A Town and A Valley, now in paperback

Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky

The Soviet-Russian Strugatsky brothers Arkady and Boris wrote a brilliant book in 1971 that I have finally gotten around to reading--Roadside Picnic. I took the long way around to arriving at this book; as I've written in previous posts, I first watched the film Annihilation, which led to the film Stalker, which led to my reading the Southern Reach book trilogy (Annihilation, Authority, Acceptance). Book I-Annihilation--is the book on which the film Annihilation is based. After reading the trilogy, I read Roadside Picnic on which Stalker is based. I love when one book or film suggests another; that is the moment when everything around me feels expansive, limitless, full of possibility. A wonderful feeling of freedom, the freedom to move in any direction and to explore boundlessly......

I gave Roadside Picnic five stars on Goodreads, and wrote a review of it that I am posting here: 

The Strugatsky brothers' sci-fi novel draws you into the world of the Zone and the Stalkers immediately. An alien visit to Earth (was it an alien roadside picnic) results in their leaving behind litter and artifacts that are localized to specific areas called Zones. One of these is located in the fictional town of Harmont in an unnamed English-speaking country. The Zone is not a safe area for human beings, rather, it is a minefield of dangers lurking almost at every turn. Few people who venture into the Zone return alive. But there are some few who do--the Stalkers. Redrick Schuhart is a Stalker, a man who leads others into the Zone so that they can explore/ retrieve items left by the aliens, as there is a black market for such items. He is married to Guta, and they have a little girl (nicknamed Monkey) who was born with a mutation (excessive body hair, almost like fur) like most of the children of stalkers. Normal life in Harmont is interspersed with descriptions of the Zone and the oddities/dangers that exist within it: hell slime, spacells, bug traps, the meatgrinder, vibrating 'ghosts', and a Golden Sphere that grants one's innermost wishes. The latter has legendary status, having only been seen (not experienced) by one old stalker named Vulture, who has lost his legs after contact with hell slime. He had wanted to retrieve the sphere for his own purposes, but ends up giving the map showing its whereabouts to Red. Red and the Vulture's son (Arthur) venture into the Zone in order to find the sphere, and their trek is the subject of the latter part of the novel. The novel is a phenomenal read from start to finish.

The novel truly is an incredible read, and I will likely reread it at some point. The film Stalker by Andrei Tarkovsky really did not do it complete justice, even though it was a good film. The book is better. Tarkovsky's film ultimately became too philosophical; I would have preferred that he focus on the alien and hellish aspects of the Zone much more, e.g., hell slime, the meatgrinder, and so on. Essentially I wish he had made a more sci-fi-oriented film. He did manage to impart an eerie feeling when the Stalker and the men he was guiding enter the Zone and must take care not to 'disturb' it in any way. But in my online research about the movie, I discovered that the screenplay was written by the Strugatsky brothers and was loosely based on their novel. So Tarkovsky's movie is really the movie that the Strugatsky brothers wanted made. Both the book and the movie are considered to be sci-fi classics. 

Victorian Vampire Stories

It's rare to come across a collection of short stories that is so engaging as the collection I am reading now. Of course one must be an aficionado of vampire and horror stories to truly appreciate them, and I am. The only other collection of short stories in the horror genre that I feel the same way about was the one I read back in 2020--H.P. Lovecraft's horror stories. They were individual masterpieces for the most part and I wrote a post at that time about his stories and how much I enjoyed them: A New Yorker in Oslo: The creepy and engrossing stories of H.P. Lovecraft (paulamdeangelis.blogspot.com)

The collection of vampire stories I am currently reading is entitled Dracula's Guest: A Connoisseur's Collection of Victorian Vampire Stories, edited by Michael Sims (available on Amazon at Dracula's Guest (Connoisseur's Collections): Sims, Michael: 9781408809969: Amazon.com: Books ). The Victorian Era extended from 1837 to 1901 and was an era filled with social change and political reforms, despite being described as a repressive era, especially sexually. The stories in this collection were written/published during this time. You might think that the Victorians, being the straight-laced repressed people they are often described as, would not be writing (or reading) these types of stories. You'd be wrong. The writing styles are at times verbose and overly-descriptive, but the plots are engrossing, strange, and often creepy. There are stories about entire families that become vampires (The Family of the Vourdalak--quite scary if you can visualize it as an eventual movie, as I could), one about an invisible vampire (What Was It?), one about a very old woman whose younger companion, a male doctor, supplies her with young blood to keep her alive (Good Lady Ducayne), and one about a man who remarries after his first wife dies but who wishes that his first wife could live again (Wake Not the Dead). There are many others that are similarly strange and engrossing, so I recommend buying the book to read them all.  

