These Are My People
9 years ago
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Jet Lag.
Well, after a brief stopover in Durham, I am here in Oakland struggling against the 9 hour time difference to my internal clock. I was actually able to stay up until a reasonable hour, but now I am up at 5 AM unable to go back to sleep. On the one hand, I should be able to make it to my conference on time. On the other hand, I will likely need some strong stimulants to keep me going. Hopefully the recovery will be fast.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
A Brief Note.
Tomorrow I fly to the states for my two week long adventure. I will spend one week working in Berkeley and one week probably not doing much work at all in Durham for Amber's graduation from Business School. So, tonight I will be packing and working like mad to get some stuff sent off before I am off the grid flying all day tomorrow.
I did quickly want to mention that last night I rented Rachel Getting Married on iTunes. If you have not seen this film yet, check it out. I really think it is probably my favorite of last year. True, I have not seen the Wrestler and do have a thing for Anne Hathaway, which helps. Although, this one definitely stands on its own. It is dark yet sentimental, over the top yet totally realistic, painful but beautiful. I just hope my visit home is a bit less dramatic.
On a side note, I am about half way through Herzog by Saul Bellow these days. My slow pace should not say anything negative about the quality of the work, but is more in fact a glowing recommendation. This book speaks to me in ways that are a bit too intense at times, hence I am not always willing to pick it up at the end of a long day. Work has been pretty intense lately as well, which does not help. My hope is that all the time on a plane will help me push through and finish it up soon, as I am definitely looking forward to doing.
I did quickly want to mention that last night I rented Rachel Getting Married on iTunes. If you have not seen this film yet, check it out. I really think it is probably my favorite of last year. True, I have not seen the Wrestler and do have a thing for Anne Hathaway, which helps. Although, this one definitely stands on its own. It is dark yet sentimental, over the top yet totally realistic, painful but beautiful. I just hope my visit home is a bit less dramatic.
On a side note, I am about half way through Herzog by Saul Bellow these days. My slow pace should not say anything negative about the quality of the work, but is more in fact a glowing recommendation. This book speaks to me in ways that are a bit too intense at times, hence I am not always willing to pick it up at the end of a long day. Work has been pretty intense lately as well, which does not help. My hope is that all the time on a plane will help me push through and finish it up soon, as I am definitely looking forward to doing.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Home Is Where You Hang Your Head.
So, the subject of this post is a Groucho Marx quote, which first of all is rather apt and second of all is one of the funniest quotes I have learned from a Professor/Mentor/Friend at OU who shall affectionately be known as Doc.
The bottom line is that as I am shortly to embark on a fairly long two week journey back to the states, I have been thinking a lot about home recently. Technically, I feel pretty at home here in Germany. My routine is set, my apartment is as comfortable as any other place I have slept the last couple years, I get around alright with the language for what I need and my work situation is actually great. True, it is hard to say this is truly my home as I am fairly consistently reminded that I am a foreigner. On the other hand, it is a decent life I have for myself here, and I know eventually it could be a place to which I felt I belonged whether or not all Germans agreed with me.
The truth of the matter however is that I also feel like moving back to New York City will be a welcome homecoming. That city brutalized me in ways, but I survived it on my own, made some great friends, learned a lot about myself, did some interesting work and ate some amazing food. There were corners of that city I truly felt were mine, and I miss my little nooks and crannies hidden amongst all that chaos. Being there made me appreciate that I belonged to something much bigger than myself, something overwhelming, totally out of my control and completely alive in every possible way.
Meanwhile, my wife and all of the things I have come to truly define as home are in an apartment in Durham, North Carolina. The creature comforts, including in fact a creature whose excitement always makes coming home delightful, I have come to cherish and in which I find solace are all there. The possessions alone ... my shelves of read books, my grandfather's desk where I wrote my thesis, all the dishes on which I first learned to cook, the pictures from my past, the bed I collapsed into after many of the best and worst days of my life, the couch on which I experienced so many simple moments of comfort and the chair I would work in during the long evenings of graduate school. Many significant moments of my life occurred in and around these things, hence they became a part of my life.
Soon, I will also be back in the Bay Area, the first place I felt like I had built my own home. Though I have not been back since I left nearly two years ago, I feel like I am just returning from a long vacation. I have a hard time convincing myself anything will have changed significantly. In my mind, I know the people and places I love will have experienced changes and that my perception of them will be different now as well. However, a big part of me never left them or that place, so I will cherish the chance to finally embrace my friends and family, breathe in the moist air, taste the food and wine, and walk through the same streets that have marked me so deeply.
Of course, Oklahoma will always beckon me home as my birthplace and the location of most of my family. Not to mention, it is the place I started to believe in myself, learned I had something to give and first found friends who understood me. There, I know I will always have the smell of dinner and anticipation of hours of conversation in my Nana's living room, the feeling of grease and dirt on my hands from working with my father, the memories of stories, beers and meals shared with my oldest friends, or the instant relaxation that comes over me when drifting on a lake. Whether it be during the cold, dry winter nights or the hot, dripping wet summer days, there is something that enriches the soul when you feel the things you felt as a child. The sights, sounds and smells of the houses, people and meals I grew up with will always give me peace.
Southern California also provides a sense of the familiar. It is the kind of place where I never quite feel at ease because it reminds me of something deeply buried within myself. The time I spent there was somehow difficult for me, and though I did not like who I was then, experiencing those old feelings once in a while is a good thing in order to keep track of every part of my life. Even those parts of my life when I experienced pain or felt weak.
I have even felt quite at home drinking coffee in the mountains of Crete with a new found friend, sharing a Christmas with old friends in Sicily, strolling alone along a river in Spain, surrounded by distant family members speaking in a language I do not know, and in a few books that truly pulled me inside them for a brief period. The long story short is that I feel lucky to have so many places to call home. Each one represents a different part of myself. So, it will be extremely nice to actually experience several of them in the next couple weeks.
The bottom line is that as I am shortly to embark on a fairly long two week journey back to the states, I have been thinking a lot about home recently. Technically, I feel pretty at home here in Germany. My routine is set, my apartment is as comfortable as any other place I have slept the last couple years, I get around alright with the language for what I need and my work situation is actually great. True, it is hard to say this is truly my home as I am fairly consistently reminded that I am a foreigner. On the other hand, it is a decent life I have for myself here, and I know eventually it could be a place to which I felt I belonged whether or not all Germans agreed with me.
The truth of the matter however is that I also feel like moving back to New York City will be a welcome homecoming. That city brutalized me in ways, but I survived it on my own, made some great friends, learned a lot about myself, did some interesting work and ate some amazing food. There were corners of that city I truly felt were mine, and I miss my little nooks and crannies hidden amongst all that chaos. Being there made me appreciate that I belonged to something much bigger than myself, something overwhelming, totally out of my control and completely alive in every possible way.
Meanwhile, my wife and all of the things I have come to truly define as home are in an apartment in Durham, North Carolina. The creature comforts, including in fact a creature whose excitement always makes coming home delightful, I have come to cherish and in which I find solace are all there. The possessions alone ... my shelves of read books, my grandfather's desk where I wrote my thesis, all the dishes on which I first learned to cook, the pictures from my past, the bed I collapsed into after many of the best and worst days of my life, the couch on which I experienced so many simple moments of comfort and the chair I would work in during the long evenings of graduate school. Many significant moments of my life occurred in and around these things, hence they became a part of my life.
Soon, I will also be back in the Bay Area, the first place I felt like I had built my own home. Though I have not been back since I left nearly two years ago, I feel like I am just returning from a long vacation. I have a hard time convincing myself anything will have changed significantly. In my mind, I know the people and places I love will have experienced changes and that my perception of them will be different now as well. However, a big part of me never left them or that place, so I will cherish the chance to finally embrace my friends and family, breathe in the moist air, taste the food and wine, and walk through the same streets that have marked me so deeply.
Of course, Oklahoma will always beckon me home as my birthplace and the location of most of my family. Not to mention, it is the place I started to believe in myself, learned I had something to give and first found friends who understood me. There, I know I will always have the smell of dinner and anticipation of hours of conversation in my Nana's living room, the feeling of grease and dirt on my hands from working with my father, the memories of stories, beers and meals shared with my oldest friends, or the instant relaxation that comes over me when drifting on a lake. Whether it be during the cold, dry winter nights or the hot, dripping wet summer days, there is something that enriches the soul when you feel the things you felt as a child. The sights, sounds and smells of the houses, people and meals I grew up with will always give me peace.
