Dating and the Admissions Process

Today on this first day of Spring (also Coco's b-day...HAPPY B-Day!), I find myself somewhat exhausted from completing the latest big Admission and Marketing project. In addition to teaching, being chief lice checker, office extra girl, Suzy-makes-a-lotta-name tags, and my various other strangely titled positions, I am also the Assistant Director of Admission and Marketing. This means I spend a lot of time talking to perspective families, helping out with school tours, repping my digs at Independent school fairs, plugging inquiries into the database, and so much more.

As I grew up attending public school a lot of this process is somewhat foreign to me. Not only do perspective families visit our school multiple times for the grill and schmooze...which is that special balance of asking smart questions, but also sucking up and trying to be on best behavior...but the kids also come and visit. There are two Saturdays devoted to screening of perspective Kindergarten applicants and those in upper grades show up for a half day during regular school time. It was interesting, hanging out with the pre-K kids and evaluating everything from whether or not they knew how to grip a pencil to if they might be insane. The child ranking and background checking and long, long conversations, all culminated in a list of the students we'll be offering spots to for the 2009/10 academic year.

In the meantime, I have been working on this whole dating thing. Like the admissions process at my school, I have been collecting a pool of candidates for the position of "my man" and the interviews have begun. Unlike my school I haven't yet come up with a standardized process and I'm beginning to think that I should. So here is my first shot:

Expectations/ Pre-requestites:
Candidates applying for this position should be male, heterosexual, brown-black (anywhere on the spectrum is good), single, honest, attractive, spiritual, employed, intelligent, well read, and in general about something. Preference will be given to feminist and social justices minded men or applicants who demonstrate kindness, empathy, and a good sense of humor, or have any special talents like knowing how to do math well, fix or build things, speak languages besides (meaning in addition to) English, cook, and/or give good massages.

Then there could be a whole written application. And each date would be an interview where candidates would be evaluated on various categories from whether or not they offered to pay to check to if the conversation was interesting.

I mean really isn't that kind of what we do anyway. We have this idea in mind of what we want. Then we meet these people and try to match them up with what we have in our head and when inevitably, they aren't exactly what we thought we wanted, we try to decide if we can work it out anyway. But I guess that's the hard part. It's all a gamble. As in the admissions process, sometimes you make offers and then the family chooses to go elsewhere. Or if the family decides to say yes, there is still no real guarantee that their child isn't the unibomber waiting to happen, no matter if they had high test scores and good reviews from their preschool. The hardest part in both dating and admissions is the waiting. First you're waiting to see if there is mutual agreement, and then you're waiting to see if the person lives up to the potential you first saw in him.

The people I work with...

Lately life has been kind of difficult between complicated friend issues and family health complications. I have found myself staring out the window a lot and wondering what the hell am I supposed to do to make it all better. I still don't have any real answers, but I did get a wonderful gift. I spent all of last week in AZ visiting my grandma who is not doing too well right now. I arrived back in town just in time to attend my school's annual fundraiser. Coco accompanied me there and got to meet my co-workers for the first time. We drank a lot of sangria, drooled over some of the auction items, and ever few minutes another co-worker approached me to inquire about the health of my grandma. At first I was a little annoyed because though it has been the big thing on my mind, I haven't really wanted to think about it. But then Coco made the comment how nice it was to be surrounded by people who care. And I guess that sums up where I work. I am so blessed to be surrounded by people who care. The other teachers I work with are genuinely beautiful people, and we are led by a head of school who daily teaches me something new about what it really means to be compassionate, to act always out of kindness and genuine concern for others.

Today instead of having a Spanish lesson, my class got kind of derailed. The students came in very upset by what was happening with two of their classmates. One person was physically picking on another and to retaliate the other began sending that student hateful emails. As a result, the entire fifth grade has become polarized. There are those who are taking sides, and those who refuse to take sides, and a whole flurry of rumors based on some truth or dare secrets that got leaked. Though some would say it's just kids stuff, the more I work with the littles, the more I realize that what happens to them on a daily basis is an exact replica of "the real world", they are just newer to the game that us adults and haven't yet figured out of how to cope or what role to play. What was so amazing to me was that I was the adult they trusted enough to talk to...from there, with their permission, I called in my boss, the head of school, who then facilitated a class discussion where every voice was heard, where every opinion was listened to. My students got to express themselves and brainstorm solutions, and I was blessed not only with the privilege of really getting to see what's going on in their world, but also to once again see my boss in action. He really loves his job and he is great at it. I feel so lucky to be able to learn from him.

