Friday, October 29, 2004
true to form
Last night at dinner, my mother asked if there was any way I'd be able to do a combined "Religion and the Law" degree.
Sigh.
Some things never change.
Sigh.
Some things never change.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
family
It's odd that, as excited as I am to see my mother (who is in town for a brief visit), I don't really want to see her.
It's not like she doesn't know what's going on in my life—we talk about once a week. But she comes into town and wants to know, "What's new?" Well, Mom, nothing since I talked to you last Thursday.
I don't understand myself. My mom and I are close. We really are. But I think I am at a place where I am preparing to do something with my life that she doesn't really get. She always thought I should go back and get a Ph.D. in religion or theology or religious anthropology...and that's maddening, because I decided a while ago that I didn't want that for myself.
And now I'm going to law school. When I told her, I thought she'd be excited that I was going back to school, getting a graduate degree. I thought she'd be proud of me. But her reaction was...muted. She didn't understand. Why law? Do you really want to be a lawyer? Don't you want to teach??
And I do want to teach. But I don't want to teach religion to undergrads, and I don't want to be a poor academic and I don't want to be in that field. I'd love it if I could take some classes in law school that relate to my religion degree—a Church and State course, for instance, or even courses in another degree program that might transfer over or count as electives.
I know that my mother is, to a certain extent, living semi-vicariously through me. She didn't get her BA until she was in her mid-to-late thirties; she got a Master's a few years later. But for so much of her life, she was an uneducated wife, the pretty arm candy and domestic goddess who felt that because she didn't have that degree, her opinions didn't deserve to be heard. So she's always encouraged me to do what I want to, to get my education, to be a strong, independent woman. But her idea of what I should do to be that strong, independent woman is different from my idea.
For a long time, my mom thought I should be a priest (women priests are allowed in my church). In her mind, I'd be doing everything perfectly—using my religion degree, being a trailblazer (women priests are still sort-of unusual). But I knew by age 19 that I didn't want that for myself.
I can see that she tries to form that future in her mind—the future where I'll be the professor, or the writer, or the public speaker. And sometimes I feel like I'm trying to live up to that—get into the best school possible so I can become a well-known professor, or writer, or public speaker. But then sometimes I think I'd rather just have a job, a good job, a job where I can distinguish myself, without needing all that extra recognition.
Sometimes I worry that I'm still trying to please my mom.
It's not like she doesn't know what's going on in my life—we talk about once a week. But she comes into town and wants to know, "What's new?" Well, Mom, nothing since I talked to you last Thursday.
I don't understand myself. My mom and I are close. We really are. But I think I am at a place where I am preparing to do something with my life that she doesn't really get. She always thought I should go back and get a Ph.D. in religion or theology or religious anthropology...and that's maddening, because I decided a while ago that I didn't want that for myself.
And now I'm going to law school. When I told her, I thought she'd be excited that I was going back to school, getting a graduate degree. I thought she'd be proud of me. But her reaction was...muted. She didn't understand. Why law? Do you really want to be a lawyer? Don't you want to teach??
And I do want to teach. But I don't want to teach religion to undergrads, and I don't want to be a poor academic and I don't want to be in that field. I'd love it if I could take some classes in law school that relate to my religion degree—a Church and State course, for instance, or even courses in another degree program that might transfer over or count as electives.
I know that my mother is, to a certain extent, living semi-vicariously through me. She didn't get her BA until she was in her mid-to-late thirties; she got a Master's a few years later. But for so much of her life, she was an uneducated wife, the pretty arm candy and domestic goddess who felt that because she didn't have that degree, her opinions didn't deserve to be heard. So she's always encouraged me to do what I want to, to get my education, to be a strong, independent woman. But her idea of what I should do to be that strong, independent woman is different from my idea.
For a long time, my mom thought I should be a priest (women priests are allowed in my church). In her mind, I'd be doing everything perfectly—using my religion degree, being a trailblazer (women priests are still sort-of unusual). But I knew by age 19 that I didn't want that for myself.