Southern California also provides a sense of the familiar. It is the kind of place where I never quite feel at ease because it reminds me of something deeply buried within myself. The time I spent there was somehow difficult for me, and though I did not like who I was then, experiencing those old feelings once in a while is a good thing in order to keep track of every part of my life. Even those parts of my life when I experienced pain or felt weak.
I have even felt quite at home drinking coffee in the mountains of Crete with a new found friend, sharing a Christmas with old friends in Sicily, strolling alone along a river in Spain, surrounded by distant family members speaking in a language I do not know, and in a few books that truly pulled me inside them for a brief period. The long story short is that I feel lucky to have so many places to call home. Each one represents a different part of myself. So, it will be extremely nice to actually experience several of them in the next couple weeks.
Monday, April 20, 2009
I Passed Inspection.
Apparently, the bubbling concoction of chemicals I created to clean every inch of my apartment either sufficed to reach the level of cleanliness appropriate for my landlord or simply left enough fumes lingering to numb their senses. The living room and kitchen were so immaculate, she did not even go into my bathroom. Hopefully my fellow Americans will know I proudly represented my heritage today. At least my parents who are rather fond of perhaps even unhealthy levels of disinfectant should be proud.
Haunted.
Some nights I feel haunted by the mistakes of my past. Old unpleasant memories come back with a freshness and force I thought time would help to manage. Sadly, in my life there have been times when my carelessness could have caused harm and did cost money, my words caused pain, my actions caused shame and my inaction caused regret. It astounds me that somehow I am guilty of all these mistakes and trespasses, yet still get to have the life I do. Who knows how close we have all come to a completely different version of ourselves? Inches, seconds, breaths, bites, sips, impulses, hesitations, pennies? Many are not so lucky.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
A bit unbelievable really...
So, on Friday I received a notice that someone would be coming to my apartment on Monday at noon to inspect it for cleanliness. While at first I thought this was pretty ridiculous, it did not anger me terribly. However, not knowing how thorough of an inspection I would receive, I knew my weekend would be busy cleaning my apartment from top to bottom.
Upon discussing this and many other things with my friends M & H on Friday night over a couple beers, I was shocked to learn of their dislike of such an inspection policy because they felt the motivations to be somewhat racist. Apparently most of these cleanliness inspections are said to occur because landlords generally believe people from other cultures are likely to live in filth.
Since the friends I have from Germany think absolutely nothing like this, it really seemed to me perhaps they were a bit overly sensitive to me being inspected. Then, I had dinner on Saturday night with some acquaintances I had met a few times before, including someone from Germany who I did not know would be in attendance.
As I think the cleanliness inspection is pretty good material, I worked it into my standard routine at dinner. The person from Germany did not say that he felt the cleanliness inspections were due to some sort of errant cultural superiority complex, but ACTUALLY suggested that there were specific cultures who lived in very dirty ways so he understood why they did the inspections. I had a hard time believing my ears really, especially since the individual is a lawyer. It just goes to show that ignorance and prejudice are as ubiquitous as one fears they are. I had simply refused to believe it somehow.
Perhaps I should have stood against the ideas with the same indignation my friends from Friday night had shown, but I actually could only sit in shocked silence as he rattled on against Turks and Arabs. In truth, this individual did not seem worth the effort, and the only solace I had was that I had taken active steps to avoid spending time with this particular person in the past and definitely will continue to do so in the future.
On the upside, he had lived in places with inspections before and told me to be sure to defrost my refrigerator, which I never would have done otherwise. I suppose that also goes to show that even the ignorant can be useful sometimes.
Upon discussing this and many other things with my friends M & H on Friday night over a couple beers, I was shocked to learn of their dislike of such an inspection policy because they felt the motivations to be somewhat racist. Apparently most of these cleanliness inspections are said to occur because landlords generally believe people from other cultures are likely to live in filth.
Since the friends I have from Germany think absolutely nothing like this, it really seemed to me perhaps they were a bit overly sensitive to me being inspected. Then, I had dinner on Saturday night with some acquaintances I had met a few times before, including someone from Germany who I did not know would be in attendance.
As I think the cleanliness inspection is pretty good material, I worked it into my standard routine at dinner. The person from Germany did not say that he felt the cleanliness inspections were due to some sort of errant cultural superiority complex, but ACTUALLY suggested that there were specific cultures who lived in very dirty ways so he understood why they did the inspections. I had a hard time believing my ears really, especially since the individual is a lawyer. It just goes to show that ignorance and prejudice are as ubiquitous as one fears they are. I had simply refused to believe it somehow.
Perhaps I should have stood against the ideas with the same indignation my friends from Friday night had shown, but I actually could only sit in shocked silence as he rattled on against Turks and Arabs. In truth, this individual did not seem worth the effort, and the only solace I had was that I had taken active steps to avoid spending time with this particular person in the past and definitely will continue to do so in the future.
On the upside, he had lived in places with inspections before and told me to be sure to defrost my refrigerator, which I never would have done otherwise. I suppose that also goes to show that even the ignorant can be useful sometimes.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Women in Science
I had an interaction today I found interesting, which made me think a fair amount about the distinct lack of women in science. First of all, let me say it seems around the world women are more likely to go to college than men. Also, once they are there are even more likely to graduate. So, the lack of women in engineering and science is really quite a problem in my mind because we are missing out on a great deal of quality intellectual capital. And while I will say my field seems to be improving in this regard slightly during my generation just from my personal observations, currently science and mathematics faculty lists around the world are largely made up of men.
So, to my experience. As mentioned in my previous post, there is a coffee machine on my floor. In desperate need of some this morning, I figured I would check to see if by an off chance the room was open. As I walked up, one of the few female mathematicians in Bonn was opening the door to look at some of the layout regarding the move with an administrator, so I sneaked in behind them to grab my coffee. I was just about to press the button when I was interrupted by this professor telling me I was perfectly allowed to have coffee on the condition that I agree to clean the machine when necessary. My first reaction was a bit of confusion. If you go to the coffee machine and something needs to be emptied or replaced, the machine does not work. Now, for me, if I am at a coffee machine, I would happily give up a mug's worth of flesh for a pick me up, meaning putting in some beans, emptying some grounds or replacing the water is a small price to pay. So, it seemed obvious if you go to the machine and it is in need of maintenance, you would simply perform such a duty.
My next intuition was to wonder what would make her think I would be unwilling to clean the machine since questioning my willingness to do so is quite contrary to my understanding. It occurred to me that as a woman, she perhaps was often expected by her colleagues to clean the coffee machine and was taking preemptive measures to make sure this was not her role. Since there seem to be a large number of older male professors who have only female secretaries in the department, I imagine that it has been a hard fight in ways to gain her position since so few women seem to have them. Hence, proper respect may be something she struggles with to this day from her colleagues, though I would hope at least from the younger generations she feels no such discomfort or discrimination. However, I must acknowledge that her position as a female mathematics professor puts her in shamefully small minority and even if it is not intended, I am sure in some way she has experienced different social dynamics, expectations and interactions than I have. Still, in some sense I felt a sort of reverse gender discrimination, although this is obviously much too strong a term for what I actually felt, because my willingness to clean a machine had been called into question.
Shortly after I had this internal conversation, I thought maybe I was actually the one who was being sexist. The reason she reacted in such a way may simply be that her door is close to the coffee machine room. Hence possibly she could either be asked to help with the machine all the time by random individuals or simply smell the coffee grounds sitting in their disposal unit when they build up over time. Perhaps my first instinct to frame her sensitivity to my willingness to perform this task as a gender issue says more about what I deep down consider proper gender roles than what she does. Perhaps my initial reaction is part of why a lot of women have a hard time feeling comfortable in the scientific community made of mostly men. After all, even though none of this was ever spoken, did the fact that the thoughts occurred to me change my interactions with her on a subconscious level??
The truth of the matter I would like to believe is that these questions are rarely raised when having a scientific interaction because if you really love what you are discussing, the work speaks for itself and for me anyway all social difficulties or stereotypes vanish rather quickly in the heat of a discussion. In addition, I certainly have married a woman of great independence, always been able to form strong, lasting friendships with many intelligent and fascinating women, enjoyed discussing mathematics just as in depth with female colleagues, tried to encourage many women I have taught to stay with science and pursue it at higher levels, as well as collaborated with women, though sadly very few by comparison. So, hopefully I am not part of the problem, but to be honest, I am not sure. I know I would be incredibly proud to someday have a daughter who would pursue a career in science, meaning at the very least I hope the women interested in science in the coming generations will not have to overcome the same unnecessary obstacles they may have had to hurdle in the past and find a real community to which they can belong as equals.