A public daughter and her Madame Presidents

I always thought Chelsea Clinton and I would be good friends. We had a lot in common: strong minded parents, crazy hair, and we are both what Frances Foster has termed public daughters. I didn't grow up with the whole world looking on, but rather in the midst of a world of academics, with a unique circle of interdisciplinary other-mothers, who some would call the power houses of the black academy. These women are historians, social scientists, writers, literature buffs, political scientist, and feminist scholars by trade, who have collectively published works or in general done the work that has revolutionized the fields of women studies, African and African American studies, History, English, and so much more. They are the Nellie McKays (editor of the Norton Anthology of African American literature....if you don't know her you should look her up she is AMAZING) of the world, who have defied convention and struggled not simply to make names for themselves in the academy, but to move the narrative of black women's stories from the margin to the center.

Growing up, I knew I was lucky. I knew not everyone got to watch their mother braid bell hook's hair, or to share a meal with Toni Morrison. But this weekend I was reminded not only of how incredibly valuable it has been to know these women personally, but how much the work they have done has had tangible impacts on "learned societies" across the board. I joined my mother at ASU for the conference she put together called: "Madame President: summit on women of color, leadership, and the learned societies."

The conference included: Patricia Hill Collins- American Sociological Association, Beverly Guy Sheftal- National Women's Studies Association, Darlene Clark Hine - Organization of American Historians and Southern Historical Association, Nell Irvin Painter- also from OAH and SHA, Diane Pinderhughes - American Political Science Association, Pearl Robinson- African Studies Association, Loriene Robinson - American Library Association, Vicki Ruiz - American Studies Association, and Frances Smith Foster.

The conference began with two panels in which the women talked about their careers and what they had accomplished in general and then more specifically during the tenure of their presidencies. They spoke about the process and path that brought them to leadership, some more intentionally and willingly than others. There were those women who systematically positioned themselves to be in power and others who refused to be president of the organization several times before finally choosing to take up the mantle, not necessarily because they wanted to, but because they were committed to having the job done right, even at their own personal expense.

After the panels, the ladies met with graduate students and professors from their respective disciplines. I accompanied Pearl Robinson to African and African American Studies with my mom (who chairs the department). Unfortunately most of the students had class, but Dr. Robinson was able to meet with the faculty and share about one of the projects she's been working on...a study trip on the topic of gold in Ghana. Dr. Robinson has taken students to Ghana twice to teach a short seminar on the topic of gold and its impact on the Ghanaian economy. I, of course, was fascinated by the logistics of the trip and how she was able to develop a viable business plan and ingeniously use the final project (a video made by participants about what they had learned) to help market and recruit future program participants. But more than this, the professors at AAAS were able to discuss what kinds of curriculum and program they would like to develop in the future. After a short break, we reconvened for dinner at the faculty club and a key note address from Frances Foster.

The next morning, at one of those lush hotels Phoenix is known for, we had brunch with the ASU Faculty Women's Association (of which my mom is the president). This was a much less formal conversation. After the whole thing was over, I sat in the sun and sipped peach bellinis with my mom, Frances, and Beverly. They are working on a project (more about this in future blogs) and took advantage of their downtime to meet, but afterwards we talked about the conference and what each of us had gotten out of it. Everyone seemed particularly interested in what I learned so here are my final thoughts:

What I learned isn't easily articulated or quantified. I was able to bear witness to the experiences of these amazing women. They gave advice and strategies for not only how to do what they did, but what they would have done to do it better. But they also talked about the tolls its take.

I have known this for a long time, but I am still kind of coming to terms with it: I don't want to be an academic. While I am in awe of and inspired by these wonderful, brilliant women who are revolutionizing the academy everyday, I don't have the calling, nor the patience and discipline that are pre-requisite to join the perpetual struggle to reform organizations that are often resistant and unappreciative. The cost is high. I've seen how the job has taken a toll on my mother and on all these women as well, and when measuring the price against their rich and diverse accomplishments and successes, I think it is easy to see that it was worth it....for them.

When I look at my own wants and hopes and dreams, I don't think it would be for me. What I realized also, is that by growing up as a "public daughter" I have inadvertently absorbed not only the high standards of the women around me, but also their framework for defining success. I understand now why it was so difficult for me to give up the crappy job that sucked my soul...it wasn't that I wanted to stay there, it's that from the outside looking in, that job was a respectable position in higher ed in which I was, at times, able to continue the work of promoting academic programs that gave voice to the experiences of people of color. It's good work, and work that I will probably always be involved in, but not that way. By learning more about the path of others, I am beginning to understand that I must find my own way. At least I am lucky enough to have some amazing people in my life helping to guide my journey.