I can see that she tries to form that future in her mind—the future where I'll be the professor, or the writer, or the public speaker. And sometimes I feel like I'm trying to live up to that—get into the best school possible so I can become a well-known professor, or writer, or public speaker. But then sometimes I think I'd rather just have a job, a good job, a job where I can distinguish myself, without needing all that extra recognition.
Sometimes I worry that I'm still trying to please my mom.
Monday, October 18, 2004
My grandfather is fine after his TIA but he has to have a carotid endarterectomy. One of the results of the surgery is that he won't be able to drive for several weeks while he recovers. I suspect he may never drive again, to be honest.
And that's causing me some pain and worry. My grandfather, honestly, should not be driving. His short-term memory is poor and his motor reflexes are slipping. But driving is one of the last joys he has. It's a sign of his independence, his ability to care for himself and my grandmother, his ability to do his duty as a husband.
I worry, if driving is taken away from him, that he'll sink into that terrible depression so common among older people who lose their mobility and independence. I worry that he won't want to go on, or that he'll stop taking good care of himself, and his health will decline further.
I worry about all of these things, and I worry about my grandmother in all of it. How will she cope? Can she keep him out of the depths? I hope so, but I also know how proud my grandfather is—he may not let her redeem him, as it were.
This is rough time for me. As I plan to move several states away for law school, my beloved grandparents' health is declining, ever more quickly. I wish I could visit more now; I don't know how awful I'll feel next year when we're so far away.
And that's causing me some pain and worry. My grandfather, honestly, should not be driving. His short-term memory is poor and his motor reflexes are slipping. But driving is one of the last joys he has. It's a sign of his independence, his ability to care for himself and my grandmother, his ability to do his duty as a husband.
I worry, if driving is taken away from him, that he'll sink into that terrible depression so common among older people who lose their mobility and independence. I worry that he won't want to go on, or that he'll stop taking good care of himself, and his health will decline further.
I worry about all of these things, and I worry about my grandmother in all of it. How will she cope? Can she keep him out of the depths? I hope so, but I also know how proud my grandfather is—he may not let her redeem him, as it were.
This is rough time for me. As I plan to move several states away for law school, my beloved grandparents' health is declining, ever more quickly. I wish I could visit more now; I don't know how awful I'll feel next year when we're so far away.
that time of the year
It's begun. The days are getting shorter. The mornings are dark. Soon, we'll turn the clocks back an hour and the evenings will be dark, too.
I like the cold of winter, but I hate the dark. It's depressing to leave the house when the sun is barely over the horizon and return home after dusk. Getting out of bed is harder, motivating myself to be productive in the evenings is harder, everything just gets a little harder.
I like the cold of winter, but I hate the dark. It's depressing to leave the house when the sun is barely over the horizon and return home after dusk. Getting out of bed is harder, motivating myself to be productive in the evenings is harder, everything just gets a little harder.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Is it the weather...
...or something else that's causing this rash of bad news?
My uncle emailed all of us yesterday to tell us our grandfather had a TIA on Monday evening. He and my grandmother were at a memorial Mass at their church celebrating their 60th anniversary. He became faint (and may have passed out, the email wasn't entirely clear). My grandmother stayed at Mass and went on to the reception in their honor; my aunt and uncle took my grandfather home, where he watched Monday Night Football.
But the next day they went to the doctor and found out that he hadn't simply become faint; he had suffered a mini-stroke. It seems that he's had, at the least, this one TIA, but possibly more, and he could be at risk for further instances or even a more life-threatening stroke.
This is all really frightening to me. My grandfather has always been a hero of a man—big, strapping, brave, gentle, wise, funny—all the things a grandfather should be. In recent years, he's become more and more frail, as the elderly will. More upsetting, his mind has begun to fail. Now I wonder if his loss of short-term memory and lack of attention span might not be the result of prior TIAs.
