Career Mother @evermama - Tumblr Blog

WHY I BELIEVE IN LOVE.

A young woman told me naively, “When I look at you, I wish I could have the same things happen to me, you know, meet somebody, get married, have children and live happily ever after, just a long happy life!” I said nothing back because one doesn’t share everything, but her words uttered in simple ignorance brought back my long and happy life. The first love, the betrayal, the tragedy, the night when I was almost killed… I never thought that life would go on, for me, let alone that I would meet someone, that I would find Love and Trust again. And yet it happened. Now looking back on decades of happiness, of togetherness the likes of which I never knew existed, I can see clearly how I grew into who and what I am, why I believe in Love. It puzzles me no end when I read and hear discussions and explanations of the “rut”, of how people get too used to each other after three or four years, of how they fall out of love, of how the romance disappears. That great amazing positive feeling has no end; there is an inexhaustible supply of it inside us. We cannot run out of warm emotions if we nurture them throughout our daily existence. Flowers on the family birthdays, on our wedding anniversary and on any important event are such a staple of our life that kids habitually expect me to send them a new photo several times a year. Any walk can be called romantic if you feel like romance. Holding hands while going to a hardware store? Why not. Meeting each other after work, feeling my heart soar when I see the familiar figure in the distance, rapidly walking towards me. Those traditional congratulatory formulas, “May you live together many more decades”, sound totally natural to me. Whatever my natural life span is going to be, I prefer to spend it all together with my one and only true Love.

#love

THE MIRACLES OF LIFE.

MIRACLES OF LIFE.

We ran into a friend who recently gave birth to a baby boy. It is really warm, so we had a chance to see the little bundle of joy in all his glory, sleeping peacefully in his pram, his little arms and legs all over the place, his six weeks of life on this planet Earth not giving him a care in the world yet. Since in my town I am regarded as a sort of a guru, the mother anxiously asked my opinion on the subject which clearly gave her a lot of worry. “I just turned 45, people say it’s very late to have a baby! And how do I look?” I know that her older son is 22; this one came rather as a surprise. And of course we are not movie stars who may have children at the age of fifty due to the miracles of modern science and their wealth. Yes, and people would comment on anything. I gave my husband a surreptitious look, and we chorused, “You look wonderful!” I added sincerely: “ANY new mother looks exhausted, underslept and very happy. This is the way you look too!” Then I cited a few of my other friends and acquaintances who had children quite late in life. Some of them had their first child when they were over forty, others had the same sort of unexpected surprise and decided to go ahead. Naturally it is much more difficult to become a mother (again) when you are not twenty or thirty anymore. Our brains are fine but our bodies are different. So we may do things a bit slower, feel the effects of the lack of sleep more, take more time to lose that weight. So what? Having a baby gives us new perspectives, new aims, even a new focus. We want to look fine at all those future PTA meetings so that our teenager does not cringe or get comments on how “old” their parents are. We want to be able to dance at our youngest child’s wedding, right? We have to gradually figure out a whole new modus vivendi, a sensible schedule, a new regime. Caring for the baby is a continuous workout in itself. It may take us a year to lose the weight for instance, which is actually what Nature itself decreed a zillion years ago. Very young mothers snap back into shape much faster; age has its own demands. Ah, the joy of fitting into your favorite pair of jeans again when the baby turns one year old! It’s as good a goal as any. Walk around with a stroller, run after the never-stopping energetic toddler, and you’ll be fine. I am genetically blessed in at least one respect: my hair does not turn grey. Grey or white hair is the one factor which adds years to one’s appearance. If your hair is turning grey, check it occasionally and make this one concession to your aversion to artificial stuff. Dye your hair regularly, better into your natural hue. I have a friend whose hair became grey when she was twenty five; she’s being coloring it ever since. When she became pregnant with her second child after she turned forty, she fretted about it a lot because she could not dye her hair for several months. She kept asking me if she looked “too old” for her condition, and I kept telling her she looked fine. Which she did by the way. Nobody looked at her head while she was carrying; people saw only her growing belly. I think that our perceptions are changing not only due to the advances in medicine which allow women to have children at a much later age than in the previous centuries. In developed countries life expectancy is much longer now than it ever was. It stands to reason that if a sprightly octogenarian does not surprise anyone anymore, fort really is becoming the new twenty. Or maybe the new thirty. Lots of women of my mother’s generation became grandmothers when they were forty or forty five. Now a growing number of women become mothers at the same age. They have a good career, a number of fruitful working years behind them; the family often has a house, a car and all the things necessary. They know how to plan. In short, they can afford to have a child and give it a good upbringing, a good education in the future.

I would say that it is a positive sign when a woman can make her choices. Probably the fact that now one can see mothers of different ages at the same playground is creating a new atmosphere in the society. Younger women would eagerly ask for advice and share their own new experiences. Older ones would share the wisdom they accumulated and move around more. It is a very nice outlook for those around too. What do we see when we meet a woman who is pushing a stroller? A young mother. We don’t notice her age. We just see a continuation, the Miracles of Life.

#babies and career

ANNIVERSARY!

