I have been at my new job for a year and a month now, but I noticed I have written very little about work this past year. I wrote about how I came about this project, and how unexpectedly my extremely bumpy road went smooth. The craziness in my life seems to be always family-related, hence I have been writing more about those tidbits. I started thinking of how to write about work, but nothing occurred to me. And then I had to fill out a Gordon Conference application and I hit a question I could not answer. Am I working in academia, industry or government? My first reaction was "none of the above" - but that was not an option...
I work for a non-profit foundation; we are a group of ~15 research scientists under a head scientist who started this whole thing. We are independent from the University, even though most of us used to be associated with it. We have federal funding and we rent public office/lab space in town. We work on basic science, generating knowledge that will hopefully lead to future applications. Not your standard research setting...
At first it hit me that I might have left the academic pipeline by mistake, but there is no reason why this job would prevent me from rejoining a university in the future. The more I think about where I am and how I got here, the more I see myself on this unmarked road. I took a turn off the main road, which was full of bumps and traffic. This new road was not on my map, and, having turned off my GPS years ago, I am not sure where it leads. It has only minor bumps, and seems to go straight for miles.
However, there are no other cars on this road and no speed limit. I have to set my own pace and that has proven more difficult than I imagined at first. I find myself enjoying the scenery instead of putting the miles on the car. I stop and look around; I stop to smell the flowers. I do not feel like I am losing a race; I do not feel like I need to drive through the night. I am moving forward, but not at a highway pace. There is so much more than the road on this drive. And as I do not need to watch out for traffic and speeding cars with crazy drivers, I can look around more. I notice the sky, I notice the fields by which I drive. But most of all, I enjoy the drive itself.
I guess my lack of anxiety is due to the fact that this road keeps going and my gas tank is three quarters full. Maybe in a couple of years I will worry about whether there will be an exit for the highway at the end. Maybe I will start wondering if there is a gas station on this road... but for now I have no worries. As long as I keep moving I feel like I am getting somewhere - even if it is not where I had intended to go.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Traveling with toddlers
Last month we took a two week vacation to Italy. Dada had a conference there and we decided to make a family trip out of it. We left ten days before the conference, and my mother joined us for the second (and conference) week, which luckily coincided with her Spring Break.
It was not the first time we traveled with the boys. We had taken them sailing in the Chesapeake Bay for a week back in 2008, we had visited my extended family in Brazil in 2009, and last Christmas we went to England for ten days. Planes are not a challenge, unless we fail to convince the kids to go to sleep. However, this was the first time we did not stay at someone's house - this was the first hotel trip.
Staying at hotels was not a problem, we found several that had triple and quadruple rooms that let you add a baby crib (sometimes free of charge). We took the trip slow, not expecting to see twenty cities in ten days. We spent our whole first week in Venice so we could actually enjoy it. The first couple of days were mellow, with only one tourist attraction before lunch and nap time. But by the end of the week we managed to see three small museums in a single day!
The kids enjoyed themselves immensely and if you ask my four year old he will tell you the armory in the Doge Palace in Venice was his favorite place. My two year old was completely in awe of the fresco ceilings at the Basilica of St. Marco. After that he would look up every time he entered a room, just to make sure he was not missing anything. By the time we got to the conference site they were ready to be kids and hit the play park all day long.
We did not run into many problems, at least none that we could not work around. We realized that lunch and dinner out was too taxing on the boys, so we had lunch at a restaurant then a picnic dinner in our hotel room more than half the time. We tried to incorporate nap time every day, even if some days it was a little later than normal. We tried to focus on what we got to see, not what we were missing.
Apparently traveling with toddlers is not a common thing to do. I lost count of the number of people that called us brave throughout the trip. I am glad we introduced our kids to traveling early, and that it has not been too difficult. Dada and I love traveling, and there are still so many places to go, so many things to see... And academic vacations are such a great excuse!
It was not the first time we traveled with the boys. We had taken them sailing in the Chesapeake Bay for a week back in 2008, we had visited my extended family in Brazil in 2009, and last Christmas we went to England for ten days. Planes are not a challenge, unless we fail to convince the kids to go to sleep. However, this was the first time we did not stay at someone's house - this was the first hotel trip.
Staying at hotels was not a problem, we found several that had triple and quadruple rooms that let you add a baby crib (sometimes free of charge). We took the trip slow, not expecting to see twenty cities in ten days. We spent our whole first week in Venice so we could actually enjoy it. The first couple of days were mellow, with only one tourist attraction before lunch and nap time. But by the end of the week we managed to see three small museums in a single day!
