Labradoris

I should begin by stating that I may be overtly sensitive to these types of situations, but what I'm about to describe was what any eyewitness would see, not my personal account of the event.  Joel can verify - he was there.

I'm always interested in seeing what pops up on Craigslist - mainly the furniture section, the pets section, and the "Best Of" section.  Yesterday I noticed an ad for a baker's rack that I thought was just gorgeous.  Wrought-iron, with glass shelves, wine rack, and a stone countertop.   I e-mailed the owner and asked about a price, as they did not have the asking price listed.  I received a very brief e-mail back stating that the owners were in the middle of a move, but I was welcome to call to come look at it.

I called the woman, and she was about to go to work but said her husband might be willing to be around to let me come see the rack.  I agreed and we set a time to meet.  The time came, and Joel and I hopped in the car to go inspect the rack, with every intention of buying.  We came to the house, and after knocking on the door several times, no one answered.

We were about to leave when a small car drove up and parked alongside the house.  A male, mid-thirties, climbed out of the car.  I immediately smiled and said, "Hi, how are you?" and he returned with, "How are you folks doing?" as he was walking up the driveway.  I was standing by my car, and Joel was standing near the edge of the driveway near the grass -- so the man needed to go through the space between us to get to his house. 

The man walked directly up to Joel - not even a LOOK in my direction - and shook his hand and said, "How are you sir, what's your name?"  Joel answered back, and the guy continued walking to the house and brushed past me.  Once he passed me, I held up my arms like, "Uh, HELLO?" and Joel looked over and shrugged.  He fully realized I had just been ignored. 

Then, we went inside to inspect the baker's rack, and I was the one who felt it, leaned down to look at it, and handed the guy the cash.  We started to take off the glass panels to put in the boxes for transport, and the guy took the glass from me (I was helping take it off) and said, "Hey, Joel, if you don't mind, if you want to hold the box here, I'll put the glass in."  Once again I thought, am I even standing here?  I brought the box of glass panels to the car, and I turned around to carry the rack out, but Joel and the man were already moving to the car with it. 

We climbed in the car and Joel turns to me and says, "Well, where do you want to eat, chopped liver?"  I smirked and said, "Yeah, no kidding.  Was I invisible?"

Unfortunately, this type of similar behavior has happened to me before (even at a business meeting, most unfortunately).  I don't know if it is the area of the country where I am living, the type of people who live here, just weird coincidences, or something else, but hot damn, I have never felt less empowered, more invisible, and less valued as a woman since I started living here. 

What is most sickening is that Joel and I study these sorts of things -- very subtle behaviors - such as non-acknowledgment in a meeting - and the further employment ramifications through things like performance appraisal and resulting compensation decisions from a psychological framework.  I know how these things add up; this is what I have dedicated much of my academic career to.  It makes me absolutely sick to my stomach when I am no longer reading it on paper, but instead, experiencing it in real time, in March of 2009, in a country that has taken great strides in many areas, but still has people that refuse to acknowledge a woman simply because she is in the presence of another man.

Happy St. Patrick's day to ya! 

Puppy pickup occurs in just a few days!  We're so excited.

Things at work are a little crazy right now.  I have a client that needs about 5,000 color copies of some forms, and everything has to paperclipped, pre-packaged, and shipped just so.  It's been crazy trying to organize between my own classes, other work, other deadlines, etc.  One thing about being a graduate student, at least in my own experience, is that no day is alike.  It's a neat experience.

Some go a little wack-o as a result, but for the most part, graduate students are a well-balanced group.  OR ARE WE?!  

Tonight Joel is making Irish stew, lamb, potatoes, and all the fixins to have a great Irish meal.  Off to go entertain people... 

This was taken in late April, 2008.  Almost a year ago, Joel dramatically broke his foot running a long-distance race - an 8 person, 80 mile run.  He was forced off the road by a driver of an extended-mirror truck who went barreling down the old country road that the race was being run on.  Joel decided to dive into a ditch rather than take a side mirror to the face, and when he landed in the ditch, his foot broke.  He got back up, and continued to run on it for a mile and a half to finish his leg of the relay.  Once the swelling went down over the next few days, it was painfully apparent that he had broken bones.  X-rays confirmed those suspicions.  He spent the next 8 weeks in this ugly, heavy boot.  Needless to say his running (and mine, as his running buddy) took a backseat.

We've signed up for 5k Fun Run in a month at a conference, and I am NOT looking forward to this event.  I'm struggling to keep up motivation after just a mile.  I've got to hit the pavement quite a bit over the next few weeks in order to manage to make it through a 5k.  I'm all, is it okay that I look like Homer Simpson running right now?  Huff, puff, huff, puff. 

This morning I ignited a passionate discussion on motorcycles with my significant other.  In his former life (before me), he rode motorcycles both alone and with his (ex) wife.  He owned several, enjoyed the activity, and like most things in our life, became knowledgeable and passionate about it. 

