My letter that did not get published, in response to an NYT op-ed on online learning

The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.

Re-posted from the Center for Advanced Learning Community Blog, Behind our firewall

From: Sarah Siegel
Date: Sat, Jul 21, 2012 at 9:53 PM
Subject: "The Trouble With Online Education" - Op-Ed on July 20th
To: letters@nytimes.com

The trouble with "The Trouble With Online Education" is that it refers only to the sort of online learning that's ineffective and paints learning in physical classrooms as automatically dialogical. In undergraduate classes of 100 students, which Professor Edmundson referred to, typically, I felt that I was engaged mostly in an internal dialogue as the professor lectured on to the pit full of us. At its best, online learning enables a global dialogue among the instructors and learners. For example, in my work with global business leaders, we have engaged 970 learners concurrently via live video over the web and live-chat moderators. The leaders learn from the presenters and one another and the dialogue is richer than it would be if we were face to face, as their regional origins would be limited by travel constraints. These views are my own and don’t necessarily represent my employer's opinions.

Sarah Siegel
Social Learning Developer
IBM Center for Advanced Learning

This was my response to this NYT Op-Ed. It was not published and here is a link to the letters that *were* published. All of them make interesting observations and all are strictly academic/higher-ed-oriented.

A Cloud Party Party

The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.

First Impressions

First heard about it from an IBM colleague when I was right in the middle of a deadline. Responded to his instant message, asking if we could look together later. The next day, I was asked by another colleague via instant message, "Have you heard of Cloud Party?"

"Just yesterday, actually." I don't recall what more my colleague wrote, if anything. That night, in front of the TV, I opened Facebook and searched for "Cloud Party". Clicked on it. Landed in-world and a stranger tried to chat with me. By default, my avatar sported a brunette, 2012 version of a bob and a body that's half my age in a tight T-shirt and faded jeans. I tested the arrow key to see if I could walk away from, presumably, him. Reminded me of the meaninglessness of Second Life before I had specific reasons to go in-world with groups of IBM managers for learning.

"Look at this, Pat," I said as I discovered that clicking my cursor anywhere in the distance would produce a red hump on the ground, to which my avatar then moved automatically. That was the cool part. Something that confused me: the mobile phone metaphor for navigation; I didn't want to click on it, as I thought Cloud Party was going to try to download itself as an app to my Android phone. The other cool part was getting there via Facebook. But then what? I didn't know, so I left.

Today was different. Almost like the old days in Second Life after my initial, individual visit, where I felt purposeful because I was with IBMers, trying to learn something -- in this case, about Cloud Party itself. One of my colleagues remarked that he liked how he could take photos that then were instantly postable to Facebook. Ooh. That sounded very cool. I went to the mobile phone icon and found the camera. Started taking photos, but discovered that it only saved like the four or five most recent photos -- after taking like 15. Oh, well.

Saved a few -- one, twice.

And then decided to start saving the chat because Cloud Party's CEO, Sam Thompson, kindly showed up and responded to questions rifled at him and his wife/sister(?) Lilli Thompson, who hosted us in Lilli's World. Decided to capture a bunch of it and post it here anonymously, other than Sam and Lilli, where names are, e.g., Yyyyy Yyyyy:

[say] Yyyyy Yyyyy: What are your current priorities?

[say] Sam Thompson: 1. Marketplace + asset transfers, 2. avatar improvements and finalization so content creators can start making clothes

Lilli Thompson cheers

[say] Sam Thompson: After that it is less clear.

[say] Lilli Thompson: As for differentiators for Cloud Party, I think the HTML5 thing is huge

[say] Sam Thompson: Xxxxx: I suppose the most obvious difference is the ease of entry... no client to download, login and account creation is basically instant (as long as you use facebook), and you can just send someone a URL to anywhere in Cloud Party and have them show up seconds later.

[say] Sam Thompson: Yyyyyy: no specific target demographic at this point. I'd say our target is 'the internet'

[say] Aaaaa Aaaa: Would HTML5 suggest that this would be a great place to run videos, integrating them into the 3D experience?

[say] Xxxxx: Full Mesh / Run in web page / No Client Download / No Firewall issues

.....

[say] Sam Thompson: Aaaaaa: hopefully, eventually, yes. We actually got it working at one point a few months ago, but performance was terrible.

[say] Aaaaa Aaaa: (assuming sound, of course)

[say] Sam Thompson: I think it will just take more work on the browser side.

[say] Bbbbbb: @user#whatever - ease of access, better building, better 3D space (you get an island - a volume) not a surface, better integration with social media.

[say] Sam Thompson: Also there are lots of permissions issues with CORS and such.

[say] Ccccc Ccccc: I'd like to see more camera controls, like being able to change your viewpoint for the camera

[say] Sam Thompson: Aaaaaa: there is sound, it's just that most things aren't creating sound right now.

[say] Yyyyyy Yyyy: I just tried to login using my iPad, but no support yet.

[say] Xxxxx: thanks Sam

[say] Lilli Thompson: there's a video on YouTube of someone running Cloud Party on a jailbroken iPad

[say] Sam Thompson: Yyyyyy: that's on apple, unfortunately. They are being very cagey about WebGL support.

[say] Xxxxx: Yyyyyy you can use ipad if hacked and you install Cydia webgl support

[say] Sam Thompson: It'll be interesting to see how they play it.

[say] Aaaa Aaaaa: And of course we'll do nothing but flood Sam with feature requests --- interactive HTML to support in-world whiteboarding and such

[say] Sam Thompson: :)

...

[say] Ddddddd Ddddd: Having utterly failed to make a red shirt in a week :-) I'm finding the "world created by people like you" line a bit flat.

[say] Lilli Thompson: To some extent--the barrier to entry for content creation is higher. However the awesome thing is that the skills you learn building for cloud party transfer to the real world

[say] Lilli Thompson: it kind of hurts me to think of someone investing hundreds of hours into a proprietary non-transferrable set of skills for building

[say] Lilli Thompson: whereas any game artist can build here

[say] Sam Thompson: We are looking to bridge the gap to some extent between hard core builders and beginners. This is something we'll be looking into after the marketplace and avatar tech is in place.

[say] Lilli Thompson: or just show there stuff here

[say] Eeeeee Eeee: yeah like linden script LOL. What is the scripting language here? Javascript?

[say] Dddddd Ddddd: Ah, but right now they have to invest hundreds of dollars into 3D editing software.

[say] Sam Thompson: Andre: it's javascript with some limitations.

[say] Lilli Thompson: I also think Cloud Party is a really exciting way for 3d artists to share their work and portfolios

[say] User#133825: or go the Blender route

[say] Lilli Thompson: you don't have to--Blender and Sketchup work

[say] Mykael: You can build with tools like Carrera which is pretty cheap and Blender/Sketchup which are free.