So, to my experience. As mentioned in my previous post, there is a coffee machine on my floor. In desperate need of some this morning, I figured I would check to see if by an off chance the room was open. As I walked up, one of the few female mathematicians in Bonn was opening the door to look at some of the layout regarding the move with an administrator, so I sneaked in behind them to grab my coffee. I was just about to press the button when I was interrupted by this professor telling me I was perfectly allowed to have coffee on the condition that I agree to clean the machine when necessary. My first reaction was a bit of confusion. If you go to the coffee machine and something needs to be emptied or replaced, the machine does not work. Now, for me, if I am at a coffee machine, I would happily give up a mug's worth of flesh for a pick me up, meaning putting in some beans, emptying some grounds or replacing the water is a small price to pay. So, it seemed obvious if you go to the machine and it is in need of maintenance, you would simply perform such a duty.
My next intuition was to wonder what would make her think I would be unwilling to clean the machine since questioning my willingness to do so is quite contrary to my understanding. It occurred to me that as a woman, she perhaps was often expected by her colleagues to clean the coffee machine and was taking preemptive measures to make sure this was not her role. Since there seem to be a large number of older male professors who have only female secretaries in the department, I imagine that it has been a hard fight in ways to gain her position since so few women seem to have them. Hence, proper respect may be something she struggles with to this day from her colleagues, though I would hope at least from the younger generations she feels no such discomfort or discrimination. However, I must acknowledge that her position as a female mathematics professor puts her in shamefully small minority and even if it is not intended, I am sure in some way she has experienced different social dynamics, expectations and interactions than I have. Still, in some sense I felt a sort of reverse gender discrimination, although this is obviously much too strong a term for what I actually felt, because my willingness to clean a machine had been called into question.
Shortly after I had this internal conversation, I thought maybe I was actually the one who was being sexist. The reason she reacted in such a way may simply be that her door is close to the coffee machine room. Hence possibly she could either be asked to help with the machine all the time by random individuals or simply smell the coffee grounds sitting in their disposal unit when they build up over time. Perhaps my first instinct to frame her sensitivity to my willingness to perform this task as a gender issue says more about what I deep down consider proper gender roles than what she does. Perhaps my initial reaction is part of why a lot of women have a hard time feeling comfortable in the scientific community made of mostly men. After all, even though none of this was ever spoken, did the fact that the thoughts occurred to me change my interactions with her on a subconscious level??
The truth of the matter I would like to believe is that these questions are rarely raised when having a scientific interaction because if you really love what you are discussing, the work speaks for itself and for me anyway all social difficulties or stereotypes vanish rather quickly in the heat of a discussion. In addition, I certainly have married a woman of great independence, always been able to form strong, lasting friendships with many intelligent and fascinating women, enjoyed discussing mathematics just as in depth with female colleagues, tried to encourage many women I have taught to stay with science and pursue it at higher levels, as well as collaborated with women, though sadly very few by comparison. So, hopefully I am not part of the problem, but to be honest, I am not sure. I know I would be incredibly proud to someday have a daughter who would pursue a career in science, meaning at the very least I hope the women interested in science in the coming generations will not have to overcome the same unnecessary obstacles they may have had to hurdle in the past and find a real community to which they can belong as equals.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Tyranny.
The coffee machine at work continues to be behind a locked door that only the full professors can open. Such a blatantly unjust system cannot last long before the far larger and younger class of temporary faculty rise up to defend their basic human rights of access to caffeinated beverages and afternoon productivity. Let us hope the ruling class sees the error in their ways before things get ugly.
Monday, April 13, 2009
A bit of fiction...
I wrote a story today. It may not be good, but I used to write a lot so I am happy to have done it again ever so briefly:
The bar closed a bit late because a flirty, half-drunk couple had stumbled in at closing time for a last drink on their last night in the city. Though he hated his job, the city and that particular couple, somehow he felt opposed to being the obstacle to their near perfect night. So, he poured one more whiskey, mixed one more gin and tonic and listened to the couple discuss their awe of the monuments and crowds he passed each day in disgust. He prayed they would drink fast and not begin the inevitable debate as to whether or not they could afford to live in such a place, but neither of his prayers were answered. He muttered under his breath what he really thought, that no one could really afford to live there. You always paid financially, spiritually or both.
Once the last drop in their glasses had been consumed and they noticed the bar empty except for them, they paid their bill and left him alone to quietly nurse a scotch, count the money, wipe down the bar and finally begin his stroll towards the subway. He had become accustomed to the darkness and quiet at this time of night that somehow covered with a layer of peace a city usually so pulsating with life and light. It was like watching his father sleep as a child. A powerful, frightful force hidden behind a mask of calm. After 8 years away from home and 2 in the city, he thought that analogy might begin to fade, but each night it came to him and caused a chill. No matter the season, the city always felt cold at 3 AM.
When he first arrived, they were together. He knew the cold night would be broken by the warmth of her body in their small bed. However, be it because of the hours he worked for the only job he could stomach, the unfulfilled promises or the distance he kept between himself and everyone else, within a year she had given up and moved back home.
Fortunately the bar paid well enough for him to keep the lease without her. That way, he neither had to move nor get over her any time in the near future. He liked his solitude for the moment. His life happened on a different schedule from most people around him, and the isolation protected him from facing any disappointments he might otherwise feel in life. He had a few friends from school who had ended up here, some tolerable acquaintances from work and the occasional neighbor with whom he would eat dinner or see a movie from time to time. However, the nights grew longer and the conversations more forced as he became more isolated. Mostly, the read books just kept piling up next to his bed as at home he refused himself all other luxuries. He had come there to ply his trade, namely to observe the world around him and write about it. The obscurity of his background and the mildness of his temperament however made finding a job rather difficult in his intended field. Finally, after taking a job pouring drinks, the hours made it hard to find work. All in all though, the job was not so bad. People came in wanting booze and he obliged them. Once in a while, they asked him for an opinion or a a fact, of which he had many. However, he tried to limit the information or opinions he gave to precisely those for which he was being asked. It seemed the tips were better that way. The irony that news organizations had begun to do the same was not lost on him. At least the stuff he peddled was marked as poison, and one had to be old enough to have graduated high school to consume it. He knew she would have rolled her eyes at him when he said this, but still he felt there was truth there.
Truth is an odd thing when you are alone. There are the truths you believe about yourself but never test, the truths you perceive about the world which are only seen through your eyes, and the falseness of others as you never connect with them in anything more than superficial ways. The gentle rock of the near empty subway almost lulled him to sleep but an abandoned newspaper caught his eye and the headlines distracted his mind enough to push sleep off another few minutes. At his stop, he stepped from the brightly lit station into the darkness around his apartment. It was not the best neighborhood but there were worse and though his apartment faced a brick wall, it was safe and allowed him to sleep well past when the sun had brought everyone else onto the street to start their day. He considered having a bite to eat but decided instead to shower the cigarette smoke off of him and laid down with a book before quickly passing out.
He woke the next morning, finished the chapter he had started the night before since he despised loose ends, ate some cereal and eventually stepped into the light of day. It was beginning to get warm outside and soon his rides to work would involve unbearable heat and potent smells of the city and its inhabitants. For now, it was pleasant outside and he realized, his day off. Usually this meant having an afternoon cappuccino and retiring to his favorite bookstore. However, he found himself feeling oddly rested and well-stocked in reading material. Still, the smile from the woman working at the coffee shop usually helped him get through his week, so he decided to at least stick to the first part of his tradition. Part of him desperately wanted more from her, but he knew that, even if miraculously she liked him initially, in the end either he or she would not measure up in the eyes of the other. So, better to preserve a friendly smile and a good cup of coffee as opposed to being like every other person out there, incapable of not destroying a good thing with greed.
When he arrived, he took his usual seat and saw his fellow regular sitting at the usual table across the shop with his weekly book. More than once, that book had served as a great recommendation and motivation for the bookstore later. However, he was always careful not to bring those books with him to the coffee shop lest the fellow patron notice and perhaps try to initiate a conversation. Beyond decent taste in books, the only other information he had on this person was that his fellow patron enjoyed espresso and though he cleaned his glasses at least five times in the course of a cup of coffee, they remained always slightly smudged. Hardly enough for a friendship, and what is the point of friendship really.
The first taste of caffeine awakened him even further and brought a broad smile to his face. The bustle of people around him grew a bit louder and the brightness of the sun outside strengthened. The distances between himself and others seemed to shrink, though he resisted this impulse immediately. Happiness is truly the enemy of contentment, which he knew all too well. He wished for a way out of this moment, but saw none.
