Let’s talk about me (me, me, me)

It strikes me more and more how society is becoming increasingly self-preoccupied. There have been countless articles written about this, so I won’t launch another tome on the subject. But I’ve begun to experiment a bit in conversation (if you can call it that these days) with colleagues, acquaintances and even strangers. I’ve reflected on it, and come to the conclusion that I ask questions of others—how was your day, how was your summer vacation, where are you from, do you like it here, what was this or that like, what are your interests, what books do you like—out of genuine interest and curiosity, not merely politeness, but that the interest is seldom reciprocal. This is not true of my conversations with good friends and family, so I know that it should not irritate me as much as it does. But it does irritate me, because it is symptomatic of much of what is wrong with our society. Showing interest in others' lives and in what others have to say is not nosy or intrusive; in fact it’s quite the opposite, it’s a kind and civilized gesture that makes people feel included. Asking others how they are or about their lives is a friendly gesture, and I am appreciative of that gesture when people ask me how I am or how my summer was, and really listen to my response. What I have experienced, just in the space of the few weeks I have been back at work, is the following:

• The ignorers--those colleagues who never or barely (grudgingly) acknowledge their co-workers in the hallway—no smile, no greeting, complete disinterest. But if you stop them and ask how they are, they will hold an extensive speech on how things are going with them. This makes me wonder if academia is a uniquely self-preoccupied profession. Well, I guess I know the answer—it is.
• The interrupters--people who ask you how you are or how your summer was, only to give you exactly thirty seconds to reply before they launch into their own stories about their own lives. Or the ones who interrupt nearly every sentence you utter with some comment that diverts the conversation back to them. I would find it amusing if I didn’t find it so irritating. They’re like children clamoring for attention from their parents. Me, me, me…….
• The self-promoters—those who use any and all conversational attempts as an excuse to tell you how wonderful and great they are. Similar to the interrupters except that you rarely even get the chance to say a word. It’s as though they’re on promotional tours to tell you about a new book, and of course that ‘book’ is their life. My world and welcome to it……
• The besserwissers--people who don’t really listen to what you are telling them, and who are just waiting for an opening to jump in and insert their own comments about your situation. They’re champing at the bit. These are the aggressive people who always know better than you. In fact, they know it all, or they know best. Who can always tell you how you should have done something or how they did it and how you too can achieve or experience the same as they did, if only you do so-and-so.

The experience of actually being listened to, or of listening to others, is transforming. If you’ve ever wondered how to make someone’s day, try putting yourself aside and really listening to what another person has to say. Acknowledging others is important in conversation, and I don’t see much of this anymore. It can be as simple as a nod of the head, eye contact, or a smile from the person who asked you a question and is now listening to your answer.

Reconceptualization and revitalization

Everywhere I turn in Oslo, whether I walk down a (once) quiet side street or a noisy major thoroughfare, there is a building project underway. Some of them are quite extensive, involving roads that have been ripped up in order to install new water pipes. Others are renovation projects—store facades that need sprucing up, brick buildings that need sanding, or co-op apartment complexes that are adding balconies or new windows to individual apartments. Still others are major new construction projects—new apartment complexes being built (the Akerselva river is riddled with large new complexes--not a trend I like very much, because they will end up choking the life out of the river), new parking houses, new ‘super’ malls. It doesn’t matter what kind of project is involved. All of them are indicative of how wealthy this country has become. This country has so much money that its communities can design and build local neighborhood shopping centers, only to reconceptualize them eight or so years later, which involves extensive renovations to the existing structure. It’s all about ‘concept’ these days--finding the new concept that replaces the old. The turnaround time for concepts is very short now. A good case in point—the St. Hanshaugen shopping center that opened perhaps eight or nine years ago. When it opened, there was a good bakery, a bookstore, a flower store, a women’s clothes boutique, a liquor store, a Nille (like the Dollar store in the USA), a supermarket, a dry cleaning store, a home design store, a pharmacy, to name a few. What’s left of the original stores in the center? The supermarket and the dry cleaning store. We hardly get a chance to get to know a local shopping center, and poof, it’s gone or changed several years later, reconceptualized and replaced by a ‘new and better shopping center’ that will likely be replaced yet again in several years. This is the way it’s done now, and the locals have no say in the matter. I do know that I don’t like the constant change because it destroys the continuity that is necessary to build a loyal customer base in a city neighborhood. And it's the creation of small neighborhoods with their own stores, local cafés and restaurants that makes cities feel a bit less impersonal and overwhelming. The old center had bakery with a little café where the retired and elderly would sometimes meet for coffee and cake. I enjoyed seeing that—the locals gathering to sit and chat for a while as part of their daily routine.

