Observations

It has been a while, Reader. More than six months. 

It's not that I've gone anywhere. I've been here, doing the same things in the same frenetically paced life. I've been thinking. Traveling. Observing. But not writing. I didn't want to write. In the deeper past, I would push through those feelings of not wanting to write until I wanted to write again. Because writing is connecting. But in the recent past, I decided I didn't care. Because I actually found I didn't care. I have become a person who decides they don't care and then they don't care. Sometimes. 

So what brings me back now? In September? 

Several things. Observations, I suppose, that I want to share, even if only with the emptiness of the internet. 

For example, one of the headlines in my news feed this morning was that a professional Australian rules football game was delayed for 30 minutes while a snake handler removed a venomous red-bellied black snake from the field. That is such an Australian thing. It made me smile, and I wanted to share that smile a little more broadly. But where?

There is this blog here, where I used to host salons and parties and discussions. The furniture is a bit dusty, but it will be ok after a good vacuum. A real issue is that the highway has been rerouted. Few people stop here anymore. But that isn't a reason not to change up the artwork when I feel like it. Consider this post a refresh of the artwork.

So what has been happening with me? 

In work, I've been in a leadership role. I've really liked meeting people, and lifting others, and being a part of something bigger than me and my little corner of work. Right up until I didn't like it anymore. 

I didn't like it when the other leader guy stared at me while asking why the project didn't get up, and I owned it as a leader does, and responded by trying to chase the feral cats into the boardroom to drink tea. They're in the boardroom now, Reader, but they're peeing on the carpet, not eating biscuits with dainty gloved hands. 

I didn't like it when the stochastic nature of funding put us up sometimes and down sometimes, and although none of it really had much to do with me, I had to speak to it, good and bad. And it was winter and I wasn't sleeping. And back in my own corner of my own work, I had a lot of people knocking on the door asking about cool things, and I realised those are the things I cared about and wanted to spend more time on. I noticed that I really really wanted to stop caring about the leadership stuff, and stop showing up with the tea service in the boardroom, just like I did with this blog here. 

So I've asked to step down and step back from one leadership role, to spend more time in a place where I can build up my own work again for a while. Expected date of change is January 2024, but just knowing that the end is in sight has helped me to have a little more energy again. It feels good to have some energy.

Because I am changing, Reader. 

Or maybe I have changed. 

I think the silence here at this blog is a symptom of me, changing. Years ago I read that everyone plans to write a novel during retirement, but when they hit retirement they find they don't care. I'm not retired -- nowhere near. But I'm not caring about the same things that kept me awake for years. 

I don't read novels anymore. I used to read dozens of novels every year. But recently I have found that I just didn't care, and I stopped. 

I can't sleep past about 6:30am. I get up every morning and usually try to do something productive, and usually just read the news instead. That's how I know about red-bellied black snakes delaying football games in New South Wales. 

I blame it on hormones. I'm getting old. Surely this must be peri-menopause? Tim sometimes gets frustrated with people, although the feral cats he is trying to herd need to go into a different boardroom. He doesn't read many novels either. Tim is the same age as I am. So I blame his frustration on peri-menopause as well. 

Not sleeping well, Tim? That's a symptom of menopause. Aches and pains? Menopause. Variable emotions, ranging from happiness one minute to frustration the next? Menopause. Tim and I are so menopausal. He and I are each a perfect textbook picture of what peri-menopause looks like. 

A good blog post ends with a good conclusion, and maybe some discussion points for the visitors to comment upon while sitting on the now-vacuumed furniture and sipping tea. I'm not counting this as a good blog post, so I shall end it instead with a photo I took on the train platform a couple of days ago. At the top of my shoe, look closely to see a large spider. This is actually a baby-sized huntsman spider, just chilling on the platform with me. It didn't hop on the train when I did, Reader. It just stayed there, contemplating leadership as one does.

Adam and Eve and Art

There was a sculpture in the Stadel Museum in Frankfurt that really spoke to me. Really. It stopped me in my tracks and grabbed me and shouted at me. As art sometimes does. 

