I Am Spock

I love this photo

I was saddened to hear about the passing of Leonard Nimoy yesterday. Not only am I a proud Trekkie, (or Trekker, depending on your preference and opinion) but I was a big fan of Mr. Nimoy. And his death comes at a very poignant time for me, especially because of his most famous character, Spock. For the past few weeks, I have been intentionally examining my experience as a Hapa. For those of you who don't know, that would be Half, typically half-Asian. Obviously, I am half-Japanese. (Although I've been told it's confusing when I say half-Japanese because then people think that my mom is from Japan. I get confused by this because when people say they are half-Irish, I don't immediately assume one of their parent's is from Ireland, but maybe that's just me). Anyway, a classmate of mine and I are working on an assignment together, and we have been given great liberties to choose any topic as it pertains to teaching and learning. She is also Hapa, however, she never heard this term until I mentioned it casually. She grew up in the Midwest, and needless to say, Hapa is a very Hawaiian and West Coast word. And when I say she is Hapa, she too is half-Japanese. Our conversations together have been eye-opening. For the first time in my life I have talked at length about what it's like to be half-Japanese, and talk at length with someone else who is. This has never happened before. I have only had glancing conversations about this. Finding someone familiar was usually by way of stories, or in movies. I had a couple of friends growing up who were Hapa and that helped. But I also remember seeing a familiar experience in Spock.

Kevin reminded me that Spock was Hapa (and here I use the term loosely, for "half"). I was surprised to hear this, but then I thought to myself, "Of course, remember all those embedded stories he had about being half-human, half-Vulcan?" And I was reminded of the familiarity I had with Spock, and the challenge it was sometimes for him to balance between two identities, just like it is for me. I don't talk much about this, because it's hard to articulate. But I wanted to write to say "Thank you Spock, I am like you". And thank you Leonard Nimoy for articulating this likeness in the character of Spock so well.

Betty, When You Call Me, You Can Call Me Org

Paul Simon is contemplating writing a song about orgs

Lately I've been having a little bit of a dilemma. At the beginning of this semester, I wanted to try to write a paper on the topic of transformative learning, and how that might connect to my interest in nonprofit management education. As the weeks went by, I continued to struggle with this because the two ideas weren't gelling together, and I also started to incorporate topics of social action and civil society into this piece. You might be asking yourself, "Why is she trying to connect two things that are kind of at opposite ends of the spectrum? All of these social issues to one person's learning experience?" Well, I don't have an answer for you, except to say that maybe I hadn't thought this through well enough. Maybe on paper or in my head this sounded like it would work, but it hasn't been, and it's not going to.

I had a realization earlier this week. And that realization is, I love organizations. I love talking about them, I love thinking about how they change, I love discussing how they work and don't work, I especially love talking about the role they play in society (aka, civic action). Anyway, I realized that while there is something beautiful in learning and the transformation that takes place within an individual, what I am most interested in is how this happens on a much larger scale. I'm talking collectives of people and organizations and how they move, even learn. So, I'm abandoning my initial research topic and going back to my orgs. I was even reassured by this just today because while talking with my supervisor, Jim, about the project we are working on, we both got super giddy about organizational change. I felt my head get tingly, and that's a good sign.

Welcome! Please Come! The Cookies Are Delicious!

It's been (close to) exactly one year since I first set foot in Lansing. February 13, 2014 I flew in to attend the Graduate Research Colloquium, GRC for short. It is connected to the entire HALE department and is a weekend to learn more about the program as an admitted student and also learn about the kinds of research that current students are doing. I don't remember much about the GRC from last year - it was kind of a whirlwind of activity. However, the little that I do remember consists of three things: 1) I always seemed to find admitted master's students during mingling time, and wondered where all the admitted PhD folks were 2) One young woman from Kentucky who was really intense and focused. And I mean REALLY intense. She did not join our cohort, but I'm sure she found a PhD program that was just right for her 3) The Spartan Cookie. This is the kind of cookie that I LOVE. Lots of rich fake frosting, sugar cookie base, and a weird logo that kind of looks like paper, but alas! You can eat it. It's one of the reasons I attend events now, because there is always a good chance Spartan Cookies will be there.