The Kjellands Hus shopping center is the closest local shopping center to our co-op complex, and is no more than about two city blocks from the St. Hanshaugen shopping center. It started out (in 2006, if I recall correctly) with a supermarket, bookstore, a very large computer/electronics store, sports boutique, a flower store, and a couple of restaurants. The computer/electronics store closed about a year ago, and the space has been converted into three new stores—a liquor shop, a pharmacy, and a Nille. Guess where they moved from? The St. Hanshaugen shopping center. It doesn’t make much sense to me. I’m not sure which shopping center did better business or attracted more customers, but it seems to me that the St. Hanshaugen shopping center is on its way out, even though the changes are presented as a kind of revitalization. Time will tell.   

Quotes about infidelity

I suppose I will not be able to post these quotes today without someone wondering what triggered the desire to post them. I would answer that there is a psychology column written in the weekly magazine section of Aftenposten, the Norwegian newspaper. Sometimes I read it, most weeks I skip it. Today however, the column had to do with infidelity, a topic I have some personal and painful experience with from several decades ago (an unfaithful partner in a short-lived marriage). The writer, a ‘married-with-two kids’ young woman in her thirties, had written to the psychologist to tell him about her experience with infidelity. She had seduced a married colleague and according to her, they had experienced a wonderful time together. For reasons that she did not elaborate on, their affair ended. She had no regrets about having seduced this man, who let himself be seduced so he is not off the hook by any means, or about having betrayed her husband, whom she had not told about the affair and with whom she was still having sex. She missed her former lover and essentially stated that she would go to bed with him again in a minute. That was how much she missed him. I read this, and then thought, rather than writing a post and commenting on such a loaded topic, suppose I just go online and see what others have written about infidelity. I can tell you that in my online research, I came upon a book by Suzanne Finnamore, called Split: A Memoir of Divorce. I thought many of the quotes from her book were rather apt. So here are some of her quotes and pithy quotes from others about infidelity.

• I was steeped in denial, but my body knew.   ― Suzanne Finnamore, Split: A Memoir of Divorce
• I know one thing about men," Bunny says with finality, leaving the room to check on A. They never die when you want them to. ― Suzanne Finnamore
• Bushwhacked, I examine my hands. Same hands. Rings still there but no longer valid. ― Suzanne Finnamore
• Someday I will have revenge. I know in advance to keep this to myself, and everyone will be happier. I do understand that I am expected to forgive N and his girlfriend in a timely fashion, and move on to a life of vegetarian cooking and difficult yoga positions and self-realization, and make this so much easier and more pleasant for all concerned. ― Suzanne Finnamore
• Fuck you for cheating on me. Fuck you for reducing it to the word cheating. As if this were a card game, and you sneaked a look at my hand. Who came up with the term cheating, anyway? A cheater, I imagine. Someone who thought liar was too harsh. Someone who thought devastator was too emotional. The same person who thought, oops, he’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Fuck you. This isn’t about slipping yourself an extra twenty dollars of Monopoly money. These are our lives. You went and broke our lives. You are so much worse than a cheater. You killed something. And you killed it when its back was turned. ― David Levithan, The Lover's Dictionary
• Someone told me the delightful story of the crusader who put a chastity belt on his wife and gave the key to his best friend for safekeeping, in case of his death. He had ridden only a few miles away when his friend, riding hard, caught up with him, saying 'You gave me the wrong key! ― Anaïs Nin
• When your lover is a liar, you and he have a lot in common, you're both lying to you! ― Susan Forward, When Your Lover Is a Liar: Healing the Wounds of Deception and Betrayal
• Touch. It is touch that is the deadliest enemy of chastity, loyalty, monogamy, gentility with its codes and conventions and restraints. By touch we are betrayed and betray others ... an accidental brushing of shoulders or touching of hands ... hands laid on shoulders in a gesture of comfort that lies like a thief, that takes, not gives, that wants, not offers, that awakes, not pacifies. When one flesh is waiting, there is electricity in the merest contact. ― Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose
•  ...there was only one thing that interested her and that was getting into bed with men whenever she'd the chance. And I warned her straight. 'You'll be sorry one day, my girl, and wish you'd got me back'. ― Albert Camus, The Stranger
• It is a pity he did not write in pencil. As you have no doubt frequently observed, the impression usually goes through -- a fact which has dissolved many a happy marriage. ― Arthur Conan Doyle, The Return of Sherlock Holmes
• Affairs are like a seventh day. They are a break from all duties and obligations and responsibilities. I'm not saying this is right and I'm not saying it lightly. This is just how they are. You can't be responsible when you're with your lover. And since you already know you're way out of line, you go the extra distance. You throw yourself in headfirst. You become the very personification of irresponsible. You are way alive. Every detail sings. It would be a great way to live if it weren't so ruinous.  ― Wendy Plump
• I told my wife the truth. I told her I was seeing a psychiatrist. Then she told me the truth: that she was seeing a psychiatrist, two plumbers, and a bartender. ― Rodney Dangerfield
• It had been years since she questioned his fidelity, but he'd stepped on to the old fame track again, and that was where the road had taken them before. Infidelity could be forgiven, but forgetting it was impossible. Strangely, that wasn't what bothered her the most. What bothered her was that she didn't really care. ― Kristin Hannah, Distant Shores
• Most women think cheating is 'disgusting' … until they fall for a man that likes them back; but isn’t willing to leave his lover for them. ― Mokokoma Mokhonoana
• So the great affair is over but whoever would have guessed, It would leave us all so vacant and so deeply unimpressed, It's like our visit to the moon or to that other star, I guess you go for nothing if you really want to go that far. ― Leonard Cohen

A beautiful poem by the Irish poet Seamus Heaney

The Blackbird of Glanmore

On the grass when I arrive,

Filling the stillness with life,

But ready to scare off

At the very first wrong move,

In the ivy when I leave,

It's you, blackbird, I love.