It’s a year since I started this blog, at the suggestion of my children. Sometimes I have Gems of Wisdom to share rather often, other times not so much. Usually I stay optimistic because I believe in some eternal values like Love, Kindness, Understanding, Compassion, and Tolerance. Yet when I surf the web and scan the news I often feel despair albeit for a brief moment. How are all my friends in London after the new senseless, barbaric, horrible terrorist attack? How can people go on when their loved ones are killed and injured? There is this feeling admirably expressed by the English poet John Donne: “No man is an island… For whom the bell tolls? It tolls for thee…” He wrote at the end of the sixteenth or the beginning of the seventeenth century, more than four hundred years ago. His poem has been quoted innumerable times. Each time there is an act of violence it affects lots of people. With the development of the internet, when the news becomes known almost before anything happens, the whole wide world may see and replay any happening ad infinitum. The immediacy, the ease with which everything and anything can be shared creates a special unique climate, an atmosphere of belonging, of being one with the planet. We rejoice with total strangers at their good fortune, and mourn together lives lost. It seems incomprehensible that people still kill those who have a different faith, who have a different skin color, different values. Does any mother who gives birth in pain hope that her son will grow up and become a criminal, a terrorist who kills innocents?..

And yet I have hope. Humanity goes on. New children are born every second. Most of them will become normal human beings who will continue what we are doing now. They will take care of the Earth, explore the outer space and the oceans. Life goes on.

FLYING BUSINESS.

I have been thinking of flying to see my father, trying to figure out the logistics. As he is quite old, I made it a habit to regularly check the prices, the promotions, and my frequent flyer miles. A week ago I opened my inbox and got a surprise message from my usual airline. They informed me that I could click on a link and get their promo offer. I dutifully clicked and thus got an offer to choose any domestic destination, to book my bonus return ticket; when I clicked further I discovered that I was offered a trip in business class. Rather than vacillate and try to decide when I consulted my husband and booked a flight for next day. Two days there, then back by a night flight. This totally unplanned journey proved to be the best type for me. I had no time for the habitual worries and sufferings; having packed my gifts I went to the airport early next morning. After security check I was directed to the business lounge. Aha! It was my first time, now I had the chance to explore how the other half lived! I went in, looked around, asked an attendant a few questions. Then I settled down in a comfortable large armchair with a bottle of water and a plate of snacks including tiny tasty cakes. There was also a good selection of newspapers and magazines, so rather than click and browse I looked through and read the paper news. In due time we were called in for boarding which was conducted via the general public sleeve. I sat in my row 1 and was immediately offered some soft drinks. There was also a bar menu and a meals menu. Wow! Since I do not drink anything strong I chose Italian sparkling wine; fresh vegetables salad, warm bread, a tiny blob of butter, dressings in tiny containers, meat or fish, dessert, tea, coffee completed the offer. It was quite a good choice, and they brought us real cutlery, not disposable plastic stuff. Each passenger also got a small bag with slippers, ear-plugs, eye-covers, tooth brush and tiny tooth paste. There were little pillows and blankets on every seat too. It turned out that my neighbor upgraded her seat at check-in using her bonus miles, so we had something in common. She also looked at me attentively and I saw that she recognized my face. She inquired if it was OK to ask me some questions about education and told me about her mid-school child; we chatted pleasantly about children in general and educational problems in particular. The flight was very comfortable; the hostess was very attentive and polite. I asked for a review form and filled it in, for which I received profound thanks.

My father was very happy to see me and very grateful for all the gifts I brought him. In recent years as I very well know he gets tired easily, so after a couple hours I called my friend that I was ready to meet with her. He lay down to take his afternoon nap and I went to spend some time with my friend, to talk about our children and life in general. Then I went on to see some other people.

Next day I flew back. Now I knew that after security I was to proceed to the business lounge. Well, at a large airport one finds a large lounge. The choice of snacks and drinks was much bigger, the arm-chairs more numerous and varied; there was the same choice of newspapers and magazines, so I took several magazines and read the fresh newspapers. When I visited the toilet I saw that they had travel size Listerine bottles, so I took one with me. A fellow traveler asked me, “Those bottles say “Green Tea”, can one drink it?” I assured her one could not. Obviously some lucky people never had to use Listerine before. I was the last one to enter the plane. Rather to my discomfort I saw that my neighbor was a large man who was sitting there barefoot. He looked quite anxious, while the woman sitting across the aisle from him looked very upset. The mystery was solved at once, to my relief: it turned out that they also upgraded their tickets at check-in, and got separate seats. When they inquired if someone was willing to change seats with them so that they could spend the flight together they were refused. I was their last chance, and I gladly agreed. The woman jumped into the seat next to her husband, they clasped hands, then she kicked off her shoes too. I settled down next to a very tired-looking man who asked for a cognac. Once he got his Courvoisier he downed it, wrapped himself into the blanket and went to sleep, instructing the stewardess not to wake him up. My neighbors across the aisle and I got our Italian sparkling prosecco, toasted each other, and then they turned to each other while I busied myself with my magazines and cross-word puzzles. Since I left my traveler kit with a relative, I packed the new one into my bag to give to my husband. After a very nice meal I drifted off into slumber. Four hours passed very nicely. I filled in another review before landing.

