My Truant Pen

Running towards danger

During Monday’s Marathon bombings, my friend Caitlin Rivet was working as a volunteer EMT at the Boston Marathon. I’ve known Caitlin since she was about 12. I taught her and her churchmates in Sunday School, youth group and confirmation. We’ve been close ever since, even as she moved into adulthood.

At church this morning, Caitlin was there. Her face has a strip of abrasions from shattered glass from the explosion, and she shies away from talking about her Monday. It’s too close, and too hard to put in words. But she wrote this narrative about her day, and gave me permission to share it.

When the marathon was just a fun sports event.

4.15.13 – A Reflection

The Boston Marathon is one of the world’s premier sporting events. This year it was marred by two bombs that were detonated close to the finish line. During a time when most marathoners are finishing, the first bomb was set off in
front of a sports store along the spectator sidewalk. While hundreds of people were cheering on family and friends to the finish, they experienced a horrible act of terror. The first bomb went off feet from the finish line and only about 12 seconds later, the second went off less than one block away.

This is my reflection and memories of my day there.

It was a cool morning starting in the dark at 5am, my first major marathon volunteering experience about to begin. Despite having worked until 11pm the night before, I was a giddy person excited to see what the day would entail. With my clothes on that I had laid out the day before, I set off to the train station. Surprisingly, I could see my breath and I was happy to have my hot chocolate. As I waited for the commuter rail to pull in, I began to think how this marathon might be run compared to the Bay State Marathon, which had been my only experience in major sporting events. I was eager to get my directions, I was volunteering as medical staff, as an EMT. So as the train rolled into North Station, I followed my plan to the green line, ending at Arlington Station. From there I found my way to the Back Bay Event Center and my group meeting area. I was assigned to transport bus #5. I was the only EMT on my bus and surprised, it being my first time and all, but nonetheless, off I went. I gathered my volunteer jacket (score!) and supplies for the day, boarded the bus and so it began.

As the morning went on a few runners were unable to complete the race and we picked them up, making the trip to the finish line to drop them off. On our second run into the finish line, I realized I needed additional supplies. So after all the runners had made their way off the bus, I headed down the street to re-stock. On my way, things took a complete u-turn.

I was walking by the stands packed with friends and family cheering on their runners, when the first explosion occurred. It was a loud pop, suddenly my ears were ringing and I was off balance. As I re-gained my balance, saw the smoke and debris flying through the air, I knew instantaneously this was not normal. What I didn’t know was that it was a bomb not an accidental explosion of some sort. I later found that I had been scraped in the face by some of the glass flying- nothing major. As I began to run to the sidewalk, the second explosion occurred less than a block away. I stopped, saw it was similar and proceeded to the injured people.

From flying glass - she's not included in the count of injured. — From flying glass – she’s not included in the count of injured.

As I looked around, people were running with me towards the smokey, debris- filled sidewalk to assist those injured. What we found was beyond imagination. Blood stained the sidewalk, ran down the curb and sprayed against store windows. Glass flew through the air from windows blown out. In an attempt to gain access to the injured, everyone began to rip the staging apart; through metal scaffolding, marathon tape, the nation’s flags, wooden fencing: all with haste to reach those in critical condition. Suddenly, those of us who began the day volunteering to help with hypothermia and dehydration found ourselves making tourniquets of belts, tablecloths, clothes from the stores and marathon tape. Using clothes to cover wounds and many other makeshift items we found solutions. We entered a scene of horror, trepidation, mangled bodies and cries for help. Moving as quickly as possible for fear of additional attacks, we evacuated the injured over our shoulders, carried them by the extremities that were still intact and eventually stretchers and wheelchairs. As the police cleared the scene, the remnants of a nightmare were visible: an event of great personal achievement turned into a mission of many.

I found a few moments to txt people close to me and post on facebook that I was ok since cell towers were shut down.

The medical tents quickly filled, the grassy areas used for the less critical and ambulances began lining up to take patients to every available hospital. Police and volunteers began to stop runners, asking if they were medical staff and worked in Boston area hospitals; those who answered yes were quickly transported to begin the hard work extending the need to use their previously exhausted bodies.

We continued clearing the area, treating and transporting people until 7:30pm, only a total of 4 ½ hours after the explosion. Around 170 people were treated and transported, in the biggest MCI (mass casualty incident) Boston and
most medical staff had ever seen.

Around 8pm, it began to wind down. I gathered my belongings once I had been cleared to leave and took a look at the medical tent, the scene was one of peace and serenity. There was plenty of proof of the day’s events, but instead of chaos, screams and debris, it was filled with used supplies, sweat poured out from everyone’s best efforts and hope.

A great sense of accomplishment preceded a large feeling of the unknown. What’s next? Is there anything else I can do? Has everyone gotten what he or she needed? Did I miss someone? Did everything we do work? Do I go home now? Can I get home?- the MBTA had been shut down. What do I do when I go home? I’m exhausted – will I sleep? As much of the unknown crowded my mind, a sense of disbelief and numbness settled in. I proceeded to the nearest open station guided by troopers since most of Boston was still shut down. I took the train home, calling my Aunt on the way home and stopping for a burger – my first meal since breakfast.