The kids enjoyed themselves immensely and if you ask my four year old he will tell you the armory in the Doge Palace in Venice was his favorite place. My two year old was completely in awe of the fresco ceilings at the Basilica of St. Marco. After that he would look up every time he entered a room, just to make sure he was not missing anything. By the time we got to the conference site they were ready to be kids and hit the play park all day long.
We did not run into many problems, at least none that we could not work around. We realized that lunch and dinner out was too taxing on the boys, so we had lunch at a restaurant then a picnic dinner in our hotel room more than half the time. We tried to incorporate nap time every day, even if some days it was a little later than normal. We tried to focus on what we got to see, not what we were missing.
Apparently traveling with toddlers is not a common thing to do. I lost count of the number of people that called us brave throughout the trip. I am glad we introduced our kids to traveling early, and that it has not been too difficult. Dada and I love traveling, and there are still so many places to go, so many things to see... And academic vacations are such a great excuse!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Holiday Traditions
This weekend we took down the dead tree and the decorations from our front porch. We made turkey soup with the frozen carcass leftover from Thanksgiving. We cleaned the house and did laundry - removing the last traces of our winter vacation. The end-of-year holidays are officially over...
Through the years we have slowly accumulated a series of traditions at our house. We celebrate the holidays with feasts for Thanksgiving and Christmas. We light Hanukkah candles (most) nights, we decorate a Christmas tree with a Star of David on top (like them), and we head out of town for a family vacation the last week of the year. Many of these are a blend of practices that Dada and I enjoyed while growing up, while others came about perchance - like shelling half a bushel of oysters as a prelude to our Thanksgiving dinner.
I grew up Jewish, with an emphasis on the -ish. The non-practicing secular kind that recounts the history but shuns the religion. I had great-grandfathers from both sides that broke off with Judaism as a religion but brought up their family respecting and propagating its traditions. We always celebrated the food holidays, and for me being Jewish has always been associated with the flavors and smells from my grandmother's kitchen - dishes that I attempt to recreate at my own home, thus passing on these traditions to the next generation.
Dada is not religious either, his parents having deserted their church-of-choice during the civil rights movement. Throughout his early years they celebrated the Christmas holidays with a family vacation - most likely bare-boat sailing in the Caribbean. Their holiday practices also include a mountain of presents, accumulated throughout the year - as well as anything else that can be wrapped for the occasion. I found this assortment of gifts overwhelming at first - as much as two weeks on a 40-foot boat with my future in-laws. However, now this sea of presents has even engulfed my parents, despite the "small gift for you, big gift to share" philosophy they had while I was growing up.
We have always celebrated Christmas at my house by feasting with relatives and receiving presents at midnight. Santa did not seem to care that we were Jewish. I was in my teens before I realized that there was a religious aspect of the holiday for which we were not accounting, as the word for Christmas in Portuguese - Natal - has no Christ in it. I always assumed my mother preferred her craft projects over an expensive plastic tree - and they were definitely fun to make. I never experienced any sense of guilt for enjoying Christmas, or receiving chocolate eggs from the Easter Bunny for that matter. I never felt constrained over what we could celebrate or what we could not. We enjoyed the holidays with no strings attached, and this is a tradition I want to make sure I pass on to my kids.
Through the years we have slowly accumulated a series of traditions at our house. We celebrate the holidays with feasts for Thanksgiving and Christmas. We light Hanukkah candles (most) nights, we decorate a Christmas tree with a Star of David on top (like them), and we head out of town for a family vacation the last week of the year. Many of these are a blend of practices that Dada and I enjoyed while growing up, while others came about perchance - like shelling half a bushel of oysters as a prelude to our Thanksgiving dinner.
I grew up Jewish, with an emphasis on the -ish. The non-practicing secular kind that recounts the history but shuns the religion. I had great-grandfathers from both sides that broke off with Judaism as a religion but brought up their family respecting and propagating its traditions. We always celebrated the food holidays, and for me being Jewish has always been associated with the flavors and smells from my grandmother's kitchen - dishes that I attempt to recreate at my own home, thus passing on these traditions to the next generation.