I most decidedly am not a fan.  Although I’m a bit of an adrenaline junkie, the limits of safety are always there:  cycling but not speeding down hills as if I’m invincible, riding extreme roller coasters but only ones that are visibly up kept, riding a horse at top speed but not dangerously so.  You get the drift.  To me, no matter the safety courses, no matter the statistics on road bikes versus sport bikes (is that the right terminology?), no matter the emphasis on who the riders are, the idea of motorcycling does not feel safe to me.

I freely admit I have never been on the back of a motorcycle, with the exception of one at a children’s museum that was clearly not going anywhere.  The closest I’ve ever been to one purposefully was standing at the back of my cousin’s truck that had one of his racing motorcycles on it – when I was 12.  “Do you want to sit on it?  I can take you for a ride.”  “No,” I said shakily, “I don’t.” 

I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of this innocent neurosis.  I have no reason to dislike them.  I have no reason to avoid them.  I have had no personal experience with them.  I come up with reasons that I don’t like them, like this morning’s “I don’t like bikers, they look like they might rape me.”  The reasoning changes every time, and I recognize this.

So, Joel, I’m really sorry I have such a negative reaction to something you like so much.  I may be eating my words in a few years when you have me on the back of one.  But for now, for whatever reason, recognize that the thought of me climbing on one scares me.  It does.  I have no real reason for it.  I can actually feel my legs quivering and my heart start to ramp up when I think about riding one, or even being very near to one.

Maybe it was my mother’s insistence that I never ride motorcycles because they were unsafe.  Maybe it was me, seven years old, turning down my neighborhood friend and his dad for a ride knowing that if my mom had found out she would have been angry, only to find out 15 minutes later they had managed to flip their bike over and my friend broke his arm.  Maybe it was me, thirteen years old, watching my twenty-five year old cousin have my aunt on my grandmother’s bed take out his stitches above his eye after wrecking his bike.  Maybe it’s my aversion to loud noises.  Maybe it’s my distrustfulness of my stereotype of who rides motorcycles.  Maybe I don’t need a reason.

I’m of the opinion never to discount something unless I’ve tried it.  Something may work for someone else, it may work for me; I won’t ever know until I’ve done it.  So I say never say never; however, today is not the day I will try riding a motorcycle.  Tomorrow doesn’t look promising.  Someday, maybe.  But definitely not next week, either.

That look just strikes me as so perfect, because he is at his best when he actively has his mind engaged on a problem.  This particular problem, Nov 2008, happened to be a word search puzzle at an Applebee's, but I still find him incredibly sexy. 

Joel had been in New Jersey for 2 days last week when I received the call that he would not be flying home that night due to a canceled flight.  After several attempts to try and get on a later flight, he went on standby and booked a nearby hotel.  At 5 a.m., I received a text message from him stating that he had successfully boarded.  Later that morning, I was sitting in my office reviewing my lecture before my class when I received an e-mail from Joel’s mom.  “There was a plane crash from a plane leaving from Newark New Jersey to Buffalo New York.  Where was Joel going in New Jersey and have you heard from him?”  My stomach did flips as a significant portion of the blood drained from my face.  I thought rationally for a moment and realized that his standby flight would probably not have transferred from NJ to Buffalo, though I was still filled with dread.  I quickly checked my cell phone and realized I had a text message.  “Landed,” it said, and my heart raced back to life.  I quickly e-mailed his mom back and let her know that he had landed and was driving back now.  Then, with my eye on the clock, opened up the CNN.com window and scanned the story.  I realized that a key piece of information that his mom had left out was that the crash had happened at 10:20 p.m. the night before – not that morning.
I jokingly told my class what had happened, and explained the stress response (which is what I happened to be lecturing about that day).  Afterward I wandered around aimlessly in the department, awaiting his return.  He had a 2 hour drive from the airport, but I was just too anxious.  I decided to go home to meet him.  I called before I left and he said he was changing clothes.  I told him, “Perfect.  Stay right there.”  I drove home quickly, entered the house, and when I saw him, hugged him fiercely and breathed him in.  I didn’t let go for several precious minutes.  That little incident made it concrete just how dear he is to me, how I couldn’t bear to lose him.  How every moment that we have with our loved ones could be our last.
I thought back to what we did the afternoon before he left.  I was stretched on the bed, watching him pack, giving little suggestions here and there.  He finished packing, knelt by the side of the bed, took his glasses off and rested his head on my belly.  I softly stroked his hair and his face, and I remember thinking at the time just how in love I was with him, at how I love when these moments feel like a very long time: the afternoon sunlight streaming in, the weight of his head on me, the soft sound of his breathing.  That moment would have been the last meaningful one that we shared together had he boarded a different plane.  And I think that if it were our last moment spent with one another, it would be a perfect characterization of our relationship:  quietly supportive, tender, and most decidedly together.

Taken July 2008.

Today I decided to get my dumb butt stuck in the snow.  We had planned on taking our usual Sunday morning hike, and with the sun out and the weather warming up, it felt like a good day to do so.  We decided to go to a trail that I hadn’t been to before – a short nature walk within a few miles of my house.  It’s not very accessible via walking, so we loaded up Cosette in my SUV and took off.

