that we were going to lunch, which would be when we could relax a little.
The ocean is that way. There are designated times and spaces where it is OK to relax a bit and let your guard down.
The team went to lunch in one of the many cafes and then it was back to the desk to try and absorb all that is new around me. I had some green-behind-the-ears moments on the first day. Couldn't get into the wifi and couldn't find any outlets around my desk. Went to tech stop to sort out wifi - they couldn't figure it out. Raised a ticket to get a socket and connection point for an ethernet cable. On the start of my second day, realized that my backpack was blocking the outlets for my desk - and despite looking everywhere, it never occurred to me to move my bag. Also, in accessing wifi, I was entering the wrong security codes - it was my own human error. So I added a comment apologizing in a self-deprecating way. Something tells me that doesn't happen too often in the ticket tracking system.
Day two, facing one security wall after another, my manager, a warm woman with lots of experience, reached out to a friend to see if he could help. He suggested I come find him in the fish bowl. Having seen random fish around the place, I was looking for an actual fish bowl. Turns out it was just the nickname of the room where he and a group of writers work (these guys are amazing, seriously). He introduced me to this very cool woman. I hesitate to call her Dory, as she is incredibly smart. But she is Dory in the way that she is kind and so very open to helping you get to where you need to go. I left work on day two still feeling like a small fish in the big sea, but not so alone anymore.
Day three, an opportunity to do real work, a chance to show that I am pretty good at this writing stuff. I decided to bring myself to the giant blue fish upstairs (I am not speaking metaphorically here). I spent a few hours working away in the body of a big blue fish with a big red bed. The work felt good. And there is something about my experience that is very different to the world here that might add a tiny bit of unexpected value. It is still early and I am humble. But I see a glimmer of hope. I am a pretty good writer.
Day four was a somber day. Steve passed away and there are lots of people around me who are genuinely sad. You cannot help but feel it, the loss of someone so great who has touched so many lives. That very sacredness of striving for excellence no matter what - a complete denial of the politics that normally dictates the pace of the corporate world, a true creator... I continued to make baby-steps towards real productivity. And I started to get a feel for the varying people on the teams that I will be working with. It is going to be very important for me to show people what it is that I am good at, but I need to do it in a way that is subtle, non-invasive. It will happen. One day soon. But I can't push too hard. It doesn't feel right. I need to make some significant strides on my own, kind of like Nemo swimming up the filter. At the end of day four, I got an email from 'Dory' - she sent it to all the new writers - a chance to earn my first tee shirt. I ran out of the office over to one of the cafes, participated in an experiment, and went home chuffed about my new shirt.
Each morning and night, I have been joking with the bus drivers - nice guys who have helped me out. And I couldn't help but notice that people don't talk to the bus drivers and not many people actually talk to each other, even just a polite smile and hi is a rarity. Then last night its like all my preconceptions came tumbling down. I turned to the person I was sitting next to and asked him a unix question and wound up talking the rest of the way home about his mad job (he spent the weekend in promotions with a famous enough rock band). As I got off the bus and said my usual good night to the bus driver, all the other people getting off said good night to the driver too. I realized that even though I am a little fish, I am making an impact.
This morning, I decided to wear my running gear on the bus, thinking I might be able to sneak in a run before the morning started. And I started to notice around me that lots and lots of people were wearing work-out clothes. As I got off the bus, I waved to the bus driver, and he beeped and smiled. I dropped off my bag at my desk and headed off for a run on this glorious Fall morning in sunny California. So many people running and waving and smiling. Friday is like a different ocean all together here. Heading up to my desk afterwards, there was a coffee station set up with fresh blueberry cake and decent music playing.
I grabbed my Odwalla and headed up to my desk feeling pretty darn Googley.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Stream of consciousness farewell
After 11 years, I am leaving my first real job, and I can't help but reflect on the amazing ride that it has been. I genuinely believe in the importance of capturing these reflections in writing so that some day when I am much older and the memory isn't as good as it use to be, I can revisit that younger self. But I also want to make sure that I am abiding by the blogging code of honor for these types of topics. So I have decided to attempt to write my farewell using one of my favorite writing techniques - stream-of-consciousness. Most of you won't have a clue what I am talking about, some of you might recognize bits and pieces, and a small handful of you will know it all, as we shared this time together.
