Goodbye to 2017

I can't say that I'm sorry to see 2017 go. In so many ways, it's been a great year. It's certainly been an exciting one. We hit the ground running last January (figuratively, not literally) with my knee surgery and my husband's new job. It seems like one thing after another since then. A year ago today, my outlook for 2017 was that it would be a quiet year. I expected we'd settle more into a routine in our still new home in Houston and maybe tackle a renovation project. We had exciting plans to re-finish our garage. Obviously, that all went out the window with our relocation back to Atlanta. Suddenly we were putting our house back on the market and living long distance yet again. 2017 hasn't been quiet or peaceful. It's been exciting and distressing and a lot of things in between.

We're roughly eleven months into our relocation and there is no clear end in sight. At times the process has made me feel incredibly isolated and alone. I've been unable to find a new job that will allow me to move and have been unwilling to give up a job and a career I love. We are making it work to the best of our abilities. On the flip side, I have been incredibly supported by close friends and family who have been doing everything in their power to make this transition easier on me, on my husband, and on us and our cats as a family. So it's safe to say that 2017 was difficult and stressful but that we were also incredibly blessed.

As we say goodbye to the year and I hope for a smoother 2018, two quotes rattle around in my head, giving me hope for the year ahead.

"Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: You don't give up." Anne Lamott

Fairy tales are more than true — not because they tell us dragons exist, but because they tell us dragons can be beaten." G.K. Chesterton (This quote is paraphrased but it is a popular paraphrasing of the original and it is my favorite variant.)

I hope, if you're reading this (or even if you're not), that your 2018 has had more ups than downs, more triumphs than failures. Regardless of what 2017 looked like, I hope your 2018 is even better yet.

Seven Nights, Six Beds

Alternate titles for this blog include “Up in the Air” and “It’s socially appropriate to drink at 10 am when…” Okay, so the second one is probably a little too verbose, but still accurate. I don’t need to get into the details here but I will summarize them by saying that, once upon a time, I had a very reasonable November travel schedule. My very reasonable travel schedule was tossed right out the window when I volunteered for a work trip that was originally not supposed to take place in November at all. Details. So, rather than having only two November trips scheduled with a whole four days in between (reasonable right?), I ended up with three trips scheduled all within the same week.

Shortly after volunteering for this insanity, I started regretting it but the whole thing was so last minute that I couldn’t exactly say “oops, this was a horrible idea, I’m out.” So, my last seven days ended up looking something like this:

IAH – EWR – IAH – SLC – SFO – SEA – SLC – IAH – (driving interlude) – HOU – ATL

Over the course of seven nights, I will have slept in six different beds. All of which leads me to question whether sleeping in an airport terminal (SEA, in case you’re interested) actually counts as sleeping in a “bed”? I’m willing to put that up as a poll; feel free to comment your vote. ;-)

If you’re ever stuck overnight in SEA, let me know, I have some tips. So, it’s day seven and tonight I’ll be sleeping in bed # 6 (my own, thank God). I officially have no idea what time zone I’m supposed to be in but I do know that, by lunch, I will have been in three different time zones and, by dinner, I will have been in all four of the contiguous time zones in the US. All of which brings us around to our two alternate blog titles. It’s safe to say that I’ve been up in the air for the last week and that I am definitely having a drink to celebrate being on the downslope of this nuttiness. My phone says it’s a little after 10 am and I’m pretty sure that it is currently on Mountain time. Thankfully, that means it’s after 12 pm on the East coast and, since that’s where I’m ultimately headed, that’s all that counts. Right??

Thoughts and Prayers

In the wake of another horrific shooting, I've noticed a new trend on the internet. Maybe it isn't even a new trend; maybe it's just the first time I'm seeing it. Regardless, a number of people I know are decrying the "thoughts and prayers" statements that seem to follow every natural and unnatural disaster.

Personally, I usually avoid making public thoughts and prayers statements. I don't take issue with them but I do believe that what I pray about is between me and God and rarely anyone else. I would even cautiously say that I understand where these statements come from. Some people want to see civic and legislative action, others want people to foster a stronger community through more tangible actions. The statements I have seen against thoughts and prayers are varied but they all play on the theme that "thoughts and prayers are not enough."

They may not be enough. If I believed that thoughts and prayers were enough, I would probably not be involved in a possibly unhealthy number of volunteer activities. We do need to do more. We need to do more every day and not just on the days when there's bad news. That said though, thoughts and prayers are a beautiful first step for many people. If you hold a faith, thoughts and prayers have a real and powerful meaning. If you don't hold to a faith, thoughts and prayers are still a gesture of goodwill and of compassion, often for people that you've never met. I would argue that we could all use a little more of both those things. Especially for my friends who aren't religious, I hope you'll suffer a few thoughts from me on how very real thoughts and prayers can be.