I found reading the short descriptions about the authors almost as interesting as the stories themselves. Leo Tolstoy's brother, Aleksei, wrote The Family of the Vourdalak; he was a talented writer in his own right. Good Lady Ducayne was written by Mary Elizabeth Braddon, considered to be a premier sensation novelist (one who wrote nerve-wracking and thrilling, sometimes titillating novels). Other stories were written by the romantic poet Lord Byron, and Anne Crawford (who came from a family of artists and writers). These writers may not have described everything in explicit detail, but there was no need to. Readers understand what is said and what is implied, and that is sufficient. These writers were in no way repressed; far from it. 

Reflections on relevance, leadership, and freedom

Once you are no longer a part of the work world, a certain amount of your professional relevance disappears. For many people, that is the same as their professional identity, and it can be difficult to deal with that 'loss' of identity. Perhaps it is most difficult for those who had leadership responsibilities; it seems to be difficult for some to acknowledge that they are not 'in charge' anymore. They may cast around for new venues that will allow them to be in charge once again, and that can be somewhat disconcerting for those who know them. I don't feel that I've lost my professional identity now that I am no longer working. I am no longer relevant to my former workplace, that's true, but I trained as a scientist and a scientist I will always be. It's in my blood, in the same way as my love of books and movies is in my blood. I've always focused on keeping my personal identity alive. After all, even when I was working, I still had nights and weekends and vacations to pursue my hobbies and interests. And I did. 

There is a lot of freedom in no longer having to be relevant to a workplace. I am now free to write and to verbalize about many aspects of workplaces with which I was dissatisfied. It won't lead to much in the sense that workplaces will continue doing pretty much what they've been doing; my opinions won't change them. But it feels good to have that freedom to comment on them, to not have to be so careful about what I say or how I say it. I've always taken good care to not be rude or destructive in my previous posts about workplaces, and that won't change. But I can now state more emphatically that I agree or disagree with this or that way of doing things. I was able to do that this past summer at a garden party, and it felt good. And one of my former leaders (who is no longer a leader) actually agreed with me, whereas when she was my leader, she would have probably told me that my comments were out of place. It made me view her in a new light, because I thought, ah yes, she too had to report to a leader above her, and that was probably not always the easiest thing to do. So I gained a new understanding of her and her attempts (mostly unsuccessful) at being a good leader. As I've stated before, most of the leaders I've had to do with have not been good leaders. And a few are honest and say that themselves. I'm not sure I would have been a good leader either, at least not a top-level leader. There's too much blah blah ad nauseam. I am solution-oriented; I don't want to meet and talk for hours about how to get something done, I want to discuss what needs to be discussed, come up with some plans for a solution(s) (if there are problems), and execute them. I am practical by nature, at least where the work world is concerned. 

I've been a team and project leader and I've reported to several leaders above me during a long career. I've also participated in committee work at the highest leadership level at my former workplace and found it rather disappointing. I had a (rather) utopian view of it; I thought that there was much more freedom at the top level to set things in motion, to be innovative, to be efficient, to effect change. I found out that that wasn't necessarily the case; more often, it was frustrating work. There wasn't more freedom, because in the end, we are always having to answer to other people; we are never truly free. Top-level leaders must answer to the politicians who deal out the money that keeps public sector workplaces going. And unfortunately politicians don't always understand what's at stake or what is needed. Sometimes it amazes me that anything gets done at all in the public sector. But it does, so that's proof that things do work, albeit very very slowly and in a frustrating manner. I probably would have experienced less frustration in the private sector. But it's a moot point at this juncture in my life. 

Train from Michigan--one of my early poems

I wrote this poem in 1988, three years after my father died, and published it in my first-ever collection of poems--Parables and Voices. I've decided to share some of my early poetry with you, as an introduction to my poetry writing. I've been writing for years, ever since I was fourteen years old. Poetry is a wonderful way to express one's feelings, and oftentimes one ends up with a poem that one could never have predicted from the outset. Train from Michigan is one of those poems.

