Sunday, September 18, 2016
Friday, September 16, 2016
Connection to nature
As I've written many times before, I go to my garden to get some peace and solitude when I need them, which is often these days. I don't mind being around people generally, or being at work or being social. But there is something about the lure of a garden, about the chance to be alone for several hours, connected to the earth--nothing beats it. Working with the earth, watching plants grow slowly, flower and produce vegetables and fruit, and then die at the end of the season--it's all a part of the cycle of nature. I am so glad to watch nature at work, so glad to not be divorced from it anymore. There is something inherently wrong, even sick, with the way we live our the major portion of our lives, cooped up in offices or workplaces that are lighted by fluorescent lights and ventilated by air-conditioning/internal air. There is often no possibility to open a window to get real fresh air in many new office buildings. I've begun to go outdoors at lunchtime when I can, just to get some fresh air and sunshine, and to be able to walk.
It's been a very warm September, so my pumpkins are almost ready to harvest. I've already harvested two of them, one that is fifteen pounds and the other eight pounds. I planted twelve pumpkin plants and each of them yielded a pumpkin; the slugs ate one, leaving eleven, of which ten have grown to maturity. I'm still getting runner beans and string beans, but all other veggies are done for the season. I plan on drying some of the runner beans so that I can get seeds for planting next year. The corn was very good, just small, so next year I'll plant corn in richer soil so that it can grow larger. The hollyhocks and daisies are still blooming. I've been working hard prepping the garden for winter--taking up dead plants, cutting dead branches, and preparing the soil for next spring. Plus mowing the lawn and raking up dead leaves and dried grass to use as soil cover.
I bought honey from the garden's beekeeper who was selling small and large jars of the honey he had collected from hives in our community garden and from the Botanical Garden here in Oslo. It's very good honey, and it's kind of cool to know that my garden contributed to the honey that the bees made. I love that idea.
It's been a very warm September, so my pumpkins are almost ready to harvest. I've already harvested two of them, one that is fifteen pounds and the other eight pounds. I planted twelve pumpkin plants and each of them yielded a pumpkin; the slugs ate one, leaving eleven, of which ten have grown to maturity. I'm still getting runner beans and string beans, but all other veggies are done for the season. I plan on drying some of the runner beans so that I can get seeds for planting next year. The corn was very good, just small, so next year I'll plant corn in richer soil so that it can grow larger. The hollyhocks and daisies are still blooming. I've been working hard prepping the garden for winter--taking up dead plants, cutting dead branches, and preparing the soil for next spring. Plus mowing the lawn and raking up dead leaves and dried grass to use as soil cover.
I bought honey from the garden's beekeeper who was selling small and large jars of the honey he had collected from hives in our community garden and from the Botanical Garden here in Oslo. It's very good honey, and it's kind of cool to know that my garden contributed to the honey that the bees made. I love that idea.
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| ripening pumpkins |
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| runner beans |
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| two harvested pumpkins |
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| honey from our community garden; soldugg means 'sundew' |
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
Soul-sucking exercise in futility
After a wonderful and relaxing summer, I was actually ready to go back to work. I cannot honestly say I was looking forward to the daily grind again, but my mood was positive and upbeat. You might even say I was motivated to start a new academic year. Unfortunately, those feelings never last. They are replaced by ennui, resignation and boredom once the grant application season starts or once we start to get replies from the grant organizations to which we applied before the summer months. You would think that after so many years in the business that rejection gets easier to take. It doesn’t, at least not initially. By the end of the day however, I have recovered from it, compared to perhaps several days some years ago when I actually cared more.
I did not spend much time on grant applications this year, since I and my colleagues agreed that we would spend the next year working diligently on new projects and generating data so that we could use that data in next year’s applications. Applying for grant funding at present is a soul-sucking exercise in futility. The funding situation is so brutally competitive that it makes no sense to waste precious time on writing and sending an application with preliminary data; it will not get funded, period. You need to be an established researcher in your field, and it gets harder and harder to remain in that field if you don't get funding. I sent only one grant application to a private foundation that has supported us previously with funds for a PhD position. I was hoping to get funding; I asked for about 180,000 USD to cover a two-year technical position plus costs for lab consumables and overhead. After all, the foundation knows that we can deliver the goods—their support of my PhD student was money well-spent since it led to a successful PhD defense back in 2010. However…….
The foundation’s board members were not entirely negative to my application for a technician. They agreed to give our institute one-third of the amount I applied for, with the stipulation that I come up with the remaining two-thirds. In other words, I cannot accept their 33.3 % funding unless I can guarantee them that I will obtain the remaining 66.6% from other sources. I have to find someone willing to support us with 120,000 USD or I cannot receive the 60,000 USD they are offering. It’s laughable if it didn’t make you want to cry first. The reason I am applying to this foundation is because all other sources of funding have dried up at this point. I have a snowball’s chance in hell of raising 120,000 USD. So it doesn’t look like our group is getting a research technician any time soon, which is unfortunate because a full-time technician is exactly what we need.
