Miles to go

When I finished my last class required for my Ph.D., I joked that I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I weren't a student anymore.  After all, except for the two years when I was in PULSE and then teaching high school, I have been a student since I entered kindergarten at age five.  But I'm ready to graduate, to continue my learning from the perspective of a teacher, to take up my career with both hands.  I would like to thank the universe for taking my concerns seriously and proving to me that I am, in fact, ready for the next stage.  Now, I yearn for motion.

The main impediment to forward progress, at this point, is my school.  I seem to have dropped through the cracks.  When I was wrapping up my coursework (back when I was joking about how my unimaginable a non-student life was), I met with my advisor--Dr. S--to discuss the next steps in my degree.  She helped me work out a plan for my comprehensive exams, and--although she was retiring from teaching at the end of that school year--assured me that she would be willing to work with on my dissertation.  My plan was carefully laid, and I had just begun to lay into it when things went awry.

The loss that I felt with Dr. S's death was, of course, far more personal than academic.  She was rumored to be one of the most demanding professors at the school, but I found that I was more inspired by her than daunted.  She was so obviously enraptured with these writers that she taught that it was hard to resist following her down the rabbit trails of questions and symbols she teased from the texts.  In our one-on-one advising, she had been fully supportive of my academic skill and interests.  The term "kindred spirit" comes to mind--she felt like family.  Losing her was terribly sad.  I had not even known that she was sick.

In the aftermath of Dr. S's passing, however, I had to figure out the best way to proceed in my studies.  The convener for my department assured me that they would be hiring a new Americanist soon.  In the meantime, there was one other Americanist on the English faculty (Dr. S-W), though her expertise ran a little more in the 20th Century than in the 19th (my area of interest).  Still, I had taken a class with her and had good rapport, so I turned to her to help cover my 19th C. American comprehensive exams that were initially schedules with Dr. S.  Along the way, we talked about working together through my dissertation.  She agreed.  So I plunged ahead into my comps.


I finished the exams about two months before our wedding, last year.  In the interest of remaining sane, I postponed any serious work on the dissertation process until after the wedding.  It was the right thing to do.  I poured myself into the preparation and anticipation of that beautiful, beautiful day, and I was not disappointed.  I don't expect I'll ever regret that decision.

In October, I contacted Dr. S-W about beginning on the dissertation work.  She replied, apologetically, that she was planning on retiring, and she would not be taking on new dissertation students.  I understood her reluctance to begin a new project that would probably last two years or more, but it was another unforeseen disruption to my plans, and it was hard to stomach.  Add to it that the promised new Americanist hire was still only a possibility, not a guarantee.  "Wait," Dr. S-W counseled me.  There is not much to do before January, when the decision will be made about the new Americanist.  If the hire was not made, she said, then we might revisit working together.

The hire was approved.  What I had not realized, however, was that this new faculty member would not be starting at my school until September.  I gritted my teeth and accepted that it was best to postpone my work further.  I wouldn't want to get too far into a particular idea and then have to begin again if she did not approve.  In a way, it was fine timing.  I could switch into support mode for YERT during their world premiere.  I served as sometimes secretary, cook, and cheerleader in the following months.  Meanwhile, I continued to read and develop my ideas for a dissertation, so that I would be ready to hit the ground running, come September.

But somewhere along the line, I was again forced to rearrange my plans.  September, it turned out, would not see a new Americanist arriving at my school.  She had to finish a book she was working on.  Her employment with my school would begin in the Spring of 2012.  I felt like my hands, so recently full of Things to Do, were empty . . . and sore from grasping false assurances. I had been begging to begin for months, and now I was told, again, to wait.  I did not want to be turned aside and told to sit down and wait my turn.  It was enough.  I had all I wanted and more.  But what could I do?  I had been tossed from advisor to advisor like a nuisance, not a student.  I had never gone through this process before--it was like one of those dreams where I find myself on stage, never having seen the script.