Yes, it is quite a nice and comfortable way of traveling. This kind of impromptu trip definitely bears thinking about. I will accumulate new miles and watch out for those promotions. Every magazine had an on-going contest advertised, so at home I went online, checked them all, chose a couple and submitted an entry to each one. Who knows, I may win another trip! Sharing the experience with my nearest and dearest is also a nice bonus.

#flying business

shoe size

NO MAGIC ON EARTH.

At a recent event I heard someone ask, “Is she here?” And another woman’s answer, “Yes, that tall woman in small shoes!” Yeah, it was about yours truly. For about as long as I can remember women would always comment about my footwear. Not my feet, mind you, just shoes. Whenever I find myself in a shoe store looking for something or just browsing, a female clerk is practically sure to point out a different shelf which has more height-appropriate sizes. “Oh, are you looking for something for your child?” Or even better: “We don’t have this model in your size”. That without my enquiring, while I was definitely holding the pair in my size. Sometimes I let it slide, other times I get a bit angry. Item one, is shoe or gloves or clothes size always in direct ratio to height and weight? Item two, it is allowed to be ANY size in ANYTHING. My Granny taught me this wonderful wisdom: one cannot saw off an inch, one cannot glue on an inch. Be content with what you have. Naturally one can modify certain things. For instance if one eats healthy and moves a lot one may lose some weight or grow some muscles. Hair color can be changed; the grey can be dyed out. Today one gets nose jobs and corrects the eye-lids, not to mention all the rather scary plastic surgery procedures many movie stars have done in the futile attempt to capture and preserve that non-existent ephemeral phenomenon, the Eternal Youth. Don’t you sometimes wonder what they might look like if they didn’t go under the knife? Ah well, one has to be a genius like Maggie Smith to be comfortable in her skin at any age. “You have rather small feet for your height”, a neighbor commented yesterday. I never know what and if to answer. Is this an unforgivable offense? A crime? It is definitely NOT the attribute that defines me, and yet my students would also comment on that.

Running around with a list of errands I happened to overhear a conversation. A woman was speaking loudly on her cell oblivious to her surroundings. “So I looked at those gloves and realized I picked up yours by mistake… Sure I know, they are too big for me… OF COURSE you have bigger hands than I do… No, I don’t mean that… OF COURSE I am your friend! Hello? Hello?” She caught my glance and said ruefully, “She hung up on me! What’s wrong with having small hands?” Then her eye slid down and she made an inevitable comment, “You have small feet, and that’s OK! Or is it just your shoes that create the illusion?” Well that’s certainly a novel idea. Why don’t we all buy small shoes and try to hobble around in them to create illusions. Actually this is totally unfair. We can wear oversize or too tight clothes without too much discomfort. Why can’t we do the same about shoes?! Oh no, try to put on shoes a size too small and it’s pure agony. I remember a scene from some comedy movie. In it, the lady puts on dainty shoes and suffers manfully. Once they settle down to watch a show she surreptitiously kicks them off, wiggles her toes, tears streaming down her face as the overture is played. Her boyfriend, thinking that she is overwhelmed by the beautiful music, leans to her and whispers tenderly, “Honey, I love you even more for those tears!”

No magic on earth can make one’s feet smaller and one’s heart bigger.

#shoe size

Carrying around

CARRYING AROUND.

In my very young days I used to be the thinnest girl around. At first it was thought that I just had the usual growth spurt as a teenager, and as the doctor told my Mom, height simply overtook weight gain. In my senior year at school, boys would have fun suddenly grabbing me at PE lessons and carrying me around laughing their heads off. Mom explained that young males needed to demonstrate their newfound strength, and elaborated that they were all congenital idiots (out of my Dad’s hearing of course). I was assured that it will pass in time. This left me uncertain as to whether I would gain weight and gradually look different (hard to imagine at the time but possible when looking at all my female relations), or that the said boys will outgrow their mucho-macho period (dubious). At university I was still the thinnest girl in our year, so when I occasionally got the same treatment I was inured. Actually it was not all bad, like for instance I was the girl most often carried across a puddle or a mud patch. Whenever I stopped unsure how to cross a tricky patch someone would rush, scoop me up and demonstrate their prowess.

Naturally I finally gained some weight after having kids. And none of us get any younger with the passing decades. On the one hand our one true love is not very young anymore either; on the other hand nobody would dream of scooping up a mature woman and carry her anywhere regardless of her size. Come to think of it it’s not done today. Young people are too independent, too fit to go in for such immature behavior. Women carry their own heavy luggage for instance; they would stare at a man who offers help. Why? We can all do anything, thank you very much.

