As an architecture student, the week before final pinup is always crazy. Anything unrelated to the project I am working on falls out the back of my brain... homework assignments, meetings, lunch dates with friends. I forget where I put my car keys, I leave notebooks I need at my apartment, I unintentionally relate everything I say to architecture if I'm not careful. The worst part of final pinup weeks in the past, however, has been my whiney, complaining attitude and negativity. This week in the semester is always stressful; I always have more work to do than I have time for. Usually the stress leads to a tired, cranky, Karen.
Last Wednesday on my way to campus I texted one of my close friends who sits next to me in studio. "There will be no negativity out of my mouth today. No whining, no complaining, no less than nice words about anything. Please hold me accountable!"
From there, I chose positivity. Whenever I was about to complain about how the computer program wasn't doing what I wanted it to do, or the drawing I was working on got smudged, I would check myself and keep my mouth shut. When something I was doing went well, I would vocalize it to myself. I got more done on Wednesday alone than I usually get done in a week. Obviously the positivity was helping.
This morning is the start of day 6 of positivity... so far so good. I spent about 16 hours in studio this weekend and got SO much done it is ridiculous. The link between my outlook on the project and my productivity can't be ignored. I have realized this week that I am here in college, "living my dream", becoming trained in the profession I have wanted to be in my entire life, under some of the best professors in the country. I am working on designing buildings, creating spaces out of void, and to be anything less than grateful for the opportunity is ungrateful entitlement. I am choosing humble gratitude over entitlement this week.
Based on how much I have gotten done, I think "humble gratitude" is going to be my new way of looking at every studio project.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
A Sunday Afternoon with the Stuarts
Turn at the Glade Road stoplight... continue on a mile and a half to where the trees part and the Tom's Creek Basin reveals itself - take a left on Linwood Lane. Make your way slowly down the road, bear right, and park just past the driveway along the trees - careful not to get the wheels stuck in the ditch.
I have driven this route a hundred times in the last year and a half - maybe two hundred times. Today is no different than any other day. I am here to see the Stuarts.
The garage door is open. It's almost always open. It has been over a year since the last time I rang the front doorbell - Bob says the front door is for guests, the garage entrance is for family. I make my way past the van, into the laundry room and he greets me as I open the door into the kitchen. Emily is asleep, taking her mid-morning nap. It's about noon and we'll have lunch soon, but first we spend a few minutes in the living room where Emily lies on the couch, sharing events of the past few days and deciding what sounds best for lunch. Emily decides she would like to sleep a little longer so Bob and I make our way to the kitchen.
"Why don't we have some sort of appetizer to hold us over until lunch?" he says. I suggest ice cream cake, leftover from Emily's 90th Birthday, and he agrees. "I swear, Karen, that we share the same genes. Ice cream cake is the perfect choice." We both have a sweet tooth. We must share genes. As usual, I end up in a spiritual conversation with Bob about whether or not God is reached through Christ alone or through any means. We disagree on that. We talk about church and state and the separation of the two. We agree on that. We heat up leftover beef brisket and rice and pour Emily's buttermilk into her mug. We wake Emily up again.
This time she is ready for lunch. First Bob and I help her use the restroom, then make our way to the kitchen. I make sure her oxygen cannula is properly set into her nostrils and put on her meal apron then push in her chair. We talk about the weather, my new boyfriend, their upcoming family trip to mountain lake. We talk about Emily's book and who she might like to give it to for Christmas. We talk about their other caretakers and how fortunate they feel to be so well taken care of. We talk about anxiety, the stress of having company, the pond out back that needs to be cleaned out and the recent election.
Eventually I excuse myself to get some work done - the original reason I came. I sit at the computer in Bob's study and type up the changes he made to his Citizens First proposal. I type up an e-mail he has written out in another word document. I print both in size 22 font, bold. They are ready for him when he finishes lunch. We discuss the changes and I send out the e-mail, attaching the proposal to it. On Tuesday morning we will go through the replies, consider the advice on changes to be made, and then finalize the proposal. Mary calls, Bob and Emily's daughter. Bob answers the phone in the study and then goes to the kitchen to give Emily the cordless phone. He returns to the study and the three together discuss the upcoming Mountain Lake weekend. I set the time on Bob's watch to daylight-savings time. I change the clock on his desk too.
When the work is done Bob and I join Emily again at the kitchen table. She is still slowly finishing her lunch, after almost 2 hours and a few 5-minute naps sitting up. Bob mentions some deep, theological topic on the origins of anxiety. Emily says, "Bob, I am not much in the mood for a philosophical discussion today. I can barely keep my eyes open." We laugh, and decide it is time for Emily to rest. Off comes the apron, out comes the chair. We make our way back to the living room and I kiss her on the forehead as she falls asleep again. I say goodbye to Bob with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "See you Tuesday!"
I have driven this route a hundred times in the last year and a half - maybe two hundred times. Today is no different than any other day. I am here to see the Stuarts.
The garage door is open. It's almost always open. It has been over a year since the last time I rang the front doorbell - Bob says the front door is for guests, the garage entrance is for family. I make my way past the van, into the laundry room and he greets me as I open the door into the kitchen. Emily is asleep, taking her mid-morning nap. It's about noon and we'll have lunch soon, but first we spend a few minutes in the living room where Emily lies on the couch, sharing events of the past few days and deciding what sounds best for lunch. Emily decides she would like to sleep a little longer so Bob and I make our way to the kitchen.
