The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.
Delicious Company, Delicious Dinner
Last night, I experienced a new self-consciousness. I was going to tell our friends about having seen a former youth group advisee at Sabbath services the night before and I thought, I don't want to be repetitive. What if David already read about it in my blog? And I sat at the table, feeling thwarted by my own communicativeness.
And I lost track of the conversation around me as I sat, thinking about the implications of being an active blogger whose friends would be supportive and look at it. Where will I be living primarily? In real time, or in the blog? Will the blog make live experiences ultimately self-conscious? Will my friends be on alert whenever they're with me, since they know our exchanges could end up in my blog?
Don't they know it already? Haven't I been re-living inspirational times with friends and family in the IBM-intranet blog I've been active in since 1997? Yeah, but that was just behind our firewall. Ugh, stop. Come back and be present to what's going on here, now, at this delicious restaurant on West Street & W. 10th.
Women in Black vs. David and Me
And I did. And I heard Vinny's confidence that same-sex marriage will be legalized in New Jersey this year. And David's mother Judy's satisfaction at being able to be among the Women in Black in Woodstock, where she lives, rather than a Raging Granny.
"What do Raging Grannies do?" I asked.
"They're just outrageous," and as she described them, I knew they were not her at all. "I like simply standing silently with my sign, 'War Won't Fix It.' And then people walk by and say, 'You're right!' or I've had a mother ask to have her young daughter stand next to me, so she could take a picture."
As Judy spoke, her face took on an ennoblement aspect. She was proud of the power of silent, non-partisan protest.
"I've heard of the Women in Black," I said, "in Israel --"
"Right, they were the first [in 1988, protesting human rights violations during the occupation], and now, they're in Italy and here and...." It's all about being anti-war.
"And you wear black, right?"
"Yes, and I must say, I'm getting tired of wearing black." They stand out there in the middle of Woodstock for two hours every Sunday.
"God, I just couldn't do that."
"Not everyone needs to protest."
"But it's amazing that you do it."
I was thinking, What is it about Judy's generation and my mother's that both of them are so active politically?
"I don't do anything!" I said with my voice full of shame.
David looked right at me and said, "What are you talking about?"
And I smiled because he and I have consciously dedicated ourselves to helping make IBM an even more inclusive environment, including for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender clients and IBMers. He's right. I do very local things, which I dare to hope could have a global impact.
Politics Are Not Sexy
Vinny said, "The word, 'politics,' comes from people [citizens, actually; I just looked it up], and so when you're trying to do good things for people, that's being political."
Still, I looked at Vinny and how animated he was as he described asking a New Jersey politician about his stance on same-sex marriage and I thought, I can't relate. And he's a guy. And six out of eight of the people in my Political Science elective course this semester are men. What is it about Politics that just doesn't attract me, as a woman?
Vinny spoke of how politicians often give off a very sexual energy and I recalled reading a memoir by a former Knesset (Israeli Parliament) member -- I read it only because she was lesbian -- and how she spoke of feeling very sexually powerful in every direction when she was active in Politics.
What's wrong with me? I just don't see politics as sexy. At all.
And my lens is so corporate. Most of the powerful people I'm exposed to are IBM corporate leaders. And I do see their power and charisma and political savvy and realize that I ought not to opt out of, and shut down, during larger-world political discussions, as they inform my local political arena as well.
The course I'm taking this semester, because it was at the right time of the evening, is definitely a stretch for me, Learning Democratic Practices, but I keep telling myself that becoming smarter about the way politics works, particularly about how democracies work, will serve me well in my own leadership roles at IBM, now and in the future. (Part time, I'm pursuing an M.A. in Organization & Leadership with a specialization in Adult Learning and Leadership at Teachers College, Columbia University.)
It's just so hard because the lingo and jargon is not intuitive to me, and not natively appealing. It is true, as the caption to the photo of me in Tiananmen Square attests, The farther I go, the more I learn, and it doesn't only refer to geographic distance. I am well-beyond where I ever meant to travel in the world of Political Science by having taken this course, and I'm probably learning much more than I would in a course that felt more natural for me.
My Lifelong and Lifewide Participatory Citizenship Learning
My professor, Dr. Janet Youngblood, did give us an assignment that appealed to me ultimately, of describing our participatory citizenship learning from early childhood to now. Initially, I said, "It's going to be a very short paper in my case," and then generously, she told us that it could include any sort of activism, in addition to whatever we might have done in relation to formal political parties.
This is what I wrote:
Early Learning:
McGovern-->Watergate-->the Israel Option
My first memory of being a participatory citizen was my mother taking me to the local McGovern campaign headquarters in Stamford, Connecticut, where I added stamps to a McGovern mailing. My mother said I was four years old. This qualified as formal lifewide citizen participation learning, probably, since it was associated with a U.S. political party.
During Watergate, my middle sister Kathy, who was five and a half years older than I, created a game for the school science fair called “Schmutz: The Game of Dirty Politics.” Both of my sisters always cared more about politics than I. I was not even remotely intrigued by real-world politics as a child or teen. Informally, I gained a bit of a consciousness, at least, through the actions and interests of my sisters.
Growing up, I did not have a firm sense of my role as an American citizen, other than that we lived in a country of many precious freedoms, and that my father, may his memory be blessed, was proud of his World War II naval service as a radar technician, and that typically, we had a president for whom my parents had not voted, other than Jimmy Carter.
Indeed, I felt most like a Jewish-American citizen, hyphenated. In the formal environment of the Modern Orthodox Jewish day school I attended from 1st-8th grade, we were taught American history and also Jewish and Israeli history, and were encouraged to consider making aliyah with our families, that is, immigrating to Israel and becoming automatic citizens through the Law of Return, Israel’s law that grants instant citizenship to all Jews who choose to live in Israel permanently.
The encouragement to consider Israeli citizenship made an impression on me, along with our Jewish history learning, where we read how often Jews had lived in particular countries throughout history before invariably being persecuted, killed or expelled; I was dually-invested in the welfare of two countries from an early age – the country of my birth and the one for which we collected charity, so that we would have it as a second homeland if need be, as life insurance, as my mother put it.
I was born into a family of Democrats, all of whom were at least half a decade older than I, and my parents were 40 years older than I; never did I question the rightness of the Democratic Party. No one ever sat with me to explain its virtues, but rather, I just knew of my mother’s local leadership as a Democrat within organizations like Head Start and the League of Women Voters. Growing up, any of my citizenship learning felt more accidental than formal.
Adolescent Learning:
Freshman Class Office-->American Forum for World Affairs Radio-->Mondale & Ferraro-->the Israel Option-->Youth Group-->Cable Access TV Co-anchorship
As a fourteen-year-old, I ran for election as Freshman Class Treasurer and won. This was a formal citizen participation learning experience, since there was election protocol. I ran only because I was entering a public high school from a private school and I wanted people to know me as soon as possible, and so having posters up with my name all over school seemed like a good strategy.
We did not make campaign speeches, but I created clever posters with hopeful promises and hand-drawn pictures of plump money bags. It was simply put to a vote, and my advantage was that no one knew me, whereas they knew my opponent from junior high, and disliked him.
At the end of the year, when I was supposed to organize an event to raise money for the class – for a future reunion that never took place, and so perhaps, I contributed to an advisor’s or fellow student’s corruption unwittingly at the time, since I never learned nor sought to learn what happened with the funds – I decided we would be bused to a roller-rink and have a roller-skating party.
None of the students in my Honors classes thought it was a fun idea, or that it would make any money, but it was a huge hit with the majority of the school – the students in the less advanced classes apparently appreciated it greatly. We made hundreds of dollars. From that experience, I learned that the privileged elite, that is, the minority of the school’s top students, did not necessarily represent the wishes of the majority, the many average students. So far, I have never again run nor been an elected official in any arena.
My mother reminded me that I used to be among a teen panel on a local radio show sponsored by the American Forum for World Affairs; we interviewed political leaders when they came to town, who discussed current world events from their perspective. I hardly remember anything about it. Again, I participated only because I thought it sealed my social standing among the smart kids in my high school.
I participated in activities to enhance my resume for college, and yet my single most fun activity in high school was that roller-skating party, where I was surrounded by average students.
Once I got to college, at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, and at Hebrew University in Jerusalem for my junior year, I day-dreamt about someone to love; wondered what to pursue as a career post-graduation; studied; labored at work-study jobs; and while in Israel, waffled back and forth in my head on whether or not I had the fortitude to emigrate from the United States and become an Israeli citizen, as most of my father’s family had done in the ‘40s.
Could I simply stay at Hebrew University and finish my degree there, and become absorbed into the society that much more quickly? During a school-break, the Israeli Army offered an opportunity to non-citizens to experience Basic Training and as a prospective citizen, I took advantage of the opportunity with a number of male and female American-student counterparts. We were stationed at an army base in the north, at the border of Israel and Lebanon. We wore Israeli Army uniforms, learned to load, shoot and clean M-16s and played war games (without guns). I relished the experience, until during one of the war games, I leapt from too high onto a pile of loose stones, breaking my left ankle. That was the end of my formal citizen participation learning in Israel.
I left the base and spent the rest of the school-break with my Aunt Tovah, may her memory be blessed, in Beth Herut, the moshav (collective village) of which my grandparents, may their memories be blessed, and she were among the founders.
Ironically, my grandparents and aunt, who were ardent Socialists prospered far more so financially, working with the other villagers in a collective industry, than my father ever did, working as a Capitalist industrial designer of toys and games. Like me, he tried living in Israel in his twenties, and opted after a few years to return to the States; it was a time of austerity in Israel and simply, he was bored by life there.
He met my mother at a party in New York City that was hosted by one of her sorority sisters, they married and moved to Greenwich Village, and within less than a decade, they moved with their kids to suburban Stamford, where I was born.
Ultimately, I chickened out of remaining in Israel, and felt guilty and relieved to come back and finish my B.A. in the States. I told myself that I could always choose to return post-college, but I think I knew I would never be able to give up the home I knew for one that was ultimately more foreign to me.
The bulk of my undergraduate experience took place in Ann Arbor and during sophomore year, I recall watching a Walter Mondale and Geraldine Ferraro appearance and rally in the Diag, from an open window on the second floor of the Graduate Library, and so I was not actually at the rally, and so my participation was not direct, nor formal.
The content of Mondale’s speech did not compel me as much as considering the power of his presence. I thought that he was not nearly as charismatic as Ronald Reagan. Ferraro, too, attracted and repelled me at once, triggering some internalized homophobia. At the time, I was fighting my own lesbianism and seeing a strong female of any sort was appealing and distasteful in parallel.
Naturally, being an unquestioning Democrat, I voted for them in any case; it was my first presidential election and my second formal activity related to a U.S. political party – the first, being the McGovern campaign stamp-licking afternoon 12 years prior. In 1988, I voted for Dukakis. I gave no money, nor did any campaigning for Mondale or Dukakis.
By the time Dukakis lost the election, I was 22 and already living in Chicago for a year. With singular focus, I turned the city into a lab for building my self-esteem through community participation. This was the period where I solidified my hyphenated identity further, as a Jewish-American lesbian citizen. The following experiences either were non-formal or informal lifewide citizen participation learning, considering my gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender (GLBT) community participation and activism as a form of participatory citizenship:
In the history of Horizons, Chicago’s GLBT community center and social service agency, I became its youngest-ever youth group advisor volunteer; that was informal citizen participation learning, since I learned on the job how to help GLBT and questioning youth expand their self-esteem through helping them (and myself) build their (and my own) self-acceptance of their sexual orientation and gender identity and expression.
Next, I co-anchored a cable access TV show, “The 10% Show,” which was a monthly, hour-long GLBT news and entertainment program of the Chicago bureau of Gay Cable Network. It was started by Chicagoan Jack Ryan, who was moved during the 1987 Gay & Lesbian March on Washington to do his part locally, particularly around HIV and AIDS activism.
The couple dozen episodes we produced as volunteers could be classified as non-formal citizen participation learning, as really, we were not at all formally organized, and most of us, other than the camera people, were not formally educated in Broadcast TV; everyone had a day-job and participated as time allowed. Certainly, I had never before co-anchored a TV show. I had simply written occasional Arts features for my high school and college newspapers.
Grass-roots though the program was, we were internationally-syndicated (aired in Vancouver, too)! I was so fortunate to interview many GLBT personalities – local, national and international – and perhaps my radio show time in high school was a bit of preparation, though I found myself wholly invested in helping these interviewees be more visible than I did with the more universally well-known political leaders I interviewed during high school.
Co-anchoring “The 10% Show,” I saw a wonderful up-side to GLBT culture, and televising so many leaders and role models of the GLBT community inspired me to commit to living my life openly as well.
Within a couple of years, unfortunately, we were hired into all-consuming day-jobs and our major funder, Jack’s partner, died of AIDS, and so we stopped producing the show. The tapes are now among the Gerber/Hart GLBT Library archives in Chicago.
Adult Learning: IBM’s GLBT Community-->Clinton; Clinton; Gore; Kerry-->Synagogue’s and the Course’s Influence on My Political Activity
Shortly after joining IBM, I was invited to become part of IBM’s GLBT Task Force and was honored to do so. In addition, IBM has employee networking groups for eight constituencies, including GLBT people. The leader of the local chapter of the GLBT employee group asked me to take her place soon after I became an IBMer; I told her, “I love belonging to the group, but I don’t want to lead it.”
“But it has to be led,” she said, and so I took it on. We were not elected then, but rather anointed by the outgoing leader. My learning was formal insofar as the group had bylaws and a mission and informal in that I learned so much about my own leadership style simply while actively participating in both the Task Force and employee networking group.
In 2000, I joined the IBM delegation at the Millennium March on Washington for GLBT Rights. Doug Elix, executive sponsor and direct report to our CEO, flew down to host a reception for us and said that IBM’s involvement in GLBT rights was not only a matter of attending to *all* of our customers and employees, but a matter of “social justice.”
Hearing one of our senior leaders use the phrase, “social justice” even further inspired my investment in helping advance GLBT clients and employees; I worked with Task Force colleagues on proposing and helping start up IBM’s GLBT Sales Team, with Doug Elix’s enthusiastic sponsorship. Though I have moved on in my career, now delivering leadership development training to our new and future managers, the GLBT Sales Team continues to thrive.
In my experience with GLBT human rights, IBM has helped advance social change faster than a number of governments around the world. My contribution to that advancement has felt politically substantial in that some of it has even had, “…the intent or effect of influencing government action…” (Verba et al., p. 38, 2002), for example, my being part of the Task Force, which recommended that IBM advocate for the Employment Non-discrimination Act (ENDA), which it did, and by helping recommend that IBM join the National Gay and Lesbian Chamber of Commerce, which it did, too, as a founding sponsor.