The last few weeks have been incredibly difficult for me. There isn't much anyone can do. However, friends who call or text to tell me that they are thinking of me and praying for me help me incredibly. The same was true during Hurricane Harvey. Yes, friends may have helped by donating to charities helping to rebuild Houston or maybe they helped by sending water and other supplies to the area. Though these actions helped so many people, none of them helped me personally but the many, many thoughts and prayers that people offered up made me feel more loved and less scared. Those thoughts and prayers were one of the most touching and important things to me during Harvey.

Thoughts and prayers might not be enough, especially when we are faced with real tragedy, but they are something and to a great many people they do foster community and understanding. Perhaps, rather than decrying thoughts and prayers, we could ask what comes next?

After the Storm

Weeks ago, I had planned a blog titled "Unlearning Texas." It was going to focus on some of the habits I've picked up in my time here that I probably shouldn't take with me. Most notably, the habit of assuming that a yellow light means "drive faster." People in Houston get through stop lights far later than I ever would have tried before moving here and I'm positive I'd be pulled over for it in Atlanta or pretty much any other state for that matter (and I grew up in NJ, so that's saying a lot).

Weeks after Harvey though, I don't feel like posting "Unlearning" anymore. There was one, clear as day moment during Harvey when I realized that somehow my internal descriptions of Texas and of Houston had graduated from they to we. One awful week did what two years of residency had not- it developed a sense of belonging and of ownership in me. Weeks later I am still both regretting that I didn't leave and somehow glad that I stayed. The whole thing would have been less stressful, less traumatic (a word I use cautiously but honestly), if I had left. It was, however, also an experience that can't really, fully be described. You can tell people about it, you can talk about it, but you can't convey a true understanding. I experienced the storm with good friends and that shared experience is one I am not sorry to have. I would even say I'm glad to have it.

As things slowly get back to normal, I have to wonder how long it will take to reach "pre-Harvey normal." Cars for sale in the area now proudly display "flood free" stickers on their windshields where the price tag usually goes. Nearly every open business and what feels like half the billboards in the city have signs that read "Houston Strong" or "Texas Strong." Two months ago, I would have rolled my eyes at all this but I can't anymore. I think of the Herculean effort that is pouring out all over the city and I can feel nothing but proud. I picked up a shipment of food today for the food pantry that I work with and not only was it far larger than normal (because we have far more need than normal) but it was also far more varied than normal. I asked about where the supplies we can't usually get through the food bank came from and was told that they came from Louisiana and from Dallas. I looked around the warehouse and picked out all the pallets of supplies that we don't usually have and immediately teared up. The whole way back to our pantry I thought of all the strangers far away that I am thankful for right now. I can't thank them personally but I am deeply grateful to them none-the-less.

At our Society of St. Vincent de Paul meeting last night (a Catholic outreach organization that I've been part of since 2008), much of our discussion focused on the long-haul Harvey recovery. There has been such an incredible outpouring of generosity for Houston but we know that the highly visible, immediate needs of the city and its residents will begin to dwindle. We've already started to plan for Thanksgiving and for Christmas and for all of the time in between. This kind of need frequently feels overwhelming and even as I consider individual friends who have lost so much I often feel frozen wondering what I can possibly do. The answer is pretty simple though; I can keep doing exactly what I have already been doing. Mother Teresa instructed the world to "do small things with great love" and that statement has rarely felt more true to me than it does right now. We cannot undo the damage that has been done and we cannot fix everything that needs to be fixed but we can keep providing food and financial help and, most importantly, care and compassion. Natural disasters like those we've seen this hurricane season are undeniably horrible and tragic but as I look at the outpouring of support we are receiving to help our friends and neighbors recover it seems that these disasters also bring out much of the good in people.

Prepacking

In my planner list of "to-do's" for this past weekend was a line that read "prepack." It's a normal thing for me to have on my list right before a trip and I am supposed to be leaving this week for a couple weeks of travel. "Prepack" reminds me to wash all of my clothes for the upcoming trip and set any aside that I want to be clean for packing and might otherwise wear in the interim. My husband thinks it's kind of silly.

This time around though "prepack" meant something else entirely. I packed a duffel and a backpack for a possible three week trip on Thursday night, as Hurricane Harvey formed in the Gulf. I knew that, if I chose to leave ahead of the storm, there was a good chance that I would not be coming back before my mid-week planned departure. In the end though, I was too worried about missing work before an already planned, prolonged absence (for the upcoming travel) and chose to stay put. After all, my boss and university were both insisting that Monday would be business as usual.

Close friends (and, frankly, amazingly generous people) gave me space in a garage for my car, even though it meant that their own would weather the storm outside. I chose to leave my bags packed though, in case we had to evacuate quickly. The first night, Friday night and Saturday morning, as Hurricane Harvey made landfall well south of us, was loud and stormy (and I was infinitely thankful that my car was sheltered) but otherwise it was pretty alright and I woke up feeling good about my decision to stay. Saturday night and Sunday morning took an abrupt left turn. I had kept my bags packed all along but, by the time it seemed like a good idea to be leaving, the roads were flooding and it had become not an option. (Well, it had become not a good or safe option.)