Train from Michigan   

I dreamed then of my father, I was

On the train; outside a yellow moon

Full-light circle against the blue-black sky.

His face came into memory

As I drifted in the sleep of transit,

That is uneasy and unsettled.

We crossed, from Michigan into Ohio,

The train's whistle blowing lonely

As though miles ahead of us--

Yet ever with us through the night.

I thought the thoughts of transit--

My father, dead these three years,

Perhaps traveled this same train

Bound from Michigan to New York.

He knew people in the north of Michigan,

Farmers and ultimately life-long friends.

I see his face, with me always.

My head rests lightly against the train window--

When I awake it is because my head has banged 

And fallen against the window, jarring me.

I visit friends, they live in Michigan now

Having moved there from New York; hence my trip's purpose.

I meet new people on the way to visit old friends,

And think about old friendships as I make my way home.

New people I am always letting in; they find me or

We find each other--one in particular spoke of kindred spirits

On our way out to Michigan; his words surprised me.

Do they, these spirits, find each other?

Are we all in search of one?

About trains, I know they draw me so,

Luring me with the call to adventure,

Like a call to arms.

I boarded one, bound for Michigan,

And then one back, to New York.

Time spread out over hours of track--

Moving me, my life, along,

From one point to another.

Spreading me out, thin, fluid,

Over time which is suddenly the merger

Of past, present, future.

Like liquid spreading I see my life

Moving over these tracks, out and beyond,

Expanding to assimilate Michigan

As I have before incorporated other states

And other countries, American and European.

A fear that I can never belong to someone--

How could one keep me from flooding

Past the walls and out into the open spaces?

It is an abstract love of world I feel,

A pull to know what is unknown, but knowable.

To care for it, about it, accept it for itself, 

The planet, the globe, its rivers and its land,

The farms and their greenness in the summer--

The land you pass through while travelling on a train.

Small towns and the people in them, suburbs and large cities,

Unknown, but knowable.

I look out, I know this river--

I grew up along it, knowing it stretched

For miles, out of my reach--I see it now

In places I never knew before

And feel the vastness of its beauty.

Back in New York, I grew up here,

But I have grown beyond it.

Copyright Paula Mary De Angelis, from Parables and Voices, published in 2011 and available on Amazon: Parables and Voices: A Collection of Poems 1973-2009: De Angelis, Paula Mary: 9781452838762: Amazon.com: Books  

New year, new beginnings

Ending this year on an optimistic note.... It's been a tough year for many people. Let's hope that the new year brings good health and many blessings to all those who are dealing with illness especially. 

The sidewalks of Oslo in winter

I wonder each year, once winter comes, how it is possible that the city of Oslo appears not to care too much about its inhabitants slipping and sliding on the ice that coats most of the sidewalks. I've written about this before, but this year the problem seems even more pronounced. We have had a few snowfalls followed by sub-freezing temperatures, and that's usually fine. The problem arises when the snow melts over a period of a few days of above-freezing temperatures. The snow turns to slush, and then to ice once the temperatures drop again. Apartment and house owners do throw down some gravel, but it's not enough. The sidewalks and even the side roads are slippery as hell. I think the lack of consideration for others is appalling. 

Our co-op maintenance fees are increasing considerably as of January. My question is what are we getting for this increase. Will the board approve more gravel and salt for the sidewalks? Will they hire a person or firm to shovel snow on a continual basis? Will they care about the elderly that live here? Do they care about them at present? It doesn't seem like it. They do hire a plow to clear the road in the inner courtyard so that emergency vehicles can navigate them. But if you want to leave your apartment to walk the short distance to the garbage house, you risk slipping and falling and breaking a bone or two. It's rather pathetic, especially as we approach 2023. Interestingly, the few co-op apartment dwellers who have complained on our co-op's Facebook page are young people, not elderly. The latter have probably given up in frustration; they know that they are not and never will be a priority in this city.