Raining. Presenting my papers for the first time - excited to see him at the gate. Joking with the immigration guard-- 'Why would you ever want to move here, ah, for love, except for love.' Everything I own in bags and boxes strewn across the airport floor, trying to find his number written on one of the many pieces of paper in the folder with all that other important stuff. I need to get more organized. I have no change, so I am going to have to dial collect. But I haven't a clue how to dial collect here. The phone is ringing but no one answers. The taxi driver isn't very pleased with all my bags. He drives me to the address, and I get in the gate and tell him to leave me at the door to the apartment building. And I ring the bell. Over and over again. Finally he comes down, hung-over, half-awake. He forgot to pick me up. He forgot I was moving to Ireland.
First day in the office. The business park is under construction. The building is cold. No one is here except the guy in ICT. He is laying cables and he shows me a desk where I can sit. There is no phone, no computer, no people. Printed documents for me to read, a few screen-shots printed out in black-and-white. I am the first one to work in the new office block. The phone comes first, then a machine, the network, and slowly more people start to populate the desks. The team arrives, only they aren't going to be my team. I am being moved off the marketing team, heading upstairs to engineering. And I take a seat next to my boss. He is most people's boss. There are lots and lots of people around all the time.
The first job is to write a suite of user guides. I am the first person to press every button, link to every page, try and complete every single business process all within a short period of time. I have lots of questions, I am gaining confidence, raising bugs, wanting to do more and more. I am driving him nuts, in a good way, I hope. Most nights I go home lonely though, to a wet, cold, dirty Dublin flat. After weeks of watching them get off the bus and go for pints, arriving in the next day with hang-overs, I finally get the courage to ask if I can join them. And so life in Ireland begins. I become the editor of the company newsletter. I know everyone and everyone knows me. I know what is going on, and people come to me for knowledge, gossip, support.
The company reaches out to NYC in their time of need. I am writing about unimaginable things. We believe in something. And we start to work long hours. All of us. A make-shift golf-course is built behind my desk. For weeks, he tried to get a ball in the hole and failed - I could not contain myself, knowing that they put magnets in his ball. Finally he catches on to my bright red face.
I am no longer alone. I have a peer who is with me for the long haul. The team continues to grow. I have a mortgage. I make lists and I check off every item on every one of them. I am torn between the two worlds of wanting to know how stuff works and wanting the team to be successful, to represent something that is more than just the words we put to paper. For the most part, we are successful, but we do have a hard release that teaches us some very important lessons, like never stay in the office all-night. Sneak out even if it is just for a short-while, long enough to take a shower, change clothes, brush the teeth. I am running all the time, fast, far. The head is clear as I face the next adventure.
I am married now and we are trying to buy a house, which isn't easy. I am trying to embrace the notion of raising a family here while never truly being Irish. Friends move on, far away, peers are dispersed, and I take on a new job, working with the best team that may ever cross my path. We challenge each other, we respect each other, we get stuff done fast and to a high standard. We are all friends. This is our life. We don't want much else beyond the work and the occasional night of free beer.
I am asked to leave the team that I love and rebuild. It is hard to leave that which is all I ever wanted in a career. But I do. I want to share this with the peers that got lost in translation. I am studying, I am pregnant, I am sick, I am a mom, I am finished the dissertation and back to work. Things have changed in my absence. No one writes the newsletter anymore. Childcare isn't great and it is incredibly hard to leave her each day. But I am determined to make it work, to get my mojo back. We are trying to decide whether or not to move to California.
We move to Noe Valley, so different than we remember it - all of us are grown now, lots of kids and dogs. It takes just over a month, but we start to settle in, a new house, a great daycare, old friendships renewed, and new ones on the horizon. The sun is shining and it looks like things just might settle into a rhythm. The job changes. And I am trying to embrace the freedoms that less responsibility affords me. But it isn't in me. My daughter is thriving, and I want to be that mom who is comfortable in my skin, which means I need to find that spark again.
I think I know how to get it back, and I begin to work hard to make it happen. Someone whom I admire takes me under his wing and gives me something to get stuck into. I am studying, negotiating, running, working out solutions from as many angles as possible, never closing any door that might just be the right one. A new door opens a little bit, and I decide to stick my foot in it. I am nervous about leaving that familiar space for something so completely unknown, but I like the way it makes me feel, to be new among a settled group, to know nothing among some of the cleverest peers.
This week is quiet-- a few quiet emails from people wishing me the best of luck, some harder ones from those who are like family. I have teared up a couple of times, and felt unsure as to whether or not that is OK, to be sad saying goodbye, and yet completely incapable of separating the personal from the professional in so many instances of the past 11 years. I am nervous about the unfamiliar. Will I be as known as I have been; will I be as able? Will there be a clearer line between work and home, or will those lines become blurred again as I will love what I do so much that I will need to merge the two together? Will I have a golf-course behind my desk?