I sat on the train and couldn’t think about what happened, how does one process an event of such magnitude? I am very good at compartmentalizing and focusing on the job, will that carry over to today? I texted a few friends who had been trying to get my status, knowing I lived in the area but not that I was actually at the marathon. As I responded to them, I was in awe of how many people had heard and thought of me- some people I hadn’t heard from in a while. Then a thought crept in: what will I tell people when they ask? Do I give details? Can my friends and family handle the details of my experience? What does my Mom know/think- she’s in Spain? Should I give a summary, if you will? Will I be ok talking about it? How will I be at work now? And what the heck will I say to my Dad? In conclusion: I needed space to see how this will play out.

The next day I woke up feeling well rested, then my memory was jogged and I remembered what had happened. Should this effect my day? Let’s see how it goes. I got more info, though I felt no need to look at the pictures since I had plenty in my head. I heard the number of official fatalities and injured. Amazingly much to the tribute of a city’s teamwork, the fatalities were extremely low for an attack of this caliber and most survivors will have the opportunity to overcome their injuries and flourish in spite of the attackers intentions.

I did go to work the next day; things went fairly well. Besides being a bit jumpy and nervous at doors shutting, sirens blaring, basically any loud noise, I was able to do my job and finish my shift. When I brought patients to the hospital, my friends offered their support and checked to see how I was. Staff that had never really interacted with me, suddenly knew me and were interested in my well-being. I was shocked at the span of knowledge that I was there. Wednesday, work went well, somber and numb still, but well. Thursday I had a non-violence interventions training, I attended with a few friends and the class was better than expected. Somewhere in the first portion of the training, we were instructed to shut our eyes and picture our happy place- I did not do this, then out of nowhere, the instructor
screamed. I was overwhelmed and had to leave the class to gather myself. This was really my first time not able to keep it in control. I realized that things were starting to become less numb. My boss asked me to take the evening off, though I did not want to and call the crisis team. I did and got a counselor, basically my thinking was – dude, this is normal, it’s going to take a little while to re-adjust and comprehend. I got a few good tips and went to work Friday. Friday the hospital chaplain approached me also, and the rest of the shift went well.

What I have realized is, the effects are probably going to take a while to subside. I am sleeping through the night, I wake up sweaty in the morning, but it’s a complete night sleep. I get startled easily by noises such as car doors, things being dropped and the lock on the hospital stretchers. When I know they are coming, I can brace myself. I keep cough drops in my pocket because the crisis counselor suggested that when I get trapped in a moment, sucking on a strong flavor stimulates the senses and brings you back to the present. Very true, whoever figured that out is genius!

I cry occasionally without warning. I am not totally in my usual easygoing personality, but it peeks through sometimes.

The only thing that has truly saddened me is that while thinking of those I needed to notify immediately that I was ok, I thought of my grandparents. My grandparents passed this fall. I feel it speaks to our strong connection and the love that still exists. I know that they would have been so proud and enjoyed my story.

Time will go on, people will ask, things will scare me: flashbacks or whatever you want to call them; will occur, but overall, I am comforted by the fact that I did everything in my power to improve the circumstances for many. I will most likely never have the opportunity to make such a large difference/ impact in my lifetime. I am grateful that I was there. Although I struggle at this time, it is nothing compared to others and my struggle is warranted by the actions I took.

It has been a truly profound experience and when I have trouble, I picture the tent at 8pm; quiet, serene and peaceful: the perfect ending to a tragedy and the best display of humanity in its essence.

Lockdown

My plan for today was to wear all Boston gear, for a Boston pride day. Red Sox shirt, Patriot’s sweatshirt, Red Sox jacket (probably not needed – it’s a nice day!). While I was getting dressed, I pulled up my work email just to make sure that I wasn’t going to be client-facing. Red Sox t-shirts are not generally considered business attire, but it seemed like a small way of expressing the indomitable spirit of the region.

Then I saw a note from our CEO asking us to stay home, “in light of the recent news”. I told my husband to check his work email, and texted some friends who have similar Boston commutes. All of us were instructed to stay home.

I waited until the kids were out the door (Vacation camp/YMCA are still on) and then turned on the radio.

Right now, the towns that both my husband and I work in are shut down, with no traffic on the streets. One of those “towns” happens to be the City of Boston, the other the City of Cambridge. I have friends, coworkers, people I talk to all the time… who are in the hard core lockdown zones – both the orange and the red.

That's a lot of people with locked doors — That’s a lot of people with locked doors

My town is a considerable way north, but those cities in red… those are also quiet Boston suburbs. Safe places.

It’s hard to know what to do, what to say. Should I go pick up my kids? Is it ok to go out for lunch? It’s such a lovely day – is it ok to play in a park? In a yard? Or are our lives really on hold until the suspect is caught? Just how freaked out is the right amount for someone three towns away to be? And I’m hearing sirens… should that change my threat rating? (And how is there a vehicle with sirens still in this town?!)

Answer unknown. I will update you folks, but until then, I am fine. We are fine. We will persevere.

Update: I did go out to lunch, to Five Guys. It was packed. Nearly everyone there was wearing some sort of Boston-themed gear: Red Sox shirts, BU sweaters, Patriot’s hats. No one there was even talking about the situation. #BostonStrong

Boston Marathon: the helpers

It was a nice day here in the Boston suburbs. It wasn’t quite as lovely as a certain memorable day in September, but it was warm and clear after a cold and cloudy winter. Today is a Massachusetts holiday – celebrated only in a small area around the Hub. We call it Patriot’s Day, and it starts before dawn with battle reenactments in Concord and Lexington. It moves from that to the earliest baseball game in Major League Baseball, with the first pitch thrown at about 11 am. The game is supposed to let out just in time for the spectators to watch the racers from the Boston Marathon cross the finish line. It’s a day of revelry in Boston.