Since this piece of news, there have only been more confusing and unhelpful interactions with my school.  My third academic advisor is now going on sabbatical.  She gave me conflicting messages about whether or not I could ask someone outside of the school's faculty to serve as my dissertation chair.  In the meantime, I began searching in Pittsburgh for a professor who might be qualified--thankfully, I have found two professors who are willing to advise me through the process, whether or not they will be official members of my committee.  But, back at my school, I have again been referred to the incoming hire, not starting until 2012.  This week, I sent an email to the Dean explaining my situation and asking for concrete answers about some of these issues.  No reply as of yet.

All this to say: I want to . . .  I need to . . . I am ready to move forward.  It is in my nature to get permission first, to receive instructions before I meet, even exceed, the requirements laid out for me.  In all my years as a student, I have been compulsively rule-abiding.  But now I find myself in a place where nobody seems to know what rules apply to me.  During my time as a student, the program changed around me in dramatic ways.  They've moved on to a new puzzle, and I'm just a leftover piece from the last one.  So maybe I need to instruct them.  Maybe I need to assess their problems, offer them solutions, and get myself free of their broken system.  Maybe that's what it means to stop being a student.

Dreaming of a Resilient Home

An Earthship!

Today we began to take some basic steps towards home ownership. Not traditional steps, but some particularly non-traditional steps. Steps towards Passive House and Earthships. Solar energy used wisely in a home and in a garden. Avoiding fossil fuels and the price spikes we expect in our lifetimes. Preparing for climate instability while working for climate stability. The ultimate goal? A wonderful place to live joyfully and robustly through a lifetime of uncertain economic and environmental conditions.

And, of course, where should such steps begin? At the website for Pittsburgh Building Codes! We needed to know whether an Earthship was even a possibility in the city of Pittsburgh, so we began to dig...

Here's the Bureau of Building Inspection: http://www.city.pittsburgh.pa.us/bbi/
That page quickly leads to a page that reveals "Important Codes" and indicates that Pittsburgh has adopted the "Universal Construction Code" (UCC) with some amendments. The UCC can be found here.

This is another handy website for uncovering information about codes: Library.Municode.com

And another handy website for identifying Pittsburgh, PA Building Codes: Reed Construction Data.

I also contacted the Green Building Alliance here in Pittsburgh, and asked them for information about whether it was legal to build an Earthship in Pittsburgh. At the time I thought I had asked a very simple question, but at this point the more I dig, the less sure I am of that premise. Hopefully they get back to us soon with more information.

There's plenty more to do, but we have begun the process. Now we can watch it unfold, and we hope you enjoy the journey with us!

Epic Chef Day

Two years ago at Christmas, I received a rather unusual gift: holidays. Mark gave me a handful of holidays of our own invention, scattered throughout the year, that we would celebrate together. We set the dates and put them in our calendar, but somehow we never got around to celebrating them. Until this year . . .

May 26 (placed strategically six months away from Thanksgiving) was our first Epic Chef Day. As you might imagine, Epic Chef Day is a celebration of food. We both love to cook and bake, and we generally fill the house with tempting aromas as often as possible.

Epic Chef Day is our opportunity to pull out all the stops, to experiment, and to feast.  Unlike Thanksgiving, Epic Chef Day has no traditional menu to worry about, so we went a little nuts.  It was a good kind of nuts.

We planned two meals for our holiday, but a slight error on my part meant that Thursday morning breakfast will not make it into the hallowed annals of Epic Chef Day.  Wednesday night dinner, however, was stupendous! I'm going to transcribe the account from our feast journal (an idea suggested to us by Mark's mother).  Some recipes are included. If you want the recipe, let me know, and I'll send it to you. (Note: the pictures you see in this post are not from Epic Chef Day.  We forgot to take any pictures of our creations.  Oops!  But all this talk about feasting required some kind of food pictures, so I pulled from past cooking adventures.)

