my happy place

I think I'm usually a pretty positive person, but sometimes it's hard to stay "up." The reality of the state of the academic job market has become all to clear lately, with commentator types saying things like, "Graduate education is the Detroit of higher learning." (Can we get a bailout?!?) NYU's up to its union busting shenanigans again, so the state of my funding for next year is highly uncertain. Then there's the fact that the last fellowship I applied for got canceled - yup, budget cuts turned 2 assistantships into 0, glad I spent the time and effort to complete that application - and one of the classes I'm scheduled to teach this summer (a.k.a. 1/2 my income for the next 3 months) is on the chopping block because there's not enough enrollment. If the swine flu doesn't get me, poverty just might.

Luckily, my sister's kids are SO frickin' cute, no matter how pissy I'm feeling, looking at these always melts my cold, bitchy heart:

philosophy lesson

Saturday night I went to a party at a friend's place and spent most of my night courting a philosopher. His bio is fairly impressive: His dad was an astrophysicist at Princeton. He majored in philosophy at Tufts, then got a master's in philosophy and international relations at the London School of Economics. After a few years in Australia as a research assistant, he moved to NYC. He has a post-doc at Yale. He has a post-doc - that's short for post-doctorate - but no doc. Jane (NYU pal) and I wondered how you could do that - we clearly got it all wrong going through the doctoral process. So how'd he do it? It basically fell into his lap. He seems to have a pretty charmed life.



Example? I was talking about my career plans, or lack there of, and said I could see myself as the director of a non-profit but realized that "director" isn't really an entry level position. "Well," he said, "funny you should say that, because I just ended up becoming the CFO of this non-profit." Ended up.



Uh-huh.



We were all standing around talking, and on the topic of what I can't remember, someone said, "No one really likes cooking or cleaning." Philosopher piped up - "I do." My ears perked up. What type of cooking? Baking. What do you like to bake? Pies. Do you make your own crust? That's the best part. What type of pies? Strawberry rhubarb. Witnesses say my eyes lit up. Strawberry rhubarb is my favorite, but I've never made it because A) pie crusts are a bitch, especially when you don't exactly have the counter space to be rolling out dough, and B) I'm intimidated by rhubarb. It's one of those things I'd get into the the kitchen and then have no idea what to do with. This has happened to me before - with kale, with leeks, with a celery root. I have to call more epicurious friends or look online. Well, this is going to be my year.

I then turned the conversation to cleaning. He likes doing the dishes. (Perfect or gay? such a fine line...) I asked what he did when the sponge started to get a little ripe and left your hands with that funny smell. He microwaves them frequently so doesn't have that probably. How frequently? Once a week - no, more than that. For how long? Well, it depends, but for a really good steam 4 minutes. (Remember this, it'll come up again shortly.)



I can't say this guy was flirting with me, because I was making serious effort with the conversation, but he continued talking to me. I'm not sure that this is someone I'm actually interested in, he might be too boring, but maybe we can have brunch and talk pastry cutters and lattice crusts. At the time, however, I was intrigued (or maybe just drunk) and basically forced my number into his phone. The end of the night went something like this:

Me: Maybe I'll see you around the institute.
Him: Do you go there frequently?
Me: No, not at all actually. Alternatively, we could just go for coffee or a drink.
Him (slightly awkwardly): Sure.
Me: Why don't you take my number?
[pulls out iPhone]
End scene.

Fast forward to Sunday night. I've spent all day on the couch with my roommate (literally - we didn't even get out of our pajamas). I've watched a YouTube video on how to fold a fitted sheet. (The philosopher said he could and referenced said video. Apparently he had a lot of free time for perfecting domestic skills while in Australia.) I had just finished a sink full of dishes and figured, Why not nuke the sponge?

[4 minutes later]

"Anne, do you smell something burning?" Apparently 4 minutes is way too much time for disinfecting a sponge in the microwave. 30 seconds probably would have sufficed.

Lesson learned.

Helen LeClair (née Aneila Procop) 1913-2009

I’d spent a lot of time with my grandmother in the past few months, but I was saying to a friend how I wished I’d seen her one last time. My friend said sometimes it’s easier to handle loss if you can focus on what you’re grateful for, rather than what you regret, so I’d like to share some of the things I’m grateful for.

I’m grateful for my Grammy. In many ways she was the quiet matriarch of the family. I’m so fortunate – we all are – that we had Grammy in our lives for so long. Most of my friends lost their grand parents 10 even 20 years ago. I am so lucky that I had so much time with her. I was constantly seeing my grandmother in new ways, getting to know different aspects of her life, her personality, her love. I know a large part of my changing perspective on her was an artifact of me growing up, but I also believe that in many ways my grandmother became more alive before she passed.

We all know Helen had a special spunk. She was what one might call “a hot ticket.” If I had called her that she might have playfully slapped me and told me I was being fresh. But, after a brief pause, she would lean over, put her hand on my arm, and in a secretive whisper say, “I like it when you’re fresh.”

My grandfather often told me the story of the night he and Grammy met at a USO dance. One part of the story I didn’t hear until very recently was their first conversation. When Grampy finally got up the courage to go over and speak to Grammy, he said he’d been watching her all night. Helen’s reply. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Well, I’m grateful he didn’t, because the beginning of that love story is the beginning of Helen for all of us. The way my grandparents spoke of one another, treated one another, loved one another, is not something entirely of this world. They have given me a model for love, friendship and partnership that I’m not sure I can ever achieve, but for which I will always strive. Grammy always talked to me about her love for Bob and her children. Being a wife and a mother brought joy to her life. I am so grateful for having been able to bask and grow and share in that joy.