Aside from these things, though, the GRC is what helped me make my decision to come here. I never thought I would move to Lansing. Yet something about the program, the faculty, the "feel" of it all seemed to gel with me. And during this time of year, during only my second semester, when the winter blues start to set-in and the big questions about why am I here, and the weight of school and transition are sometimes unbearable, it would seem the worst time to meet possible incoming students. The funny thing is though, is that while having conversations with these prospective students, I was reminded of why I am here. I came because I wanted time to ask questions. I wanted time to dive deep into a subject or two. I wanted time to see where this leap would take me. And I wanted to do this all within the space that permitted it and encouraged it. And that's here. Of all places, Michigan.

It's Also Cold in Sudbury

When Kevin is out of town, we Facetime in the evening and catch up on our days. We talk about what we did, I usually gab about school, meetings, being overwhelmed. He talks about mechanical dinosaurs. (Oh how our working lives are so different and so wonderfully complementary!) Yesterday, he texted me in the morning and let me know it was 20 below in Sudbury and would be 30 below on Friday. I looked at the Lansing forecast and it was just a cool 10 below here, so I did feel a little sorry for him. Last night, we couldn't help but talk about the weather and how FRICKIN' FREEZING it is. Actually, it's far below freezing. So Kevin walked me through how insane 30 below is. It doesn't make any logical sense. Then we backed out what a livable temperature would be, and found that there is quite some distance between when it's okay to walk outside and where we are now. Needless to say, the agony of the chill here was no match for how much I laughed last night at the absurdity of extreme cold.

An email from MSU warning students about extreme cold, Kevin walking us through how cold minus 30 is,
and where Sudbury is because I didn't know where it was until last Monday.

SIL

I'm thinking birthday gifts for my SILs this year

I need to give a shout-out to my sisters-in-law. Although we all live in different areas of the U.S., it has been invaluable to me to know they are supporting me and cheering me on. And in addition, we often have joyous texts and emails back and forth, which I find I am laughing so hard I have to keep from peeing my pants. I never had a sister growing up, and so I obviously never knew what it was like. When I was a kid, two of my closest friends had older sisters. I remember seeing their bond, and also seeing them fight like crazy. Admittedly, I was envious.

Today, though, what can I say? I lucked out. I married a great guy who happened to have the most amazing sister, and his brother was married to another fabulous lady. This means I got TWO sisters at once when I was married. It was kind of awesome. The three of us are not often in the same place at the same time, because we are scattered between Boston, Lansing, and Seattle. But when we do know in advance that we will be together, we always plan a SILO (Sister-In-Law Only) time. It is one of my most favorite things.

Lapsed Episcopalian

On Wednesday mornings my routine is to look at all of my readings for the week and put them onto a post-it note, then stick it to my calendar. I carry this with me wherever I go, and use it to plan out my week; what readings to do on what days, when to write, etc. It is especially helpful when I have an assignment due. This morning, however, as I was writing-in what I wanted to do I noticed that printed on my calendar was "Ash Wednesday." I am somewhat embarrassed not to have known this earlier. There was a time in my life that I was more in sync with the liturgical seasons. I liked having different times throughout the year to contemplate and celebrate for long periods of time. Now, here in the doctoral program in Lansing, it's mostly just one week at a time. (And for the past few weeks, it's been one day at a time).

For now, I can hold a moment of observance as I write this post. Not to make light of either, but the PhD program is like my own kind of Lent wilderness. I am at times very hungry, tired, disoriented, and grief-stricken for the community and landscape of my home. However, I am also deeply contemplative, provoked, and hopeful - all of which I think do occur during the Lent season. I find great beauty in intentional practice, and this year my practice seems to be simply observing where I am, how I see, and what I feel.

