I have a PhD in Family and Consumption Economics from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. I received it in 1993, so it was a long time ago. It was probably my biggest sacrifice, spending 7 more years out of the workforce.
It didn’t feel like a sacrifice at all. I was self-supporting throughout grad school (although assistantship pay is hardly extravagant). I relished my time with fellow grad students, and I had time to sit on the Quad and watch people. I did have mood swings during this time and spent some of it depressed, but most of graduate school was idyllic.
To me, sacrifices never feel like sacrifices. They feel like life. In one moment, I am earning much less to make my way through graduate school. In another, I am taking time to help someone else with a class. A choice made, the consequences accepted. Just life.
If I haven’t mentioned, I am working on a book called Hiding in Plain Sight, which is an origin story of Hearts are Mountains, the Archetype commune in Whose Hearts are Mountains. The origin story is not a small thing, because Archetypes are supposed to be solitary beings, so how do they get into a commune together?
The solitary tendency (an inborn taboo) is breaking down among the Earthbound Archetypes, who are exiled from InterSpace by their unsanctioned birth. But Archetypes in gathering are dangerous, in part because they could draw attention to themselves. As practically immortal beings who are stronger than humans, Archetypes’ discovery could end in a war against them. The Council also fears the commune’s numbers because they could go up against the Council of the Oldest. The book is building to a showdown between the commune and the Council of the Oldest.
But first, the main character, anthropologist and Archetype Dr. MariJo Ettner, has been discovered by a human, her research assistant, Alice Johnson. She is in the position of answering Alice’s questions while impressing upon her that she should not tell a soul about Archetypes’ existence. This works great until Alice wants a child by Mari’s adopted son, William. A half-human offspring, born fully adult, may break the secret.
The book is about hiding a culture, a culture that would shake Earth’s foundations were it discovered. And the culture itself, made up of so many ingrained taboos it hardly exists. It’s writing slowly, as I’m largely pantsing it. Wish me luck.
I am not a leader. I am not a follower. I am the person who works the best and fastest on my own.
I have some leadership opportunities, chairing one committee in my department. I don’t feel I do a good job of it. People let me do it, but I feel like (American proverb here) a fish out of water when I do it.
As a follower, I am impatient. Mercifully, my chair and assistant chair believe in short faculty meetings, so following is not
so painful. I do what I’m told, so I’m not a bad follower, I guess, but it’s not my natural state of being.
I really want to be in my own office, completing tasks from my personal checklist. When I have scheduled time, I’m a rockstar, checking things off my list. I prefer brainstorming on my own to sitting in a meeting. And when I brainstorm with others, I prefer they be an equal to either a superior or a follower.
Left to my own, I’m a loner, I guess. If I have to choose between leader and follower, I would be a follower, but it’s not my natural state. I’d rather work on my own, thank you.
I don’t eat healthy enough. I eat a lot of processed food because we don’t have a lot of time or energy to cook at the end of the day. Between Richard’s job and his share of the housework, and my work and writing, we just don’t have the energy to do more than open a jar of spaghetti sauce or eat some faux lobster dip with crackers. It’s a wonder that my stomach hasn’t reached up and strangled me at some point.
It’s not that I dislike vegetables, even. When I eat vegetables, they’re the best thing on earth if ripened well and not overripe or spoiled. I have very good tastebuds and I can tell if a tomato or cucumber is a bit off. Right now I’m craving an Indian vegetarian dinner of channa masala, saag with turnips, and chutney. Or a Thai cucumber salad and some green chicken curry. Or a stir-fry with peanut sauce.
We’re putting in a vegetable garden this year. I hope that entices me to eat more vegetables. I’m also putting in an herb garden for the same reason.
Revamping one’s diet is not a little change, but a big one. Wish me luck.
As an American with progressive leanings and a desire for globalism, the public figure I agree with the most is Donald Trump. I could throw the rest of his cabinet in for good measure, but I’m going to focus on Trump today.
I’m going to spare you readers the commentary on his personal attributes of vanity, venality, and probably narcissism, because this essay is supposed to be about disagreement.
I disagree with Trump’s overuse of executive orders to reshape the government, bypassing Congress. The legislative branch exists for a reason, and is vital to our democracy.
I disagree with Trump’s viewpoint that the purpose of government is as a despotic tool of revenge. There are plenty of examples of this, from revoking security clearances for past Democratic opponents to firing prosecutors for their roles in prosecuting January 6th rioters.
I disagree with Trump’s denial of due process toward people he deems as undocumented aliens. Due process exists for a reason — it’s in the Constitution.