Another favorite story of mine was one she told of Mrs. Zartarian next door. They were friendly for many years, and one day she told Grammy she had a favor to ask. Mrs. Zartarian had lost her sister, and Grammy had lost her brother, and Mrs. Z said she would be very honored if she could call Helen her sister. And so it was that a Polish woman and an Armenian woman became their own type of family. Grammy taught me the many meanings and shapes of love, friendship and family.

One of the things I am most grateful for is my Grammy’s sense of humor. One her 95th birthday last summer she expressed to me the importance of humor. She said she had to laugh – if you couldn’t laugh, you should just dig a hole and crawl in it. A few months later when things were getting a little tougher, I reminded her of what she had said. “I said that?” she asked me. And when I assured her she did, she said my grandfather must have been slipping her some of that Polish vodka.

Grammy really was the quiet matriarch. She held on for a long, LONG time. She stayed on this Earth to make sure everyone she loved was okay, and when she finally felt she had done all that she could, she let go. She’s still watching us. She’s still with us. A little piece of Helen lives on inside each one of us. And if we can all be a little more like her in our own lives, we’ll all be better people for it.

Grammy worked for 95 years, and it’s her time to rest. So please, Grammy, sleep. Sleep deep. Rest. You did so much work, and we are your product. For that we are all grateful; I hope we make you proud and do justice to your memory.

Of all things, I am most grateful that I had to opportunity to get to know her, not just as my grandmother, but as a person. Not just as Grammy, but as Helen.

I love you.

1 hot ticket!

Couple of things about this photo:

1. Grammy is 50 in this picture. She was a looker!
2. Check out the size of that Cosmo! It's like 2'x3'. And is that Issue #1?
3. On the back of this picture is the caption: "Mommy's reading!" Apparently that's what my dad and Uncle John said because they'd never seen her sitting and reading before. She had four kids - 15, 13, 11 & 9 - she didn't have time!
   

hello, good-bye

There was clearly some sort of cosmic connection between little Zachary and his great-grandmother Helen. Helen held off until after Zachary was born to pass, and Zachary came to us a week early because it was Helen's time, and he knew we would need some extra love to help us through it. Just like Kayley waited until I got home (over a week late) to make her appearance, Grammy waited until I was home to leave us.

Many of you knew (or knew of) and loved Grammy. She passed away quietly Friday morning. The family is having a small private service tomorrow morning. It will include a ginger ale toast to Helen (it was her favorite beverage). She will be buried with her purse, which she carried with her literally til the day she died. She was like the Queen with that purse; it never left her side. Even at holidays she carried it with her at all times, no matter how much we tried to reassure her that none of us would steal it. It was a handy accessory, good for holding using tissues and storing extra dessert wrapped in a napkin (who needs Tupperware?!). To guide her body to rest, her purse will be stocked with the essentials - toothpicks, a plastic rain bonnet, a flash light, and love notes from best friend and husband of 65 years. A few tissues will be tucked up her sleeve, just in case.

For a brief look at some of Helen's best moments, look back with me at her and Bob, Grammy on the phone, her amazing marriage, her 95th birthday, old photos, and her the amazing humor she kept right up until the end.

He's here!!!

My nephew, Zachary Scott Spindler, arrived yesterday at 2:43 PM. He's 8lbs, 2oz, all healthy. Mom and Dad are really enjoying him, and I'm going home to meet him tomorrow.

Those Spindler babies are born with dark hair (so was my sister). I love the slightly annoyed look new babies have, like they're thinking, "Put me back!" How much does he look like his big sister?

Only she had more hair.

covariance cupcakes

My stats class had their lab test today, and last week I thought of a way to combine two of my greatest loves - geeking out & baking - into one sweet treat for my students. Behold:

Their extra credit was to correctly identify the formula represented in this cupcake mosaic.

Can anyone identify the formula on the middle cupcake?

I'm a decent baker and geek, but I think I'll leave the cake decorating to my sister.

sequence of events

Bad decisions are can really sneak up on you, especially when there's alcohol involved.

One minute you're playing wiffleball, vanquishing your middle school gym class demons with not 1 but 2 home runs and the catch of a fly ball.

Next thing you know you're celebrating your 16-4 victory with your teammates at a cowboy-themed bar, playing flip-cup, and reuniting with a girl that you worked with 8-10 yrs ago at a swim club.

And before the night ends you have plans for a date with a 23-year-old paralegal from Moldova whose name you can't remember but whom you're pretty sure lives with his mom.

The next morning you wake up with an unhappy stomach and a flimsy hope that you incorrectly entered your number into his phone.

Oh, bad decisions, you get me every time!

retail rant

Why do some people seem so put out when you ask them to do their job? I was at Sephora yesterday and the sales woman was positively gobsmacked that I was asking for assistance with makeup. You would have thought I'd asked her to sell me lamb chops and a carburetor. Do me a favor, sweetie - when you leave work, look at the name of the store where you're employed. Before going into work the next day, google your workplace so you're not caught off guard when someone tells you she's chronically dissatisfied with her eyeliner.