I park, pause, take heed.

Breathe. Just breathe and sit

And lines I once translated

Come back: 'I want away

To the house of death, to my father

Under the low clay roof.'

And I think of one gone to him,

A little stillness dancer -

Haunter-son, lost brother -

Cavorting through the yard,

So glad to see me home,

My homesick first term over.

And think of a neighbour's words

Long after the accident;

'Yon bird on the shed roof,

Up on the ridge for weeks -

I said nothing at the time

But I never liked yon bird'

The automatic lock

Clunks shut, the blackbird's panic

Is shortlived, for a second

I've a bird's eye view of myself,

A shadow on raked gravel

In front of my house of life.

Hedge-hop, I am absolute

For you, your ready talkback,

Your each stand-offish comeback,

Your picky, nervy goldbeak -

On the grass when I arrive,

In the ivy when I leave.

---------------------------------------

‘Fake it until you make it’ (then what?)

I subscribe to a number of email publications having to do with the business world and its ever-fascinating opinions, buzzwords, mantras and current trends. Nothing too complicated; most articles debate the following types of issues: qualities of good leaders, how to break through the glass ceiling, is there a glass ceiling for women, have we achieved gender equality, how women should act in a male-dominated profession, and so on. The new mantra for women on the way up is apparently ‘Fake it until you make it’; this is proffered as a way for women to feel ok about the fact that there are a number of men in top-level positions who are not qualified for them, but since they act as though they are (they fake their competence and/or readiness), they get promoted whereas women don’t. So if men do it, it’s ok for women to do it too. This expression makes me cringe whenever I hear it uttered, at least in the way it’s currently used. It conflicts with nearly every moral principle I was taught since I was a young child. We were taught to be honest, forthright and not to lie. We were certainly not taught to ‘fake’ anything. Fakers were frowned upon; if you look up the word ‘faker’, some of the synonyms are liar, pretender, fraud, phony, pretender, and impostor. Sorry, but these are not the type of personality descriptions you want attached to you, not in the business world, and definitely not in the academic research world. We were taught to work hard at whatever course of study we chose to pursue, and in that way, we would achieve success in our chosen profession. And if our eventual goals were to be the boss or leader of a department, for example, we accepted that we had to earn that position; that it would not be handed to us in our twenties or early thirties without having earned it. And by earning it, I mean, working your way up from being a project and/or team leader with responsibility for one or two people, to a larger project with responsibility for a few more people, and so on. Slow but steady progress up over. In this way, you gained the necessary emotional intelligence as well as the professional qualifications necessary to assume a leadership position. So that perhaps after ten or fifteen years in the workforce (closer to thirty-five or forty years old), you could be considered qualified to lead a large team of people or even a department. At this point, there would be no doubt that you were qualified for the leadership position; there would be no need to ‘fake’ anything.