[say] User#133825: Blender was my Best Friend in SL =)

...

At this point, I stopped saving the chat because it was far beyond what I could relate to personally. These colleagues were builders. And my experience in Virtual Worlds was in using what my colleagues built, so that I could include them in social learning experiences we designed for our leaders. Still, was happy to lurk and learn a bit about how the magic got built.

This evening, I spoke with one of the question-riflers, who has premier building experience, and told her, "I chatted privately with Yyyyy Yyyyy and told him that seeing you and him here were my favorite part of this virtual world so far....I imagine that this HTML 5 thing is very big for types like you, though."

"Well, yes, this is the first in Web GL, but only the first, so we'll have to wait and see."

In my Masters thesis, published late last year, I wrote that Virtual Worlds wouldn't catch on virally/universally until they were as simple as FarmVille and had much lower barriers to entry. I should mention that my Lenovo ThinkPad T61 -- which I use for work -- didn't enable me to access Cloud Party due to a video card that needed updating, but which turned out to be a hassle and undoable in the time I'd allotted for doing the update. I had to use the HP Entertainment PC I bought at Costco for home use. Also, during the dialogue with Sam and Lilli, my same colleague brought up the fact that China-based people would not necessarily be able to access Cloud Party, which was a pretty huge barrier to entry, so yes, we'll see. Still, I'm glad I went on the field trip. These in-world jaunts always expand my vista.

Israel

The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.

For Israeli Family Photos, See Prior Blog Entry

Everyone on our tour, regardless of gender and sexual orientation, it seemed, including Pat and I, had a crush on the beautiful, brilliant, funny Odelia Shabi, our tour guide (above), who was proudly Yemenite. Abel Pann, one of Israel's premier 20th-century artists, used Yemenite models among others in his art, for example, this image above (see a larger version). If there were an Olympics for country tour guides, Odelia would take the Gold Medal for Israel. How much can I express Pat's and my adoration as fans before embarrassing ourselves, let alone Odelia?

Pat snapped this photo of me (above) looking happy and lovingly at her on our first evening in Jerusalem, when Shabbat was on the way shortly. I couldn't believe we were actually there, together finally. As I wrote in a prior blog-entry, during all of my previous stays in Israel, from 15 onward, I pursued romance with boys and girls and then men and women who might have loved Israel, but who did not love me. In this case, I was finally with someone who loved me back, if not yet who loved Israel. Perhaps for Pat, Israel would be like golf was for me; we always played together because I knew how enormously happy it made her to be on a golf course, but golf was not natively beloved to me.

These two photos (above) depicted Pat & me on our final night in Jerusalem and our fourth day in Israel, under nearly a full moon. If this was for Pat just like a round of golf was for me, then it was an atypical round, where we played the most beautiful, uncrowded course and where I had a hugely successful game and was buoyed by it...because that's how Pat seemed by then -- extraordinarily happy and sated. Or maybe Pat was still mostly loving that I loved Israel, and her extra selflessness released endorphins. I'm not sure which it was, and it didn't seem to matter, since both of us felt ultra-relaxed and pleased for whatever reason, even beyond how we feel, say, on a summer evening when we're rocking in our double rocker on the back-deck of our house.

Our first night in Jerusalem, which was our very first night in Israel together, we ate dinner at Cinematech, which was also the cool place to go in 1985-86, when I was a Hebrew University student for the year. It seemed out of reach to me then, as the place where kids with money went on dates, and I didn't have much of either back then. What a triumph to be having a romantic dinner with my wife Pat, ordering whatever I wanted on the menu and paying with our collective money. And then afterward, we caught a cab to the Kotel (Wall), to watch the dancing there (above). Since Pat & I are both women, unlike opposite-gender couples, we were able to approach the Wall together and touch it side-by-side, and to kiss the same spot of it. As we moved back from it, Pat snapped photos of gorgeous female Israeli soldiers dancing.

So much shame scattered to the winds, thank God; last time I was there at night, I was a 20 year old who felt the way I did in a Women's locker room, forcing myself to look at the ground while in the Women's section, and then who also felt impossibly awkward in the open plaza behind the prayer sections, where other young men and women stood together -- but not too closely, of course -- becoming acquainted.

Our friend Eleanor Horowitz (above, left) lives in Herzliya and is a lawyer and artist. Like me, she was a Freshman and Sophomore at the University of Michigan and also studied at Hebrew University during her Junior year. Unlike me, she stayed in Israel for her Senior year and graduated from Hebrew University, and made aliyah, also graduating from Hebrew U.'s Law school as well as studying at Bezalel, Israel's premier art school. She always seemed heroic to me -- one of the brave ones who flirted with aliyah during her Junior year abroad and then who actually made it.

Both of these books (above) are at the Mt. Scopus campus of Hebrew University, in the library where I hung out a lot as a student, and which I took Pat to visit during our one afternoon that we had free from the tour. The book with the cover in Hebrew is also by Flannery O'Connor; it's the collection of short stories, *A Good Man Is Hard to Find*, translated into Hebrew, and it has the story I chose to include in my Comparative Literature thesis upon my return to Ann Arbor, "Good Country People". I don't remember seeing that book when I found the peacock-covered one in 1986. Both could actually be from that time, since the covers of both have been reinforced with extra cardboard.

Flannery O'Connor was like a friend in Israel back then. "Good Country People" particularly gave me what I needed, a theme that mirrored my life at the time: My emphasis was on objects of desire, rather than on finding real love (and healthy desire) with a similarly-intentioned woman. The desires of Flannery O'Connor's protagonist, along with those of all of the women I compared among the four short stories of my thesis, were thwarted and ultimately damned. Cheery.

Imagine my gratification at returning with my wife Pat to the very place where everything seemed so unsettled and unsettling romantically and being able to stamp it with a happy ending. Here we are a couple of days later at the Dead Sea (above), being photographed by a lovely guy from the tour group, Ishaan.

Pat and I were fortunate to swim in six very different bodies of water during our time in Israel. On the Dead Sea, we floated like cork rafts amid heat of 40 degrees Celcius, or 104 degrees Fahrenheit -- that was the *air* temperature and the water felt around the same. I need to update My Swimming Autobiography, but meanwhile, I'll mention the Kibbutz Lavi pool here (above). Prior to our arrival at Lavi, we had been hiking and sweating in Beit She'an, which is in a hotter part of the north. Picture our relief at entering this pool, which was indoors, but which had glass doors and giant windows all open to criss-crossing breezes. Other than a pool in a mountainous Madrid suburb, where I was lucky to swim during a business trip half a decade ago, it was the nicest pool I'd ever enjoyed.

