I gave a keynote this morning at the Minitex ILL Conference in St. Paul, and I've uploaded the powerpoint file to Slideshare. Unfortunately, Slideshare doesn't show transitions, so a number of the slides are messed up where I have multiple images that aren't supposed to be on the screen at the same time, but if you go to the Slideshare page for the presentation there's a link to download the original .ppt file.
Wow. Just…wow.
[S]ome people will one day try to convince you that what I’ve done here is some sort of sickening betrayal of your childhood, and what those people fail to recognize is that I am doing the exact opposite. This is the glorification of your childhood, and even more than that this is a community of women coming together to make each other feel less alone. You are a part of this movement, you and all of the other kids whose mothers are sitting at home right now writing tirelessly about their experiences as mothers, the love and frustration and madness of it all. And I think one day you will look at all of this and pump your fist in the air.
Last week, my 95-year-old grandmother suffered a series of small strokes. This week has been a bit of blur what with hospital visits, social worker conversations, research on everything from stroke rehabilitation to long-term care insurance (for me, not her…nothing like this sort of event to remind you of your own looming future) to risks of theft in nursing homes, covering classes for my mother, and trying to manage my own full-time job and family responsibilities.
Today they moved grandma to the rehab floor of the nursing home associated with her assisted living facility. They’re not terribly optimistic about her being able to go back to the assisted living facility, but we’re going to hold onto her room there for another month just in case she proves them wrong (it wouldn’t be the first time she’s surprised us). The nursing home (sorry, “skilled nursing facility”) is considered one of the best in the area, but it still depresses me terribly every time I walk through the door.
Tomorrow, at least, I have no classes to teach, and few meetings to attend. There will be time to sleep a little later, take the dog for the long walks she’s been missing this week, and maybe even eat some healthy food. I feel better just thinking about it.
(And mom, if you’re reading this, you’re an angel. What I’ve done this week is nothing compared to what you’ve been doing. Grandma’s so lucky to have you.)
In April of 2003, six months after I'd started publishing this blog, I posted one of my favorite poems--the one that I think of every April (well, March in Seattle, but April in Rochester) as the weather makes its glorious transformation from the relentless gray of winter to the riotous colors of spring
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature’s first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
—Robert Frost
I probably could have posted this a few days earlier; the daffodils bloomed on my birthday (Wednesday), and they brighten my mood every time I look at them.
I'm enjoying the weather all the more because I spend so much time every day walking the dog--and letting her romp in the backyard. She can be a handful sometimes, but mostly she's delightful.
I’m delighted to announce that author Julian Dibbell will be speaking here at RIT tomorrow.
Title: Ludocapitalism – A few ways of making real money from a virtual economy, and what they mean
Time: 7:30pm
Location: RIT College of LIberal Arts auditorium (06-A205).
Julian is smart and funny and provocative, and the talk promises to be wonderful—please join us!
While we were on our vacation, we made a decision to start homeschooling Lane. Gerald and I felt that the school he was in had become a toxic environment for him, slowly killing off his self-confidence and love of learning.
Today I read a horrifying NY Times article about a young man being bullied in an Arkansas school district, and I couldn’t help but wonder why these parents continue to send their child to that school. To make a point? At what cost?
To homeschool a young child requires privilege—enough money and resources to be able to serve as both parent and teacher, enough patience and social support to be able to manage your kids 24 hours a day without public school teachers to take them off your hands for 8 hours a day.
But to homeschool a teenager requires far less of that privilege. I hope that Billy Wolfe’s parents can find a better solution for their son than sending back into that horrific environment day after day.

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