the end

Tomorrow, I leave for an undisclosed European destination where I will don Academic Regalia and parade to solemn music, line up in a gorgeous old-building-setting, and eventually walk forward when my name is called. I will return to my seat bearing a document of some sort, which I hope is beribboned, with stamped insignias and flowing calligraphy, on parchment.

Instead, it will probably be a cardboard tube, with a laserjet-printed A4 sheet telling me that my certificate, "suitable for framing", will arrive by mail in 30 to 60 days. This is Ireland, after all. They are not known for speedy anything, let alone mail delivery.

I had not been looking forward to this journey until I received the following email from a fellow postgrad, who was a year ahead of me:

Did you book your gown? A. calls it the "McDonalds" gown. Very apt really. Do take lots of photos and send us one. We should start a gallery, last year I know for the first time a photo of the Seniors was taken for wall hanging, just like the Medics do traditionally. So hope to catch up, and so happy for you. Well and done and enjoy the pomp and ceremony (there is lots of that, but you might be familiar having worked in Law?), it's well earned and it is quite a spectacle.

So who knows? Perhaps you'll get to see a picture of the little-p 'prophet' in the McDonald's gown. . . . What do you think?

Anyway - I am suddenly excited to be going, and that's a gift.

Yesterday, the bluebird of happiness came calling. I was sans camera, and didn't want to miss bluebird time to go get it so there is no photo this time. He sat on the back of a chair out on the portico. Then he fluttered up against the window. Then he flew to a hole high in a snag tree I'd never noticed out back in the woods. Then he flew back and fluttered at the window closest to me. Back, then, to his home.

I know now where the bluebird lives.

in which it seems all our cars have to be replaced at once

Granted, my old convertible from my lawyer "golden days" has seen better days, and we had made the decision to replace it - eventually - with a nice sedan of some sort rather than spend the money needed to restore it. An '87 B-mer convertible is a great little classic car - but hey! - it's an '87 with hundreds of thousands of miles on it.

The king's jeep, on the other hand, we thought we'd be able to keep for a good long time. It's the bigger jeep - very comfy and very handsome - and Luther rides comfortably, so that was going to be my vehicle.

You will note the past tense.

When the 1987 raggedy-ass B-mer rag-top without air conditioning becomes the "reliable" car of the enterprise, the king steps in. The jeep is in for its last fix and then it's history. He had it a good 7 years, but enough is apparently enough.

To replace it? Probably another jeep. But a smaller 6 cylinder, this time. Or maybe a smaller Land Rover? But I've heard horror stories of the cost of repairs. I just think they look cool. Then again, I think the little Scion x-box guys are the cutest things going! Apparently, though, they neither get great gas mileage nor does their 4-cylinder engine give adequate power.

Bummer.

Well - we're on a mission. Input welcomed. Vital: cargo room for the beast.

the lesson for today

Brought to you by Air France (motto: "If we haven't lost your luggage, we haven't done our job!"), by way of The Happiness Project and Homefront Six.

On our recent journey to an otherwise undisclosed overseas location, Air France did its job and lost my luggage. The French-speaking customer "service" rep (in an English-speaking country) managed to convey that the luggage was inexplicably unaccounted for, but that it would undoubtedly arrive later that afternoon.

Eet weel be saint to yuehr ohtelle tuehmohroh.

"Tomorrow? Why not toDAY?"

It appears that it is too expensive to send luggage on to my ohtelle whenever it appears Air France is done with losing my luggage. Instead, they "batch" the lost bags, and do one big delivery the next day.

Ownlehss yueh arrr beezinesss klass? Yueh arrr beezinesss klass, pehrhaps?

"Does that make a difference?"

Yes, that does make a difference. Then, apparently, they send your bag straight away. But I wasn't business class. Still, the customer service rep said he had good news for me: there was a bag they would give me at the ticket counter desk that would contain everything I needed until my bag arrived.

"Does it contain pajamas?" I asked. No. No pajamas. No face cream or make-up or a change of clothes. "But it does contain a T-shirt" I was assured. Great. Fifteen hours of travel and I have a T-shirt to tide me over till the next day.

I picked up the thing, which you see pictured above. Inside (going from memory here, as I promptly ditched the contents) was a tiny toothbrush with vile-tasting paste, a little plastic container that looked like a pill-box, but which proved to be deodorant (sticky and smelly, and difficult of application, as it kept falling apart), a small plastic bag with 2 cotton balls and 2 Q-tips, a Barbie-doll sized "travel" brush, some horrible smelling liquids claiming to be all-in-one soap/gel/shampoo and a matching "lotion", a single-blade non-safety razor, and the promised T-shirt.