Just as I commented to my American first cousin Sari, I keep thinking about accidents of birth: My mom's friend Chaya (above) is probably 90 years old and her parents and she were born in Israel; my mother will be 87 in November and she says that Chaya is a few years older than she.

Our friends Noga and Hilla (left and right, above) also were born in Israel. Hilla's parents came from Tunisia and then took the family to Canada for eight years, but then ultimately returned to Israel. And Noga's parents were from Poland and the Sudan. I need to resist idealizing Noga and Hilla and trying to turn them into symbols of an ideal Israeli couple. They are just another couple in the world, albeit an especially lovely one, trying to take care of their family and each other, just like Pat and I are trying to do...speaking of which, it's time to feed Phoebe and Toonces, our cats.

Nothing like children to bring me back to the present. Phoebe and Toonces are our feline daughters and this photo (above) is from the day we returned from Israel, after Pat cut a bunch of gladioli that had bloomed in our garden while we were away.

Emotion Parade During Our Trip to Israel

The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.

Ultimately, Relief Is the Grand Marshal

This dusty dirt road belies the rows and rows of spry, young avocado trees behind the hoary trees on the left, but doesn't surprise me with the village's cemetery just around the bend. My father's parents, his sister and her husband are buried there (z"l). In reliving the trip here, I'm not sure how orderly I can make the emotion parade, or how much I should try to do so. Here, I'm posting photos and writing about a place of which I have been conscious for more than 40 years, first through Sabta (my grandmother) and Aunt Tovah -- the generations of our family that moved there in 1948 and '47 respectively.

Until reading the name beneath my grandfather's on his side of the gravestone, I do not know or recall that my grandfather was the son of Chaim Mordechai haLevi, and had chosen to name his eldest son (my dad of blessed memory) after his deceased dad (z"l). One grave sits in a moshav in Israel and the other on the outskirts of Stamford, Connecticut. If my dad had stayed in Israel after serving in WWII in the U.S. Navy, rather than leaving and moving to the Village in New York City, I wouldn't be here to blog about standing in awe at the continuity.

This visit with my family, both dead and alive, doesn't happen till our last day in Israel and I am anticipating it the entire time. Instead of being anticlimactic or even somehow disappointing -- which a number of highly-anticipated events are in my experience -- it is marvelous. Relatively, my first cousins Edna and Meishe are two of seven first cousins with whom I'm the closest; siblings Sarit -- aka Sari -- and Yanai are the others with whom I'm closest. Meishe and Edna have worse luck than the rest of us in that their parents Tovah and Lulu both were buried already, and Uncle Lulu died when they were young, in 1967, just weeks after our grandfather died; Saba died of Leukemia and Uncle Lulu of a freakish bathtub fall if I remember correctly -- 50 years, so far, of Edna and Meishe, leaving stones on Uncle Lulu's grave, and Uncle Lulu never got to see his gorgeous, talented grandchildren, Dvori, Lilach, Anat, Eli and Omri. And Meishe's now a grandfather himself, twice already, of Ori and Hilla. What if Aunt Tovah were still living? She would have gotten to know two delightful great-grandchildren so far. What if my father were still alive? He would have gotten to know four beautiful, stellar grandchildren. What if Uncle Vevy (Zev), the father of Yanai and Sari, were still living? He would have gotten to know all four of his precious, brilliant grandchildren, rather than only Yanai's kids.

So much envy to trudge through: I envy Sari and Yanai for getting to have both of their parents for much longer than I did, and perhaps Edna and Meishe envy Sari and Yanai, too, as well as how my dad lasted a few more years than theirs, till 56, and how my mom, so far, has lasted 20 years longer than theirs. Or maybe I'm the only one who thinks this way. And how does it serve me? In this case, I think, envy is just another type of mourning. This family in Israel is a thick link to my father, who I miss practically continuously, no matter that this November, he'll already have been gone corporeally for 30 years. The ache doesn't lessen. The couple of random memories that Edna and I share about him in the car from Tel Aviv to Beit Herut are incalculably dear to me, including how he used to read her stories in Hebrew and then when he was done, asked her what they were about. "The difference was that your father could read, but couldn't speak, and Uncle Vevy could speak, but couldn't read as well." We leave the cemetery, which had been Meishe's and Edna's profound idea to visit. The white slabs of my lost relatives serve as a peaceful, sad contrast to all of the hopeful colors to come during the rest of my visit.

My one priority other than seeing all of my available relatives is first to stop at the community pool, where I had spent significant times at 15, during the Summer of '80, when I lived with my second cousins, Gila, Shmuel (z"l), Moti, Ron and Nitza. It is a bit out of the way and it is definitely a youngest-child-syndrome moment, where just like my older sisters Deb and Kayla had done for me my whole early life, and perhaps they think they do still, Meishe and Edna are proxies and indulge me. This is the only time Pat intervenes and says, "Sarah, the rest of your relatives are waiting to see you." In response, I feel less guilty than determined to peek at the pool.

Probably, I could pause here to wonder what else Pat was thinking of all of this -- a dimension of my history to which she hasn't had direct access prior -- but the reality is that I am fully self-absorbed and unconsciously taking for granted that Pat can be self-sufficient during the visit, beyond my making initial introductions, where I consciously refer to her as my wife; I follow our dear friends David & Gerard's advice to use the term "wife" as often as possible to make up for all of the years that we couldn't. My cousins prove to be completely, naturally, genuinely welcoming to us. Their warmth makes me feel proudly beloved.

My dad of blessed memory always talked about the *Pirkei Avot*/*Ethics of the Fathers* statement, "K'neh l'chah chaver," which was the concept that friendship is so precious, we should be willing to pay for it. With that in mind -- not knowing how warmly we'd be received -- I bring gifts for family of all ages. Though I am not satisfied that they are amazing enough -- bunches of IBM logo'ed items...a cup, toddler T-shirts, mini golf umbrellas and rebus notebooks, plus a couple of Mickey Mouse paint-sets from my mother, a child's puzzle from the Jewish Museum in New York, and a Beijing Olympics key-ring for Dvori, since I remember that she is a champion swimmer and instructor -- I hand them out quickly upon our arrival, which helps me channel my nervous excitement at being met by known and new faces.