Nothing is worse than ‘feeling/knowing’ that you don’t measure up or don’t fit the criteria necessary to do a good job; I have felt that way once in my life, when I was elected student council president in my senior year of high school. I was totally unprepared for the job, naive, not a spontaneous idea-maker, and not particularly social. But I was the smartest student in my class, and that was enough to get me nominated. Enough people had faith in my abilities such that they voted for me. But I lacked faith in myself and my abilities, and I could not fake my way through that year. I cannot say that I failed at the job, but I did not succeed at it either. I walked around with a constant knot in my stomach, worrying about how lousy a job I was doing, about my lack of spontaneous creativity and ability to pull a team together with inspiring words. I do not remember that time as enjoyable; it was a stress I could have done without. I should have said no to the nomination, but I did not, and I don’t know why. Part of saying yes was out of a sense of duty. Many years later, I understand that this type of position was simply not a good fit for me; I did it, but found no joy in the job. Nothing is worse than feeling that the eyes of those you lead or those who look up to you are constantly upon you, waiting for you to slip up so they can say ‘I told you that you weren't good enough, smart enough, confident enough, etc.’ This is how you feel; the reality may be quite another story. Most people probably wish you well and don’t think much more about it. They’re certainly not overly-preoccupied with whether you succeed or fail; they have enough to do in their own lives. Nevertheless, the fact remains that I was not qualified for the job. Several years later, I experienced the opposite. I got a summer job that I mastered with ease; I was hired to ease the backlog of returned orders of pens and pencils whose logos were misspelled or wrong.  We were a group of about ten women, working in the returned-goods department; our jobs were to tackle the returns, figure out the mistakes, and send the orders on for re-processing. I loved this summer job. I got to work mostly alone (my preference in most jobs) on the tasks at hand—dealing with the processing of returned orders and the requisite associated paperwork. Once I learned the rudiments of the job (which forms to file and where they should get sent), it was clear sailing from thereon. It was a simple job, but one that instilled confidence because you knew what to do and when to do it, and you got the necessary feedback (good work, or work harder). The department head took notice of me when I managed to clear my desk of the hundreds of returns assigned to me within a few weeks as well as to motivate the ladies in my department to plow through the backlog and get it done. We hung up posters with the numbers of ‘how many returns down and how many to go’; that sort of thing. We made it and helped the company out of a real tight spot. At the end of the summer, I was offered a full-time job as leader of that department; I was nineteen years old. I would have reported to the man who noticed my work, and would have replaced the woman (in her mid-thirties) who had the position (they would have fired her and instated me). The job would have been a springboard to a career in business. But I did not feel that I was at all ready to lead a department at nineteen years of age; I had no real people skills in the sense of knowing how to deal with different personalities in the workplace. I was ‘book-smart’ but not ‘people-smart’. I am fairly sure that I would have been an unprepared and nervous leader, in short, not a good leader at that time. I chose rather to fulfill my degree in science, and ultimately chose research science as a profession. I did not feel like an impostor in my little summer job, but I might have felt like one had I said yes to taking on department leadership at that age. I don’t feel like an impostor in research either. My view is that you have to like the work involved, but also feel that you can master it. Additionally, you have to have bosses/leaders who give feedback and constructive advice, and who are honest with you about your chances of succeeding in that profession. You have to be able to trust their motives where your future is concerned. These types of people seem to be at a premium these days.

I know that this phrase arose as a way for employees, mostly women, to deal with and overcome feeling like impostors in their positions. The impostor syndrome seems to be widespread among highly-educated intelligent women from what I read; something that strikes me as quite irrational. But does faking feeling successful make you feel better about yourself when you feel like an impostor? Does it make you do a better job? And just because a number of men do this, do women need to do it? What I guess I am saying is that if you feel like an impostor in your job 100% of the time, perhaps your brain and heart are telling you something important that you should listen to—that maybe you’re in the wrong job or wrong profession. Nevertheless, I think we need to reevaluate this expression and stop using it to falsely bolster confidence, especially where women are concerned. Perhaps a better way to phrase it would be: ‘Visualize mastering what you work so hard at. Visualize succeeding at it. Visualize yourself doing it in your mind’s eye. Visualize your impact on those around you’. And if your mind’s eye cannot ‘see’ you doing it with a fairly high degree of confidence, rethink your goals. If you feel only dread and fear about being at the top or doing what it is you think is expected of you, is it worth it? There’s nothing worse than ‘arriving’, only to wonder, ‘what do I do now that I've arrived?’ ‘Making it’ is not a goal in and of itself, no matter how much ‘faking’ is involved; there has to be more substance to the goal. What do you want to do with the top position, and why? Do you want to help your company and your employees, or just promote yourself and your career? I think those questions are worth exploring and answering, and will go a long way toward making you feel like you have the right to be where you are, that you've earned that right, and that you go forward with confidence and the smarts necessary to do a good job. Because there are too many men in top positions who have no business being there; who are miserable leaders and who do not know how to listen or to communicate with their employees. These men have risen to the level of their incompetence, which in some cases is quite high within an organization. I don’t think we need more bad leaders in the form of women who are just like these men. I’m looking for real leadership, inspiring and competent leadership; I’ll take a truly-qualified, honest, humble man or woman over a faker any day.

Summer memories

As promised, photos of my recent trip to New York, Maryland and Virginia. As I was going through my photos, I realized once again how lovely my country is. The order of the photos follows the timeline in my previous post, Summer Moments in New York, Maryland and Virginia. Enjoy.

 

one of two reflecting pools at the Memorial site

The Survivor Pear Tree 

The new One World Trade Center

New Jersey skyline

The North Cove Marina in NYC

view of surrounding area in Gambrill State Park, Maryland

Hunting Creek Lake in Catoctin Mountain Park, Maryland

Hunting Creek Lake

A marsh in north Virginia--photo taken through train window

approaching New York City---photo taken through train window

New York City--photo taken from train

Garrison, New York, on the Hudson River

Garrison, NY

Guinan's Pub (the subject of Gwendolyn Bounds wonderful book 'Little Chapel on the River') in Garrison