You Must Learn

KRS One, the teacha

I had another out of body moment tonight in one of my classes. We were talking about forces that influence curriculum and we started to move the conversation up into the 30,000 foot level (which I will add is where I am quite comfortable) and then I started to talk. I was trying to pivot off of two of my classmates, and then I realized I kind of had lost my train of thought. And then you know what popped into my head? KRS One. I don't know, it just happened. Fortunately a couple of my classmates got the reference, but it was mostly just me murmuring to myself after that. *Sigh. Late evening classes when I have too many other things on my mind will do that to me.

Reading for Pleasure

I read a lot these days. And I cannot help but reflect on my life as a reader. You see, I was never an avid reader or a reader at all. I hardly read books in school, and even when we had assigned reading I rarely did it. I've thought about this a lot during the past year, especially because there is so much about how reading "makes you a better person" or reading "makes you a good partner." What this actually means is that it is good to read, and in particular, to read fiction. And while I consider these claims in context, it prompts me to question why I never enjoyed reading until I was late in my teens. Why? Why didn't I read? Both of my parents were avid readers, and they read stories to me when I was a kid. But I never read for myself. I confess I "fake read" back then because I believed that reading was good, but I wasn't good at it, nor did I enjoy it. I remember in the 2nd grade being put in the low reading group. This was a complete blow to my seven-year old ego because until that point I thought maybe I was pretty smart. Alas, this happened a few times. And so I often skated through reading and used my artistic skills to make posters about books instead of writing an actual book report. I once made a beautiful poster for Julie of the Wolves. But I never read it. So again, why?

I think this is in part due to the fact that I was constantly being asked to read books that I could never relate to. They were, for lack of a better description, "boy books." And although Julie of the Wolves isn't necessarily a boy book, it came at a time when I was being bombarded by them. Here is a quick laundry list: Lord of the Flies, Johnny Tremain, Where the Red Fern Grows, Old Yeller, Gentle Ben, The Indian in the Cupboard. These were assigned reading, and I admit the only boy book I did read was Gentle Ben because I had to carry the weight of a dead-beat reading group in the 5th grade. I did not enjoy it.

Three reading moments happened during my youth that did give me some hope about reading. The first was a book that my third grade teacher, Mrs. Walp, gave me. I don't even know why she gave it to me, and I remember thinking "wow, she picked out a book just for me." It was brand new, and it was titled Poppy and the Outdoors Cat. Why she chose this book I'll never know, but I remember that the cover had a girl holding a cat, and I thought, "I'm a girl and I have an outdoor cat too!" A relationship was formed between me and Poppy. The second reading moment was a series of books my mom encouraged me to read when I was about 11. One was called Journey to Topaz, the other was Journey Home. It is obvious why my mom gave me these books (they are about a young Japanese American girl who, with her family, is relocated to a camp during WWII). Here again, I recognized the character, and it was deeply profound. An entire book about someone who looked a little like me, and thought some of the same things I did. I believed that if I met Yuki, the main character, she and I would be fast friends. Finally, the third moment happened when I was 16 and I read the book Animal Farm. Yes, this might be a "boy book" but this book changed how I came to read. It opened up the possibility of good utopian stories and it activated my imagination. There was nothing recognizable about this book, and thus, it confused me and angered me, and left me begging for more.

After that point, I realized that I could find my own books to read, and also read books I couldn't relate to, but still find something there. (For example, I hate A Separate Peace but there are moments of beauty in it. I say the same about Ethan Frome) I am still not incredibly well-read, but I do finally find pleasure out of reading. Even if these days I only read textbooks, I do sneak a few pages in of a novel or short story every once in a while. And I may eventually, finally read Lord of the Flies.