Ah, but then come all those romantic thrillers, romances, books and movies. They seem to be stuck in some far-gone epoch when the fair sex was indeed seen as fair and all women were “little women” regardless of their actual size. “So you are the little woman who…” says Tommy Lee Jones (very short) to Julia Roberts (very tall) in “Pelican Brief”. That was a couple decades ago. I read several modern thrillers. In all of them there are scenes when the heroine crawls into the hero’s lap, when he picks her up and carries her out and about and around indefinitely. Ditto in many movies. Well movie magic is one thing. Real life is another. I confess that when I read or see such a scene I invariably remember a passage from Aldous Huxley’s novel “Chrome Yellow”. In it the young protagonist picks up the young damsel in distress fully expecting it to be the same experience he’d observed many times on screen. His reaction? “Heavens what a weight!” He staggers and virtually drops her down. How do they do it in movies? Today we can read about all the secrets, the blue screens which mask the helping hands on the sides, the computer magic and so on. Sure there are a few people, actors included, who can carry a person and look convincing. If need be most humans can perform the fireman’s lift; witness the many movies and TV shows where a pretty young heroine wants to be and does become a fire-fighter, a policewoman, a rescue worker. I don’t quite believe it when she carries out a large man out of a burning building, but who knows? In a stressful and/or dangerous situation all of us can perform extraordinary feats. It goes without saying that a mother can pick up her child and run or jump even when the child is not small anymore. We can all carry, drag, hold up a person of any size when we must. Walking around with someone in our arms, not so much.

But it looks nice.

I saw a poster recently for the new movie called “The Hitman’s Bodyguard”. In it, Ryan Reynolds carries Samuel Jackson in his arms. This I definitely want to see.

#little women; carrying people

INSTANT CHEMISTRY.

Instant chemistry is not a science; nor, come to think of it, electricity is always electricity. As I discovered while reading a romantic thriller, a totally new genre for me, when people feel instant chemistry it means they are ready to fall in bed, and then maybe in love, in that order. The phenomenon is supposed to be mutual: they see each other for the first time and feel that indefinable SOMETHING. They touch accidentally and there’s electricity, a spark, a tingle. They glance at each other and shudder. Quite often they succumb to desire at the end of Day 1 or even after only a few hours passed. True, occasionally they just pine away, trying to conquer their inner demons. Actually nobody can tell you how long it takes for us to realize that the person we just met is THE ONE. Some couples would tell you that they simply knew it at once; others would say it took them months or even years. There are no rules. While lust may indeed take seconds or minutes to manifest itself, love may need some real time to blossom.

There are I believe certain requirements to the main characters or a romantic novel, even if the main plot belongs into the thriller category. She is always breathtakingly stunningly jaw-droppingly knee-weakeningly unbelievably poignantly staggeringly beautiful. Needless to say whenever she appears every male head turns after her. In fact, men forget whatever it was they were doing before that gorgeous (simply gaw-jess) creature materialized in their midst flashing by like a comet and leaving stunned males in her wake. OK, I can believe albeit with great difficulty that it is indeed every man’s reaction to all that over-powering beauty, to the extent that they forget their own spouse, girlfriend, significant other, mother, sister, daughter who is at their side unaffected by the lovely vision. But to imagine that men stare at the apparition and forget their meal?! Nah, not in this universe. BTW all those knockouts practically never eat; they are slim, they have perfect figures, preferably with very long legs, and no, they seem not to need any nourishment. In my mind’s ear I suddenly hear William Petersen a.k.a. Gil Grissom of “CSI” fame intone, “Three weeks without food, three days without water”. That’s how long a human being can survive. Well, to be fair, our heroines do eat a tiny bit of something but very rarely. Yet they yell that catch-phrase, “FBI! Stop or I will shoot!” Well it may be some other alphabet agency. They kick and fight and manage to disable the most dangerous criminals, often large armed to the teeth men. I suspect they need fuel to do that. True their jobs are no picnic; some crime scenes definitely demolish anybody’s appetite. But still, a human being needs to eat, beauties and uglies alike.

Being of an inquisitive mind I catch myself wondering when I read yet another description: what do all the un-beautiful women do? Lots of us though not staggeringly beautiful are still pretty, lovely, magnificent, attractive, impressive and generally nice to look at. Besides there is the old law of nature: beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I have often seen a plain or even a rather ugly woman’s face lit up and become transformed into a truly beautiful one when she sees her beloved man. It must because for him she is the most beautiful woman on earth!

What about men then, are they supposed to be handsome? Some of them are; others are not handsome but tall, strong, debonair. They know how to fight and how to use all sorts of weapons. Many of them are totally chauvinistic as in male chauvinism, sexism et cetera. I mean, imagine the hero meeting the heroine for the first time. He is an FBI (or something) agent, she is an FBI (or something) agent. He looks at her and feels instant chemistry, electricity, tingle. How does he address her? “Hey Blondie!” I ask you. It is absolutely insulting and yet her knees buckle… In the midst of a complicated investigation or even during a dangerous operation all he can think about are her plump lips and amazing curvy figure. She can’t even glance at him without feeling the “need”, the desire. Yep, it’s Day 1, and he traces his finger across her plump lips or accidentally brushes against her luscious body. And all she can do is shudder, swoon, wish to or actually mold her into him. Right after a harrowing episode of “Shots fired!” the readers are thrown into pages of steamy sex. I understand now it is a specific feature and a requirement of the genre. No, I don’t understand the reasons for those long descriptions. Those of us who know how do not need them; those who don’t know – well, theory is not practice. I confess: I skip them. But since the books are published and the genre is very popular, I wish to understand why. That must be the researcher in me acting. Also because the writing is often really good, with solid convoluted plots and believable characters, I read one occasionally. During a long flight for instance or at night in a hotel in a strange city, such a novel acts as pure escapism.

