The Kitchen at Seder April 5, 2015

I met my late husband Roy in 1990, and for these past 25 years, more or less, I have enjoyed spending the Seder with his closest friends and their families.  Seder happens at Howard and Carol’s home, on Euclid Avenue in the Berkeley hills.  We arrive between 5 and 5:30, Earl and Beverly from Mill Valley, Jeff and Julie from Davis, me from San Francisco, and Sheldon and Nikki now transplanted to Bethesda MD.  The next generation, and even the next-next generation, come too.  

Roy has been dead almost 18 years, Annie is asunder, and this year I arrive alone.  All the other marriages and children are intact, as is the bond I feel for all of them.

Sitting around an enormous ring of beautifully set tables, we make it through the Haggadah, followed by a feast that Carol has prepared, each year’s matzo ball soup smoother and more delectable than the last.  Each of us has contributed a dish of spring bounty – perfectly cooked asparagus with a lemony sauce, salads with edible flowers, rhubarb crumble.  The sung Dayenu is so off-key that I tear up in laughter.  Every year, it is the same.

I slip into the kitchen to help keep up with the rounds of dirty dishes, and that’s where the real conversation happens, especially with Carol, Nikki, and Julie, whom I rarely see.  I don’t realize my loneliness until I am home again, and it makes being with them all the sweeter. Until next year…

The Song Unit March 25, 2015

A few years ago, while still actively employed at UCSF, I read a letter of recommendation for a job candidate whose first name was Song.  The referee noted that the applicant worked in 3- or 4-hour time blocks that her co-workers had come to call “Song Units”.  Since I was then working on a book project, mainly at home, I adopted the Song Unit to discipline myself.  I took on a schedule of arising early to accommodate one Song Unit in the morning, a three-hour break over midday, and another Song Unit ending by 6:30 pm.  The intensive periods of concentration, when I staved off any impulse to pay a few bills, weed, wash the dishes, or check my email, heightened my work.  But an unintended consequence was the beauty of the in-between time, when I forced myself not to work, not even to think about work, but rather to run my errands, walk with friends, take in an art exhibit or movie, or go to yoga.  Evenings were freed up too, for reading, dining out, ballet, symphony, or opera.  Each aspect of the day became more fulfilling, focused, and joyful. 

Once my sabbatical ended, I went back to my office, and I lost sight of the Song Unit until recently, when my friend Gail, a retired interior designer and now painter, told me that she was having trouble carving out blocks of time for her artwork.  I told her about the Song Unit, and I think she is trying to figure out how to make it work for her.  I’m reestablishing the Song Unit for myself, too.  And now, part of my Song Unit is indeed… singing!

M Arch March 23, 2015

Last week’s email brought some exciting news: I was accepted into the Masters of Architecture program at CCA (California College of the Arts). It also brought a bit of “unwelcome” news from UC Berkeley: I was not accepted. I am relieved to not have to make a choice, as decision-making is not my strong suit. Moreover, since CCA is located right in San Francisco, wedged between the south-of-market design district and the UCSF Mission Bay campus, studying there eliminates big issues with commuting or moving across the Bay. CCA has a vibe I really like, with design of all sorts – graphic, industrial, furniture, fashion, textile – located together with architecture under one big roof of an old bus hangar.

With the acceptance by CCA, I am starting to realize that I might actually be able to do this crazy thing: study architecture, immerse myself in a foreign culture, learn by leaps and bounds. Already I am starting to gain a little confidence, look at my surroundings in new ways, take myself perhaps a bit more seriously.

Yesterday came another email from CCA: an invitation to take one of their summer courses in Europe. What an opportunity I had not even imagined!  Now, I will. But for the moment, I’m just savoring the future that has opened up for me.

Talking about Retirement February 15, 2015

Last night I went to a lovely dinner reception for a faculty member new to UCSF.  Among the guests were a number of faculty who were of “retirement age”, and naturally the conversation turned to the pluses and minuses of taking the leap.  At UCSF that leap can have a very gentle landing, both because of its generous pension program and because one can retain an office and a connection, even continuing to work part time. I, for example, occupy a small cubby and am delighted to pop in occasionally to work on a writing project, to review a few grant applications or manuscripts, and to check in with old friends and colleagues in the process.

