La Boheme was the first opera I ever experienced, and I had the pleasure of doing so at The Metropolitan Opera House in Manhattan in the late 1980s. I was living in New Jersey at the time, and I remember deciding that I wanted to see this particular opera. I went alone, by choice, to a Saturday matinee, because I wanted to experience opera by myself for the first time so that I could form my own opinion of whether I liked it or not. It was a wonderful experience, but I was completely unprepared for how much opera hooked me emotionally. I would say that this is mostly true of Puccini’s operas, of which La Boheme is one. I have seen other operas by other composers (Mozart and Wagner), but it is Puccini’s operas that ring most true to me emotionally. La Boheme is a tragic story about two lovers, Mimi and Rodolfo and their life together, their friends, the poverty they endure as struggling artists, and Mimi’s eventual death. When Mimi sings her aria Si Mi Chiamano Mimi (Yes My Name is Mimi), tears just start to flow because the music is so beautiful. My husband and I saw La Boheme at the San Francisco opera house in 1993, and the entire audience cried. I have never seen or experienced anything quite like that day at the opera either before or after.
I grew up in a family that appreciated opera and the great opera singers like Victoria de los Angeles and Renata Tebaldi. My sister was named for Renata Tebaldi--at least that is what my parents told us when we were children. I was named for my father’s mother, which somehow seemed far less exciting at that time than being named for an opera singer. My parents loved classical music as well, much of it sad, or so it seemed to me. I remember as a child being fascinated by the fact that my parents shared their love of opera and classical music with us. They were not afraid to do so and were not afraid that we would perhaps not like it. Their willingness to share their love of music and opera made it possible for us to share our music with them as well, and they did end up liking some of our generation’s music--Paul McCartney and The Beatles come to mind. As I get older I recall many of those childhood experiences—my father taking us to the local high school to hear classical music concerts, or Sunday afternoons spent listening to my parents’ favorite recordings.
Oslo decided to build a new Opera House in the late 1990s and construction on it started in 2003. It opened its doors to the public in April 2008. It is a beautiful building situated on the waterfront http://www.visitnorway.com/uk/Articles/Theme/What-to-do/Attractions/Norways-new-Opera-House/. We purchased a subscription series for the 2009/2010 season consisting of five operas and four ballets/modern dances. It was well worth the money although we discovered that we do not like all operas as much as we like Puccini’s operas. It has mostly to do with that Puccini’s operas seem to be more human or more able to capture the true human spirit in different situations. What we did discover is that we liked the visiting modern dance companies very much—The Netherlands Dance Theater especially—with pieces choreographed by Paul Lightfoot and Sol Leon, often to music by Philip Glass. Fantastic dance pieces—Silent Screen and Shoot the Moon. This has been a wonderful surprise—that we enjoyed them so much. If you want to see what they’re like, you can check out short clips from these dance pieces on YouTube.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Intimations
Had I been of another time,
I should have wanted to stand with Yeats
and his Rosicrucians, or the Druids.
Mind alchemists, magicians.
Denizens of Celtic twilights.
To be one of the candle-lit circle,
Bound by purpose, fingers entwined--
To hover above the smoky room,
To answer questions from the gloom.
If I were not of this time
What other would I seek?
I answer, that which draws me ever back.
World of mystery closed to most.
What seeks me from the gloom?
What did I know about empty rooms
That bespeak a keyhole's world?
What did I know about golden ties
That bind the body to the soul
As it roams nightly 'round the world?
As I am not of this time
I seek return; you shall not find me.
I will be in the empty room
You cannot reach by door.
Dare to explore, for no one does.
I knew from childhood that above
There were forces played about me,
Intimations of a destiny--
The giant thumb pressed upon me
Stamping my head with lures of fantasy.
But if I speak to time before me
Stretched out, laid meadow-flat in golden hours,
In beauty does the future beckon--
I should still desire to go back to dreams,
To unknown houses of old, to doors
That lead to nowhere, to turreted towers.
Corridors that weave and wind about,
To flights of fancy, and rites of flight.
I am haunted by another time.
from Parables and Voices
copyright Paula M. De Angelis
I should have wanted to stand with Yeats
and his Rosicrucians, or the Druids.
Mind alchemists, magicians.
Denizens of Celtic twilights.
To be one of the candle-lit circle,
Bound by purpose, fingers entwined--
To hover above the smoky room,
To answer questions from the gloom.
If I were not of this time
What other would I seek?
I answer, that which draws me ever back.
World of mystery closed to most.
What seeks me from the gloom?
What did I know about empty rooms
That bespeak a keyhole's world?
What did I know about golden ties
That bind the body to the soul
As it roams nightly 'round the world?
As I am not of this time
I seek return; you shall not find me.
I will be in the empty room
You cannot reach by door.
Dare to explore, for no one does.
I knew from childhood that above
There were forces played about me,
Intimations of a destiny--
The giant thumb pressed upon me
Stamping my head with lures of fantasy.
But if I speak to time before me
Stretched out, laid meadow-flat in golden hours,
In beauty does the future beckon--
I should still desire to go back to dreams,
To unknown houses of old, to doors
That lead to nowhere, to turreted towers.
Corridors that weave and wind about,
To flights of fancy, and rites of flight.
I am haunted by another time.
from Parables and Voices
copyright Paula M. De Angelis
Friday, June 25, 2010
The Nighthawk Diner
The Nighthawk Diner in Oslo opened for business in March of this year. It is an American-style diner in a section of Oslo called Birkelund, not far from where we live. The menu has a small logo of a hawk on it and the letters TND. The diner’s name comes from the famous painting ‘Nighthawks' by Edward Hopper that shows two men and a woman sitting in a downtown diner at night. There were apparently long lines of people waiting to get in on the day it opened. It has become a rather trendy place to eat, for as long as that lasts.
I have to say that the owner, Jan Vardøen, has done a very good job of creating a realistic copy of a typical American diner. He has captured the ‘concept’ of a typical diner. It has that particular feel to it that American diners have—straightforward, “what you see is what you get”, nothing too fancy, comfortable and inviting. There was always something comforting about drinking coffee and eating a slice of apple pie or chocolate cake in a diner together with a good friend or several friends. I did it many times in the USA when I was younger. Diners were places we went to after we had gone to the movies in Ossining or in Yonkers, because we could get a cheap cup of fairly good coffee and we could sit there for a while and no one bothered us. When I lived in the Bronx, I would meet my very good friend once a week at the Seven Stars Diner (if I remember the name correctly) in Yonkers where she lived, and we would sit there for two or three hours and talk and drink coffee and eat dessert. No one ever bothered us or pushed us to order more food or to leave. There was always a big bowl of jelly mints with a spoon in it on the counter near the door, and we could dig in and scoop out a handful of them. They were always so good and they rounded out the evening. Those memories are very nice. Just to be able to chat and share our lives got us through some tough times as I remember. When I would visit my mother in Tarrytown, we would often eat lunch at a diner near where she lived. We always ordered the same thing—grilled cheese sandwiches on toasted whole wheat bread, a side of cole slaw and a dill pickle, followed by coffee and sometimes dessert. It always felt like a meal fit for a king, and I know it was because we enjoyed being together eating simple food that tasted good and that didn’t cost a fortune. I have another good friend who lives on Long Island, and when I visit her as I usually do on my annual trips to NY, we often end our visit together by going out for breakfast at a nearby diner. I usually order French toast, orange juice, and coffee, and we sit and talk and watch other people come and go. They are also nice memories.