Dada is not religious either, his parents having deserted their church-of-choice during the civil rights movement. Throughout his early years they celebrated the Christmas holidays with a family vacation - most likely bare-boat sailing in the Caribbean. Their holiday practices also include a mountain of presents, accumulated throughout the year - as well as anything else that can be wrapped for the occasion. I found this assortment of gifts overwhelming at first - as much as two weeks on a 40-foot boat with my future in-laws. However, now this sea of presents has even engulfed my parents, despite the "small gift for you, big gift to share" philosophy they had while I was growing up.
We have always celebrated Christmas at my house by feasting with relatives and receiving presents at midnight. Santa did not seem to care that we were Jewish. I was in my teens before I realized that there was a religious aspect of the holiday for which we were not accounting, as the word for Christmas in Portuguese - Natal - has no Christ in it. I always assumed my mother preferred her craft projects over an expensive plastic tree - and they were definitely fun to make. I never experienced any sense of guilt for enjoying Christmas, or receiving chocolate eggs from the Easter Bunny for that matter. I never felt constrained over what we could celebrate or what we could not. We enjoyed the holidays with no strings attached, and this is a tradition I want to make sure I pass on to my kids.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
My Favorite Things
Well thought ideas that bring in grant money
Good looking data is sweeter than honey
Challenging projects that come out in print
These are a few of my favorite things
Heated discussions at GRC meetings
Puzzles and models damn right down intriguing
Smart people talking and networking
These are a few of my favorite things
PCR products that clone on first trying
Wacky ideas that set my thoughts flying
Brand new equipment for highthroughputing
These are a few of my favorite things
When the gel cracks
When the lab stinks
When the data is crap
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so mad
Here is some help on the sing-along:
(If you haven't heard much Pomplamoose, check them out here.)
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Docking at low tide
A loss, even when expected, is still a loss.
My grandfather was in the hospital for the past few weeks, battling a pneumonia that would not respond to antibiotics. At 96, the effort to heal exhausted him and breathing became difficult. To ease his suffering, he was sedated and put on a respirator for the past week. He continued to heal, and we waited. The sadness and anxiety were overwhelming at times - especially across the equator. The fear of not seeing him again, or hearing his voice on the phone while he tried to get a word in between my grandmother's chatter, constricted my throat and sent tears to my eyes. But we should not mourn the living...
The image that came to me again and again this past week was of our sailing trip last year. We spent a week sailing on the Chesapeake Bay with my in-laws. On the last day the wind waned and to make it to harbor at a decent time to drive back to their house, we brought down the sails and motored home. When we arrived the tide was too low to dock, so we sat in the cockpit waiting for the tide to rise enough to get into our slip. We could have been sailing, we should have been on our way home... Instead we were siting around waiting.
Waiting... and thinking - this week in the same manner, not at sea and not at dock. I have been remembering the good moments spent with my grandfather: how happy he was at my wedding; how he enjoyed his last visit to the US, just in time for the birth of my oldest son. I am immensely gratified that Dada and I were able to take the kids to see him in Brazil last May, and celebrate together his 96th birthday. He was having a great year, all four of his great-grandchildren came to visit! Yesterday the doctors decided to take my grandfather off his sedatives and give him a chance to wake up. However, he did not make it - he could not breath on his own. The mingled feeling of sadness and relief can be both numbing and overwhelming. I alternate from a state of tears to a sense of peace in minutes.
He had a life worth remembering, even if all I have are snippets of it in my mind: A veterinarian who hated cats & dogs. He married my grandmother in an arranged marriage, 13 years her senior - she accepted him because he liked tomatoes. He walked around the neighborhood daily, stopping to pull off vines and low branches from the trees in his path to help them grow. He saw a brother exiled for 15 years due to the military dictatorship that took over Brazil, when our famous scientists were kicked out of the country. After he retired he started compiling the history of veterinarians in Brazil, backwards through time - when he reached the early days of colonization he moved on to the rest of South America. He outlived both older and younger brothers. He lived a long life, embraced in a tight-knit family - even when spread across the globe.
After his 96 years of sailing through life, it was time to dock with the tide...
My grandfather was in the hospital for the past few weeks, battling a pneumonia that would not respond to antibiotics. At 96, the effort to heal exhausted him and breathing became difficult. To ease his suffering, he was sedated and put on a respirator for the past week. He continued to heal, and we waited. The sadness and anxiety were overwhelming at times - especially across the equator. The fear of not seeing him again, or hearing his voice on the phone while he tried to get a word in between my grandmother's chatter, constricted my throat and sent tears to my eyes. But we should not mourn the living...