The city cares mostly about keeping the bicycle lanes free of snow; they plow them and scatter salt so that the snow melts and stays melted. All this for the miniscule percentage of city dwellers that actually bikes during the winter. The city should be plowing and salting the sidewalks as well. But of course we live in a city that prioritizes bicyclists, not pedestrians. There are far more of the latter, so it makes no sense. But this is the philosophy that the Green Party politicians are obsessed with; everyone should bike, year-round. It doesn't matter that it's bitter cold; you should just suck it up. If you need studded tires for your bicycle, their purchase is subsidized by the city (Støtte til sykkelpiggdekk (klimatilskudd.no). Like so many others, I'm weary of the Green Party pushing their agenda down our throats. Biking in the wintertime is a high-risk sport. I've been witness to near-fatal accidents with bicyclists in wintertime; one woman actually fell off her bike (hit a slippery patch) and nearly ended up under the wheels of a city bus that was right on her tail. A near miss; she was just lucky. 

It's truly disappointing to realize that a city does not care very much about its inhabitants. It's not as though winter is a short season here in Norway. Even though Oslo does have mild winters at times, when it snows, the problem of snow and ice removal arises. The city doesn't seem to care too much that snow and ice removal from sidewalks is a problem. I guess they think it's ok that there are often record numbers of people who end up in the emergency room with broken bones. And those people are mostly children, young people and middle-aged folks. Elderly people don't dare to leave their homes very often. If they did the numbers would be even higher. I have to say that I just don't get it. 

Just light one candle

These are strange times we live in, but I suppose many generations before us and many that will come after us did and will say the same. It seems as though war, famine, poverty, natural disasters, manmade catastrophes, greed, corruption, inhumanity and lack of compassion will always be with us. Each generation seems to invent a new way to be unkind to humanity. And yet, humanity persists. There must be a reason for that. I believe it is because the numbers of good people in the world outweigh the bad. For all of the media focus on each act of evil in the world, there are probably many more acts of goodness. It's just that we don't hear about them very often. When I look at the number of volunteers around the world, I know that there are many people who make a difference for the better in other people's lives. Without volunteers, the world would truly be a poor place in which to live. People do care about others--about their families and friends, about strangers, about world problems. But most of us know that we cannot solve the big problems, so we support those we know who can and do. Most of us live and will live unremarkable lives; we will not achieve great things by worldly standards, but we do make a difference to those in our lives. And that's really all that matters. The important thing is that we love, try to love, fail at times, and that we try again. Most of us are trying to do our best, and that is what makes the difference, in our own lives and in the lives of those with whom we live and those we love. That doesn't mean that we are able to live each day in a cheerful and upbeat way; sometimes we are cranky, impatient, out of sorts, and dealing with our own aches and pains. It does mean that even when we don't feel like being nice, we try to be nice, because it matters. Sometimes a smile is all it takes to make another person feel ok. I know that's true for me. Or a simple small act of kindness; that can make my day. And then I have more of a desire to 'pay it forward'. So if that's true for me, I'm guessing it's true for others too. 

I've written about this before, but in the end, if we light one candle rather than curse the darkness*, we have done something positive for humanity, for our fellow men and women. If we are that light to others, we guide them through the darkness. And sometimes the others are our guides. Regardless of who is holding the candle, the important thing is that the candle is lit and held by someone. 

Wishing all my readers a blessed Christmas!

*Yet it is far better to light the candle than to curse the darkness. (W. L. Watkinson)

Jul, jul, strålande jul--a beautiful Swedish Christmas song

"Jul, jul, strålende jul" is a Swedish Christmas song from 1921 with lyrics written by Edvard Evers and music composed by Gustaf Nordqvist. 

Jul, jul, strålende jul        (in Norwegian)

Glans over hvite skoger

himmelske kroner av gnistrende lys

skimrende buer i alle Guds hus

salmen som favnet om tid og sted

med evige lengsel mot lys og mot fred

Jul, jul, strålende jul

glans over hvite skoger

Kom, kom, hellige jul

senk dine hvite vinger

over en strid full av blod og larm

over hvert sukk i fra menneskebarn

over de slekter som går til ro

over den ungdom der livet skal gro

Kom, kom, hellige jul

senk dine hvite vinger

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

(and here is the translation to English, with help from Google Translate): 

Christmas, Christmas, glorious Christmas

Brilliance over white forests

heavenly crowns of sparkling light

shimmering arches in all of God's houses

the hymn that embraced time and place

with eternal longing for light and peace

Christmas, Christmas, glorious Christmas

brilliance over white forests

Come, come, Holy Christmas

lower your white wings

over a battle full of blood and noise

over each sigh from human children

over the generations that are laid to rest

over the youth whose lives are just starting

Come, come, Holy Christmas

lower your white wings

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

Here are the Swedish lyrics:

Jul, jul strålande jul 

Tekst: Edvard Evers (1853-1919)    Musikk: Gustaf Nordqvist (1886-1949)

Jul, jul, strålande jul, glans över vita skogar,

himmelens kronor med gnistrande ljus,

glimmande bågar i alla Guds hus,

psalm, som är sjungen från tid till tid,

eviga längtan till ljus och frid!