The TND has a long counter when you first come into the diner, and a jukebox sits not very far from the entrance. Many of the diners I have frequented in NY with friends years ago had small jukeboxes at the booths we sat in, and we used to have a lot of fun feeding them quarters and playing the music we liked. I don’t know if the jukebox at TND actually works, but I must say that it was pretty cool to see a real jukebox again. The menu is also quite interesting. Breakfast is served all day--eggs made in many different ways, pancakes with maple syrup. Burgers are standard fare. Sandwiches include grilled cheese, tuna melts (yum), BLTs, and Reubens. There are ice cream sodas and milk shakes of all kinds. Desserts include cherry pie, apple pie and different types of cakes. I am going to eventually try them all. The one big difference between this diner and most American diners is how much food costs at TND. We’re not talking cheap; we’re talking typical Norwegian prices. But considering that this is just about the closest thing to basic American food as you can get, I’m not going to complain. I am just so glad to experience it, because it is one more thing that reminds me of ‘home’ and that makes me nostalgic for an earlier time when life seemed simpler and uncomplicated.
I have to say that the owner, Jan Vardøen, has done a very good job of creating a realistic copy of a typical American diner. He has captured the ‘concept’ of a typical diner. It has that particular feel to it that American diners have—straightforward, “what you see is what you get”, nothing too fancy, comfortable and inviting. There was always something comforting about drinking coffee and eating a slice of apple pie or chocolate cake in a diner together with a good friend or several friends. I did it many times in the USA when I was younger. Diners were places we went to after we had gone to the movies in Ossining or in Yonkers, because we could get a cheap cup of fairly good coffee and we could sit there for a while and no one bothered us. When I lived in the Bronx, I would meet my very good friend once a week at the Seven Stars Diner (if I remember the name correctly) in Yonkers where she lived, and we would sit there for two or three hours and talk and drink coffee and eat dessert. No one ever bothered us or pushed us to order more food or to leave. There was always a big bowl of jelly mints with a spoon in it on the counter near the door, and we could dig in and scoop out a handful of them. They were always so good and they rounded out the evening. Those memories are very nice. Just to be able to chat and share our lives got us through some tough times as I remember. When I would visit my mother in Tarrytown, we would often eat lunch at a diner near where she lived. We always ordered the same thing—grilled cheese sandwiches on toasted whole wheat bread, a side of cole slaw and a dill pickle, followed by coffee and sometimes dessert. It always felt like a meal fit for a king, and I know it was because we enjoyed being together eating simple food that tasted good and that didn’t cost a fortune. I have another good friend who lives on Long Island, and when I visit her as I usually do on my annual trips to NY, we often end our visit together by going out for breakfast at a nearby diner. I usually order French toast, orange juice, and coffee, and we sit and talk and watch other people come and go. They are also nice memories.
The TND has a long counter when you first come into the diner, and a jukebox sits not very far from the entrance. Many of the diners I have frequented in NY with friends years ago had small jukeboxes at the booths we sat in, and we used to have a lot of fun feeding them quarters and playing the music we liked. I don’t know if the jukebox at TND actually works, but I must say that it was pretty cool to see a real jukebox again. The menu is also quite interesting. Breakfast is served all day--eggs made in many different ways, pancakes with maple syrup. Burgers are standard fare. Sandwiches include grilled cheese, tuna melts (yum), BLTs, and Reubens. There are ice cream sodas and milk shakes of all kinds. Desserts include cherry pie, apple pie and different types of cakes. I am going to eventually try them all. The one big difference between this diner and most American diners is how much food costs at TND. We’re not talking cheap; we’re talking typical Norwegian prices. But considering that this is just about the closest thing to basic American food as you can get, I’m not going to complain. I am just so glad to experience it, because it is one more thing that reminds me of ‘home’ and that makes me nostalgic for an earlier time when life seemed simpler and uncomplicated.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Land of Milk and Honey
There is now a supermarket on every corner in Oslo. Well ok, I am exaggerating a bit, but it seems like that. ICA, Rimi, Rema 1000, Kiwi, Spar, Meny, Joker, Bunnpris and Coop are the major supermarket chains, and within each chain there are stores of different sizes that are appropriately named--Mini (small), Maxi (large), Mega (very large) and Nær (Near, as opposed to Far, but there are no supermarkets named Fjern or Langt borte (means ‘far’) and so on. So not only do we have all of the different supermarket chains, we also have ICA-Maxis, ICA-Nærs and Coop-Megas. There are easily eight supermarkets within walking distance of our co-op complex--Joker, Bunnpris, two Rema 1000s; ICA, ICA-Nær, Meny and Kiwi. And if you don’t feel like walking the 5 to 10 minutes it takes to get to them, you can also call them and ask them to deliver or you can go online and order from them over the internet.
This is quite different from the situation I found myself in when I first moved to Oslo. There was one major supermarket and it was about a 30-minute walk from our home and a 10-minute drive by car. It was called Arena Mat (translated as Arena Food) and it was a big deal to go and shop there, at least for me. It was not a very large store compared to the enormous Pathmark stores I used to frequent in Yonkers and New Jersey. Because like many other European countries, most people did their food shopping at the small neighborhood daily stores, which sold bread, milk, vegetables, fruit, cigarettes and beer and not much more. It was a much simpler existence, often a bit frustrating but nevertheless simpler. Most of those stores are gone now, overtaken by the larger supermarkets. The small daily stores that are left are struggling to survive.
Our trips to Arena Mat were always fruitful. I would come home with a big bottle of Heinz ketchup or Hellman’s mayonnaise (American products were like a magnet for me) and it felt like I had won the lottery. If I found Tropicana orange juice or Campbell’s mushroom soup, I was also happy. It wasn’t that the Norwegian equivalents were bad products (if you could in fact find equivalents); it was just that feeling of seeing products that reminded me of home. It was comforting to see them and to know that they had made their way to other countries and that one of those countries was Norway. Arena Mat evolved into another supermarket after some years, bought out by the larger supermarket conglomerates that have sprung up. The families that started these newer chains became wealthy beyond their wildest dreams. But that was the 1990s. A lot of people became wealthy during the 1990s. It was a global phenomenon. Norway was the land of milk and honey then. Oil flowed and money flowed and while the oil is still flowing anno 2010, the rivers of money are slowly drying up, thanks to the politicians who are now stepping in to cut (where they can) the social programs and healthcare programs and all the other fringe benefits that a socialist democratic country enjoys. But the supermarket chains continue to spring up on each corner, along with the Deli De Luca convenience stores that overtook the Seven-11 stores (also one of my favorites during the 1990s--they sold Snapple drinks and Haagen Daaz ice cream and every now and then American candy like Milky Way bars). I have to wonder how they’re all managing to make a good living, but I imagine that time will give us that answer. In the meantime we are being exponentially inundated with the same products in spite of the diversity of supermarket choice, because the one thing the multiple supermarket chains have not managed to give us is diversity of choice when it comes to food products. That type of diversity these days is found in the few remaining daily food stores that are struggling to survive. The question is whether they will survive in the land of milk and honey.
This is quite different from the situation I found myself in when I first moved to Oslo. There was one major supermarket and it was about a 30-minute walk from our home and a 10-minute drive by car. It was called Arena Mat (translated as Arena Food) and it was a big deal to go and shop there, at least for me. It was not a very large store compared to the enormous Pathmark stores I used to frequent in Yonkers and New Jersey. Because like many other European countries, most people did their food shopping at the small neighborhood daily stores, which sold bread, milk, vegetables, fruit, cigarettes and beer and not much more. It was a much simpler existence, often a bit frustrating but nevertheless simpler. Most of those stores are gone now, overtaken by the larger supermarkets. The small daily stores that are left are struggling to survive.