I will allow for the possibility that the foundation doesn’t really understand the brutality of the funding situation. But hopes get raised and dreams get smashed each year, and for each year that passes, I see less and less point in the whole process. I struggle to find meaning in such a soulless and brutal profession. Any wonder that I prefer to be alone in my garden these days, with no interference or constant rejection to deal with? I understand the laws of nature and manage to work with them--a peaceful co-existence. Sometimes things grow and sometimes they don't. Sometimes the slugs win and sometimes they don't. But there is at least some reward for the hard work. In academia, there is none.
I did not spend much time on grant applications this year, since I and my colleagues agreed that we would spend the next year working diligently on new projects and generating data so that we could use that data in next year’s applications. Applying for grant funding at present is a soul-sucking exercise in futility. The funding situation is so brutally competitive that it makes no sense to waste precious time on writing and sending an application with preliminary data; it will not get funded, period. You need to be an established researcher in your field, and it gets harder and harder to remain in that field if you don't get funding. I sent only one grant application to a private foundation that has supported us previously with funds for a PhD position. I was hoping to get funding; I asked for about 180,000 USD to cover a two-year technical position plus costs for lab consumables and overhead. After all, the foundation knows that we can deliver the goods—their support of my PhD student was money well-spent since it led to a successful PhD defense back in 2010. However…….
The foundation’s board members were not entirely negative to my application for a technician. They agreed to give our institute one-third of the amount I applied for, with the stipulation that I come up with the remaining two-thirds. In other words, I cannot accept their 33.3 % funding unless I can guarantee them that I will obtain the remaining 66.6% from other sources. I have to find someone willing to support us with 120,000 USD or I cannot receive the 60,000 USD they are offering. It’s laughable if it didn’t make you want to cry first. The reason I am applying to this foundation is because all other sources of funding have dried up at this point. I have a snowball’s chance in hell of raising 120,000 USD. So it doesn’t look like our group is getting a research technician any time soon, which is unfortunate because a full-time technician is exactly what we need.
I will allow for the possibility that the foundation doesn’t really understand the brutality of the funding situation. But hopes get raised and dreams get smashed each year, and for each year that passes, I see less and less point in the whole process. I struggle to find meaning in such a soulless and brutal profession. Any wonder that I prefer to be alone in my garden these days, with no interference or constant rejection to deal with? I understand the laws of nature and manage to work with them--a peaceful co-existence. Sometimes things grow and sometimes they don't. Sometimes the slugs win and sometimes they don't. But there is at least some reward for the hard work. In academia, there is none.
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Reclaiming the best parts of ourselves
Getting older is about reclaiming the best parts of ourselves, the parts that we discovered as teenagers but then buried for fear that they might be ridiculed or destroyed. Or possibly because we felt sure that no one would understand us if we expressed them. Because the world that we grew up in, while less intense in terms of social media pressure compared to today's world, was every bit as intense when it came to ‘fitting in’ or ‘assuming’ personalities that were acceptable to society. Some of those personalities included career woman, feminist, wife, mother, successful man, husband, and father—all of the things that we had to deal with and make choices about in our 20s and 30s. But I remember my teenage years; they were about self-discovery and about wanting to find the path inward to my soul after reading St. Teresa of Avila’s book The Interior Castle or The Mansions. She described seven different rooms that a person had to move through in order to find God. Those years were about intense emotions, strange new feelings, spiritual exploration and even an interest in the mystical; questions about life’s meaning, our purpose on this earth, and our place in the universe. But after I left those years, I entered another world, one that required that I fit in, work for a living, contribute to society in one form or another, and be responsible. I have done and do all those things still. But I long to clear the decks, to make room once again for the young woman trying to find her way in the world, discovering new areas inside herself, before responsibility, duty and work took over.