Suddenly, he was distracted from his thoughts by noises seemingly directed towards him. As the warped sounds slowly formed into coherent words, he looked up to see a pair of eyes looking at him through slightly blurred glasses.
The bar closed a bit late because a flirty, half-drunk couple had stumbled in at closing time for a last drink on their last night in the city. Though he hated his job, the city and that particular couple, somehow he felt opposed to being the obstacle to their near perfect night. So, he poured one more whiskey, mixed one more gin and tonic and listened to the couple discuss their awe of the monuments and crowds he passed each day in disgust. He prayed they would drink fast and not begin the inevitable debate as to whether or not they could afford to live in such a place, but neither of his prayers were answered. He muttered under his breath what he really thought, that no one could really afford to live there. You always paid financially, spiritually or both.
Once the last drop in their glasses had been consumed and they noticed the bar empty except for them, they paid their bill and left him alone to quietly nurse a scotch, count the money, wipe down the bar and finally begin his stroll towards the subway. He had become accustomed to the darkness and quiet at this time of night that somehow covered with a layer of peace a city usually so pulsating with life and light. It was like watching his father sleep as a child. A powerful, frightful force hidden behind a mask of calm. After 8 years away from home and 2 in the city, he thought that analogy might begin to fade, but each night it came to him and caused a chill. No matter the season, the city always felt cold at 3 AM.
When he first arrived, they were together. He knew the cold night would be broken by the warmth of her body in their small bed. However, be it because of the hours he worked for the only job he could stomach, the unfulfilled promises or the distance he kept between himself and everyone else, within a year she had given up and moved back home.
Fortunately the bar paid well enough for him to keep the lease without her. That way, he neither had to move nor get over her any time in the near future. He liked his solitude for the moment. His life happened on a different schedule from most people around him, and the isolation protected him from facing any disappointments he might otherwise feel in life. He had a few friends from school who had ended up here, some tolerable acquaintances from work and the occasional neighbor with whom he would eat dinner or see a movie from time to time. However, the nights grew longer and the conversations more forced as he became more isolated. Mostly, the read books just kept piling up next to his bed as at home he refused himself all other luxuries. He had come there to ply his trade, namely to observe the world around him and write about it. The obscurity of his background and the mildness of his temperament however made finding a job rather difficult in his intended field. Finally, after taking a job pouring drinks, the hours made it hard to find work. All in all though, the job was not so bad. People came in wanting booze and he obliged them. Once in a while, they asked him for an opinion or a a fact, of which he had many. However, he tried to limit the information or opinions he gave to precisely those for which he was being asked. It seemed the tips were better that way. The irony that news organizations had begun to do the same was not lost on him. At least the stuff he peddled was marked as poison, and one had to be old enough to have graduated high school to consume it. He knew she would have rolled her eyes at him when he said this, but still he felt there was truth there.
Truth is an odd thing when you are alone. There are the truths you believe about yourself but never test, the truths you perceive about the world which are only seen through your eyes, and the falseness of others as you never connect with them in anything more than superficial ways. The gentle rock of the near empty subway almost lulled him to sleep but an abandoned newspaper caught his eye and the headlines distracted his mind enough to push sleep off another few minutes. At his stop, he stepped from the brightly lit station into the darkness around his apartment. It was not the best neighborhood but there were worse and though his apartment faced a brick wall, it was safe and allowed him to sleep well past when the sun had brought everyone else onto the street to start their day. He considered having a bite to eat but decided instead to shower the cigarette smoke off of him and laid down with a book before quickly passing out.
He woke the next morning, finished the chapter he had started the night before since he despised loose ends, ate some cereal and eventually stepped into the light of day. It was beginning to get warm outside and soon his rides to work would involve unbearable heat and potent smells of the city and its inhabitants. For now, it was pleasant outside and he realized, his day off. Usually this meant having an afternoon cappuccino and retiring to his favorite bookstore. However, he found himself feeling oddly rested and well-stocked in reading material. Still, the smile from the woman working at the coffee shop usually helped him get through his week, so he decided to at least stick to the first part of his tradition. Part of him desperately wanted more from her, but he knew that, even if miraculously she liked him initially, in the end either he or she would not measure up in the eyes of the other. So, better to preserve a friendly smile and a good cup of coffee as opposed to being like every other person out there, incapable of not destroying a good thing with greed.
When he arrived, he took his usual seat and saw his fellow regular sitting at the usual table across the shop with his weekly book. More than once, that book had served as a great recommendation and motivation for the bookstore later. However, he was always careful not to bring those books with him to the coffee shop lest the fellow patron notice and perhaps try to initiate a conversation. Beyond decent taste in books, the only other information he had on this person was that his fellow patron enjoyed espresso and though he cleaned his glasses at least five times in the course of a cup of coffee, they remained always slightly smudged. Hardly enough for a friendship, and what is the point of friendship really.
The first taste of caffeine awakened him even further and brought a broad smile to his face. The bustle of people around him grew a bit louder and the brightness of the sun outside strengthened. The distances between himself and others seemed to shrink, though he resisted this impulse immediately. Happiness is truly the enemy of contentment, which he knew all too well. He wished for a way out of this moment, but saw none.
Suddenly, he was distracted from his thoughts by noises seemingly directed towards him. As the warped sounds slowly formed into coherent words, he looked up to see a pair of eyes looking at him through slightly blurred glasses.
Something Beautiful...
Anyone who knew me well in graduate school knows that Amber took me to a Smuin ballet featuring the music of Edgar Meyer and Bela Fleck, resulting in a bit of an obsession with their collaborative album. Admittedly, I went under duress because, even though I usually wind up loving the music and certainly appreciate the athleticism required, I am not always drawn to ballet as I am to other art forms. Anyway, the music at that ballet really stuck with me, and Bela Fleck has a new album out. So, you should go to the link:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=103002655
and click on the link for the song 'Toumani' (Duet). I think it is worth the 5 minutes to give it a listen.
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=103002655
and click on the link for the song 'Toumani' (Duet). I think it is worth the 5 minutes to give it a listen.
Friday, April 10, 2009
I Built A Deck Today.
So, I spent the afternoon at my postdoc advisor's house building a deck. It was great to be out in the sun, plus the finished product actually looks pretty good. Tonight I am exhausted, but it does feel nice to have built something.
A New Outlook
Today is absolutely beautiful. It is a holiday in Germany, so families are out enjoying the weather or having a treat at the few restaurants and coffee shops that are open. The temperatures are just above 70 F with clear skies, and the sun is shining brightly in the sky. I took this opportunity to stroll to my new building in order to take some photos of it and how different my walk through Bonn looks in the Spring. Literally, the town has absolutely come alive with color.
Amazingly enough, as I walked, I was even able to roll up my sleeves and allow my pale, almost translucent skin to visibly darken as it soaked in the first rays of light it had seen in months. Likely this few minutes of exposure will give me my first sunburn of the year, but better to start now I suppose.
On my way home I stopped for a cappuccino at my favorite neighborhood family-owned Italian ice cream/coffee shop that is only open in the Spring and Summer. I sat just inside the door since the outdoor tables were all filled with families whose kids were enjoying a frozen treat while the parents sipped coffee contentedly. It was delightfully cool inside, where it was just me and the Italian husband and wife who run the shop. It occurred to me how nice it would be to have a job where for 6 months out of the year you make kids smile hundreds of times per day. Sure, restaurant hours are tough, owning your own business stressful and the economy uncertain, but to spend your days literally handing kids happiness sounds like a pretty good reward. Anyway, I sipped my coffee, absorbing the sense of relaxation and renewal that comes with Easter weekend in a place where holidays seem to mean something, family businesses are treasured and the whole town is ready to explode with life at the first hint of warmth. It occurred to me that the long, painful grayness of winter might be worth the struggle since it fosters such an appreciation for Spring. For god's sakes, I could not help but appreciate the beauty and life-affirming hope inherent in a giant, hairy bumble bee today.
My weekend otherwise will be spent doing yard work with my boss on Saturday and making the trip to their house again Sunday to have Easter lunch with his family. So, in other words, it will be very much like the Easter weekends of my youth where my dad and I would work around the house all day Saturday and would head to an Aunt's house for Sunday lunch.
It is truly wonderful that I am A. liked enough to be invited to such things and B. know people generous enough to invite me along, but there is a bit of sadness in constantly spending holidays with other people's families. I always love my time there and hate to seem even slightly unappreciative because I really treasure these experiences. However, sometimes the fact that you in some sense really leave those families behind when you walk out the door makes your presence there somewhat artificial.