Our trips to Arena Mat were always fruitful. I would come home with a big bottle of Heinz ketchup or Hellman’s mayonnaise (American products were like a magnet for me) and it felt like I had won the lottery. If I found Tropicana orange juice or Campbell’s mushroom soup, I was also happy. It wasn’t that the Norwegian equivalents were bad products (if you could in fact find equivalents); it was just that feeling of seeing products that reminded me of home. It was comforting to see them and to know that they had made their way to other countries and that one of those countries was Norway. Arena Mat evolved into another supermarket after some years, bought out by the larger supermarket conglomerates that have sprung up. The families that started these newer chains became wealthy beyond their wildest dreams. But that was the 1990s. A lot of people became wealthy during the 1990s. It was a global phenomenon. Norway was the land of milk and honey then. Oil flowed and money flowed and while the oil is still flowing anno 2010, the rivers of money are slowly drying up, thanks to the politicians who are now stepping in to cut (where they can) the social programs and healthcare programs and all the other fringe benefits that a socialist democratic country enjoys. But the supermarket chains continue to spring up on each corner, along with the Deli De Luca convenience stores that overtook the Seven-11 stores (also one of my favorites during the 1990s--they sold Snapple drinks and Haagen Daaz ice cream and every now and then American candy like Milky Way bars). I have to wonder how they’re all managing to make a good living, but I imagine that time will give us that answer. In the meantime we are being exponentially inundated with the same products in spite of the diversity of supermarket choice, because the one thing the multiple supermarket chains have not managed to give us is diversity of choice when it comes to food products. That type of diversity these days is found in the few remaining daily food stores that are struggling to survive. The question is whether they will survive in the land of milk and honey.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Heroes and Harmony
It is easy to forget or ignore the blessings that we have been given in this life. My daily life is a constant reminder to pay attention to those blessings and not to give in to the negativity around me. I wish I could say that I was always as grateful for and aware of these blessings as I know I should be, but this would not be honest. I am privileged to know so many warm, encouraging and positive women and men. They are kind and gracious people and they are my heroes. I look up to them because they inspire me with their kindness and their positive and supportive approach to life.
Society doles out daily brutal lessons in how to survive— rude and aggressive behavior, cold sterile ‘effective’ workplaces, tough crowds, overcrowded public transportation, traffic jams, poor customer service—the list is endless. There are so many provocations that it is often just a relief to come home and close the door behind me and shut out the world. Oftentimes at work I find myself thinking about and longing to come home because I know that there I will find the balance and harmony I crave. I crave them more and more as I get older (and presumably wiser?), and it is almost painful to experience a daily life without them. It has become extremely important to me that a harmonious way of living pervades all aspects of my life. I do not want to be surrounded anymore by any influences that seek to destroy that harmony and inner balance. I don’t really know why harmony has become so important to me suddenly. I just know that it has. It feels like a calling to a new way of life, that’s how strong the feeling is. I think I have finally understood that it is possible to lose yourself and your soul to the devils of negative and destructive thinking, and it is a pretty daunting thought to consider that it can actually happen. All I need to do is look around me—at people I thought I knew that have changed into people I no longer know at all because they have traded their values and ethics for power and prestige. It surprises me how easily it happens. I used to think this was a construction that was useful in fiction—the writer who creates the ‘good’ character and the ‘bad’ character who sells his or her soul for a few silver coins, like Judas did when he betrayed Christ. Some people are good at self-betrayal and at selling themselves to the highest bidder. They are not my heroes.
I am witness to how the daily brutal lessons damage people, destroy trust, destroy relationships, destroy workplaces and kill enthusiasm and positivity. All the more reason to be thankful for the true heroes in our midst—those who come with a kind and encouraging word, who are supportive, who listen, who build up (not tear down), who create harmony and balance, who are gracious in spite of the rudeness around them, who do not believe in an ‘eye for an eye’, who are not vengeful, and who do not hate. I know they struggle with the darkness that waits for admittance, for the door to open, so that it can come in and take up residence. They fight against it. They are my heroes.
Society doles out daily brutal lessons in how to survive— rude and aggressive behavior, cold sterile ‘effective’ workplaces, tough crowds, overcrowded public transportation, traffic jams, poor customer service—the list is endless. There are so many provocations that it is often just a relief to come home and close the door behind me and shut out the world. Oftentimes at work I find myself thinking about and longing to come home because I know that there I will find the balance and harmony I crave. I crave them more and more as I get older (and presumably wiser?), and it is almost painful to experience a daily life without them. It has become extremely important to me that a harmonious way of living pervades all aspects of my life. I do not want to be surrounded anymore by any influences that seek to destroy that harmony and inner balance. I don’t really know why harmony has become so important to me suddenly. I just know that it has. It feels like a calling to a new way of life, that’s how strong the feeling is. I think I have finally understood that it is possible to lose yourself and your soul to the devils of negative and destructive thinking, and it is a pretty daunting thought to consider that it can actually happen. All I need to do is look around me—at people I thought I knew that have changed into people I no longer know at all because they have traded their values and ethics for power and prestige. It surprises me how easily it happens. I used to think this was a construction that was useful in fiction—the writer who creates the ‘good’ character and the ‘bad’ character who sells his or her soul for a few silver coins, like Judas did when he betrayed Christ. Some people are good at self-betrayal and at selling themselves to the highest bidder. They are not my heroes.
I am witness to how the daily brutal lessons damage people, destroy trust, destroy relationships, destroy workplaces and kill enthusiasm and positivity. All the more reason to be thankful for the true heroes in our midst—those who come with a kind and encouraging word, who are supportive, who listen, who build up (not tear down), who create harmony and balance, who are gracious in spite of the rudeness around them, who do not believe in an ‘eye for an eye’, who are not vengeful, and who do not hate. I know they struggle with the darkness that waits for admittance, for the door to open, so that it can come in and take up residence. They fight against it. They are my heroes.
Angles
I spoke to him from across the pool--
Said it was beginning to rain
And to get dark, and would he mind taking in the chairs?
(At all angles this is a pool,
An immense body of water to be sure).
He yelled back at me but his words
Were muffled somehow; they echoed,
Bouncing off the water; he was gone.
Or was it the dark that swallowed him?
(We are not really here, it is our spirits
That call to one another from across the water).
I look across the dark
And see the pillars in the distance
Framing the water from the night--
Reflected in the pool of stillness
Like subconsciousness undisturbed.
(I don't like the night disturbed
By light and the reflections).
He does not return soon.
I have decided to leave the chairs be.
Why disturb the stillness,
Why break the glass, why fight?
(It is our bodies that hate to be alone, untouched,
And our spirits that feel the emptiness
Of lives lived in the dark or on the surface).
Alone on the beach
I possess the sun and sand.
Chairs skewed about at all angles,
Like my life at present.
(I can still see his face--
Body outlined in the twilight).
Here plays the scene of solitude--
This is my beach.
Other inhabitants have scattered,
Warmth is far from reach.
(They were afraid of my grief and my despair).
In memory the pool's steps now
Seem so inviting, why did I wait so long
To be baptized into depth?
The suggestion that he made
The night he left.
(I am afraid of drowning in my own pool).