Jul, jul, strålande jul, glans över vita skogar!

Kom, kom, signade jul! Sänk dina vita vingar

över stridernas blod och larm,

över all suckan ur människobarm,

över de släkten, som gå till ro,

över de ungas dagande bo!

Kom, kom, signade jul! Sänk dina vita vingar!

Jul, jul, strålande jul, glans över vita skogar,

himmelens kronor med gnistrande ljus,

glimmande bågar i alla Guds hus,

psalm, som är sjungen från tid till tid,

eviga längtan till ljus och frid!

Jul, jul, strålande jul, glans över vita skogar!

If you want to listen to other versions of this song, here are some links: Jul, Jul, Strålande Jul – Zero8 - YouTube  and Jul, jul, strålande jul | UiB - YouTube

Lights in Oslo's winter darkness

In Oslo, once December comes, the winter darkness comes with it, descending on the city and enveloping it. The darkness is very dark, and is like a living entity, something you can touch or feel. I've grown used to it, but it took a few years of living here before that happened. Once it snows, there is suddenly light in the darkness. But it helps that many people put up Christmas lights that stay up the entire winter. They provide a warmth in the otherwise cold darkness. It is 'koselig' (cozy) to see them lighting up houses and city buildings, from the train station to the Christmas market to the Opera house and the city streets in general. I've taken a lot of photos this year and today's post presents the best of them. Enjoy!

at Aker Brygge

at Aker Brygge

at Aker Brygge

at Aker Brygge

at Aker Brygge

looking out at the Oslo harbor area

at Aker Brygge

at the park at City Hall 

at the Christmas Market

near the Christmas Market 

carousel at the Christmas Market

the slide at the Christmas Market 

Grand Hotel 

a wonderfully-decorated florist's window

tree lights

Christmas trees for sale at Alexander Kielland's plass

a local house decoration

the Christmas tree in our co-op courtyard

Christmas decoration at the Opera House

Christmas decoration at the Oslo train station

Christmas tree at the Oslo train station

downtown Oslo 

the Mall of Oslo, downtown

Månefisken lit up for the season 

CBS Christmas Message (1966)

I have posted this little message once before, but it's worth posting again. It's a lovely little story, really, with several important messages, all presented to us without words. It was designed by R.O. Blechman and animated by Willis Pyle, and the music was arranged by Arnie Black. I love this ad so much, from the simple animation to the simple heartfelt messages. And if you feel about birds as I do, you'll love this greeting even more. We were children when this first appeared on tv; it made an impression then and it still makes an impression now. 

Christmas In Italy (Natale in Italia)--Capitol Records

We grew up listening to this wonderful album at Christmastime. It must be one of my earliest memories of our childhood Christmases. My father was second generation Italian; his parents emigrated from Italy in the early 1900s and settled in New York City. I'm not sure how they found their way to Tarrytown, but that's where they settled and raised their family (my father and his four siblings). My father married a woman of non-Italian heritage (English/Irish/Scottish), but she learned how to make the Italian dishes my father loved, from his mother--my grandmother. So at Christmas they would make struffoli (if you haven't had this pastry, I recommend it highly). My father worked in Manhattan near Herald Square when we were children, so he would stop in Macy's on his way home and buy a panettone (an Italian Christmas cake) as well as different types of Italian hard candy. 

So it's no surprise that I love the cover of this album--a Christmas table with different foods, but what I especially remember is the big Christmas cake--most likely a panettone. 

I'm listening to the album as I write this post. Christmas is still two weeks away, but I wish you all a Buon Natale from the bottom of my heart. 