I didn’t have today off, sadly. My husband took the boys to a museum far away from the Boston crowds, since both school and daycare were closed. I had started work a little early (and worked a little late) so I could go volunteer to play taps for a WWII Navy vet. As the sun was at the zenith, with forsythia and narcissus early harbingers of spring to the Wildwood Cemetery, I traded off with a bagpiper as we laid a brave lady to rest. I watched her family’s face as the strains of Amazing Grace wound away and the piper turned his back, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to being a bit weepy myself.

After the last note was sounded, I was home in time to catch the 9th inning of the game. It was a great game today, with a walk off wall-ball double in the bottom of the 9th. I was deep into functional specifications when a one-liner came across Twitter, “US media report two explosions near finish line of Boston Marathon”. It was right after the tweet of a friend whose ultrasound was not showing good news, and right before a notification that Deadliest Catch starts tomorrow.

In this inured age, such early reports often tend to be not that big a deal after all. A firecracker. A backfire. A prank on social media. But this one, with a sick feeling, grew across the feeds. There were pictures. Videos of scenes that were definitely not backfires. Images that had not been approved for general viewing of a national tv audience. I was heartsick. And then I remembered. One of my Sunday School kids (not a kid anymore, of course) was there, working as an EMT. She posted this picture this morning:

Back when it was exciting instead of ominous

I posted hoping to hear back from her. It was a very long hour before she found time to respond to anyone that she was ok, but very very busy.

On a bright, sunny, sorrowful day a lot of folks have reached back to the wise words of Mr. Rogers, advising us to look for the helpers. Before I knew she was ok, I thought that if my friend – who babysits my kids, to whom I taught confirmation and Sunday School classes – was there, it was to the advantage of the world. I know her, and she is one of the helpers. I have yet to hear her story of the day, but I have no doubt she was – is still, probably – helping the hurt, treating the injured, calming the scared and lost, comforting the afflicted.

I have other friends there too – a law enforcement official who won’t be coming home tonight because he’ll be working on finding any unexploded ordinance, on catching the bad guys, on keeping us safe. There’s the fellow mom whose hospital was in a lock down, and who spent tonight a long way away from her kids, taking care of the very sick in a fearsome atmosphere. When you look at the race grounds for those helpers, you will find my friends standing there.

I am so very proud, and so very grateful, for those who help on a dark Patriot’s Day. Thank you, my friends.

Great Spas of the World

One of my favorite kinds of pampering is to get a massage. It was regular massage which finally put an end to my chronic back pain – I get monthly myofascial and deep tissue massage at Skin to Soul in Stoneham (which I would strongly recommend to anyone local!) Wheen I go on vacation, I really enjoy checking out unique (and reputable) spa locations.

Last week this time I was sitting in a Scandinavian Spa overlooking the St. Lawrence river in Montreal, and thinking about some of the other, really cool experiences I’ve had. I decided to pretend I was a World Traveler and offer to you a guide to some of the most interesting and best experiences I’ve encountered!

We took a nice nap on those bean bag thingies

Montreal Quebec: Scandinave Baths – Les Bains
The concept of the Scandinavian spa seems masochistic. First, you get really, really hot in a sauna. Then you go jump in an icy lake. Maybe you have to break a hole in the ice to get in. Then you repeat the experience. I’ve never done this before – I kept getting lost at the “icy lake” part. But a visit to the baths on a frigid and windy April day in Quebec seemed like just the thing. I signed my husband and I up for an afternoon massage and carefully read the preparation instructions (bring your own swimsuit!).

The spa (and there are several spread across Canada, in case you’re interested) took that original Scandinavian theme and expanded on it. First, there was the fluffy white bathrobe and high tech locker locks. (Magnetic waterproof bracelets!) Then there were the signs abjuring all to complete silence, or at least muffled whispering. The spa itself was filled with the sound of crashing water from the hot-water-fall. There were three hot spots, two cold spots, and lounges full of medium-temperatures, comfy chairs and dim lighting. There was also a very expensive juice bar, in case you got hungry or thirsty for something other than water.

The three hot spots were a full-swimming-pool-sized hot tub with aforementioned hot-water-fall. You have never seen such an expanse of 120 degree water before! For the non-immersed, there was a Eucalyptus steam sauna, where every ten minutes or so the walls vented fragrant steam. It was HOT. Finally, there was a standard dry sauna. The goal was to stay in the hot rooms until you were entirely too hot. Then – on to the cold! There was a very small pool – even smaller than a hot tub but deeper. And there was an enclosed, motion-activated shower. You popped into one or the other – for just a moment – to cool off your skin. (You were encouraged to get out before your overheated core temperature was affected at all.) Then, you moved to the resting area where there was lounging and a juice bar and comfy chairs to drowse until you got a bit chilly (aka your core body temperature got back to normal) and/or your heartbeat returned to normal, then you did it again.

We started off with one cycle, then got a massage, and then I did two more cycles. That all took like four hours. Four hours of quiet. Of just sitting and not doing anything. Four hours of not really focusing your eyes because it was steamy and not really having to stay awake if you found staying awake hard. I took a nap snuggled up on one of the chairs with my husband.

It was great.