That young woman was a writer; she wrote poetry on a daily basis, as well as short stories. She was a reader; she loved sci-fi and crime novels, English literature and poetry. She wanted to be like her father and mother, both avid readers. She talked to them about what she read, and they in turn did the same with her and suggested books for her to read. She read Thomas Hardy’s novel Jude the Obscure (her father was a Thomas Hardy fan and she became one too), and cried at the end of that novel when Jude died alone. She remembers wandering into the living room where she found her father to share that sadness; that memory stands out because he understood how she felt, like he understood so much of who she was when she was young. He always listened to her; that was his gift to others—the ability to listen well. Her female friends loved him as he always made them feel welcome and accepted. He understood that life was unfair (because he had experienced it himself) and that Thomas Hardy was able to write about that unfairness in a way that appealed to him and to her. Her father died when she was 29 years old; he died too young. She remembers driving home to the Bronx the evening he died, a wall of grief all around her. It almost seemed real, as though the car that she was driving would smash against it. That too is a memory that she recalls clearly all these years later. He never got a chance to see the woman she became or the woman she is now. The woman who is returning to her literary roots, planted by her parents, who were gardeners of all things literary. She is returning to her roots in other ways as well—as a proud American with a new interest in American history, trying to sort out all that makes America a great country. She loves returning to her hometown where she was born and seeing the changes as it moves on without her. She is not nostalgic for the past. Yet so much of Tarrytown remains the Tarrytown of her memories—the Tarrytown Lakes, the Hudson River estates, the river itself, Rockwood State Park—all the places that left their imprint on her heart and soul when she was a teenager. She spent a lot of time alone as a teenager, and understands only now the purpose for that. That solitude was a gift to her in the midst of much that was sad around her--her father’s illnesses, family crises, unemployment and uncertainty. It became something to seek after when she entered her 20s and 30s, knowing full well that she would not find much of it during those years. Even in her 40s, there was little in the way of solitude, because each waking minute was occupied by daily home and work routines. But when she entered her 50s, her world changed, for reasons she is still not quite clear about. The need for solitude re-emerged, stronger than ever. Solitude became something to fight for, to defend; it became a meaning for living—a purpose. It was suddenly very important to ‘have a room of one’s own’ so that solitude could be ensured. That meant being firm about the need for that; it meant not giving in to what others wanted immediately. It meant being selfish in a good way; putting one’s ideas, dreams and wishes first, for once. It meant not sacrificing what was important to oneself. Because without solitude, there is no chance to discover or rediscover oneself, to examine one’s life, to find the special meaning in one’s life. It was Socrates who said, “The unexamined life is not worth living”. She understood that as a teenager, and now again as a woman moving toward her 60s.
That young woman was a writer; she wrote poetry on a daily basis, as well as short stories. She was a reader; she loved sci-fi and crime novels, English literature and poetry. She wanted to be like her father and mother, both avid readers. She talked to them about what she read, and they in turn did the same with her and suggested books for her to read. She read Thomas Hardy’s novel Jude the Obscure (her father was a Thomas Hardy fan and she became one too), and cried at the end of that novel when Jude died alone. She remembers wandering into the living room where she found her father to share that sadness; that memory stands out because he understood how she felt, like he understood so much of who she was when she was young. He always listened to her; that was his gift to others—the ability to listen well. Her female friends loved him as he always made them feel welcome and accepted. He understood that life was unfair (because he had experienced it himself) and that Thomas Hardy was able to write about that unfairness in a way that appealed to him and to her. Her father died when she was 29 years old; he died too young. She remembers driving home to the Bronx the evening he died, a wall of grief all around her. It almost seemed real, as though the car that she was driving would smash against it. That too is a memory that she recalls clearly all these years later. He never got a chance to see the woman she became or the woman she is now. The woman who is returning to her literary roots, planted by her parents, who were gardeners of all things literary. She is returning to her roots in other ways as well—as a proud American with a new interest in American history, trying to sort out all that makes America a great country. She loves returning to her hometown where she was born and seeing the changes as it moves on without her. She is not nostalgic for the past. Yet so much of Tarrytown remains the Tarrytown of her memories—the Tarrytown Lakes, the Hudson River estates, the river itself, Rockwood State Park—all the places that left their imprint on her heart and soul when she was a teenager. She spent a lot of time alone as a teenager, and understands only now the purpose for that. That solitude was a gift to her in the midst of much that was sad around her--her father’s illnesses, family crises, unemployment and uncertainty. It became something to seek after when she entered her 20s and 30s, knowing full well that she would not find much of it during those years. Even in her 40s, there was little in the way of solitude, because each waking minute was occupied by daily home and work routines. But when she entered her 50s, her world changed, for reasons she is still not quite clear about. The need for solitude re-emerged, stronger than ever. Solitude became something to fight for, to defend; it became a meaning for living—a purpose. It was suddenly very important to ‘have a room of one’s own’ so that solitude could be ensured. That meant being firm about the need for that; it meant not giving in to what others wanted immediately. It meant being selfish in a good way; putting one’s ideas, dreams and wishes first, for once. It meant not sacrificing what was important to oneself. Because without solitude, there is no chance to discover or rediscover oneself, to examine one’s life, to find the special meaning in one’s life. It was Socrates who said, “The unexamined life is not worth living”. She understood that as a teenager, and now again as a woman moving toward her 60s.
Wednesday, September 7, 2016
Photos--USA trip August 2016
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| Monticello, Charlottesville VA--Thomas Jefferson's home |
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| Springwood, Hyde Park NY--Franklin D Roosevelt's home |
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| view from the back of Springwood, overlooking the Hudson River |
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| Springwood cemetery garden |
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| Franklin D Roosevelt's grave |
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| Tarrytown Lakes |
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| the new Tappan Zee Bridge under construction |
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| enjoying the Hudson River view |
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