May 25, 2011--Our First Epic Chef Day
Grocery Bill: $130 (including dinner and breakfast supplies)

Guests: Kate F---- and Jack B----
Arrived: 7:00 p.m., food served at 7:30 p.m.

Appetizers: "Crack" Broccoli
Description: Broiling gets the crisping done quickly while leaving that satisfying vegetable crunch intact in the broccoli.  It's the best of cooked and fresh broccoli rolled around in a zesty mix of spices and cheeses.  (And it's really easy to make!)


-2 heads of broccoli, florets only
-In a mixing bowl add: 2-3 T. canola oil, 1/3 cup finely grated parmesan cheese, 1/4 cup finely grated toscano cheese (with pepper crust), about 1/2 T. garam masala (coat the top of the oil), 2 tsp. lemon juice (or more), 1/2 tsp. salt; stir into paste
-Optional additions: paprika, chili powder, cinnamon, fresh ground pepper
-Add florets to spice paste and stir until broccoli is infused with coating (no puddles left in the bowl)
-Lay out broccoli in a single layer (no pieces touching) on a baking sheet
-Sprinkle with a little paprika and fresh grated parmesan cheese
-Broil just until the tips of the broccoli become brown and crispy; cheese will crisp, also
-Serve hot as finger food

Salad: Apple, Chèvre, and Maple-Toasted Walnut Salad
Description: We used fresh greens from our garden that have a little peppery flavor.  This salad is as light as you want it to be, depending on how much goat cheese you add.  Mark's dressing is zippy and a little sweet--it goes really well with the apples.  We also had homemade croutons, which didn't hurt.

-Brush walnuts with maple syrup (diluted with water 3:1); spread out on a pan in (toaster) oven, 200-250ºF, until nuts begin to brown slightly in the middle
-On a bed of baby lettuce mix, scatter chopped tart apples, croutons, cherry tomatoes, walnuts, and small dollops of chèvre
-Dress with Gran Mark's dressing: take 1 cup of a basic balsamic vinaigrette (your favorite recipe or store-bought), add 2 T. of Gran Marnier, 2 T. maple syrup, and a pinch of salt.  Shake vigorously.

Beverages: Cucumber Water, White Wine, and Ice Wine (separate)
Description: You wouldn't think water could get more refreshing than just water, but you would be wrong.  Cucumber water is an EXCELLENT drink for hot summer evenings. Both wines were wonderful! 

-Cucumber Water: finely slice 1-2 small cucumbers, 1/4 of a lemon, and 1/4 of an orange into a glass pitcher.  Add water and let sit in refrigerator for 2-3 hours.  Serve cold, with or without ice.
-White Wine (brought by Jack and Kate): Dona Ermelinda 2009 Palmela D.O.C.
-Ice Wine (dessert):  Renwood 2009 Zinfandel, Amador Ice

Main Course: Savory Tart of Chanterelles, Swiss Chard, and Emmentaler, White Dog Cafe Cookbook, pg. 170-171
Description: Mark's goal was to make a main dish that met my vegetarian diet restrictions but didn't leave him looking for the meat.  This did the trick.  Layers of Swiss cheese, mushrooms, and chard wrapped in a flaky crust . . . let's just say that no one went away hungry!   The smell is intoxicating, but eating it is pure delight.

-We added sauteed leek scapes to the chard
-Chanterelles were dried and reconstituted; fresh shitakes were used to augment mushroom flavor/texture
-Pie dough adapted from Cook's Illustrated Sept./Oct. 2010 issue

Dessert: Strawberry Mini-pies and Cream Puffs
Description: Fresh strawberries in the springtime are hard to beat.  The filling is made of smashed strawberries and cornstarch, so there's no artificial flavors competing for your attention.  They were very, very popular.  The cream puffs were no less delicious--a light dough filled with a Boston Cream type custard.  The rich chocolate glaze didn't hurt, either.  :)