Jim Guinan, owner of the pub, passed away in 2009

view of West Point across the river from Guinan's pub

the lovely Hudson River, facing north from the walkway

view of the Hudson River facing south from the walkway

Summer moments in New York, Maryland and Virginia

I returned to Oslo last week after a wonderful vacation in the USA, where I visited the states of New York, Maryland and Virginia. As always, my trip was full of wonderful moments, all a part of my visits with my good friends and family. I did a lot of traveling on this trip; I arrived in Newark New Jersey by plane on a Thursday afternoon and spent Thursday and Friday with my friend Gisele in Manhattan. We visited the National September 11 Memorial, located at the sites of the 9/11 attacks on the Twin Towers. It was a very moving experience. On our way out of the site, we stopped in the gift store and I bought a book called ‘The Survivor Tree’, about the callery pear tree that survived the 9/11 attacks despite suffering extensive damage and burns, and was replanted at the Memorial site in December 2010. We got a chance to see this tree on the site; it has branched and grown quite high. One of the tourist guides told us that it is the only tree in which the birds will nest. I bought the book because it will be a positive reminder of a tree that symbolizes strength, hope and survival; something sorely needed in the midst of the sorrow and personal tragedies that the memorial site honors and asks us to remember. Afterward, we walked through Battery Park and up along the Esplanade (west side of Manhattan), where we had lunch at the Merchants River House restaurant. We then walked north as far as Vesey Street and then took a subway back to the Hilton Hotel in midtown. It was a beautiful day in Manhattan, and I shot some lovely photos of the boats sailing on the Hudson River, as well as some night photos of the hotel and the surrounding area. New York City at night is always a photographic adventure—the colors, the lighting, the digital effects.

On Saturday, I took the Vamoose bus from Penn Station to Bethesda Maryland to visit my cousin Karen and her husband Naj who live in Potomac. The Vamoose bus is the cheapest way to get to the Washington DC area and I recommend it; the wi-fi on board worked very well and the bus made one pit stop during the four hour trip. Karen, Naj and I spent Saturday talking and catching up; on Sunday, we decided to hike in Gambrill State Park, a lovely mountain park located on the ridge of the Catoctin Mountains in Frederick County. After hiking we ate a delicious brunch buffet at The Cozy Inn & Restaurant in Thurmont Maryland, not far from the presidential retreat Camp David. The inn has an interesting history, having been visited by a number of presidents through the years, understandably a source of pride for its owners. Maryland is a beautiful state, with lush green forests and meadows; this was reinforced for me when I took the Amtrak train further south (from Washington DC) to Williamsburg Virginia to visit my sister Renata and her husband Tim (from Monday until Wednesday). The train passed through some amazingly beautiful rural areas and marshes in Maryland and Virginia on its way to Williamsburg. My sister picked me up there and we drove to their home in Poquoson (not far from the ocean), where they were living up until this past week. We had a very nice time hanging out, watching movies, talking, eating and laughing. Their dog Dale ended up with his head in my lap while we were watching movies; this kind of trust from a dog that has been reasonably skeptical to having me around on previous visits. I also had an early morning visitor in the form of their cat Sugar, who spent one hour with her head in my armpit, sleeping and purring. I have not spent much time in Virginia; I remember that we may have visited Virginia on a family vacation long ago when we were children, but details of that trip are mostly forgotten. In any case, it too is a lovely state from the little of it I got to see.

I returned to Manhattan by Amtrak train (an eight hour trip) from Williamsburg on Wednesday; I thought I might go stir crazy sitting all that time but the trip went surprisingly well. Of course I had my iPad with my Kindle books, music and Candy Crush game to keep me occupied. Again, the onboard wi-fi worked well and I was able to write and send some emails as well. So time passed fairly quickly. I was however quite tired by the time the train arrived at Penn Station in Manhattan, and I still had to get to Grand Central Station, where I boarded yet another train to take me to Peekskill. My friend Jean picked me up there, and from then on I was in upstate New York, in Cortland Manor where she lives and where I love being, until I left to return to Oslo the following Monday. Thursday found us in Sleepy Hollow, first to have lunch with my brother Ray and his children (my niece Tamar and nephew Eli), and then to visit the cemetery where our parents are buried. Our friend Maria joined us on Friday, and we hung around, talked, laughed, ate, watched a movie, went to see Menopause the Musical (quite funny), went to her nieces’ birthday party for cake and coffee, then to hear her brother Jim and his three sons play good ol’ rock and roll in their band Crucible (the youngest son, Dean, is fourteen years old and an unbelievable drummer). We also managed a trip to the Garrison train station so that I could see Guinan’s Pub (now closed) which is situated right behind the train platform on the river side. It was the subject of Gwendolyn Bounds wonderful book Little Chapel on the River (I wrote about this book in a March 2013 post---http://paulamdeangelis.blogspot.no/2013/03/reading-about-and-remembering-hudson.html). Someone had written on the pub’s green door—R.I.P., referring to the owner Jim Guinan who passed away in 2009. I took some photos of the pub, and took a long look inside through the dusty windows. The bar has long since been emptied of inventory and furniture, but I could ‘see’ how it must have looked in its heyday. If you walk down to the Hudson River from the pub and look across to the other side of the river, you can see West Point; it reminded me of the parts of the book about the West Point cadets who sneaked across the river in order to visit the pub and have a beer or two. 