Here is the track list for those who are interested:

 

0:00 È Nato Gesù (Jesus Was Born)

2:48 Buon Natale

5:07 Pastorale

8:35 Presepe

11:26 Notte Sacra

14:03 Bianco Natale

17:30 La Ninna Nanna A Gesù

20:39 La Stella Di Betlemme

24:09 Alla Luce D'Una Stella

28:20 Campane Di Natale

32:15 Cantico D'Amore

36:00 Dolce Risveglio

Exploring connections and the Southern Reach trilogy

I'm currently reading the Southern Reach Trilogy by Jeff VanderMeer, which consists of three books--Annihilation, Authority, and Acceptance. I read Annihilation after I had seen the film of the same name directed by Alex Garland, who has admitted that when he made Annihilation, he was influenced by the film Stalker, which was directed by Andrei Tarkovsky, who in turn was influenced by the book Roadside Picnic written by Arkady Strugatsky and Boris Strugatsky. These types of connections are what I enjoy so much about the creative world; there's a kind of flow from one genre or creative art form into another. Sometimes that flow is successful, sometimes not. But it doesn't matter to me, what matters is that the author, filmmaker, or songwriter took a risk, stepped out of his or her comfort zone. That's what matters, in the end. There will always be people who love what you did, and those who didn't. Some will even hate the finished product. Does it really matter? Life goes on, creativity goes on, the flow goes on. As an artist, you know that you will have touched someone's soul, and that someone will remember that touch for life. I know that's true for me. I can list up books that I read as a teenager that touched my life forever; the stories have stayed with me for so long, that's how powerful the writing was. 

Authority is the weakest book in VanderMeer's trilogy, but I understand why he wrote it. He wanted us to really get to know Control, the new director of the Southern Reach. Control is a troubled soul, a middle-aged man who really doesn't know what he wants. He's a loner for starters, the son of a domineering mother and an artistic father. His mother is part of the organization, Central, that Control works for. His mother pulls a lot of strings, including for him. You could almost say that she is the puppeteer and he the marionette. They have a strange relationship, very difficult to define. The book is difficult to categorize overall, but it has its creepy, hair-raising moments. As I wrote in my review of the book on Goodreads: 

There are whole passages in Authority that are downright creepy, e.g., when Control discovers what Whitby has been doing and where he has been doing it. The description of his meeting in the 'secret room' with Whitby will make your hair stand on end. Or when the building wall dissolves, and the former director shows up. I live for those moments in these kinds of books. VanderMeer has a way of building up the anticipation of something bad that's going to happen, even if it doesn't at exactly that time, as when Control visits the director's house. But you know disaster is coming. When he writes like that, this book is at its best. But there are also whole sections that are too drawn-out; I suppose VanderMeer wanted to enforce the idea that Control was a pawn in Central's bureaucratic game (and in his mother's as well). But this means that there are long descriptions of bureaucracy and chain of command, and of events that are illogical at best, e.g. why Lowry was the Voice. But in a place like Southern Reach, it would perhaps be hard to expect anything but irrationality and chaos. VanderMeer is a very good writer, but the book could have been shorter without losing any of the 'atmosphere'. I am currently reading Acceptance and hope that the mystery of Area X is explained satisfactorily. 

After I finish reading Acceptance, I will read Roadside Picnic. I'm looking forward to reading the book that led to the films Stalker and Annihilation. And after that I will watch a few more Alex Garland films, although I've already seen 28 Days Later and Ex Machina, both of which are excellent. If you haven't seen them, I recommend them highly. 

Winter darkness

This was how it was for us when we were working during the wintertime--getting up and leaving for work in the dark and leaving work and arriving home in the dark. The sun rose after 9 am and set shortly after 3 pm, here in Oslo. It's a darkness that envelopes you; you get used to it, but I still say, give me summertime any day. This cartoon by Gabrielle Drolet is from The New Yorker from a few days ago.  

 

Reflections on careers--my husband's and my own

I remember the first time I traveled abroad; it was in August 1987. I attended a flow cytometry conference in Cambridge, England, and had planned my trip such that I had a few days to myself in London before I made my way north to Cambridge by train. I've written about this trip before, so I won't retell the story. Suffice it to say that I met some really wonderful people who made me feel right at home in England, and I'll never forget them. 