This completely private hot tub looks out over a beautiful forested hill

It brought to mind another hot-tub/massage experience, though. This one as culturally different as possible. The Scandinavian Baths were all high tech and high price. I joked to Adam that we were soaking above our class, and in truth I felt surrounded by the monied elite (which was probably exactly the image the spa wants to cultivate). One of my very favorite places to visit is Wellspring. Based in the foothills of Mt. Rainier – just a hop and skip down the road from the National Park Entrance – is an organically grown haven. It started with a woman and a dream. Sunny learned massage. She built a massage cottage, and a hot tub. It burned down. She built it again. And another. And other cabins for people to sit in with each other and nature. Trails grew out of her hideaway. Labrynths were made. Her latest great moment is the discovery and appreciation of a natural grotto, which Sunny has carefully cultivated with a near-druidic eye to be a place of celebration.

The grotto is even more beautiful than this picture shows

Surrounded by peace and joy, and then there are the hot tubs and the massages! When I go home, I sign my husband and I up for a pair of massages. The best of the hot tubs overlooks a superb Northwest forest hillside, with a rippling brook in front and a mix of deciduous and evergreen trees up to the sky. It is perfectly private there, and the hot tub is quiet. We take turns soaking and looking and being while the other person is getting their massage (and their catch up session with Sunny!) It is entirely wholesome and relaxing and joyful – and full of the spirit of the Northwest.

My sister and husband honeymooned there. I’d love to pass a night there, but it seems a little silly when my parents live 12 miles away. Maybe some day!

The last, and most culturally distinct, of the great Spas I Have Known, were the Turkish Baths at Cagaloglu (pronounced Ja-la-lu). These held on to a cultural tradition going back to early Roman times of communal bath-houses where the purposes was to get clean. It was a three hundred year old bath house, made in marble with ancient steam pipes heating vast slabs (slightly too short for modern women).

I wrote about it in great detail, but I often find my my leaning back to the silver ewers and taps, the hot marble, the provocatively protected skylights and the old Anatolian women scrubbing my back.

So to summarize: I recommend you visit them all. Tell them I said “hi” and I’ll be back as soon as I can!

Also, just for my husband, I give you this. My eldest son declares this his favorite movie, above even Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and Star Wars. We don’t waste weekends around here!

Seven weeks of constraint

Just over seven weeks ago, I wrote about how I was going to try this crazy diet, and work out for Lent. You know, to see how it went.

I tried the Four Hour Body diet, in combination with actually going to the gym multiple times. I was actually very compliant with the terms of the diet. I didn’t cheat. Visions of losing like 2, maybe 3 pounds a week floated through my head! For weeks not so much as a stick of artificially flavored gum passed my lips. (It probably would have helped if I’d actually read the book FIRST, instead of relying on blog posts and my husband’s interpretation, as I was actually more rigorous than required.) Annnnnnd. Nada. My weight stayed stubbornly right where it was, which is really frustrating after three weeks of egg & bean breakfasts.

So I took another look. And I decided that the key was that a high protein diet helped you restrict calories. In thinking I could eat as many calories as I desired as long as they were proteinaceous, I was mistaken. Instead, in order to assist in living with a 1500 or 1600 calorie diet without perishing of hunger, I needed to eat a lot of protein. I’d gotten my cause and effect mixed up. I found that at the end of the day, a 50/50 split between carbs grams and protein grams was effective, if the total calories were roughly 1500. That doesn’t allow you to eat much bread, or dairy, and stay full. But you can eat that few calories and not feel hungry if those calories are eggs, beans, lean meats and vegetables.

When I made that change, the diet DID start working. Last time I weighed in, I had lost 8 pounds – or about a third of my desired weight loss. YAY! I’m not sure it really shows (my wardrobe is not designed to reveal small fluctuations in weight) but it was progress!

I had also burned through my available stock of willpower. I am not (NOT!) dieting on my vacation in Montreal, although I hope I’m not being so horrendous that I’ll have gained much back. Then again, I did have poutine for lunch, so… yeah. And I’m planning on caribou steaks for dinner! When in Canada, eh?

New times in old Montreal

Through October, November and December as my life sped up to warp speed, I consoled myself with my previously spotted annual pattern recognition of busy times and less busy times. “Just make it to January” I encouraged myself, doing the laundry at 11 pm on a Saturday night. “Once you get to January, you’re good!”

January came. I was really busy. “You’re just catching up on all the stuff that got put off in December.” I don’t even remember February. And March felt like a desperate sprinting finish to a marathon, with Easter and vacation a firm deadline that made it impossible to have any task slip at work or at home. I had birthday parties, Vinterfest parties, dinner parties, Burns Night parties, Pie parties. We took the kids to Scooby Doo Live: the Musical. I traveled to Atlanta (family), New York (work), Minnesota (work) and Tampa (work).* I rearranged the dining room. I played three hard pieces on trumpet for Easter. I signed the kids up for: swimming lessons (2), basketball (1) and science class (1). I did the taxes, rethought my pie crust recipe, wrote my best blog post ever (by volume), and managed a rocky production go-live (for work) from the hallway of the YMCA while Grey learned to dribble. It’s just been BUSY.

But on Sunday, after the high of the hallelujas and the truly awesome final high C I hit on the postlude, my beloved husband and I threw stuff in suitcases, packed approximately 93 digital devices (we used to pack 93 books, but now we have digital devices with the books on them!), and started driving North.

Long time readers have likely picked up my vacation patterns, and notice a discrepancy. We usually take zero time off this time of year, until camping heats up in May. Then we take a romantic, exciting vacation in August while the kids are at Camp Gramp. So why am I taking an exciting, romantic vacation in April this year? It just so happens that Camp Gramp and Gencon line up this year. I’m quite certain that my husband loves me more than Gencon, but I also know that it would make him sad to miss it. So when I realized my folks were also coming out for my mom’s spring break, well…. I snuck in our romantic vacation this week. (Of course, it would be longer if the coming weekend was not Helgacon – another, smaller convention – but at least that gives me some time with my own family.)