Between the tornado warnings (get to low ground!) and the flash flood warnings (get to high ground!), Saturday night was pretty sleepless and by 4 am everyone in the house was up and watching either the rapidly rising water outside or the news coverage of the event on the tv. Thankfully, we didn't flood and have had electricity throughout. So we're okay so far and, honestly, incredibly blessed to be doing far better than many other people I know in the area.

For me, at least, it's been an incredibly stressful few days. Our old house was sold just in time as it is now severely flooded. I feel both incredibly lucky and incredibly bad for the folks who bought it (not words I ever thought I'd say after the nightmare that was the process of selling the house to those particular buyers). I have friends all over the city who have experienced flooding. Some have been evacuated. Others have to wait it out on an upper floor. There are so many heart warming stories of people helping each other. I am so, so incredibly grateful to everyone who has reached out to check on me over the last few days. It has meant so much to me, especially in my current, super emotional, state of being. Below are a few pictures from my limited view of the past few days.

Shelves on Thursday night as the storm approached. Happily, I know how to bake bread. ;-)

A reminder to fill up on gas. Too bad none of us can get anywhere but, hey, at least we all have full tanks!

Friday afternoon as Harvey began to make landfall... over 200 miles away.

Just a few of the warnings from an eventful Saturday night.

The street after flood waters had begun to recede during a break in the rain on Sunday. Just 12(ish) hours earlier, water reached just below the back bumper of the truck in the picture.

North vs. South

It's hard to believe that a week ago today our home was still full of boxes, furniture, and people. By last Tuesday evening, it was all loaded onto a truck and gone and there was just me, a few bags of clothing, some wine, some ammo (because you can't ship it), and the few boxes of "stuff" that I decided was important enough to keep with me in Texas. That "stuff" is probably a good window into what I value most highly in my day to day life. Items included a tea strainer, loose leaf tea, my travel mug and water bottle, our wedding album, coloring books, book - books, my pillow, and a few stuffed animals. The exercise of whittling down the stuff I most wanted and needed was, mostly, sort of fun.

Saying goodbye to our home was significantly less fun. I was entirely unprepared for the emotional tumult of standing alone in an empty house. We were only there for a year and a half but those walls still hold more memories than I can count. There were days when I loved the house and days when I hated it but, regardless, it was ours. I took my time saying goodbye. I stood in the upstairs rooms that were our little kitten's in December when we first brought her home. (She's not so little anymore and on track to outgrow her older brother.) I stood in the entryway and remembered how impossibly huge the house felt when we first moved in. (Even empty, it didn't feel so huge anymore as I said goodbye.) I took pictures of everything. And then I took a deep breath and walked away.

In the middle of a topsy turvy week, a few people in particular were amazingly supportive. Close friends of ours in Houston helped with everything from move out house cleaning, to spackling holes left behind by pictures, to giving me a place to live. We are incredibly, incredibly blessed, which all brings me around to the story I initially wanted to blog about.

We had great neighbors here in Texas. The day we moved in, they came bearing lasagna and salad for us (and about enough of both to feed us for a week). They had even thought to bring paper plates and plastic utensils, guessing correctly that we had not even begun to unpack. Though we were never as close as I might have liked, we maintained a friendship and often exchanged baked goods or just visited. As we moved out, I was oddly relieved that our neighbors were willing to take food and cleaning supplies that the movers would not move and that I could not fit in my car. I hate wasting things and it was a big weight off my mind to have so much of our last stuff go to a good home. As one of our neighbors stood with me a week ago today, watching as the moving truck was loaded, we talked about what little I knew about the new owners. I noted that I was sure (and I do sincerely hope) that they would be nicer, better neighbors than they were buyers. During the sale process they have been abrupt, pushy, and rude (not the words I used to describe them when talking to my neighbor). Her response was, to me, comical. "Well you have to remember that these people are Northerners" she said (they're from Maryland, I'm not even sure that counts) "they have that, you know, Northern attitude that we don't have hear in the South, they're just not the same as us."

I laughed and agreed and silently wondered if I should be flattered or upset. I went with flattered. I'm from too many places by now to know if I'm Northern or Southern and I suspect that I'm more than a little of both. Regardless, the exchange left me laughing on more than one level and highly bemused and that's a pretty good note to part on.

Big Changes

A friend recently mentioned, in casual conversation, that they would never consider a vacation within a month of moving. He enumerated the reasons that it was a lousy idea. I glared over the table and tried hard to not start hyperventilating. Obviously, I doubt anyone actually sits around and thinks ”man, the week before I move would be an awesome time to go on vacation.” I sure didn’t but sometimes the decision is just taken out of your hands.

