I'm going to Guatemala??
Yes, I am, in November. I am part of a missionary team from my church, and we're going to Guatemala to perform service (electrical, construction, brick and concrete work, and painting) at the Guatemala Bible Institute. This is my first mission trip, and it's never something I thought of doing before. However, when I heard about the location, I immediately knew I had to join. My grandfather, who died young, did missionary work in Guatemala. He was one of the best men I've ever known, and if I can do anything that resembles following in his footsteps, I will be doing something good. He was a self
less, hard-working man who never knew a stranger. I have no idea what the trip holds for me personally, but I hope I will be able to make myself of use to others in some way.
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Monday, May 07, 2012
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
ASECS 2011: The Good, The Bad, The Ugly
The annual meeting of the American Society of Eighteenth-Century Studies was held in Vancouver this year, and I made the very, very long trek across the world to attend and present at a roundtable. This is *the* premiere conference in my field and a good chance to see and be seen by the People that Matter in the profession. In rare occasion, my former advisor was also attending, and I hadn't seen her since my defense last April. I got very lucky early on because I was able to upgrade my economy seat on the international flight to business class--yay! So, champagne, cappuccinos, and cheese plates for me :) Easy flight over, 3-hour layover in Houston, then a 5-hour flight to Vancouver. By the time I got there, my neck hurt to the touch from sitting in the same position for so long.
Thursday morning, it was on. That is to say that this is the first conference where I've been "on"--busy chatting, having coffee, attending panels, meeting people, networking, etc.--from the time I hit the lobby until the time I hit the bed. I did a bit of shopping to get some Easter stuff for the girls and a bottle of wine for my hotel room. Then I hit the conference panels. The first panel I went to was one closely related to my dissertation area, and one of the panelists was the editor of the journal to which I'd submitted my first article in mid-October. I went with the hope that I might introduce myself afterward, and it would jog her memory that I was still waiting for an accept or reject decision from the journal. No go, as the panel ran over time. Then, I ran into my advisor early on, and we chatted for a while...very good to catch up with her. Turns out, she's friends with Journal Editor and she was her external tenure review person (small world people). So, we loitered about for a bit, and sure enough, Journal Editor appeared. My advisor introduced us, we exchanged hellos, and she announced that she had to run and tend to a family phone call.
Upon her return, she told me she'd made a call to her assistant editor and was able to give me The Good News: ACCEPTED!! Yes, indeed, I now have two publications forthcoming --woohoo! I was giddy, my advisor was proud, and I got to spend a good deal of time talking to the editor about her work, which was instrumental in my dissertation, and the general state of the job market, etc. I also got to meet several other important people in the field while we "held court" in the center of the lobby. As nervous as I was, I was also ecstatic.
That evening, my advisor, two other graduate student colleagues, and myself had a lovely tapas dinner to celebrate my good news and catch up with each other's lives and work. And I went to bed that evening completely exhausted. Not that this mattered, because my presentation was at 8:00 the next morning--ugh!
Presentation went fine, but my neck pain was still lingering. I'd been treating it with Aleve, hoping it would go away. It didn't. Since the doctor's offices were closed, I was advised to just go to the ER across the street from the hotel. Long story short, they examined me, realized my pain was legitimate, etc. The Bad News: they gave me an extremely painful shot of steroids and a shot of morphine! I immediately burst into tears after the first shot (seriously the most painful shot I've ever gotten, and I've had 3 epidurals!), then the morphine kicked in, and I got dizzy, nauseas, sweaty, and my heart was racing. I'd never had morhpine before, and it wasn't sitting well with me. Oh, and by the way, I was supposed to meet with the editors of the essay collection where my first publication was accepted in like 30 minutes! Soon, I settled back down to something like a loopy version of myself, got my prescriptions, and headed to the meeting, not realizing I had a spot of blood on my shirt and I was still wearing a hospital band on my wrist!!
For the next 20 minutes or so, I was fine...just a bit dazed. But, I managed to keep it together. By the time some colleagues and I went upstairs to the Delaware Press cash bar, where I simply drank ice water, I could feel my tumbly getting rumbly. I barely had time for The Ugly: making it to the ladies room, where I could only open and close the door before I spewed everywhere. Classy, I know.