A few of us present have made the leap to the other side.  One colleague is taking literature classes and hopes to get a Masters Degree and teach literary criticism.  Another is now singing in a chorus, taking classes in watercolor, and skiing.  Another, a Nobel Laureate, opted for retirement but still comes to lab every day.  I asked her whether having a Nobel Prize made it more difficult for her to let go completely, because after winning it, one’s life is no longer one’s own.  She said that she felt her greatest obligation was to speak at events for girls and young woman.  Others talked about friends who had been uneasy to make the change, but once it happened they enjoyed themselves so much they never looked back.  One woman described not wanting to leave the career she loved so much, especially her interaction with patients, but acknowledge her longing to work in her garden.  And yet another said she too loved her job but was so fed up with the complications brought on by the new hospital that she was ready to pack it in.

It is a big leap. It is hard to willingly end a career one has nurtured for so many years, a career that has given such satisfaction, a career that one that has loved.  But sooner or later, it is a very reasonable choice. The next stage in one’s life can be just as satisfying as the last!

The Five Remembrances February 4, 2015

A few years ago, I participated in a Zen/Yoga retreat at Tassajara.  Our teacher Linda Cutts shared a powerful teaching known as the Five Remembrances. When I find myself in a challenging personal situation, I think on these words.  Perhaps they will be helpful to you, too.

I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.

I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape ill health.

I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.

All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.

My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.

Catching up February 3, 2015

It has been nearly three months since I have written.  Life’s troubles have made my posts infrequent and stunted my progress in post-retirement self-discovery.

Still, I am inching my way toward a new path. In December, I crafted a portfolio (using my embryonic skills with InDesign) and applied to two Master of Architecture programs.  This came on the heels of a course in digital tools for architecture and another on color theory.  I came to my senses and restricted my applications to schools in the Bay Area, reluctantly relaxing my reins to the alma mater of my doctorate – MIT.  At this moment, I am simply too fragile to contemplate leaving behind the love of my supportive friends and the familiarity of my rich environment. 

Late December through late January brought multiple rounds of family woes so devastating that nothing else could be considered.  But now I find myself enrolled again in two classes – painting and architecture – trying to find some structure and meaning for my life.

But I have started to contemplate an alternate reality. What would it be like to “just be”?  To not have a path, to not want a path?  I can’t imagine this, but it would be a perfectly valid way to live a life.  Could I do that?  Should I do that?  

The gray day November 12, 2014

Today’s weather finally matched my mood: foul.  Gray sky, wind, a chill in the air, a departure from the beautiful months we have been enjoying at the expense of drought.  Indeed, this fine autumn has buoyed me to the extent that it could, and today I let myself sink into the reality of living in a family and a world besieged by addiction.  I know I am not alone in weathering this madness.  Somewhere on the order of 10-15% of Americans are addicted to drugs or alcohols, and that means that many families are dealing with the same tragedy of withered lives.

I have been trying hard to hold it together, dutiful with my classes, attentive to my meditation cushion, singing with others, realigning with yoga, writing my interviews, walking with friends.  I am also trying to plan for my future, attempting to carve something out of almost nothing in a force of will and a conviction that complete absorption will keep me afloat.  But I rage at our society and those closest to me who chose to ignore the danger of drugs, devouring themselves and others in the process.

Near the end of his life, my late husband said that it was very difficult to fight like hell to stay alive, yet at the same time prepare himself death.  I feel that I am doing that now, too: struggling to help, yet preparing for loss.  It is indeed a terrible thing to witness and to endure. 

The flea market November 3, 2014

At this blog’s inception, I had considered naming it “Fifty New Things”.  I expected that I might actually relax a bit after retirement and use my newfound free time to explore parts of the Bay Area that I had ignored for thirty years.  Of course, that free time was quickly sucked into music and art, and Fifty New Things morphed into The Passaggio.