In ’92 and ‘96, I participated formally as an American citizen by voting for Clinton; in 2000, for Gore; and for Kerry in ’04, though I don’t know how much I learned, as I did not follow the races closely at all. During the dozen years, I did contribute money to national GLBT organizations that lobbied the presidential candidates for GLBT human rights, and in 2004, because my brother-in-law was volunteering with MoveOn.org, I gave a contribution directly to MoveOn.org; this was a formal case of a recruitment network. If Gary had not engaged me in MoveOn.org’s mission through his involvement, I would not have written a check.
Some months ago, my rabbi asked every congregant to consider joining the synagogue’s Green Team, which was made up of members who switched to more environmentally-friendly service from the local utility company in order to decelerate global warming, even though it was more costly. Since beginning to learn how my citizen participation makes a difference during this course, we have joined the Green Team.
Will I become a more participatory citizen as a result of taking this course, Learning Democratic Practices?
In fact, I believe that I will never be the same; already, I find myself reading stories about political engagement in newspapers and magazines when previously, I would have flipped past them; always, it seemed a sacred opportunity and responsibility to vote in any election for which I was invited to vote, yet historically, I deferred to my partner’s judgment in telling me the candidate for whom I ought to vote. Now, I have more curiosity and am grateful for my new maturity.
References
Verba, S., & Lehman Schlozman, & K., Brady, H.E. (2002). Voice and Equality: Civic Voluntarism in American Politics. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
How do you participate most fully? And why? And where? Are you most active in the blogosphere, or in 3-D?
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Friday, April 6, 2007
Reunion...Redemption
The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.
Has Jane created a monster? I am inspired to post again, already.
Tonight at shul (synagogue), I saw a woman who looked familiar and it wasn't till I heard her voice at the kiddush (reception) afterwards that I remembered that I knew her from Chicago. I thought we knew each other from the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender (GLBT) synagogue in Chicago, Or Chadash, and I said, "Of course, you remember Pat, " and she smiled, but said no, "It was Horizons [the GLBT community center]."
"I was your GLBT youth group advisor!" I exclaimed.
She smiled. It had been 18 years. Of course. It flooded back. "Do you remember the Saturday when we studied Flirting in Literature?" She had missed that one. It was my favorite time I ever spent with the group.
I had looked through own my library at home and had photocopied favorite sections of GLBT fiction, where characters were flirting, and then had cut and pasted them into a booklet that I photocopied for each of the youth.
It was so safe, to *study* flirting, and it was so remote from what the rest of the world invited them to *do*, i.e. to flirt with one another, as GLBT and questioning youth. They ate it up.I wish I had saved a copy of it. Probably, it's somewhere.How gratifying, to remember being a facilitator/instructor back then, just naturally.
Looking at the woman's face, and actually, she was only two years younger than I -- I was the youngest youth group advisor in the history of Horizons to that point -- I remembered myself at that barely adult time of my own life and how I was gaining self-esteem right along with the youth who came to the program.
Talking about the unit we did on Flirting in Literature, two single women, who were listening, and one of whom I knew already, said, "Could you do that for the [LGBT] Center [in Manhattan]?" They thought it sounded great at any age.
How fun, to have people be so receptive to an educational program I designed. How fun, to have the continuity of getting to see one of the "youth" nearly two decades later.
I feel good because I'm reminded that even as my much-less-than-fully-formed self back then, still, I was able to be of creative service to people who needed, like I did, to feel more self-assured.
This Passover season is designed, I feel, to remind Jews of our freedom [originally, from Egyptian slavery] and our redeemability, and thinking about tonight's accidental reunion, I feel so much freer than when the now-grown woman knew me as her youth group advisor, and also, that I am, human or humane service by human/humane service, steadily earning a thrilling sort of redemption.
What are you doing/what have you done that earns/has earned you your version of a thrilling sort of redemption?
Has Jane created a monster? I am inspired to post again, already.
Tonight at shul (synagogue), I saw a woman who looked familiar and it wasn't till I heard her voice at the kiddush (reception) afterwards that I remembered that I knew her from Chicago. I thought we knew each other from the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender (GLBT) synagogue in Chicago, Or Chadash, and I said, "Of course, you remember Pat, " and she smiled, but said no, "It was Horizons [the GLBT community center]."
"I was your GLBT youth group advisor!" I exclaimed.
She smiled. It had been 18 years. Of course. It flooded back. "Do you remember the Saturday when we studied Flirting in Literature?" She had missed that one. It was my favorite time I ever spent with the group.
I had looked through own my library at home and had photocopied favorite sections of GLBT fiction, where characters were flirting, and then had cut and pasted them into a booklet that I photocopied for each of the youth.
It was so safe, to *study* flirting, and it was so remote from what the rest of the world invited them to *do*, i.e. to flirt with one another, as GLBT and questioning youth. They ate it up.I wish I had saved a copy of it. Probably, it's somewhere.How gratifying, to remember being a facilitator/instructor back then, just naturally.
Looking at the woman's face, and actually, she was only two years younger than I -- I was the youngest youth group advisor in the history of Horizons to that point -- I remembered myself at that barely adult time of my own life and how I was gaining self-esteem right along with the youth who came to the program.
Talking about the unit we did on Flirting in Literature, two single women, who were listening, and one of whom I knew already, said, "Could you do that for the [LGBT] Center [in Manhattan]?" They thought it sounded great at any age.
How fun, to have people be so receptive to an educational program I designed. How fun, to have the continuity of getting to see one of the "youth" nearly two decades later.
I feel good because I'm reminded that even as my much-less-than-fully-formed self back then, still, I was able to be of creative service to people who needed, like I did, to feel more self-assured.
This Passover season is designed, I feel, to remind Jews of our freedom [originally, from Egyptian slavery] and our redeemability, and thinking about tonight's accidental reunion, I feel so much freer than when the now-grown woman knew me as her youth group advisor, and also, that I am, human or humane service by human/humane service, steadily earning a thrilling sort of redemption.
What are you doing/what have you done that earns/has earned you your version of a thrilling sort of redemption?
Freed from My Shyness
The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.
God bless Jane Harper!
Jane is a mentor of mine at IBM. "Do you blog?" she asked during our monthly phone discussion earlier this afternoon. She's the second person to ask me in a week. I told her how I came out here and posted something, and then felt totally self-conscious and frustrated by sudden shyness.
"Jane, I've been blogging since before there was this term for it, on our internal online community at IBM, but something about going external just froze me."
"I get that and it's true that you'll probably need a thick skin, since you didn't get many rude respondents within IBM, I'm guessing, due to our culture, but if you can have a thick skin...like Irving [Wladawsky-Berger] in his recent Golden Rule posting had to before it turned around and a number of people said positive things, then I think it would be so great for you to do it."
Ultimately, I'm being brave and trying it more so in earnest now due to Jane's encouragement and Irving's great example with his blog; and because I did all the internal writing for nearly a decade so far because I was excited at the prospect that what I was feeling someone else in the world might relate to and feel kindred as a result.
Here's a a cut-and-pasted posting from the internal community posting I did earlier this week:
Impressions of two marvelous seders:
Monday night at my sister Kathy's:
What I found inspirational:
All six of the older people, in their late-70s and early-80s, made it up the two flights of stairs
Our eight-year-old nephew Sam's mohawk haircut as an ultimate expression of individuality; he's an identical twin
The speed with which our 14-year-old nephew Zach can play the sitar -- and that he was expressing himself with it as background music while the rest of us talked; typically, all of us stop what we're doing to listen, but this time, he played while we talked and help set the table
My mother's loveliness to one of the guests; my mom simply rubbed her back gently for a bit without trying to speak with her, as she is now in a bad stage of Alzheimer's; it's like her soul's missing and almost just the casing remains...shocking and unbelievable to witness
Her son's relatively gentle coaching of his mother on how to stand up and walk; she needed to be reminded of the mechanics
One of our nephew's accidental(?) spilling of his cup of ceremonial wine and the quiet efficiency with which our 14-year-old niece Zoe wiped it up and replaced his plate, with no shaming or superiority or apparent resentment
Kathy's and Elliot's inclusion of a friend from their synagogue, who was at our seder table in the absence of having family of her own to be with
The twins' Max's and Sam's premier reading aloud from the Haggadah (story of Passover) for the first time
Zoe's voice added onto my sisters' and mine during the songs, and how great all of us sounded; I'm the one without the beautiful voice, but I always sound good when singing with my sisters, and now Zoe, too
Zoe's enthusiasm over Scary Kids Scaring Kids, her favorite band; she had been to a concert the week before -- her first -- and I told her that her mother and her aunt, Kathy, took me to my first-ever concert when I was around her age, to the Pointer Sisters, in Central Park. "Who are they," she wondered. Oy! "He's So Shy," I offered and then her father, "I'm So Excited...." Neither song registered with her
Zach's delicious Indian lamb dishes; he didn't want to be part of the seder, as he feels more Hindu than Jewish, but his mother reminded him of the food element of it, and how he could do some of the cooking, and so there was matzohball soup and other traditional dishes made by Kathy and lamb ghosh and saag(spinach) prepared by Zach; I don't eat red meat -- haven't for years, as I don't like it -- but I made an exception and it was truly terrific, and Zach smiled at me and my praise almost as hard as when I taught him to ride a bike
Kathy, reciting the final "Who Knows One" section of the Haggadah in Hebrew, and in a single breath; last Passover, we did not know if she would survive her breast cancer and this year, she was hosting 16 of us and showing off her lung capacity, just like she's always done, since we were kids.
Tuesday night, the second seder, at our friends' Kathy's and Julie's:
What I found inspirational:
The little, round glass vase of dark purple tulips and some other purple spray of flowers we found on the way to their home, at our local florist
That they were still willing to host us, even as their flight from Chicago, where they spent the first seder with Kathy's father and siblings and their families, was delayed, which meant getting home with just enough time to cook a sponge cake and throw the rest of dinner in the oven
The Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument that I could see from their Hudson River-facing windows; this semester's course talks about how American politics were shaped by war and trade, and I enjoyed being at an event, celebrating freedom from slavery (Passover) and then seeing a monument about a war that helped lead to the end of slavery in the United States (I imagine that the Civil War is still a tender topic for a number of people and I mean no disrespect; I'm just speaking from my perspective)
Their two little dogs' spirited and homey behavior -- very lively and protective as always at first, and then sleeping under the dining room table and in their little dog beds as we sang, read aloud, talked about the reading and ate
The seder plate we brought, which was my nana's and which was copper, and made in Israel in the '50s
The feminist version of the Haggadah -- Julie said it took her seven months to get them -- in its inclusiveness of all people, including lesbian people; it mentioned an idea by scholar Susannah Heschel, that an orange be added to the ceremonial seder plate, to signify the contributions of Jewish GLBT people to Jewish life, which I loved -- another example of a heterosexual supporter, looking to help with our inclusion
Julie's gorgeous voice during the song, Oseh Shalom -- she's in our synagogue's chorus and is a songwriter herself, too
Dinner, including rosemary on the organic chicken; roasted beets; chunky chopped liver; and the necessary appetizer of fresh maror (horseradish) mixed with charoset (fruit and nut mixtures meant to signify the mortar of the pyramids that the slaves built in Egypt); fresh strawberries and freshly whipped cream with no sugar, plus a sponge cake necessarily made from potato starch, which I didn't taste, but which looked beautiful -- in honor of Kathy's upcoming birthday, the next day, and in memory of Kathy's mother's traditional Passover sponge cake, which her mom had shown Julie how to cook in years past; Kathy's mom died last year, prior to Passover
Dinner conversation, including:
One of Pat's first impressions of me, at a community seder 17 years ago, where I was proud to be the youngest in the room and so eagerly volunteered to sing the "Four Questions"
Julie's kindness in response, where she remembered my rushing over to Kathy at a High Holiday service nearly 10 years ago to introduce myself, saying that I recognized her from IBM's diversity booklet that had been published at the time; "It was that same irrepressibility..." that was responsible for our becoming friends, she said
My recent disappointment at some writer's block I felt when trying to create this blog out on the external web; I had thought to do it only because of my friend Scott writing recently and asking, "By the way, do you blog?" And I thought, Do I blog? Yes! (I was thinking about my habit of actively posting on our internal site.) And so I went and read the blogging guidelines on our intranet because I imagined myself wanting to write about my life out there, including mentions of IBM, and started one, and got stuck quickly and stopped; Julie was respectful of the block and also said, "You're a writer because you can't not write...You're a good writer," and then she said something along the lines of: who understands the weight of your words and it's understandable that you'd suddenly be overwhelmed at the public-ness of it, and it will happen when it's meant to. I was so thrilled that she called me a "good writer" that I couldn't really fully hear the rest
Telling amusing -- though not at the time -- stories of mostly unwittingly homophobic relatives; there's power in the solidarity of holding up family's homophobic comments to the mirror of our strength as a group of friends; ultimately, the homophobes reflect poorly only on themselves
Discussing the beauty/poignancy of the concept of the additional item on the seder plate in honor of the GLBT among our Jewish community
Hearing Kathy recite "Who knows one" in English by heart effortlessly and with poise; it's a series of 13 miracles that God gave us and very hard to remember....I guess that's why she went to Yale Law School and I didn't
Listening to Kathy sing the chorus of "Chad Gadya"/"An Only Kid [aka Goat]" with gusto and on tune, though she wears a cochlear implant.
What has helped you to feel free lately?
God bless Jane Harper!
Jane is a mentor of mine at IBM. "Do you blog?" she asked during our monthly phone discussion earlier this afternoon. She's the second person to ask me in a week. I told her how I came out here and posted something, and then felt totally self-conscious and frustrated by sudden shyness.
"Jane, I've been blogging since before there was this term for it, on our internal online community at IBM, but something about going external just froze me."
"I get that and it's true that you'll probably need a thick skin, since you didn't get many rude respondents within IBM, I'm guessing, due to our culture, but if you can have a thick skin...like Irving [Wladawsky-Berger] in his recent Golden Rule posting had to before it turned around and a number of people said positive things, then I think it would be so great for you to do it."
Ultimately, I'm being brave and trying it more so in earnest now due to Jane's encouragement and Irving's great example with his blog; and because I did all the internal writing for nearly a decade so far because I was excited at the prospect that what I was feeling someone else in the world might relate to and feel kindred as a result.