I asked my husband about some details which fascinate me. Would he forget everything and stare lustily at any staggeringly beautiful woman if she passes by? He thought hard as true scientists are apt to do before replying to any question, then came up with the right answer: “I already have a staggeringly beautiful woman at home!” Would he forget his meal and let it get cold in order to stare longingly after the said woman? This question did not even require any time for thought. “You must be kidding me! Why should I let my food grow cold?!”

But yes, when one is tired or simply needs an escape, why not read a romantic thriller.

#instant chemistry; romantic thrillers

MOTIVATION

MOTIVATION.

Motivation is an eternal subject in education, one of the discussion staples at conferences, workshops and daily school life. How to motivate students to study, to learn a new subject, a new topic, a new skill? For those who later go in for science and research there are additional questions from the same topical group. How to motivate young people, how to help them see the wonderful world of research, teach them how to persevere and to feel that incredible high when success is achieved? I would try and shift the focus a little. Step one for a teacher and/or instructor or academic advisor is probably to be a motivated person. If you love what you do and can broadcast your interest to your students, they may follow your lead. This applies to any sphere of human activity. It is often mentioned that Max Linder, a famous comic of the silent film era, gave his disciple Charlie Chaplin a photo with the caption, “To my winner student from his conquered teacher”. Yes, it takes a great talent and a great mind to admit that the student may have outgrown and surpassed the teacher. There are other examples showing a good teacher admire and praise their good student. An instructor who is just that, an instructor, may see a child’s or young people’s potential and nurture it, support the budding talent and encourage them to continue their studies. It is not necessarily the major subject’s teacher who may act as a human catalyst, an inspirational adult. Children need our support and encouragement. It is a well-known fact in education and educational psychology that just one benevolent adult may play a significant role in any child’s future, while just one who constantly downgrades and humiliates a pupil may cause irreparable or long-lasting damage. If, say, Harry Potter and his friends had only the likes of Professor Snape at Hogwarts, would they have grown into powerful young wizards who managed to conquer the Evil personified by Voldemort? In the series which probably determined the literary tastes of the first decade of this century we see several examples of the good teachers. Albus Dumbledore, Minerva MacGonagall and Rubeus Hagrid, though vastly different, all have one thing in common: they love children – and they enjoy teaching.

Let us say we do manage to share our enthusiasm and help our students imbibe the new knowledge. By the time they become adolescents they may wish to know why they need this or that subject, and how they may use it in their adult life. Since I have been teaching English in all its aspects plus computers and the internet, it always seemed to me that my task was easy. A long time ago my father told me that when (not if) I mastered a foreign language and learned to type really fast on any keyboard I would have two very important skills which will give me an income, no matter which profession I chose. He was absolutely right. When I earned my first real money at the age of 16, while still at school, I felt that indeed I had a way of getting enough pay for all my expenses. Baby-sitting for instance seemed a natural thing to do in my teen years, but it did not require much. Translation and typing paid better. This was a good incentive to hone those skills. As Arthur Charles Clark told me much later, “Cash never hurts anybody”.

Young mobility is a feature of modern life. Graduates and post-graduates move around the globe, from country to country, from continent to continent. Their motivation may differ from ours. It is seldom that a young man or woman would tell you, “I wish to find a cancer cure” or “I wish to stop all wars”, though I have met those too. Usually by the time they finish a university or college they know better than to expect the world to change overnight. Quite often when it is a couple their motivation is the simplest and perhaps one of the most fundamental things in human history: they want to be together. One of them finds a position, the other goes with him or her to the new lands to try their luck. Friends embark on a project together and go to another country for their M.Sc., Ph.D. and subsequent work. Safety in numbers: it is easier to go somewhere with a friend or partner than alone. Love and friendship are very good motivations.

I meet my former students anywhere and everywhere, in Europe, the USA, the UK and New Zealand. Walking along University Boulevard in Berkeley I was stopped by a group of young men animatedly talking science who exclaimed, “We remember you, you are a university teacher from our home town!” Indeed. Yet another young woman is leaving her home town right after she gets her B.Sc. because her boyfriend is already working at a laboratory in a faraway country. She did not originally plan on doing that but she decided it is better to be with him than stay here and probably remain single. A young man left because, as he explained to me, when he came for an interview at a local institute he realized that there were absolutely no researchers his age there. Everybody he met was at least twenty years older than he. Yes, youth is attracted to youth, like finds like. This is natural. For some going to a different country is an adventure, they are motivated by the desire to see the world and try to do something good.