Not that a romantic vacation with the two of us is without games... — Not that a romantic vacation with the two of us is without games…

We weighed three options for our vacations: trip to Europe, beach vacation in Caribbean, less expensive vacation somewhere we could drive to. After reviewing all options, and recalling that we are (financially) putting a nice new car on top of our house (in the form of a new roof) this year, we opted for a taste of Europe in Canada.

So here we are in Montreal! We got this really amazing loft hotel thingy, with a full kitchen, comfy chairs and couches, a full size table (for gaming!), and a really excellent spa tub. We walked the city length and breadth on Monday before the weather turned bitter. Our peregrinations brought us to Chez Geeks where we stocked up on some games to see us through (see above picture – those are all new!). Then we had chocolate crepes for lunch. Any lunch served flambee is a good lunch, in my humble opinion. Books, bathtub, pizza. Relaxing.

Yesterday we went to the Montreal Museum of Archaeology and History, which might be one of my least favorite museums ever.** We also went to the Notre Dame Cathedral, which was lovely. There was a fantastic paper shop, and then we sat in an ornately decorated Chinese tea shop and had tea served to us while we both wrote on our beautiful papers. For dinner, we went to an Alsatian restaurant and I got escargot and duck confit. Mmmmmmmmm……

Today is lightly scheduled. One nice part of a close-to-home vacation is that the opportunity cost of hanging out in your glorious hotel loft is much smaller. So the only key thing on the docket is a trip to the Scandinavian baths. I’m wondering how many vacations I can have unique spa experiences in. I doubt this will top the Turkish baths, but I figure I have to give it a shot, right? Also, probably fondue for lunch. Or maybe crepes. Or crepes and fondue.

When we return, I have this fond hope that maybe, MAYBE, it will actually be that quieter time. You know, where I can blog more than once a week and hang out with my beloved sons? Yeah, we’ll see about that!

*Two of those three trips were around major storms where the question of whether we would make it back or have to tough it out a few extra days was a real one. I was very happy to make it back both times!

**I emerged from it – no easy feat, given it’s labyrinthine structure and lack of guidance – cognizant that I was absolutely no more informed regarding: Quebec separatism, the linguistic ebb and flow of the province, the fur trade, the Iroquois wars, the building of the great underwater wall in the St. Lawrence, impact of the War of 1812, why Montreal has a huge statue that I like to call the “Lord Nelson fanboy plinth”, Canadian relations with the US, construction of the transcontinental railroad, the use of First Nations Tribes in building skyscrapers, how the St. Lawrence waterway was opened for commerce, or any other topic that might be vaguely interesting. The mandatory (you could not get to the museum without going through it) introductory frenetic video actually said something “Oops! Iroquois!” at one point and showed a big wall going up. GAH! However, it was very well marked which elements of the 150 year old foundation were original and which were changes. I kept thinking to myself, “This is only 30 years older than my house….”

Bonsoir from Montreal

9:45 pm. Dinner included escargot and duck confit. The waitress had trouble coming up with the right English words to describe the menu. Yes… I and my beloved and cherished husband are in Montreal for a week celebrating the fact that my parents are taking care of my children for a week. Bliss!!!

But although I could tell you about Montreal so far, I’ll save that for another day. Like maybe tomorrow. Instead, I’ve been using my lounging-around-in-leather-armchairs time to catch up on a few (hundred) pictures! I promise that I’ll include more verbiage, er, sometime this week. But for now, here are all the times in the last month I’ve bothered pulling out my nice camera, heavily influenced by wanting to play with the 35mm lens I got for Christmas!

So first, here are a bunch of pictures and videos, mostly of my boys playing games and with minis. (Mostly because the boys were sitting stillish, and I wanted to try out the focal ranges with the minis.) It also includes PIEMAS!

Check out the geeky goodness here!

Then, we have Easter. The first set is a neighborhood egg hunt. The next set is the actual celebration of Easter in our church. (Well, to be precise, the leading up to the celebration of Easter. Once the service got started I was awfully busy with the trumpeting.)

Cultural and religious celebrations of Easter abound!

I hope that tides you over until I can get you something more substantive!

People I never thought I’d be

I spent the first part of this week in Tampa for work. I had not yet unpacked my suitcase from the LAST business trip I was on (Minnesota) before I had to pack for this one. It was my third business trip in about 8 weeks. I felt – as I went through the well practiced shoes-laptop-liquids process – like a jaded road warrior.

Tampa did have some advantages over Minnesota

I remember my first few times flying – Boston to Seattle in college – when I stared horrified a the people blowing off the whole “in case of emergency, your seat cushion may be used as a flotation device” speech. Didn’t these people care about their lives? I pitied them their calcified ways – eyes on the Harvard Business Review as this remarkable patchwork of humanity is exposed below them. Do they not know that their flight represents the wildest fantasy – never to be obtained – of generations of humanity? How can they so casually close the window and catnap?

Yeah. During the safety notification, I check to see which is my nearest exit. I wonder if there is anyone, anywhere who doesn’t know how to buckle their seatbelt. Then I open Harvard Business Review (ok, actually it’s usually a fashion magazine for a Technically Pretty fashion magazine review). I still like the window seat, and I still try to spot my house/college/guess-the-big-city as I fly, but the magic is indeed gone.

