Skirts

My parents got called on a mission, because they had grown a foot or two.

My parents, with four feet between them.

Back in August, before they left, I said I'd help my mother find appropriate clothing.  There were several things to bring on her list, but the hardest things to find were skirts.  She needed several conservative skirts: skirts that hung below the knee, but above the ankles.  Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be many available.  After spending a few hours in the outlet mall, finding short skirts and artsy long skirts and ridiculous maroon skirts cut diagonally that wouldn't match anything else, we ended up buying only a couple of blouses.

Then we took our search online.  

There were more options online.  Online, you can find cotton conservative skirts from Walmarty-like places for under twenty bucks, or fine and fancy wool conservative skirts from Italy for three hundred dollars.  For a couple of days, I left several websites open so I could show my mom what was available, and so she could pick out the conservative skirts of her dreams.  I clicked on lots of skirt ads in those days.  And then, after a long and thorough search, I had a couple of skirts shipped directly to her home in time for the Big Adventure.

And they lived happily ever after.

Except somehow, three months later, I'm still getting a lot of skirt ads in my web browser.  They're in the margins of my news sites, listed in the corner of my email inbox, and plastered across the top of a few other websites I check out occasionally.  They show quite lovely conservative skirts, if you happen to be shopping for a future missionary.  But I'm not.  My missionary is many thousand miles away. 

It's great that my websites know me, and know exactly what I am searching for.  

But how do you let the algorithms know that mother is already happy ever after, and that I don't need any more conservative skirts?  

Come on.  I want the car ads back.

Shopping for apartments

I haven't written about it in a while, but our trip to Melbourne, Australia, is still on.  Lately, we've been looking for places to stay, via internet. 

There are two French immersion primary schools in Melbourne -- or at least in the suburbs.  One of them wrote me instantly and said no way, we won't take short term enrollments.  The other wrote and sent application materials.  They would take our son, and he could keep up his French language skills. 

Unfortunately, the French school is located an hour away from the University by train. 

We could live near the French school, and I could commute by train every day.  The school is near a lovely park, not far from a public library in one direction, shopping in another direction.  A tram would take us three miles down the road to great beaches.  And perhaps during my two hour daily commute, I could get work done on the train.  Some people do it.  But the last time I commuted by public transportation for an hour each way, I fell asleep just a few minutes into the journey.  In retrospect, I think the sleep was my body's way of dealing with motion sickness. 

In any case, as we looked at housing near the French school, we found options, but all unfurnished.  We'll only be in Melbourne for six or seven months.  We'd rather not purchase furniture and then dump it again in that time.

So then we started looking elsewhere.

On one website, we found a house for rent, complete with furniture, piano, game room, several bedrooms, and right on the beach!  But it was an hour's drive away by car, nowhere near public transportation.  Since we were hoping to avoid getting a car, that doesn't sound like a possibility.  (Tim:  But it's right on the beach!)

With further searching, we found a pretty spacious 3 bedroom apartment near two parks and just two miles from the university -- furnished, and within our budget.  The best part of this place was that it had a separate study on the opposite side of the building from the bedrooms, where Tim could work in peace at 3am when he had his meetings with California.  We wrote the landlord, discussed rent, internet, etc, and I emailed a colleague and asked about the area.

When the colleague wrote back that the area was great, we were ready to go.  Except 20 minutes later the colleague wrote back again.  The nearest primary school was not in a good neighborhood, he said, and there was no guarantee that our son could go to a better school closer to the university.  I looked up the nearest primary school.  Indeed, on their FAQ page, they stated that the school was located right next to the "projects" -- but don't let that bother you, they assured parents like me.  And I don't want that to bother me.  It does look like a good school, with lots of international students, and special opportunities.  But I would be walking my child there and then back by myself each day.  Which would probably be fine.  But in the wrong direction from work.  And not recommended by my colleague.  Is it worth the risk? 

My colleague knew of a guy who lived very close to the university, who would be moving out in early January.  We contacted the guy, and found out his house was suitably sized, near good schools, an easy walk to work, even cheaper than our budget -- but unfurnished.  Again.  But he would be willing to sell us some of his furniture if we were interested.  (Assorted mattresses, bookcases, and a refrigerator.)  So that's an option, but his landlord hasn't written back to us. 