It is as he said once,
Predicted really--I have drowned
In the midst of marble beauty
All around--cool grace,
Forbidding yet inviting to the touch.
Here on this beach, the sky beyond,
A vista on which to set new sights.
Left him behind and moved onward.
(I never see him but his back is turned to me).
I could have really drowned,
Not knowing how to swim--
I prefer the chairs myself,
Poolside.
copyright PM De Angelis
from Parables and Voices
Said it was beginning to rain
And to get dark, and would he mind taking in the chairs?
(At all angles this is a pool,
An immense body of water to be sure).
He yelled back at me but his words
Were muffled somehow; they echoed,
Bouncing off the water; he was gone.
Or was it the dark that swallowed him?
(We are not really here, it is our spirits
That call to one another from across the water).
I look across the dark
And see the pillars in the distance
Framing the water from the night--
Reflected in the pool of stillness
Like subconsciousness undisturbed.
(I don't like the night disturbed
By light and the reflections).
He does not return soon.
I have decided to leave the chairs be.
Why disturb the stillness,
Why break the glass, why fight?
(It is our bodies that hate to be alone, untouched,
And our spirits that feel the emptiness
Of lives lived in the dark or on the surface).
Alone on the beach
I possess the sun and sand.
Chairs skewed about at all angles,
Like my life at present.
(I can still see his face--
Body outlined in the twilight).
Here plays the scene of solitude--
This is my beach.
Other inhabitants have scattered,
Warmth is far from reach.
(They were afraid of my grief and my despair).
In memory the pool's steps now
Seem so inviting, why did I wait so long
To be baptized into depth?
The suggestion that he made
The night he left.
(I am afraid of drowning in my own pool).
It is as he said once,
Predicted really--I have drowned
In the midst of marble beauty
All around--cool grace,
Forbidding yet inviting to the touch.
Here on this beach, the sky beyond,
A vista on which to set new sights.
Left him behind and moved onward.
(I never see him but his back is turned to me).
I could have really drowned,
Not knowing how to swim--
I prefer the chairs myself,
Poolside.
copyright PM De Angelis
from Parables and Voices
Monday, June 14, 2010
Revelations
A foretelling of the future--
What shall be beheld?
In the summer's time,
In the wildly-expansive universe.
Will the planets play
The music of the spheres?
When comes the time
When old men weep for the women
They have wronged,
And old women rejoice, dead from sorrow,
Raised up from lives that have become tombs.
One pointed finger, a woman's--
Angled, long, with sharpened nail.
Accuser, and accusing, the hand
Of the gypsy shakes.
Is it in fear or in anger?
Point your finger to the stars--
Skyward; they tumble, five-pronged badges
Of dying light, while behind the clouds
Explodes the light of other universes.
Stand out amidst the stars in summer's time,
Alone, the night is a million voices
And as many eyes--the spirits
Of the future world, speaking and pointing.
Oddly beautiful, the women--
Waist-length hair, shimmering
In the summer's heat.
Mirages, as they bend down to retrieve
Stars stolen from other universes
And the bodies of the weeping men
Who died in the silence of the night sun.
Point your fingers to the stars, women
Of the shimmering hair; the spirits'
Whispering grows louder, like a buzzing
In the air, the scent of roses then,
And roses fall where stars once lay.
Wait for the woman of many lights
Who crushes serpents' heads
And barefoot stands upon a waning moon.
PM De Angelis
from Parables and Voices
copyright 2009
What shall be beheld?
In the summer's time,
In the wildly-expansive universe.
Will the planets play
The music of the spheres?
When comes the time
When old men weep for the women
They have wronged,
And old women rejoice, dead from sorrow,
Raised up from lives that have become tombs.
One pointed finger, a woman's--
Angled, long, with sharpened nail.
Accuser, and accusing, the hand
Of the gypsy shakes.
Is it in fear or in anger?
Point your finger to the stars--
Skyward; they tumble, five-pronged badges
Of dying light, while behind the clouds
Explodes the light of other universes.
Stand out amidst the stars in summer's time,
Alone, the night is a million voices
And as many eyes--the spirits
Of the future world, speaking and pointing.
Oddly beautiful, the women--
Waist-length hair, shimmering
In the summer's heat.
Mirages, as they bend down to retrieve
Stars stolen from other universes
And the bodies of the weeping men
Who died in the silence of the night sun.
Point your fingers to the stars, women
Of the shimmering hair; the spirits'
Whispering grows louder, like a buzzing
In the air, the scent of roses then,
And roses fall where stars once lay.
Wait for the woman of many lights
Who crushes serpents' heads
And barefoot stands upon a waning moon.
PM De Angelis
from Parables and Voices
copyright 2009
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Plasma Reality
Don’t watch much TV these days.
Too much reality on the tube.
I can get that right outside my front door.
I miss the fantasy of the medium.
I want the glamour of entertainment,
Not the everydayness of families next door--
Overweight, dissatisfied; constantly repairing this house or that car.
Let me escape into fantasy worlds
That TV creates.
I want anything but reality.
The irony is that I am now the proud owner of a 40-inch plasma TV.
High density this and thousand pixels that.
The picture resolution is great but do I really want to see
Reality TV in HD?
All the bumps and warts and normality
Of reality?
Well ok the nature shows are beautiful in high-resolution living color,
But I still don’t want to watch lions eat their kill close-up.
I miss my TV sofa time.
The hours spent in Dallas and Knot’s Landing,
Melrose Place, and Beverly Hills.
Fly me to Green Acres or to Fantasy Island,
Petticoat Junction or Gilligan’s Island,
Bewitch me and let me throw my hat into the air
Together with Mary Tyler Moore or That Girl.
Did I mention that I Love Lucy?
I won’t even count the hours spent poring over the X-files.
I’ve tried; I really have, to give reality a chance.
But it’s not doing anything for me.
I’ve no explanations and no regrets.
Of late I’ve gotten to know Nobody who lived in a graveyard
And Coraline who found another set of parents in a parallel world.
I’ve rediscovered Ray Bradbury,
Who envisioned wall TVs and the reality shows that came with them,
Well over fifty years ago,
And the Martians who did not welcome us to their world.
I’m having fun again.
copyright PM De Angelis
August 2009
Too much reality on the tube.
I can get that right outside my front door.
I miss the fantasy of the medium.
I want the glamour of entertainment,
Not the everydayness of families next door--
Overweight, dissatisfied; constantly repairing this house or that car.
Let me escape into fantasy worlds
That TV creates.
I want anything but reality.
The irony is that I am now the proud owner of a 40-inch plasma TV.
High density this and thousand pixels that.
The picture resolution is great but do I really want to see
Reality TV in HD?
All the bumps and warts and normality
Of reality?
Well ok the nature shows are beautiful in high-resolution living color,
But I still don’t want to watch lions eat their kill close-up.
I miss my TV sofa time.
The hours spent in Dallas and Knot’s Landing,
Melrose Place, and Beverly Hills.
Fly me to Green Acres or to Fantasy Island,
Petticoat Junction or Gilligan’s Island,
Bewitch me and let me throw my hat into the air
Together with Mary Tyler Moore or That Girl.
Did I mention that I Love Lucy?
I won’t even count the hours spent poring over the X-files.
I’ve tried; I really have, to give reality a chance.
But it’s not doing anything for me.
I’ve no explanations and no regrets.
Of late I’ve gotten to know Nobody who lived in a graveyard
And Coraline who found another set of parents in a parallel world.