A year ago, we planned a family vacation to the Adirondack State Park in New York State for Mom’s birthday. It was conveniently book-ended by a few days in Oshkosh, WI for the annual AirVenture airshow and a friend’s wedding in Jay, VT. All awesome things but the trip was quickly getting technically complicated. The plan was for the whole family to converge on Oshkosh and then fly to NY and, ultimately, back south together. Then my husband took his new job in Atlanta and we shuffled the plans a little. I flew from Houston to Atlanta on the front end of the trip for a quick tour of houses before we both jetted back out to Wisconsin. Just another relaxing vacation for our family.

Then, in early July, our house in Houston went under contract. I won’t go into our experience with the buyers here (at least not yet) other than to say it was awful. When all was said and done though, we had a closing date of August 4th, just 5 short days after I would return home from our big, multi-stop trip. We were given so little time between contract and closing that our movers had limited availability and we were scheduled for move out on July 31st and August 1st. In case you’re not counting (and who could blame you), that means the movers arrived 12 hours after I got home.

No problem right? You get everything done in advance right? That’s entirely my wheelhouse and I’m overly familiar with elaborately pre-planned moves. There was only one small, insignificant hiccup. In Texas, there is typically a 10 day “Option” period where home buyers can back out of a sale for any reason. So many things went wrong during the contract period on the house that the option period was not set to end until days after I had left for vacation. Since everything up to that point had gone anywhere from “rocky” to “downright awful,” I was hesitant to do much of the pre-move work that could not be easily undone before I left just in case the sale fell through.

The next twelve hours will be crazy and it’s hard to imagine that everything will get done. It feels much like the Sunday that I sat in church before the week of my doctoral defense and could not, for the life of me, imagine that the next Sunday would ever come. Time keeps moving though so I know that this too will be behind me soon enough. Family will be coming Monday night to help me out with the things that do not need to be finished before the house is packed up and next weekend is looking pretty vacation-y from here so that’s something to look forward to. The even better news? Our 9am, Saturday-before-boarding-a-flight house touring netted us a house in Atlanta and, God willing, we’ll be closing in September!

This too shall pass

I haven't forgotten to blog so much as I haven't wanted to write about the things that are going on in our lives at the moment. Looked at through the right lens (let's call it the Erma Bombeck lens), they could be funny. But when it's you and your life and you're in the middle of it, nothing about it seems funny at all. On my recent good days, I feel lucky to have so many supportive friends and family members who can help us make this transition from Texas to Georgia easier. For instance, our cats are "vacationing" at their Grandparents house and, though I miss them intensely, I know how much time and effort and worry their vacation is saving me. On my less good days, I wonder what I did wrong in a previous life and fantasize about punching previous-life-me in the face because thanks a lot previous me.

The less satisfying truth is that, sometimes, for no reason at all, things just go wrong. Too bad I can't punch "nothing at all" in the face. (Here my brain helpfully suggests that I can punch the air and then I sass myself with the knowledge that air is still something and that punching it will not make me feel better at all.) So here we are, in the middle of a house sale in which the only thing that might go right is that we sell a house. (If you are thinking that that sounds pretty alright, ask me for the full story sometime but come prepared with a stiff drink to share.) Here's a barometer for the last two weeks: Assume events can be placed on a sliding scale that ranges from awful to less awful to neutral to good to genuinely fantastic. The least less awful thing that has happened is that our garbage disposal fell out of our sink, with food in it, while I was doing dishes. You really can't make this stuff up...

In the midst of all this, I was on the phone last night trying to catch up with my Aunt. At the end of the call, after patiently listening to me rant for over an hour, she reminded me that what will happen will happen regardless of whether I am frustrated or scared or angry or even happy or peaceful. It's a true statement though one that I would only take to heart from a handful of people, if that. From nearly anyone else, the same advice would sound trite and chiding. From my Aunt though, it was a warm and loving thing. Despite being true, it's tough advice to put into action but also a little bit freeing. It reminds me that I can only do so much and that, when I have done what I can do, it's time to put the rest aside. Sure, it won't stop me worrying but it does help me let go of some of the anger and frustration that come from feeling like I am a very small person pushing on a very large and immovable wall.

(It’s not) Rocket Science

I can’t quite decide if we are in the middle of the slowest mover ever or if it just feels that way because I have no real idea of when the actual move will happen. My husband moved to Atlanta in the end of February but we made the very conscious decision to delay selling our house until the spring/summer. I was swamped in the early spring and couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around doing all the things you need to do before putting a house on the market. Time seemed to move doubly fast once I did start getting the house ready though as I frantically tried to balance work, house prep, and life.

Now that the projects are done and the house is on the market though, I’m just waiting and time has slowed to a crawl again. We’re beginning to whittle down a list of the houses we might be interested in buying in Atlanta but with no contract on our home in Texas yet, we’re stuck in limbo. I thought that this stage of the process would be just as hectic and busy as the one preceding it, the getting ready phase. Aside from keeping our house especially clean though, it isn’t. So I wanted to blog about a list of the things that are currently surprising me.