Of course, I need to bring gifts because they always give us gifts, even when we are visiting them in their home-country. Maybe they are similarly familiar with the *Pirkei Avot* saying, or maybe they're just generous. They give Pat & me each some special Dead Sea revitalizing products as well as a fantastic 2012-2013 Israeli art calendar. The thing is, in choosing gifts for them, I can't think of anything American that they don't already have access to, and the IBM-logo'ed products, at least, are not generally, publicly available, and they really are a reflection of how I've spent nearly the past two decades in the States and and India. In fact, my IBM service counts for 22 years this month. We also wish we could have brought them bottles of the New Jersey State Fair-winning Iris honey from the Presby Memorial Iris Gardens, where Pat serves as Treasurer of the Board, here in Montclair, but we figure that it could be a Security challenge, or else disastrous if the bottles break in our luggage.

Also, I'm hoping that some of my memories are bonus gifts for them; theirs are to me, certainly. I've got an aerogramme from Aunt Tovah, dated November, 1980, that refers to Anat's precociousness as a toddler. And as I'm sitting here, reflecting now, I'm recalling how when Dvori was an infant and I was 11, I blew at her eyes to watch her long eyelashes wave at the wind and no one stopped me. Probably, no one other than Dvori saw me do it. She was smiling, or at least, not crying during my experiment, so I don't think I did any lasting harm.

And I've got a nice photo of my oldest cousin Gila with her husband, Shmuel and her parents, if I remember correctly, and me at 15, which I show to Gila and which she asks Meishe to photocopy. Of course, this being 2012, he has a photocopier in his home. And Gila's daughter Nitza recalls two memories that I had forgotten: She took me to school with her during my first or second visit, when I was eight or 11, and she remembers that I ran the 60 meter dash really fast. (It was not a trend.) Nitza also remembers how exciting it was to receive a package from me, from the United States: "You sent those [molded rubber] Sesame Street finger-puppets, and to this day, I can't throw them away. I still have them." (My dad (z"l), who was a game and toy designer, had brought them home -- enough to share some, so I did.)

When Nitza and her mom Gila, along with Nitza's darling young son, enter Meishe and Bina's living room, I spring up and hug them. I also introduce Pat, but want to sit closer to them to be able to talk and leave Pat on the couch. By now, everyone is talking with her and she is enjoying the conversation and a sort of melon that she says later tasted like a more delicious version of cantaloupe, but which isn't the same color.

Pat looks perfectly comfortable, and I take the golden opportunity to sit down especially next to Gila, who is just a few years younger than my mom and she kindly lets me speak halting Hebrew with her, rather than English, even though she understands English perfectly. It is so cool! Gila, Nitza, Edna and Bina all are sitting near me at the same time and we have a history! At this moment, I don't need the Dead Sea serum; I am 30 years younger, just reminiscing with them. And being around typically remote people who still remembered my dear father (z"l) brings him back to life for me for a bit, even if just for the length of our visit.

The time with my Israeli family is too brief, as we are meeting my mom's 90ish-year-old friend for lunch Chaya back in Tel Aviv, but it leaves Pat and me wanting more, and I hope our Beit Herut-based family feels the same way. Gila (second from the left in this last photo) says to me emphatically, "I'm all alone in that big house, so next time you and Pat come to Israel, you must stay with me." We'd love to and hope to. What a rich visit, with 22 of my emotions on parade, some internally and some externally: awe, anticipation, surprise, nostalgia, envy, mourning, ache, appreciation, amusement, peace, sadness, hope, courage, warmth, pride, love, vulnerability, nervousness, excitement, wonderment, and renewal -- with relief leading the way...relief that I could pick up with my family where we left off, that the family, including Pat, warmly received one another, relief that I could communicate in Hebrew, even if at a pre-Kindergarten level, and relief at the ease we felt, being with all of them.

In a State of Anticipation

The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.

Anticipation and Agitation

Ever since graduating, I have been reading whatever I want, including Billy Collins' poetry, the rest of *Carry the One* by Carol Anshaw, the science fiction issue of "The New Yorker" even though I'm not historically a big sci-fi fan, and now, a few Dara Horn novels from the library at my sister Deb's recommendation. Otherwise, though, I'm agitated by the bonus time I have. Just writing about it decreases the agitation a bit, though, so I'll keep going.

It's like I'm uncomfortable with sitting still till I figure out how to spend the time. An IBM mentor said, "You could spend more time with Pat, you could become a volunteer...." Another friend to whom I bemoaned my less-than-routine exercise regimen over the past several months said, "Now, you'll have more time for exercise."

I have been trying to spend more time with Pat, though I'm finding that I keep feeling compelled to do more in the work realm to fill the gap, like last night: We were going to eat out and I was doing LGBT Community stuff for IBM past 6 pm on a Friday. And I didn't even realize Pat was waiting for us to head to dinner.

As far as volunteering, do I work with LGBT youth? Do I do something with animals? Do I become a docent?

Certainly, I have more time to blog now. Do I start vlogging (video-blogging)? This might be among my more tedious posts, but it's actually helping me to splay my anxieties here. If I have time back, I need to be using it well. What if I just get swept up into the mindless part of Facebook? What if I use social media as a tranquilizer, rather than as a way to feel more connected to humanity? What if I just become average again? When I was in school, I was special because I was heroic -- working full-time while studying part-time. How virtuous. Now, I'm just another person, going to and coming from work.

I want to be special always. I want not to pressure myself so much. Why can't I just relax? The classic observation that therapists and all of my close friends have made is: "You're very hard on yourself." I want to be more at peace. After all, I'm far from how I was in my early-20s: daydreaming with a spoon of ice cream in my hand, then mouth, then hand, then mouth, telling myself, Any day, I'm going to start writing. And it'll be published and loved by millions, and I'll be famous. A childhood friend remarked recently that she just assumed she'd be famous and it hasn't happened yet. Me neither. Still, since my 30s, I have written and then blogged routinely, have had a creative job, and since my mid-20s, no longer numbed myself with sugar, so that's huge. Who am I trying to convince? Myself.

More to Anticipate Anxiously

The other thing that's happening is I'm feeling agitated about Pat's and my upcoming trip to Israel, which Pat is giving me as a graduation present. I want so badly for her to love it like I do. I find Israel to be an addictive place. I need to go back there at least every decade, now that I can afford to. This is Pat's first trip and I wish I could wipe away her worries about terrorism. She's coming with me to Israel with the same attitude I had about going with her to Alaska: I knew she wanted to go, so I went. Last night, Pat said, "But you liked the glaciers and the whales." She realized that those were the high-points for me. I also liked swimming in a community pool in Juneau and reading on the ship. And the ship's naturalist, who looked and sounded vaguely like Alfred Hitchcock and who gave great lectures.

I keep saying, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised, and I hope she is. In addition to wanting to control Pat's reaction to a whole country, I'm feeling anxious about seeing family while we're there. Pat & I have been together for just about 20 years and yet these relatives, other than my first cousin Maishe, who's been here for a Bar Mitzvah, have never met her.