Being optimistic, I thought this would pass. I immediately felt better, and we were off to a fancy restaurant in downtown Vancouver. Shortly after the five of us ordered the pricey Chef's Tasting Menu, I had to hit the ladies room again, though this time I made it to the toilet. This eating/vomiting cycle continued approximately three times throughout dinner. Each time, I'd feel better and think it was the last time, and each time, I'd be wrong. I didn't want to ruin everyone else's night, and they wouldn't think of letting me go back to the hotel alone. So, I just prayed for it to be over with soon.
After dinner, which managed to still be fantastic despite the vomiting after every other course, I took a cab to a pharmacy, filled my prescriptions, and nursed my upset tummy in the hotel room. The next day was my day to head back to Doha, and almost nothing went as planned. Let's just say that (almost) everything that could wrong, did go wrong. I stopped counting the number of hours I'd travelled, and I eventually got home around 1:00 a.m. Monday. I slept until 11:00 a.m., while Hubby cancelled my classes and took over with the kids. It took another day to fully recover, and I've come to the conclusion that my days of frequent international travel need to end soon. I just don't have it in me anymore.
Funny enough, I'm already booked to fly back to the U.S. on April 19th to go look at houses in New England State. Not to worry, I've already upgraded to business on both flights! Thank you Qatar Airways Privilege Club!
Thursday morning, it was on. That is to say that this is the first conference where I've been "on"--busy chatting, having coffee, attending panels, meeting people, networking, etc.--from the time I hit the lobby until the time I hit the bed. I did a bit of shopping to get some Easter stuff for the girls and a bottle of wine for my hotel room. Then I hit the conference panels. The first panel I went to was one closely related to my dissertation area, and one of the panelists was the editor of the journal to which I'd submitted my first article in mid-October. I went with the hope that I might introduce myself afterward, and it would jog her memory that I was still waiting for an accept or reject decision from the journal. No go, as the panel ran over time. Then, I ran into my advisor early on, and we chatted for a while...very good to catch up with her. Turns out, she's friends with Journal Editor and she was her external tenure review person (small world people). So, we loitered about for a bit, and sure enough, Journal Editor appeared. My advisor introduced us, we exchanged hellos, and she announced that she had to run and tend to a family phone call.
Upon her return, she told me she'd made a call to her assistant editor and was able to give me The Good News: ACCEPTED!! Yes, indeed, I now have two publications forthcoming --woohoo! I was giddy, my advisor was proud, and I got to spend a good deal of time talking to the editor about her work, which was instrumental in my dissertation, and the general state of the job market, etc. I also got to meet several other important people in the field while we "held court" in the center of the lobby. As nervous as I was, I was also ecstatic.
That evening, my advisor, two other graduate student colleagues, and myself had a lovely tapas dinner to celebrate my good news and catch up with each other's lives and work. And I went to bed that evening completely exhausted. Not that this mattered, because my presentation was at 8:00 the next morning--ugh!
Presentation went fine, but my neck pain was still lingering. I'd been treating it with Aleve, hoping it would go away. It didn't. Since the doctor's offices were closed, I was advised to just go to the ER across the street from the hotel. Long story short, they examined me, realized my pain was legitimate, etc. The Bad News: they gave me an extremely painful shot of steroids and a shot of morphine! I immediately burst into tears after the first shot (seriously the most painful shot I've ever gotten, and I've had 3 epidurals!), then the morphine kicked in, and I got dizzy, nauseas, sweaty, and my heart was racing. I'd never had morhpine before, and it wasn't sitting well with me. Oh, and by the way, I was supposed to meet with the editors of the essay collection where my first publication was accepted in like 30 minutes! Soon, I settled back down to something like a loopy version of myself, got my prescriptions, and headed to the meeting, not realizing I had a spot of blood on my shirt and I was still wearing a hospital band on my wrist!!
For the next 20 minutes or so, I was fine...just a bit dazed. But, I managed to keep it together. By the time some colleagues and I went upstairs to the Delaware Press cash bar, where I simply drank ice water, I could feel my tumbly getting rumbly. I barely had time for The Ugly: making it to the ladies room, where I could only open and close the door before I spewed everywhere. Classy, I know.