On Sunday, another sunny blue-sky summer day, we drove to Poughkeepsie and walked across the Hudson River on the old Poughkeepsie-Highland Railroad Bridge that was converted to a pedestrian footbridge and opened in 2009 as The Walkway over the Hudson (http://www.walkway.org/, and http://nysparks.com/parks/178/details.aspx). It is the longest footbridge in the world, according to Wikipedia, about 1.28 miles long. A very nice walk, with signs hung up along the bridge with interesting information about its history, the turbidity and pH of the Hudson River at different locations, the bird life in the area, and so on. As we stood on the bridge facing north, we could see and hear the freight trains passing on the Highland side of the river, but we were not sure where they ended up. Each time I am in the vicinity of the Hudson River, it hooks me, and I want to explore it more, hopefully with them. I decided then and there that on future visits to New York, I want to do the Hudson River Walk as well as to take a boat ride up along the Hudson River. This river is in my blood, I grew up in a small town on its banks, and its history continues to fascinate me.

My friends and I always manage to do a lot of interesting things in the time we have together, and it's always enjoyable because we are doing those things together. And the same goes for my family too. I only wish I could spend more time with everyone. That will come to pass next summer, God willing. I will be posting some photos of this trip in my next post.

A new poem

Reflections on an August morning

On the train again

Hiking my way onward

To those places that grab my heart

Pulling me in a million small ways

The sound of cicadas; mosquitoes swarm in

Lying on my back in bed, remembering

Watching sunlight play on the trees

Green and leafy outside my window

Dusty panes reflected in the sunlight

I am no stranger to reflections

I have the time, I am on the train

Watching the greenery and life go by

Staring out onto the land

I never knew how green my country was

Or how beautiful, but now I know

Part of it is the wanting it to be so

Dream-like state, this passage

Through the trees and surrounding lakes and marshes

Leading through one state

On my way to yet another

copyright 2013  Paula M De Angelis

I wrote this poem while I was on the train from Washington DC to Williamsburg Virginia. The train passed through some beautiful countryside and landscapes in both Maryland and Virginia, and I reflected on how lucky I was to be able to experience the tranquil beauty of my country in this way. 

Back in a 'New York State of Mind'

Back in my home state on my annual trip to visit family and friends. Just thought I'd celebrate New York with the lyrics to a beautiful song called 'New York State of Mind' by Billy Joel.

------------------------------------
Some folks like to get away
Take a holiday from the neighbourhood
Hop a flight to Miami Beach
Or to Hollywood
But I'm taking a Greyhound
On the Hudson River Line
I'm in a New York state of mind 

I've seen all the movie stars
In their fancy cars and their limousines
Been high in the Rockies under the evergreens
But I know what I'm needing
And I don't want to waste more time
I'm in a New York state of mind 

It was so easy living day by day
Out of touch with the rhythm and blues
But now I need a little give and take
The New York Times, The Daily News 

It comes down to reality
And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide
Don't care if it's Chinatown or on Riverside
I don't have any reasons
I've left them all behind
I'm in a New York state of mind 

It was so easy living day by day
Out of touch with the rhythm and blues
But now I need a little give and take
The New York Times, The Daily News 

It comes down to reality
And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide
Don't care if it's Chinatown or on Riverside
I don't have any reasons
I've left them all behind
I'm in a New York state of mind 

I'm just taking a Greyhound on the Hudson River Line
'Cause I'm in a New York state of mind

Bicycle bullies

• There are too many of them in this city, and most of them are men in their thirties and forties.
• They travel as fast as cars do in the middle of the city, but ignore traffic lights and do just as they please. They are traffic hazards. You never know where you have them.
• They are supposed to get off their bikes and walk them across the pedestrian crosswalks; this almost never happens.
• They travel too fast on footpaths that are designed for both pedestrians and cyclists. They act annoyed when you don’t move out of their way fast enough.
• That there haven’t been more serious accidents in Oslo involving them and pedestrians surprises me.
• Apropos my last post about the baby hedgehog; I’m sure the majority of the bicycle bullies would just drive right over one in their path, crush it and move on. Perhaps that’s mean of me to say, but I don’t get the impression that these people care too much about anyone or anything except themselves, and about getting to where they’re going as fast as possible, obstacles be damned.
• The most stupid thing I’ve seen so far is those of them who are steering the bike with one hand and talking on a cell phone with the other. Honestly, what is so important that you need the dangerous distraction of a cell phone? Who do you think you’re impressing? And if it’s really a serious matter, pull over to the roadside, stop and take the call.
• They act as though they are competing in the Tour de France, and they dress accordingly.
• In Amsterdam--bicycle city deluxe--the bicyclists know how to behave in traffic and don’t all look as though they are Tour de France competitors. They dress in ordinary clothing and are far more relaxed. The same is true for another bicycle city—Copenhagen. Why does Oslo have to stand out in this way? It impresses no one.
• Isn’t it possible to bike anymore without having to ‘dress the part’ from head to toe?
• Isn’t it possible to enjoy being out in nature, to stop along the way and admire a lake or a flower, without having to speed your way through all that is beautiful around you?
• Get over yourselves. The rest of us are not impressed.