Here's a a cut-and-pasted posting from the internal community posting I did earlier this week:
Impressions of two marvelous seders:
Monday night at my sister Kathy's:
What I found inspirational:
All six of the older people, in their late-70s and early-80s, made it up the two flights of stairs
Our eight-year-old nephew Sam's mohawk haircut as an ultimate expression of individuality; he's an identical twin
The speed with which our 14-year-old nephew Zach can play the sitar -- and that he was expressing himself with it as background music while the rest of us talked; typically, all of us stop what we're doing to listen, but this time, he played while we talked and help set the table
My mother's loveliness to one of the guests; my mom simply rubbed her back gently for a bit without trying to speak with her, as she is now in a bad stage of Alzheimer's; it's like her soul's missing and almost just the casing remains...shocking and unbelievable to witness
Her son's relatively gentle coaching of his mother on how to stand up and walk; she needed to be reminded of the mechanics
One of our nephew's accidental(?) spilling of his cup of ceremonial wine and the quiet efficiency with which our 14-year-old niece Zoe wiped it up and replaced his plate, with no shaming or superiority or apparent resentment
Kathy's and Elliot's inclusion of a friend from their synagogue, who was at our seder table in the absence of having family of her own to be with
The twins' Max's and Sam's premier reading aloud from the Haggadah (story of Passover) for the first time
Zoe's voice added onto my sisters' and mine during the songs, and how great all of us sounded; I'm the one without the beautiful voice, but I always sound good when singing with my sisters, and now Zoe, too
Zoe's enthusiasm over Scary Kids Scaring Kids, her favorite band; she had been to a concert the week before -- her first -- and I told her that her mother and her aunt, Kathy, took me to my first-ever concert when I was around her age, to the Pointer Sisters, in Central Park. "Who are they," she wondered. Oy! "He's So Shy," I offered and then her father, "I'm So Excited...." Neither song registered with her
Zach's delicious Indian lamb dishes; he didn't want to be part of the seder, as he feels more Hindu than Jewish, but his mother reminded him of the food element of it, and how he could do some of the cooking, and so there was matzohball soup and other traditional dishes made by Kathy and lamb ghosh and saag(spinach) prepared by Zach; I don't eat red meat -- haven't for years, as I don't like it -- but I made an exception and it was truly terrific, and Zach smiled at me and my praise almost as hard as when I taught him to ride a bike
Kathy, reciting the final "Who Knows One" section of the Haggadah in Hebrew, and in a single breath; last Passover, we did not know if she would survive her breast cancer and this year, she was hosting 16 of us and showing off her lung capacity, just like she's always done, since we were kids.
Tuesday night, the second seder, at our friends' Kathy's and Julie's:
What I found inspirational:
The little, round glass vase of dark purple tulips and some other purple spray of flowers we found on the way to their home, at our local florist
That they were still willing to host us, even as their flight from Chicago, where they spent the first seder with Kathy's father and siblings and their families, was delayed, which meant getting home with just enough time to cook a sponge cake and throw the rest of dinner in the oven
The Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument that I could see from their Hudson River-facing windows; this semester's course talks about how American politics were shaped by war and trade, and I enjoyed being at an event, celebrating freedom from slavery (Passover) and then seeing a monument about a war that helped lead to the end of slavery in the United States (I imagine that the Civil War is still a tender topic for a number of people and I mean no disrespect; I'm just speaking from my perspective)
Their two little dogs' spirited and homey behavior -- very lively and protective as always at first, and then sleeping under the dining room table and in their little dog beds as we sang, read aloud, talked about the reading and ate
The seder plate we brought, which was my nana's and which was copper, and made in Israel in the '50s
The feminist version of the Haggadah -- Julie said it took her seven months to get them -- in its inclusiveness of all people, including lesbian people; it mentioned an idea by scholar Susannah Heschel, that an orange be added to the ceremonial seder plate, to signify the contributions of Jewish GLBT people to Jewish life, which I loved -- another example of a heterosexual supporter, looking to help with our inclusion
Julie's gorgeous voice during the song, Oseh Shalom -- she's in our synagogue's chorus and is a songwriter herself, too
Dinner, including rosemary on the organic chicken; roasted beets; chunky chopped liver; and the necessary appetizer of fresh maror (horseradish) mixed with charoset (fruit and nut mixtures meant to signify the mortar of the pyramids that the slaves built in Egypt); fresh strawberries and freshly whipped cream with no sugar, plus a sponge cake necessarily made from potato starch, which I didn't taste, but which looked beautiful -- in honor of Kathy's upcoming birthday, the next day, and in memory of Kathy's mother's traditional Passover sponge cake, which her mom had shown Julie how to cook in years past; Kathy's mom died last year, prior to Passover
Dinner conversation, including:
One of Pat's first impressions of me, at a community seder 17 years ago, where I was proud to be the youngest in the room and so eagerly volunteered to sing the "Four Questions"
Julie's kindness in response, where she remembered my rushing over to Kathy at a High Holiday service nearly 10 years ago to introduce myself, saying that I recognized her from IBM's diversity booklet that had been published at the time; "It was that same irrepressibility..." that was responsible for our becoming friends, she said
My recent disappointment at some writer's block I felt when trying to create this blog out on the external web; I had thought to do it only because of my friend Scott writing recently and asking, "By the way, do you blog?" And I thought, Do I blog? Yes! (I was thinking about my habit of actively posting on our internal site.) And so I went and read the blogging guidelines on our intranet because I imagined myself wanting to write about my life out there, including mentions of IBM, and started one, and got stuck quickly and stopped; Julie was respectful of the block and also said, "You're a writer because you can't not write...You're a good writer," and then she said something along the lines of: who understands the weight of your words and it's understandable that you'd suddenly be overwhelmed at the public-ness of it, and it will happen when it's meant to. I was so thrilled that she called me a "good writer" that I couldn't really fully hear the rest
Telling amusing -- though not at the time -- stories of mostly unwittingly homophobic relatives; there's power in the solidarity of holding up family's homophobic comments to the mirror of our strength as a group of friends; ultimately, the homophobes reflect poorly only on themselves
Discussing the beauty/poignancy of the concept of the additional item on the seder plate in honor of the GLBT among our Jewish community
Hearing Kathy recite "Who knows one" in English by heart effortlessly and with poise; it's a series of 13 miracles that God gave us and very hard to remember....I guess that's why she went to Yale Law School and I didn't
Listening to Kathy sing the chorus of "Chad Gadya"/"An Only Kid [aka Goat]" with gusto and on tune, though she wears a cochlear implant.
What has helped you to feel free lately?
Saturday, March 31, 2007
My Debut
The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies, or opinions.
For nearly a decade, I've been posting on an internal online community for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender IBMers and our colleagues. I've been blogging since before blogging was born -- exclusively internally only...until today.
The only boyfriend I ever had, from ages 17-20, sent e-mail to me earlier today, asking if I blog. I went to the blogging advice section of IBM's intranet to learn how strict or not we are about blogs that contain IBM references and felt encouraged to be bold and post externally.
This is my posting premiere.
If you have a blog, what gave you the impetus to create it? If you haven't yet created one, what would it take to motivate you to do so?
For nearly a decade, I've been posting on an internal online community for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender IBMers and our colleagues. I've been blogging since before blogging was born -- exclusively internally only...until today.
The only boyfriend I ever had, from ages 17-20, sent e-mail to me earlier today, asking if I blog. I went to the blogging advice section of IBM's intranet to learn how strict or not we are about blogs that contain IBM references and felt encouraged to be bold and post externally.
This is my posting premiere.
If you have a blog, what gave you the impetus to create it? If you haven't yet created one, what would it take to motivate you to do so?
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Reflections: Going to Grad. School -- Part II
The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.
Note: Originally posted on the EAGLE online community site, behind IBM's firewall on 19 August 2006, at 12:38 pm, and posted here on 24 May 2007:
Dear God,
Please let me thrive at Teachers College. Let me strive for excellence without being self-defeatingly competitive. Let me collaborate and become part of the community, and not try to be a star out of insecurity, or for any reason.
Let me be humble, open, creative and disciplined. Thank you for helping me reach this occasion. Amen.
Love,
Sarah
Yesterday, I wrote out the prayer above, and then, getting way ahead of myself on the one hand, or doing advance-planning on the other, I spent an afternoon of my vacation, playing with ERIC (http://www.columbia.edu/cu/lweb/eresources/databases/2552765.html) and Columbia University Electronic Dissertations (http://digitalcommons.libraries.columbia.edu/dissertations/). I wanted to start thinking about what it could be like to create a dissertation, to do a huge piece of original research. Of course, I have to earn the M.A. first, which will take at least two and a half years, since I'll be working full-time while studying part-time. Still, it was fun to do a bit of dreaming and free-associating.
The following essay, which I submitted with my M.A. application, provides context for a number of searched items in the list below:
Sarah Siegel’s Personal Essay for the Teachers College Application
Why would I wish to pursue Adult Learning and Leadership as a formal Masters, and ultimately Doctorate, when already, I have done my best to live the name of the program during much of my career? I want to go beyond my good hunches.
I want to understand the building-blocks of how adults learn and how they lead organizations effectively. Most of all, I care about inspiring leaders to be brave and authentic, and I am in need of further inspiration myself now. The Adult Learning and Leadership program, I feel, would add significantly to the inspiration I’m seeking, and I believe, too, that I would be a useful member of the Teachers College student community.
At IBM, I have had several careers, the majority of which have required some fundamental self-reinvention. How have I made the transition from each one of the careers to the next? Practically, it feels like tacit knowledge and I want it to be explicit. What if my experience were broadly, consciously replicable? An academic framework would help me see the possibilities. I feel ready to go beyond on-the-job learning – valuable as it has been, and as well as it has served me so far.
How can I share lessons learned about brave and authentic leadership in a way that inspires other leaders? It is not enough simply to tell my story, that I helped start up the first sales team of its kind in the Fortune 500 – dedicated to serving business-to-business gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender (GLBT) and GLBT-friendly clients worldwide; and that the team is now more than twice its size, and so has not only lived on beyond me, it is thriving; and that it is facilitating a culture-change, encouraging an unprecedented openness and authenticity in the business world. My hypothesis is that the openness is leading to more courageous leadership, and to more leaders reaching their potential. Perhaps it would be worth researching and trying to prove my hypothesis.
Another big research topic for me could be how leaders among varying cultures learn, and become brave, along with what it means to be authentic from their particular cultural perspective. In my current role, I have facilitated (instructed) leadership development programs in Asia, Europe and the United States, and would like academic, industrial-strength help in determining the value of the insights gained during my travels.
For example, while facilitating a program in China, there was no budget for break-time snacks, but rather for books; every day, the class voted on the most active participant, who won a book on Leadership for his or her contributions. In other geographies, there was a budget for snacks, but not yet for books! Some kvetch about jobs going to Asia, but whose hunger is greater for education than for snacks?
Or what about leaders in India, who in my experience of training them, due to explosive growth, necessarily are called to leadership earlier in their careers than leaders in most other countries? What bravery is involved there? And how can they learn quickly what most of us around the world learn over time?
Earning the Adult Learning and Leadership Masters degree would validate or re-shape my instincts, and would inform my judgment, increasing my ability to inspire leaders to lead bravely and authentically. In my current and future roles, it would also let me consider more than simply delivery of leadership development programs; I would be able to understand their backstory and finale, that is, I would be able to explore program design as well as senior leadership of organizations. The M.A., and ideally, the Ed.D. ultimately would help me be of greatest service in the adult learning and leadership arena.
* * *
Columbia dissertations that include these keywords or keyword-phrases and amount of dissertations that correspond:
Diversity in the workplace 14
Corporate culture 78
Minority executives 13
Globalization 82
Adult education 294
Experiential learning 21
Storytelling 14
Transfer of training 52
Management 607
Decision making 309
Bravery 0
Courage 23
Change 975
Leadership Development 181
Leadership 350
Lesbian 14
Homosexual 17
Jew 15
Jewish 109
Authenticity 36
Identity 541
IBM 36
Global business 184
Learning 844
It feels like the revelation I had with "e-business" all over again. In the late-90s, I remember thinking, so many IBMers are thinking about how to get to the next level of e-business adoption, trying to think of the next great e-business innovation. So much imagination is being channeled in that direction. Why channel mine likewise when, instead, I could channel it in a direction that far fewer IBMers are taking: how to reach the business-to-business market of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender (GLBT) business decisionmakers, i.e., current and future clients....I'm likelier to make a more visible contribution to the company doing so than continuing to focus on e-business like so many others are doing.
Notice the number of Columbia dissertations, for example, that have been written on the topic of, say, "Management" and then compare it to the number that have been written on, say, "Courage" or even "Globalization" relatively. It's interesting to write all of this at this embryonic phase of my grad. school education. Let's see how my thinking and learning changes over time.
Meanwhile, among the specific dissertations that looked particularly interesting yesterday, I found the following sample:
The journey of becoming a diversity practitioner: The connection between experience, learning, and competence
Terrence Earl Maltbia, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY TEACHERS COLLEGE
Faculty Advisor: Victoria Marsick
Date: 2001
The impact of gay identity and perceived milieu toward gay employees on job involvement and organizational commitment of gay men
Richard Randall Rogers, Columbia University
Faculty Advisor: Peter C. Cairo
Date: 1998
And during a previous session of columbia.edu web-trawling, I found the following organization to join:
http://www.tc.edu/students/queertc/index_files/page0003.htm If it turns out to be rewarding, I'll write about it in a future journal entry.
Note added on May 25, 2007: I did join QueerTC and was fortunate to serve on a panel for the organization this spring.
Before, during and after school begins on September 1st, I ought to check out a site that was recommended as a link from Teachers College's web site: http://gradschool.about.com/od/survivinggraduateschool/.
Note: Originally posted on the EAGLE online community site, behind IBM's firewall on 19 August 2006, at 12:38 pm, and posted here on 24 May 2007:
Dear God,
Please let me thrive at Teachers College. Let me strive for excellence without being self-defeatingly competitive. Let me collaborate and become part of the community, and not try to be a star out of insecurity, or for any reason.
Let me be humble, open, creative and disciplined. Thank you for helping me reach this occasion. Amen.
Love,
Sarah
Yesterday, I wrote out the prayer above, and then, getting way ahead of myself on the one hand, or doing advance-planning on the other, I spent an afternoon of my vacation, playing with ERIC (http://www.columbia.edu/cu/lweb/eresources/databases/2552765.html) and Columbia University Electronic Dissertations (http://digitalcommons.libraries.columbia.edu/dissertations/). I wanted to start thinking about what it could be like to create a dissertation, to do a huge piece of original research. Of course, I have to earn the M.A. first, which will take at least two and a half years, since I'll be working full-time while studying part-time. Still, it was fun to do a bit of dreaming and free-associating.
The following essay, which I submitted with my M.A. application, provides context for a number of searched items in the list below:
Why would I wish to pursue Adult Learning and Leadership as a formal Masters, and ultimately Doctorate, when already, I have done my best to live the name of the program during much of my career? I want to go beyond my good hunches.