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
I'm bringing sexy back...
On Sunday, I ran for 60-minutes, which I havent' done in a very long time. And at some point along the run, with the sun shining over the bay, thousands of people noticing each other and their surroundings on the day that was in it, I started thinking about this week's blog, and I how I wanted very much to write something that wasn't heavy - I wanted to have fun with it.
And I remembered back in the day, being editor of the engineering newsletter, every Friday chasing up team leads for the weekly news, interviewing one or two people offsite, working on customer projects. There was something very comforting in liasing across groups, doing my utmost to convince the least interested that they could get something out of partcipating in this space. Each week, I would write an intro and most weeks I would find something funny, a picture, a story, something I wrote myself. My style back then was as I am when you meet me - babbling, warm, sometimes surprising people with a darker side of humor.
In direct contrast to my writing style as newsletter editor, most of my blog entries (if not all of them) are heavy going. One of the things that keeps me writing each week is that the blog allows me to work out the bits and pieces swimming in my head so that I am freerer and more relaxed in my daily life. Looking back across the lifespace of the blog, I have to admit to myself that if I read my blog, I am not sure I would want to meet me. I'd seem far too serious about life. As the blog evolves, I want my readers to know that side of self that is much lighter.
Running towards the Golden Gate, determined to touch the bridge before I turned back, I thought about how very much I wanted to shed the extra weight that I am carrying, both physically and metaphorically. As I touched the red iron and made my decent back towards Chrissy Fields, Timberlakes, "I'm bringing sexy back" started playing. My stride seemed to take on this little wiggle that could only be a disturbing sight for the hundreds of tourists around me...
But I couldn't help it, things are in motion now, change is happening, and I am seeing things in a brighter shade of grey.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
On collaboration
This is the first time that I have decided to blog about politics. I have friends and family who fall on all sides of the political spectrum, from tea party goers (my step-grandparents), to independents (my mother), true Democrats (my sister), true Republicans (child friend, Tara), to the farthest left that is possible (my father).
When I listen to my friends and family talk about their positions, I see logic from all sides. And I immediately want to bridge the gaps between the differing viewpoints that I am experiencing.
What I am struggling with right now is that we seem to have reached an impasse in our society where we are no longer able to hear each other - we are no longer willing to embrace the very grey nature of humanness, that there isn't one right or one wrong, but that true Democracy is born out of checks and balances.
Yes, I am naturally a liberal at heart, but that hasn't had a negative effect on my relationship with any of the friends and family who fall on different sides of the political spectrum. We can openly engage with each other, and though sometimes I am angry and find myself feeling as if the ability to bridge our ideas is hopeless, we eventually get there.
There is a reason for this - when I talk to family and friends, we are interested in collaborating with each other - we care and respect each other. We want to find a common ground despite our different viewpoints. And when we do, in our conversations, in our lifestyle choices, it is the best mix of all worlds.
I truly believe that the key to fixing the stalemate that we seem to have reached in our society is for each and every one of us to embrace the principles of collaboration. Before I start listing these, I want to persuade my critics. There are lots of people out there who see the concept of 'collaboration' as wishy-washy, as a fizzled attempt to real action.
Recently, there has been a debate in the technology sphere about the importance of fostering a 'decider' driven culture (Apple) versus a 'collaborative' culture (Google)-- thanks, Gina, for giving us bloggers a forum for this conversation (http://smarterware.org/8484/design-by-visionary-vs-crowd). Though I am collaborator at heart, I can still see the very real benefit of having people in positions of power capable of making important decisions and seeing them through.
If we are to take the technology stage as a potential metaphor for society, then it is very easy to see that both Apple and Google make amazing products and are very successful in their industries, and they are achieving this success taking different approaches to innovation and implementation.
Let us imagine for a brief moment that Apple and Google decided to merge together, and create some very important product(s) that would solve some very important problems. What would happen in this endeavor? Would there be a stalemate, much like there is in this government? Or, perhaps, would the two companies be able to create something amazing?
I would like to believe in my heart that the best of Apple (including Steve for as much as he is able) and the best of Google would be able to sit in a room with the biggest white board of all time and start hashing out some very real solutions to those very real problems. And at the end of that mythical meeting, there would be a list of actions that could be targeted, along with the ones that were pie-in-the-sky, and the ones that were going to take too long to be worth the investment, but might be worth considering once the seriousness of the problem was downgraded.