Lately, we've been looking in the Central Business District.  There seem to be many furnished apartments available there, within a reasonable walk of the university, within the boundaries of the one guy's school (where his kids have been attending, and which they liked).  But the properties are nearly all available NOW.  I emailed a couple of them, and they told me to stop by to view the place at the next open house, at the end of the week.  Which is of course impossible.  And then no further info after that.

So we have booked a hotel for a couple of weeks.  Our current plan is to wait, to set up some appointments to view apartments just after we arrive, and to snatch something available in those first two weeks -- probably in the Central Business District, because that seems to have the largest number of furnished places.  The area near the beach also has several furnished options.  But the commute....

Anyway, I have spent a lot of time studying the primary schools and neighborhoods of Melbourne, and public transportation routes.  It will be interesting to actually arrive in the city and start putting visuals with the maps.  And fingers crossed that there will be a suitable furnished apartment waiting for us somewhere in early January.  If not, we'll just have to move to the beach. 

Disrupted train travel

Sunday evening, I hopped on the Amtrak from New Haven to Philadelphia.  The total journey was supposed to take less than three hours, and I was supposed to arrive just after 9pm.  There would be plenty of time to take a taxi to my hotel, unpack, prepare mentally for the final stop on my Fabulous Working Journey of October 2013. 

The train stopped on the tracks about twenty minutes outside of New York Penn station.  A draw bridge was up.  And broken.  And mechanics were going to fix it, any time now, so we were just going to wait until that happened.  My neighbor asked the conductor if there was a plan B, and she said that plans A through Z were all the same: wait until the draw bridge was fixed. 

Around 10:30 pm, now running about three hours late, Amtrak implemented plan AA (you know, the one that comes after Z).  The train reversed back to the previous station, we all got out, crossed over the tracks, and hopped on a regional train to Grand Central Station. 

Turns out that Amtrak only goes into Penn Station, not Grand Central Station.  As an outsider, I didn't know this.  I think I heard the conductor of the regional train trying to explain how we stranded Amtrak riders could get to Penn station, but as there were hundreds of people packed into the cars at this point, it was difficult to hear what the conductor was saying.  Realizing that I would never make it out of New York City unassisted, I turned to the couple next to me and asked if they had been on Amtrak, and if they knew where to go to continue an interrupted journey south?

The couple I asked just happened to live in Philadelphia, and indeed, they had been on their way home before the draw bridge broke.  They were also very familiar with New York City.  I followed them down the long hall to the exit, into a waiting taxi, through Times Square, lit up like New Year's Eve at 11:30pm on a Sunday in October, and around the corner to Penn Station.  We hurried down the long hall, to find that a Keystone train was leaving for Philadelphia at 11:58, in just twenty minutes. 

The line to the ticket counter was long.  The broken draw bridge had stranded people on both sides of New York City.  But a woman waived me to a counter near the line's exit, and eight minutes before the train departed to Philadelphia, I had a ticket. 

My train arrived at 1:20 am at the Philadelphia 30th Street Station.  There were not quite enough taxis to meet the 1:20 am train, so I waited in the taxi queue for about fifteen minutes.  And then fifteen minutes later I was finally in my hotel. 

Reflecting on this experience, I feel lucky.  I feel lucky to have found a couple who knew exactly how to handle an Amtrak incident between New York and Pennsylvania.  I feel lucky to have screwed up the courage to ask someone for help.  If I had waited in silence, assuming I would find someone from Amtrak to assist me, I probably would have spent an extra ten or fifteen minutes in Grand Central Station before I figured out where to go next.  And then I probably would have missed the Keystone train to Philadelphia.  And then perhaps I would have had to spend the night huddled against my luggage in a train station. 

Everything worked out.  And it would have worked out even if I had spent a few extra hours in New York City awaiting the next train.  But while I am here, and writing, and reflecting, I think I ought to send a Thank You drifting out into the internet, just for the simple gift of a few more hours of sleep, and the peace of mind of having arrived safely. 

Thank You.

After speaking

Over the weekend, I was at a conference located somewhere in the central time zone.  A grad student, after giving her first research talk at a conference ever, asked if it becomes easier?  If you lose some of that nervousness when presenting your research as you age? 