I want to understand the building-blocks of how adults learn and how they lead organizations effectively. Most of all, I care about inspiring leaders to be brave and authentic, and I am in need of further inspiration myself now. The Adult Learning and Leadership program, I feel, would add significantly to the inspiration I’m seeking, and I believe, too, that I would be a useful member of the Teachers College student community.
At IBM, I have had several careers, the majority of which have required some fundamental self-reinvention. How have I made the transition from each one of the careers to the next? Practically, it feels like tacit knowledge and I want it to be explicit. What if my experience were broadly, consciously replicable? An academic framework would help me see the possibilities. I feel ready to go beyond on-the-job learning – valuable as it has been, and as well as it has served me so far.
How can I share lessons learned about brave and authentic leadership in a way that inspires other leaders? It is not enough simply to tell my story, that I helped start up the first sales team of its kind in the Fortune 500 – dedicated to serving business-to-business gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender (GLBT) and GLBT-friendly clients worldwide; and that the team is now more than twice its size, and so has not only lived on beyond me, it is thriving; and that it is facilitating a culture-change, encouraging an unprecedented openness and authenticity in the business world. My hypothesis is that the openness is leading to more courageous leadership, and to more leaders reaching their potential. Perhaps it would be worth researching and trying to prove my hypothesis.
Another big research topic for me could be how leaders among varying cultures learn, and become brave, along with what it means to be authentic from their particular cultural perspective. In my current role, I have facilitated (instructed) leadership development programs in Asia, Europe and the United States, and would like academic, industrial-strength help in determining the value of the insights gained during my travels.
For example, while facilitating a program in China, there was no budget for break-time snacks, but rather for books; every day, the class voted on the most active participant, who won a book on Leadership for his or her contributions. In other geographies, there was a budget for snacks, but not yet for books! Some kvetch about jobs going to Asia, but whose hunger is greater for education than for snacks?
Or what about leaders in India, who in my experience of training them, due to explosive growth, necessarily are called to leadership earlier in their careers than leaders in most other countries? What bravery is involved there? And how can they learn quickly what most of us around the world learn over time?
Earning the Adult Learning and Leadership Masters degree would validate or re-shape my instincts, and would inform my judgment, increasing my ability to inspire leaders to lead bravely and authentically. In my current and future roles, it would also let me consider more than simply delivery of leadership development programs; I would be able to understand their backstory and finale, that is, I would be able to explore program design as well as senior leadership of organizations. The M.A., and ideally, the Ed.D. ultimately would help me be of greatest service in the adult learning and leadership arena.
Columbia dissertations that include these keywords or keyword-phrases and amount of dissertations that correspond:
Diversity in the workplace 14
Corporate culture 78
Minority executives 13
Globalization 82
Adult education 294
Experiential learning 21
Storytelling 14
Transfer of training 52
Management 607
Decision making 309
Bravery 0
Courage 23
Change 975
Leadership Development 181
Leadership 350
Lesbian 14
Homosexual 17
Jew 15
Jewish 109
Authenticity 36
Identity 541
IBM 36
Global business 184
Learning 844
It feels like the revelation I had with "e-business" all over again. In the late-90s, I remember thinking, so many IBMers are thinking about how to get to the next level of e-business adoption, trying to think of the next great e-business innovation. So much imagination is being channeled in that direction. Why channel mine likewise when, instead, I could channel it in a direction that far fewer IBMers are taking: how to reach the business-to-business market of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender (GLBT) business decisionmakers, i.e., current and future clients....I'm likelier to make a more visible contribution to the company doing so than continuing to focus on e-business like so many others are doing.
Notice the number of Columbia dissertations, for example, that have been written on the topic of, say, "Management" and then compare it to the number that have been written on, say, "Courage" or even "Globalization" relatively. It's interesting to write all of this at this embryonic phase of my grad. school education. Let's see how my thinking and learning changes over time.
Meanwhile, among the specific dissertations that looked particularly interesting yesterday, I found the following sample:
The journey of becoming a diversity practitioner: The connection between experience, learning, and competence
Terrence Earl Maltbia, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY TEACHERS COLLEGE
Faculty Advisor: Victoria Marsick
Date: 2001
The impact of gay identity and perceived milieu toward gay employees on job involvement and organizational commitment of gay men
Richard Randall Rogers, Columbia University
Faculty Advisor: Peter C. Cairo
Date: 1998
And during a previous session of columbia.edu web-trawling, I found the following organization to join:
http://www.tc.edu/students/queertc/index_files/page0003.htm If it turns out to be rewarding, I'll write about it in a future journal entry.
Note added on May 25, 2007: I did join QueerTC and was fortunate to serve on a panel for the organization this spring.
Before, during and after school begins on September 1st, I ought to check out a site that was recommended as a link from Teachers College's web site: http://gradschool.about.com/od/survivinggraduateschool/.
Reflections: Going to Grad. School -- Part I
The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.
Note: Originally posted on the EAGLE online community site, behind IBM's firewall on 19 August 2006, at 12:37 pm, and posted here on 24 May 2007:
Returning to the Ladies Locker-room at the YMHA (Jewish Community Center) after swimming this morning, I am unable to use my favorite shower because the woman who had been sharing my lane has taken it...even though my towel and shampoo is hanging on the hook right outside it. My routine is disrupted. Now what?
She hears me move my stuff and says, "Oh, sorry."
"It's fine," but the alternate shower I choose has no soap, and really, it isn't fine. It's my shower. Every morning that I swim. At least when I'm not on vacation and arrive there super-early.
Noticing her shampoo-bag is a plastic shopping bag with "Graphos" written on it in Hebrew, I call from my shower to hers: "Did you live in Israel for a time? I noticed your bag."
"Yes. I just got back from a year there."
"How great." I step over to the next empty shower-stall to pump a handful of liquid-soap, saying, "I lived there for a year, too, a long time ago, in Jerusalem." The shower-water's louder than I'd like, but I talk over it, "What took you to Israel for a year?"
"Oh, I was in a seminary."
"Neat." So she's a rabbinical student maybe.
"Where were you when you were there?" she asks me.
"I was at Hebrew University during my junior year of college, and we used to have to take a cross-town bus every morning to the Givat Ram campus to swim. And now, there's this gorgeous pool, an infinity-style one, where the water spills over the edges on purpose, but not when I was there. Right on the Mount Scopus campus. Where did you swim while you were there?"
No answer. Oh, she left to dry off. For how long have I been speaking to myself, I wonder.
"Sorry, I didn't hear you," she says, apparently returning to hear my question and then answers:
"There was a pool in a building called the Soldiers' House. And I went there. There were soldiers everywhere on the main floors, and I went to the bottom of the building, where the pool was. It was nice, actually."
Typically, during vacation, my partner Pat would be with me and I'd talk with her in the locker-room, but she's volunteering at the soup kitchen today and so I'm alone. Or when I'm working, I get there earlier than Pat and my routine is simply to rinse off in the shower quickly, and then swim my laps and shower afterwards, all-the-while speaking with no one -- and there are far fewer people to choose from at the earlier hour in any case -- but the Graphos bag causes me to reminisce. She happened to have picked a locker near mine and so we continue the conversation.
"Are you working toward ordination?"
She looks at me oddly.
"I thought that since you were at a seminary, maybe you were a rabbinical student. Which seminary?"
"It's called Midreshet Rachel [http://www.darchenoam.org/mr/mr_home.htm], and no, I was just there to learn how to live according to the Torah [Jewish Bible]. I studied Hebrew and read in the original, which was just so great. Do you read Hebrew?"
Oy. I wonder what she'd think of my rejection of traditionally-observant Judaism, and how friendly she'd feel if I told her that after substantial Jewish education until high school, I opted to live a non-Orthodox life ultimately. "I do read Hebrew; I went to a [Modern Orthodox] day-school, growing up, and it is really rewarding to be able to read the text in the original, I agree."
I could finish getting ready and just leave, or I could introduce myself and maybe make a new friend. "I'm Sarah. What's your name?"
She tells me and I say, "Typically, I'm not here this late, but I'm on vacation this week."
"From what are you on vacation? What do you do?"
"I train our managers to be good leaders. I'm an instructor. I work for IBM, doing Leadership Development training."
"I love leadership development stuff. I worked for [a major U.S. airline] for five years, and I was a sales exec., and was always talking with HR on how to motivate the sales force further. But now, after 15 months away from it, and being back to work again -- this is my first week back -- it's just so hard....I did the year of study just for personal meaning. I mean, I didn't want to be one of those people, who says, 'I wish I had done XYZ....'"
"That's terrific. I'm going back to school part-time myself in a couple of weeks, for an M.A. in this field, actually: Adult Learning and Leadership." I see that her bag's packed. "Are you leaving now?"
"Yeah."
"Me, too. I don't have to worry about drying my hair, since I'm on vacation."
"My mother tries to make her hair look like that. It's cute."
We're walking down the hall, which is decorated with children's art from the summer camp associated with the Y and I'm thinking about their stage of schooling and then fast-forwarding to my first experience with Higher Education, and it's as if she reads my mind:
"You are going to enjoy this education so much. When we went to college, we didn't really know where it was leading, but now, you've been in the field and you'll see that you'll be able to focus and learn so much better."
"You're right. When I went to college, I didn't know what it was going to be in service to [-- my Comparative Literature / Humanities degree] -- had no idea, and this feels so much clearer."
We approach the exit and reflexively, I follow the ritual of putting my hand on the mezuzah [the small rectangular casing on all the doorposts of Jewish homes or institutions (with the exception of bathrooms), which contains the "Shema,"the central prayer of Judaism, and which is meant to protect the inhabitants from harm] and then kissing my fingers as I pass through the doorway. She misses carrying out the ritual herself. I must have distracted her. As we wave goodbye to each other, walking to our cars, I smile to myself, considering how my early Jewish education really does seem to have stayed with me after all; I was first taught to kiss the mezuzah when I was six years old, if not earlier.
On the way home, I call my mom on my cell-phone and we talk about how school is around the corner, and about the swimmer I met.
"She sounds terrific; she said everything you needed to hear at this stage." It's true. My sister Kathy, whom I've mentioned before in communiques to my Leader Readiness facilitator community, is a professional educator (principal of Brooklyn International High School http://www.brooklyninternational.org/), with a Masters in Education and another in Applied Linguistics, and she says the same thing to me, or Master Trainers Lynne Cummins and Jim Soltis offer similar encouragement, fortunately, and yet hearing it from a stranger/angel(?) seems to help me the most.
Note: Originally posted on the EAGLE online community site, behind IBM's firewall on 19 August 2006, at 12:37 pm, and posted here on 24 May 2007:
Returning to the Ladies Locker-room at the YMHA (Jewish Community Center) after swimming this morning, I am unable to use my favorite shower because the woman who had been sharing my lane has taken it...even though my towel and shampoo is hanging on the hook right outside it. My routine is disrupted. Now what?
She hears me move my stuff and says, "Oh, sorry."
"It's fine," but the alternate shower I choose has no soap, and really, it isn't fine. It's my shower. Every morning that I swim. At least when I'm not on vacation and arrive there super-early.
Noticing her shampoo-bag is a plastic shopping bag with "Graphos" written on it in Hebrew, I call from my shower to hers: "Did you live in Israel for a time? I noticed your bag."
"Yes. I just got back from a year there."
"How great." I step over to the next empty shower-stall to pump a handful of liquid-soap, saying, "I lived there for a year, too, a long time ago, in Jerusalem." The shower-water's louder than I'd like, but I talk over it, "What took you to Israel for a year?"
"Oh, I was in a seminary."
"Neat." So she's a rabbinical student maybe.
"Where were you when you were there?" she asks me.
"I was at Hebrew University during my junior year of college, and we used to have to take a cross-town bus every morning to the Givat Ram campus to swim. And now, there's this gorgeous pool, an infinity-style one, where the water spills over the edges on purpose, but not when I was there. Right on the Mount Scopus campus. Where did you swim while you were there?"
No answer. Oh, she left to dry off. For how long have I been speaking to myself, I wonder.
"Sorry, I didn't hear you," she says, apparently returning to hear my question and then answers:
"There was a pool in a building called the Soldiers' House. And I went there. There were soldiers everywhere on the main floors, and I went to the bottom of the building, where the pool was. It was nice, actually."
Typically, during vacation, my partner Pat would be with me and I'd talk with her in the locker-room, but she's volunteering at the soup kitchen today and so I'm alone. Or when I'm working, I get there earlier than Pat and my routine is simply to rinse off in the shower quickly, and then swim my laps and shower afterwards, all-the-while speaking with no one -- and there are far fewer people to choose from at the earlier hour in any case -- but the Graphos bag causes me to reminisce. She happened to have picked a locker near mine and so we continue the conversation.
"Are you working toward ordination?"
She looks at me oddly.
"I thought that since you were at a seminary, maybe you were a rabbinical student. Which seminary?"
"It's called Midreshet Rachel [http://www.darchenoam.org/mr/mr_home.htm], and no, I was just there to learn how to live according to the Torah [Jewish Bible]. I studied Hebrew and read in the original, which was just so great. Do you read Hebrew?"
Oy. I wonder what she'd think of my rejection of traditionally-observant Judaism, and how friendly she'd feel if I told her that after substantial Jewish education until high school, I opted to live a non-Orthodox life ultimately. "I do read Hebrew; I went to a [Modern Orthodox] day-school, growing up, and it is really rewarding to be able to read the text in the original, I agree."
I could finish getting ready and just leave, or I could introduce myself and maybe make a new friend. "I'm Sarah. What's your name?"
She tells me and I say, "Typically, I'm not here this late, but I'm on vacation this week."
"From what are you on vacation? What do you do?"
"I train our managers to be good leaders. I'm an instructor. I work for IBM, doing Leadership Development training."
"I love leadership development stuff. I worked for [a major U.S. airline] for five years, and I was a sales exec., and was always talking with HR on how to motivate the sales force further. But now, after 15 months away from it, and being back to work again -- this is my first week back -- it's just so hard....I did the year of study just for personal meaning. I mean, I didn't want to be one of those people, who says, 'I wish I had done XYZ....'"
"That's terrific. I'm going back to school part-time myself in a couple of weeks, for an M.A. in this field, actually: Adult Learning and Leadership." I see that her bag's packed. "Are you leaving now?"
"Yeah."
"Me, too. I don't have to worry about drying my hair, since I'm on vacation."
"My mother tries to make her hair look like that. It's cute."
We're walking down the hall, which is decorated with children's art from the summer camp associated with the Y and I'm thinking about their stage of schooling and then fast-forwarding to my first experience with Higher Education, and it's as if she reads my mind:
"You are going to enjoy this education so much. When we went to college, we didn't really know where it was leading, but now, you've been in the field and you'll see that you'll be able to focus and learn so much better."