The training I took was on Pragmatic Marketing. Why I needed this training was a story for another day. It was excellent training – well delivered, thought-provoking, very educational. But there were a lot of identity-crisis moments for me in it. Here was I: liberal arts major, lover of medieval literature, classical musician, backpacker, mother, role-playing-gamer-who-wishes-she-could-talk-her-gaming-group-into-dungeons-and-dragons, baseball-lover, programmer, technical architect… in a marketing class. The word marchitecture was extensively and non-ironically used.

I learned a lot of extremely interesting things I had never previously imagined knowing, but wondered to find myself in such a place under such circumstances.

I am – at this moment – sitting at Chuck E Cheese. I know – I’m breaking form. Usually my now-weekly posts are written at the YMCA during basketball practice. But today Grey and Lincoln have a video game playdate, which would not be nearly as fun if the “little brother” was present. So I told the little brother type person to name his entertainment, and for two hours it would be his. He picked the rathole.

I’m lurking on a local wifi network (seriously, Chuck E, how can you not have wifi). I have a GREAT idea for a new type of business… imagine a big central play area for kids from 3 – 10 years of age. A big, bouncy-housed arcade. Imagine seating around the sides – maybe raised – with great visibility of the play areas. Maybe there would even be closed circuit cameras covering the blind spots. Then imagine this seating around the edge was a mix of 4 – 6 person tables and one to two person locations. There would be a light appetizers and drink service to the grownup section. There would be great wifi, tons of power, comfortable seats, lower noise (low enough that a phone call would be plausible) and someone at the door (like they have at Chuck E’s) to make sure there are no small person escapees.

Work-from-home parents and folks like me would come with our laptops, offer our kids some great exercise/fun (maybe with their friends). We could either catch up on our work/personal digital lives, or come with our friends (who are increasingly the parents of our children’s friends) and catch up on the latest together. It would be awesome. Maybe there could be a per hour (or per day) fee, or you could sign up for a monthly membership. Maybe they’d even mix in some enrichment activities, like sports/activities.

They’d rake it in, I tell you.

I find the process of being no longer young continues to surprise me on a regular basis. My latest “get off my lawn!” moment happened last weekend. I was making some pies. Now, you must understand that I know how to make pie. I was running some quick calculations in my head, and I figure I’ve made between 100 – 120 pies in my lifetime. Every single one of those pies was made with the same recipe, inherited from my grandmother, which is hard to make but deliciously flaky.

Then, a few years ago, Crisco changed its recipe in response to the backlash against transfats. As far as I can tell, Crisco was all trans fats. This pie crust recipe that my grandmother passed down to me is entirely made of Crisco. It took me a while to eat through the old pie starter and Crisco I had. But then I started having trouble. I blamed it on all sorts of things: not enough flour on the pastry crust, too much shortening in the pie starter, not cold enough, too much water, not enough water. Finally though, very tired on a Friday night and working on pie 2 of 6, I finally realized that it just. Wasn’t. Working. For the first time ever, I actually got a pie crust so bad I couldn’t make it work and I had to throw it out. (That was a pie crust that ACTUALLY didn’t have enough water.) Dawning realization hit: it wasn’t me. I wasn’t making a mistake. It was the pie crust. It was unworkable. Crisco ruined my recipe.

Depressed, I turned to America’s Test Kitchen and made a shortening-and-butter crust that came out much, much better. But I had that “Why do they go “improving” perfectly good things and ruining the way I’ve always done them?” I mean, in this case I understood. Transfats = bad for health. But a tie that went back to the early 20th century, and my bright-eyed great-grandmother, was just severed. I mourn its loss. As I move from youth to middle age, I better see the costs – not just the benefits – of the inexorable march of progress. I know how things once were (through the rosy tinted spectacles of youth, of course) and lament their loss. My sons will never learn to roll a pie crust using Grandma Finley’s recipe (unless some enterprising entrepreneur brings back the classic formulation – you never know.)

My grandma’s caramel corn recipe requires corn syrup and brown sugar. Perhaps I’d better make it while I can!

Leaning In

I just finished reading Sheryl Sandburg’s “Lean In: Women, Work and the Will to Lead”. If you have been living under a rock for the last two weeks, the COO of Facebook has written about what she’s learned in the course of becoming a leader of a Fortune 500 company; specifically, regarding what she’s learned about gender in that journey. For her troubles, she’s been roundly criticized and excoriated in the media. However, I found this book extremely useful, tactical and eye opening.

One of the key criticisms waged against the book is that it is written from a too-privileged position. Sheryl went to Harvard. She studied under Tim Geithner in grad school. Oprah was a cheerleader for her as she wrote the book. It’s soooooo a book written from the point of view of a woman who started with all the advantages (although she is definitely aware and explicit that she knows she’s in the minority of women).

The point is this: if Harvard-educated, brilliant, fully-advantaged women are still struggling to break through to leadership positions in corporate America, what chance does a Latina from the barrio have? And how COULD Sheryl really write about her experience as an under-privileged girl with the same accomplishments, when that’s not her story? It just wouldn’t be true, or authentic. Sheryl wrote the book she could, and did it well. And we don’t necessarily HAVE women in a fully privilege-neutral position to write a book about becoming a corporate success. If we don’t have women like Sheryl to help us negotiate through our stagnation in progress, we won’t ever get that Latina leader.