I think that was it.

Like I said, I threw everything out. Except the little bag. That almost went, as well, but I was fascinated by the logo.

Caring More About You

Just think of it. This is something they have given to someone whose luggage they have lost. Someone who is inconvenienced; maybe even mad.

This is the message they want to give me? That they are "caring more about me"?

How about: "We're sorry you can't be using your own cosmetics and brush, but hey - here! - please use these instead while we do our best to find YOUR BAG so you can throw this out right away."

Or "Please take this as a memento of how horrible our service smells."

With "caring" like that, I'd like a little less caring.

ANYway, today, I read the posting above, from the Happiness Project - a bit of a self-rah-rah place by a woman who's got a publishing contract to write a book about happiness, and is already pre-marketing it. She's got some interesting thoughts on occasion, though. The post in question challenges us to examine our "heuristics". . . . by which I take it she means our unspoken assumptions and even prejudices.

One of my underlying operating criteria is "Actions speak louder than words".

I think that's why I was so taken with this stupid little bag that proclaimed great care, but symbolized negligence and resulting injury, unrepented of. The actions drowned out the words. I was fascinated with it.

Second, Homefront Six talked - among other things - about it being our choice: better, or bitter, and that we could either bitch about a problem or (quoting Ghandi) be part of the solution.

I liked that. I tend to bitch about things. It is not something I admire in myself. But my lesson today was that I do have a choice. I was pleased to see that I had chosen to move on to better. Instead of choosing to harbor resentment against Air France, I've converted their ridiculous little bag into my travel snack bag: one compartment for the pistachio nuts, the other for the shells, once the nuts have been eaten. I took it to Florida last week.

One day - too - I imagine I'll be able to look back on the whole episode with amusement. For now, I'm learning to be pleased at having found a positive use for the ill-conceived 'proof-of-caring' bag.

on the road

Florida, this time.

This, looking down the fairway of the 17th hole, I think it was. Dusk. Over time, three planes entered the same space and - but for time - would have collided. Instead, they left a lovely crossing star.

The king golfed. I read. Cesar's Way, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane (Kate Dicamillo), and His Holiness (Carl Bernstein and Marco Politi).

I re-read a story I had written to the half-way point about a year ago. I still like it. Perhaps it's time to finish it.

Perhaps you noticed I was gone?

Well, I'm back.

This is where we were.

Amazing, eh? I never tired of photographing it. Here's another shot, in sunlight.

In the morning sun, storm having passed.

Storm threatening; evening.

Flat light after afternoon walk - with guard-cat in middle ground.

Way sunny, through oaken fingers.

The side view is just as beautiful.

Especially when the sun shines on it of a morning. . . . the stern gray clouds notwithstanding.

And finally here: what I saw from my front bedroom window in the morning. That would be from the top two windows on the front right hand side, as you look at the other pictures.

It was a wonderful time away - but I won't have time to write more about it until later!

ephemera

Occasionally, one of my desktop web cams displays a picture of haunting beauty. If I'm lucky, I can "capture" it before it refreshes, never to be seen again.

Here's one I managed to catch.

I missed one a week ago, and find myself still regretting it. It's funny, though: it's the ones that got away that fill your dreams and the treasure chests of your imagination. In a way, I'm the wealthier for having just missed that shot.

This one is fixed. The other one - from last week - lives and sings and sparkles.

strange thought-fellows

Lately, my days have been taken with thoughts of design, decor, and money. Time factors in there as well, insofar as having to keep up with the construction process, and trying to balance outlay of money, ordering stuff, and considering replacement of money - i.e., namely by engaging in work-for-pay. What a concept!

It has effectively silenced much of my reflective thought, not to mention creativity. The bulk of my creativeness seems channeled these days into daydreaming about my garden and compulsive knitting. I have quite a stack of new neckwear, a gorgeous turquoise vest, and a growing pi shawl in a lace-weight Malabrigo in "Bobby Blue" [pictured].


I would have called it turquoise.

I've slowly started adding some colour back into my wardrobe. Notably, I see it still largely takes the shape of things that go about my neck or shoulders. For years, traveling as I did, I had restricted myself largely to black - adding only a silk scarf in colour - as the easiest to travel with and as calling the least amount of attention to itself. I wanted a basic well-done "uniform" that always looked nice, but didn't need to be fussed with. Black pants are black pants, after all, and occasion little comment.