"You're right. When I went to college, I didn't know what it was going to be in service to [-- my Comparative Literature / Humanities degree] -- had no idea, and this feels so much clearer."
We approach the exit and reflexively, I follow the ritual of putting my hand on the mezuzah [the small rectangular casing on all the doorposts of Jewish homes or institutions (with the exception of bathrooms), which contains the "Shema,"the central prayer of Judaism, and which is meant to protect the inhabitants from harm] and then kissing my fingers as I pass through the doorway. She misses carrying out the ritual herself. I must have distracted her. As we wave goodbye to each other, walking to our cars, I smile to myself, considering how my early Jewish education really does seem to have stayed with me after all; I was first taught to kiss the mezuzah when I was six years old, if not earlier.
On the way home, I call my mom on my cell-phone and we talk about how school is around the corner, and about the swimmer I met.
"She sounds terrific; she said everything you needed to hear at this stage." It's true. My sister Kathy, whom I've mentioned before in communiques to my Leader Readiness facilitator community, is a professional educator (principal of Brooklyn International High School http://www.brooklyninternational.org/), with a Masters in Education and another in Applied Linguistics, and she says the same thing to me, or Master Trainers Lynne Cummins and Jim Soltis offer similar encouragement, fortunately, and yet hearing it from a stranger/angel(?) seems to help me the most.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
My Swimming Autobiography
Note: Originally posted on the EAGLE online community site, behind IBM's firewall on 30 May 2006, at 6:18 pm:
Vacation was perfect.
I swam a lot throughout it and for further relaxation, the last day, did this inventory of meaningful swimming experiences from two-41, in six states and six countries [Between 2006 and 2013, or 41-47, added additional experiences: Revisited some bodies of water in Israel along with new ones, added a pool in the U.K., and another part of a familiar ocean, but in a new country -- my first time in the other hemisphere; added several more through age 53, which I'll be for another week, including two new states, as well as returns to Israel and China]:
Stamford, the early years -- two-10
Fun
Jewish Community Center (JCC) pool and trampolines on Briar Brae Road in Stamford, Connecticut; my sisters and I would alternate between the pool and tramps for hours; there was never any adult supervision at the tramps, which were the woven kind, stretched over two rectangular pits, and we would jump from one to the other and do flips, sometimes landing with one of our then little legs between the springs, but were never afraid.
Power
In-the-ground swimming pool off of Mayapple Road in Stamford, where I took swimming lessons from a small, blond doctor's wife, who gave me tremendous confidence.
Betrayal
Swimming hole off of High Ridge Road in Stamford, where I swam with my mother and sisters, and cut the top of my foot on a rock -- and still have a scar.
Freedom
Dorothy Heroy Stamford community pool off of High Ridge, near the border of Pound Ridge, New York, where my sister Kathy and I would bike nearly every day in the summer.
Family
Out-of-the-ground pool in our yard, under a canopy of leafy trees, which meant lots of whirlpools by my sisters and me, gathering leaves from the pool's surface, and skinny-dipping with my sisters at night with only the porch-light above us as our guide.
Rarity
Best friend Alicia's in-the-ground oval pool, at her house on Rockrimmon Road in Stamford, next to which we hunted for Native American arrow-heads in the woods.
Allure
Best friend after Alicia, Jennifer Juliet's (J.J.'s), in-the-ground pool at her house on Haviland Road in Stamford; her mother lived in a bikini during the summers.
Mud
Lake in Shelton, Connecticut, at Camp Rippowam, during my first year of sleep-away camp; I liked canoeing on it better than swimming in it.
Israel, at eight
Long Island Sound in Stamford with my best friend; her sheer presence in her white bikini when we were 11 fully awakened my attraction to girls.
Frustration
Lake in Palmer, Massachusetts, at Camp Ramah, site of my Bat Mitzvah, where I tried cultivating a boyfriend, rather than studying my Torah portion and bombed at both.
Crush
Community pool in Yorktown Heights, New York with a crush from a summer drama program; at summer's end, I cried when my parents picked me up.
Adventure
Mediterranean Sea, along Chofit, Israel, next-door to my relatives' village; my cousin and I swam and body-surfed regardless of black flags posted at the lifeguard stand.
Nature
Natural pool in a gorge in Ithaca, New York; my only boyfriend ever and I visited his openly gay brother and partner for a weekend, and they took us swimming.
Sublimation
Pool on the Givat Ram campus of Hebrew University in Jerusalem; my friend and I swam 50 minutes daily for the year, including a cross-town bus-ride each way.
Israel, at 20
Italian Center in Stamford with friend Leslie during the summer after returning from my year abroad in Israel, and then Leslie was killed five years later by a drunk driver.
Vindication
University of Michigan's pools on Central Campus, where I ran into the woman for whom I had longed for two years, who I felt now showed interest in me -- too late!
Joy
Indoor pool in Chicago; my ex-girlfriend and I lived in a building that was built in the '30s and we hosted a party, turned off the lights and most of us skinny-dipped -- most of us innocently -- though a couple of our friends became a couple that night.
Youthfulness
Off the Belmont Rocks in Lake Michigan in Chicago; I dove in after my rugby coach Denise -- ah, youth....
Consolation
Marshfield YMCA in Chicago, down the street from my new apartment and I swam there nearly daily; the pool kept me company after the breakup.
Bonus
Health club in Schaumburg, Illinois, which offered a deal to Advantis employees, of which I was one before moving to IBM and to New Jersey in 1996.
Surprise
Rooftop pool of W Hotel in San Francisco, along with an exec who was a good swimmer.
Womb
JCC's indoor pool on Newfield Avenue in Stamford with my mother; I was three weeks late in being born, and so I guess I liked swimming around her then, too.
United Kingdom, in my early-30s
Vacation was perfect.
I swam a lot throughout it and for further relaxation, the last day, did this inventory of meaningful swimming experiences from two-41, in six states and six countries [Between 2006 and 2013, or 41-47, added additional experiences: Revisited some bodies of water in Israel along with new ones, added a pool in the U.K., and another part of a familiar ocean, but in a new country -- my first time in the other hemisphere; added several more through age 53, which I'll be for another week, including two new states, as well as returns to Israel and China]:
Stamford, the early years -- two-10
Fun
Jewish Community Center (JCC) pool and trampolines on Briar Brae Road in Stamford, Connecticut; my sisters and I would alternate between the pool and tramps for hours; there was never any adult supervision at the tramps, which were the woven kind, stretched over two rectangular pits, and we would jump from one to the other and do flips, sometimes landing with one of our then little legs between the springs, but were never afraid.
Power
In-the-ground swimming pool off of Mayapple Road in Stamford, where I took swimming lessons from a small, blond doctor's wife, who gave me tremendous confidence.
Betrayal
Swimming hole off of High Ridge Road in Stamford, where I swam with my mother and sisters, and cut the top of my foot on a rock -- and still have a scar.
Freedom
Dorothy Heroy Stamford community pool off of High Ridge, near the border of Pound Ridge, New York, where my sister Kathy and I would bike nearly every day in the summer.
Family
Out-of-the-ground pool in our yard, under a canopy of leafy trees, which meant lots of whirlpools by my sisters and me, gathering leaves from the pool's surface, and skinny-dipping with my sisters at night with only the porch-light above us as our guide.
Rarity
Best friend Alicia's in-the-ground oval pool, at her house on Rockrimmon Road in Stamford, next to which we hunted for Native American arrow-heads in the woods.
Allure
Best friend after Alicia, Jennifer Juliet's (J.J.'s), in-the-ground pool at her house on Haviland Road in Stamford; her mother lived in a bikini during the summers.
Mud
Lake in Shelton, Connecticut, at Camp Rippowam, during my first year of sleep-away camp; I liked canoeing on it better than swimming in it.
Israel, at eight
- Salt
The Dead Sea in Israel, where we loaned my crush and classmate a body-suit to swim in, since her mother hadn't thought it would be warm enough to swim.
- Wonderment
Ein Gedi, in Israel, under a waterfall with my mother; I loved my mother's plaid bathing suit and sketched a drawing of us in my journal afterwards.
Long Island Sound in Stamford with my best friend; her sheer presence in her white bikini when we were 11 fully awakened my attraction to girls.
Frustration
Lake in Palmer, Massachusetts, at Camp Ramah, site of my Bat Mitzvah, where I tried cultivating a boyfriend, rather than studying my Torah portion and bombed at both.
Crush
Community pool in Yorktown Heights, New York with a crush from a summer drama program; at summer's end, I cried when my parents picked me up.
Adventure
Mediterranean Sea, along Chofit, Israel, next-door to my relatives' village; my cousin and I swam and body-surfed regardless of black flags posted at the lifeguard stand.
Nature
Natural pool in a gorge in Ithaca, New York; my only boyfriend ever and I visited his openly gay brother and partner for a weekend, and they took us swimming.
Sublimation
Pool on the Givat Ram campus of Hebrew University in Jerusalem; my friend and I swam 50 minutes daily for the year, including a cross-town bus-ride each way.
Israel, at 20
- Beach
Mediterranean Sea in Tel Aviv, Israel with my childhood Israeli friend; he wasn't much of a swimmer, though he could do innumerable pushups on his knuckles.
- Escape
Dead Sea again and this time, at 20, a friend and I were there with men who expected intimacy with us, and who weren't happy when it didn't materialize.
- Danger
Sea of Gallilee in Israel, where my friend Cathy, with whom I swam daily, stepped on a piece of glass just off shore, under the water, and needed First Aid.
- Attraction
Ein Gedi again; my summertime roommate Lori, along with one of the guides and I bathed there during a hike from the Sea of Gallilee to the Mediterranean Sea.
Italian Center in Stamford with friend Leslie during the summer after returning from my year abroad in Israel, and then Leslie was killed five years later by a drunk driver.
Vindication
University of Michigan's pools on Central Campus, where I ran into the woman for whom I had longed for two years, who I felt now showed interest in me -- too late!
Joy
Indoor pool in Chicago; my ex-girlfriend and I lived in a building that was built in the '30s and we hosted a party, turned off the lights and most of us skinny-dipped -- most of us innocently -- though a couple of our friends became a couple that night.
Youthfulness
Off the Belmont Rocks in Lake Michigan in Chicago; I dove in after my rugby coach Denise -- ah, youth....
Consolation
Marshfield YMCA in Chicago, down the street from my new apartment and I swam there nearly daily; the pool kept me company after the breakup.
Bonus
Health club in Schaumburg, Illinois, which offered a deal to Advantis employees, of which I was one before moving to IBM and to New Jersey in 1996.
Surprise
Rooftop pool of W Hotel in San Francisco, along with an exec who was a good swimmer.
Womb
JCC's indoor pool on Newfield Avenue in Stamford with my mother; I was three weeks late in being born, and so I guess I liked swimming around her then, too.
United Kingdom, in my early-30s
- Home
Winchester, United Kingdom (UK), at the local health club, when I'd visit the employee from Hursley who worked on my team at the time.
- Refreshment
London, near Golder's Green, where I swam prior to meeting with a Jewish lesbian woman who turned out to be the daughter of a man my mother had dated and liked.
Art
During business trips at the Inter-Continental in Chicago, offering the second-most dramatic pool I've ever swum in, as it was in Art Deco style.
Vacation
Ogunquit, Maine, where Pat and I stayed at a gay-owned B&B; lesbians raced in the pool while gay men lounged in the adjacent jacuzzi, to one another's amusement.
Drama
The Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island, in a giant outdoor pool designed for Esther Williams, which was the most dramatic pool I've swum in due to its size and history.
Expansion
Pacific Ocean off of Conchas Chinas Beach in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico with Pat and three friends, where the tide threw us against the shore and gave us shell-burn.
Garden
Snorkeling for the first time in the Gulf of Mexico in Costa Maya, Mexico with Pat and friends, including Paul Noga and his partner, during the EAGLE cruise.
Appreciation
Our friends' house in East Hampton, New York; lounging on my side on a pool-float, one of their comments made me feel ultimately aesthetically appreciated.
Competition
Atlantic Ocean with a friend during our visit in East Hampton; we treaded water for nearly an hour and then I felt her racing me back to shore....She won.
Marvel
Mt. Scopus campus pool at Hebrew University -- the first infinity pool I had swum in; it didn't exist 20 years ago when I was a student abroad there.
Pleasure
Outdoor pool in Stony Creek, New York, during the "Adirondyke Weekend," accepting a dare to dive in the pool in my clothes and then my Adidas track-pants slid off.
Melancholy
Community pool in Rye, New York with my friend Sarah and her kids, and sadly, couldn't recapture our childhood swimming experiences with her children there.
Solitude
Beijing indoor hotel pool, which was big and nearly round, and colder than any indoor pool I've ever swum in; there was no lifeguard and I was completely alone in the pool.
Disaster
Hotel pool in Shanghai in October, where I did butterfly, figuring I could work out the pain in my neck through swimming -- turned out not to be a good strategy.
Relief
Outdoor pool at friends' condo in St. Pete's Beach, Florida over New Year's -- my neck was still tender and so I just sat in the water, and it felt good to have no gravity on my neck.
Redemption
Young Men's Hebrew Association (YMHA) in Clifton, New Jersey, where Pat and I joined as a couple, and which has the most calm pool ever, with blue-on-blue tile.
Utility
Boston Sports Club in Lexington, Massachusetts, where the soap in the showers smelled better than the pool looked, but it was utilitarian and just fine.
Revival
Lagos community indoor pool in Madrid, Spain, which was hectic and a bit cold, but with views of gorgeous trees, and filled with older women and young gay men.
Delight
In El Escorial, Spain's community pool, including infinity edges, a gorgeous female swim coach of a beautiful teenage swim team; during one swim, a couple in the other lane were boldly affectionate, and during another swim, witnessed an adorable swim class for toddler-aged children and their parents.
Added nearly a year later, on 25 May 2007:
Molasses
In Allouez, Wisconsin, at the YMCA's pool from the '50s, Olympic-size and shallow the whole length, which is what I believe made it so slow for swimming, but it was near Pat's brother's house and so it was ultimately convenient during our vacation.
Awe
In Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin's Y, the family of a ship-building baron had donated an ultra-fresh "aquatic center," which was Olympian-ready and giant. The water-aerobics class was held next to the lane-swimmers, with plenty of room for everyone.
Spirit
In Ann Arbor, Michigan, at the Central Campus Rec. Building's Bell Pool, which sported maize and blue banners at each end; other than Beijing's, and the out-of-the-ground pool next to our house, it was the coldest pool in which I'd ever swum.
