My Level of Awareness

I have one and only one reason that I have not finished answering all your lovely questions yet.

My work is kicking my proverbial-and-ample-you-know-what.

I can barely sit down.

 Love and Kisses,

Me.

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Five Little Monkeys, jumping on the bed,

One fell out and bumped his head,

Went to the doctor and the doctor said:

NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPING ON THE BED!

Because sometimes the world needs a little gratuitous cuteness.

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Okay, ready to tackle an SCA question.  My non-SCA readers can now put their fingers in their ears and say la-la-la-la, or read on, because the following has applications in the real-world.  It’s kind of along the lines of mentor-student relationships, role models, and personal authenticity.

 Kat asks:

 OK. I would love your take on a thought I posted on my own blog a bit ago…

“…are you acting like a Peer, or acting like your Peer? Are you best trying to improve yourself in the quest for enlightenment and better judgement, or just emulating someone who already has the accolade?”

 This answer will come from two perspectives.  First, as a Peer, and then as a squire to a Knight.

The first is easy - I had absolutely no intention of ever being a Pelican, and I made no conscious attempt to emulate one.  As a point of fact, it took a couple of heartfelt talks with people I respect immensely to convince me that it was even a good idea to become one.  I became a Pelican simply because there was work in front of me that had to be done, and I was capable and willing and inspired to do it.  Not for the recognition in any way, shape, or form, but honestly, truly, and completely because it gave me a warm feeling to help other people have fun playing the game.  It made me feel good to be able to “make it so” when my Crown asked me to “make it so”.  I enjoyed showing people that THEY can really ask “why not?” instead of “why”.  I like to empower others.  It’s the core of my deepest satisfaction.  I am truly a teacher and a mom at heart.  And ultimately, isn’t that what a Pelican is?  A teacher and a mom with a little bit of corporate organizer thrown in?

So here’s the thing - I didn’t become a Peer by trying to make myself better.  I became a Peer by trying to help OTHER people be what they have the potential to be, and I learned about myself in the process.

Now, as a squire to a Knight, the answer is a bit more complicated.  First,  not to beleaguer the obvious, but there aren’t a lot of role models out there that fit MY particular situation.  Not that I put a lot of emphasis on that, but frankly I have to be the knight I can be as a woman.  I cannot change what I am, but I cannot ignore the fact that it comes with its own particular set of challenges and baggage.  That being said, I chose my Knight because he was the Knight I wanted to be.  He had the qualities that I believe are Knightly.  I do not try to emulate him.  I do not try to BE him.  But I absolutely take encouragement from him, learn from him, and keep his actions in mind when I choose my own.

But ultimately, I have to be the Peer that I can be.  Me - the individual me.  When I was on the throne the first time, several of the “Old Dead Queens” gave me some fantastic advice.  All of it was good.  But I couldn’t follow all of it.  Why?  Because I am not them.  If I try to be something I am not, it WILL ring false.  The average person is remarkably good at detecting authenticity in the long run.  I could only be the Queen I knew how to be, and pour my entire heart into THAT vision.  Not somebody else’s.

You cannot become a Peer, in my opinion, without become intimately acquainted with your own strengths, and particularly your own weaknesses.    I say particularly your weaknesses, because only by recognizing them and embracing them can you really grow as a person.  You have to be willing to poke and prod those more painful parts of your character, and understand your own motivations and skills, and base that understanding not just on the parts of yourself that make you happy. 

If you manage to get the accolade without doing this, it’s just so much more jewelry you have to haul around.

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Please, please, PLEASE, if you are going to have live chat customer service (which is a dandy idea in my book), please hire people with a higher typing speed than I have.

Please.

Thank you.

A loyal, if impatient, customer.

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With Valentine’s Day still in the back of my mind, I need to answer Harp’s question:

I’ve always herard that women face a difficult 2 out of 3 choice: Mother, Wife, Career. It is said you can only do 2 of them well. Yet you seem to be the exception.

Thoughts?

First - thanks for the vote of confidence.  It has been noted and greatly appreciated.

Second - not to shatter your image of me, but I am SO VERY NOT the exception.

Like just about every other American woman, I juggle those things, and more.  But, like any juggler, at any given time, a maximum of two of those things are firmly in hand.  The others are flying somewhere out in space, and I only hope that I aimed them well enough to catch back up with them when they come around.