Ditto: the black skirt.

The one place where style entered into the equation was in the matter of the jacket. There, you could have the short jacket, the fitted jacket, the boxy blazer, the peplum, double-breasted/single-breasted, the military cut, hacking jacket, or even a long coat. . . . Lots of choices! Not to mention textures.

Now that I'm a bit more settled, I find myself a bit more adventurous, colour-wise. Old habits die hard, though, so I still find myself edging to the black where pants, skirts and jackets are concerned. But in knitting, black is so hard to see! So I've allowed myself the luxury - there - of colour. Currently, it's turquoise. I think that looks nice with black - especially with a bit of silver.

As you see, I'm all flighty these days. Not at all what one would expect of a 'doctor of philosophy'. I expect it's reactionary. I'm feathering my nest and collecting shiny things, like any other self-respecting corvid.

I expect I'll resume my croakings soon enough.

another view

I have linked to this lady (Elizabeth Perry) before. She posts a sketch every day - and has been doing so now for a couple of years.

Today's sketch really helped pull my expectations of travel out of the gutter. How strange that a little pen, ink and colour wash could renew my excitement of the adventure and glamour of going overseas - my word! Here I've been, dreading it.

The crowds. The lines. The squalling children. The dirty seats, trays, tables and sticky armrests. The floors that don't bear close examination. The smells. The obnoxious people. More lines. Travel documents. Heavy burdens (why does paper weigh so much?!) Personal space invasions. Sleep deprivation. General anxiety about missing one's plane, or connection, or losing luggage or money or just in general. . . . general anxiety.

I used to travel very well. Elizabeth Perry's sketch has pointed me back towards what I used to know. I can still travel light, and expectantly.

I leave on Sunday.

heidelberg happy

Here's a happy thought: the Heidelberg castle in a bit of sun. Waiting for me on my desktop webcam! Just right there, all nice and sunny on the other side of the ocean even as we speak.

At least I think it's 'as we speak' - I can't make out the little numbers that show when the last webcam photo was updated. And you know what? I'm not looking! As far as I'm concerned, the thought of my favorite castle in the whole world in a bit of sun is a happy thought and I'm all over it.

headline questions

Have you noticed that more and more news headlines are posed in the form of a question?

I remember my Journalism 101 class, and the importance of the "attention-grabbing" function of the headline. These days, however, attention-grabbing has turned into "engagement-seeking". Everything is interactional these days. News isn't news - it's a guessing game!

Guess who won the Florida primary?

Guess who's back in hospital, being observed 'mentally', after "bizarre behavior"?

Guess who died? Who wrecked? Who lied? Who made a fool of him - or her - self?

I usually refuse to read "articles" like that, just out of principle. I resent being dragged in by idle curiosity. Today, however - on AOL - I bit on the headline for this article, the headline for which was "Why did Feb. 17 Make the List?[of days you shouldn't travel]".

As I'm traveling on Feb. 17 - this was information I clearly needed to know. I clicked on, only to be referred to yet another article which supposedly would enlighten me. It took me a while, but I finally found it - buried in the middle of an otherwise unastonishing - and, frankly, uninteresting - article. Why shouldn't I travel on Feb 17? Here it is, quote-unquote:

The 50th running of the Daytona 500 takes place Feb. 17th. I don’t even live in Daytona Beach, Fla. (I’m in Orlando) and I’m thinking of getting out of town. Don’t even think about renting a car — they’re taken that weekend. And stay away from the Orlando theme parks, unless your idea of family fun is to stand in a long line with a lot of rowdy NASCAR fans.

Here I thought we might be dealing with some universal wisdom applicable universally - like, maybe, Feb. 17 is the day all airplane wheels fall off, or when the refuelers 'short' the jets on fuel just to piss off the pilots, or the day all the new air traffic controllers control traffic without supervision, or something like that, or meteor showers, or SOMEthing. . . .

But no. It's the DAYTONA far-reaching 500. whoop.

So! Don't go outside. You might get run over.

Luckily, I'm only going to Ireland. . . . . I might be safe. Maybe.

it's sunny in Dublin

Don't blink!

Here's proof:


I keep a webcam widget on my Google desktop so that I can track the weather changes. I find it particularly unfair when it's sunny there, but overcast here. As it is today.