Adam and Eve by Max Beckmann.

Bronze sculpture, designed in 1936, cast in bronze in 1979. 

In the sculpture, Adam is huge, impersonal, with the snake coiled around him, peering over his shoulder. 

Eve is tiny, huddled in fear in his hand. Adam holds her there, but he doesn't see her. 

And then I had to know. Who is this Max Beckmann who could incorporate into one sculpture all the angst and fear and powerlessness I have felt as an Eve in a patriarchal society, particularly in my attempts to belong to my childhood religion, the Mormon church? How could he have known? 

I grew up in a patriarchal household and a patriarchal religion. Women are meant only to do certain things, to become certain people, under the instruction of the men who lead. The women can be great, with the permission of the men, as long as they do women things first.

Why? Why are women so restricted? Eve is an allegory of why. Woman is a temptress. Women choose poorly when left on their own. 

In Mormon landscapes, Eve is even more of a twisted soul, a compelling story. Over the years there have been words about how Eve chose correctly. And yet in their deeper ceremonies and sacred spaces they show Eve as the reason why women stay quiet, why women don't lead, why women need a husband to take them to heaven. 

 So the Adam and Eve story has been one that has bothered me for years. 

Typically, male artists show the story like this, another painting from the same museum:

Eve the temptress. Eve the evil. Eve who will make sure that snake gets you as soon as you reach for the apple. Watch out for Eve. She is evil. 

So it was such a shock to turn the corner and to see the sculpture that showed what the Adam and Eve story really means to women. 

Eve is vulnerable. In our patriarchal world, a patriarchal religion, Eve depends on Adam for safety and well being. And yet Adam is inhuman, unaware, and in league with the snake. You can tell from the sculpture that things are not going to end well for Eve.

How? 

How did a German man in the 1930s reach into my head and capture the experiences of a Mormon woman in the 21st century so precisely?

I looked up the sculpture at home. What had others written about the process, the art?

And of course it was disappointing. 

Max Beckmann, a man, was angry at the National Socialists, who in the 1930s had treated him with hostility, and called his art "degenerate".

And so he sculpted himself as Adam, a man in power, with the evil temptress representing the National Socialists there in his right hand, where he was going to crush her.

...

A thing about art is that is doesn't really matter what the artist intended. It can still speak to you in your own way, and make you sit up and think. 

And yet ... I think these fancy museums need to display more women's art. 

Quick trip to Germany

I helped organise a conference in Germany in January. It had been upcoming in my calendar for at least two years. I wanted to go, if the world was safe from the pandemic. But after years of sudden lockdowns, I delayed making the arrangements. I delayed and delayed until nearing the last minute, which was right after the time that all of our family got sick with Covid, in November.

It takes about 24 hours to get to Germany from Melbourne, and that's just the flight. On either end are airport check in times, passport control, ground transportation. And the conference was a three hour train ride from Frankfurt, outside a quiet town in the Black Forest. It's a really nice location if you live in Europe and can take a train or two. Really exhausting to get there from Melbourne.

I knew all this. And yet as an organiser, I felt I really should go.

If it takes you more than 24 hours to get to Germany, it probably makes sense to stay for more than a week. But then I would need to find a place to stay, people to stay with, people to work with, permission, approval, travel arrangements, etc, etc, etc. And I wasn't sure I wanted to go that far at all, and I wasn't sure if I would have to cancel it all.

So in the end, I just asked the campus travel agency to book a minimum length journey, which included one 24 hour flight, stopping in Doha Qatar this time, then 24 hours in Frankfurt to recover, with enough time to take a train to arrive Sunday evening before a Monday morning start. Departure: Friday night from the Black Forest, a night in Frankfurt, then back to the airport and 24 hours home.

I'm too old for this.

Flying out wasn't so bad this time. I left Melbourne at a reasonable hour. I slept a lot on the first plane. Watched a few movies. Slept on the second plane. Checked into my hotel in Frankfurt at 10:00am and slept again for a couple of hours. So far so good.