I can only do about two of those things well at once - the key is that you have to rotate which two at any given time and fervently pray that it all averages out.  It’s a constant series of compromises.

I picked my current career because it allows me to dedicate time to my family.  I would have dearly loved to accept an assistant professorship at a research/teaching institution, but I had to be able to do it with the understanding that the intense long hours meant that family and marriage would take a back seat for the duration of the tenure race, if not longer.  I am just not willing to make that kind of sacrifice.  I make sacrifices for my current job (the travel being one), but they are shorter-term sacrifices, and I have a bit more flexibility to compensate.  As a scientist, I am not considered “successful”.  I am a corporate hired gun, with all the negative connotations that go with that.  But I make a comfortable income, and I can play with my kid most nights, and take the odd trip with the husband, so I can live with that.

In a compromise to my career, I waited to have kids until I was finished with school.  Two undergraduate degrees (during part of which I had to work full time) , my PhD and most of my Post-doc.  Unfortunately, this was one area where I didn’t balance well and we almost never had Harry (a world without Harry?  Blasphemy!).  And now we are limited to one.  On the plus side, I think the 40-something-year-old me is a far better mom than the 20-something-year-old me could have ever been.  This does not mean I am perfect.  I have to leave on business trips.  Harry is in daycare 7 hours every day.  I tire faster than I did at 20.  But when he needs me, I am there.  When we are together, his needs come first.  I am conscious of the passage of time, and I realize that the moments I spend with him are finite and fleeting, and I cherish them. 

Which means, I am not always the wife I could be.  I cannot even describe the intensity to which motherhood took over my brain in Harry’s first days.  The nurses couldn’t pry him from my arms. I don’t think his butt hit the bassinet more than twice the entire hospital stay.  I still tend to drop everything when he calls.  I thank heaven that I am married to someone who is as “into” daddyhood, because I think he would have lost patience long, long ago.  Sometimes the constant demands of a baby-turned toddler make me worn down and short-tempered.  Well-planned gourmet meals have taken second place to whatever is fastest to get on the table in the evening.   Until Valentine’s Day we hadn’t had a real date in years.   I have to work now to pull Kris to the forefront of my life and give him his turn.  I ironically understand the term “planned spontaneity”.  And now, sometimes Harry has to wait in line.

We all juggle.  And we all pray that somewhere down the line we don’t drop the ball.

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This news, as expected as it was, sent a shock through me.

I was a Cold War baby.  Fidel Castro has been in control of Cuba since five years before I was born.  Condemnation and distrust of the nations listed in the Communist Roster was instilled in me from my earliest awareness - on the news, in school, over the dinner table.

And yet, there’s a twisted sad nostalgia at the news…

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I had a GREAT Valentine’s Day weekend.

And a productive one.

Kris and I started the weekend by attending “Romance Night” at Firefly Studio.  We were one of only two couples that came in for it, but we had a lot of fun.  We worked on a sushi platter with two sauce bowls. 

Our inspiration?

Kris’s cell phone.

He has a Japanese-themed skin on his Razr from Decalgirl.  Specifically, he has this skin:

And this is the (unfired) result:

After firing it will be glossy red and black.

But that was only the start of the evening.  Afterward, it was a nice seafood dinner, and then a deluxe hotel room at the Doubletree, with an amazing view of the city and the Arkansas River, champagne, and some serious quality child-free couple time.

Saturday morning was complimentary breakfast, a trip to the Barnes and Noble Cafe, and home.

And there is more to come.   The house cleaning wasn’t the only stress-reducing gift from my husband.  This has been the best Valentine’s Day EVER!  I also have a gift certificate for a half-day of “the works” at a local day spa:  Manicure, pedicure, one hour facial and a full-hour, full body, massage.

I absolutely cannot wait.

Any of you girls want to join me?

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I got back into town last night just in time to cool my heels for two and a half hours in the Little Rock Airport waiting for my mom’s plane to arrive from Minneapolis.  By the time we got home it was 1 am, and Valentine’s Day had already started.

And it had.

Waiting for me on the kitchen table were flowers in a vase, an enormous heart-shaped box of chocolate, and TWO cards.  One from each of my favorite men.  But this wasn’t the best part.

 My house.  Was.  IMMACULATE.