When we arrived, the turnoff is right off the main (read: busy) road, and we came upon it fairly quickly.  The road quickly descends into an open parking lot and I made the decision to turn into it, even though it was covered in snow and ice.  I quickly realized that was a bad idea.  After the momentum carried me down the hill and into the parking lot, my tires started to sink into the snow and I lost traction.  I pressed on the accelerator and my wheels just spun.  We looked at each other, grinned, and decided to just go hike and hope the sun melted the snow a little bit while we were gone.

We played around on the trail and on the frozen lake and had a nice hike.  We then returned to the car and attempted to turn it around.  Some cars had already done the same thing, but apparently they had come a few days before I had, when the snow wasn’t sealed with a sheet of ice.  We spent about 20 minutes taking turns rocking the car, reversing, pulling forward, reversing, pulling forward, but each time we would get the front tires stuck in a rut.  After we were both tired from pushing, Joel went ahead and reached in his coat pocket for his cell phone and dialed 411 for a tow truck.  He told the towing company where we were at, and the truck said he was already on his way.  I was standing outside the car and said that we might as well keep trying.  We did for a while, but no real progress was made.  Joel went to walk towards the street to see if he had given the correct street name, and I hopped back in the car.  The car door was still open, and I decided to reverse and see if it would take me anywhere.  I felt it reverse just up to the top of the rut, and I changed gears and pressed the accelerator.  My car drove several feet!  It stopped, but I was motivated, and reversed and tried again.  By this time, Joel was walking back to the car and said, “Woah, what do we have here?”  I had managed to drive it a few more feet when it became stuck again.  Joel got behind me and pushed, and I revved the crap out of it.  I started gaining traction quickly and sped up the snowy incline.  My left foot was still out of the door, so I pulled my appendage in and quickly closed the door.  I managed to reach the top of the hill, and when I did, I looked back at Joel and said, “Okay, get the tow truck on the phone!!”  Joel called the company and said, “Well, we don’t need you anymore.  My girlfriend insisted that we keep trying, and sure enough we got out.”  A few moments after he hung up, the tow truck drove by, waving.  We waved back.  Unfortunately, the top of the hill had just enough ice on it that I had managed to get stuck again.  We pushed and pushed, but it wasn’t going anywhere.  Luckily, a family in an SUV saw us struggling and pulled over to help.  The man and woman got out, and they looked like they were going to church.  I didn’t think they’d be able to push me out because they were both fairly thin, but three people combined was just enough to push me out and over the hump of ice.

Next time, I’m braking before I pull into an icy parking lot.  But I also know not to give up! 

And a special guest post from Joel, to finish up the post:

The door swung open, and the dog trotted up and into the house. The owner, an energetic, small-framed woman in her 40's, thanked me profusely.  She said they looked for an hour the night before and had put the other dog outside hoping the barking would bring Fancy, the dog, home. We discussed Fancy's night out and how she had led me back to her home. We were having a nice conversation when another woman in her 40's, let's just say not looking very feminine, comes out and makes sure I know they are together.  The first woman thanks me again and hurries inside. About 2 hours later animal control calls me (we had reported a lost dog the night before) saying that Kathy, the first woman, wanted me to call her. I do, and she thanks me again, offering to buy me something and expressing her gratefulness. I let her know it is unnecessary and that I am just glad Fancy is back home.

LG looked up briefly but then returned to his Legos.  Joel was curiously watching the dog.  In the light, I could look at her much better.  She was tall, about 6 inches taller than Cosette, about 80 pounds, and looked like a strange mix between a Irish Wolfhound and an Airedale Terrier. 

Joel looked up the number for Animal Control and left a message, letting them know the rabies tag number.  He hung up and looked up at me.  I smiled at the dog who had now planted herself at Joel's feet, and said, "Well, I guess she'll spend the night tonight."

We got LG into his pajamas and prepared him for bed.  Bedtime usually consists of a round of hugs -- dogs included.  Raymond hugged Cosette and pointed to the lost dog.  "Cosette, this is going to be your guardian for a few weeks."  I smiled softly at his tenderness and sweetness.

Joel and I talked on the couch for a while that evening, especially about recent challenges in the graduate program.  The lost dog just laid at our feet, content for a warm spot and a quiet house.  The dog was offered, and took, an extra dog bed beside the bed.  What a polite houseguest.

The next morning, Joel decided to take the dog for a longer walk because she had eaten a full breakfast but hadn't used the bathroom.  He set off down the road with her, and then the dog became insistent in the direction they were walking.  The dog gently pulled him in different directions down the road.  Right at the end of the road, left at the bend, up the road, and so on.  The dog, surrounded by snowdrifts, paused for a second.  When she heard a dog barking, she tilted her head and then set off in the direction of the noise.  She brought Joel to the front of house.  They went ahead and walked up to the door and the dog sat down.  Joel looked down at her and said, "Is this it?"  He wasn't sure if that was the correct house or why the dog brought him there.  Then, he saw a face poking through the curtains, and the door swung open.