How a baby hedgehog stole my heart

Who would have thought that I could lose my heart to a little baby hedgehog? To be honest, I had never seen a hedgehog before last Thursday evening. I had heard of them, but they were mostly small creatures who populated children’s books; The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle in the book by Beatrix Potter comes to mind. Beatrix Potter used her pet hedgehog Tiggy-Winkle as inspiration for her story. It is so coincidental that we were just in Beatrix Potter country—England’s Lake District--on vacation. Last Thursday evening we found an adorable baby hedgehog (pinnsvin in Norwegian) on our way home from the boat, either abandoned by its mother or perhaps mother and baby got separated by accident. It was struggling to survive, so we took her home, washed her and fed her with some sugar water, after talking to the hedgehog experts at Pinnsvinhjelpen.no. They suggested we feed her cat food, egg yolk mixed with sugar water, and lactose-free heavy cream, and emphasized that she needed to be kept warm during the night. So we followed their advice and the following morning (Friday) she was awake and hungry. A visit to Jette at Pinnsvinhjelpen in Ski on Saturday afternoon was very productive; she gave us dry cat food (among other useful items) that she told us to mix with hot water so that it got mushy. She was certain that Hedgie (the name we gave the little hedgehog) would love this mix, and she was so right. Hedgie not only liked to eat this, but she ‘anointed’ herself with small bits of it; self-anointing is a hedgehog behavior that is not well understood. Hedgehogs will place small bits of chewed food on their backs; possible explanations are that this is a way of perfuming themselves, or that they like the taste of something new and this is a way of acknowledging that. Whatever the reason, it is humorous to watch them do this, and I filmed her doing this while she ate her cat food mush (http://youtu.be/kPgHYgTCdwA).

I wasn’t prepared for how attached I got to this little creature. She stole my heart with her wobbly gait, desire to be held, desire to snuggle and to burrow into the crook of your arm, how she would fall asleep in your hand, her cute little face, her trusting nature, her sweetness, her wild scent. Mealtimes were a treat—just to watch her tramp around in the cat food mush and then afterwards to dip her in lukewarm water to wash off most of what was stuck to her. She was with us until Sunday afternoon, at which time we drove her to her new home, a farm in southwest Norway, where her new family lives. Here there will be a garden for Hedgie to wander around in eventually, and possibly there will be other hedgehogs to join her at some point. Perhaps Hedgie will become a mother herself one day. That would be a good thing, since these little creatures are on the endangered species list here in Norway, and are now protected by law. It is possible to keep them as indoor pets, but it would not be fair to them. In our case, we would not be able to offer her a garden or even a terrace, and that would not be best for her. But how I wanted to keep her.

It’s not surprising that I’d never seen a hedgehog before; they are not native to the Americas. And even though hedgehogs have thousands of spines on their backs like porcupines, they are not related to them at all. They have more in common with shrews according to what I’ve read online. Hedgehogs are omnivorous, meaning that they will eat berries and melon as well as insects, snails (e.g. the brown snails that infest many of the gardens in east Norway) and frogs. They can live for up to seven years. They are nocturnal animals; born blind, their eyes will open fully at around four weeks. Hedgie was about three weeks old when we found her, so she would open her eyes briefly from time to time. She weighed 100 grams last Thursday; her new family just informed me that her weight is up to 105 grams, a good sign. She is eating and she is happy. And that makes me happy, even though yesterday when we came home to an empty apartment—without Hedgie—I was not at all happy. I missed her incredibly. I’m posting some photos of her; it won’t take you long to figure out why I lost my heart to her.

In memory of a good man

Do not stand at my grave and weep

by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die. 

--------------------------------

In memory of my friend Jean's father, Jim, who passed away at 97 this past Wednesday. May he rest in peace. I know he is together now with his wife. Sometimes Jean and I would comment, when we visit Sleepy Hollow cemetery, that her parents' grave is right near my parents' grave, and that perhaps they have all met each other now and are together in heaven, happy and at peace. I hope so. 

Watching the zombie world war unfold

World War Z. I saw this film the night it had its premiere in Oslo (July 11^th) at the Colosseum in Oslo. Packed theater. Lights go down. The film starts. Normal family life for the first ten minutes, with Brad Pitt as Gerry Lane, who used to work as an investigator for the United Nations, and who now seems to be a stay-at-home dad, making his kids pancakes for breakfast. And then they’re in their car, he and his wife and two children, stuck in traffic on a Philadelphia city street. Normal life ends right here. All hell breaks loose in Philadelphia in a scene that is guaranteed to make you feel like you’re climbing endlessly to the top of a roller coaster hill followed by an unpleasant ride down, only to start on the next climb. That’s how the film continues for almost two hours. An intense, relentless, horrific ride to the finish. The final five minutes of the film resemble the first ten minutes—family togetherness, in this case, a reunion. In between, you’ve got to be made of stone not to be affected by some of the scenes that pop out at you (literally, thanks to the 3-D): the stewardess-turned-zombie moving on from economy class to the front of the plane on the plane ride from and to hell after having been bitten by a stowaway zombie, as well as the scene in the WHO facility in Cardiff Wales, where the former head of the lab, now a zombie, tries to ‘understand’ what happened to his prey (Gerry) who has injected himself with a deadly pathogen in order to camouflage himself from the zombies. This zombie won’t attack Gerry because the pathogen makes the prey sick and the zombies can smell sickness which they avoid.

