heat (friday foto finder)

This is the gas heater from my grandmother’s house, in the mountains of Colorado.

I took this photo in 2004. (It was years after my grandmother died, when my mother lived in the house. But in my memory, it is always my grandmother’s house.) This visit was in August, so the heat was off.

I wish I had photos of it lit, so I could show you the gas flames.

I wish I could share with you the pictures in my head of my sister and I huddled in front of the heater on cold winter mornings.

The house was an old one, with the merest nods to insulation. It had been originally built as a summer house, and then enlarged to become a year-round home. My memories of the house are warm, but in the winter most of the house was cold. The room my sister and I shared upstairs, on visits to our grandmother and for the one year when we lived with her, had a smaller gas heater in it, a wall unit that connected to our grandmother’s room next door. That heater was rarely lit, though, and mornings (especially mornings) in the bedrooms were cold. Frost-on-the-window-panes cold. I remember getting up out of the cozy double bed my sister and I shared (the bed that had once belonged to my great grandmother), climbing out from under the blankets and heavy comforter, and emerging into the chill of the bedroom. We’d rush downstairs, seeking out the relative warmth (and the house’s only bathroom). We’d sit on the floor in our nightgowns those cold dark mornings right in front of the heater, bathed in its warmth and glow. I remember leaning back against the short hallway wall the heater faced, and stretching out with icy hands or feet to warm my fingers and toes, holding them as close to the heater as I dared, my eyes transfixed by the glowing patterns of the ceramic grates and the dancing blues and oranges of the flickering gas flames.

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This rather chilly post was brought to you by this week’s prompt for friday foto finder: heat. Please go see what heat others have to share.

p.s. I just noticed that my post title read “friday foot finder,” thanks to autocorrect. This makes me giggle, but I have changed it anyhow.¹

¹ Really, this needed to be a footnote.

Left (friday foto finder)

Okay, az, you’ve talked me into it. I’ll try my hand at joining in Archie‘s friday foto finder, a weekly photo-sharing activity.

This week’s theme is “Left.” This photo is one from a 2009 trip to San Francisco, a left-leaning city on the US Left Coast. Here we are on a left-leaning ramp, with left-pointing arrows.

3 fruit silhouettes

Here are 3 pictures of fruits I have taken over several years.
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Apples, from October, 2008. (In a Massachusetts apple orchard.)

Image
Oranges, from September, 2009. (In Sevilla, Spain.)

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Unknown type of berries¹, a few days ago. (In Massachusetts.)

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¹ I really wish I’d had recent access to a banana tree, since that would make a better set. The last time I saw one was probably in Brazil in 1991, and I didn’t get any photos. But I do like the berries.

The Accursed Book Review

Once upon a time there was a young graduate student, or if not young, at least one who as yet had no gray hairs on her head, who embarked on her journey towards the degree of Doctorate of Philosophy with great optimism and arrogance. She was confident that she would not be one of those for whom large numbers of harvests would pass before reaping the Golden Fruits of Doctorhood. Her hubris angered the gods of Mount Academia, who saw fit to place a curse that the student would forever make progress, forever see the end in sight, but forever get distracted by Other Things, until such day as her hair turned gray and her University turned her out.

Back when I started my PhD program, I imagined that I’d work through my various pre-dissertation requirements in a timely way. I mean, everyone knows it’s hard to finish a dissertation, right? But the other stuff, well that’s not such a big deal. I was already ahead in terms of course requirements, and in having completed my Master’s, had a head start on some other major requirements. Practically a Mere Technicality, the Book Review was to be something on a par with a course project. All you had to do was pick a relatively recent linguistics book, read it, and write a 12 to 15 page review.

Officially, according to the program requirements, it should be completed in the first year of PhD studies. (Not that most do.) Having received my Master’s in the fall of 2004, that was when I officially started the PhD program. I was on a reasonably reasonable schedule, picking my review book in that first year or so. I set to reading it. Slowly. Very, very slowly I read it. At some point, I lost it. Then found it. Probably realized I didn’t remember what I’d read. Started to reread it. Come 2006 I had read the book, but hadn’t yet written anything, when I experienced what might be considered a distraction from my studies. At some point later, John (my husband) tried to talk me into getting a Kindle. As a selling point, he told me about some books he found that were available. “They even have that one you keep falling asleep reading.” Yeah, that would be the Damned Book Review book.