Being optimistic, I thought this would pass. I immediately felt better, and we were off to a fancy restaurant in downtown Vancouver. Shortly after the five of us ordered the pricey Chef's Tasting Menu, I had to hit the ladies room again, though this time I made it to the toilet. This eating/vomiting cycle continued approximately three times throughout dinner. Each time, I'd feel better and think it was the last time, and each time, I'd be wrong. I didn't want to ruin everyone else's night, and they wouldn't think of letting me go back to the hotel alone. So, I just prayed for it to be over with soon.
After dinner, which managed to still be fantastic despite the vomiting after every other course, I took a cab to a pharmacy, filled my prescriptions, and nursed my upset tummy in the hotel room. The next day was my day to head back to Doha, and almost nothing went as planned. Let's just say that (almost) everything that could wrong, did go wrong. I stopped counting the number of hours I'd travelled, and I eventually got home around 1:00 a.m. Monday. I slept until 11:00 a.m., while Hubby cancelled my classes and took over with the kids. It took another day to fully recover, and I've come to the conclusion that my days of frequent international travel need to end soon. I just don't have it in me anymore.
Funny enough, I'm already booked to fly back to the U.S. on April 19th to go look at houses in New England State. Not to worry, I've already upgraded to business on both flights! Thank you Qatar Airways Privilege Club!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Fancy Pants Restaurants and Imposter Syndrome
Note: I wasn't able to post this until today (Friday).
On Tuesday, I went out to my Fancy Pants Restaurant. When travelling, I ususally try to have one meal at a restaurant that is Zagat rated. This doesn't necessarily mean it's a terribly fancy restaurant. For example, when I came to London in May, I ate at Jenny Lo's Teahouse, a tiny place with a tiny menu but fantastic and affordable food. This time, I upped the ante by making reservations at Petrus, one of Gordon Ramsay's restaurants, the chef of which helped Ramsay's signature restaurant in London earn its third Michelin star. The thing is, I looked at the menu, and it looked divine. I checked out the reviews, and they were stellar. I decided this was the place for my Fancy Pants meal.
Now, I've been to some nice restaurants in my time. Not dozens, but a few here and there. Places along the lines of Obelisk (in D.C.) and La Mer (at the Ritz in Doha), and I've had the champagne tea in Pret-a-Portea at The Berkeley here in London. At any of those places, I've felt comfortable enough to enjoy myself and the food I ate. They were all special occasion places, and I always felt like there were a good number of other people in the restaurant who were there as a "treat" of sorts.
My friends, yesterday at Petrus I felt like I might as well have been wearing a neon sign that blinked IMPOSTER. I dressed "smart," as the dress code instructed, in a nice shirt, knee-length skirt, black tights, and black dress boots. It wasn't like anyone stared at me or laughed and pointed, while yelling, "Look at the poor girl who can only pretend she has the money to eat here on a regular basis!" The service was impeccable, a highly orchestrated rhythm of suited men and women quietly, almost motionlessly, pouring, serving, taking away, etc. I never once had to ask for anything--even the bathroom. I simply stood up after my meal, and the lady walked me to the toilet as if she'd been reading my mind.
Located (price-wise) between the lunch menu du jour and the chef's menu, I had the 3-course a'la carte, preceded by an aperitif and accompanied by the best white wine I've ever tasted. Was the food good? Of course...it was pretty amazing. The meal was accompanied by several amous-bouches, which were almost tastier than the main fare I'd ordered: fois gras, pork belly, hazelnut parfait (each with a bunch of fancy stuff inside, outside, or next to it). How can one go wrong with all this?
Well, I was surrounded by these people who were chatting about the economy in Greece and Ireland, or the price of real estate in central London, or something else of this sort. I sat there, feeling not only guilty at the fact that I was spending so much money on my meal, but also on the fact that I was there to begin with. Anyone who's been to grad school likely knows this feeling. It's called Imposter Syndrome...it's the feeling that one is an imposter and that, at any moment, one will be called forth and mocked for pretending to be something one is not (smart enough to have a PhD, rich enough to afford a meal at Gordon Ramsay's restaurant, etc.). The problem is that I don't know if I'll ever shake this feeling because I know where I've come from: a tiny town in the middle of small state that nobody pays any attention to, a family that never had much money, and schools that aren't ranked in any prestigious college listings. I still love a chili-cheese coney with onions from Sonic as much as I love a Fancy Pants meal, and the people who eat at Fancy Pants restaurants wouldn't even know what Sonic is.
