Five year anniversary for A New Yorker in Oslo

I started writing this blog in May 2010. How fast time goes. Here it is, five years later, and I'm still writing it. I don't plan on stopping any time soon. The number of readers keeps increasing, and to all of you who read what I write, I want to say thank you. I keep writing because you are reading what I write. Here are the top ten posts as of May 2015:

The poem Quantum Bloom from my poetry collection Quantum Bloom

My sister loves this poem, so I decided to share it with you. It is from my recently-published collection of poems--Quantum Bloom (http://www.amazon.com/Quantum-Bloom-Paula-Mary-Angelis/dp/1505211166). The poem was inspired by a photo I saw on Facebook of a tree stump crying (someone had drawn the tears on the stump). But it made a lasting impression on me, as well as making me sad. It got me to thinking how many trees are cut down for no reason at all, other than that a house owner wanted less shade and more sun, so the tree had to go. That happens a lot here in Oslo, unfortunately. Perhaps other places as well. The older I get, the more respect I have for the nature around us, and the more I appreciate trees, the birds that live in them, and the rest of nature. We take nature for granted, that it will always be there for us. But one day it may not be. And we will look back in regret that we did not take better care of our earth. 

Quantum bloom

A lone tree stump

Pushing its way up from the pavement

The sidewalk askew

A tree’s life ended

Because its desire to spread its roots

Was not met with understanding

But rather with a need for control

Executed through the mighty saw

A lone tree’s life ended

In this universe

But perhaps the same tree lives on

In another universe

A parallel one

Or even in multiple worlds

Far less controlling places

Where trees can spread their roots

Where their desire to bloom and grow

Is not met with the inhabitants’ desires

To crimp and to control

Lone tree standing

Firm and tall

Against the elements

Against the winds, the storms,

Against man’s non-understanding

Of what it takes to grow a tree

Of what a tree needs to call a place

Its home

Of what the birds need in the way of home

When in search of cover

In parallel universes

Perhaps trees are sovereign, supreme

Birds too

Perhaps man’s punishment for meting out death

To trees and likewise birds

Is to suffer the understanding of what it means

To destroy life

While imprisoned in a forever place of death

In multiple universes

copyright 2014  Paula M. De Angelis 

Riding with the raptors

There’s a lot to love about the new dinosaur film Jurassic World. Mostly, it doesn’t pretend to be anything more than what it is—a fun and fast-paced action film about a dinosaur theme park that bites off more than it can chew when it creates a new and better dinosaur, Indominus rex, to attract larger audiences. The new dinosaur has four different kinds of DNA in its genome, all of which have produced a cunning killer that appears to be unstoppable. Part of the fun is finding out what kind of DNA the scientists have used to create this monster. And as always in these kinds of films, scientists come off as the bad guys who can be bought, either by the paranoid military or by greedy companies or both. When you go to see these kinds of films, you know that within about thirty minutes after the start, it’s all going to go to hell, the dinosaurs are going to start eating people, and panic will ensue. And it does. Jurassic World is a dinosaur disaster film with a hero who gets to do the coolest thing I’ve seen on film so far—ride his motorcycle in the midst of the velociraptors that he’s been trying to train (with very limited success since they are cunning killers themselves). Their help is enlisted when it becomes clear that the velociraptors are perhaps the only creatures that can bring down Indominus Rex. But there is a neat twist here once the raptors meet Indominus, and I won’t give it away. The film is worth seeing, the special effects are very good, the plot is fairly predictable, the acting a bit stiff, but overall it’s a fun 3D ride. We all know that what is said is not nearly as important as what is done in these kinds of films. Action is what counts; in that regard, Chris Pratt will be a good addition to the genre for the future films. When I saw the first Jurassic Park film, and Sam Neill and the children stood watching the dinosaurs from a distance, I remember commenting to my husband that it would be so cool if humans could actually travel in the midst of the different kinds of dinosaurs, at their level if you will. In Jurassic World, they can and they do, with the help of the Gyrosphere, a computer-controlled sphere-shaped ride that has room for two people to sit in it, and that moves along the ground so that the park visitors can get a real feel for the dinosaurs. I’m looking forward to the subsequent films, although I cannot for the life of me figure out what ground the filmmakers are going to cover next. But I’m sure it will be one heck of a ride.  