Not only am I frightened for my grandfather—for his health, his well-being, even his ego—I am also petrified for my grandmother. For all that she is the matriarch of the family, the one with the "master calendar," so to speak, she depends on my grandfather entirely. Not just for transportation (she hasn't driven since her knee replacement and Parkinson's diagnosis); not just for his common-sense ways (the purse strings and all that). She depends on him, I think, for her entire sense of self. I mean, good Lord, they've been married for 60 years! That's close to three-quarters of her entire life! When you spend that much time with someone, everything you do must start to revolve around them and your own identity get wrapped up in theirs.
I worry for my grandmother. She's far more frail physically than my grandfather, though definitely more compos mentis. But because he dotes on her and takes care of her, watches out for her, she is probably likely to live beyond him. The question is whether she'll want to or not; I can't answer that question.
We're supposed to have a big family reunion this weekend—correction, we will have a big family reunion this weekend—and the question is whether they'll make it into town for the event. We have to wait for the brain scans and other tests to come back before my grandfather can travel; my grandmother doesn't go anywhere without him. I am desperate to see them—they live too far away as it is, and I am often too busy to set aside a weekend to visit. I hope they can be here.
My uncle emailed all of us yesterday to tell us our grandfather had a TIA on Monday evening. He and my grandmother were at a memorial Mass at their church celebrating their 60th anniversary. He became faint (and may have passed out, the email wasn't entirely clear). My grandmother stayed at Mass and went on to the reception in their honor; my aunt and uncle took my grandfather home, where he watched Monday Night Football.
But the next day they went to the doctor and found out that he hadn't simply become faint; he had suffered a mini-stroke. It seems that he's had, at the least, this one TIA, but possibly more, and he could be at risk for further instances or even a more life-threatening stroke.
This is all really frightening to me. My grandfather has always been a hero of a man—big, strapping, brave, gentle, wise, funny—all the things a grandfather should be. In recent years, he's become more and more frail, as the elderly will. More upsetting, his mind has begun to fail. Now I wonder if his loss of short-term memory and lack of attention span might not be the result of prior TIAs.
Not only am I frightened for my grandfather—for his health, his well-being, even his ego—I am also petrified for my grandmother. For all that she is the matriarch of the family, the one with the "master calendar," so to speak, she depends on my grandfather entirely. Not just for transportation (she hasn't driven since her knee replacement and Parkinson's diagnosis); not just for his common-sense ways (the purse strings and all that). She depends on him, I think, for her entire sense of self. I mean, good Lord, they've been married for 60 years! That's close to three-quarters of her entire life! When you spend that much time with someone, everything you do must start to revolve around them and your own identity get wrapped up in theirs.
I worry for my grandmother. She's far more frail physically than my grandfather, though definitely more compos mentis. But because he dotes on her and takes care of her, watches out for her, she is probably likely to live beyond him. The question is whether she'll want to or not; I can't answer that question.
We're supposed to have a big family reunion this weekend—correction, we will have a big family reunion this weekend—and the question is whether they'll make it into town for the event. We have to wait for the brain scans and other tests to come back before my grandfather can travel; my grandmother doesn't go anywhere without him. I am desperate to see them—they live too far away as it is, and I am often too busy to set aside a weekend to visit. I hope they can be here.
blech
I stopped at Schlotzsky's for lunch and got a yummy café sandwich (tomato and mozarella caprese...mmmm) and I got chips, but not the Schlotzsky's brand; instead I got these "Kettle Krisps" that are lightly salted and low fat.
Yeah, lightly salted and low fat and disgusting. They taste like sliced potatoes. RAW sliced potatoes. Every fourth one is vaguely reminiscent of an actual potato chip and the rest are cardboard.
Sigh. I always hope for good-tasting alternatives to the bad-for-you foods I love. And I am always disappointed.
Yeah, lightly salted and low fat and disgusting. They taste like sliced potatoes. RAW sliced potatoes. Every fourth one is vaguely reminiscent of an actual potato chip and the rest are cardboard.
Sigh. I always hope for good-tasting alternatives to the bad-for-you foods I love. And I am always disappointed.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Relief
JT thinks it's done. I think it's pretty much done, too, although there are a few word choices I want to revisit. Working on my crow sheet for his letter of rec. Then—on to applications!