You may love the kids and spending time with them, but you never know them nor are able to care for them in the way you would your own family. It may be pleasant to have a conversation with a friend over a glass of wine, but there is not the richness that comes with knowing someone completely and truly being a part of their world. Anyway, it is an odd contradiction that sometimes with the warmth of an invitation extended by a friend to spend a holiday with those they love, someone can actually punctuate the underlying loneliness of being without those you love.
This afternoon I am going to do some more work, but tonight I plan to make a vegetarian feast. I have a giant head of wirsing (a cabbage-like green common in Germany during the end of winter), some fingerling potatoes and asparagus. I plan on braising the wirsing with the potatoes in garlic and olive oil, then pan grilling the asparagus with more garlic to create quite a Spring feast. I hope it tastes as good as it sounds to me right now.
Splashes of color on my walk to work. Given the recent outrage in England against the Google Street View photographer, I was glad no one seemed to express displeasure with my photographing their front lawns:
Approaching my new building. This tree literally rains blossoms in the slightest breeze:
The actual entrance to the building. It was originally designed to serve as the Ministry for Agriculture when Bonn was still the German capital:
Small, pleasant design surprises around every corner:
My office ... where the magic happens ... sometimes:
The view from my office:
The building exterior:
Amazingly enough, as I walked, I was even able to roll up my sleeves and allow my pale, almost translucent skin to visibly darken as it soaked in the first rays of light it had seen in months. Likely this few minutes of exposure will give me my first sunburn of the year, but better to start now I suppose.
On my way home I stopped for a cappuccino at my favorite neighborhood family-owned Italian ice cream/coffee shop that is only open in the Spring and Summer. I sat just inside the door since the outdoor tables were all filled with families whose kids were enjoying a frozen treat while the parents sipped coffee contentedly. It was delightfully cool inside, where it was just me and the Italian husband and wife who run the shop. It occurred to me how nice it would be to have a job where for 6 months out of the year you make kids smile hundreds of times per day. Sure, restaurant hours are tough, owning your own business stressful and the economy uncertain, but to spend your days literally handing kids happiness sounds like a pretty good reward. Anyway, I sipped my coffee, absorbing the sense of relaxation and renewal that comes with Easter weekend in a place where holidays seem to mean something, family businesses are treasured and the whole town is ready to explode with life at the first hint of warmth. It occurred to me that the long, painful grayness of winter might be worth the struggle since it fosters such an appreciation for Spring. For god's sakes, I could not help but appreciate the beauty and life-affirming hope inherent in a giant, hairy bumble bee today.
My weekend otherwise will be spent doing yard work with my boss on Saturday and making the trip to their house again Sunday to have Easter lunch with his family. So, in other words, it will be very much like the Easter weekends of my youth where my dad and I would work around the house all day Saturday and would head to an Aunt's house for Sunday lunch.
It is truly wonderful that I am A. liked enough to be invited to such things and B. know people generous enough to invite me along, but there is a bit of sadness in constantly spending holidays with other people's families. I always love my time there and hate to seem even slightly unappreciative because I really treasure these experiences. However, sometimes the fact that you in some sense really leave those families behind when you walk out the door makes your presence there somewhat artificial.
You may love the kids and spending time with them, but you never know them nor are able to care for them in the way you would your own family. It may be pleasant to have a conversation with a friend over a glass of wine, but there is not the richness that comes with knowing someone completely and truly being a part of their world. Anyway, it is an odd contradiction that sometimes with the warmth of an invitation extended by a friend to spend a holiday with those they love, someone can actually punctuate the underlying loneliness of being without those you love.
This afternoon I am going to do some more work, but tonight I plan to make a vegetarian feast. I have a giant head of wirsing (a cabbage-like green common in Germany during the end of winter), some fingerling potatoes and asparagus. I plan on braising the wirsing with the potatoes in garlic and olive oil, then pan grilling the asparagus with more garlic to create quite a Spring feast. I hope it tastes as good as it sounds to me right now.
Splashes of color on my walk to work. Given the recent outrage in England against the Google Street View photographer, I was glad no one seemed to express displeasure with my photographing their front lawns:
Approaching my new building. This tree literally rains blossoms in the slightest breeze:
The actual entrance to the building. It was originally designed to serve as the Ministry for Agriculture when Bonn was still the German capital:
Small, pleasant design surprises around every corner:
My office ... where the magic happens ... sometimes:
The view from my office:
The building exterior:
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
A Tragic Anniversary
Today is the one year anniversary of my father-in-law's death. The night was rather like any other of my nights alone in New York originally. I had worked late, my phone was about to die and I had just arrived home when my cell phone rang. It was my wife in an aggravated state, which is rather rare for her. She told me her mother had called to say her father was in an ambulance being taken to the hospital and she would call with more details as soon as she knew any. My first reaction was I suppose what anyone's would have been. I told my wife her father was a young, active man barely in his fifties, so likely he would be fine. I said there was no reason to panic until we had an actual reason and that since her mother had called for care immediately, the odds were in his favor. I asked if she wanted me to find a way to North Carolina, but she had calmed down a bit and really seemed to feel better. It was at that moment her mother clicked through on the other line.
My wife came back in tears just telling me to come there. Unfortunately, unexpectedly, her father had passed away with no warning and no chance to say goodbye. It was too late for me to find a flight, but I was able to rent a car from LaGuardia Airport. I threw my suit and a few other clothes in a bag, hailed a cab and tried to just listen to my wife cry as long as possible before my phone died. At some point, she had to go talk to her mother, I got to the airport, hopped in my rented Prius and started my trip. From there, it was basically a series of small disasters. I stopped at a gas station right outside the airport for a cup of coffee, got lost in Long Island and had to have my mother direct me to a bridge using google maps, drove through the night thinking I could make it to Durham and ran out of gas 4 miles from a gas station in Southern Virginia, called 911 in order to be driven to buy a gas can by an 18 year old highway patrolman, and finally arrived in just enough time to get on a plane.
Unfortunately during that week American Airlines, the primary carrier into OKC, was forced to shut down most of its small flights due to a maintenance error, meaning we were going to fly into St. Louis, rent another car and drive into Norman. After a short nap on the plane, we got back in the car and, on the fuel of adrenaline and more gas station coffee, finished the 7 hour drive into Norman. It was a great relief for my wife to see her mother, be near her younger brother and know she was home. It was late Thursday night, April 10th and in the next few days we had many things to organize, though first and foremost my wife needed to see her father for the first time that morning. He had been a much beloved educator/administrator/coach in schools both near Norman late in life and in Southern Oklahoma near Durant in his youth. So, we had memorials and viewings in both places, funeral arrangements to make, tribute photos to put together, as well as all the little bits of bureaucratic business that come with properly dealing with a death.
On top of this, my mother-in-law had actually been very ill the previous week with both an infection that put her in the hospital and a knee injury that caused her such pain she had been put on fairly strong medication. Between that and everyone's grief, I just wanted to keep us going and get everything done that was necessary. Of course, amazingly my mother-in-law had organized most everything during the day we were traveling, so my job mostly consisted of trying to keep the house running, driving the 2 hours back and forth to Durant sometimes twice a day, and coping with any setbacks or new business that arose. I just kept trying to survive on more and more gas station coffee and be there for everyone as much as possible.
My father-in-law had literally just passed as he sat down in the living room next to my sleeping mother-in-law while my brother-in-law ran upstairs for just a second to put down his things from school. That split second later my brother-in-law came downstairs, saw his father not breathing, and woke his mother. They called 911, started CPR, waited for the ambulance and did all they could to save him. The shock of observing this and losing someone in this way effected both of them, though in some sense being there for the end helped them cope. My wife had been at such a distance unaware of what was going on, it was hard to deal with the loss. Seeing her father helped, but I had never known her to experience such sadness.
Personally, while planning the funeral, finding things to wear to all the memorials we had not packed for, arranging for business, etc., I thought a great deal about my father-in-law. I knew him as a mostly silent man who primarily interacted with me by making jokes occasionally and ensuring all my dirty clothes were clean and folded each morning before I woke up. Ironically, one of the only serious things he ever said to me was simply, "I love you," which I believe he truly did and showed in the quiet way he knew how. As I somewhat became the one that someone needed to be the one to care for the dogs, deal with the laundry, make the coffee in the morning, get people from point A to point B, I realized just how much he did for all of us while we were there and became saddened even further.