But I'll tell you what, there's nothing that will make you appreciate the sun more than living in Ireland! You don't take it for granted. I could go check the webcam in another 5 or 10 minutes and find it gray and pouring rain. Here, when the sun is out, you can usually count on it staying out for a good several hours. Not so, in Ireland!

This accounts for much of their approach to life, I think, which can be summed up twofold: (1) Expect rain, but (2) enjoy the sun now, while you can! It also accounts for the incredible diversity - and interesting - conversation about the weather, a favorite topic over there. You just can't help it.

re-acclimating

I hardly know what day it is.

It's warm again - but that's because I'm in Florida. Tampa, to be precise. For a wedding. The king is golfing. I'm resting.

But I'm feeling a little guilty. On the build-up for the trip, I got all freaked about what kind of room we would have and whether we'd have to share a bath with another couple and how much I really just wanted to be alone for a bit with my husband. . . . We're in a 3 bedroom condo and I finally decided that ALL of the rooms were surely nice, and not to worry about it. (I can be so petty!)

We get here and the 2 men go off to sort out the rooms and it turns out that it's a two bedroom condo and a suite. The one couple that made the arrangments took the 'suite' and the king and I turned into the 2 bedroom condo and I naturally made my way to the back bedroom (both bedrooms have their own bath) where the sight of the water, waterfowl, gof course and aligator won me right over. I put our bags in there. The third couple doesn't arrive till later this afternoon.

Turns out that this is by far the nicest of the 3 bedrooms and now I feel guilty that I 'took' it. . . . (Ms. selfish is on duty. . . .) The "suite" turns out to be nothing more than a bedroom like ours, only a little smaller. And darker feeling. They are adjoining so they will share our living room. But I'm trying not to let my guilt feelings get in the way of loving life here in the corner aerie - windows open on 2 sides, with big wide plantation shutters. Only bad thing is that we have frosted glass french pocket doors as our bedroom door. Not exactly private. Oh well.

I'm still trying to figure out what to do with myself now that the dissertation is done. Mostly, I have been catching up on sleep. I have little energy for any new projects. I did bring some quilting along with me, as well as some watercolour paper and colours. . . . And a little Paul Ricoeur - just to stay sharp. Oh - and a little fantasy book I started the beginning of the year, and then resolutely put away. Time to get back to it.

But first, a nap I think.

recalculating countdown. . . . standby

You know how I love details - but I'll spare you the thought process of realizing I have a COUPLE EXTRA DAYS here! So it's not actually minus five today. . . . . more's the pity. It's more like minus 7 - unless you count the handoff day as a day, in which case it's minus eight. And do you count today as one of the days?

Why am I like this?!

Anyway - I'm not going to worry about it now. It's the recalculating day, and perhaps I'll have worked out the math by tomorrow, if I get another 6 hours sleep in between now and then.

I know where this picture is from, although I didn't take it. I know this because I have one similiar to it, but without the bird. And this was handier than scrolling through my pictures of Paris - because that's where this was from - and the Paris pictures would take too long to go through because I'd be drooling over them. And maybe crying. Good crying. . . .

Oh, remember when, indeed. . . .

I was there for a conference; the king joined me after a week or so. We spent two weeks in student lodgings in a walled city chateau. Le Foyer We lived in the clocktower - clock right above our bedroom window. Bath down the hall. Wine and baguettes every night overlooking the courtyard. The menu made a big impression on us - it's still a staple part of our diet!

Walks through the Jardin du Luxembourg every day. . . . boules. . . . the little boys and their toy sailboats on the lake. . . . the flowers. . . .

OK - stop it!

Back to work.

sigh.

Two things before I start today: one, I told the king about the prophet. . . . two, I'm thinking through freedom versus obligation.

It's so funny how these things play out in my life, so that I can actually SEE what it is that I mean! Einstein is supposed to have said that "coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous".

So I told the king last night that I'd been writing here. He took it well, I think, perhaps taken aback by the 'secret' aspect of not having told him this. He also - as suspected - brought up the problematic of writing non-work stuff when I have so much work stuff to do. This is a major difference between us. He's a get-it-done-first-then-relax sort of person; I'm an enjoy-it-while-you-can sort of one. Also a I-can't-work-all-the-time sort, and as the dissertation would take up every waking hour, there has been a grave necessity to allow for some pleasurable distractions along the way. Of which I count him my major pleasure - and distraction - but there's other stuff as well. My garden. The occasional knitting or sewing. God - I've given up so much already. . . . I haven't played music in 2 years. I haven't sung. I haven't started a new quilt. I haven't sewn a dress since my wedding dress. I've felt guilty reading anything but law or philsophy.