I learned a lot from this well-researched book. For instance, pointing to that trouble breaking through to leadership, “A 2007 study of Harvard Business School alumni found that while men’s rates of full-time employment never fell below 91 percent, only 81 percent of women who graduated in the early 2000s and 49 percent of women who graduated in the early 1990s were working full time.” (Leaning in, Loc. 1458)

You don’t go to Harvard Business School in order to not work, but yet a majority of the women who graduated from this elite school were not working full time 20 years later. These are not women who always wanted to stay at home with the kids – these are women who WANTED to be titans of industry, and who were qualified to be. But they’re not there. Sheryl’s book illustrated why they aren’t, and gives personal and systemic advice on what needs to change so that more of the men who might want to be home with their kids and more of the women who might want to make a run for leadership can do so.

Here are my key take-aways, from the many useful insights I got from reading this book:

Don’t borrow trouble.
The whole title of her book is about women looking waaaaay forward and thinking that maybe if they get that promotion and then if they have kids then maybe it will be too hard for them to balance it all. So they don’t ask for promotions when they’re in their 20s because they’re afraid they won’t be able to make it work if they succeed. I recognize this pattern. It plays into the fear and self-doubt that many women wrestle with. “What will I do if this works?” can be a terrifying question to ask – in part because we don’t see very many role models of professional, leading women who live a life we want to have. (Aside: my CEO in a recent article said that his secret interview question is “Who is your role model?” This made me awfully glad that he didn’t interview me, because I can’t think of a woman in history who offers me a role I’d want to follow. Many of the successful ones were unhappy or tragic. The best I can come up with is Sacajawea.)

Anyway, this fear that success will compromise our long term happiness, families and marriage causes many women to “lean back” in their careers instead of leaning in. That would be bad enough if happened when women actually WERE trying to balance kids and work, but it’s made worse because the young 20-something women who just WANT marriage and families are already curtailing their careers, in advance.

Put up your hand.
So last time I talked to my boss’s boss, I talked about my desire to get Java training and to stay strong technically. Why do I want to stay strong technically? Because I want to be in a position to be a highly-respected technical leader in my company. I deeply value coming up through engineering, instead of the traditionally female-oriented fields like marketing or HR. So I want the technical chops to lead a development team, or even become a CIO some day. Did I tell my boss’s boss that second part? No. I just told him that I wanted Java training. He probably thought I was leadership-phobic and wanted to stay in the code trenches. (Many programmers do.) But I was afraid that if I laid out my ambitions I would sound, well, ambitious.

Sheryl mentions over and over again that women’s strategies of being excellent and waiting to be noticed are not working. Often, men put themselves forward for positions, while women work hard and hope someone notices. This is – straight up – less effective. She doesn’t blame women for their reluctance, though. She cites several studies where equally qualified women who behave in exactly the same manner as men are viewed much more negatively. Women quickly discover that being assertive is unpopular, with both men and women audiences. So instead she offers tactical, negotiating advice for how women can do this while not evoking negative stereotypes.

Another element playing into this has to do with women’s “by the bookness”. We don’t think we’re qualified, so we don’t try. “An internal report at Hewlett-Packard revealed that women only apply for open jobs if they think they meet 100 percent of the criteria listed. Men apply if they think they meet 60 percent of the requirements.” So put your hand up even if you’re not sure you know the answer.

Ask for what you need.
This can be so hard. When you are the first lactating mother in the company and need room to pump, when you need to be home in time to pick up the kids every night, when you need to spend a week a month with your ailing parents… it can seem easier just to drop out or dial back than to assert that you are worth accommodation. I learned this one myself. My first pregnancy, I meekly accepted unpaid leave, and came back after two months, half-apologetic for having had a baby. I worked nearly two weeks after my due date, and only stopped coming into the office after my colleagues got too uncomfortable with my ticking-time-bombness. I felt like any weakness would be an excuse to disregard me. With my second baby, a few months before I was due I set up a 1:1 with the CEO. I told him that I was planning on taking three months this time, and that I would like for those three months to be paid. He said “Sure!” I didn’t even have to deploy the long list of reasons I had carefully outlined for why he should listen to me. I just had to ask him. But it is so terrifying to anticipate the “no”, that often we just skip the asking part and assume the “no”. Our bosses are not psychic. Often, they haven’t lived through the challenges we’re experiencing. If we don’t let them know what we need to be productive, we won’t get it.

A few things I didn’t have much trouble with…

I’m not pretending that I have a model career of supreme accomplishment, but I have made a ton of progress in the last three years. I’m now working in a very rewarding, stimulating environment where I’m respected, and where I provide significant value. I’m really happy at work – which has not always been the case – and it’s entirely possible that the key issues that I have inadvertently NOT had to deal with are a portion of the reason why.

Pick the right partner.
Sheryl says the #1 most important career choice women can make is in their partner. I think she may very well be right, and I think I picked very well indeed. My husband and I have always had a “we both win” competition to see who could earn more. This was probably more on my side than his but… we should earn about the same amount. We are in the same field, educated at the same institution to the same level, with similar work experiences, relatively similar skill sets (they’ve started diverging in the last three years), and similar work ethics. I was a year behind, so I did start at a disadvantage, but that should have evened out after a few years. Instead, it took me nearly 11 years to catch up to him. Then, in the 12th year, I passed him. There are men for whom this would be a threat to their identity, where in order to keep peace in the marriage a woman would have to earn less, or pretend she earned less, or … something. But because I picked the right partner, he was like, “Rock on! Does this mean I can stay at home now?” (Well, not really. He loves his job too.) But my husband would move for my job (if the opportunity was right), dial back on his schedule, pause his growth… in order to let me excel.