-Strawberry pies adapted from White Dog Cafe Cookbook, pg.250.  1/2 recipe.  1/2 recipe of pie dough (Cook's Illustrated) prebaked in muffin tins.  Topped with Vermont whipped cream.
-Cream Puffs: recipe in progress

It was delicious!  And, if I may wax reflective for a moment, it was actually quite touching for me.  I love our new holidays!  They are a conscious step back from obligations--even the obligations that come with Christmas and Thanksgiving and Valentine's Day can be trying at times. Our holidays give us a concrete means of living fully into the things we love.  We invite abundance into our lives; we celebrate for the sheer joy of it.  I don't think we'll ever be able to go back.  Epic Chef Day is now, irrevocably, a part of our lives.  And we welcome it, as it were, with all our hearts!

The Blessingtree

Yesterday, I stood on a folding stool in the bedroom and strung green and yellow leaves from wire branches. Before the wedding, I commissioned a wire tree from my dear friend, Rachel, who is a sculptor. Instead of having a guestbook, we asked our wedding guests to write notes to us--wishes or blessings for our marriage--on colored paper leaves. These, I laminated and cut out and, now, strung from our tree.

The result is beautiful. The leaves twist and blow in the slightest breeze. It looks rather like a weeping willow, conjuring images of a quiet pond in the golden late afternoon of summer. The words of love from our friends and family whisper around the edges of the scene. We will change the colors as the seasons change, and so we will have a continual flow of tender wishes, heartfelt blessings, and invaluable wisdom--cyclical and ever renewing, like the world we live in . . . the world we are striving to love.

Thank you to everyone who gave us your words, your wishes. Thank you to those who add to our blessingtree in intangible ways. You dress our tree with inspiration, with powerful examples of integrity and kindness. Thank you; we are blessed.

Side Effects

I am writing this post in one of two brief days that we are at home this month. The pace towards finishing the YERT film is quickening. As a result, we are spending a number of weeks in Louisville, KY, where Mark's partner in film-making, Ben, lives. This push to the end is exciting, of course--it's something we've been waiting for--but there are side effects to living with this kind of intensity.

A week or so ago, I spent a few days transcribing two key interviews for the film. Both interviewees were brilliant and wise; their words were rich with importance. What they had to say, however, was unsettling. Amongst those who watch the health of our planet and interpret her uncomfortable readjustments to our demands, there is a deep, sad undercurrent of nostalgia. It is almost as if they (the environmentalists/soothsayers in the interviews) have already lain out their mourning clothes, already wept for the most bitter and immediate loss, and are now practicing for the role of survivors. We may come through this ecological collapse alive, they say in steady and thoughtful tones, but it will not be the world we remember in our narratives of Paradise, the one we idolize in symbols and songs, the one we love.

Hope does not grow in the same bed as naivete. Hope requires that we recognize the full scope of our impending struggle and, seeing it unblinkingly, decide we are capable of dealing with it. That is a perspective that is reached by choice, not forced through by the weight of facts alone. For one thing, facts can easily remain merely intellectual abstractions, something you make yourself imagine by squeezing shut your eyes and concentrating very hard. The possibility of climate refugees, mass famines, and violent water wars seem little different from the histories of genocide and cruelty--tragic but immutable, moving but eternally distant. The little duties of day-to-day life are thick enough to bury those concerns--usually. But there was something about listening intently to the voices of these two sages and faithfully typing their words that narrowed the wiggle room in my attention. Not only was the fate of the Earth an image I did not have to imagine on my own, I couldn't look away. Accepting these predictions as realities, hope revealed itself for what it was--toil.

The last straw came a night or two later when "The Pianist" was on TV. I had been studying all day and had turned on the television to fill the last hour or so until Mark was ready for bed. If you haven't seen the film, it is only pertinent that you know that it is a Holocaust story. I watched humans do to each other the most illogical, hateful, horrific things we are capable of . . . and for what reason? A nation in economic distress and social disgrace, looking for someone to bear the guilt and receive the angry debt? A paralyzing, dehumanizing fear of the future? A culture of bitter prejudice and heavy-handed ideologies? These are not unfamiliar specters. If even one of these environmental prophets' predictions should come true--say, a wide-spread water shortage--what will keep these horrors from my door? Won't the powerful always put their own prosperity at the cost of another's suffering? Daily examples, the world over, answer my questions with chilling certainty.