The image that came to me again and again this past week was of our sailing trip last year. We spent a week sailing on the Chesapeake Bay with my in-laws. On the last day the wind waned and to make it to harbor at a decent time to drive back to their house, we brought down the sails and motored home. When we arrived the tide was too low to dock, so we sat in the cockpit waiting for the tide to rise enough to get into our slip. We could have been sailing, we should have been on our way home... Instead we were siting around waiting.
Waiting... and thinking - this week in the same manner, not at sea and not at dock. I have been remembering the good moments spent with my grandfather: how happy he was at my wedding; how he enjoyed his last visit to the US, just in time for the birth of my oldest son. I am immensely gratified that Dada and I were able to take the kids to see him in Brazil last May, and celebrate together his 96th birthday. He was having a great year, all four of his great-grandchildren came to visit! Yesterday the doctors decided to take my grandfather off his sedatives and give him a chance to wake up. However, he did not make it - he could not breath on his own. The mingled feeling of sadness and relief can be both numbing and overwhelming. I alternate from a state of tears to a sense of peace in minutes.
He had a life worth remembering, even if all I have are snippets of it in my mind: A veterinarian who hated cats & dogs. He married my grandmother in an arranged marriage, 13 years her senior - she accepted him because he liked tomatoes. He walked around the neighborhood daily, stopping to pull off vines and low branches from the trees in his path to help them grow. He saw a brother exiled for 15 years due to the military dictatorship that took over Brazil, when our famous scientists were kicked out of the country. After he retired he started compiling the history of veterinarians in Brazil, backwards through time - when he reached the early days of colonization he moved on to the rest of South America. He outlived both older and younger brothers. He lived a long life, embraced in a tight-knit family - even when spread across the globe.
After his 96 years of sailing through life, it was time to dock with the tide...
Thursday, October 1, 2009
A small collection of forks
Looking back into my early years, there were not many major decisions I had to make, but they most definitely had a distinct impact on how my life has turned out. There were a few major forks in my path, some minor ones, and those daily decisions that can go unnoticed. As much as I am convinced I took the best path, there is no telling if going the other way would have had a positive or negative effect on my life. Albeit, it would certainly be a different life...
My strategy for deciding which path to follow also varied greatly depending on the situation. Most of the time I followed my 80% rule, including the stroll I am taking through the family lane. Nevertheless, some forks presented agonizing choices, which at the time needed stringent consideration and/or alternative tactics. When faced with the decision to continue my education in the US or return to Brazil, I settled the debate with a gamble. When deciding where to pursue my PhD, I followed my heart. In both cases I never looked back, and probably would have made the same choices if faced with similar options.
However, many of the minor choices I made hardly seemed like there was anything to consider at the time, but now I can see how I could have followed a hidden path. The one that comes to mind these days relates to when I fell in love with history of science as a junior in college. I felt that it was too late to become a history major - I was set on a career in biology since high-school. I vaguely remember considering a change of path, but not more than making an off-hand comment to my parents on the phone. Once my Dad pointed out that I could enjoy history as a hobby but that biology was a full-time deal, I was back in gear towards the career I had sought out to pursue. I am happy with my choice, but I always think of history as a "plan B". If I ever need a change... Amazingly, going back to school and taking a different path does not seem scary at all.
My strategy for deciding which path to follow also varied greatly depending on the situation. Most of the time I followed my 80% rule, including the stroll I am taking through the family lane. Nevertheless, some forks presented agonizing choices, which at the time needed stringent consideration and/or alternative tactics. When faced with the decision to continue my education in the US or return to Brazil, I settled the debate with a gamble. When deciding where to pursue my PhD, I followed my heart. In both cases I never looked back, and probably would have made the same choices if faced with similar options.
However, many of the minor choices I made hardly seemed like there was anything to consider at the time, but now I can see how I could have followed a hidden path. The one that comes to mind these days relates to when I fell in love with history of science as a junior in college. I felt that it was too late to become a history major - I was set on a career in biology since high-school. I vaguely remember considering a change of path, but not more than making an off-hand comment to my parents on the phone. Once my Dad pointed out that I could enjoy history as a hobby but that biology was a full-time deal, I was back in gear towards the career I had sought out to pursue. I am happy with my choice, but I always think of history as a "plan B". If I ever need a change... Amazingly, going back to school and taking a different path does not seem scary at all.
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