The film has some similarities to other films/TV series in this genre: 28 Days Later (the fast-moving zombies, how quickly people ‘turn’ after having been bitten, and the apartment hallway scene where they climb the stairs to flee the zombies), Resident Evil (the suspenseful lab/facility scenes), The Walking Dead (the dimly-lit corridor scenes with zombies waiting to attack just around the corner), and a few others. But it’s on its own when it comes to some specific scenes: zombies swarming and piling up on each other like insects in order to scale the huge wall in Israel erected to keep them out, and the unbelievable plane scene come to mind. I think what sets this film apart is the relentlessness of the zombie hordes and the sheer numbers of zombies. Cities are overrun in minutes. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. There is no time to hatch a plot, to follow it through. Panic ensues immediately among the crowds of people trying to flee. You’ve got to think on your feet, and if you don’t keep moving, as Gerry points out, you’re dead. Meaning you’re a zombie.

There are some implausible scenarios. One of them is when the plane crashes in the mountains of Wales and Gerry awakens and finds himself wounded and dripping blood. The female Israeli soldier he’s traveling with, Segen (played by Daniella Kertesz), who has had her arm hacked off by Gerry after having been bit by a zombie, has also survived. For a brief second, it looks as though she may transform. But she doesn’t. They both walk the distance it takes for them to reach the WHO research facility in Cardiff that is their intended destination. But my question is--why wasn’t there a horde of zombies attracted to the site of the plane crash? The zombies are apparently attracted by noise, and wouldn’t a crashing plane make a lot of noise? The other is when Gerry and Segen are walking very slowly through town on their way to the WHO facility, her supporting him since he is having problems walking. Where are the zombies? Or is Cardiff a zombie-free zone? It’s not made clear, or if it was, I missed it. They had ample time to reach the facility, something that seems rather out of tune with the rest of the film. Additionally, Gerry is losing blood fast, something the zombies would definitely register.

Once inside the facility though, they meet a team of scientists who are very skeptical to their presence; they want to know why they’ve come. Gerry explains his theory about using pathogens to camouflage the living from the ‘undead’, and they agree that his theory is worth testing. However, there are zombies wandering the halls of the wing of the lab building where the pathogens are stored; they are rather sluggish due to the lack of prey. They became zombies because the lead researcher accidentally infected himself with the blood of a zombie. And that led to his attacking other staff members; the uninfected managed to seal off this wing to keep the undead out.  

I’m halfway through the book of the same name by Max Brooks. I’d have to describe the tone of the book in much the same way—relentless and creepy, but the relentlessness and creepiness are spread out over many pages and the story unfolds gradually through the voices of the different people interviewed, who inform about what they have witnessed in a matter-of-fact tone. The book and the film are very different in this respect, as there is no ‘main’ character like Gerry in the book. But the ever-increasing paranoia and the shocking events are similar; the paranoia is perhaps more pronounced in the book than in the film. And at least with the book, I can put it down when I’ve had enough for an evening. Unless you close your eyes in the theater, it’s hard to escape what’s going on. At certain points, I had to remind myself that it was a film, to breathe normally. It occurred to me that World War Z is not a film for the kiddies or the weak of heart (just like roller coaster rides generally). I know I needed a few days to calm down after having seen it. I wonder if Brad Pitt let his kids watch this one?

Classic postcards of Tarrytown's treasures

A set of very old postcards of Tarrytown's architectural and historical treasures was among the items my father had in his collection of letters and documents, probably purchased during his teenage years. The postcards are undated, but must be from the 1930s, for several good reasons. The Lyndhurst postcard states that it is the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Finley J. Shepard. Mrs. Shepard was none other than Helen Gould, the daughter of railroad magnate Jay Gould who owned Lyndhurst until his death in 1892, at which point Helen took charge of the estate. She passed away in 1938. Additionally, another postcard is of the beautiful Warner Library, construction of which started in 1928; the dedication ceremony was held in 1929, and my best guess is that artistic renderings of the library flourished during the 1930s. My father was born in 1918 in Tarrytown and would have been a teenager during the 1930s; assuming that he would not have started collecting such cards until he was twelve or thirteen years old, it makes sense that these postcards are from that time. Just like the Cambridge postcards, the front sides of the Tarrytown postcards state specifically what is depicted on them, which I find very useful.