Last night Padhraic and I watched the Inside Story and we both went to bed feeling this very icky yucky feeling - and I haven't been able to let go of this feeling inside myself that it is time for the country to stop bowing down to the financial industry and start looking toward companies that make real products. While I can respect lots and lots of people who would say that corporations like Apple and Google are big and have their faults, no one can say that providing real product is the same thing as the mythical institutions that have become our banking and political systems.
Returning to the topic of this blog, I did a very quick 'Google' search on the 'principles of collaboration' and found a NASA document on the 'principles and best practices' of collaboration (http://ldp.nasa.gov/collab_handbook.pdf) that is fairly straightforward. In my own circle of family and friends, here is the very basic list of ingredients that have been fundamental to collaboration:
- Listen to what other people have to say and if you don't understand, ask for a simple analogy.
- In turn, when you talk about your own viewpoint, give analogies that match others who are listening.
- Be strong in your convictions, but warm in your demeanor. The best way to do this is self-deprecation - admit mistakes and what these have taught you along the way.
- Appreciate the success or common sense of differing viewpoints.
- Never lose your sense of humor.
- Walk into collaboration with an acceptance of compromise.
- Finally, be aware of non-collaborative situations and politely disengage
Are we truly at this point, where collaboration is not possible? Would it be better to disengage for a bit, and see what happens? Can we regroup? What does this mean on a global scale? I'm nervous about this, and think it might be a better idea to get the tech execs in a room with a whiteboard to try and solve the political problems with technological solutions rather than completely disengage.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A sign of aging
For most generations, there has been a technology cut-off point at which time a person decides they are no longer interested or willing to take on the latest and greatest; simply put - they are happier with what they know than having to approach the learning curve and replace existing machinery. For example, my mom does not send emails. My parents-in-law have never used their DVD player.
There are always exceptions - people who are happier to learn new things rather than hold on to the comfort of what they know and are familiar with. I had always assumed that I was one of these people - I would happily adapt to life as it came at me, exploring all the great new things that are invented over the years.
There have been a few instances over the past few years in which I have not bought into the hype of certain technological advancements. For example, I never liked Facebook. I felt like it represented all the worst parts of junior high. I reluctantly used it when my husband set up an account for our daughter, and posted all our pictures there. And while I can appreciate the significance of the social networking revolution, I still believe that 'making friends' is sacred.
At Christmas, I was given a Kindle, and I started off buying all sorts of books, reading in bed with the very cool little light attached to the green cover. But for some reason or another, I have yet to finish any single book that I have purchased on the Kindle. I have managed to finish one textbook on the Kindle app on my desktop, but something about me reading in bed with that little mechanism hasn't quite caught on. I need to turn the page with my fingers. I like to fold the pages back and write all sorts of notes to myself in the margin. Reading in my private space is sacred.
Before I moved to Ireland, I use to get the Sunday paper delivered to my house and I would read it start to cover. In Ireland, I had to resort to the digital version of the New York Times, and I always swore it wasn't the same. Now that I am back living in the States, I get the Sunday paper delivered. There has been more than one Sunday when the paper has remained in its plastic cover for days, only to be placed in the recycling bin. I have discovered that I don't really like trying to read an article over multiple pages, having to fold back the cumbersome paper, searching everywhere for something I want to read (or finishing reading). Over the years, I have gotten use to reading the news online and I prefer it.
For the longest time, I didn't want a mobile phone as I didn't like being contactable at all times and locations. When technology made it possible for me to get email on my phone, I started to use it regularly. I still don't answer all my calls all the time, but I like being able to read and respond to mail, have access to the internet, and be able to figure out where I am going. While I love my iPod, I am not in love with the iPad. Both my husband and my daughter use it all the time. Whenever I use it, I feel like I am being silenced, as there isn't a proper keyboard to communicate what I want to say quickly and in a seamless fashion. Yes, I know, I could carry around a keyboard and attach it to the device, but is that using it the way it should be used? Surely this is a sign of aging since most techies I know love their tablets.
Last but not least, the game of Scrabble. Over vacation with a group of friends, there were many games going on among varying groups on multiple iPads. For those of you who haven't played the Scrabble application - the default rules are not the same as the 'traditional' rules. For starters, you can use a dictionary to look up words. You can also do a quick check for two-letter possibilities. The game won't let you put down a word that isn't real and you can happily remove it and replace it without being challenged by a different player. And the craziest option yet - you can ask the game to give you the best word (there is a little icon which tells the other players that you have done this).