Ironically, as silent as I knew him to be around the house, apparently at his schools he was exactly the opposite. Students from his small school in a mostly rural community, both old and new, told of all the frank conversations he had with them about troubles they were having or what they should do after graduation. They knew him to be a warm, open, communicative person who loved all of them and would open his door at any time to talk them through any problems. These students experienced such a loss, they were all visibly shaken and the community banded together to put together a huge memorial within a day. The school shut down and everyone turned out to pay tribute through pictures, stories or simply their tears.
The next weeks and months were hard on my wife and her family. Besides dealing with their grief in a personal way, death at such a young age can be rather complicated since rarely have people taken steps to fully settle their affairs. For me I mostly contemplated about how life and love is rather complicated. I knew my father-in-law loved me but I desperately wished I had known him as a teacher. I wished my wife had known that part of her father better. She of course knew he loved her deeply because he was always there for everything she did, but it had been a while since they had actually talked and it was hard not to have had the chance to really say goodbye. I make no claims that my father-in-law was perfect but do believe him to have been a good man. He was very giving to everyone around him, though I think there was a bit of a sadness that he was not known the same way at home. I suppose the sad contradiction in life is that by necessity those we love the most are those who will feel the deepest hurt from our actions at times. Indeed, as humans we are all bound to show the worst of us to those around us at some point, and the ones most effected by it will be those who love us enough to expect our best. To my father-in-law's credit, he did his best to be there for those he loved, even if he did not always know how to tell them before he left.
My wife came back in tears just telling me to come there. Unfortunately, unexpectedly, her father had passed away with no warning and no chance to say goodbye. It was too late for me to find a flight, but I was able to rent a car from LaGuardia Airport. I threw my suit and a few other clothes in a bag, hailed a cab and tried to just listen to my wife cry as long as possible before my phone died. At some point, she had to go talk to her mother, I got to the airport, hopped in my rented Prius and started my trip. From there, it was basically a series of small disasters. I stopped at a gas station right outside the airport for a cup of coffee, got lost in Long Island and had to have my mother direct me to a bridge using google maps, drove through the night thinking I could make it to Durham and ran out of gas 4 miles from a gas station in Southern Virginia, called 911 in order to be driven to buy a gas can by an 18 year old highway patrolman, and finally arrived in just enough time to get on a plane.
Unfortunately during that week American Airlines, the primary carrier into OKC, was forced to shut down most of its small flights due to a maintenance error, meaning we were going to fly into St. Louis, rent another car and drive into Norman. After a short nap on the plane, we got back in the car and, on the fuel of adrenaline and more gas station coffee, finished the 7 hour drive into Norman. It was a great relief for my wife to see her mother, be near her younger brother and know she was home. It was late Thursday night, April 10th and in the next few days we had many things to organize, though first and foremost my wife needed to see her father for the first time that morning. He had been a much beloved educator/administrator/coach in schools both near Norman late in life and in Southern Oklahoma near Durant in his youth. So, we had memorials and viewings in both places, funeral arrangements to make, tribute photos to put together, as well as all the little bits of bureaucratic business that come with properly dealing with a death.
On top of this, my mother-in-law had actually been very ill the previous week with both an infection that put her in the hospital and a knee injury that caused her such pain she had been put on fairly strong medication. Between that and everyone's grief, I just wanted to keep us going and get everything done that was necessary. Of course, amazingly my mother-in-law had organized most everything during the day we were traveling, so my job mostly consisted of trying to keep the house running, driving the 2 hours back and forth to Durant sometimes twice a day, and coping with any setbacks or new business that arose. I just kept trying to survive on more and more gas station coffee and be there for everyone as much as possible.
My father-in-law had literally just passed as he sat down in the living room next to my sleeping mother-in-law while my brother-in-law ran upstairs for just a second to put down his things from school. That split second later my brother-in-law came downstairs, saw his father not breathing, and woke his mother. They called 911, started CPR, waited for the ambulance and did all they could to save him. The shock of observing this and losing someone in this way effected both of them, though in some sense being there for the end helped them cope. My wife had been at such a distance unaware of what was going on, it was hard to deal with the loss. Seeing her father helped, but I had never known her to experience such sadness.
Personally, while planning the funeral, finding things to wear to all the memorials we had not packed for, arranging for business, etc., I thought a great deal about my father-in-law. I knew him as a mostly silent man who primarily interacted with me by making jokes occasionally and ensuring all my dirty clothes were clean and folded each morning before I woke up. Ironically, one of the only serious things he ever said to me was simply, "I love you," which I believe he truly did and showed in the quiet way he knew how. As I somewhat became the one that someone needed to be the one to care for the dogs, deal with the laundry, make the coffee in the morning, get people from point A to point B, I realized just how much he did for all of us while we were there and became saddened even further.
Ironically, as silent as I knew him to be around the house, apparently at his schools he was exactly the opposite. Students from his small school in a mostly rural community, both old and new, told of all the frank conversations he had with them about troubles they were having or what they should do after graduation. They knew him to be a warm, open, communicative person who loved all of them and would open his door at any time to talk them through any problems. These students experienced such a loss, they were all visibly shaken and the community banded together to put together a huge memorial within a day. The school shut down and everyone turned out to pay tribute through pictures, stories or simply their tears.
The next weeks and months were hard on my wife and her family. Besides dealing with their grief in a personal way, death at such a young age can be rather complicated since rarely have people taken steps to fully settle their affairs. For me I mostly contemplated about how life and love is rather complicated. I knew my father-in-law loved me but I desperately wished I had known him as a teacher. I wished my wife had known that part of her father better. She of course knew he loved her deeply because he was always there for everything she did, but it had been a while since they had actually talked and it was hard not to have had the chance to really say goodbye. I make no claims that my father-in-law was perfect but do believe him to have been a good man. He was very giving to everyone around him, though I think there was a bit of a sadness that he was not known the same way at home. I suppose the sad contradiction in life is that by necessity those we love the most are those who will feel the deepest hurt from our actions at times. Indeed, as humans we are all bound to show the worst of us to those around us at some point, and the ones most effected by it will be those who love us enough to expect our best. To my father-in-law's credit, he did his best to be there for those he loved, even if he did not always know how to tell them before he left.
Un porte-monnaie perdu et un cousin trouvé.
Motivated by an article I saw in the New York Times today about a woman finding a camera and posting the photos online to find the owners, I decided to post a story that happened to me last year pre-blog. It will not be new to many of you, but it is still a reminder that there is much good in this crazy world of ours and that technology can even be helpful in facilitating that good.
Originally sent as an e-mail on 7.12.2008:
(Or "A lost wallet and a found cousin" for those of you who, like me, do not speak French)
So, I arrived in Nantes last Sunday to work for a week at the university and give a talk. The short version is that the visit was nice and involved working A LOT, meeting my collaborator's family, walking around the city, eating homemade galettes (buckwheat crepes) at my collaborator's house, having a very pleasant dinner at a small French restaurant the last night in Nantes AND having breakfast with the family of our cousin S.M. on Saturday morning before I left. All in all, it was a great visit, though the longer version of the story is much more interesting.
After a good night's rest, I strolled to the tram station Monday morning to head to a meeting with my collaborator. As I was trying purchase tickets for the tram to the university, a pickpocket stole my wallet. From my time in New York and Europe, I am usually rather careful, but there was a large crowd, the machines did not seem to be recognizing my German bank cards, everything was in French and I was trying to purchase tickets as the tram was arriving etc.
Anyway, I probably made it quite evident I was a visitor and hence likely had lots of cash in my wallet. I resolved to simply use coins to buy one ticket and deal with getting tickets for the week that afternoon. So, I put my wallet away and pulled coins out of my other pocket. When I turned around literally seconds later with my ticket I realized my wallet was gone. It was an impressive pick I will say. At first I scrambled around to see if it had somehow fallen, but it was obvious it was gone. This was difficult, but, having dealt with the loss of my computer, 10 Euros and some easily replaceable bank, certification and insurance cards really were not such a huge loss. Though I acknowledge that I appear perfectly awkward and look like a good mark everywhere I go, my appearance should also convey the fact that I have no money! :)
I simply got on the tram, went to the office and made the necessary phone calls to cancel all my bank cards from Germany and the US. It did take some time to get things organized, so I lost probably about half a day of work. Though in the end we have some ideas to build on and that is nothing to sneeze at in a week. Also, I did actually very much like my wallet and probably regretted the loss of it most of all.
The university was kind enough to arrange to advance me my per diem and reimbursement by Wednesday, so Monday night L, my collaborator, had me over for his wife's homemade galettes and loaned me some cash for Tuesday.