Added on 3 November 2007:
Beep
In Bangalore, India, at the Windsor Bengaluru, where I could hear the auto-rickshaws and two-wheelers beeping beyond the wall of greenery every time I came up for air while doing the breast-stroke, and the pool was nearly as cold as Beijing's and Ann Arbor's.
Contest
In Whitefield, India, at the Palm Meadows Club, where we live, it's a competition in the lap-pool among us and the kids from around the world, floating on various blow-up toys.
Infinity
In Cochi, India, at the Taj Malabar, it felt like we could have swum over the edge of the infinity pool into the lake beyond it and then out to the Arabian Sea; it captured my imagination.
Silk
In Agra, India, at the Oberoi, the air was hot and dry and the pool smooth and huge, with a portion indoors, where a giant, gold Ganesh on the blue wall beckoned us to swim toward him over and over.
Added on 25 May 2008:
Salt II
At our friends' condo-pool at John's Pass, St. Pete Beach, Florida, where the swimming pool was a salt-water pool -- unnerving to be in a blue-bottomed, concrete enclosure, rather than the ocean and yet to taste salt-water; Pat liked our extra buoyancy.
Cooler
At our friends' pool in their backyard in South Pasadena, Florida, where the water made the hot air suddenly cooler, and where the salamanders feasted on what Rita skimmed off of the pool's surface...and where the neighbors' grandson, his grandmother and I played an endless, fun round of beach-ball volleyball.
Added on 20 September 2008:
Sugar
The Radisson Hotel on Cesar Chavez Boulevard in Austin, Texas offered sweet, warm water and the second-longest hotel-pool I've ever swum in (the longest was at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island). I plowed through the already-warm, early-morning darkness, while the pool-lights changed, green-red-blue, without a clock and guessed 30 minutes perfectly -- confirmed by looking in the window, at the bottom of the CNN screen on a TV monitor at the bar of T.G.I. Friday's restaurant, which overlooked the pool.
Added on 6 May 2009:
Exhalation
Danbury, Connecticut's Courtyard Mariott provided a pool not much bigger than a bathtub, but it was so lovely to immerse myself and to swim a few strokes back and forth with my French friend, Sonia, who was staying at the hotel during a business trip.
Added on 20 June 2010:
Race
Upper Saddle River, New Jersey at our friends' home in a salt-water pool big enough for a race. I won, going and Rahel might have won, returning. Rahel's daughter, Aspen, was the water-winged three-year-old sprite, who made me, if not Pat, feel like a friendly giant.
Added on 21 January 2011
Mist
Los Angeles, California, at a hotel on Wilshire the name of which I can't recall, the air was so chilly and the water so well-heated that I swam through mist till the rain began.
Added on 23 May 2012
Hike
Juneau, Alaska, at Juneau High School in August, 2011, to which we hiked for the afternoon from our ship. The pool was sponsored by BP Oil and the walls were painted green and sported the BP logo.
Chill
Dallas, Texas, at the Hyatt in October, 2011, where the indoor pool was not heated, nor the room it was in, and my visit was during unusually cold weather for the time, in the low-50s; it woke me up prior to dressing for a business dinner.
Added on 29 May 2012
Grief
Clifton, New Jersey, at L.A. Fitness gym, where we have to go, now that the Clifton YMHA closed due to low membership and being sold to a special needs school; we miss the Y.
Added on 24 November 2012
Dream
Jerusalem, Israel, at the Mt. of Olives Hotel, with my wife Pat. Being in Israel with someone who loved me (other than my parents), was dreamy. And fun to see fellow swimmers served watermelon while perching in the shallow end.
Cork
The Dead Sea, Israel. Pat & I were human corks. It was >100 degrees and it felt just as special to stand under the public showers afterward, blasting ourselves with fresh water, to rinse off all of the salt.
Congestion
Across from the Dead Sea, Israel, at Hotel Rimmonim (Pomegranates). Refreshing after the concentrated salt across the road at the Dead Sea, but then too much humanity, and plastic cups, bobbed around the giant and crammed pool till Pat & I opted out.
Vigor
Kibbutz Lavi, Galil, Israel. That morning, we were in the heat of Metro-Dead Sea, then by afternoon, in the relatively chilly air of the country's north side. We jumped in the cool pool that was indoors, but with all of its glass-doors and windows open, and with a brisk breeze blowing through.
Jelly
Tel Aviv, Israel, Mediterranean Sea. Pat and I submerged ourselves in the green-yellow dirty/cloudy water and it was also rough, pushing us around, and not in the fun way I remember when my cousin Nitza and I used to body-surf in it near Netanya when we were 15. We ran into a number from our tour-group who had welts on their arms and legs; they'd been stung by jelly fish at the same beach!
Rinse
Dan Panorama Hotel, Tel Aviv, Israel. We showered swiftly by the pool, and then slid into the shallow end, feeling relieved to rinse off the sea, and that the jelly fish had left us alone.
Ache
Guarujá, Brasil. I was with four work colleagues, rather than Pat, at the most gorgeous beach in the world: powdery-fine, white sand and glowing blue sea-water. All of us went barefoot and two of us rolled up our pants to our knees and waded in. The waves splashed above my knees and salted the cloth. I ached to dive in. It was a happy torture.
"Comfortition"
Slough, United Kingdom. It was 6 am, with only the under-water lights of the indoor pool lit. Swimming next to a colleague was both comforting and pressure-filled, which made me swim faster. I coined the term, "comfortition," while swimming and realizing the two at-odds emotions.
Treadmill
Westford, Massachusetts. The pool at the Marriott Courtyard Hotel was long enough for seven strokes per lap. Still, I loved it, as outside was the aftermath of a Nor'easter storm and yet, indoors, I was swimming in warmth.
Expansion II
Bangalore, India. April swimming at 9ish am in an outdoor pool that wasn't heated -- possible for me only during the hottest time of the year in India. Both times, had it all to myself and felt like my limbs could stretch to the four corners of the pool as I did breaststroke.
Added on 16 February 2014
Underwater-Disco
Minneapolis, Minnesota, at the Hilton. Instead of tiles, the pool floor and walls were covered with aluminum-y metal and the light played off of it, making me feel like a Disco star while I swam.
Traffic Jam
Dedham, Massachusetts, at the Hilton. The many-child family was an obstacle course and the water was as warm as a bath, but the pool-size was decent and I was desperate for a submersion after our four-hour ride through a hectic snow flurry-storm up New Jersey and much of the slice of New York we drove through. Loved the chill, coming from the glass walls, and contrasting with the heat of the pool.
Added on 2 March 2014
Steppe
Reykjavik, Iceland at the Laugardalslag public pool -- indoors. It was the hugest pool I'd ever swum in, vast, and I felt relatively tiny in it. Pat & I had the whole thing to ourselves while swimming and giant music speakers in the center of the ceiling played American '70s classic rock.
Glow
Reykjavik, Iceland, at the Laugardalslag public pool -- outdoors. Pat and I stepped out into 2-degree-Celcius weather in our wet swimsuits and with our soaked heads, feeling certain that Icelanders were crazy for doing this habitually. How could all of the other people outside look so unbothered by the weather? And then we found a hot-pot of geothermally-heated water and sunk into it, laying our heads back till our ears were covered with loving, warm water. When we exited the warmth, we couldn't remember where the door was to get back to the locker room and walked around for a time, searching. Marvelously, we were not cold, though we were still wet and it was still 2 degrees out.
Mung
Arnessysla, Iceland, at the Laugarvatn Fontana. In contrast to the public-pool experience, where I neglected to mention that there were strict matrons, making sure everyone washed naked with soap prior to suiting up, this place -- despite its crisp lake-and-mountain views -- felt unsanitary in a particular geothermal pool. Pat & I walked in up to our hips and Pat declared, perhaps a bit too loudly, as she reflected later, privately, and with a grin, "I'm not staying in this one; it's full of mung!" When we returned to the locker room, someone had taken Pat's towel...not the ultimately relaxing experience we had hoped for, but then we climbed a glacier and saw the Northern Lights that night and felt better.
Goo
Svartsengi, Iceland, at the Blue Lagoon. I think of this as the Goo Lagoon because while it was spacious, the geothermally-heated, mineral-rich liquid we moved through was super-viscous and my feet wondered at the unsavory bottom, full of toe-stubbing opportunities and gloppy squishiness. Also, people were drinking drinks while immersed and there were no signs, let alone human monitors, requiring pre-immersion showers, so I wondered at the cleanliness -- or lack -- of it. The best part was wrapping my arms around Pat's shoulders and resting my cheek on her back and being ferried part-way 'round the space for a ride. My favorite experience of geo-thermal water had been at the public pool four days prior.
Added on 1 February 2018
Mood-light
Jerusalem, Israel, at the Mamilla Hotel. Felt underground, but not in the way the ancient part of the Old City's underground looked, all stony and tunnelly. It was warm and shallow and mood-lit and purple-tiled. Spent better time on the elliptical, watching Katy Perry sing on my monitor while listening to two apparently local women and neighbors of the hotel, speaking animatedly in Hebrew during their workout.
Wedding
Beit Herut, Israel, at the community pool. I didn't swim there as an adult, but during a 2015 visit with Pat, remembered an experience I had at 15, when I swam in that pool all summer while staying with my second cousins: One evening the pool was transformed by a small sailboat filled with flowers, floating in its middle as part of a local family's wedding celebration. My same-aged cousin Nitza and I sat in the adjacent park when it grew dark while bats flew and swooped just above our heads it seemed. I was afraid and Nitza wasn't.
Color
Tel Aviv, Israel, at the beach in front of the Hilton. Each morning of our stay, I took a dip not so much for exercise, but to feel the warmth of the water under the early sun and to smile at the bright yellow, little fish that swam under me. That beach was supposed to be where most of the gay men hung out in Tel Aviv, but during these early-morning swims, I was surrounded by what appeared to be heterosexual couples who were nearly octogenerians.
Skyscraper
Shanghai, China, at the Ritz-Carlton. I wasn't as intrepid in 2016 as prior (see "Solitude" above), and so I couldn't immerse myself any deeper than waist-level due to the cold temperature of the water. In 2005, the water was even colder, yet I managed to swim in it for 30 minutes. This time, my swim cap was unnecessary, as I paced half a length and back on foot, looking out the window at eye-level with higher floors of the other skyscrapers around us. I avoided eye-contact with the other swimmers, a couple of whom I recognized from our tour, and then sheepishly climbed out.
Club
Tenakill Swim Club, Tenafly, New Jersey. Joined my cousins Carol and Alex, her where-did-the-time-go-mature son, for a partly-sunny conversation on classic pool-side lounges, and then for a dip with Alex. I felt immersed not only in the cool pool, but in a community that represented generations of club members. For that afternoon, Pat & I, too, were in the club.
Oasis
Santa Fe, New Mexico at the Genoveva Chavez Community Center. More lap-lanes were available than in any other pool I'd ever seen. This indoor pool seemed double or triple the Olympic-sized pool, where we swam in Reykjavik. A ~12-foot-high digital clock on the wall made it easy for me to clock 30 minutes. Walking back to my rental car after a welcome, needle-spray shower, the enormous pool was visible to my right, and a regulation-size ice skating rink to my left. I swam in the pool three luscious times.
Added on 4 May 2019
Welcome
Memphis, Tennessee, at the Memphis Jewish Community Center. A trip to the land of R&B and horses and mega-synagogues after Chanukah in 2018 included daily dunks in the welcoming, gentle, giant, indoor pool of the local JCC. Pat & I talked and trod water for 30 minutes each time, then lay on our backs and let go luxuriantly, letting the water cradle us. At Temple Israel on Friday night, we introduced ourselves and sat next to a kind woman we had seen at the pool.
Added on 7 July 2019
Genius
Cambridge, Massachusetts, at the Hyatt Cambridge. Who's swimming with me in my sunlit lane? A prospective MIT professor and her husband? Visiting researchers? Certainly, I'm in the right 'hood for such swimming companions. These 75 feet of salty water are my reward for catching a 6:22 am train out of Newark Penn Station. It's my pleasure, doing the backstroke with one eye shut behind my dark goggles against the sun blazing past the retracted roof.
Added on 21 August 2021
Splendor
Memphis Tennessee, in our backyard. COVID-19 was raging and we thought we might never swim again if we didn't buy a house with a pool so last July, we did. Nearly every summer evening, Pat & I glide down the clean, wide steps and into gently rippling deep end, where we chat while treading water for 30-50 minutes. The water and we lap luxuriantly.
Added on 12 June 2023
Goudanator
Somewhere in the Southern Caribbean in April, 2022. We shared the ship's pool in the early mornings and watched the crews clean it nightly after sunscreened party animals crammed it from mid morning till sunset. Time spent there shed the ounces earned by eating gouda and more gouda at each Dutch-influenced country, where we docked.
Wetsuitable
Tel Aviv, Israel, Hilton Hotel. Just like in 2015, the pool would have been more immersible if I had had a wetsuit to wear. My ears stung when I submerged in the water, and that's how I knew it was warm enough only for treading water. And this time, I dipped only my toes in the Mediterranean Sea some hundreds of feet away.
Last Resort
Eilat, Israel, Dan Eilat Hotel. I was the only non-Israeli swimmer in the pool, it seemed, since COVID-19 had slashed tourism in June, 2022. There were, however, plenty of Israelis to zigzag around. What a lovely view of the Red Sea into which I also dipped only my toes.
Treat
Snow Lake, Mississippi. Jumped off a dock and back into a happier version of my childhood (see "Mud" and "Frustration" above). "Here's to new beginnings!" Keegon, my friend and fellow-writers'-retreat-comrade, called out as we held hands and launched ourselves. What a treat to bob with other writers, including Rebecca, Sharon, Alice, Sheri, and Elizabeth, and the baby turtle that peaked at us periodically. I also skimmed the surface both as a brand-new paddle boarder and pontoon passenger thanks to our hosts, Tracey, another writer, and her lovely husband Brian.
Added on 21 July 2025
Genug/Enough
Berlin, Germany, Ritz-Carlton Hotel in June, 2025. Windowless and demanding with the push-button current that I could flip on and off more easily than I could my emotions at being in a Holocaust-memorial-filled city, and where I swam before our private dinner at the Reichstag with other American Friends of Hebrew University.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
B.I.H.S.' International Festival
The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.
Note: Originally posted on the EAGLE online community site, behind IBM's firewall on 10 April 2005, at 6:10 pm, and posted here on 24 May 2007:
My sister Kathy, I've mentioned here before, is the principal of Brooklyn International High School, which is made up of new immigrants and refugees from many different countries. Every year, they have an international festival, which is basically a talent show, where the students get to show off the culture of their native land or demonstrate how swiftly they've assimilated into American culture, or some combo of both.
I skipped synagogue on Friday night to go, and Pat was sick, so I went on my own.