Keeping the house super clean is easy when you’re the only one in it. Even our cats have been relocated and, while getting the house clean wasn’t easy, keeping it clean is pretty easy when there’s only one of me. It’s also improved my efficiency. I now prep meals only once a week for the whole week (breakfast, lunch, and dinner) because cleaning the kitchen every day is a nightmare but cleaning it once a week is pretty reasonable. My week nights suddenly have a lot more free time in them since preparing dinner involves reheating whatever I made on Sunday (lasagna this week!!).

Having people come through your house is the weirdest thing ever. I know it’s a necessary part of selling a home but it’s uncomfortable and unsettling and I don’t have to like it. I have a backpack packed more or less 24/7 with everything that I won’t leave in the house while it’s being shown, which is probably an interesting snapshot of what I value most highly. My camera. My laptop. My research hard drives. My favorite jewelry (the rest is packed away and locked up). My planner. Of course, there are plenty of things in the house that I value deeply but don’t remover because I doubt the people coming through would value them the same way- stuffed animals, family photo albums, books. Maybe having people come through the house would be alright if it (apparently) didn’t involve rocket science.

I went into this process understanding that I might come home to lights or fans turned on, despite our requests that realtors turn them all off. Then one afternoon I came home after a showing to discover the house hadn’t been fully locked up. The first time I wrote off as an uncomfortable fluke. The second time I started to get concerned. Then a door was left open. Not unlocked. Open. I was (unsurprisingly) traveling out of state at the time so I took a deep breath and called our realtor who apologized profusely and promised to take care of it. Hours later, the showing realtor had come and gone again but the door still wasn’t closed. Very close to losing anything that may have once resembled cool or composure I called our next door neighbor, who dutifully traipsed over in the middle of the night to close up the house for us. Everything turned out okay and I vented my frustration to my Mom via text message. Is this rocket science?

She assures me it isn’t and I try to console myself with the idea that we’ll have less to move if everything gets stolen first. It’s also a powerful reminder to me to be the kind of person I wish we had coming through our home as we tour homes in Atlanta.

Long Distance Hug

I've been having trouble settling on something to blog about recently. There's so much going on at the moment and yet, somehow, I feel like I'm in a holding pattern. I haven't left Texas and I haven't arrived in Georgia and I'm not quite fully in either state. So, instead of talking more about that whole situation, I'll touch on a favorite topic.

I was recently asked how I have so many friends. The honest answer is that I have NO idea.

I'm sure I've blogged about it before but I'm lucky to know so many amazing people. That's true all the time but it always rings particularly true when I'm stressed or going through a difficult time. One of the easiest ways for me to recognize stress in myself is that I stop singing along to the radio. For me, that indicates the kind of stress that I need to care about, the kind that doesn't disappear after a good night's sleep and solid meal.

When the radio doesn't cut it anymore, I dig out my CD's. I could just play the same music off my phone but, somehow, it's just not the same. I reach for the CD's that friends have made me over the years. They've been made with intent and with feeling and with care. A fair few of them have even been made with love. Many of them have been my companions on nearly a decade of road trips. The music is great but the memories that come with it are better.

The songs I listen to remind me of all the times that were better than the moment I'm currently in. The time I got into a car with a near stranger and got out a few hours later with a close friend. (It wasn't creepy, I promise.) The time I road tripped across the country with my boyfriend (now husband) and one of our best friends. So many moves across state lines. Weddings. Birthdays. Parties. The list goes on forever but there's one memory that is especially precious to me. (Okay, there are at least a thousand precious moments but there's one I want to talk about right now.)

In my junior year at college, I came down with some awful stomach bug. I struggled through a midterm and spent the rest of the day in bed. By late evening, I had to be admitted to the ER. I remember the pain and the fear of the whole mess. Three people, my then-boyfriend, then-best friend, and another friend, came to the hospital with me. After being admitted and put on an IV, everything got pretty fuzzy. I was released, nearly 6 hours later, at 2 am and I remember standing near the hospital doors, near tears, wondering how I was supposed to get back to my dorm, miles away. I had no car, no phone, and still felt horrible. A nurse came by and said she would get my friend from the cafeteria and the relief I felt was unbelievable. Of course my best friend or boyfriend had stayed! I thought and felt incredibly stupid for feeling so alone. Neither had though. Instead, they had both gone back to their dorms, tired. The third friend who came with us to the ER though had stayed awake all night, not wanting me to be released alone.

Some acts of friendship leave an indelible imprint on us. They aren't all as grand as the one I've recounted here but they are all deeply important. I don't know how I have found so many friends but I am so thankful for every single one of them. When I am feeling low, their loving actions are a Long Distance Hug.

Coincidentally, that's also the name of one of my favorite mix CD's.