So, by Wednesday, though I had cash with which to do things like eat, having my wallet stolen made me feel rather violated. I had things like a picture of my god-daughter, my PADI certification card, my OK lifetime hunting license ... all sorts of things that have personal meaning to me from various times in my life. Plus, the wallet itself was bought in New York on one of Amber's visits. Over a couple of days, I had simply let it go and begun to deal with the fact that I had an empty pocket everywhere I went.
Thursday night, I worked late, then got lost looking for a restaurant, finally found the restaurant which was full and wound up having a decent dinner at a small bistro somewhere in the city center. I came home and opened my computer to check e-mail, where I had an e-mail in my inbox from a C.L.. He is the husband of our cousin N., who is another cousin J.'s daughter and lives in Nice, but because I have been trying to find an e-mail address for them for months with no luck, it was rather shocking to have an e-mail from him. They were on holiday when I last visited, so sadly I have never had the chance to meet them. He informed me that the city of Nantes has found my wallet somewhere and is holding it at the town hall. How did he know you may ask??
The wallet had everything in it except the cash (of course, but it was only 10 Euros) and Jeremy is actually a French name, so they simply looked for a Marzuola listed in Nantes. It turns out N.'s sister S. lives in Nantes with her family. The city found S. in the phone book and called her up. She had no idea who I was, but she called N. in Nice to her if she knew of me! C. simply went online and found both my professional web-site and the listing for my talk in Nantes! He e-mailed me to tell me about my wallet and gave me S.'s phone number! I went to the town hall Friday morning and through the use of a few well-planned questions I had plugged into Google translator, found the office and recovered my wallet! That may seem like many exclamation points, but you can imagine how drastically this chain of events changed my week and how at each turn someone in the link could have shrugged their shoulders and nothing would have happened.
Later that day, I called S., who fortunately speaks English quite well, and we arranged to meet for breakfast Sunday morning before I went to the train station and she went to work at the airport. She works for Air France like our cousin D. in Nice and has an adorable three year old daughter named Lo. and a husband La. who loves to grow interesting plants. As a result, they have quite a garden surrounding their house in Basse Goulaine, which is a suburb of Nantes. Anyway, we had some tasty croissants, discussed our lives, reminisced about the time I spent with her family, traced how we were related, and toured their very beautiful home. The house has been in La.'s family for several generations and twice a year they open up their garden for rare plant collectors to come visit. They can buy seedlings and learn from Laurent how best to make them grow in the colder, damper climate of Nantes.
S. had talked to her family in preparation for my visit, who filled her in on all the details of my time there. They seemed to recall the visit fondly and the discussion brought up all sorts of great memories for me like D. recognizing me on the steps of the train station, getting to know everyone at D. and J.-C.'s flat, an amazing meal I can still practically taste prepared by Nadia, playing with D.'s children G. and J. who at the time were 3 and 5 respectively, and a huge birthday celebration filled with wine, food and laughter at A.'s house.
So, for all of 10 Euros and a bit of time, I got to visit with a long lost cousin AND finally obtained an e-mail address to contact the rest of the family in Nice! Plus, it just so happened a colleague who is permanently located in Nice was visiting his family in Nantes and stopped by the department. In another stroke of luck, he invited me to come visit Nice for a week in May, which is exactly when the European branch of our family is tentatively planning to have a reunion!!!! What are the odds???
My collaborator and I checked the public listings in France. Of 12 Marzuola listings, there is only 1 in Nantes! What would I have done without our last name and a French sounding first name??? I only wish I had known earlier so I could have spent more evenings with them.
Admittedly, the pictures are rather lacking due to how much I worked last week, but hopefully even in the dark the buildings in Nantes look beautiful. Bretonne is a really nice area of France with influences from Britain and Belgium (or perhaps they would argue Britain and Belgium were both influenced by them...ha). The tradtional food of the region consists of savory galettes for dinner with locally made cider and a delicious crepe for dessert. I had many nice meals there and wish I would have taken pictures of the places to describe the food, but sadly I did not. The Loire river is quite nice, though so I do not lose my German residence visa and/or work permit, I think the Rhine is more impressive. Ha. The town became famous as a marketplace during the slave trade and there are many older buildings and homes here were built by the wealthy merchants near the marketplace streets. Sadly, I have few pictures of this part of town but you should all visit to see it yourself.
My cousin S. with her family in their garden.
Originally sent as an e-mail on 7.12.2008:
(Or "A lost wallet and a found cousin" for those of you who, like me, do not speak French)
So, I arrived in Nantes last Sunday to work for a week at the university and give a talk. The short version is that the visit was nice and involved working A LOT, meeting my collaborator's family, walking around the city, eating homemade galettes (buckwheat crepes) at my collaborator's house, having a very pleasant dinner at a small French restaurant the last night in Nantes AND having breakfast with the family of our cousin S.M. on Saturday morning before I left. All in all, it was a great visit, though the longer version of the story is much more interesting.
After a good night's rest, I strolled to the tram station Monday morning to head to a meeting with my collaborator. As I was trying purchase tickets for the tram to the university, a pickpocket stole my wallet. From my time in New York and Europe, I am usually rather careful, but there was a large crowd, the machines did not seem to be recognizing my German bank cards, everything was in French and I was trying to purchase tickets as the tram was arriving etc.
Anyway, I probably made it quite evident I was a visitor and hence likely had lots of cash in my wallet. I resolved to simply use coins to buy one ticket and deal with getting tickets for the week that afternoon. So, I put my wallet away and pulled coins out of my other pocket. When I turned around literally seconds later with my ticket I realized my wallet was gone. It was an impressive pick I will say. At first I scrambled around to see if it had somehow fallen, but it was obvious it was gone. This was difficult, but, having dealt with the loss of my computer, 10 Euros and some easily replaceable bank, certification and insurance cards really were not such a huge loss. Though I acknowledge that I appear perfectly awkward and look like a good mark everywhere I go, my appearance should also convey the fact that I have no money! :)
I simply got on the tram, went to the office and made the necessary phone calls to cancel all my bank cards from Germany and the US. It did take some time to get things organized, so I lost probably about half a day of work. Though in the end we have some ideas to build on and that is nothing to sneeze at in a week. Also, I did actually very much like my wallet and probably regretted the loss of it most of all.
The university was kind enough to arrange to advance me my per diem and reimbursement by Wednesday, so Monday night L, my collaborator, had me over for his wife's homemade galettes and loaned me some cash for Tuesday.
So, by Wednesday, though I had cash with which to do things like eat, having my wallet stolen made me feel rather violated. I had things like a picture of my god-daughter, my PADI certification card, my OK lifetime hunting license ... all sorts of things that have personal meaning to me from various times in my life. Plus, the wallet itself was bought in New York on one of Amber's visits. Over a couple of days, I had simply let it go and begun to deal with the fact that I had an empty pocket everywhere I went.
Thursday night, I worked late, then got lost looking for a restaurant, finally found the restaurant which was full and wound up having a decent dinner at a small bistro somewhere in the city center. I came home and opened my computer to check e-mail, where I had an e-mail in my inbox from a C.L.. He is the husband of our cousin N., who is another cousin J.'s daughter and lives in Nice, but because I have been trying to find an e-mail address for them for months with no luck, it was rather shocking to have an e-mail from him. They were on holiday when I last visited, so sadly I have never had the chance to meet them. He informed me that the city of Nantes has found my wallet somewhere and is holding it at the town hall. How did he know you may ask??
The wallet had everything in it except the cash (of course, but it was only 10 Euros) and Jeremy is actually a French name, so they simply looked for a Marzuola listed in Nantes. It turns out N.'s sister S. lives in Nantes with her family. The city found S. in the phone book and called her up. She had no idea who I was, but she called N. in Nice to her if she knew of me! C. simply went online and found both my professional web-site and the listing for my talk in Nantes! He e-mailed me to tell me about my wallet and gave me S.'s phone number! I went to the town hall Friday morning and through the use of a few well-planned questions I had plugged into Google translator, found the office and recovered my wallet! That may seem like many exclamation points, but you can imagine how drastically this chain of events changed my week and how at each turn someone in the link could have shrugged their shoulders and nothing would have happened.
Later that day, I called S., who fortunately speaks English quite well, and we arranged to meet for breakfast Sunday morning before I went to the train station and she went to work at the airport. She works for Air France like our cousin D. in Nice and has an adorable three year old daughter named Lo. and a husband La. who loves to grow interesting plants. As a result, they have quite a garden surrounding their house in Basse Goulaine, which is a suburb of Nantes. Anyway, we had some tasty croissants, discussed our lives, reminisced about the time I spent with her family, traced how we were related, and toured their very beautiful home. The house has been in La.'s family for several generations and twice a year they open up their garden for rare plant collectors to come visit. They can buy seedlings and learn from Laurent how best to make them grow in the colder, damper climate of Nantes.