Once they start working and doing real research in their chosen field, they may get immersed in it and understand more as the time goes by. They may see the perspectives, the great opportunities both for discoveries and for professional growth which in turn may motivate them for more intensive research and for bolder approaches to the issues at hand. The quest for truth, the wish to discover that proverbial cure, to change the world and to provide a better life for mankind is as good as it gets. This is action at its best. Maybe we won’t see world peace, ever, but at least we try. It is certainly much better and more productive than killing innocent people by trucks and bombs. At any international laboratory or institution today you may encounter people of various nationalities who work together for the greater good. Scientists, researchers are very tolerant.

At a recent educational conference we watched a nice very short video on motivation. Here goes. Mother Mouse is walking along a road with her child when a large Cat suddenly jumps on the road in front of them and shouts “Meow!” Mother Mouse puffs up her chest and yells at the top of her voice, “Woof! Woof!” The Cat gets scared and runs away. Mother Mouse turns to her child and says, “Now you see why it is useful to study a foreign language!”

#motivation; research; love & friendship

BFFs

BEST FRIENDS.

BFF is a modern abbreviation which clearly shows that people still want to be Best Friends Forever. Indeed, if we are lucky enough to find a good friend, or if they are lucky enough to find us early in life, we may feel blessed if the friendship continues through the years. Friends are the people with whom we can share our joys and sorrows; we do not envy them and they never judge us either. We can allow ourselves the luxury of meeting a good friend with neither of us paying much thought to the way we look, or ask their opinion about a new look and trust that we tell each other the truth – more or less. We age together but never count the wrinkles and lines, the graying hair or the “all natural” color from a bottle. We understand the health problems which crop up with age, discuss our kids uninhibitedly, share all kinds of mundane events and agree to disagree. Above all we have the capacity to feel happy for our friend’s good luck or achievement, and we always have a kind word for each other.

We have been friends with Mary since our first day at university. We sat together at all our lectures and seminars, did our homework together, went to exhibitions and concerts, had sleepovers and discussed boys ad infinitum. When we received our monthly scholarship money we invariably went to an ice-cream café and ate our fill talking non-stop. She got married at an early age, rather to my surprise. First she told me that she met a young guy at a party and they spent a night together; then in a couple months time I received an invitation to a lavish wedding; and very soon she gave birth to a daughter. Well, these things happen. I became the child’s godmother and de facto aunt, in the absence of any other relations. Some years later, when I was also married with children, we met for our habitual sit-together, and she poured out her troubles. It turned out that her husband has been cheating on her since day 1, maintaining that she “made him” marry her because of the pregnancy. I commiserated – and suddenly she lashed out at me saying unforgivable, unforgettable things about my family. It felt as if a limb was hacked off from me… We kept up civil appearances for a few years but the friendship was gone. And then she died from an early onset of Alzheimer’s.

Recently her daughter, my god-daughter, asked me for a meeting with her and her daughter, aged 11. The girl, she explained, began to ask questions about her grandmother whom she had never met. And I was the one person remaining who had known her as a young girl, before the disease and untimely demise. I looked at the earnest childish face, and at the hopeful young woman’s face, both waiting for me to tell them something. I cast my mind back to our youth and started talking, remembering every funny episode, every nice event, every prank we played, every trip we took. I told them about the ice-cream, the tears about young men, the long lines waiting to see an exhibit, the exams and sleepovers. I recollected the joy I felt when I first saw my tiny god-daughter and the play-dates we arranged when I had my kids. The young mother was smiling happily, and I realized that actually she never knew her mother as a young carefree girl either. The little girl was smiling broadly, giggled and asked questions, gasped at some of the more audacious pranks we played, and listened spellbound to the stories of our trips. I could see that her long-gone grandma became a real person for her; she obviously projected my persona on some inner image – and liked the result.

No, I never mentioned any of the negative events and kept silent about our sad breakup. Let them imagine my late friend as the kind talented person she used to be before life dealt her a blow she could not bear. This meeting also helped me heal, and I felt the old wound disappear.

BFFs

DIFFERENT OUTLOOK.

It’s a year since my husband stuck an issue of NATURE magazine, a real paper copy, and suggested I try for a blog in it. I diligently read this, for me, unfamiliar publication, tried my hand at it, but my efforts were declined. I am still infinitely grateful to the NATURE blog author and coordinator Jack Leeming because thanks to reading his own posts and his selections I gained many new insights into this new field of writing. A scientist I am not, but I am an author and a happy blogger. My family encouraged me in starting a new blog of my own, and the comments and reactions I receive prompt me to continue. I noticed that I glance at my surroundings with a new eye, a different outlook. And I am happy to share even if only one person happens to read any one of my posts. So, how to be a happy blogger?

Formulate your attitude. While a specific magazine blog may be read by target audience only, any blog launched into the world wide web may attract thousands or go viral in no time at all. No, it does not mean that our blogs are better than any professional’s; it just means that we may feel good about it J

Pay attention to comments even if you, like me, don’t want to publish all of them on your own web page. I check them regularly, and whenever I see a common thread I try to reply to everybody at once. It helps me realize that as a working mother I have a lot to share, and hopefully help others.