Hello, Goodbye

Back in March, April was a shiny, gleaming goal on my horizon. March was so full of deadlines and April held almost none and a vacation to boot. Now I'm looking back at the last five weeks and wondering where they disappeared to. I don't have to wonder much though because I know the answer. As so often happens when we come down from a particularly stressful time, I got sick. Then I went on vacation. Then I got sick again. On top of the vacation and the getting sick, we finally started gearing up in earnest to relocate to Georgia.

It's exciting and also terrifying. I distinctly remember insisting up, down, and sideways that I would never buy a house again. Ever. That was only 15 short months ago and here we are. House shopping. Of course, that means we're also selling our house. Eventually, everything will get done but at the moment the searching for a new house, getting our current house ready to sell, working full time, and searching for a new job is about two things more than I can handle happily. My advice to myself has warped from "never ever buy a house again" to "never buy a house, then you never have to sell a house!" If only.

One of the most frustrating things about preparing our house to sell is that all the projects that I have wanted to do in the last year are finally getting taken care of. Just in time for me to not enjoy them. The back door, chipped from the previous owner's scratching dog, has been repainted. Holes from the previous owner's pictures, paintings, and wall hangings have all been neatly spackled and painted over. Piles of stuff the previous owners left behind in the garage have all been disposed of. We've cleaned out our closets and junk drawers. The list goes on and on. The good news is that it is all getting done and our house looks so much better for it. Every time I look around though I feel irked that it took us having to sell the house to accomplish so much. I've learned my lesson for our next home though- just get on top of this stuff early, don't procrastinate with weak excuses (for example: We might want to repaint this room later, so why fix it up now?).

One of the funnier to-do items is to use up as much of our food as possible, since anything that is open cannot be transported and we're not sure if our stuff will end up in storage for a while between homes. This has resulted in some funny meals, some tricky meal planning, and, the biggest hardship of all, a good bit of drinking (open alcohol bottles are not allowed to be shipped). Most recently, I've taken to trying to use up as much of our hot cocoa mix as possible. I've already completed this exercise with the coffee and tea. It's a little warm in TX in May for cocoa though so I started wondering if I could bake with it. The answer seems to be a resounding yes- bring on the brownies and chocolate cake!

March Madness

It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a blog up with good reason. The last few weeks have been some of my most trying in a long time. Through a combination of accident and well-intentioned-but-poorly-aligned planning, I had an awful lot of deadlines and to-do’s pile up in the second half of March. Add this move back to Atlanta into the mix and the whole thing started to feel perilously like setting off fireworks next to a powder keg. March is over though and I'm starting to decompress.

Months ago, when the only thing I had planned at the end of March was attending the wedding of two close friends, before we were going to be moving to another state, I volunteered to coordinate a “Food Fair.” In both Houston and Atlanta, I have volunteered with food pantries and it has always been a deeply moving experience. It reminds me, on my hardest days, of exactly how much I have to be thankful for. However, it is very difficult for many food pantries to stock fresh fruits and vegetables and other perishables, like milk. The health and safety standards associated with these items are beyond the reach of many smaller pantries. Houston Food Bank’s response to this need is a “Food Fair” where the food bank delivers 10 to 20 pallets of fresh produce to a location with the intent that it will all be distributed in one day. It’s a huge undertaking once you consider getting the word out to people in need, coordinating volunteers to run the event, and finding a place to hold it.

After so many months of planning, I was sick with worry by Friday night. What if no one came? What if the truck was late? What if we didn’t have enough volunteers? What if it rained? (We had only a very loose contingency for this because we didn’t have an indoor venue that would ever have been big enough.) What if we ran out of food before serving everyone that came?

I’m sure I’d worry just as much if I had it all to do again, amazingly, it all went off so smoothly that I spent all of Saturday wandering asking volunteers what I could do. After months of planning, the big day came, and I had little to do besides stand back and watch in wonder. At this point, this whole post may sound disgustingly self-congratulatory, but that really isn’t my intent. However, the back story was needed for the real purpose of this post.

On my umpteenth trip around our “fair ground,” I paused to look around and just watch everything in motion. In that moment, despite all my worries about other things going on in our lives, there was nowhere else that I could imagine wanting to be. I was surrounded by a group of amazing volunteers who all were willing to give up their Saturdays to direct traffic, to cart heavy food around, and to stand on street corners holding signs and directing traffic. I moved around asking people if they wanted a break and was turned down time after time. No one wanted to stop, even for lunch. Despite the heat and, occasionally, the rain, everyone was willing and happy to keep going and it was one of the most amazing, humbling things I have seen. And that was totally worth everything that led up to that moment.

Bad at Failing

I had an art teacher in high school (a hilarious nun who sometimes cursed, was usually improper, and taught me all kinds of things about not needing to conform to expectations) who used to tell us to "have a day." We would ask her if she meant "have a good day" and she would tell us that we could have whatever kind of day we wanted to have. Well, this has been a week. Stick whatever adjective you want in front of "week" and my answer will probably be "yes."