I’ve rediscovered Ray Bradbury,
Who envisioned wall TVs and the reality shows that came with them,
Well over fifty years ago,
And the Martians who did not welcome us to their world.
I’m having fun again.
copyright PM De Angelis
August 2009
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Women in Science
I read a very interesting article this past week in The Scientist. It was entitled ‘A Transforming Field’ (http://www.the-scientist.com/2010/5/1/80/1/) and presented the stories of two transgender scientists: the first was about a woman who became a man, and the second about a man who became a woman. While their stories are remarkable in and of themselves, what struck me most was how they experienced their daily scientific lives afterwards. Both of them praised their colleagues and bosses for being supportive of their decisions. What bothered me most was what both had to say about how women are discriminated against in academic science. The woman who became a man experienced a boost in his career evolution and opportunities, while the man who became a woman experienced poor treatment that she had never experienced as a man. I thought, my God, this is so interesting. Having felt some of that discrimination myself, I thought that these two scientists are actually living proof that this discrimination exists, because they have experienced both sides of the coin so to speak.
The problem of discrimination against women in science is difficult to prove, because those women (and men) who try will always be told that the reason they are doing so is because they are themselves not good enough and are thus envious of those who are. Even if this was true for a few women scientists, most of the women scientists I know walk around with that feeling of not being good enough anyway on a daily basis, so hearing it said to you puts you in your place. The questions then become, why is it this way for women and how do they deal with it? Most of the women scientists I know in Norway have simply resigned themselves to the discrimination. It can take the following forms: they are ‘overlooked’ for a higher (leadership) position, their opinions are dissed during planning meetings, they are told that they are difficult and unwilling to collaborate or not good at collaborating, they are expected to do the menial work in projects that are being planned and if they protest against this are told that they are not being cooperative, they are denied technical help while male scientists with the same competence get that help, they experience being ‘talked down to’ or ‘talked over’ while they are expressing an opinion, and then when they actually express irritation at being treated in this way are told that they are ‘out of balance’ or that they have misinterpreted the situation. I can only speak for academic scientific environments in this country, but know that this behavior occurs in the private sector as well. I know women scientists who have hit the wall and gone out on sick leave several times for different reasons, but when pressed will tell you it was because they have been treated poorly. All of them have left those jobs and moved on. These women are not slouches. In fact, the opposite is true for nearly all of them. They have an incredible work ethic, they are innovative, and they are smart. Perhaps they are too smart for the people for whom they work. I do not know. What I do know is that when you have experienced a work environment that treats women with respect (as I did in New York many years ago—working for three men who knew how to treat women well), you remember that for the rest of your life. And you hold it up as the example against which all other workplaces must measure up to. But unfortunately they don’t.
In this age of budget cuts, fiscal crises and corruption, no one really cares about whether women are discriminated against in science. I get that. I also get that women have a better overall work life in westernized countries than in other more repressed parts of the world, so that we shouldn’t really complain. We have a lot to be thankful for. Even the women who feel the discrimination have resigned themselves to it because they need their jobs. They chose and choose not to fight it. But what is happening now in my workplace is that some of these women are being bullied out of their jobs so that budgets can be ‘balanced’. Their bosses (who have been promoted to the level of their incompetence a la the Peter Principle—translated, have kissed a lot of ass on the way up) are finding all sorts of ways to make them feel incompetent and worthless. One woman scientist I know here who is experiencing that sort of bullying can retire in January when she turns 62 (early retirement). Unfortunately, there are no buyouts being offered these women such as would likely occur in the private sector. It might be worth considering if such were the case, although apparently if one accepts such a buyout then that affects one’s pension rights and retirement options. She might want to fight against her workplace now that things have become unbearable. Maybe she will. I don’t know. All I know is that I am and always have been more interested in fighting to prevent such behavior from taking root, but I stand alone in that fight in my own workplace, and deep down I know that it will be a pointless fight and that I am tilting at windmills. It’s better to call a spade a spade and to move on.
I have to say that I never much cared about the differences between men and women and how they approached science earlier in my life. What mattered were the science and the joy of doing science. I still love the science. I just think now that there are better ways to express that love than working for a workplace that discriminates against its female scientists.
The problem of discrimination against women in science is difficult to prove, because those women (and men) who try will always be told that the reason they are doing so is because they are themselves not good enough and are thus envious of those who are. Even if this was true for a few women scientists, most of the women scientists I know walk around with that feeling of not being good enough anyway on a daily basis, so hearing it said to you puts you in your place. The questions then become, why is it this way for women and how do they deal with it? Most of the women scientists I know in Norway have simply resigned themselves to the discrimination. It can take the following forms: they are ‘overlooked’ for a higher (leadership) position, their opinions are dissed during planning meetings, they are told that they are difficult and unwilling to collaborate or not good at collaborating, they are expected to do the menial work in projects that are being planned and if they protest against this are told that they are not being cooperative, they are denied technical help while male scientists with the same competence get that help, they experience being ‘talked down to’ or ‘talked over’ while they are expressing an opinion, and then when they actually express irritation at being treated in this way are told that they are ‘out of balance’ or that they have misinterpreted the situation. I can only speak for academic scientific environments in this country, but know that this behavior occurs in the private sector as well. I know women scientists who have hit the wall and gone out on sick leave several times for different reasons, but when pressed will tell you it was because they have been treated poorly. All of them have left those jobs and moved on. These women are not slouches. In fact, the opposite is true for nearly all of them. They have an incredible work ethic, they are innovative, and they are smart. Perhaps they are too smart for the people for whom they work. I do not know. What I do know is that when you have experienced a work environment that treats women with respect (as I did in New York many years ago—working for three men who knew how to treat women well), you remember that for the rest of your life. And you hold it up as the example against which all other workplaces must measure up to. But unfortunately they don’t.
In this age of budget cuts, fiscal crises and corruption, no one really cares about whether women are discriminated against in science. I get that. I also get that women have a better overall work life in westernized countries than in other more repressed parts of the world, so that we shouldn’t really complain. We have a lot to be thankful for. Even the women who feel the discrimination have resigned themselves to it because they need their jobs. They chose and choose not to fight it. But what is happening now in my workplace is that some of these women are being bullied out of their jobs so that budgets can be ‘balanced’. Their bosses (who have been promoted to the level of their incompetence a la the Peter Principle—translated, have kissed a lot of ass on the way up) are finding all sorts of ways to make them feel incompetent and worthless. One woman scientist I know here who is experiencing that sort of bullying can retire in January when she turns 62 (early retirement). Unfortunately, there are no buyouts being offered these women such as would likely occur in the private sector. It might be worth considering if such were the case, although apparently if one accepts such a buyout then that affects one’s pension rights and retirement options. She might want to fight against her workplace now that things have become unbearable. Maybe she will. I don’t know. All I know is that I am and always have been more interested in fighting to prevent such behavior from taking root, but I stand alone in that fight in my own workplace, and deep down I know that it will be a pointless fight and that I am tilting at windmills. It’s better to call a spade a spade and to move on.
I have to say that I never much cared about the differences between men and women and how they approached science earlier in my life. What mattered were the science and the joy of doing science. I still love the science. I just think now that there are better ways to express that love than working for a workplace that discriminates against its female scientists.
Monday, June 7, 2010
A poem by William Butler Yeats
This is probably my favorite poem by the Irish poet William Butler Yeats. It was written in 1919. I believe it has a lot to say to us in 2010, given the current state of the world.
THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Fru Østbakken
Our neighbor, Fru (Mrs.) Østbakken, who is 94 years old, moved out of her apartment this past week and into an elderly residence/nursing home. She was told that it will be a short stay while she recovers from what seems to have been a small stroke, but her niece meant that it is unlikely that she will return to her apartment. We were getting ready for work the day she had her stroke (episode as she calls it). She felt her legs go numb and she could not get up and walk, and it lasted for about twenty minutes. In the meantime she had managed to summon help (us and well as her neighbors upstairs) by yelling as well as by pressing the little alarm button that older people often wear around their necks as a kind of necklace. It alerts a central station that this person needs help and an ambulance can be sent if the person needs one. In Fru Østbakken’s case, she did. But after all the blood and medical tests they performed on her, they could only tell her that her heart, lungs, kidneys and other organs were in good shape for her age, and they sent her home again. However, her condition seems to have deteriorated a lot since then (about three weeks ago) and she stopped going to the elderly center on Tuesdays and Thursdays and preferred to remain in bed the whole day. I would say that she became more fearful and depressed. We had been checking in on her for the past year or so, making sure she was ok, buying bananas (her favorite food of late) and other small groceries for her, and bringing her small portions of our supper meals to her when we knew it was something she would like. At those times she would often talk about how much she enjoyed her mother’s home cooking. The last time I stood in her kitchen I really listened to her as she told me about where she was born and grew up, and who her relatives were and where she fit into the family tree. I have noticed this sudden need to talk about their early lives and family in other older people who were close to me. It is a sense of urgency, I believe, because I think they get a premonition of the reality of their own mortality. I cannot explain it any other way, and it has had a marked effect on how I view my own life and mortality. It seems to be more important now than before to chronicle one’s life and family history so that our children and family know who we were and what we thought.
When I moved to Oslo, she was already 74 years old. She had retired at 70 after 50 years of working and had received some kind of tribute from the King of Norway for her long years of service. When she told me about this honor she was very proud. She was always very generous and kind to my stepdaughter through the years, giving her candy and small gifts. If she made bread or waffles she would share them with us. Up until she was around 85 years old, she would go to her small cottage in the mountains during the summer months, and live there alone with occasional visits from friends and family. She would take care of the grounds, haul up her own water from the outdoor well, and take care of herself very well. She sold the cottage when she was in her late 80s. Her husband died in 1993; they never had children and she carried on without him. She has been an independent soul for as long as I’ve known her. We have watched her go through a bout with colon cancer which she seems to have beaten, as well as arthritis in her knees which left her legs twisted and bent. It must have been very painful for her to walk but she kept on going, walking up and down the three flights of stairs when she needed or wanted to go out. We live on the third floor of our co-op building and there is no elevator. She enjoyed sitting outdoors in all kinds of weather with the other elderly ladies who lived in our neighborhood (they are gone now), some of whom are in nursing homes themselves, some of whom have passed on.
In the past year, when I have stopped in to see her, I have sometimes felt very mentally exhausted due to work problems. Sometimes I would just tell her that I felt like giving up, and she said to me that she had often felt that way when she was younger, but that it was just to go on and not give up. She has lived that way her whole life. It helped to hear that, as it often helped to talk to my mother and father when they were alive. Older people have wisdom to share with younger people that is unfortunately not valued as much these days as it was earlier, or perhaps that is my impression and not necessarily the truth. However, it seems to me that society is mostly concerned with youth and tends to ignore aging and death. I remember my mother, when she was in her late 70s, commenting upon how invisible she often felt to the world around her. Luckily, she had her family who cared for her, but it struck me how alone and lonely many older people, who do not have any family, must feel. We will eventually visit Fru Østbakken in her new home, but we will wait a few weeks to see what actually does happen. It would not seem right to return her to her apartment without full-time help, and that she cannot afford. She has nieces and nephews but they do not have the possibility to take her in and that is not done so very often here. Older people move into state-funded old-age homes, nursing homes and/or assisted living facilities and that is that. I hope Fru Østbakken will be happy there—somehow I think she will, after she adjusts to this major new change in her life. We did not know ahead of time that she was leaving her apartment on the day she left (her niece told us later that she would have called to let us know about it), but we happened to be home and we went in and I said to her that I had thought of asking her if she needed me to buy bananas for her that day. Her answer was that she was sure that she would be getting bananas that evening at the home. She could see herself there already and I suppose that is a good thing—to be able to visualize yourself in the new situation. It is another lesson in how to gracefully let go and adjust to the inevitable changes that life gives us.
When I moved to Oslo, she was already 74 years old. She had retired at 70 after 50 years of working and had received some kind of tribute from the King of Norway for her long years of service. When she told me about this honor she was very proud. She was always very generous and kind to my stepdaughter through the years, giving her candy and small gifts. If she made bread or waffles she would share them with us. Up until she was around 85 years old, she would go to her small cottage in the mountains during the summer months, and live there alone with occasional visits from friends and family. She would take care of the grounds, haul up her own water from the outdoor well, and take care of herself very well. She sold the cottage when she was in her late 80s. Her husband died in 1993; they never had children and she carried on without him. She has been an independent soul for as long as I’ve known her. We have watched her go through a bout with colon cancer which she seems to have beaten, as well as arthritis in her knees which left her legs twisted and bent. It must have been very painful for her to walk but she kept on going, walking up and down the three flights of stairs when she needed or wanted to go out. We live on the third floor of our co-op building and there is no elevator. She enjoyed sitting outdoors in all kinds of weather with the other elderly ladies who lived in our neighborhood (they are gone now), some of whom are in nursing homes themselves, some of whom have passed on.
In the past year, when I have stopped in to see her, I have sometimes felt very mentally exhausted due to work problems. Sometimes I would just tell her that I felt like giving up, and she said to me that she had often felt that way when she was younger, but that it was just to go on and not give up. She has lived that way her whole life. It helped to hear that, as it often helped to talk to my mother and father when they were alive. Older people have wisdom to share with younger people that is unfortunately not valued as much these days as it was earlier, or perhaps that is my impression and not necessarily the truth. However, it seems to me that society is mostly concerned with youth and tends to ignore aging and death. I remember my mother, when she was in her late 70s, commenting upon how invisible she often felt to the world around her. Luckily, she had her family who cared for her, but it struck me how alone and lonely many older people, who do not have any family, must feel. We will eventually visit Fru Østbakken in her new home, but we will wait a few weeks to see what actually does happen. It would not seem right to return her to her apartment without full-time help, and that she cannot afford. She has nieces and nephews but they do not have the possibility to take her in and that is not done so very often here. Older people move into state-funded old-age homes, nursing homes and/or assisted living facilities and that is that. I hope Fru Østbakken will be happy there—somehow I think she will, after she adjusts to this major new change in her life. We did not know ahead of time that she was leaving her apartment on the day she left (her niece told us later that she would have called to let us know about it), but we happened to be home and we went in and I said to her that I had thought of asking her if she needed me to buy bananas for her that day. Her answer was that she was sure that she would be getting bananas that evening at the home. She could see herself there already and I suppose that is a good thing—to be able to visualize yourself in the new situation. It is another lesson in how to gracefully let go and adjust to the inevitable changes that life gives us.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
House of Mirrors
The world is a house of strangers--
Doors open, I enter in
To begin a new era of my life.
I think, upon meeting a stranger--
I am an unknown, as is he.
He mirrors me; his smile bids me welcome.
I prefer the company of strangers--
Secrets hidden, unprobed for; anonymity.