What's the point of all this, you ask? Well, I guess it is to say that I learned a lesson yesterday. I learned that if I'm so uncomfortable in my own skin to eat with pleasure, then I'm somewhere I don't belong...maybe somewhere I don't want to be.
On Tuesday, I went out to my Fancy Pants Restaurant. When travelling, I ususally try to have one meal at a restaurant that is Zagat rated. This doesn't necessarily mean it's a terribly fancy restaurant. For example, when I came to London in May, I ate at Jenny Lo's Teahouse, a tiny place with a tiny menu but fantastic and affordable food. This time, I upped the ante by making reservations at Petrus, one of Gordon Ramsay's restaurants, the chef of which helped Ramsay's signature restaurant in London earn its third Michelin star. The thing is, I looked at the menu, and it looked divine. I checked out the reviews, and they were stellar. I decided this was the place for my Fancy Pants meal.
Now, I've been to some nice restaurants in my time. Not dozens, but a few here and there. Places along the lines of Obelisk (in D.C.) and La Mer (at the Ritz in Doha), and I've had the champagne tea in Pret-a-Portea at The Berkeley here in London. At any of those places, I've felt comfortable enough to enjoy myself and the food I ate. They were all special occasion places, and I always felt like there were a good number of other people in the restaurant who were there as a "treat" of sorts.
My friends, yesterday at Petrus I felt like I might as well have been wearing a neon sign that blinked IMPOSTER. I dressed "smart," as the dress code instructed, in a nice shirt, knee-length skirt, black tights, and black dress boots. It wasn't like anyone stared at me or laughed and pointed, while yelling, "Look at the poor girl who can only pretend she has the money to eat here on a regular basis!" The service was impeccable, a highly orchestrated rhythm of suited men and women quietly, almost motionlessly, pouring, serving, taking away, etc. I never once had to ask for anything--even the bathroom. I simply stood up after my meal, and the lady walked me to the toilet as if she'd been reading my mind.
Located (price-wise) between the lunch menu du jour and the chef's menu, I had the 3-course a'la carte, preceded by an aperitif and accompanied by the best white wine I've ever tasted. Was the food good? Of course...it was pretty amazing. The meal was accompanied by several amous-bouches, which were almost tastier than the main fare I'd ordered: fois gras, pork belly, hazelnut parfait (each with a bunch of fancy stuff inside, outside, or next to it). How can one go wrong with all this?
Well, I was surrounded by these people who were chatting about the economy in Greece and Ireland, or the price of real estate in central London, or something else of this sort. I sat there, feeling not only guilty at the fact that I was spending so much money on my meal, but also on the fact that I was there to begin with. Anyone who's been to grad school likely knows this feeling. It's called Imposter Syndrome...it's the feeling that one is an imposter and that, at any moment, one will be called forth and mocked for pretending to be something one is not (smart enough to have a PhD, rich enough to afford a meal at Gordon Ramsay's restaurant, etc.). The problem is that I don't know if I'll ever shake this feeling because I know where I've come from: a tiny town in the middle of small state that nobody pays any attention to, a family that never had much money, and schools that aren't ranked in any prestigious college listings. I still love a chili-cheese coney with onions from Sonic as much as I love a Fancy Pants meal, and the people who eat at Fancy Pants restaurants wouldn't even know what Sonic is.
What's the point of all this, you ask? Well, I guess it is to say that I learned a lesson yesterday. I learned that if I'm so uncomfortable in my own skin to eat with pleasure, then I'm somewhere I don't belong...maybe somewhere I don't want to be.
Monday, November 15, 2010
The Ball, The Aftermath, and London
So, the day of the Ball came, and I was all prettified with a fabulous updo and the best make-up job ever! Truly, Debi at the MAC store did an amazing job, and it was worth every penny to feel beautiful, if only for the night (well, part of the night anyway). The dress fit like a glove, thanks to my diligence in watching what I ate in the days preceding the event. Hubby and I arrived, had a glass of wine, watched all the pomp and circumstance of the cake presentation, etc., and then settled in for the buffet dinner.