The Society for Analytical Cytology (SAC)--that was the organization responsible for the conference. It is now known as the International Society for Advancement of Cytometry (ISAC), even though it was always an international conference from day one. When I started working in the Investigative Cytology lab at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in 1982, I had the privilege of working with some of the founding fathers of flow cytometry/flow cytometric techniques--Myron Melamed, Zbigniew Darzynkiewicz, Frank Traganos, and Don Evenson. I knew already then that I was in the presence of scientific visionaries; men who were ambitious and generous with their expertise and time. Their lab was a dynamic place; inspiring and progressive. There was room to grow, and I did, under their tutelage. Their generosity extended to allowing all lab members to travel to relevant conferences, and that's how I ended up in Cambridge, England. 

After I arrived in Cambridge and settled in (a simple dorm room with a bed, desk, closet and chair), I found my way to the conference hall for the introductory lecture and presentation of the conference schedule. I sat alone in the auditorium, but after some time a woman entered and went to the podium area to check on the microphones. I have never forgotten her because she had dark hair with a large gray streak; her name was Donna Arndt-Jovin. From what I heard at a later time point, she was an American who had married a German scientist, Tom Jovin, and they lived in Germany. When I heard more about her life, I thought it was so interesting that she had married a fellow scientist and that they shared a passion for flow cytometry. This was before I met my husband, so I had no idea of what was to transpire in the coming years. The only thing I knew was that I liked the fact that they were professional equals. It appealed to me, to be able to share your work life with your spouse. 

My husband retired yesterday, and his department (Radiation Biology) gave him a very nice sendoff--an afternoon gathering with cakes, coffee, and speeches about his 44-year long career and what he has meant to his department. He is one of a rare breed of employees that remained at the same workplace for his entire career, of course in different positions. He started as a Master student, got his PhD in biophysics, did a postdoc, and then was hired as a full-time cancer researcher. He eventually became a research group leader but also leader of the flow cytometry core facility. I met him in 1987 in Cambridge, when he came over to and sat down at our table in one of the pubs my lab colleagues and I frequented. I believe it was the pub where Watson and Crick (of DNA helix structure fame) met and discussed their findings. He and I hit it off, and the rest as they say is history. 

I reflected on all of this yesterday when I listened to the talks and saw the slides that rotated continually throughout the afternoon. Some of them were of him and me, together at conferences. We looked so young in some of them; so strange to think that we are now at retirement age. We attended nearly every flow cytometry conference that SAC and ISAC arranged, which meant that we got to travel to some interesting places, among them: Hilton Head Island, SC; Cambridge, England; Breckenridge, CO; Asheville, NC; Bergen, Norway; Colorado Springs, CO; Lake Placid, NY; Montpellier, France (twice); Budapest, Hungary; Leipzig, Germany. The Norwegian Cancer Society was always generous enough to pay for these conferences; the professional and social (networking) gains were worth the money. Even though I moved to Norway after I met my husband, I kept in touch with my former colleagues via these meetings, and of course via Christmas cards and eventually emails. It always felt like a small world--this network of cytometrists. We all knew each other, and it was always enjoyable to meet again at conferences. 

I retired in August 2021, and now my husband is retired. We were both cancer researchers (my PhD is in tumor cell biology) and flow cytometrists. I realized yesterday that my first thought at my first conference in Cambridge--that it would be nice to have a spouse who shared my work interests--in fact became a reality. I hadn't really reflected fully on that until yesterday when I saw the photos of us together. During the past thirty years, we've collaborated on a number of research projects, and I must say that those times were fun times; not only enjoyable in terms of both our research teams working together and getting to know each other, but also the professional enjoyment connected to a job well-done (published papers and presentations at meetings). I'm thankful for the past thirty years, that we made that happen. We chose that path, despite the occasional difficulties and differences of opinion. It was worth it. 

When I retired, I was happy to leave my workplace behind. I had been ready to do so for several years prior. I too was given a nice sendoff by my department, and I left knowing that I had done the best job I could do under the circumstances (very little research support and reduced staff). However, I do feel that he was valued in a more concrete way by his department than I was by mine; he had firmer support from research leadership than I did. I stay in touch with former colleagues; we meet for dinner a few times a year, and in the summertime, I invite them to a garden party. I hope for my husband that he stays in touch with some of his colleagues, who became friends over the years. They will miss him, that I know, because he, like my former bosses at Memorial, was very knowledgeable and generous with his expertise and time.