I disagree with Trump’s dismantling of DEI programs, which sought not to favor women and people of color, but to give them equal access. I disagree with Trump’s efforts to rewrite public history, removing these people’s accomplishments.
I disagree with Trump’s every Cabinet pick, as they seem to be chosen as the least competent people for the jobs.
I disagree with Trump’s destructive purge of government employees and organizations, especially those which protect Americans. Cutting government spending can be done thoughtfully, as was evidenced in the Clinton administration.
I do not just disagree with Trump. I protest his heavy-handed, anti-American actions.
I’m 62 years old, an associate professor, and five years from retirement. This is the time where people with careers coast until retirement rather than thinking about promotion-type ventures.
What is my career plan? For the most part, doing the best job I can until I retire. This means teaching, a bit of research, revamping classes, and possibly writing up a new class. There’s going to be a little bit of helping with curriculum revision, and always summer interns. Nothing new or surprising on that front.
I don’t want to go up for full professor because of the stressors of paperwork and worthy research — I have tenure; that was what I needed. I need life balance.
As far as the writing goes (I guess that’s a hobby rather than a career, but I’m going to talk about it anyhow) I am going to keep writing. When I retire, I will have more time to write and will have to write to keep my sanity in retirement. I don’t do nothing well. Maybe I will find the secret to promoting my work. Maybe I will write a best-seller. I don’t foresee anything else unless I turn a hobby into a more considerable operation, such as going professional with my moulage. I haven’t gotten to that quality; it would be fun if I had.
That’s my career in a nutshell. At my age, it’s not exciting.
I used to celebrate May Day — not the traditional Labor holiday (that’s celebrated in September in the US lest someone think we’re communists). I celebrated the genteel holiday where people flirted by leaving baskets of flowers on someone’s porch, ringing the doorbell, and running before one got caught. It wasn’t as genteel when I did it — I remember jumping over the railing of a long set of outdoor stairs about halfway down. I never understood the holiday — the idea was if the other person caught you, they would kiss you. Why am I avoiding this? Why would I deliver a basket to someone I didn’t want to kiss? It seems really passive-aggressive. It made more sense when I was seven.
I haven’t delivered May baskets for years — the idea being I’m much too busy with work and writing. I also don’t know if my husband would appreciate one, to be honest. And why would I run away from him?
This year, May Day is becoming a protest day, where people are gathering to protest our president. This is a good use for May Day. I am not near a protest, or else I’d get out with the rest of them.
First, it’s not really a summer vacation. Although I’m on a 10-month appointment as a faculty member, I also work over the summer doing internships. It’s not a big deal, though, doing internships — it’s mostly monitoring the students through assignments and touching base with them, and going on site visits. I don’t get a lot of money for internships, because this year I only have ten or eleven interns.
Other than internships, I hope to write. A lot. I have a book that wants to be written, and it’s starting to get interesting. I will have to edit it good so that I think it’s interesting from the start, but I’m in the ‘getting things down on paper’ stage. I wonder if I have more books left in me, and I realize I’m sitting on at least two ideas. So we will see.
I’m also gardening the best I can. I have a tangle of seedlings in the grow room that I have to put out to harden off soon. I would say most of what I’m planting is herbs, because my sister gave me a ton of herb seeds for Christmas. And I like fresh herbs. There will be a few vegetables because they are nice to eat. I’m hoping I can motivate to weed like I’ve had trouble with just about every year I’ve put in a garden.
I hope to do a writing retreat in KC sometime. Ideally (a hint to my husband) a trip to The Elms, a massage, and some grotto time. I would settle for a trip to 21c, some Broadway Cafe time, and a quick visit to see some kittens at Whiskers Cat Cafe. Or someplace totally new, as long as there’s a coffeehouse nearby and some decent places to eat.
Nothing fancy on the plans here. I just hope to have a good summer.
The last concert I’ve been to was the Gesualdo Six, a British a cappella group who performs vocal music from medieval to modern compositions. Mostly older.
The concert was held in McCray Auditorium, which is housed in an older building whose lobby looked like a courtyard. Very English Gothic, I’m told. Not a bad building for the Gesualdo Six.
The Gesualdo Six were fabulous. I have an eclectic taste in music, but one of the things I love is good harmony. I can’t play-by-play the concert like I was a music critic, but the soaring harmonies are what I will remember.
The concert I saw before the Gesualdo Six? The Hu, a Mongolian heavy metal band. Did I mention I have eclectic taste in music?
Words Like Me 