Israel can be fraught with danger for me, too, though different from the danger that worries Pat -- the danger of flashbacks to my early, tortured romantic reaches, all of which were ultimately thwarted there: a lovely Israeli girl at 15; at 20: a Costa-Rican guy on his way to Jewish conversion; a Jewish-American guy, who also went to the University of Michigan; a Jewish-Australian guy with Israeli parents; a French woman, who was also deeply closeted then, and who was also on her way to Jewish conversion; a tall, handsome Orthodox-Jewish-American guy for whom I wore a modest skirt on our one date; two Jewish-American women I met through my program, a couple of months apart; and a wonderful Israeli childhood friend who became a gorgeous, rugged-looking, gracious-acting man -- the ultimate clue that I could not be attracted to men sufficiently to make a life with one.

If I catalog all of this Israel-based romantic fumbling, maybe I'll feel less haunted by it. Instead of feeling celebratory about this trip, I'm feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of being in Israel for the first time with someone who loves me back and with whom I've been in a healthy, 20-year relationship. In all of those cases of misbegotten cupidity, the people loved Israel, but didn't love me. Finally, I'm with someone who loves me, but who does not necessarily love Israel. It's not that she dislikes Israel, it's just that she isn't drawn to it -- kind of like how the objects of my affection in Israel ultimately felt about me. I have to go meet some friends shortly, by 9:30, so I wonder if I will want to write more later, or if I've already said more than enough....

"Concrete Jungle Where Dreams Are Made of"

The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.

Reposted from my "Learning to Lead" IBM blog:

It was a dilemma: Should the following blog-entry appear first on my personal blog, or on my IBM one?

I chose IBM first for two reasons:

1. Essentially, in addition to being an opportunity for reflection, this blog entry could serve as Part II of the e-mailed thank-you note I sent to my management and the supportive colleagues and mentors who enabled me to pursue the part-time master's degree over the past 5+ years
2. To me, its content would inevitably relate to my concept of learning to lead and the associated occasional discoveries that go with such learning.

Columbia Alumnae Made Me Cry

Tears didn't well up until the very end of the graduation ceremony when Alicia Keys' "New York - Empire State of Mind" boomed celestially from the same PA system that broadcasted the degree petitions by various deans and Columbia school presidents all morning prior...and specifically, not till the woman next to me (who spoke with her parents in Polish on her cell phone as the festivities were starting) sang along with me joyously: "New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of; there's nothing you can't do, now [that] you're in New York ...." (Columbia University is in New York City.) The tears, I think, came from hearing the marvelous song visibly together with so many others, and so loudly and clearly in this ultra-academic venue when typically, I'm hearing it alone on the radio in my car. And they came also from hearing the Polish-speaking woman to my right belting out the song with fun fervor; if not from Poland herself, she was likely first-generation. With her blond, blue-eyed multilingual youth, she was as symbolic of hope and freedom for me at that moment as the Statue of Liberty.

The tears also sprang from a flashback to an exchange with another Columbia alumna, my middle-sister Kathy, when I lived in Chicago and she, in Brooklyn. Maybe it was sibling rivalry, but just as likely, she was trying to goad me into coming home to metro-New York from the Midwest, where I had lived for more than a decade by then; my whole family wished I was less than a plane-ride away and made their wish plain in many ways over the years.

"You know, you haven't made it till you make it in New York," Kathy said.

"Pfff," I responded dismissively, but smiled as I recalled the exchange in my head a number of times while working for IBM both at 590 and 11 Madison Ave. in New York City. And then I smiled again as I looked at the Columbia-blue sleeve of my master's regalia, figuratively if not literally, while singing along to Alicia Keys' anthem. Growing up, my other and oldest sibling, Deb, and I were less like rivals and more like bonus-mother and daughter, since she was nine years older than I. When I invited Deb to the ceremony, I said that I hoped she would be able to come, as she had been like another mother to me and so my achievement was partly her "fault," too. Deb's own graduate degree pursuit at Tel Aviv University had been tragically and permanently interrupted by the death of my dad of blessed memory (z"l) in 1982.

Discovering a Small World Among a Mass of Humanity

There was something fundamentally awe-inspiring and alienating at once about being part of a giant graduation ceremony:

Sitting apart from my family among students who happened to be completing their degrees at the same time, but with whom I was not necessarily close friends was a little lonely initially. It was the second academic occasion where I steeled myself for the payoff of feeling part of something much, much larger than myself. Twenty-five years prior, I sat practically randomly with a guy from my hometown who was also graduating the same year as I because we ran into each other in the crowd; the rest of my friends had either graduated the year prior when I studied at Hebrew University in Jerusalem for the year, or were on the five-year plan. We sat in the bleachers of the University of Michigan stadium, among an even bigger crowd than I saw in Columbia's Low Plaza on Wednesday. On both occasions, as well as during my high school graduation, my dad (z"l) was corporeally absent. His death in November of my senior year of high school was due to rare, common bile-duct cancer. This time, I thought of him directly as I watched the graduating physicians and surgeons stand with their heads bowed while their dean recited the Hippocratic Oath. Columbia-trained physicians treated my father at what is now called Columbia University Medical Center; devastatingly, his cancer was too advanced to save him by the time it was discovered.

This time, a quarter of a century later, maybe due to greater social skills and diminished self-involvement -- maybe -- I felt more engaged with my schoolmates. And I planned ahead: I recalled that Alysa Turkowitz, who like me is also openly-lesbian and Jewish, and who had interviewed me for her dissertation on lesbian, gay and bisexual (LGB) students navigating graduate school, was graduating, too; I asked if she planned to be at the larger ceremony on Wednesday and if so, if she'd like to sit together.

Absolutely, she said; she was in the same boat in that no one else she knew was graduating at the same time.

On purpose, I arrived at the meeting point extra-early, to secure a spot at the head of the Teachers College delegation, hoping my family would have a better chance of seeing me and then it also seemed fun that Alysa and I would lead off the procession; Alysa's dissertation concluded that LGB students were less visible than we wished, so it was symbolically important to me that we comprised the front of one of two, parallel lines of Teachers College students at a final moment of our respective graduate careers.

Prior to the procession, all students were told to stand in front or behind the person with whom we wished to sit during the ceremony. What an interesting social experiment! The Law School preceded Teachers College and it was fascinating to see collections of different regions of Asian guys and of pretty White women, all with long hair, and of tall White guys, and so on walk by us. Alysa and I made up the Jewish-American lesbian section of the Teachers College delegation -- as far as we knew :-) Afterward, at the reception, I mentioned my observation to Pat, about how like-people marched together and she said, "Carl Jung said that people prefer to be with people who appear to be like them, and that's why we have prejudice."