But the thing is - life is built on freedom. For me, anyway.

It's not unlimited freedom - if you don't work, it won't get done! Yet there is also freedom in the working. I don't work well under the weight of duty, or the"ought". It robs me of the freedom to work joyously. And this is why I think I have needed also to write just for fun. Saying what I like, with no foundational requirements, no format requirements, and no judging looming over me second-guessing what I perhaps should have been doing, instead. It's like saying that anything short of a masterpiece isn't worth working on as an artist, let's say. So forget those sketches; those little cartoons. Don't take that walk or stop in that cafe for a hot whiskey. Keep your eyes on your work.

Big sigh.

This is a big piece for me. This IS my work! I'm still learning how to call the shots in my own life. It's not about what the king says - or even thinks - this really is about my own motivation. What I think, and why. NOT in an it's-all-about-me mode, but in the how-I-live-life mode! And is it free? Is it authentic? Or is it in response to what I perceive others want, without them even asking? Which was always my default.

The good thing is that this has nothing to do with how others respond, or whether others allow me this kind of freedom. I have it. The question is, will I live in it? The king has really helped me here. He expects he married an autonomous grown-up. SURPRISE! grin. . . .

But here's how this fits: I've been looking at assertions of "human rights" as arguments in disputed moral issues. I've always been a bit leery of human rights as 'sources' for entitlements because they don't deal with who provides all these things, to whom, and who gets the bill. So perhaps you have the right to control the autonomy of your body, for example, in connection with terminating pregnancy - but if we term it AS a right, does that not imply that someone will have the obligation to provide the means by which to do so?

In other words, what good is a "right" to exercise control over one's body if there is no viable means provided of doing so?

As a lawyer, I don't like to hear talk of rights unless there's talk of corresponding means - the enabling legislation that puts a shape on the other side of rights: who provides them, to whom, how, and at what cost to whom.

As a person, however, I don't particularly like being importuned on the obligation side. I prefer the free and easy gift, without thought of the underlying side of duty. I don't like to do things because it's my duty - I want to do them because it's my delight.

I love this quote from Onora O'Neill:

I was once publicly admonished for asking who holds the obligations that correspond to an alleged right to health (not merely to a right to health care!) on the grounds that health is too important to human beings not to be the object of a right.

God is still anonymous, eh? Maybe that's how we can work in the idea of prayer.

I could live here. . . .

Does that say anything about me - I wonder?

travel tricks

A couple of weeks ago I stayed overnight at the Ritz Carlton: legitimate business meeting, corporate rates (I'm sure), thankfully paid for by said corporation - not me. But I'm the one who got to enjoy the upgrade to executive suite, thank you very much, with TWO bathrooms!

Nice. (even though I felt vaguely uncomfortable with the sheer excess of having two - which I solved by shutting the door to one and mostly ignoring it)

This brought on a moral dilemma, however. It's one thing to clear out all the nice smelling toiletries to take home with you when you're talking just one bath. After all, they were put there for me to use, and I might have used them all up, if I hadn't wanted to take them home because I like the little bottles. But this is two baths - one person - one night. No way I could legitimately use up all the toiletries. . . . Is it legit to take them, anyway?

Right. I took 'em.

I'm glad I did, too, because once I got them home I really got to liking the smell (Bvlgari - Au The Blanc - and that would be 'The' as in 'tea' and not as in 'the' - so 'tea, white' and not 'the white'. . . . Ah, the French. Took me a while, too, so don't feel bad. Oh, and I still can't figure the 'v' instead of the 'u' - or at least I assume you pronounce 'Bvlgari' as 'Bulgari'? but what do I know) ANYway - once I got home and started liking the smell, I discovered that it's available really only at Nordstrom's, and the 'guest collection' (which is essentially what the hotel put out in each bath - minus the "oshibori", and what the hell is that, anyway!?) is $85.00!

Eighty-five bucks! Man.

I also found out later that the corporate room rate was only something like $120.00. I figure I'm ahead of the game. WAY ahead.

And yes, there is a tidy little resale market of 'travel sized' Bvlgari products on Ebay. . . . But you won't see any of mine there. You see, I REALLY like the smell. I'm thinking of going back to the Ritz for more. It's cheaper than going to Nordstrom's.

fly me to the moon

. . . . good to know there's
more than one way to get there!