Yesterday, though, I did make some traction on my original intention, and it was all because of the fall time change.  The crack of dawn came so early and the weather was so fine that I was compelled to get out and about right that minute.  I knew there was some kind of massive flea market held the first Sunday of each month in Alameda, so I checked online, and sure enough there it was – the Alameda Point Antiques Faire. I grabbed my gear and a couple of collapsible bags just in case, and I was off.

I had set my iphone to map the route, but there was really no need to check it.  By the time I was headed south on 880, I folded into a stream of cars heading through the tunnel to Alameda.  I followed them to a gigantic parking lot, which in fact was the site of the Navy airfield in times past.   Noting that my parking row was labeled “U”, I joined the line of human cattle with their carts and buggies as we trod past T, S, R etc, with a vista of colorful shipping containers and enormous white cranes along the loading docks to our right.  Arriving at the entrance at precisely 9 am when the admission price drops to $5, hundreds of us charged through with anticipation.

I methodically wended my way up and down the rows (also lettered) to the right of the large center aisle, checking out the scene but not committing to a purchase and fueling myself all the while with leftover Halloween candy.  I passed by white-awninged stalls devoted to recycled linen grain sacks, lighters, brass tchotchkes, cigar paraphernalia, Bakelite bangle bracelets, and colorful old Corningware and Creuset cookware.  But for an event touted as an “antiques faire”, there was a lot of junk, some stuff so forlorn and creepy that I just had to pass by as quickly as I could.  Yet people seemed to love it and were loading up their large flat shopping carts and waiting at the loading zone as though they were at Ikea.

I came away with only two small purchases – a few glyphs from an old metal typeset and two old photos of downtown Point Reyes Station circa 1900 – and a small start on my list of fifty new things.  In fact, if you add in zumba, the World’s Series, and the many new performance venues I’ve been to in the past year, I'd say I'm not doing too badly.

Art vs. Science September 22, 2014

My art classes are so compelling.  It is uncanny to witness ideas bubble to the surface and delightful to try to manifest them in a small work of art. 

I am also struck by the difference in the overall goals between my current endeavors and those I have left behind as a scientist.  As scientists, we are all rushing to address a question, using many different strategies, but competing to find a single answer.  In art, even though a single question may be posed, there are as many answers as there are people trying to address it.  I love that.

I'm back September 21, 2014

At the time of my last entry, I hadn’t quite decided whether to terminate this blog or to keep pressing forward until I felt that I was securely on a new path.  My resolution was further stalled by a family difficulty that needed my full attention and sucked all of the joy and much of the momentum out of my life.  I dropped out of the West Marin Players summer show, terminated my weekly vocal coaching sessions, and opted against auditioning for the next West Bay Opera production.  But because I needed to learn to draw, I latched onto a lifeboat in the form of an intensive summer course in drawing and composition at College of Marin.  Those four and half hours of daily immersion in graphite, charcoal, and water color wash were the rudder that focused my attention and provided a direction to weather my personal storm.

Now that a patch of calm has opened up, I have decided to take up the blog again and continue to chronicle my passaggio.

I seem to be hurtling more and more toward architecture, design, or art in some form or other as my next big adventure.  My summer drawing course certainly pointed out my abundant weaknesses, but they also demonstrated that persistence and practice can pay off.  For example, our teacher demanded 14 self-portraits from us as two weekends’ homework; I began by cringing at the wrinkles and the bags, but ended up making peace with my mug and came up with one or two drawings that at least were recognizable to myself as me.  And despite how difficult I found the black water-color washes, I ended up loving their zen-like unpredictability and simplicity.

This fall I am again a student at College of Marin.  After a bit of a stumble as I tested out painting, sculpture, and beginning architectural design, I finally settled on two art classes, digital architectural drawing and color theory, as well as two performance groups, Marin Oratorio and Chamber Singers.  In theory, my “major” is visual and performance art, but I’m not sure there is an actual degree in that combo, not that I really need one.  More about these courses in future blog posts seems likely.

But for the moment, I’ll just say that I see myself heading toward an application to California College of the Arts for next fall, likely for an M Arch, but possibly for and MFA in Design.  A destination is starting be in sight.