A couple of years and another distraction later, my advisor and I agreed that I should pick a new book for the Damned Book Review. We picked a newly released updated edition by a noted person in my field. I plowed in diligently, being sure to take careful notes this time as I went. I was Determined. But then I realized along the way that reviewing a new edition should involve comparing it to the old one, which I had read before, but years earlier. I’d have to go through it again. The task went slowly. I got demoralized, thinking that I wasn’t really a great person to review the book. I mean, I had met with and corresponded with the author, who, as I said, was a quite well known person in my field. Who was I to criticize?

Come late 2010, I switched once more to a more recent book, this time by an author I’d never met! Who worked in my field, but a different analytic tradition! Yeah, I could critique that. I dug in. But I don’t know, other things came up along the way that were a higher priority. I’d read a chapter or 2, and then get caught up in some new wave of work deadlines or family crisis. Back in April or so I was provoked to make a new push to get through some more of my requirements, including the Damned Book Review. (Remind me to tell you about the Form of Shame.) I finished reading and had amassed 40 pages of notes. I was getting so freakin’ close. But not quite close enough. I had to switch gears to get ready for my trip to China and my presentation there. Next thing you know another couple of months and several new crunches and deadlines have passed before I got myself back to the Damned Book Review. Last week, suddenly free of other pressing deadlines, I dug back in.

And you know what? Today, while sitting in my in-laws’ basement and keeping Theo company while he rode a vintage tricycle around in circles and played with a pile of vintage matchbox cars, I reached a point that could be considered…good enough to send a draft to my advisor.

So, maybe not done. But 3 books and 8 years later, damn if it isn’t doner than it’s ever been.

Sparkle + unicorn – uni

Here’s a little bit about a BlogHer party that I mostly wrote on the train on my way back from NY, but it got out of hand to include in the post I put up that night.

I wasn’t really sure about going to parties at BlogHer this year, but I ended up checking out one of them. Mostly for Phoebe. You see, it was the party known as Sparklecorn. Where, as best I can tell, the “corn” stands for “unicorn,” and the “sparkle” stands for “sparkle.” I know that I have mentioned that Phoebe loves unicorns. Have I also mentioned that Phoebe, unlike most 6-year-old girls, loves sparkly things? So naturally I wanted to go to this so that I could lord it over her that I got to go to a cool party while she stayed home.

This party seems to be a BlogHer tradition, and many get into the spirit by dressing in sparkly things. I did not come equipped with sparkle, but they let me in anyhow. Happily, to aid the sparkle-deficient (and to augment the sparkling of the sparkle-prepared), there were approximately a gazillion glowsticks around. On every available surface, and every willing person.

A pile o’ glow.


I don’t know any of these people.

The tables were adorned thusly, with glowsticks, shiny unicorn confetti, and candy necklaces:

I snagged a few of these sparkly unicorn confetti bits to bring home for Phoebe.

I liked the way these wine glasses caught the light. The light was actually changing colors, but somehow I only got a decent shot when the light was white. But you can still see the reflected glints of a thousand glowsticks.

I did not snag any of these to bring home for Phoebe.


Chewbacca really got into the spirit. (He was actually just a cardboard cut-out.) Lady Gaga looks comparatively lackluster.


This woman (sighted on her way to the party, and who was not a cardboard cut-out) also really got into the spirit of things.

The pièce de résistance was definitely the cake.¹ I can only be glad that Phoebe did not know of the existence of such a thing before her 6th birthday.

I didn’t stick around long enough to see the dismemberment of this remarkable cyborg rainbow unicorn pony cake, so I can only guess as to how it was constructed. I submit to you that it was held together by magic, the magic of friendship. That and at least 40 pounds of fondant.³

¹ The cake took the cake. ²
² Should this be reflexive? The cake took itself?
³ I have since seen a diagram of the cake’s construction, which included a disappointingly large amount of styrofoam compared to the quantities of magic.

calling cards

When I went to BlogHer in 2010, I got my act together to get some business cards printed. Unlike those cursed with foresight and preparedness, who may be easily enticed by services that can (for example) make business cards for you (with sufficient advance notice), I found myself needing alternate arrangements. My plan involved printing a regular 8 and a half by 11 sheet of card stock with 12 copies of my newly designed business card, and since I didn’t want the back to be plain, I had the image of my big doodle (currently on my banner) printed on the back. I carefully cut the cards apart with a paper cutter, giving me 12 cards per sheet, each with a different piece of the doodle on the back.