While we waited for the ceremony to start, Alysa noticed my ring and said, "Are you and Pat married?"

"Yes, we got married legally in Connecticut last summer, in my hometown, Stamford." Alysa congratulated me and then told me of how she had relatively recently proposed to her girlfriend Gwen, who had accepted. As I listened, I smiled to myself, thinking of how some might have thought it interesting that just like any number of women of any sexual orientation, we were describing our joy at having found The One prior to graduation.

As it turned out, Alysa couldn't keep me company through the entire ceremony, as her doctoral hooding ceremony began at 1 pm and her family and she needed to eat lunch prior, and so I opted to be sociable with others after she left, since I wanted to sustain a communal sense of the experience. Here is the predictable irony; I had plenty in common with someone who did not appear to be at all like me:

The hijab-wearing, gorgeous woman to my left turned out to have gone to the University of Michigan as an undergrad, too. She was from Dearborn, Michigan.

"Why did you go to Michigan from out of state?" she asked me.

"My father -- who was dying of cancer at the time, but who still took me to a college fair my junior year -- thought it was a good idea because of "The Michigan Daily"; I had been a reporter for my high school newspaper. He was sold on Michigan, too, because he had had a great conversation with one of our synagogue's congregants, a successful alumnus, during the fair."

"Ah, makes sense."

"But actually, I also chose it because I thought it was big enough that I could explore my sexual orientation without anyone from home knowing -- I had gone to a Modern Orthodox Jewish day school for eight years, growing up." I looked at her for a moment and then away.

"Michigan was very welcoming, it's true," she said simply and apparently without judgment.

"Why did you choose to go to Michigan?"

"My brother-in-law went there and he took me for a visit once and I loved the campus." Pat, who was in Higher Ed Admin for her whole career and who was specifically responsible for Facilities in her role as Associate VP and VP of Business and Finance at two universities told me later, "I read in a Facilities journal that something like 63% or 65% of students choose their university based on how the campus looks." This woman was not superficial; she had majored in Neuroscience, so Pat's stat must be right.

When Gloria Steinem received her honorary Doctor of Laws degree, a few minutes later, my bleacher-mate did not know who she was.

After explaining that she was among the leaders of the Feminist movement, I said, "I'd like to ask you potentially a super-ignorant question. May I?"

Graciously and instantly, she said, "Sure."

"Do you think it's because you are young or because you grew up in a Muslim environment that you don't know who Gloria Steinem is?"

"It's definitely not because I grew up in a Muslim environment," she said, "I'm such a Code Pinker."

"What's that?" I asked.

She looked at me with the same incredulous expression I'd had on my face when she didn't know who Gloria Steinem was. "It's a radical women's group that I joined in Ann Arbor and then here; it made me feel at home."

Later, I commented on this exchange on Facebook and one of my friends from Michigan responded, "Haha my sister is so "code pink!" and she's 5 yrs older than us!!! No excuse for either of u!"

Luckily, we had already found common ground because we discovered that she had had IBM Center for Advanced Learning colleague and friend Dr. Nabeel Ahmad as her professor during her final course at Teachers College and also that both of us had gone to the University of Michigan as undergrads.

Toward the end, when we saw that the singing of the Columbia "Alma Mater" song would happen soon, both of us smiled as we talked about how we still remembered the words to "Hail to the Victors," the Michigan Fight Song.

"Do you want to sing it?" I asked.

She answered by starting. We sang it softly to each other as we looked out at the throngs below. And then at the very end, when Alicia Keys' song echoed off of the Library, the Polish-speaking woman to my right and I sang along. Maybe that's all she and I had in common -- a love of Alicia Keys -- but probably not, if only we'd had a chance to talk, too....

At lunch, I told my mom, "I wish Dad could have been here."

"He was," she responded instantly, and yet I think that the day prior, my mom was missing being able to share the occasion with him more apparently.

A Happy-Sad Confluence Made My Mom Cry

Since it was indoors, the Master's Ceremony the day before was accessible to my mom. As I approached her, seated next to my wife Pat and close to the left-hand jumbotron, I went to kiss my mom's cheek and saw that her bright blue eyes looked even bluer with welled-up tears. I can remember seeing my mom cry only a few times in my life, including when my father of blessed memory (z"l) died in 1982, seven months prior to my high school graduation. As I sat down, I wondered, Is my mom overjoyed, or sad that my dad (z"l) missed so much, or sad that she didn't pursue a graduate degree or...? For my part, I was the sort of happy where I couldn't stop smiling (I'm the tallest one of the visible graduates in this photo.)

When I asked later why she was crying, she said, "Sometimes you cry when you're happy.... Your father missed everything."

My mother has a Journalism B.A. from the University of Wisconsin and neither of her parents (z"l) went to university. Her dad (z"l) didn't get to go to school beyond the 6th grade and initially, was a truck driver before starting a furniture business in Rochester, New York. My dad (z"l) had a B.A. in Industrial Design from the Rhode Island School of Design and neither of his parents went to university either. In fact, among the chief reasons I thought to pursue this graduate degree was that my middle sister Kathy was gravely ill with breast cancer and I said to myself, someone's got to carry on her legacy as an educator; Kathy has a master's in Applied Linguistics from Teachers College and another in Education from Bank Street College.

Thank God, it has been six years since her bout and hopefully, she's fine. Graduate school attendance was pretty rare in my family through our generation. Only our father's (z"l) sister Aunt Tovah (z"l) and our first cousin Sari each had a doctorate, and my sister Kathy and I have master's. Even more strikingly, my wife was the only one of her family to go on for grad. school. Neither of Pat's parents was able to go to university, yet Pat has an M.S. in Psych, an MBA and an Ed.D. She always said it was no big deal that she had them and that I didn't, but it was always big to me, and I feel better now, that at least I have one graduate degree. Pat has passed along a fun saying that a friend of hers declared after they finished their Psych master's. Her friend was so tired of all of the academic reading and writing (as I became, too), and said upon graduation, "Now, it's just chips and dip and day-time TV!" Not exactly in my case, since the degree applied to the work I do at IBM, but it still makes me smile because compared with working full-time and squeezing in school during every bit of my discretionary time, I think I'll feel on vacation till I fill up part of the time again with volunteer work, or more blogging or simply more socializing. The possibilities are disorienting -- in a good way!

The Smartest, Best People Are the Kindest, Too

At the end of the Master's Ceremony, I ran into the speaker Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson at the side-entrance of The Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine, where I was searching for my mother; she was using a wheelchair for the day, since the Cathedral was too vast to traverse with her walker. I asked Dr. Tyson, "May I kiss your cheek? I was so inspired by you."