Math and science have always been hard for me. In both high school and college, I was strongly encouraged to pick something else. I was born with a stubborn streak a mile wide though and any suggestion that I couldn't do something generally only provoked me to try harder. (How lucky are my parents? I'm sure they hope I someday have one just like me.) I didn't choose science because it was easy, I chose it because it was hard, because it was a challenge, because I was determined to prove a point. To who (whom?), I have no idea.

I love that research keeps my mind busy and engaged. I love looking for the next project, the next challenge, and the next unknown. That's all well and good but usually science is a lot of days of failing to do something before you figure it out. Sometimes, before you discover you were asking the wrong question all along. Plenty of famous scientists (and less famous ones) offer examples of exactly how failing is intrinsically a part of research. Unfortunately, I am bad at failing. I do not, despite all the well meaning advice to the contrary, look at lines of failed code and think cheerfully "well, now I know that approach doesn't work, I'll just have to try another one!" Instead, I question why I couldn't have picked something else, anything else, to invest myself in as an adult. I hear the voice of a professor, long ago, telling me that I should consider science writing or being a telescope operator because I was not suited for more. If you're not sure, this was very much not a complement.

Usually I am most sure that I will never succeed shortly before I do just that. Often I leave work dispirited about my progress only to get on the highway and come up with a new approach on the way home. Or in the middle of the night. Or while I'm cooking dinner. I'm still not sure if the triumph at the end (however small of an improvement the "end" might be) is worth the struggle along the way. Maybe, someday, I'll get better at failing. Maybe I'll fail with more optimism and less resignation. At the very least, maybe I'll figure out a way to help my students be better at failing than I am. Or maybe being bad at failing is exactly what makes people good at science.

Thirty three hundred miles home

Life often takes a circuitous route that only makes any sense in retrospect. A year ago, we were feeling pretty confident that we would be in Texas for the long haul, or, at the very least, the next 5-10 years. We bought a house, we settled in, and we made it our own. We unpacked all our boxes for the first time in three years. And then we received a call that we never, ever expected.

My husband was being recruited for a job back at Delta. In Atlanta. We agreed it was worth him going through the process but remained unconvinced that anything would come of it. It did though and here we are. We're moving home. We're also leaving home.

It's been a whirlwind of feelings more than activity so far because, in the short term, only my husband is moving. I'm searching for a job but will stay behind at least until we sell the house and probably until I'm gainfully employed in Georgia. So right now, I'm holding my breath, standing on the edge of something big, without anything to distract me from the distinct sensation of holy cow, what are we thinking?

We're going back to people and a place that we both know and love. We're going back to favorite neighborhoods and restaurants and activities. We're leaving all those things too though. It's a feeling that is sometimes joyous and exciting and other times quite the reverse. (It is 100% exhausting, no matter how else I feel about it.) Looming large over all of it though is the worry that things won't be the same. Often, when I leave a place, it becomes frozen in time. I remember it as it was because how else can I remember it? Even now, when we go back to the area of NJ that I grew up in, everything looks achingly familiar and somehow, strangely, alien.

People come and go and we know that, when we move back to Atlanta, we will face the sad reality that some of our close friends have moved away. Places change too and I have to hope that our frequent trips back in the years since we left will prepare me. Most of all though, places change us. It's one of my favorite things about living in new and different places. I always get to come away changed, sometimes in big ways and sometimes in small ones. So a different me will be going back to a different place with some different people. It's the next great adventure and I think it will be pretty cool.

And whatever else may come, I'm really looking forward to night flights over the city again!

Uninvited Persepctive

On the official Coffee Commuting scale, today's commute was at the bottom of the list. (If you're not sure what I'm talking about: http://fifteenhundredmilessouth.blogspot.com/2016/03/coffee-and-commuting.html) I commute on a four lane highway. Three of them were shut down. I left home in the dark and watched the sun rise sitting parked on the highway.

It's incredibly easy for me to get angry when this happens. I'm not a morning person but I drag myself out of bed as close to 5 am as I can manage just to try to get to work before the worst of the traffic. So, when I hit bad traffic anyway, I'm usually tired, frustrated, and mad. It would appear that everyone else is too. It's not a situation that brings out the best in most of us. Let someone in? No way man, this lane is moving very slightly faster! Too frequently, I have been desperate to switch lanes and annoyed that no one wants to let me but recognize that, not even 10 minutes later (or earlier), I am the person who doesn't want to let someone in in front of me. Needless to say, it's a deeply irritating thing to recognize in yourself.

Apart from all that though, there's something even more important going on. (At least, I believe there is.) Three closed lanes on a four lane highway means there's been a major accident. People have gotten hurt. So while I'm sitting there getting angry that my 20 mile commute is going to take over an hour, I have to forcibly remind myself that someone else's morning has gone far, far worse than mine. I choose then to pray, for the people involved, for the first responders, for the hospital staff that will treat them. (Maybe someday I'll manage to skip the anger and frustration and pray first.) It doesn't make me less frustrated, but it does put my day in perspective. It's just not always perspective that I'm thrilled to have.