A year without Sue

Last Monday marked the end of our first year without Sue VanSchoonhoven. As with all anniversaries, it gave me the opportunity to reflect on all that has happened since our trip to Cove to say goodbye. We have a new president, I live in a new home, I'm settled in my new job, life has gone on. Shoshana moved to DC, so this time there was no one around who knew Sue the way we did to share in the short walk to the lake where we said our goodbyes to the water the way we did before. It was a lonely day, despite being surrounded by children and people laughing and smiling and living their lives. More than sad though, I was surprised to feel angry still a the unfairness of it all. Sue was so young. She was only 6 years older than me...and though I am not a fortune teller I know that it will take much more than 6 more years to do everything I was put on this earth to do...and too I feel that had Sue lived there would have been so much more. She was such an amazing person, the ripples of who she was and how she chose to live still echo in our hearts and in the lives of her friends and family.

I spent the weekend with my mom and grandma. My grandma has aged considerably since the last time I saw her just 2 months ago, though it doesn't show so in her face or in new wrinkles the way all those Loreal commercials selling anti-age cream would suggest, but rather in the fact that she is literally falling apart. Her kidneys, her heart, her hip...none of them are doing what they are supposed to do and what they have done previously everyday of her 82 years. It's somewhat terrfifying to think that one day your body will just betray you that way, that it won't always do what you tell it to. It is in talking to her that I realize there is no good time to die. We get what we get and our job is to simply do the best we can with it. If nothing else, I can say this much for Sue. She lived well, she loved well, and she is still well loved...

Play + Evolution = Plevolution

There are some experiences that don't really translate into something neatly explainable, and my time with Michael and Ricki Byars Beckwith is up there with hard to articulate phenomenons. It was Friday night, and though I couldn't afford a ticket, somehow one became available to me and I joined two friends at the Center for Spiritual Living for the first speaker in the Extraordinary Speakers Series. I didn't know much about Michael Beckwith, other than that he was in the movie The Secret and that it cost $40 to see him speak. I knew even less about his wife Ricki Byars Beckwith, though as I found out, I have been singing along to and know several of the songs she wrote by heart.

So we arrived and it was packed. I didn't know what to expect, though they were both familiar to me as I had seen their pictures all over CSL. Michael is a dynamic speaker, a small man (though he seems much bigger on stage) with long dreadlocks and a tendency to pace back and forth as though gaining momentum to express some deep truth. He spoke of love and spirit, alternating between story telling and preaching. He made me laugh and think and feel and then periodically he would pause and turn to his wife who sat behind a keyboard. Then she would start to play. On the program it said she had a jazz background, but her voice was much more of a blues singer's voice, rich and deep, a voice made to sing gospel...our anything soulful and heartfelt.And her songs....they touched me, not because they were catchy, but because they felt like songs I had been singing my whole life, but just hadn't known the words to until I heard them coming out of Ricki's mouth. In fact that's how the whole evening was....not so much a revelation of something new, but a beautiful reminder of a spiritual truth. They created a tangible energy that wrapped around me and took me out of myself. Jesus (and later Stevie Wonder) talked about being in the world, but not of it...and up until now I haven't really understood what that meant, but Friday was an opportunity for me to live and play in that space. I felt connected to God and to everyone and everything in a way that did not diminish my individual spirit, but rather allowed me to have a moment of clarity, where I felt like I knew the exact nature of my being in relation to God. It was truly a gift to be there and to share it with people I love. Thanks LD.

6 month warning...

Today is my half birthday, which means I have 6 months before I turn 30. The closer I get, the more it seems like just a number. The truth is, I still don't really feel like a grown up...however that is supposed to feel. I think about me as a little kid and how I had everything all figured out. I was going to go to Spelman as an undergrad and maybe do my PhD somewhere ivy league.I thought I'd be married and have kids by now...and a PhD, a car, a house, several published novels and a job as a writer or a senator. So here I am 29 and a half and wondering how much I can cram in before 30. Here is my revised list of things I want to do before then...
1) meet Barack Obama
2) go to Cuba
3) go to Ghana
4) return to Spain
5) visit the Grand Canyon
6) finish illustrating my book
7) finish the novel I started 4 years ago and get it published
8) paint a self portrait that actually looks like me...not just kind of like me
9) fall in love with someone really worth it
10) really learn how to change a tire (I know how to theoretically, but in real life?)
11) learn how to fly on a trapeze
12) take a class on how to make stained glass
13) sell a painting for more than one month's rent
14) see the gardens in Victoria (and take the clipper)
15) become independently wealthy
16) go sky diving
17) return to yoga and soccer
18) finally learn some good swear words in Japanese (no one would teach me any)
19) get my black belt in tae kon do (my test is in June!)
20) figure out what I'm supposed to do with my life...