For days I tried to argue that the Scrabble application has turned the game into one more about luck than skill. But then Julie said to me that this new way of playing is a great way to learn new words, much better than relying on the knowledge of other players using the traditional game board. And she is right - a few days playing the game, I have a much wider vocabulary and a better arsenal to work with. I am still feeling ambivalent about this - the reliance on a dictionary and a machine to do the 'thinking' for you still doesn't feel right to me.
Someday I will live up to the dream of being a 'cool-granny' (imagining myself with spiked hair, blue jeans, and a very hip vintage tee-shirt). I won't be the slighted bit nervous to own a flying vehicle, head off into outer-space, or live in the depths of the ocean. But I have a feeling when it comes to gadgets, there will be a fine line between letting go of the sacred and embracing the latest trend.
There are always exceptions - people who are happier to learn new things rather than hold on to the comfort of what they know and are familiar with. I had always assumed that I was one of these people - I would happily adapt to life as it came at me, exploring all the great new things that are invented over the years.
There have been a few instances over the past few years in which I have not bought into the hype of certain technological advancements. For example, I never liked Facebook. I felt like it represented all the worst parts of junior high. I reluctantly used it when my husband set up an account for our daughter, and posted all our pictures there. And while I can appreciate the significance of the social networking revolution, I still believe that 'making friends' is sacred.
At Christmas, I was given a Kindle, and I started off buying all sorts of books, reading in bed with the very cool little light attached to the green cover. But for some reason or another, I have yet to finish any single book that I have purchased on the Kindle. I have managed to finish one textbook on the Kindle app on my desktop, but something about me reading in bed with that little mechanism hasn't quite caught on. I need to turn the page with my fingers. I like to fold the pages back and write all sorts of notes to myself in the margin. Reading in my private space is sacred.
Before I moved to Ireland, I use to get the Sunday paper delivered to my house and I would read it start to cover. In Ireland, I had to resort to the digital version of the New York Times, and I always swore it wasn't the same. Now that I am back living in the States, I get the Sunday paper delivered. There has been more than one Sunday when the paper has remained in its plastic cover for days, only to be placed in the recycling bin. I have discovered that I don't really like trying to read an article over multiple pages, having to fold back the cumbersome paper, searching everywhere for something I want to read (or finishing reading). Over the years, I have gotten use to reading the news online and I prefer it.
For the longest time, I didn't want a mobile phone as I didn't like being contactable at all times and locations. When technology made it possible for me to get email on my phone, I started to use it regularly. I still don't answer all my calls all the time, but I like being able to read and respond to mail, have access to the internet, and be able to figure out where I am going. While I love my iPod, I am not in love with the iPad. Both my husband and my daughter use it all the time. Whenever I use it, I feel like I am being silenced, as there isn't a proper keyboard to communicate what I want to say quickly and in a seamless fashion. Yes, I know, I could carry around a keyboard and attach it to the device, but is that using it the way it should be used? Surely this is a sign of aging since most techies I know love their tablets.
Last but not least, the game of Scrabble. Over vacation with a group of friends, there were many games going on among varying groups on multiple iPads. For those of you who haven't played the Scrabble application - the default rules are not the same as the 'traditional' rules. For starters, you can use a dictionary to look up words. You can also do a quick check for two-letter possibilities. The game won't let you put down a word that isn't real and you can happily remove it and replace it without being challenged by a different player. And the craziest option yet - you can ask the game to give you the best word (there is a little icon which tells the other players that you have done this).
For days I tried to argue that the Scrabble application has turned the game into one more about luck than skill. But then Julie said to me that this new way of playing is a great way to learn new words, much better than relying on the knowledge of other players using the traditional game board. And she is right - a few days playing the game, I have a much wider vocabulary and a better arsenal to work with. I am still feeling ambivalent about this - the reliance on a dictionary and a machine to do the 'thinking' for you still doesn't feel right to me.
Someday I will live up to the dream of being a 'cool-granny' (imagining myself with spiked hair, blue jeans, and a very hip vintage tee-shirt). I won't be the slighted bit nervous to own a flying vehicle, head off into outer-space, or live in the depths of the ocean. But I have a feeling when it comes to gadgets, there will be a fine line between letting go of the sacred and embracing the latest trend.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Sandy sheets
My husband is an incredibly conscientious person. He has always lived his life in this way - that as you take on new responsibilities, you must make sure that the existing ones are met first, and only after careful consideration can you let go of one responsibility in order to fill a more important one. I have always admired this about him and have tried to emulate his way of life. But what I am starting to realize is that this way of life is incredibly difficult to lead in families where both parents are passionate about their work.