Front.


Back.

This year, upon deciding on a Wednesday that I would be leaving for BlogHer on a Thursday, I didn’t have a lot of time to make business cards. I did remember coming across some leftovers of the old cards, and I made it my mission to track them down on Thursday. Given that our house eats things, this was no small challenge. However, I thought to combine the task with getting some things off my to-do list, namely getting some things into the attic. The good news is that I got the cradle mattresses into the attic (roughly 3 weeks before the last person who used them turns 4), as well as several other large items that have been clogging the frightening pile of things that is somewhat ironically called “the guest room“.¹

I also found the target of my search. Mission accomplished!

Sort of.

I guess I gave away quite a few cards in 2010, the majority to people who probably thought I was insane, and who I never heard from again.² I found 2 loose cards, and a stack of 12 that were rubber-banded together.

Upon finding them, I realized that I wasn’t entirely sure that I wanted to give them away. You see, the 12 unique cards from a single sheet could be re-assembled like a puzzle.

Backs, re-assembled.

Since it was my last full set, how could I break it up? Realistically, I was not going to make more of these cards. Possibly ever.

In my rush to pack, I managed not to bring the two loose cards. However, I did think to cut a few blank business-card-sized rectangles from some plain index cards, and I packed a box of glittery crayons. For the many years before I ever had any sort of business card, I joked that I should just make some with crayons. The time had come for that joke to be realized.

Indeed, I did give out a few such hastily-scribbled cards on Friday. Then late Friday night, having gone back to the hotel room both tired and wired, I found myself unable to go to sleep. Instead, I sat down and did what any normal person would do: I got out my Japanese brush pen (which I keep in my backpack) and lettered some text on one side. Then I doodled a few of my smiley little sea creatures and micro-organisms on the back. I even colored a couple with crayons (and took this photo) before sleepiness kicked in.


It is totally normal to hand-draw business cards at 11:30 at night and color them with crayons. I don’t know what you are talking about.

You may also note that I have included my Twitter handle. Several people asked for it, so that is what I scribbled on the crayon-written cards. Having given out that info, I then felt that I should see what I’ve said on Twitter. I saw that it had been a…while. So I tweeted, which I’m pretty sure is one of the signs of the apocalypse. And since that one stray tweet, I have gotten caught up in a comparative tide of tweeting, which likely will come to an end as soon as my work finds me once more.³

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¹ It is a hazardous space that has neither room, nor guests. (At least no guests have yet been uncovered under the piles.)
² I also gave some to my friends, who already knew I was insane.
³ I have this half-finished book review that followed me down on the train to New York, but I managed to ditch it somewhere in Penn Station. I fear it will track me down tomorrow. Those buggers are dogged.

by the seat of my pants

Do you remember how a couple of years ago, when BlogHer was hosted in New York, I managed to get my act together to go rather last-minute? This might give you a sense of déja-vu.

A while back, I learned that conference was again going to be in New York. I thought I’d just ignore it. Then I began hearing murmurs that some of my much loved and admired blog crushes were going to be there. I found myself wanting to go. With all the stuff I had going on, I wasn’t sure that it made sense for me to go anyhow. On the one hand, I have a lot going on. (I’m busy, I’m tired. I have a job. I have kids.) On the other hand, New York is so easily accessible for me, and I don’t often get to see my blogger friends. On the other hand, I only have two hands, but that’s never stopped me from this sort of back and forth debate with myself before.

A couple of months ago, I made a decision. I decided to put “decide about BlogHer” on my to-do list.

Yesterday I checked it off the list.

From my seat in a BlogHer session.

A few days ago, I still wondered about going, but I had a few obstacles. Like no conference registration, no hotel reservation, and no childcare for Friday. Also, I had not really discussed the whole scheme with John, whose participation was also needed. But then a few days ago, the fantabulous Magpie offered to share her hotel room with me. Then on Wednesday I inquired about having the kids go to the daycare on Friday, having only moderate hopes given the short notice and the place’s dependence on staffing. But the answer turned out to be “yes.” Wednesday evening, I brought up the subject with John, and he was willing (if not eager) for me to go. I went to the BlogHer website and registered for the conference Wednesday night, 7 hours before the cut-off. Thursday night I took the train down to New York. Amazingly, all my ducks lined up in a row. And I didn’t even have to shoot them.