A night at the Little Red Studio

Every once in a while, when happy hours, spa days, and the eternal quest to find ramen at 2am get old, Coco and I step outside of the box and try something new. This time we decided to see a play called the Obsidian show. Neither of us had ever been to the Little Red Studio before, so we really had no idea what to expect. According the website, the studio is a theater space by night and a spa by day. We were intrigued.

When we arrived, we were greeted personally by the owner (nice touch) who welcomed us to the theater and invited us to mingle for a bit before the show. The lobby was plush, complete with black leather couches and velour ottomans. The walls were lined with towering oil paintings of nudes (both male and female) painted by the owner. In one corner was a coffee cart and in the other an open seat, so we choose that spot to engage in our other favorite hobby: people watching.

Right from the start, I could tell it would be an interesting and possibly uncomfortable evening. In addition to the other theater goers, who were surprisingly well dressed for Seattle, there were several actors in costume (I hoped that they were actors). Ladies in fishnets and corsets or bustiers flirted and pranced around in spike heels, while a man in leather pants, a harness, and no shirt posted himself like a sentinel by the entryway to the theater. There was also a roving tarot card reader in a long black robe and of course, a clown. I have yet to meet anyone who actually likes clowns. I really don't know why they exist. Most people I know are either seriously afraid of them (having had traumatic childhood experiences) or are at least mildly creeped out. And yet no one has outlawed them yet. Now that is a petition I would like to sign, a movement I could be a part of. I digress.

As is the case with animals, clowns seem to sense that I don't like them, but rather than leaving me alone, they flock to me. And so it was before the show even began that I had made a sad clown cry, had my tarot card read, and been flagged as an audience member that would have to participate in the play in some to be determined way. Then about 5 minutes before curtain a woman very loudly called for her dog...who was actually the afore mentioned door sentinel. She grabbed him by a leash and took a seat on a pedestal, right next to where Coco and I were sitting and then he proceeded to lick the top of her stocking clad feet and then down the red and black stiletto heel of her shoe. Coco and I were both grossed out, we both have serious issues with the whole putting your mouth on unclean feet thing. Just the idea of all the bacteria living on the bottom of that shoe kind of makes my stomach quiver. If we hadn't spent $30, we might have left then, but Coco and I are see it through kind of girls. And surprisingly I'm glad we stayed.

The blurb on the Internet described the play as being a "visually captivating show [that] will invite you to taste the many flavors of obsessive love." And actually, it was. As promised, the characters ushered us into the theater, which contained two stages, and several different seating options for patrons including a loft and several red velvet booths. On the rear stage, two aerialists shared a swing and on the main stage there was a woman dressed as a rag doll and loosely suspended by a rope. We were invited to "play" with the doll, which Coco and I both declined. Again kind of creepy. We choose seats in the middle of the third row and craned around to watch the people swinging. I found it difficult to watch the "doll" partially because she looked so vulnerable and partially because I found the whole idea rather objectifying. I guess we all have our own ideas of what is sensual or interesting, and for me this was not. Of course there were others who were actually really geeked to play with the "doll".

Finally the lights dimmed. The play itself was just as random as the lobby had been. There was a non-linear love triangle between a ringmaster, a street sweeping stranger and the best aerialist in the circus with some interesting play on sexuality, gender roles, and eroticism. This story was interspersed with fantasy, some really poignant monologues, and a lot of audience participation. I ended up playing musical chairs (not exactly sure why)...and competitive bastard that I am...I actually got into the top 6. Then we were invited to sit in front of the audience and sand pieces of wood. There were some Pinocchio jokes and some embarrassing sexual innuendo, but I did come in second and win myself a piece of obsidian (and the clown did not steal my purse). And at one point we were handed paintbrushes and martini glasses filled with red paint. Our canvas? 4 naked people posed on the stage. Through all this boundary pushing expressionism, there were some really impressive stunts done on wooden swings and with a bolt of fabric hanging from the ceiling (which in and of itself would have made it worth the $30 for me). However what really got to me was this one monologue performed by the chef who subsequently served us a lovely chocolate tart with a pear slice. It was a poem called: The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Indian Elder. After the show Coco and I spoke to the chef and he actually gave us his copy of the poem which reads as such:

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your hearts longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals, or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true, I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours or mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn't interest me who you are, or how you came to be here- I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.


While it was a different and sometimes uncomfortable evening, I actually really enjoyed the show. It was thought provoking and interesting and worth experiencing for yourself.