Weighing in on #distractinglysexy

This past week showed me just how well female scientists can defend themselves against the sexism that still exists in the noble profession of academia. It also pointed out to me yet again the power of social media, for better or for worse, in dealing with political incorrectness. For those of you who don’t know what transpired, here’s the story. The 2001 Nobel Prize winner Sir Tim Hunt from Britain, 72 years old, opened a conference in South Korea with what he deemed to be a joke about women in science. He said essentially that girls (he did not use the word women, mind you) fall in love with you and you with them, that they distract you (men) from doing science, that they cry when criticized, and that he was in favor of single-sex labs *. Social media exploded predictably with appropriate and inappropriate responses. Hunt later apologized for his foolish remarks but not for his beliefs. Because he does believe that what he said about women is the truth. Nowadays you have to be very careful about what you say if you are in the public eye, because social media will try you and fry you for your transgressions, superficial opinions and comments. I’m not going to enter a debate about the pros and cons of social media; I leave that to others. I will say that I found the responses of a majority of female scientists to be quite amusing. Rather than going on a strident attack, they responded to the situation in a humorous fashion. I don’t know who started the hashtag #distractinglysexy, but if you go onto Twitter and search for it, you will be rewarded with a number of tweets that will leave you laughing—photos and accompanying comments of women dressed in lab coats, protective gear, goggles, hats, etc., all of whom comment on how ‘distractingly sexy’ they look while carrying out their laboratory work. They took the piss out of Hunt’s comments by doing so. That is the intelligent and cunning response.  

I have worked in laboratories all my working life. Being a scientist has been my career. I’ve done alright through the years, and as many of my readers know from other posts, I’ve had the support of male mentors who have done their level best to ensure that I succeeded, or had the same opportunities as the men around me to succeed. But there were a few men who behaved questionably toward me up through the years. I learned to deflect their sexist comments that came my way—about sitting on their laps, about the view of my rear end when I bent over, about my being ‘unbalanced’ when I shed a few tears in anger and frustration about not getting a raise I more than deserved, and about whether I planned on becoming pregnant. I am well aware that I am no exception to these kinds of comments; I grew up in an era when women were making inroads into the workforce and certain types of men found that threatening, irritating, or pointless. They needed to make women feel inferior; I remember thinking ‘their poor wives, having to put up with them’. Certain types of men still react that way. Unfortunately, I learned along the way that certain types of women also react that way. Not all women help other women in the lab. Again, we can argue for and against this fact. Should women support women unequivocally? I try to provide moral support for the younger women I work with, simply because I know how hard it is to climb the academic ladder. But I do the same with the younger men as well. Because their lot is not easy these days either; there is less money and fewer positions. It’s a dog-eat-dog world in academia, even more so than before.

This episode points out that the world NEEDS to be reminded every now and then of all of the women in science who have done terrific science, who have worked tirelessly to promote good science, who have won Nobel Prizes, some of whom have done so while raising a family. Kudos to them—to Marie Curie, Barbara McClintock, Gertrude Elion, Rosalind Franklin, Ada Lovelace, Rita Levi-Montalcini, Rachel Carson, Dian Fossey, Jane Goodall, Lise Meitner, Elizabeth Blackburn, and Dorothy Hodgkin, to name a few. I could also list the many female scientists I know internationally who plod along, doing their daily work, writing papers, publishing, and mentoring students. All of them are equal-opportunity employers and mentors; I don’t think I’ve ever heard one of them express a preference for female students or employees at the expense of men. They are not sexist. Perhaps the male twits in the scientific community could learn from and be inspired by them, and then maybe we would not have to listen to their twaddle any longer.

Apropos, I was going to call this post 'A Twit, His Twaddle, and Twitter', but opted for the current title. But I like the other one too (I'm happy with the alliteration).

