I'm pretty sure my husband thinks I am a rampant environmentalist. I grew up in a town with 30+ mandatory categories of recycling though so I'm more or less programmed to recycle. My Mom was also pretty thrifty and nothing ever left our house without being reused. To this day, I'm pretty sure we have about 100 aluminum pie plates somewhere.
Just kidding. I know exactly where they are. And it's more like 85, but who's counting?
So yes, by Texas standards, I probably am a rampant environmentalist.
Recently, I've been looking for ways to lessen the amount of garbage we produce. At home, I'm pretty good (there's always 'better' and maybe there will be more on that later this year) about this no matter how many times my husband has to roll his eyes as I stop him from throwing something out while insisting "wait, we can use that!!
I realized that I could do better when I am out though. So this week, I brought my own mug with me when I went to buy coffee on the way to work. I asked while ordering if they could use the mug instead of a styrofoam cup and was told they could. I paid and waited for my coffee. Minutes later I watched as the person behind the counter poured my coffee from the exact same styrofoam cup I was trying not to waste into my reusable mug.
Sigh. Fail.
Sunday, February 28, 2016
Sunday, February 14, 2016
Momma says...
I remember the day in graduate school when I woke up and realized that there was exactly no reason why I could not have ice cream for breakfast. Sure my Mom would probably have been horrified, no matter how much she loves ice cream, but I was an adult. I was on my own. And I was totally going to eat half a pint of ice cream for breakfast because why not?
So maybe not everything our parents tell us is completely legit. For instance, my niece and nephews are delighted to get cookies for good behavior. I'm wondering how old they will be before they realize that rice cakes are not cookies. I hope I'm there to see it. More often than not though, the things our parents tell us are for good reason. Because they were once our age. They know.
When I started driving on my own, my parents had a strict no-radio-in-the-car rule. I was sure it was the lamest, dumbest rule ever. I followed it for a while though because I was pretty sure they would know. I didn't know how they would know but maybe they would and maybe I would lose my car privileges. Of course, they explained to me that the rule was so that I wouldn't be distracted by the radio. Jeez guys I thought to myself it's driving, not rocket science. Years later, and thousands of miles of driving experience later, I could understand. I couldn't believe how unbelievable cocky I had been. Experience does matter and you can't teach it, no matter how much every parent ever probably wishes that they could.
So tonight I was baking some rolls and muffins for the week. Rushing to get everything done before dinner, I put some butter in the microwave to melt and didn't bother to cover it. I could hear my Mom in the background saying "You better have put something over that! You're cleaning it up if you make a mess! But seriously, in twenty years of baking, I have never once exploded butter in the microwave. I know how long it takes to melt it. Despite my spotless track record, I knew exactly what had happened when there was a loud BANG! from the microwave. I looked up abashed to see butter everywhere.
I mean, everywhere. It was dripping down the door. It had somehow gotten underneath the rotating tray. Don't even get me started on the ceiling of the microwave. It was coated and dripping and, in the back of my mind, I could hear how this would have played out at home. I would protest that something like this had never happened before and my Mom would point out that, eventually, it was bound to happen. That this wouldn't have happened if I had just covered the butter like she had asked. Next time Mom!
On the upside, our microwave hasn't been this clean since Thanksgiving. Otherwise known as "the last time Mom visited."
So maybe not everything our parents tell us is completely legit. For instance, my niece and nephews are delighted to get cookies for good behavior. I'm wondering how old they will be before they realize that rice cakes are not cookies. I hope I'm there to see it. More often than not though, the things our parents tell us are for good reason. Because they were once our age. They know.
When I started driving on my own, my parents had a strict no-radio-in-the-car rule. I was sure it was the lamest, dumbest rule ever. I followed it for a while though because I was pretty sure they would know. I didn't know how they would know but maybe they would and maybe I would lose my car privileges. Of course, they explained to me that the rule was so that I wouldn't be distracted by the radio. Jeez guys I thought to myself it's driving, not rocket science. Years later, and thousands of miles of driving experience later, I could understand. I couldn't believe how unbelievable cocky I had been. Experience does matter and you can't teach it, no matter how much every parent ever probably wishes that they could.
So tonight I was baking some rolls and muffins for the week. Rushing to get everything done before dinner, I put some butter in the microwave to melt and didn't bother to cover it. I could hear my Mom in the background saying "You better have put something over that! You're cleaning it up if you make a mess! But seriously, in twenty years of baking, I have never once exploded butter in the microwave. I know how long it takes to melt it. Despite my spotless track record, I knew exactly what had happened when there was a loud BANG! from the microwave. I looked up abashed to see butter everywhere.