I just got back last night from four days in Vegas. I had a good time, but man, I guess I just don't appreciate some of Austin's more draconian smoking laws. Two minutes walking through a casino, and I smelled (reeked) of stale cigarettes and sweat. Gross. I also lost all the money I gambled with, but I suppose that's what happens when you gamble.
My family reunion is this weekend. I'm excited to see all my cousins and the two new babies in the family. We're also celebrating my grandparents' sixieth (60th) wedding anniversary, which I think is remarkable and wonderful and amazing.
Still, though, spending the entire weekend with family is exhausting, and means that I won't have much time to do anything around the house. It also means I'll have to miss yoga for the second week in a row. Pooh.
This is a sort of random post. My brain is still recovering from a weekend of debauchery, though, and all I can think about is the list of things coming up.
I just got back last night from four days in Vegas. I had a good time, but man, I guess I just don't appreciate some of Austin's more draconian smoking laws. Two minutes walking through a casino, and I smelled (reeked) of stale cigarettes and sweat. Gross. I also lost all the money I gambled with, but I suppose that's what happens when you gamble.
My family reunion is this weekend. I'm excited to see all my cousins and the two new babies in the family. We're also celebrating my grandparents' sixieth (60th) wedding anniversary, which I think is remarkable and wonderful and amazing.
Still, though, spending the entire weekend with family is exhausting, and means that I won't have much time to do anything around the house. It also means I'll have to miss yoga for the second week in a row. Pooh.
This is a sort of random post. My brain is still recovering from a weekend of debauchery, though, and all I can think about is the list of things coming up.
Monday, October 04, 2004
Statement Redux
Yes, I know it's not perfect, but does anyone care to comment?
Update 2: This is what I'm taking in to JT today. It's not done, but it feels worlds better than the first draft of this. By my numbering system, this is draft #6.
Update 2: This is what I'm taking in to JT today. It's not done, but it feels worlds better than the first draft of this. By my numbering system, this is draft #6.
On the first Sunday of the school year, I stood up with all the teachers and administrators to be recognized. My church celebrates educators this way every year but I’d never joined them before. Despite working in higher education for five years, I wasn’t sure I counted. This year, though, standing felt right.
For most of my time working for the University of Texas, I've considered myself just another program coordinator and graphic designer who happens to work for a university. But my recent decision to go to law school, in the hopes of teaching law students someday, gave me new insight into the work I’ve been doing for the last several years.
Though my professional life has been focused in a visual direction, I’ve been investing in my literary interests for the last several years—taking writing courses and fine-tuning my editing skills. I chose to pursue a law degree because of my love of both the writing and the impact of language. As a literary discipline, requiring a mastery of language, analysis, research, and criticism, law suits me. Its vast real-world applications engage me. Above all, law appeals to my love of explaining words, and their affect, to others.
My job with the university was intended to be a stopgap, a way station, between my undergraduate and graduate education. Yet before I knew it, the job that was supposed to last for no more than two years stretched into four and a half years spent advising students and coordinating undergraduate programs; and then it led to a position building online courses for the university. I’ve been successfully working with students and educators for over five years without realizing my aptitude for education.
Even away from my professional life, I’ve been developing as a teacher. The most fulfilling part of the advanced writing seminar I took last year was wading through stacks of my classmates’ papers, marking them with line-item comments and thematic suggestions. As I worked with my own writing and helped others with their language, I discovered how much I enjoy the art of research, argument, and writing—the art of words—and that I excel at improving that art in others.
For five years, while I thought I was becoming a designer, I have been developing a career in education—even as I pursued the art of language. It’s been immensely fulfilling. Now I'm ready to take it to the next level and pursue a career in legal academia.
When I stood up that Sunday, and admitted to myself that a career as an educator was something I wanted to pursue, I was simply accepting the direction my life has taken and embracing it. I know that I want to teach the art of words to people for whom words matter most—lawyers.