So far, we haven’t had to pick primary vs. secondary careers – we’ve been lucky. But I was able to interview for a promotion once because he said that he would do what was needed in his career to facilitate mine, even if that meant moving to Germany. (I didn’t end up getting it. But I think I was seen more positively because I tried for it!) If I am successful in my career, it will be in large part because my husband has my back.

Sit at the table
I think I missed the cultural gender education on this one. I’ve always sat at the table – preferably at the front. I’ve always been incapable of staying silent during a heated discussion. I’ve rarely been shut up because someone interrupted me. I think my life-long interest in male-dominated occupations has required me to give up this deferential attitude: you can’t hang back when you’re the solo trumpet player. I’ve experienced less of the negative side-effects that Sheryl says accompanies women who sit in the front. Or perhaps I just experienced them early (band and wood shop were not what you would call idyllic for me from a social perspective). I sit at the table every time. And perhaps that has helped – just a little – get me where I am today.

Be well-liked AND respected
There are lots of studies that say highly qualified, assertive women are considered unlikeable and hard to work with. I am highly qualified and assertive. So following this logic, I should be unpopular at work. But, well, I’m not. I just had my annual review, and it was called out explicitly that I get along well with others. I’m not entirely sure what to make of this. Maybe I work for an exceptionally progressive company? Maybe some element of my personality has mitigated this effect? Maybe my real interest in and enjoyment of other people makes it hard to not like me? (It’s harder to dislike someone who likes you!) Or maybe that qualified and ambitious part of me is well hidden. I don’t think I have any advice on this one; only a grateful shrug of the shoulders that this stereotype has so far passed me by.

To sum up:

Thanks, Sheryl, for writing this. Let’s lean together against the doors and open them wider so more of our sisters can join us in board rooms, and more of our brothers can join us in the PTA.

You should read this book. If you are a woman, you should read it to better understand the choices, motivations and precedents so that you can make informed decisions about your career and life. If you are a man, you should read it to better understand YOUR decisions as well, and to have more insight into the challenges that face the women you work with (and live with). If you do not work with women, you truly truly need to read it because you have a problem you need to fix. You are missing 50% of the talent you could have.

Sheryl’s goal, that I think most of us can get behind, is for all of us who HAVE choice because of our background and education, to truly be able to choose the route we want to take, instead of the route prescribed to us by our gender. It is worth calling out that we also need to ensure that a larger percentage of people HAVE a choice. For many people, there is no career and no “should I stay home or should I become a manager” decision, there is only unremitting labors to get food on the table every day. Wouldn’t it be fantastic if we ALL had choices, and could all pick the best path based on our skills, desires and aptitude?

March Snow

If there is anything a New Englander can learn about March, it is that suffering is finite. Here we are, in the middle of Lent, and the skies opened and dropped 16 inches on us Friday – a far cry from the predicted tally. It was a stark contrast to the “Shut everything down a day in advance” that we experienced with Nemo, though. My son’s school was closed. But Boston schools carried on. We all shrugged and went to work and pulled out our well worn shovels and started shoveling. But not the frantic, precise shoveling of January, where every snowflake promised a near-permanent constraint of movement for the remainder of winter. But a lackadaisical, good-enough attitude far from the typical dour perfectionism of New England.

Not long after the last flake fell, the melt began. No matter how well or poorly you shoveled, the heat of the nearer sun wipes away the sin of a bad job like grace at Easter. The shlump of heavy snow falling persists. My sons wander around in shorts and tshirts to our various engagements, and I let them because it’s downright warm! Like 45 degrees! No matter the high drifts to left and right.

Death, thou shalt die. And snow, thou shalt melt.

In less existential news, I have been following the Four Hour Body diet with near-religious adherence for four and a half weeks. Many days, not so much as a stick of artificially flavored gum has passed my lips. I have waved away carbs and fruit. I got a gym membership, and have worked out with unusual consistency for me. I have eaten eggs and beans for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner.

For my pains, I have… not lost any weight. It’s hard to tell, of course. There’s so much signal and noise with weight. Drink a huge glass of water, and you gain almost a pound. Weigh yourself in the morning and you’re down two pounds. But on my “cheat day” I weighed myself and my weight was back where it was when I started. After a full month, I consider this a sign that this diet does not work for me. Any of the modifications to the diet that I might try come back to calorie restriction PLUS food type restriction. In studies, 10+% of compliant participants fail to lose any weight. I suppose I simply have to acknowledge that I am in this minority and change methodologies.

So I have to decide whether I really want to lose weight, and if so what different methodology I should use. I’m thinking pure and simple calorie restriction is probably the best choice.

I’ve been travelling what feels like a lot for work lately. I was in Minnesota for two days last week. I found it particularly moving to watch the snow fall from a 20th story corner room. The city appeared and disappeared as the snow picked up, and the winds moved white drifts between the buildings. I found it hard to turn off the lights, remove my ability to see (contacts) and shut my eyes. It was fun to see the same storm twice.

I’m headed out again for almost three days in another week. I’m hoping that’s it for a while! At least the next trip is training, and in Tampa.

In other news, one son is reading. One son is building beautiful things with magnetic shapes. We have rejiggered our dining room to look like we live here and are not squatting in someone else’s house.

And it is March. Both Easter and Spring will come soon, and wipe the snow and cold away. And we will walk with bright hearts under a hot sun again.