Digging Out!

Linda — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 01:41:26 +0000

Oh NO! I can't believe it.

Its me again, Sparky. Sorry for the interruption, but I need to reach out. It’s the snow. I have been going stir crazy. Even with their cars buried under three feet of snow, humans have many ways to reach out. They have landline and wireless telephones. They have computers, and email, and Facebook and twitter, not to mention TV sets and DVD players And so I lament. The only way that I can communicate with the outside world is to perch on my couch, straining my eyes as I try to peer out the window, which these days is covered with snowflakes cast by the wind.

Early in the morning, the day of the first snow, I pushed my nose against my ‘doggie door.’ Nothing moved. So I pushed with my head. But again it wouldn’t budge. So I waited patiently until my Master came downstairs and tried his hand at opening the backdoor leading out to the deck. He pushed and pushed, but it gave way only a few inches. I could hardly believe my eyes. The snow, which was flush with the door frame, rose up about three feet, if not more. From my lowly perspective, all I could see was the sky!

How to hibernate. . . lorimoon.files.wordpress.com/ 2009/03/hibernat.

I suspect that this is what a bear experiences when he comes out of hibernation. Assessing the situation, he looks around, sees piles and piles of snow, and then returns inside. This is, of course, a reasonable strategy. But need I remind you, I am not a bear. Oh, I may be cuddly, and my fur is thick and silky black. But while a bear sleeps, I have work to do. For example, my job is to keep tabs on the local neighborhood, watching people go by, determining who is a friend or foe, and–of course–barking when I deem it appropriate. When on a walk, I also parole a much larger area, first checking the bushes and fire hydrants for pungent messages left by my friends and enemies, and then leaving my own mark to bound my territory. This signaling system can get quite complex, as my mistress would say. Of course, my favorite task is barking ferociously at the mailman until he drops his ‘loot,’ and I chase him away. Unfortunately, the postal service–not withstanding its motto: in all kinds of weather–failed us, as did the garbage men, during the Big Snow, or as President Obama said, “snowmaggedon.”.

Our social life only recommenced with the shoveling of snow. Having overcome their awe at the situation, all of the neighbors, and of course their dogs, converged in our street to shovel the snow, and clear a path for cars and pedestrians alike. I finally got to engage with my friends Carla and Roxy, who live across the street. With the streets passable, we could take our walks again. But it wasn’t quite the same.

A new beginning

Walking through a narrow passage way, with the snow on the side piled many feet high, I could smell the dogs across the street–especially my nemesis, the chocolate poodle named Bosco–but I could not see him much less growl at him. But the more fundamental problem was: ‘how to do my duty,’ The snow was like quick sand; when I climbed up on top of it, I sank down almost above my shoulders, and when my mistress came to my rescue, she fell in too.

Notwithstanding all of the communication technology in our house, I have come to think my Mistress also found our imposed enclosure somewhat stressful. In particular, I think that she is missing her classes. While she often tells me to “stay, sit, and come”, she rarely lectures me about intellectual matters. These days, however, as she walks with me through the snow, she tells me about the ‘social capital,’ that is being developed as neighbors join together to shovel. Noting the people who don’t shovel their walks, but who shovel out their cars, she references Langdon Winner‘s account in the Whale and the Reactor of how the pedestrian and the auto driver perceive the world differently. As we slip and slide across the ice, she asks me what Langdon Winner might say about people who fail to shovel their sidewalks. And of course, as we meander in and out of the snowbanks, looking for a crossway, she talks about the importance of architecture and how the snow has restructured our interactions.

Yesterday, we saw the ground. Hope springs eternal, as they say.

On Technorati: A dog's life, Langdon Winner, social capital, the big snow, The Whale and the Reactor

Coming to Closure

Linda — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 21:02:10 +0000

Lifehack from manu contreras

Making the most of the last days of summer is like squeezing the tube of toothpaste until there are no squeezes left. This was our intent, in fact, the Thursday before Labor Day, when–on a whim–my husband Brock and I decided to head back to the Lake. We were looking for closure. We wanted to gather our wonderful summertime experiences together, and wrap them up, so we could leisurely unpack, and savor them, at some later time.

Having assembled together at Lake Hawthorne on the Forth of July to welcome in the summer, so too we gathered in early September, along with the katydids, to bid it goodbye. As in all such comings and goings, there were rituals involved–in this case, rituals designed to build social capital and hold the community together over the long winter months.

As in all such comings and goings, there were rituals involved.

The weekend was chockfull, to say the least. An evening cocktail party mellowed us before the annual business meeting on the following day, when we joined in a circle on the meadow to discuss and debate the thorny issues entailed in jointly managing a 450 acre commons. A community picnic followed, along with the raffling of prizes, boat races, and more. But, for me, the main event was the treasure hunt!

Let me emphasize, this was no ordinary treasure hunt. The groundwork was laid the evening we arrived, when my son Steve greeted us by quickly ushering us out the door. Armed with a chest of jewels (or so they seemed to the innocent eye), he explained the plan: on the next day, the lake children would search for the treasure by following clues, written by Steve in elaborate verse, and deposited in significant sites around and in the lake–Sunset Rock, The Ice House, Table Rock, etc. As we followed Steve into the woods, we came to the point where four trails converged. Depositing a clue on the branch of a nearby tree, Steve then paced out forty steps to the right, where he buried the chest, marking the spot with crisscrossed deer bones shaped as a cross. Brock and I, feeling depleted after our long drive, headed back to the house for a swim and a cocktail, while Steve traipsed on, depositing the rest of the clues.

The real fun began the following day, when the children, escorted by a few adults, set out together in search of the buried treasure. They were not alone. Along the route were a few of Steve’s friends who, dressed in unbelievable costumes, helped interpret the clues.

Fortune Teller in the Attic from Brock Evans

The next-to-last stop was our house, where the children climbed the stairs up to the dormitory (reputed for generations to be the home of ghosts) only to find a fortune-teller who–in exchange for the coin sequestered at their last stop–provided the final clue. Not long after, among shrieks of delight, they were divvying up the treasure.

It is times like these that make farewells so bitter sweet. The more enjoyable the experiences, the harder it is to bring them to a close.

Wrangler Jeans From Way Out Texas

Driving home from the lake, and contemplating the new school year, I thought about my next point of closure–resigning as Director of CCT. I leave the program in excellent hands–those of Dr. David Lightfoot, my former dean and mentor–who without a doubt will bring the program to new heights. And, as a member of the faculty, I shall have more time to do what I love best, pursuing with my students the treasure of seeking greater knowledge and understanding. Nonetheless, I am grateful to the students, faculty and staff who–given the special times we have shared–have made this, for me, a tender moment indeed.

On Technorati: Brock Evans, Commons, community building, endings, Lake Hawthorne, new beginnings, saying goodbye, social capital, treasure hunt

Exploring Interdisciplinarity » social capital

Digging Out!

Coming to Closure