No price paid for the trying on of many selves.
I look into his eyes, a stranger, knowing
That if I look too deeply I will fall into them,
And so be lost then.
The world greets me as a stranger--
I am welcome in his house
As long as I remain one.......
PM De Angelis
from Parables and Voices
Doors open, I enter in
To begin a new era of my life.
I think, upon meeting a stranger--
I am an unknown, as is he.
He mirrors me; his smile bids me welcome.
I prefer the company of strangers--
Secrets hidden, unprobed for; anonymity.
No price paid for the trying on of many selves.
I look into his eyes, a stranger, knowing
That if I look too deeply I will fall into them,
And so be lost then.
The world greets me as a stranger--
I am welcome in his house
As long as I remain one.......
PM De Angelis
from Parables and Voices
Comments about the 'Evolution of Science*
I read a very interesting short article the other day, published in a magazine called The Scientist. The article is entitled ‘Evolution of Science’ and was written by Lauren Urban. You can read it here http://www.the-scientist.com/article/display/57368/. Urban writes about a scientist named Alex Shneider who has attempted to describe the different types of research scientists by putting them into stages: stage 1, 2, 3, and 4, in essence, categorizing them, which is a scientific approach in and of itself. Shneider describes the characteristics and talents of scientists in these different stages, and makes the point that there can be an evolution, so to speak, from one stage to the other. It really is the first article of its kind that I have read, and it resonated with me. Shneider describes first-stage scientists as the great innovators and risk-takers. Of course, Craig Venter, whose company Celera Genomics competed with the publicly-funded Human Genome Project to sequence the human genome, comes to mind. He lives in another world than ‘us ordinary folks’, and listening to him talk about his ideas for the future and for the planet (via his new company--Synthetic Genomics which he co-founded) is awe-inspiring and exciting. It must also be said that he has the capital and the chutzpah to take the necessary risks to move science forward, and if he doesn’t have the money he isn’t afraid to ask private investors for it. I remember seeing photos of the sequencing labs at Celera, and they showed rooms full of DNA sequencers that operated around the clock. First-stagers move the world forward, but they are not necessarily the ones who translate their ideas into practice. This is where the stage two scientists come into the picture. Shneider describes them as having “ingenuity, inventiveness, and high risk tolerance”. Most scientists fall into the third-stage category, which Shneider describes as those scientists who “use those new tools to answer new questions, thereby coming up with new insights and more questions”. They are, in his words “more methodical, detail-oriented, and concerned with absolute correctness”. Fourth-stage scientists are those who write about and chronicle science in an attempt to organize scientific data, but they are not the discoverers and inventers.
It struck me while reading the article that I have had the privilege of working in two dynamic research laboratories during the past twenty years, both of them American. One was located in New York City and the other in San Francisco, California. If I could sum up my experiences in both laboratories, I would have to say that the laboratory leaders were a mixture of stage one and stage two scientists in their respective fields, and they managed to impart their ideas and enthusiasm to the third-stage scientists who worked for them. More importantly, these leaders functioned as a tight-knit team. They knew how to communicate and collaborate with each other and they respected each other’s ideas. If you have experienced the opposite--leaders who fight and compete among themselves and do not know how to collaborate--you will appreciate how necessary leader teamwork is to create a dynamic work environment where people feel like they are a part of something important, where they feel valued, and where they want to come to work. It is perhaps the best argument against having business administrators take over all aspects of research science. They have null understanding for the necessity of this type of dynamic work environment. They are only concerned with the fiscal bottom-line, which ultimately leads to workplace boredom and lethargy.
The laboratory in San Francisco was run by a man who was rumored to be a difficult personality when he was younger. I’m guessing that these rumors were spread by small-minded people who did not have his vision or his energy. In any case, he paid little attention to them and reached the top without them. He is still an innovator. He collaborated well with other innovators, both American and European, and his lab was truly an international lab, as was the New York lab I worked in. At the time I worked in New York, we had scientists from Poland, Italy, Spain, Sweden and Germany working there as well. It felt like we were part of the ‘larger picture’, that what we did had meaning outside of our lab, and that we were contributing to making the world a better place. I believe these are necessary feelings if one is to do a good job.
Shneider states that all four stages of scientific discipline are valuable and that what characterizes each stage is a particular type of talent. The challenge therefore for each scientist becomes identifying your particular talent and finding your niche. The original article by Shneider upon which Urban based her article is worth reading. It is entitled ‘Four stages of a scientific discipline; four types of scientist’ and was published in the journal Trends in Biochemical Sciences, volume 34, issue 5, in 2009. It is probably best to contact the author directly by email in order to obtain a reprint: ashneider@curelab.com.
It struck me while reading the article that I have had the privilege of working in two dynamic research laboratories during the past twenty years, both of them American. One was located in New York City and the other in San Francisco, California. If I could sum up my experiences in both laboratories, I would have to say that the laboratory leaders were a mixture of stage one and stage two scientists in their respective fields, and they managed to impart their ideas and enthusiasm to the third-stage scientists who worked for them. More importantly, these leaders functioned as a tight-knit team. They knew how to communicate and collaborate with each other and they respected each other’s ideas. If you have experienced the opposite--leaders who fight and compete among themselves and do not know how to collaborate--you will appreciate how necessary leader teamwork is to create a dynamic work environment where people feel like they are a part of something important, where they feel valued, and where they want to come to work. It is perhaps the best argument against having business administrators take over all aspects of research science. They have null understanding for the necessity of this type of dynamic work environment. They are only concerned with the fiscal bottom-line, which ultimately leads to workplace boredom and lethargy.
The laboratory in San Francisco was run by a man who was rumored to be a difficult personality when he was younger. I’m guessing that these rumors were spread by small-minded people who did not have his vision or his energy. In any case, he paid little attention to them and reached the top without them. He is still an innovator. He collaborated well with other innovators, both American and European, and his lab was truly an international lab, as was the New York lab I worked in. At the time I worked in New York, we had scientists from Poland, Italy, Spain, Sweden and Germany working there as well. It felt like we were part of the ‘larger picture’, that what we did had meaning outside of our lab, and that we were contributing to making the world a better place. I believe these are necessary feelings if one is to do a good job.
Shneider states that all four stages of scientific discipline are valuable and that what characterizes each stage is a particular type of talent. The challenge therefore for each scientist becomes identifying your particular talent and finding your niche. The original article by Shneider upon which Urban based her article is worth reading. It is entitled ‘Four stages of a scientific discipline; four types of scientist’ and was published in the journal Trends in Biochemical Sciences, volume 34, issue 5, in 2009. It is probably best to contact the author directly by email in order to obtain a reprint: ashneider@curelab.com.
Bits and pieces
I keep learning new things about Oslo the longer I live here. I attended a short Memorial Day tribute on Monday morning organized by the American Embassy to honor American soldiers who died defending the liberties we enjoy, which was one of the remarks made by the Lutheran minister who officiated at the ceremony. The tribute was held at the US Memorial site at the Vestre Gravlund cemetery, which has many different memorial sites to honor soldiers from different countries who died on Norwegian soil during World War II. This is something I never knew about before. There are memorials to honor British, Dutch, Russian and Polish soldiers who fought and died then. I looked at the ages of some of the Dutch soldiers buried in the cemetery, and it struck me how young some of them were. It is sad to think that they never had the chance to live a full life and somehow that makes their sacrifice all the more poignant. I’ve lived here twenty years and I never knew about the Memorial Day tribute before. The ‘new and improved’ American embassy is responsible for that. They are now sending out newsletters to American citizens via email to share little bits and pieces of information with us. I think it is about time.