I have to pause here and remark upon how conflicting this was for me. On one hand, they played the Star Spangled Banner, something that is rarely heard where we live now and has taken on somewhat of a new meaning since we’ve been living overseas. On the other hand, I'm against both the war in Iraq and Afghanistan; in fact, I’d call myself a pacifist. I found it hard to balance the recognition of the sacrifice and loyalty of service of the Marines, while firmly believing that so many are still being senselessly injured and killed in what I consider one of the biggest foreign policy fuck-ups in US history. Nonetheless, there I stood, with my heart over my hand, proud of my former-Marine Hubby and those who’ve been willing to serve, no matter the cost.
We sat at a table with two other lovely couples. The first are the parents of one of H’s schoolmates, and the second couple has an Education City connection, so we were able to talk shop a bit. The food wasn’t great, and I started getting chatty very early because apparently that’s what I do when I’m drinking red wine on a deadline. You see, we’d already booked the driver to pick us up at 10:30, so when dinner was over at 8:00 (and I’d barely eaten anything all day), my thought was, “I need to make sure I drink plenty of wine before we have to leave!” Clearly, I’m a moron, who equates obnoxious drunkenness with fun. It was a clear reminder of why I usually *don't* do the drinking thing. Technically, I didn’t drink *that* much….Okay, 5 glasses of wine (I think), in about 2 ½ hours. The real kicker came when a co-worker caught me at the bar and said, “Hey, you have to drink a shot of tequila....we all did it!!” Mind you, I haven’t taken a shot of tequila in YEARS. Needless to say, that put me over the edge, and the drive home wasn’t a pretty one. I must mention, however, that Hubby was a devoted, relentless caretaker, and I love him dearly for taking the bazillion bobby pins out of my hair for me.
Fast-forward to London. Despite a raging hangover, I survived the 7-hour flight and tried to re-hydrate myself. It was a loooonnnng journey from Heathrow to my hotel near the British Library, and I was exhausted and starving by the time I finally made it. I was also utterly displeased to find that my room was on the 3rd floor(!!), which can only be reached by several deathly flights of steep and narrow stairs. I’m entirely convinced I’ll meet my death carrying my luggage down those stairs on Thursday morning.
I had a great dinner at a local fish and chips shop that a friend recommended to me, and then I crashed. Sunday, the Library was closed, so I checked out the Tate Britain and the National Portrait Gallery. I was disappointed in both for different reasons. The TB had the rooms I was most interested in (Historical Britain) closed for some reason. And at the NPG, I was overwhelmingly struck at the sheer lacking of female portraiture in the early modern period. Aside from Charles II being surrounded by only a few of his lovely ladies, so many women’s faces are literally missing, and it’s not because they didn’t have their portraits made. It’s because nobody has thought of them as important enough to hang on the damn walls of the Gallery!! But I digress….
Monday (today) brought work. A bit delayed thanks to my forgotten reader’s pass, but back on track and in the manuscripts reading room for a good portion of the day. Then back to the hotel to work on the writing, which is currently not. moving. forward. easily. I don’t know what the deal was today, but I’m fairly certain it’s because I was working from the bed in my room instead of at a table or desk. So, in the hopes of being more page-productive tomorrow, I’m invading the dining room after breakfast to work. I have to make use of this time because when I get back to Doha, I’ll be swamped with catching up on grading, planning the last weeks of the semester, and preparing for my Thanksgiving dinner party next weekend.
For now, it’s past 10:00, and I can’t sleep…
1. I keep thinking about this essay, and how little progress I made on the actually writing today;
2. I miss my babies at home;
3. I’m lonely;
4. I’m worried about the job market and again feeling like, while I could take another year in Doha (if I HAD to), I can’t take another year in our compound;
5. The hotel is made of paper-thin walls, and I’m stuck next to a family who come in late and wake early (seriously, they are my alarm clock). For the proximity to the British Library, you can’t beat the place. But honestly, it’s my least favorite of the three places I’ve stayed when in London. The others (all comparable in price) were quieter, more amenable to my preferences, and one even had a real closet!
I’m hoping tomorrow is a better day.