Here's what was worth the price of admission:
It begins with an international fashion show, where the female students dress in the fashions of their native countries and walk onstage to pop music and a peer emcee's announcements: "Here's Miss Russia, and Miss Vietnam, and Miss Morocco, and Miss China...and Miss...and Miss...and lucky Miss Argentina, with Mr. Ecuador and Mr. China:
Miss Argentina, in a bright, red, satin gown, is rolled onstage in her wheelchair, all smiles, beautiful and apparently completely paralyzed; Mr. Ecuador and Mr. China lift her to a standing position from her wheelchair, so she can preen like the other girls, and her smile's blinding, and she is placed back in the chair gracefully by the boys and rolled over to where the girls of the other countries are standing proudly.
I burst into tears in the dark. It's just what the world ought to be like all the time.
Note: Originally posted on the EAGLE online community site, behind IBM's firewall on 10 April 2005, at 6:10 pm, and posted here on 24 May 2007:
My sister Kathy, I've mentioned here before, is the principal of Brooklyn International High School, which is made up of new immigrants and refugees from many different countries. Every year, they have an international festival, which is basically a talent show, where the students get to show off the culture of their native land or demonstrate how swiftly they've assimilated into American culture, or some combo of both.
I skipped synagogue on Friday night to go, and Pat was sick, so I went on my own.
Here's what was worth the price of admission:
It begins with an international fashion show, where the female students dress in the fashions of their native countries and walk onstage to pop music and a peer emcee's announcements: "Here's Miss Russia, and Miss Vietnam, and Miss Morocco, and Miss China...and Miss...and Miss...and lucky Miss Argentina, with Mr. Ecuador and Mr. China:
Miss Argentina, in a bright, red, satin gown, is rolled onstage in her wheelchair, all smiles, beautiful and apparently completely paralyzed; Mr. Ecuador and Mr. China lift her to a standing position from her wheelchair, so she can preen like the other girls, and her smile's blinding, and she is placed back in the chair gracefully by the boys and rolled over to where the girls of the other countries are standing proudly.
I burst into tears in the dark. It's just what the world ought to be like all the time.
Monday, April 4, 2005
Rome and Religion Reflections
The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.
Note: Originally posted on the EAGLE online community site, behind IBM's firewall on 4 April 2005, at 6:37 pm, and posted here on 24 May 2007:
With the pope's passing this weekend, I'm thinking of the trip I made to Rome in late-January and about religion altogether. I was in Rome on business, but had two days ahead of my meeting to tour around the city with colleagues.
The Vatican
The Saturday we arrive, I am so happy to be somewhere western again, as we are coming from Bangkok and cool as Bangkok is as a cultural experience, it is easier to be somewhere relatively familiar after a week of being somewhere so unfamiliar. And one of my colleagues is Italian-American and seems now to be in paradise.
We check into the hotel and eat our complimentary breakfast there; I am thrilled for the great cheeses and blood-oranges, neither of which are readily available in Bangkok.
My colleagues want to go straight to the Vatican, which we do, by 8:30 am. At the admissions booth, one of my Catholic colleagues says, "I think all Catholics should get in for free."
"I think all non-Christians should get in free," I respond, smiling.
"Good point," he says, smiling, too, realizing that I am talking in terms of a recruitment tactic.
We walk around and it is remarkable to see all of the famous modern artists the collection includes and the Sistine Chapel and all of the ornate murals along the way and I tell my colleague, I do believe that Jesus is an agent for good and that he was an amazing person, but I just can't get to the Divine part. I'm fairly sure I could have had I been raised to do so, since I tend to believe Jewish doctrine that doesn't necessarily make logical sense.
He looks at me, smiling ruefully, wishing I could understand what he understands, and we keep walking and I feel I am there for a foreign cultural ride. We see preserved popes from the past, lying in St. Peter's and it is unusual to me, but again, I realize it is just what a different culture and religion values.
I look around at St. Peter's grandeur, the church's giant majesty, and say to another Catholic colleague, "How can anyone see this and challenge the supremacy of Catholicism? Do you think this was built to glorify God, or to demonstrate the might of the Catholic Church or...?"
"Yes," he answers. And then, "Think of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem. Probably, it was also built for both reasons." I agree.
When we walk through the part of the Vatican Museum that exhibits all of the jeweled ritual items, I recall a Temple in Bangkok from the week before, which is likewise full of treasures. Every culture has its place for gems, it seems.
Julia
On Sunday, my two Catholic colleagues opt to go to Mass in St. Peter's Square and invite me to join them, but I prefer to spend the day with Julia, an EAGLE - Italy member.
We have a breakfast-picnic on a hilltop next to the Finnish Embassy and tell mini versions of our coming-out-stories, complete strangers that we are. It's the most at-home I have felt in 10 days. Julia is half-German, half-Italian and my heritage is Russian and I'm American, but our lesbianism gives us remarkable common ground...and our common knowledge of English, luckily for me.
Julia is generous and drives us all over Rome and particularly to where I want to go, which is especially to the Jewish Ghetto section.
There are posters pasted to walls there in Italian and Hebrew, advertising, Il giorno della memoria/Yom Hazikaron/Day of Remembrance on 27 January, which is the 50th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, if I'm remembering correctly.
We enter the large synagogue and there will be a tour shortly. Meanwhile, there's a small museum, where we can see ritual items and it's a contrast to the Buddhist temple and the Vatican Museum; I'm whispering animatedly about the significance of each item to Julia. When I describe what Pat refers to as "the little Torahdress," I miss Pat and want her to be here with us.
We look at Torah crowns in sterling silver that are shaped like pomegranites, and with tiny bells hanging from them, and ornate Torah pointers, and utilitarian circumcision gear and castle-tower-shaped spice-boxes....And then it's time for the tour.
The tour guide is an Italian Jew and probably in her late-twenties and quite cute. I don't remember any details any longer, just the gorgeous, high-ceilinged sanctuary and the guide herself.
We take some photos in front of the synagogue, and a few other people are milling around outside it, too, and just then, a bus full of soccer players from the out-of-town professional team drives by, yelling the equivalent of "Faggots!" at all of us. At first, I'm thinking, they were yelling specifically at Julia and me, but Julia assures me that to them, everyone local is a "faggot;"it's just part of their pre-game, self-fortifying ritual.
The irony of having a gang of guys yelling this anti-gay slur at me as I stand in front of a landmark in the Ghetto, where Jews lived necessarily during the Holocaust and now a number still choose to live, does not escape me.
We head to the Jewish bookstore, where the cash register is also staffed by appealing Jewish, Italian women -- they're having a discussion about a holiday and it sounds native to them, and that's how I infer they're Jewish.
The store is a bit busy and I look around and the Italian Jewish community looks familiar, like I could be in a Jewish bookstore in New York or Chicago or Miami and the people would look similar -- except that they are more stylishly dressed than the people I've seen typically in NYC's or Chicago's or Miami's Jewish bookstores. It's not a stereotype; it's an observation: The Italians I've seen in Rome and Milan, on average, look better/more inventive in their clothing than people I've seen in the States, Jewish or otherwise.
We have lunch in a restaurant in the Ghetto and I order hot broccoli with Parmesan cheese on it. The server says it comes cold and I ask that they heat it up, or Julia does for me in Italian.
At the beginning of the day, I teach Julia an expression I think will be handy for her to know in relation to me: "high-maintenance." She doesn't get it. A few hours later, at lunch, she says, "I think I know what 'high-maintenance' means now." We laugh.
While we walk around the famous historic sites of Rome, I learn that in addition to being an IBMer, Julia's also a documentarian; she edited a film that was used for the Millennium, which tells the story of Rome's origin, including the myth of the wolf who fed the twins, as well as produced a documentary in 2001 in tribute to Piera Zanotti, an Italian lesbian pioneer.
The documentary and Julia made the rounds to all of the big GLBT film festivals in Europe and the United States: "Odio i saluti/I Hate Goodbyes."
Julia burns a DVD of it for me and graciously drops it off to me during the week. I watch it and cry at parts because of the bravery that Piera and her comrades display, and feel passion as I see still photos and current film of beautiful women, and am so grateful for who I am. The film recognizes a woman who believes that she ought to be able to be identified as a lesbian publicly and not just privately, and lives her beliefs -- since the '50s. She's a role model.
World Pride==>World Peace
While we drive and walk around, Julia describes how hectic it was for her while working on the World Pride festival that was in Rome and full-time at IBM -- and how worthwhile it was.
She smiles as we look at the infrastructure improvements of the city and says, "During World Pride we used to say, 'Isn't it great how Rome has done so much work to prepare for us?' when really, the work had been done to prepare for the Millennium celebration." Julia's a hero, too, for the millennium. Piera led the way and Julia's carrying the torch now.
I'm reminded of the front-page "New York Times" article that ran last week, on the 31st of March, where there's a photo of all the major religious leaders of Jerusalem (Christianity, Islam and Judaism) coming together in an unprecedented show of inter-faith unity to protest the upcoming World Pride 2005 in Jerusalem this summer.
My rabbi, who's mentioned in the article, since she leads the world's largest Jewish GLBT congregation, says on Friday night, "I think..." -- and Pat leans over to whisper to me, "...we ought to be given the Nobel Peace Prize this year" -- "...our [GLBT] community ought to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for how we've brought together the world's religions," the rabbi finishes.
Silence=Deaf, and Dumb/Ignorant
I'm also reminded of how I'm at dinner again recently with an IBM friend from beyond the United States -- who I wrote about here when she surprised me by coming out to me last year, as I had no idea she was a lesbian -- and how I'm telling her about a class I've just taken from a deaf rabbinic intern at my synagogue.
I tell her how he has taught us about how Judaism treats deafness and has told us about how respectful the Bible is, but how exclusive the rabbis of the Talmudwere 1,000+ years later:
Deaf people were disqualified from fulfilling commandments, the rabbis of the Talmuddeclared, since back then, deaf people had no means of communication compared to today's technologies, so most of the rabbis thought deaf people were developmentally disabled as well, and how could someone who's developmentally disabled be expected to fulfill the commandments of Judaism?
I preface this bit of learning for my friend by saying that a number of years ago while studying Talmud in Chicago, I had learned about another group that was disqualified by the Talmudic rabbis, specifically for the commandment to blow the shofar(ram's horn) on the Jewish New Year: the "toom-toom," which was Aramaic or Talmudic Hebrew for someone who's intersex.
I remember feeling excluded, since although I'm not intersex, I'm certainly androgynous. I told my friend that toom-tooms were excluded because in Jewish law, according to the Talmud, women are excluded from blowing the shofar and since the rabbis couldn't be sure which gender was predominate among toom-tooms, better to err on the side of caution because God forbid a mostly-female person fulfilled the commandment. Mind you, I've always felt excluded as a woman by Orthodox Judaism, but that's business as usual. This seemed extra-harsh.
My friend shakes her head and starts to say, "That's why -- forget it...." She doesn't want to say, "That's why I think religion can be so harmful," since she knows that I value mine and she doesn't want to offend me, so I finish the sentence for her and she affirms that it strikes her that so much trouble has come from it historically.
The next day, I remember why I want to tell her about how infuriated I was initially about the toom-tooms, so that I can tell her about some peace I gained from a classmate in this Deafness and Judaism course.
During the Deafness and Judaism class, I say, "Great! Now I'm potentially doubly-excluded if I ever go deaf!" and I talk of how bitter I felt in Chicago when I learned about exclusion of the toom-tooms.
One of the other students, I tell her, himself apparently a transgender man says, "At least the rabbis [a thousand years ago] talked about intersex people, which is remarkable. Even today, hardly anyone wants to discuss the topic."
"So to him," I tell my friend, "Any sort of discussion is at least acknowledgment of these people's existence. How's that for a positive spin?"
She answers, "...I think neglect is much worse than having a negative attitude towards someone or towards a group, so the transguy is right on....As long as "something" is at least acknowledged in its existence, it means it's being discussed, too...which is the main thing that helps eliminate the fear that most humans have about anything "strange" they don't know. Talking about "otherness" means getting to know it and that's a very good thing, of course, because we don't fear what we know."
Amen.
Note: Originally posted on the EAGLE online community site, behind IBM's firewall on 4 April 2005, at 6:37 pm, and posted here on 24 May 2007:
With the pope's passing this weekend, I'm thinking of the trip I made to Rome in late-January and about religion altogether. I was in Rome on business, but had two days ahead of my meeting to tour around the city with colleagues.
The Vatican
The Saturday we arrive, I am so happy to be somewhere western again, as we are coming from Bangkok and cool as Bangkok is as a cultural experience, it is easier to be somewhere relatively familiar after a week of being somewhere so unfamiliar. And one of my colleagues is Italian-American and seems now to be in paradise.
We check into the hotel and eat our complimentary breakfast there; I am thrilled for the great cheeses and blood-oranges, neither of which are readily available in Bangkok.
My colleagues want to go straight to the Vatican, which we do, by 8:30 am. At the admissions booth, one of my Catholic colleagues says, "I think all Catholics should get in for free."
"I think all non-Christians should get in free," I respond, smiling.
"Good point," he says, smiling, too, realizing that I am talking in terms of a recruitment tactic.
We walk around and it is remarkable to see all of the famous modern artists the collection includes and the Sistine Chapel and all of the ornate murals along the way and I tell my colleague, I do believe that Jesus is an agent for good and that he was an amazing person, but I just can't get to the Divine part. I'm fairly sure I could have had I been raised to do so, since I tend to believe Jewish doctrine that doesn't necessarily make logical sense.
He looks at me, smiling ruefully, wishing I could understand what he understands, and we keep walking and I feel I am there for a foreign cultural ride. We see preserved popes from the past, lying in St. Peter's and it is unusual to me, but again, I realize it is just what a different culture and religion values.
I look around at St. Peter's grandeur, the church's giant majesty, and say to another Catholic colleague, "How can anyone see this and challenge the supremacy of Catholicism? Do you think this was built to glorify God, or to demonstrate the might of the Catholic Church or...?"
"Yes," he answers. And then, "Think of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem. Probably, it was also built for both reasons." I agree.
When we walk through the part of the Vatican Museum that exhibits all of the jeweled ritual items, I recall a Temple in Bangkok from the week before, which is likewise full of treasures. Every culture has its place for gems, it seems.
Julia
On Sunday, my two Catholic colleagues opt to go to Mass in St. Peter's Square and invite me to join them, but I prefer to spend the day with Julia, an EAGLE - Italy member.
We have a breakfast-picnic on a hilltop next to the Finnish Embassy and tell mini versions of our coming-out-stories, complete strangers that we are. It's the most at-home I have felt in 10 days. Julia is half-German, half-Italian and my heritage is Russian and I'm American, but our lesbianism gives us remarkable common ground...and our common knowledge of English, luckily for me.