Top to bottom.  Floors vaccumed.  Beds made.  Dishes washed.  Counters scrubbed.  Clothes put away.

I had been a bit stressed because my business trip meant I didn’t have time to clean my house for my mom’s visit.  If you know my family history with domestic cleanliness, you would understand the degree of consternation this engenders.  Let me put it this way - the smell of Pine-Sol is nostalgic for me.

I actually had tears in my eyes.

Tomorrow, my mom will get some serious Harry-time, while Kris and I will get some serious “adult” time.  Picnic dinner from Fresh Market.  Wine in the hotel room.  Breakfast in bed.

It’s like Christmas.  Only much sexier. 

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No time to blog right now - I am on my way out of town on the FIRST business trip of the year.  I have been grateful for the hiatus.

Instead I will share this with you, taken in a rare moment of serenity:

Mr and. Mrs. Awareness

 Excuse the quality of the pic - I took it with my cellphone of the new portrait on my office desk.

No reflection on the quality of us.

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Gillian asked a nice series of questions.  I will tackle those first because I am just not ready for the SCA-related ones. 

 What is your favourite part of the day and why?

I think my very favorite parts of the day are the very beginning and the very end.  Those are the times I spend quietly with my son and husband.  While everything in-between tends toward the frantic, I have kept the mornings and evenings under control.  My son and I spend our quiet together time in the morning.  We eat our breakfast together in the kitchen at the big wooden table.  We sit for a while together under the blanket on the couch and watch cartoons.  Then I dress myself and him, and we go to the car together to go to school and work.  It’s a peaceful routine, and one I look forward to every morning.

In the evening, Kris and I usually cook together, or take turns cooking, we play with Harry, and bathe him, and lay down with him to go to sleep.  After he is asleep, we watch TV or talk.  It’s our wind-down time. 

 So - don’t get me wrong, I love my job, but I guess my favorite time of day is any time I am actually at home.

Do you play a musical instrument, if so, which one(s)?

I play several - none of them well.  I am currently learning violin, and though I am making pretty good progress, violin is a harsh mistress.  It’s a VERY hard instrument to learn.  But I really love it.

I also play flute, guitar, recorder, and clarinet.  All with varying levels of incompetency.  The only instruments that I can claim any expertise on are a variety of hand drums - doumbek, conga, anything that involves tapping, slapping, or otherwise bashing.  I have rhythm.

What are some of your own childhood memories?

This is harder for me to answer than you would think.  I have excellent, almost photographic, recall, but I don’t always control it.  I can think back non-specifically, and remember very little.  But if triggered by an event, smell, sound - I get memories in sharp, vivid detail.

Walking on the beach this past September in Florida, I could almost perfectly recall playing in the Carolina dunes in the spring, the green-brown shoregrass poking through the sand, the sticks of spent bottle rockets poking my feet, the rainbow pearly insides of a shell, the salty smell of sea air on my face.  The screeching of gulls always brings me back to home on the Great Lakes, watching flocks of gulls huddle on the black pavement outside my school, eyeing me with anticipatory distrust.   

I eat Cream of Wheat for the simple nostalgia of it.  I remember sitting on the wood floor in the cold of a New York winter,  fighting with my brothers for foot-room against the warm heat register, with that hot little Tupperware bowl balanced in my lap, stinging my cold hands, smoothing the lumps in my mouth with my tongue.

The smell of grease and hay will always take me back to the barn on my grandparent’s dairy farm and the hot-tractor metal tang hanging in the hazy dust of the air - the rectangular slice of light from the hayloft leaving spangles of light dancing in the rays. 

Those are the things that come to me in patchworks of memory.

Do you have any traditions that you would like your son to pass down to his family?

My family was not heavy on traditions - or maybe tradition seems to heavy a word to apply to the familiar repetitions of our life.  Our family holiday cookies - passed through at least four generations - are somehow the matriarchal way of conveying love at each significant holiday passage, cut into shapes appropriate to the season, packed into tins and shipped to colleges, new apartments, christenings.  Family dinners are eaten together at the table.  Sunday mornings are for the newspaper, fought over and parceled out by age and interest.  Our traditions are only the daily rhythms of our lives, I don’t really know any others.

Perhaps we will make our own traditions, my son and my husband and I.  And he will take what he loves with him.

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