Last time I went to BlogHer, I really enjoyed meeting and spending time with some great people, but there were some things that left me feeing unhappy. All the swag and corporate sponsorship left me feeling dirty, and there were some things that gave me flashbacks to the dark days of junior high. But this year, I was better prepared. I was determined not to come home with a giant bag of useless crap, and I set my expectations low for networking with new people. In the end, I had a wonderful time. Things were a bit rushed, as I opted for a fairly early return today (Saturday), but it was probably good that I didn’t have time to feel burnt out from it all.

I got to spend time hanging out with a few of my favorite bloggers (and favorite writers, for that matter), at times following them around like a love-sick puppy dog. I heard some great talks and panels–funny, inspiring, moving, informative. I met some great people. I also attended some big-name talks, which I enjoyed more than I expected. All of it made me wish that I could blog more. I even tweeted, which is probably one of the signs of the apocalypse.

I have more to say about who and what I did and saw (not that I “did” anyone), but it’s after 11 at night now, and I should get to bed. I’ll probably just save the rest “for later,” which means placing it along with the other 500+ embryonic posts in my drafts folder.


A view from the hotel room this afternoon. I have a lot more photos to share…too many for tonight.

iPhoto, eye photo

For the past 3 weeks or so, iPhoto, the application I use most for photo managing and editing has been broken. It had been buggy for who knows how long (Months? Years?), with weird things like the ghosts of deleted photos reappearing (beware the haunted thumbnails!), and tags running amok. An update became available, and I thought “yay, this should fix things!” But the result, instead, was that I could no longer open my iPhoto library. I kept getting an error message saying that my photo library was damaged, and to restore from a backup. Many things were tried, including restoring from a backup, which supposedly also was broken.

Given that I could see that my photos were still on my hard drive, and my back-up drive, I didn’t panic. However, it was very annoying that I was unable to access many years’ worth of sorting, tagging and rating. And given that my photo library was getting up over 50,000 items…holy crap, that’s an increase of about 16,000 since I wrote about my digital hoarding tendencies…but that was fairly early into my Project 365 year, and well before the photo binges of trips to Hong Kong and China… Wait, where was I? Oh, right, given that my photo library was freakin’ ginormous, it’s not like I wanted to start over with the tagging and sorting and rating.

In some ways, it was a bit of a relief. It broke me of some time-sucking habits, like looking through photos for things to post. Rating, tagging, and deleting here and there. It was almost a nervous tic to sit down at my laptop, and poke through piles of photos. Also on the bright side was that I got more comfortable at photo editing in Photoshop.

But it was also really irritating. I mean, I still do want to post photos from my trip to China, and I’d already spent a fair amount of time sorting through those. Plus all those Hong Kong and Macau photos I have yet to post. Plus, you know, I like looking at my photos.

So, I’m happy to say that after performing a series of dark rituals, unmentionable incantations, and database rebuilding (I think that last bit may have involved chicken blood) iPhoto is now mysteriously functional again.

In marginally related news, I also have increased facility to share photos of my eye.

After the initial shock (and a number of subsequent shocks each time I caught a glimpse of my eye in the mirror from the wrong angle over the next couple of days), I got fairly used to the eye. And a few days ago (a week after the subconjunctival hemorrhage first appeared), I noticed that the red areas were noticeably shrinking.

I actually had a really great time on my trip last weekend, which was only slightly affected by my eye. I was a bit self-conscious about it at the wedding, but not a soul ran away screaming. (It was almost disappointing.)


In this photo, with me squinting in the bright light, you have to look to see the red.¹

I did wear some sunglasses for part of the time, especially during the outdoor cocktail reception. (The late afternoon sun was very bright.) John has quite a few nice pairs of sunglasses he got a few years back when he had contact lenses. I had many options to choose from, but was taken with these vintage-looking ones with blue lenses. (I chose my dress to match them.)


Seeing this photo, though, leads me to believe that my messy hair may also have deflected attention from my eye. As it turned out, my friend and I were almost late for the wedding, due to getting stuck in traffic in New Jersey. Our preparations were somewhat frenzied.

And for those of you who were voting for me to go in the pirate costume, this is for you:

Aye, photo.

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¹ For those those of you (or perhaps that would be for that one of you) who would like to see what my eye looked like up close, here is that photo that John talked me out of sharing. And here is that same photo with the red of the pupil fixed with “red eye reduction.” Just because I could.