*This is what Tim Hunt was reported to have said:

“Let me tell you about my trouble with girls........Three things happen when they are in the lab: You fall in love with them, they fall in love with you, and when you criticize them they cry.” After offering an apparent apology, he dug the hole he was in even deeper when he said “I did mean the part about having trouble with girls. It's terribly important that you can criticize people’s ideas without criticizing them and if they burst into tears, it means that you tend to hold back from getting at the absolute truth. Science is about nothing but getting at the truth.”

Reflections on balance and change and on the town where I grew up

It’s been a while since I’ve written a post for this blog. That’s because I’ve been traveling. I was in New York again recently to attend a wedding and to deal with certain issues connected to my brother’s death. I did a lot of walking on this trip, and had a lot of time to reflect on being there and on my life in general. These are some of my recent observations and reflections, most of them having to do with the importance of having balance in one’s life. My life now is about achieving balance.

There is a time for sadness and a time for happiness. My brother’s sudden and untimely death in February was followed by the happiness of a May wedding. I don’t think I have ever enjoyed a wedding as much as I did this one. Perhaps because I needed something happy to round out the sadness I have been feeling since February. Or perhaps because this wedding really was something different—a lot of fun. Or perhaps both. Thanks and best wishes go to Andrea and Mike who love each other and are happy to share their happiness with us.  

An exceptionally warm spring in New York balanced out the cold winter it experienced. I was lucky enough to experience that warmth in New York on this trip. There is nothing like sunlight and warmth to compensate for the darkness and cold of winter, and that is true no matter where you live.

As always, when I return to the town where I grew up, Tarrytown, I realize how beautiful it is and how privileged I was to grow up there. I remember train rides into Manhattan when I was a young adult, and some of the rundown ugly areas through which the train passed. I always knew that I could return to the loveliness of my hometown.

I always remember my parents and growing up in our house when I am in Tarrytown. Yet for each year that passes, I experience so much that is new, and these experiences eventually become joyful memories. I walk around there now and experience the town as an adult, far removed from my childhood and teenage years. I will never forget my parents or my growing up, but I have new memories now that lessen the sorrow of the old, the reminders that my parents are gone and with them the life that was. The bittersweet memories of my early years have been balanced out by new and happy experiences in this lovely town. I have integrated both into the person I am now. Sadness and happiness coexist within me—side by side.

I know my way around Tarrytown, that was clear to me on this trip—the names of the streets, where to make a right or left turn if one is driving, where to find a parking space, and where to take a short cut when walking or driving. I spent one day while I was there just walking around the town, from my hotel on Route 119 down to the railroad station and then up again to Broadway through the different residential streets. I walked further on to Sleepy Hollow (formerly North Tarrytown) and all the way to the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, at which point I turned around and headed back to the hotel. I must have walked at least eight miles that day. On my way back, I visited the Warner Library and read a few newspapers in the reference room. I also took some photos for the book I am writing about growing up in Tarrytown. In the lobby, I met a Maryknoll priest who was taking photos for a book he is writing about growing up in Tarrytown. It was nice to meet a fellow wanderer. I also stopped at the Pastry Chef and enjoyed some biscotti and a cappuccino. The Pastry Chef is where my parents always bought the excellent cakes (lemon sponge cake comes to mind) that we had for the special occasions in our lives—graduations, birthdays, holidays.

I have changed, yet parts of me remain the same and will always do so. Much like Tarrytown itself. Tarrytown has changed, and yet it remains the same as I remember it from growing up in many ways. It struck me that it truly is a little slice of Americana, to be able to walk around this town and see shops and buildings that existed when I was a child, and probably long before I was born as well. And as my sister commented, the places where we hung out as teenagers are still very much the same. She and I drove around Philipse Manor and Sleepy Hollow Manor, the Lakes, and to Rockwood, where we walked for a while like we did when we were teenagers. Rockwood is still a montage of sprawling hills and flat meadows, untamed vegetation and growth, lovely old trees, gorgeous views of the Hudson River, and a sense of wildness that never leaves it. The nature of Rockwood exists for itself; it is not under man’s control and I like that. Being there frees the heart and soul. The trees are old and beautiful, and speak of a time that existed long before we were born. I like that feeling of mystery, of the unknown.