"Sure," he said without hesitation. He was several inches taller than I -- probably at least 6'3" -- and I tip-toed to kiss his face and he hugged me lightly. I stepped back and started to walk away smiling and suddenly thought to try to affiliate with the scientist in him by saying, "I work for IBM."

"Really? Where?"

"Armonk."

"CHQ!"

Did I hear him correctly? How does he know "CHQ", I marveled. "Well, in the Learning Center next-door."

"IBM, what a great legacy it has."

"What a great legacy *you* have -- I loved your remarks about your father [who graduated from Teachers College 50 years ago]."

We smiled at each other and he walked out with a family member or friend, perhaps.

For another moment, I just stood there, so moved by his kind curiosity, and then found my mom with Pat; they were already in the car in the adjacent lot. I re-lived the experience with them. How lovely of him to ask, "Where?" I said. How terrific of him to let me kiss his cheek. His receptivity and curiosity were extra inspiration beyond his remarks.

His formal remarks helped me, too. Dr. Tyson said he wanted a quote from education reformer Horace Mann as his epitaph, "Be Ashamed to Die Until You Have Won Some Victory for Humanity." I tweeted about Dr. Tyson's quoting of Horace Mann that evening and my Toronto-based friend and IBMer Bernie Michalik (@blm149) replied to my tweet, " @SarahSiegel every act of kindness over indifference is a victory for humanity."

In his remarks, Dr. Tyson also said he hoped that as employers, we would be the sort who would hire the creative, thoughtful employees, and not just those who have memorized the right answers. He gave an example, where he'd rather hire the interviewee who asked to be excused from the interview and who returned 20 minutes later with the answer than the one who just spouted a response. The question to the fictional interviewees was, "How tall is this Cathedral's spire?" One of them answered, "One hundred and eighty-seven feet." The other returned and said, "I think it's around 185 feet." Dr. Tyson explained that the second interviewee had measured the shadow of the spire in the street and then the shadow of a person standing next to it and extrapolated from there, and that he'd rather hire him.

"Pat, I agree with Dr. Tyson about looking for more creative employees, but with one difference. I think at IBM, we have to be creative *and* fast," I said while we were driving home.

"Sarah, he said that the interviewee paused for 20 minutes, not two days," [so I think you're aligned].

Learning Is a Fragile Business

If Dr. Tyson had been one of my high school teachers, I wonder if I would have stuck with my childhood passion, which was encouraged by my parents and Mrs. Honan in elementary and junior high, and if I would have become a mineralogist, rather than growing sciencephobic in high school. He reminded me of how purely fun it had been during the Lego years. Just reading the Wikipedia entry on mineralogy intimidates me now, but as 10 year-olds, my friend Amy and I were the youngest members of the Stamford [Connecticut] Mineralogical Society. Amy abandoned rocks and minerals, too. She became a graphic designer and I studied Comparative Literature as an undergrad; it's a miracle that I ended up even *near* scientists by joining IBM. Still, everything happens for a reason, I believe, and the master's degree I earned was specifically in Organization & Leadership with a specialization in Adult Learning and Leadership...which reminds me of an exchange I had the following morning:

Prior to the general ceremony for all of the university's graduates, in the library, I ran into a guy I knew from Teachers College's QueerTC organization and asked his dissertation topic.

"Math Education [the early sort]."

I teased him: "Ah, my master's is in Adult Learning and Leadership, which is all about helping adults learn receptively despite any baggage they're carrying from poor childhood and adolescent education experiences -- "

"I promise to try and not mess them up too badly," he said smiling good-naturedly.

I smiled in return and wished him well, and he congratulated me, since I was wearing my gown.

Trying to Make My Family and IBM Proud

Next, I led my mom to a comfortable chair, where she would wait for me till the general ceremony was over, since at age 86.5, she would not be able to sit outdoor for three hours in what was expected to be rain, but which turned into hazy heat. Both of us seemed in a sour mood as we said goodbye, even as we tried to act brave. My mom might have hated having to sit alone and miss the experience and I hated that none of my parents was either able-bodied or alive enough to be right there corporeally.

Even as I was sad that my parents couldn't be at the outdoor ceremony, I did feel joy on my own for earning this master's, and it is serving IBM and me:

I did my final integrative project on "Business Leaders Gaining Cultural Intelligence Via Virtual Worlds" and I summed it up and commented on it in this blog entry. In the Summer of 2010, the "International Journal of Advanced Corporate Learning" published a seven-page article, which ultimately bloomed into the project, and the article has so far been cited by two doctoral dissertations (http://bit.ly/J1cjRw and http://bit.ly/Jb6e9W) and a presentation for a university faculty development conference (http://bit.ly/Kd14ab). In the original seven-pager, and in the longer project paper, I explicitly acknowledged Amy Groves, since we collaborated directly on the pilots, and if not for Chuck Hamilton's and others' pioneering work in stretching Second Life as far as it could go in that time and place, the project wouldn't have been possible. So, after all, I sought work and school that would enable me to experiment.

When I told Pat about the citations in two doctoral dissertations, she said, "You've had the whole experience, Sarah. You've contributed to the body of knowledge, which is what academia's supposed to be about."

What I discovered during grad school that informed my learning to lead:

The biggest skills I picked up during grad school were how to do and understand formal research. Research requires creativity and concerted thought, and pausing to verify and/or qualify, rather than just going by pure hunch -- all essential attributes of the leaders I admire most. The most compelling adult learning theories I encountered were my advisor Professor Victoria Marsick's concept of "incidental learning" in the workplace, which like it sounds, is the often supremely useful social and informal learning we gain along the way to formal learning, and Professor Emeritus Jack Mezirow's theory around "critical incidents" or "disorienting dilemmas," which lead to unusually giant opportunities for transformative and emancipatory learning. I'm an incidental learning fan because it validates the mission of our department, Social Learning -- what I gravitate toward most naturally myself -- and I value critical incidents because I crave profound learning experiences that lead to breakthroughs, even if they're necessarily painful at the time.

Finally, what I re-learned at graduation that also informed my learning to lead:

• Let music move me
• Be grateful for my family and for strangers
• Stay open, curious and kind.

Can't Go to Bed Prior to Breathing a Sigh of Relief Here

The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.

Re-posted from internal IBM community for LGBT IBMers & Friends

As I pulled up to Cousin Joe and Joy's house in Tenafly, New Jersey, I recalled all of the times I spent there with my contemporary cousins, their kids, when I was a kid. Who knew then that Johnny and I would grow up to be gay and lesbian respectively? Johnny and I did, each within ourselves, but no one else was allowed to know, including each other.

Johnny's dad Joe died a few nights ago. His mom Joy died several years ago. Johnny, Teddy, Carol and Lizzy all are orphans now -- too grown up a status for this age and not a club I want to join anytime soon. My mom is 86.5 and I'm praying that she's around for many more years....