Oslo is a beautiful city when the sun shines—the parks, the buildings, the gardens and the trees. I tend to like the parks and buildings that were built many years ago. The city sparkles in the summertime and it really is the best time to visit as a tourist unless you love the winter, which I do not. Summer days are long and it takes a long time for the light to fade from the sky, whereas winter days are short, gray, cold and dark. It is not unusual in the wintertime for it to be dark already at 3:30 pm. It is dark when we wake up and go to work and dark when we leave work. It does not surprise me that light is important in this country. Despite the emphasis on environmental issues and energy concerns, turning lights on and keeping them on is characteristic of homes and businesses alike. I believe this has to do with the dark winters. Light is something you long for after the darkness of winter. My first few winters here were difficult in that sense. I had to adjust to shorter days and I was incredibly tired most of the time. Many foreigners suffer from mild depressions when they first live here. But I remember NY winters too, and they were also something to just get through on the way to spring and summer. I think the only thing I really enjoy about winter is the fact that Christmas is a part of it. Once Christmas is over I want spring to come.
I have begun to notice that some of the money that has been spent to refurbish the city of Oslo in the past few years has been money well-spent for the most part—especially as pertains to the new gardens to replace asphalted areas, and new parks. It surprises me that such decisions were made at all, considering the current focus on balanced budgets and using as little money as possible. Not all of the new apartment buildings are particularly nice however—many of them look like monstrosities and you have to wonder how it feels to live in them. I prefer more classic architecture to modern architecture. The emphasis of modern architecture on maximizing space, on cost efficient solutions and such things is admirable in one sense but does not necessarily lead to good feelings about living or working in those buildings. The hospital I work in is a good example—it is new, modern, efficient and functional, all of which contribute to making work a more pleasant occupation for those working in the modern labs. However, I miss the old hospital that we moved from in 2000, not necessarily the building in which I worked, but the hospital and the grounds generally. That old hospital was not as efficiently set up, the buildings were old, things didn’t function as they should have all the time, but offices were larger, you could open the windows, there was more space, the grounds were lovely with gardens and trees, and the overall feeling was more ‘generous’. I don’t know if people understand what I mean by that, but I have literally been in buildings that are so space-efficient that I want to run out of them (and I have done so on several occasions) into the fresh air. They have that type of effect upon me. The more space-efficient buildings get, the more claustrophobic I feel. That feeling of being in an airtight, sealed building is not a good feeling. The feeling of having enough living and working space is what I mean by ‘generous’. I know all the arguments against that type of generosity in architecture—it costs too much money to build those types of buildings now. But it is too bad nonetheless, and it indicative of the type of society that we have become—a stingy society preoccupied with money, cost efficiency, functionality, packing as many people as possible into apartment and office buildings, and getting rid of as much ‘unused’ space as possible. For example, all of the new apartment buildings along the Akerselva river will end up choking the life out of the river which is something that I hope will not happen, but I cannot see how it will not happen if the building doesn’t stop. We need the green areas in the city. They are what help us breathe. And that is true for any city.
Oslo is a beautiful city when the sun shines—the parks, the buildings, the gardens and the trees. I tend to like the parks and buildings that were built many years ago. The city sparkles in the summertime and it really is the best time to visit as a tourist unless you love the winter, which I do not. Summer days are long and it takes a long time for the light to fade from the sky, whereas winter days are short, gray, cold and dark. It is not unusual in the wintertime for it to be dark already at 3:30 pm. It is dark when we wake up and go to work and dark when we leave work. It does not surprise me that light is important in this country. Despite the emphasis on environmental issues and energy concerns, turning lights on and keeping them on is characteristic of homes and businesses alike. I believe this has to do with the dark winters. Light is something you long for after the darkness of winter. My first few winters here were difficult in that sense. I had to adjust to shorter days and I was incredibly tired most of the time. Many foreigners suffer from mild depressions when they first live here. But I remember NY winters too, and they were also something to just get through on the way to spring and summer. I think the only thing I really enjoy about winter is the fact that Christmas is a part of it. Once Christmas is over I want spring to come.
I have begun to notice that some of the money that has been spent to refurbish the city of Oslo in the past few years has been money well-spent for the most part—especially as pertains to the new gardens to replace asphalted areas, and new parks. It surprises me that such decisions were made at all, considering the current focus on balanced budgets and using as little money as possible. Not all of the new apartment buildings are particularly nice however—many of them look like monstrosities and you have to wonder how it feels to live in them. I prefer more classic architecture to modern architecture. The emphasis of modern architecture on maximizing space, on cost efficient solutions and such things is admirable in one sense but does not necessarily lead to good feelings about living or working in those buildings. The hospital I work in is a good example—it is new, modern, efficient and functional, all of which contribute to making work a more pleasant occupation for those working in the modern labs. However, I miss the old hospital that we moved from in 2000, not necessarily the building in which I worked, but the hospital and the grounds generally. That old hospital was not as efficiently set up, the buildings were old, things didn’t function as they should have all the time, but offices were larger, you could open the windows, there was more space, the grounds were lovely with gardens and trees, and the overall feeling was more ‘generous’. I don’t know if people understand what I mean by that, but I have literally been in buildings that are so space-efficient that I want to run out of them (and I have done so on several occasions) into the fresh air. They have that type of effect upon me. The more space-efficient buildings get, the more claustrophobic I feel. That feeling of being in an airtight, sealed building is not a good feeling. The feeling of having enough living and working space is what I mean by ‘generous’. I know all the arguments against that type of generosity in architecture—it costs too much money to build those types of buildings now. But it is too bad nonetheless, and it indicative of the type of society that we have become—a stingy society preoccupied with money, cost efficiency, functionality, packing as many people as possible into apartment and office buildings, and getting rid of as much ‘unused’ space as possible. For example, all of the new apartment buildings along the Akerselva river will end up choking the life out of the river which is something that I hope will not happen, but I cannot see how it will not happen if the building doesn’t stop. We need the green areas in the city. They are what help us breathe. And that is true for any city.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Parable
Lazarus in the street,
While in the penthouses above
The glitterati meet.
In the end I left
The glamour, the effete chic.
(Not that I belonged).
‘City of vipers’--
Women poised like cobras,
Bedecked in jewels and haughty crowns,
Ready to strike, tongues flicking.
Gold lame skins rose and fell
With their breathing.
Fixing you with their stares.
Outside the frost-edged window
Awaits the city---
The viper rich indoors
See it not, nor feel.
Teeth flash, capped, even, gleaming--
Fangs for the night about to end
About to start
That never ends, for reality
Is a party, a toss of the coin--
One more Lazarus for the gutter,
One more snake for the pit.
PM De Angelis
from Parables and Voices
While in the penthouses above
The glitterati meet.
In the end I left
The glamour, the effete chic.
(Not that I belonged).
‘City of vipers’--
Women poised like cobras,
Bedecked in jewels and haughty crowns,
Ready to strike, tongues flicking.
Gold lame skins rose and fell
With their breathing.
Fixing you with their stares.
Outside the frost-edged window
Awaits the city---
The viper rich indoors
See it not, nor feel.
Teeth flash, capped, even, gleaming--
Fangs for the night about to end
About to start
That never ends, for reality
Is a party, a toss of the coin--
One more Lazarus for the gutter,
One more snake for the pit.
PM De Angelis
from Parables and Voices
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