Needless to say, it was not in peace that I went to bed that night. Mark and I talked for a long time before we slept. I can't say that we dispelled the dark shadows that had been gathering. We did, however, plant a few more of our hopes in the ideas of Transition Town, a community-based sustainability movement. And we allowed our conversation to drift to our plans to build an Earthship, a fully off-grid house that is all but a living protector from the perils of an unstable world. And I took comfort in turning from the panic, the dread, even the nostalgia evoked by my dark ruminations and burying myself in my husband's arms.

I can't really be certain that any of my worries will take shape as I imagine them. But I don't think it matters, really. The true test is not in predicting the exact, correct timeline for struggle--it is guaranteed that struggle will come to us some day, some way. The true test is in finding hope, toiling for it, and rearing it into a full-grown confidence that we are able to move through pain to renewal. We must live with the faith that the principles we believe in--love, community, learning, and true growth--still and always mark out the best possible path. We're working on building this kind of integrity in our lives. YERT is dedicated to cultivating that kind of hope and joy in the people it touches. Yes, part of the journey is letting go of our nostalgic longing for the world as it once was . . . and that process has some unpleasant side effects. But healing is on the wing. I trust. I hope.

Home

Mark sometimes jokes that he doesn't know how he even met me, given how often I leave the house. We concede the point to fate. But it's true. I am a person little bothered by long stretches of solitude and dearly fond of tugging 'home' around the sharp shoulders of a room. I am a homebody.

When Mark moved into this apartment, I took down all my pictures, unshelved all my books, and moved every piece of furniture to allow our home to grow naturally into the space that was once mine alone. But even then, I grew anxious waiting to return the rooms to a state of homeyness. The effects of living in a car for a year are still apparent in Mark's life. Many of his photos are unframed, and some of his dearest belongings are stored in the basements of relatives from here to California. When he set out on his journey, it was on a track faster and freer than the remnants of interior decorating could keep up with.

I found I couldn't wait for his material possessions to catch up. One framed print and a family photo are all that Mark has to represent him on our walls. My library has vacated a single shelf for his stereo. We carried in a few new cabinets to accommodate his arrival, and wedding gifts have begun to add heft to our common life, but I still have a niggling sense that my over-abundance of nesting impulses unbalance the character of our home. I do not want to dominate any sphere of our life, domestic or otherwise.

Perhaps some of these apparent imbalances will resolve themselves when we eventually move out of this apartment into a home that is truly joint space. Maybe time alone will help obscure the memory that this was my apartment before it was his also. Of course, the conscious effort to seek balance is fundamental. I hope to demonstrate my love, respect, and interest in my husband by celebrating his full entrance into the sacred creation of our home. In fact, I refuse to define home without him, although my impulses may urge me to move faster or more thoroughly than he is able to.

It is not, despite what it sounds, a sacrifice. This kind partnership is as beneficial to me as to him or anyone else--it is less fragile, more complex, more sustainable than building alone. I am not surrendering control, really. I offer my talents for homemaking and welcome his with my will fully intact. I choose this new means of staying at home.

And here, there remains an imbalance that I will never try to correct--I choose this new making of home with far more joy than regret, a greater swell of love than defensiveness, a tidal wave of eagerness that dilutes the trickle of worry to utter insignificance.

Wedding Photos are Online!

We've finally uploaded a whole lot of photos from our wedding. Feel free to browse through them when you have a half hour or so, and you're welcome to order prints, etc., from the site.

 Click here to view photos

Many thanks to Bernie Yoo, Julie Evans, and Dianne Carroll for so generously providing so many beautiful photos!