I have to pause here and remark upon how conflicting this was for me. On one hand, they played the Star Spangled Banner, something that is rarely heard where we live now and has taken on somewhat of a new meaning since we’ve been living overseas. On the other hand, I'm against both the war in Iraq and Afghanistan; in fact, I’d call myself a pacifist. I found it hard to balance the recognition of the sacrifice and loyalty of service of the Marines, while firmly believing that so many are still being senselessly injured and killed in what I consider one of the biggest foreign policy fuck-ups in US history. Nonetheless, there I stood, with my heart over my hand, proud of my former-Marine Hubby and those who’ve been willing to serve, no matter the cost.
We sat at a table with two other lovely couples. The first are the parents of one of H’s schoolmates, and the second couple has an Education City connection, so we were able to talk shop a bit. The food wasn’t great, and I started getting chatty very early because apparently that’s what I do when I’m drinking red wine on a deadline. You see, we’d already booked the driver to pick us up at 10:30, so when dinner was over at 8:00 (and I’d barely eaten anything all day), my thought was, “I need to make sure I drink plenty of wine before we have to leave!” Clearly, I’m a moron, who equates obnoxious drunkenness with fun. It was a clear reminder of why I usually *don't* do the drinking thing. Technically, I didn’t drink *that* much….Okay, 5 glasses of wine (I think), in about 2 ½ hours. The real kicker came when a co-worker caught me at the bar and said, “Hey, you have to drink a shot of tequila....we all did it!!” Mind you, I haven’t taken a shot of tequila in YEARS. Needless to say, that put me over the edge, and the drive home wasn’t a pretty one. I must mention, however, that Hubby was a devoted, relentless caretaker, and I love him dearly for taking the bazillion bobby pins out of my hair for me.
Fast-forward to London. Despite a raging hangover, I survived the 7-hour flight and tried to re-hydrate myself. It was a loooonnnng journey from Heathrow to my hotel near the British Library, and I was exhausted and starving by the time I finally made it. I was also utterly displeased to find that my room was on the 3rd floor(!!), which can only be reached by several deathly flights of steep and narrow stairs. I’m entirely convinced I’ll meet my death carrying my luggage down those stairs on Thursday morning.
I had a great dinner at a local fish and chips shop that a friend recommended to me, and then I crashed. Sunday, the Library was closed, so I checked out the Tate Britain and the National Portrait Gallery. I was disappointed in both for different reasons. The TB had the rooms I was most interested in (Historical Britain) closed for some reason. And at the NPG, I was overwhelmingly struck at the sheer lacking of female portraiture in the early modern period. Aside from Charles II being surrounded by only a few of his lovely ladies, so many women’s faces are literally missing, and it’s not because they didn’t have their portraits made. It’s because nobody has thought of them as important enough to hang on the damn walls of the Gallery!! But I digress….
Monday (today) brought work. A bit delayed thanks to my forgotten reader’s pass, but back on track and in the manuscripts reading room for a good portion of the day. Then back to the hotel to work on the writing, which is currently not. moving. forward. easily. I don’t know what the deal was today, but I’m fairly certain it’s because I was working from the bed in my room instead of at a table or desk. So, in the hopes of being more page-productive tomorrow, I’m invading the dining room after breakfast to work. I have to make use of this time because when I get back to Doha, I’ll be swamped with catching up on grading, planning the last weeks of the semester, and preparing for my Thanksgiving dinner party next weekend.
For now, it’s past 10:00, and I can’t sleep…
1. I keep thinking about this essay, and how little progress I made on the actually writing today;
2. I miss my babies at home;
3. I’m lonely;
4. I’m worried about the job market and again feeling like, while I could take another year in Doha (if I HAD to), I can’t take another year in our compound;
5. The hotel is made of paper-thin walls, and I’m stuck next to a family who come in late and wake early (seriously, they are my alarm clock). For the proximity to the British Library, you can’t beat the place. But honestly, it’s my least favorite of the three places I’ve stayed when in London. The others (all comparable in price) were quieter, more amenable to my preferences, and one even had a real closet!
I’m hoping tomorrow is a better day.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Things Are Good
We are counting down the days until we head back to the U.S.!! ONE WEEK from Friday, and we'll be in D.C. We get in late on Friday afternoon, and the next day we'll drive to Ocean City, NJ, where we've rented a beach house not far from Hubby's parents. This is our FIRST family vacation! I'm so excited, the kids are so excited, we just can't wait. I've scoped out a nice-looking seafood restaurant, and all I can think about is crab cakes and steamed clams--yum!