Saturday afternoon on a winter's day in Frankfurt, I walked to the art museum. Walked around the art museum. Through the art museum. Tired on the feet? I sat to contemplate all that art. Art museums seem pretty good for jet lag.

Dinner for one at the train station.

Early bed.

Morning. German breakfast at the Frankfurt hotel. Breakfasts are great in Germany, by the way.

And then a morning to fill time before my train. I walked, but it was pouring rain. Rain in the old city centre, rebuilt after the war. Rain on the river. Rain. 

 

I returned to my hotel, checked out a bit early, and went to the train station to sit and wait.

Because I was there, when I noticed my train was delayed, I was able to get onto an early one, and travel off into the hills.

The conference was lovely. I met up with colleagues and friends I hadn't seen since before the pandemic. This was a follow up conference from one I had missed in February 2020, when my flight through China was cancelled due to a new virus spreading there. My field of research is moving forward, and I'd like to move with it, but it's hard when it takes so long to travel to Europe.

In any case, the Black Forest was green and wet and green. 

 (And dark.)

Until Wednesday, when it snowed, and then it became white and wintery and still dark. 

 For a break, we walked an hour to a little inn for Black Forest Cake. Delicious. Then walked back. 

 

I couldn't help taking photos, it was so lovely. 

 

But where I meant to try to keep up my walking, I failed. The hills were muddy or icy, and slippery. The air cold in my lungs.

Friday night I found myself back at my hotel in Frankfurt, snow coming down. 

 

Saturday morning, delicious Germany breakfast, and off to the airport, plenty of time to find my check in counter, airport lines, security and passport control.

The flight was delayed. Snow in Frankfurt.

Two hours late, I was going to miss my connecting flight.

Midnight in Doha Qatar, I found myself walking the airport. 

 

I got back to Melbourne late late. It took a very long time for the luggage to appear. Then bus to taxi to home, 2am arrival Monday morning. Remember I left the Black Forest Friday evening.

And after a week of very bad sleep, I think I recovered.

I love seeing my friends and colleagues, and talking shop with them for a whole week in an isolated location. But I don't like the travel, the exhaustion, the mental space required to make the arrangements, line up the transit, move from A to B to C to D when I don't speak the language. It can be done and I can do it. But it is hard. 

 

Body Image

In my head, right up until about a month ago, I had the fabulous body of an active 30-something lady, with a lucky metabolism that lets her eat what she wants. My body image was amazing.

While I was in Sydney in early December, I stayed in a small apartment with full length mirrors on many walls, to make the room look bigger. In fact, the mirrors made everything look bigger. For the whole week, every morning when I got up, and every evening when I came back, I was able to see myself, in full length, looking decidedly bigger.

At home, we have a full length mirror in the guest bathroom. I go in there occasionally to make sure my shoes match my dress, and that sort of important thing. But I haven't bought any new dresses recently, so I've had no need to check out my full length. It seems that when you don't look at yourself in your full length glory regularly, that you get the wrong picture of what you actually look like. 

The Sydney mirrors told me that I actually have the body of a middle-aged 40-something, with a metabolism that has sloooowed. 

Ironically, I *am* a middle aged 40-something. I knew this by the calendar, I just didn't match it up with my vision of myself. 

I mean, I know I've been getting a little heavier. But I don't really watch the scale that much either. I had resigned myself to the fact that I was five pounds heavier than I was in my 30s. Oh well. That's not so bad when you slide into your mid-40s, right? Except after the Sydney event, I weighed myself to find that I actually weigh 10 pounds more than the heavier weight that was in my head. 

Ok this is getting problematic. 

And add to that my optometrist's comment last week that the eye strain I'm feeling when I look at my phone means I'm about ready for my old-lady bifocals. Really? Really?

I don't know when this happened. Without paying attention, I have gotten old.

Jonathan says I should get over my negative body image. I need to embrace the middle aged lady who is me. But this whole negative image thing is just so recent. And realistic. 