Try to stay positive in spite of all the staff that happens daily in the world. Do you ever feel that the world has gone crazy? That in fact any news is often bad news? Rather than add anything gloomy to the already heavy load, share something good, funny, add a dash of humor to your mix.

Remember the old maxim charmingly and ungrammatically stated in the “Bambi” cartoon: If you can’t say something nice don’t say nothing at all.

So we were recently strolling around in Vienna, that unbelievably beautiful city. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and we stopped often to stare at yet another lovely building, palace, church or fountain. I took lots of pictures; it was really very hard to choose since every structure, every monument seemed worthy of admiration. Thus I stopped in front of a lovely house and aimed my camera at it. Simultaneously my husband exclaimed, “Oh look, isn’t it amazing? Can you take a picture?” I nodded. But then unexpectedly he took me by the shoulders, gently turned me around and said, “Not this – that!” Yes, I was oohing and aahing about the architecture while he saw something totally different. It was a car, a van, a whatever kind of machine it was, with a very unusual layered front and lots of signs on the sides; the driver’s seat was high above the hood behind a large round windshield. The signs told us it was some sort of Software Security Company. My husband walked around the van repeating, “I’ve never seen anything like that, isn’t it fascinating?” Yes dear. I snapped a few pictures, and then aimed my camera at the magnificent Rathaus, the City Hall which also happened to have lots of machinery in front of it. It turned out that the skating rink was dismantled, the square was being cleaned up and then as I knew from multiple photos the new flowerbeds were to be laid out there.

My life, my whole outlook, my own perception of the world around us definitely changed. My knowledge is so greatly enlarged, and my appreciation of the machinery we see around us daily is certainly enhanced by the new experiences. Without this male ability to see the cars where we see the lovely statues and shop window displays we would probably miss a lot. When I came back to the hotel after a solo run along the main shopping street, I saw fire trucks, police vans and even a cement mixer in the street, so I ran ahead and burst into the hotel lobby worried that something bad had happened while I was out. “What’s going on?” several women screamed as one. The male receptionist who was staring at all the outside activity totally entranced answered automatically without taking his eyes off the unfolding scene, “Not here, not to worry!” Indeed, in a few minutes all the machines dispersed in different directions and everything went back to normal.

#men and machines

LIFE GOES ON.

THE MOST AMAZING THING ABOUT LIFE.

The most amazing thing about life is that it goes on. When I read the news about yet another terror attack, an act of violence, an atrocity committed by humans against humans for whatever “valid” reason, I feel the beginnings of despair. How do we go on? Can we feel calm; can we even be sure that it is a safe world for our children? No, of course not. I think the world was never actually safe. Today, when people move around a lot, when the whole wide world can see the news almost before they happen, it seems even more unsafe than ever. And yet, amazingly, Life goes on. Those of us who are engaged in some useful activity have to get up every morning, make breakfast, take care of the family, and go to work. There are innumerable occupations which benefit humanity at large and individuals “at small”. Doctors, teachers, transportation workers, shop clerks, sanitation workers, caregivers perform their daily tasks regardless of the weather, the season or the time of day. Fire fighters rush to a fire, policemen dash to a crime scene. And all of us just go on about our life.

The news do leave one distracted, sad and generally in low spirits. I was trying to walk it off the other day in an effort to overcome a writing block which resulted from all the doom and gloom. Here is a funny recipe for shaking oneself out of any bad mood, which as they say is good for women only: if Life is too much, take soap, rope and start your general laundry, spring cleaning, a complete overhaul. So I went out to run several errands, and it was one of those uncertain days which make one think, “April is the cruelest month”, even though April is still a few days around the corner. Spring is definitely coming, in that peculiar rhythm: one day is all sunny and mild; another day is all chilly and windy. It is slippery underfoot, so a brisk walk is out of the question. Trying to find a better footing I found myself looking at a new shop, so on a whim I stepped inside, to be greeted with a nice display of fruits and veggies both canned and fresh. While my eye was roving from top to bottom as is its custom, the young woman behind the counter greeted me pleasantly and asked what I wanted. I was stumped and mumbled back, “I would like… something…” And I floundered. She gave me a brilliant smile and said cheerfully, “You are in luck! We have just received a new shipment. Look, it’s so nice and only $5 per box, ten in each box, quite a steal!” I dutifully looked – and bought that “something”. The bright splash of color considerably changed the grey day. The smell, the taste were wonderful which as we know does not always happen. Things may look very nice indeed and taste like ashes or like nothing at all. Of course the nice smile, the friendly exchange of mundane remarks helped raise the mood. Sometimes all it takes is a friendly smile and a little “something”.

#life goes on

WE HAVE POWER!