"Why don't we have some sort of appetizer to hold us over until lunch?" he says. I suggest ice cream cake, leftover from Emily's 90th Birthday, and he agrees. "I swear, Karen, that we share the same genes. Ice cream cake is the perfect choice." We both have a sweet tooth. We must share genes. As usual, I end up in a spiritual conversation with Bob about whether or not God is reached through Christ alone or through any means. We disagree on that. We talk about church and state and the separation of the two. We agree on that. We heat up leftover beef brisket and rice and pour Emily's buttermilk into her mug. We wake Emily up again.
This time she is ready for lunch. First Bob and I help her use the restroom, then make our way to the kitchen. I make sure her oxygen cannula is properly set into her nostrils and put on her meal apron then push in her chair. We talk about the weather, my new boyfriend, their upcoming family trip to mountain lake. We talk about Emily's book and who she might like to give it to for Christmas. We talk about their other caretakers and how fortunate they feel to be so well taken care of. We talk about anxiety, the stress of having company, the pond out back that needs to be cleaned out and the recent election.
Eventually I excuse myself to get some work done - the original reason I came. I sit at the computer in Bob's study and type up the changes he made to his Citizens First proposal. I type up an e-mail he has written out in another word document. I print both in size 22 font, bold. They are ready for him when he finishes lunch. We discuss the changes and I send out the e-mail, attaching the proposal to it. On Tuesday morning we will go through the replies, consider the advice on changes to be made, and then finalize the proposal. Mary calls, Bob and Emily's daughter. Bob answers the phone in the study and then goes to the kitchen to give Emily the cordless phone. He returns to the study and the three together discuss the upcoming Mountain Lake weekend. I set the time on Bob's watch to daylight-savings time. I change the clock on his desk too.
When the work is done Bob and I join Emily again at the kitchen table. She is still slowly finishing her lunch, after almost 2 hours and a few 5-minute naps sitting up. Bob mentions some deep, theological topic on the origins of anxiety. Emily says, "Bob, I am not much in the mood for a philosophical discussion today. I can barely keep my eyes open." We laugh, and decide it is time for Emily to rest. Off comes the apron, out comes the chair. We make our way back to the living room and I kiss her on the forehead as she falls asleep again. I say goodbye to Bob with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "See you Tuesday!"
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Thoughts
I have been thinking lately about existence and memories and how bizarre it all is.
My brain is struggling to fathom death - human existence one moment and then the absence of a spiritual soul due to the failure of the physical body. The body is the container but in the end it is so insignificant - without the soul in it the person is gone. It is strange to me that the memories we have of people are so connected with their "container" - we picture ourselves with them at certain places, we are comforted by the sound of their voice, we recognize the smell of their shampoo when we hug them, we know the color of their eyes. Yet, the spirit and the soul, their inner being of who they really are... their thoughts and fears and jokes and the mind that makes the choices that make them who they are is what actually makes them our friends. That spirit has nothing to do with their facial features or their height or their mannerisms, and yet because we are visual beings those physical traits are how we are able to fathom and recognize the ephemeral qualities of their spirit.
It is also weird to me how both the physical and spiritual side of a person need to exist together for us to really feel like they are present with us. We can miss someone even if we are able to talk to them on the phone - their thoughts and hopes and fears are available to us and yet we miss them anyway - we miss being in physical contact in a way where we can really feel their presence. At the same time, when someone dies their body is still there - their nose turns up the same way and their hair is the same color, and yet their spirit is absent, and we miss them.
Who someone is to us is all based on how our senses "collect" and "archive" their characteristics. We recognize them based on how our brain has processed previous experiences with them. I've always wondered with colors if we all see the same thing when we think "green"... does your green look like my green? We both recognize the grass is green but in our brains do our eyes process the color the same? I think that about people too. I recognize the sound of your voice, so does Analise, and Jim, and Phil, and Courtney. But are we hearing the same voice or have our brains "collected" it differently? I don't know the answer I am just curious.
My brain is struggling to fathom death - human existence one moment and then the absence of a spiritual soul due to the failure of the physical body. The body is the container but in the end it is so insignificant - without the soul in it the person is gone. It is strange to me that the memories we have of people are so connected with their "container" - we picture ourselves with them at certain places, we are comforted by the sound of their voice, we recognize the smell of their shampoo when we hug them, we know the color of their eyes. Yet, the spirit and the soul, their inner being of who they really are... their thoughts and fears and jokes and the mind that makes the choices that make them who they are is what actually makes them our friends. That spirit has nothing to do with their facial features or their height or their mannerisms, and yet because we are visual beings those physical traits are how we are able to fathom and recognize the ephemeral qualities of their spirit.
It is also weird to me how both the physical and spiritual side of a person need to exist together for us to really feel like they are present with us. We can miss someone even if we are able to talk to them on the phone - their thoughts and hopes and fears are available to us and yet we miss them anyway - we miss being in physical contact in a way where we can really feel their presence. At the same time, when someone dies their body is still there - their nose turns up the same way and their hair is the same color, and yet their spirit is absent, and we miss them.
Who someone is to us is all based on how our senses "collect" and "archive" their characteristics. We recognize them based on how our brain has processed previous experiences with them. I've always wondered with colors if we all see the same thing when we think "green"... does your green look like my green? We both recognize the grass is green but in our brains do our eyes process the color the same? I think that about people too. I recognize the sound of your voice, so does Analise, and Jim, and Phil, and Courtney. But are we hearing the same voice or have our brains "collected" it differently? I don't know the answer I am just curious.
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