Double Trouble

Sometimes you make a knee jerk decision to run an extra errand and it has long lasting repercussions. Once I did this and got rear ended. More recently, we ended up with an extra cat out of the deal. Maybe I should stop running errands. I'm pretty sure that's the moral of this story.

Okay, now that you're wondering what I'm rambling about... We adopted a kitten! We'd actually been considering it for months and had been looking through pictures of available kittens. None had quite seemed right though. Then, two weeks before Christmas, I decided to run by the pet store to pick up some extra supplies. It was a shelter adoption day but I wasn't worried because we had gone to tons of those and never found an animal we wanted to take home. (I mean, they're always adorable, but none seemed just right.) I bypassed the adoption event and picked up what I needed. Feeling very on top of my schedule for the day, I decided to swing by for a quick look. And there she was, laying on her back in a cage, frantically trying to bat at the Christmas decorations on the table below the kennels. It was probably all over for me in a heartbeat.

It couldn't have been worse timing with me leaving two days later for a conference and a Christmas trip to FL only days after I returned from the work trip but we decided to take the plunge anyway. A few hours (and no more errands) later, we were home with a new kitten and a very, very pissed off MT (our four year old cat). And thus started a trial run for parenthood that we didn't know we had signed up for.

There are the sleepless nights as the two cats chase each other onto the bed, off the bed, and back onto the bed again. There are the early mornings when Kaylee decides to find her loudest toy and start chasing it around the house. There are the sibling fights (we've given up on breaking most of them up). There are the late night trips to the emergency vet. There are the temper tantrums (because, in cat-speak, throwing up on your bed is the equivalent to a full out toddler melt down).

The phrases No! Don't eat that! and What's in your mouth? Spit it out right now! have become as common in our house as they are in my sister's, which is home to three toddlers. It certainly hasn't been anything like we expected and I'm not sure we'd sign up to do it again but the sweet moments are pretty endearing and the cats are slowly (glacially) warming up to each other. We even got them to hold still for one whole photo...

Old Drafts

I don't blog often about my work or my time as a graduate student, though it's certainly a huge part of my life. Graduate school, especially, is a hard experience to characterize if you haven't been there. And if you have been, then you know. Recently though, blogging about some of my experiences has been on my mind.

More and more, a lot of my work has been focused on students. I've been helping both undergraduates and graduates to develop their research ideas into projects, presentations, and papers. Well, hopefully I've been helping.

There's a seemingly universal experience that I had as a student and that I now see in the faces of my own students. It's the look of disappointment, maybe mixed with a little incredulity, that students have when their edited work is handed back to them. I remember it well and it's discomfiting to see on the faces of my own students. It's the look you give when you are sure you put your absolute best work into something and it comes back dripping with corrections.

As a grad student, I usually handled the disappointment by reading the corrections and then not looking at them for a few days. They never looked as bad as I thought after I gave them some time. Now, seeing that look directed at me, I am often tempted to rush in and start apologizing and reassuring. I'm sorry. It's not that bad. You did good work. It just needs a little polishing.

I have to remind myself that those types of silly reassurances aren't necessary. Review is very much part of the scientific process and learning to handle criticism is crucial. Learning how to do this part, the editing, revising, and growing of research, is at least as important as anything you will learn in a class and, I would argue, possibly more so. So I'm learning to bite my tongue, set a deadline, and invite students to bring me their questions if they have any. Maybe someday I'll stop feeling bad about it too but I doubt that day will be anytime soon.

In the meantime, I look back at my Old Drafts file, the folder of previous drafts I keep for each paper I write. I only start a new draft for major changes, not minor corrections, and each paper has somewhere between 30 and 50 old drafts behind it. I feel a little bit less of an impulse to apologize after that because I know that I've never had a paper revision that didn't make it better.

The Sick kind of Sick Days

There's this commercial that runs here showing a woman calling in for a sick day to marathon a favorite tv show. Whether she's sick or not, she's definitely enjoying streaming her favorite show. Who doesn't want that? Some days I fantasize about all the things I could be getting done at home if I just took a sick day. But I don't. I don't even take sick days when I'm sick. I work from home.

So this past week was unusual. I took sick days from Wednesday to Friday. I had a good reason for it (and if you want to know more about that, send me an email or message) but, in my heart, I was pretty sure it would be unnecessary. I even sketched out a plan for each day, assuming that I would feel up to doing things. It was a good plan.

Of course, that's not how sick days work when you're really sick. Rather than tackling my very reasonable sounding to do list, I spent most of my time sleeping and, when I was awake, I did exciting things like stare at the walls. It's a lot more interesting than it sounds when you're not feeling well. I thought about reading a book or coloring or doing so many other things that seem to take almost no energy but it turns out that they all took just enough energy.

I'm feeling better now and will be back at work tomorrow but the moral of the story is that sick days are a lot less exciting and fun than you'd think when you're actually sick.