When I arrived, Johnny was out, taking another relative back to the airport. I had only a few minutes, as I needed to return to Armonk for a colleague's retirement party, and since I planned to go back again this evening. In the very short time I was there for Joe's shivah, Lizzy said to me, "Did you hear that our president said he believes in same-sex marriage today? Moveon.org sent the news to my phone, right in the middle of the funeral."

Ahhh. How could I feel any relief and joy in the midst of a shivah for a relative I loved? And ultra-energized, too.

Johnny's and my dad used to go to Joe's study and look at the cool maps that Joe collected and talk about who knows what. Johnny and I used to walk around their neighborhood during family visits, as dissatisfied adolescents, but not confiding in each other about our ultimate discontent at that point. When my dad (z"l) died in 1982, Johnny was the only relative tall enough to inherit my dad's gorgeous winter coat. Here's a photo that Pat took of Johnny and me in San Francisco, where Johnny lives, a few years ago on Twin Peaks (it's not winter-time and I bet he still has the coat, which was built to last):

Driving back to Armonk, I listened to National Public Radio, which was interviewing a gay journalist Andrew Sullivan, who said he felt that his president was acknowledging his humanity finally. That's just how I feel, too. I couldn't go to bed without breathing an extra sigh of relief here among our community.

I recognize this is just the U.S. president, but certainly, I celebrated when Spain enabled same-sex marriage to happen, even though it was "just Spain" because anywhere in the world -- whether local or distant -- that acknowledges all of its citizens' equality and humanity seems worth celebrating.

Joe's obituary appeared in the "The New York Times" today and as I ripped it out of the hard copy, I noticed that on the back was children's author Maurice Sendak's obituary. Fortunately, I had already read it online last night. I was so pleased to learn that Sendak had a companion of 50 years, and that he was gay, but was sad that he did not tell his parents.

My dad died four years prior to the time I was willing to acknowledge my sexual orientation, but Johnny's parents both knew and supported him. I wish our dads and Johnny's mom had lived to see this day and I thank God that my mom did.

Loss-Rain-Sunshine-Gain

The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.

Pluses and Minuses Since Friday

• Loss: No more bonus stimulation of part-time graduate school.
• Gain: Columbia-blue regalia ownership, and opportunity to don the ensemble for graduation on 15-16 May.
• Loss: Friend Riva being in metro-New York for just a few days.
• Gain: Friend Riva teaching me about pouncing as we toured Dürer and Beyond at the Met.
• Loss: Pat leaving for her annual golf trip in Tennessee.
• Gain: Renewal of my appreciation for Pat while missing her presence.
• Loss: Finishing my colleague Alysa Turkowitz's dissertation on how LGBT grad students navigate the classroom; I wanted it to continue, like a good movie or book.
• Gain: Honor at having been among the interviewees included in Alysa's dissertation.
• Loss: Sunday relaxation.
• Gain: The opportunity to prepare for a hugely important meeting at work.
• Loss: Lap-time with our feline daughter Phoebe during a two-day, off-site workshop in New York City.
• Gain: Two-day workshop on how to help a key population with its learning needs.
• Loss: My cousin Joe Silverman (z"l), to Parkinson's, Pneumonia and a stroke, just a couple of nights ago.
• Gain: Memories of Joe's and Joy, his wife's, kindness to my family after the death of my dad (z"l) in 1982.
• Loss: Maurice Sendak (z"l), an icon from my childhood, who drew the most appealing stories he could imagine.
• Gain: Learning that Maurice Sendak was gay and had a 50-year companion via this obituary
• Loss: Rain on and off since Friday.
• Gain: A front-garden full of pale- and dark-purple irises.

Longevity: What It Can Buy

The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.

In My Experience of Observing My Mom & Some of Her Memories So Far:

• Reminiscences of her red-bearded grandfather when she meets the orthopedist earlier today; the doctor has bright-red hair and a bright-red goatee
  
• A spine that curves at the bottom like a slippery-when-wet sign -- the X-ray doesn't lie
  
• A University of Wisconsin Journalism B.A.
  
• Father loss by her early-20s; she says he looked Swedish and people would buy furniture from him and say, "Thankfully, I didn't have to buy from a dirty Jew," and after completing the transaction, he'd say, "Would would you say if I told you you just did?" (Their name had been Prensky, but Ellis Island officials turned it into Prens, which was not identifiably Jewish)
  
• Marriage to my dad, a tall, handsome, creative, funny, toy-designing, child co-producer x3
  
• Three good daughters who are there for her when she needs us, which is not as often as it could be, considering her advanced age
  
• Trips to Majorca, England, Israel, Maine, France, Nova Scotia and more with various family members and alone
  
• Widowhood at 56; my dad (z"l) died of bile-duct cancer within six months of his diagnosis
  
• Grandmotherhood x4 beginning at age 67, of three gifted, gorgeous boys and a super-creative, beautiful girl
  
• Good friends from 40+ years in metro-Stamford, a number of whom have died; today, she was missing Jane
  
• Lush, Jewish cultural enrichment through her love of Jewish folk art and fiction
  
• A super-active brain that is the cognitive equivalent of a bodybuilder's physique, still!
  

Is Tap Dance the Yiddish of the Dance World?

The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.

Yes! Obituaries for Either are Premature

At "Dance Under the Influence," the marvelous "feast" -- "The New York Times" called it that -- the audience was invited to ask questions of the performers afterward. One woman asked Dormeshia Sumbry Edwards and Jared Grimes, the evening's tap-dancing duo, whether they worried about the tap's future. The way the audience-member asked the question, it reminded me of similar hand-wringing I've heard around the future of Yiddish. Dormeshia answered the question and her response was similar to mine about Yiddish, which was that it's hard to dignify such a question with a response, rich as the art-form and language both are.

Still, a week later, I must have been slightly haunted by the question, as I was playing randomly in Pinterest, and I decided to create a board called, "Yiddish words & phrased I picked up through listening to my parents' conversations." Here are the first five I've posted on the board so far, and which I heard either fairly often, or memorably; I've translated them based on my parents' explanations when I'd ask, and am spelling them out phonetically, with the disclaimer that I have no idea how to spell them correctly, using either Hebrew or English characters:

Source: sarah-siegel.polyvore.com via Sarah on Pinterest

Source: sarah-siegel.polyvore.com via Sarah on Pinterest

Source: sarah-siegel.polyvore.com via Sarah on Pinterest

Source: sarah-siegel.polyvore.com via Sarah on Pinterest

Source: sarah-siegel.polyvore.com via Sarah on Pinterest