Proof-Reading Round Robin

One of the biggest things I've learned during this program is to have a proof-reader. I am about to turn in my first paper for one of my core classes, and so my reading group and I did our round-robin reading. We swap papers and edit them for one another. For this, I am extremely grateful. It helps me to get out of my own head, especially because when I focus too much on one paper I assume that all of my ideas are clearly stated. It also means that I have to be on top of writing because we usually swap the weekend before the paper is due. Thus, I handed off a version yesterday afternoon and got it back last night, so today I just need to roll in the feedback, edit again, and voila! It's done. And it's not due until Tuesday. Now I can focus on other things, or find a moment of rest. It is invaluable to have others read my work, provide feedback, and fix all my little mis-haps during the writing process.

Valentine's Day Fail

My initial card for V-Day, and I added the
nevermind after hearing the news that we
would in fact, not be together.

In 2013, Kevin was out of town for Valentine's Day. It was the first Valentine's Day we could celebrate together since getting married, and alas, it was not meant to be. In 2014, I looked forward to spending the day with him, but *sigh, I was in Michigan. I came out to Lansing to visit the program that I am now a part of. I remember sitting in the hotel room alone on the 14th of February, thinking about how a future in Michigan might treat us. Needless to say, I was totally freaked out at the time. This year, I was excited to finally spend Valentine's Day together. I'm not particularly a romantic, but I do appreciate the holiday. The folk history of the celebration, and of commemorating the return of spring are things I like to ritualize. And although little is known of THE Saint Valentine himself, I like the memory of imagination associated with courtly love and partnership. I also really like hearts. So, I decided to buy a book for Kevin this year, and I also made him a special card.

Then, on Tuesday, he told me that he had to make an un-planned trip for work, and he would be leaving Friday. That would be Friday the 13th. I actually had to laugh a little, because it just doesn't seem meant to be for he and I to spend this holiday together. And not that we need just this one day to express our love and appreciation to one another, but maybe it's some kind of sign that we are left with the ordinary days of the year to tell each other how much we care for one another. Maybe it's a reminder of the little normalcies that make us work together. Like how I clean the coffee maker and he always sets up the coffee. And so, like last year, I am in Michigan, and Kevin is on the west coast.

So Many Coats

Right at our front door, there are three hooks that were left from the previous tenants. They are kind of ugly, but they are so practical, so we kept them there. This time of year, we are using our front-door, mainly because we don't want to have to shovel the driveway all the way back to the back door. (We had been using the back door until about December when it became apparent that shoveling the long drive was a dumb idea). So, our front door area now takes the brunt of our entry - piles of coats, several boots lined up on a towel, and our shoe rack clumsily stuffed with tennis-shoes that were last worn in November. I also put a basket nearby to hold what I refer to as our "warmies." Hats, gloves, scarves, neck buffs. The only thing left to put in this area is a little box for our mail, because as of now, it usually gets sprawled on the coffee table, then eventually hidden under a pile of textbooks.

I Miss You

During class Tuesday we had a "substitute" teacher. Our professor was away at a conference, so another Higher Ed student came in to help facilitate. She asked if we could go around the room and introduce ourselves (ahem, "research agenda") and also what we were doing before we started the program at Michigan State. It came to my turn, and I did my usual little song, and then began "Before I moved to...uh...LANSING..." You see, I had accidentally let out to my cohort in this moment, that I didn't like it here. It's been a rough few weeks. Some days I walk outside and I think to myself, "What the hell am I doing here?" It's the combination of the weather, with a new semester, with the fact that it has taken me this long to realize what I am doing. The shiny-part of the program has worn off. Not that there was ever a honeymoon phase, but I have lost some of my stamina. There are things I just have to DO. I just have to WRITE.  And READ.

Then I realize that it's cold outside. Really cold. It's always cold. And when I walk outside I'm always afraid that this might be the day I slip and fall and break my wrist while trying to protect my laptop in my backpack from cushioning the blow of the fall. I just want to be able to walk, without strategizing every step. These little negotiations are what make me miss home, even though I don't know where home is. I guess I just miss Seattle. Even though that city drives me crazy sometimes. [Insert link about over-priced real estate and the tunnel here. Oh, and another link about really bad mass transit.]