In my husband's family, his father went to work for the civil service, had lots of vacation time, a long lunch every day, and came home at 5 each day. His mother had to give up her career as soon as she was married. She spent her life raising five children (all of whom have turned out to be great people). Each night when Paddy came home, he would take the children so that Nora could make the dinner in peace. After dinner, he would do the dishes with the children, while Nora could do something else on her own, like listening to the news and ironing the clothes. There was a balance to this life, a security that meant that everything would get done at a certain pace in a very predictable manner.
The women in my family have always worked. They have also raised the children mostly on their own. I am not by any means like these women. I have a supportive husband who gives all that he can to me and Amelia. But still, there is something tricky about juggling the two passions of home and career that seem to be capable of 'bumping' into each other at any given moment. And lately I have been trying to uncover that magical equation that enabled the women in my family to juggle so much more than seemingly possible.
Yesterday morning, waking up with my daughter asleep on my head, I had this flashback to my grandmother's house, that sensation of climbing into any given bed at any given time (we often rotated depending on who was living and/or visiting the house), and that strange sensation of rolling sand as your feet made their way down to the bottom of the covers. Sandy sheets. My grandmother rarely, if ever, changed the sheets in the various bedrooms. All through the summer, the sheets were covered in sand. The memories are so vivid, the smell of ivory soap mixed with ocean, sand, and the many heads that laid on that same pillow in any given summer month.
In the modern family, we try and keep everything ticking along by formulating some sort of 'priority' system - almost like our own in-house bug tracking system. Critical bugs are taken care-of immediately, like a sick child or a family crisis. High bugs get sorted in service packs (almost seasonal) - like work deadlines, school transitions. Maintenance tasks that we take on at the end of the day, washing the dishes, taking out the trash, and cleaning the sheets. I have often found great satisfaction in those things labeled as 'maintenance' - the assurance that no matter what else was left undone, I could successfully clean the kitchen. But when things seem to get squished, it is the maintenance tasks that annoy me the most. And there is something comforting in observing the cracks in the domestic space of the women in my life - their ability to push against a priority system in their worlds that did not match the way they wanted to (or perhaps were able to) live their own lives.
In my husband's family, his father went to work for the civil service, had lots of vacation time, a long lunch every day, and came home at 5 each day. His mother had to give up her career as soon as she was married. She spent her life raising five children (all of whom have turned out to be great people). Each night when Paddy came home, he would take the children so that Nora could make the dinner in peace. After dinner, he would do the dishes with the children, while Nora could do something else on her own, like listening to the news and ironing the clothes. There was a balance to this life, a security that meant that everything would get done at a certain pace in a very predictable manner.
The women in my family have always worked. They have also raised the children mostly on their own. I am not by any means like these women. I have a supportive husband who gives all that he can to me and Amelia. But still, there is something tricky about juggling the two passions of home and career that seem to be capable of 'bumping' into each other at any given moment. And lately I have been trying to uncover that magical equation that enabled the women in my family to juggle so much more than seemingly possible.
Yesterday morning, waking up with my daughter asleep on my head, I had this flashback to my grandmother's house, that sensation of climbing into any given bed at any given time (we often rotated depending on who was living and/or visiting the house), and that strange sensation of rolling sand as your feet made their way down to the bottom of the covers. Sandy sheets. My grandmother rarely, if ever, changed the sheets in the various bedrooms. All through the summer, the sheets were covered in sand. The memories are so vivid, the smell of ivory soap mixed with ocean, sand, and the many heads that laid on that same pillow in any given summer month.
In the modern family, we try and keep everything ticking along by formulating some sort of 'priority' system - almost like our own in-house bug tracking system. Critical bugs are taken care-of immediately, like a sick child or a family crisis. High bugs get sorted in service packs (almost seasonal) - like work deadlines, school transitions. Maintenance tasks that we take on at the end of the day, washing the dishes, taking out the trash, and cleaning the sheets. I have often found great satisfaction in those things labeled as 'maintenance' - the assurance that no matter what else was left undone, I could successfully clean the kitchen. But when things seem to get squished, it is the maintenance tasks that annoy me the most. And there is something comforting in observing the cracks in the domestic space of the women in my life - their ability to push against a priority system in their worlds that did not match the way they wanted to (or perhaps were able to) live their own lives.
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