S. had talked to her family in preparation for my visit, who filled her in on all the details of my time there. They seemed to recall the visit fondly and the discussion brought up all sorts of great memories for me like D. recognizing me on the steps of the train station, getting to know everyone at D. and J.-C.'s flat, an amazing meal I can still practically taste prepared by Nadia, playing with D.'s children G. and J. who at the time were 3 and 5 respectively, and a huge birthday celebration filled with wine, food and laughter at A.'s house.
So, for all of 10 Euros and a bit of time, I got to visit with a long lost cousin AND finally obtained an e-mail address to contact the rest of the family in Nice! Plus, it just so happened a colleague who is permanently located in Nice was visiting his family in Nantes and stopped by the department. In another stroke of luck, he invited me to come visit Nice for a week in May, which is exactly when the European branch of our family is tentatively planning to have a reunion!!!! What are the odds???
My collaborator and I checked the public listings in France. Of 12 Marzuola listings, there is only 1 in Nantes! What would I have done without our last name and a French sounding first name??? I only wish I had known earlier so I could have spent more evenings with them.
Admittedly, the pictures are rather lacking due to how much I worked last week, but hopefully even in the dark the buildings in Nantes look beautiful. Bretonne is a really nice area of France with influences from Britain and Belgium (or perhaps they would argue Britain and Belgium were both influenced by them...ha). The tradtional food of the region consists of savory galettes for dinner with locally made cider and a delicious crepe for dessert. I had many nice meals there and wish I would have taken pictures of the places to describe the food, but sadly I did not. The Loire river is quite nice, though so I do not lose my German residence visa and/or work permit, I think the Rhine is more impressive. Ha. The town became famous as a marketplace during the slave trade and there are many older buildings and homes here were built by the wealthy merchants near the marketplace streets. Sadly, I have few pictures of this part of town but you should all visit to see it yourself.
My cousin S. with her family in their garden.Tuesday, April 7, 2009
A Night of Jazz
The night I arrived in Paris, a Django Reinhardt album being played got me into a discussion with C & K about jazz. As a result, when figuring out the way to spend Saturday night, K suggested we hit up one of the many jazz clubs in Paris. Our first choice was sold out, but just down the street we found a small club with tickets available for a quartet with a tenor saxophonist, a pianist, a drummer and a stand-up bassist. We were so close to the stage I literally could have reached out to take the saxophone. The show began with an alright sax solo, but when the pianist took over we knew the night was going to be amazing. I do not know what drugs that pianist did before the show, but he was just unbelievable all night. His improvisations were incredible and the bass line laid down by the stand up bassist were perfect. Neither the bassist nor the pianist missed a note or a beat all night really. The sax was alright, really good on slower numbers, and the drummer was pretty solid all night long. They played for a total of over 3 hours with only a couple small breaks. It was a great show, and I could have literally just listened to the bass player and pianist go all night long.
After the show, we grabbed a quick bite because I was starving. Unfortunately, since the show went so late, after we ate the subway in Paris was closed down for the night. So, after a rather tame day of chapels, museums, jazz and pizza, we were stuck vying for cabs with hordes of drunk Parisians. Eventually we just started walking towards a train station and over an hour later found an empty cab to take us home. The end was a bit exhausting and did not do the night of music justice, but the thrill of the show still brought us all home with smiles on our faces.
After the show, we grabbed a quick bite because I was starving. Unfortunately, since the show went so late, after we ate the subway in Paris was closed down for the night. So, after a rather tame day of chapels, museums, jazz and pizza, we were stuck vying for cabs with hordes of drunk Parisians. Eventually we just started walking towards a train station and over an hour later found an empty cab to take us home. The end was a bit exhausting and did not do the night of music justice, but the thrill of the show still brought us all home with smiles on our faces.
Monday, April 6, 2009
A new home.
The Bonn Math department has moved into a new building, as has my office. The building itself was the former ministry of agriculture and is really quite beautiful. Though it does not yet feel like home as things are still in flux and abustle from the move, the small pleasures that come from discovering intricacies of the architecture, the coolness of the high stone walls, the big picturesque windows and grandeur of it all bode well for me feeling happy to get some work done in my surroundings. As things settle down, hopefully I will remember to bring my camera to post a few pictures of some of the surprisingly beautiful details I have found lurking around every corner.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Paris in a Day
So, since my friend C was visiting Paris for two weeks and could not make it to Bonn, I wound up making a quick trip there for the weekend. It was great to see him, meet his special lady friend, and orient myself in the city since I will be staying there for two weeks in June. All in all, I had about 36 hours to be fair, but I would still say we managed to do an impressive amount. We saw the towers of Notre Dame, the river Seine, the stained glass of Sainte Chapelle, the Mona Lisa and countless other treasures in the Louvre, and finished the night off with some amazing jazz in the basement of a little club. It was beautiful, enriching and everything Paris in Spring should be really. I will write more especially about the jazz later (the standing bass player and the pianist were absolutely inspired musicians), but for now, here are my pictures from the trip.
A view of I. M. Pei's pyramid through an archway, accentuating the scale of the project.
So, those of you who knew me in college will remember my fascination with a Eugene Delacroix painting called 'Landscape at Tangiers,' which is housed at the Louvre. Sadly, they did not have it on display, but I also found this work particularly beautiful.
A wing of the Louvre.
More Louvre from the outside.
The city from in front of the Louvre.
Entering the Louvre. Can you feel my excitement building??
The pyramid from a distance.
How would Colbert feel knowing people were being educated and inspired in his name? Ha.
A clock on the Louvre.
Clock close-up.
The awe inspiring glass and domed ceiling of Sainte Chapelle, built in 1248.
C & K enjoying the space.
Fleur de Lys and royal French blue.
One could really strain their neck rather easily in this place ... someone call a lawyer!
No one really does opulence like the French.
One of the many unbelievable stained glass windows and intricate altars. The picture really does not do the colors justice.
More spectacular windows.
Another one. Again, the camera just cannot capture the experience.
As you can see, I tried to capture the light from all angles.
C & K walking towards the Palace of Justice, hoping they will be spared the guillatine.
The gardens around Notre Dame.
A spire and I believe some flying buttresses at Notre Dame, though I could be wrong.
The very famous front of Notre Dame.
No Philipe Petit today.
C & K at the river Seine.
The many bridges over the Seine.
A fork in the river.
Yet another clock, this one at the Hotel de Ville I believe.
The Hotel de Ville itself.
Just some beautiful fresh flowers blooming in the hallway of C's sister's apartment building.
C & K were ready with wine, cheese and chocolate for my arrival. They had read my mind.
That vaguely tower shaped thing glowing through the haze in the distance is the Eiffel Tower.
A view of I. M. Pei's pyramid through an archway, accentuating the scale of the project.
So, those of you who knew me in college will remember my fascination with a Eugene Delacroix painting called 'Landscape at Tangiers,' which is housed at the Louvre. Sadly, they did not have it on display, but I also found this work particularly beautiful.
A wing of the Louvre.
More Louvre from the outside.
The city from in front of the Louvre.
Entering the Louvre. Can you feel my excitement building??
The pyramid from a distance.
How would Colbert feel knowing people were being educated and inspired in his name? Ha.
A clock on the Louvre.
Clock close-up.
The awe inspiring glass and domed ceiling of Sainte Chapelle, built in 1248.
C & K enjoying the space.
Fleur de Lys and royal French blue.
One could really strain their neck rather easily in this place ... someone call a lawyer!
No one really does opulence like the French. 
One of the many unbelievable stained glass windows and intricate altars. The picture really does not do the colors justice.
More spectacular windows.
Another one. Again, the camera just cannot capture the experience.
As you can see, I tried to capture the light from all angles.
C & K walking towards the Palace of Justice, hoping they will be spared the guillatine.
The gardens around Notre Dame.
A spire and I believe some flying buttresses at Notre Dame, though I could be wrong.
The very famous front of Notre Dame.
No Philipe Petit today.
C & K at the river Seine.
The many bridges over the Seine.
A fork in the river.
Yet another clock, this one at the Hotel de Ville I believe.
The Hotel de Ville itself.
Just some beautiful fresh flowers blooming in the hallway of C's sister's apartment building.
C & K were ready with wine, cheese and chocolate for my arrival. They had read my mind.
That vaguely tower shaped thing glowing through the haze in the distance is the Eiffel Tower.
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