So I hum a little tune: I miss the water. I miss rainy days. I miss my friends. I miss feeding my crows on the balcony. I miss my nephew. I miss my community. I miss you. Yet I love the seasons here. I love the people here. I love the small town here. I love how flat the landscape is here. I love the Mitten State.

These are my Michigan Blues. And while there is novelty and loveliness about living in the Midwest, these last few weeks I've been homesick for my Pacific Northwest Love.

She's Talking, What is She Saying?

Since the start of this semester, each Wednesday morning I mentally check-off another Tuesday night. Five Down. During my 6 hours of classes, I probably change my mind about what I think about these classes about 4 times in each class. It goes something like this:

Students Class, EAD 966 - "Hm, good point. Maybe I shouldn't dread this class so much." "Oh, I'm annoyed, I hate this class." "Nevermind, it's okay. I can deal with this." "Huh?"

Teaching and Learning Class, EAD 968 - "Hm, well, I didn't think of it that way, okay. I can make it through the class." "Oh! I feel inspired! Great conversation!" "Wait, WHAT?!?" "I kind of understand." "I can't take another 5 minutes of this class."

This back and forth mental tennis match is tiring. I try not to exhaust myself over-thinking these classes, but they seem to be stirring up a lot for me. I can't figure out why. I also don't think I need to figure out why right now. Last night, however, I was really not there. I was making a comment on one of the readings, and I heard a little voice in my head say to me (while I was still talking out loud) "I can hear you talking but I have no idea what you are saying."

Maybe it's just brain overload. Ten more weeks to go.

The Joy of Used Books

I've become much more thrifty since being a grad student again, particularly when it comes to buying books. I weigh the pros and cons of buying used books (over-the-top highlighting, underlining, or constant scribbles of comments in the margins) so I usually go with at least the "good" rating for a book if I'm buying it online. However, I do get little gems every once in a while when I buy used; little notes from previous owners in the margins that I find enlightening, phone numbers, and in one stats book, the previous owner wrote in all the answers. Recently, for one of my books this semester, I found this little wonder. I have NO idea what this is about because the book is a survey on college students. In case you can't read it clearly, I've re-typed its cryptic message for you here. (all type-os included).

The apple is small and round. There is a bad spot on the top. I am hungry so am imagining eating the apple. The apple is red and greed with black spots. The apple does not have a stem. Too small for candid or carmel.

What?!?

Batman's House

Outside the Broad Museum

I finally made it to the Broad Museum on campus. (And that would be Broad, rhymes with road). I remember seeing it when I first moved here back in August, and loved it from first sight. The architecture of the museum is really modern and a stark contrast to many of the older buildings on the north side of campus. This is one of the things I love about mixing architectural designs, particularly very modern designs within older communities. I know not everyone appreciates or likes this, but I do. Last October, the new Batman Vs. Superman movie was filming on campus, and I didn't understand why (I mean, really, Lansing?!?) until someone said that the Broad Museum was the location. Ah, yes, that totally makes sense because Batman could very well live at the Broad.

So finally, I went to visit, and the interior is also extremely well thought out with large open bright spaces and balcony views into the main gallery. There were several exhibits on display, two of which I spent the most time with. One was for urban landscaping and reimagining East Lansing and the MSU campus, and another for Chinese Modern Art. Before this visit, I hadn't been inside a museum of this type in a very long time. It was a reminder for me of how much I love them, having the quiet space to walk, look, and take in all of the artwork. There is something very meditative about walking through a gallery space for me. Also, the creativity and artistry is extremely inspiring, and helps get my brain to connect to that since I spend so much time thinking and over-thinking things. I would gamble that tethering my academic life to these types of creative experiences will become increasingly important, and I hope to do more of this. Especially since the Broad doesn't cost anything to visit - all the more reason to find a bench and sit and take in the atmosphere.