I mean, everywhere. It was dripping down the door. It had somehow gotten underneath the rotating tray. Don't even get me started on the ceiling of the microwave. It was coated and dripping and, in the back of my mind, I could hear how this would have played out at home. I would protest that something like this had never happened before and my Mom would point out that, eventually, it was bound to happen. That this wouldn't have happened if I had just covered the butter like she had asked. Next time Mom!
On the upside, our microwave hasn't been this clean since Thanksgiving. Otherwise known as "the last time Mom visited."
Monday, February 8, 2016
Living the Dream?
I was lucky enough to be able to work remotely for the last few months. It was a huge boon that allowed me to move to Texas, live with my husband and not end up in a really lousy situation with my lease in Michigan. All around, a good thing that I am very grateful for!
That said, after a few months, I had begun to wonder if I was really living the dream. Sure I could wake up 20 minutes before I had to start work. And I didn't have to wear anything more formal than a hoodie. Lunch was easy too and I didn't need to have anything prepared in advance.
I also had no work-life separation. It was too easy for me to work all night long, after working all day long, because my office was also my home. I didn't have anyone to talk to during the day and started to go pretty stir crazy. Eventually motivation was pretty hard to come by with no colleagues, few deadlines and no meetings or phone calls. I used to be a work at home pro, when I only did it every once and a while, but after a few months I was struggling.
After a month of wind-down on the project I had been working on, I started a new postdoc down here in Houston last week. It comes with a hefty commute and a more formal dress code than a hoodie and shorts but it is also providing me with a lot of structure, people to talk to during the day and a challenging set of goals and objectives. Best of all, when I come home at night, I can leave my work at the office (I might choose not to but that's a different issue...)!
That said, after a few months, I had begun to wonder if I was really living the dream. Sure I could wake up 20 minutes before I had to start work. And I didn't have to wear anything more formal than a hoodie. Lunch was easy too and I didn't need to have anything prepared in advance.
I also had no work-life separation. It was too easy for me to work all night long, after working all day long, because my office was also my home. I didn't have anyone to talk to during the day and started to go pretty stir crazy. Eventually motivation was pretty hard to come by with no colleagues, few deadlines and no meetings or phone calls. I used to be a work at home pro, when I only did it every once and a while, but after a few months I was struggling.
After a month of wind-down on the project I had been working on, I started a new postdoc down here in Houston last week. It comes with a hefty commute and a more formal dress code than a hoodie and shorts but it is also providing me with a lot of structure, people to talk to during the day and a challenging set of goals and objectives. Best of all, when I come home at night, I can leave my work at the office (I might choose not to but that's a different issue...)!
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Grandparents
My grandparents have all been deceased long enough that my memories have taken on that vintage film quality. I remember smells and shadowy faces but nothing is very concrete or very real. Sometimes I think about the kind of relationship I might have had with my grandparents, especially my Dad's Mom, as an adult and I wonder what we would have talked about.
Books. We would have talked about books. I'm sure we would have talked about lots of other things too though.
This week I started a new job. (More on that later.) Sunday night, while eating dinner, my husband's grandparents called. He deferred it until we were done eating. I had gone out to run an errand, leaving him to return the call and fully assuming it had nothing to do with me. When I returned, my husband, sounding only a little confused, told me that his Grandmother had wanted to talk to me. I asked why and he said he didn't know. So I picked up the phone and returned the call.
"You are starting a new job tomorrow- I wanted to wish you good luck and tell you that we love you." And then it hit me. Huh. Maybe that's what it feels like to have a grandparent. My memories of my own Grandmother's voice are fuzzy and, like a dim star, only there when I don't think too hard about it but despite that I was sure that if she was alive today this is the call we would have had.
With the start of a new job, I've also decided to open a new blog and this post will be cross posted on the next adventure in my life - Fifteen Hundred Miles South.
Books. We would have talked about books. I'm sure we would have talked about lots of other things too though.
This week I started a new job. (More on that later.) Sunday night, while eating dinner, my husband's grandparents called. He deferred it until we were done eating. I had gone out to run an errand, leaving him to return the call and fully assuming it had nothing to do with me. When I returned, my husband, sounding only a little confused, told me that his Grandmother had wanted to talk to me. I asked why and he said he didn't know. So I picked up the phone and returned the call.
"You are starting a new job tomorrow- I wanted to wish you good luck and tell you that we love you." And then it hit me. Huh. Maybe that's what it feels like to have a grandparent. My memories of my own Grandmother's voice are fuzzy and, like a dim star, only there when I don't think too hard about it but despite that I was sure that if she was alive today this is the call we would have had.
With the start of a new job, I've also decided to open a new blog and this post will be cross posted on the next adventure in my life - Fifteen Hundred Miles South.
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