Julia is generous and drives us all over Rome and particularly to where I want to go, which is especially to the Jewish Ghetto section.
There are posters pasted to walls there in Italian and Hebrew, advertising, Il giorno della memoria/Yom Hazikaron/Day of Remembrance on 27 January, which is the 50th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, if I'm remembering correctly.
We enter the large synagogue and there will be a tour shortly. Meanwhile, there's a small museum, where we can see ritual items and it's a contrast to the Buddhist temple and the Vatican Museum; I'm whispering animatedly about the significance of each item to Julia. When I describe what Pat refers to as "the little Torahdress," I miss Pat and want her to be here with us.
We look at Torah crowns in sterling silver that are shaped like pomegranites, and with tiny bells hanging from them, and ornate Torah pointers, and utilitarian circumcision gear and castle-tower-shaped spice-boxes....And then it's time for the tour.
The tour guide is an Italian Jew and probably in her late-twenties and quite cute. I don't remember any details any longer, just the gorgeous, high-ceilinged sanctuary and the guide herself.
We take some photos in front of the synagogue, and a few other people are milling around outside it, too, and just then, a bus full of soccer players from the out-of-town professional team drives by, yelling the equivalent of "Faggots!" at all of us. At first, I'm thinking, they were yelling specifically at Julia and me, but Julia assures me that to them, everyone local is a "faggot;"it's just part of their pre-game, self-fortifying ritual.
The irony of having a gang of guys yelling this anti-gay slur at me as I stand in front of a landmark in the Ghetto, where Jews lived necessarily during the Holocaust and now a number still choose to live, does not escape me.
We head to the Jewish bookstore, where the cash register is also staffed by appealing Jewish, Italian women -- they're having a discussion about a holiday and it sounds native to them, and that's how I infer they're Jewish.
The store is a bit busy and I look around and the Italian Jewish community looks familiar, like I could be in a Jewish bookstore in New York or Chicago or Miami and the people would look similar -- except that they are more stylishly dressed than the people I've seen typically in NYC's or Chicago's or Miami's Jewish bookstores. It's not a stereotype; it's an observation: The Italians I've seen in Rome and Milan, on average, look better/more inventive in their clothing than people I've seen in the States, Jewish or otherwise.
We have lunch in a restaurant in the Ghetto and I order hot broccoli with Parmesan cheese on it. The server says it comes cold and I ask that they heat it up, or Julia does for me in Italian.
At the beginning of the day, I teach Julia an expression I think will be handy for her to know in relation to me: "high-maintenance." She doesn't get it. A few hours later, at lunch, she says, "I think I know what 'high-maintenance' means now." We laugh.
While we walk around the famous historic sites of Rome, I learn that in addition to being an IBMer, Julia's also a documentarian; she edited a film that was used for the Millennium, which tells the story of Rome's origin, including the myth of the wolf who fed the twins, as well as produced a documentary in 2001 in tribute to Piera Zanotti, an Italian lesbian pioneer.
The documentary and Julia made the rounds to all of the big GLBT film festivals in Europe and the United States: "Odio i saluti/I Hate Goodbyes."
Julia burns a DVD of it for me and graciously drops it off to me during the week. I watch it and cry at parts because of the bravery that Piera and her comrades display, and feel passion as I see still photos and current film of beautiful women, and am so grateful for who I am. The film recognizes a woman who believes that she ought to be able to be identified as a lesbian publicly and not just privately, and lives her beliefs -- since the '50s. She's a role model.
World Pride==>World Peace
While we drive and walk around, Julia describes how hectic it was for her while working on the World Pride festival that was in Rome and full-time at IBM -- and how worthwhile it was.
She smiles as we look at the infrastructure improvements of the city and says, "During World Pride we used to say, 'Isn't it great how Rome has done so much work to prepare for us?' when really, the work had been done to prepare for the Millennium celebration." Julia's a hero, too, for the millennium. Piera led the way and Julia's carrying the torch now.
I'm reminded of the front-page "New York Times" article that ran last week, on the 31st of March, where there's a photo of all the major religious leaders of Jerusalem (Christianity, Islam and Judaism) coming together in an unprecedented show of inter-faith unity to protest the upcoming World Pride 2005 in Jerusalem this summer.
My rabbi, who's mentioned in the article, since she leads the world's largest Jewish GLBT congregation, says on Friday night, "I think..." -- and Pat leans over to whisper to me, "...we ought to be given the Nobel Peace Prize this year" -- "...our [GLBT] community ought to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for how we've brought together the world's religions," the rabbi finishes.
Silence=Deaf, and Dumb/Ignorant
I'm also reminded of how I'm at dinner again recently with an IBM friend from beyond the United States -- who I wrote about here when she surprised me by coming out to me last year, as I had no idea she was a lesbian -- and how I'm telling her about a class I've just taken from a deaf rabbinic intern at my synagogue.
I tell her how he has taught us about how Judaism treats deafness and has told us about how respectful the Bible is, but how exclusive the rabbis of the Talmudwere 1,000+ years later:
Deaf people were disqualified from fulfilling commandments, the rabbis of the Talmuddeclared, since back then, deaf people had no means of communication compared to today's technologies, so most of the rabbis thought deaf people were developmentally disabled as well, and how could someone who's developmentally disabled be expected to fulfill the commandments of Judaism?
I preface this bit of learning for my friend by saying that a number of years ago while studying Talmud in Chicago, I had learned about another group that was disqualified by the Talmudic rabbis, specifically for the commandment to blow the shofar(ram's horn) on the Jewish New Year: the "toom-toom," which was Aramaic or Talmudic Hebrew for someone who's intersex.
I remember feeling excluded, since although I'm not intersex, I'm certainly androgynous. I told my friend that toom-tooms were excluded because in Jewish law, according to the Talmud, women are excluded from blowing the shofar and since the rabbis couldn't be sure which gender was predominate among toom-tooms, better to err on the side of caution because God forbid a mostly-female person fulfilled the commandment. Mind you, I've always felt excluded as a woman by Orthodox Judaism, but that's business as usual. This seemed extra-harsh.
My friend shakes her head and starts to say, "That's why -- forget it...." She doesn't want to say, "That's why I think religion can be so harmful," since she knows that I value mine and she doesn't want to offend me, so I finish the sentence for her and she affirms that it strikes her that so much trouble has come from it historically.
The next day, I remember why I want to tell her about how infuriated I was initially about the toom-tooms, so that I can tell her about some peace I gained from a classmate in this Deafness and Judaism course.
During the Deafness and Judaism class, I say, "Great! Now I'm potentially doubly-excluded if I ever go deaf!" and I talk of how bitter I felt in Chicago when I learned about exclusion of the toom-tooms.
One of the other students, I tell her, himself apparently a transgender man says, "At least the rabbis [a thousand years ago] talked about intersex people, which is remarkable. Even today, hardly anyone wants to discuss the topic."
"So to him," I tell my friend, "Any sort of discussion is at least acknowledgment of these people's existence. How's that for a positive spin?"
She answers, "...I think neglect is much worse than having a negative attitude towards someone or towards a group, so the transguy is right on....As long as "something" is at least acknowledged in its existence, it means it's being discussed, too...which is the main thing that helps eliminate the fear that most humans have about anything "strange" they don't know. Talking about "otherness" means getting to know it and that's a very good thing, of course, because we don't fear what we know."
Amen.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Impressions of 2004 GLBT Pride Parade in NYC
The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.
Note: Originally posted on the EAGLE online community site, behind IBM's firewall on 22 June 2004, at 8:22 am, and posted here on 24 May 2007:
Here's what gives me hope from yesterday:
And yet...
I'm conservative in many ways and yet love-and-desire-driven, which is why I live my life as a lesbian, rather than living conventionally in terms of the shape of my family.
Yesterday, I saw a woman at the parade, who had written in grease-pen on her bare back, "I'm proud of my sister." She was outrageous. I think I saw her with her lesbian or bisexual sister later. Her sister looked a lot less wild....
When the Broadway version of the "Rocky Horror" float went by, I tried explaining to my friends that when people went to see the film religiously on Saturdays at midnight when I was in high school, and dressed up as their favorite characters, I stayed away. I didn't want to be part of that crowd, even as part of me was desperate to find a group of friends with whom I felt at home with my sexual orientation, even as I denied the reality of my orientation till senior year of college.
I didn't see "Rocky Horror" until a few years ago, until it was a Broadway play and I was with Pat for nearly a decade. God, what was the big deal? It was kind of fun, but also, I could have lived my whole life, never seeing it and still being fine. My favorite part of the show was the lipstick of the main character, which reminded me of the sparkly quality of bumper-cars.
Confidence with my sexuality, or really, confidence with all of who I am is my continual aspiration. Just when I think I'm all set, internalized homophobia springs forth from me into the energy in the air, even if I say nothing aloud, and then comes back into me as further potent poison.
I'm watching the parade and the boldest among the celebrants repel and compel me in parallel. I want to be good-natured and just surrender to it, but then, it occurs to me at various points, being here at this parade would make a number of G, L, B or T people homophobic, let alone non-GLBT people. And then I think I'm being a poor sport because would I be as put off if there were a greater number of scantily-clad lesbians? Is my reaction just sour grapes at having to watch so many guys, wearing nothing but pouches?
When one tries to shut people up historically and continue to oppress them and treat them as though they're not human, they can become extreme and fulfill one's expectations around their lack of humanity. Paradoxically, I think they're only further demonstrating their humanity, just under duress in some cases, and in others, independent of anyone's reaction to them.
The day started so conventionally, with a gay neighbor and a lesbian friend coming over for breakfast on our deck. It was a perfect day weather-wise and part of me wanted simply to stay on the deck, enjoying our friends and our home.
We went into the city because our gay friend loves to go every year and because our lesbian friend is from another country and had never seen an American pride celebration, and we had offered to be her hosts for her inaugural experience.
And because of "Al tifrosh min hatsibur," / "Don't isolate yourself from the community;" I'm reminded of the quote from Ethics of the Fathers that I've referred to in this database previously. And maybe in a number of years, after another series of pride festivities, I'll be able to say, "...and I'm no longer nearly 39, and happier than ever with who I am."
P.S. 7 July, 2004:
The more I reflected on my impressions over the past couple of weeks, the more I was reminded...that I need to reduce internalized homophobia through self-esteem-building activities. Being a spectator did not build self-esteem for me in the way that being among one of the parade delegations would have. Next time I participate in the GLBT Pride Parade in NYC, I hope to be in it, not watching from the side-lines.
Note: Originally posted on the EAGLE online community site, behind IBM's firewall on 22 June 2004, at 8:22 am, and posted here on 24 May 2007:
Here's what gives me hope from yesterday:
- The dykes on bikes motorcycle delegation seem an ultimate representation of women doing what they want with their time and money, and with their loved ones and with one another
- This morning, on my way to work, hearing Alba Ruiz(?) of NYC pop radio station 102.7FM, broadcasting her people-on-the-street interviews, asking, "What does gay pride mean to you?" with all of the answers including that it means equality and recognition of our humanity
- Hetrick-Martin Institute's float, with all of the GLBTQI students marching/dancing happily for the day
- My synagogue's big delegation, Congregation Beth Simchat Torah (see cbst.org for a beautiful "Prayer of Gratitude for LGBT Pride")
- Gay and lesbian police officers and firefighters, including a recruitment truck for the NYFD
- The Lavender Light Gospel Choir float, with its participants' loving, earnest singing
- Various countries' floats, especially Venezuala's artful cardinal-costumed marchers and Brazil's for its sheer amount of people; reminds me of how most of us in the United States are originally from another country
- I'm no longer 11 or 15 or 21 or 26 or 29, but rather nearly 39 and closer than I've ever been to being happy with who I am.
And yet...
I'm conservative in many ways and yet love-and-desire-driven, which is why I live my life as a lesbian, rather than living conventionally in terms of the shape of my family.
Yesterday, I saw a woman at the parade, who had written in grease-pen on her bare back, "I'm proud of my sister." She was outrageous. I think I saw her with her lesbian or bisexual sister later. Her sister looked a lot less wild....
When the Broadway version of the "Rocky Horror" float went by, I tried explaining to my friends that when people went to see the film religiously on Saturdays at midnight when I was in high school, and dressed up as their favorite characters, I stayed away. I didn't want to be part of that crowd, even as part of me was desperate to find a group of friends with whom I felt at home with my sexual orientation, even as I denied the reality of my orientation till senior year of college.
I didn't see "Rocky Horror" until a few years ago, until it was a Broadway play and I was with Pat for nearly a decade. God, what was the big deal? It was kind of fun, but also, I could have lived my whole life, never seeing it and still being fine. My favorite part of the show was the lipstick of the main character, which reminded me of the sparkly quality of bumper-cars.
Confidence with my sexuality, or really, confidence with all of who I am is my continual aspiration. Just when I think I'm all set, internalized homophobia springs forth from me into the energy in the air, even if I say nothing aloud, and then comes back into me as further potent poison.
I'm watching the parade and the boldest among the celebrants repel and compel me in parallel. I want to be good-natured and just surrender to it, but then, it occurs to me at various points, being here at this parade would make a number of G, L, B or T people homophobic, let alone non-GLBT people. And then I think I'm being a poor sport because would I be as put off if there were a greater number of scantily-clad lesbians? Is my reaction just sour grapes at having to watch so many guys, wearing nothing but pouches?
When one tries to shut people up historically and continue to oppress them and treat them as though they're not human, they can become extreme and fulfill one's expectations around their lack of humanity. Paradoxically, I think they're only further demonstrating their humanity, just under duress in some cases, and in others, independent of anyone's reaction to them.
The day started so conventionally, with a gay neighbor and a lesbian friend coming over for breakfast on our deck. It was a perfect day weather-wise and part of me wanted simply to stay on the deck, enjoying our friends and our home.
We went into the city because our gay friend loves to go every year and because our lesbian friend is from another country and had never seen an American pride celebration, and we had offered to be her hosts for her inaugural experience.
And because of "Al tifrosh min hatsibur," / "Don't isolate yourself from the community;" I'm reminded of the quote from Ethics of the Fathers that I've referred to in this database previously. And maybe in a number of years, after another series of pride festivities, I'll be able to say, "...and I'm no longer nearly 39, and happier than ever with who I am."
P.S. 7 July, 2004:
The more I reflected on my impressions over the past couple of weeks, the more I was reminded...that I need to reduce internalized homophobia through self-esteem-building activities. Being a spectator did not build self-esteem for me in the way that being among one of the parade delegations would have. Next time I participate in the GLBT Pride Parade in NYC, I hope to be in it, not watching from the side-lines.
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