As everybody and his sister, I wanted to watch that episode of “Madam Secretary” where Tea Leoni is first rudely groped at an official meeting, and then she socks the offender into his face breaking his nose. Attagirl! I watched it, and it was wonderfully acted by all parties. I can well understand that since a country was named, its authorities became offended and tried to stop the airing of the episode. But fiction is not fact; the show creators could choose another country. The whole point is, a woman is mistreated, and she exercises her right to defend herself. Frankly, while watching I never once thought, “Oh, what a bad country!” Because as did millions of viewers I never took it as an insult to the country itself. I did think, “What a jerk! Serves him right!” We are living in turbulent times, and the daily news tells us about all kinds of violence against women. Well, surprise bad guys! Women can often defend themselves, put up a good fight and yes, break a man’s nose in the process. This scene reminded me of an old French movie called “Fanfan La Tulipe”. In it, the very young and impossibly beautiful Italian actress Gina Lollobrigida plays a young girl who caught the king’s fancy. At first she naively mistakes his motives for some paternal or noble interest. When he tries to press his unwanted attentions on her however she smacks his cheek and escapes. She stumbles on La marquise de Pompadour, the king’s favorite and his official mistress, and recounts her troubles. The celebrated experienced marquise rolls her eyes, clasps her hands and breathes out ecstatically, “A slap in the king’s face! I’ve been dreaming about doing it all my life!” Of course she helps the young Adeline.

Now it is a slap in a president’s face. Good for her – good for us. Though I do not consider myself a feminist, I understand, for instance, why Emma Watson became one. No, I didn’t notice any overtly feminist moments in the new “Beauty and the Beast” where this extremely talented actress plays Belle. I simply enjoyed watching it, like millions other movie-goers.

What would a man do if he got attacked, groped, insulted? I sincerely hope any man would try to defend himself to the best of his abilities. Why does it come as a surprise that a woman acts the same? There are situations when patience is not a virtue; quick action is needed instead. Being an incorrigible optimist I believe that men and women can achieve understanding and treat each other with mutual respect. As a realist, I am always ready for something else. “Girl, want to go spend a nice time with us?” two drunks leered at me in the dusk. I asked them, astonished, “Do you address ME like that?!” I mean, one can see I am not a spring chicken as the saying goes. “Sure, mature is much better!” they laugh, obviously thinking that they are irresistible. I never accost any male like that, yet some men believe it is all right to accost women, anywhere.

We have power!

Maybe the day will come…

#Men & Women

to-do lists

#to-do list

MAKING LISTS.

MAKING A LIST.

There is a nice very realistic moment in “Freaky Friday” with Jamie Lee Curtis. We see the mother while still asleep in the morning, waking up, with her thoughts tumbling around in her head even before she is fully awake: “Take kids to school… lunch box… pick up laundry… dinner… patients…” and so on. This phenomenon is of course familiar to any working mother. We make to-do lists before drifting off to sleep at night and float back to consciousness with them. Ah, but occasionally it happens that all our plans fall apart due to sudden weather changes, to kids’ sickness, to our own feeling indisposed, to the laundry being closed, to schools having sudden snow holidays. We lived through a tornado in New York. For many people it probably came as any sudden natural event does, with hurricane winds, disruptions in transport schedules, heavy rains and general havoc all around. For us, it started in the form of phone calls from schools. We were to pickup our children at once. Our primary school was within walking distance. I listened to the news reports, understood that the safest way was simply walking close to the buildings, so the father ran to pick up both young ones. Mid-school said they would bring all the teens to the cross-point at Broadway and West 86th Street, for parents to pick them up. I informed my supervisor and rushed there. The logistics didn’t need any specific discussions, it was clear to us that while the man could scoop up two kids and run, the woman could manage to bring home one teenager. I still occasionally have the same dream. As I was inching along as fast as I could, keeping very close to the tall houses, I heard some strange crunching noise. I raised my head and saw a huge pane of window glass falling down, breaking into myriad pieces which creaked underfoot. It’s that sound, not the falling trees and the flying cars, which is firmly associated with that day in my memory. Our kids also remember that day as “lots of fun”. School was cancelled!

What do we do with our lists if something happens to disrupt them and to send all our carefully thought out plans into the blue wide yonder? Why, nothing. As my mother used to say, the floor will be here tomorrow for us to sweep. It is the ability to quickly choose and separate the “must do’s” and the “can wait’s” that makes a wife and mother an effective planner. We always have a veritable jumble in our heads whether we want to or not. My to-do list includes, for instance, reading a chapter in the wonderful Shakespeare biography by Peter Ackroyd; while reading I finish knitting a baby cardigan. In a separate compartment I have lunch, with two bright salads, one fresh veggies, one red beet; turkey meatballs are the main dish of the day; pretzels and marble cake complete the meal. Tea, coffee or water is served as per taste. I know, at least by my own experience, that in a mother’s mind it is an orderly daily mix. It does not bother me that I have Shakespeare, knitting and cooking co-existing together. After lunch and washing up the dishes I can do my research and continue working on an article, with occasional or regular interruptions for family needs. Life is a multicolored multi-dimensional continuous process. One can have a semblance of order maintained through every day. Get up, make breakfast, send everybody on their way, get ready for work. Lunch or dinner, homework, movie or TV show in the evening. An outing or socializing with friends at weekend. “I am always in this circle, is it what life is about?” a friend worries. It sure is.

#to-do lists

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