My body is still fabulous. As I sit here writing, I am doing it with all 10 fingers on two hands. That's pretty amazing. And I can walk and talk and talk while walking most of the time. 

But maybe it is time to get serious about being healthy, and healthy aging. Maybe it is time to be more consistent with my strength training exercises, to build back a metabolism that lets me eat what I want. 

Or maybe it is time to stop eating what I want. I will never again have the same metabolism as the teenager in residence. Just because he needs a bazillion calories to survive the day does not mean I get to eat that too. 

So sad!

I remember when my dad was about my age, or maybe just a few years older, he stopped working in a job that kept him physically active all day, and he immediately started growing a bit of a belly. 

"It's great," he said, referring to the belly. "I no longer have the skinny body of a teenager!"

But dang. I had hoped I had inherited genes to give me a skinny teenager body into my 80s and 90s. 

Beach photo from July. Not the body of a skinny teenager. But the sunset was amazing!

 

Happy New Year 2023

Last night, on New Year's Eve, Jonathan and I stayed out late. We caught the 9:30pm fireworks, and then the midnight fireworks, with dancing in the park in between. 

Melbourne shoots fireworks off of the tall buildings in the city: over 30 buildings this year. They also shoot them from a few parks around the city. We camped out in one of those parks in the early evening, and met three of Jonathan's friends, each with a parent. It was warm, so we picked a spot with lots of shade -- 

-- which was great for the evening, but not as great for the fireworks. We had to move to see the city skyline at midnight. 

In between, there was some live music, the early fireworks for the families, and then DJ Tanya in her sparkly suit led us in dancing.

People were pretty into it this year. Meaning Jonathan was a super energetic all night dancer. 

There was also a laser show.

The insects congregated under the spotlights. Good time to break out the insect spray. 

And then midnight fireworks. Happy 2023!

And where, you ask, was Tim this year? He's in the US, with tickets to the Rose Bowl in a couple of days. Happy alternative New Year Party, Tim, in a few hours. 

Leading

People look to me for leadership. Tonight, that hits me with a mixture of surprise and heaviness. People look to me.

Duh, you say. You have taken on leadership roles. People expect you to act the part.

I didn't apply for any of the major leadership roles I'm currently holding. I was tapped on the shoulder, and agreed the role was important, and thought I had the skill set to do a good job. These roles are just temporary, not really what I plan to be when I grow up. But I have tried all my life to act with integrity, and to be inclusive. Somehow this has been enough for the shoulder tappers. The leader identifiers. The people who have been doing an important job, but don't want to keep doing it when they grow up, and have gone looking for others to take over. Like me.

Leadership is mostly a good thing. I get to be part of important decisions, and I'm at the table when we discuss strategy and new directions.

But unfortunately, over the last month one leadership role has put me in a very difficult situation, requiring me to make a decision with no possible positive outcomes. I've had to choose the best of terrible things. And I've had to convince others that the choice I made is the best of the terrible choices in front of us, even if it isn't the easiest.

We aren't out of it yet. But tonight a decision has been made. Looking back, two things stand out, keeping me awake late into the night.

One, my colleagues really respect me. The amount of respect is surprising, and feels ... heavy. They value my opinion. One colleague in particular was very much set on choosing the easier decision, but he listened and was willing to trust my judgement, and changed his vote after hearing my arguments.

Two, a prayer. Dear God, please let me have advocated for the better of the bad decisions available. Now that I have talked even the belligerent colleague into my decision, please let it be the actual better decision.

I'm going to see this through, but I really, really don't want this job when I grow up. I'm on the lookout for shoulders to tap.

This year's Southern Hemisphere Christmas

 The weather turned warm.

We enjoyed Christmas dinner in the park.

The Cheetos were shipped from the US. The rest is local summer fare.

Merry Christmas, family.

Merry Christmas, seagulls.

The beach photo is from Boxing day, at Sandringham. I went swimming, while Tim and Jonathan sat in the sand. The water was green, but it was a pleasant day for swimming. We headed home before it got too hot.