I have lumped all my travel this semester into two painful weeks of hotel rooms and airports and train stations.  During these two weeks, I've been scheduled to give four completely different talks.  The first one was on Saturday in the central time zone, at a conference sponsored by a professional society.  A friend of mine was receiving an honor from that society, and I was happy to go and see her, and give a shorter talk. 

The second talk took place this morning, in Rhode Island, at a rather major conference with funding from the National Science Foundation.  It's great to be invited to speak at an important, interesting conference like this one.  I know and like a lot of the participants.  I admire their work.  I'm learning a lot, and possibly developing new collaborations.  I will return home armed with lots of new ideas.

But no, dear grad student.  Presenting research doesn't get easier as I age. 

This morning, I was nervous.  Nervous.  What if I say something stupid in front of all the smart people out there?  What if they ask the details of that particular argument -- wait, how did that argument go?  Oh no!  I don't even remember!  Quick, look it up!  Stick it just under the talk outline -- just in case.  Take a few deep breaths.  Try not to shake. 

During the talk, the nervousness affected me by making me go slower, and be more meticulous.  Consequently, I only got through the first 2/3 of my talk, and had to completely drop the last bit, which I thought was most interesting. 

Then after the talk, I was exhausted.  I slumped in my chair, depressed.  Why didn't I think to ask that question that Professor Famous asked, earlier?  So it wouldn't have caught me off guard?  Why didn't I skip that one part that everyone knew?  So I could have at least mentioned the applications?  Why do people ask me to give these talks?  And midway into the next talk, I realized that what I really needed was a hug from Tim.  Where was Tim?  Oh yeah.  Two time zones away. 

Then someone else gave a talk.  We took a break.  Lunch.  Several people came to ask me questions.  Several people commented on how they appreciated the clarity of my talk.  (Not slow.  Clear.)  A few offered ghosts of ideas for continuing research.  This might be interesting -- have you thought of it?  I think an argument along these lines will give part of what you need, won't it?  Indeed. 

And slowly the heavy, slumpy feeling left, and I remembered why I come to these conferences and speak, even when it is hard and I am nervous. 

Because even though the nervousness doesn't really leave, and no, it doesn't get much easier, still -- you gain a lot from doing hard things. 

The Clown and Owl

While cleaning out an older home in September, we discovered a clown and an owl costume from about the 1950s.  There is a reason, friends, that children everywhere are told not to wear masks with their Halloween costumes anymore.  It is because they may look as scary as these two guys, the Clown, and the Owl.

With the help of Mr Clown and Mr Owl, as well as their respective wives and others, we were able to get the house emptied and very clean.  

Writing

Sometimes, I write too much.

Papers, letters of recommendation, politely worded emails requesting assistance, grant proposals.

I use writing to teach myself something new.  To fix a problem in a paper.  To sway someone to my point of view.  To figure out what my point of view is, and why.  To tell the people who care about my family what is happening to us.

My to do list is full of things I need to write.  Email a colleague.  Update a letter.  Request enrollment. Review a paper.  Write a paper.  And other such things that are hard to do.

In high school, they ask if you like words or logic?  Narratives or equations?  As if you could walk through life focusing on just the math without the writing.  Without persuading the world that what you do is Important.  Without showing the world that you are actually doing Something.  You need words for that.

But at the end of a long day writing, I find myself less inclined to write to you, dear Blog.

I will try to do better.

Shoes

Today when it was time to leave to walk Jonathan to school, I went out to the garage and grabbed a pair of shoes and slipped them on in the dark.

After we had walked half a mile down T-view drive, I looked at my feet and noticed I was wearing one brown shoe and one black one.  And that the black shoe had a thicker sole than the brown one, so that I was limping.  And I had been limping without even realizing it for half a mile.

The family thought my mismatched shoes were hilarious.  Actually, I laughed the hardest of everyone.  By the time we got to school, I was laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes.  And then I had to walk all the way back home with one black shoe, one brown shoe, limping.

I remember introducing myself once at a college meeting.  As I said who I was, a woman across the table called out, "Oh, we all know who you are.  We see you walking up and down T-view drive all the time!"

Next time you see me on T-view drive, check out my shoes.  And if they don't happen to match, maybe pretend you didn't notice.