I have an article officially in the works! By in the works, I mean that a colleague has read it, offered advice and suggestions for revision, and within the next 6 weeks, it will go out to a journal. This will be my first time submitting an article, and I'm completely prepared for rejection. I also have a project in the works for submission to a collection on Gender, Authorship, and Space in Britain, 1660-1820. I feel good about the project because it's not wrapped up in whether or not it's accepted to this collection. That is, even if it doesn't get accepted, it's a project/subject I want to pursue further as my second book project (eventually).
I also checked out the Ocean City Chamber of Commerce site and found some really great information about family activities offered on an almost daily basis. They have a Farmer's Market every Wednesday, Family Day on Thursdays (with face painting, pony rides, etc.), and a Family Film Night. For the first time, I feel like all that we've been working for in the past year, all that we've lived with, dealt with, and gone through is finally paying off in a wonderful reward for us as a family, and it feels great! The budget looks good; we'll actually be able to enjoy ourselves and not worry about every single penny (though we *are* still on a budget).
Now that the dissertation is finished, I've been able to return to the gym after over a year of not exercising. Ouch, at first. But now? I'm doing lots of cardio in addition to weight training, and for the first time ever, I'm working on my upper body strength. I can see definition in my arms! Who knew? I'm working on getting rid of that double-wave thing that happens underneath my arm with the jiggly bits. I'm really enjoying the added energy that regular workouts have given me, and losing some inches has helped me get back into some clothes I haven't worn since before I was pregnant with Amelia.I have an article officially in the works! By in the works, I mean that a colleague has read it, offered advice and suggestions for revision, and within the next 6 weeks, it will go out to a journal. This will be my first time submitting an article, and I'm completely prepared for rejection. I also have a project in the works for submission to a collection on Gender, Authorship, and Space in Britain, 1660-1820. I feel good about the project because it's not wrapped up in whether or not it's accepted to this collection. That is, even if it doesn't get accepted, it's a project/subject I want to pursue further as my second book project (eventually).
I had my first fender-bender in Doha yesterday. Really, it was just a bump, everyone is fine, and it was totally my fault. I turned around to hand a bottle or toy to Amelia in her car seat, my foot slipped off the brake a bit, and we "tapped" the car in front of us. It was a tiny Lancer, so it cracked and dented the rear bumper. Long story short---everything is fine because the manager of the driving institute (to whom the car belonged) saw someone lightly bang the dent out and decided they could fix it themselves, "No need to go to the police station Madam."
Me: "Why not?"
Him: "We can fix it here."
Me: "Are you sure? Can I pay you?"
Him: "Yes, I'm sure..Don't worry, it is my pleasure Madam."
Me: "God bless you! Thank you so very much, and I'm very sorry."
What could have cost God knows how much time and money and confusion and stress just dissolved in a matter of a few minutes. Oh Karma Gods, I am so completely in your debt!
Things are starting to feel like the surface of the sun here---average temp of 105-113 degrees--so we do very little outside, except go to the pool early in the morning of after the sun goes down. Everything seems to have slowed down, the traffic, school, the workload, so we've had a chance to re-group as a family, which has been very nice. With the exception of the 14-hour flight in economy with three kids, I'm looking forward to just about everything about our summer break!
Me: "Why not?"
Him: "We can fix it here."
Me: "Are you sure? Can I pay you?"
Him: "Yes, I'm sure..Don't worry, it is my pleasure Madam."
Me: "God bless you! Thank you so very much, and I'm very sorry."
What could have cost God knows how much time and money and confusion and stress just dissolved in a matter of a few minutes. Oh Karma Gods, I am so completely in your debt!
Things are starting to feel like the surface of the sun here---average temp of 105-113 degrees--so we do very little outside, except go to the pool early in the morning of after the sun goes down. Everything seems to have slowed down, the traffic, school, the workload, so we've had a chance to re-group as a family, which has been very nice. With the exception of the 14-hour flight in economy with three kids, I'm looking forward to just about everything about our summer break!
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