Wintry Weather

My sister-in-law lives in Boston, which at this point in time I do not envy. She is dealing with several feet of snow, and it helps me put things into perspective here in Lansing. Knowing that another storm is headed for the NE, I thought I would check the forecast for Lansing. What is so peculiar to me about being in Michigan are the kinds of forecasts I see. For example, "Wintry Mix" expected. I'm not sure I really know what that means. I base so much of my outdoor attire on the weather, and I wonder, does wintry mix mean leg-warmers? Gaiters? Double scarf and hat or just hat?

Always the Critic

My confession text about a book author

The stack of books that I have to purchase for my classes usually gives me feelings of excitement, and then anxiety. This semester in particular evoked those emotions because the content for each of my classes is so new to me. What do I know about students? What do I know about teaching and learning? Not much. One book in particular for my teaching and learning class has sparked conversation among my classmates and I, particularly about whether the book is worth it or not. Over the last week, we had to read about 200 pages from this book. On the one hand, it was "geez, 200 pages" on the other, it was "200 pages means we'll be done with this book." So, beginning last Thursday, I got to work. We had already read about 100 pages, and therefore had been introduced to some of the core concepts. I was somewhat on the fence about this book - it felt a little wishy-washy, and idealistic. Sure, the author made some good points, but the overall tone of the book just felt, well, like a chummy friend from junior high who I never wanted to hang out with. 50 pages in to my marathon reading, I just couldn't take it anymore. I actually drew a frowny face on one of the pages. Then, I texted my friend Tom because I needed to confide in someone that this book made me cringe. So on Tuesday, as my cohort and I all met for class, I admitted that I was thankful for this book. It provided discourse for my classmates and I, and allowed us to see some different points of view. We don't always have to agree on every reading, and there is something quite wonderful about knowing that we didn't when it came to this book.

Accountabilibuddies

I commented to Kevin Monday evening that I wished I had the ability to write something really well in an hour. My writing partner for one of my classes has that ability. She can wait until (sometimes) the 11th hour, and then pump out 1000 words that are organized, coherent, and written in an academic style that works well. I, on the other hand, usually write a very bad rough draft that sounds something like, "So in the book [citation needed] the author was commenting on a theory to use and then the method combined it to give empirical something [blah blah blah]" Here's an actual first draft of something I am working on now: "This is what Kerka [date] might describe as andragogy, that the “major difference between adults and younger learners is their wealth of experience (Taylor in Kerka DATE p. X?). This allows for more critical reflection and transformation. Furthermore, yadda yadda - make transition to personal and academic learning environments."

This will eventually become something I turn in. But there is always a fear that I can't make it work. Thus, the discipline of writing bad first drafts and going back to them. For me, this discipline requires writing every day, something my professor has encouraged us all to do. I feel like I kind of do this already (ahem, blog). Yet there is a difference in writing for the blog, and synthesizing readings, and analyzing themes. So in an effort to do more of this synthesizing/analyzing writing, a cohort mate of mine and I have become Writing Accountabilibuddies. We text one another at least 5 times a week to say we did our writing. As more deadlines approach for papers to turn in, my hope is that I'll have become more comfortable with sitting and writing very bad rough drafts and confident that they will be edited into something I can turn in. (I always have that fear that they won't). I'm not sure my anxiety about procrastination will ever allow me to pump something out the night before, but at least I'll have made friends with my very bad first drafts. Those ugly duckling first drafts that will eventually turn into beautiful papers now have a more confident author.
 

Big Snow

Lansing got the Big Snow over the weekend. And I got a good workout shoveling. Here's a photo I snapped the evening it started piling up, and then the next morning, as I shoveled the walk. I was getting antsy so I just had to get out and clear the sidewalk!